For the Price
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warnings: not yet listed; read at your own risk
When he walks into Homer Katagiri's living room, two pairs of brilliant blue eyes look up to meet his. One boy is smiling, open and friendly; the other wears a smirk that suggests both flirtation and contempt. They are identical in appearance and polar opposites in manner.
Graham falls in love on the spot.
"Come in, come in," Homer rumbles. "You like them? I thought you might. Consider it a present from Uncle Homer."
Of course, he stays put rather than leave to give Graham any privacy. Veteran of dozens of attempts to 'make a man of you, my boy', Graham doesn't mind all that much. He smiles, bows, and murmurs a thank-you.
Both prostitutes are kneeling on the carpet as though they do this every day, which they probably do. When Graham steps closer, the boy on the left smiles at him again. The other one ignores him, but it's a calculated kind of inattention. Graham notices that there are bruises on the second boy's face, and more dotted all over his naked body.
Stifling the urge to fuss over those injuries-- Homer would disapprove-- Graham sits on the soft carpet and leans in to kiss the first boy. He tastes like a warm summer breeze, and Graham finds his eyes falling shut, the better to concentrate on the boy's soft lips. He only opens them again when he feels something tugging at his shirt.
The second whore, the one with bruises, is flicking open the buttons one by one. He looks up at Graham, silently daring him to object; Graham can only shake his head and smile, still dazed from that kiss. The first boy-- courtesan, Graham thinks, a whore and a courtesan-- grins right back at him.
"What's your name?" Graham murmurs, bringing a hand up to trace his fingers down the boy's smooth cheek. They are both so beautiful, he's sure he could write poetry about it, if only he weren't such a terrible poet.
"Neil," answers the courtesan, and kisses him again. Somehow the whore, Neil's bruise-covered twin, manages to curl up in the space between their bodies and start unzipping Graham's dress pants. Graham shivers pleasantly and tugs Neil a little closer. It's easy to get lost in the heat of his lips, the way his hands cup Graham's face, the--
Wet warmth engulfs Graham's cock. He gasps into Neil's mouth, pulls away, and looks down to see a tangle of messy brown hair falling across his thighs. The other boy is sucking him off, quite magnificently at that. Neil chuckles; his laugh is warm and affectionate, inviting Graham to share the joke, which Graham is pretty sure involves the whore's tongue somehow, and he's also pretty sure the whore has a name but the last thing in the entire world that Graham wants to do right now is ask him to stop and introduce himself.
Neil solves that problem. "My brother is Lyle," he says, running his fingers fondly through said brother's hair. It's such an absent gesture, speaking of such a loving history, that Graham's breath catches in his throat. He is, he concludes, madly in love with these boys. Both of them.
"I'm..." He has to stop and then start again when Lyle swallows around him. "...Graham," he finishes in a whisper, and Neil leans forward to claim another kiss.
He knows he should ask Homer how old these wonderful boys are, or better yet, leave before something happens that he will regret later when his suspicions about their ages are confirmed. He knows, despite Homer's... despite Homer, that engaging in lewd acts with a pair of hopefully-fifteen-year-olds isn't right.
He kisses Neil anyway, trembling at the heat of Lyle's tongue sliding down his shaft. Sometimes things aren't right, and there's nothing you can do about it. Graham has entertained thoughts of disobeying Homer plenty of times. He has never mustered the courage to act on them.
Somewhere in the space between Lyle's tongue and Neil's lips, between the strong slim hand curled securely around his waist and the long fingers cradling his cheeks, Graham finds a strange feeling of safety. Even knowing who this entire performance is really meant for, he can convince himself that Neil's affection is sincere. Maybe it's because Lyle is so obviously and honestly dismissive. Maybe it's just because Graham hasn't felt this loved since-- well, not for a very long time.
Neil pulls away from him for a few seconds, and Graham looks down while he catches his breath. The sight of Lyle's head bobbing in his lap captures his attention and doesn't let go. "Beautiful," he whispers, half to himself. Neil chuckles again. In that moment, it feels as though they've known each other for years. Perhaps forever.
On impulse, Graham picks up one of Neil's hands and kisses the palm. When he meets Neil's eyes, he sees a look of startled happiness that makes his heart ache. He understands with abrupt insight that these wonderful boys don't get much love, either.
That, he thinks, is also something that's not right. Except that he can change this one. He finds that his hand has settled onto Lyle's head while he wasn't looking; he slides his fingers through the boy's hair, pushing it back from his forehead.
Lyle hums agreeably and wraps a hand around the base of Graham's cock. All the grand plans spin out of his mind, replaced by pleasurable static. He lets go of Lyle's hair because he can feel his grip tightening. Something, some kind of communication, passes between the twins; if only he could focus on anything but Lyle's incredible mouth, he might be able to figure out what it was. He can't, though. The pleasure is intoxicating, riveting, and-- despite Homer's silent presence on the couch five feet away-- wonderfully spontaneous, more like one of Billy's unexpected kisses than any kind of secret warrior ritual.
A friendly arm snugs around Graham's shoulders, and he opens his eyes, wondering when he closed them. He realizes that he's shaking, and that Neil has come around to kneel at his side and hold him steady. Letting out his breath in a quiet sigh, Graham relaxes into Neil's steady hands. Uncle Homer probably meant him to take control, to make proper use of this generous gift, but right now Graham is not very interested in what Uncle Homer meant him to do.
"Oh," he says-- gasps, really, pressing up into Lyle's mouth. Then he gasps again, much louder, as Neil's tongue traces a hot line across the back of his neck. Warm and secure in Neil's arms, biting his lip to stifle an undignified moan, Graham comes.
For a few seconds he thinks that he will get to stay there as long as he likes. It's a wonderful fantasy. Wrong, of course, but wonderful.
Then Homer clears his throat, which can mean a lot of things, but right now it means that he's a little disappointed in his honorary nephew and Graham had better start making up for his passivity. He really doesn't feel like ruining the moment, though, so he turns around to give Neil a kiss and hopes that he looks sufficiently authoritative with his fingers tangled possessively in the courtesan's hair.
Another impulse strikes when he finally lets go. Graham looks around for Lyle, who seems to have squirmed out of his lap while he was distracted. When he sees the whore sprawled out triumphantly on the carpet, he beckons, more entreating than imperious.
"Make me," Lyle drawls, without budging an inch.
Graham can feel a flush of half-angry, half-embarrassed heat rising to his face. He can also feel Homer staring at him, waiting to be disappointed again by his incorrigible gentleness.
Neil's hand curls around his and squeezes once. Graham doesn't know what the message is, exactly, but he feels reassured by the contact. He leans forward, trying to be graceful about it, and ends up with his face hovering above Lyle's and his hands planted in the carpet to either side of Lyle's head. The whore grins up at him, at once challenging and satisfied, as though Graham has passed some sort of test.
He has really had enough tests for one lifetime, but a smile flickers across his face anyway. "If you insist," he says. His voice is quiet, meant more for Lyle than anyone else in the room, although he knows Uncle Homer can probably hear him too.
While Lyle is still looking confused, trying to figure out what the words meant, Graham kisses him. It isn't as though the taste of come is anything new, after all.
Lyle kisses exactly the way Graham thought he would: hard and fast, giving no quarter and expecting none in return. Graham tells himself it's sort of like a sparring match; with that in mind, it's easier to keep up.
The first time his teeth sink into Lyle's lip, Lyle melts under him. It's a startling, beautiful transformation. Caught up in the heat of the moment, Graham pursues it, until he's holding Lyle down with his full weight and scattering love-bites across the boy's neck. Lyle's enthusiastic moans sound more like worship than mere pleasure.
Homer's approving chuckle reminds Graham that he and Lyle are not the only ones in the room. He sits up and looks back to see Homer motioning him closer. Without sparing a glance to either of his newfound loves, he crosses the short distance to the couch and kneels obediently at Homer's feet.
"Good work," Homer tells him, resting a hand on his shoulder. "You've always been a good boy, Graham. And you're shaping up into a fine young warrior."
It sounds as though Homer has something in mind-- some kind of reward, maybe. Graham keeps himself still and carefully doesn't think about what that might be.
"How would you like to have these boys again?"
His heart leaps up and does a little dance of joy in his chest. "I am honored by your kindness, sir," he says humbly.
"Come back here in a few days."
He nods once, waiting for Homer to let go of his shoulder before he stands and pulls his pants up. As always, Homer watches him dress himself; as always, Graham turns back and bows on his way out of the room.
This time, though, he offers the twins a quick smile while he's at it. Neil matches his warmth, and at last, Lyle grins at him with something other than contempt.
Graham finds himself beaming like a lovestruck fool the whole way home.
warnings: not yet listed; read at your own risk
When he walks into Homer Katagiri's living room, two pairs of brilliant blue eyes look up to meet his. One boy is smiling, open and friendly; the other wears a smirk that suggests both flirtation and contempt. They are identical in appearance and polar opposites in manner.
Graham falls in love on the spot.
"Come in, come in," Homer rumbles. "You like them? I thought you might. Consider it a present from Uncle Homer."
Of course, he stays put rather than leave to give Graham any privacy. Veteran of dozens of attempts to 'make a man of you, my boy', Graham doesn't mind all that much. He smiles, bows, and murmurs a thank-you.
Both prostitutes are kneeling on the carpet as though they do this every day, which they probably do. When Graham steps closer, the boy on the left smiles at him again. The other one ignores him, but it's a calculated kind of inattention. Graham notices that there are bruises on the second boy's face, and more dotted all over his naked body.
Stifling the urge to fuss over those injuries-- Homer would disapprove-- Graham sits on the soft carpet and leans in to kiss the first boy. He tastes like a warm summer breeze, and Graham finds his eyes falling shut, the better to concentrate on the boy's soft lips. He only opens them again when he feels something tugging at his shirt.
The second whore, the one with bruises, is flicking open the buttons one by one. He looks up at Graham, silently daring him to object; Graham can only shake his head and smile, still dazed from that kiss. The first boy-- courtesan, Graham thinks, a whore and a courtesan-- grins right back at him.
"What's your name?" Graham murmurs, bringing a hand up to trace his fingers down the boy's smooth cheek. They are both so beautiful, he's sure he could write poetry about it, if only he weren't such a terrible poet.
"Neil," answers the courtesan, and kisses him again. Somehow the whore, Neil's bruise-covered twin, manages to curl up in the space between their bodies and start unzipping Graham's dress pants. Graham shivers pleasantly and tugs Neil a little closer. It's easy to get lost in the heat of his lips, the way his hands cup Graham's face, the--
Wet warmth engulfs Graham's cock. He gasps into Neil's mouth, pulls away, and looks down to see a tangle of messy brown hair falling across his thighs. The other boy is sucking him off, quite magnificently at that. Neil chuckles; his laugh is warm and affectionate, inviting Graham to share the joke, which Graham is pretty sure involves the whore's tongue somehow, and he's also pretty sure the whore has a name but the last thing in the entire world that Graham wants to do right now is ask him to stop and introduce himself.
Neil solves that problem. "My brother is Lyle," he says, running his fingers fondly through said brother's hair. It's such an absent gesture, speaking of such a loving history, that Graham's breath catches in his throat. He is, he concludes, madly in love with these boys. Both of them.
"I'm..." He has to stop and then start again when Lyle swallows around him. "...Graham," he finishes in a whisper, and Neil leans forward to claim another kiss.
He knows he should ask Homer how old these wonderful boys are, or better yet, leave before something happens that he will regret later when his suspicions about their ages are confirmed. He knows, despite Homer's... despite Homer, that engaging in lewd acts with a pair of hopefully-fifteen-year-olds isn't right.
He kisses Neil anyway, trembling at the heat of Lyle's tongue sliding down his shaft. Sometimes things aren't right, and there's nothing you can do about it. Graham has entertained thoughts of disobeying Homer plenty of times. He has never mustered the courage to act on them.
Somewhere in the space between Lyle's tongue and Neil's lips, between the strong slim hand curled securely around his waist and the long fingers cradling his cheeks, Graham finds a strange feeling of safety. Even knowing who this entire performance is really meant for, he can convince himself that Neil's affection is sincere. Maybe it's because Lyle is so obviously and honestly dismissive. Maybe it's just because Graham hasn't felt this loved since-- well, not for a very long time.
Neil pulls away from him for a few seconds, and Graham looks down while he catches his breath. The sight of Lyle's head bobbing in his lap captures his attention and doesn't let go. "Beautiful," he whispers, half to himself. Neil chuckles again. In that moment, it feels as though they've known each other for years. Perhaps forever.
On impulse, Graham picks up one of Neil's hands and kisses the palm. When he meets Neil's eyes, he sees a look of startled happiness that makes his heart ache. He understands with abrupt insight that these wonderful boys don't get much love, either.
That, he thinks, is also something that's not right. Except that he can change this one. He finds that his hand has settled onto Lyle's head while he wasn't looking; he slides his fingers through the boy's hair, pushing it back from his forehead.
Lyle hums agreeably and wraps a hand around the base of Graham's cock. All the grand plans spin out of his mind, replaced by pleasurable static. He lets go of Lyle's hair because he can feel his grip tightening. Something, some kind of communication, passes between the twins; if only he could focus on anything but Lyle's incredible mouth, he might be able to figure out what it was. He can't, though. The pleasure is intoxicating, riveting, and-- despite Homer's silent presence on the couch five feet away-- wonderfully spontaneous, more like one of Billy's unexpected kisses than any kind of secret warrior ritual.
A friendly arm snugs around Graham's shoulders, and he opens his eyes, wondering when he closed them. He realizes that he's shaking, and that Neil has come around to kneel at his side and hold him steady. Letting out his breath in a quiet sigh, Graham relaxes into Neil's steady hands. Uncle Homer probably meant him to take control, to make proper use of this generous gift, but right now Graham is not very interested in what Uncle Homer meant him to do.
"Oh," he says-- gasps, really, pressing up into Lyle's mouth. Then he gasps again, much louder, as Neil's tongue traces a hot line across the back of his neck. Warm and secure in Neil's arms, biting his lip to stifle an undignified moan, Graham comes.
For a few seconds he thinks that he will get to stay there as long as he likes. It's a wonderful fantasy. Wrong, of course, but wonderful.
Then Homer clears his throat, which can mean a lot of things, but right now it means that he's a little disappointed in his honorary nephew and Graham had better start making up for his passivity. He really doesn't feel like ruining the moment, though, so he turns around to give Neil a kiss and hopes that he looks sufficiently authoritative with his fingers tangled possessively in the courtesan's hair.
Another impulse strikes when he finally lets go. Graham looks around for Lyle, who seems to have squirmed out of his lap while he was distracted. When he sees the whore sprawled out triumphantly on the carpet, he beckons, more entreating than imperious.
"Make me," Lyle drawls, without budging an inch.
Graham can feel a flush of half-angry, half-embarrassed heat rising to his face. He can also feel Homer staring at him, waiting to be disappointed again by his incorrigible gentleness.
Neil's hand curls around his and squeezes once. Graham doesn't know what the message is, exactly, but he feels reassured by the contact. He leans forward, trying to be graceful about it, and ends up with his face hovering above Lyle's and his hands planted in the carpet to either side of Lyle's head. The whore grins up at him, at once challenging and satisfied, as though Graham has passed some sort of test.
He has really had enough tests for one lifetime, but a smile flickers across his face anyway. "If you insist," he says. His voice is quiet, meant more for Lyle than anyone else in the room, although he knows Uncle Homer can probably hear him too.
While Lyle is still looking confused, trying to figure out what the words meant, Graham kisses him. It isn't as though the taste of come is anything new, after all.
Lyle kisses exactly the way Graham thought he would: hard and fast, giving no quarter and expecting none in return. Graham tells himself it's sort of like a sparring match; with that in mind, it's easier to keep up.
The first time his teeth sink into Lyle's lip, Lyle melts under him. It's a startling, beautiful transformation. Caught up in the heat of the moment, Graham pursues it, until he's holding Lyle down with his full weight and scattering love-bites across the boy's neck. Lyle's enthusiastic moans sound more like worship than mere pleasure.
Homer's approving chuckle reminds Graham that he and Lyle are not the only ones in the room. He sits up and looks back to see Homer motioning him closer. Without sparing a glance to either of his newfound loves, he crosses the short distance to the couch and kneels obediently at Homer's feet.
"Good work," Homer tells him, resting a hand on his shoulder. "You've always been a good boy, Graham. And you're shaping up into a fine young warrior."
It sounds as though Homer has something in mind-- some kind of reward, maybe. Graham keeps himself still and carefully doesn't think about what that might be.
"How would you like to have these boys again?"
His heart leaps up and does a little dance of joy in his chest. "I am honored by your kindness, sir," he says humbly.
"Come back here in a few days."
He nods once, waiting for Homer to let go of his shoulder before he stands and pulls his pants up. As always, Homer watches him dress himself; as always, Graham turns back and bows on his way out of the room.
This time, though, he offers the twins a quick smile while he's at it. Neil matches his warmth, and at last, Lyle grins at him with something other than contempt.
Graham finds himself beaming like a lovestruck fool the whole way home.