(no subject)
Joe & Len's arc, part 1.
by hibem and new_kate
illustrated by new_kate
Not worksafe.
December 16, 1996.
1:48 AM
It was a raw night in December, the kind of night that wanted cold rain and a lonely saxophonist hanging out on the fire escape. None of the radio stations were playing jazz, only Christmas carols, so Joe switched it off. The bar was called Marie's, a cozy little number in dark wood and dusty red vinyl tucked between a hippie art gallery and Austin's worst Chinese restaurant. It was the kind of place where working stiffs could make eyes at each other, and Joe Rosario was the kind of guy who could get away with wearing suede fringe to work and liked it that way.
Tonight he had the joint to himself. The last of the college kids had gone home for the holidays and, barring a straggler or two from an office Christmas party, he doubted he'd get anyone else in before close. He lounged against the bar, determined to polish glasses and think about Val Kilmer’s ass and Nichole Kidman's tits ‘til he had to start cleaning up. His shift was almost over, but he was in no rush to leave. His roomies would be in bed already and, as tempting as an hour or two of dancing sounded, it was too chilly to brave the walk north to the clubs - at least, not without a shirt.
The tinny rattle of the bell and the bang of the door hitting the wall almost made him jump. The customer crossed the room without looking up, lost in thought, which was just as well since it gave Joe time to collect his jaw from the floor.
The guy was movie-star gorgeous, with the kind of mathematically perfect face you could never get tired of looking at. His suit looked expensive, perfectly tailored to show off his broad shoulders, his narrow waist and long legs. Fuck, he was sexy: glossy dark hair that begged to be pushed out of his eyes, pale skin that probably kept hickeys for weeks, walk like a stalking cat, though he barely seemed to be watching where he was going. Joe felt a hot jolt of excitement shoot through his chest and down to his cock, and stealthily adjusted himself. He had no idea what a guy like that was doing alone on Friday night, hanging around the empty streets of the Warehouse district at two in the morning. Probably not cruising for horny gay bartenders, but Joe was an optimist.
The guy dropped onto a stool with easy, unconscious grace, staring at his hands. Up close he looked tired, shaken and disheveled. He had a livid hickey swelling on the side of his neck and his dark suit was rumpled, bow tie askew, shirttail sticking out from underneath the fancy vest. His lips were slightly bruised and pressed tightly together, but still looked damn tasty. Joe tried to shake all the ideas his little head was getting and act professional. The guy had obviously had a rough night.
"Hey," he said. "What can I get ya?"
The guy glanced up, blinking as if he hadn't noticed Joe was standing there. His eyes widened for a split second, and then he looked away again, hiding behind gold-rimmed glasses and thick eyelashes.
"I should probably ask for coffee," he said contemplatively. His voice was soft and velvet smooth, no hint of a Texan accent. Californian, maybe. "Ah, any malt whiskey will do. Straight up, please."
"Good choice. Our coffee sucks anyway, to be honest," Joe said, fetching a bottle and loading a tumbler with ice.
The guy winced at the first sip and pressed the cool glass against his swollen lips.
"Hope no music is okay with you. Fucking carols are killing me," Joe said, giving the guy his best friendly bartender grin.
"Of course." The guy smiled a tiny bit. "Thank you. I hope I'm not holding you up? If you’re about to close, I can-"
"No, no," Joe said, a touch too quickly. "I'm not in a rush. Well, I can't serve booze after two, but take your time if you want to hang out. Not like I have anything better do to tonight."
He’d nearly said "anyone", busy imagining how he’d work his hands up under that expensive jacket. Hell, he doubted he could find anyone better to do if he did a state-wide search.
"That is… hard to believe," the guy murmured. His gaze caressed Joe's naked abs and slid away. And Jeff had made fun of him for wearing a vest without a shirt; grunge-boy obviously knew nothing about style or the benefits of walking around topless.
"So, how is it out there?" Joe asked. "Christmas parties everywhere, chaos and drunken debauchery, puke and tinsel? Gotta love this time of year."
He was trying for a smile, but instead triggered an increase in brooding activity. The guy sighed into his drink.
"Hm," he said. "I suppose the desire to end the night holed up in a quiet bar while the whole world is celebrating voraciously does appear a bit pathetic."
"I'm working," Joe said flatly.
"Oh," the guy looked up, startled. "I was talking about myself, obviously."
Joe plastered on a winning smile, "Hey, we can celebrate too." He poured himself a whiskey, willing the guy's shoulders to relax. "I'm almost off the clock, so, as long as you don't rat me out to management... Cheers."
The guy raised his glass, looking bemused.
"Mind if I smoke?" he said, pulling a pack of American Spirits from his jacket.
"Mind if I join you?"
Joe dug out his Luckies and teased one free of the crumpled cellophane. The guy flicked open his chrome Zippo and held it out. Joe reached out to steady his hand, adventurously sliding his fingers over the inside of the guy’s wrist and under his shirt cuff. The guy didn’t flinch away, just exhaled sharply, his breath gusting over Joe’s face. His pulse was racing under his thin, soft skin; his eyes were pale, pale green and made Joe’s stomach drop to his knees. Joe barely remembered how to take a drag, step back and blow the smoke back out. He grabbed an ash tray from under the bar, wincing at the sudden snugness of his jeans, and mentally smacked himself one. He’d only touched his hand ferchrissake.
The guy smoked in silence and sipped his whiskey. Joe leaned against the bar, his Lucky dangling forgotten from his lip, watching the guy’s long fingers manipulate cigarette and glass.
"Your hands are freezing," Joe said abruptly, stupidly. So much for smooth. He finally remembered his own glass and took a steadying gulp. The whiskey hit bottom hard and spread, burning, through his chest
"Ah, yes," the guy clenched his fists a couple of times, rubbed a palm over his knuckles. "They will warm up in a minute. It is rather hot in here, compared to outside."
He tugged on his bow-tie to loosen it, and the stiff shirt collar scraped against his hickey. He cringed, probing at the red spot with his fingertips.
"Here." Joe wrapped some ice cubes in a napkin and handed them over. "Better ice that. Unless you want it to-"
“No,” he said, plucking the ice from Joe’s hand, “That is, thank you.”
He stretched his neck to the side, applying the compress. Joe bit his lip, realizing he’d just missed a perfect opening. He should have leaned closer, run that soothing coolness over the man's skin himself, let the melting ice drip down and soak the crisp starched shirt, and then…
"I - ah. I can imagine how this must look…" the guy muttered, completely unaware that Joe already had him gasping in his fantasy.
"Looks like a hickey," Joe said with a shrug. "Nothing scary. It’ll probably be gone by morning. Want another drink?"
"No, this one's warmed me up enough, I think," he dropped the wet napkin, extinguished his half-smoked cigarette and glanced at his watch. "Ah, 2:10. Thank you very much for the drink and the company. Is your shift now officially over?"
"I'm on for another half hour to close up. Hang out, if you want," Joe said. He reached under the counter, feeling for a pen. This guy was not getting away without Joe's number in hand.
"Perfect. I wanted to suggest a change of venue, but I do like it here and what I have in mind is more of a change of pace anyway…"
"What?" Joe asked, brain scrambling to make sense of that last remark. The pen slipped from his fingers and rolled under the cash register.
The guy looked him straight in the eye and said very clearly: "I'd really like to suck your cock. Is there somewhere we could?"
"Oh," Joe breathed, “Yes.” Fuck yes. He was probably drooling like an idiot. “Bathroom okay?”
The guy's shoulders loosened a little, and he smiled, so openly, brightly and beautifully it left Joe's ears ringing as all his blood rushed southward.
The men's room was relatively clean for a change, beige and just large enough not to be cramped. The sink had been too rickety to put much weight on since that one time with Chuck, but Joe knew all the other convenient places in the little room, things to hold on to, things to lean on. Joe watched the guy turn the lock, staring at his pale pink lips, picturing them wrapped around his dick. He hoped the guy would want a turn too, wanted to pull his cock out of those expensive slacks, touch it, taste it. The guy was looking at him like- Jesus, Joe couldn't think of a word for it.
“So,” Joe started to ask, then suddenly the guy was much closer, his head tilted that way. Joe tried not to flinch as the guy's lips landed on his. A hand curled over the back of his neck, holding him in place and, okay, kissing. Yeah. If he'd asked, like most guys did, Joe would have told him that he didn't. Kissing was for teenagers and people in romantic comedies.
The guy teased his lips softly, taking little, tentative licks. His fingers were shaking against Joe's neck. Kissing was what you did to calm a girl down, to make her feel special and safe while you touched her. Maybe the guy was still feeling rattled after whatever had sent him wandering around town looking like a ravaged accountant. Or maybe he was just new at this. Either way, Joe didn't mind taking care of him like this, if that was what he wanted. Joe opened his mouth.
The guy's tongue darted past Joe's lips as if he were afraid Joe would change his mind. His little gasp sucked all the air from Joe's mouth, seemed to suck the space from between them and Joe could feel the guy's cock pressed against his hip, the warm, lean length of his body, shoulders hard and angular under the rough suit jacket. Fingers tightened in his hair, slid up under his vest, burning across his back. That hot tongue moved gently inside him, soft lips against him and it was good. It had to be the whiskey fumes that were making Joe's head swim. Or maybe his dick was just hoarding all the blood meant for his brain.
Joe wasn't sure what he was expecting, chasing the guy's tongue back into his mouth, but somehow it wasn't that long low moan that made his lips tingle, made him want more, harder, closer and god, god. Joe was probably overdoing it with the teeth, but he couldn't stop, couldn't think. He tipped the guy's head back, trying for a better angle, and the guy sucked his tongue in deeper. A finger traced the seam of his jeans, rubbing softly against his crack, and Jesus, fuck, that was it. Cock. Now. He groped for the guy's fly, and his thick shaft twitched under Joe's touch, right into his palm, begging to be squeezed.
Hands closed hard around his wrists and Joe froze, eyes popping open. What-
“Ah, I’m sorry,” the guy said, looking just as startled as Joe felt. He wasn’t pushing Joe away, just holding his wrists tightly, away from himself. “Uh, I…”
Somehow, when he wasn't paying attention, Joe had crowded the guy up against the door. The guy was pressing back against the splintery wood, face alarmingly blank. Joe's cock really, really wanted to stay pressed against the guy's thigh, but he forced himself to pull back, in case he got carried away and began humping again at just the wrong moment.
“It’s okay,” Joe said. “Whatever you want.”
The man smiled with inexplicable relief, like he'd already gotten whatever it was he wanted, and lunged at Joe again. Joe stumbled backwards, pushed off balance and blinded by the warm kisses the guy was landing all over his face. His shoulders hit cold tiles, and the guy dropped to his knees, nuzzling the button of Joe's jeans open, licking his stomach.
Joe slumped against the wall, knees already threatening to wobble. A little weirdness was definitely worth it to have the guy looking up at him like that, with a playful little smile and, Jesus, the point of his tongue toying with the tab of Joe’s zipper. The guy squeezed Joe's hands -- when had their fingers gotten tangled like that? -- caught the tab in his teeth and pulled the zipper open so slowly Joe could feel each separate tooth release.
Joe's cock sprang free, swaying heavily, jerking in anticipation. The guy dropped his eyes from Joe's and smiled at it, clearly liking what he saw. He was gorgeous, kneeling there on the rust-stained tiles in his rumpled, expensive suit, bruised lips not quite touching Joe's dick, waiting there, just breathing on him, hotly out and ticklishly cool in. If he expected Joe to beg... Well, yeah, he'd beg, as soon as he could find his voice again.
“Please,” he managed, and choked breathlessly at the first wet touch. The guy licked his foreskin, nipping at it softly with his lips. He pushed it back with his tongue, kissed the moist cockhead and let it sheathe again, fascinated.
Joe bucked involuntarily, his cock bumping lightly against the guy's wet lips. The guy pinned his hips to the tile, and then he was sliding into that mouth, clutching at the guy's shoulders, so tempted to grab at his soft dark hair and pull him closer, get in deeper.
The guy was humming softly around him, doing incredible things with his tongue. Every touch was so impossibly sweet and hot, and Joe was whimpering embarrassingly, fighting hard to keep still. Suddenly the hold on his hips disappeared and his tight jeans were being tugged down impatiently. He helped without thinking, pushing them to his thighs, suppressed a shiver at the touch of cold tiles against his naked ass.
The guy's fingers cupped his balls, rolled them gently and then slid further back, tickling and stroking. Joe jerked, unexpected want twisting in his stomach, and he had to spread his thighs wider, he couldn't help it.
“Fuck,” he grated “In. Now.”
He tilted his hips forward to press down on those circling fingers. His cock slid deep for one dizzying moment, then the guy pulled back, lightly sucking at the head, and raised his hand to Joe's mouth.
The fingers at his lips tasted of smoke and Joe's own skin. Joe sucked on them fiercely, imagining the guy's cock filling his mouth. Just as he was getting into it, the fingers withdrew and slipped smoothly between his ass cheeks, trailing cool wetness behind, spreading him open, and - oh yeah. The guy circled his opening twice before sucking his cock unexpectedly deep, and pressing that finger in all at once and god, this guy would fuck him like he owned him and Joe wanted, wanted that to be his cock, wanted this guy to spin him around and bend him over and take him hard and deep and all the way, but it was too late to suggest that now. His dick twitched against the back of the guy's throat, that finger thrummed sweetly against his prostate and he was -
“Gonna come.” He tugged at the guy's shoulder, but the guy only sped up, sucking hard and tightening his grip on Joe's hip. And then Joe was coming helplessly, trapped between the teasing stretch of a finger and the guy's perfect hot mouth. The guy swallowed around him over and over, moaning low in his chest.
Joe’s legs shook, and he awkwardly crumpled forward. Large hands caught him and lowered him to the floor, his legs splayed out around the guy's knees. The guy trailed kisses across Joe's chest as Joe tried to remember how to breathe: light brushes of lips and little darts of tongue, tasting his sweat.
Name, Joe thought, letting his head fall back against the tiles. Phone number. And maybe, hopefully, another kiss. His head was blissfully emptied, ringing with the buzz of the fluorescent lights and the guy’s mouth was so close.
"Can I -" Joe started, torn between "Can I suck your cock now" and "Can I call you sometime", and then the guy was kissing him, wet and slow and deep. His lips were softer after the blowjob, the musky taste of come faint but unmistakable. And then he was getting up, wiping his hands on a crisp white hanky, adjusting his hard cock in his black slacks. Joe scrambled for a good line - he'd just had one - but the door was already swishing closed. By the time he stumbled out, stuffing his wet cock into his jeans, the bar and the side walk were empty.
***
Leonard's apartment looked much larger in the dark; he still wasn't used to all this space. Street glow filtered through the tree outside the high, narrow windows, dappling walls and ceiling in flecks of orange light.
The door clicked shut behind him. In the kitchen, the fridge stopped humming, plunging him into early-morning silence. Leonard stooped to untie his shoes, shifting uncomfortably in his sticky underwear. He strode across the bare hardwood in his slick, silk socks, placed his now-scuffed loafers on the shoe rack in his bedroom closet and carefully hung up his tie.
He almost thought - perhaps he was imagining it - that he could smell that bartender on himself still: a faint trace of warm suede, clean skin and cheap cigarettes. The knees of his pants were stained faintly with grey grime from the bathroom floor he’d been kneeling on, with a cock in his mouth and that gorgeous stranger writhing under his hands. He hurried to divest himself of the complicated layers of his suit, thinking of the way the bartender had moaned into his mouth and nipped hungrily at his lips, his hands rough in Leonard's hair.
He lingered only over his socks, unclipping the slippery silk from his garters and running their bodywarm smoothness through his hands. He tried to imagine that man's reaction to seeing them - he would probably laugh, but then again, someone barely dressed in suede, torn, tight denim and no underwear might actually appreciate them.
The white bathroom was too bright after the dimness of street and bedroom. Leonard adjusted the taps, left his glasses in their customary place on the corner of the sink, and stepped into the deep tub. He turned under the hot spray efficiently, barely letting the water soak through his hair before lightly running his fingers over the wet head of his cock.
Leonard hissed, reaching for the soap, thinking of the bartender’s fingers on him during that quick grope. He hadn’t felt like being touched at the time, but now he regretted missing that opportunity. The skill and delighted enthusiasm that man had put into fellating Leonard's fingers, the way his lips wrapped around them, all hard, hungry suction, his tongue cupping the tips, sliding between the knuckles... Leonard wanted that wet, greedy mouth, wanted to see those wide lips stretch and move on his cock. He wanted to hear his voice again: his teasing drawl, little strangled moans, impatient pleading, ragged screams. He palmed himself more firmly, remembering the lewd width of his smirk, the curve of flesh disappearing into those jeans. He could picture it so vividly - sliding his hand under the loose waistband, getting his palms on the man's muscular round ass. It had felt firm and smooth under his fingers, flexing with the roll of his slim hips. He quickened his strokes, thinking of hands fisted in his hair, hard cock twitching between his lips, the hot clench as he slid a finger inside. He would pin that man down, spread him open, get his tongue on hot salty skin, plunge his cock inside, would fuck him hard fast deep and feel each rough thrust answered with a shudder, a gasp, hips bucking at him, fucking back.
He surprised himself by moaning aloud, his hand moving fast and harsh along his cock. He braced an arm against the white tiles and came in shuddering waves, that man's delighted scream ringing in his ears.
The water washed down his skin as he breathed heavily, leaning into the white wall until he could trust his knees again. A dull ache was starting to build behind his eyes, the consequence of too much alcohol on not enough sleep. He brushed his teeth as an afterthought, erasing the last traces of that man's taste from his tongue.
He crawled into bed naked, ignoring the clothes flung on the empty half of the mattress, and curled under the covers, feeling the knotted muscles of his neck and shoulders loosen and relax.
He’d expected that being with a complete, anonymous stranger would feel more dangerous, more clinical or more awkward; he'd never been curious about that sort of experience before. But the way that man had looked at him - Leonard wasn't at all sure how to classify that expression. As if he couldn't quite believe his eyes…
Of course, he couldn't blame all his recent decisions on one sexy bartender's hungry stare. He'd gone wandering around the rough part of the town in his best suit, asking to get mugged. He'd walked into a random bar and molested a member of the staff, knowing full well what he was doing. And he hadn't even left a tip!
Well, that was probably for the best. That kind of gesture could be misinterpreted horribly. Still, he couldn't possibly just leave things like that. He had to go back and apologize - no, he didn't really regret it, so - well, he had to at least introduce himself. Simple politeness…
He had to go back and see that man again. He had no other choice.
Leonard smiled to himself, pressing his cheek into the soft cotton pillow cover. He'd go tomorrow. There was no point in putting it off.
To Dec. 17
by hibem and new_kate
illustrated by new_kate
Not worksafe.
December 16, 1996.
1:48 AM
It was a raw night in December, the kind of night that wanted cold rain and a lonely saxophonist hanging out on the fire escape. None of the radio stations were playing jazz, only Christmas carols, so Joe switched it off. The bar was called Marie's, a cozy little number in dark wood and dusty red vinyl tucked between a hippie art gallery and Austin's worst Chinese restaurant. It was the kind of place where working stiffs could make eyes at each other, and Joe Rosario was the kind of guy who could get away with wearing suede fringe to work and liked it that way.
Tonight he had the joint to himself. The last of the college kids had gone home for the holidays and, barring a straggler or two from an office Christmas party, he doubted he'd get anyone else in before close. He lounged against the bar, determined to polish glasses and think about Val Kilmer’s ass and Nichole Kidman's tits ‘til he had to start cleaning up. His shift was almost over, but he was in no rush to leave. His roomies would be in bed already and, as tempting as an hour or two of dancing sounded, it was too chilly to brave the walk north to the clubs - at least, not without a shirt.
The tinny rattle of the bell and the bang of the door hitting the wall almost made him jump. The customer crossed the room without looking up, lost in thought, which was just as well since it gave Joe time to collect his jaw from the floor.
The guy was movie-star gorgeous, with the kind of mathematically perfect face you could never get tired of looking at. His suit looked expensive, perfectly tailored to show off his broad shoulders, his narrow waist and long legs. Fuck, he was sexy: glossy dark hair that begged to be pushed out of his eyes, pale skin that probably kept hickeys for weeks, walk like a stalking cat, though he barely seemed to be watching where he was going. Joe felt a hot jolt of excitement shoot through his chest and down to his cock, and stealthily adjusted himself. He had no idea what a guy like that was doing alone on Friday night, hanging around the empty streets of the Warehouse district at two in the morning. Probably not cruising for horny gay bartenders, but Joe was an optimist.
The guy dropped onto a stool with easy, unconscious grace, staring at his hands. Up close he looked tired, shaken and disheveled. He had a livid hickey swelling on the side of his neck and his dark suit was rumpled, bow tie askew, shirttail sticking out from underneath the fancy vest. His lips were slightly bruised and pressed tightly together, but still looked damn tasty. Joe tried to shake all the ideas his little head was getting and act professional. The guy had obviously had a rough night.
"Hey," he said. "What can I get ya?"
The guy glanced up, blinking as if he hadn't noticed Joe was standing there. His eyes widened for a split second, and then he looked away again, hiding behind gold-rimmed glasses and thick eyelashes.
"I should probably ask for coffee," he said contemplatively. His voice was soft and velvet smooth, no hint of a Texan accent. Californian, maybe. "Ah, any malt whiskey will do. Straight up, please."
"Good choice. Our coffee sucks anyway, to be honest," Joe said, fetching a bottle and loading a tumbler with ice.
The guy winced at the first sip and pressed the cool glass against his swollen lips.
"Hope no music is okay with you. Fucking carols are killing me," Joe said, giving the guy his best friendly bartender grin.
"Of course." The guy smiled a tiny bit. "Thank you. I hope I'm not holding you up? If you’re about to close, I can-"
"No, no," Joe said, a touch too quickly. "I'm not in a rush. Well, I can't serve booze after two, but take your time if you want to hang out. Not like I have anything better do to tonight."
He’d nearly said "anyone", busy imagining how he’d work his hands up under that expensive jacket. Hell, he doubted he could find anyone better to do if he did a state-wide search.
"That is… hard to believe," the guy murmured. His gaze caressed Joe's naked abs and slid away. And Jeff had made fun of him for wearing a vest without a shirt; grunge-boy obviously knew nothing about style or the benefits of walking around topless.
"So, how is it out there?" Joe asked. "Christmas parties everywhere, chaos and drunken debauchery, puke and tinsel? Gotta love this time of year."
He was trying for a smile, but instead triggered an increase in brooding activity. The guy sighed into his drink.
"Hm," he said. "I suppose the desire to end the night holed up in a quiet bar while the whole world is celebrating voraciously does appear a bit pathetic."
"I'm working," Joe said flatly.
"Oh," the guy looked up, startled. "I was talking about myself, obviously."
Joe plastered on a winning smile, "Hey, we can celebrate too." He poured himself a whiskey, willing the guy's shoulders to relax. "I'm almost off the clock, so, as long as you don't rat me out to management... Cheers."
The guy raised his glass, looking bemused.
"Mind if I smoke?" he said, pulling a pack of American Spirits from his jacket.
"Mind if I join you?"
Joe dug out his Luckies and teased one free of the crumpled cellophane. The guy flicked open his chrome Zippo and held it out. Joe reached out to steady his hand, adventurously sliding his fingers over the inside of the guy’s wrist and under his shirt cuff. The guy didn’t flinch away, just exhaled sharply, his breath gusting over Joe’s face. His pulse was racing under his thin, soft skin; his eyes were pale, pale green and made Joe’s stomach drop to his knees. Joe barely remembered how to take a drag, step back and blow the smoke back out. He grabbed an ash tray from under the bar, wincing at the sudden snugness of his jeans, and mentally smacked himself one. He’d only touched his hand ferchrissake.
The guy smoked in silence and sipped his whiskey. Joe leaned against the bar, his Lucky dangling forgotten from his lip, watching the guy’s long fingers manipulate cigarette and glass.
"Your hands are freezing," Joe said abruptly, stupidly. So much for smooth. He finally remembered his own glass and took a steadying gulp. The whiskey hit bottom hard and spread, burning, through his chest
"Ah, yes," the guy clenched his fists a couple of times, rubbed a palm over his knuckles. "They will warm up in a minute. It is rather hot in here, compared to outside."
He tugged on his bow-tie to loosen it, and the stiff shirt collar scraped against his hickey. He cringed, probing at the red spot with his fingertips.
"Here." Joe wrapped some ice cubes in a napkin and handed them over. "Better ice that. Unless you want it to-"
“No,” he said, plucking the ice from Joe’s hand, “That is, thank you.”
He stretched his neck to the side, applying the compress. Joe bit his lip, realizing he’d just missed a perfect opening. He should have leaned closer, run that soothing coolness over the man's skin himself, let the melting ice drip down and soak the crisp starched shirt, and then…
"I - ah. I can imagine how this must look…" the guy muttered, completely unaware that Joe already had him gasping in his fantasy.
"Looks like a hickey," Joe said with a shrug. "Nothing scary. It’ll probably be gone by morning. Want another drink?"
"No, this one's warmed me up enough, I think," he dropped the wet napkin, extinguished his half-smoked cigarette and glanced at his watch. "Ah, 2:10. Thank you very much for the drink and the company. Is your shift now officially over?"
"I'm on for another half hour to close up. Hang out, if you want," Joe said. He reached under the counter, feeling for a pen. This guy was not getting away without Joe's number in hand.
"Perfect. I wanted to suggest a change of venue, but I do like it here and what I have in mind is more of a change of pace anyway…"
"What?" Joe asked, brain scrambling to make sense of that last remark. The pen slipped from his fingers and rolled under the cash register.
The guy looked him straight in the eye and said very clearly: "I'd really like to suck your cock. Is there somewhere we could?"
"Oh," Joe breathed, “Yes.” Fuck yes. He was probably drooling like an idiot. “Bathroom okay?”
The guy's shoulders loosened a little, and he smiled, so openly, brightly and beautifully it left Joe's ears ringing as all his blood rushed southward.
The men's room was relatively clean for a change, beige and just large enough not to be cramped. The sink had been too rickety to put much weight on since that one time with Chuck, but Joe knew all the other convenient places in the little room, things to hold on to, things to lean on. Joe watched the guy turn the lock, staring at his pale pink lips, picturing them wrapped around his dick. He hoped the guy would want a turn too, wanted to pull his cock out of those expensive slacks, touch it, taste it. The guy was looking at him like- Jesus, Joe couldn't think of a word for it.
“So,” Joe started to ask, then suddenly the guy was much closer, his head tilted that way. Joe tried not to flinch as the guy's lips landed on his. A hand curled over the back of his neck, holding him in place and, okay, kissing. Yeah. If he'd asked, like most guys did, Joe would have told him that he didn't. Kissing was for teenagers and people in romantic comedies.
The guy teased his lips softly, taking little, tentative licks. His fingers were shaking against Joe's neck. Kissing was what you did to calm a girl down, to make her feel special and safe while you touched her. Maybe the guy was still feeling rattled after whatever had sent him wandering around town looking like a ravaged accountant. Or maybe he was just new at this. Either way, Joe didn't mind taking care of him like this, if that was what he wanted. Joe opened his mouth.
The guy's tongue darted past Joe's lips as if he were afraid Joe would change his mind. His little gasp sucked all the air from Joe's mouth, seemed to suck the space from between them and Joe could feel the guy's cock pressed against his hip, the warm, lean length of his body, shoulders hard and angular under the rough suit jacket. Fingers tightened in his hair, slid up under his vest, burning across his back. That hot tongue moved gently inside him, soft lips against him and it was good. It had to be the whiskey fumes that were making Joe's head swim. Or maybe his dick was just hoarding all the blood meant for his brain.
Joe wasn't sure what he was expecting, chasing the guy's tongue back into his mouth, but somehow it wasn't that long low moan that made his lips tingle, made him want more, harder, closer and god, god. Joe was probably overdoing it with the teeth, but he couldn't stop, couldn't think. He tipped the guy's head back, trying for a better angle, and the guy sucked his tongue in deeper. A finger traced the seam of his jeans, rubbing softly against his crack, and Jesus, fuck, that was it. Cock. Now. He groped for the guy's fly, and his thick shaft twitched under Joe's touch, right into his palm, begging to be squeezed.
Hands closed hard around his wrists and Joe froze, eyes popping open. What-
“Ah, I’m sorry,” the guy said, looking just as startled as Joe felt. He wasn’t pushing Joe away, just holding his wrists tightly, away from himself. “Uh, I…”
Somehow, when he wasn't paying attention, Joe had crowded the guy up against the door. The guy was pressing back against the splintery wood, face alarmingly blank. Joe's cock really, really wanted to stay pressed against the guy's thigh, but he forced himself to pull back, in case he got carried away and began humping again at just the wrong moment.
“It’s okay,” Joe said. “Whatever you want.”
The man smiled with inexplicable relief, like he'd already gotten whatever it was he wanted, and lunged at Joe again. Joe stumbled backwards, pushed off balance and blinded by the warm kisses the guy was landing all over his face. His shoulders hit cold tiles, and the guy dropped to his knees, nuzzling the button of Joe's jeans open, licking his stomach.
Joe slumped against the wall, knees already threatening to wobble. A little weirdness was definitely worth it to have the guy looking up at him like that, with a playful little smile and, Jesus, the point of his tongue toying with the tab of Joe’s zipper. The guy squeezed Joe's hands -- when had their fingers gotten tangled like that? -- caught the tab in his teeth and pulled the zipper open so slowly Joe could feel each separate tooth release.
Joe's cock sprang free, swaying heavily, jerking in anticipation. The guy dropped his eyes from Joe's and smiled at it, clearly liking what he saw. He was gorgeous, kneeling there on the rust-stained tiles in his rumpled, expensive suit, bruised lips not quite touching Joe's dick, waiting there, just breathing on him, hotly out and ticklishly cool in. If he expected Joe to beg... Well, yeah, he'd beg, as soon as he could find his voice again.
“Please,” he managed, and choked breathlessly at the first wet touch. The guy licked his foreskin, nipping at it softly with his lips. He pushed it back with his tongue, kissed the moist cockhead and let it sheathe again, fascinated.
Joe bucked involuntarily, his cock bumping lightly against the guy's wet lips. The guy pinned his hips to the tile, and then he was sliding into that mouth, clutching at the guy's shoulders, so tempted to grab at his soft dark hair and pull him closer, get in deeper.
The guy was humming softly around him, doing incredible things with his tongue. Every touch was so impossibly sweet and hot, and Joe was whimpering embarrassingly, fighting hard to keep still. Suddenly the hold on his hips disappeared and his tight jeans were being tugged down impatiently. He helped without thinking, pushing them to his thighs, suppressed a shiver at the touch of cold tiles against his naked ass.
The guy's fingers cupped his balls, rolled them gently and then slid further back, tickling and stroking. Joe jerked, unexpected want twisting in his stomach, and he had to spread his thighs wider, he couldn't help it.
“Fuck,” he grated “In. Now.”
He tilted his hips forward to press down on those circling fingers. His cock slid deep for one dizzying moment, then the guy pulled back, lightly sucking at the head, and raised his hand to Joe's mouth.
The fingers at his lips tasted of smoke and Joe's own skin. Joe sucked on them fiercely, imagining the guy's cock filling his mouth. Just as he was getting into it, the fingers withdrew and slipped smoothly between his ass cheeks, trailing cool wetness behind, spreading him open, and - oh yeah. The guy circled his opening twice before sucking his cock unexpectedly deep, and pressing that finger in all at once and god, this guy would fuck him like he owned him and Joe wanted, wanted that to be his cock, wanted this guy to spin him around and bend him over and take him hard and deep and all the way, but it was too late to suggest that now. His dick twitched against the back of the guy's throat, that finger thrummed sweetly against his prostate and he was -
“Gonna come.” He tugged at the guy's shoulder, but the guy only sped up, sucking hard and tightening his grip on Joe's hip. And then Joe was coming helplessly, trapped between the teasing stretch of a finger and the guy's perfect hot mouth. The guy swallowed around him over and over, moaning low in his chest.
Joe’s legs shook, and he awkwardly crumpled forward. Large hands caught him and lowered him to the floor, his legs splayed out around the guy's knees. The guy trailed kisses across Joe's chest as Joe tried to remember how to breathe: light brushes of lips and little darts of tongue, tasting his sweat.
Name, Joe thought, letting his head fall back against the tiles. Phone number. And maybe, hopefully, another kiss. His head was blissfully emptied, ringing with the buzz of the fluorescent lights and the guy’s mouth was so close.
"Can I -" Joe started, torn between "Can I suck your cock now" and "Can I call you sometime", and then the guy was kissing him, wet and slow and deep. His lips were softer after the blowjob, the musky taste of come faint but unmistakable. And then he was getting up, wiping his hands on a crisp white hanky, adjusting his hard cock in his black slacks. Joe scrambled for a good line - he'd just had one - but the door was already swishing closed. By the time he stumbled out, stuffing his wet cock into his jeans, the bar and the side walk were empty.
***
Leonard's apartment looked much larger in the dark; he still wasn't used to all this space. Street glow filtered through the tree outside the high, narrow windows, dappling walls and ceiling in flecks of orange light.
The door clicked shut behind him. In the kitchen, the fridge stopped humming, plunging him into early-morning silence. Leonard stooped to untie his shoes, shifting uncomfortably in his sticky underwear. He strode across the bare hardwood in his slick, silk socks, placed his now-scuffed loafers on the shoe rack in his bedroom closet and carefully hung up his tie.
He almost thought - perhaps he was imagining it - that he could smell that bartender on himself still: a faint trace of warm suede, clean skin and cheap cigarettes. The knees of his pants were stained faintly with grey grime from the bathroom floor he’d been kneeling on, with a cock in his mouth and that gorgeous stranger writhing under his hands. He hurried to divest himself of the complicated layers of his suit, thinking of the way the bartender had moaned into his mouth and nipped hungrily at his lips, his hands rough in Leonard's hair.
He lingered only over his socks, unclipping the slippery silk from his garters and running their bodywarm smoothness through his hands. He tried to imagine that man's reaction to seeing them - he would probably laugh, but then again, someone barely dressed in suede, torn, tight denim and no underwear might actually appreciate them.
The white bathroom was too bright after the dimness of street and bedroom. Leonard adjusted the taps, left his glasses in their customary place on the corner of the sink, and stepped into the deep tub. He turned under the hot spray efficiently, barely letting the water soak through his hair before lightly running his fingers over the wet head of his cock.
Leonard hissed, reaching for the soap, thinking of the bartender’s fingers on him during that quick grope. He hadn’t felt like being touched at the time, but now he regretted missing that opportunity. The skill and delighted enthusiasm that man had put into fellating Leonard's fingers, the way his lips wrapped around them, all hard, hungry suction, his tongue cupping the tips, sliding between the knuckles... Leonard wanted that wet, greedy mouth, wanted to see those wide lips stretch and move on his cock. He wanted to hear his voice again: his teasing drawl, little strangled moans, impatient pleading, ragged screams. He palmed himself more firmly, remembering the lewd width of his smirk, the curve of flesh disappearing into those jeans. He could picture it so vividly - sliding his hand under the loose waistband, getting his palms on the man's muscular round ass. It had felt firm and smooth under his fingers, flexing with the roll of his slim hips. He quickened his strokes, thinking of hands fisted in his hair, hard cock twitching between his lips, the hot clench as he slid a finger inside. He would pin that man down, spread him open, get his tongue on hot salty skin, plunge his cock inside, would fuck him hard fast deep and feel each rough thrust answered with a shudder, a gasp, hips bucking at him, fucking back.
He surprised himself by moaning aloud, his hand moving fast and harsh along his cock. He braced an arm against the white tiles and came in shuddering waves, that man's delighted scream ringing in his ears.
The water washed down his skin as he breathed heavily, leaning into the white wall until he could trust his knees again. A dull ache was starting to build behind his eyes, the consequence of too much alcohol on not enough sleep. He brushed his teeth as an afterthought, erasing the last traces of that man's taste from his tongue.
He crawled into bed naked, ignoring the clothes flung on the empty half of the mattress, and curled under the covers, feeling the knotted muscles of his neck and shoulders loosen and relax.
He’d expected that being with a complete, anonymous stranger would feel more dangerous, more clinical or more awkward; he'd never been curious about that sort of experience before. But the way that man had looked at him - Leonard wasn't at all sure how to classify that expression. As if he couldn't quite believe his eyes…
Of course, he couldn't blame all his recent decisions on one sexy bartender's hungry stare. He'd gone wandering around the rough part of the town in his best suit, asking to get mugged. He'd walked into a random bar and molested a member of the staff, knowing full well what he was doing. And he hadn't even left a tip!
Well, that was probably for the best. That kind of gesture could be misinterpreted horribly. Still, he couldn't possibly just leave things like that. He had to go back and apologize - no, he didn't really regret it, so - well, he had to at least introduce himself. Simple politeness…
He had to go back and see that man again. He had no other choice.
Leonard smiled to himself, pressing his cheek into the soft cotton pillow cover. He'd go tomorrow. There was no point in putting it off.
To Dec. 17