Easy (Price continuity)
Index/Timeline
Neil loves all his customers.
That's not to say he loves them all equally. He could quite happily go the rest of his life without ever having to love Hilling Care again, and conversely, there are people like Graham Acre whom he loves even when he doesn't have to. All the rest occupy a spectrum in between.
Sometimes, he can tell at a glance where a new customer is going to fall. He likes the obvious ones, even if they're toward the Hilling end of the scale, because at least he knows where he stands. Howard Mason, when he introduces himself on the way to his car, is delightfully obvious.
"And I'm Neil," Neil says with a small smile, "but you already know that."
It's clear Howard doesn't appreciate the joke. If Neil were his brother... but he's not; he said it respectfully, amicably, so Howard doesn't even give him a sharp look. "How old are you?" he asks instead.
That question can be a trap, but Neil knows what Ali would've told the man, namely what he wants to hear: "Eighteen, sir." He's not, not even close, but he looks the part. Even the eternally juvenile Lyle has been mistaken for a twenty-one-year-old, five years over their real age.
Howard nods, accepting the lie, and opens the passenger-side door of his car. Not the back. This confirms what Neil already knew, and has known since Howard first shook his hand: this man is going to be one of the better ones.
It's a silent ride back to Howard's house. Neil closes his eyes and recites poetry in his head, a trick he learned from Graham, to pass the time.
When they arrive, just as he's getting to more lovely and more temperate, he opens his eyes to find Howard smiling at him. "You're a good boy, aren't you?"
He smiles back, warm and loving and grateful for the compliment. Howard studies him, then adds, "You may answer my questions with yes sir or no sir." That wasn't a question, so Neil acknowledges it with a silent nod. Howard gets out of the car, motioning for him to follow, and he happily obeys.
Upstairs, the first thing Howard does is order Neil to take off his clothes. Neil does it quickly and efficiently, stacking each item on top of the last in a neat little pile beside his shoes. Howard's smile tells him that it was a good guess. When Howard leads him into the bedroom, he stands straight, making another guess about the kind of posture Howard will like-- something to match the neatness and precision of this room, with its symmetrically curtained windows and its soft carpet vacuumed in lines as straight as a plowed field.
The slight frown on Howard's face surprises him, until he remembers what happened when he introduced himself. "Are you anticipating my orders?" Howard asks sharply, confirming yet another guess. Neil hesitates. Neither of his sanctioned answers quite covers it.
"Yes sir," he says after a half-second's thought. He did anticipate that one, after all. Howard picks up a paddle from the bedside table-- a flat, stiff strip of leather about three inches wide by fifteen long-- and circles around behind Neil to give his bare ass a light smack.
"Do what I tell you to do, when I tell you to do it, and not before."
Neil lowers his eyes and lets his posture, now much more submissive, speak for itself.
"When you need correction," Howard continues, "this--" he slaps Neil's ass with the paddle a second time-- "is what I will give you." Privately, Neil makes a bet with himself that the paddle will never touch him again. "Get on the bed," Howard instructs. He moves slowly, to give Howard time to issue more orders about when and where he should display himself. "On your back," the man prompts, "knees apart, yes, just like that." Neil smiles, relaxing a little; this will be as easy as he thought, after all. "Close your eyes." He doesn't like to do that, but he doesn't mind obeying. He loves Howard, has loved him since they stepped out of his car, and wants to make him happy.
A bottle of lube presses into his hand. "Prepare yourself," Howard says, so Neil does. Howard didn't tell him to open his eyes, so he doesn't. It's so wonderfully easy. He lifts his hips a little and curls two slick fingers into himself. "Slowly," Howard admonishes. Neil withdraws one finger and fucks himself in lazy strokes until he knows he can slip it back in again without hardly feeling the stretch. Howard makes an approving sound, so Neil continues the pattern for the third finger, blissfully obliging. He likes going slow.
Before he gets around to adding a fourth, Howard presses something smooth and cool into his free hand. A glass dildo. Neil waits, still fingering himself in a steady rhythm.
"You are a good boy, aren't you."
"Yes sir," he agrees softly.
Howard wraps Neil's hand around the slender shaft of the dildo. "Use it." Now that he's been ordered to, Neil removes his fingers from his ass, finds the lube exactly where he left it on the bed by his hip, and smooths a good palmful down the length of the glass cock. When he presses the tip against his asshole and gently slides it in, he can feel the warmth of Howard's body radiating onto his skin as Howard moves up between his spread legs to watch. Since Howard hasn't told him any different, he keeps going slow, drifting in a warm ocean of love and unhurried pleasure.
Heat soaks into the skin of his chest, puffs against his lips with a soft breath of air. "Open your eyes," Howard says, and kisses him. Neil smiles, kisses back, and lets Howard assert control over him with lips and tongue. It feels beautiful. When the kiss breaks, Howard murmurs, "Don't stop what you're doing." He wonders what's about to happen that makes that order necessary; then Howard moves up, naked now, until his cock brushes against Neil's slightly parted lips.
He doesn't open his mouth. He doesn't close it, either. He just waits patiently, without interrupting the slow glide of the dildo, until Howard breathes, "You are a very good boy. Suck my cock, Neil."
The use of his name is unexpected and pleasant, like finding out that Lyle stole cookies for him on Christmas morning. He kisses the shaft of Howard's cock, wet and open-mouthed, then wraps his lips around the head and sucks. The rhythm of his hand falters for a moment, stuttering in the middle of a slow thrust, but he never quite stops and anyway Howard doesn't notice or care. So that's okay.
Just as he's starting to really get into it, Howard pulls out of his mouth with a wet little sound. That's okay too. Neil happily focuses his full attention back on the thin glass shaft sliding in and out of his ass.
"Stop," Howard says in a firm voice. Neil stills immediately, relaxing rather than freezing, with the dildo fully buried inside him. "Let go." He does. His fingers leave behind a smear of lube as they trail down his thigh. Howard pulls the dildo out of him. "Do you want me to fuck you?"
"Yes sir." Oh, he does, he does. He wants it with every beat of his heart and every gasp of his breath, because he knows Howard is going to give it to him. Warm and peaceful and content, Neil smiles.
"Good." Howard positions himself and thrusts slowly, carefully, filling Neil with the heat and thickness of his cock. Neil lets out a sigh of pleasure. "Such a good boy," Howard tells him. "So eager for my cock. This is your reward, Neil. Do you like it?"
He inhales slowly. "Yes sir," he murmurs, and what he means is I love you. He loves Howard for being so very easy-- easy to read, to predict, to please, to obey-- and for smiling and for saying his name, and for fucking him so wonderfully slow and gentle, and... Neil gasps, arching his back, as Howard speeds up. It feels like he's melting into a puddle of pleasure, turning liquid and flowing warmly around the hardness of Howard's cock, and he loves Howard all the more for it.
All he has to do to please Howard is let Howard please him. All he has to do is love the hard, thick shaft fucking him into the mattress and the lube-streaked hands that pin him to the sheets and the heat of the breath that warms his throat, and it's the easiest thing in the world, and then Howard gives him one last order to make it even easier.
"Come for me."
Neil, panting and shaking, obeys. Howard follows him a moment later, pounding into him in a flurry of quick thrusts that smear Neil's semen across both their stomachs.
After a half-minute of catching their breath and sharing the heat of their bodies, Howard pulls out. Neil doesn't move from his boneless sprawl. "You can use my shower," Howard says, and sighs at Neil's continued stillness. "That's an order."
To make sure Howard won't get the silly idea that Neil is unhappy about being commanded to move, he offers up his very best smile as he scoots to the edge of the bed and stands.
As he thought, Howard is particularly susceptible to that smile-- the kind of man who likes to be told, wordlessly and silently, that he is (at the moment) the beloved centre of Neil's universe. Neil doesn't let the smile dim when he turns away, following Howard's gesture to the promised shower. He keeps smiling as he turns on the water, wipes his messy stomach with his fingers, and licks them clean; he keeps smiling as he washes himself, dries off, and lets Howard call a cab to take him home.
He only stops when he walks out the door, all dressed, to wait outside for the cab. The driver, when she arrives, asks him what's wrong, so Neil summons up another smile.
"Nothing. I was just lost in thought." He climbs into the back of the car and gives her Ali's address.
Neil loves all his customers.
That's not to say he loves them all equally. He could quite happily go the rest of his life without ever having to love Hilling Care again, and conversely, there are people like Graham Acre whom he loves even when he doesn't have to. All the rest occupy a spectrum in between.
Sometimes, he can tell at a glance where a new customer is going to fall. He likes the obvious ones, even if they're toward the Hilling end of the scale, because at least he knows where he stands. Howard Mason, when he introduces himself on the way to his car, is delightfully obvious.
"And I'm Neil," Neil says with a small smile, "but you already know that."
It's clear Howard doesn't appreciate the joke. If Neil were his brother... but he's not; he said it respectfully, amicably, so Howard doesn't even give him a sharp look. "How old are you?" he asks instead.
That question can be a trap, but Neil knows what Ali would've told the man, namely what he wants to hear: "Eighteen, sir." He's not, not even close, but he looks the part. Even the eternally juvenile Lyle has been mistaken for a twenty-one-year-old, five years over their real age.
Howard nods, accepting the lie, and opens the passenger-side door of his car. Not the back. This confirms what Neil already knew, and has known since Howard first shook his hand: this man is going to be one of the better ones.
It's a silent ride back to Howard's house. Neil closes his eyes and recites poetry in his head, a trick he learned from Graham, to pass the time.
When they arrive, just as he's getting to more lovely and more temperate, he opens his eyes to find Howard smiling at him. "You're a good boy, aren't you?"
He smiles back, warm and loving and grateful for the compliment. Howard studies him, then adds, "You may answer my questions with yes sir or no sir." That wasn't a question, so Neil acknowledges it with a silent nod. Howard gets out of the car, motioning for him to follow, and he happily obeys.
Upstairs, the first thing Howard does is order Neil to take off his clothes. Neil does it quickly and efficiently, stacking each item on top of the last in a neat little pile beside his shoes. Howard's smile tells him that it was a good guess. When Howard leads him into the bedroom, he stands straight, making another guess about the kind of posture Howard will like-- something to match the neatness and precision of this room, with its symmetrically curtained windows and its soft carpet vacuumed in lines as straight as a plowed field.
The slight frown on Howard's face surprises him, until he remembers what happened when he introduced himself. "Are you anticipating my orders?" Howard asks sharply, confirming yet another guess. Neil hesitates. Neither of his sanctioned answers quite covers it.
"Yes sir," he says after a half-second's thought. He did anticipate that one, after all. Howard picks up a paddle from the bedside table-- a flat, stiff strip of leather about three inches wide by fifteen long-- and circles around behind Neil to give his bare ass a light smack.
"Do what I tell you to do, when I tell you to do it, and not before."
Neil lowers his eyes and lets his posture, now much more submissive, speak for itself.
"When you need correction," Howard continues, "this--" he slaps Neil's ass with the paddle a second time-- "is what I will give you." Privately, Neil makes a bet with himself that the paddle will never touch him again. "Get on the bed," Howard instructs. He moves slowly, to give Howard time to issue more orders about when and where he should display himself. "On your back," the man prompts, "knees apart, yes, just like that." Neil smiles, relaxing a little; this will be as easy as he thought, after all. "Close your eyes." He doesn't like to do that, but he doesn't mind obeying. He loves Howard, has loved him since they stepped out of his car, and wants to make him happy.
A bottle of lube presses into his hand. "Prepare yourself," Howard says, so Neil does. Howard didn't tell him to open his eyes, so he doesn't. It's so wonderfully easy. He lifts his hips a little and curls two slick fingers into himself. "Slowly," Howard admonishes. Neil withdraws one finger and fucks himself in lazy strokes until he knows he can slip it back in again without hardly feeling the stretch. Howard makes an approving sound, so Neil continues the pattern for the third finger, blissfully obliging. He likes going slow.
Before he gets around to adding a fourth, Howard presses something smooth and cool into his free hand. A glass dildo. Neil waits, still fingering himself in a steady rhythm.
"You are a good boy, aren't you."
"Yes sir," he agrees softly.
Howard wraps Neil's hand around the slender shaft of the dildo. "Use it." Now that he's been ordered to, Neil removes his fingers from his ass, finds the lube exactly where he left it on the bed by his hip, and smooths a good palmful down the length of the glass cock. When he presses the tip against his asshole and gently slides it in, he can feel the warmth of Howard's body radiating onto his skin as Howard moves up between his spread legs to watch. Since Howard hasn't told him any different, he keeps going slow, drifting in a warm ocean of love and unhurried pleasure.
Heat soaks into the skin of his chest, puffs against his lips with a soft breath of air. "Open your eyes," Howard says, and kisses him. Neil smiles, kisses back, and lets Howard assert control over him with lips and tongue. It feels beautiful. When the kiss breaks, Howard murmurs, "Don't stop what you're doing." He wonders what's about to happen that makes that order necessary; then Howard moves up, naked now, until his cock brushes against Neil's slightly parted lips.
He doesn't open his mouth. He doesn't close it, either. He just waits patiently, without interrupting the slow glide of the dildo, until Howard breathes, "You are a very good boy. Suck my cock, Neil."
The use of his name is unexpected and pleasant, like finding out that Lyle stole cookies for him on Christmas morning. He kisses the shaft of Howard's cock, wet and open-mouthed, then wraps his lips around the head and sucks. The rhythm of his hand falters for a moment, stuttering in the middle of a slow thrust, but he never quite stops and anyway Howard doesn't notice or care. So that's okay.
Just as he's starting to really get into it, Howard pulls out of his mouth with a wet little sound. That's okay too. Neil happily focuses his full attention back on the thin glass shaft sliding in and out of his ass.
"Stop," Howard says in a firm voice. Neil stills immediately, relaxing rather than freezing, with the dildo fully buried inside him. "Let go." He does. His fingers leave behind a smear of lube as they trail down his thigh. Howard pulls the dildo out of him. "Do you want me to fuck you?"
"Yes sir." Oh, he does, he does. He wants it with every beat of his heart and every gasp of his breath, because he knows Howard is going to give it to him. Warm and peaceful and content, Neil smiles.
"Good." Howard positions himself and thrusts slowly, carefully, filling Neil with the heat and thickness of his cock. Neil lets out a sigh of pleasure. "Such a good boy," Howard tells him. "So eager for my cock. This is your reward, Neil. Do you like it?"
He inhales slowly. "Yes sir," he murmurs, and what he means is I love you. He loves Howard for being so very easy-- easy to read, to predict, to please, to obey-- and for smiling and for saying his name, and for fucking him so wonderfully slow and gentle, and... Neil gasps, arching his back, as Howard speeds up. It feels like he's melting into a puddle of pleasure, turning liquid and flowing warmly around the hardness of Howard's cock, and he loves Howard all the more for it.
All he has to do to please Howard is let Howard please him. All he has to do is love the hard, thick shaft fucking him into the mattress and the lube-streaked hands that pin him to the sheets and the heat of the breath that warms his throat, and it's the easiest thing in the world, and then Howard gives him one last order to make it even easier.
"Come for me."
Neil, panting and shaking, obeys. Howard follows him a moment later, pounding into him in a flurry of quick thrusts that smear Neil's semen across both their stomachs.
After a half-minute of catching their breath and sharing the heat of their bodies, Howard pulls out. Neil doesn't move from his boneless sprawl. "You can use my shower," Howard says, and sighs at Neil's continued stillness. "That's an order."
To make sure Howard won't get the silly idea that Neil is unhappy about being commanded to move, he offers up his very best smile as he scoots to the edge of the bed and stands.
As he thought, Howard is particularly susceptible to that smile-- the kind of man who likes to be told, wordlessly and silently, that he is (at the moment) the beloved centre of Neil's universe. Neil doesn't let the smile dim when he turns away, following Howard's gesture to the promised shower. He keeps smiling as he turns on the water, wipes his messy stomach with his fingers, and licks them clean; he keeps smiling as he washes himself, dries off, and lets Howard call a cab to take him home.
He only stops when he walks out the door, all dressed, to wait outside for the cab. The driver, when she arrives, asks him what's wrong, so Neil summons up another smile.
"Nothing. I was just lost in thought." He climbs into the back of the car and gives her Ali's address.