Work Text:
he car’s interior was a claustrophobic cocoon of black vinyl and stale air, the windows tinted just enough to obscure the outside world. Chef Pee Pee hesitated for a moment, his short frame tensing as he glanced back at the Brooklyn guy, but the cop’s grip on his arm was unyielding. “Get in,” he commanded, his voice low and commanding. Chef Pee Pee obeyed, his body folding awkwardly into the backseat, the handcuffs digging into his wrists. The door slammed shut behind him, the sound echoing like a finality, trapping them in a confined space that suddenly felt too small, too intimate.
The Brooklyn guy slid in beside him, his presence overwhelming, his scent—a mix of sweat, cologne, and something metallic—filling Chef Pee Pee’s nostrils. The car’s suspension groaned under their combined weight, the air thickening with unspoken tension. Without a word, the Brooklyn guy’s hand shot out, gripping Chef Pee Pee’s crotch through his pants, squeezing hard enough to elicit a sharp gasp. “You’re in trouble now, Chef,” he murmured, his breath hot against Chef Pee Pee’s ear, his smirk visible even in the dim light.
Chef Pee Pee’s heart pounded, his defiance warring with the sudden rush of arousal that coursed through him. He tried to pull away, but the handcuffs and the Brooklyn guy’s strength held him firmly in place. “Let me go,” he muttered, his voice hoarse, though even he could hear the lack of conviction in it. The Brooklyn guy laughed, a low, rough sound that sent a shiver down Chef Pee Pee’s spine. “You know you don’t mean that,” he said, his hand still gripping, now stroking slowly, deliberately.
Chef Pee Pee’s breath hitched as the Brooklyn guy’s touch grew firmer, his fingers tracing the outline of his hardening cock through the fabric. He leaned in, their bodies pressing together, the vinyl seat creaking beneath them. The Brooklyn guy’s other hand moved to his belt, his fingers fumbling with the buckle, his movements deliberate, almost predatory. Chef Pee Pee’s defiance crumbled, replaced by a raw, aching need that he couldn’t ignore.
“You like this, don’t you?” the Brooklyn guy whispered, his lips brushing against Chef Pee Pee’s ear, his breath hot and uneven. Chef Pee Pee bit his lip, his body betraying him as he nodded slightly, his hips shifting involuntarily against the Brooklyn guy’s hand. The cop’s grip tightened, his thumb brushing the head of Chef Pee Pee’s cock through his pants, eliciting a soft moan that Chef Pee Pee tried, and failed, to suppress.
With a swift motion, the Brooklyn guy unzipped Chef Pee Pee’s pants, pulling them down just enough to free his cock. The cool air of the car hit Chef Pee Pee’s exposed skin, heightening his sensitivity as the Brooklyn guy’s hand closed around him, stroking slowly, firmly. Chef Pee Pee’s head fell back against the seat, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps. “Fuck,” he muttered, his voice barely audible over the pounding of his heart.
The Brooklyn guy’s other hand moved to his own belt, unbuckling it with practiced ease, his uniform pants loosening as he pulled his own hardening cock free. The car rocked slightly as their movements became more urgent, the vinyl seat squeaking beneath them. Chef Pee Pee’s eyes fluttered closed as the Brooklyn guy’s hand tightened around him, his thumb brushing the sensitive tip, sending jolts of pleasure through his body.
“You’re mine now, Chef,” the Brooklyn guy growled, his voice thick with desire. Chef Pee Pee opened his eyes, meeting the Brooklyn guy’s gaze, his defiance replaced by something softer, more vulnerable. He leaned in, their lips brushing, their breaths mingling in a kiss that was rough and desperate. The Brooklyn guy’s hand moved between them, guiding his cock to Chef Pee Pee’s entrance, teasing the tip against his tight hole.
Chef Pee Pee gasped, his body arching slightly as the Brooklyn guy pressed in, slow and deliberate, his other hand still stroking Chef Pee Pee’s cock in rhythm. The handcuffs clinked against the metal frame of the seat, the sound sharp in the confined space. Chef Pee Pee’s breath hitched as the Brooklyn guy thrust deeper, his body adjusting to the intrusion, his muscles clenching around the cop’s thick cock.
The car rocked violently as their movements became more frantic, the sounds of their passion muffled by the tinted windows. The Brooklyn guy’s uniform creased as he leaned over Chef Pee Pee, his hands gripping the seat for leverage, his thrusts relentless. Chef Pee Pee’s body moved in sync with his, his hips rising to meet each thrust, his moans echoing in the small space.
“Fuck, you feel so good,” the Brooklyn guy groaned, his voice strained, his mustache brushing against Chef Pee Pee’s cheek. Chef Pee Pee’s hands, still cuffed behind his back, gripped the seat, his body tense as pleasure built within him, overwhelming and inexorable. “Don’t stop,” he panted, his voice hoarse, his body arching in surrender.
The Brooklyn guy’s thrusts grew harder, faster, the car’s suspension groaning under the force of their movements. Chef Pee Pee’s breath came in sharp gasps as he teetered on the edge, his body trembling, his cock throbbing in the Brooklyn guy’s hand. “Cum for me, Chef,” the Brooklyn guy commanded, his voice low and dominant.
Chef Pee Pee’s eyes rolled back as he obeyed, his body convulsing as he came, his cum spilling over the Brooklyn guy’s hand and the seat. The Brooklyn guy followed moments later, his thrusts stuttering as he buried himself deep, his groan muffled against Chef Pee Pee’s shoulder.
For a moment, they stayed like that, their bodies still, their breaths ragged, the only sound the faint clinking of the handcuffs. The Brooklyn guy pulled out slowly, his uniform disheveled, his hair tousled, his mustache glistening with sweat. Chef Pee Pee’s body felt heavy, sated, his defiance replaced by a strange, lingering vulnerability.
The Brooklyn guy leaned back, his smirk returning as he wiped his hand on the seat, his gaze locking with Chef Pee Pee’s. “You’re still in trouble, Chef,” he said, his voice laced with amusement. Chef Pee Pee smirked back, his earlier anger softened by the intensity of their encounter. “Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, his voice dripping with faux indifference.