this year's for me and you (lou/augie, handjobs, 2/3)romancandlesDecember 10 2011, 19:51:44 UTC
“Yeah, well.” Except Augie’s vision had somehow included Lou’s leg hitched up around Augie’s waist, which doesn’t look like it’s on the menu, at least not right now, unless Lou’s not terribly attached to his pants. “Next time.” Lou’s disbelief cracks out of his throat. Augie wants to bite at the line of Lou’s throat, yank on that hideous tie, but he’s not the best multitasker and Lou’s splayed hand is warm and insistent at at the low curl of Augie’s spine. For a long second it’s just like that, Lou’s low, breathy sounds, and the air hot and humid between their faces, until suddenly there’s a roar, like wave crashing, and the bathroom fills with the sounds of Dean Martin before falling blessedly silent again.
It takes Augie a second to work it out, but Lou’s faster, stiffening and eyes going comically wide like a cartoon, at the clack-clack of heels against the tile floor. He throws one hand out against the wooden door with a hard thwack that reverberates through the whole stall. Augie can’t keep it together, feels a grin steal across his face even when he clenches his jaw against it, a short honk of drunk hysteria escapes him. He tucks his face down into Lou’s collar, Lou’s arm like a fucking vise on the back of his neck, presses his nose into the scent of stale coffee and old snow. Lou’s trembling, either from laughter or something else, Augie can’t tell, doesn’t care when he ruts up against Lou’s leg, just this side of pleasure-pain. He can hear the thump-thump-thump of Lou’s thrumming pulse, the sounds of some oblivious woman peeing two feet over crystal clear while Augie’s got his hand down Lou’s pants, stripping his dick, fucking Christ.
The stall shudders when the toilet flushes and Lou uses the opportunity to groan flatteringly. It’s probably not as loud as it seems, Lou’s breath right next to Augie’s ear. The sounds of the sink and hand dryer seem almost clinical to the force of Lou trying to swallow his noises. In Augie’s mind’s eye, he sees a blonde who terrifyingly resembles Timoney, examining her face in the mirror, touching up her lipstick, wiping a smudged kohl line from her eyelid. Glancing at the closed stall door for a half second, shaking her head, then a rush of noise from the bar - what sounds like Reg singing I foresee a better time and Ev’s wheezing laughter - and then they’re alone again.
Lou slaps Augie on the back of the head, hard enough to sting. “Asshole!” Augie’s laughing but also thinking that was kind of hot, right, and Lou thrusts up into his hand going, “What is wrong with you oh, fuck-”
“My hand is cramping,” says Augie, and Lou lets out a short bark of laughter.
“Is this the Blando special ‘cause no wonder you’re-”
“Could you just-”
“You know how drunk I am? You’re lucky this is even happening.”
“My heart’s aflutter,” says Augie. His wrist is damp and Lou’s digging into the knobs of Augie’s spine, breath getting high and stuttered, pushing unevenly against Augie. There’s a second, a handful of seconds where Lou’s arm around Augie tightens and suddenly Augie’s palm is wet, sliding slickly against the skin of Lou’s dick and Lou’s going no, wait a second, just a - okay, okay before he freezes and relaxes against the wall. Augie pulls back from Lou’s neck, leaves a hideous wet mark on his collar, how attractive, to examine his blown-out expression, eyes closed and breathing deeply. Augie kisses him again, which feels good and little weird now that Lou’s not all focused energy, is just languid and drunk, mouth wet and warm beneath Augie’s. “This is very touching,” he says against Lou’s mouth, “but could you-“
It takes Augie a second to work it out, but Lou’s faster, stiffening and eyes going comically wide like a cartoon, at the clack-clack of heels against the tile floor. He throws one hand out against the wooden door with a hard thwack that reverberates through the whole stall. Augie can’t keep it together, feels a grin steal across his face even when he clenches his jaw against it, a short honk of drunk hysteria escapes him. He tucks his face down into Lou’s collar, Lou’s arm like a fucking vise on the back of his neck, presses his nose into the scent of stale coffee and old snow. Lou’s trembling, either from laughter or something else, Augie can’t tell, doesn’t care when he ruts up against Lou’s leg, just this side of pleasure-pain. He can hear the thump-thump-thump of Lou’s thrumming pulse, the sounds of some oblivious woman peeing two feet over crystal clear while Augie’s got his hand down Lou’s pants, stripping his dick, fucking Christ.
The stall shudders when the toilet flushes and Lou uses the opportunity to groan flatteringly. It’s probably not as loud as it seems, Lou’s breath right next to Augie’s ear. The sounds of the sink and hand dryer seem almost clinical to the force of Lou trying to swallow his noises. In Augie’s mind’s eye, he sees a blonde who terrifyingly resembles Timoney, examining her face in the mirror, touching up her lipstick, wiping a smudged kohl line from her eyelid. Glancing at the closed stall door for a half second, shaking her head, then a rush of noise from the bar - what sounds like Reg singing I foresee a better time and Ev’s wheezing laughter - and then they’re alone again.
Lou slaps Augie on the back of the head, hard enough to sting. “Asshole!” Augie’s laughing but also thinking that was kind of hot, right, and Lou thrusts up into his hand going, “What is wrong with you oh, fuck-”
“My hand is cramping,” says Augie, and Lou lets out a short bark of laughter.
“Is this the Blando special ‘cause no wonder you’re-”
“Could you just-”
“You know how drunk I am? You’re lucky this is even happening.”
“My heart’s aflutter,” says Augie. His wrist is damp and Lou’s digging into the knobs of Augie’s spine, breath getting high and stuttered, pushing unevenly against Augie. There’s a second, a handful of seconds where Lou’s arm around Augie tightens and suddenly Augie’s palm is wet, sliding slickly against the skin of Lou’s dick and Lou’s going no, wait a second, just a - okay, okay before he freezes and relaxes against the wall. Augie pulls back from Lou’s neck, leaves a hideous wet mark on his collar, how attractive, to examine his blown-out expression, eyes closed and breathing deeply. Augie kisses him again, which feels good and little weird now that Lou’s not all focused energy, is just languid and drunk, mouth wet and warm beneath Augie’s. “This is very touching,” he says against Lou’s mouth, “but could you-“
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