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They looked good.
That was the problem.
IV stood out in the softest possible way - all cool confidence and crisp edges, dressed in charcoal-grey tailoring so sharp it might cut. His tie was the same pale gold as the lighting above them, his jacket tailored to skim his waist just right. He wore the suit like he wore everything: like it had always belonged to him, like it would betray its own stitching if it tried to fit anyone else.
And II?
He was every inch the part. Polished, poised, immaculate. The suit he wore was navy and impossibly well-fitted, with narrow lapels and sleeves that framed his forearms just right. His rings were subtle, chosen by IV for the occasion, and his usual mess of hair was combed back into something sleek and lethal.
He didn’t need to pretend. He belonged.
II was here for IV. That was the simple truth of it. He didn’t care much for formal events - his own work in software didn’t ask it of him often. High-level clients, sure. Presentations, meetings, launches. But those were tech rooms, rooms that respected a brilliant mind in a hoodie as much as one in a three-piece suit. And often enough, he worked from home, legs bare, wrapped in one of IV’s sweatshirts, coding for hours with a mug going cold by his keyboard and the cat in his lap. But even here, at IV’s company gala, hosted at some discreet luxury hotel in the city with a dress code like a dagger and a wine list that made people pause before pronouncing anything, II didn’t look out of place.
IV introduced him over and over with a kind of restrained pride that made II’s chest ache.
“This is my fiancé,” he’d say, just slightly smug, like he was daring someone to ask how he pulled that off. “He works in software development. One of the brilliant ones.”
The man in front of them was shaking his hand, some higher-up in the sales branch. He was polite. Friendly. IV was introducing him proudly, like II was the one they should all be trying to impress.
And that - God, that meant something.
So II smiled. Easy. Warm. Made a casual joke about how he could just about code in six languages but couldn’t wrap his head around a balance sheet, and the man laughed, genuinely. They made pleasant talk. IV’s hand brushed the small of his back - only once.
He was effortlessly composed. Never too loud, never too passive. Polite, but wry. When someone brought up a new AI initiative in IV’s company, II asked sharp, incisive questions. Not challenging, just curious in the way that made people want to impress him.
And still.
Still, under all that poise - the smoothness, the charm, the clean-cut control - he was shaking.
Because IV had slipped the vibrator in before they left.
-
It had been a casual thing. Mundane, even.
IV knelt in the bedroom as II buttoned his shirt, open box in hand. Just a nod. A murmured: “Wear this for me?”
II hadn’t flinched. Hadn’t questioned. Just leaned in, kissed IV slow and deep, and let him slide it inside with practiced ease.
It wasn’t even the first time. But tonight felt… different. Maybe because it was IV’s domain. His colleagues, his event, his home turf. Maybe because II had been good lately. Too good.
IV wanted to remind him what it felt like to be undone in silence. To carry a secret through a crowd with flushed cheeks and steady hands and no way to beg for more.
The first buzz came just as the elevator doors opened to the rooftop ballroom.
Small. Gentle. Barely a whisper of stimulation.
Just enough to remind him that IV had the remote in his pocket. That his body wasn’t entirely his anymore.
-
II could handle it. He always could.
He had stamina like no one IV had ever known. Self-control that ran deep, like rock, like steel. He could carry the teasing for hours, carry it through conversations about IPOs and architecture frameworks and Q3 projections.
But IV knew the cracks would show eventually.
Now, the vibe inside him was a quiet, dangerous whisper. Nothing noticeable to the outside world, even when he moved. But he could feel it - a deep, humming ache that pressed just right every time he shifted his weight, every time his suit trousers tugged against his thighs.
It started with the smallest things. The tight line of II’s jaw when someone asked how they’d met. The shift of his weight from one foot to the other as IV flicked the dial up during a toast. The way he tugged slightly at his shirt cuffs, as if trying to distract himself from the ache building deep in his gut.
It wasn’t constant, and that was the worst of it.
IV would let it run for ten minutes. Then stop it mid-conversation. Just long enough for II to remember how badly hewanted it.
Then start it again. Half-strength. Random intervals. Never predictable.
They were mid-conversation when the vibrator shifted again. A longer pulse. The thing was good - one of the newer models, expensive and sleek and silent. It didn’t rattle or hum obnoxiously. It was a subtle, slick sort of stimulation that buzzed low and deep, massaging just behind the prostate rather than directly on it. The kind of sensation that didn’t jolt so much as it melted its way up your spine and sat behind your teeth like static.
II’s smile stayed pinned in place, but his lashes dipped slightly. He tilted his head as though thinking, pretending to listen, letting the hum flood his hips. If he breathed out just right, if he shifted his weight-
There. There.
He glanced at IV, not looking for help. Just a flicker of narrowed eyes. A silent, pointed “Really?”
IV gave him a knowing little smile that looked far too sweet for what he was doing.
It only got worse.
-
By the time they reached the fifth round of introductions, II was running too hot. Flushed but composed, legs a little too stiff, back a little too straight.
It was cruel. It was precise. Every few minutes, just when he’d started to forget, when he was mid-sentence or listening in politely, another surge would come. A tremble that made his knees subtly shift. The nerves at the base of his spine twitch. He could almost feel the head of it press against something perfect. Could almost-
Another group. Another discussion. They were standing at a high table, IV mid-conversation with someone from UI/UX about the rebrand, and II let his gaze drift across the room, to the sconces, to the bar, to the curve of IV’s mouth as he smiled and said something clever, and then-
IV turned it up.
Just a notch. Barely a flick.
But it hit just right, and II stiffened.
He blinked once. Swallowed. Kept his face neutral.
Then his eyes found IV’s, and for the first time all evening, he looked genuinely alarmed.
IV met that look. Understood it instantly.
The pressure eased. The remote clicked subtly in his pocket.
Back down.
II exhaled slowly, jaw tight, fingers curling lightly around the rim of his glass.
-
Time stretched.
Conversation blurred into polite nodding, the low buzz in his gut bleeding into his limbs like static electricity. It was almost unbearable. And yet…
It felt so good.
His mind was wandering, back to the mirror, to IV’s hands on his hips before they left, to the sheer want in IV’s eyes when he adjusted his tie. To the way IV had groaned softly at the sight of him and muttered “fuck, we’re not gonna make it out of here”.
He thought about dropping to his knees right there. About bending IV over the vanity. About all sorts of things that were wildly inappropriate for such a high class event.
He excused himself just after the CEO’s speech.
Nothing suspicious. Just a quick, polite, “Back in a moment,” and a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.
He didn’t run. But it was a close thing. He walked like nothing was wrong, like he wasn’t seconds from shaking apart, from spilling over in his slacks without even being touched.
IV watched him go. Waited a beat.
Then slid the dial up to maximum.
-
The bathroom was empty. Marble, of course. Soft lighting. Everything crisp and cold and tasteful. II braced his hands on the sink and bowed his head, panting into his own reflection, fighting the urge to drop a hand straight down the front of his trousers.
He was fine, goddamnit. He was.
He’d been edged longer than this before. Hell, he’d gone whole evenings like this, at shows, events, even a dinner party once. He had stamina. He was composed.
But right now? Now, with that low buzz still going, his spine arched and his jaw tight, he felt like he was seconds from breaking. And worse, he wanted it. God help him, he wanted to come.
He was soaked. Not visibly - not yet, at least - but inside, his boxers were sticky, sweat prickling at the back of his neck, arousal clawing at his spine like fire.
He undid his trousers just enough to breathe, and then the vibrator surged.
The sudden deep vibration hit him like a freight train. No buildup, no warning. Just everything, all at once, pressing up against the spot that had been teased raw for over an hour.
He bit back a moan, head dropping forward, his free hand slamming against the counter to keep himself upright.
He was going to come. He was going to come like this, alone in a fucking hotel bathroom-
“Ah-ah.”
IV.
II didn’t even hear the door open. But suddenly there was a body behind him, and warm breath at his neck, and those fucking fingers peeling his hand away from where it gripped the counter.
“You didn’t ask,” IV murmured.
II whimpered. “I-I just-”
Another press. A twist of the dial.
He gasped, shaking.
IV turned him, not roughly, but fast enough to spin his balance, and shoved him lightly back against the wall. His suit jacket was pushed up. His wrists caught and pressed there. A mouth at his jaw, soft and hot.
“I told you to behave.”
“I was-fuck-I was behaving, c’mon, IV I’ve been great all evening-”
IV leaned in. Licked his throat. Voice low.
“You nearly came. In here, all by yourself, rutting against nothing like an animal. Good lord, what has gotten into you?”
“I didn’t-”
“Hands flat.”
II obeyed without a sound, like it was all he had left. His thighs trembled as IV crouched behind him, drew his slacks down, and exposed the mess of skin beneath.
“Good boy,” IV said, not kindly. “Stay still.”
The toy came out slow, and II whimpered, all slick friction and aching emptiness.
IV didn’t give him time to adjust. Just spat into his hand, slicked himself quick and rough, and lined up with him in one sharp motion.
“Quiet,” he whispered.
Then pushed in.
II nearly lost it at the first thrust. He was panting, gasping, bent at the waist with IV’s hand over his mouth and another around his hips, holding him up as he fucked into him hard and desperate.
God, they should not have left the house.
And still, every movement screamed love. The way IV's fingers curled around his face, even when they were muffling him. The way he kissed the back of II's neck. How he waited, just a few moments longer, when II went tense, letting him breathe.
II came hard, whole body locked up, shaking like a live wire in IV’s arms.
IV followed not long after, face pressed to his spine, quiet curses ghosted into his skin.
-
They stayed there for a long moment, breath mingling in the silence.
IV helped him turn, sat him on the closed toilet lid, cleaned him gently with wet towels.
“You okay?” he murmured, brushing hair from II’s damp brow.
II blinked up at him, still dazed. “Love you.”
IV smiled, leaned in, kissed the corner of his mouth.
Another kiss. This time on his forehead. Then one to his shoulder, soft and reverent.
“You were perfect.”
II let his eyes fall closed, breathing slowing. The ache in his body hadn’t faded, but it felt distant now - cushioned by the warmth of IV’s hands, the soft praise that soothed the raw edges.
-
They didn’t linger.
Not long, anyway. The bathroom smelled faintly of sex now, mixed with marble polish and the sharp bite of hotel disinfectant. It wasn’t a place to rest, not when the party still hummed beyond the door, not when IV’s name was on the banner draped across the ballroom balcony.
But still, for a few minutes more, they let the silence hold them.
IV finished with the damp towels, smoothing them over II’s thighs with the kind of care that would never show on the surface of his sharp suit. He checked the flush of II’s skin, brushed his hair back again, even straightened the rings that had gone crooked during the worst of it. He was meticulous like that - like every inch of II was a detail in some private masterpiece, and no one else had the right to see it undone.
“Up,” IV murmured, at last. Gentle, but not negotiable.
II rose on unsteady legs. His knees protested, but IV’s hands steadied him instantly, sure and grounding. Together, they worked in silence, tucking, smoothing, buttoning. IV adjusted his tie with the same precision he would have applied in front of a mirror, tugging it until the knot sat flush and perfect against his throat.
II tied his own shoes, clumsy in the aftermath, fingers fumbling on the laces. He huffed softly at himself, and IV crouched without a word, brushing his hand away.
“I’ve got it.”
II let him. Watched him kneel there in the clean lines of his charcoal-grey suit, dark head bowed, hands steady as he finished the knots with neat efficiency. A ridiculous sight: IV, who terrified board members, who wore authority like skin, fixing his fiancé’s shoes on a bathroom floor.
The knot tightened. IV looked up through his lashes, and for a second, II thought he’d actually laugh. Instead, IV rose smoothly, pressed a hand flat to II’s chest, and leaned in until their foreheads touched.
“Breathe,” he whispered.
And II did. In. Out. His pulse still erratic, his body still molten, but grounding under the steady warmth of IV’s palm.
"Good boy."
When they were both composed enough to pass through a crowd again, IV turned them toward the mirror. Their reflections looked impeccable, even then, suits sharp, hair sleek, faces calm. Only the faint pink still clinging to II’s cheekbones betrayed anything, and even that could be dismissed as champagne.
IV brushed an invisible speck of lint from II’s lapel. “Perfect,” he murmured, not to the reflection, but to him.
II swallowed, his throat thick. “You’re insane.”
IV smiled faintly, the kind of smile no one else ever got.
-
No one asked questions when they returned.
The ballroom hadn’t shifted in their absence; the string quartet was still playing a glossy rendition of something classical, the servers still glided through with trays of champagne, the conversation still hummed in polished circles.
If anything, the two of them slipped back into place too seamlessly. People parted for IV without even thinking, nodding politely, eager for a smile or a word. II stayed close, his expression composed, his body relaxed enough to pass for ease. Only IV felt the subtle tremor still running through him, only IV noticed the soft hitch in his breathing whenever their shoulders brushed.
The night carried on. The gala gleamed. And if anyone noticed the faint flush lingering on II’s skin, or the way IV’s hand never strayed far from his back, they didn’t comment.