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It’s already a blur by the time Tommy slams the car door shut behind him and climbs into Wilbur’s lap— like they’ve both been waiting all day just to get to this. Wilbur kisses him like he’s starving, hands sliding up under his shirt, dragging him close, pulling soft sounds from Tommy’s mouth as he settles astride him.
“Missed you,” Wilbur breathes against his lips, already fumbling at Tommy’s belt, already half out of his mind with how warm and solid Tommy feels on top of him.
Tommy smirks, rolling his hips deliberately, slow, teasing. “Then show me.”
And Wilbur does. God, does he. The console digs into his hip as he lifts his own belt free, groaning as Tommy sinks down onto him, both of them gasping at the stretch, the heat, the relief of it.
But even wrecked, even trembling, Wilbur remembers why he came. Why he always comes without fail.
“Lunch,” He pants, grabbing the bag he set on the passenger seat, and pulling out what he’d packed so carefully— a sandwich, strawberries, the bar of chocolate, already unwrapped at the end. His hands are shaking so badly he nearly drops it.
Tommy grins, cocky and breathless. “Feed me, then. You’re the one who said I’m not getting through my shift starving.”
And Wilbur does. Bite of sandwich firs— Tommy takes it between kisses, chewing as he rocks his hips, swallowing as Wilbur moans beneath him. Then a strawberry— cold and sweet —Wilbur holds it between his teeth and Tommy leans in, takes it from his mouth, juice slicking both their lips.
But it’s the chocolate that undoes them both.
Wilbur breaks off a square, but instead of feeding it to Tommy’s mouth, he holds it between his own lips, similarly to the strawberry, eyes dark and daring. Tommy huffs a soft laugh, flushed and gorgeous, and leans in, capturing the other edge between his teeth.
Their mouths meet over it— warm, sticky-sweet, chocolate melting between them as their tongues tangle, as they kiss around the shared piece, as it dissolves into something messier, hotter.
Tommy groans into it, hips stuttering, pace picking up, chasing that edge. Wilbur’s hands grip his thighs, his back, holding him down, fucking up into him now, helpless, utterly lost in it.
“Fuck, you taste so good,” Wilbur gasps when they break apart for air, their lips glossy with chocolate, breath mingling. He drags his thumb across Tommy’s mouth, gathers the melted smudge, and sucks it off with a shiver.
Tommy moans at the sight, grinding down harder. “Wilbur—Wil, please—”
Wilbur’s beyond words, beyond thought. He breaks off another piece, brings it to Tommy’s mouth, but Tommy shakes his head, leans in instead, and they share it the same way— mouths meeting, tongues brushing, chocolate melting between them as they fall apart together.
Wilbur comes first, gasping, holding Tommy flush against him, buried deep, shuddering through it. Tommy keeps moving, keeps kissing him, and follows moments later, muffling his cry against Wilbur’s shoulder, tasting sweetness and Wilbur’s breath at once.
Tommy slumps forward, boneless and flushed, cheek pressed to Wilbur’s shoulder. His thighs are trembling from how hard he’d ridden him, and his chest is still rising and falling like he’s run miles. He’s glowing— all wrecked edges and satisfied hums.
Wilbur’s fingers trail up and down his spine, calming him, grounding him. He kisses Tommy’s temple, slow and lingering. “You good?”
Tommy nods against his neck. “Yeah. Better than good.” A pause, then with a breathless little laugh: “I think I’ve got chocolate in my teeth.”
Wilbur huffs, fond and wrecked. “You’ve got chocolate everywhere, baby.”
And it’s true. There’s a smear at the corner of Tommy’s mouth, another just below his jaw. Some of it’s smeared across Wilbur’s own chin from where they kissed like animals. The front of Wilbur’s shirt is creased and untucked; Tommy’s buttons are unevenly fastened and his tie is half-on, half-forgotten.
Wilbur doesn’t complain. Doesn’t mind the mess— not when it’s this. Not when Tommy’s glowing like this.
“C’mere,” He murmurs, pulling a pack of wipes from the glove compartment— he always keeps some there for exactly this reason. With careful hands, he cleans Tommy’s mouth, thumb brushing gently along his lips before leaning in to kiss them again. Just because.
Tommy blinks at him through the afterglow, watching Wilbur’s brow furrow in focus as he wipes chocolate from the underside of his jaw.
“You’re amazing,” Tommy murmurs. “You think of every little thing for me.”
Wilbur smiles, still working, brushing crumbs from Tommy’s collar. “Boyfriend of the year,” He mutters, like it’s obvious. “I told you I wouldn’t let you go back to work all sticky and starving.”
Tommy hums, leaning into the next kiss, slower this time— sweet and deep, the kind that says thank you without words. Wilbur’s hand cups his cheek, anchoring him there. Their foreheads touch when they break apart.
“You’re insane,” Tommy whispers, “but I love it.”
Wilbur grins. “Good. Because I’m bringing you that chocolate orange you like next time. The one that breaks into slices. You’re eating it piece by piece, straight from my mouth.”
Tommy groans, but it’s all affection now. “You’re gonna ruin chocolate for me forever.”
“No,” Wilbur says softly. “I’m gonna make it mean something better.”
A silence lingers— warm, full —and then Tommy sits back a little, wincing softly as he stretches his thighs.
Wilbur is instantly fussing. “Hey—too sore?”
“Little bit,” Tommy mutters. “But in the good way.”
Wilbur reaches into the back seat, an arm remaining draped across Tommy’s lower back, and grabs the water bottle he brought, unscrews it and hands it to him without a word. Tommy takes a sip, watching Wilbur the whole time.
“You always do this,” He muses. “Feed me, fuck me, then treat me like something precious.”
Wilbur meets his gaze, eyes steady. “That’s because you are something precious.”
Tommy flushes and tries to scoff, but Wilbur leans in, voice suddenly low again.
“You’re mine,” He voices like it’s a fact. “And I’m going to spoil you until you believe you deserve every second of it.”
Tommy kisses him for that. Long, slow, grateful. There’s nothing rushed about it anymore— not with the sugar fading, not with the high softening into something real.
Wilbur finishes feeding Tommy the rest of the food that was forgotten, talking and laughing between laughs. But eventually their little moment comes to an end as always. Tommy sighs, glancing at the time. “I gotta go.”
Wilbur groans like it’s a tragedy, “I’ll wait outside when you’re off.”
Tommy smiles, pulling himself together as best he can, lifting himself from Wilbur, both groaning as Wilbur slides out.
Wilbur helps him— buttoning his shirt properly, fixing his belt, and smoothing his hair.
“Bring more chocolate,” Tommy demands, playfully just as Wilbur finishes buckling his belt.
“I’ll bring something for your legs too,” Wilbur teases, a grin plastered on his face, fingers lingering near Tommy’s zipper. “You’ll be walking a little funny.”
Tommy rolls his eyes, but he’s grinning. As he opens the door, Wilbur grabs his wrist and tugs him back for one more kiss, steady and unhurried.
“Text me if you need anything,” Wilbur murmurs against his lips.
“I’ll need you,” Tommy replies without missing a beat, already pulling away.
Wilbur sneaks a few more kisses, until he’s deemed satisfied, then watches Tommy go, hair mussed, lips pink, shirt rumpled in the back. He’s never looked more loved.
And when the door shuts, Wilbur leans his head back against the seat, smiling like a man who knows he’s utterly, completely gone.