Fandom: Clocking Off
Word Count: 2,666 words.
Notes: Stuart/Mack PWP, for thedrumsarereal. Sorry it's so late, ♥.
Summary: It wasn't that he didn't trust Stuart, it was just that Stuart wasn't all that trustworthy.
Stuart came to live with him in May. A month out of prison, nowhere else to turn, he'd taken up residence in Mack's study and performed odd jobs around his mansion of a house to pay for it. Mack had been wary at first. It wasn't that he didn't trust Stuart, it was just that Stuart wasn't all that trustworthy. A man who'd cheated on his wives, nicked off for a year and a half, and managed to get himself involved in some really dodgy shit? Not exactly a paragon of virtue. But Stuart hadn't only mended the busted upstairs window, or cleaned out the cobwebs in the shed --- he'd mended Mack's broken heart after Catherine abandoned him, cleared out the pain he continually felt at her betrayal. After three months of coming home from the factory to Stuart's requests for advice on his latest job application, wild flourish at the redecoration of the living room, cold beer and warm smile; it was increasingly easy to toss his wariness into a bin and think of Stuart as a friend. A friend he sometimes fucked.
It happened by accident one night, mutual handjobs turning into mutual blowjobs. They were drunk. Mack was horny. He'd been noticing Stuart in ways he knew he really shouldn't have been (the curve of his lower lip when he pouted around a cup of coffee, the furrow of his brow as he sanded, the length of his fingers as he changed a light bulb, the hollow of his neck when he spoke in rich, soft tones.) It'd seemed natural at the time, a fluid progression. Stuart had kissed him and said he wanted him, and God, it'd been too long, way too long. He chose to ignore the nagging suspicion there were inherent problems when it came to the balance of power in any potential relationship between them, and instead concentrated on the sensation of Stuart's hot, firm tongue against his own.
One day, late in September, Mack came home to what seemed like an empty house. The door was unlocked, so it shouldn't be empty, but it certainly seemed that way. He called loudly, but got no reply. Mack guessed he was being an idiot checking if the silver was in the cabinet, because anyone'd think that, had Stuart's plan been to knobble his cutlery, he would have done it considerably sooner than this, but he still found himself checking. Stuart came around the corner wrapped in a towel once he'd confirmed that, yeah, it was all still there. His hair was dripping, curled against his skin, and he frowned at Mack as he gave him the once over.
"What're you doing?"
"Looking to see what I can pawn so I can keep you as my live-in sex slave."
Stuart snorted and used his towel to dry the back of his head, exposing his lithe and pale flesh to Mack's greedy gaze. "Fuck you."
"Soon, I hope. Any more job applications you want me to look at?"
"Can't see anything worth applying for."
"There must be something?"
Stuart shook his head and wrapped his towel back around himself. "Even if there were, I don't seem to have any transferable skills, Mack. No one wants me."
"I've said it before and I'll say it again, but come back to mine."
"Sorry, but my answer's the same."
Mack went to the bar and poured them both a measure of scotch. It was a tradition they'd adopted in the name of adding a little joy to their lives. Soon as Mack got home they had a drink and a chat. Mack contemplated his glass and poured another measure in. The conversation wasn't going so well, so he'd compensate with the alcohol.
"It isn't healthy, squirreling yourself away like this."
Stuart scowled. "Like you're the paragon of mental health."
"Hey, at least I'm trying."
"What were you really doing? With the cabinet?" Stuart asked, but Mack had started moving into the living room and pretended not to hear him. Stuart followed him after a beat, not repeating the question. Mack suspected he knew it had been deliberate avoidance.
"I thought the modern prison system was meant to be about reform and rehabilitation, the opportunity for a second chance," Mack said as he sat on his sofa and took a swig of his drink. "But it looks like no one told the job market."
Stuart jutted his chin forward, gaining an air of superiority that was two parts endearing, one part annoying. It was incongruous with his current state of undress. "I didn't need reforming."
Mack practically burst out laughing. "Oh, you did nothing wrong?"
"I didn't say that, don't put words in my mouth."
"I won't, then. I'd rather put something else in your mouth instead."
Stuart narrowed his eyes, but also gave Mack an affectionate little smile that made Mack's insides clench.
"Not even gonna let me dress?"
"Only to have me tear the clothes off again, you mean?"
"You tear anything, you're paying for it."
"Am already, aren't I?" Mack asked, and expected Stuart to get angry, was deliberately goading him, but Stuart didn't rise to the bait.
Instead, he sauntered over, deadly casual, and settled himself on Mack's thighs. He extracted Mack's glass from his hand and settled it on the floor. His legs were tight against Mack's hips, the towel a mere formality now as Mack could feel the weight and heat of him, the dampness still present on his skin. He wanted to peel that last covering away, so he could look at the whole of Stuart; all sharp angles and soft lines, pale, and glistening, and there.
Stuart brushed a hand through his hair, making the back of Mack's neck tingle. "You don't trust me," he said, not even bothering to ask, just stating it as declarative fact.
"It isn't that," Mack said, then slid his hands up Stuart's back. He gave a deep sigh. "It isn't you, at any rate."
"No? Nothing to do with my history, my need for redemption?"
Mack shrugged. "Not really."
Stuart started to wrench at Mack's tie, undoing the buttons of his shirt with his other hand. His gaze was hot, intent. "Just sort of."
Mack grabbed hold of Stuart's wrists, stilling his movements. He looked into Stuart's eyes and tried to make him see. "I have issues, I admit it. You'd have to be some kind of genius saint not to feel wounded after Catherine's treatment. You understand that, don't you? It isn't only you. I don't trust anyone, not a single fucking soul. Not even myself."
"So it's general suspicion, not specific."
"I don't even suspect, Stu, I just get confused. I forget about this, these moments," he quirked a lip, "when we're laid bare. 'Cause I know I know you. The real you. The one who fucked up and regrets it. I know you wouldn't hurt me. But, like I said, I can't always trust what I think I know."
Stuart slid his thumb over Mack's lips, giving a considering tilt of his head. "Part of you wants to trust me, and another part never can."
"I never said that. Don't you start putting words in my mouth."
"I won't, then. I'd rather put something else in there, anyway."
Stuart pressed his thumb inside Mack's mouth, stroking in and out, then bent lower and kissed him. He was forceful and insistent, cradling Mack's jaw, shifting off his lap as he did so. Mack pulled away, shaking his head as Stuart went to his knees.
"No," he said. "Not like that."
Stuart looked mildly annoyed, his brow creasing. "What's wrong?"
"I want," Mack said quietly. "...to show you that I trust you."
"But that would be a lie, Mack. That's something you're not usually into."
"Okay, fine. I want to show you that I wanna trust you."
Stuart gave a triumphant smirk. "Better. But how?"
Stuart obviously liked that idea. He stood up and held his hand out for Mack to take, then led him up the stairs to the bedroom. Mack tried to tamp down his feelings of anxiety and nervous tension. He told himself it wasn't a big deal, not any more of a commitment than the relationship they were already in. But it was, to him, that was the point of it. He was sick of constantly questioning Stuart, of questioning himself, and he wanted to make it clear that he was willing to learn, to change, if only a little.
Stuart helped him strip out of his remaining clothes before they even reached the bed. He gave a low murmur of appreciation when Mack was standing naked before him, and his look of desire was unmistakeable as he pushed Mack down onto the quilt. It constantly surprised Mack how much Stuart seemed to want him. It was something Catherine had never done.
He didn't know what to do with his hands as Stuart trailed kisses from his lips to his torso. He wanted to grab hold of his hair and guide him further down. He didn't have to even attempt to gain control, because Stuart started pressing his lips against Mack's lower abdomen, continuing his journey. Mack wriggled as Stuart bypassed his cock altogether and licked down his inner right thigh, then grunted as he hiked up his legs, shifting him down the bed. Mack felt the edge of a shudder travel up his spine as Stuart nipped at his buttock and then slid his tongue up his crack.
There had only ever been fingers there before, and only in the middle of a blowjob, and Mack found himself pressing up into the sensation, canting his hips for more contact. His fingers scrabbled in the quilt and he managed to gain purchase as Stuart swiped against his hole, the tip of his tongue swirling in circles. Mack arched upwards again, his legs widening of their own volition, his feet flat against the bed. He couldn't contain his grunt of surprise, or the pathetic whimper he gave as Stuart worked diligently to unravel any objections he may ever have had about anything. If he had known it could be like this, he would have made the suggestion a lot sooner. He craned his neck so he could see the top of Stuart's head, the breadth of his shoulders as he sought to widen Mack's legs even further. Stuart was relentless, and by the time he had pushed a finger in up to the first knuckle, Mack was a quivering mess.
Stuart rose up, pressed his whole body against him, sweat-slick and warm, and it was only when Mack opened his eyes that he realised he was reaching into the night stand and pulling out the lube and condoms. He drizzled lube on his fingers with measured concentration and Mack stared, mesmerised. He bucked as Stuart returned his fingers to his hole. Stuart worked two fingers into him, opening him up, fucking him slowly and teasingly. He looked into his eyes with incomparable intensity.
"Stu," Mack choked, having absolutely no idea how he intended to continue the plea.
Stuart entered him with three fingers now, stroking deeply, the pads of his fingers coming into contact with a part of Mack that made him quiver. Something primal within Mack took control and he moaned as he rocked himself closer to Stuart, his muscles cording with the effort.
"Do you want me?" Stuart asked, feigning innocence. His eyes were ludicrously wide and if Mack didn't know any better, he'd think it was genuine confusion crinkling his forehead, but there was a twitch at the corner of his lips, he pushed into him again with a little twist, and Mack couldn't help but grip even tighter to the quilt.
"Yes," Mack ground out. "Yes."
Stuart pulled him up further, until Mack's lower back was aching, but he didn't care, he couldn't, because Stuart had rolled a condom on, was adding more lubrication, was taking his time with it, in what Mack was sure was deliberate torment.
When the tip of Stuart's cock nudged at Mack's hole, Mack bit his lower lip and gave a pitiful whine. It didn't hurt, it wasn't pain, but Stuart pushing within him was such a new sensation, he wasn't used to the stretch. Every movement Stuart made had him wanting to clench, to keep him there, and Stuart began whispering soft reassurances.
"It's okay, Mack. It's fine. Open up for me. Relax."
Mack swallowed thickly and tried to do as Stuart said, his breath hitching as Stuart thrust deep, until he was fully buried. Stuart stopped moving, bowing his head, taking deep, panting breaths. Mack waited, too long, far too long, until he couldn't any more, until he had to do something because it was everything like pain and not enough like pleasure. He squirmed, grunting low in his chest.
"I need you to fuck me. Please, just fuck me," Mack said, and he knew he sounded wrecked, but how else could he sound?
Stuart finally began to pull back, leaving Mack empty, before he surged forward with a snap of his hips. He thrust again, and again, and again; faster, then harder, concentration etched into every line of his features. Mack found himself shoving back as best he could, trying to take more, trying to demand everything from Stuart, anything he could take. He writhed as Stuart stroked deeper, rolled his hips up rhythmically. Pressed back into the mattress so he could lift his lower body higher. Gave a broken sigh as Stuart started to hit his prostate with every thrust.
His cock was painfully hard, precome smearing across his abdomen, and he took himself in hand, desperate. The dual sensation of Stuart within him and his hand on his cock was too much. He only had to stroke himself a few times before he was coming all over his abdomen and chest, convulsing around Stuart with a whole-body shudder. He flopped down, boneless, no longer strong enough to hold himself up, and lay content as Stuart continued to surge in and out of him. It didn't take long until Stuart was coming too, grunting through his release as he stilled above him.
After a few minutes, Stuart cleaned them off and collapsed to the side, which Mack would have been grateful for if he could have mustered up the energy to think. He couldn't even make words rearrange themselves into any coherent order as he began to drag his fingers through Stuart's damp hair. They settled closer together, pulling the covers up and over them, and Mack managed to move enough to press his lips against Stuart's forehead; an action which earned him a sated rumble.
It was worth it, Mack thought, when he finally could think. It had been the right decision. It was so much more than that too, and he knew he could never go back to a time where he didn't want Stuart fucking him open, forcing him to need every inch of movement, every touch of his tongue. Things weren't magically perfect between them now, far from it, but they'd taken a step in the right direction, he thought. It was simultaneously comforting and terrifying to know that day by day, week by week, Stuart was eroding the distance between them. Perhaps, with time, he would get over his lingering sense of isolation after Catherine's departure. And, if he were entirely honest, his lingering sense of isolation before her departure.
"I want you to know I've never thought of nicking your silver, Mack," Stuart murmured after several silent moments between them. He placed his hand over Mack's chest and stroked seductively. "I've always been after something much more precious."
Mack closed his eyes and nestled deeper into Stuart. His heart gave a hop and a skip as he realised this was something he believed. He felt much the same way.