(( So, uh, short rp-based smut drabble at four in the morning
Alfendi/Zach hatesex with breathplay and bondage
enjoy! ))
He was desperate, and he was needy.
He didn't know if he should have been surprised- or, maybe he shouldn'tve- at how talkative Zach Carrière tended to be, tied down and getting fucked.
"Iz z'at all you've got?" His accent was unnerving, his accent was one of the best things about him, what with how few redeeming qualities the younger man had.
"Listen to you, yapping. If you're not going to say something more in-" he broke his train of thought, for a moment, to adjust his angle and thrust into the Frenchman's hips again, earning a rather loud moan- "in the mood of things, don't speak at all, or I might take that tongue to keep."
The first time, Carrière didn't notice that the Inspector's hair was redder in the heat of the moment; he blamed it on lighting, on the context and the situation.
The second time, he noticed it, and much too late. Alfendi Layton was a dangerous man, indeed, especially like this- but, oh, didn't he love every second of it, no matter how much they despised one another. He kept his mouth shut for a few moments more, before giving another moan, louder than the last, giving away his lack of restraint, before speaking, breathless.
"You're getting sloppy- ah, I could do b-better z'an z'at." He might've been lying to irritate the older, he might've been just talking to get the man riled up, but if it was true or not, it worked.
His voice was low, smooth when he spoke, hands moving along Zach's chest too-lightly, too-gently, to rest against his collar, against his throat- enough pressure to tease him with it, enough pressure to put off the Frenchman's breathing when he thrusted at the right angle to have him seeing white, have him gasp, or, try to.
"Could you, though, really?"
It was enough, honestly, to shut him up, pulling up against what restraints he had on, trying to get closer- "Choke me 'arder," he'd rasped, trying to keep his voice level, giving sounds of approval when the demand was met. Air gradually cut off more to meet the pace that was set, hard, rough, more primal than anything- he shifted, a quiet whimper escaping him, some halfhearted attempt to say that he was so, so close.
The Inspector'd slowed, just enough, and even after Zach came, gasping and panting for his breath, shuddering and letting the other finish and either of them take a moment to recover- and, he spoke again, too tired to move.
"-Really, I could." For that, he was ignored later when he was asked to be untied, no matter how... politely he tried, rather, Layton turned his back to him, and went to sleep, and further ignored him in the morning, rather, he got dressed and tidied- and only untied him right as he was about to walk out the door.
He wouldn't admit it, but the man was one hell of a lay, and that made it worth his while.