Asshole

The zipper is so loud, he's sure the others can hear it over the com channel. His hands are on the steering wheel, a perfect 10 and 2 position, eyes fixed on the entrance of the club across the street. He is not looking at the hand that's now stroking his cock, slow and tight pulls up, soft and light teasing down.

“We got nothin' so far,” Fin's voice crackles in his ear. “How 'bout you?”

Elliot croaks out a hasty, “Nothing here” and goes back to breathing. The stroking doesn't stop, his fingers and toes and ass clenching with the need to move, to thrust. He bites his lip to keep from making any sound over the mic at his throat.

Never challenge a fed. And never ever make a bet with Eddie Drake.

Said devil leans forward and Elliot smells sweat and leather before that sinful mouth is on him. Burning wet heat sucking and swallowing, scrape of stubble against his skin, relentless pleasure until he can't breathe, has to look down. He explodes with an audible gasp.

“Elliot?” Fin again.

“Spilled coffee.” Eddie smirks and licks his lips. Elliot does not stare at his tongue. “Asshole.”

“Next time.”

~~