The thing is, Leon’s really, really hot. Like, insane levels of attraction. What with the tattoos and the cheekbones and the stubble and the ass — oh god, that ass — August can’t really be blamed, at all for freaking bragging.
The pope would brag if he was dating Leon.
So, by the end of his first month of hitting that, it’s fair to say about ninety percent of the people he’s come into contact with have had to sit through at least one session of August waxing poetic about Leon’s abs. And August would feel bad except, well, Leon’s abs. August dares anyone not to wax poetic about them.
The thing is though, apparently August has been…too enthusiastic?
August gapes. “Come again?”
Rob rolls his eyes. “Come on August,” he says. “You’re a journalism major – it stands to reason you’d be good at making shit up.”
August scowls. “Okay, first of all – that would be creative writing you’re thinking because journalism is a font of truth and integrity.” August manfully ignores Rob’s snort, because he knows Linda and nobody outdoes Linda for dismissive huffing. “And second – you don’t believe Leon exists because I talk about him too much?”
Rob sips his beer and nods. “Yep,” he says, leaning closer and seriously, the bar is not nearly loud enough to warrant that sort of proximity and- oooohhh, shit. Rob smirks like one of those models in Rolex ads. “You’re overcompensating.”
“And you’re hitting on me?” August squeaks. Sue him, this doesn’t happen. Hot people do not get all up in this grill. Unless hot people are Leon which, considering he’s the hottest of the people, August figures it’s the universe’s way of compensating.
Rob does that one-eyebrow tip thing that makes him look like he’s just stepped off the cover of a men’s health magazine. August has watched many-a freshmen fall to that eyebrow. It’s never been aimed at him though and now that it is, it’s fucking terrifying.
“He finally gets it,” Rob says, throwing his head back to down the rest of his beer. The beer that he’s drinking in a bar. With August. On a Friday night. Alone. Oh mother of-
August falls off his chair.
– – –
Leon glances down at the caller ID and can feel the smile. It’s a Friday night which means there’s a good chance that August is drunk-dialing him. Something Leon will never, ever admit to actually loving a little bit. August’s brain-to-mouth filter goes offline really fast when alcohol is introduced and Leon likes to count the number of times August mentions the colour of his eyes.
Leon marks his place in the novel he’s working through and swipes open his phone. “August.”
“Oh my god, I think I went on a date with someone,” August says, and Leon feels the entire fucking bottom drop out of his universe.
“I-” Leon stops, presses one hand over his eyes and tries to breathe. “Okay…”
“Okay?!” August yells, and the panic in his voice is enough to pull Leon up long enough to listen. “This is not okay! People think you don’t exist! They think I’m making you up because you’re too hot to be real! Which is fucking tragic because you kinda are! And then I went for a drink with Rob and no one else was there and he did that stupid fucking eyebrow thing at me and-”
“August,” Leon says sharply, because if there’s one thing he’s learned over the last month, it’s that August doesn’t so much wind down from rants as just continue on until he dies. Leon listens to the tell-tale shift and breathe August does when he’s re-setting and feels the familiar punch of longing that comes from needing to touch; smooth August’s pulse with hands and low hums.
“Okay,” August says. “Okay, I’m good.” Leon opens his mouth to say…fuck knows actually, but August is suddenly continuing. “Actually, y’know what? I’m not. Can we just- I know you have a shift tomorrow and we were gonna do Sunday but-”
Leon tosses the book onto the coffee table. “I can be there in half an hour.”
August breathes out, slow and easy. “Good, ’cause I just really need you to fuck me up against a wall or something okay?”
Leon groans. “August-”
“Bruises,” August says determinedly. “I want to be covered in them.”
“Fuck.”
– – –
August flails. He’s a flailer. It’s kinda his jam. That said, when someone taps at his window at god-knows-o’clock he doesn’t think it’s his fault when his chair nearly spills him onto the ground.
“Oh my god!” he says, clutching at his heart as he glares at Leon through the glass. The glass of his third-story window, because Leon is a weirdo werewolf freak.
“Are you actually allergic to front doors?” August asks, pushing the window up and stepping back so Leon can unfold himself into the room. It’s times like this August is glad he’s rooming with a physics major — Kyle spends all his time either at the labs or at the bars. It’s almost like August lives alone.
“This way’s faster,” Leon says because of course he does.
August nods seriously. “I understand the haste to get all up in this,” he says, waving a hand down at himself and manfully ignoring the way Leon rolls his eyes. “But seriously, this is probably why no one thinks you exist.”
Leon’s lips tick up into a smirk and wow, no — he does not get to find this funny, that’s just not fair.
“I thought I didn’t exist because you make me sound like a Greek god?” he says, pressing into August’s space until August is forced to bring his arms up to catch around Leon’s neck for fear of tipping backwards onto his desk. Leon’s hair is soft. It’s a hard life August leads.
“You are a Greek god,” August says, letting his head be nudged back so that Leon can nose up under his jaw. Werewolves, seriously. “It’s not my fault you’re painfully good looking.”
“You could not talk about me so much,” Leon says, sucking a light kiss to August’s neck. It’s just enough to make August squirm without really satisfying and Leon knows it, too; he huffs an amused breath across August’s skin when August’s fingers tighten in his hair.
“Screw that,” August says, groaning a little when Leon presses forward. “I’m boning the hottest guy ever. Bragging is practically mandatory.”
Leon hums against his throat and August has to bite his lip as he feels Leon’s hands palm his ass through the thin cotton of his track pants. “Gah, fu- how long do we have?”
“I have to be on the road by seven,” Leon says, squeezing and rocking forward so that August can feel–god–everything.
August groans, tugging at Leon’s hair until he lifts his head. “That’s only-”
Leon cuts him off with a kiss. It’s warm, wet and when August cants his head and licks- oh hell yes. “You asshole,” August says, pulling back. “Take your pants off, we only have a few hours.”
Watching Leon undress has to be one of August’s favourite things. Leon always strips with a careless sort of grace that August only gets to appreciate for the first few seconds because, well, then there’s all the skin.
“And you wonder why I brag,” August says, tossing the lube within easy reach on the bed before tugging his own shirt over his head. He gets as far as lobbing it in the direction of the hamper before Leon’s pressed the length of him, moulding himself to August’s back and okay, yep- they’re wasting no time at all, apparently.
August makes a sound that’s just plain embarrassing, tipping his head back onto Leon’s shoulder as he wraps careful fingers around Leon’s wrist. Feeling the bunch and shift of tendons as Leon works him is probably a little higher on that list of favourites than the stripping thing. Just.
“A+ time management skills,” August gasps, bowing back so that his ass grinds against Leon’s cock and he’s just gonna burn that whole list analogy before things get out of hand, okay?
“How many times do you think you can come tonight?” Leon says, and wow, unfair.
August opens his mouth to answer but then Leon is swiping his thumb over the head of August’s dick on an upstroke and August has to lean forward and catch himself on the wall beside his bed because Jesus Christ, buttons: he has them.
“I get the impression we’re gonna find out?” August says.
Leon hums and hooks his chin over August’s shoulder as he finally pulls August’s dick all the way over the waistband of his pants. He always does this — always watches — like his hands on August is a show Fox would itch to cancel. August kinda likes the contrast himself: the tan of Leon’s fingers on the white of his hip; the red flush of his cock.
“Jesus,” August groans, “Can we-”
“No,” Leon says, pressing a barely-there kiss to the shell of August’s ear as he leans over to snag the lube. “Just like this.”
August feels his toes curl against the carpet and clamps down on a pitiful sound. “I’m gonna fall on my face when I come,” he warns.
Leon’s hand disappears for a second and August can’t do much beyond try not to whine like a three-year-old at the loss.
“How is that different from any other time?” Leon says.
August’s splutter turns into a groan when Leon’s hand returns, gloriously wet and slick as his fingers press deliciously around the underside of Stiles’ cock, thumb a rolling pressure over the head.
“Shit,” August says, scrabbling at the wall. Leon’s arm anchors across his chest, pinning him back against solid heat and it’s great — it’s seriously fucking fantastic because skin and Leon and Leon’s skin but-
“Agh, you’re an asshole,” August says, trying and failing to buck into Leon’s hand. He can’t move an inch here and he’s probably clawing Leon’s arm half to death but so not his fault, Jesus Christ.
“You’re the one who said your legs will give out,” Leon says and August is so screwed because that’s his innocent voice. “I’m helping.”
“You’re something, that’s for damn- oh god-”
August lifts paint this time, which he’s going to have to worry about later because Leon’s basically given up all finesse and is jacking him with hard, fast strokes.
“Oh god, if you keep doing that-”
“A few hours, remember?” Leon says, all hot breath in August’s ear and August gives up on the wall, just arches back until he can hook his hand around the back of Leon’s neck and hold on. Leon doesn’t even have to brace, just takes August’s weight and sighs into it, like August is giving him something. But then that’s the Leon August- well. Yeah.
“Oh my god, oh my god.” August jerks hard when Leon’s next stroke sees his fingers detour, dragging delicious pressure down over August’s balls and it’s a thing okay? August has a balls thing. Ball play is the best play. “If you don’t bite me I’m going to kick your ass.”
It comes out less of a command and more of a wheeze which is probably why Leon huffs a laugh against his throat before licking up the tendon there.
“I marked you last week,” Leon says, teeth scraping lightly like a giant, teasing ass-face.
“Exactly,” August says, “Last week, Leon. There’s a ‘last’ in that–ah–that sentence. I signed on for bruises, remember? If you don’t deliver I’ll sue you for breach of contract.”
“You’re studying journalism,” Leon reminds him, like an asshole. A grinning into his neck asshole.
August shifts his hand from Leon’s neck up into his hair and tugs, feeling his gut swoop when Leon groans and presses in a little harder but god, still not hard enough. Well, two can play at that. Leon sucks in a breath when August grinds back against him, his cock a heavy dragging weight down the cleft of August’s ass and August wants, practically keens it until Leon fits his mouth just under August’s jaw and sucks, hard.
August moans loud enough he knows he’s gonna be getting dirty looks in the common room in the morning but he can’t even begin to give one ounce of a fuck, because he can feel his orgasm sparking low down and–holy shit–he’s gonna have the biggest hickey in the known universe. August has just enough time to think, fuck yes, before Leon’s doing something glorious with his wrist and finally–finally–biting down over the mark he’s made and August’s orgasm ignites and rolls upwards, licking up his spine until he’s arching with it.
“Fuck,” Leon says, like he’s the one being wrecked here and August can’t do much beyond clench his fingers in Leon’s stupid, soft hair and try to remember his own name.
“Oh my god,” August breathes, riding out an aftershock and- yep, there go his knees.
Leon catches him just like he said he would, pressing them both forward until they’re braced against the wall and August is beyond anything but resting his forehead against the surface and making pathetic little humming noises as Leon trails light kisses over the back of his neck. And down his back. And down- oh.
The air is cool against his ass which is in stark contrast to the tongue licking a hot stripe up his cleft.
“Fuuuuuuck,” August says, bucking through another aftershock.
Leon just hums against him, getting his hands on him so he can open him up and swirl a tight loop around August’s hole. Then a pause and a huffed laugh. August grins against his arms.
“I had half an hour, you think I wouldn’t prepare?”
Leon shifts behind him, getting back to his feet and there’s only an inch or two difference in their heights but August loves the way Leon can seem to loom anyway.
“Oh you’ll be coming alright,” Leon says, because he’s terrible.
“That was bad and you should feel bad,” August says, grinning like a fucking fool anyway. A grin that drops off his face around a moan a moment later when he feels the head of Leon’s cock at his hole.
“Ready?” Leon says.
August grunts, trying to shift back into him. “I will kill you if you don- ah!”
God, this never gets old. The stretch and the heat of it. The low breath Leon punches out as he bottoms out completely. August arches into it, bucking back into the cradle of Leon’s hips in a way that makes them both groan.
“Move, you asshole,” August says, hooking one hand back to grab at Leon’s hip.
Leon obliges, but in the worst way – sliding out like he’s in slow motion and sinking back in just as slow. They’ve been fucking for a month now and August knows this game, knows that Leon understands exactly what it does to him — mile-a-minute August, forced to slow down and just fucking take it. It would be infuriating if it weren’t also so fucking hot.
August whines, trying to buck back onto Leon’s dick, but Leon’s got both hands on his hips now, holding him sure and steady with inhuman strength. Fuck, August should have known he’d end up with a damn werewolf, his kinks what they are.
The rhythm builds slowly, so slowly August is sweating by the time he breaks. “Fuck you, please-”
It’s all it takes. The next thrust is sharp, lighting him up just like August knew it would and it’s all he can do to bite down on his own arm to stop a yell.
“Fuck,” Leon swears behind him, and it’s like a starting pistol. The roll of hips turns brutal, dragging out the pleasure like a match being struck. August can’t do anything but brace against the wall and whine around his teeth, feeling each thrust down to the bone.
It’s no time at all before his second orgasm is bearing down on him, rolling upwards from his toes like a tidal wave.
“Come for me,” Leon says and that’s all it takes. Show’s over. Crowd going wild. August comes untouched all over the wall and has just enough wherewithal to appreciate Leon clutching through his own orgasm behind him before he swivels and, with a complete lack of dignity, faceplants the bed.
Leon just laughs behind him, leaning down to press a kiss to the small of August’s back. “Two down,” he says.
– – –
If there’s one thing college has taught Rob it’s that trying to survive an essay without coffee is freaking impossible. Which is why he’s lined up at The Brew at ass-o’clock on Saturday morning, squinting up at the menu board and trying to decide if he can justify a toastie with his Americano.
He hears August before he sees him. It’s the laugh — August laughs with his whole body and somehow, you can hear it. It’s disgustingly endearing. Rob cranes his neck to trace the source of it and ends up peering into the back corner — the back corner with all the booths and the cushions and the ridiculous hippy candles that are lit even during the day. If coffee shops were 1940s townships, the back corner of The Brew would be the makeout point. Which is why when Rob sees who August is back there with, he kinda wants to fall over.
Dark hair, tattoos and– Jesus, how are cheekbones like that even real? Even the look on mystery man’s face — slightly stupid and soft as he watches August laughing — isn’t enough to kill the impression of features you could shave with. The dude looks like porn.
The dude is also looking at August like August hung the goddamn moon or something, which- oh shit.
Leon. This is Leon. Leon who’s very real and possibly even hotter than August ever described and Rob is going to fucking die because the dude has serial killer written all over him and Rob hit on his boyfriend.
Rob watches as Leon leans across to swipe at something on August’s bottom lip — cream, fucking drool because August has the hottest boyfriend in the universe, who knows — and August grins at him before- Jesus fuck. Rob barely keeps his wounded noise in check as he watches the pad of Leon’s thumb disappear between August’s lips and how, how is anything in the world fair?
Leon’s gaze goes half-lidded and the stupid tea-light candles must reflect off one of the millions of decorative chimes and shit they have back there because his eyes almost seem to flash red.
Rob watches as Leon’s fingers curl under August’s jaw, pressing slightly until August tips his head and wow — holy shit, that is like, the biggest hickey Rob has ever seen in his goddamn life. That must hurt. Obviously not in a bad way though because when Leon presses three fingers into it, just over August’s pulse point, August’s eyes flutter closed like he’s in heaven or something.
Rob turns back to the counter just in time to order a triple shot and two toasties. He figures he had a near-death experience last night. He’s allowed this.