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So here's a recap of the situation: one Batter, chained to this chair only by his own sheer willpower and the promise of reward if he can keep his hands on the back of the seat (and of forfeit if he can't). He has been worked up nicely, his cock peeks erect and strained from his trousers, his chest rises with every deep, labored breath he takes. His cheeks are flushed, right under the black fabric of the blindfold covering his eyes, his lips are parted, wetted, every now and then his tongue darts out to lick them, leaves them even redder and more bitable than before.
In Zacharie's opinion, life can definitely hand him worse things. His own cock agrees merrily.
He pulls the Batter's trousers down to his ankles, out of the way, and once again he settles comfortably on his lap. The Batter curses under his breath as Zacharie presses flat against his body, their cocks sliding against each other and fitting together just fine. The Batter is trying to regain some control, he forces his breath to slow down, if he could will his blood away from his erection he probably would.
He has just accepted Zacharie's proposal to raise the stakes of their bet. If he can hold back and come after Zacharie does, the merchant has promised to give him an unmasked blow job, and really, the Batter's dedication to that goal is nothing short of heartwarming... and it's also mostly useless. After the first time they fucked (an occasion when, Zacharie is sure, his own lack of resistance was clearly a direct consequence of lusting hard over the dense Batter for over a week) not even once the Batter has managed to outlast him. His lack of experience (or of memories of such experiences) puts him clearly at disadvantage there.
But hey, Zacharie does want to see him trying.
He kisses the Batter, bites his lips and lets the Batter bite him in return. He whispers softs praises as the Batter's mouth travels south to nip the soft skin of his throat. His teeth are sharp, his bites send the perfect sting of pain down from his throat to Zacharie's cock. The merchant holds on the Batter strong shoulders as he rocks against him, pushes up and down again along his body. The Batter follows his movement, biting and sucking his skin wherever he can reach blindly, leaves a set of darkening marks to match with the lines Zacharie's nails are leaving on his back.
Zacharie pushes with one knee on the chair, angling himself so that the head of the Batter's dick is gently rubbing against the skin between his asshole and balls, sending a pleasurable tingle up his insides. The Batter's groans resonate into their chest, pressed together, and the man shifts so that his shaft slips from the position, but Zacharie is quick to move and catch it again between their bellies and he resumes the slow grinding. He places a hand on the Batter's throat, feels his quickened pulse under his thumb.
“Come on, my dear Batter. It's not like you to try and run from a challenge.” He reaches down with one hand, to press their dicks together, underside to underside, and strokes them both. He's rewarded with a moan that the Batter can't quite bite off.
“Not fair...” the man says, turning away his face.
“How so? I'm giving myself just the same attention I give you, in case you haven't noticed. It's not my fault you're so... eager to yield to me.” Zacharie strokes the back of his neck, petting him like he was some big animal. He watches close as the man struggles with his own arousal. The Batter's lips are quivering, he inhales sharply and presses his teeth into his lower lip, and doesn't that look delicious... this pure man deserves a little encouragement after all.
Zacharie drops some of his own self-control, lets just a hint of the hunger he really feels creep into his voice.
“You know... I almost wish to lose this bet...”
He kisses the Batter's forehead, touches his cheek with his own, just brushes it, light as the caress of smoke, slow, lets him feel the rough texture. Lets the Batter taste the skin with his lips and tongue when he tries to, warily, as if he is afraid of touching too hard. Lets him imagine.
Only briefly.
Zacharie pulls back.
“I would love to watch you watching me. Mmmh... it's a pity I won't get the chance.”
The Batter swears aloud this time, he levers against the bars he's holding onto and pushes his hips up, hard, almost makes Zacharie lose his balance. The merchant has to wrap his arms around the Batter's shoulders with a surprised laugh, as the man starts to grind his cocks against Zacharie's in a broken rhythm.
“Come on...” he growls. “The bet's still on...!”
“That's the spirit of the competition!” Zacharie declares, and locks their lips together, as he meets each thrust up and soon sets his own steady pace.
Their mingled moans, those that escape their fused lips, fill the room together with the wet sound of flesh sliding against flesh. Their cocks are leaking now and precum makes the friction smoother, more pleasant and more maddening at the same time as they both angle their hips to rub into each other, so close and so hot it almost feels like melting.
Their movements grow increasingly frantic, the front feet of the chair rise off the floor a little and hit it loud with each thrust, and the merchant finds himself really enjoying the thrill, the very real possibility he might lose, after all, lose the bet, lose himself...
Then a more than enthusiastic thrust from the Batter flips the chair off balance. The Batter's hands shoot forward to grab Zacharie as they fall back, hitting the floor hard.
Oh. Well.
Without missing a beat, Zacharie kicks the chair out of the way and pushes himself down against the Batter, his weight now adding to the friction for both.
The Batter's hands grab his ass, they stroke each other with their whole bodies until it gets unbearable, it gets scalding hot, until the Batter bites Zacharie's collarbone hard and the pain is an electric bolt that breaks his rhythm and sends him over the edge like a rocket. As Zacharie's seed hits their stomach, they scream “Yes!” in unison, Zacharie in pleasure, the Batter in breathless victory. They roll around, still wrapped together, the Batter kisses Zacharie savagely, humps against his groin once more, twice, and reaches his climax, as Zacharie drinks the moans spilling from his lips.
The Batter lets his head fall on Zacharie's chest, manages to kiss the feverish skin, and then just lays there. The merchant pets his hair and back, equally spent. A few minutes pass, and just as Zacharie is wondering if the Batter has fallen asleep he feels him shift and props himself up on an elbow.
The Batter reaches to the blindfold. Quick, Zacharie catches his hand. The man frowns.
“What's the matter? I won. I came after you.”
“By mere seconds, but that's remarkable, I concede.” Zacharie pulls the hand to his lips, kisses its back softly. “But I fear you have forgotten the first half of the bet...”
The Batter is puzzled for a second. Then his mouth opens in outrage and he snatches his hand back from Zacharie's hold. For a few seconds he looks like he's about to blow a vessel under Zacharie non-committed gaze, then his composure, or at least part of it, returns. He settles for resting his head down again, fuming. He knows better than discussing quibbles with the merchant.
“Tell me again,” he grumbles against Zacharie's skin “What's keeping the Player from logging on this time?”
“Their computer is away for repairs, we're currently backed up on a removable memory. Cozy, I would say. We'll get some more free time, and maybe next time you'll be luckier.. Now, though, it's time to discuss your paying the forfeit.”
Zacharie's grin stretches almost as large as his cat mask's one.
“And you didn't even give me the time to explain what the penance for the second half of the bet was...”
The Batter doesn't whimper. Almost.