(no subject)
Dan/Jepha “Desperate”
People are encouraging the ridiculous au. And demanding porn. And I am nothing if not a pandering panda. So here is lazy porn.
Jepha isn’t desperate for attention, not from men he doesn’t know. He’s got Quinn and Bert, and some of the other lads on the street. Attention hasn’t done much for him, has only gotten him in trouble with his parents, and the church, and the law. But the bricklayer, Dan, doesn’t give him the looks his customers do, doesn’t make him feel like he’s cheap trade. He looks at Jepha like Quinn did at first, and Bert, and Branden before he left them for the clergy. He can’t help but smile at Dan, and blush even, when he catches his eye across the torn-up street.
Dan buys him a flower in exchange for a biscuit, and doesn’t get greedy when Jepha kisses him. Dan is sweet, and funny, and Jepha thinks he might be being wooed. He’s not sure, he’s never been wooed before. Quinn and Bert didn’t woo him, they just became part of his life in a way that he now can’t imagine being whole without them (actually, Bert may have been wooing in his own way, picking his nose and wiping sooty London snot on Jepha’s cheek to stake a claim).
The day after Dan buys him a flower, he brings Jepha pie and ale from a shop Jepha’s never dared go into. Jepha blushes. He blushes! He doesn’t blush, he’s a practiced whore with two lovers and countless customers. And then he realizes that it’s Sunday, and the works are closed for the Lord’s Day, but Dan is still there, offering him food and drink and a squinty smile. Jepha shares it with him, and then kisses him again. Dan’s mouth is sticky and ale-y and rough against his in the shade of the alley, one hand easy on Jepha’s hip and the other on his face.
Jepha is desperate by the time Dan’s hands (big massive hands, big enough to wrap nearly around his whole arm) slide down and grab his ass. “Can I?” Dan asks, lifting him onto his toes with work-strong arms. Not how much, not what will you, but can I. Jepha is charmed, and he’s still seduced from the pie and beer earlier, so he answers yes by shoving his hands down the front of Dan’s trousers. It’s easier to do that, to grope him and push him in the general direction of the door of the basement than to extricate his hands from inside Dan’s clothes and ask politely.
Dan doesn’t manage to get his pants off, or his boots, and Jepha’s still in shirtsleeves and tangled suspenders when they finally fall apart on the sweaty pile of pallets. By the time Bert and Quinn shove themselves through the doorway, Jepha’s lost his shirt and gained Dan’s hat, and the blankets are even more of a stained, tangled mess than usual.
“So. This is the bricklayer,” Bert says, grinning from behind Quinn. “I guess he liked the biscuits?” Quinn is glaring, clearly trying to set Dan on fire with his eyes.
“Dan Whitesides. I like biscuits. And Jepha. And pie.” Dan reaches over Jepha, finds his jacket on the floor, and pulls out another paper-wrapped pasty from the pocket. “Want some?”
People are encouraging the ridiculous au. And demanding porn. And I am nothing if not a pandering panda. So here is lazy porn.
Jepha isn’t desperate for attention, not from men he doesn’t know. He’s got Quinn and Bert, and some of the other lads on the street. Attention hasn’t done much for him, has only gotten him in trouble with his parents, and the church, and the law. But the bricklayer, Dan, doesn’t give him the looks his customers do, doesn’t make him feel like he’s cheap trade. He looks at Jepha like Quinn did at first, and Bert, and Branden before he left them for the clergy. He can’t help but smile at Dan, and blush even, when he catches his eye across the torn-up street.
Dan buys him a flower in exchange for a biscuit, and doesn’t get greedy when Jepha kisses him. Dan is sweet, and funny, and Jepha thinks he might be being wooed. He’s not sure, he’s never been wooed before. Quinn and Bert didn’t woo him, they just became part of his life in a way that he now can’t imagine being whole without them (actually, Bert may have been wooing in his own way, picking his nose and wiping sooty London snot on Jepha’s cheek to stake a claim).
The day after Dan buys him a flower, he brings Jepha pie and ale from a shop Jepha’s never dared go into. Jepha blushes. He blushes! He doesn’t blush, he’s a practiced whore with two lovers and countless customers. And then he realizes that it’s Sunday, and the works are closed for the Lord’s Day, but Dan is still there, offering him food and drink and a squinty smile. Jepha shares it with him, and then kisses him again. Dan’s mouth is sticky and ale-y and rough against his in the shade of the alley, one hand easy on Jepha’s hip and the other on his face.
Jepha is desperate by the time Dan’s hands (big massive hands, big enough to wrap nearly around his whole arm) slide down and grab his ass. “Can I?” Dan asks, lifting him onto his toes with work-strong arms. Not how much, not what will you, but can I. Jepha is charmed, and he’s still seduced from the pie and beer earlier, so he answers yes by shoving his hands down the front of Dan’s trousers. It’s easier to do that, to grope him and push him in the general direction of the door of the basement than to extricate his hands from inside Dan’s clothes and ask politely.
Dan doesn’t manage to get his pants off, or his boots, and Jepha’s still in shirtsleeves and tangled suspenders when they finally fall apart on the sweaty pile of pallets. By the time Bert and Quinn shove themselves through the doorway, Jepha’s lost his shirt and gained Dan’s hat, and the blankets are even more of a stained, tangled mess than usual.
“So. This is the bricklayer,” Bert says, grinning from behind Quinn. “I guess he liked the biscuits?” Quinn is glaring, clearly trying to set Dan on fire with his eyes.
“Dan Whitesides. I like biscuits. And Jepha. And pie.” Dan reaches over Jepha, finds his jacket on the floor, and pulls out another paper-wrapped pasty from the pocket. “Want some?”