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The door swings open harshly.
It’s another busy night, so Chance does not bother glancing towards the angry entrance, they can sense an irritated customer miles away, and they can only hope that whoever it is, isn’t looking forward to getting so drunk to the point they’ll start trying to stumble away without paying their tab.
But as the stool creaks (He really has to give his saloon some renovations) and he sees the sight of a man covered in black fabric from head to toe, he knows this will be a long evening, and hopefully, an eventful one too. A grin slips into his face, he adjusts his fedora and walks over to attend to his new customer while cleaning a pint glass with a rag, drying it up.
“Rough night?” Chance speaks up, not being able to hide the glee it brings him to see this particular character appear in his bar. They let out a laugh when he is met with a piercing glare, "I'm just kiddin’... I know you’re always in a shitty mood, ‘Outlaw.’” He makes sure not to announce the last bit to the whole place, no need to send his beautiful establishment into a warzone.
It’s closing time soon anyway… It will take a bit of effort before he can get everyone out of here but he’ll be able to speak as loud as he wants eventually.
“Still as quiet as ever…” Chance mutters, moving to pour some mezcal into a shaker. He knows this guy’s orders usually rotate between the same two drinks, and with the glare he was given, he suspects the man wants the two of them tonight, just to spoil himself… Both of them know he is not the type to want to get drunk over things that just… happen.
“Say, was it one of your brats?” They press.
The comment makes the man’s face turn sour just like the lemon juice being squeezed into his beverage. To anyone, it’d be a scary warning, but the bartender has grown to live for danger, so he is not discouraged by one mean glare. They have been threatened enough by other criminals, been beaten up a good number of times… They’d say they have developed a taste for it, the violence, the bruises kissing and decorating his skin.
Purple isn’t that bad of a color on him.
Again, no answer, it’s only warnings when it comes to the two of them, he likes to poke, and Outlaw can only stay quiet, not wishing for his secrets to be poured into the memory of all the pathetic foes that surround him in this bar. “Hurry up.” He says, his voice raspy and topped with annoyance as he thugs his black, neck bandana to sit a bit more above his nose, he is beyond frustrated and does not want more problems coming his way.
There could be anyone here looking for one of his kind to snatch and get a quick reward, like some stupid, snitching, hunting dog.
Blackberry liqueur, an egg white, some lazily sprinkled salt and black sambuca is added into the mixture before it is shaken along with newly acquired ice he got delivered during the week by that sweet hardworking guy… What was his name again? Right. Elliot, he ought to give his thanks to him sometime, maybe a free drink will do.
His attention goes back to his customer, who seems to be looking anywhere but him and his art, instead, he is focused on looking quite done at the view of the few Robloxians left within the Saloon, even if more than half the crowd has already left and walked out into the night, some walking to their nearby homes (If they even remembered which way to go.) whilst some others get on their horses after taking some drinks to warm up their bodies before long lasting travels.
“Contractee.” Outlaw mentions, deciding it is safe to speak now, not only could he be heard, recognized or bring too much attention to himself, he could get the idiotic bartender he has unluckily gotten close to, in quite the trouble.
‘Wouldn’t do good to the Saloon.’ His mind echoes, despite the annoying owner, the drinks here are pretty… Adequate.
Chance serves him his drink in a nice, clean glass, and offers him a lighter, a nice luxury that the constantly on the move fugitive couldn’t probably afford unless it was stolen. “Is that the fancy, the cute or serious one?” They question, watching the man pull at his bandanna to take a sip from the elegant beverage, usually common in his female customer’s tabs,
Sonnelino had always been a rare gem, so a rare liking belonging to the man is not something to amuse him much.
Outlaw shakes his head, “The clumsy one.” He adds.
Ah, Chance recalls. It’s the little sibling of their odd makeshift family, the one that can’t handle his alcohol. “I’m guessing he did something stupid?” He chuckles, a grin on his face now that he can imagine the whole story by himself already, he can also predict how the night will end… Little things amuse him, and he only sticks to this small, unspoken agreement because the man keeps entertaining him more than the usual customer.
Has he mentioned he likes risk? Because that’s one of the other reasons as to why he keeps getting involved with Outlaw, he is serious, dark, brooding… Oh, the desired cliche of any young lady looking for rebellion in their boring town by committing the same mistakes as any other gal around, messing with the wrong crowd to turn some of their little fantasies real.
Chance really isn’t any different from those women, is he?
As always, he expects the man to speak his frustrations, down his drinks… and then get more than handsy with him.
They recall, the first time had been because of Outlaw’s pettiness. A card game, one in which they had won, making the other bitter upon losing so many rounds, that time, their mouth had been the one to make it up to him, to taunt him. They haven’t gotten too far with their touches, well not on his part at least.
The second time it happened, made the fugitive think twice before trying to just take. The bartender would not be one to just kneel or bend over at command just because that was the case once, he liked different, he liked new… and he had to say, he really liked getting on top of a man that could easily kill him, to know that he could be easily pushed away… Ah, how Outlaw had submitted, given him permission to be the one to cross that line first, that was thrilling, felt like getting hooked on a brand new drug.
His mind begged for something constant for the first time in his life, and it had been to have that dirty spawn of crime on his hands and knees, trying to hide how glassy his eyes looked upon feeling his hot mouth kiss, and lick at his entrance.
Call it cruel, call it a total trick, to have made the man think he was getting into something completely different, something familiar, somewhere where he had control, like usual, but for Chance, it was sweeter than eggnog on Christmas.
“Took a damn bullet for me.” Outlaw growls, sounding more than pissed at the fact, the bartender suspects it’s not really because of the matter, his little goon was probably okay, bandaged and resting off somewhere hidden with the others, but the man was probably moody because of his own stupidity, his own failure to avoid getting shot that someone else had to come and save him.
Either way, Chance was not expecting that, so with interest, he leans closer, focused on how Outlaw’s throat bobs after downing the last of his beverage, he does not move to make him another, since he knows Outlaw will grab the lighter and light up his hand rolled cigarette, which he is in the process of rolling right now.
The bartender sighs, “Should have expected something like this to happen, pal.” He starts, “Fugitives like you always end up doing reckless things… You won’t be able to orchestrate everything.” Chance shrugs with a smirk.
“Reckless?” Outlaw scowls, smoke coming out of his cigarette, Chance watches it dance around, swirl in front of him like a daring invitation.
They hum, “Mm-hm…” His lips part with a smacking sound, “Reckless.” That one carries more meaning, changing the subject to address the shy, low, but challenging tension that exists between them.
A wanted poster is harshly placed on top of his counter, Outlaw takes a puff out of his cigarette, not coughing thanks to his usual use of the cancer stick. “This is being reckless.” He scoffs, switching the conversation topic again. The bartender recognizes the man, not because he has seen him stumble into his saloon, but because of how recognizable his signature look is, he is known for it, the extravagant clothes, and the fact that even with those bright colors he chooses to wear, he has never once gotten captured.
007n7. Another known outlaw, prone to chaos, vandalization, stealing, and not beyond getting his hands dirty. His whole being is a statement against the norm, he is against the common colors that everyone chooses to wear, he is against the law, of those in power, he contradicts anything he can, even his own words or actions, he is not liked by the people, by sheriffs and neither is he liked by other outlaws.
Crime came from wanting, from need or greediness, his doings came just for the sake of it, those who had met him knew that all that fucking around was just for fun, it made everyone exasperated, the nerve of this guy. He mocked everything, everyone, and word has it, the loner has now gotten a partner in crime. Which is why– “The recompense for his dead body has doubled.” Outlaw scoffs, exhaling out the toxic fumes of the cigarette. “As if it wasn’t high enough already.” That bit of information is surprising, when 007n7 was only starting off with his life of crime, his wanted poster offered a miserable amount of recompense, as he was only deemed as some little trickster.
No one bothered to catch him, which made what was seen as a small wave of trouble turn into a chaotic tsunami of constant problems that affected the locals.
The bartender hums, breathing in the smoke before he continues the conversation, “Why are you carrying that around?” They question, leaning just a little bit closer, their elbows on the counter, and their face just inches away from the other’s. They wish he’d stop, as much as they enjoy the little insight into the other’s life, sometimes they just want to cut the conversation short and get into the main event for the night.
“He stole from me.” Outlaw sighs, which makes Chance let out a small, amused scoff. This 007n7 guy really likes to mess with everyone, huh? He can relate to that, just a bit.
The bartender pretends to think for a moment, just to not seem eager. “Right. So, did you just come here to whine about your choice of career path?” Chance asks, with that small, smug grin of his, which just widens when he notices a hint of interest inside the man’s pupils.
“I mean, I wouldn’t want to just take it for granted—” They snorted, not being able to keep it up, ever since the man sat on that damn stool, his mind had already started to unravel. “But, you could have chosen any other bar, bud.” He scoffs, an elbow resting against the counter, his expression as cocky as ever, letting the other know that they aren’t as mysterious as they think they are.
The fugitive lets out a scoff of their own, looking down at the floor with a smile of disbelief, before he swings his arm to grab the bartender’s collar with a mean grip, just forcing them to bend further on top of the counter where they mix their beloved drinks. The saloon has been empty for minutes now, so Chance is glad he took the opportunity to tempt the others to start this odd ritual.
There is something that makes his adrenaline spike about being pulled way too closely, of having their mouths just an inch apart, and just looking down in silence. Their gazes on each others’ lips, they should be closing that gap between them, but they both like to get a rise out of the other. “Ya think the other bartenders would dare to stand beside me for too long?” Outlaw questions. “Be stupid enough to pick up some small talk with me?”
“Give yourself some credit!” Chance cackles and grips the wrist of the hand wrinkling his attire. “Your mug ain’t that horrible to look at.” He feigns a friendly smile and gently slaps Outlaw’s cheek, he’s sure there must be others that would risk their life to taste some criminal’s dirty mouth.
“Quit it with your nonsense.” Always so serious…
A gasp is thorn out of him when he is dragged to the other side of the counter and is now being attacked by a vicious pair or lips. It can barely count as a kiss, his mouth is completely violated, as Outlaw’s tongue took the opportunity to enter it right when he gasped, his feet are barely on the ground and he probably looks awkward while being held up by the collar.
Chance groans against the hot, alcohol flavored tongue exploring him. It feels like the ‘kiss’ is bubbling into something else entirely, something hotter, before he is roughly pushed away, his lower back hitting the wooden counter of his saloon, his elbows being the only thing to keep him up and with a little bit of dignity left.
His bow tie is toyed with, eyes meet his. “You owe me from last time.” Outlaw states, as if trying to justify what he is going to do next, which is just grabbing him by the ass to set him up on the wooden surface, knocking back the glass and letting it shatter.
The bartender breathes in a shaky inhale of air, his vest tightens around his ribs, his grin is kept in place and his eyes narrow, returning the challenging attitude. “You know you’ll have to pay for that, right?” Chance adds, raising a brow at the man.
“...Sure, friend.” Outlaw scoffs, and leans in to kiss him under his jaw, feeling how the bartender squirms under him, but still bares his neck for him to bite. It’s adorable, really.
Chance is tempted to stop this and really check if everyone has respected the curfew of his saloon, if the place is really empty, but the thrill the possibility gives him, the doubt that the open doors, and windows that anyone could peek inside of bring him, it’s too good. There won’t be anyone else to blame but himself if he’s caught, sadly, rumors would begin to spread about him.
Men getting with other men isn’t exactly unheard of, there are bigger problems to worry about, and everyone isn’t too judgy, but it’s still not a good reputation, he’s sure the line between teasing and disrespect would begin to blur, not to mention he might lose some clients here and there.
Somehow, that isn’t enough to make him stop this, to stop the hands currently unbuttoning his vest and his dress shirt, throwing his bow tie away and leaving his chest naked. They hiss when a thumb harshly presses against one of his nipples, hardening the small bud beneath it with just a few touches before it is coated in saliva. Chance doesn’t expect to cry out when it’s sucked on, he shudders, not ready for the sensation it’d bring, his palms push against the other’s chest, “You’re trying to get fucking breastfeeded?” He grumbles, letting out a pathetic sounding gasp when his nipple is lightly bitten.
“Shut it…” Outlaw scoffs, sucking purple marks onto grey skin as his hands force Chance’s body to fold beneath him, his legs are brought up and spread to rest against his sides.
“Mnghn…” Chance whines when his groin is forced against Outlaw’s, their bulges rubbing together as his ass is roughly groped on by clothed hands. His body is slowly moved, creating a delicious friction that has him gripping broad shoulders to deepen the feeling, the wood creaks under them, and their panting resembles the smoke that was swirling against the cold minutes ago. The bartender goes with the other’s pace, looking forward to the new sensations this switch in their dynamic will bring, to go from being the one to initiate provocative touches that’d make the other melt underneath him, to being the one being touched everywhere by hands that have decided to just take.
A pause, a quick inhale of smoke and then the same cloud of toxins is blown into his wet mouth, his face getting squeezed as his breath is stolen. A string of saliva connects their now separated mouths, Outlaw’s fiery, dark stare looks down at the disheveled mess that is the bartender, “Turn around.” He orders, head tilting upwards in a short, demanding gesture.
Chance laughs, “Shouldn’t you be nicer? I don’t serve rude customers.”
“And I don’t shoot complying, and well behaved men.” Outlaw spits right back, un-buckling his belt, last warning.
With a shaky sigh, and an excited, wobbly grin, Chance turns around, his hands pressing against his bar’s surface so he bends down, a hand quickly presses against his upper back, forcing his whole body to lie on the furniture with one violent thump. “Stay still now… and unmake your belt.” Outlaw hums, trailing his hands down Chance’s sides to grip his waist, watching the other fumble with his belt, upon hearing a click and seeing it slip off, he slowly pulls the rest of his clothes off, leaving him vulnerable to anyone who were to walk in.
He gently pats the bartender’s now naked ass before using his thumbs to spread him apart, feeling the other shudder underneath. His body tenses, Outlaw just stares with amusement and brings Chance’s hips up, close enough so he can accumulate saliva within his mouth and then spit at the tight hole, keeping him positioned like this so the fluid does not slip down.
“Such a gentleman…” Chance sarcastically comments, their eyebrow twitching before a glove is pulled and thrown on the ground, and fingers prod at his mouth demandingly.
Yet another order, “Quit your whining and coat ‘em up.” He’s really getting back at him for the last time they spent a night together like this.
The bartender’s mouth opens, welcoming in the fingers that will soon be inside him. His tongue swirls around the digits, covering them in saliva before they start poking at his throat, he chokes on a whimper before they are thrusted into as deep as they can go and pulled out, the motion is repeated, successfully fucking his mouth and pushing muffled moans out of him. “Good boy, you’ve got one hell of a gag reflex.” He mocks the small choked sounds that Chance makes.
Eventually, he presses his now sticky fingers against Chance’s hole, where saliva is already drying up. His thumb teasingly massages the entrance, teasing the trembling bartender before he slowly enters, feeling the flesh stretch around his digits, and Chance squirm from the intrusion that settles inside him. Knowing that just his thumb wouldn’t do much, he doesn’t wait any longer and forces his pointing finger to stretch the bartender along with his thumb, this one is thrusted into Chance, who groans and bites his lip at the odd feeling.
Thick fingers stretch him open, his thumb now pressed against the flesh of the bartender’s ass while two of his long, thick digits make sure to fuck that hole into giving in. He’s tight, clenching down on his fingers until he forces a third inside. “S–shit!” Chance’s eyes widen, he grips the bar’s wooden edges, despite being a flirt, this is only the second time he’s ever been with a man, usually gals are easier to impress, not to mention most men punch him in the face at his first move, and he’s learnt not to scare clients away from his saloon if he wants to keep the business standing.
Who won’t be able to stand for much longer, though, is himself, his legs quiver at every rough thrust of Outlaw’s fingers, switching from three fingers to two again, which curl, pressing against the roof of his rectum and making him gasp. “Hghnn! Haah… Q–quit this.” He scoffs, grimacing at the drool that dirties his bar, a bit disappointed that it's his own. “I won’t last, you fuckin’— brute…” Chance grunts, closing his eyes and frowning, trying to focus on not coming before he gets to have the man’s dick inside him.
A sigh, “Too loud…” is said before Chance’s mouth gets covered by a rough glove, and fingers pull out of him, leaving his ass gaping as he’s spread and spat on again, a shiver travels through his whole body, Outlaw is really trying to make this dirty, they are proven right when he hears the man spit again, probably on his hand since he can look back and see him stroking his dick in slow, firm motions, hardening it further, if that’s possible.
The fat, dripping tip presses against his hole, pressing spit inside to mix with whatever remains of his own, a mewl escapes his mouth and then a grunt when the length is pushed inside, inch by inch stretching him further, it’s easier than it would have been thanks to the fingering he endured, but if he’s being honest, all the spit doesn’t help the burning that is beginning to take place. “I had olive oil… j—just so you know.” Chance complains, but his voice is muffled enough to not be heard.
Still, he’s sure this was on purpose, a way to mock him and make him aware that Outlaw knows his liking to pain, this lack of preparation only left one message clear: ‘I know what gets you going, you messed up freak.’ is what he can imagine the man saying to him if he wasn’t too busy sticking his dick inside him.
Whatever, that oil is not that simple to obtain, and don’t get him started on condoms. Either way, there is no use in wasting it if they can do it like this instead…
His eyes slightly roll back as the whole girth and length settles inside him, he whines in time with the loud groan Outlaw lets out, he hears the man huff and remove his hand to grip his hips correctly.
Outlaw looks down at where he’s joined with the other, watching how the twitching entrance hugs his dick, clenching and unclenching as if unsure if it's okay with the fairly big intrusion. He gets some sort of sick satisfaction when legs quiver as he pulls out, slowly and cruelly, feeling the barely wet drag of abused flesh before he only leaves his tip in, he pats the bartender’s side, a small heads up before he slams back inside, not too roughly but firm enough to make the man sob against the very same surface he just prepared his drink on.
He brings one hand to the back of Chance’s neck, the other gripping his hip before he starts to roll his hips, turning both the bartender’s hair and body a mess.
The pace hurts just as much as it fills them with pleasure, they pant and follow the rhythm by pushing his hips back, stretching himself out further and making sure he’s fucked like he should be. Groans and moans fill up the saloon, the one that was previously filled with noisy chatter and the occasional gambling here and there, which Chance was particularly a fan of, always robbing drunks out of their money by winning games, he’d get quite the coins for outsmarting cowboys, miners, or whoever stepped in to go against him, sometime it’d just be sheer luck.
Outlaw’s fingers dig into his hips, dragging his hole to eat up his dick with every sharp thrust of his own hips, their thighs smack together with every motion, and he can feel himself getting inevitably closer. Pressure fills up his lower stomach, and his length feels like it might just burst, he rests his forehead against the wooden surface, drool falling onto the floor as the criminal grunts and punishes his body by speeding up the pace, his tip hitting that sweet spot that has his brain shutting off in favor of his loudness leaking out of his mouth like the saliva that dirties his shoes.
“Come— Come on… give it, give it to me, please…” Chance’s words come out like an unstoppable river stream, feeding Outlaw’s ego as he separates his legs a bit further, trying to get a stable footing on the saloon’s floor before he rams inside again, not stopping until the bartender’s moans start sounding like pained sobs of pleasure. “Like that! Yes— fuck! yes… just like that…” Chance screams, sounding more than happy as he curves his spine and drags his nails on his own furniture, “Ah… haah… ah…” It’s like an addictive beat, still, Outlaw wonders if they can get any damn louder.
He grunts, feeling that stinging necessity to follow the pleasure that blurs his thoughts and fogs up his brain with nothing but lustful need to taint the hot walls that embrace him with his essence. Outlaw can feel the bartender get closer, with how he pleads mindlessly and tries to take as much as he can by eagerly pushing his hips back in a rhythmless way, greediness blooms within his mind, and he ends up spanking Chance, “Arch your back.” He groans, his voice comes out rough and quiet, a growly order that’s also labeled with the same despair the one beneath him is feeling.
Chance takes too long, he lands another hit on their sensitive flesh, grey turning into a darker, flushed hue that matches the cheeks on their face. He sees the bartender melt at the physical abuse and scoffs with a mix of amusement and disappointment, “Such a slut for pain… do what i tell ya or i’ll downright stop, hear me?” He says the last bit, not in a warning but to know if Chance’s brains haven’t turned into complete mush yet.
Their back arches, and Outlaw immediately pushes as far as he can so he’s balls deep inside the bartender, the deepness is enough to make Chance finish with a choked gasp, he quickly curls up again, not being able to beat his body’s reflexes as he tries to curl up into a ball from the strong wave of pleasure that rushes up his body. Chance can feel his brain light up in hot sparks, as if thousands of ants were crawling all over the back of his head while a dumb, blissed out expression paints his face, his smile all wobbly like his now boneless body, which is at the hands of the man that presses him back against his chest.
An arm is now snaking its way around his neck, slowly adding pressure against his throat as he starts to thrust his hips to chase his own orgasm, feral with the way Chance’s body clenches around him. This just dumbs down the bartender further, fucking him into a state of submission.
Outlaw fills up Chance, his hips rutting and humping the abused hole as he rides out his orgasm with a long grunt of satisfaction.
His movements eventually stop, and so his arm stops choking Chance, who was already gripping it with both his hands. With a heavy breath, he sits back on the stool, quite spent while he keeps the bartender on his dick, both his legs now spread and hanging by each side of his own. He keeps Chance from slipping by moving his arms to wrap around their stomach, he hears them whine and then he sees them let their head fall back onto his shoulder.
“Where’d all your annoying remarks go?” Outlaw jokes, scoffing as he looks at the now wrecked robloxian. Silence, he only gets a weak groan as an answer.
Their body is like jelly, and despite their size difference, Chance is still too damn heavy to keep on his lap like a small dog…
“Good grief…” He sighs when he realizes Chance doesn’t plan on moving.
…
He guesses he’ll have to spend the night taking care of the lazy bastard.