Then, as common courtesy, they raw dog each other to take out the frustration and anger. Trust me , I’m a certified gamer.
Anon I am respectfully dipping you and then kissing you on the mouth. Yes this, exactly this, and this followup also inspired me so much that I got possessed and then wrote a whole fic for you--bon appetite!
Consolation Prize
m!Robin/m!Kylar (f!reader offscreen); read on ao3 here
“Are you sure we should be doing this?” Robin asks as he follows Kylar down Danube.
He usually tries to stay away from this part of town—the nicer part—and shivers crawl up his spine as he watches the bland same-facaded mansions pass them. Kylar seems at ease here, or at least as relaxed as he ever gets—which is not much. Kylar is a lump of a guy wrapped in several layers of raw, chihuahua-esque aggression, and Robin has no idea how you put up with him. In all his fantasies of the little house the two of you would have once you finally escape this shitty town, he did not peg the dog the two of you would own as a chihuahua. But apparently you're enough of a chihuahua person to enjoy spending time with Kylar, so go figure.
Robin wouldn’t say he hates chihuahuas, but he’d never pictured himself as ‘a chihuahua guy’. But then he did agree to come all the way out here with Kylar, so what does he know?
Kylar kicks at a rock in the road, and then crosses the street. Robin follows, and tries not to feel like he’s making a huge mistake. The house they’ve stopped in front of is large, larger than the orphanage, the temple—it’s even larger than the school, which is the only large building Robin spends any time in. He shivers. The house even has a front garden, hidden behind a high wall and iron-barred gate. It’s like something out of the rom-coms he watches with you.
He hisses quietly in disbelief as Kylar stops right in front of the heavy padlocked gate.
“Man, what the fuck—I agreed to game with you, not break into someone’s house!”
Kylar turns and stares at him with those unnerving green eyes, and Robin shivers again. Then Kylar pulls a silver key out of his sweatshirt-sleeve and leans forward to lift the padlock. “I live here, idiot.”
He mutters something to himself as he slots the key into the lock, but Robin can’t quite make it out over the utter shock that’s filled him. It might have your name in it, but it also might not—he can’t tell.
Kylar lives here—and yet still gets treated like a freak at school. It makes absolutely no sense. Kylar’s shoulders are still hunched up beneath his sweatshirt as he swings the gate open and begins to make his way up the path. Robin’s grip tightens on the messenger bag he carries his games in, and he swallows. His pace is slow as he follows after Kylar—it feels like at any moment some servant with a posh accent is going to leap out of the bushes at him and tell him he’s not supposed to be there.
The inside of the house is just as glamorous and perfect as the outside, and Robin winces as Kylar’s dirty sneakers scuff across the perfect polished floors. He tries to limit himself to walking precisely in Kylar’s footsteps, breathing as little as possible—he doesn’t want to leave a single mark of his presence here, because the fact that he’s here at all feels—so wrong.
The feeling of wrongness drops away immediately once they’re inside Kylar’s bedroom. Robin wouldn’t call himself fastidious, but Bailey demands a certain level of cleanliness—and this room was the poster child for everything Bailey wouldn’t tolerate. He takes in the black walls and closed curtains, piles of dirty laundry, emo decor, and strange pungent smell, and winces. The only clean surface in the room is the bed, with clean, crisply folded sheets, and Kylar waves a hand at it.
“Sit.” He digs into the avalanche of clothes in front of the tv screen and entertainment cabinet across from the bed, and pulls out a second controller. “So we’re going with the terms we agreed on before, right? Winner gets to fuck—” Robin squawks indignantly—that wasnt the language they’d used before—Kylar rolls his eyes and continues, “fine, ‘sleep with,’ her tonight. I still don’t know why you’re objecting to it, we both know what we want to do to her.”
Robin sniffs. “It’s the principle of the thing. Also that word gets tossed around a lot when it comes to her—I don’t think she’d like it if we were doing the same thing.”
Kylar snarls something under his breath, and Robin suddenly feels like he made a mistake actually following through with this. It’d be so easy to hide a body in a house this large.
“Fine. Let’s get going—we only have another two hours before she’s done with her shift, and if neither of us are where she expects us to be, she’ll probably get suspicious.”
“Right. Yeah. I still think it’s creepy as fuck that you’ve memorized when all of her shifts end, but what do I know?” Robin remembers something, “Oh, and also the loser fucks the winner.”
Kylar looks up from plugging in the new controller. “What the fuck?”
Robin shrugs. He and Kylar didn’t share the same swim class, but he’s heard a few things and—sue him, he’s curious. Also he wants to know what you see in him, since the guy looks like he’s dirty enough to invent a new disease every week—and also he’s never been with a guy, and he’s pretty sure the last time you slept over in his room you muttered something about wanting a threesome, so really this seemed like a good idea all around. Testing the waters, so to speak.
Kylar blinks. “Fine.” He scratches his head. “I guess. I just don’t understand why—”
Robin interrupts, tangling his fingers together awkwardly. This whole mess was so fucking awkward. “I figured it would help, um, relieve tension. So whoever loses at least isn’t also...frustrated too.”
“It’s not—not a terrible idea,” Kylar finally allows after a moment of silence. Then he chucks the controller at Robin, and Robin winces at the sting when it smacks into the hand he raised to protect his face.
“Let’s get started, shall we?”
The game doesn’t last long. Robin kicks Kylar’s ass in every conceivable way—Kylar’s decent, but he’s not good, and Robin is the best. After the first game, Kylar demands a rematch, and Robin shrugs. He beats Kylar a second time. Then a third. After the fourth, it’s just embarrassing, and Robin begins to glance at Kylar out of the corner of his eye. Kylar’s face is creased in concentration, and it’s gained an angry red flush. Sweat is beading along his brow, and sticking his messy bangs to his face.
Robin decides to be magnanimous and calls it there.
Kylar is practically snorting with rage, like a cartoon bull, and Robin winces. After the first game, he’d actually been trying to take it easy on the guy—and it didn’t help at all. Robin sets the controller down, and offers his hand.
“Hey, good game—” He’s cut off by Kylar’s hand grabbing at his hair, and what he thinks is a kiss. There are a lot of teeth involved. Granted, he’s not had much experience with kisses beyond yours, so maybe this is a normal amount of teeth. Then his lip starts to bleed, and he finally manages to wrest himself away.
“What are you—” Kylar interrupts him again, but this time with actual words.
“I want my prize.” His hands are scrabbling at Robin’s shirt, and Robin begins to unbutton it as quickly as he can—he can’t exactly afford to replace it right now, and Kylar’s angry enough that he might rip it into tiny pieces. Kylar backs away, and pulls his hoodie off. He’s somehow more pale than Robin, which is mildly impressive—though Robin does try to spend at least some time outside in the orphanage gardens every few days. Then Kylar starts unbuckling his pants, and Robin stops.
He can’t tell whether he’s terrified or fascinated.
He didn’t know that anyone could have a dick that big.
“What—jealous?” Kylar grins, partially mollified by Robin’s reaction to his nakedness, as he tosses his pants towards the pile of clothes in the corner. Robin’s mouth is dry, and he’s suddenly, selfishly, wishing that he hadn’t lost because at least you have practice with the monster between Kylar’s legs. The only person Robin’s ever bottomed for is you—and your strap was roughly half the size of the—fucking—thing that Kylar calls a penis. None of the porn he’s watched or read has prepared him for seeing a real dick that size.
“Jealous?” Robin whispers, horrified and transfixed by the sheer size of Kylar’s cock. Then he remembers that you’ve actually had sex with…that. “No! Dude have you—how does she—haven’t you realized you could seriously hurt her with a dick like that!” Kylar stops and frowns.
“No? I couldn’t?”
Robin looks up to meet Kylar’s eyes again, incredulous. “No? You couldn’t? Look, buddy, I’ve seen a lot—the orphanage sucks—and you most definitely could hurt her with that thing.” He rubs his hands across his face. “It’s practically designed to cause tearing and prolapse in whatever hole you stick it in.”
Neither of them say anything for a moment, and Kylar regards his cock like he’s seeing it for the first time. Robin squints at Kylar, a horrible suspicion dawning on him. “Please tell me you pay attention in science class.”
Kylar scoffs, but it sounds like he’s trying to hide slow-dawning horror beneath the cocky jackass exterior and scoff that sounds like he borrowed it from Whitney. “Of course I do. It’s the same talk every time anyway—condoms, pregnancy, STDs, whatever—”
“Oh fuck,” Robin mutters in despair, his face firmly planted in his hands. Why had he even added the stupid consolation prize in the first place. “Do you at least have lube?”
Kylar nods. “Yeah.” He pulls out a plastic bin from beneath his bed. “What kind do you want?” Of course Kylar’s the kind of freak to have a bin full of different kinds of lube under his bed. Robin paused, and reconsidered. Kylar’s the kind of freak to need a bin full of different kinds of lube under his bed. Holy fucking shit. His hands tremble as he goes back to unbuttoning his pants.
“Robin. What lube?”
“Uh.” He wants a shot of novacaine, but that’s probably not a good idea. “Whatever you’ve got.”
Kylar mutters something again, extracts a bottle, and then shoves the bin back into the festering dusty darkness beneath his bed.
Robin knows that he’s a coward, but he at least tries to keep his promises. And he’d promised to let Kylar fuck him so—his own cock twitches. At least it seems like he’s going to be into it, so at least there’s that. He shoves his pants and underwear down around his ankles, and then steps out of them. He leaves his socks on—he doesn’t really want his bare feet in contact with Kylar’s bedroom floor if he can help it, and it seems like the guy doesn’t care about his feet one way or the other.
He scoots up the bed to leave space for Kylar between his legs, and debates asking Kylar to be gentle. It probably wouldn’t do anything, so he bites down on his pathetic request before it can leave his lips. He slips a hand around his own, average-sized cock, and runs a thumb over the head, then shudders. If this is going to happen, and it is—Kylar’s expression has transcended ‘threat’ and entered ‘promise’—he might as well enjoy it.
Kylar grabs him by the ankle and flips him over, dragging Robin’s cock against the rough bedspread. He bites his split lip, and the iron tang of blood on his tongue helps ground him. This is really happening. He’s getting fucked by Kylar’s monster cock in Kylar’s nasty bedroom, because he didn’t think things through and is unfortunately gifted at video games. He closes his eyes and imagines your hand in his hair, as Kylar shoves his legs further apart.
He can’t help wishing you were here—you’d be soft and encouraging and—shit! The lube is cold! Fuck! All of his muscles go tense as Kylar just squirts lube directly onto his asshole. Then the idiot begins to rub it around the rim, like it’s lotion.
“Let me—” he grabs Kylar’s hand before he does anything else. “I hope you’ve never done anal with her, because uh—that’s not how you do this.” With a technique like that, you’ve probably never done anything close to anal with Kylar, on either giving or receiving end. Which shouldn’t send a warm flutter through Robin's chest, but it does, because it means that you only peg him. It’s something special just for the two of you, something he can cling to even if he loses the next time he and Kylar have a competition like this, and he has to listen to you fuck through the thin walls of the orphanage. Again.
Robin fingers himself open and loose like that, caught in the memory of your gentle hands and the snapping rhythm of your strap as he bit the pillow and tried not to wake anyone up with his moaning. Once he’s loose enough, he returns to the heavy sound of Kylar breathing, propped up over his shoulder, dark hair pooling on Robin’s back.
“Right,” he says, resigned. “That should do it.”
The tip of Kylar’s dick replaces his fingers, and Robin does his level best to forget everything that comes next. Mostly because the hitched moan he makes as Kylar slowly slides into him is embarrassing and hot, and if he remembers it, he might need to jack off in the shower later, and maybe he’ll start to think you were right to want a threesome, and actively start trying to plan it, and—maybe that wouldn’t be that bad.
He manages to stave off orgasm as Kylar’s hips work against his ass, flexing and drawing that huge cock over his prostate again and again and again, but it’s a very near thing. Kylar seems almost annoyed as he cums, and Robin sighs with relief and goes boneless against the bedspread, which has given him rugburn all across his chest. He really hopes Kylar doesn’t have this blanket out when you fuck him, because it stings like hell.
“Same time next week?” Kylar asks as he pulls out, cum oozing out of Robin’s poor abused asshole.
“Yeah, sure,” Robin wheezes. “Sounds good I guess.”
Time to try and get up. Robin groans, and pushes himself off the bed. His legs hurt—everything from his ankles up. Calves, knees, thighs—fuck, his thighs—ass. Both gluteus maximus and minimus, because he pays attention in science class, unlike Kylar. His arms collapse underneath him, and he decides to try rolling over instead. Kylar is just watching him, looking amused.
Robin squints in suspicion at Kylar’s satisfied expression.
“Did you just try and fuck me so hard that I can’t take advantage of my win?”
“Oh, fuck you!” he snarls, as he tries to get up again, and collapses like a newborn fawn. The door to Kylar’s room looks so far away—and then he realizes how far he has to walk to get back home, and dies a little bit inside. He’s going to need to ask for help so you don’t get suspicious.
“Other way around,” Kylar grins, and Robin grabs a pillow, shoves his face into it, and screams.
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