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The room was loud. The rainfall of water from the showerhead filled the room and bounded off the tiles, echoing across the room until what little muted thoughts Driver had were drowned out.
The adrenaline was still racing through him even after what had to have been ten minutes.
By all means, the stunt had been simple—turn a corner, catch the curb fast enough and flip it. Driver pulled it off far above what had been expected of him on the first try—in fact, the director liked it so much he'd called it a day on that first take. He had shaken Driver's hand, remarked on him living up to the rumours and sent him off to get cleaned up.
Due to close-up shots, Driver had been dressed up in fake blood and makeup, since the character he had stepped in to play had been shot and beaten, and while the shots might not have been too close up, discrepancies would have been noticed.
So now here he was, riding out the adrenaline rush from the stunt in the shower.
But he wasn't alone.
The whimper that escaped his throat felt raw. The heat and touch of the other against his back was scorching, so unused to physical contact. It made his skin prickle and gooseflesh rise.
A hand kneaded at a breast, thumb swiping across his nipple—it was worked firm beneath the touch. A foreign sensation. Driver was no stranger to sex; younger and fresh out of ditching his foster parents, he'd made money how and where he could before Shannon had taken him under his wing.
But sex had always been about exchange to Driver. His bastard of a father had taught him that. Sex paid. But Driver had never seen the appeal, never felt a calling, turned a blind eye to anyone flirting with him with what he suspected was the intent to sleep with him.
Since he'd managed to get steady on his feet, since he'd left the side gig of sex work behind, Driver hadn't slept with anyone—and he liked it that way.
So how had he ended up in this position? Why, after all this time with an apathetic take on sex or anything remotely related to arousal, was he letting this happen?
The man was larger than Driver, twice as broad in the shoulders as he was, with muscles that matched. Driver knew he was on the thinner side, slim in a way that made him appear smaller than he was if he played it right. His father had used that when Driver was a kid; it could get him into places a grown adult couldn't.
(Driver had taken after his mother like that, predisposition toward his assigned gender at birth. And he supposed the fact that he'd never taken TRT (couldn't reasonably put money toward it when it was used better elsewhere) probably hadn’t helped, not that he knows a lot about how it would affect him. Nor had he ever had enough money to even consider top surgery.
He was comfortable enough as he was, pretty indifferent in all honesty, especially with how his breasts were barely a handful, which nothing a binder couldn't flatten. But even then, he had always been passing—he'd never been openly clocked as a trans man. Even back as a child, most thought he was a boy long before he'd come to the realisation himself.)
Driver had never given thought to the type of person he liked—never thought he had any sort of preference, especially after all the sort of people he had been exposed to during his life, from law-abiding to criminals. He'd seen probably every kind of person you could name off the top of your head.
None of them had appealed to him.
So why? Why was he here, letting this happen?
The heat of the shower must be getting to him. Driver saw no other explanation.
His fingers, two of them, were fucking him, scissoring and curling and rubbing and—pressing against a spot he didn't know existed. In his position locked in the other's grasp, he could only draw in a sharp, confused breath, tensing, his cunt clenching down. His hands tightened around the horizontal bar before him, where a body wash and shampoo bottle sat unused.
The feeling wasn't one he could describe with words—it was a rush of wanton pleasure that made something within clench tight. He had never felt it before. Another whimper fell from his lips, unbidden.
"That's it, handsome," the man said, something distinctly pleased dripping from his voice. "Just let yourself enjoy it."
Distantly, from what he had glimpsed of the man, a part of Driver recognised him. He was another stuntman, the one employed as the big-shot celebrity's personal stunt double. Driver didn't pay enough attention to that sort of thing, just showed up for the job. He never even watched the movies he was doing the stunts for.
He squeezed a breast, swiped a thumb across Driver's nipple again, the pad of it catching in a way that made his hips buck. The motion only pushed him into the hand between his legs, palm pressing up into his clit that was throbbing in a way he'd never experienced before either. He choked on a breath, biting down on his lip to fight back the noise that almost escaped.
The man tucked his nose against the shell of his ear, breath hot even under the heat of the shower. "You don't need to hold your noises in, handsome."
And then he hit that spot inside Driver again. This time, he couldn't stifle himself in time, a faint, whimpering moan spilling out. His legs trembled, his knees weak.
"We've worked on the same sets before, you know, and I always make sure to watch when you're called up," he said. "Watching you work—I've never seen anyone as skilled as you when it comes to stunt driving. I've even seen you drive normally. Fuck, it's hot."
Driver recognised he was panting, hips twitching, as the once-budding pressure grew. It had been a small thing at first, but now it was rising up as quickly as a tide. The man was jabbing at that sweet spot still, fingers pressing and rubbing before withdrawing to do it all over again.
The sensation was building faster than Driver could grapple with; the soft, poorly bitten back moans still spilling out of him. He felt mortified hearing himself, hearing how it echoed back at him even with the shower running.
"Couldn't help myself when I saw you were heading to the shower block," he said apologetically, nipping at Driver's shoulder. "Intended to introduce myself finally. Promise I didn't follow you out here just to do this."
Driver doesn't know whether to believe him or not—not when he's doing this, working Driver up to an orgasm with such skilled fingers.
It's right there; the glass was almost full, just about to spill over.
Driver couldn't even remember the last time he'd touched himself.
Despite everything, his orgasm still took him by surprise. His back arched, head coming to rest on the man's shoulder as his chest pressed up into the hand kneading it. His own hands clenched the bar as he choked on a sound stuck in his throat.
He shook, coming undone in this unknown man's hands. His cunt clenched and unclenched repeatedly on his fingers still jabbing at that spot, and then, with a keen, there's a new burst of warmth between his legs.
"Oh fuck, sweetheart," he murmured in awe. His fingers renewed their efforts. "That's it."
The man’s words are distant in Driver's ears. It's like his hips have a mind of their own, twitching and jutting into the hand that still hadn't stopped, dragging out the euphoria that's racing through him.
His heart pounded, blood rushing in his ears. It made him lightheaded, the world spinning around him, the heat of the room not helping. He was gasping for air as he came down from his high, water trailing down into his mouth.
The fingers eased out of him with a squelch and rubbed at a hip bone that jutted out.
Driver heaved for air, anything to stop how lightheaded he felt. It helped a little but made him very aware of the hard cock pressed against his butt. It made him choke on his breath all over again.
The guy switched breast, the change sharp. One nipple hot and tender from his treatment, the other not—but not for long. He rolled Driver's pebbled nipple between his fingers.
The guy clearly wasn't done.
Driver found himself being bent forward with a gasp, resting his upper body weight on the bar. He felt even more exposed like this, his cunt on display to the man as he withdrew, hands sliding down Driver's sides to his hips, gripping him there.
Trembling as the other spread his labia (that was the correct term, right?), Driver felt the drool of slick even with the water. His ears burned, feeling the man’s eyes on him.
Driver didn't think he had another in him. But the words were lodged in his throat, and he didn’t move to stop the man either. He probably should, right? Driver hadn't consented to this, didn't even know the guy's name (but he supposed that would make him a hypocrite when he sparsely shared his own).
The moan that slipped out of him when the guy pressed the hot, solid length of his cock across his cunt startled Driver—a lot. He'd never thought he was capable of making a sound like that before.
He's big, some fuzzy part of him thought.
Is it even going to fit? is the next one.
Toes curling, something within Driver clenched with an anticipation he couldn’t decide if he liked or not.
The silence is killing him now, gasping for air as the man just stood there, cock pressed against Driver's cunt. Then—
"May I?"
Oh, so he's asking now?
Arms trembling from where Driver was supporting himself, he turned his head. He doesn't know what he looked like, nor what expression he was wearing, but whatever it was, it made the guy lock onto his face, swallowing thickly.
Driver didn’t say anything—couldn’t really, even if he wanted to. Words often eluded him on good days but now? Now he was struggling to form coherent thoughts.
The head of the guy’s cock prodded at his opening, and Driver looked away again, biting at his lip hard enough to taste blood. That was all the guy did for a long moment, pressing up against him but never quite penetrating.
It drove him mad.
He was whimpering again, pressing his temple against his arm as his body trembled. It felt good; that was the thing. Something so simple—
Finally, finally, the head of his cock popped inside. The sensation alone had Driver clenching down—the way it spread his hole open.
A whine slipped free, however, when he pulled back out.
"Shh, easy, easy," he soothed, rubbing at Driver's waist. "You're tight, handsome."
God, Driver didn't care. He just needed him inside now. Needed to feel the way he would be split open on the guy’s cock, stretched open in a way he had never experienced before. He wanted it to hurt.
He pressed back in, further this time, and it ached in a way Driver needed more of. He drew back, then eased back in, repeating the motion and sank in deeper each time.
The man was thick. Solid in a way that made sure Driver could feel everything.
He's so wet too. Shocked at how wet he was, in fact, as he listened to the noises his cunt made.
Another moan escaped when the hands on his waist tightened, pulling him back as he thrust forward, forcing more of his cock inside. How big was he?
When, at last, it's in, all Driver can think is—full. I’m so full.
He didn't think he could fit another inch inside him, and all he could do was whimper, knees trembling as he panted hot and heavy.
He keened on the slow withdrawing drag that touched every part of him, and when he eased back in, this time all at once, he felt crammed, stuffed; he thought he could feel him in his stomach.
The hands on his hips flexed, fingers digging into his flesh, half pulling him backwards to meet him, dragging Driver impossibly deeper onto his cock.
He choked on a whine, a hand crawling at the wall, nails catching on the edge of a tile as lashes fluttered over rolling eyes.
Was this what sex was supposed to feel like?
He was long and thick, carving mercilessly deep. He's not even moving particularly fast, just an unhurried, leisurely pace. For Driver's sake, no doubt, if his words from earlier meant anything.
But Driver needed more.
And as if sensing that thought, his grip changed, and Driver sparsely had a second to process it before he began moving. Fucking him with a fast, uninterrupted pace, each thrust seemingly targeted because it made Driver clench and squeeze uncontrollably around him.
Keening out pathetic, needy sounds, Driver could only take it as it pressed him further against the wall, feeling the cock scraping against every inch of him. It was so close to that spot from before too.
A hand moved across his stomach, cupping, catching Driver's body with every thrust and—oh God. The sound that left his throat was truly undignified.
The man groaned, pressing more firmly against his tummy, feeling himself as he fucked Driver, each withdrawal and thrust pronounced enough against the pressure of his hand.
Driver came again, eyes rolling back, a pathetic sob in his raw throat as he cunt squeezed rhythmically around the cock fucking him.
The guy didn't stop either; he just kept fucking him through it just like he had before, but this time it was so much more.
His head was spinning, spinning, spinning. He needed—he needed—
The guy pulled all the way out abruptly and Driver cried out in shock, cunt clenching down on nothing.
"Shh, it's okay, it's okay," he said, turning Driver around.
He went, knees threatening to give as he was turned to face him. Then Driver was being hiked up against the wall as he stepped behind Driver's legs.
Instinctively, his legs hooked around the guy's waist, hands crawling for stability on his forearms.
He pushed back in immediately with a wet squelch, and Driver bit his lip, spine arching as he threw his head back. His walls spasmed as the guy’s cock sank deep, deep, deep, until it was all the way back inside. Driver heaved for air, nails digging into flesh.
One of the hands supporting him at his thighs stroked. "That's it. Easy. Take some breaths."
Driver collapsed in on himself, gasping as his head flopped onto the man's shoulder. He crowded Driver closer to the wall, adjusting his grip on him before beginning to fuck Driver again.
He had already come twice. That's twice more than he'd come in the last three, maybe four years. His body was trembling, wrung out, and yet the heat in his navel was unabated, not when the man's cock slid in and out with such obscene noises, hollowing Driver out before filling him up again.
It should be humiliating, hearing the sounds his body was making over the rainfall of water. Inside, Driver was too fucked out, too embroiled in the pleasure, to summon anything but soft moans.
His hips were twitching against his will, his knees clenching the man's waist. He could barely breathe, the lack of air making everything thick as molasses and fuzzy at the edges.
Driver clawed at the man's arms and shoulders and upper back, sobbing as he somehow managed to find that angle again, hitting that spot that sent sparks through every inch of him. He moaned louder, clenching harder.
There was a stutter in the pace, a hitch in the man's breath, before he renewed his pace with vigour. He directed every thrust to the single spot, prodding mercilessly against it with every snap of his hips.
He's keening, he's clawing, he's clenching down on the sensation of the cock pounding directly into the space that had made him feel something he never had before. Driver wanted it; he wanted to feel that euphoria race through his body again.
"Please," he gasped out.
It's the first word he's spoken since this encounter had started, and it was to beg.
The hands on his thigh squeezed and shifted, angling and adjusting and—Drive came with a broken-off wail, head thrown back against the wall with a thud. The pain didn’t register, just the ecstasy that burned through his veins.
The guy didn’t stop either, just kept mercilessly hitting that space, dragging out his orgasm until that pressure was building again. He panted, hot and open-mouthed, as he finally met the man's gaze.
Driver didn't know what he looked like; everything was fuzzy, but the heat that rushed through him as the pressure burst felt like it was worth meeting those eyes. He watched the awe and elation cross the man's face.
"Fuck, again?" he rasped, voice ragged.
His pace was beginning to falter, his grip kneading. Driver might have felt like he was floating, but he had enough brain function to realise what would come next.
His cunt gave a valiant attempt at clenching down at that knowledge, but his muscles were worn, and the man's moans finally registered in Driver's ears.
His grip shifted, supporting Driver more on one hand. Driver just hung there, unable to do anything. Even his grasp on the guy’s shoulders was loose.
He pulled out of Driver; a hand moved quickly to fist himself, pumping his cock until he cummed across Driver's heaving stomach and his achingly empty pussy. He felt himself clench around nothing.
The water quickly began to wash away the evidence.
He kept hold of Driver for a long moment, both hands supporting him again, before easing him closer and off the wall. Driver went easily, slumping against his chest, head limp on his shoulder.
If the man had tried to put him down, Driver would surely collapse. He could barely feel anything except for the stretch of his cunt and the ache left behind.
"I'm Colt, by the way," the guy said after a moment.
Driver made an ambiguous noise, eyes sliding closed. His throat hurt too.
They moved, and Colt sat down on the bench just out of the way of the shower spray.
"…I was serious when I said I didn't intend to just, uh, you know. But you were incredible." A hand stroked Driver's back, slow and gentle. "You did so well for me. You even squirted twice."
Driver made a soft, mortified noise, burying his face deeper into Colt's shoulder—that was the pressure?
Colt chuckled softly. "I have the feeling you don't interact with a lot of people, nor have you been with someone that cares enough to make sure you get off too."
Driver shook his head. No, he hadn't. Not once since he'd first had sex had he ever climaxed before.
"May I know your name?"
Driver was on the tip of his tongue. A habit, an instinct to protect himself. But this guy had just made him cum three times in a row.
"Casey," he murmured, barely audible over the shower.
"Casey, huh?" Colt echoed thoughtfully. "Nice name."
Casey’s ears burned.