Coke Lines

“Dinnae ye fucken start.”  Evan scowled down at the grinning Weather Wizard, his eyes narrowing at the raven-haired Rogue as he, unwisely, opened his mouth to speak.

“Come on McCulloch, don’t be such a sore loser.”  The Wizard grinned wider, his perfect white teeth flashing almost eerily in the low light, eyes sparkling with an unnerving level of excitement.

“Sore loser?!  Ye were cheatin’ so hard yer ma’d be spinnin’ in her grave!”  The Scot exclaimed, shooting a sour look at the other man, who hadn’t bothered redressing after their earlier game of poker, and was now lounging across Evan’s bed, looking every bit the cat who got the cream.

“Prove it.”  Mark pushed himself up, muscles flexing with the effort, his gaze never leaving the clearly uncomfortable, and overly hostile, brunette.  “Your ass is mine, McCulloch, whether you like it or not.”

They had, as with any other night the Rogues spent together, begun with alcohol and cards.  It had started innocently enough; a poker game, Mick, Len, Axel and Evan.  Axel had, of course, left the game first.  He was after all still a kid, and alcohol had the rather unfortunate effect of going straight to his head, as well as his cock.  After claiming that Evan was cheating, and insisting that sitting in the Scot’s lap was the only way to make sure, Len had kicked the boy out and told him to go to bed.  He’d protested, as usual, but there really was no arguing with a slightly inebriated Captain Cold, particularly not when he had his cold gun shoved in your face.

It had been about that time Mark had arrived, complete with two more crates of beer, and an innocent poker night turned somewhat more...lewd.  On Mark’s suggestion, they’d switched to strip poker and, after downing most of their newly replenished beer supply, the four had ended up in nothing more than their pants.  Mick had left the game before he could lose any more clothing.  Meanwhile, Len accused Mark of cheating when he won the final hand, while simultaneously storming off to his room with the remaining beer.

Evan remained in the game.  He lost his boxers, giving the Wizard a nice view of his ass as he removed them and a nicer view of his tackle when he sat down again.  He’d run out of things to bet, but the alcohol had kicked in and he was happily drunk enough to want to keep playing, so began betting with things his sober mind would have killed him for.

Like his virginity.

“Awae an’ bile yer heid!”  The Mirror Master snapped at the other Rogue, fury evident in his eyes, his lip curling upwards and revealing the slight gap between his teeth, the one Mark had classed as ‘endearing’ earlier on in the evening.  He had been allowed to replace his boxers when they’d left the table, ensuring that he was at least a little less exposed, but the Weather Wizard had banned all other clothing, claiming his costume as his own, though he had at least permitted the Scot to bring their small pile of brightly coloured fabric into the bedroom with them.

“Oh don’t be like that, Evan.”  Mark purred, reaching over to pull a small, white bag from the pocket of his jeans.  “See?  I even brought you the stuff I owe you.”  The grin was back then, splitting his handsome face in two as the brunette snatched the small bag from the other man, studying it intently.

“Yer nae tryin’ ta pull one over, are ye?”  The Mirror Master asked somewhat sceptically, testing the contents of the small bag, seemingly happy with it.

“Of course not!  That’s the best stuff I could get, don’t want you keeling over on me.”  With a leer, Mark grabbed hold of the waistband of Evan’s boxers, pulling him closer.  He was pleased when the Mirror Master allowed himself to be manoeuvred onto the double bed, and even more so when the larger man took the lead and pushed him back down onto the mattress, shooting another glare at the Wizard before tearing open the bag with his teeth.

“Yer getting nothin’ til I’ve had ma fix, ya wee basturt.”  At Mark’s apparent displeasure at having to wait, and his inability to keep still, Evan shoved the other man back down, pressing his knee against the Wizard’s crotch.  “Keep yer tossel in yer knickers fannybawz, ye’ll git yer go.”  Moving backwards just a little way, the Scot pushed Mark’s leg down, setting up a series of four lines on the toned thigh.  “Naer pegged ye fer an erse bandit anyhow.”  He added, leaning in to snort the first line with a happy, relieved sigh.

Evan awoke, almost twelve hours later, with a pounding headache and a hot body wrapped around his own.  He remembered...well, very little.  A drunken agreement for sex, and then...not much at all, really.  The odd word or two, a flash of colour or sound, but nothing to tell him what they had actually done.  He had promised Mark his anal virginity, but when he moved there was no discomfort, no pain, no unpleasant squelching of the other man’s release inside his body.

The Scot let out a sigh of relief; obviously they hadn’t gone through with it.  Even in his drunken state, the Wizard must have had enough self restraint to stop things before they’d gone too far, and for that the Mirror Master was extremely grateful.  It was nice, though, having Mark curled up next to him.  Comforting, if nothing else.  His head hurt like hell...a few more hours sleep wouldn’t hurt, right?