
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/804566.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      DCU_-_Comicverse, Batman_(Comics), Robin_(Comics)
  Relationship:
      Matches_Malone/Alvin_Draper, Tim_Drake/Bruce_Wayne
  Character:
      Matches_Malone, Alvin_Draper, Bruce_Wayne, Tim_Drake
  Additional Tags:
      Public_Sex, Identity_Porn, Identity_Issues
  Series:
      Part 1 of Public/Private
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-05-15 Words: 2005
****** Public Transports ******
by iesika
Summary
     Alvin takes the train.
The train sways as it rumbles around the curve out of the Tricorner Yards,
headed for the Dixon Tunnel, and Alvin sways with it. Once the train goes
under, it won't come out til Bristol, and that seems fitting somehow, that the
only thing it ever sees of Gotham proper is the darkness, the underground.
Alvin moves down the center of the train, trying to find a seat. He wouldn't
bother, if this were a short ride, but *he* won't be seeing the light of day
til Amusement Mile. He might as well get comfortable.
The car's pretty full with all the nine-to-fivers getting off work. Alvin spies
an empty spot, but it's next to a lady trying to keep two kids in line. He
keeps walking down the train, reaching up every few steps to catch his balance
on one of the straps, until he gets to the end of the car. There's an open seat
here, too, but some asshole's using it for a coathook.
"Hey, buddy," Alvin says. "Move yer shit." It's the ugliest coat Alvin's ever
seen, too, green and brown plaid with big lapels. There's a yellow carnation
pinned to one of them. Alvin wrinkles his nose at it and looks up at the
jacket's owner. He's...really kind of a big guy, and maybe Alvin should have
paid more attention to that before he asked the way he did, but he's not going
to back down now.
"I ain't yer buddy, kid," the man says, and then looks at him over his mirrored
shades. There's a long pause while the man puts a matchstick between his teeth
and looks Alvin up and down. "Could be, though."
Alvin scowls. "Could be what?"
"Buddies," the man says with a sudden grin. He uncrosses his legs and sits
back, opening his arms with an expansive gesture. "I'll even let you sit on my
lap."
"Fuck you," Alvin says, bored. The guy's not just an asshole, he's a perv, too,
and Alvin's not gonna encourage him by giving him attention. He turns around
and looks at the suit sitting on the other side of the car, reading his paper.
There's a drunk or a bum sleeping in the seat next to him, drooling on the back
window.
The train dips as it heads into the tunnel, and Alvin adjusts his grip on the
strap. In the split second his hand is slack, something nudges the back of his
knee, and something yanks hard on his shirt. He goes over backward to land in a
sprawl across the asshole's lap. Alvin elbows him hard in the gut before he's
even got his balance, but the guy just huffs in his ear and holds on as he
struggles. "Let me go, you fucker!"
"Hey," somebody says, and Alvin looks up to see the suit staring at them. "Let
the kid go."
Something brushes its way into Alvin's palm, and then the hold around him
relaxes. When he looks down, there's a fifty in his hand, all folded up small.
"Nah, it's okay," Alvin tells the guy. "We're just horsin' around. We're
buddies."
Mr. Hero looks at him skeptically for a few seconds, but they're drawing up to
the Triangle Park station, and he gathers his stuff up and heads for the doors.
"Whadaya want?" Alvin murmurs as the guy wraps an arm around his middle again.
"Just get comfortable," the man says in his ear, quiet but gruff. Alvin squirms
until he's sitting properly in his lap, legs spread on either side of the man's
knees. "Name's Matches."
"The fuck do I care?" Alvin asks, and squirms a little, trying to get
comfortable. "You get off on little boys sittin' in yer lap?"
There's a chuckle in his ear, dark and deep, and Alvin shivers despite himself
as it tickles the hair in his neck. "Not so little," Matches says, and cups him
through his jeans, giving him a light squeeze. "Sellin' yerself short, sweet
cheeks."
Matches isn't groping him so much as really *feeling*, exploring with his
fingers, and the heat of his big, hard hand is causing the predictable result.
Okay...Alvin can handle being felt up, if he's gonna get a Grant out of it, so
he tries to make himself relax. The touch feels good, actually - Matches'
finger's are wrapped around him as best they can, considering his pants are in
the way. He's wearing boxers underneath, and the jeans are loose, so there's
lots of room for the man to play with.
Generally, Alvin tries to avoid boners on public transportation. He's not too
shy, though, and Matches is being reasonably discrete. There's nobody near them
but the drunk, and he's too far gone to care. Down the way a bit, there's a guy
wearing headphones staring in their direction. Alvin stares back until he looks
away, then lets his head fall back against a broad, hard shoulder. "I ain't
gettin' off the train with you," he says. "cash or no cash."
Matches chuckles again and mouths his ear. "We'll see, babydoll." His hand
slips down to squeeze Alvin's balls, rubbing and rolling them in his pants, and
Alvin can't help squirming. He can feel the man's cock now, a hard ridge under
his ass. He gets a growl in his ear when he moves, so he does it again, rubbing
against it.
The train squeals to a stop under Wayne Plaza, and people come and go. A woman
takes the seat across from them, all perfect suit and power pumps. She's not
looking at them when she sits down, busy with her purse. She's got a little dog
in the bag. It's staring at Alvin. Alvin bares his teeth at it, but it doesn't
even blink.
Matches lets go of his crotch, and for a moment Alvin thinks the game is over.
He's about to get up, but the arm around his stomach tightens and one big hand
slides up to his chest, rubbing it through his t-shirt. Matches picks up his
ugly jacket with the other hand and drapes it over Alvin's lap, then reaches
underneath.
Well, fuck, Alvin thinks as he feels his zipper inch down, this wasn't what he
signed on for. Not for fifty bucks, anyway. He could bolt, but the train is
even more full now than it was before, and it's not like he could get off
before the next stop, anyway. Matches has a pretty good hold on him, too - he'd
have to fight to get loose.
Lips on his neck, and Alvin goes tense at the tickle of the man's mustache. He
feels the slick, wet stroke of a tongue behind his ear just as that big, broad
hand pushes through his fly and the slit in his boxers, wrapping around his
hard cock and pulling it out. The lining of the jacket is cool and feels like
silk against the head of his cock, and it makes Alvin suck in a breath and
close his eyes. He reaches under the jacket to grab the man's wrist, but he
can't bring himself to actually pull, so he ends up just holding it, feeling
the flex of muscle and tendon as Matches tightens his fist and starts to
stroke.
Matches' hand is hard and rough and nothing like a girl's. Alvin bites his lip
as a callous drags against him, his eyes flying open against his will. The
jacket doesn't so much hide what Matches is doing as give it a veneer of
plausible deniability. The rise and fall has got to be obvious for what it is,
to anyone who's looking. The cool fabric drags against the back of Alvin's
hand, and he feels something heavy bump his wrist through it on the upstroke.
He can't turn and look at Matches, to see if he's watching, so he tries to make
his own distraction as he feels for the lump with his other hand, squirming and
panting and generally making a whore of himself. Obviously Matches likes it,
from the grunt in his ear and the rough thrust of hips under him, before the
man gets himself under control. By then, though, Alvin's got his wallet, and
he's sliding it into the pocket of his jeans, hidden from view by the man's
hideous jacket.
His little act has drawn some attention. A few people shuffle and glance toward
them, then look away. The lady across from them is staring, her eyes wide and
color high on her cheeks. Alvin can't decide if she's disgusted or turned on,
so he winks. Her whole face flushes red, and she quickly looks down and starts
fiddling with her phone.
The dog is still staring. Alvin growls until it noses its way under the woman's
hand.
They're rumbling under Old Gotham, now, and Matches' hips are grinding against
his ass with the rhythm of the train. Every time they stop, Alvin thinks again
about bolting, but as skeevy as this guy is, his hand really feels fantastic.
He's hitting all the sweet spots, rhythm and pressure just right, teasing
around the crown, just how Alvin likes it. He's jerking him like he knows him,
like his hand and Alvin's cock aren't just buddies - they're old friends.
Only two stops til Amusement Mile, and if Alvin doesn't get off before then,
he's going to have to catch a return train, once they get across the river. If
he doesn't... if he doesn't get off, before then, he's going to be wandering
the old boardwalks with a boner that won't quit and beard burn all down his
neck. Christ, even the mustache is starting to feel good. He whimpers and gets
a good hard squeeze for it, so he does it again, and then there's a big hand
over his mouth to muffle the sound he makes when he shoots. He bites down on
the man's middle finger, the one with the big gold ring, and feels his hips
pumping through the orgasm, obvious to everyone around them and completely
beyond his control.
When he opens his eyes, the lady with the dog has moved further down the train.
Nobody is looking at them. Alvin sits very still and pants through his nose
until the hand moves and he can breathe through his mouth. Thick, scarred
fingers brush down his jaw, stroke his throat, dip under the torn collar of his
t-shirt. Matches doesn't say anything, and his hips are barely moving now, just
enough to rub his cock against Alvin's ass.
His sticky hand slides up, out from under the jacket, but Alvin can only see it
for a moment before it vanishes under his shirt to rub against his belly, up to
his chest to toy with his nipples. He can feel the trails those fingers leave
in their wake. Alvin makes a face and reaches under the jacket to tuck himself
back into his pants and zip his fly. "This is my stop," he mumbles, and gets to
his feet.
He makes it two steps before his feet get tangled on something and he's jerked
back down again with Matches' foot between his own. "Not so fast, sweetheart."
Alvin squirms and struggles, but he's caught in a bear hug that pins him to the
man's broad chest. No one tries to help him, this time. The train's starting to
empty, and everyone's looking the other way. "Let me go," he hisses. "I'll
scream."
"You won't," Matches says into his ear. "Because if you get the coppers
involved, they'll find out you're a little thief."
Alvin goes still.
"I like you, kid," Matches says, sounding for all the world as if he isn't rock
hard with a teenage boy in his lap. "Stay on the train. Come up to Bristol with
me." He presses his hips up against Alvin's ass, and the grind of his cock is
either a threat or a promise. Maybe both.
"Yeah," Alvin says, after a moment. He swallows hard. "Okay."
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