Work Text:
The Audi's engine is purring softly as Zeno drives it down the highway towards home. The car rumbles beneath you, a gentle, nearly inaudible sound and an even more subtle vibration as it sails down the road and seamlessly changes lanes as Zeno directs it. Your seat is comfortable, reclined just right to give your back a break after the endless hours you were on your feet for the fancy fundraiser The Connections forced Zeno to attend, and the bottom is heated, warming up your butt and soothing your thighs, letting warmth travel down your legs and relax your muscles slightly.
You look out the window, watching the world pass you by in a blur. As Zeno exits the highway and enters the city proper, streetlights and neon signs get mixed up until they're little more than streaks on your peripheral, as if someone took a wet brush to them and smudged their colours across the canvas.
Drives with Zeno are peaceful. They always have been. He's content to sit in silence with you for hours, just looking at you out of the corner of his eye every few minutes or so and letting you get lost in your head or lose yourself in a book. He doesn't mind when you want to put music on and he's not fussy about what kind – while he has his own preferences, he's always more than happy to listen to your own music even if he doesn't usually go for it when he's by himself.
He's just… so good to you. You wouldn't call him perfect – nobody is and Zeno, especially, has plenty of flaws after the way he grew up and the shit The Connections shoved down his throat when he didn't know any better – but he's perfect for you. You don't think you've ever been loved so unconditionally before. So selfishly in a way that makes you feel precious and priceless. He covets you and he is not shy about it, but he makes you feel like you're the center of his world even when he's pursuing his own goals and desires in relation to you. Because, more often than not, your happiness, pleasure, and comfort are his as well. He gets a kick out of taking care of you and seeing you thriving at his side.
He's an odd man, that's for sure.
But despite his love – and how obvious and hard to overlook it is – insecurities don't much care for logic.
Tonight has been hard. Every day is hard when you don't conform, truly, but tonight has been harder than usual. As a plus size trans man who hasn't had top surgery, you always feel like you stand out even when you're not under scrutiny – but when Zeno paraded you around that ballroom clad in an expensive suit tailored just for you, glued to his side all evening and introduced as his boyfriend to every person he started a conversation with, you'd never felt more scrutinised.
You know what they saw, what they thought when they looked at you. When their gazes flicked from you to Zeno and back again.
‘What's a man like him doing with someone like that?’
‘Surely that's just a passing fancy, rich men's whims, exotic tastes.’
‘It must be a fetish. Young men these days!’
You've heard them all. You know how it goes. You refuse to let it get to you, you really do, but it's hard to do that when everywhere you go, you feel out of place. Growing up, you never fit into this uncomfortable mould everyone tried to shove you into. Even when you didn't hate everything that being a girl ‘meant’, you didn't enjoy it correctly. You didn't perform it right. And any enjoyment was sapped out of you when you saw the quiet hope in people's eyes that you might finally be a proper girl every time you did something right.
Yet now, even when you're being yourself – or trying to, if only the world would let you – you still feel like you don't belong. You still feel wrong.
Not being skinny on top of that is just the cherry on top of this horribly tasting cake iced with poison.
Zeno, of course, noticed your growing discomfort the longer the night dragged on. Finally, at around close to midnight when it was acceptable to leave at long last, he made your excuses and led you quietly out of the venue and back to the car. He hasn't said anything – he never does, he just waits you out and lets you speak when you're ready – and by the time he pulls up in the driveway of his sleek, modern villa in the richest neighbourhood in the city, you haven't spoken a word since you walked out of that place.
He quietly opens the door for you, helping you out of the car, shutting the door in your wake, and locking the car remotely while already pulling you into him. Zeno's arm is warm around your waist when he walks to the front door with you and you lean into him despite it all, because the one thing you can count on in this world is Zeno. His steady, warm presence at your back, his strong, soft hands on your body, his scent in your lungs and his sweetness on your tongue.
Anything else pales in comparison, even if it doesn't quite go away.
You toe your shoes off at the door, not really caring if the expensive Italian shoes you wore to this thing get creased by your rough handling, just needing them off, then let Zeno steer you towards the bedroom. Inside, he sheds his coat first, putting it in the closet on a hanger, then comes back and slowly, one piece of clothing at a time, undresses you.
When you're left in just an undershirt, boxers, and socks, that's when Zeno steps away and starts slowly removing his own suit.
You watch him undress and finally speak.
“I felt inadequate next to you tonight.”
Zeno stops in his movements, letting his very expensive white shirt fall to the floor unceremoniously, and steps over it without care as he comes closer to you. You're sitting on the edge of the bed, which makes you so much shorter than him, but you look up at him to meet his eyes without complaint when he takes his glasses off.
“Was it something I did?”
Of course. His first concern is to make sure he didn't accidentally undermine or belittle you – as if he ever could.
“No,” you deny, shaking your head with a small, wry smile. “You didn't. It's not something you could have helped, anyway. It's just… a reality, I guess.”
“You are not inadequate. You're perfect, I've told you before. There is no reality in which you don't meet every single one of my standards,” Zeno rebuffs immediately.
His words warm you up, of course they do, but a bitter pit of acid still sits in your stomach as you recall the sly glances, the hidden smirks, the side eyes.
“I feel wrong. Too fat, not man enough, not–”
Zeno tilts your chin at the perfect angle to silence you with his soft, warm lips. His kiss is short but sweet, meaningful but meant to simply stop you in your tracks before you can pick up steam. It leaves your lips parted and tingling with the need for more when he pulls away and looks you in the eye. There is softness in his eyes and there is love, but you can also see a fire that is so characteristic of Zeno – always blazing, always intense.
“You,” he starts, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip and digging just slightly into your front teeth, “are gorgeous to me. Man, woman, neither, both – it doesn't matter, not to me, not ever. I love your body whatever it may look like, I love you whatever you may look like. Why would I care? You think I didn't know you were fat when I first saw you? That I wouldn't have walked away if you being trans bothered me?”
“Well, no, but–”
“No ‘but’. I love you, sweetheart. You're more than manly enough for me. You're hot and beautiful and pretty and handsome and every other adjective there is in every dictionary in the world in every language on the planet. Do you want me to say it in French, too, mon amour?”
You laugh at that, charmed by this silly man's devotion and commitment to making you feel loved, and shake your head slightly. His hand is still on your chin, holding your face while his thumb is resting on your bottom lip.
“I don't think that's necessary.”
“À votre guise, monsieur.”
“Cheeky,” you scold without heat, a giggle bubbling to the surface when Zeno leans forward and rubs his nose affectionately against yours.
“Pour toi, beau gosse? Toujours.”
The sound of French rolling so effortlessly off his tongue while so close to your face ignites a fire that had simmered for a time in your gut at the beginning of the evening, before the reality of an imperfect world crashed over you like a bucket of cold water. That fire blazes inside of you once more now and you slide your hands across Zeno's hips and pull him closer into you as your head dips down just right and you capture those perfect lips in a hungry kiss again.
When you break away from him to breathe and see how disheveled he looks after only a kiss – admittedly on the heated side – with a blush high on his pale cheeks making him look good enough to eat, you can't help throwing in your own cheeky line.
“Vous-voulez coucher avec moi, Zeno?”
He laughs, delighted at how lame you are yet so charmed by you nonetheless, and his hands go to his belt buckle and zipper so he can pull down his pants.
“Oui, mon chéri,” he murmurs, shedding his pants without a backwards look, then grabs you under your armpits as if you weigh nothing at all and dumps you further up the bed as he crawls over you with an eager glint in his eye. “Let me show you how much I don't care what you look like.”
The first press of his lips against your throat makes you gasp. His touch is scorching, stoking the flames of your arousal and making you squirm beneath him for a measure of relief. Zeno graciously obliges, placing his knee in between your legs and letting you rut against it while he slowly, heatedly kisses down your throat, across your collarbone, and pulls up your shirt and throws it aside so he can kiss your chest too. He doesn't linger in a way that would make you uncomfortable – just treats it like any other body part, the way you treat his chest, before he moves further down. When his lips reach your belly, discomfort and the urge to hide rise up in you, but you force yourself to ignore him when Zeno gently pulls your inching hands away and keeps them pinned to the sides for a moment.
“None of that,” he scolds, giving you a light glare when you try to avert your gaze. “Don't hide from me. You have nothing to be ashamed of.”
He pulls your underwear down in one swift movement then pulls your legs apart and dives down to taste you. The feeling of his tongue licking up your wetness, his nose bumping against your clit and inhaling your scent loudly as if it's the most exquisite fragrance in the world makes your head spin as you moan without restraint.
“There he is,” Zeno rumbles in approval as his fingers dig into the meat of your fat thighs and pull them apart so he can have better access. “Keep these open for me. Good boy.”
A shiver runs through you at the praise, warmth spreading from your chest outwards, as you do your best to keep your legs apart so Zeno can fit between them comfortably. Satisfied with your compliance, he goes back to what interests him most and starts eating you out like he's at a competition and the prize is getting to do this for the rest of his life.
Zeno is so good at eating you out – it seems like his favourite activity in the world. He makes it feel so natural to not have a cock as a man when he swirls his tongue around your clit and fucks in and out of your hole with just that talented muscle you love so much. He gets lost in it, moaning when you grip his perfectly styled hair and pull, grinding his pelvis down into the mattress with every moan and sigh and whimper that escapes you. When you grab his ears – something he's surprisingly sensitive about, you found out the first time you gently teased him about them – and basically ride his face as you chase your pleasure, he very clearly has to stop himself from chasing his own orgasm and making himself come untouched just from the beautiful sounds you make.
You lie there, panting, in the aftermath, staring at the ceiling as you slowly loosen your grip on him and smooth his hair back in a silent apology for being so rough.
Zeno emerges from between your legs looking like he's on cloud nine, though, and when he steals your mouth for his own you can taste yourself on his tongue. Even his chin is glistening with your release.
“Can I fuck you, sweetheart?” Zeno whispers as he pulls away, licking his lips and looking at you like you're a wonder, like he wants to devour you and leave nothing in his wake. You can feel his erection poking your inner thigh – thick and almost scorching through the fabric of his boxers – and it makes you feel feral with the need to have him inside you right this second.
“Yes, please,” you sigh, whining when he pets your mound and stimulates your still sensitive clit, then roll over until you're on your stomach, two pillows under you keeping your ass up exactly at the height Zeno wants you at.
“So beautiful,” Zeno murmurs, rubbing a broad palm over your cheeks and up your back, making you melt under his touch with just two whispered words. “And all mine.”
He enters you easily, pulling a groan out of you at the delicious stretch, then adjusts his position so he's covering your entire body with his own as he starts fucking you. It's slow and sensual, deep, intimate for the first couple of minutes. His cock seems to reach every hidden nook and cranny of your body as it stretches your hole and presses up against that spot that makes you moan loudly and call out his name in a broken voice. Zeno moans when you tighten around him and snaps his hips harshly against your ass in response. The sharp, abrupt thrust makes you yelp and tighten again, even harder, so Zeno pulls out almost entirely before slamming back in, balls deep, hammering that spot again.
“Oh, just like that,” you moan, sobbing almost when he pulls out again and crashes his hips into your ass, making the bed shake from the force of his thrust. “Please don't stop. Don't ever stop!”
“Anything for my pretty boy,” Zeno purrs in your ear, his hot breath sending shivers down your spine from where it hits your nape.
He grabs your hips tightly then and pounds into you for long minutes – just his powerful thrusts, hard and precise, knocking the breath out of you and turning you into a moaning mess drooling on the sheets. Your orgasm takes you by surprise; you're so lost in how good it feels to have Zeno on top of you and inside of you that you barely notice when the pressure in your lower half becomes unbearable and it finally snaps.
“Oh, oh, fuck!” you curse, moaning loudly, as pleasure takes over you and makes your toes curl while Zeno keeps fucking your spasming, leaking hole and encouraging you to keep going with his whispered praise in your ear.
“That's it, good boy.”
You whimper when he says it, especially when he pulls out a few seconds later and rolls you onto your back again. Zeno climbs up your body until he's hovering over your face while you catch your breath, heavy, wet cock in hand, and you happily open your mouth to let him shallowly thrust into your mouth while jerking off until he spills onto your tongue with a low moan. You swirl your tongue over the tip to gather every last drop then swallow his cum and kiss the tip when you're done.
He gently pets your face in gratitude, his breathing laboured and his eyes half mast as he gazes down at you. You give him a smile and a pat on the thigh in return before he shuffles down the bed until he can lie down on his side and pull your body close to his.
“That was very good, thank you,” he says, smoothing a hand over your flank and leaning closer to nuzzle his nose against your neck, pressing soft kisses there that tickle your skin and make you squirm.
“You're the only person who's ever thanked me for sex, you know.”
He pulls away from your neck to grin down at you and he looks like such a young boy instead of the forty-something year old he's supposed to be – biologically at least – that it pulls at your heartstrings immediately. You love it when he's so open and honest about his feelings around you that he forgets to glare down at everything around him and frown in displeasure to appear more intimidating.
“I may have been raised in a lab, but I was taught manners, sweetheart.”
“Hmm, so should I start thanking you after every orgasm, too?” you wonder teasingly, rolling over on your side and placing a hand on his chest as you lift yourself up enough to kiss his collarbones and lightly nip at the bones that stand out against his pale skin.
“That's not– ugh! – necessary,” Zeno dismisses between hitched breaths that get more laboured the more you kiss and suck at his skin, leaving marks that will fade away in a day at most, while your thigh wedges itself between his legs and rubs gently at his flaccid cock. It won't take much to get him hard again, especially when he's already twitching and starting to leak from the tip again.
Your fingers skim over his belly, feeling the muscles jump and contract under your teasing touch, and this is much better at making you feel confident that, no matter what others might think, this gorgeous man loves you just fine. It's hard to deny – no pun intended – when only a few touches and a well placed kisses can get him hard again after just coming in your mouth not even a minute ago.
“I think I'd rather show you how thankful I am, anyway,” you whisper, right against his ear, before you bite down on his lobe and swirl your tongue around his dagger earring. Your hand finds his half-hard cock and starts pumping slowly while you play with his ear and Zeno shudders and moans, melting into a puddle and letting himself be played with to your heart's content.
You banish your insecurities for the night to a dark corner of your mind and instead focus on getting your boyfriend erect again so you can ride him until your thighs start cramping, then let him take over and fuck you into the mattress again. Bet a lot of those posh assholes at the fundraiser would kill to be in your place right now, huh?