1x2x1, frottage, lemon

For wickedgame

Heero leant back against his seat in the train compartment and let his body sway with the rocking motion. The view outside was darkening as the evening drew on, the glass of the windows was damp and chill. He twisted his head to look out, but he couldn’t see much of the scenery any more, just the distorted reflection of his own face - a furrowed brow and dark eyes. Damn the public transport system, he thought, a little unfairly. Damn the delays on the track and the 'incident' at the junction, and the disruption to the early evening timetable...

He was going to be late home. His gut twisted with tension.

He turned back to face into the carriage. The lighting was dim here, too, where some of the lamps were broken or fading. A small boy opposite stuck his tongue out at him and Heero glared back. A young woman sat on Heero's right, drenched in perfume, chewing furiously on some minty gum, obviously on her way to a heavy date. On his left was a large, sweaty man in shirt sleeves, squeezed uncomfortably on to the narrow seat, his bulging thighs pressing awkwardly against Heero's. Heero sighed. It had been a hell of a long journey so far, and he still had a half hour until he reached his stop.

He tried to think positively. He was admired for it at work, but the facility seemed to have escaped him tonight. Perhaps there was no need to worry – after all, there'd be announcements at the station, explaining the delays; he'd still have plenty of time to get ready, to be where he'd arranged, to be just a few minutes late... that wouldn't bother most people. He glanced down at his watch, willing it not to have moved on. It bothered him. His heartbeat felt tight against his ribs. When the boy opposite stuck out his tongue - again - Heero lifted a clenched fist from his side, well within the kid's line of sight.

The little monster's eyes opened wide. His mouth opened, too, and Heero knew with a tired fatalism that the loud, ghastly wailing was just about to start -

But then the train shuddered to a halt at the last of the city stations. The carriage lights flickered fitfully again: the wheels outside wheezed. Heero was pleased to see the kid scooped up by his mother and pushed towards the door. In fact, there was a sudden, rushed exodus, commuters appearing from the next carriage through the interconnecting door, a babble of chat about short platforms and doors not opening, and laughter and grumbling as they all shuffled past where Heero sat. The scent-saturated woman rose from her seat and so did the huge man, sweeping his jacket down from the overhead rack. Heero's nose wrinkled, assaulted by some very stale smells at unpleasant war with the gag of perfume. Both fellow travellers joined the throng, and for a moment Heero couldn't see anything beyond the man's broad back and the woman's flapping, shiny raincoat. He leaned back in his seat and winced as people buffetted against him, knocking their bags against his legs and standing on his toes, as the queue gradually spilled out on to the platform.

At the last minute he got up too - might as well take the opportunity to get some air by the doors. Glancing down, he saw a folded newspaper flung down on the seat beside him, the daily crossword showing. Maybe the man had left it - Heero scooped it up quickly, hoping it might help distract him from his frustration.

He made his way to the standing area between the seats, along with a small group of other travellers, waiting for a later stop. The door hissed shut, the lights dimmed, and the train started off again. There wasn't a lot of space to move around and Heero decided to turn and face out through the misty square of window in the door. Someone jabbed an umbrella in his calf, and there was a tall, wheeled suitcase that kept rolling back and forth as the train banked, nudging at the back of his thighs, but he reckoned that was better than grimacing at the other commuters. He put a hand on the wall beside the door, pushing back out a little way and giving himself just enough space to hold the newspaper open in his other hand at waist height. He sighed, remembering his only pen was in his back pocket - he'd have to wriggle about to get that ready for any clues he might solve. He glanced down at the paper, taking a moment to synchronise his movements with the swaying train and focus on 1 Across.

Three things struck him at the same time - one, that now there was another body pressing insistently up against his back, maybe leaning forward to avoid that same wheeled suitcase: two, that there was a sharp, citrus cologne in his nostrils that was shockingly familiar: and three, that 1 Across had already been filled in.

SO LATE, it said. Heero noticed - fleetingly - that it didn't match the clue in any way, and was also a couple of letters too short, but at the same time his heart leapt. He tried to twist around again, but the body behind him pressed more tightly, keeping him facing outwards. There was a gentle hiss that might have been the evening air through the cracks in the train doors, or it might have been a male voice whispering into his ear. Shhh. A hand touched briefly at his hip - he felt the pressure of fingers through the soft leather of his jacket. Before he could speak or protest, an arm snaked around his waist on his right side, the hand and then the wrist moving into view from behind him, then a long, slim finger running down the length of the newspaper. It tapped near the middle of the crossword. HATE WAITING said the bold, cursive script in 12 Down.

Heero's eyes widened. He opened his mouth to speak, but felt a warning breath on his neck. The citrus smell was warm with the pulse of flesh: he was just wondering where the man's other hand might be when it slipped teasingly up the back of his left thigh, then in between his legs. He shivered: his legs opened instinctively, his feet shifting to get better balance. He suddenly felt very hot and rather dizzy. "Pen," he hissed, the word escaping him in frustration. An older man in a business suit on Heero's left tensed up at the sound, but he was facing away down the length of the carriage and he obviously assumed it was just the rattle of the train over the tracks.

Heero felt the unseen hand slide up to his ass, fingers wriggling into his back pocket, peeling the pen out, though lingering rather too long in there to be merely helpful. Heero swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. His flesh crawled with goose bumps inside his pants: there was a fierce throb at his groin, and a tightening of fabric across his fly. Fuck... His heart felt like it was hammering against his skin.

There was another hiss that might have been a laugh. The left hand came into his view, also at waist level, holding the pen up to him. He uncurled fingers that he hadn't even been aware of clenching, and took it. His hand shook as he picked out the 'S' of 1 Across and scribbled down, SORRY. He tried again with the 'T', adding TRAINS, his letters shaking with the movement of the carriage and his own mounting excitement. He took the Y of ‘sorry’ and scrawled YOU TOO?

The torso behind him shook as if with more laughter. Heero could feel the muscles shift against his spine, the rustle of shirt fabric against his jacket. Something wet and hot flickered at his neck, a tongue, darting, rasping, lapping the hollow beneath his ear. Heero shuddered and his head dropped back, his throat stretching taut. The hand on the newspaper tapped again gently and Heero glanced back down: his vision was a little blurred. EARLY, said the script on 17 Across. CAN'T WAIT, said 23 Down, and the script was thicker, bolder as if the writer had been agitated.

Heero gasped. The suitcase rolled against his legs again, but this time it stayed put. Maybe someone was holding on to it. Whatever the reason, it was high against his hip and shielding the lower half of his body from the view of the other travellers. The head behind him nuzzled against his hair: he could hear a deep, slow breath: inhale: exhale. Teeth met gently around his earlobe, and bit down. Heero nearly cried out, but didn't. He knew the train wasn't due to stop for twenty or so minutes now: there were several unused stations to pass and a tunnel ahead. He knew the route so well. Maybe someone else did, too.

The left hand dropped down, back out of view, and stroked at his ass, kneading his buttocks. The right hand slid down to rest on his crotch - and squeezed. The train banked suddenly, the wheels squealing. Heero's moan was lost in the screech of metal. He tried to shift - to get more comfortable: to turn and see the man behind - but he was pushed even more tightly against the door. The right hand began to slide, slowly, up and down his cock, trapped inside smart pants and even smarter briefs. Heero's dizziness returned. The fingers moulded around his shape, the palm flexing with each stroke, allowing for the swift swelling of his prick. He felt totally helpless: his eyes gazed out of a blank window, his feet were braced on the floor as the train rattled on, and both his hands were in full view, one holding himself upright against the wall, and the other clutching the pen and the fucking, fucking newspaper...

The man behind him shifted, just slightly, but enough for Heero to feel feel bony hips nudging up against his ass. The left hand clutched back at Heero's waist, as if to anchor the owner's body against Heero's. And now the pressure on his cheeks wasn't from roving fingers but from something of a very different solidity. He could feel the shape of a cock, rubbing up against the crease of his buttocks, the rough edges of a jeans zip catching on the smooth fabric of his pants. The breath at his ear began to pant, and the fingers at his crotch began to pump more enthusiastically.

Then the train plunged into a tunnel and the lights went out.

Shit, thought Heero. He wasn't capable of anything more coherent. He clenched the newspaper so hard that the paper began to tear. He could hear some grumbling in the carriage at the sudden darkness, but most of the travellers were used to this route and no-one moved from their seat. The thickness at his ass rode more quickly up and down against him, the contact both frustrating and stimulating. The man's hips ground against him, and a leg pushed between Heero's thighs, trying to get a better position, a fiercer friction. Heero felt a dribble of hot saliva dampening his neck, and a moan whispered deeply into his skin. His arm shook as he tried to balance against both the vehicle's rattling and the pressure of the body jerking behind him. He could feel the man’s taut jaw digging into his shoulder, the teeth gritting tightly together: his fingers gripping through Heero’s shirt, likely bruising the skin underneath as his groin thrust up and down against Heero’s ass.

The train burst out of the tunnel and the lights flickered back on.

Heero dragged in a deep, gasping breath. The man behind him did the same - he could feel the tensing of his torso. For a second, the grinding against his ass slowed up. Heero tried to flex his fingers, the pages of the newspaper crackling apart. But then the hand at his cock squeezed again and the pressure on his erection tightened. His eyes widened, but he couldn't move any more easily than before. He was being jerked off as he gazed out at the early evening darkness racing past him, the hand on his crotch possessive and demanding - and he couldn't do a thing about it.

The realisation shocked him: it thrilled him. He began to smile, his teeth reflecting white against the black shadows of the train window. He let his head drop back again and he relaxed, suddenly vividly aware of the individual fingers as they teased at his arousal, as they seduced a climax out of him. He was going to come into his briefs; into his pants; into the crowded, musty carriage, only minutes from his station. His head swam, he lost the last shred of control and it happened, the stab of tension uncoiling from his groin, the hot stickiness spurting inside his clothes, the muscles in his thighs clenching with the need to thrust forward. He groaned aloud, too - he couldn't hold it back any more. The hand at his waist slid quickly up his body, fumbling for his mouth, maybe to shut him up. Heero felt the fingers at his lips and he sucked them quickly and greedily into his mouth.

There was a heavy gasp behind him. The body shuddered its whole length - Heero felt the vibration against his spine - and then the cock against his ass ground up one more time and halted. There was a whispered, strangled sob. Heero wished he could feel properly the sudden flush and spurt of heat that came with the other man's climax, instead of having to imagine it through all these layers of clothing. Later, he promised himself. God, he hoped.

The train squealed again: it started to slow. Heero knew that if he could focus properly, he'd see the signs of his local station approaching. The hand at his waist was clinging now, not grasping, and the body behind him lay against him for support. He could hear the man panting heavily, it matched the rhythm of his own breath.

He stretched out his left leg, gingerly. The warmth was cooling now,the spilled come slick on his skin, tight and tacky in the hairs of his groin. He sighed. The train shook and slowed further.

His breath was taking some time to steady. He could barely smell the cologne of the other man now, only the sweet, sweaty tang of the skin he'd been dreaming about for days. Dark chestnut hair tickled at his cheek - he knew how the long, stylish braid would look, swinging against the tightly muscled ass. He savoured thoughts of that bright, amused gaze; the generous mouth, fallen half open in a grin; the glint of promise and delight in the blue eyes. “Better,” came the hiss in his ear, riding on a long breath of relief. Question or statement? Heero didn't care. He nodded, gently.

Duo,” he whispered, just to say the name aloud.

Turn around…,” came the whisper in reply, a wistful complaint. “Kiss?

Heero smiled, though he knew it couldn’t be seen. As the train ground to a halt and the two men started to peel apart, he fumbled with the newspaper and the pen with weak fingers. He wrote - quickly, shakily, diagonally across the page and with no care at all for the fucking white squares - ON A FIRST DATE?. The head behind him rested back on his shoulder, peering down at the paper, and Heero heard a soft chuckle in reply. An arm linked into his, holding him close.

Dinner first, then,” Duo whispered into his ear.

Heero nodded again, and turned his head at last so that his lips would touch Duo’s flushed cheek. "Fast food, though," he murmured and felt Duo's body shiver with anticipation against him. The doors opened with a tired, metallic swish.

They'd reached their destination.