Work Text:
FIRSTS;
Rafe and Barry are supposed to spend the day together. It’s a Saturday and by some miracle, or perhaps, by Rafe blackmailing a co-worker to work, both of them are supposed to be off for the entirety of the weekend. Rafe has the whole thing planned out; he is going to get Barry to fuck him on every surface in the trailer and then, if they have the time, everything outside. Because they are supposed to have two full days to themselves…
Supposed to.
When Barry’s phone rings shortly after 8:00 on Saturday morning, both of them are slightly hungover and Rafe knows that unfortunately his entire plans for a day of being manhandled have been altered. Barry could say no, but as he mutters in slow, broken Spanish to Mickey, Rafe knows he won’t. He wouldn’t actually want him to, not with how much pride working at the shop clearly brings Barry.
Barry hangs up, groans loudly and dramatically into the pillow and turns his head to look sidelong at Rafe. “Sorry country club, it’ll only be for a few hours. Mickey gotta take his wife to an appointment and he ain’t trust the other guy to look at his buddies’ bike.”
“Mmfffffhhh.” Rafe agrees and also grumbles in reply.
“You said it baby.” Barry leans over and presses his mouth softly to Rafe’s forehead. “I’ll be home soon.”
“Don’t stay away too long,” Rafe mumbles into the pillow as he settles back into the sheets. “I’ve got plans for you sir.”
Barry just laughs as he dresses and smacks Rafe’s ass on the way out the door.
#
By noon, Rafe is annoyed and a little antsy and Barry still isn’t home so Rafe decides, fuck it. He knows where the shop is, and Barry has come down to the docks to harass him when he’s at work; it’ll be the first time Rafe ventures down to Barry’s job, but he can’t think of a good reason not to. So, like some kind of 50’s housewife, Rafe makes sandwiches and throws a few random leftovers into a bag, adds a couple beers for good measure and heads out the door.
When he pulls up to the shop, he’s decided that this is a terrible idea and Barry is going to be pissed that he showed up uninvited and unannounced. He should just leave the sandwiches on the sidewalk and run.
Except, Barry had clearly heard his bike, and he steps out of the open garage door, coveralls around his hips and his grey wifebeater covered in sweat and oil, his hair pulled back and a pair of black gloves on his hands and jesus fucking christ, Barry is hot.
The gloves are really working for Rafe.
Well, really, its just Barry that’s really fucking working for him.
“Country club!” Barry drawls as Rafe pulls of his helmet and his smile is so fucking bright Rafe wants to punch himself in the face. “Whatcha doing here boy? Just couldn’t wait to see me, eh?”
Rafe rolls his eyes, but Barry looks absolutely delighted to see him and his stupid smile is sending a stupid jolt through Rafe’s stupid stomach. He holds up his bag, and declares, a little too loudly, “I brought lunch.”
“Aight, shit, no need to yell. Come on boy. I was just about to pack up. Impatient ass.”
He says it with enough affection that Rafe isn’t too offended. Besides, he is impatient.
Barry leads him into the garage and as he passes, he reaches up to grab the chain on the door and with a grunt, hauls the metal door down. The thing must weigh like… several tonnes or something, and Barry’s arms and chest tightens as he pulls.
“I just figured you might be hungry.” Rafe says, eyes glued to Barry’s goddamn bicep. “I can take this and go if you are uninterested”
Barry locks the door with a large padlock and something about the way he pushes the lock down and tugs the chain to check it sends a little shiver down Rafe’s spine. When he’s satisfied with the lock, he turns to Rafe and grins again. “Shut up boy, you know I’m interested if food’s involved.”
Rafe looks around the garage as Barry continues to shut the place down, flicking lights and checking toolboxes and tools and things Rafe has never seen and does not know the name of. He moves through the space confidently, his eyes flicking over things and nodding as he ensures everything is set to his standards. The place is spotless, well as spotless as a mechanics shop can be, and Rafe can see Barry’s meticulous eye all over the place. It’s endearing.
“How was your day? Get Mickey’s pal bike looked at?” Rafe trails after Barry as he works through the shop and finally brings them to a small room at the very end of the hallway. There’s a rickety table and a futon that looks like a biohazard and a few cheap, hard plastic chairs.
Barry drops into one, sprawling across it like he does, and Rafe swallows thickly as he sits beside him and slides the bag of food to him. He spots the beers and offers Rafe another gutpunch of a grin.
“Yeah, I did, it – “Then he trails off as he dumps the contents onto the table.
“What?” Rafe presses, confusion pinching his brow.
“Did, did you make me sandwich bro?” Barry demands, holding up said sandwich and shaking it like it’s offended him.
“Yeah man,” Rafe replies with a stupid smile. “Yeah, I made it for you.”
A lot of things set Rafe off. Very few things set Barry off and more often than not, the things that do catch Rafe entirely off guard. Like now. Like this sandwich.
When Rafe gets flustered, it’s rather clear – he laughs and blushes and can’t maintain eye contact. His face is an open book and Barry knows exactly how to read him. Barry, on the other hand, when he gets flustered, he falls deeper into control, over himself and the situation. He’s calm and collected and the only way to tell that he’s heading quickly towards feral, is a tiny glint in his eyes.
The glint is there now and Rafe hardens immediately.
Barry, suddenly very serious and looking hungrily at Rafe’s mouth, calmy picks up the food and places it on the futon – thankfully the food is all in Tupperware and safe from the biohazardous fabric. He places a hand on the surface of the table, and pats it, twice, firmly, looking at Rafe the whole time.
“Up.”
“Fuck.” Rafe blinks dumbly several times. “What?”
“Get on the table pretty boy. Now.”
Rafe scrambles to it and the second his ass his planted on the chipped linoleum, Barry’s hands are on his face and his mouth is crashing down onto Rafe’s.
Barry has fucked Rafe in plenty of places, several of them places he should definitely not be fucking him, but this is a first. Rafe had worried he’d been out of those, and its always a pleasant surprise when Barry proves him wrong.
Rafe’s hands slip beneath Barry’s coveralls and grasp at his hips as he steps in between his thighs and Rafe pulls Barry into him. Barry’s hands keep Rafe’s face where he wants it, and Barry sets about unraveling Rafe just with his mouth. It’s an infuriating skill, the way no matter Barry is doing with his mouth; talking or laughing, singing or making fun of Rafe, sticking his tongue between his teeth or kissing Rafe or fucking him, it’s all perfect.
“Is anyone supposed to be coming in?” Rafe chokes out as Barry pulls open his belt and flicks open the button on his shorts. Rafe leans back on the table so Barry can shimmy them down off hips. “I don’t want to get caught.”
Barry quirks a brow as he pulls Rafe’s shorts just as far down as he needs them and he eyes Rafe’s cock before he drags his index finger up Rafe’s length. He hisses and grips the edge of the table, worried it might snap under his desperate hands.
“Dontcha country club?” He leans forward and traps Rafe, his hands planted on either side of his thighs and his breath is hot on Rafe’s throat. “Don’t want nobody walkin’ in, seeing you bent over the table and getting’ fucked? Don’t want anyone to see you on your knees with your mouth fulla’ my cock?”
Rafe whimpers.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought pretty boy.” Barry drawls and then he’s kissing Rafe again and his hand is on Rafe’s cock, working him thorough and slow, and Rafe thinks that if this is what he gets for making a fucking sandwich, he’s going to prepare Barry an absolute feast. Barry bites his throat, and then moves to place a gentle hand there his mouth had been. He squeezes, just the right amount of pressure, and Rafe’s head tilts back. “You know what I think, country club?”
“Hmm?” Rafe groans as Barry’s hands both tighten and the table groans.
“I think that you like the idea of someone seein’ you.” Barry says, his fist beginning to fuck Rafe a little harder and Rafe’s brain is mostly just chaos, mostly just desire. “All flushed and desperate. All mine, my needy little slut, yeah?”
He punctuates his words by applying more and more pressure on Rafe’s throat and jesus lord what is there to say to that but, “Yes. Yes. Fuck, yes.”
Then Barry slides Rafe across the tabletop and is pulling his face down to his, sweeping his tongue into Rafe’s mouth and razing his body with heat like a forest fire. Barry wraps his fists up in Rafe’s t-shirt and pulls. Rafe doesn’t need much motivation and the cool tile floor grounds him as he kneels before Barry, prepared to give a sermon of his own, and licks along Barry’s cock, base to tip. The sound Barry makes is as good as a prayer to Rafe and he takes Barry into his mouth, hungry for more of Barry’s noises, more of Barry’s litanies.
Rafe lives for this, for the few moments that he gets to make Barry fall apart, when he gets to be the one who makes Barry let go, who makes Barry grasp at his hair and curse vehemently and thrust his hips wildly. Watching Barry fall apart is almost enough to make Rafe come and if Barry allowed him to continue, he probably would finish just by making Barry come, but Barry never does anything halfway.
“Bend over pretty boy.” He growls as he hauls Rafe up and over the table. Rafe does as he’s told, his chest fluttering and his mind blank and some part of him, does indeed hope someone walks in and sees him like this. With Barry’s hands all over him, with his hand reaching around to grip Rafe’s throat and the other pulling him up by the hip. With his face flushed and sweat on his brow and his hands clinging to the peeling linoleum.
It’s the first time he’s ever had the thought and he can’t help his smile at that, that Barry has offered him another first. And then Barry is fucking him and there are no thoughts, not a single goddamn one. Barry twists his hips and squeezes Rafe’s throat and he makes a pitiful sound in response. “Barry, goddamnit, yes.”
“Fuck yourself for me baby.” Barry tells him and Rafe complies, reaching a desperate hand to his cock. His thighs are already trembling and when his hand meets his skin, he bucks beneath Barry, the sensations almost stupefying. “God, you’re so fucking good, so good for me.”
Rafe holds out for as long as he can, until each of his nerves feel exposed and lit with a sparkler. Until every touch is nearly too much and his ears are ringing and his mind is a fog.
“Barry,” He finally pleads, not able to take another moment. “Please, please.”
Sometimes Barry makes him say it, sometimes makes him ask – more often, many more times than once, but occasionally, like now, when Barry is just as overcome as Rafe, he just nods and groans against Rafe’s skin. “Yea, go ‘head pretty boy, let me see ya come for me.”
And that’s how they both finish, with Rafe bent over the rickety and now even more precariously leaning table, his hand on his cock and his mouth bent around Barry’s name and Barry with one hand in Rafe’s hair and the other on his hip, a curse on his tongue.
When they can both breathe again, they help one another dress and they are both leaning for one another, forehead against forehead and then Barry reaches and slaps Rafe’s ass with vigor. “Come on country club, lets take that little picnic home, huh?”
Rafe laughs and pushes the chairs back into the table as he moves to grab said picnic. Barry eyes the table a long moment and then shakes his head and kicks out one of the legs. The whole thing topples and Barry nods, satisfied. “Why the fuck did you do that?”
“I can’t let the guys eat there after I did that to ya there boy.” Barry replies as roots around for a piece of paper and scribbles a note onto it. “’Sides that, we needed a new one. I’ll tell Mickey it just gave up and ate shit on its own.”
“You’re a menace Barry.” Rafe tells him as he follows him out of the room. He looks down at the note as he passes. It says ‘Don’t worry about it’ and Rafe barks a laugh as Barry hits the light and takes his hand in the dark hallways.
“Yeah, that’s true.” Barry leads them outside, and Rafe blinks against the sunshine. There’s still plenty of day left, plenty of time to ruin more tables.
“More of a menace than orcas, and dude, those motherfuckers are like, supervillain menaces. They look cute but they will fuck your shit up.” Barry locks up and they head for their bikes.
Barry grins and he swats Rafe’s ass again before he throws his leg over his bike. “Ya calling me cute tire iron?”
“I’m calling you a homicidal panda.” Barry turns on his bike and revs the engine, waving dramatically at his ears and yelling ‘what!?’ Rafe flips him off before he follows suit, and his bike kicks to life beneath him. “Race you home?”
Rafe doesn’t need to see through the visor to know Barry is giving him another throatpunch smile and then he’s off and Rafe laughs as he peels off after him, chasing another one million firsts.