Sunday night smut
All I've done today is lay about, read and watch Brian Molko jump around on stage and look sassy. Of course, all this pretentious slutboy ambiguity brought a certain character of mine to the forefront. Julien L. Kath - the east London runaway turned Hayes Valley pattisier. Of course there's much more to his story than this, but I'm a firm believer in starting as you mean to go on. And so you can imagine how his story begins.
This is dirty - please don't read if you're at work or are a child. XD
Title: Intro to Jules
Rating: smut
wc: about 1400 words
It's raining out. I can hear it over the noisy fan in the corner of the room and over the deep, even breathing of the man sleeping next to me. I try to open my eyes but they burn and so I don't see the lightning flashing but concentrate on the thunder instead. It wasn't raining when we'd fallen into the bed the night before but the air had been heavy and thick. So thick that my skin was slick and the hair at the back of my neck had been wet and tangled. He didn't care though, and had pressed me into the dirty sheets on my bed to hide his face in the sweaty curve of my neck. It was good. He was always good.
I shift, push the pillow away from me to press my face against the sheet and he reaches for me again. Not really awake, he lays his hand against my back, bunching the sheet low to let me know what he's after. I oblige, pulling one knee up to arch my back. He tugs the sheet away and grabs my ass; his hands are much bigger than mine.
"You awake?" he mumbles, pretending he cares. I hear him pop the cap of the lube with one thumb and I stretch both arms out before me.
It's why we work well together, really. No words, no strings - just the way I need it. I think about how nice it would be if all the boys I make time with knew the rules the way this one does, but then his fingers are tight at my hip and he's squeezing my ass so hard it hurts.
"Want in," he grunts. "Deep breath."
If my dick weren't getting hard, I'd laugh. He has to know that I don't need relaxation advice when it comes to preparing myself for a quick fuck.
"Go ahead," I say, tilting my hips up, but he has other ideas. With one arm around my waist, he pulls me into him and plasters himself to the curve of my back. He grabs my thigh hard and lifts it up when he pushes his dick inside me. It's there, the residual sting from the night before - he'd fucked me so hard that I'd ripped the pillowcase trying not to scream - and I tighten my jaw this time so I don't bite my tongue.
"You're wet," he says, teeth threatening my shoulder. "Can't believe you held it all night."
Asshole. I was borderline unconscious by the time he'd come inside me last night. I doubt I'd moved a muscle since the rain woke me up only minutes before. And he knows it.
"You're the best," he tells me, his thighs sliding against the backs of mine. "Best fuck I ever had."
I've heard that one before. "Harder," I say aloud.
"It doesn't feel good?" he asks, surprise in his sleepy voice. "I want to make you come nice and slow this time."
He's almost perfect, this one. He follows my rules, but he doesn't really get it. If he did, he'd save the Latin Lover routine for the pretty waitress he follows home when he's not looking to get into my pants.
"Fuck me hard," I demand. I want him to pound me until my chest is tight and my stomach hurts and riding my bike to work is no longer a possibility.
I feel his teeth scrape my shoulder, fix against my neck. He rolls me to my stomach and doesn't haul my hips up to spread me open. I can't breathe - he's heavy.
"Yes," I hiss, but he only hears me breathing.
His angle is good. Unpracticed roughneck. God, I love it when a straight boy fucks me. So many misconceptions in the way he thinks a man fucks a man versus the way he might fuck a woman. His ignorance is my pleasure, though, and that's the way I want it.
"Tight like this," he says, as though I need his commentary. He reaches beneath me, rubbing my dick with the flat of his hand. "You're not hard yet," he says, accusatory.
I don't answer and he knows why. He shoves into me again with no preamble and I suck in a breath. He grips the insides of my thighs from beneath me and squeezes. His knuckles press against my balls.
"Shoulda made you suck me first," he grunts. I say nothing and he squeezes the insides of my thighs hard enough to bring tears to my eyes. "Maybe after."
He's in all the way and I'm hard now when I wasn't before. If he does it right, I'll go off like a rocket and he'll never even have to touch me. It's happened before.
"Do you let other guys fuck you like this?" he asks. His breath is coming faster. The race is on.
I let him pick up the pace a little, my eyes rolling back, before I answer him. I'm going to come soon and there's no way I'm cheating myself out of that. "Harder," I tell him.
He obeys, releasing his hold on my legs to squeeze the cheeks of my ass. He hangs on like my ass is his saddle. But then, I suppose it is. "Next time," he begins, panting hard. His thighs are slippery. "Next time I'm going to loosen you up before I put it in. However I want to."
Sure thing, Romeo. One taste of this and you'll be off pussy for a good long while. I lift my hips a little - I just need that right angle. Just for a moment.
"So answer me," he keeps going. God, does he ever shut his stupid mouth? "You let other guys do you like this?"
I groan, trying to spread my legs. I'm going to come hard in just a second and then I need to get up and get ready for work. He'll lay abed half the day right where I leave him, I'm sure. Just before sunset, he'll get up, wash his hands and his face, throw on the clothes he wore the day before and head into work himself. He'll walk past me in the dining room and won't say a single word. He'll have spent several more hours wallowing in my wet spot, but he won't let on.
"All the time," I tell him, voice a little higher when I catch that wave. He's pushing into me now - not pounding at me like before. I'm giving him a better workout than he's used to.
"With who?" he demands, sounding pissy. I laugh. "Drew?" he asks.
Drew is the head chef at the restaurant. I know this rumor. Nobody really even has a clue, despite how much they whisper about it.
"Whomever," I say, but my face is pressed to the pillow now. "Make me come, Santos."
I want him to manhandle me - do I really need to say it?
He squeezes my ass hard again, fingernails digging in just a little. Oh, yes.
"Puta," he hisses, pulling back to slap my ass hard. And that, as they say, is that.
I come hard into the mangled sheets beneath me and he's not far behind. I squeeze him, breathing deep, and he gathers me into his arms, ramming into me from behind. My chest is tight, just the way I wanted it, and then I'm numb.
He rolls away from me when I move beneath him. He doesn't try to kiss me and I don't give him the chance. If I wanted soft kisses, I wouldn't try to get them from Santos the busboy.
"Gotta shower," I tell him. I can't go into work smelling like I've been rutting all night. I have my reputation to consider. "Lock the door when you leave later," I tell him, padding naked into the tiny bathroom just off the bedroom.
"You taking the bus?" he asks, already snuggling back into the mess of sheets.
Over the sink, I stare at myself in the mirror. Jaw-length black hair wavy and looking like a bird's nest. Blood shot eyes, but a nice green. Boys like my eyes. Girls too, come to that. Little on the skinny side, my cheekbones are too prominent. I should really start eating right again.
"Yeah," I finally answer, wincing when I bend to turn on the shower. My ass hurts bad enough that I wonder if I'll need to stay in tonight. It feels like deja vu, all these thoughts running through my head.
I'll go to work, pretend that everything's cool. To everyone else, I'm sure I seem fine. Maybe I am. Fine.
"You want some company?" Santos calls out, teasing me from the bedroom.
I don't answer. Playtime is over. It's time to get serious.
This is dirty - please don't read if you're at work or are a child. XD
Title: Intro to Jules
Rating: smut
wc: about 1400 words
It's raining out. I can hear it over the noisy fan in the corner of the room and over the deep, even breathing of the man sleeping next to me. I try to open my eyes but they burn and so I don't see the lightning flashing but concentrate on the thunder instead. It wasn't raining when we'd fallen into the bed the night before but the air had been heavy and thick. So thick that my skin was slick and the hair at the back of my neck had been wet and tangled. He didn't care though, and had pressed me into the dirty sheets on my bed to hide his face in the sweaty curve of my neck. It was good. He was always good.
I shift, push the pillow away from me to press my face against the sheet and he reaches for me again. Not really awake, he lays his hand against my back, bunching the sheet low to let me know what he's after. I oblige, pulling one knee up to arch my back. He tugs the sheet away and grabs my ass; his hands are much bigger than mine.
"You awake?" he mumbles, pretending he cares. I hear him pop the cap of the lube with one thumb and I stretch both arms out before me.
It's why we work well together, really. No words, no strings - just the way I need it. I think about how nice it would be if all the boys I make time with knew the rules the way this one does, but then his fingers are tight at my hip and he's squeezing my ass so hard it hurts.
"Want in," he grunts. "Deep breath."
If my dick weren't getting hard, I'd laugh. He has to know that I don't need relaxation advice when it comes to preparing myself for a quick fuck.
"Go ahead," I say, tilting my hips up, but he has other ideas. With one arm around my waist, he pulls me into him and plasters himself to the curve of my back. He grabs my thigh hard and lifts it up when he pushes his dick inside me. It's there, the residual sting from the night before - he'd fucked me so hard that I'd ripped the pillowcase trying not to scream - and I tighten my jaw this time so I don't bite my tongue.
"You're wet," he says, teeth threatening my shoulder. "Can't believe you held it all night."
Asshole. I was borderline unconscious by the time he'd come inside me last night. I doubt I'd moved a muscle since the rain woke me up only minutes before. And he knows it.
"You're the best," he tells me, his thighs sliding against the backs of mine. "Best fuck I ever had."
I've heard that one before. "Harder," I say aloud.
"It doesn't feel good?" he asks, surprise in his sleepy voice. "I want to make you come nice and slow this time."
He's almost perfect, this one. He follows my rules, but he doesn't really get it. If he did, he'd save the Latin Lover routine for the pretty waitress he follows home when he's not looking to get into my pants.
"Fuck me hard," I demand. I want him to pound me until my chest is tight and my stomach hurts and riding my bike to work is no longer a possibility.
I feel his teeth scrape my shoulder, fix against my neck. He rolls me to my stomach and doesn't haul my hips up to spread me open. I can't breathe - he's heavy.
"Yes," I hiss, but he only hears me breathing.
His angle is good. Unpracticed roughneck. God, I love it when a straight boy fucks me. So many misconceptions in the way he thinks a man fucks a man versus the way he might fuck a woman. His ignorance is my pleasure, though, and that's the way I want it.
"Tight like this," he says, as though I need his commentary. He reaches beneath me, rubbing my dick with the flat of his hand. "You're not hard yet," he says, accusatory.
I don't answer and he knows why. He shoves into me again with no preamble and I suck in a breath. He grips the insides of my thighs from beneath me and squeezes. His knuckles press against my balls.
"Shoulda made you suck me first," he grunts. I say nothing and he squeezes the insides of my thighs hard enough to bring tears to my eyes. "Maybe after."
He's in all the way and I'm hard now when I wasn't before. If he does it right, I'll go off like a rocket and he'll never even have to touch me. It's happened before.
"Do you let other guys fuck you like this?" he asks. His breath is coming faster. The race is on.
I let him pick up the pace a little, my eyes rolling back, before I answer him. I'm going to come soon and there's no way I'm cheating myself out of that. "Harder," I tell him.
He obeys, releasing his hold on my legs to squeeze the cheeks of my ass. He hangs on like my ass is his saddle. But then, I suppose it is. "Next time," he begins, panting hard. His thighs are slippery. "Next time I'm going to loosen you up before I put it in. However I want to."
Sure thing, Romeo. One taste of this and you'll be off pussy for a good long while. I lift my hips a little - I just need that right angle. Just for a moment.
"So answer me," he keeps going. God, does he ever shut his stupid mouth? "You let other guys do you like this?"
I groan, trying to spread my legs. I'm going to come hard in just a second and then I need to get up and get ready for work. He'll lay abed half the day right where I leave him, I'm sure. Just before sunset, he'll get up, wash his hands and his face, throw on the clothes he wore the day before and head into work himself. He'll walk past me in the dining room and won't say a single word. He'll have spent several more hours wallowing in my wet spot, but he won't let on.
"All the time," I tell him, voice a little higher when I catch that wave. He's pushing into me now - not pounding at me like before. I'm giving him a better workout than he's used to.
"With who?" he demands, sounding pissy. I laugh. "Drew?" he asks.
Drew is the head chef at the restaurant. I know this rumor. Nobody really even has a clue, despite how much they whisper about it.
"Whomever," I say, but my face is pressed to the pillow now. "Make me come, Santos."
I want him to manhandle me - do I really need to say it?
He squeezes my ass hard again, fingernails digging in just a little. Oh, yes.
"Puta," he hisses, pulling back to slap my ass hard. And that, as they say, is that.
I come hard into the mangled sheets beneath me and he's not far behind. I squeeze him, breathing deep, and he gathers me into his arms, ramming into me from behind. My chest is tight, just the way I wanted it, and then I'm numb.
He rolls away from me when I move beneath him. He doesn't try to kiss me and I don't give him the chance. If I wanted soft kisses, I wouldn't try to get them from Santos the busboy.
"Gotta shower," I tell him. I can't go into work smelling like I've been rutting all night. I have my reputation to consider. "Lock the door when you leave later," I tell him, padding naked into the tiny bathroom just off the bedroom.
"You taking the bus?" he asks, already snuggling back into the mess of sheets.
Over the sink, I stare at myself in the mirror. Jaw-length black hair wavy and looking like a bird's nest. Blood shot eyes, but a nice green. Boys like my eyes. Girls too, come to that. Little on the skinny side, my cheekbones are too prominent. I should really start eating right again.
"Yeah," I finally answer, wincing when I bend to turn on the shower. My ass hurts bad enough that I wonder if I'll need to stay in tonight. It feels like deja vu, all these thoughts running through my head.
I'll go to work, pretend that everything's cool. To everyone else, I'm sure I seem fine. Maybe I am. Fine.
"You want some company?" Santos calls out, teasing me from the bedroom.
I don't answer. Playtime is over. It's time to get serious.