Category: Smut, crack!fic
Summary: "So of course Emmett would own something as dangerous as a motorcycle."
Warnings: Foreplay, leather, unbetaed
Notes: Happy Birthday laytoncolt! This is my gift to you (and I just couldn't get McKay in leather without complaining). Enjoy!
If Brendan had to guess, he wouldn’t have pegged Emmett as a motorcycle guy. In retrospect, it was a very stupid assumption. The man worked with snakes. He was on a first name basis with a huge boa. He was the guy that led Brendan into the heated environment and said “no, really, she’s just smelling you, it’s not a prelude to swallowing you whole.”
So of course he would own something as dangerous as a motorcycle.
Now Brendan, like any guy, had fantasies about owning a motorcycle. Wearing the clothes, talking the talk, picking up women with nothing more than a look and a gun of the engine. The speed had its own attraction, and Brendan dreamt of the world passing in a blur as the wind whipped around him. Yet he’d never take that final step, actually go out and purchase one. He knew the statistics, he’d seen the video, and there was no way in hell he’d ever own one of those death traps.
Such details didn’t bother Emmett, though, as Brendan found out. It was actually an accident. Every third Sunday Emmett went out for the day, and Brendan had never been able to find out why. So, four months in, when he had a key to Emmett’s house (he actually owned a house, and Brendan did not stare incredulously when Emmett announced it), he went over early on a third Sunday to ‘surprise’ Emmett with donuts.
He’d found his lover under his motorcycle, tightening a screw. His oil-stained navy shirt was pulled tight across his chest, his muscles straining as they worked the wrench. Emmett’s feet were planted firmly on the ground, spread almost invitingly and wrapped in padded leather pants. He hadn’t noticed Brendan’s arrival, being in the garage and listening to the local static-laced rock station. Brendan tried to retreat back into the kitchen, but Emmett finished his work and tilted his head towards the door.
Surprise bloomed in the bright blue eyes, then confidence and the smug “I’m sure this snake isn’t poisonous” smirk appeared. Brendan swallowed as Emmett jumped to his feet, wiping his hands on his shirt. Emmett’s gaze raked up and down Brendan’s body as he stalked over, capturing Brendan with one brief smoldering look. Brendan began to sweat, and he felt his heart start to race as he licked his lips.
This was a side of Emmett he’d seen only a few times over the months, the very rare, very predatory side. The side that told Brendan to strip two seconds before pinning him to the wall and nearly ripping the clothes off him before taking his cock and swallowing him like Betty swallowed her meals. The side that once bent Brendan over his desk one late night at the NSA building and fucked him fast and quick and caused Freya to drop her coffee three floors down in an interrogation room.
That side of Emmett was here again, now standing inches away. Eyes locked onto Brendan’s, Emmett finished unzipping Brendan’s leather jacket, then slipped the hand up under Brendan’s shirt and stroked his chest. The other hand felt along the edge of his belt before dipping down to cup the erection through his jeans. Brendan gasped as Emmett squeezed him, just once, before pulling his hands away.
Brendan knew his whimper was entirely involuntary, and he leaned forward, wanting more. Against his will, he reached out and rested his hands against Emmett’s waist and oh--OH! How his lover felt through the leather…firm, protected, yet it was so smooth that it was almost like a skin. His breath was shuddering, and Emmett let out a brief laugh.
Emmett reached up, wrapped a hand around Brendan’s neck and guided their heads together. The kiss was gentle, warm, inviting, and Brendan tried to wrap himself around Emmett as their tongues danced. Emmett’s other hand kept Brendan away, though, holding him just a few inches back by resting on his chest. After a minute, Emmett pulled back, and Brendan panted, gripping his lover tighter. He wanted, he needed contact.
Emmett, though, had other plans, and stepped away. His lips now slick and swollen, Emmett smirked again and sauntered across the garage. Brendan’s eyes locked onto the leather-clad ass, watching the play of muscles, so familiar, yet so…alien in these clothes. So intent on that one area that he didn’t realize he was staring until Emmett suddenly turned around and Brendan found himself staring at a bulging crotch. Looking up, Brendan found Emmett wrapped in the leather top of the riding outfit.
When they were once more standing together, Brendan reached for the man, but Emmett grabbed his wrists and pushed them aside. Confused, he left his arms hanging as Emmett zipped up his leather jacket. It was a simple action, yet to Brendan it seemed almost…sensual. Catching Emmett’s grin, he finally let his mouth quirk upward. So leather was a kink, Brendan could go with that. Considering how hard he was, he certainly wasn’t adverse to it.
Then a solid object struck his chest, his arms automatically grabbing the sphere-like object. It was smooth, and with slow dread, Brendan looked down and found himself holding a motorcycle helmet. “Uh…Emmett?”
But Emmett had already walked over to the bike, strapped on his helmet, and swung his leg over the seat, straddling the machine. Starting the engine, he lifted the visor and gave Brendan an outright leer. “You coming for a ride or what?”
After an infinity of a moment, Brendan let the grin return, put on the helmet, and slid into the spot behind Emmett. He didn’t have to hide his groan as he pressed up against Emmett, the roar of the engine hid it for him--though he suspected Emmett knew, anyways. Emmett briefly squeezed his arm, then kicked up the stand and drove them out of the garage.
Brendan held on, resting his head against Emmett’s shoulder, breathing quickly because of the proximity to Emmett when turned on, because of the vibration between his legs, because of the world whipping by, because he was living a fantasy he thought he’d never ever live. Only Emmett was giving him his fantasy, whether he knew of Brendan’s dream or not, Emmett was giving it to him. Smiling, he squeezed Emmett’s waist.
An hour later, they were in a park at the edge of a lake. Brendan was catching his breath, glad that Emmett had tucked him back in because he had absolutely no energy. Emmett had sucked everything out through his dick and he had nothing. Emmett was sitting beside him, a hand stroking through his hair. He was giving the water a sated smile, and after another minute he was lying next to Brendan, resting his head on Brendan’s shoulder.
Seeking Emmett’s other hand, Brendan squeezed it. “Thank you.”
Emmett kissed Brendan’s jaw. “Happy Birthday.”
Brendan blinked, and tilted his head towards his smiling lover. “It’s not my birthday.” His birthday was in June.
Emmett’s smile vanished. “What?” Emmett held himself up on his arms. “I heard Freya and her sister talking, about what to get you.” He frowned. “Freya said you’d love at least one ride on a motorcycle.”
“I think I know when it’s my birthday, Emmett.” He searched his memory for a moment, then let out a groan and shut his eyes. “Freya has a cousin named Brendan, just turned seventeen.”
“What?!” Emmett’s eyes darkened. “That little…she must’ve known I was nearby and deliberately-”
Brendan grabbed Emmett’s arm. “Emmett, it’s okay.” The anger faded from his lover’s face. “It’s…I wanted this. I enjoyed this. This…was great.” He guided Emmett back down against him. “I love you, even if you forgot my birthday.” He smiled at Emmett’s huff, because even if Emmett got the dates wrong (or was misled, and he’d ream Freya about that tomorrow), it was a wonderful gesture, one he’d like to repeat.
After he reminded Emmett that he’d told him when his birthday was only two weeks ago.