solafiamma (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
solafiamma) wrote2006-01-02 05:34 pm
solafiamma) wrote2006-01-02 05:34 pm
Entry tags:
DWNOGA 2005 - Gratuity - part 2
Gratuity, part 2
If you missed part 1, you can find it here.
All the way home, he's been thinking about what he's going to do to Lance, how this night is going to go. He'd toyed with various scenarios before he actually met Lance, scenarios in which Justin was firmly in control of the situation, ordering Lance to perform this sexual favour or that, in a nice way, of course. Sort of like a sultan with his favourite harem slave. Or maybe Bill Clinton with Monica Lewinsky. Scenarios, at any rate, that involved the hooker on his knees between Justin's legs, lucky if Justin let him come up for air (which he totally would, of course, really) or on his hands and knees on the bed, begging Justin to fuck him harder, faster.
Now that he's facing the reality of Lance, it's a little different. He can't really see himself ordering Lance to get down on his hands and knees to undo Justin's fly using only his teeth. For one thing, right now he can't even seem to speak in complete sentences, and he's pretty sure that if he just says "down" or tries an emphatic hand signal, Lance is going to laugh at him. Again.
One thing's for sure, though; he wants Lance on that bed with his legs spread in the shortest possible amount of time. Or, if Lance is so keen to start in a different room, that's cool, too. He can get his mouth onto Justin's dick in pretty much any room of the house he wants to. Although, maybe the bathroom would be better than, say, the living room. Easier to clean, anyway, in case things get. Well. Messy.
As he lets them into the apartment, he struggles to remember how messy it was when he'd left earlier. He hadn't had time to clean up after Chris, what with all the trying on of clothes and such. Maybe if he keeps Lance really busy, he won't notice. He turns to Lance, intending to herd him towards the bathroom, which he knows is clean.
Lance has taken his jacket off, and as he tosses it onto the chair in the hall, there's a chink of metal and a pair of handcuffs falls with a clatter on the tiled floor.
They both stare at them wordlessly for a minute. Justin can feel his eyes going wide, but he tries manfully to hide it, to look cool and blasé, like everyday he handcuffs hookers to his bed or whatever.
Shrugging, Lance bends to retrieve the cuffs and tucks them into his briefcase. The sight of that ass again is enough to dispel the awkwardness, for Justin at least.
When Lance stands up, stretches and starts fingering his belt buckle, it's as though the handcuffs had never existed. Justin can't take his eyes off Lance, probably couldn't speak right now if his life depended on it. He watches, mesmerized, as slowly, deliberately, Lance undoes his belt and slides it free of the buckle.
"Get your clothes off, Justin."
"Um, what?" Justin doesn't want to do anything that means looking away from Lance's groin and Lance's fingers as they flirt with the zipper of his pants.
"Clothes. Off. Now."
Justin's naked before he even registers that he's moving. It crosses his mind that this would be a very embarrassing time for Chris to come home. He starts edging his way to toward the bathroom, hoping Lance will follow.
Lance doesn't, though. He just stands their, hand down the front of his pants, watching Justin with an enigmatic smile on his face.
"C'mere," he says.
"Um. Uh." Pointing vaguely in the direction of the bathroom door, Justin says, "Um. I thought maybe we could" but his feet don't pay any more attention to him than Lance does, and he finds himself in front of Lance before he's finished the sentence. When Lance lays his hands on Justin's shoulders, Justin drops like a stone. Fuck. His knees are going to hurt like stink tomorrow. He starts to say something about how, okay, this is fine but they'll be moving into the bedroom afterwards, but Lance's dick is right there, two inches from his face and already hard, and Lance's hands are cupping the back of his head, easing closer, so he only gets as far as "okay, fine" before opening up and surrendering to the inevitable.
Lance takes it slow for the first couple of minutes, but that's just boring. It's not like Justin's some kind of newbie to cocksucking or anything. If Lance is trying to be gentle, that's thoughtful and all, but so totally unnecessary, Justin thinks. He swallows Lance's dick in one smooth motion, and hums in satisfaction at the resulting "oh fucking jesus fuck me fuck" and the way Lance sways above him like he's about to keel over in shock.
Lance doesn't let him finish, pulling out still hard, although from his smothered gasps it's clear that he's been enjoying the party on his dick as much as Justin. This is confirmed when, once he's caught his breath, he pets Justin's head and says "you could make a nice living doing that." It's a cool thing to say, and Justin feels inordinately proud of himself, until he remembers that Lance is a hooker and can't really be trusted to tell the truth about sex stuff to his clients. On the other hand, it's kind of an odd thing for a hooker to say, really, because what if your client didn't like being compared to a ho and decided to dock your pay or something? Maybe, it occurs to Justin, maybe Lance is offering him a job. In fact, the more he thinks about it, the more he realizes that must be it. Maybe Lance is looking for, like, a hooker companion or something. Or someone to do parties with. Someone to watch his back.
"Um, no offence, dude," he tells Lance, "but I'm pretty happy at the university. I don't think I could do this" waving back and forth between his mouth and Lance's dick, still jutting jauntily into the air "full time or anything."
He gathers from Lance's snickering that he's not offended.
"Oh, hey, where are you going?"
The living room is even more chaotic than Justin remembers leaving it. There are papers strewn about in piles on the floor, the coffee table and every other available surface. Chris's notes for his novel -- the timelines, character backstories, research notes, and emails from his editor. Stacks of books teeter haphazardly all around the desk in the corner, and there are at least six dirty coffee cups visible to the naked eye.
God, it looks like he lives in a slum. No wonder Lance is trying to tempt him onto the street.
"It's, um. My roommate," Justin explains. "He writes books. Bodice rippers, actually, which is kind of weird, but, oh, well. These are his working papers and all that shit. It doesn't always look like this. Usually, we're. Whatever. He'll fucking castrate me if I mess any of this up. I think maybe we should move into the bedroom."
Lance pets Justin's dick, gives his balls a light squeeze. "Definitely don't want to lose these, now, do we? Bedroom it is."
He heads back to the hall, picks up his briefcase and follows Justin to the bedroom door. Hand on the doorknob, Justin remembers. The laptop. Webcam. Shit.
"Sorry, dude," he says, pointing to the briefcase. "That stays out here."
"Hmmm. Well, no. Actually, it doesn't." With an apologetic smile that isn't remotely convincing, Lance pushes past him into the bedroom.
"Okay, then. Just. Well. Put it under the bed, okay?"
"You're kind of a freak. You know that, right?" Lance asks him, but he's still smiling. In amusement, this time, but at least he's not setting up a live feed from Justin's bedroom, so, yeah. It's all good.
Justin's starting to feel quite. Naked. Not surprising, since he's the only one without any clothes on. That might have been sexy for the first ten minutes, but now it's just starting to feel weird. It's time to regain some control here.
"C'mere," he says to Lance, in what he feels is a pretty neat reversal of the scene in the hall.
Lance laughs at him, but he walks toward Justin all the same. Dragging him in even closer, Justin anchors him in place with one arm around his waist and starts unbuttoning his shirt. He wants to rip it right off, send the buttons flying into the middle of next week, but it looks like an expensive shirt and he doesn't know if Lance can easily afford another. His fingers won't work, and it takes him almost five minutes to get the stupid buttons undone, but he covers by reaching under the fabric every time he fumbles to give one of Lance's nipples a sharp little pinch. It's a good move. Even if it doesn't fool Lance, it sure seems to make him happy.
Lance's skin feels so good; warm and satin soft. God, it's like burrowing into hot sand, without the grittiness. Fucking him is going to be unbelievable. He runs his hands over Lance's body, a little rough, a proprietary kind of fondling, like Lance is that fantasy harem slave come to life. Like Justin owns him. Which he does, kind of, even if it just for the next couple of hours. Man, it feels amazing. He could definitely get used to this.
The way Lance moves under his hands, shifting into his touch, the deep, throaty noises of appreciation -- God, yeah. Maybe he should consider taking Lance up on his offer of the hooking job, just Justin can make enough extra cash to do this again sometime soon. Lance might even give him, like, a co-worker's discount, and he can sell his ass part-time.
Those noises, though. Justin wonders if it's all a show, if Lance is that good an actor. He also wonders if it's true that hookers don't like to kiss their customers, or if that's just another one of those corny clichés. Maybe it's time to test the theory. Starting at Lance's collarbone, nipping, licking, kissing, he works his way gradually from clavicle to ear. Justin's definitely in control now. Lance is like putty in his hands, running his hands over Justin's back and ass, moaning these slutty little moans that make Justin want to do him on the spot, just pin him against the wall and fuck the ever loving hell out of him. Soon. Kissing first.
He strokes Lance's cheek, cups his jaw and holds his head in place while he moves in for the kiss. Lance groans, and a second later Justin is flat on his back on the bed with Lance kneeling over him, his tongue so far down Justin's throat he could probably suck out the alveoli with one deep breath. Momentarily breathless, Justin just lies there like a lump while Lance takes possession of his mouth like a deep sea explorer, tonguing his way over every square millimeter. Giving himself a mental shake, he starts kissing back, and it's even better, they're slipping and sliding into each other's mouths. It's totally nasty, it's wet and dirty, and Lance makes the porniest sounds Justin has ever in his life heard or imagined. It is, bar none, the most fantastic kiss in his experience.
Catching Lance mid-moan, Justin rolls them over so he's on top, which lasts about ten seconds, and then they're rolling this way and that, and it's so cool, like the war of the mouths. Justin should totally be able to win this on strength alone, but Lance has some crazy-ass moves and just won't stay pinned. It's way fun, though; Justin can't remember the last time he had this much fun in bed.
Just when his dick is telling him that the fun and games portion of the evening is over, and that it's time to get Lance's outrageously gorgeous ass in the air, Lance pulls back and looks around a little wildly. He's all sweaty and out of breath, his cheeks flushed a very becoming shade of pink, and, oh, the urge to screw him silly is still alive and kicking.
"Condoms?" Lube?" Lance asks. He's as inarticulate as Justin has been most of the evening, which is pretty damned gratifying.
Justin nods toward the bedside table, trying to move out from under Lance. "Uh huh. They're in there. Just let me."
Lance shakes his head. "Stay."
He really is a bossy ho. Justin isn't at all sure that his pimp would be impressed with that attitude. But he's also so fucking hot Justin thinks he might come just watching him and his mighty fine ass crawl across the bed to the night table. So. He stays. In some ways, this is kind of like the harem scenario he'd envisioned, if you overlooked a few minor details. Like the fact that Lance was giving the orders. Again. But whatever.
Pushing Justin's legs apart and kneeling between them, Lance opens the tube of lube with one hand and strokes Justin's inner thigh with the other. Justin's dick is getting all twitchy with anticipation, because, far out, it looks like Lance is getting set to ride him, and that's like his favourite position. Well, they're all good, really, but this one's especially good because Lance will have to do all the major work and Justin will just have to kick back and watch him get even sweatier and prettier than he is already.
"You have done this before, right?"
Justin's outraged. What kind of a question is that? "Of course I have! Fuck. What kind of a question is that?"
"Great. I hate fucking a virgin. It's just plain tedious. Legs up, beautiful."
Before Justin can recover from the shock, his knees are up around his ears and Lance's finger is wiggling its way up his ass. If it didn't feel so damned good, he'd be really pissed off. Lance is obviously an expert at this, though, and what the hell. Maybe he's a lousy bottom, anyway. Well, obviously he's a lousy bottom, or he'd be on his hands and knees by now. The point is, Justin tells himself, it might be pretty presumptuous, not to mention rude, of Lance to just take over like this when Justin's paying (well, okay, Chris is paying) darned good money to have some kind of say in what happens, but his mom has raised him to adopt a glass-half-full approach to life, and, truth be told, it's kind of impossible to see a downside to having a ho who knows what end is up fiddling around in your butt.
"You're thinking," Lance says, studying his face. "You need to stop that. Right now."
And Justin does what he's told because the next second all his attention is on the slow slide of Lances' dick into his ass, on the cute little way Lance bites his lip in concentration when he's really focused on something -- like nailing Justin's ass -- and on the fine film of sweat that's starting to gleam on Lance's chest. And then Lance is moving, fucking him deeply and decisively, reaching down to stroke Justin's dick, and the only thing on Justin's mind is the rhythm of their bodies as they move together and the fervent hope that Lance is going to be able to last a little longer than he is.
******************************
Justin opens his eyes as he feels Lance move away from him. He glances at clock, but it's not time to get up, thank God. They've only been asleep for an hour.
"Hey, where are you going?" he whispers. "Don't go." He's thinking about the handcuffs which they haven't had a chance to use, but he's also thinking it would have been nice to have breakfast together.
The snick of the door closing tells him Lance has already left the room, and he sits bolt upright, suddenly wide awake.
"Fuck." Looks like that answers his question about whether Lance was acting.
Oh, wait. The tip! He almost forgot. Lance must think he's just a regular old cheap john, paying him his fee and not a dollar more. Well, Justin's not going to have him walk out of here thinking he isn't appreciated. Jumping out of bed, he goes to his dresser, removes fifty bucks from his emergency fund. He'd take more, but he figures $51.50 would be kind of insulting.
He trips over something on the way to the door and goes sprawling. Just as he lands face first in the carpet, cursing like he's never had his mouth washed out with soap, the door swings back open and Lance enters the room.
"Justin?"
The overhead light is blinding, and Justin throws in a few more "mother fuckers" for good measure.
"Justin? You okay?" Lance squats beside him and pets the side of his head gently. "What are you doing down there?"
"I fell, dammit. I was trying to catch you before you left and I tripped over," he cranes his head to spot the booby trap, "over your shoes. Apparently. I thought you were leaving," he adds accusingly.
"I was pissing. Sometimes you just gotta."
"You put your pants on."
Lance smiles. "You said you have a roommate. I decided not to tempt him with my charms."
Leaning down, Lance touches his lips to Justin's forehead, an oddly delicate move that sends a flurry of little chills up Justin's spine. "I'm not in a hurry to leave, Justin. This has been. It's been great. I was thinking," he says, running his finger absently down the cleft of Justin's ass, "maybe we could, um." He clears his throat. "I'd like to see you again sometime."
"Oh, yeah, me too." Justin hauls himself up to a sitting position. "I have a bit of a cash flow problem right now, but I could probably borrow some money from Chris. Probably." Christ, he'll rob a frickin' bank if he has to.
"No worries," Lance says, laughing. "We can keep it simple."
"Cool." Justin wonders what "simple" means. Does Lance mean just blow jobs? Or maybe hand jobs? That'd be okay, too, although he really would like the chance to screw Lance as vigourously into the mattress as Lance has just screwed him.
"What's that?" Lance is pointing to the wad of bills in Justin's hand, a puzzled look on his face.
"Dude, I know that Joey already, you know. Took care of the details. But tonight was totally awesome. I mean, really. You were unbelievable. So, I want you to have this. You've totally earned it."
There's a long, long pause, during which Justin faces Lance, the money in his outstretched hand, and Lance just stands there staring at the money like it might suddenly start tap dancing. Apparently, it would seem that tipping was not the done thing.
"What. What's this for?" Lance asks, gesturing toward the money.
"It's just. It's a tip. A gratuity. Just. A little something extra. You know. Because tonight was really freaking hot, dude. God, if you don't want it, you don't have to take it. I just thought. "
He doesn't think Lance could look any more surprised, but he's wrong. His eyes are practically popping out of his head, and he's up on his feet, backing away from Justin as though he's just spotted the mark of the beast tattooed across his forehead.
"You thought I was a hooker? A hooker? You came on to me last night because you thought I was a hooker?"
"Well, yeah. But. Wait. You're not a hooker? Oh, come on. Of course you're a hooker. That's why Joey paid you. Besides, look at what you're wearing. I can see your nipples through that shirt, dude. If you're not trying to sell it, then why are you advertising? Also. Also you carry sex toys with you. Who does that?"
"Sex toys? What in the name of flaming fuck are you talking about? Oh. Oh, no. These?" Lance fishes the handcuffs out of his case and shakes them in Justin's face.
"Well, yeah. Those. QED, buddy. I rest my case? Who else besides a hooker or a kinky bastard like JC carries handcuffs around in his pocket?" Even as he says it, he knows the answer. "Oh, shit."
"Cops, you idiot. I'm a cop. Fuck. I just. Fuck. Look. Do me a favour, go to hell, okay? Take your money, cram it up your ass where you obviously keep your brains, and go find yourself a real whore. Fifty bucks. You cheap bastard."
Snatching up his briefcase, he slams out of the room.
"It was a TIP!!" Justin yells.
Justin stares at the door.
Oh.
Well.
That was unexpected.
Also, Joey is one fucking dead bastard. Of all the nasty, sneaky, shitty tricks to pull. Setting him up like that with a cop. Justin's lucky he wasn't arrested and charged with lewd and lascivious behaviour. He has to admit, though, it was one hell of a prank. It might even be funny thirty years from now. When the taste of Lance's mouth is finally erased from his brain.
Crap. Dejected and grumpy, Justin climbs back into bed and yanks the comforter up over his head. After a while he hears the front door open and close again. Chris is home again and, from the sound of things, he's brought someone home. If he's lucky his date won't turn out to be some fucking cop with a bad attitude.
Life sucks.
Well, at least someone will be happy. He's not horny any more, so maybe Chris will finally be able to get a decent night's sleep.
******************
The voices in the other room are still going strong twenty minutes later, and worse, Chris seems to be having a fine old time. Justin can hear him out there, shrieking away like a cracked out banshee, which is just so inconsiderate considering how pissed he's been at Justin every night for the past two weeks just for cleaning the god damned bathroom at two in the morning.
He wraps the pillow around his head, but it doesn't do any good at all. That fucking midget bastard. This must be payback. Fucker. He has to go and pick tonight of all nights to exact his petty revenge. If he wasn't feeling so crappy, Justin would go out there and kick his ass. He'd pick up all his papers and shuffle them together like playing cards, and Chris would have to spend the three months sorting them out again.
Another loud burst of laughter erupts from the living room. It sounds like Chris and his buddy have settled in for an all nighter. Fuck. Chris could shatter crystal with that laugh. There's no way Justin's going to get any sleep with that shit going on.
Sighing, he climbs out of bed again, yanks a clean pair of sweats out of the drawer, drags them on, and heads for the living room to make Chris wish he'd never been born.
When he pokes his head into the living room, Chris doesn't even have the grace to look abashed. He's sitting in the armchair, legs tucked underneath him, looking insufferably comfortable and content, and he's drinking a beer, which what the hell are rules for if you're going to break them all the time. No discipline at all. It's pathetic. At the sight of Justin, he sprays a mouthful of beer all over the carpet, he's whooping and laughing so hard he's even got beer coming out of his nose. It's quite possibly the most disgusting display Justin has ever seen.
"Fuck. Just, fuck, Chris! What the hell! Some of us are trying to sleep here and some of us have a really shitty night and would appreciate a little fucking consideration if you don't fucking mind!"
"Yeah, I heard about your shitty night," Chris gasps. Taking a deep breath, he points to the sofa, then he's off again, howling and wheezing and pounding his hand against the chair with unholy glee.
Justin turns to look, and, shit. Shit. There's Lance. Sitting on the couch all nice and sedate, sipping his beer like he hasn't been masquerading all night as a hooker to entice Justin into his bed. Well, into Justin's bed. And, okay, maybe he hadn't actually intended to masquerade as a hooker, but still. He has no right in the world to sit there looking so. So. So fucking hot.
Lance smiles at him and Justin can see that he's trying not to join Chris in the rolling around on the floor laughing thing, which, in fact, is exactly what Chris is doing now. He's slid off his chair, and he's snorting into the carpet like a warthog. Like a giggling warthog.
"Knock it off, Chris," he says, poking him none too gently with his foot. "You're being a jerk. And I don't see what's so damned funny. This wasn't funny. None of it. It was a stupid, shitty joke, and Joey was a stupid shit to do it. And if you knew about it, you're a stupid shit, too."
"Joey?" Chris puts his hysteria on pause for a moment, looking up at Justin in bemusement. "How is this Joey's fault?" Comprehension dawns in his eyes, just as, Justin is sure, confusion is dawning in his. "You can't blame Joey for this one, dude. This one is all yours."
"But. No, but Joey said--"
"Oh, man, you thought Joey set you up? That's fucking priceless. God, I wish he had! What a fucking awesome burn that would have been! But, no. As I was just explaining to Detective Bass here -- along with the fact that he was, in fact, your first and only hooker -- you went to the wrong table! AHAHAHAHA! God, you are such a moron! You went to the wrong. fucking. table! There we were waving and hollering at you, and JC even threw his belt at you, but you wouldn't pay any attention because you're a pig-headed asshat of a boy. And, oh, man, I love it so much, I'm going to be torturing you with this till the day you die! You're just lucky I caught him for you before he got back to the station and issued a warrant for your arrest!"
And he's off again with the snickering and snorting, wiggling around on the carpet helplessly, and there's nothing Justin would enjoy more right now than giving him a good swift kick to the nuts.
Well. There's one thing he might enjoy more.
He looks back at Lance, who still looks like he wants to laugh, but maybe like there are things he'd rather do.
"Do you want," Justin waves in the general direction of his bedroom. "Are you, um. Tired?"
"Mmmmm," Lance says, getting to his feet and moving toward Justin, not stopping until he's practically standing on Justin's feet. "Yeah, sure. Why don't we just go...nap for a while."
-- The End --
If you missed part 1, you can find it here.
All the way home, he's been thinking about what he's going to do to Lance, how this night is going to go. He'd toyed with various scenarios before he actually met Lance, scenarios in which Justin was firmly in control of the situation, ordering Lance to perform this sexual favour or that, in a nice way, of course. Sort of like a sultan with his favourite harem slave. Or maybe Bill Clinton with Monica Lewinsky. Scenarios, at any rate, that involved the hooker on his knees between Justin's legs, lucky if Justin let him come up for air (which he totally would, of course, really) or on his hands and knees on the bed, begging Justin to fuck him harder, faster.
Now that he's facing the reality of Lance, it's a little different. He can't really see himself ordering Lance to get down on his hands and knees to undo Justin's fly using only his teeth. For one thing, right now he can't even seem to speak in complete sentences, and he's pretty sure that if he just says "down" or tries an emphatic hand signal, Lance is going to laugh at him. Again.
One thing's for sure, though; he wants Lance on that bed with his legs spread in the shortest possible amount of time. Or, if Lance is so keen to start in a different room, that's cool, too. He can get his mouth onto Justin's dick in pretty much any room of the house he wants to. Although, maybe the bathroom would be better than, say, the living room. Easier to clean, anyway, in case things get. Well. Messy.
As he lets them into the apartment, he struggles to remember how messy it was when he'd left earlier. He hadn't had time to clean up after Chris, what with all the trying on of clothes and such. Maybe if he keeps Lance really busy, he won't notice. He turns to Lance, intending to herd him towards the bathroom, which he knows is clean.
Lance has taken his jacket off, and as he tosses it onto the chair in the hall, there's a chink of metal and a pair of handcuffs falls with a clatter on the tiled floor.
They both stare at them wordlessly for a minute. Justin can feel his eyes going wide, but he tries manfully to hide it, to look cool and blasé, like everyday he handcuffs hookers to his bed or whatever.
Shrugging, Lance bends to retrieve the cuffs and tucks them into his briefcase. The sight of that ass again is enough to dispel the awkwardness, for Justin at least.
When Lance stands up, stretches and starts fingering his belt buckle, it's as though the handcuffs had never existed. Justin can't take his eyes off Lance, probably couldn't speak right now if his life depended on it. He watches, mesmerized, as slowly, deliberately, Lance undoes his belt and slides it free of the buckle.
"Get your clothes off, Justin."
"Um, what?" Justin doesn't want to do anything that means looking away from Lance's groin and Lance's fingers as they flirt with the zipper of his pants.
"Clothes. Off. Now."
Justin's naked before he even registers that he's moving. It crosses his mind that this would be a very embarrassing time for Chris to come home. He starts edging his way to toward the bathroom, hoping Lance will follow.
Lance doesn't, though. He just stands their, hand down the front of his pants, watching Justin with an enigmatic smile on his face.
"C'mere," he says.
"Um. Uh." Pointing vaguely in the direction of the bathroom door, Justin says, "Um. I thought maybe we could" but his feet don't pay any more attention to him than Lance does, and he finds himself in front of Lance before he's finished the sentence. When Lance lays his hands on Justin's shoulders, Justin drops like a stone. Fuck. His knees are going to hurt like stink tomorrow. He starts to say something about how, okay, this is fine but they'll be moving into the bedroom afterwards, but Lance's dick is right there, two inches from his face and already hard, and Lance's hands are cupping the back of his head, easing closer, so he only gets as far as "okay, fine" before opening up and surrendering to the inevitable.
Lance takes it slow for the first couple of minutes, but that's just boring. It's not like Justin's some kind of newbie to cocksucking or anything. If Lance is trying to be gentle, that's thoughtful and all, but so totally unnecessary, Justin thinks. He swallows Lance's dick in one smooth motion, and hums in satisfaction at the resulting "oh fucking jesus fuck me fuck" and the way Lance sways above him like he's about to keel over in shock.
Lance doesn't let him finish, pulling out still hard, although from his smothered gasps it's clear that he's been enjoying the party on his dick as much as Justin. This is confirmed when, once he's caught his breath, he pets Justin's head and says "you could make a nice living doing that." It's a cool thing to say, and Justin feels inordinately proud of himself, until he remembers that Lance is a hooker and can't really be trusted to tell the truth about sex stuff to his clients. On the other hand, it's kind of an odd thing for a hooker to say, really, because what if your client didn't like being compared to a ho and decided to dock your pay or something? Maybe, it occurs to Justin, maybe Lance is offering him a job. In fact, the more he thinks about it, the more he realizes that must be it. Maybe Lance is looking for, like, a hooker companion or something. Or someone to do parties with. Someone to watch his back.
"Um, no offence, dude," he tells Lance, "but I'm pretty happy at the university. I don't think I could do this" waving back and forth between his mouth and Lance's dick, still jutting jauntily into the air "full time or anything."
He gathers from Lance's snickering that he's not offended.
"Oh, hey, where are you going?"
The living room is even more chaotic than Justin remembers leaving it. There are papers strewn about in piles on the floor, the coffee table and every other available surface. Chris's notes for his novel -- the timelines, character backstories, research notes, and emails from his editor. Stacks of books teeter haphazardly all around the desk in the corner, and there are at least six dirty coffee cups visible to the naked eye.
God, it looks like he lives in a slum. No wonder Lance is trying to tempt him onto the street.
"It's, um. My roommate," Justin explains. "He writes books. Bodice rippers, actually, which is kind of weird, but, oh, well. These are his working papers and all that shit. It doesn't always look like this. Usually, we're. Whatever. He'll fucking castrate me if I mess any of this up. I think maybe we should move into the bedroom."
Lance pets Justin's dick, gives his balls a light squeeze. "Definitely don't want to lose these, now, do we? Bedroom it is."
He heads back to the hall, picks up his briefcase and follows Justin to the bedroom door. Hand on the doorknob, Justin remembers. The laptop. Webcam. Shit.
"Sorry, dude," he says, pointing to the briefcase. "That stays out here."
"Hmmm. Well, no. Actually, it doesn't." With an apologetic smile that isn't remotely convincing, Lance pushes past him into the bedroom.
"Okay, then. Just. Well. Put it under the bed, okay?"
"You're kind of a freak. You know that, right?" Lance asks him, but he's still smiling. In amusement, this time, but at least he's not setting up a live feed from Justin's bedroom, so, yeah. It's all good.
Justin's starting to feel quite. Naked. Not surprising, since he's the only one without any clothes on. That might have been sexy for the first ten minutes, but now it's just starting to feel weird. It's time to regain some control here.
"C'mere," he says to Lance, in what he feels is a pretty neat reversal of the scene in the hall.
Lance laughs at him, but he walks toward Justin all the same. Dragging him in even closer, Justin anchors him in place with one arm around his waist and starts unbuttoning his shirt. He wants to rip it right off, send the buttons flying into the middle of next week, but it looks like an expensive shirt and he doesn't know if Lance can easily afford another. His fingers won't work, and it takes him almost five minutes to get the stupid buttons undone, but he covers by reaching under the fabric every time he fumbles to give one of Lance's nipples a sharp little pinch. It's a good move. Even if it doesn't fool Lance, it sure seems to make him happy.
Lance's skin feels so good; warm and satin soft. God, it's like burrowing into hot sand, without the grittiness. Fucking him is going to be unbelievable. He runs his hands over Lance's body, a little rough, a proprietary kind of fondling, like Lance is that fantasy harem slave come to life. Like Justin owns him. Which he does, kind of, even if it just for the next couple of hours. Man, it feels amazing. He could definitely get used to this.
The way Lance moves under his hands, shifting into his touch, the deep, throaty noises of appreciation -- God, yeah. Maybe he should consider taking Lance up on his offer of the hooking job, just Justin can make enough extra cash to do this again sometime soon. Lance might even give him, like, a co-worker's discount, and he can sell his ass part-time.
Those noises, though. Justin wonders if it's all a show, if Lance is that good an actor. He also wonders if it's true that hookers don't like to kiss their customers, or if that's just another one of those corny clichés. Maybe it's time to test the theory. Starting at Lance's collarbone, nipping, licking, kissing, he works his way gradually from clavicle to ear. Justin's definitely in control now. Lance is like putty in his hands, running his hands over Justin's back and ass, moaning these slutty little moans that make Justin want to do him on the spot, just pin him against the wall and fuck the ever loving hell out of him. Soon. Kissing first.
He strokes Lance's cheek, cups his jaw and holds his head in place while he moves in for the kiss. Lance groans, and a second later Justin is flat on his back on the bed with Lance kneeling over him, his tongue so far down Justin's throat he could probably suck out the alveoli with one deep breath. Momentarily breathless, Justin just lies there like a lump while Lance takes possession of his mouth like a deep sea explorer, tonguing his way over every square millimeter. Giving himself a mental shake, he starts kissing back, and it's even better, they're slipping and sliding into each other's mouths. It's totally nasty, it's wet and dirty, and Lance makes the porniest sounds Justin has ever in his life heard or imagined. It is, bar none, the most fantastic kiss in his experience.
Catching Lance mid-moan, Justin rolls them over so he's on top, which lasts about ten seconds, and then they're rolling this way and that, and it's so cool, like the war of the mouths. Justin should totally be able to win this on strength alone, but Lance has some crazy-ass moves and just won't stay pinned. It's way fun, though; Justin can't remember the last time he had this much fun in bed.
Just when his dick is telling him that the fun and games portion of the evening is over, and that it's time to get Lance's outrageously gorgeous ass in the air, Lance pulls back and looks around a little wildly. He's all sweaty and out of breath, his cheeks flushed a very becoming shade of pink, and, oh, the urge to screw him silly is still alive and kicking.
"Condoms?" Lube?" Lance asks. He's as inarticulate as Justin has been most of the evening, which is pretty damned gratifying.
Justin nods toward the bedside table, trying to move out from under Lance. "Uh huh. They're in there. Just let me."
Lance shakes his head. "Stay."
He really is a bossy ho. Justin isn't at all sure that his pimp would be impressed with that attitude. But he's also so fucking hot Justin thinks he might come just watching him and his mighty fine ass crawl across the bed to the night table. So. He stays. In some ways, this is kind of like the harem scenario he'd envisioned, if you overlooked a few minor details. Like the fact that Lance was giving the orders. Again. But whatever.
Pushing Justin's legs apart and kneeling between them, Lance opens the tube of lube with one hand and strokes Justin's inner thigh with the other. Justin's dick is getting all twitchy with anticipation, because, far out, it looks like Lance is getting set to ride him, and that's like his favourite position. Well, they're all good, really, but this one's especially good because Lance will have to do all the major work and Justin will just have to kick back and watch him get even sweatier and prettier than he is already.
"You have done this before, right?"
Justin's outraged. What kind of a question is that? "Of course I have! Fuck. What kind of a question is that?"
"Great. I hate fucking a virgin. It's just plain tedious. Legs up, beautiful."
Before Justin can recover from the shock, his knees are up around his ears and Lance's finger is wiggling its way up his ass. If it didn't feel so damned good, he'd be really pissed off. Lance is obviously an expert at this, though, and what the hell. Maybe he's a lousy bottom, anyway. Well, obviously he's a lousy bottom, or he'd be on his hands and knees by now. The point is, Justin tells himself, it might be pretty presumptuous, not to mention rude, of Lance to just take over like this when Justin's paying (well, okay, Chris is paying) darned good money to have some kind of say in what happens, but his mom has raised him to adopt a glass-half-full approach to life, and, truth be told, it's kind of impossible to see a downside to having a ho who knows what end is up fiddling around in your butt.
"You're thinking," Lance says, studying his face. "You need to stop that. Right now."
And Justin does what he's told because the next second all his attention is on the slow slide of Lances' dick into his ass, on the cute little way Lance bites his lip in concentration when he's really focused on something -- like nailing Justin's ass -- and on the fine film of sweat that's starting to gleam on Lance's chest. And then Lance is moving, fucking him deeply and decisively, reaching down to stroke Justin's dick, and the only thing on Justin's mind is the rhythm of their bodies as they move together and the fervent hope that Lance is going to be able to last a little longer than he is.
******************************
Justin opens his eyes as he feels Lance move away from him. He glances at clock, but it's not time to get up, thank God. They've only been asleep for an hour.
"Hey, where are you going?" he whispers. "Don't go." He's thinking about the handcuffs which they haven't had a chance to use, but he's also thinking it would have been nice to have breakfast together.
The snick of the door closing tells him Lance has already left the room, and he sits bolt upright, suddenly wide awake.
"Fuck." Looks like that answers his question about whether Lance was acting.
Oh, wait. The tip! He almost forgot. Lance must think he's just a regular old cheap john, paying him his fee and not a dollar more. Well, Justin's not going to have him walk out of here thinking he isn't appreciated. Jumping out of bed, he goes to his dresser, removes fifty bucks from his emergency fund. He'd take more, but he figures $51.50 would be kind of insulting.
He trips over something on the way to the door and goes sprawling. Just as he lands face first in the carpet, cursing like he's never had his mouth washed out with soap, the door swings back open and Lance enters the room.
"Justin?"
The overhead light is blinding, and Justin throws in a few more "mother fuckers" for good measure.
"Justin? You okay?" Lance squats beside him and pets the side of his head gently. "What are you doing down there?"
"I fell, dammit. I was trying to catch you before you left and I tripped over," he cranes his head to spot the booby trap, "over your shoes. Apparently. I thought you were leaving," he adds accusingly.
"I was pissing. Sometimes you just gotta."
"You put your pants on."
Lance smiles. "You said you have a roommate. I decided not to tempt him with my charms."
Leaning down, Lance touches his lips to Justin's forehead, an oddly delicate move that sends a flurry of little chills up Justin's spine. "I'm not in a hurry to leave, Justin. This has been. It's been great. I was thinking," he says, running his finger absently down the cleft of Justin's ass, "maybe we could, um." He clears his throat. "I'd like to see you again sometime."
"Oh, yeah, me too." Justin hauls himself up to a sitting position. "I have a bit of a cash flow problem right now, but I could probably borrow some money from Chris. Probably." Christ, he'll rob a frickin' bank if he has to.
"No worries," Lance says, laughing. "We can keep it simple."
"Cool." Justin wonders what "simple" means. Does Lance mean just blow jobs? Or maybe hand jobs? That'd be okay, too, although he really would like the chance to screw Lance as vigourously into the mattress as Lance has just screwed him.
"What's that?" Lance is pointing to the wad of bills in Justin's hand, a puzzled look on his face.
"Dude, I know that Joey already, you know. Took care of the details. But tonight was totally awesome. I mean, really. You were unbelievable. So, I want you to have this. You've totally earned it."
There's a long, long pause, during which Justin faces Lance, the money in his outstretched hand, and Lance just stands there staring at the money like it might suddenly start tap dancing. Apparently, it would seem that tipping was not the done thing.
"What. What's this for?" Lance asks, gesturing toward the money.
"It's just. It's a tip. A gratuity. Just. A little something extra. You know. Because tonight was really freaking hot, dude. God, if you don't want it, you don't have to take it. I just thought. "
He doesn't think Lance could look any more surprised, but he's wrong. His eyes are practically popping out of his head, and he's up on his feet, backing away from Justin as though he's just spotted the mark of the beast tattooed across his forehead.
"You thought I was a hooker? A hooker? You came on to me last night because you thought I was a hooker?"
"Well, yeah. But. Wait. You're not a hooker? Oh, come on. Of course you're a hooker. That's why Joey paid you. Besides, look at what you're wearing. I can see your nipples through that shirt, dude. If you're not trying to sell it, then why are you advertising? Also. Also you carry sex toys with you. Who does that?"
"Sex toys? What in the name of flaming fuck are you talking about? Oh. Oh, no. These?" Lance fishes the handcuffs out of his case and shakes them in Justin's face.
"Well, yeah. Those. QED, buddy. I rest my case? Who else besides a hooker or a kinky bastard like JC carries handcuffs around in his pocket?" Even as he says it, he knows the answer. "Oh, shit."
"Cops, you idiot. I'm a cop. Fuck. I just. Fuck. Look. Do me a favour, go to hell, okay? Take your money, cram it up your ass where you obviously keep your brains, and go find yourself a real whore. Fifty bucks. You cheap bastard."
Snatching up his briefcase, he slams out of the room.
"It was a TIP!!" Justin yells.
Justin stares at the door.
Oh.
Well.
That was unexpected.
Also, Joey is one fucking dead bastard. Of all the nasty, sneaky, shitty tricks to pull. Setting him up like that with a cop. Justin's lucky he wasn't arrested and charged with lewd and lascivious behaviour. He has to admit, though, it was one hell of a prank. It might even be funny thirty years from now. When the taste of Lance's mouth is finally erased from his brain.
Crap. Dejected and grumpy, Justin climbs back into bed and yanks the comforter up over his head. After a while he hears the front door open and close again. Chris is home again and, from the sound of things, he's brought someone home. If he's lucky his date won't turn out to be some fucking cop with a bad attitude.
Life sucks.
Well, at least someone will be happy. He's not horny any more, so maybe Chris will finally be able to get a decent night's sleep.
******************
The voices in the other room are still going strong twenty minutes later, and worse, Chris seems to be having a fine old time. Justin can hear him out there, shrieking away like a cracked out banshee, which is just so inconsiderate considering how pissed he's been at Justin every night for the past two weeks just for cleaning the god damned bathroom at two in the morning.
He wraps the pillow around his head, but it doesn't do any good at all. That fucking midget bastard. This must be payback. Fucker. He has to go and pick tonight of all nights to exact his petty revenge. If he wasn't feeling so crappy, Justin would go out there and kick his ass. He'd pick up all his papers and shuffle them together like playing cards, and Chris would have to spend the three months sorting them out again.
Another loud burst of laughter erupts from the living room. It sounds like Chris and his buddy have settled in for an all nighter. Fuck. Chris could shatter crystal with that laugh. There's no way Justin's going to get any sleep with that shit going on.
Sighing, he climbs out of bed again, yanks a clean pair of sweats out of the drawer, drags them on, and heads for the living room to make Chris wish he'd never been born.
When he pokes his head into the living room, Chris doesn't even have the grace to look abashed. He's sitting in the armchair, legs tucked underneath him, looking insufferably comfortable and content, and he's drinking a beer, which what the hell are rules for if you're going to break them all the time. No discipline at all. It's pathetic. At the sight of Justin, he sprays a mouthful of beer all over the carpet, he's whooping and laughing so hard he's even got beer coming out of his nose. It's quite possibly the most disgusting display Justin has ever seen.
"Fuck. Just, fuck, Chris! What the hell! Some of us are trying to sleep here and some of us have a really shitty night and would appreciate a little fucking consideration if you don't fucking mind!"
"Yeah, I heard about your shitty night," Chris gasps. Taking a deep breath, he points to the sofa, then he's off again, howling and wheezing and pounding his hand against the chair with unholy glee.
Justin turns to look, and, shit. Shit. There's Lance. Sitting on the couch all nice and sedate, sipping his beer like he hasn't been masquerading all night as a hooker to entice Justin into his bed. Well, into Justin's bed. And, okay, maybe he hadn't actually intended to masquerade as a hooker, but still. He has no right in the world to sit there looking so. So. So fucking hot.
Lance smiles at him and Justin can see that he's trying not to join Chris in the rolling around on the floor laughing thing, which, in fact, is exactly what Chris is doing now. He's slid off his chair, and he's snorting into the carpet like a warthog. Like a giggling warthog.
"Knock it off, Chris," he says, poking him none too gently with his foot. "You're being a jerk. And I don't see what's so damned funny. This wasn't funny. None of it. It was a stupid, shitty joke, and Joey was a stupid shit to do it. And if you knew about it, you're a stupid shit, too."
"Joey?" Chris puts his hysteria on pause for a moment, looking up at Justin in bemusement. "How is this Joey's fault?" Comprehension dawns in his eyes, just as, Justin is sure, confusion is dawning in his. "You can't blame Joey for this one, dude. This one is all yours."
"But. No, but Joey said--"
"Oh, man, you thought Joey set you up? That's fucking priceless. God, I wish he had! What a fucking awesome burn that would have been! But, no. As I was just explaining to Detective Bass here -- along with the fact that he was, in fact, your first and only hooker -- you went to the wrong table! AHAHAHAHA! God, you are such a moron! You went to the wrong. fucking. table! There we were waving and hollering at you, and JC even threw his belt at you, but you wouldn't pay any attention because you're a pig-headed asshat of a boy. And, oh, man, I love it so much, I'm going to be torturing you with this till the day you die! You're just lucky I caught him for you before he got back to the station and issued a warrant for your arrest!"
And he's off again with the snickering and snorting, wiggling around on the carpet helplessly, and there's nothing Justin would enjoy more right now than giving him a good swift kick to the nuts.
Well. There's one thing he might enjoy more.
He looks back at Lance, who still looks like he wants to laugh, but maybe like there are things he'd rather do.
"Do you want," Justin waves in the general direction of his bedroom. "Are you, um. Tired?"
"Mmmmm," Lance says, getting to his feet and moving toward Justin, not stopping until he's practically standing on Justin's feet. "Yeah, sure. Why don't we just go...nap for a while."
-- The End --