He glances at the stalls as they pass them and is sort of disappointed there's no one else here -- not that he really wants to get in trouble (well, a little trouble), just that getting caught is half the fun of doing it in public. His chest finally hits the wall and his hands come up to brace himself, his head tilted to the side. "Do it," he breathes, "I want you to."
His hand reaches around to yank Brody's pants open and begin to push them down as his other shoves him against the wall by the back of the neck. "Speak. Tell me how much."
He doesn't need much urging. "I need it. Please. Fuck me, I need you inside me, I want this all the time." His cheek is pressed to the wall, eyes closed and nails scratching lightly at it; his hips grind back into his and up against his hand. "I thought about this a lot," he murmurs.
It is certainly not a question. After unfastening his own belt and jeans, he reaches over and slams his hand against the soap dispenser. His teeth tug sharply at the top of Brody's ear again.
The slam makes him jump and fidget but the pressure of his teeth is distracting and arousing, his hips rocking back against him as he groans. "Yes." He tries to move his head, can't, and makes a little noise, still straining. "I want it everywhere. Want people to watch." Not that he's bored of him, the opposite, actually -- he wants people to see so they know who he's with. Wanting him, not able to have him. Mine.
He shifts, spreading his legs apart and pressing his torso further into the wall, back arching. He strains to see what he's doing at the same time, his eyes open to peer at him over his shoulder; he likes being held in place but fidgets and fights it whenever he is, like he can't make up his mind. "Make me yours, please?" He isn't sure what that means, just that he likes the way it sounds.
It isn't the ideal lubricant - soap and spit never is - but it's enough for the moment. Lucas groans as his cock slides through his guiding fingers and into Brody, still holding him against the wall. His. It causes the same urgent need to clutch and mark that it did the first time the thought occurred. His boots shuffle on the dirty floor wider to get a better angle.
"Wait -- waitwaitwaitwait -- noooo --" Brody jerks his hips forward as far as he can when he feels Lucas' cock pressing against his -- he has a fair bit of experience with Bad Ideas like this, meaning that he's fucked pretty much everywhere no one should be fucking, and knows from painful, terrible experience that soap doesn't work as lube. ... neither does anything intended to be eaten, for that matter. "Wait, um -- don't -- just, just spit on it." It's going to hurt that way, at least at first, but that's just kind of one of the hazards of fucking men.
As someone who never used to have trouble finding money and therefore ready access to lube when he needed it, Lucas is almost tempted to ask. Part of the allure of this is that it is new to him and he is admittedly curious, but there is ultimately not enough attention left over to have an in-depth conversation about bathroom sex. He shrugs and wipes his hand off, does as Brody says, and focuses his mind back with a bite to his shoulder that stifles a groan.
"Fuck --" It hurts, duh, he was expecting that, spit isn't really enough for him, but it's fine. He's had worse pain and if he didn't think he could take it, he wouldn't have suggested it. He pauses as he waits to get used to it, biting his lip hard, then shifts his stance. "Okay," he murmurs.
He waits until Brody tells him to move to continue. As he pulls back, his nails dig into the sides of his neck and he groans, propping himself up unsteadily on the wall beside them. There is absolutely a desire present to move faster instantly, and he feels a twitching in his muscles from the restraint.
He would like for them to be able to take their time, but considering how public this is, that's probably a bad idea... oh well. It's not like he can be broken; it doesn't actually matter how slow or how fast he goes. Brody's still, dead heart thumps twice in response to the pressure on his neck -- that's one of the things he misses about not being dead, the way being touched like that used to make his heart race.
"Please," he says, one of his hands groping back to touch him. "Fuck me."
Lucas breathes in sharply and then reaches down to pull his hips back to meet the sudden thrust. There's another a few heartbeats after, and another, then he loses his restraint and he's pushing Brody against the wall while also pulling him back to meet each snap of his hips. The sounds, mixed with groans and muttered curses, start to echo off the dirty tiles.
"Fuck!" He's not thinking about making noise -- no one's here to hear. It hurts like hell and he doesn't care about that either. He whimpers, the hand that was reaching for him dropping and clawing at the wall instead, but there's nothing there to hold on to. "Fuck, please --" He's getting steadily louder like he usually does, turns his head so it's pressed against the wall and that muffles it at least a little. He's bitten his lip open with his own fangs and leaves little bloody smears over his mouth and the wall.
"You- are so, дерьмо, so fucking красивый- Brody-"
He lifts up nearly onto his toes to push deeper and harder, his feet apart and straining. The nails in Brody's hip and neck become sharper steadily, his grip tighter. A desperate half-cry leaves his throat as a bruise in his tense arm throbs and his toes curl in his scuffed boots.
His skin bruises first, then gives way under his nails, splitting and bleeding -- his heart beats three times again, then stops. If he weren't eating, it wouldn't even be able to do that much. It still hurts but it's starting to feel good, too, his body slowly getting used to Lucas being inside him. "Fuck me," he pants again, pausing briefly before grinding his hips back against him. "Fuck me, come in me, please, I need you."
He curses again and then speeds up, nearly leaning over top of Brody and panting for air. "Yes," he hisses as the angle becomes perfect and he grits his teeth, close. Distantly he hears the door open and then shut quickly and his lips curl into a grin.
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It is certainly not a question. After unfastening his own belt and jeans, he reaches over and slams his hand against the soap dispenser. His teeth tug sharply at the top of Brody's ear again.
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He shifts, spreading his legs apart and pressing his torso further into the wall, back arching. He strains to see what he's doing at the same time, his eyes open to peer at him over his shoulder; he likes being held in place but fidgets and fights it whenever he is, like he can't make up his mind. "Make me yours, please?" He isn't sure what that means, just that he likes the way it sounds.
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"Please," he says, one of his hands groping back to touch him. "Fuck me."
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Lucas breathes in sharply and then reaches down to pull his hips back to meet the sudden thrust. There's another a few heartbeats after, and another, then he loses his restraint and he's pushing Brody against the wall while also pulling him back to meet each snap of his hips. The sounds, mixed with groans and muttered curses, start to echo off the dirty tiles.
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He lifts up nearly onto his toes to push deeper and harder, his feet apart and straining. The nails in Brody's hip and neck become sharper steadily, his grip tighter. A desperate half-cry leaves his throat as a bruise in his tense arm throbs and his toes curl in his scuffed boots.
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