hallway
Look, James knows you shouldn't fuck strangers in public hallways.
He's very aware that his high school sex education teacher would be pulling at her hair if she knew. Screaming that it's dangerous, that he should at least have the smarts to wrap it before he taps it or whatever the fuck she tried to drill into their adolescent brains.
The thing is, even if she was standing right next to him, he'd tell her to fuck off.
He'd ask, Do you see him? Pressed up against the wall and holding himself open? Because I do, and I'm not wasting the opportunity to fuck him. This is the holy grail right here.
Maybe James has one brain cell left. Maybe it's in his dick rather than between his ears. Hell, maybe he has no brain cells left at all. It's entirely possible, though he'd blame it on the way this man turns his head, gray eyes glassy and full lips so fucking shiny, and demands, "What the fuck are you waiting for?"
Sue him for it, but if James doesn't get inside this man in the next ten seconds, he's setting the whole club on fire.
He has no idea where they are. The name of the club, sure, but this hallway feels simultaneously too far and too close to other people. But James is lining himself up, pushing into tight, wet heat, and he decides he'd go to jail for this ass, if it came to that.
"Holy fuck," he breathes when he bottoms out. "You feel incredible. Will you tell me your name now? Please."
"No. Earn it."
Even his voice does something to James. Unleashes a primal part of him; a need. He takes luscious black curls in his fingers and pulls, gets his mouth on the delicate column of a throat and marks.
His thrusts are steady, and he feels himself coming apart with each one. Breathy sighs and broken moans echo off the hallway walls, and bass bumps in the distance. James matches his thrusts to it, aiming for deep and steady rather than erratic. He wants each one to count.
And they do. Oh, he knows they do. He can feel it in the way this man's fingers drag across his skin, desperate for purchase but pulling blood to the surface instead. He can see it in dark eyes, heavy-lidded and full of need. Hears it in harder and deeper and more.
James reaches around to grip a heavy, leaking cock; he works it in time with his thrusts. It doesn't take long to pull them both to the edge like this. And when they come, it's almost together. There's a clench around James, a full body shudder, and then it's warmth all over his hand.
"Inside," the man breathes, and James doesn't question it. He breaks apart, thrusts once, and spills inside what might be the best ass he's ever had the pleasure of fucking. His brain is little more than static; pure white noise.
"Jesus," he mutters, forehead in the curve of a soft shoulder.
The man huffs a laugh. "Nope, it's Regulus."