It didn't take Mackie's stupid running bit about the couch to lay bare what Sebastian already knows: he's starring in a live action remake of Unlikely Animal Friends, and he is not the tiger in this tiger-pug odd couple shtick they do. It's fine. And not in the way where it's not, because before the studio had started making concerned noises and assigned Anthony to be his interview buddy it really hadn't been fine.
Press tours are fucking nightmares. Absolute goddamn and total anxiety nightmares, full of stupid people and stupid questions, over and over and over until his post-roundup shots with Evans became pregaming alone. He's a miserable, shitty drunk, always has been and Evans had been going through the part of an off-again phase where it's about to be off for real. Nobody's fault, just a disaster in a sweaty little room waiting to happen.
Mackie hates the scrum too, he's not that nuts. He's good at making it game, though. Whispering stupid shit in Sebastian's ear and daring him to see how many terrible accents or weird references they can each slip into soundbites over the course of the day, loser pays for shots at the bar later. Truly immature shit, but it passes the time.
The more the fans responded to whatever the hell Anthony was cultivating between them, the more time they had together on-set, but it was nothing like this. Wake up in the morning: Anthony. Try to see what craft service has stashed to eat between takes, Anthony again. Anthony at lunch, Anthony at dinner, lather rinse and fucking repeat. He's almost literally inescapable.
One time, he follows Sebastian into a bathroom and stands outside the stall continuing what only technically qualifies as a conversation and might better be termed a semi-explicit monologue. Not a single pause or acknowledgement of the situation he has just created; Anthony just stands at Sebastian's shoulder while he takes a piss and scrolls through twitter to pull up some of those goddamn thirst tweets he likes so much, like that's something a functional adult does. When Sebastian tries to ignore him, Anthony responds by turning up the volume tweet by tweet, until he's loud enough two guys washing their hands turn to get a personal look at what sounds like a demented sex criminal confessing his crimes in broad daylight.
Fucking Buzzfeed. It's like handing a toddler a can of open paint and telling him to go to town. He can't even blame Mackie for refusing to let the whole thing go. Hate him for it, sure. Just not blame him.
Sebastian gets used to a constant shadow just over his left shoulder, because somebody thinks they're fucking hilarious. On your left, baby, Cap coming through, Anthony croons every single time, quiet enough the sound guys probably can't even hear it. America's got a new ass now. Sebastian doesn't laugh, because it's not funny, but he does jerk off thinking about it every so often.
It's not Sebastian and Anthony anymore, it's SebastianandAnthony. "What are SebastianandAnthony doing tonight" is a thing people say, and nobody twitches an eyebrow over it like they would have on the Gossip Girl set. He couldn't go to a fucking club in Chelsea and dance back then without Gawker posting a blind item saying he'd gotten coked up and fucked in the bathroom.
Every so often it was true; carefully not enough to make it a problem. As long as he kept it on the right side of plausible deniability Sebastian's agent just popped another couple Advil and one time demanded he sign the papers for Covenant.
Like the following him into the bathroom thing, Anthony's new installation in his life should be weird. Sebastian should chafe at the now-chronic lack of peace in his downtime. One of his exes called him an indoor cat once. Firmly not a compliment, not from them, but it was still incisive. He's an indoor cat and Anthony is some giant excitable dog, the kind who weighs a thousand pounds but will still try and crawl into your lap. He even sheds his possessions like fur, dropping them on tables and chairs and stacking books in odd collections on his shelves then shrugging when Sebastian asks him how this fits into his "I'm a clean living man" bullshit. Clean, he always says, not tidy. They do it enough it's basically a hey honey greeting from an old sitcom, and it's not weird at all.
Then, it gets weird.
They're waiting on Kari to set up a shot. She's got a thing about angles—really creative, and it's going to look great on-screen, but it's a pain in the ass to wait on when she decides they're going to change a shot on the fly. Anthony bitches at her good naturedly before flopping to the ground at Sebastian's side.
"This show better look like gold," he grouses. "I know it's gonna, she knows her shit, but time's a'wasting."
"It's been like twenty minutes," Sebastian shoves a scrap of paper in his book to hold his place and looks over his sunglasses at Anthony. "You're bitching to have something to do."
"Gonna entertain me?" Anthony wiggles his eyebrows, pushing his own sunglasses down. "Because I got something to entertain you."
"I really don't need to be entertained."
"Yeah, but I do. Guess what I found on the internet?"
"Literally nothing I want to hear about. If this is more of those fucking thirst tweets..."
"Oh no." Anthony pats his phone like a Bond villain with his cat. It's more a little disturbing, honestly. "No, this is so much better than that. Thirst tweets are out, Sea Bass. They're old news. What I got is so much better than that."
"Please don't tell me," Sebastian sighs, preparing himself to hear it anyway.
"The internet," Anthony says dramatically, pausing for effect. "Thinks I'd fuck you real good."
Sebastian has never in his life longed for thirst tweets. He hadn't known about them for most of it, but even after he had: fuck Buzzfeed. Prurient bastards.
"Please." He closes his eyes and practices circular breathing until the need to run away and never return fades. "I will do pretty much anything if you forget you saw that and read me more tweets about bussys and people who want to eat your ass."
"Not a chance, Sebastian. Not a chance."
"Yeah. I thought you would say that."
It doesn't end there. Of course it doesn't.
Kari saves him that day by calling them all back to film, but Anthony has all the time in the world to elucidate what the internet thinks about them.
They got a thing for you crying, man, he says in the makeup trailer, in front of the whole team. Which, I get. He cries pretty, right ladies?
Everyone agrees that Sebastian does, in fact, cry pretty and he almost gives them a live demo, it's so fucking weird. Later, Anthony tells him about a tumblr post that analyzed the way Sebastian looked at Winson's thighs and he has to pretend his agent is calling so he can run for his trailer's bathroom and jerk off quick and frantic. It's a little too dry not to hurt, but he can't stop thinking about Anthony's mouth shaping the word pretty. Fuck Mackie and fuck his homosocial Julliard bullshit in particular, because what the fuck. What the actual fuck is that supposed to be?
"Lookin' good, Sebastian." Anthony's hand claps down hard on his shoulder and Sebastian almost jumps out of his skin.
"Jesus—Mackie, what the fuck is wrong with you?"
"Me? Nothing. I'm livin' large, baby, having the time of my life." His smile displays every single one of his teeth.
"...what'd you read this time." Maybe if he rushes through this and pretends Anthony isn't working him towards crisis through impenetrable flirting, it'll ruin his fun.
"See, that's the spirit. Get into the fun, man. This shit is great. Though, I gotta say, where's the love for the round brown? I'm always blowing your twinky back out, but you're slacking on me. Kinda selfish there. Nobody likes a sixty-eight."
"That's not what that means." There is no chance he's still baked off that edible Daniel brought to set the other week, no matter what that crazy bastard might have put in it, but Sebastian is pretty sure he's having an echo high anyway. Hallucinations brought on by German man's nuclear brownies feels more logical than this conversation. "And you know we're not actually having sex, right? I'm not selfish in bed, you asshole. They don't know me." Why he's letting Anthony work him up on this, also a mystery.
"So if we were, you'd make sure to keep giving me that good D? Keep my vitamin levels up?"
Fuck. Fuck. Maybe he is still high. He's going to have to sit here after Mackie finally gets tired of the bit or the day ends trying to force down a hard-on and not play back the mental tape deck and listen to that demand.
"Yeah. Yeah, stick with me and you won't be able to sit down for a week." Despite his best efforts, the offer sounds nothing like a joke. Not even a little. Sebastian coughs, wondering if it's possible to escape this without a need for Witness Protection.
"You gonna have me walking side to side, huh?"
If he passes out, maybe Anthony will leave him alone. On the other hand, who knows if that would kill his boner and "Winter Soldier loses consciousness while hard as a rock" is the kind of TMZ gold even Marvel's vetting won't be able to handle. That shit is enough to keep a PA fed for a year, if they've got pictures.
"You know gay chicken isn't going to scare me, right? I mean..." Sebastian trails off. They haven't talked about it in so many words, but Hollywood's a small world. People know people, who fucked who and who needs to keep what out of the blind items.
"Is that what you think we're doing?" Anthony laughs loud enough everybody turns a quick eye and just as quickly looks away, used to the routine. "Oh man. 'Gay chicken'. You're a funny man, Sebastian." He steals Sebastian's half-full water bottle when he stands up. "Do me a favor, take a picture of your face when you figure it out. I want that one for the scrapbook."
"You have a scrapbook?" Sebastian blinks. "I can't tell if you're serious."
"Better than a little shrine. Catch ya on set, man. You can see how it's done, watch a master work."
"Fuck you," Sebastian retorts automatically.
"I know, right? That's what I was saying."
Anthony leaves Sebastian to deal with the thought that Anthony genuinely meant any of the things he said alone, shellshocked and once again in desperate need of somewhere to jerk off.
Five days later, Sebastian's dick is nearly raw and he still has no fucking clue what Anthony is trying to do.
...other than drive him insane. That part he picked up on.
It's not like Anthony knocks it off, either. He tells Kari Sebastian has eyes for days and a tight little ass, but abs for weeks between takes and Sebastian fucks up every other line for a solid ten minutes. The waiter who takes their order that night has to sit through an extended TEDTalk on how Sebastian has the prettiest lips in Hollywood, and Sebastian has to excuse himself to pretend he's not considering how fast he can get off in a filthy public bathroom. When Daniel's arguing he should be allowed to have a cookie on all his fingers Anthony tells him all about how the internet thinks he's good with that mouth and Sebastian has to sneak off to the side and cup himself, just for a second, before he follows it up with a vicious pinch because if Bucky gets a hard-on during this scene with his luck nobody in post will notice and it'll hit the final cut. Anthony's shown him the closeups of panels and too-tight pants, people wonder about his dick enough.
When they finally have a down day and Mackie invites him over for beers, Sebastian throws good sense to the wind along with caution and just asks. The schedule's getting more intense now, and the way this is escalating he'd better handle this before Bucky's constant semi becomes a fucking thing.
"So, we've established it's not gay chicken." Two and half bottles down feels like as good a time as any to ask. "Then what the fuck are you doing?"
"If you know, you know," is all Anthony gives him to work with, serene and completely useless.
Sebastian considers going full Housewife and dumping the rest of his beer on Mackie's head. "Seriously. Asshole, what?"
"You really don't know?" Anthony considers him, rolling his head sideways on the back of the couch to stare him down until Sebastian fights the urge to yell stop looking at me and then immediately jump out the window. "Baby. Oh, you are adorable. Neurotic as shit, but adorable."
"Shut up." Sebastian squirms under the attention. "Seriously, you motherfucker. I get it, you're having fun torturing me, but it's been more than just a little weird for a while now. You are the master of seduction, I yield. You don't have to prove you're better at flirting than me. The whole world already knows that."
"Nope. That ain't it, either." Anthony pauses, reconsidering his words. "Guess it is, too. The torture part, I mean. But trust me, it's nothing like you're thinking or you wouldn't be sitting all the way over there."
"You're not making any sense. I'm two inches away from you." Sebastian tries to resist the urge to visibly sulk, but Anthony's delighted grin means it didn't work.
"Aw, look at you. All right, you want a hint?" Sebastian is about to tell Mackie he very much fucking does not because he's not yes and'ing his joke, not this fucking time, when there's a hand that doesn't belong to him snug over his dick and holy fuck, when did he get hard? "The internet's all about you on your knees for me, you know that? Sucking my dick. Begging to suck my dick. Lots of general my dick action, long as you're the one taking it. And I gotta tell you, I see the appeal. Pretty mouth like that, can anybody blame them?"
Maybe that edible actually killed him and this is his Godot. There is no fucking way this is happening on some cramped rented apartment's couch. Mackie's whole thing is the theater guy who likes sports, too, and Sebastian went to school like everybody else. Those guys smile and they flirt. They don't grab your junk and tell you how pretty your mouth is and how much they'd like to see you on your knees.
"I..." Sebastian licks his lips.
"See? Yeah, no, I get it. But then I get a hold of this," he tightens his grip for emphasis and Sebastian thrusts helplessly into his hand, making a sound he's going to play back later and cringe over. For now, he just pants and stares at Anthony's hand like there's a magnet yanking him there. "And I think, seems a damn shame to waste it. Bet you got a pretty cock too, don't you? Feels nice right now, and I haven't even gotten a good look yet. You know how to use that pretty cock, sweetheart?"
He is dead. He is, but it's not a Dante thing. Somebody made a clerical error and Sebastian made it to heaven. Who knows why, but finally getting a handjob from Mackie is his eternal reward.
"Sebastian." Anthony uses his free hand to give Sebastian's cheek a little tap. Not even hard enough to sting, but it makes him moan all the same. "Oh, I'm gonna file that one away later, better believe it. But I asked you a question, man. Somebody's being sweet to you, seems pretty rude not to answer his question."
"What—" Scratch that, he's not dead. If he was dead, he wouldn't feel the way he's on fucking fire. "What was the question?"
Anthony smiles, wide and delighted like he'd hoped Sebastian's complete lack of ability to connect thoughts meant he'd need to repeat himself. "I said, you know how to use that pretty cock of yours?"
"Not an answer, Sebastian." Anthony starts to pull his hand away and Sebastian blocks it without meaning to, frantic need to keep that hand exactly where the fuck it is overwhelming motor control.
"No, don't. I do, Anthony. Jesus fuck," he says under his breath, trying to get his heartrate back under rabbit speed. "I do."
"You do, what?"
"Know how to use my pretty—" Sebastian's voice breaks, and he coughs to clear his throat. "My pretty cock."
"Atta boy. Know what? I think that while I'm here, I should get that good look I've been waiting on."
Mackie jerks him off slow and lazy, whispering in Sebastian's ear how pretty he is and asking him questions that are really just requests for confirmation, no thought required. He parrots them all back but can't hold onto a single one. They go in one ear, exit his mouth, then go out the other because he is absolutely maxed out on brain space. Everything is consumed by the slow pass of Anthony's fist up and down his dick, the white that strips him from wrist past the fucking elbow when Sebastian loses it about four minutes in and shoots off like this is the first fucking time anybody else has jerked him off.
It's goddamn embarrassing, is what it is, but Mackie doesn't seem to mind. He just chuckles and brings his arm up to study the mess Sebastian's left, then holds it out expectantly. Nice boys like you know how to say thank you and clean up after themselves, don't they? Don't forget my shirt, he adds when Sebastian's done licking his bicep clean like a fucking animal. He won't let Sebastian reciprocate either, just blocks his hand when he tries to return the favor and hauls him back up by the shirt when he tries to sink down to the floor because if Mackie doesn't want a hand job then there's a pretty obvious door number two.
Door number three, absolutely fucking nothing is apparently what Anthony's choosing instead. Sebastian's mouth waters when Anthony cups the obvious line of his dick through his track shorts, thumbing at what's got to be the head and groaning quietly. Fuck, feels good. But that's for later, baby. Let me know when you figure this out, you can get some of this.
Anthony pats Sebastian on the cheek again, harder this time after escorting him to the door before Sebastian can figure out how to form words again. He has to jerk off again once he gets in the car, hunched over the steering wheel and praying to god the lack of paps holds up another night.
Sebastian stays up half the night texting his therapist general all caps WHAT THE FUCK messages and worrying whatever the hell just happened is going to effect his performance. Maybe Anthony can show up half-drunk and bleary-eyed and fake it, but he's never been that guy.
"There he is! The most handsome man in any given country he's in. You see this man, folks?" Anthony demands of no one in particular, tossing an arm—the arm Sebastian licked clean, he is going to have a heart attack and die right here. The COD is going to be "Anthony fucking Mackie's Whole Goddamn Thing"—around Sebastian's shoulders when he tracks him down. "Making a beautiful day gorgeous, baby. You got a little sugar for me?" He presents his cheek like Sebastian's going to kiss it in front of half the lighting guys and all of catering.
"Fuck off, man," Sebastian pulls out of the instinctive half-lean he'd moved into without really thinking about it, struggling half-heartedly to get out from under his arm. Taller or not, Mackie's got a way of making their heights feel inverted just by existing. "I told you, I give up. White flag. Whatever the game is, you won it around the point you told Daniel I could do the really good porn if I wanted."
"He agreed with me," Anthony points out. "And I mean the really expensive arty shit. It's a compliment."
"It's sexual harassment." Sebastian fights the urge to wriggle in place with a mix of frustration and arousal.
"You feeling harassed, Sebastian?" Anthony's voice goes serious. "I'm fucking with you, but if you want me to knock it off for real..."
"No, I—" Shit. A lack of escalation is the issue here, and there's no way to admit that and pretend this isn't everything he's wanted for way too long. Sebastian swallows hard, weighing the least embarrassing options to make that clear. "I want to know why, though. Maybe return the favor."
Reassured, Anthony uses the arm over his shoulder to sway them both in a place a little, like they're dancing. "Nah. Long as you're good with my hands on you, you can get yours on me when you figure it out. You're a smart guy, I got faith you'll get it. 'till then..." He releases Sebastian and shrugs. "Don't make it weird, won't be weird."
"Not sure I do not-weird." It's true. He's high maintenance. Every last one of his exes has said that, and most of his friends. Anthony's intense, but he's also one of the most easy going guys Sebastian's ever met. The blend's probably why they work at all, not that Sebastian spends any time analyzing why a stunt friendship initially foisted on him by a cash-hungry, pr-anxious beast of a parent company has become one of the best of his life press tour by set by press tour.
"I mean the kind of weird that's gonna fuck up your performance like you're worrying."
Sebastian starts. "How'd you know I—"
"You think I can't read you? I told you, baby. I know you." His voice drops, turning low and intimate. "Read a couple more things last night. Gotta get in my research. Let me tell you, these fucking people? They are creative. You wouldn't believe the filthy shit they want me to do to you."
"Couldn't even start to imagine." Sebastian has to shake himself when Anthony steps away and nods to a passing PA, all friendly smiles and conversation like he hadn't just made the Bucky Barnes Semi Reel a very fucking real possibility again. "See you on set, man. Maybe I can tell you a little about it there."
"You're going to kill me. Is that what I'm supposed to figure out? This is your way of stealing sole billing?"
"Creative, but nah. Think it over."
Like Sebastian could help doing anything but think it over. And over, and over, and over.
Fucking Mackie. Groaning a little, Sebastian ducks behind a styrofoam pillar they've set up for him to punch through later. Maybe he can find somewhere to jerk off before anyone notices he's gone.
He can't find anywhere to hide and jerk off because there isn't anywhere. He can find a cup of ice to submerge his hand in until the cold is enough to kill a even Mackie-induced hard-on when he shoves it down his pants, though, so that's what he does.
Whatever the hell is going on between them doesn't fuck up Sebastian's performance. Gauging how he's doing in the moment is always hard, but it feels like this new tension between them makes it better, not worse. Bucky's pissed off at life and boxing at shadows, and he doesn't know why Sam is sticking around other than Steve's legacy when he won't even pick up the shield. Sebastian has the first half nailed, and not being able to put what Anthony keeps saying is supposed to be a simple answer together is a good stand-in for the second.
Maybe that's the point. Maybe Anthony is doing some sort of secret Julliard technique for funneling sexual tension into platonic handjobs and a complete dismantling of Sebastian's entire self-concept and understanding of the world to further his performance.
"You are one weird dude, Sebastian. The shit your brain comes up with, man." Anthony squeezes the back of his neck, an almost vicious there and gone again sting that does absolutely nothing for his peace of mind or current lack of a semi.
"But for this scene," Daniel says very seriously to the poor woman in charge of continuity, interrupting Sebastian's planned strangled howl of outrage, "I think I ought to have my shoes off."
Sebastian meets Anthony's eyes and does everything he can to cease existing until the urge to laugh and never stop goes away.
"If he holds them in his hands while he does this, I'm going full gag reel minute one and it's only gonna head downhill fast from there." Anthony shakes his head. "That is one weird fucking guy, Sea Bass. Great, but real weird."
"I thought you liked weird," Sebastian says, before wishing he'd googled "how to swallow your own tongue so you'll stop saying such incredibly stupid shit to your platonic coworker" and not "can I still be high a month later" followed by "WHY IS THIS HAPPENING TO ME. WHAT IS HAPPENING TO ME." (No relevant hits, of course.)
Anthony's face splits into a grin that can only be accurately termed shit-eating. "Aw, baby. You worried you're not my main guy anymore? Nah, none of that. Hey! Hey, Mackenzie." Frozen with horror, Sebastian swings his gaze to the side and watches the approaching PA, ignorant of the shit Mackie is about to pull her into. "Mackenzie, got a pop quiz for you. Who's my best guy?"
"Sebastian," she answers as if that isn't an insane thing to say in the same tone as 'yes, the sky is up and given average conditions the ground is located downwards', not looking up from her phone. "Sorry. Hang on, I've got to..." she half-runs off, taking any explanation for her confusing addition to this equation with her.
"See?" Anthony says, somehow not at all ruffled by any of this. "Don't worry, Sebastian. Daniel's not my preferred flavor." He looks Sebastian up and down, not trying to hide it at all. "I like 'em squirrelly, a little twink-y."
"I haven't been a twink for years." Why does he say these things. Why. Sebastian coughs, feeling the sting of a blush collect, because Anthony is so dug into his head he's apparently controlling basic body functions. "I've got abs now," he adds weakly, and wishes he hadn't.
"Yes you do." Anthony tugs on the edge of his shirt, trying to get a look at them and brushing his palm over Sebastian's lower belly in a way that can't be an accident but has to be, anyway. "Lemme get a look, they're so pretty. I could wash my clothes on those things."
"You don't own anything you hand wash yourself, asshole." Sebastian doesn't pull away. "Anthony. Seriously, you're killing me."
"You think this is the best I got? Sounds like a dare, gotta tell you." Anthony's hand sneaks lower, fingertips edging under his waistband to trace small circles and attempt to make Sebastian lose his mind. He's done shit exactly like this on the red carpet, it's not going to catch the wrong attention, but Sebastian's dick is not in on that memo. Getting hard is a forgone conclusion, and he can only hope the earth swallows him whole before it gets too obvious. He groans, closing his eyes and attempting to breathe through it. "Sebastian. Baby. It's like you wanna make this more fun for me."
"Well, I'm glad you're having fun."
"You telling me you aren't?"
"The fucking internet is going to do a forensic deep dive on screenshots of my dick if you don't knock it off." Sebastian crosses his arms over his chest and does not enjoy at all the way Mackie refuses to back away and just pushes into the touch.
"Ah, don't think I didn't see that. For a man who won't sit on a damn couch and watch a football game with me, you got some feints of your own. Been cheating on me, watching the game with Evans?"
"No." The thought of sitting through Evans losing his shit at the screen for twelve solid hours or however long football takes isn't quite a boner-killer, but it's good enough to make this feel a little less like they're about to fuck in front of the entire crew and today's cattle call of extras. "Shut up." How this conversation is happening, Sebastian could not say. There's no logical explanation for it, no matter what Mackie says.
"So you don't want me to tell you—"
"Also no. Whatever it is." Anthony's going to tell him anyway, and he's not anticipating it. He's standing firm in mute protest. "But you're going to tell me anyway, so just get it over with."
"Damn straight. Or, hey, maybe not straight," he grins, laughing at his own stupid joke like it's not absolutely terrible. "Because I've been thinking about it, man. Sitting on your face," he clarifies, and Sebastian's world explodes into a million pieces. "Pretty face, pretty mouth... you good with those, Sebastian? I bet you suck like a fucking Hoover, but what about it? You wanna eat me out, baby?"
"Five minutes, get your shit together!" Sebastian only processes the words in the back of his brain, an assemblage of sounds into clusters that mean nothing, because Anthony wants him to eat his ass.
"Damn. All right, you can tell me all about it later." Anthony gives Sebastian's abs a fond pat. "See you later," he tells them. "I got thoughts about you, too."
"What," Sebastian says, watching Anthony's ass (the ass he wants Sebastian to eat, his brain helpfully reminds him, and then makes a noise like one of the dinosaurs from Jurassic Park) walk away. "The fuck."
Anthony doesn't pull any shit after that, even when they're done filming. He's professional in the sideways, ringmaster way he somehow makes work, he's got his lines down, he waves goodbye and says see you tomorrow, man like he hadn't invited Sebastian to drop down and eat him out in front of at least a couple hundred people.
Sebastian spends a couple hours that night drafting what to say when Anthony hits the gas again. Strong, declarative statements. No fucking nonsense Scorsese lead hard-bitten determination all the way down, that's what he needs to stick with.
"I'm not a twink" was not on that list of opening statements. It is what he says, anyway.
"You seen yourself, Sebastian?" Mackie sets down his beer, an almost predatory gleam settling in his eyes. "I told you. Pretty mouth, pretty face, those fucking little elf ears you got... you're fucking adorable, abs and all."
"Elf ears," Sebastian sputters, hands coming up to cover them defensively. "Fuck you, they are not. And that doesn't make me a twink, even if they are like that." Sebastian runs the tape back on that gem then attempts to pause and rewind. "Were. If they were like that."
"Paging Dr. Freud, we have got a slip," Anthony crows, not willing at all to just let Sebastian have this, the smallest of fig leaves for his ear and/or general dignity. "You don't like your cute little ears? 'Cause I do." He flicks the edge of one with a fingernail and Sebastian shivers. "'Not a twink', he says."
"I'm taller than you," Sebastian takes a long slug of beer and glares at Anthony, taking in his loose-limbed sprawl with absolutely nothing but irritation. "Asshole."
"Height ain't nothing but a number, baby."
"That's not how that goes. Age. Age is a number, not height."
"Details." Anthony swats a hand at nothing, apparently determined to be as inscrutable as a moral choice. "Height's not the thing here. You could be ten feet tall, sweetheart, wouldn't make a goddamned lick of difference. I know a twink when I see one."
"Then you need your eyes checked, Mackie, because—"
Because what is a mystery now lost to the ages. Sebastian's eyes cross trying to stare down at the hand clapped over his mouth. This close, Mackie smells... warm. Or warm smells like Mackie, or nothing smells like anything at all because this time, Sebastian is actually dead.
"Mphgdn," he says, which doesn't help anything.
"You done? If you're done, I can get to explaining." Anthony cocks his head. "Might keep my hand here anyway. Damn, you got a pretty face. Even prettier with my hands on it."
Fuck you, quit calling me pretty and explain what, Sebastian can't say because Mackie's hand is still clamped firm over his mouth. Spitefully, he tries to stick out his tongue or spit on Mackie or something, but only ends up making it worse for himself when Anthony rocks his hand from side to side, smearing his efforts over Sebastian's face.
"Was that supposed to turn me off? Do it again, baby. If you're gonna eat me good, you better fucking know how to get me wet first." The sound Sebastian makes could be recorded and used as one of those fucking awful high pitched dog park whistles. "Do it again," Anthony says, and this time it doesn't sound like he's fucking around.
Sebastian does it, about ten percent grossed out by the slide of his own spit over his face but ninety percent so turned on there's a possibility it provides a genuine health risk.
"There we go." How smug Anthony sounds when he knows he's getting to Sebastian is now also going to provide a problem. How the fuck is he ever going to survive a press junket hearing it and thinking about this? "Tell you what, while you're there why don't you give a little demo of what you're gonna do for me."
Sebastian stares at him, uncomprehending.
"Lick my fucking hand like you're gonna lick my ass." Anthony sounds like he's yelling from the bottom of a well, but that could be the heart attack Sebastian's having. "Do a good job, maybe you can get a taste today. I was gonna make you wait, but hey. Gotta reward natural talent."
Holy fuck. Holy Jesus fuck.
"Mph," Sebastian agrees, flattening his tongue and shoving it against Anthony's palm in a desperate entreaty. "Ngh."
Anthony laughs, low and just a little mean. "Come on, Sebastian. That's the best you can do? I'm not feeling it, man, maybe you really don't wanna eat me out."
It would serve Mackie right if Sebastian bit him and walked out. But he wants Mackie to give in and let Sebastian eat his ass, so fucking bad thinking about not getting it makes his chest tight and uncomfortable. Everything he'd let himself picture with Mackie had been ripped right from the gay for pay tag on all the shitty free porn sites. Wide eyes, bitten lips, maybe some frat boy attitude and ultimately Sebastian getting fucked silly. No matter the cheap setup for why Mackie's into it at all, Sebastian had always counted on being the one who knew what the fuck.
He is not the one who knows what the fuck here. He knows the opposite of the fuck, clearly, because this is not a straight man's first time with a dick territory. Anthony's more comfortable with whatever they're doing than Sebastian is.
"Well?" Mackie prompts, digging his fingers in harder under the hinge of Sebastian's jaw. "That what you're trying to tell me? You don't wanna treat me nice and tongue fuck this ass, baby? Don't think I deserve it, maybe just not interested? Could be I misread you. Want me to head out, get somebody else to take care of it?"
Don't you fucking dare, Sebastian thinks, and says a fond farewell to decency along with any lingering claim to dignity. Anthony's going to fucking beg Sebastian to go down when he's done, that smug asshole. Who the fuck does he think he is. Mackie wants a fucking twink? It's been a while since he leaned on that shit to get laid, but the bike rule follows. He's got this one sealed.
Twenty minutes later, that seal is entirely popped. Maybe it never existed. Sebastian's collar drags in wet passes over his collarbone, and god fucking knows how far down he's soaked the shirt. His tongue fucking aches, lips sore and wet and probably twice the size they should be. Makeup's going to kill somebody, and if it's him he's coming back to haunt Anthony goddamned Mackie and nobody else.
Turns out when you try and convince a guy you eat ass like a champion by licking his hand like a fucking dog, it sounds a hell of a lot like what you'd rather be doing and then fucking the air like a dog is the next logical step.
"Jesus, Sebastian." The frayed edges on Anthony's easy confidence are satisfying, and Sebastian hits the gas again, throwing in a couple moans for good measure. "Fuck. Look the fuck at you, baby. Bet your tongue hurts, huh?"
Sebastian nods, then babbles a flood of cracked voice agreement when Mackie peels back his hand.
"Slow down, sweetheart. Gotta give me answers when I ask you questions, Sebastian. You think I'm asking you 'em for my health, here? Maybe I just like the sound of my own voice?"
Well, Sebastian thinks, and he doesn't even need to say it. Anthony's wet palm cracks down on his thigh, glancing off oddly with a thud and leaving a wet handprint on the pale linen slacks he should have known better than to wear.
Anthony does not give a shit about his sartorial problems. He grabs Sebastian's chin, yanking his eyes off the rapidly-setting stain. "You got something to say that ain't an answer to what I asked you, Sebastian? That how you want to play this one?"
Fuck yes, it is, but not today. Not when he's this fucking close to getting to finally bury his face between Anthony's cheeks and drive him as crazy as he's driving Sebastian. He can do it, too. You don't lose that skill just because action stars can't get caught eating ass.
"Yeah," his jaw cracks when Sebastian answers, loud enough it makes him jump.
"Yeah?" Anthony prompts.
"My tongue hurts," Sebastian scrambles to elaborate, wondering if he should stick it out as evidence and deciding, what the hell? Hardly worse than soaking his own clothes tongue-fucking Mackie's hand. "See?" The word is garbled with the way he's open so Anthony can take a good look, but the two fingers that press down on his soft palate means the point made its way across fine just the same.
"There he is. See, I knew you'd be good for me. You know how fucking long I've been thinking about getting you like this? Warmed up and ready for me?"
If this is warmed up, hot's going to be shoving Sebastian into the actual fucking oven Hansel and Gretel style.
"No," he says, gagging slightly when Anthony's fingers stay rigid, forcing his tongue up into them.
"Oh shit. He fucking knows tricks, kids. Look at you, Sebastian, didn't even have to remind you again. So, you're hurtin', huh? Really feeling it?"
"Yes," comes out more like a rattle of air than a word, but Anthony seems to accept it as an answer anyway.
"You think you could still do a good job? I'm not here for a disappointing fucking rimjob. I can get better, if you're too tired."
"Yes!" Anthony's fingers won't let him yell, but it's a near thing.
"Easy, baby, I know you want it. Tell you what. We got shit to do tomorrow, can't have Bucky Barnes so sore from eating ass you can't read lines. Much as both of you'd like that shit," Anthony adds, and Sebastian arches upwards, two humiliating seconds from coming in his pants.
"Now, that's interesting." Oh, fuck. Oh fuck. Sebastian swallows, shoving his tongue back into Anthony's fingers and making his eyes water until they spill over. "Good try, but I'm not gonna be distracted just because you make yourself prettier for me. Fuck, you're perfect. Little direction, you get right the fuck to work. Tell you what—"
Sebastian groans. He's starting to hate those words. Tell you what means Anthony's about to set off another depth charge in his psyche with pinpoint accuracy.
"I told you, I'm not out here looking for sub-par head. But I got my fingers in here already—" he wiggles them helpfully, and tears roll down Sebastian's cheeks at an increased rate. "Yeah. So, I'm thinking—you convinced me you can eat me out just fine, but speaking of head, why don't you give me a little show. Ah," he snaps when Sebastian tries to pull away and drop to his knees, "I told you. My fingers are already in here, so why don't you make do with what you've got. And say thank you, sweetheart, because I could roll outta here if you're through..."
The assemblage of sounds Sebastian forces out sounds more like fuck you than thank you, but Anthony laughs and takes it.
"Don't think I'm not gonna remember that shit. You got a smart mouth, baby, and it's real cute. Looking forward to trying it out for real." Sebastian can't tell if that's a threat or a promise, and either way he cannot fucking wait.
He damn near chokes himself trying to convince Anthony to change his mind and hang around, even sucking in a third and then fourth finger. Hell, at this point he'd try for the thumb too, but Anthony doesn't bend. He doesn't even jerk Sebastian off this time, either, just sits there and drinks a beer and fingerfucks Sebastian's mouth for what feels like an eternity but the clock says is barely half an hour.
"Wish I had a cigar. Really completes the fucking picture, sweet thing on my lap and a nice Cuban."
Sebastian isn't too deep in his head to ignore that bullshit. He's on exactly zero fucking laps, because if he was they wouldn't both be sitting side by side, hard enough Anthony's gym shorts have darkened from navy to black nearly hip to hip and Sebastian's boxers are a lost fucking cause. Anthony yelps when Sebastian bites down, hard enough to get the point across.
"Well, if you're gonna make bad choices, baby, you get what you get."
It feels strange to have nothing but his own tongue in his mouth once Anthony yanks his fingers free. Sebastian works his jaw back and forth, trying to ease the muscles after a fucking hour spent treating Anthony's fucking hand to more attention than he ever gave at least half his exes.
"I'm not getting anything right now," Sebastian points out, voice creaking. "Seriously, Anthony, please. I'll suck you, eat you out, fuck you, you can do me, whatever the fuck you want. Please, fucking anything. I'm... fuck." Helpless, Sebastian cups his dick through his slacks and rolls his hips up into it, moaning. "Fuck, yeah. Fucking finally."
The crack of a rolled up magazine hitting his wrist is more startling than it is painful, but Sebastian's breath catches anyway and he rubs the red spot, glaring at Anthony and hoping all he looks is irritated, not intrigued. "Did you just hit me with a fucking magazine, Mackie? The fuck?"
"You wanna be bad? I told you, you get what you get." Anthony rerolls the magazine and brings it down on his own hand with an even louder smack that's going to work its way into Sebastian's stroke file and stay there until the day he dies.
"Yeah, but you might as well hit me on the nose like a—" Sebastian's jaw snaps shut with a jarring click, but it's too fucking late.
"Like a what, baby?" Anthony rubs the red mark on his wrist gently, then drags blunt nails down it in sharp lines of pain. "I gotta tell you the rules again? I ask, you answer. Like a fucking what, Sebastian. Say it."
"Fuck you. Ow!" Sebastian could probably yank away fast enough to miss the hit, but he sits perfectly still and watches the next swat land and pants like the animal Anthony's trying to get him to say he is. "Jesus, Anthony. Fuck."
"Can't argue with the method. Say it, baby. What'd I do? Tell me." Sebastian sets his jaw, and Anthony sighs. "Man, this is a real fuckin' shame. All right, you made your call." He frogmarches Sebastian to the door, hand fisting up the back of his shirt and holding the scruff of his neck tight, driving the point home even better than the magazine. "Go home. We're done for the day. You wanna wait outside my door like a dog, see if it does you any good, go for it. Maybe it'll put me in a better mood for next time."
"Anthony, come the fuck on. I'll say it, I'm a—"
"Hey." Anthony's fingers bite into his neck. "I gave you a chance, you blew it. Maybe next time you'll learn to fucking answer a question, yeah? Then you can quit wasting both our time."
"Anthony—" Sebastian sways in place, humiliation and how much each word cranks his dial closer to total meltdown mixing together until he can't tell them apart. He stumbles forward, hunching a little so he can rest his head on Anthony's shoulder. "Fuck. I don't... fuck. Fuck."
"Yeah, baby?" Craning his neck even though it can't be anything but painful, Anthony twists until he can study him, calm and serious even if his dick is still drilling a hole in Sebastian's hip. "You need to tap out, man? I know we didn't really talk this shit through, and that's on me, but I—"
"No." Sebastian noses into Anthony's neck. "No. No, I got it. I'll go, I just. Don't know what the fuck, man. At all."
"I know, baby." Anthony pushes him out the door less than gently, locking him out with a mean click.
The buzz of Sebastian's cell makes him jump. go home sebastian, the lock screen displays, and then a photo of Anthony's dick outlined through his shorts, and another of the shorts on the ground. stupid move, baby. coulda had all this.
If anybody hacks the cloud they're both fucked, but Sebastian saves them to his phone anyway. I thought you wanted me to wait for a little while, he sends back, kicking his legs out so he can settle in to wait a little more comfortably.
That one gets him a full-on dick pic. Sebastian texts a couple eggplants in response and a selfie of him kicked back on the porch with his middle finger out, because it's what Mackie would do, but he doesn't get anything else back until after he's given up and headed back home emptyhanded.
see you tomorrow man, go the fuck to bed is all Sebastian gets, but he strips naked and jerks off looking at their recent message history. He should hang his shit up, maybe grab the Spray and Wash, but he can't stop thinking about the way it felt, sitting out on Anthony's porch with spit covering his face, knowing Anthony wasn't going to let him back in and staying anyway, like a dog—
Sebastian comes too soon, just remembering the cool bite of brick on his upper thighs and ass while he waited outside Anthony's front door. Wrinkling his nose at how fucking disgusting he's about to be, he doesn't bother to get up and take a shower before he falls asleep.