Work Text:
Lando is just about finished wiping the lube off of the backs of his thighs, when there’s a sudden knock at his apartment door.
He rushes to pull a half-buttoned shirt over his head, smoothing out the worst of the wrinkles as best as he could. “Hold on a minute, I’m coming!” He miraculously manages to get his grey sweats on without tripping over them before rushing towards his front door.
He hopes he hasn’t flattened his artfully tousled hair – he's just barely gotten his wild curls under control this morning. He takes a moment to check himself out in front of the mirror that hangs in his hallway. His hair is thankfully still intact, and he pinches his cheeks to give his face some youthful colour.
He checks the clock – fuck, Fernando is a half an hour early. Lando figures he’s eager, since he hasn’t made an appointment in a couple months – something about traveling back home? He’ll check the notes on his phone when they’re stripping down to their birthday suits, so when they’re lounging afterwards they’ll have something to talk about.
Fernando is probably one of his favourite long standing clients. He's a simple man, with simple tastes – Lando has already primed and plugged himself in anticipation for a divine afternoon of easy fucking.
Giving himself one last onceover, Lando pads over to the door. He unlatches the deadbolt and the chain, and throws the door open, ready to bat his lashes and push out his pouty lips in what he hopes to be a seductive look. “Hello, Fernando–”
The person standing awkwardly on the other side, though, is decisively not Fernando.
“–I-I’m sorry,” Lando stutters to a stop, eyes wide. “You must have the wrong apartment.” But he’s really hot, his brain supplies helpfully.
He's taller than Lando, though that's easy to achieve, and he’s broader too, his shoulders hunched a little with his hands in the pockets of freshly pressed navy blue slacks. He’s got floppy brown hair that’s swept out of his piercing brown eyes, and he's got a set of the most generously plush lips that Lando wants to pillow his curly head on. He's got a scruffy bit of five o'clock shadow that darkens his jawline, hints of a beard that travels down the column of his tanned neck.
Lando feels just a little unusually faint. He really does love a bit of beard to rub his cheeks on, or to have it rubbed all over the insides of his thighs.
“This is 4B, right?” God, even his voice is hot. He’s got a Spanish accent, and Lando wants to melt into a sopping puddle that ruins his house slippers. So definitely not Fernando, but definitely of the same ilk. He looks really uncomfortable, though. His body language is stiff with apprehension, and Lando just wants to reach up and massage his fingers in his shoulder blades and force him to relax and turn into putty under his nimble hands.
“Yes?” Lando tilts his head curiously, gripping the door handle a little bit more protectively, ready to slam it in this handsome man’s face at a moment’s notice. He could be a serial killer, or a pizza delivery guy with the wrong apartment. This wouldn’t be the first time one of his dumbass neighbours fat-fingered his address instead. At least this time he isn’t occupied with deepthroating someone’s wrinkly dick.
Hot delivery boy-cum-murderer jerkily mimics his head motion. He must be really awkward or something, Lando decides. “Can I come in?”
“Um… I’m expecting someone?” Lando tries to be nice about it. It’s not like he’s opposed to really handsome men knocking on his door, but usually the men at his door are a bit more homely than this one. And older, to boot. Fernando’s one of the exceptions, though.
“You’re expecting me,” the man grimaces, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “Fernando made this… appointment for me. He said you were discreet?”
“Oh,” Lando says stupidly, his brain slow to catch up. Okay, so this isn’t some weird coincidence. There’s a reason why the guy is here. It is quite rare when his clients are under the age of forty. If Fernando booked this visit for him, then this guy is probably not some callboy serial killer like he’s read on Twitter. Lando opens the door wider. “Come in, then?”
“Gracias.” He strides in like he owns the place, and Lando can only stare after him as the guy shucks off his burgundy peabody coat, hanging it delicately on the coat rack. He toes off his leather shoes, and his socks have little red and white pinstripes. It’s kind of cute, in a mom-picks-out-your-outfits kind of way.
Lando clears his throat noisily. “I’m Lando.” His real name sounds fake anyways, like he chose it based off of that Star Wars character, so he’s never really bothered by using it as his alias. His clients don’t run in the same circles as he does, anyways. The day that he sees one of them at the dodgy convenience shop across the street, he’ll buy the microwaved fishstick sandwich and choke to death.
“Carlos,” Fernando’s friend introduces himself as he undos the cuffs on his white button up, rolling them neatly to his elbows, one at a time. “Is there someplace we could sit?”
Lando gives himself a shake. “The living room is right over there. Make yourself at home. Um, can I get you something to drink? Tea? Coffee? Energy drink? Something stronger?”
“Just a glass of water will do," Carlos answers, awkwardly shuffling his feet.
“Alright, okay.” Lando heads into the kitchen to make himself a cup of tea to go with Carlos’s water. He needs something to fiddle with. The energy is finicky and weirdly tense, like walking into a fog in a forest only to get lured into a bog by some fairy gremlin with a lantern. Fewtrell would say ‘charged with sexual tension’ complete with airquotes and eyebrow waggling, but he’s a virgin who can’t drive, and he’s also not here, so the point is moot.
When he returns with a crystal glass and his favourite mug with Halo 4 emblazoned on it, Carlos is situated on the edge of his minimalist grey sofa, his knees prim with his hands folded up on top of them.
“So, um, what can I do for you?” Lando settles himself down, putting the glass of water in front of Carlos on top of a plain cork coaster. He tucks one leg up under him, alleviating the pressure of the plug digging deeper into his ass before blowing the steam off of his cup.
Carlos hesitates. “I have a… little problem.” He reaches out, and downs half the contents of his glass in one gulp. “I do not know if you can help me.”
Lando waits, taking a measured sip. The tea hasn’t quite steeped enough, but that’s okay, he has nothing but time here.
“My last girlfriend… she left me over it.” Carlos is staring at the dumb Carvaggio screenprint that Zak Brown gifted as an offbeat gag to him a ways back, citing that he needed to have ‘some art that reflected his job description’. Lando had kept it partly as a joke, because when he googled it there was apparently nothing gayer than Caravaggio, but what the hell does he know about art? It’s a good conversation starter for some of the old coots that he entertains. He’s a great listener – it’s all a part of the job. If his walls could speak, they would say most of the money that enters his bank account is spent on talking about absolutely nothing of value.
“I’m good at solving problems,” Lando rests his chin in his free hand. “You can tell me, Carlos.” He leans forward, trying to act engaged but not overeager.
“I…” Now Carlos has tilted his head up to the ceiling, staring at the popcorn texture like it’s the most fascinating thing in the world.
It’s a little funny that Carlos is trying so hard to avoid looking at him. “Go on,” Lando encourages. He’s lucky that Fernando always books twenty four hours, because at the rate Carlos is going, the midday sun is going to sink into tomorrow before he spits out what he’s come here for. “I promise nothing leaves this room.” He mimes zipping up his lips and throwing away the key.
“I…” Carlos starts again, pinching the bridge of his nose, trying to stave off the inevitable. “I cannot orgasm on time,” it all comes out in a rush. “I am…too quick. I want some help with that.”
Lando tries to nod sagely, but his mind is racing a mile a minute. So this is the heart of the matter – Carlos is a minute man. This is within his pay grade. He can do this, no problem. He squashes the urge to open his phone to check his ad on the deep interwebs to make sure that it’s accurate — Lando, dick healer extraordinaire. “I see.”
“Fernando… he is a close friend of mine. I went to him, seeking advice, not long after she left me. I was at a loss. This problem of mine cannot continue, Lando, do you understand? If I cannot keep a woman happy enough to stay, where does that leave me?” Carlos lets out a bitter sigh, running a frustrated hand through the full length of his gorgeous locks.
Even in pain he can’t stop being attractive. Lando wants to heave a great big sigh of his own. He takes another patient sip of his tea instead.
“So, Fernando suggested that I see someone that he knew that could help me remedy this problem. And that brings me to you," Carlos’s dark irises gleam with unabashed hope, and Lando is struck by the tears that gather at the corners of his eyes. "What can you do for me?"
This is a man at his wit’s end, Lando thinks. He’s likely lost countless girlfriends over this, for chrissakes. He probably feels that he’s half a man, emasculated by being unable to control his impotent body, unable to last the way the average man could. Lando would be heartless not to try his hand at easing the torture Carlos is putting himself through. It can’t be easy, being unable to fully satisfy their partner.
Lando taps his chin, his mind swimming with a myriad of half-baked thoughts. “What have you tried?”
Carlos is suddenly shy, a pinkening blush blooming on his cheeks that deepens into a dull red. “I have tried pleasuring them before me, I have tried condoms to take away some of the sensation from myself, and I have tried jerking off beforehand, but it did not work. Once I have entered any realm of pleasure, my climax comes too soon for either of us to fully enjoy the experience.”
Lando raises an eyebrow. Interesting. “Well, with issues like this, there are a couple different ways to go about it.” He draws back, fiddling with the string of his tea bag, letting his mouth twist into a ghost of a smile.
“Like?” Carlos leans forward keenly, pulled in by Lando’s knowing look.
Lando takes one last gulp of his still-warm tea before setting the mug down on the coffee table. “Well, you can try training your body, but be forewarned, the success rate is extremely poor. Or…” Lando trails off, dawdling for dramatic effect. He has one idea that may work, but he’s not sure if Carlos would be into it. It’s always a coin flip when it comes to men and toys.
Carlos is hanging on his every word, though, so perhaps he would be willing to try anything. “Yes?”
Lando looks him straight in the eyes, pinioning his rovering stare. “Have you tried a cock ring?” He asks, deadpan. He refuses to let his own blush that creeps up his neck to colour his ears. He’s not sixteen, for chrissakes, and they’re in the twenty-first century.
To Lando’s chagrin, Carlos blanches at the suggestion. “I am not perverted like that!”
“Oh, please,” Lando snorts, appalled. The fragility of a man’s ego. “Sex toys are a pleasure aid to enhance intercourse.” He sounds like an infomercial. If he had glasses, he would push them up his nose, like a snotty librarian. “They are not perverted materials, or blasphemous tools that go against God, or whatever the hell you are thinking. They’re for an extra bit of fun, to spice things up in the bedroom. Don’t tell me that your past girlfriends didn’t own dildos.”
“B-but–”
Lando rolls his eyes. “Look, you’re so desperate you had a friend contact their favourite whore for tips on how to last longer. Don’t give me that toxic masculine shit, Carlos. Newsflash, we’re in the twenty-first century, and we can have pocket pussies molded from the heavenly loins from the porn star of your choice.”
Carlos’s eyes grow rounder and rounder, almost bugging out of his sockets. He sputters, incoherent, gaping like a fish out of water at his newfound knowledge about his mentor. “Why would Fernando–”
Lando cuts him off. “Fuck if I know, but why would you be surprised?” Lando raises an eyebrow. “Like, you didn’t connect the dots?” He wishes he was mostly naked right this second, wrapped in a slinky silk peach robe so he could reveal one pale shoulder just to see how scandalized Carlos would get. What a good Christian boy. “I’m wounded that you think Fernando would just recommend someone without sampling the merchandise first. Have you been with a man, even?”
“Once or twice in my youth,” Carlos mumbles, cowed. He’s so red in the face Lando wonders if there’s any blood left. “Just as a… how do you call it, an experiment? Sí, an experiment.”
Lando’s had enough. He rises, hopping over the coffee table to plant himself firmly onto Carlos’s lap, grabbing the sofa cushion on either side behind Carlos. The plug in his arse is jostling with his every movement, and it sends a delicious tendril of pleasure up his spine. He ignores the sensation in favour of trapping Carlos in front of him, forcing his head up as he stands up on his knees.
“Consider this another experiment, then,” Lando says sweetly. “I mean, if it doesn’t work, no harm no foul, right?” He pouts prettily, bringing out his dimples in full force with his blue eyes peeking through his lashes, weighted at half mast. Lando knows this is the look that always gives the men jelly knees, and he hopes Carlos is no exception.
And of course, it works beautifully on Carlos. His pupils dilate even further, erasing any hint of his irises. His mouth parts, his breathing growing audible as his breath quickens. Lando can see his forearms breaking out in gooseflesh, and Carlos nods, swallowing dry. Lando fights to hide a triumphant smirk. Sometimes, it just takes a little persuasion.
“That’s a good boy,” Lando coos, and he dips his head down to capture those plush lips in a kiss. There’s a trace of minty mouthwash and the scent of earthy aftershave. It’s quite nice. Carlos kisses him back like he’s uncertain, not quite knowing what to do with a lapful of the same gender. This is uncharted territory for Carlos, and Lando is very understanding, so he easily takes charge, deepening the kiss by sucking in Carlos’s lower lip in between the bite of his teeth. Carlos responds in kind, a confused rumble vibrating out of the cavity of his chest.
When they break apart, Carlos is dazed and unfocused, like he can’t believe what he just did.
“Come on, let’s go to the bedroom.” Lando slides off of Carlos, pulling at the crook of Carlos’s elbow to tug him up. “We’ll be more comfortable there.”
He guides Carlos onto his neatly made bed, and gestures for him to remove his clothes as Lando heads to his toy cabinet. “Clothes off. I want to see what I’m working with.” Digging out a key from his pocket, Lando unlocks it, and he starts to rummage around through the mess of dildos, feathers and fuzz, and various restraints. He’s pretty sure there’s a simple cock ring in here somewhere.
He finally finds out a fairly simplistic model, two springy silicone conjoined rings in a matte black. This will do. Lando’s pretty sure he’s never used it aside from testing it on himself. He turns around, holding them aloft for Carlos to see.
“I think this will do, don’t you think?”
Carlos has mostly stripped down. He’s sitting on the edge of the bed, gripping the bed sheets in a hamfisted grip. There’s already a bulge waking up in his red and white seersucker boxers that match his socks. Either Carlos really likes colour-coding, or his mom actually picks out all his clothes for him. There's already a damp spot that darkens the fabric, and Lando wants to suck at the stain until he’s squirming. It never fails to delight him when a cock is happy to see him.
“You think you can take off your boxers for me, Carlos?” Lando says softly, advancing towards him in three quick strides. He stands in front of Carlos, just out of reach of his widespread knees.
As if he’s in a trance, Carlos obeys the command, hooking two shaking fingers under the waistband and lifting his hips. He pulls them down, the fabric skimming past his meaty thighs and down his calves. He kicks the boxers from his ankles, joining the pile of his discarded clothing on the floor.
Carlos is sort of halfway hard, Lando notes idly as he kneels down to examine Carlos’s cock and balls. It’s sexually confused, probably. Lando reaches out to hold Carlos’s dick between his forefinger and thumb, checking it out like it’s an object at the store. His dick is al dente, but it’s exactly the right amount of semi-flaccidity that is required. Carlos’s sac is shrinking up from the cold of the apartment air conditioner, which is good because trying to get the cockring over the balls is a bitch when it’s hot and they’re hanging low and the skin is too delicate to stretch.
He’s got lube and condoms tucked under the mattress. He fishes them out, and perfunctorily rolls a condom over Carlos’s cock. Safety first, and all that. Then, he pops the cap on the lube to drizzle a generous amount in his hand. He dips the cock ring in the pool cupped in his hand, coating it from all sides. He takes the rest left in his palm and slathers it all over the condom, making sure Carlos is lubed up as much as possible. “Don’t get too hard yet,” Lando warns offhandedly. “You’re like, supposed to put it on when you’re soft or like, part way hard.”
Lando flicks a quick look up at Carlos. His chin is tucked into his chest as he leans back on his knuckles for a better view, pupils blown out as he watches. He sucks in a sharp breath between his clenched teeth. “Sí.”
“Alright, so you can just get it on like this–” one deft movement, and Lando easily gets the cockring to the base, aided by the slipperiness of the lube. He’s just a little impressed that it didn’t get stuck on the way down. Lando supposes when he tried the cock ring on himself, he was probably too excited.
Carlos practically wheezes at the motion, and his cock fattens up to full attention at once, twitching slightly as Lando pushes the first part of the ring down even further. “Mierda!”
“Is it okay?” Lando scrunches his nose. “Not too uncomfortable, I hope?”
“It is…it is tight,” Carlos gasps, slumping back onto his elbows. Sweat is beading at his brow. “I feel like I am very constricted.”
“Sounds about right, then. When I tried it on myself it was about the same, so don’t tense up,” Lando soothes, reaching out to rub his hand on Carlos’s knee. Carlos whimpers, the muscles in his body shaking from the strain of trying to relax. “I’m going to tuck your balls into it, now. You have to do them one at a time. You don’t want to squish them, of course. Sit up, so you can see what I’m doing so you know how to do it yourself.”
Lando waits until Carlos has roused back up to a sitting position. Delicately, Lando widens the circle, holding it open as he carefully takes one testicle and moves it through the ring. The first one is obviously effortless, and there’s just enough room that it’s just as fuss free for the other one. Lando fingers the ring, pushing it so it sits firmly in the right place at the back of Carlos’s balls, making sure there’s no pinched skin, and that’s it. The silicone bands are a perfectly snug fit – as it should be.
Carlos exhales deeply, his eyes shut as Lando draws away to sit back on his heels.
“How’s that, now?” Lando asks curiously.
Carlos doesn’t open his eyes. “Like my cock is suffocating,” he grits out, his limbs trembling. “This will take some getting used to.”
“Alright, we can take a short break.” Lando gets up, his legs prickling with pins and needles from staying on the floor in one position for so long. “Do you want me to bring your water or something?”
“Talk to me,” Carlos murmurs hoarsely, wrecked beyond recognition. His bottom lip is so bitten that it’s swollen up a size. “Distract me.”
Lando sits down next to him harder than he intended, and he lets out a high-pitched squeak as the toy in his own ass makes its forgotten presence known. “Um, I’m wearing a butt plug,” Lando blurts out, slapping a horrified hand over his mouth as if he could take back the words. He might run his mouth, but the one thing he’s always been really bad at is dirty talk. He never really knows what to say when he’s put on the spot. He’s much better at crying out for God. “I’ve had it in me since before you showed up at my door,” he says hurriedly, like that would be a sufficient explanation. “I just like to be prepared.” Bloody hell, Lando, you moron .
“That is not very distracting, pequeño,” Carlos lets out a groan in pure agony, throwing an arm over his face. “In fact, that is the complete opposite."
"Sorry?" Lando offers. "Just let me know when you're ready, then."
Several beats pass before Carlos moves to wrap his hand around his cock, giving it a fumbling stroke, and he swears violently in Spanish at the sensation. “Jesuchristo!” He flops back onto the bed, his cock still standing proudly erect in juxtaposition to his limp body.
“Yeah, things would feel a lot more sensitive,” Lando says unnecessarily. “You good?”
“Do your worst,” Carlos mutters. “I feel like I am about to pop already.”
“Well, you won’t get to. So focus on not coming. You will want to, but the cockring will prevent it,” Lando shifts, settling back in between Carlos’s legs. “I’m gonna jerk you off now, nice and slow. Tell me what you’re feeling.” His hand is small as he encircles Carlos’s length, his fingertips barely touching. Carlos is pretty girthy. Lando begins with a snail’s pace, rhythmic as he moves up and down.
A litany of curses fall from Carlos’s mouth, and he involuntarily jerks his hips. “Ah! Lando!” He cries out, muffled as he shoves a fist into his mouth, biting down on his knuckles. “I cannot!”
“You can,” Lando reassures him, continuing his slow glide. He slides his tongue between his teeth, watching almost clinically as Carlos trembles in his grip. “I know you can hold out. I know it feels good, but think of how much better it will be, how much sweeter the relief will be if you can hold on.”
“Lando, please.” Carlos's voice is pleasantly strained, and Lando preens a little at the desperation he hears. He loves this, the power that he’s allowed to wield over another human being who’s at his mercy.
“You’re doing so well for me,” Lando smiles, threatening, even though Carlos can’t see it. “Don’t try to come, Carlos.” He can feel Carlos pulsating under him, all the blood in his system rushing straight to his dick. It’s supposed to be sort of impossible, Lando thinks, but he's growing bigger with every passing second. “I can feel you fighting against it, and you’re doing great.”
“I don’t think I can last,” Carlos whines. His chest is already shiny with sweat, and Lando wants to lick it up to see how his skin tastes. “I need to come.”
“Not yet,” Lando murmurs, palming himself through his pants. He’s hard himself, with a buffet like Carlos spread out for him. “I’m not even close yet.” He speeds up his movements on Carlos by a fraction, relishing in the whimpers that he’s eliciting out of Carlos.
“You… you… are not?” Carlos struggles to speak, his eyes frantic and wild. He’s blinded by his own lust, unable to focus his gaze on Lando or anything.
“You can’t come before me,” Lando whispers, struggling a little. “Because you need to make me come first.” It’s beginning to get difficult, jerking himself off at a more rapid speed as well as trying to maintain the agonizingly sedate pace for Carlos. “Don’t you want to see me make a mess in my boxers first, Carlos? Sit up, and have a look at what you’re doing to me.”
With maximum effort, Carlos pushes himself up once again onto his elbows, his eyelids heavy with exertion. “Mierda,” he breathes out sharply, woozy from the pleasure. “What is happening?”
Lando moans as a familiar rush goes through him. “Seeing you like this does things to me, Carlos, I love seeing you trying to be a good boy for me, God…” He grunts, moving even faster. He’s going to crest over that hill, and he’s not going to bring Carlos with him. “Just stay that way, Carlos, for me, so you can see me come and know that you brought me to satisfaction before you get your own.”
His brain momentarily forgets that he’s supposed to be pumping them both at different speeds, and Carlos yelps when Lando suddenly quickens his ministrations. “Lando!” he cries helplessly. “No!”
But Lando is too far gone, chasing his orgasm at the detriment of Carlos’s. He spurts once, twice, splattering the insides of his underwear with cum. He doesn’t slow down, trying to milk every last drop out of himself. This has always been his favourite part of playing with himself. He loves wringing out the last vestiges of his orgasm, wringing himself out to tip over into oversensitivity.
Meanwhile Carlos is scrabbling at the bedsheets, thrashing about to and fro because Lando hasn’t let up his pace at all. When Lando falls back to earth from his high, he remembers belatedly that there’s still a second party in his bedroom.
“Sorry, Carlos,” Lando says sheepishly, but he doesn’t stop. Carlos is a vision in front of him, his cheeks flushed and his dick an angry purple in his grip. “But you’ve made me come, now. Would you like to come too, Carlos?”
“Por favor, mercy,” Carlos begs doggedly, digging his hands into his hair as he arches his back. “Por favor, mercy!”
Lando immediately lets go, worry niggling in the back of his skull that he might have broken Carlos. He’s practically convulsing from pain and the pleasure that Lando has brought to him. Deftly, Lando slips the silicone band from Carlos’s balls, and quickly he slides off the other half of the cockring, taking the condom off with it.
Almost instantaneously, Carlos shoots a string of cum that lands on his own chest, and Lando is utterly transfixed at the sight. He’s never seen someone come untouched before. Carlos continues to spurt, and Lando moves to help him out, gently working Carlos’s cock in time with his ejaculation. Carlos is determinedly trying to paint his torso in pent-up semen, apparently. Lando wants to lick it up – it’s so inviting and milky, but he’s got his protocol. It’s too bad that he didn’t get to screen Carlos beforehand, despite his admission that he’s been too busy being heartbroken over his ex-girlfriend. Carlos’s dick is just dribbling now, stray drops ending up in his pubic hair.
“How was that?” Lando asks, wishing he could run a finger through the mess on Carlos’s stomach, but he rubs a comforting hand on his thigh instead. He doesn’t get a reply, and Lando frowns. “Carlos?” He prods Carlos in the soft part in the back of his knee, but there’s no response.
Lando crawls up onto the bed to find Carlos passed out, limbs askew, his facial muscles slack with his tongue lolling out of his mouth.
That makes two things he’s never seen in real life. Lando smirks; he’s never made someone faint with a handjob before. Another notch on his bedpost of achievements. Carlos probably doesn’t want to wake up with dried cum all over himself, though. Lando rolls over to the nightstand to grab one of the towels he always keeps handy, and winces when the plug that is still wedged in his ass makes itself known. He should probably take that out, too.