Chapter 18: The Exhibition
The stale hotel air tasted like regret and microwaved pizza. Ahmed shifted on the lumpy bedspread, trying to ignore the frantic thump of blood in his temples. Three days. Three days of sensory overload – screaming fans, flashing lights, the overwhelming synthetic smell of new plastic merch – and now, this. The king-size bed was buried under discarded packaging: stiff cardboard boxes, crinkled tissue paper, and the unmistakable chemical tang of fresh latex. The massive TV across the room played some late-night anime on mute, casting flickering blue light over the chaos. The remnants of their conquests – empty pizza boxes, crushed Red Bull cans, spent mango-flavored vape cartridges – littered every surface. Manny knelt amidst the debris, wrestling with the final fastener on the Black Panther suit Ahmed wore.
"Hold still, habibi," Manny grunted, his fingers fumbling near Ahmed's hip. The sound of the zipper teeth scraping upwards was unnervingly loud in the sudden quiet between them. "Christ, this thing is tighter than finals week."
Ahmed hissed as the cold zipper track slid against the small of his back, sealing him in. The feeling was immediate and profound. The high-grade latex, cool at first despite the room's warmth, seemed to suck the air right out of him. It clung to every contour, every curve, molding itself obscenely to his slender frame. It wasn't just tight; it was a second, unbreathing skin. He could feel the intricate vibranium weave pattern pressing into his flesh, the defined muscle padding constricting his chest with each shallow breath. His arms felt encased, his legs fused together by the slick material. Panic, familiar but sharper this time, prickled his skin beneath the suit. "Manny… it… it’s hard to breathe," he managed, his voice sounding thin, muffled even to his own ears inside the stuffy helmet he’d yet to put on.
Manny gave the zipper one final, decisive tug. Shick. It stopped high between Ahmed's shoulder blades. "Great," Manny breathed, pushing himself back onto his heels. He surveyed Ahmed, his eyes wide, almost disbelieving, then darkening with unmistakable hunger. He let out a low whistle. "Holy shit. Look at you." He ran an appreciative hand down Ahmed's latex-clad arm, the friction whisper-soft yet startlingly intimate. "That price tag? Worth every fucking penny. You are the Panther Prince." He chuckled, a low rumble. "Or you will be, once you stop hyperventilating. Relax. It’s supposed to be restrictive. Adds to the… authenticity."
Ahmed tried to take a deeper breath, but the suit resisted, compressing his ribs. He felt absurd. Powerful and utterly vulnerable simultaneously. The helmet, shaped like the Panther's fierce visage, sat on the bed beside him, its hollow eyes staring blankly. He reached for it, needing the anonymity, the final piece of the transformation, but Manny’s hand shot out, clamping around his wrist. The grip was firm, grounding.
"Not yet," Manny murmured. His gaze swept over Ahmed again, lingering on the pronounced bulge in the suit’s crotch, the sleek lines accentuating Ahmed’s hips. A slow, predatory smile spread across his face. "Got to appreciate the view first. Before you hide behind the mask." He stood, pulling Ahmed up with him. The sudden movement made Ahmed stumble; the suit gripped his knees, stealing his usual agility. Manny caught him easily, his hands settling possessively on Ahmed's latex-covered waist. "Steady, scout." The playful nickname from their costume planning felt different now, loaded with intent.
Manny’s eyes, bright with a familiar mix of excitement and something darker, flicked towards the wall of floor-to-ceiling windows. Downtown LA glittered beyond, but far below, a sea of costumed humanity still pulsed around the convention center, distant shouts and music drifting faintly upwards. The sheer curtains were only partially drawn. "Check out the view," Manny said, his voice dropping to a suggestive purr. He started guiding Ahmed backwards, steering him towards the glass. "All those little ants down there. Nerding out. No idea what's happening up here in Wakanda's royal suite."
Ahmed’s back bumped against the cool, unyielding glass. The vastness of the city spread out beneath him, the tiny, oblivious figures moving like pixels on a screen. A fresh wave of dizziness hit him, amplified by the suit's constriction and the remnants of the mango vape he'd hit earlier. "Manny, the window…" he protested weakly, his palms pressing flat against the slick surface. "People could see…"
"See what?" Manny stepped close, trapping Ahmed against the glass. He pressed his body flush against Ahmed’s back, the heat radiating through both their clothes – Manny still wore his loose Border Tribe scout tunic and pants. Ahmed could feel the hard line of Manny's cock against the small of his back. Manny leaned in, his breath hot against Ahmed's ear, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous growl that vibrated through Ahmed's entire body. "You think vibranium's impressive?" His hands slid down Ahmed's latex-covered sides, over his hips, coming to rest firmly on the swell of his ass, fingers digging in through the unforgiving material. He pressed Ahmed harder against the cold glass, making the pane vibrate faintly. "Let's see if it can muffle your screams, sand boy."
The words hit Ahmed like a physical blow, stunning and electric. The racial slur, used like this, in this context, stripped bare any pretense of just costumes or playing. It was a key turning in a lock, releasing the complex, shameful thrill he both craved and feared. His breath hitched, trapped in his constricted chest. Below, the anonymous crowd surged. Manny’s hands tightened. The latex squeaked faintly under the pressure. Ahmed closed his eyes, the city lights blurring beyond the glass. The game controller from the Naruto game they’d abandoned hours ago lay forgotten on the carpet near his foot. The scent of weed and pepperoni pizza hung thick in the air. Manny’s teeth grazed the shell of his ear, a sharp promise. The Panther suit felt less like armor and more like a trap. Beautiful. Suffocating. He didn't know if he wanted to fight it or beg for more. The only certainty was the cold glass against his palms and the hard, demanding heat of Manny pinning him there, poised on the dizzying edge of exposure.
The cold glass pressed into Ahmed's palms, a stark contrast to Manny's searing heat pinning him. Manny’s growl vibrated through the latex, the racial slur a forbidden spark igniting something deep and shamefully eager in Ahmed’s core. Below, the oblivious convention crowd pulsed; above, Manny’s teeth scraped his earlobe, sharp and promising.
"Scared they'll see the King getting handled?" Manny murmured, his hands sliding up Ahmed’s latex-clad sides, tracing the defined muscle padding. His knee nudged Ahmed’s legs wider apart against the glass. "Scared they'll see you like this?" The pressure on Ahmed's ass intensified.
Ahmed’s breath hitched, uselessly shallow within the suit’s grip. "Manny…" It was barely a whisper, lost against the pane. He felt utterly displayed, the city lights illuminating his helplessness.
"Turn around," Manny commanded, his voice losing its teasing edge, becoming pure directive. He released Ahmed just enough to allow a clumsy pivot. Ahmed turned, his back hitting the cold window again, facing Manny now. The Filipino stood close, his Border Tribe tunic loose, eyes dark and unreadable in the blue TV glow. He scanned the Panther suit, head to toe, his gaze lingering on the pronounced bulge at Ahmed’s groin.
Manny planted a hand flat on the latex above Ahmed's heart. "Vibranium heart," he mused, pushing slightly. "Still beating fast." His other hand drifted lower, fingers tracing the suit’s seam over Ahmed’s hip. "How's the suit's... acoustics? Think screams echo inside?"
Before Ahmed could process the threat, Manny grabbed his upper arms, yanking him away from the window’s exposure. Ahmed stumbled, the suit stealing his balance again, but Manny hauled him effortlessly towards the king-size bed buried under costume debris and pizza boxes. He shoved Ahmed backwards onto the edge of the mattress. Ahmed landed with a soft thump, surrounded by crinkled tissue paper and the lingering scent of fresh latex.
Manny stood over him, hands on his hips. "Get the helmet off," he ordered, his voice rough. "Want to see your face."
Ahmed fumbled with the release clasps at his temples, his fingers clumsy beneath the gloves. The helmet came loose with a hiss of air, revealing his flushed face, damp hair plastered to his forehead. He dropped the helmet onto a pizza box beside him. The cooler room air hit his skin, a relief after the stifling mask.
Manny’s expression softened slightly at the sight, a flicker of something almost tender crossing his features before the predatory look returned. "Better." He stepped between Ahmed’s spread knees, forcing them wider apart. He didn't touch Ahmed’s straining cock, visible beneath the tight material. Instead, he leaned down, bracing his hands on the mattress on either side of Ahmed’s hips, his face inches away. "You look good like this. Trapped. Mine." He grinned, sharp. "Remember the reward, habibi? Think that was just a one-time deal?"
Ahmed swallowed, the memory of Manny on his knees in the dorm flashing hot. He shook his head mutely.
Manny straightened suddenly. He hooked his fingers into the wide neckline of his own loose, dark blue Border Tribe tunic. With a single, fluid motion, he pulled it over his head, tossing it onto the growing pile of discarded things. He stood before Ahmed shirtless, his lean torso smooth in the dim light. He wasn't bulky, but defined, the muscles taut beneath his skin. His dark nipples stood peaked in the cool air.
"Good," Manny said, his voice dropping to a low purr. He took another step forward, his bare thighs brushing Ahmed’s latex-clad knees. "Show your king some appreciation, scout." He tapped his own chest, right above his heart. "Start here. Earn your reward."
The command hung in the thick air. Ahmed hesitated, the directive clear yet daunting. The suit felt heavier, his movements restricted. He leaned forward, the latex creaking softly. The scent of Manny’s skin – clean sweat, faint weed, the hotel soap – filled his senses. He pressed his lips tentatively to Manny’s left nipple. The skin was surprisingly soft, the nub hardening instantly against his mouth. He licked, a slow, tentative stroke.
Manny hissed, a sharp intake of breath. His hand came up, fingers tangling roughly in Ahmed’s hair, not guiding, just holding. "Yeah," he breathed. "Like that. Knew that mouth was good for something besides vaping mango."
Ahmed felt a flush of heat, part embarrassment, part thrill at the approval. He licked again, circling the nipple with more confidence, then sucked gently, feeling it tighten further. He moved to the right nipple, repeating the action, bolder now, his tongue swirling. The taste was salt and skin, intimate. He heard Manny’s breath catch again, felt the slight tremor in the hand gripping his hair.
"Damn, Ahmed," Manny chuckled, the sound strained. "Getting bold in the suit? Didn't know the Panther Prince was into this kinda service." His grip tightened slightly. "What else you hiding under that vibranium?"
Ahmed pulled back slightly, looking up. Manny’s eyes were dark, pupils wide, a smirk playing on his lips despite the arousal tightening his features. Ahmed didn’t reply with words. Instead, fueled by the suit, the weed haze, and Manny’s taunting, he ducked his head lower. He pressed his face against Manny’s smooth side, just below the curve of his pectoral muscle. He nuzzled into the hollow of Manny’s armpit, breathing in the concentrated musk there – deeper, earthier, undeniably male. Then he licked. A broad, slow stroke upwards from the edge of his ribs towards the pit.
Manny jolted. "Fuck!" The word burst out, half-laugh, half-groan. His other hand slammed down on the mattress for balance. "Okay, shit! That's… kinky as hell, sand boy!" He looked down, genuine surprise mixed with intense amusement in his eyes. "Who knew my good little scout had a thing for pits? That a Wakandan thing?"
Ahmed lifted his head, meeting Manny’s gaze. A slow, defiant smile spread across Ahmed’s own face, a spark of unexpected confidence flaring bright beneath the latex and submission. He held Manny’s look, the scent of him still sharp on his tongue. "Isn't that what you like?"
Manny’s amused smirk faltered, replaced by a raw, startled intensity. He stared down at Ahmed, the blue TV light catching the sheen of sweat suddenly beading on his bare chest. "Fuck, Ahmed," he breathed, the laughter gone from his voice, replaced by something thick and husky. His fingers tightened almost painfully in Ahmed’s hair, not pulling away, but anchoring him. "Yeah. Yeah, it is." He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. "Shit, that mouth..."
The dark approval, the slight tremor in Manny’s voice, sent a jolt of reckless power through Ahmed. Emboldened by the latex casing him, the lingering vape high, and that visceral reaction, he dipped his head again. He pressed his face back into the warm hollow beneath Manny’s arm, inhaling the deep, musky scent, saltier now. He licked another slow, deliberate stripe upwards, savoring the texture of smooth skin and fine hair, the intimacy terrifying and electric. Manny shuddered violently, a choked groan escaping him, his free hand fisting in the cheap bedspread beside Ahmed’s thigh.
"Okay, scout," Manny gasped, voice strained. "Reward time." It wasn't a request. He tugged sharply on Ahmed’s hair, pulling him back. His eyes, wide and dark, burned into Ahmed’s. "Bed. Now. Lose the pants." He gestured roughly at his own loose Border Tribe trousers, already tented obscenely.
Ahmed scrambled back on the mattress, latex squeaking against the polyester sheets. His fingers fumbled with the drawstring of his own costume pants beneath the tunic, the suit making his movements clumsy. Manny was faster. He shoved his own trousers and boxers down in one impatient motion, kicking them aside. His erection sprang free, thick and flushed, bobbing against his stomach. He didn’t wait. He grabbed Ahmed’s shoulders and hauled him further onto the bed, amidst the crackle of discarded tissue paper and a flattened pizza box.
"Helmet off completely," Manny ordered, his breathing ragged. He was already climbing onto the bed, maneuvering Ahmed like a mannequin. "And get that damn tunic off your hips." Ahmed obeyed, tossing the helmet onto the floor with a clatter and shoving the blue fabric down, baring his own trapped erection beneath the unyielding black latex of the Panther suit. The contrast was stark: Manny’s warm, bare skin against Ahmed’s synthetic second skin.
Manny positioned himself forcefully, one knee planting itself beside Ahmed’s head. "Head down, habibi," he commanded, pushing Ahmed’s shoulders. "Get busy." He lowered his hips, the tip of his cock brushing Ahmed’s lips. The musky scent was overwhelming. Ahmed opened his mouth instinctively, the heat and weight familiar yet newly intense. Manny pushed forward with a low groan, filling his mouth.
Simultaneously, Manny hooked his hands roughly under Ahmed’s latex-clad thighs, hauling his hips upwards with surprising strength. Ahmed gasped around the intrusion, the movement sudden and disorienting. Manny shoved his own head down, burying his face between Ahmed’s raised thighs, directly against the pronounced bulge in the Panther suit’s crotch panel. Ahmed cried out, the sound muffled by Manny’s cock. He could feel the heat of Manny’s breath, the pressure of his nose and mouth through the thin layer of latex separating them. It was maddening, indirect, yet intensely intimate.
The awkward, suspended position locked them together. Ahmed focused on the weight and taste on his tongue, the salty pre-come, the faint bitterness at the tip. He sucked tentatively, then harder, spurred by muffled sounds of approval vibrating through Manny’s body. Beneath him, Manny was relentless. His mouth worked feverishly over the smooth latex covering Ahmed’s cock, licking broad stripes, sucking hard enough to create a damp, obscene seal over the shape beneath. He nibbled experimentally along the seam, the pressure sharp and startling through the material, making Ahmed buck his hips involuntarily, pushing further into Manny’s mouth.
"Fuck yeah, like that," Manny growled, lifting his head for a split second, his lips wet, before diving back down. He shoved Ahmed’s thighs wider apart, his fingers digging into the latex over Ahmed’s ass cheeks. "Suck me harder, sand boy. Show your king what that mouth can really do." He punctuated the command by biting down gently on the latex-covered head of Ahmed’s cock.
Ahmed moaned, the vibration traveling up Manny’s shaft. He obeyed, hollowing his cheeks, taking Manny deeper, his own hips straining upwards against the wet heat of Manny’s mouth working through the suit. The dual sensations were overwhelming. The slick pressure on his cock, frustratingly indirect yet undeniably present. The heavy fullness in his mouth, the musky taste, Manny’s low groans vibrating against his tongue. The latex trapped his heat, his sweat, amplifying every touch, every muffled sound. He was suspended between giving and receiving, utterly exposed yet shielded by the Panther’s skin, drowning in the scent of sex and fresh rubber and Manny, the distant city lights blurring beyond the partially open curtains. Manny’s rhythm became frantic, his sucking on the latex more insistent, his hips pistoning shallowly into Ahmed’s mouth. Ahmed could feel his own climax coiling, tight and urgent, fueled by the relentless pressure and the sheer taboo intensity of the position, of the suits, of Manny’s growled commands echoing in his ears. The bedsprings creaked beneath them, a frantic counterpoint to their ragged breaths and wet, desperate sounds.
The bedsprings creaked beneath them, a frantic counterpoint to their ragged breaths and wet, desperate sounds. Ahmed’s vision swam, the world narrowed to the thick pressure in his mouth and the maddening, muffled heat between his thighs. His climax coiled, impossibly tight, ready to shatter under Manny’s relentless assault through the latex. He needed it. Craved the release promised by Manny’s growls vibrating against him.
With a sudden, gasping effort, Ahmed pushed Manny’s hips back, breaking the suffocating seal around his cock. "Wait!" The word burst out, raw and ragged, echoing slightly in the helmetless silence. He scrambled backwards on the bed, latex squeaking violently against the sheets, putting precious inches between them. His chest heaved against the constricting suit. "Manny… stop."
Manny jerked his head up, eyes wide with surprise and annoyance, lips swollen and slick from the suit’s surface. "The fuck, Ahmed?" He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, breathing hard. "I was that close." He gestured impatiently at his own still-hard cock. "And so were you, by the feel of it."
"Surprise," Ahmed panted, ignoring the complaint. A shaky, almost manic grin touched his lips. He twisted awkwardly on the bed, hampered by the suit and the debris. His hand plunged into the open mouth of his duffel bag, shoved against the nightstand. He rummaged past crumpled t-shirts and con pamphlets, fingers searching. "Got something. For this." His heart hammered, partly from the interrupted peak, partly from the idea. He pulled out a large, clear plastic bottle filled with thick, pale yellow liquid. He held it up triumphantly, the cheap plastic catching the flickering blue light from the muted TV. "Baby oil."
Manny blinked, his irritation momentarily replaced by baffled curiosity. He stared at the bottle, then at Ahmed’s flushed face. "Baby oil? Like… for diaper rash?" He cocked his head, a slow, incredulous smirk spreading. "You planning on changing me, scout? Bit late for that."
"No, asshole," Ahmed retorted, the familiar insult grounding him. He uncapped the bottle, the plastic click loud. The faint, sweet, generic scent of mineral oil drifted into the weed-and-sex-heavy air. "For this." He gestured vaguely between them, at the bed, at their bodies. His gaze locked onto Manny’s. "Before you… you know." He swallowed. "Fuck me." He paused, then added, voice dropping lower, rougher, "I want you to pour it on me. Cover me in it. Before." The request hung there, vulnerable and strangely demanding.
Manny’s eyes widened again, the confusion clearing instantly, replaced by pure, predatory delight. He let out a low whistle, his gaze sweeping over the sleek, black latex encasing Ahmed. "Pour oil on the Panther Prince?" He chuckled, a dark, rich sound. "Fuck yeah. That's…" He licked his lips, staring at the bottle like it contained liquid gold. "That's fucking inspired, sand boy." He pushed himself up onto his knees, his own excitement palpable. "Shiny, slippery vibranium? Hell yes. Pass it here." He reached out impatiently. "But not just you." His grin turned wolfish. "Oil me too. Let's get fucking glazed." The crude word sent a fresh jolt through Ahmed. "All that slick skin on skin… under the suits… fuck," Manny breathed, his eyes burning with anticipation. "Let's oil each other."
Ahmed’s hand trembled slightly as he passed the bottle. The cool plastic slid into Manny’s warm grip. Manny’s grin was feral as he popped the cap fully open. The thick, viscous oil glistened under the light. He held Ahmed’s gaze, the promise in his eyes hotter than the friction they’d just abandoned. "Come here, scout," Manny commanded, his voice dropping to that low, dangerous purr. "Get slick for your king." He tilted the bottle, a thick stream of pale gold oil arcing out, catching the light, plummeting towards Ahmed’s chest.