(Disney) Liquored Down
Title: Liquored Down
Fandom: Disney - Tangled
Pairing: Stabbington Brothers/Flynn
Rating: NC-17
Words: 5658
Timeline: Pre-movie
Notes: Dirty talk. Exhibitionism. Questionable consent. Rimming. Spanking. Spoilers. Threesome. For a prompt at the disney_kink meme.
A/N: More Disney smut. I feel sick, twisted, and incredible accomplished. Two new fics since Sunday! Yay!
Summary: A few too many drinks, and suddenly they're seeing a side to Rider they never expected.
Stabbington rolls his eyes and throws back the last of his ale. Let Rider keep making his ridiculous toasts before every drink, he’s beyond caring. He hasn’t grown used to Rider or anything, still doesn’t trust the bastard in the slightest. But they actually have cause to celebrate for once, a heist that may not have gone off as planned but still had their pockets laden down with shiny coins, which definitely marks it as a success. Their first, if anyone’s keeping count.
Rider probably is keeping count, even if he insists on acting like he steals for the fun, not the reward.
Stabbington can see the greed there, though. The hunger. Rider may pretend it’s all about the chase, but the spoils are all the duplicitous little shit really cares about.
Another toast, and Rider must be running out of pretty ways to congratulate himself by now. He may have only drunk half as much as Stabbington, but there has to be a limit in the different ways a man can sing his own praises.
“C’mon, Patch, drink up!” Rider cries with a hearty laugh and slaps Stabbington’s twin on the back, ignoring the icy glare he receives in return, the one eye narrowing dangerously.
They’ve never told Rider their given names, Stabbington and his twin. Rider doesn’t need to know them.
They hadn’t counted on Rider’s little pet names.
Stabbington doesn’t especially mind the name Rider has christened him with, not that he’ll ever admit as much out loud. ‘Burns’ at least sounds dangerous, and Stabbington scratches idly at the sideburns that inspired the name. ‘Patch’, on the other hand, sounds like the name a young child would give its first pet dog, and it winds his twin up like nothing else. Rider doesn’t see that, of course. Not in the way Stabbington sees it. When most people look at his twin, they see simple anger and nothing else. They don’t see the levels of rage there, not the way Stabbington does.
His twin wants to hurt Rider, tear him apart and gnaw at the pieces. And one day Rider is going to rip them off, the double-cross utterly inevitable, and as he leaves he’s going to make the mistake of saying goodbye to ‘Patch’. And Stabbington will watch his twin’s anger overcome whatever predicament Rider has left him in, breaking through whatever trap Rider lets them fall into, and he’ll chase Rider to the ends of the earth so he can wipe that smug, pretty-boy grin off his face.
So Stabbington doesn’t make any comment about the nicknames. Rider’s digging his own grave with them, and Stabbington lets his twin simmer because that’s what will give them an edge against Rider when they need it.
Rider thinks he’s so smart. Tells them as much, too. Always talking about how he’s the brains and they’re the brawn, never mind that they got on just as well without him. May not have landed every score they went after, but since this is the first they’ve managed since Rider joined them, his presence doesn’t count for as much as he thinks it does.
Rider isn’t the brains, whatever he may tell them and himself and the entire pub as he raises his tankard in another slurred toast to his own daring.
Rider is the face.
On the verge of leaving his teens behind and so damn cocky for it, but it’s the one place he has a right to be cocky. He can switch between butter-wouldn’t-melt sincerity and lustful gazes the way most people blink. He can gain people’s trust with just a soulful look into their eyes. He can get their gang closer to better people, and better people have better loot.
And when the time comes, when they’ve gained enough of a reputation that the law starts after them? It’s Rider’s face people that people will remember. It’s Rider’s face the royal guards will be chasing. It’s Rider’s face that will get him in trouble, and all Stabbington and his twin have to do is step out of the way and let Rider take the fall.
They know Rider will double-cross them. Arrogant prick probably doesn’t even credit them with enough intelligence to realise they have their own treacherous plans.
Stabbington glances over at that face, at the mouth pulled back in any easy grin, teeth glinting white in the dim light of the pub. Those brown eyes are slightly unfocused, idiot kid clearly not knowing how to handle his booze.
If Rider passes out in the pub, Stabbington is just going to leave him there. After he’s relieved him of the coins they’d stolen earlier, of course.
He stands and heads for the nearest table. Swipes the first full tankard of ale he sees, and its owner is stupid enough to jump to his feet and try to square off to him. He blanches slightly when he realises he barely reaches Stabbington’s shoulder, mutters his excuses and sinks back down on to the bench. Stabbington grunts and moves back to his own table with his new drink.
Not all theft requires finesse.
Rider makes a grand sweeping motion with the arm still holding his own half-full tankard, a good helping of ale sloshing over the sides. Stabbington’s twin frowns over the theatrics, staring moodily across the room. Looking for a fight, no doubt, because Stabbington can always tell when restless energy in his twin turns into a need for violence.
Bar fights are just how they celebrate.
Except, before his twin can find a suitable target to leave a bloody, broken mess, Rider lets out this really weird drunken laugh that sounds suspiciously like a giggle and flops forward. Facedown. Into his twin’s lap.
Stabbington watches his twin’s good eye get really, really wide.
His twin grabs Rider by the back of his shirt and pulls him up, roughly nudging him back into a sitting position. Rider looks flushed and dazed and incredibly drunk. He opens his mouth, possibly to say something, before he apparently changes his mind, eyes falling shut as he flops forward again.
There’s a grunt of pain from his twin as Rider’s face connects solidly with crotch once again.
Stabbington doesn’t know whether to laugh or not. This’ll give him ammunition for weeks - every time Rider starts mouthing off, he can remind him about his little drunken crotch-diving adventure.
And then all notions of laughter die as he notices something changing in his twin’s expression.
Stabbington slowly lowers his tankard to the table and moves to his left. Just enough to shield his twin from the eyes of everyone else in the pub. Just enough so he can see what’s making his twin’s lips press together tightly enough that they’re turning white.
Rider is sprawled across the bench, his face buried in Stabbington’s twin’s lap. But he’s not unconscious, definitely not, and he’s moving, shifting slightly, and Stabbington can see that his mouth is open, panting wetly as he mouths at the fabric, at the outline of the cock underneath.
Stabbington looks up sharply at his twin’s expression. They may not always get along, but they shared a womb and there are certain times he still feels that connection, as if they share one mind.
This is one of those times, and they move together, his twin hauling up Rider’s weight, Stabbington pulling him off the bench. Rider mutters something to himself, looking around in apparent surprise to find himself suddenly on his feet. He staggers, but Stabbington and his twin stand either side of him, and together they swiftly march him out of the pub.
*
Rider makes this pained little noise when he’s thrown back against the wall. He’s blinking a lot, like he can’t quite get his eyes to work, and every blink is strangely slow, as if it takes great effort.
“Want to tell us what the fuck that was, Rider?” Stabbington snarls, getting right in Rider’s face, pressing close enough to feel warm breath that smells like ale on his face.
Rider manages another of those slow blinks, and then he laughs that weird, high-pitched laugh again, only this time there’s something else to it. Nervousness, Stabbington realises.
“What was what?” Rider says around that mouthful of anxious laughter. “C’mon guys, we’re just having a drink. Let’s go back inside…”
He turns and Stabbington steps back and allows it, because Rider isn’t going to get far. Sure enough, his twin’s arm snaps out, palm of his hand slamming against the stone wall beside Rider’s head.
He watches Rider’s expression, the way everything about him just freezes, lips parted and eyes fucking huge. Holding his breath before it releases in a shaky exhale and Rider’s gaze stares at the hand blocking his path, slides to the twin’s face, back to the hand, before it fixes on the mouth of the alleyway they’re currently standing in.
“We’re done drinking,” Stabbington murmurs, and he watches the way Rider swallows, the bob of his Adam’s apple.
Rider’s mouth opens, closes, opens again, and Stabbington should be happy he’s finally found a way to shut the bastard up, but he’s a little distracted by that caged look in Rider’s eyes.
“Get on your knees.”
His voice is quiet but leaves no room for argument, and Rider just does it, sinks to the floor like he has no choice, like his legs can’t support him. Obedient, probably for the first time in his entire life, and Stabbington hears the hiss that escapes his twin’s lips.
Stabbington moves until he’s right in front of Rider, feels his twin also move to shelter them from anyone who might happen to glance down the pub back alley.
Rider’s head is directly level with Stabbington’s crotch, and the expression on his face makes something uncoil low in Stabbington’s gut, something that’s hot enough to burn. Rider’s pupils are dilated, his eyes fixed between Stabbington’s thighs, his mouth slightly slack and his breath quick and shallow.
Stabbington drops a thick hand to his crotch, palms at himself as he begins to fill in anticipation.
“You want this,” he growls, and it’s not a question. On any other day, Rider wouldn’t look twice at him and his brother, wouldn’t allow himself to, probably wouldn’t even realise he wants to. But right now Rider is too wasted to hide it.
God, does the kid even know how hungry he looks?
Stabbington’s fingers roughly hook under the waistband of his britches and he shoves them down his thighs, cock already half-hard, arching towards Rider’s lips.
Rider stares like he’s forgotten how to look away.
“Suck me,” Stabbington commands in a voice low and full of threat.
Rider bites at his lower lip and he jerks once, all over, full body shudder. Something flickers on his face, something like realisation, like he’s remembering who he’s supposed to be and all the reasons this is messed up. Stabbington watches, waiting, expecting Rider to come to his senses and dimly aware that he’s too gone, too turned on, and if Rider says no, Stabbington isn’t sure he’s going to accept that, isn’t sure he’s capable of stopping.
And then Rider leans forward, mouth just opening to it, wet perfect heat, and Stabbington grits his teeth and feels. Rider’s tongue against him, mapping him, tasting, licking at him, strong path up the shaft and then gentler pressure at the head. Experimental and cautious and precisely the opposite of what Stabbington needs.
“I said suck me!” he snaps, and Rider makes this surprised noise around him, sharp hum of vibration, before doing exactly what he’s told.
Strong, steady, instant suction, cheekbones standing out starkly as Rider’s cheeks hollow. Eyes closed, thick dark eyelashes fluttering slightly, too fucking pretty for his own good. He’s not completely inexperienced, Stabbington would wager, but there’s not much in the way of technique to what he’s doing.
Doesn’t matter. Stabbington knows what he wants.
Another of those little sounds that catches in Rider’s throat and strums against the underside of Stabbington’s cock when he reaches out a hand to grip roughly at Rider’s hair. Soft, ridiculously so, and Stabbington pulls at it, forces Rider back until just the head of his cock is in Rider’s mouth. Rider glances up at him, looking confused, and then he jerks Rider forwards again, feels that heat yield to him as he forces his way back into Rider’s mouth. Grunts as Rider makes a muffled sound almost like a sob around him, only it’s needy, desperate, and Rider’s trying to suck at him again instantly. Rocks back on his heels, knees pressed to the filthy ground, when Stabbington pushes him back again, pulls him forward, thrusting his hips with it now as he builds a rhythm. Steady pull as he fucks Rider’s mouth, and Rider just groans for it like he’ll never get enough, like he’s not alive without Stabbington’s cock between his lips.
Shit, the heat of it, the sounds Rider makes, and Stabbington can hear his own breathing growing more ragged. So wet, and there’s saliva dripping on to Rider’s chin where he can’t manage to breathe through his nose and swallow at the same time. Flushed, his fingers curled at his sides as Stabbington uses him, looking the best kind of mess, all that bravado and arrogance falling away.
Stabbington knows he isn’t going to last and he doesn’t even care.
Thrusting forward, rocking back, fierce buzzing behind his eyes and at the base of his spine, need and lust, and his fist pounds into the stone wall in front of him hard enough to shake loose grit and moss as he snarls in anger and completion and comes down Rider’s throat.
Lets Rider take all of it, holding him awkwardly suspended, Stabbington’s cock twitching between his lips before Stabbington drops his hand from Rider’s hair.
He expects Rider to pull back instantly, but the bastard doesn’t. He keeps sucking gently at the softening flesh in his mouth, tongue pressing up against it, flutter of feeling against already sensitised nerves, and Stabbington has to get a hand on Rider’s forehead and push him back just to get Rider to let him go.
There’s a trail of Stabbington’s come on Rider’s chin, mixed with the saliva, catching what little light there is. That hair he obsesses over so much looks ruffled and untidy.
Rider looks completely lost, dizzy and confused and young, and there’s a spreading wet patch on the front of his breeches.
The throb between Stabbington’s legs is sudden and sharp enough to hurt, and he’s not a teenager anymore but he can feel his body wanting to be hard again.
He hears his twin shift behind him, moving closer, and then there’s a voice at the end of the alley.
“Oi, what are you lot doing down there?”
Stabbington sneers, tugs his britches back up, looks beyond his twin’s shoulder at the drunk swaying in the moonlight, bottle of rum cradled lovingly to his chest.
“You get the booze,” he says, nodding towards the interloper, before jerking his thumb at Rider. “I’ll get the kid.”
*
The inn room only has one single bed - the heist may have been successful but they still can’t afford to be flashy. And they didn’t want to seem suspicious, three men looking to share a room. Stabbington had entered the inn alone, handed over the money and been shown to a room. Opened the window once inside, and his twin was waiting in the darkness outside, Rider beside him, one huge hand wrapped around Rider’s bicep to keep him from running away.
Pointless, Stabbington thinks. Rider isn’t going anywhere.
Except Rider is talking again when they half-push, half-drag his ass through the window. Babbling, drunken ridiculousness, and there’s that weird nervous laughter again. Sobering up, Stabbington realises, just enough that the hungry look he wore before has vanished behind Rider’s normal mask of casual charm. It’s a sloppier mask than usual but it’s there, and Rider’s already gearing up to talk his way out of what just happened, Stabbington can see it.
His twin can see it, too. He bites the cork out of the bottle he’d taken from the drunk who was now lying in a battered heap in the alley. Takes a long pull of rum, and Rider’s mid-word when his chin is grabbed and he’s forcefully turned towards the twin, which means his mouth is open. Stabbington smirks to himself as his twin seals his mouth over Rider’s, a few drops of rum escaping before he gets the angle right, and Rider swallows the liquid forced into his mouth instinctively. Coughs against the harsh burn of it as soon as his mouth is free, sways a little on the spot with it.
Stabbington turns as his twin takes another swig, moves to close the window, close the shutters, hearing the indignant splutter as Rider is fed another helping of rum.
When he’s done, Rider looks closer to that same level of drunkenness he’d displayed in the alley. Maybe he’s there again, at whatever weird point they’ve accidentally discovered that makes Rider stop wanting women and crave something only the brothers can give him. Maybe he’s only pretending. It doesn’t matter.
“That’s enough,” Stabbington grunts when his twin goes to raise the bottle again. “Bend him over the bed.”
Rider shivers, takes a step back, eyes flickering between the two of them, a flush high on his cheeks. But he doesn’t run, doesn’t even try to, as a hand grabs him roughly by the back of the neck and throws him facedown on the mattress.
Stabbington moves closer, reaches out to get his hands in that hair again. Even after the earlier abuse, it’s still soft and tangle-free, and Stabbington grips it harder than necessary, yanks Rider’s head up. Stabbington’s twin is standing right in front of Rider now, tugging his britches out of the way to reveal how achingly hard he is.
“It’s his turn, Rider,” Stabbington hisses.
Rider swallows several times, his neck arched awkwardly in Stabbington’s hold so each swallow sounds loud in the quiet room. Nervously wets his lips, hint of pink tongue, as he stares at the shape of the cock in front of him.
“I don’t -” Rider whispers, before he swallows yet again. His voice is a little stronger on his second attempt at words, a little closer to the usual Rider swagger. “This is, I mean, c’mon Patch, let’s just -”
He doesn’t get any further. Rider got off in that alley, and if that’s taken the edge off for him, helped him come to his senses, then so be it. But Stabbington’s twin isn’t done yet, and his eye flares at that hated nickname, teeth grinding together hard enough they should be sparking. His hand shoots out, clamping on Rider’s jaw, one thumb pressing between his lips to hold Rider’s mouth open, and there’s no warning before he thrusts inside.
And Rider just groans for it, eyes falling shut, voice muffled around the thick cock pumping between his lips. None of those experimental licks this time, because Rider has always been a quick learner, just lips tight around the flesh and wet sucking sounds. When Stabbington lets go of Rider’s hair, Rider doesn’t even react, doesn’t try to escape, just keeps taking it, awkwardly balanced across the bed on his hands and knees.
It’s Stabbington’s twin’s turn, but Stabbington isn’t going to just watch. He’s never been the patient one, and they’ve never had someone like Rider in their bed before. Pale, unscarred flesh, slender waist, long, lithe limbs, and that damn face. Even the whores they’ve found the money for haven’t looked as good as Rider does. If they had, Stabbington would never have been able to afford them.
He usually goes for women, but he’s learnt to appreciate men too. It depends on location - in some areas, male whores are more expensive than the women, in others they’re comparatively dirt-cheap. So Stabbington knows from experience exactly how this all works, even if he never thought he’d be doing it to Rider.
Moves behind him, shoves the vest and shirt higher up his back so there’s a strip of flesh on show above the waistband of his breeches. Rider is rocking slightly as Stabbington’s twin uses his mouth, those wet noises echoing in Stabbington’s mind. He tugs the breeches down, peeling the stickier material away from Rider’s crotch, and he sees Rider falter slightly. Maybe even try to pull back, but his twin’s hand getting a hold of Rider’s hair halts his progress.
Rider’s still a brat about a lot of things, no matter how worldly he claims to be, and Stabbington wonders briefly if Rider has any idea what he’s just let himself in for.
Round, firm ass, paler than the skin of Rider’s arms, his face. Stabbington just stares at it for a moment, hungry for what he’s planning, then he looks up at his twin. Gets a nod, jerky but full of understanding, and his twin’s fingers move over Rider’s face, both hands cupping his jaw. Stabbington can’t see from this angle but he knows his twin is holding Rider’s mouth open; wouldn’t want Rider forgetting himself in surprise and using his teeth.
And Rider is surprised, high-pitched yelp muffled by the flesh in his mouth as Stabbington’s hand falls against his bare ass with a harsh slapping sound that rings around the room.
“Not forgetting about me, are you Rider?” he murmurs, and he can’t see what expression is on Rider’s face, but his twin can and Rider must look real good right now, judging by the dangerous smirk his twin is wearing. Stabbington can almost visualise it, those brown eyes wide with shock, apprehension, need.
Maybe Rider’s figured out what Stabbington’s planning. Good. He wants Rider to know precisely what’s in store for him. “Never figured you for such a slut,” Stabbington rumbles, keeping his voice as mockingly conversational as he can. “Don’t think one guy is gonna be enough for you, is it?”
The whine Rider gives in response sounds like an injured animal, and Stabbington feels the hairs on his arms stand on end at the sound of it. His twin hisses, and Rider’s head is moving faster now, bobbing enthusiastically as his mouth makes obscene noises.
When Stabbington’s thumbs run up the cleft of Rider’s ass to hold his cheeks spread, the shudder Rider gives is fierce enough that he almost loses his grip.
He doesn’t have the patience for teasing, but he’s not stupid enough to rush. Needs to prepare Rider, or this isn’t going to work for either of them. Male whores are usually smart enough to carry a supply of oil or something equally slippery to make things easier, but right now they don’t have anything like that, so Stabbington figures saliva will have to do.
He drops to his knees behind Rider, and at the first sweep of his tongue over Rider’s entrance he’s rewarded with what can only be described as a desperate wail. Not muffled, which means his twin has pulled out, probably just to hear Rider’s reaction to what he knows Stabbington is doing. He and his twin, they think alike, and Stabbington has to admit, he hates Rider’s smarmy voice but he fucking loves all these noises they’re discovering Rider capable of making.
He shifts just enough that he can see around Rider. Makes eye contact with his twin, and they don’t have to say anything but the mental countdown starts between them instantly. Three, two, one, and Stabbington shoves his tongue forward, knowing his twin is pressing his cock back into Rider’s mouth at the exact same time, and Rider just shakes between them like he’s going to crumble to pieces.
Licking at Rider, alternating between sweeping his tongue around the puckered flesh and pressing inside, forcing the muscle open, feeling Rider give around him. Rider’s making an almost constant stream of noise now, maybe an attempt at words, but he sounds too lost, too anxious, and everything is muffled by the heated flesh in his mouth. His twin must be getting close now, and Stabbington just keeps licking at Rider’s entrance, letting himself practically drool over it, until the skin there glistens with saliva, and Rider’s hole looks pink and so, so inviting.
It’s an accident, or maybe it isn’t, because that special connection between the twins makes itself know at the oddest times, but Stabbington reaches up and pushes his finger inside Rider at the same time his twin grunts and releases into Rider’s mouth.
Rider shivers again, rocks between them, fingers clawing frantically at the sheets. He pulses tightly around Stabbington’s finger, and when his twin steps back, Rider coughs and gasps and lets his arms collapse beneath him. Sprawled with his chest against the bed, face turned to one side, flushed and sweaty, parted lips swollen. Knees still beneath him, ass in the air, and Stabbington can’t help but think of all the times Rider’s insulted them, called them classless, and he’s a little rough when he pulls his finger out and shoves it back in, but Rider only whimpers.
Stabbington’s twin is breathing heavily, mouth open and eyes heavy. Catches Stabbington’s eye, and even after coming down Rider’s throat, Stabbington knows what his twin is thinking.
Don’t stop, don’t go easy on him.
Stabbington won’t.
He leans forward so he can lick around his finger, get it nice and wet, and then he pushes another one in beside it, slight resistance before Rider’s hole opens to him.
“Nnh, wait,” Rider moans, his eyes closed, and the words may be a protest but his tone is anything but.
“No,” Stabbington replies simply, two fingers moving in and out of Rider’s raised ass. “You’re not in charge here. You’re just gonna take it.”
Rider instantly tightens around his fingers, pulse of tension, and Stabbington’s starting to see red, can’t wait much longer.
“This how it is with you, Rider?” he growls, hand moving faster now. He can see Rider trying to get his hands under himself, trying to push himself up, but the force of Stabbington’s thrusting fingers keeps knocking back to the mattress. “Ladies man until you get a few drinks in you, right? Then you can’t get enough of having a cock down your throat?”
“Sh-shut up,” Rider groans, sounding breathy, voice cracked and abused.
Stabbington gives one last wet sweep of his tongue around the base of his fingers, and then he slides them from Rider’s ass. “Bet that made you real popular at that orphanage.”
Rider finds the strength to snap his head up, looking back over his shoulder with his weight propped on one elbow. “Fuck you!” he tries to bellow, but he doesn’t have enough voice left for any kind of volume.
Stabbington grins, sharp and wicked, and rises to stand. It hurts to move, cock trapped in his britches and twitching against the material as Rider’s eyes instantly drop to stare at the bulge of it. “Nah,” he says quietly. “That’s not the plan here.”
Rider makes an attempt to scramble away this time. Probably pissed because the orphanage thing was a low blow, and he honestly thinks Rider never meant to tell them about that. Not that the twins give a crap, they basically raised each over, but Rider’s really protective of his past.
It’s easy to grab Rider’s ankle, drag him back, and then Stabbington pulls at Rider’s shoulder as he settles back against the headboard, tugging until Rider’s on his lap. Rider keeps squirming and hissing, right until Stabbington reaches around him and wraps his hand around the base of Rider’s cock, and Rider just melts against him. His back pressed to Stabbington’s chest, head lolling backwards to rest on Stabbington’s shoulder, low moan rattling in his throat.
“You like sucking cock, don’t you?” Stabbington murmurs in Rider’s ear, and Rider’s jaw clamps shut but he shudders at the words, twitching in Stabbington’s grip. “Let’s see how good you look with my cock in your ass.”
He reaches down, pushes Rider’s breeches as far down his legs as he can. Wraps his hand around the back of Rider’s thigh and pulls it up, leg bending closer so he can push the breeches and Rider’s boot off. Without the clothes stretching between Rider’s legs, he can hold him as spread open as he wants, and Rider just allows it, like he’s made his token protests and now he’s ready to surrender completely.
“You’re gonna take everything I give you,” he hisses into the warm skin of Rider’s neck. Can’t resist darting his tongue out, tasting the sweat beading there. “And you’re gonna put on a nice show for my brother.”
Rider inhales sharply, glances over at Stabbington’s twin, who’s looming at the foot of the bed, staring at Rider with the kind of intensity he usually only shows right before he starts breaking men’s bones.
“You want it.” Stabbington grips Rider’s hips, muscles flexing as he lifts Rider’s slighter weight until the head of his cock is nudging maddeningly at Rider’s entrance. “Say you want it.”
Rider only gasps, shifting as much as he can, trying to press back but unable to shake Stabbington’s hold on him.
“Say you want it.”
Another gasp, Rider’s fingernails scraping roughly over Stabbington’s arms, and then a soft moan. “W-want it…”
He should make Rider say it louder, shout it for the whole inn to hear. He should make Rider tell him exactly what he wants and how hard he wants it, should make Rider fucking beg for his cock. But Stabbington’s patience runs out at the tremor in Rider’s voice, and he bares his teeth and pulls Rider’s weight down on to his cock.
Rider gives a harsh shout as the head pushes through the initial resistance. Stabbington doesn’t know if Rider’s a virgin for this, doesn’t really care, but he can bet nobody’s treated Rider this roughly before. Not pretty little Flynn Rider, nobody would dare hurt him in any way, but Stabbington just groans at the feeling of Rider slowly sinking lower on to his straining cock. So hot, even better than the kid’s mouth, and Rider’s back arches, like he’s trying to get away, like he’s trying to get more.
Stabbington isn’t going to give him time to adjust. Wraps his hands around the back of Rider’s legs, one just above his knee, the other just below his ass, holding Rider spread open for his twin’s enjoyment. Rider’s weight is leant back against him, one of Rider’s hands braced on Stabbington’s forearm, and Stabbington uses his considerable strength to lift Rider, let gravity pull him back down on to Stabbington’s cock. Lift, drop, lift, drop, and there are noises being forced free of Rider’s throat now every time Stabbington pulls him back down. With nothing to muffle them, Stabbington can make out the words there, curses, pleas for more. Desperate little sounds, throaty groans, Rider’s usually smug voice breaking around every syllable.
So damn tight inside, fucking perfect, and Rider’s back slides against his chest slightly, their skin drenched in sweat. “Bet you know exactly what you look like right now, don’t you?” Stabbington sneers, chest burning with the need for more air but not able to catch his breath. “Bet you know how good you look, held open like this. You like being watched, don’t you?”
The pitch of Rider’s groans rises, turns more frantic, and he’s trying to move in Stabbington’s grip, writhing as he tries to impale himself more fully. Trying to take back control but not able to, Stabbington’s strength too much. Stabbington is close, so damn close, feeling Rider pulsing around him, undulating against him, hearing all the sounds he’s dragging from Rider’s lips.
“Come for me, you little bitch,” Stabbington snarls, and Rider just falls apart. Constricting around Stabbington’s cock, tight enough to hurt, whole body tensing as he trembles uncontrollably, long, husky moan as his fingers dig into Stabbington’s arm. Taking Stabbington over the edge with him, rocking his hips up into that heat one last time as he spills into Rider’s ass, vision blacking out for a moment just from the force of it, the sensation. Sucking in deep breaths that don’t seem to reach his lungs, Rider’s sweat on his lips, and then Stabbington slumps back against the headboard, and Rider slumps back against him.
He can’t even move, just sits there for several minutes, until it registers that Rider’s breathing is deep and slow.
The bastard is actually asleep.
No, not asleep. Unconscious, blacked out, and Stabbington uses the last of his energy to lift Rider off of him and roll him over to lie on the mattress.
He sits on the edge of the bed, just waiting for his heartbeat to slow, until he feels his twin’s expectant stare.
Stabbington can already guess what will happen in the morning. Rider will make a great show of pretending the whole thing never happened, despite the fact he’s going to wake up sore and covered in come because there’s no way in hell Stabbington is going to clean the brat up. But Rider won’t leave them, not after that successful heist. He needs them, and they’ve proven their worth. Rider may value his pride, but he values jewels more.
Rider will probably privately vow not to get drunk around them again. But then they’ll pull off another score, land something pricey, and Rider’s never been one to deny himself indulgence, and a quick drink to celebrate will turn into two, three, a few more. Inevitable, really.
Stabbington glances up at his twin, at the knowing grin. “Yeah,” he says with a matching smirk. “You can have him next time.” Because they both already know, there will be a next time…
Fandom: Disney - Tangled
Pairing: Stabbington Brothers/Flynn
Rating: NC-17
Words: 5658
Timeline: Pre-movie
Notes: Dirty talk. Exhibitionism. Questionable consent. Rimming. Spanking. Spoilers. Threesome. For a prompt at the disney_kink meme.
A/N: More Disney smut. I feel sick, twisted, and incredible accomplished. Two new fics since Sunday! Yay!
Summary: A few too many drinks, and suddenly they're seeing a side to Rider they never expected.
Stabbington rolls his eyes and throws back the last of his ale. Let Rider keep making his ridiculous toasts before every drink, he’s beyond caring. He hasn’t grown used to Rider or anything, still doesn’t trust the bastard in the slightest. But they actually have cause to celebrate for once, a heist that may not have gone off as planned but still had their pockets laden down with shiny coins, which definitely marks it as a success. Their first, if anyone’s keeping count.
Rider probably is keeping count, even if he insists on acting like he steals for the fun, not the reward.
Stabbington can see the greed there, though. The hunger. Rider may pretend it’s all about the chase, but the spoils are all the duplicitous little shit really cares about.
Another toast, and Rider must be running out of pretty ways to congratulate himself by now. He may have only drunk half as much as Stabbington, but there has to be a limit in the different ways a man can sing his own praises.
“C’mon, Patch, drink up!” Rider cries with a hearty laugh and slaps Stabbington’s twin on the back, ignoring the icy glare he receives in return, the one eye narrowing dangerously.
They’ve never told Rider their given names, Stabbington and his twin. Rider doesn’t need to know them.
They hadn’t counted on Rider’s little pet names.
Stabbington doesn’t especially mind the name Rider has christened him with, not that he’ll ever admit as much out loud. ‘Burns’ at least sounds dangerous, and Stabbington scratches idly at the sideburns that inspired the name. ‘Patch’, on the other hand, sounds like the name a young child would give its first pet dog, and it winds his twin up like nothing else. Rider doesn’t see that, of course. Not in the way Stabbington sees it. When most people look at his twin, they see simple anger and nothing else. They don’t see the levels of rage there, not the way Stabbington does.
His twin wants to hurt Rider, tear him apart and gnaw at the pieces. And one day Rider is going to rip them off, the double-cross utterly inevitable, and as he leaves he’s going to make the mistake of saying goodbye to ‘Patch’. And Stabbington will watch his twin’s anger overcome whatever predicament Rider has left him in, breaking through whatever trap Rider lets them fall into, and he’ll chase Rider to the ends of the earth so he can wipe that smug, pretty-boy grin off his face.
So Stabbington doesn’t make any comment about the nicknames. Rider’s digging his own grave with them, and Stabbington lets his twin simmer because that’s what will give them an edge against Rider when they need it.
Rider thinks he’s so smart. Tells them as much, too. Always talking about how he’s the brains and they’re the brawn, never mind that they got on just as well without him. May not have landed every score they went after, but since this is the first they’ve managed since Rider joined them, his presence doesn’t count for as much as he thinks it does.
Rider isn’t the brains, whatever he may tell them and himself and the entire pub as he raises his tankard in another slurred toast to his own daring.
Rider is the face.
On the verge of leaving his teens behind and so damn cocky for it, but it’s the one place he has a right to be cocky. He can switch between butter-wouldn’t-melt sincerity and lustful gazes the way most people blink. He can gain people’s trust with just a soulful look into their eyes. He can get their gang closer to better people, and better people have better loot.
And when the time comes, when they’ve gained enough of a reputation that the law starts after them? It’s Rider’s face people that people will remember. It’s Rider’s face the royal guards will be chasing. It’s Rider’s face that will get him in trouble, and all Stabbington and his twin have to do is step out of the way and let Rider take the fall.
They know Rider will double-cross them. Arrogant prick probably doesn’t even credit them with enough intelligence to realise they have their own treacherous plans.
Stabbington glances over at that face, at the mouth pulled back in any easy grin, teeth glinting white in the dim light of the pub. Those brown eyes are slightly unfocused, idiot kid clearly not knowing how to handle his booze.
If Rider passes out in the pub, Stabbington is just going to leave him there. After he’s relieved him of the coins they’d stolen earlier, of course.
He stands and heads for the nearest table. Swipes the first full tankard of ale he sees, and its owner is stupid enough to jump to his feet and try to square off to him. He blanches slightly when he realises he barely reaches Stabbington’s shoulder, mutters his excuses and sinks back down on to the bench. Stabbington grunts and moves back to his own table with his new drink.
Not all theft requires finesse.
Rider makes a grand sweeping motion with the arm still holding his own half-full tankard, a good helping of ale sloshing over the sides. Stabbington’s twin frowns over the theatrics, staring moodily across the room. Looking for a fight, no doubt, because Stabbington can always tell when restless energy in his twin turns into a need for violence.
Bar fights are just how they celebrate.
Except, before his twin can find a suitable target to leave a bloody, broken mess, Rider lets out this really weird drunken laugh that sounds suspiciously like a giggle and flops forward. Facedown. Into his twin’s lap.
Stabbington watches his twin’s good eye get really, really wide.
His twin grabs Rider by the back of his shirt and pulls him up, roughly nudging him back into a sitting position. Rider looks flushed and dazed and incredibly drunk. He opens his mouth, possibly to say something, before he apparently changes his mind, eyes falling shut as he flops forward again.
There’s a grunt of pain from his twin as Rider’s face connects solidly with crotch once again.
Stabbington doesn’t know whether to laugh or not. This’ll give him ammunition for weeks - every time Rider starts mouthing off, he can remind him about his little drunken crotch-diving adventure.
And then all notions of laughter die as he notices something changing in his twin’s expression.
Stabbington slowly lowers his tankard to the table and moves to his left. Just enough to shield his twin from the eyes of everyone else in the pub. Just enough so he can see what’s making his twin’s lips press together tightly enough that they’re turning white.
Rider is sprawled across the bench, his face buried in Stabbington’s twin’s lap. But he’s not unconscious, definitely not, and he’s moving, shifting slightly, and Stabbington can see that his mouth is open, panting wetly as he mouths at the fabric, at the outline of the cock underneath.
Stabbington looks up sharply at his twin’s expression. They may not always get along, but they shared a womb and there are certain times he still feels that connection, as if they share one mind.
This is one of those times, and they move together, his twin hauling up Rider’s weight, Stabbington pulling him off the bench. Rider mutters something to himself, looking around in apparent surprise to find himself suddenly on his feet. He staggers, but Stabbington and his twin stand either side of him, and together they swiftly march him out of the pub.
*
Rider makes this pained little noise when he’s thrown back against the wall. He’s blinking a lot, like he can’t quite get his eyes to work, and every blink is strangely slow, as if it takes great effort.
“Want to tell us what the fuck that was, Rider?” Stabbington snarls, getting right in Rider’s face, pressing close enough to feel warm breath that smells like ale on his face.
Rider manages another of those slow blinks, and then he laughs that weird, high-pitched laugh again, only this time there’s something else to it. Nervousness, Stabbington realises.
“What was what?” Rider says around that mouthful of anxious laughter. “C’mon guys, we’re just having a drink. Let’s go back inside…”
He turns and Stabbington steps back and allows it, because Rider isn’t going to get far. Sure enough, his twin’s arm snaps out, palm of his hand slamming against the stone wall beside Rider’s head.
He watches Rider’s expression, the way everything about him just freezes, lips parted and eyes fucking huge. Holding his breath before it releases in a shaky exhale and Rider’s gaze stares at the hand blocking his path, slides to the twin’s face, back to the hand, before it fixes on the mouth of the alleyway they’re currently standing in.
“We’re done drinking,” Stabbington murmurs, and he watches the way Rider swallows, the bob of his Adam’s apple.
Rider’s mouth opens, closes, opens again, and Stabbington should be happy he’s finally found a way to shut the bastard up, but he’s a little distracted by that caged look in Rider’s eyes.
“Get on your knees.”
His voice is quiet but leaves no room for argument, and Rider just does it, sinks to the floor like he has no choice, like his legs can’t support him. Obedient, probably for the first time in his entire life, and Stabbington hears the hiss that escapes his twin’s lips.
Stabbington moves until he’s right in front of Rider, feels his twin also move to shelter them from anyone who might happen to glance down the pub back alley.
Rider’s head is directly level with Stabbington’s crotch, and the expression on his face makes something uncoil low in Stabbington’s gut, something that’s hot enough to burn. Rider’s pupils are dilated, his eyes fixed between Stabbington’s thighs, his mouth slightly slack and his breath quick and shallow.
Stabbington drops a thick hand to his crotch, palms at himself as he begins to fill in anticipation.
“You want this,” he growls, and it’s not a question. On any other day, Rider wouldn’t look twice at him and his brother, wouldn’t allow himself to, probably wouldn’t even realise he wants to. But right now Rider is too wasted to hide it.
God, does the kid even know how hungry he looks?
Stabbington’s fingers roughly hook under the waistband of his britches and he shoves them down his thighs, cock already half-hard, arching towards Rider’s lips.
Rider stares like he’s forgotten how to look away.
“Suck me,” Stabbington commands in a voice low and full of threat.
Rider bites at his lower lip and he jerks once, all over, full body shudder. Something flickers on his face, something like realisation, like he’s remembering who he’s supposed to be and all the reasons this is messed up. Stabbington watches, waiting, expecting Rider to come to his senses and dimly aware that he’s too gone, too turned on, and if Rider says no, Stabbington isn’t sure he’s going to accept that, isn’t sure he’s capable of stopping.
And then Rider leans forward, mouth just opening to it, wet perfect heat, and Stabbington grits his teeth and feels. Rider’s tongue against him, mapping him, tasting, licking at him, strong path up the shaft and then gentler pressure at the head. Experimental and cautious and precisely the opposite of what Stabbington needs.
“I said suck me!” he snaps, and Rider makes this surprised noise around him, sharp hum of vibration, before doing exactly what he’s told.
Strong, steady, instant suction, cheekbones standing out starkly as Rider’s cheeks hollow. Eyes closed, thick dark eyelashes fluttering slightly, too fucking pretty for his own good. He’s not completely inexperienced, Stabbington would wager, but there’s not much in the way of technique to what he’s doing.
Doesn’t matter. Stabbington knows what he wants.
Another of those little sounds that catches in Rider’s throat and strums against the underside of Stabbington’s cock when he reaches out a hand to grip roughly at Rider’s hair. Soft, ridiculously so, and Stabbington pulls at it, forces Rider back until just the head of his cock is in Rider’s mouth. Rider glances up at him, looking confused, and then he jerks Rider forwards again, feels that heat yield to him as he forces his way back into Rider’s mouth. Grunts as Rider makes a muffled sound almost like a sob around him, only it’s needy, desperate, and Rider’s trying to suck at him again instantly. Rocks back on his heels, knees pressed to the filthy ground, when Stabbington pushes him back again, pulls him forward, thrusting his hips with it now as he builds a rhythm. Steady pull as he fucks Rider’s mouth, and Rider just groans for it like he’ll never get enough, like he’s not alive without Stabbington’s cock between his lips.
Shit, the heat of it, the sounds Rider makes, and Stabbington can hear his own breathing growing more ragged. So wet, and there’s saliva dripping on to Rider’s chin where he can’t manage to breathe through his nose and swallow at the same time. Flushed, his fingers curled at his sides as Stabbington uses him, looking the best kind of mess, all that bravado and arrogance falling away.
Stabbington knows he isn’t going to last and he doesn’t even care.
Thrusting forward, rocking back, fierce buzzing behind his eyes and at the base of his spine, need and lust, and his fist pounds into the stone wall in front of him hard enough to shake loose grit and moss as he snarls in anger and completion and comes down Rider’s throat.
Lets Rider take all of it, holding him awkwardly suspended, Stabbington’s cock twitching between his lips before Stabbington drops his hand from Rider’s hair.
He expects Rider to pull back instantly, but the bastard doesn’t. He keeps sucking gently at the softening flesh in his mouth, tongue pressing up against it, flutter of feeling against already sensitised nerves, and Stabbington has to get a hand on Rider’s forehead and push him back just to get Rider to let him go.
There’s a trail of Stabbington’s come on Rider’s chin, mixed with the saliva, catching what little light there is. That hair he obsesses over so much looks ruffled and untidy.
Rider looks completely lost, dizzy and confused and young, and there’s a spreading wet patch on the front of his breeches.
The throb between Stabbington’s legs is sudden and sharp enough to hurt, and he’s not a teenager anymore but he can feel his body wanting to be hard again.
He hears his twin shift behind him, moving closer, and then there’s a voice at the end of the alley.
“Oi, what are you lot doing down there?”
Stabbington sneers, tugs his britches back up, looks beyond his twin’s shoulder at the drunk swaying in the moonlight, bottle of rum cradled lovingly to his chest.
“You get the booze,” he says, nodding towards the interloper, before jerking his thumb at Rider. “I’ll get the kid.”
*
The inn room only has one single bed - the heist may have been successful but they still can’t afford to be flashy. And they didn’t want to seem suspicious, three men looking to share a room. Stabbington had entered the inn alone, handed over the money and been shown to a room. Opened the window once inside, and his twin was waiting in the darkness outside, Rider beside him, one huge hand wrapped around Rider’s bicep to keep him from running away.
Pointless, Stabbington thinks. Rider isn’t going anywhere.
Except Rider is talking again when they half-push, half-drag his ass through the window. Babbling, drunken ridiculousness, and there’s that weird nervous laughter again. Sobering up, Stabbington realises, just enough that the hungry look he wore before has vanished behind Rider’s normal mask of casual charm. It’s a sloppier mask than usual but it’s there, and Rider’s already gearing up to talk his way out of what just happened, Stabbington can see it.
His twin can see it, too. He bites the cork out of the bottle he’d taken from the drunk who was now lying in a battered heap in the alley. Takes a long pull of rum, and Rider’s mid-word when his chin is grabbed and he’s forcefully turned towards the twin, which means his mouth is open. Stabbington smirks to himself as his twin seals his mouth over Rider’s, a few drops of rum escaping before he gets the angle right, and Rider swallows the liquid forced into his mouth instinctively. Coughs against the harsh burn of it as soon as his mouth is free, sways a little on the spot with it.
Stabbington turns as his twin takes another swig, moves to close the window, close the shutters, hearing the indignant splutter as Rider is fed another helping of rum.
When he’s done, Rider looks closer to that same level of drunkenness he’d displayed in the alley. Maybe he’s there again, at whatever weird point they’ve accidentally discovered that makes Rider stop wanting women and crave something only the brothers can give him. Maybe he’s only pretending. It doesn’t matter.
“That’s enough,” Stabbington grunts when his twin goes to raise the bottle again. “Bend him over the bed.”
Rider shivers, takes a step back, eyes flickering between the two of them, a flush high on his cheeks. But he doesn’t run, doesn’t even try to, as a hand grabs him roughly by the back of the neck and throws him facedown on the mattress.
Stabbington moves closer, reaches out to get his hands in that hair again. Even after the earlier abuse, it’s still soft and tangle-free, and Stabbington grips it harder than necessary, yanks Rider’s head up. Stabbington’s twin is standing right in front of Rider now, tugging his britches out of the way to reveal how achingly hard he is.
“It’s his turn, Rider,” Stabbington hisses.
Rider swallows several times, his neck arched awkwardly in Stabbington’s hold so each swallow sounds loud in the quiet room. Nervously wets his lips, hint of pink tongue, as he stares at the shape of the cock in front of him.
“I don’t -” Rider whispers, before he swallows yet again. His voice is a little stronger on his second attempt at words, a little closer to the usual Rider swagger. “This is, I mean, c’mon Patch, let’s just -”
He doesn’t get any further. Rider got off in that alley, and if that’s taken the edge off for him, helped him come to his senses, then so be it. But Stabbington’s twin isn’t done yet, and his eye flares at that hated nickname, teeth grinding together hard enough they should be sparking. His hand shoots out, clamping on Rider’s jaw, one thumb pressing between his lips to hold Rider’s mouth open, and there’s no warning before he thrusts inside.
And Rider just groans for it, eyes falling shut, voice muffled around the thick cock pumping between his lips. None of those experimental licks this time, because Rider has always been a quick learner, just lips tight around the flesh and wet sucking sounds. When Stabbington lets go of Rider’s hair, Rider doesn’t even react, doesn’t try to escape, just keeps taking it, awkwardly balanced across the bed on his hands and knees.
It’s Stabbington’s twin’s turn, but Stabbington isn’t going to just watch. He’s never been the patient one, and they’ve never had someone like Rider in their bed before. Pale, unscarred flesh, slender waist, long, lithe limbs, and that damn face. Even the whores they’ve found the money for haven’t looked as good as Rider does. If they had, Stabbington would never have been able to afford them.
He usually goes for women, but he’s learnt to appreciate men too. It depends on location - in some areas, male whores are more expensive than the women, in others they’re comparatively dirt-cheap. So Stabbington knows from experience exactly how this all works, even if he never thought he’d be doing it to Rider.
Moves behind him, shoves the vest and shirt higher up his back so there’s a strip of flesh on show above the waistband of his breeches. Rider is rocking slightly as Stabbington’s twin uses his mouth, those wet noises echoing in Stabbington’s mind. He tugs the breeches down, peeling the stickier material away from Rider’s crotch, and he sees Rider falter slightly. Maybe even try to pull back, but his twin’s hand getting a hold of Rider’s hair halts his progress.
Rider’s still a brat about a lot of things, no matter how worldly he claims to be, and Stabbington wonders briefly if Rider has any idea what he’s just let himself in for.
Round, firm ass, paler than the skin of Rider’s arms, his face. Stabbington just stares at it for a moment, hungry for what he’s planning, then he looks up at his twin. Gets a nod, jerky but full of understanding, and his twin’s fingers move over Rider’s face, both hands cupping his jaw. Stabbington can’t see from this angle but he knows his twin is holding Rider’s mouth open; wouldn’t want Rider forgetting himself in surprise and using his teeth.
And Rider is surprised, high-pitched yelp muffled by the flesh in his mouth as Stabbington’s hand falls against his bare ass with a harsh slapping sound that rings around the room.
“Not forgetting about me, are you Rider?” he murmurs, and he can’t see what expression is on Rider’s face, but his twin can and Rider must look real good right now, judging by the dangerous smirk his twin is wearing. Stabbington can almost visualise it, those brown eyes wide with shock, apprehension, need.
Maybe Rider’s figured out what Stabbington’s planning. Good. He wants Rider to know precisely what’s in store for him. “Never figured you for such a slut,” Stabbington rumbles, keeping his voice as mockingly conversational as he can. “Don’t think one guy is gonna be enough for you, is it?”
The whine Rider gives in response sounds like an injured animal, and Stabbington feels the hairs on his arms stand on end at the sound of it. His twin hisses, and Rider’s head is moving faster now, bobbing enthusiastically as his mouth makes obscene noises.
When Stabbington’s thumbs run up the cleft of Rider’s ass to hold his cheeks spread, the shudder Rider gives is fierce enough that he almost loses his grip.
He doesn’t have the patience for teasing, but he’s not stupid enough to rush. Needs to prepare Rider, or this isn’t going to work for either of them. Male whores are usually smart enough to carry a supply of oil or something equally slippery to make things easier, but right now they don’t have anything like that, so Stabbington figures saliva will have to do.
He drops to his knees behind Rider, and at the first sweep of his tongue over Rider’s entrance he’s rewarded with what can only be described as a desperate wail. Not muffled, which means his twin has pulled out, probably just to hear Rider’s reaction to what he knows Stabbington is doing. He and his twin, they think alike, and Stabbington has to admit, he hates Rider’s smarmy voice but he fucking loves all these noises they’re discovering Rider capable of making.
He shifts just enough that he can see around Rider. Makes eye contact with his twin, and they don’t have to say anything but the mental countdown starts between them instantly. Three, two, one, and Stabbington shoves his tongue forward, knowing his twin is pressing his cock back into Rider’s mouth at the exact same time, and Rider just shakes between them like he’s going to crumble to pieces.
Licking at Rider, alternating between sweeping his tongue around the puckered flesh and pressing inside, forcing the muscle open, feeling Rider give around him. Rider’s making an almost constant stream of noise now, maybe an attempt at words, but he sounds too lost, too anxious, and everything is muffled by the heated flesh in his mouth. His twin must be getting close now, and Stabbington just keeps licking at Rider’s entrance, letting himself practically drool over it, until the skin there glistens with saliva, and Rider’s hole looks pink and so, so inviting.
It’s an accident, or maybe it isn’t, because that special connection between the twins makes itself know at the oddest times, but Stabbington reaches up and pushes his finger inside Rider at the same time his twin grunts and releases into Rider’s mouth.
Rider shivers again, rocks between them, fingers clawing frantically at the sheets. He pulses tightly around Stabbington’s finger, and when his twin steps back, Rider coughs and gasps and lets his arms collapse beneath him. Sprawled with his chest against the bed, face turned to one side, flushed and sweaty, parted lips swollen. Knees still beneath him, ass in the air, and Stabbington can’t help but think of all the times Rider’s insulted them, called them classless, and he’s a little rough when he pulls his finger out and shoves it back in, but Rider only whimpers.
Stabbington’s twin is breathing heavily, mouth open and eyes heavy. Catches Stabbington’s eye, and even after coming down Rider’s throat, Stabbington knows what his twin is thinking.
Don’t stop, don’t go easy on him.
Stabbington won’t.
He leans forward so he can lick around his finger, get it nice and wet, and then he pushes another one in beside it, slight resistance before Rider’s hole opens to him.
“Nnh, wait,” Rider moans, his eyes closed, and the words may be a protest but his tone is anything but.
“No,” Stabbington replies simply, two fingers moving in and out of Rider’s raised ass. “You’re not in charge here. You’re just gonna take it.”
Rider instantly tightens around his fingers, pulse of tension, and Stabbington’s starting to see red, can’t wait much longer.
“This how it is with you, Rider?” he growls, hand moving faster now. He can see Rider trying to get his hands under himself, trying to push himself up, but the force of Stabbington’s thrusting fingers keeps knocking back to the mattress. “Ladies man until you get a few drinks in you, right? Then you can’t get enough of having a cock down your throat?”
“Sh-shut up,” Rider groans, sounding breathy, voice cracked and abused.
Stabbington gives one last wet sweep of his tongue around the base of his fingers, and then he slides them from Rider’s ass. “Bet that made you real popular at that orphanage.”
Rider finds the strength to snap his head up, looking back over his shoulder with his weight propped on one elbow. “Fuck you!” he tries to bellow, but he doesn’t have enough voice left for any kind of volume.
Stabbington grins, sharp and wicked, and rises to stand. It hurts to move, cock trapped in his britches and twitching against the material as Rider’s eyes instantly drop to stare at the bulge of it. “Nah,” he says quietly. “That’s not the plan here.”
Rider makes an attempt to scramble away this time. Probably pissed because the orphanage thing was a low blow, and he honestly thinks Rider never meant to tell them about that. Not that the twins give a crap, they basically raised each over, but Rider’s really protective of his past.
It’s easy to grab Rider’s ankle, drag him back, and then Stabbington pulls at Rider’s shoulder as he settles back against the headboard, tugging until Rider’s on his lap. Rider keeps squirming and hissing, right until Stabbington reaches around him and wraps his hand around the base of Rider’s cock, and Rider just melts against him. His back pressed to Stabbington’s chest, head lolling backwards to rest on Stabbington’s shoulder, low moan rattling in his throat.
“You like sucking cock, don’t you?” Stabbington murmurs in Rider’s ear, and Rider’s jaw clamps shut but he shudders at the words, twitching in Stabbington’s grip. “Let’s see how good you look with my cock in your ass.”
He reaches down, pushes Rider’s breeches as far down his legs as he can. Wraps his hand around the back of Rider’s thigh and pulls it up, leg bending closer so he can push the breeches and Rider’s boot off. Without the clothes stretching between Rider’s legs, he can hold him as spread open as he wants, and Rider just allows it, like he’s made his token protests and now he’s ready to surrender completely.
“You’re gonna take everything I give you,” he hisses into the warm skin of Rider’s neck. Can’t resist darting his tongue out, tasting the sweat beading there. “And you’re gonna put on a nice show for my brother.”
Rider inhales sharply, glances over at Stabbington’s twin, who’s looming at the foot of the bed, staring at Rider with the kind of intensity he usually only shows right before he starts breaking men’s bones.
“You want it.” Stabbington grips Rider’s hips, muscles flexing as he lifts Rider’s slighter weight until the head of his cock is nudging maddeningly at Rider’s entrance. “Say you want it.”
Rider only gasps, shifting as much as he can, trying to press back but unable to shake Stabbington’s hold on him.
“Say you want it.”
Another gasp, Rider’s fingernails scraping roughly over Stabbington’s arms, and then a soft moan. “W-want it…”
He should make Rider say it louder, shout it for the whole inn to hear. He should make Rider tell him exactly what he wants and how hard he wants it, should make Rider fucking beg for his cock. But Stabbington’s patience runs out at the tremor in Rider’s voice, and he bares his teeth and pulls Rider’s weight down on to his cock.
Rider gives a harsh shout as the head pushes through the initial resistance. Stabbington doesn’t know if Rider’s a virgin for this, doesn’t really care, but he can bet nobody’s treated Rider this roughly before. Not pretty little Flynn Rider, nobody would dare hurt him in any way, but Stabbington just groans at the feeling of Rider slowly sinking lower on to his straining cock. So hot, even better than the kid’s mouth, and Rider’s back arches, like he’s trying to get away, like he’s trying to get more.
Stabbington isn’t going to give him time to adjust. Wraps his hands around the back of Rider’s legs, one just above his knee, the other just below his ass, holding Rider spread open for his twin’s enjoyment. Rider’s weight is leant back against him, one of Rider’s hands braced on Stabbington’s forearm, and Stabbington uses his considerable strength to lift Rider, let gravity pull him back down on to Stabbington’s cock. Lift, drop, lift, drop, and there are noises being forced free of Rider’s throat now every time Stabbington pulls him back down. With nothing to muffle them, Stabbington can make out the words there, curses, pleas for more. Desperate little sounds, throaty groans, Rider’s usually smug voice breaking around every syllable.
So damn tight inside, fucking perfect, and Rider’s back slides against his chest slightly, their skin drenched in sweat. “Bet you know exactly what you look like right now, don’t you?” Stabbington sneers, chest burning with the need for more air but not able to catch his breath. “Bet you know how good you look, held open like this. You like being watched, don’t you?”
The pitch of Rider’s groans rises, turns more frantic, and he’s trying to move in Stabbington’s grip, writhing as he tries to impale himself more fully. Trying to take back control but not able to, Stabbington’s strength too much. Stabbington is close, so damn close, feeling Rider pulsing around him, undulating against him, hearing all the sounds he’s dragging from Rider’s lips.
“Come for me, you little bitch,” Stabbington snarls, and Rider just falls apart. Constricting around Stabbington’s cock, tight enough to hurt, whole body tensing as he trembles uncontrollably, long, husky moan as his fingers dig into Stabbington’s arm. Taking Stabbington over the edge with him, rocking his hips up into that heat one last time as he spills into Rider’s ass, vision blacking out for a moment just from the force of it, the sensation. Sucking in deep breaths that don’t seem to reach his lungs, Rider’s sweat on his lips, and then Stabbington slumps back against the headboard, and Rider slumps back against him.
He can’t even move, just sits there for several minutes, until it registers that Rider’s breathing is deep and slow.
The bastard is actually asleep.
No, not asleep. Unconscious, blacked out, and Stabbington uses the last of his energy to lift Rider off of him and roll him over to lie on the mattress.
He sits on the edge of the bed, just waiting for his heartbeat to slow, until he feels his twin’s expectant stare.
Stabbington can already guess what will happen in the morning. Rider will make a great show of pretending the whole thing never happened, despite the fact he’s going to wake up sore and covered in come because there’s no way in hell Stabbington is going to clean the brat up. But Rider won’t leave them, not after that successful heist. He needs them, and they’ve proven their worth. Rider may value his pride, but he values jewels more.
Rider will probably privately vow not to get drunk around them again. But then they’ll pull off another score, land something pricey, and Rider’s never been one to deny himself indulgence, and a quick drink to celebrate will turn into two, three, a few more. Inevitable, really.
Stabbington glances up at his twin, at the knowing grin. “Yeah,” he says with a matching smirk. “You can have him next time.” Because they both already know, there will be a next time…