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Kinktober 2019

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            In hindsight, Lio should have seen this coming earlier.

            It’s not that Galo isn’t, well, okay, he’s incredibly stupid. Really, incredibly stupid. So much so that he takes his days off to mean free time to go back to work and irritate everyone he comes across with his… smiliness. Lio’s tried to explain the concept of breaks to Galo at least thrice before he gave up, resigning himself to seeing Galo disappear routinely every 12-6 on the weekends, when they could be hanging out, watching a movie. Making out on the couch.

            He’s not picky.

            So Lio occupies his time without Galo with other people. Meis and Guiera are his prime suspects, usually the three of time sharing pizza, riding bikes, tormenting the local neighborhood with the smell of burning rubber before coming back at midnight to clean up their messes. They’re loud, not rude, and Lio maintains that every Burnish has every right to be cared for in this city, and in exchange, care for it.

            They’ve done a pretty good job, if the newest Burnish protection laws are anything to go by. It helps that, for the most part, they can’t even burn anymore. It’s Lio, and Meis, and Guiera. Just them, with pink and green flames encircling their wrist, disappearing by the day.

            Not that it really matters, when the fire departments become more of a political chaos, drumming up support for new acts of safety. Lio’s grown resigned to this slow everyday life, watching movies, taking care of Vinny, kicking back. Life as a normal human. Life without fear of law, of jail, of experimentation and icy boots kicking against his body.

            Just life.

            Which apparently includes stumbling into Galo at work, wearing the absolute smallest pair of shorts and tank top that Lio’s ever seen.

            “You’re kidding me.” Lio’s glare could melt glass, flames or not, matched by the awful cackling of Meis and Guiera behind him. He has an awful feeling that he’s been tricked, tied to a booth by nothing but social niceities. Galo peers down at him, remarkably unbothered, considering his entire body is exposed, shorts riding up his ass, notepad in hand.

            “Lio!” God, he even sounds happy to see him. “You came to visit me at work!”

            “You work,” Lio corrects, knowing that he’s scowling and blaming Galo for every wrinkle he’s bound to develop, “in Promepolis Burning Rescue Team. Not, not,” his arms gesture throughout the establishment, garish orange and white stripes matching girls and guys alike, walking in the tiniest excuse for clothing Lio’s ever had the horror of laying his eyes upon, “at Hooters!”

            “Firefighting doesn’t pay the bills. Right, Galo?” The temptation to strangle Guiera rises in Lio’s eyes, his hair floating in the air a moment as he considers how difficult it would be for Galo to catch him without his rescue gear. Still, actually murdering Guiera means Lio would have one less friend, and he drops his hand, for now.

            “Yeah! Actually, Kray helped set me up with this!” The mere mention of his name makes flames prickle at Lio’s skin, teeth gnashing together. Seriously? Really? How stupid can Galo can humanly be? How had he survived this far? “It’s funny, he told me to quit after visiting me at work. Wonder why?”

            Some absolutely horrific deity must be mocking Lio, for the very next moment a passing customer, hands wet, delivers a loud smack against Galo’s behind. Guiera and Meis freeze behind him, eyes tracking the man who is clearly grinning at Galo, before delivering a high-five to someone at his table. Even Galo yelps, glancing both ways, brows drawn up in confusion before literally shrugging, flipping a page in his notepad.

            “So, what do you want to eat?”

            Lio shatters the glass cup in his hand and barely manages to swallow his urge to scream.

            Burgers and fries and a single salad make its way to their table. Galo hums as he walks around the restaurant, balancing the tray with remarkably more precision than Lio’s ever seen him use outside of handling his ice gun. It’s almost comically hilarious how awful Galo is at managing anything outside of his workspace, except Lio finds in this particular moment that it’s not funny at all.

            Not when some absolute asshole is shoving an onion ring in Galo’s face, hands clawing at his chin like he has the right.

            “Whoa, whoa, Lio, hey!” Guiera pats Lio’s shoulder, brows drawn together, shaky smile on his face. Lio supposes his panic is the least he can do considering it was his idea to bring them here, to watch random fucking strangers laugh and play with Galo, shoving bills into his shorts, tying up his already ridiculously tiny tank top. One man literally presses his lips to Galo’s cheek, thanking him for the service. The burger in Lio’s hands smell burnt, his fingers digging blackened marks into the bun, though he finds that he really. Doesn’t. Fucking. Care.

            “Lio, calm down,” Meis hold on his shoulder tightens, and Lio quakes, grinding his teeth together. Whatever joke his life has been until this point must really have run out of material, if shoving him into a seat to watch Galo be manhandled by fuckall assholes is any indication of where his life is heading. Irritation, humiliation, jealousy—they all claw their way upward from the boiling pit within Lio, angry, demanding.

            Some dude slips a jelly shot down Galo’s mouth, just to watch his throat bob, and Lio has had just about fucking enough.

            “Galo!” Galo startles, legs stepping back enough for the pitcher of water in his hand to overflow, splashing onto his tank down to his shorts. It’s such a goddamn flimsy material that Lio can practically see his nipples through it, soft sensitive nubs surrounded by a ring of purple and blue where he had sunk his teeth into the flesh two nights before. Anyone, everyone, in the entire shitty establishment can see it. Lio fumes, knowing that his hands are clenched, knowing that flames are dancing along his wrist, knowing that the customers have gone silent, staring at this threat, quivering.


            “Galo,” Lio repeats, marching over with thundering steps. They’re scared, so goddamn scared, and even Meis and Guiera are hiding in their booth, eyes peering over at Lio, concerned. He’d feel bad if they weren’t the ones guilty for dragging him to see this spectacle in the first place.

            “Lio!” Galo, fucking hopelessly stupid Galo, gives him a wide smile. He looks so fucking cute, in his wet tiny top and his tight little shorts, and Lio is tempted to eat him up right here on the table, swept onion rings onto these assholes’ faces, just so they can watch him have what they can’t.

            “Galo,” Lio murmurs, his hand coming to grasp at the wet excuse for a shirt, “let’s get you a new uniform.”

            “Oh, thanks!” All eyes follow them as Lio leads Galo to the back, the latter following him with an easy smile. Lio really, honestly, doesn’t know how Galo’s lasted this long in life as is. “Hey, Lio, did you like the food? I like the fries, but I think the burgers are just okay, I mean, if you like them, that’s good!”

            “Galo. Shut up.” Galo’s mouth clicks shut as Lio pushes open the staff door. No lock, on keys, and he snorts. Clearly this establishment doesn’t give a damn about basic employee safety or privacy, but, then again, maybe that’s the fucking point. Lio finds that he can’t bring himself to care. Let them whore out the other employees to whoever’s willing to stuff enough dollar bills down their pants.

            This one, this idiot.

            This one’s his.

            “How long have you been working here?” Simple, casual, as though his nails aren’t digging into Galo’s skin, dragging him to sit against the chair. Lio pulls himself onto the table, creaking under him, legs clearly not able to handle much of anything. Lio kicks at it, wondering if it’ll shatter from him riding Galo on top.

            “Hmmm, three months?” Lio could sneer, curse, shout, if not for the honey sweetness with which Galo presses his hand against his mouth, tongue darting out to trace his fingers. His eyes flicker to Lio, the barest hint of red sparkling within them, as he kisses Lio’s palm. “Lio, what’s wrong?”

            What’s wrong is that Galo’s been spending this weekends in a flimsy excuse of an outfit for who knows how many lecherous eyes, tracing the form of someone who doesn’t belong to them. What’s wrong is that Lio’s been sitting indoors learning how to play fucking Mario Kart with Lucia, when Galo’s been out here prancing around with a wedgie showing off his ass to goddamn strangers. What’s fucking wrong is Galo is so fucking stupid that he’s rubbing his cheek against Lio’s hand, genuinely concerned, unable to connect the simplest fucking dots.

            He’s so goddamn stupid, and Lio still isn’t sure whether he loves or hates the fact.

            “Galo,” like a dog, perking up to smile at Lio’s face, fingers tracking along his arm, “Galo,” he’s leaning down, hand coming to cup Galo’s cheek, fingers digging in, “Galo.” He wants to fucking mark him up, kiss and bite and bruise every centimeter of skin that some random has wrongly touched.

            “Lio?” So fucking stupid. Lio grins. His legs spread.

            “Suck me off.” Galo’s eyes widen, flickering between Lio and the door for a moment. Oh, so there is some semblance of a brain between those ears. Lio combs his hand into Galo’s hair, dragging along the soft locks, pulling sharply. Galo gasps, falling so easily to his knees, burying his face against Lio’s crotch.

            “Worship.” It’s a command, an order, something for Galo to scribble on that stupid notepad stuck around his waist, wet and crinkled from the spilled water. Lio’s half tempted to set it on fire when Galo finally noses his crotch, pressing gentle kisses to the fold of his leather pants, nibbling on the wrinkles.

            “Lio.” Galo murmurs, just the soft mumbling of his name as he licks along the line of his thigh to his groin. His eyes narrow, focused, intent on drawing shapes and patterns along Lio’s thighs, biting just slightly on the fabric before snapping it back. His teeth catch on the button, tongue working to move it out of place, and Lio hums, patting Galo’s hair, fingers tracing the shell of his ear. He’s tempted to fuck Galo’s mouth.

            “Galo, take them off.” Galo’s hands trail up, stroking the length of his pants, and Lio laughs, digging his hands into the scalp of Galo’s head. “With your teeth, dog.”

            Galo moans, licking his lips before returning to his task. He kisses Lio along the tops of his pants, just soft nips along his waistline, before digging his teeth back to the task of unbuttoning the leather trousers. He’s improved, clearly, from their first time of doing this, because it only takes him two fumbling crooks of his chin before he manages to dislodge the button. Lio purrs, cupping Galo’s chin upward so he can properly look into his eyes.

            “Good boy.” They flicker, the sparks of red within them beautiful, before Lio releases his grip to allow Galo to return to the task at hand. Galo slides his mouth along his groin, just gnawing at the fabric, before ducking down to grip at the zipper with his teeth. Taking in a breath, he draws it downward, a slow sound in the backroom. Lio moans, admiring the sight, shifting his hips to allow Galo better access.

            “Look at you,” Lio chuckles, poking Galo’s nose as he shimmies his pants off, hands tugging his briefs down to his knees, “you’ve gotten so much better at this.” The praise makes Galo blush, pretty, a soft pink that flushes the tops of his cheeks. He looks so good, kneeling at Lio’s feet, and Lio moans, unable to quench the burning fire flickering within him.

            Galo kisses Lio’s half hard cock, eyes dragging along it from his balls to his head, before leaning down to suck on a ball. Lio groans, unabashed, wondering if his voice will travel through the door, the cracks on the side, the slit underneath. Hoping, almost, a small spark within him, that every customer in the restaurant can hear his rage, his pleasure, his ownership, of Galo, licking and nibbling at his cock.

            “Good boy,” Lio hisses, fingers tightening in Galo’s hair. He wants to fuck into his mouth, leave his jaw open, wide, messy with spit and cum. But then Galo’s taking him, ridiculous slurping noises, drawing him into his mouth.

            Galo’s hands come up to squeeze the base of his dick, drawing a rumbling moan from Lio. He stares down at Galo, grinning, knowing, as Galo begins to bob his head, tongue pressing insistently at the slit of Lio’s cock.

            “Good,” he murmurs, leg coming to hook at Galo’s head, “so fucking good for me.” Galo moans, the vibration of his tongue making Lio grunt, biting down on his lip. His hands clench, digging into hair, the need to burn beginning to boil within him. Every slurp, every kiss, every lick along his dick makes Lio’s throat bob. He twists one of Galo’s ear, just to hear the pained whine, before slamming his hips against Galo’s head.

            “Take it,” Lio shouts, grinding Galo into his crotch, hips jerking when his cock hits the back of Galo’s throat. “Take it!” Galo chokes and moans, his hands clawing at Lio’s thighs, knees knocking at the floor. His cheeks hollow, obedient, so goddamn obedient, and he presses his tongue back to allow Lio to smash inside his mouth, again and again.

            Galo’s notepad has fallen loose of his waistband as his back arches, tipping his jaw back, letting Lio have better access to his mouth. Good, always good, loyal and wanting and eager for any crumble Lio dishes out. He moans, feet digging into Galo’s shin, his left heel grinding against Galo’s dick, so obviously hard and straining against the wet shorts. Galo whines, pathetic little gasps. Lio only grinds harder.

            He’s tempted to make Galo cum against his feet, make him lick it up afterwards, when Lio lazily floats his gaze behind Galo to the rest of the room. Most of the room is apparently used for storage, half-filled boxes of napkins, cups, straws, etc. But his eye catches on one open container and he stills his foot, tongue twitching. Galo moans under him, hands pinching at his leather pants, until Lio digs his hands into his hair and pulls him sharply back.

            “Galo,” heavy, lust. Lio can feel his body burn ablaze as he scoots forward to stand, dick slapping Galo’s cheek as he mouths at it, “be a good boy. Come on up.”

            Galo’s legs kick out when he makes it onto the table and it creaks, legs wobbling, prompting a biting laugh from Lio. He’s careful to walk over to the box and return in a moment, climbing besides Galo, feeling the table wobble with his weight. Good.

            If they shatter the table, he’d only be so proud.

            “Lio, Lio, what?” Galo’s mutters are cut off as Lio twists his hands into the pathetic straps of his tank, tearing him forward to smash their lips together, all teeth. He snarls against Galo, hearing the wet fabric rip, hands scratching and sliding downward on the bruised flesh below. When he presses two fingers onto a bite mark left behind, Galo moans into his mouth.

            “Galo,” careful, slow, lazy, as though he’s not jerking down Galo’s shorts down to his thighs, squeezing at his dark cock. Galo jerks, gasping, as Lio reclaims his lips, biting, groaning, shifting to leave red marks along his chin, his nape, his collarbones. He wants Galo to walk out of this room soaked in his smell, coated in his marks, mouth loose with his spit. Lio pinches Galo’s nipples, grunting when Galo’s hands slide up his sides, and pulls at the skin.

            Lio pinches the head of Galo’s dick, staring at the slit, and presses the skinny straw in.

            “Lio?” Galo’s barking, loud, his legs clenching at Lio’s hips. Lio grins, teeth grinding, as he leers close to Galo’s face, spinning the straw in place. Galo yelps, though there’s no denying the pleasure that flashes by his face, the draw of his brows together as he pants.

            “Lio, what, what’s?” Stupid, so fucking stupid. Lio bites at Galo’s jaw, dragging him downward with his teeth, relentless until he can properly gnaw at Galo’s lips. Galo groans, his hands sliding upward into Lio’s hair, downward pressure against the small of his back, as Lio shifts their hips closer to grind their dicks against each other. They moan in unison, hard, needy, as Lio twists the straw a millimeter further down.

            “Good,” Lio appraises, licking at his jaw, “so fucking good for me.” Galo sighs, high, long, obedient as he bares his neck back. Lio drags his tongue done, appreciating the marks he’s reopened, blood beading to the surface. “So fucking,” he groans, dicks grinding, Galo’s hand slipping down to hold them properly together, “good for me.”

            Lio cums first, shaking, his head buried against Galo’s shoulder. The table shakes under them, weak, unstable, a fucking metaphor for his life as he cums onto Galo’s stomach, thighs. His, fucking his, his dog, his lover, his Galo, stupid fucking shorts and all.

            “Lio, Lio, please, Lio,” a string of whines, need, wanting noises spilling from Galo’s mouth as he drools onto the table. His hips jerk out of rhythm, nothing more than persistent grinding against Lio, eyes wide as he whines. It’d be cruel to leave him hanging, Lio pressing his nail against the straw, fingers curling as he humps against Galo, earning him a gasping shriek as Galo cums, straw shooting out.

            “Gal-oof!” Galo curls around Lio, grabbing him close, thighs bouncing against his as he cums, body shaking. Lio groans, arms grasping at Galo’s sides, sliding his thigh up for Galo to properly rock against. He’s so warm, so hard, so fucking horny as he spills his cum onto Lio’s shirt, his stomach, coating his thighs. The table rears underneath them, truly on its last leg, and then they’re tilting to the side, crashing to the floor.


            Lio hisses, rolling his head to the side. Galo is, of course, pounced onto his knees, shielding Lio from any threats, looking around warily as though his ripped shirt and tiny shorts will do him any good. It is a beat, a moment of silence, before Galo relents, dipping his head down to kiss at Lio’s chin.

            “Lio, are you okay?” That stupid sparkling smile. Lio pinches his mouth, knowing that heat is rising to his cheeks without his will. Galo continues smiling down to him, endearing, sweet, so fucking oblivious to the world.

            “Fine,” Lio retorts, but his tone is soft, simple, a hand reaching up to cup Galo’s cheek. “You?”

            “Safe!” Galo shouts, finally releasing Lio to rock back onto his knees, arms up. Lio could chuckle, could shimmy Galo off his body and appraise the situation, when a hesitant knock comes through the door.

            “Who the fuck?” Lio calls. Galo shushes him, though Lio simply pushes him away with his hand.

            “Is it safe to come in?” Meis. Lio groans, rolling his eyes, falling back onto the floor. Galo jumps up, eyes eager, marching to the door and swinging it open like he’s not nude and smeared with cum. Lio gets a millisecond glance at Meis before it slams shut, Guiera shrieking in the back.

            “Dude! Put on some clothes!” Lio puts his hands over his face. His fucking life.