Work Text:
Even though it was the second time Flynn had ever travelled via portals, he already was quite convinced that it wasn’t his favourite means of transportation.
He threw himself forward, right into the swirling void portal, then half-heartedly braced for the wave of dizziness that surged through him soon after. The experience, however brief, was something he wasn’t used to at all, and he welcomed the vibrant, bright greenery of the Zuldazar jungle that appeared in front of him with relief. Just as much as he welcomed the lack of a giant, golden monstrosity chasing him through the Dazar’alor treasury.
The portal snapped shut right behind him, sucking in the air around and causing the surrounding foliage to whip violently as if moved by a sudden, powerful gust of wind.
The ground tilted dangerously beneath him as his feet failed to find purchase on the slippery jungle litterfall, but his adrenaline-ridden brain had thankfully enough workpower left to motion his arms forward, to at least attempt to save his nose from breaking at the impact. He hit the ground with a loud grunt. He was glad he had at least taken his trusty old coat with him, that helped prevent any actual injury when his elbows scraped against the dirt. Apart from, maybe, a few bruises here and there.
A blur of blue and gold in his peripheral vision caught his attention, as Master Mathias Shaw landed next to him with much more control and grace than him, despite the heavy-looking and unnecessarily flashy armor. He knelt down a respectable distance away from Flynn and braced his arm on his bent knee, attempting to even out his breathing. His bright red hair was swept back, beads of sweat rolled down the side of his flushed face and when he looked up and met his gaze, Flynn’s inhale caught in his throat.
Obviously, they were familiar with each other before the heist. They had met a few times, briefly and in passing, but enough to know each other’s names and ranks. Flynn would’ve lied if he denied having stolen a few glances at the man during his brief visits on the Wind’s Redemption, but to his defense, he’d do exactly the same with any other man he found equally handsome. Or woman. Or anyone else, for that matter. He was a man of culture, after all, who simply enjoyed appreciating all types of beauty. What kind of ruined the picture for him was that the Alliance Spymaster seemed like an overly uptight, incredibly professional and entirely no-fun-allowed fellow, but he had figured that he could just as well go with admiring him silently from a respectable distance.
The treasury heist was supposed to be a relatively straightforward mission, in with the fabricated scepter and out with the real one. No big deal. He knew damn well, after all, how to break into places and steal things from them. Having the Spymaster in tow had seemed like an added facilitation, both due to his skill and the fact that his collected demeanor provided a great opportunity for Flynn to attempt to get a reaction from him for bonus style points.
They had gone numerous times over multiple scenarios and all possible threats that they might encounter in the treasury. Flynn had the plan memorized by heart.
And despite it all, he doubted anything could’ve prepared him for having to endure it all with an incredibly persistent, and truthfully, painful hard-on digging into his thigh the entire time.
He knew he was thoroughly fucked the moment Shaw had first shadow-stepped behind one of the stone golems, driving his daggers into its back with deadly precision to incapacitate it in a matter of seconds. The sheer professionalism of it, the way Shaw’s delicate muscles rippled under his leather armor with each perfectly-measured strike, the look of complete and utter focus on his handsome face… Flynn was glad he had the champion guarding his back, because if it had been just the two of them, he would’ve probably been fried by the first trap at the very entrance to the treasury.
It had been tremendously hard for him to tear his eyes away from the man for longer than a few moments in hopes of subduing his arousal. It had very little effect anyways, as he could still hear the soft sighs and grunts coming from Shaw’s direction as he fought, and his brain promptly supplied him with all other possible scenarios during which similar sounds could be drawn from the usually reserved Spymaster’s throat. Flynn tried to disguise his complete lack of focus with stupid banter, which only prompted Shaw to actually react to it. He had wanted so hard to get a reaction from him, that it hadn’t even crossed his mind that he might not be able to handle it when it actually happened. And if being playfully taunted by uptight, older men with ginger moustaches hadn’t been on his things-that-get-me-going list before, it had definitely earned a high-ranked place by then.
To make things worse, when he thought he couldn’t have possibly been more hot and bothered than that, the great Alliance Spymaster then brillianty decided to openly praise him. Of course, it wasn’t the most elaborate of praises, but Flynn made sure to catalogue that little, though unmistakably impressed “hmph” somewhere deep, but at the same time in a place that allowed quick and easy access for… reasons. Late night reasons, that was.
When he had been first offered to partake in the mission, he had never suspected it may also lead to an unforeseen, though not unwelcome self-discovery.
Flynn quickly glanced towards the champion, but they were already being helped up off the ground by Jaina and the void elf magister, him and the Spymaster already and long forgotten. So much for being an important member of the Alliance, apparently. The scepter was safely in the champion’s possession, however, so he figured that it was what mattered the most. Apart from the fact that they managed to accomplish the mission unharmed, obviously.
He pushed himself off the ground, sat back onto his haunches and shook off the dirt and leaf debris from his hands. His hair, just like the Spymaster’s, was a sweaty and disheveled mess, so he lifted his hands and reached backwards to disentangle and fix what was left of his ponytail. He held the leather thong between his teeth to make sure it wouldn’t get lost anywhere and began gathering the hair into a more decent hairstyle, and as soon as he was done swiping the shorter strands off his face he felt a very distinct, shiver-inducing feeling of being watched.
He turned right in time to see Shaw’s eyes glued blatantly and intently on something below his waist. He followed his line of sight, already fearing the worst, and froze in place, when he realized that the moment he lifted his arms over his head, the tails of his coat slid to his sides, effectively exposing the front part of his breeches.
Well. It wasn’t that obvious.
It didn’t mean of course that he didn’t consider himself a well-endowed man, it was more like… it wasn’t obvious unless someone knew what to look for.
Shaw’s skin was still flushed and shining with sweat, and his chest still heaved with quick, shallow breaths, but when he dragged his eyes up Flynn’s body and met his eyes again, the intensity and unbridled hunger of it was enough to tell him that all of it was no longer caused by exhaustion alone.
The Spymaster knew exactly what he was looking for. And what he was looking at.
Which could only mean that he was perfectly aware of the state Flynn had been in during the entire heist, and that everything he had done and said so far was quite likely deliberate.
Shaw’s face, as usual, bore no signs of any actual facial expressions, but it was the heat in his eyes that told Flynn everything he needed to know. They looked at each other silently for a few more moments and even though no words were spoken, Flynn was suddenly very much aware of the question, or rather the proposition, that hung in the air between them.
Flynn had no idea whether it was his dumb luck or his utterly irresistible charm, or a mix of it both, but he had no intention of questioning it. If Shaw asked him in that very moment to serve as a target dummy for his daily knife throwing practice, while he kept looking at him like that, he’d accept eagerly, no questions asked.
It seemed, however, that the Spymaster had other plans for him. He pushed himself off his knees and stood up, then jerked his chin sharply in the general direction of the vast jungle stretching west of the encampment, while still keeping his gaze closely fixed on Flynn’s face.
Flynn hastily finished tying the hair back, then glanced over his shoulder once again to make sure for the last time that no one paid them any attention. Thankfully, the champion was still occupied by Jaina and the scepter, and no one else in the entire Xibala seemed particularly inclined to follow them around, either.
When he returned his eyes to Shaw again, he found the man standing in front of him, offering his gloved hand to him. Flynn grasped it without much thought and allowed himself to be pulled onto his feet. The way Shaw’s upper arm flexed during the motion and with how little effort it came to him despite his smaller build made another fresh wave of arousal wash over Flynn, which in turn, forced him to consciously swallow down the pathetic whimper that threatened to escape his throat.
They made their way through the encampment, swift and as inconspicuous as they could manage. Shaw was two steps ahead of him and didn’t look back even once to check if Flynn was following, which only proved how sure he was that they were both on the same page. The slight stiffness and impatience to his gait proved that point even further, as it was now obvious to Flynn that they both were in need of dealing with the same type of a problem.
The revelation made an excited shiver run through him and he hurried after Shaw, praying to the Tidemother that it wasn’t some sort of horrible joke on the Spymaster’s side.
The moment Xibala disappeared behind the thick, lush overgrowth Shaw finally decided to grace him with a quick glance over his shoulder. The action was something entirely unexpected, and it made Flynn startle and trip over one of the jutting roots that sprouted from the damaged path. He stumbled forward but Shaw’s reaction was as quick as ever and a strategically placed hand in the middle of his chest effectively stopped him from, once again, having a close meeting with the jungle ground.
Shaw stared at his hand for a while, then lifted his gaze.
“I take it you’ll be able to make your way back,” he said, the roughness of his voice matching the heat that still burned in his eyes.
Flynn nodded eagerly in return. Truthfully, he had literally no memory of any part of the way to the encampment, as all he was able to focus on up to this point was solely the Spymaster’s backside in front of him, but he figured that detail didn’t need to be mentioned.
Shaw’s hand slipped lower. He grabbed Flynn’s sleeve and pulled him roughly through the dense bushes that spanned all along the edge of the path. His smaller build made it considerably easier for him to traverse through the overgrown foliage. Flynn, on the other hand, had to force his body into conscious action to be able to duck and dodge all the branches and leaves that swinged dangerously close to his face. He was beginning to mourn his carefully-fixed ponytail, as it was now probably ruined by all sorts of plant debris and the Tidemother-only-knows how many stowaway bugs. A bright ray of sunlight shimmered through the leaves, blinding him momentarily, and he briefly thought that they were probably approaching a clearing.
This was his last coherent thought, however.
The next second he was being forcefully grabbed by his lapels and slammed against the nearby tree trunk, with enough strength to push all the air out of his lungs, and all the remaining thoughts out of his brain.
He wasn’t even given the courtesy of drawing breath again, as Shaw unceremoniously crowded into him, pressing his front against Flynn’s with a complete and thorough disregard to any concepts of personal space.
The leather of his coat squeaked under the forceful grip of Shaw’s gloved fingers. Flynn could feel his breath against his mouth, could feel the warmth that emanated from the Spymaster’s lean body, so different and much more alluring compared to the humid swelter of the jungle that surrounded them.
Shaw exhaled slowly, then tore his eyes away from Flynn’s lips. He dragged them upwards, meeting his gaze.
One last confirmation.
Flynn promptly answered by hooking his fingers on his belt and pulling him flush against himself. He rolled his hips forward in hopes that the direct approach was all the confirmation the other man needed. Shaw drew a sharp breath, then at last, finally, leaned in the remaining couple of inches and captured his mouth in a forceful kiss.
Flynn’s jaw went slack immediately and a helpless groan escaped him as Shaw licked roughly into his mouth, keeping him in place with the unwavering grip on his coat. He allowed his legs to fall open and make a bit more space between to accommodate the Spymaster’s form. His hands slipped lower almost on their own accord and his cock twitched in excitement, when he dug his fingers into Shaw’s ass and was met by the hard resistance of well-trained muscles.
Flynn pulled him closer, slotting their groins together, and Shaw reacted to it immediately. He sighed softly against his spit-moist lips, straddled his thigh with grace, then dove in again to resume the kiss with so much as a split-second pause for a quick breath. He braced his knee against the tree trunk between Flynn’s legs, allowing the edge of the leather strap around his thigh to rub against the front of Flynn’s breeches even with the slightest movement of his body.
Shaw dragged his lower lip between his teeth, not really biting but the threat conveyed there was still quite obvious, then opened his mouth fully to lick against the roof of Flynn’s mouth in the most messy and downright filthy kiss Flynn had ever experienced. He began rolling his hips forward slowly, deliberately and Flynn moaned again, feeling every single inch of Shaw’s very much hard length as it dragged against his own, equally straining one. It took Flynn a moment to reciprocate, as his lust drunk brain had a hard time focusing on anything apart from the hot-tight pressure of Shaw’s groin, but he managed to wrench a bit of self-control back to buck roughly under him, trying to follow his movement. They rocked together, uneven and rough, driven by the desperate, selfish desire and primal arousal, as they sloppily licked and nipped at each other.
Shaw hummed with approval against his lips and Flynn could feel the slight, upward curl of his mouth. His knees suddenly felt weak and blood thrummed in his ears, in rhythm of the borderline painful throbbing sensation between his legs, as his cock kept filling with every pulse of his heartbeat. The remaining adrenaline surged in his veins and mixed with the overwhelming, flaring need, making his head swim and stars glimmer behind his tightly-shut eyelids.
Or perhaps it was the progressing asphyxiation.
Every single one of his senses was set on accommodating the man pressed tightly to his front. The last time he took a breath seemed like an infinity ago.
He was about to accept his (quite appealing, to be honest) fate and die of lack of oxygen, smothered against a Zuldazar tree by the Alliance Spymaster, until thankfully, Shaw decided otherwise and pulled back slightly.
Flynn gasped frantically for air, like a man drowning, and Shaw breathed heavily against his mouth in similar fashion. His mouth was red and swollen, shining with their mixed saliva and the tip of his tongue darted out to lick across his lower lip. He let go of Flynn’s lapels and slipped his hands under them, flattening his palms against his chest. His fingers mirrored the grip Flynn had on his ass, as he shamelessly groped his pectorals and squeezed, making Flynn throw his head back against the tree with a strained, though entirely unabashed moan.
“Did that short trek through the jungle wind you that much?” Shaw huffed, amused, though the obvious flush to his face and the visible effort it took him to breathe evenly proved that he was just as much affected. He let one of his hands rest against Flynn’s chest, kneading the flesh there, and slid the other one down his abdomen, leaving it dangerously close to his throbbing bulge. “I thought there would be more stamina in you, judging from the way almost everything in that treasury reminded you of your exes.”
Flynn managed to open his eyes, though it took him quite a bit of effort to force control over his body again. “While your concern is touching, it’ll take more than--”
The rest of the sentence was promptly drowned out by another moan, as Shaw inched his hand even lower and palmed him through his breeches unceremoniously.
“I feel like I’ve heard this one before,” he said, narrowing his piercing green eyes at him. The expression bore no contempt or annoyance though, and was more akin to a challenge. “What happened to that clever tongue of yours? You were so eager to bite back at every single one of my remarks just moments ago.”
“You’re making it a tad bit hard to focus here, mate,” Flynn replied weakly.
“Oh, is that so?” Shaw leaned close again, his breath ghosting on the exposed skin of Flynn’s throat. “You think I haven’t noticed how you looked at me the entire time? As if you’d be ready to come the moment I told you to do so?”
Flynn cursed loudly when he felt the tip of Shaw’s tongue lick tentatively across the throbbing pulsepoint on the side of his neck. He bucked roughly into Shaw’s hand, desperately seeking more friction. Shaw had barely touched him properly, and he was already tumbling dangerously towards the edge, just from his voice.
Again.
“You think disarming that mechanism took me so long because it really was that complex? Please. One thing I have to give you is that you’re a damn good distraction.” Shaw kept going, in that same rough, taunting tone, as his fingers kept rubbing him slowly along the lacing of his pants. “If it wasn’t for the champion, I would’ve taken you right there and then on that treasury floor, just to shut you up.”
“Tides, shut me up, then,” Flynn rasped, rough and strained.
He reached upwards then and cupped the Spymaster’s jaw, bringing their mouths together in another bruising kiss. It didn’t last as long as the previous one, however, as they were both getting way too hot for it.
Flynn rested his forehead against Shaw’s, as they fought to even out their breathing.
“I was already barely keeping myself together out there. And you just kept going. Kept taunting me, kept talking back, kept showing off. I don’t think you have even the slightest idea how difficult you made it all for me. All I wanted was to just get over with it, return to my cabin as soon as possible and take myself in hand, while replaying that tide-damned praise in my head until I came.”
It was Shaw who couldn’t help but moan this time. It was half-stifled and broken, but it went straight between Flynn’s legs, setting all his nerves aflame. He squeezed Flynn’s considerably larger and thicker thigh between his own and rocked against him, forceful and impatient.
“If I told you to get down on your knees and suck me off, would you do it?”
Flynn inhaled sharply, biting down hard onto his lower lip to subdue the overwhelming wave of desire that washed over him at once. “Oh, fuck, yes.”
He pushed himself off the tree trunk and flipped them around, so that Shaw’s back was now pressed against it. He sank down to his knees without thinking twice, and began pawing at the front of Shaw’s leather pants. Just as the rest of his armor, the belt buckle and laces were overly ornate and overly, ridiculously, unnecessarily complex and all his attempts quickly proved futile.
Shaw batted his hands away impatiently and unbuckled the belt himself in a quick, efficient and well-practiced manner. He loosened the laces enough to be able to pull himself out without having to actually push the garment lower, then looked down at Flynn with half-lidded, dark eyes, expectant.
Flynn took great care to commit the entirety of that sight to memory. He was pretty sure it was enough to fuel his late night self-indulgent sessions for many more years to come.
He dove in eagerly, greedily, grasping Shaw’s hip with one hand to keep him steady against the tree trunk and curling the fingers of his other hand around the base of his cock to guide it into his mouth. He closed his lips around the swollen head and sucked, revelling in the way Shaw exhaled loudly, shakily somewhere above him. It turned into a low, drawn-out hum, that practically dripped with approval and appreciation, and it spurred Flynn into taking more of him into his mouth. He fought against his gag reflex, trying to stuff his length further. It was a skill he had obtained quite a long time ago, back during his days in Freehold, but he never allowed it to rust, keeping it like an ace in his sleeve for moments exactly like this one.
The way Shaw sighed softly and sunk back against the tree proved that it was all well worth the hassle.
“That’s good,” he heard the quiet, rough murmur of Shaw’s voice above him and he couldn’t help but shiver at the sound of it and the praise. “You’re good.”
Flynn bobbed his head, breathing sharply through his nose. The way Shaw’s body smelled overwhelmed him, strong and distinctly masculine, though not entirely unpleasant. It made him want to nuzzle his entire face into the crease of his thigh, just to get more of it. He braced himself, then pushed in the remaining few inches until the head of Shaw’s cock hit the back of his throat. Almost immediately he felt Shaw’s hand cupping the back of his skull, keeping him in place.
The Spymaster had the courtesy to not thrust into his throat immediately, letting them both adjust, but it was obvious from the tremble of his tensed thighs that holding back came to him with great effort. He kept muttering barely stifled curses, weaved roughly in-between almost incoherent praises. His breathing was heavy and ragged, and Flynn knew right away the other man wasn’t going to last for long.
Neither was he, for that matter. They both had apparently too much effect on each other and the time they had spent teasing and taunting each other in the treasury was beginning to turn against them.
He reached back and urged Shaw to grasp his hair properly. Shaw looked down at him, slightly surprised, but the determined and downright desperate look on Flynn’s face was apparently enough to convince him. He weaved his fingers through the strands, taking a good hold on his ponytail, then finally allowed himself to buck into the tight heat of Flynn’s throat.
Flynn moaned brokenly around it, pushing his hands between the leather and the rough bark to cup Shaw’s ass and bring him even closer. He relaxed his throat as much as he could and simply let the Spymaster use him as much as he wanted.
It didn’t take long after that, as Shaw was only able to thrust a few more times before he shuddered violently and came, spilling down his throat in hot, pulsing waves. The fingers in his hair tightened painfully for a few seconds, until the hold loosened entirely soon after and he was weakly pushed back.
Shaw took a while to catch his breath, then rolled his shoulders and lifted his hand to push back the sweat-soaked hair off his face. He looked down, as if he had just remembered that Flynn was still kneeling at his feet.
“Get up,” he ordered.
Flynn stood up, his knees weak and legs wobbly, and was immediately steadied by a firm grip on the front of his shirt. Shaw pulled him down to his level in a rough, close to violent manner, then captured his mouth in an intense kiss, licking into him as if he wanted to taste himself on Flynn’s tongue.
Flynn felt Shaw’s hand as he pushed it between their bodies. Before Flynn could even attempt to disentangle the lacing of his breeches to allow him a better access, Shaw was already worming his way under it and into his smallclothes. His slender fingers cupped him roughly and he whined pathetically into Shaw’s mouth, which promptly turned into a loud, ragged groan as the Spymaster gave him a firm squeeze and Flynn’s entire being drowned in a flash of bright, overwhelming bliss.
He slumped forward, boneless, half-heartedly grateful that Shaw was able to withstand his weight. It wasn’t the ending he had intended for himself and he would have actually felt slightly embarrassed by it, if only he wasn’t too spent and exhausted to even keep himself upright.
Shaw quickly pulled his hand out and wiped it on his thigh. He switched their positions with his typical proficiency and disposed of Flynn, settling him carefully against the tree. He stepped back, then set on to methodically tie the laces of his pants anew and fix his belt properly, as if Flynn’s presence was something he wasn’t concerned with anymore.
“I’ll see you back on the ship, captain,” Shaw said when he was done, his voice once again returning to his well-measured, collected tone. “Please, do try to make yourself look a bit more presentable, if you may.”
He patted Flynn’s shoulder sympathetically, then nodded towards him in a polite farewell and promptly disappeared in the dense cluster of bushes through which they had reached the clearing, which now seemed almost like a lifetime ago.
Though he was used to quick, no-string-attached flings, the fact that Shaw had just straight out left him there like that did sting a little. Especially that Flynn was almost beginning to think that they had actually gotten along quite nicely. Despite the circumstances, however, his brain again refused to cooperate, still stupidly giddy at the sheer thought that the Alliance Spymaster had just allowed him to suck his dick in the middle of the Zuldazar jungle.
He shut his eyes tightly and ran his hands down his face, trying to find some remaining composure and strength to get himself together, but his chest felt almost as lightweight as his head and he fought the urge to smile like a lovesick fool.
The last remains of white-hot pleasure were already sizzling down in his veins, leaving behind the overwhelming, bone-deep exhaustion. Which was probably to be expected, sooner or later, after the adrenaline had run out and his body had to face the consequences of all the fighting and running they had done earlier at the treasury. He suddenly became aware of how drenched he was, as he felt the sweat drip down the groove of his spine. Beads of perspiration rolled down his face and neck, unable to evaporate off his skin due to the humidity of the jungle around him. He could already see a swarm of dangerously-looking buzzing insects forming near, probably attracted by his spent body and everything else that it radiated.
He took a few more heavy breaths, then pushed himself off the tree.
There was a, unfortunately, quite visible wet stain quickly blooming across the front of his breeches and the remains of his release were already starting to cool down and stick to his bare thighs. The inevitably upcoming cleanup was already a dreadful thought to him.
However, for that to happen, he had to first reach the encampment.
Which posed a rather demanding challenge, as his memory was happily and blissfully devoid of any actual clues concerning the way back.
He looked up, shielding his eyes, trying to at least vaguely orientate himself with the location of the sun and thought bitterly that he really must’ve been one of the worst pirates there was. He couldn’t even tell which way was north.
Well. At least he could blame it on the fact that all his thoughts ventured south the moment he followed Shaw out of Xibala and hadn’t returned ever since.
He decided his best option was to attempt to follow the Spymaster’s trail, so he dove between the thick foliage, where he remembered seeing the glint of blue-and-gold of his armour for the last time. It took him some time to make his way through, but when he stumbled onto the path, he found the Spymaster waiting right there for him, with his shoulders squared and hands loosely clasped behind his back.
“Missed me already?” Flynn said, before he could think any better. He probably didn’t pose as that much of an appealing sight, with twigs and leaves sticking from his hair, flushed skin and rumpled, dusty and stained clothing, but still, he couldn’t help that little jump his heart did at the slightly amused, but nevertheless fond way in which Shaw regarded him.
The Spymaster rolled his eyes. He stepped forward and tentatively plucked out a particularly large twig out of his ponytail, then allowed his hand to slip lower, to brush the remaining leaf debris off his shoulder. He gave Flynn another quick once-over, then sighed with resignation and motioned him to follow.
“I’d recommend, captain, that next time you keep careful watch of your surroundings, instead of my rear,” he said after a few steps and though the words were probably meant to sound a bit sour, it didn’t come out too unkindly.
Flynn grinned stupidly back at him.
Next time.
***
