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this year's for me and you (lou/augie, handjobs, 1/3) romancandles December 10 2011, 19:48:12 UTC
This is a terrible idea. Maybe. Probably. Augie’s not entirely positive because he’s had a few - more than a few, somewhere between a lot and too much - and it’s hard to hear that tiny, rational voice over the much louder, drunker one telling him this is the best idea ever. He’s got his hand on the small of Lou’s back, steering him gently, insistently toward the back of the bar. The place is crowded but quiet, Janey and Evrard dancing to what has to be the sixteenth version of Sleigh Bells that’s played tonight. Augie doesn’t mind this one though. Nat King Cole’s classic.

“I coulda gone home with her,” says Lou about the girl - woman, no, girl - he’d been talking to before Augie dropped down between them all, Lou I really need to speak to you, urgent police business, you understand. “I don’t see why I should suffer because you struck out.”

“You could do better,” says Augie at his back and Lou laughs, shakes under Augie’s fingertips, and Augie’s gotta grin ruefully because that might be true but that’s not what’s gonna happen.

Then they’re in the bathroom and the music falls away. Lou leans back against the wall, scrubs a hand over his face like he’s wiping away the sounds of the bar. Augie can still hear the rum-pa-pum-pum of some godawful woman crooning do you hear what I hear. The head smells like soap and fancy lotion; Augie belatedly realizes this is the women’s room. Oops. He looks around, at Lou, who’s staring back him from under an oversized Santa hat, flushed and glassy eyed with alcohol, a hideous tie with reindeer on it looped haphazardly around his neck. Augie realizes he’s sweating, tugs at his already loosened collar. Jesus.

Augie glances around again, takes in the shell-shaped sinks and little individual handsoaps, the floor-to-ceiling slatted stalls. “This is a really nice bathroom.”

Lou raises his eyebrows. “Seriously?”

Augie huffs out a laugh and moves in, closes around Lou, who opens up for him, spreads his knees perfect and easy. “No,” he says against Lou’s mouth.“I was kidding. Forget I said anything.” Lou’s hat tickles Augie’s forehead, white trim catching him in the eye. His head knocks back against the wall when Augie pushes up against him, but he pushes right back, reeling Augie in close at the back of his neck because Lou’s a classic kind of guy.

“I usually do,” says Lou, raspy and drunk. He tastes like whiskey and something minty and bitter, the awful rumple mintze he was shooting with Ev. Augie yanks up Lou’s shirt until one corner comes untucked; he snakes one hand up to press his fingers into the soft flesh just beneath Lou’s ribs. Lou’s gripping his hip, thumb on the jut of bone, and sliding his hand down the front of Augie’s slacks. Jesus.

“Aug, Augie,” hisses Lou suddenly. “This is the ladies’ room.” There’s something about the way he says it, panicked, clutching at his pearls with one hand and groping Augie’s dick with the other, and Augie laughs, snorts against Lou’s neck until he’s shaking. “Yeah, yeah, fuck yourself,” says Lou and he groans.

“No, no, come on,” says Augie, whispering for some unknown reason. He ushers Lou one of the two stalls, slams the slatted wood door shut so hard it trembles. “Just shut up. And, uh,” he presses one hand tentatively against the slats, feels them give, “don’t lean on the door.”

“Oh my god,” says Lou, in a way he probably means don’t you ever shut up, but Augie kisses him again, licks right into his mouth and moves down his jaw. Lou tips his head back, one hand at the back of Augie’s skull. Lou makes sharp, ragged little sounds, smokey wheezes in his chest, when Augie pushes his hand into Lou’s pants, wraps his fingers around Lou’s dick. Lou thrusts in his hand and Augie urges him on, curls a free hand over Lou’s ass for better leverage. Lou’s thigh between Augie’s legs is great, perfect, except if he could just get -

“Wait, no, this isn’t-”

“Oh,” says Lou, “I didn’t realize you had a vision.”

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