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After they went home they beat the living shit out of each other:)

[candiedbeesfreakcorner]

Don't Leave Me High, Don't Leave Me Dry

one-shot

Stanley Pines x Jimmy Snakes

SUMMARY: Stanley Pines doesn’t get to keep the good stuff. Not for long.

Whatever this thing is with Jimmy– it’s real, and it’s rare.

He just hopes it lasts.

WARNINGS: 18+ CONTENT AHEAD, shameless smut, violence, slight blood, mentions of sex work, light masochism, riding, rough sex, non-human Jimmy Snakes, possessive behavior, marking/biting, introspection, both Stan and Jimmy are bad at emotions but they're trying, (these warnings make it sound much scarier than it is but trust it's not that bad)

AUTHOR"S NOTE: jumps for joy at my first post on this acc! I know not many people are super into jimstan but I needed to get this out there into the world. I've been obsessing over them for years now and I have finally found myself writing about my favorite dumb guys. I cross-posted this on ao3 as well if anyone likes reading stuff there more lol!

WC: 6.3K

likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated <3 I hope anyone who ends up reading has a good time!!

There was a sort of peace about fighting that Stanley could appreciate. 

When the lights of whatever shithole he was in were dim and flickering.When the smell of sweat and blood was so potent he could practically taste it on his tongue. A place so damp and humid he could almost be transported back to Tijuana if he closed his eyes, where the most awful kinds of people gathered to sweat and rub hands in all the worst ways. A place where blood was currency and luck ran short.

The jeers of a crowd. A crowd that could care less about technique or footwork, only there for the spectacular violence on display, only there to hear the crunch of fists landing just right and the sight of blood– hot and as pitch as tar in the dim lighting. 

Nothing short of heaven for a guy like Stanley Pines.

Somewhere where the confidence he wore like an ill-fitted suit finally fused, stuck to slick skin. His bravado, real– no longer a fragile thing, able to be shattered by the slightest prod. He may still be an idiot, but in the ring, Stan Pines was more than just a dull, no-good excuse of a man. No, in the ring Stan shifted into something to be reckoned with, something that others feared, for a change. 

And that felt good. Powerful. Stan liked feeling powerful. He didn’t get to feel that way often.

He felt the pressure of the hit before he felt the pain. The sharp crack of a fist meeting his brow, splitting it open, the cut letting that beautiful oil spilling downward to drip into his eye, covering the world in a sickly red sheen. 

See, Stan had seen the hit coming and had let it land anyway. Because as much as Stan enjoyed laying out meatheads, he couldn’t shake the love he had for getting as good as he gave. Stan was no honest man, but fair was fair and the pain was grounding. Real. Real in a way that made everything else seem superficial. It filled those broken gaps in his frame for the fleeting moments it was there, bright and harsh and oh-so fulfilling. 

But as Stan said, he liked to get as good as he gave, and he gave a lot. It was child’s play to read the guy's moves, like humming the lyrics to a song you’d heard on the radio for a month straight. His footwork was sloppy, unbalanced, and Stan was anything but. The conman swung at the man, aiming for his temple and hitting exactly that, with bare knuckles digging into the skin, feeling something give under his hand. 

Stan’s smile was sharp with teeth and smeared a deep red as he watched the man fall, the taste of iron heady on his tongue. The man was on the ground now, getting up but slow about it, giving Stan just enough time to see a flash of blonde from the corner of his eye.

It probably says something about Stan– the way he recognizes that shade of blonde so easily. He keeps an eye on his opponent, his blood now humming faster in his veins. It doesn’t distract him, not really. No, he’s still focused on his match, still present in a way he never really is these days, but there’s a part of his mind that wonders how Jimmy feels about this. How he feels seeing him like this, in the ring. 

Stan chances a glance into the crowd and he catches Jimmy’s eyes– well not exactly. The man is wearing his shades even though it’s well into the night and so dark in here they may as well be outside. But he knows Jimmy is looking at him when the man raises a blonde brow and crosses his arms. Stan winks at him just because he can, cocking his head back in an almost playful manner, the action doubling as a way to clear his vision of the blood still pooling into his eye. Jimmy obviously huffs, chest rising and shoulders falling, though Stan can’t hear the sound over the roaring of the crowd. 

The man on the ground finally rises to his knees and Stan resists the urge to kick him while he’s down. Stan is not a cruel man, but when you live the way he does, you take advantage of every opportunity said life gives you.

Stan lets the man get up, just waits with raised fists and he knows, in that way he always knows when he’s fighting, that the next hit will keep his opponent down. The man wobbles to his feet, and Stan can almost appreciate the guy's resolve, but he wants that prize money more, and it shows. He’s still steady and strong. So he charges forward and dodges the half-hearted jab thrown his way. The grifters mind flickers back to Jimmy for a split second before his next hit lands– wonders if maybe Jimmy bet on him. If he had enough confidence in Stan’s abilities to do so, maybe if he did, they could go eat somewhere with real food tonight instead of shitty gas station slop. 

Stan’s fist lands true and the man is out cold before he hits the ground.

…

It’s not that Stan doesn’t appreciate Jimmy coming to his matches, he does, really! But there’s this underlying issue with him being there, and that’s that it forces Stanley to think. Contrary to popular belief, Stan thinks a lot, too much, if he’s being completely honest with himself. He’d tried just about everything to stop that nasty little habit of his, the overthinking. Pills, coke, sex, all work in the short term, but the only thing that truly empties his mind in the way he needs is fighting. Fighting, brutality, violence; it’s just second nature. It’s something he can lose himself in, something that lets his mind slip away into that dark little corner of his head where nothing exists but the pain of an opponent's hit and the reactions engraved into his very soul. 

And that’s where Jimmy comes in. Because no one really makes him think as much as Jimmy does.

Jimmy lights up that part of his brain, takes his hand, and shoves him back into the real world, the world that Stan doesn't particularly care for. He makes Stan face the people he fights with shocking awareness, and though it doesn’t impede his abilities any, it’s still a pain in the ass in comparison to the quiet comfort of his fabricated safe space. 

He can’t help but focus when Jimmy’s there because, as pathetic as it sounds, Stan wants to… impress him. Wants Jimmy to see the one thing Stan can do right and think; hey, maybe this guy isn’t a total fuck up after all. 

So, Stan has a conundrum on his hands, and he doesn’t really want to dissect it right now. Not when the adrenaline rush from his match is still high and giving him that pleasant floaty feeling that he’s missed since he quit it with the pills. His heart is beating a mile a minute when he finally gets outside in the cold air, a shock to his system. Stan finds he’s in a dirty alleyway, the stench of garbage and cigarettes permeates the air, the lights from the still-active city glaring and bright. Stan huffs a breath and watches as it turns frosty white and dissipates into the open air. 

But Stan could see a second breath in the wind, a matching cloud of haze. 

Stan feels Jimmy before he sees him. It’s hard to miss a guy like Jimmy, seeing how fucking massive he is. See, Stan’s not a short guy by any means, 6ft is no small feat (Stan snickers aloud at his own, frankly hilarious, pun), but Jimmy has a few inches on him, which roughly equates to too fucking tall. And he’s  built too, well-toned and with a decent amount of muscle, but he’s also stringy in that way you’re born with. Just scrawny enough to offset the look of the impressive muscle he does have. 

So yeah, not too bad to look at and built like an intimidating scarecrow, that’s Jimmy Snakes. 

Said man is lurking just behind him, close enough that Stan could feel the air shifting between their bodies, and if he were anyone else, Stan would’ve been swinging first, asking questions later. But Jimmy is just weird like that, and Stan has long grown used to the man’s quirks. 

“Enjoy the show?” Stan questions, more rhetorically than not, even when he actually does want to know the answer. He answers by draping his body across Stan’s, arms falling to wrap around Stan’s shoulders to tap a rhythm into his chest as his front presses flush against Stan’s back. 

Stan feels that instinctual flash of fear at being so close in public before he settles with the knowledge that it’s well past midnight and no one gives a fuck what two dudes do in alleyways like this one. 

“Well, I sure enjoyed something.” The taller man  quips, fingers tapping just a bit faster, hands moving to pry into the back of Stan’s jeans.

“And what’s that big guy?” Stan turns his head to flash Jimmy a quick grin, rolling back into his hands. 

Jimmy’s responding smirk is just a small quirk of his lips, but it’s not mocking, soft in a way he  always seems to be while somehow also being one of the toughest people Stan knows. 

“Watching you. Some hot stuff I gotta say,” Stan feels himself smirk and goes to reply before the biker  interrupts him, “But seeing you have the time of your life out there was my favorite part.” Jimmy says plainly, and it’s the worst thing he could’ve said. Because it wasn’t, look at the cash you made me, it was about Stan’s enjoyment first and foremost. The fact that Jimmy could care less about the fight itself and only if Stan was having a good time, it’s hard not to feel some type of way about that. Stan feels his throat tighten, and he chuckles, using the sound as a way to clear the offending sensation away and to respond to his statement. 

Stan lets his head drop back to rest near the other’s solid shoulder, “Ya bet, hotshot?” Stan questions and Jimmy hums, the rumble traveling through where they connect and Stan tries to think of anything other than how that sound does something funny to his stomach. 

“Sure did,” Jimmy practically purrs with a self-satisfied air about him, “Made a steal. Not really surprised though, never gotta worry when you’re the one I’m bettin’ on.” 

Stan can feel the heat rush to his cheeks like that absolute loser he is, but he rolls his eyes at the comment anyway. Jimmy catches the movement even positioned as he is, “Ah, don’t be like that, babe. You know I’m right.” 

“Mm. Sure, sure.” Stan concedes and realizes that this complimenting shit has gotta stop because it’s taking his mind to places they don’t need to be in this very public setting. 

Jimmy scoffs, “I’ll never understand why this is the one thing you decide to be humble about.” The blonde man mumbles and works his head between Stan’s neck and shoulder. 

Ugh. Stan can feel the beginnings of a feelings talk in the works. Switching gears. “I’m a man of mystery, what can I say?” Stan starts with a cocky smile plastered across his face, “Gotta keep things interesting.” Stan presses himself more firmly against Jimmy’s front, the man’s breath hitches against his neck and it makes Stan shiver in a way that he knows the other man can feel. 

The biker presses a chase kiss to the junction of Stan’s neck and shoulder, his mustache tickling the sensitive flesh. Stan hums his approval and he can feel the grin the blonde sports as he pulls away from him. 

“Wanna take this somewhere else, buck?” Jimmy asks and okay, yeah. Hell yeah, actually. Stan’s adrenaline is still high and this seems like the perfect conclusion to an overall perfect night. There's no way Stan was going to ask to get some so late, but if Jimmy is feeling it too then, why the hell not?  Stan may not be one to start things often, but when he gets going, he fucking goes. He never hears Jimmy complaining about it. 

“You know I do,” Stan says teasingly and tugs Jimmy along with him to find the El Diablo. They stumble out of the alley, unable to keep their hands off each other. Jimmy’s fingers are still looped in Stan’s jeans and Stan’s hands feel up Jimmy’s arms as he drags him away.

Luckily for them, Stan is a paranoid mess and parked in a separate (more secluded) alleyway, mostly to avoid someone breaking into his baby, but now, he’s especially pleased with his decision. 

With a wicked grin, Stan unlocks the doors of his car, intent on getting inside and getting to it as quickly as possible, and it seems he’s not the only one having similar thoughts as he feels Jimmy shoving him inside the vehicle from the back. They barely manage to shut the door before they’re on each other. No room is left for the soft or sweet, the desperation clear in the way they scramble to find purchase in the cramped space. The back of the El Diablo is not meant to fit the bulk of two grown men, but neither are bothered by the lack of space when it means it gives them an excuse to push closer to each other. 

Stan stifles a startled noise when Jimmy practically throws him into the backseat, crowding himself close. Stan instinctively parts his thighs to give the blonde man more room to work with and Jimmy capitalizes on Stan’s invitation instantly, slotting their hips together with a small grunt. With Jimmy so close Stan can feel the searing heat that Jimmy always seems to exude and the smell of smoke fills his senses. Jimmy leans forward and Stan finds himself rising the slightest bit so he and Jimmy can slide their lips together. The kiss is not gentle, no, it’s fumbling and greedy, full and hot, and almost clumsy with how desperate the act is. Jimmy’s tongue nudges at Stan’s lips and the younger man opens his mouth eagerly, the slick slide of their tongues exploring and mingling, a perfect sensation. The taste of tobacco and blood from when Stan had bit his cheek during the match is such an intoxicating combination that it sends sparks of heat to pool in Stan’s lower stomach. Stan grinds his hips forward as much as he can, pinned as he is against the seats. The action causes Jimmy to groan low in his throat and Stan can’t stop the self-satisfied smirk that plays across his lips at the sound. 

Stan nips at Jimmy’s lower lip and Jimmy pulls away, both men are gasping and flushed, a string of saliva still connecting them obscenely. The biker’s shades had fallen off during the whole debacle, and the grifter is treated to the sight of bright blue-green eyes with slit-like pupils– now dilated enough to look almost normal. Stan makes sure to make eye contact with Jimmy when he swipes his tongue out to break the string still connecting them. Jimmy stares, hungry and intense where they lock eyes. Stan almost feels like he  could eat him whole with that stare alone. The older man surges forward and presses a quick kiss to the side of Stan’s mouth before he’s trailing across his mouth to his cheek and down to the side of his neck, the feel of his mustache rough and perfect as it lights up a path of nerves under Stan’s skin. He  continues to mouth at Stan’s neck, making a hell of a hickey by the feel of things, and Lee sighs into the sensation. He likes that edge, the pleasure that sits on the cusp of pain, it grounds him, and reminds him of what should be happening right now. 

Jimmy continues like this for much too long, and Stan tries not to let his nervousness show. Jimmy always does this, the giving. Like he actually cares about how he makes Stan feel, and a part of Stan is so very grateful, and the other louder half of him screams and questions how long this care will last. So Stan goes to speed things up, to give back what Jimmy so freely offers him, canting his hips up in a rough grind, making sure to apply the proper amount of pressure where he presses them together. Stan knows he succeeded when he feels Jimmy’s breath stutter where he was previously mauling his neck. 

Stan gives a breathless chuckle that has him huffing in response, hot breath tickling Stan’s bruised neck. He grinds upwards again and Jimmy grunts softly, and before Jimmy can react, Stan wraps his thighs around the blonde man tightly and uses all his strength to flip their position. The act itself is tough in the cramped space and it makes Stan shake with the effort, but the startled squawk he gets from Jimmy is so worth the effort. 

Stan’s grin is shark-like when he finally gets Jimmy pinned against the seats, full thighs bracketing the other man’s. Jimmy glares up at him, expression annoyed at being interrupted. The younger man uses his newly acquired position to start trailing kisses down the man’s body, Jimmy’s eyes burn holes into him as Stan makes his way further and further down, making sure to keep eye contact the whole time. Jimmy shudders as Stan continues to lay hot kisses all the way down, till he’s at Jimmy’s belt buckle. There’s just enough room that Stan can shimmy his way down so that the biker is positioned above him and he can work the way he wants. 

Stan can see the strain of Jimmy’s dick through the material of his pants and with little preamble, Stan mouths at Jimmy through the material. Jimmy jolts and curses, muttering something that sounds suspiciously like ‘fuckin’ tease’ as Stan wets the area with his mouth. Lee pulls away slightly, just far enough to get his hands on Jimmy’s belt to undo it, it barely takes him a second to ruck Jimmy’s pants and boxers down to expose his hard on to the open air. Jimmy hisses at the sudden temperature change, and Stan quickly takes Jimmy in his hand to stroke him a few times. He twitches hot and heavy in Stan’s palm and he uses a calloused thumb to spread the precum that had gathered at his tip. 

“You’re f–fucking something, aren’t you, babe?” Jimmy says breathlessly, and it’s obvious he’s still ticked about Stan’s little stunt earlier, but other things have clearly taken over his mind. 

There he goes using that word again, “babe”. It doesn’t bother Stan any, they almost never use their real names with each other anyway, always a nickname or endearment. But it always makes Stan think, just like Stan always thinks when it comes to Jimmy. Stan doesn’t know what they are, well, not exactly. They had never bothered to label anything, and Stan likes it that way. You can’t have too many expectations for something that’s never been defined. Stan knows they’re queers, can’t exactly fuck a dude without being one, but they’d never outright called themselves a couple. 

(And if  Stan is being completely honest– he doesn’t want to talk about what they have going on. He’s scared he’ll fuck up this one good thing, his words were always a double-edged sword– waiting to strike down whatever positive thing he’d managed to scrounge up.)

Stan forces his musing from his mind and takes Jimmy’s cock to his mouth, licking a few lingering stripes up the length of it before stopping to tongue at the slit, and delights in the stilted groan he receives from the action. Stan relaxes his throat and takes Jimmy down to the root, swallowing around the cock in his mouth to stop himself from gagging. 

“F–Fuck, Stan!” Jimmy shouts and reaches his hand to grip at the base of Stan’s hair, keeping him in place. Stan lets his tongue work around the cock in his mouth for a moment before hollowing his cheeks and sucking, continuing to slide his tongue across the length as he begins to bob his head, liking the slight pull and sting from Jimmy’s hand that is threaded through his brown curls. The blond  curses loudly as Stan speeds up his movements, bobbing faster, now reaching up with a hand to fondle and stroke whatever isn't in his mouth at any given moment. 

And Stan knows he’s good at this. Has been for a while. And he knows Jimmy knows it too, made obvious by the resounding moans and tugs as Jimmy hits the back of his throat repeatedly with the blunt tip of his cock. Jimmy starts to shallowly thrust into the wet heat of Stan’s mouth and Stan relaxes his jaw further, looking up at Jimmy through lidded eyes, saliva pooling at the corners of his mouth. When Jimmy looks down and makes eye contact with Stan he immediately throws his head back, a low groan rumbling from his chest, gripping the back of Stan’s head even tighter. Stan hums around Jimmy the way he knows the blonde man likes and Jimmy rewards him with a harder thrust that brings the beginnings of tears to Stan’s eyes. Stan can’t help but moan around the length in his mouth and his own cock twitches in his pants at the sensation. He wishes Jimmy would just let loose, fuck his throat with abandon and damn Stan’s feelings in the matter. But Jimmy never does. It drives Stan up a wall; the moment Stan even begins to show even the slightest hint of discomfort Jimmy gets it in his head that he needs to hold back, like he’s is some fragile thing that can’t take rougher treatment. If Stan didn’t know Jimmy it would piss him off (it still does sometimes) but that’s just how Jimmy is– gruff, but thoughtful in a way that always manages to throw Stan off his game. 

Stan can feel Jimmy getting close, his breath coming faster and his thrusts becoming jerky and quick, but the conman  has a bit more planned for him, so he pulls of the other man with a wet pop, licking his lips before smirking at Jimmy’s wheezy groan of despair at the loss of Stan’s mouth. 

Stan nudges Jimmy with hand to his chest, pressing the other man down so that he’s splayed across the seats. Jimmy goes down with a well-natured eye roll and a brow quirked up in question. Stan just rises so that he’s straddling Jimmy’s lap again, hovering with one leg folded on one side of the man’s hip and the other dangling off the seat. Stan keeps himself raised slightly using the hand not still placed on Jimmy’s chest to pull down his own pants and boxers quickly. He hisses quietly when his own hard-on makes contact with the open air, having grown painfully hard while he was giving head. 

Stan’s actions are hurried as he sticks two fingers into his mouth, roving his tongue across the digits to coat them in as much spit as possible before reaching behind himself and shoving two fingers inside simultaneously. Stan bites back the pained yelp that wants to tear free from his throat, and his whole body shudders at the sting, but he forces himself to relax as he spreads his fingers inside himself. It doesn’t do much for the burn, but Stan finds he doesn’t truly mind it, if his twitching cock isn’t evidence enough of that. He barely gives himself another second before he’s plunging his fingers deeper inside and scissoring himself, intent on opening himself just enough that he won’t be uncomfortably tight for Jimmy. Stan unconsciously finds his prostate and he can’t help the startled gasp that leaves his lips, pushing back onto his own fingers. Stan looks down and he can feel Jimmy’s heated gaze just as much as he can see it, the man lacing his fingers together with Stan’s free hand, the light touch a complete juxtaposition to the man’s ravenous expression. Jimmy reaches with his other hand to grip one of Stan’s hips in a manner he would almost call possessive, the thought has Stan biting his lip to hold back the unwanted whimper Stan knows he would be making without his own prevention. 

Stan pulls his fingers out with a small grunt and doesn’t wait a second longer, taking Jimmy’s spit-slicked cock in hand and guiding it to his entrance, spearing himself on the hard length. Stan can’t get his teeth in front of the pained grunt he lets out, but fuck, Jimmy stretches him perfectly. 

Jimmy has always been that perfect size in Stan’s not-so-humble opinion, just above average and wide enough for it to hurt in that delicious way Stan craves. And it burns, fuck it burns so fucking good. This is what Stan needed, needed to ground himself with pain the same way he does in the ring. Something to remind himself that this is just another way he can be useful, remind himself that this isn’t really about him, that Jimmy should come first in this situation. 

Using his one foot on the car floor as leverage, Stan rises off Jimmy’s cock and slams home. Stan chokes  at the feeling of being overfilled– like he might even tear a bit. Under prepping would do that to a man, but Stan feels his erection twitch into the open air as the painful pleasure scorches all coherent thought from his mind. Jimmy lets out a rumbling groan and his cock twitches inside him; Stan feels a grin stretch across his face. He continues to work himself up and down on Jimmy’s length, usually, Stan is able to keep a pretty good poker face when doing the deed, but Jimmy always made that difficult– something about feeling safe enough to show his actual emotions or other mushy nonsense, so all that is to say– Stan isn’t sure he’s able to keep the slight grimace off his face when he’s doesn’t adjust as quickly as he’d like. But Stan doesn’t slow down or stop, determined to keep Jimmy feeling good under him. Stan lets out a gutted noise, something small and embarrassingly vulnerable that he cannot believe he lets leave his lungs. Jimmy's eyes snap to Stan’s face as his grip tightens on the dip of Stan’s hip, eyes concerned in the way that only he’s has ever been. 

Jimmy squeezes their interlocked fingers and his hand on Stan’s hip tries to slow the quick rolling of his  hips. Stan panics just a bit, not wanting to disappoint Jimmy just cause he can’t take cock like he should. 

Stan grinds down harshly and Jimmy growls, the sound not entirely human but Stan ignores it like he always does, flashing  a reassuring smile and saying, “Don’t worry about me cowboy. You know I’m made of tougher stuff.” The statement is firm, punctuated by another quick roll of Stan’s hips that has them both seeing stars. 

And though Jimmy is still clearly apprehensive, he doesn’t try to slow Stan anymore. 

Stan works his thighs, shaking with the effort of plunging himself onto Jimmy’s dick in a steady rhythm. The sounds of skin slapping against skin is loud and obscene in the cramped car, Jimmy pants loudly and groans low in his throat, and Stan can’t help but love the noises he makes, serving as motivation to pick up the pace, riding Jimmy quick and dirty and perfect. 

Soon Stan finds himself finally fully adjusting to the intrusion and he almost misses the sharp sting, but he can’t deny that it does make the slide of their bodies easier. He shifts down slightly, and it makes Jimmy hit the spot inside him that lights up all the nerves that make his head swim. Stanley keens and fucks himself on Jimmy’s cock harder, desperate to feel that sensation again. The older man takes the hint and sits himself up a bit, unlocking their fingers to place both hands on Stan’s hips and thrusting up into him  hard. The moan that Stan lets out is positively whorish, and (to Stan’s genuine surprise) completely real. He can’t help the needy whines and whimpers that pour from his lips as Jimmy cants his hips up to meet Stan’s downward motions. Pleasure shoots up Stan’s spine as Jimmy continues to slam his hips forward in a way that makes Stan’s whole body lock up. Stan practically screams out his pleasure, eyes squeezing shut and mouth falling open, a trail of drool leaking from the corner of his mouth. 

The pace turns brutal when Jimmy takes the reins, fucking up into Stan deep as if he’s trying to bury himself in the hot warmth encasing him. And it’s so fucking good. Stan doesn’t know what changed, or why Jimmy finally decided to let loose, but Stan needs to know what he did so that Jimmy gets like this every time they fuck. 

Jimmy finally sits up completely so that he and Stan are face to face, forcing their mouths together in a desperate kiss as he  continues to pound up into him, and Stan does his best to keep up. The angle change has him gasping into Jimmy’s open mouth, tongues colliding inelegantly, the kiss more teeth and mess than a proper kiss allows for. Jimmy’s tongue is now forked at the tip, but Stan is not surprised, not anymore, and he can’t complain when said tongue practically chokes him as it fills his mouth and maps out his soft palette. Jimmy pulls back to let them catch their breath and gives a forceful thrust that has Stanley mewling. He has no time to be embarrassed about it when Jimmy’s grip on his hips turns absolutely bruising and he pumps into Stan like he wants to merge their bodies together and become one. Stan only gets a glimpse of Jimmy’s softly glowing eyes before the man is leaning in and latches onto Stan’s shoulder, the bite harsh and powerful enough that Stan thinks he feels skin break under the offending teeth. 

“Ah!” Stan’s ragged moan is piercing and vulgar as Jimmy's jaw stays locked onto the sensitive flesh of Stan’s shoulder, the pain a perfect contrast to the all-encompassing pleasure coming from the fevered pounding of his hips and Stan’s own bouncing. Stan has no idea when this turned into focus on everything Stan likes hour, but he can’t find himself hating it as much as he should. Stan rocks his hips against Jimmy’s brutal thrusting and Jimmy unlatches from Stan’s shoulder with a groan. He makes eye contact with Stan as he licks the newly made mark and Stan jolts when he sees the flash of red before it’s quickly licked away. Stan’s dick twitches against where it’s been pressed between their sweat-slicked bodies, slightly uncomfortable in an addictive way as it rubs against the fabrics of their shirts. 

Jimmy smirks at Stan’s obvious interest, snaggletooth making an appearance, and Stan can feel himself flushing even more than he already was. Stan goes to turn his head away but lets out a startled gasp when he feels Jimmy grip his face in one hand, forcing Stan to face him. His expression is aprising and full of a self-satisfied realization. “You like that do you, babe? Like me– ah– marking you up?” Jimmy says and it’s laced with something close to wonder. Stanley doesn’t respond besides a high-pitched whine. Jimmy chuckles breathlessly hips stuttering slightly,  “I can do that for ya, baby. Want everyone to know you’re mine.” Jimmy nuzzles his head between Stan’s neck and shoulder. His hands come up to wrap around Jimmy’s shoulders, one hand coming to cup the back of the other man’s neck as Stan continues to rut himself up and down on Jimmy’s leaking cock. 

Jimmy bites down again, even harder this time and it sends a jolt of pleasure so strong down Stan’s spine that he bucks wildly into Jimmy’s hold, a strangled sound leaving his lips. 

“Mine.” Jimmy growls possessively, arms wrapping around Stan in a fierce embrace, and Stan can do nothing but shudder his agreement and wail as he gives up trying to keep up with Jimmy’s pace as he jackhammers his dick inside Stan, feeling as if he’s rearranging Stan’s guts from the inside out. Jimmy keeps Stan upwards with a hand on his back, forcing an arch that has Stan’s eyes rolling back into his head. Jimmy’s tongue laves against the new mark and Stan shudders at the ache the action brings. He can feel the man getting close, his thrusts becoming sloppy, and Stan goes to touch himself when Jimmy slaps his hand away with his own. Stan whines his misery, but Jimmy just takes Stan into his own large hand, pumping Stan in time with his thrusts. 

Jimmy slams his hips upwards again, one, twice, and then Stan feels that familiar warmth pooling inside him, filling him to the brim. Stan whimpers at the sensation of  Jimmy growling against his ear, jacking Stan off until he comes into Jimmy’s waiting hand with a gasp, vision whiting out for a split second as orgasmic pleasure burns through his veins. 

Stan grinds against Jimmy through the remains of their orgasms, milking Jimmy for all he’s worth before they collapse onto each other, foreheads pressed together in a gesture that seems too intimate no matter what had just transpired, their chests heaving and panting breath mingling. 

Stan’s brain is blissfully silent and he feels a spark of self-satisfaction when he looks to see Jimmy looks wrecked, but completely content. Stan feels good about a job well done, and maybe he’s not too upset about getting something surprisingly good out of it himself.

Stan feels Jimmy shift and it jolts the cock still buried inside him, making Stan hiss in overstimulation. Jimmy is immediately back to soft hands and soft actions as he hushes Stan quietly, lifting Stan off his softening dick with a small grunt. A torrent of cum spills out of Stan and coats the seats below him and stains his thighs; Stan tries not to think about how he’s not as disgusted by that as he usually would be. 

Jimmy sits Stan in his lap and this is the part that Stan had never been good at. He could do sex just fine, but the after, well, it was always the hardest thing to navigate. Most just tossed the money they owed him and left, he tended to appreciate that more than the ones that stayed and acted like they cared and tried to clean him up or, god-forbid, cuddle him. 

But this is different. This isn’t a John or a one-off hookup, this is Jimmy. And something about this time with Jimmy felt different, more purposeful than any other time they had fucked. Maybe it was Jimmy finally letting loose, maybe it was Jimmy’s possessive nature shining through, or maybe it was that Stan had finally acknowledged that Jimmy was different than anyone else he’d been with.

And Jimmy was different. Because Stan didn’t want to run away for once. He wants to stay here and just be alongside Jimmy for as long as the blonde man will allow it.

Stan startles when he feels Jimmy push a brown curl behind Stan’s ear, his gaze one of complete endearment, and it has Stan’s face heating before he laughs off his own embarrassment. “That good huh, punk?” Stan teases, although his heart isn’t in it. He just wants Jimmy to stop looking at him like that. Like Stan is worth something more than just the quick fuck they had shared. 

Jimmy hums and reaches to cradle the back of Stan’s, carding his hands through Stan’s hair and scratching lightly. Stan can’t help the quiet pleased sound that rumbles from his chest. “Always is,” Jimmy mutters and Stan feels another flash of pride. Jimmy looks like he wants to say something else, but Stan interrupts by going to sit up off Jimmy’s lap, intent on cleaning them up.

Stan is stopped by a hand on his hip and Stan looks at Jimmy with a questioning frown.

 “Come on, babe, let me hold ya for a bit.” Jimmy’s voice is filled with an emotion Stan can’t quite place, but the vulnerability there has Stan pausing before nodding his head silently. 

Jimmy’s smile is soft but very present, and Stan can’t stare at the expression long before he starts to feel way too mushy for his liking. Jimmy leads them down so that Stan lies on top of the other man. Stan is a bit nervous his full weight will be too uncomfortable for Jimmy, but the man beneath him just sighs a pleased sound, so Stan lets himself relax against the welcoming warmth encasing him. Jimmy wraps his around across Stan’s back, locking him in an embrace that doesn’t feel constricting, but pleasantly comforting. Stan rests his head against Jimmy’s chest and listens to the man’s slow heartbeat. They just stay like that as both bathe in a soft afterglow together. 

Stan doesn’t know if this thing he has going with Jimmy will last, but for now, he just lets himself be held by strong arms and tilts his head to press a chaste kiss to the man below him.