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There’s a stain on your shirt, courtesy of the waitress overfilling your glass of apple juice. You try your best to pretend it isn’t there while glaring at Bro from across the scuffed up table. It’s late, or early, depending on how you look at it.
The place is rather empty for a change. Including you and Bro you’ve counted nine people upon entering. There’s a ten, but he’s questionable, slumped over table on the opposite side of the room. You’re not sure if he’s asleep or dead, so you leave him out of the tally.
You stare at Bro, eyes narrowed as he continues to tinker with the stupid Rubik’s Cube he found lying on a park bench the day before.
“Are you really gonna sit there playing with that all night?” Or day, whatever.
“Sounds like something I’ve asked you before,” Bro says.
“It’s gross. Some kid probably pissed all over it.”
“Stop trying to subtly share your fetish fantasizes with me.”
You’ll never admit it aloud, but you want Bro’s full attention. You hate the thought of you being jealous of a toy, but you can’t help it.
You’re spoiled.
“Put it away.”
Bro quirks a brow and stares at you as if you’ve said something that he’s not sure he’s heard correctly. He snorts softly and goes back to fiddling around with the Rubik’s Cube.
“Did you hear me,” you say. You sound like a parent, an annoying, obsessive, controlling parent. Of course he heard you. What kind of stupid ass question is that?
He’s sitting right across from you.
“You ain’t saying nothing I want to hear,” Bro says.
You watch him, turning the sides of that dumb toy, humming quietly to himself while his half eaten waffle rapidly grows cold. You’re annoyed with how attentive he looks, giving something he’s found outside, garbage, more attention than you.
“Oh, shit.” He holds the cube up in front of him, stretching out his arms for you to see. “Look. I think I might have figured—”
You snatch the stupid fucking thing out of his hand and throw it across the room. It lands a few feet away from the bar, beneath an empty table that hasn’t been cleaned yet.
The waitress and the other guests don’t even bother looking your direction.
Bro’s trying to intimidate you with the way he’s looking at you and it’s fucking working. Still, you want to say something clever and sarcastic, something to really rub the fact that you just threw his bullshit toy clean across the restaurant, but you can’t think of anything.
Bro stands up from his chair and your heart starts to race. He walks over to you, places his hand on your shoulder, and squeezes down painfully.
“Get up,” he growls into your ear.
You stand up as quickly as you can without knocking over the chair. He shoves you forward and toward the men’s room and you trip over your feet. When you reach the the restroom, Bro opens the door and pushes you inside.
“Bro—”
“Shut up.”
He grips you by the back of your neck and drags you into a stall. Your heart is still racing and your dick strains uncomfortably against your jeans. He steps in behind you, clicks the lock, grabs you by your shoulders and slams you against the door.
“You wanted this, didn’t you?” Bro growls against your neck and tugs open your pants so roughly that you’re shocked the button doesn’t fly off and into the toilet. You don’t bother answering him because if you denied it, you’d be lying.
He uses his free hand to dig into your pocket. “Fucking tight ass jeans,” he grumbles. “How do you get in these things?” Bro finds what he’s looking for, a small bottle of lube shoved deep into your pocket. “Hate to think what’d you be in for if you ever forget this,” he teases you.
“Shut up,” you breathe out before leaning forward far enough to kiss him.
The two of you grunt and groan against each others lips when he goes about yanking down your pants. The stall door is cool against the back of your leg, making you gasp and your skin prickle with goosebumps.
“Help me out,” he says and you reach down to unfasten his pants. A simple tug and his cock juts out, thick and hard. You want to wrap your lips around it, but the second you start to lower yourself, Bro stops you. “No time for all that.”
You’re disappointed, but you don’t complain. Instead, you watch as he massages lube into his cock and then sets the bottle on top of the toilet paper dispenser. He raises your leg, his slick hands smearing lube on your skin as he stoops down slightly and then pushes forward. You cry out softly and reach up to grab his shoulders, your own shoulders slamming back against the stall door.
“Bro, wait,” you whimper.
“Wrap your legs around me,” he says, but he doesn’t give you the chance to. Just reaches down with one hand, grabs you by the back of your thigh, and hoists you up.
You don’t have a choice but to wrap your legs around him, the heels of your shoes digging into his ass as he pounds into you, rocking you hard against the door, the lock rattling from his thrusts. He’s whispering to you, taunting you about how much you like, while alternating between sucking and biting at your neck.
“D-Don’t leave marks,” you manage to pant out. You’re not dating anyone but you keep showing up at school with hickeys. People are starting to ask questions.
You’re getting sick of lying.
“Too late for that,” he snickers against your neck and slams hard into you. You cry out, but he covers your mouth with his hand just as the bathroom door swings open.
You stare at him, eyes wide, terrified of the thought of someone catching the two of you. You’re not strangers to the Waffle House. You visit quite often, actually, because you don’t own a waffle maker, Bro makes the worst eggs, and you can’t cook.
You hear footsteps followed by the sound of the shutting and locking of the stall door next to you. Bro grinds against you and you swallow back a moan. He smirks at you before thrusting in hard, deep, and slowly. It feels fucking fantastic and you want to scream, but you rest your head against his shoulder and whimper instead. Your cock is trapped between the two of you, gliding back and forth against your stomachs, the tip being caressed by the soft cotton of Bro’s shirt, the pleasure you feel from that friction is indescribable.
Bro shifts his hips again and you frantically shake your head against his shoulder. “F-Fuck, wait,” you whisper.
“Right there?”
“Bro…”
“That it?”
“Fuck… yes…”
He continues, pounding into you, even when the two of you hear the toilet flush next to you and the stall door open once more. The sound of water rushing out of the faucet and into the worn out porcelain sink is almost overpowered by Bro’s heavy breathing.
When the bathroom door opens again, Bro grabs either of your thighs and slams into you, over and over again, making you curse and cry out, begging him to slow down, demanding him not to stop.
You cum with a strangled cry, fingers dragging and scratching along the stall door. You feel paint chipping beneath your fingernails as you shudder, spurting your jizz on Bro’s stomach and on some of his shirt. His fingers dig into the muscles of your thighs and he groans, hips violently jerking and shuddering against you. You close your eyes, feeling his cum squirt inside you, sticky and warm, already rolling back out of you due to gravity.
“Fuuuuuck,” he groans as he helps set you back onto your feet. His forehead is damp, blonde eyebrows dark from perspiration. He pulls his hat off and puts it on top of your head as he goes about pulling wads of cheap toilet paper off the roll to clean up.
You think he likes this part more than anything, probably because you blush and can’t make eye contact with him when he wipes away the evidence.
A few moments later, the two of you exit the restroom and make your way back to the table where Bro throws some money down on top of the bill and then stands in front of the door, arms stubbornly crossed, until you finally retrieve his stupid Rubik’s Cube and give it back to him. He plays with it during your entire walk home.
It doesn’t bother you nearly as much now.