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Style wasn't one to brag, but the night was a total success so far.
Okay, that was a lie, he definitely loved bragging.
He had Fadel practically eating out of his hand with his quick comebacks and witty humor. He could tell Fadel enjoyed his presence based on the way his face didn't change in expression once during their —one-sided— conversation. Oh yeah, this was going great.
Joking aside, Style knew he was getting under the man's skin. It was incredibly amusing, and he couldn't help himself. The way his eye would twitch was just so funny. Style wasn't able to stop, and he knew eventually Fadel would break and maybe crack a smile at least.
Well, probably not, but a man could dream, right?
He had just polished off another mug of beer, feeling completely satisfied with himself. Why not ask for another? Fadel didn't seem too bothered, surely one more couldn't hurt. Turning in the booth, the leather creaking loudly as he did, he essentially ordered the man to grab him another beer. He swayed a bit in his seat, his eyes fluttering slightly.
Style heard as Fadel walked towards him, his crossed arms falling to his sides.
"You're drunk," Fadel stated, matter-of-factly as he stared disapprovingly.
Scoffing, Style shifted, turning to face Fadel, a smirk forming on his lips. He felt a bit lightheaded from the beer, but otherwise, he felt pretty good. He was relaxed and in a good mood.
"I'm not. I'm just tipsy." The cogs turned in Style's sluggish brain, and he suddenly thought that this was his chance. Yes, he was going to successfully seduce the brooding man. "But it's enough to make me bold."
Style pushed himself from his seat, standing up. He felt wobbly and he swayed as he took a step forward, but he managed fine. He was definitely a little more than tipsy.
Fadel's eyes looked him up and down, and although his face remained the same, his posture changed a bit. Style noticed, and he felt a thrill at the subtle change in the other man. He didn't care if it was hostility or desire, he was just happy he managed to make the other man feel something.
"Bold?" was Fadel's bored reply.
Style hummed. "Well, for starters, if we were in a club, I'd be dancing so close to you." He pressed in a tad closer, beginning to move his body to music only in his head. Okay, he was really drunk. He couldn't stop now, though, he was reeling Fadel in.
"I'd be dancing around you like this." Even closer, now, and Style could feel Fadel's warm breath on his face. He continued to meet the other man's eyes, and they were as stoic as ever. "And then I'd whisper in your ear."
That's when Style's hands came up and touched Fadel, and oh— he was hiding muscle underneath these baggy work clothes.
His hands slid further and he was almost surprised that Fadel was letting him touch him like this, but he didn't question it. He took it as a win. "Wanna come home with me?" he finished, his voice low.
The air around them was heavy and Style was so focused on the other man's gaze, he barely registered himself yanking Fadel forward, bringing him flush against his own chest.
Their lips were inches apart now, and Style was nearly shouting in victory, too busy enjoying his win to notice the way Fadel's hands came up and shoved him hard, throwing him back onto the booth, the leather squeaking in protest at the sudden weight.
Style, after taking a second to blink away the sudden dizziness, looked up at Fadel with his jaw slightly dropped in surprise.
"You've tested my patience," Fadel began, stalking closer to the edge of the booth. He pointed to the table littered with empty beer mugs. "I'll send over the bill to your garage. Now get out."
Style was stunned. Shit, he really thought he had Fadel. He had him. What went wrong? Too forward? Probably. He mulled it over for just a second, weighing his options.
"No."
Fadel was not impressed in the slightest with that answer. His eye did that little twitch again. Cute.
"If you want me to leave," Style continued, "you have to give me a ride home." He sure as hell wasn't going to walk home in this condition, so he figured the best option was to annoy Fadel into helping him out.
Fadel's stony expression changed just a smidge, a small raise of his brows, and Style thought that was really, really cute. "You won't leave, huh?"
Style shook his head with a 'make me' expression, his tone almost challenging. "No."
"Fine."
Fuck, he was going to kick him out. Style brought his right leg up onto the seat of the booth, still leaning back on his elbow. But instead of grabbing him and tossing him out like he expected, Fadel dropped a knee in between his legs, leaning in close. Oh.
"Still no?" Fadel breathed, placing a hand on Style's knee and slowly dragging it up. Style smiled lightly, shaking his head. "Still no," he confirmed.
He got him.
They leaned in closer, Style tilting his head, and their lips met. The kiss was hungry and hot, and Style was surprised that he had gotten this far. But a win is a win.
The moment Fadel's lips left his, he brought his right hand up and tangled it in the man's dark locks, pulling him closer. The knee between his leg brushed up against his hardening arousal and he made a little noise in the back of his throat, pushing his hips forward to get some sort of friction.
"You're such a brat," Fadel noted with a growl. "I hope you know what you're getting into."
Style's breath hitched at those words, and the hand in Fadel's hair tugged the man even closer. "I think I do."
"Good."
Fadel was practically on top of him now, and Style was already a mess. The hand on his leg was dangerously close to his crotch and he could feel the warmth through his clothes. He was so hard and his pants were so tight and he couldn't wait to be relieved.
He bucked his hips upwards, trying to signal to the other man that he needed some sort of attention there, but Fadel ignored him, and instead trailed his hand along the side of Style's torso. His hands were warm and rough, and the contrast from the cold air against his stomach where his shirt was pushed up was so satisfying.
He shuddered, goosebumps trailing up his arms. He wanted Fadel's mouth on him. He wanted him all over and he wanted Fadel in him and—
He was bold, so he was going to let Fadel know.
"Fuck me," he groaned. "Right here. Right now."
It was a challenge, and Fadel took the bait, but not before a quick, "No lube."
Shit. Well then.
"Don't worry, I got some." He didn't, but that was a problem for Future Style. Present Style was just glad Fadel was on board in the first place.
Fadel raised a brow, which was the most expression Style had gotten out of him all night. "You carry lube with you?"
"Only when I know I'm going to get some." Style wiggled his hips in a way he hoped was attractive. "Which I usually do."
That wasn't a lie. But he really didn't have any lube with him. Hopefully Fadel was okay with improvising.
"Hmm." And with that, Fadel's hands were suddenly on him, grabbing his ass and lifting him up, and holy fuck, how was he this strong?
"Let's see how good of a fuck you are."
Fuck yes.
Fadel sat back against the booth and plopped Style right on his lap, and Style immediately began grinding down onto the hardness beneath him. There was a low groan and Fadel was biting and sucking at his neck, and Style was loving it.
He was still grinding down and he could feel Fadel's clothed cock rubbing against his own clothed ass, and it was too much and not enough at the same time. He couldn't believe how turned on he was. He also couldn't believe he was getting Fadel to actually fuck him in his own restaurant of all places.
"Fuck me," he moaned, and the words were swallowed up by Fadel's mouth, who was now kissing him like his life depended on it.
Fadel's hands were still on his ass, but he removed them briefly to tug Style's pants down, and soon the air was cool on his exposed ass. He gasped and his hands went straight to Fadel's shoulders. "Fuck," was all he could say as he tore himself away from the kiss to breathe.
Soon his pants were pulled down just far enough, and then Fadel was reaching a hand between them, his palm upwards. "Lube?" He mumbled with a grunt, his nose brushing against Style's.
"Oh," Style panted. "Yeah, that. I don't actually have any."
Style pulled back to see Fadel giving him the most dryest, unimpressed look anyone has ever given him. He chuckled sheepishly, and his eyes shifted to the side, away from Fadel's gaze. "Oops?"
"Unbelievable."
"Come on, you just gotta improvise. At least I got a condom, yeah?" He reached into his front pocket and pulled out the tiny square, holding it in the space between them. "See? I'm prepared. Kinda."
Fadel took the condom and gave him a look that was borderline annoyed. It was a step up from the blank stare, so Style counted that as a win.
He wriggled a bit on Fadel's lap, giving the man's arousal a bit of attention to keep him from changing his mind. "Spit is a thing, you know." He added a wink for good measure.
The sigh that Fadel let out was a mixture of exasperation and resignation. "Alright."
He held his hand up again, and Style took his bottom lip between his teeth as he watched Fadel spit onto his fingers, making them slick. Fuck. He didn't think he'd actually do it.
Fadel didn't waste any time. One hand came up to the small of Style's back, and the other went in between his legs, and then there was a finger circling his entrance.
"Oh—" Style breathed, tilting his hips downwards.
He could feel Fadel's finger prodding at him, and he could tell the man was impatient. He wanted more too, though, and he pushed back, wanting the man inside him already.
Finally, finally, the finger entered him and he threw his head back, hissing out a light moan. He rolled his hips down, taking Fadel's finger deeper, and the pace was slow and torturous. It burned, but it burned good. The spit wasn't the greatest thing to use, but it worked in a pinch. And it was fucking hot.
Fadel began leaving marks on Style's collarbone, biting the skin and then sucking hard, and Style could only imagine the hickeys that would be there in the morning.
When the second finger was added, Style whined, feeling the sting of the stretch. But Fadel was moving quickly, and the stretch wasn't unwelcome. In fact, it felt fucking amazing, and Style was moaning, grinding down, and then rolling his hips, riding the fingers inside him.
Style's half-undone pants limited his movement, and he began to feel frustrated. His cock was trapped in the layers of clothing and his hips couldn't move the way he wanted. He tried to push his pants down further, but Fadel's fingers inside him made it hard to concentrate.
"Shit, this is hot," Style commented, his words coming out in gasps. "But could you— fuck— could you help me out here?"
Fadel didn't say a word, and Style could hear the wet noises from where Fadel's mouth was latched onto his collarbone, could feel the light scrape of teeth and Style shivered violently.
"Come on," he whined. "I can barely move here."
Fadel didn't respond to his pleads, and instead, a third finger entered him, and Style was left a panting, moaning mess.
"Please," he cried.
"Please what?" Fadel's voice was low, and it went straight to Style's dick.
"Take off my pants," Style managed, his hips rolling down to meet the fingers thrusting into him. "I—" he cut himself off with a particularly high keen, Fadel's fingers curling just right. "Ah, fuck— I want to ride you. Like, right now."
"You're needy."
"You like it."
Fadel didn't respond but he did remove his fingers which made Style moan lowly in protest. He felt empty and he was about to whine until Fadel's hands behind tugging his pants and underwear down the rest of the way and Style could have cried in pure relief. He helped the best he could, but once the clothing had bunched up around his ankles he let out a small huff of annoyance. Stupid shoes.
... Well. Goodbye shoes.
Style reached down and threw them off, and they bounded to the floor loudly, his pants following soon after. There. He was ready.
He shifted a bit on the other man's lap, his naked erection pressing up against his clothed stomach, and the cold air was a relief. He was shaking. He had never been this excited to fuck before. He assumed it was the thrill of doing it in public that had him this turned on. Or maybe it was Fadel himself, because fuck, the man was hot.
Speaking of the man, one of his hands were gripping his bare hips tightly, his fingers digging into the skin, and Style could feel the bruises forming. The other hand was deftly unzipping his own pants, and Style nearly moaned at the sight. He was so hard and the anticipation was killing him.
"Are you ready?"
Fadel's voice was deep, and his breath was hot on Style's neck, and he couldn't formulate an answer because his brain was too clouded. So he simply nodded, and then there was the sound of a wrapper being opened, and Style's breath caught in his throat.
Soon there was the blunt tip of Fadel's cock pressing against his hole, and the pressure was so, so good. He tilted his hips down, wanting more, and Fadel's cock pushed past the first ring of muscle and Style's toes curled and he could feel every inch entering him, stretching him and filling him and he could die happily right here.
"You're tight." Fadel's voice was monotone, as if he were casually discussing the weather and it made Style huff out a laugh.
"Is that a good thing or a bad thing?"
"It's a you're-going-to-be-a-mess-when-I'm-done-with-you kind of thing."
Oh! Style shuddered.
"Do your worst," he breathed, and he felt Fadel's grip on his hip tighten.
Without warning, Fadel slammed him down and his cock went all the way in, and Style choked, his breath getting stuck as a garbled moan forced itself out of his throat. He grabbed the edge of the table behind him for purchase, steadying himself.
Fadel was waiting for him to adjust, but the feeling of the thick cock inside him was so satisfying, and he was ready. He didn't even need to adjust, so his hips rolled down, a whine escaping his lips.
"Fuck," he cursed.
He wasted no time in riding Fadel, lifting his hips and sinking back down, and he couldn't get enough.
Fadel's hand was still on his hip, guiding his movements and the other hand was now gripping his thigh, and the two points of contact were almost overwhelming, the touch practically branding his skin. The sound of their skin meeting and Style's moans were echoing in the quiet room.
He could hear the low, grunting groans that Fadel made, and he wanted the man to be as vocal as he was.
"Y-you're not very talkative, huh?" He said in between moans, his voice shaky. "I w-wanna hear you."
"You don't ever shut up, do you?"
"A-ah— does it m-matter?"
Fadel didn't answer, instead slamming up into Style and he yelped, his back arching. The pace was relentless and Style couldn't catch his breath, his mind going hazy and his vision blurred. He couldn't form a coherent thought, couldn't focus on anything other than the cock ramming into him and the hand squeezing his hip, the other leaving a bruise on his thigh.
"Ngh— shit— yes— right there," he babbled, his nails scraping along the table. He couldn't hold himself up any longer and so he leaned forward again, grasping onto Fadel's shoulders like they were a lifeline.
Their lips met and they kissed messily, their teeth clashing and Style was sure he was drooling. The kiss was broken, though, when Fadel suddenly changed his angle and hit a spot inside Style that had him crying out, his back arching and his body trembling.
"Shit!"
"There we go," Fadel murmured.
Style didn't even have time to register the smug tone before Fadel was hitting that spot again and again, and oh, the bastard was relentless. Style couldn't breathe, it was too much and next thing he knew, the hand gripping his thigh was suddenly on his cock, jerking him quickly.
"Oh fuck— Fadel, I—"
His hips stuttered, his thighs were burning, and his stomach was coiling and he could feel the heat building up. He was so close and his head was clouded, and then Fadel's voice was right by his ear, sending shivers down his spine.
"Come."
And that was enough. Style came hard. Throwing his head back with a breathy, high-pitched whine. Fuck, he sounded pathetic, but he didn't care, because it felt so good and his body was twitching and his mind was blank and he couldn't feel his legs anymore.
"Good boy."
Oh, those words made his heart flutter, and he wanted Fadel to say them again and again. He rode out his orgasm in a daze, his eyes closing as he breathed heavily, his heart pounding.
The thrusting stopped, but he was certain Fadel hadn't come yet. He peeked his eyes open blearily in confusion and made eye contact with the man, who was staring at him with a look he couldn't describe. It was somewhere between annoyed and fond, and Style could definitely get used to that.
He was tired, his whole body felt like jelly and his arms and legs were still shaking, but he didn't stop moving, and his hips rolled down lazily. He was oversensitive, and the feeling of the cock still inside him was almost painful, but he kept going.
"Hold on," Fadel muttered, and he sounded breathless. There was an unmistakable blush adorning his cheeks. Style wanted to see him more like this, flustered and hot and bothered.
With that, Fadel forced Style off of his still-hard cock, Style yelping at the feeling, and manhandled him, setting Style down on unsteady legs and pulling him out of the booth. Fadel leaned over and pushed the beer mugs out of the way, a few falling and crashing loudly onto the floor. He then slammed Style into the table, his chest smacking into the hard surface and forcing the wind out of him. His cheek was pressed against the cool surface, and the contrast between the cold and his hot skin was a welcome relief.
"Hey! Wha—"
"Shut up."
His face was pressed firmly against the table, his chest laying flat. Fadel grabbed at his flailing arms and pinned them to his back, keeping him restrained.
"O-oh fuck, I didn't know you were into this sort of thing," Style breathed, dizzy, his body pleasantly humming. "Kinky."
Fadel didn't respond.
The position was bordering on uncomfortable, and Style struggled.
"Let me turn around, I can't— ah!"
His words were cut off by the sudden burn of Fadel's cock pressing into him, and he groaned loudly. It hurt, his ass already sore and oversensitive, and yet he craved it. He could feel his cock twitch with interest, and Style was glad he had such a short refractory period.
Fadel set a pace that was punishing. Every thrust made Style's body rock against the table, the edge of the surface digging into his abdomen, and his cock rubbed against the table's edge. It was the sweetest torture.
He couldn't even form a single thought, his mind a mess, and he was reduced to nothing but moans and whines. Fadel's cock was hitting his prostate, and his body was being pushed to its limits. It hurt, but it felt so, so good.
His mind was swimming and he could feel his eyes welling up, his tears blurring his vision. Every thrust forced a little moan from Style's throat, and he barely noticed himself doing it. "Ah— a-ah—ah—"
Fadel was grunting every now and then, and it was so incredibly sexy. His body was burning and Fadel's hands on him were branding his skin with his hot touch. His arms were still pinned behind him and he couldn't move, couldn't touch himself, couldn't do anything but take the cock ramming into him, the man holding him down, and fuck, that was hot.
It didn't take long for his dick to twitch again, and he was fully hard once more, panting and writhing in Fadel's grasp. His body was moving of its own accord, desperately trying to meet Fadel's thrusts, trying to take his cock deeper, harder.
"G-gonna— again," he cried out.
"So soon?"
"Nngh—"
And then Fadel's hand was on his cock and Style's voice cracked as he whined, high-pitched and desperate.
Yes, yes, yes, he chanted in his head, feeling that lovely heat pooling in his gut once again. He could feel his cock leaking and the slick slide of the hand on his arousal and he couldn't believe how fast he was going to come. He really did have a short refractory period.
One final, perfectly aimed thrust sent him over the edge, and he came with a soft cry, his mouth hanging open and his eyes rolling back. His vision whited out for just a moment and Style incoherently babbled out curses and moans, his entire body twitching.
It took him a few seconds to come down from his high, and when he did he distantly registered Fadel heaving a heavy sigh and stilling his hips. Style could feel him pulsing inside him, and that meant the man had come. There was a flash of lust that shot through him at the feeling. Style wished he could have seen his face. And he kinda wished the condom wasn't in the way. Oh well. Another time.
The arms holding his own let go, and his body slumped onto the table, and his legs gave out. Fadel pressed a hand to the small of his back and pulled out, eliciting a low whine from Style.
Fadel let go of him completely, and he heard the telltale sign of the other man tucking himself away and zipping his pants up.
Styled pushed himself off the table and turned, his legs shaking. His knees felt like jello and he didn't think he'd be able to stand without the support of the table behind him. "Wow," he panted, still trying to catch his breath. "We should do that again sometime."
Fadel rolled his eyes, and Style felt ecstatic he had gotten a reaction. But that was short-lived as Fadel was turning and beginning to go back behind the counter.
"Woah, wait, where are you going?"
Fadel stopped, but didn't turn around. "I have things to do. And you need to clean up and leave."
Style harrumphed and begrudgingly grabbed his clothes from the floor, wincing when he bent down to pick them up. "Fine," he whined.
He got dressed slowly, the movement a little painful. He'd definitely be sore in the morning.
Just as he finished tying his shoes, Fadel appeared from the back with a broom, dustpan and antibacterial wipes. He shoved the wipes unceremoniously into Style's arms with an expressionless gaze. "Clean up your mess then leave."
"It's not that bad, why don't you clean it?" Style shot back, his tone teasing.
Fadel simply shrugged. "You were the one who made the mess."
Style was about to retort but decided to take a glance at the mess. Well, judging by the cum that was dripping from the table and pooling onto the floor, and the little wet spots on the booth seat, he couldn't argue with that.
He began to clean, wiping the fluid from the booth and table, and when he was done, he wiped the floor. Fadel was already cleaning the floor underneath the booth, having already swept up the broken glass.
"Can I have your number, at least?"
"No."
"Well, what can I say to get your number, then?"
"Nothing. You're not getting my number."
Style hummed, his brows furrowing. He needed to find a way to stay in touch with the man, somehow. He wanted to see him again, and not just because of the amazing sex. Well, okay, maybe because of the amazing sex. But the man was interesting. And since Kant asked him so nicely to get as close as possible, he was absolutely coming back for more.
"Fine," he said, sighing exaggeratedly, turning and stumbling towards the doors. Oh, that's right, he was still drunk. Nevermind that, he's walked home drunk many times, and although he didn't particularly enjoy it, he'd suck it up.
Style wasn't backing down forever. He was definitely coming back here another day, and he was determined he'd get that number one way or another.
He turned his head, flashing Fadel a wide, lopsided smile.
"See you around, hot stuff!"
