Testosterone Boys and Harlequin Girls - 6
Title - Testosterone Boys and Harlequin Girls
Author - consistant
Rating - R/NC17
Pairing - Frank/Mikey (and other random pairings)
Status - Chapter 6
Summary - A twisted Moulin Rouge, a Glitterati crowd and a whore on a swing.
POV - 3rd person
Disclaimer - Don't own, don't know, don't sue. This is completely and totality fictional.
Author's Note - I know how to spell Michael, don't worry i'm not that stupid! Michel is Mikey's stage name, NOT Michael.
Chapters:
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
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Testosterone Boys and Harlequin Girls - Chapter Six
Outside the club the storm clouds are gathering in the pitch-black sky, grey and looming as thunder rumbles through the air and makes the street lamps flicker slightly as electricity surges through the city grids. The bustling criminal gangs that roam the busy streets freeze for mere seconds, looking at one another with resignation to the weather. The multiple car engines stutter as one loud growl as though to issue a general warning and suddenly, with a deafening clap and a blinding flash of lightning, rain begins to pour down, sweeping over the dark and dingy city in thick curtains of shimmering silver. Soon every sidewalk is covered with a glassy sheen, deceptive in its beauty yet deadly to step upon, let alone run across.
Rivers of murky water gush down the gutters, frothing and churning as cars skid through them with loud honks and screams of profanity, their drivers cursing Mother Nature and her tears. The filth ridden walls of every illegal building are washed into a monochromatic black that looks no cleaner than it did to begin with, their dirty windows blistered with drops of acidic downpour. So what? Civilisation effects the weather and its purity and yet we never blame ourselves…
The thumping dance music drowns out the thunder and rain, so the occupants of the club have no idea of the nightmarish battle man is warring against nature mere metres away. They have no clue as they grind, sip cocktails and sway their hips to songs about broken hearts, that they’re in danger of loosing themselves in the tirade of natural evil that is raging on the other side of Pierre Précieuse’s many walls. They’re living for the now, damn the consequences of later. But hey, that’s what being a carefree rich kid is all about, isn’t it? And we all know that money means more than anything, right? We all know that sex is the cream of the Earth, don’t we? Yet, they know that something’s lacking, so they drink, fuck and fight to find what it is. Because, of course, answers lie in the poisons that kill you.
But there are a few people that aren’t succumbing to the alcoholic daze of whisky and vodka, some, like the two grown men now sauntering through the claustrophobic crowd, hands held with interlocking fingers. They’re completely level headed right now, as they have more important things do than poison their lives away. For instance, they have fucking to do, and I think we all agree that that’s quite a good thing to stay sober for. Wouldn’t you agree? I’m sure they do as they break free of the oppressing throng and stand side by side before a deep blue set of double doors with two weaving silver handles and the word indigo spread above it like an elegant metal arch.
“After you,” Ville says softly in Gerard’s ear so his whore can hear him above the house music that blares from all sides.
“My pleasure.” Gerard murmurs back, smirking with a charismatic edge to his rogue lips as he reaches forward and pulls the dark door open to reveal a room Ville doesn’t have time to overlook as he is forcefully pushed inside a mere second later, hands roaming his body from behind as he stumbles across the threshold.
“Feisty.” Ville grins as he turns to see Gerard pressing himself teasingly against the now locked door, his front teeth nibbling his bottom lip. “I like it.” He adds as Gerard’s forehead creases with a tiny frown of displeasure.
“Good.”
Gerard smiles as he looks up at Ville from behind his lashes, a mock innocence seeping from his irresistible physique as he sucks on his lip to make it rosier. Ville watches him, one hand on his hip while the other dangles at his side itching to reach out and tuck Gerard’s hair out of his pretty eyes.
“Do you like the room?” Gerard asks after a moment of heated silence.
Prompted, Ville blinks and looks around at his surroundings. The room is relatively small and the walls, as you would expect, are a deep menacing indigo that seems to loom and confine the small space even more. There is a double bed set against the back wall that is covered in plum coloured silk sheets that Ville thinks look rather inviting, and the headboard is silver, probably made of iron or steel. It’s a moment before Ville notices a little table next to the bed. He arches an eyebrow as he realises what is actually on the table. He looks back at Gerard, who is smirking seductively.
“Handcuffs?” Ville says, a curl hooking his lips attractively.
“Yep.” Gerard nods and winks suggestively.
“Kinky.”
“Indeed.”
At this Gerard pushes himself off the door and walks past Ville, his fingers brushing his client’s thigh accidentally as he sits down on the bed and begins to ferret through the draws of the little bedside table. Ville watches him with curiosity, only to grin perevertedly as Gerard brings out a dirty magazine by the popular name of Play Boy and begins to flick through it with meek interest.
“A little reading material.” Gerard mutters as he catches sight of Ville’s sick smirk.
“But of course.” Ville says, chuckling deeply as he sits down gracefully behind his new whore, resting his chin on Gerard’s shoulder so that he can read too.
“They should have a Play Guy.” Gerard says absently as he turns over pages of scantily clad women in nothing but thongs and sometimes nothing at all. “How am I meant to, ya know, if I’m given this hetero crap to get going to.”
“Maybe you should write in and complain?” Ville mumbles, snaking his hands down to circle Gerard’s hips, stroking them softly to try and help the process along. Gerard sighs, turning a page and whistling mockingly as he sees a naked blonde straddling a Harley.
“That’s it.” Gerard closes Play Boy and flings it down on the floor in disgust. “We should have gone to The Rainbow Room, they have gay porn movies on demand!”
“Gerard,” Ville grins, moving his hand slowly from hip to thigh, then from thigh to waist in a very suggestive manner that makes Gerard’s throat go dry. “If you need something to get you going, how about I help you a little myself?”
Before Gerard can answer Ville’s hand slips down between his whore’s legs to cup his clothed crotch. Gerard gasps slightly and tips his head back against Ville’s shoulder as his client begins to move his hand in a circular motion, rubbing a little firmer each time until a rather sizeable bulge pushes back against his palm. Ville smirks with his success and kneels up behind Gerard, his muscular thighs slipping around his whore’s backside so that they’re seated back to chest. Gerard moans a fraction and lets his eyes flutter closed, his teeth dragging across his lip as he feels Ville’s heat radiating against him from behind.
“Oh, I do hope you’re vocal.” Ville says in a casual manner, almost conversationally so, the effect marred slightly by the hard on now pressing into the small of Gerard’s back.
“I am rather.” Gerard pants, reaching a hand upward to cup the back of Ville’s neck, forcing his pink lips to lower over his alabaster neck. He’s always been partial to a little vampire roll play, and as Ville sinks his slightly pointed teeth into his throat he moans loudly with pleasure.
“Lie the fuck down, Honey.” Ville mumbles thickly, gripping Gerard’s shoulders tight enough to bruise and drags him around to press his smaller body into the plush silken sheets. “Now,” Ville inspects the panting, flushed-faced Testosterone Boy before him and says thoughtfully. “You’re wearing too many clothes, and we both know that fucking is better when you’re naked. Ya know, hot, sweaty, bare skin sliding over one another in the dim bedroom light, that sorta thing?”
Gerard swallows with great effort and immediately starts to undress. First, he slides off his suit jacket and tosses it aside, his eyes fixed on Ville’s face, which looks absorbed with concentration as skin is bared to him a fraction at a time. Gerard begins to un-knot his red tie, his fingers struggling slightly as he strives to concentrate on his client’s burning eyes. The jade colour has turned to a dark, emerald green. Lusty, Gerard thinks.
“Too slow, Sugar, let me.” Ville says impatiently, reaching out and batting Gerard’s hands away so he can do it himself. “I feel like your fucking mother.” Ville mumbles distractedly as he pulls the tie from Gerard’s neck and flings it aside.
“That’s a mood killer.”
“And so are these pants, away with them I tell you!” Ville snorts, basically ripping Gerard’s dress shirt open to reveal the creamy, untouched skin beneath, buttons flying in every direction.
“Yes, master.”
Gerard giggles, undoing his bat buckle obediently and tugging the belt free, throwing it aside so that Ville, now satisfied with his ruin of Gerard’s shirt, can pull the black trousers down at his leisure.
Ville takes off his crushed velvet jacket and begins to untie the knotted scarf at his neck. Gerard rests his head on his hand, elbow propped up on the silky pillow, and watches Ville undress with great attentiveness. After all, it isn’t everyday you see a hot Finnish overlord stripping off before you now is it?
“Isn’t my shirt nifty?” Ville says smugly as he unwinds the scarf after toying with it for a full minute. Gerard chuckles and nods, biting his lip a second later as said shirt is pulled over its owner’s head to reveal a pale chest and indigo tattoos that just look stunning to say the least.
“Pretty.” He says, reaching out and running a curious fingertip over the dark blue swirls on Ville’s slightly muscular arm.
“Yeah, hurt like a bitch when I got it done though.” Ville replies, sitting as he unlaces his shoes, indicating that Gerard should do the same, which he does.
The two pairs of shiny leather dress shoes fall neatly to the darkly carpeted floor, socks following soon after so that both whore and client are left in only their trousers.
“Gerard, Sweetie, wanna lie back down?” Ville says softly, kneeling on the bed and watching as his whore does as he’s told. “Now, arms up.” His grin grows slightly devilish as he reaches over to the nightstand and picks up the pair of handcuffs that were so conveniently left there by the room’s previous users.
“I knew you’d be into kink.” Gerard smiles happily as he raises his arms so that they’re resting against the metal headboard.
“Damn fucking right I am.”
Ville grabs one of Gerard’s wrists and slips the handcuff over it, closing it with a satisfying click that makes Gerard’s midriff twist and the bulge in his trousers grow with an almost aching anticipation. The coldness of the metal doesn’t bother him much, in fact he rather likes it. Ville twists the chain through the bars on the headboard and takes Gerard’s other wrist, imprisoning it just the same as its twin. Then he sits back on his haunches and gazes at his whore who’s sitting there quite meekly, his hair slightly mussed and his lips cheery red from kisses and biting. He sighs most contentedly before the devil in him rears its ugly head.
“You look so fucking vulnerable, you know that?” he says lightly, reaching out a hand to stroke up Gerard’s taught thigh.
“I should bloody well think so,” Gerard says, a smug little smile gracing his rogue lips. “I’m told I have a reputation for the innocent when about to be fucked senseless thing.”
“Cocky little bastard aren’t you?” Ville laughs, crawling forward on his hands and knees so that his thighs slip between Gerard’s legs and his palms press into the bed on either side of Gerard’s bare torso.
“And you love it.”
“Yes, yes I do.”
Gerard breathes in deeply, his eyes closing for a fraction of a second as Ville’s fingers begin to busy themselves with the catch on his trouser front. Not a moment later his trousers are being unzipped and Ville gives out a low, appreciative whistle that makes Gerard’s cheeks flame.
“Commando guy, eh?” Ville says, his eyebrows slightly raised as he tugs Gerard’s pants down slowly so that the fabric causes a delicious friction against his whore’s erection.
Gerard moans loudly and tips his head back, the handcuffs clinking as his hands jerk in response to the onslaught. His natural instincts are to touch himself and now he finds he most certainly can’t. He gives a grunt of frustration and watches Ville throw his trousers to the floor and survey his now completely naked body.
“Well, well, well…” Ville smirks, his hands slipping to Gerard’s svelte sides and beginning to rub slowly to gain moans he so longs to hear. He isn’t disappointed. “Gerard, you’re hot.”
“Thanks,” Gerard pants, groaning as Ville’s fingers draw circles across his stomach and the line of his pelvis. “But aren’t you forgetting something?”
Ville sees Gerard’s eyes wandering to the obvious tent in his pinstriped pants and his cheeks flush pink.
“Oh yeah…”
“I’d help you, but ya know, it’s kinda hard being all trussed up like this.”
Gerard grins as Ville takes off his trousers and chucks them away to join the rest of his clothes on the floor.
“And you said going commando was a bad thing,” Gerard tuts in amusement as Ville shows a pretty damn obvious lack of underwear. “Shame on you Ville, you naughty little liar.”
“I’m hardly little.” Ville says indignantly.
“True.” Gerard nods, biting his lip slightly as he surveys Ville in all his glory. His cock twitches a little at this most pleasing sight and he curses himself for being so damn easy, but really, what whore isn’t?
“You don’t need lubricant do you?” Ville asks as he searches the nightstand for protection.
“Bitch, please…” Gerard mumbles, rolling his eyes. “How many cocks do you think have been up my ass?”
“I dread to think.”
“Just put on a condom, be damned with the lubricant ’cause Honey, this whore likes it rough.”
Ville frowns slightly as he fishes a condom from the draw, looking back at a clearly frustrated Gerard.
“If you like it so rough, why use the condom?”
“Because,” Gerard says in a bored voice, as though he’s said this many a time before, which in all truth he probably has. “It’s a regulation. This is a clean club Mr Valo, we wanna keep our employees safe from sexually transmitted diseases thank you very much.”
“Oh, okay.”
Ville smiles. He likes to know why something is happening and then he’s fine with it and does as he’s told. It’s when he’s told to do something and not given a reason why he has to do it that he gets peeved.
He opens the wrapper and draws the condom down over his now painfully hard erection, letting out a rather loud moan that makes Gerard start out of whatever daydream he was in. He watches as Ville’s mouth opens in delight as his hand lingers to pleasure himself just that little bit more.
“Horny bugger.” Gerard mutters, grinning as Ville opens his eyes and grins back with embarrassment.
“Gerard, Honey, open those pretty legs of yours, k?”
“Yes master.”
Back in the dance hall the crowd has, if possible, swelled as prime time comes around again as it does every night. And with it comes three smartly dressed people at the silver double doors. Now this particular event only happens every so often, as the three people standing in the club’s entrance hall are if anything the baddest and best of the slowly dwindling mob scene in this large city of illegality and crime.
The two on the outside are Ray Toro and Bob Bryar, the best drug traffickers in town. You want it, they got it, and they won’t sell you shit that’s been cut with rat poison either, they’ll get you the best your hard earned money can buy. They’ll even sneak you a little ecstasy, if that’s your thing or if you’re a bit desperate they’ll smuggle you heroin at no extra cost. They’ve got all the cash they need to lead a comfortable life, the smart suits and hats they’re wearing are enough to tell us that. They don’t see the need for making more than they actually need, so if you can’t pay or need a little on the side of something else, they tip their hats and either shoot you for your impudence or hand it over with a smile. It depends how pissed off the guy in between them gets.
And that guy is Adam Lazzara, a mob boss and sexual predator. You don’t keep up with your payments he’ll either rape you or make a trade for your children’s virginity, however much you plead he’s one to squeeze until he gets what he wants and I don’t believe I can remember a time when he hasn’t. He supplies Ray and Bob, they do the work and if the money doesn’t come back to him you’re for it, end of story, goodnight Vienna. He carry’s a six shooter under his jacket and he ain’t afraid to use it either. If anyone so much as looks at him funny it’s BANG BANG GUNS GO BANG, and you’re dead son, no matter how much of an innocent mistake it was.
Lazzara is quite the one for the boys if truth be told, and coming to Pierre Précieuse on occasion is a perk he takes great delight in. As do the Testosterone Boys who fuck him and the Harlequin Girls who suck him. He’s one for the orgies, if he feels so inclined at the time, and will take half the club down with him if his six shooter has anything to say about it.
It’s not as though he’s particularly unattractive either. He’s relatively tall, his skin lightly tanned and his chin forever graced with stubble. His hair is a dirty mouse colour, sometimes filthy blonde in the right light and his eyes are a delicious brown but have a sharp glint to them that some people are intimidated by. His lips are a dark pink, and like the younger Way, he wears lip-gloss if he feels in the mood. His voice is quite sensual, even if it’s saying something incredibly cold and cutting like ‘I’m gonna kill you now you motherfucker’, which incidentally he says a lot.
Tonight though, he doesn’t quite feel in the mood for sticking a gun to a miscreant’s temple and pulling the trigger so the bullet goes bang. He likes the suit he’s wearing too much for it to be covered in blood and brains and would rather not have to fork out for the dry cleaning bill.
“Mr Lazzara, Mr Toro, Mr Bryar, welcome!” says the greasy black haired young man sitting behind the admittance desk. He’s quite a good-looking lad, and yes in case you were wondering Adam has had the pleasure of fucking him before, and the tight jeans and black shirt he’s sporting do wonders for his already attractive figure.
“Well hello Master Good, or Matt I suppose I should say.” Adam replies, dropping a lazy smile, which makes the young boy blush crimson.
“How are you this evening Sir?” Matt asks politely.
Ray and Bob stand either side of Adam, guns held tightly in their pockets, their ears and eyes alert to any danger ready to threaten their influential boss.
“I’m fine,” Adam says, waving a hand uninterestedly at Ray and Bob who acknowledge the action with little nods. “So are they, they’re just busy making sure I don’t have my head blown off or my eyes gouged out. Do forgive their rudeness.”
“May I get you anything Mr Lazzara?” Matt offers as the three make to enter the dance hall.
“Yeah, get these two a date with Petite Étoilee in The Blue Room as per usual, I don’t need them hanging round me this evening breathing down my neck like a couple of vultures. I’ve had a tough day, I just wanna find some kid, fuck their brains out then maybe, just maybe I’ll have time for a drink with you before I leave.”
“Me?” Matt repeats disbelievingly, quite flattered.
“Yeah,” Adam nods, smirking and winking as he passes. “And perhaps I’ll do a little more than buy you a drink or two, maybe I’ll get you all liqueured-up and take advantage, how does that sound?”
“Like heaven.” Matt whispers as the three mobsters enter the dance floor to start their evening off in style.
The masked stranger breaks away from Frank’s lips and turns his head slowly, eyeing Sonny with slight interest, a plan forming in his perverted mind.
“Sonny, Babe, wanna come here?”
Sonny stands up immediately and the masked stranger grabs a fistful of his shirt and drags their lips together with a clash of teeth, tongue and saliva that makes Frank groan. The stranger pushes Sonny away a moment later however, much to the disappointment of Femme Fatale and Frank, who was greatly enjoying the show.
“Now,” the stranger grins, licking his lips free of Sonny’s sweet taste and looking to Frank who smiles to show his appreciation. “Frankie, how would you like a back massage?”
Taken back a little, Frank nods slowly, his throat slightly dry as the stranger leans forward and places a thumb on his lips, dragging the pink flesh down. Frank sucks on the stranger’s thumb and the innocent smile that accompanies it makes the stranger moan a fraction as he pulls his thumb free. The stranger’s eyes seem to gleam as he lets a finger trail across Frank’s soft lips, running then to linger over his chin and throat, the hot skin pleasing him greatly.
“Sonny, Darling, give Frankie a little helping hand, okay?”
“Mais oui.”
Sonny swiftly makes his way behind the sofa and places both hands on Frank’s taught shoulders, pressing in with his fingers and starting a slow rolling action that makes Frank’s head tip back with pleasure. Every touch is electric as he feels himself harden under Sonny’s small hands and the stranger’s lips, which have somehow come to latch onto his throat, sharp teeth nipping ever so slightly.
Frank feels a burning heat swamping between his thighs and starts, letting his head roll forward so he can see what’s happening. He gulps, physically gulps, when he sees the stranger kneeling between his legs, those effeminate hands placed spider like upon his denim-clad thighs, those deep hazel eyes glittering enticingly from behind the satin visor. Frank watches as the stranger drags his pink tongue across his glossy lips and his throat closes up, a moan barely distinguishable from a growl as the stranger edges his hands nearer to Frank’s clothed crotch.
“Fuck…”
Frank’s hiss of contentment is drowned by Sonny’s lips, which have sneaked round to grapple his own in a heated, almost painful, kiss. Sonny’s hands work his shoulders and slip beneath the neck of his shirt while the stranger’s are working another place entirely. Frank’s eyes flutter closed as he slips his tongue out to rub desperately across Sonny’s lips. They open at once and soon the two boys are locked in a mouth to mouth wrestling match, moaning and gasps for air taking the place of the blood and gore that should have been spilt.
The stranger’s hands are busy indeed, as a second later Frank breaks the kiss with a small yelp of surprise as his jeans are unzipped and his total lack of underwear is revealed to his two companions.
“Somebody’s excited…” the stranger says, his lip curling in a smirk that makes Frank’s face flush with embarrassment. “But aren’t we all?”
“I know I am.” Sonny mutters, leaning over the back of the sofa and seizing Frank’s neck between his teeth, biting down hard enough to draw blood, making Frank gasp and squeeze his eyes tightly closed.
“Well, Frankie,” the stranger giggles, “No need to be embarrassed. I’m sure I can solve your little problem…”
Frank’s eyes shoot open as the stranger’s lips wrap warmly around his erection and begin to move, his sandy brown head bobbing in Frank’s lap. Frank’s hands dart forward instinctively and grab at the stranger’s hair, dragging his face nearer so that his glossy lips slide up and down in a very pleasing rhythm.
Sonny, sensing he should be doing something round about now, moves out from behind the sofa and walks to where the stranger is seated on the red carpet. Sonny gives Frank a mischievous little smile and kneels down behind the stranger, his small hands capturing his hips.
For a second the stranger releases Frank’s hard on and growls, only to have Frank’s hands drag him back to finish what he started. He hated loosing that hot cavern of wetness and longed for it to surround him again, giving out a satisfied moan as it did so.
Sonny meanwhile, has begun to unclasp the catch on the front of the stranger’s trousers, drawing down the zip with such light, uninterested touches that the stranger groans with frustration. This instantly sends a powerful vibration through Frank’s erection that causes his entire body to jolt with pleasure, his head tipping back against the sofa cushions, his eyes close tight and his mouth opens that little bit wider.
Sonny slaps the stranger’s firm ass and the stranger yelps, sending another jolt through Frank who moans appreciatively. Sonny giggles at his own skill, and threads his fingers through the belt loops of the stranger’s jeans tugging them down to reveal soft, pallid flesh that looks so incredibly inviting, it’s all Sonny can do not to bite it rosy and red to match their surroundings.
“Très beau…” Sonny says, running his hands down the stranger’s sides to cup his firm backside.
“Merci!” the stranger manages to gasp before Frank forces his lips to continue their most pleasing work.
Sonny smiles to himself, the snakebites adorning his bottom lip glinting slightly. He raises a hand to his mouth, slipping two fingers delicately between his pale lips, sucking on them to coat the digits with a generous amount of saliva. Frank watches him, engrossed. The stranger has no clue.
A familiar charge is beginning to build within Frank’s stomach and Frank, not wanting to spend himself so soon, pulls free of the stranger’s skilled mouth, much to his surprise. The stranger frowns and is about to speak when his voice is ripped from him by Sonny’s fingers pushing themselves unheeded into him, the pain blinding for mere moments until a pleasure of such ferocity over takes him and he is compelled to do the only thing he can do. He rides. Eyes closed tight and mouth open in ecstasy he drives himself down on Sonny’s slick fingers, his haunches working furiously to keep him from falling sideways on the plush red carpet.
Frank, feeling slightly left out, slides off the couch and kneels before the stranger, grabbing both sides of his masked face and crashing their lips together. The stranger gives a low, guttural moan and his hands snake up to cling wildly onto Frank’s shoulders, dragging the emo boy nearer so that their lips can mesh and their tongues can explore. Frank’s hands drag down the stranger’s front, until he reaches the hem of the tight Anthrax shirt he’s wearing. Not waiting for the go ahead he tugs it up and over the stranger’s head, stopping for a second so the stranger can pull his arms free. Frank’s eyes dart over the smooth expanse of creamy pale skin and pointed pink nipples. He bites his lip momentarily before removing his own shirt.
He watches, breathless, as the stranger continues to ride Sonny’s fingers, the part of his face not concealed by the visor, flushing a heated pink. Frank catches Sonny’s eyes and the French boy nods, drawing his fingers free to the stranger’s great annoyance and frustration.
“Get on your back, bitch.” Frank smirks, watching the stranger scramble to obey. “Sonny,” Frank looks to see the French boy hovering by his side. “You’re wearing too many clothes, Baby.”
Sonny grins and immediately tugs the tight fitted shirt over his head and then gets to work taking off his jeans, moaning breathily as he accidentally brushes his now raging erection. Frank smiles down at the stranger who is watching Sonny strip most eagerly. Frank notices that the stranger’s jeans aren’t quite off yet, and feeling obliging, he removes them himself, leaving the masked stranger naked and writhing on the red carpet.
“Viens ici…” Sonny murmurs, scrambling across the carpet so that he’s sitting in front of Frank.
Before Frank can comprehend the mischievous smile gracing Sonny’s lips, Femme Fatale has grabbed the waistline of Frank’s open jeans and is tugging them down, discarding them a second later, leaving all three of them, trembling, horny and most definitely naked.
Frank looks at Sonny and growls with arousal. The boy is just as beautiful naked as he was clothed, his inky black hair mussed up hanging in his heavily made-up eyes, the red splashes of dye still looking like patches of blood. Frank plunges forward and grabs Sonny’s face, tangling their tongues together and sucking on the boy’s silver snakebites. The kiss however is only momentary as Frank pulls back to look longingly at the other beautiful boy lying beside them.
“Can I fuck you?” he asks before he can stop himself.
The stranger nods, a smile breaking across his masked face. Frank grins and rolls away from Sonny so that he’s hovering between the strangers generously spread legs. However Sonny coughs pointedly, causing the other two to look around at him questioningly.
“Protection…” Sonny mumbles.
“Shit, I forgot about that.” The stranger curses himself for his idiocy and sighs, not really wanting to move from this comfortable position. “Sonny, be a doll and get some out of the nightstand?”
“Oui, Monsieur.”
Sonny scrambles to his feet and pads off across the room, as naked as the day he was born. The other two watch him, Frank’s hands running up and down the stranger’s calves as he waits impatiently. Sonny returns a mere second later, dropping to his knees behind Frank, who seizes the offered condom at once and rips the wrapper open. Sonny, who took a second condom for himself, does the same. The two boys, watched most interestedly by the stranger, roll on their separate condoms and get ready to get down and dirty.
“Do your worst.” The stranger smirks up at Frank who smirks back.
“Oh, don’t worry, I will.”
Frank kneels between the stranger’s open legs, placing his palms flat on either side of his skinny torso and waits as he feels Sonny’s thighs brush around his backside.
“You need any preparation?” Sonny asks politely, the perfect little gentleman as his hands smooth along Frank’s tattoo littered sides.
“Not a bit.” Frank murmurs, whipping his fringe impatiently out of his eyes by jerking his head to the side. “Just go for it.”
“If you’re sure?”
“I’m sure.”
“Okay then…”
And a second or two later Frank’s entire body jerks forwards, a howl of pain escaping him, ripping from his throat, as Sonny drives his whole length deep into him from behind. This jerk, though not meant to do so, sends Frank’s erection thundering between the stranger’s cheeks and into his well-prepared hole. All three of them shriek in unison, Sonny from the sheer tightness of Frank’s body and the other two just out of pure pain.
They stay immobile for a second, three sets of eyes closed tight, three separate mouths open. And then the movement starts, Sonny first causing Frank to plunge forward into the stranger, all three of them groaning loudly as the pleasure of it all overwhelms them. Sonny grips Frank’s delicate hips and Frank takes great fistful’s of the carpet and the stranger can only hold on desperately to Frank’s taught arm muscles. And then they’re moving again, driving forwards and back, moans ripped from them and perspiration dripping down their necks and clinging to their straining muscles.
Frank pushes himself deeper making the stranger cry out and his fingers to dig into his tattooed forearms. The stranger pushes back, causing such a delicious friction between their sweat-slicked skin that Frank pants desperately and is torn between pushing back against Sonny and pushing forwards against his partner. Sonny’s hands are like two vices on his hips, squeezing so tightly that there is no way in hell there won’t be bruises there tomorrow. His chest feels constricted as he’s tugged forward and back, his throat sore from his laboured breathing but his mind full of flashing images such as all the gay porn he’s ever seen.
The stranger’s back is red and raw from its prolonged battle with the carpet and his mask is becoming an unpleasant weight on his heated face, but no, he won’t remove it. If he removes it all will be lost, so instead he pushes his hips up frantically, his muscles squeezing around Frank’s length, causing Frank to gasp and splutter with pleasure. Sonny gasps loudly as Frank in turn bucks back against him.
“There!” Frank groans as Sonny finds his spot. “There! There!”
Sonny obediently sets a fast, hard rhythm, pounding into Frank’s prostate, making Frank’s body jar and his hips roll. The stranger growls, his eyes shut tight as perspiration clings to his brow. Frank strikes something inside him that causes his voice to shatter the sound barrier.
“Again!” the stranger shouts, and Frank (helped out a little by Sonny’s now frantic thrusting) obliges.
Frank’s muscles ripple with a clenching spasm and he manages to choke out a moan as the stranger tightens around him.
“I’m-I’m-” The stranger stutters but pleasure swallows his words and turns them to a shuddering groan as he comes hard over his stomach, riding out his orgasm with good grace.
The sight of the stranger’s spent body writhing beneath him causes Frank to loose himself completely, reaching his climax at long last and coming, his vocal pleasure clear as a long, loud scream shreds his throat to ribbons. Sonny follows close behind, his guttural moan low and reserved in comparison to his fellows.
The three of them collapse against each other, a shuddering mass of spent flesh and trembling escapes of breath. The stranger cuddles up to his two companions and they cuddle back, grins fixed to their flushes faces, The Red Room heavy with the scent of sex.
Adam stalks through the dance hall like a prowling tom cat, his strides determined and even as his hands reach out to run here, there and everywhere, sometimes latching onto a girl or a boy that he proceeds to kiss and fondle until oh no he has to go, upon which he stalks off all over again. This routine becomes tiresome after awhile, so he settles himself in a darkened corner, warding off anyone that approaches him for a good time by patting the gun that is visible beneath his suit jacket. Soon he is given a thankfully wide birth, and he relaxes a little, letting his eyes rove the club and the bodies therein.
There isn’t much to entice him this evening if truth be told, typical. Just when he has a well-deserved night off, there is nothing and no one who can slake his lust for touch. The music, pounding and heated, does little to improve his mood as he finds it of a style which he distaste’s. The blaring disco lights burn his eyes and he squints, hating how vulnerable this night makes him feel. He hates to feel vulnerable, as he’s rather used to being in control.
As he lights a cigarette and inhales the poisoning yet savoury nicotine, he sees through the twirling smoke something that quite sets his nerves aquiver with desire.
Set high into a corner of the dance hall’s wide chamber there is a suspended cage, behind the interlocking bars of which sits a boy of such breathtaking, degradable beauty that it’s all Adam can do not to climb the walls and take him away to a back alley somewhere to conduct deeds he’s many a time been condemned for. The boy is skeletally thin, his body edgy and smooth beneath clothes that certainly aren’t what Adam usually goes for, but which look wonderful on this new fancy. He’s wearing skate pants that brush the tops of a very battered pair of Chuck Taylor’s, and his short sleeve shirt is red and filth ridden. Many elaborate tattoos snake up his arms and from what Adam can see he’s wearing wristbands. The boy’s hair is long and matted, obviously dyed black but with dark brown roots that are growing through from his scalp. The little Adam can see of his face is pinched and pale, withered from drug use but very handsomely so.
Just as Adam is about to look away, the boy turns his head very sharply, locking their gazes. Two round, glassy, piercing blue eyes stare at Adam and he feels his stomach lurch with want as the boy smiles weakly his way.
In less than a moment Adam is sweeping through the dance hall and out into the entrance where he marches up to the admittance desk, his face set and his mind focused on one thing.
“Master Good!” he shouts, causing the young boy behind the counter to jump and turn around with surprise.
“Mr Lazzara, what can I do for you?” Matt Good asks shakily, ringing his hands with nervousness as he takes in Adam’s agitated state. “Is something the matter?”
“Who on Earth is that boy in the dance hall and why is he locked up in a cage?” Adam snaps, laying his palms flat on the desk and leaning forwards to glare into Matt’s face.
“Oh, erm,” Matt doesn’t know what Adam is on about but hazards a guess. “The tall, pale boy with the artificial black hair? The one who looks like he’s just been pulled out of a dumpster?”
“Yes!” Adam says testily, “Why is he in a cage?”
“Because he lives in there!” Matt replies quickly, sensing Adam’s annoyance and not fancying a bullet through his brain any time soon. “Gerard rescued him from the streets, said he was a good looking lad and said he could live in the club and be a sort of, I dunno, attraction.”
“I want to talk to him.” Adam says decisively.
“Who, Gerard?”
“NO!” Adam spits and in a second Matt Good is looking down the barrel of a fully loaded gun. “I want to talk to the boy and further more I want his name, age and price!”
“Yes, yes of course!” Matt stammers, eyeing the gun pointed at his face with a vastly palpitating heart. “His stage name is Sale Jésus, but his real name is McCracken, Bert McCracken. He’s 21, lived on the streets for a few years after his parent’s chucked him out and h-he’s-he’s not for sale!”
“What did you say to me Master Good?” Adam growls, tightening his grip on the six shooter. “Did you just say to me that he is not for sale? Me?”
“Gerard said-”
“Be damned with Gerard!” Adam snaps, “If you wanna live, I advice you to do as I say and get that boy outta there and into a room with me! Got it?!”
“Yes Sir, of course Sir!” Matt squeaks, scrambling out from behind the desk. “I’ll get that sorted for you right away Mr Lazzara!”
“Good,” Adam lowers his gun, a smile curling his lips. “Now run along, I’ll be at the bar when he’s ready for me.”
And just like that, Adam strolls away, tucking his gun back under his jacket, leaving a trembling Matt Good behind.
*It's not often i write a chapter of this length, but i had ALOT of inspiration tonight. So, don't expect the next chapter to be so long or so soon delivered after the previous one. Comments are <3 as per usual*
Author - consistant
Rating - R/NC17
Pairing - Frank/Mikey (and other random pairings)
Status - Chapter 6
Summary - A twisted Moulin Rouge, a Glitterati crowd and a whore on a swing.
POV - 3rd person
Disclaimer - Don't own, don't know, don't sue. This is completely and totality fictional.
Author's Note - I know how to spell Michael, don't worry i'm not that stupid! Michel is Mikey's stage name, NOT Michael.
Chapters:
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
_________________________________________________________________
Testosterone Boys and Harlequin Girls - Chapter Six
Outside the club the storm clouds are gathering in the pitch-black sky, grey and looming as thunder rumbles through the air and makes the street lamps flicker slightly as electricity surges through the city grids. The bustling criminal gangs that roam the busy streets freeze for mere seconds, looking at one another with resignation to the weather. The multiple car engines stutter as one loud growl as though to issue a general warning and suddenly, with a deafening clap and a blinding flash of lightning, rain begins to pour down, sweeping over the dark and dingy city in thick curtains of shimmering silver. Soon every sidewalk is covered with a glassy sheen, deceptive in its beauty yet deadly to step upon, let alone run across.
Rivers of murky water gush down the gutters, frothing and churning as cars skid through them with loud honks and screams of profanity, their drivers cursing Mother Nature and her tears. The filth ridden walls of every illegal building are washed into a monochromatic black that looks no cleaner than it did to begin with, their dirty windows blistered with drops of acidic downpour. So what? Civilisation effects the weather and its purity and yet we never blame ourselves…
The thumping dance music drowns out the thunder and rain, so the occupants of the club have no idea of the nightmarish battle man is warring against nature mere metres away. They have no clue as they grind, sip cocktails and sway their hips to songs about broken hearts, that they’re in danger of loosing themselves in the tirade of natural evil that is raging on the other side of Pierre Précieuse’s many walls. They’re living for the now, damn the consequences of later. But hey, that’s what being a carefree rich kid is all about, isn’t it? And we all know that money means more than anything, right? We all know that sex is the cream of the Earth, don’t we? Yet, they know that something’s lacking, so they drink, fuck and fight to find what it is. Because, of course, answers lie in the poisons that kill you.
But there are a few people that aren’t succumbing to the alcoholic daze of whisky and vodka, some, like the two grown men now sauntering through the claustrophobic crowd, hands held with interlocking fingers. They’re completely level headed right now, as they have more important things do than poison their lives away. For instance, they have fucking to do, and I think we all agree that that’s quite a good thing to stay sober for. Wouldn’t you agree? I’m sure they do as they break free of the oppressing throng and stand side by side before a deep blue set of double doors with two weaving silver handles and the word indigo spread above it like an elegant metal arch.
“After you,” Ville says softly in Gerard’s ear so his whore can hear him above the house music that blares from all sides.
“My pleasure.” Gerard murmurs back, smirking with a charismatic edge to his rogue lips as he reaches forward and pulls the dark door open to reveal a room Ville doesn’t have time to overlook as he is forcefully pushed inside a mere second later, hands roaming his body from behind as he stumbles across the threshold.
“Feisty.” Ville grins as he turns to see Gerard pressing himself teasingly against the now locked door, his front teeth nibbling his bottom lip. “I like it.” He adds as Gerard’s forehead creases with a tiny frown of displeasure.
“Good.”
Gerard smiles as he looks up at Ville from behind his lashes, a mock innocence seeping from his irresistible physique as he sucks on his lip to make it rosier. Ville watches him, one hand on his hip while the other dangles at his side itching to reach out and tuck Gerard’s hair out of his pretty eyes.
“Do you like the room?” Gerard asks after a moment of heated silence.
Prompted, Ville blinks and looks around at his surroundings. The room is relatively small and the walls, as you would expect, are a deep menacing indigo that seems to loom and confine the small space even more. There is a double bed set against the back wall that is covered in plum coloured silk sheets that Ville thinks look rather inviting, and the headboard is silver, probably made of iron or steel. It’s a moment before Ville notices a little table next to the bed. He arches an eyebrow as he realises what is actually on the table. He looks back at Gerard, who is smirking seductively.
“Handcuffs?” Ville says, a curl hooking his lips attractively.
“Yep.” Gerard nods and winks suggestively.
“Kinky.”
“Indeed.”
At this Gerard pushes himself off the door and walks past Ville, his fingers brushing his client’s thigh accidentally as he sits down on the bed and begins to ferret through the draws of the little bedside table. Ville watches him with curiosity, only to grin perevertedly as Gerard brings out a dirty magazine by the popular name of Play Boy and begins to flick through it with meek interest.
“A little reading material.” Gerard mutters as he catches sight of Ville’s sick smirk.
“But of course.” Ville says, chuckling deeply as he sits down gracefully behind his new whore, resting his chin on Gerard’s shoulder so that he can read too.
“They should have a Play Guy.” Gerard says absently as he turns over pages of scantily clad women in nothing but thongs and sometimes nothing at all. “How am I meant to, ya know, if I’m given this hetero crap to get going to.”
“Maybe you should write in and complain?” Ville mumbles, snaking his hands down to circle Gerard’s hips, stroking them softly to try and help the process along. Gerard sighs, turning a page and whistling mockingly as he sees a naked blonde straddling a Harley.
“That’s it.” Gerard closes Play Boy and flings it down on the floor in disgust. “We should have gone to The Rainbow Room, they have gay porn movies on demand!”
“Gerard,” Ville grins, moving his hand slowly from hip to thigh, then from thigh to waist in a very suggestive manner that makes Gerard’s throat go dry. “If you need something to get you going, how about I help you a little myself?”
Before Gerard can answer Ville’s hand slips down between his whore’s legs to cup his clothed crotch. Gerard gasps slightly and tips his head back against Ville’s shoulder as his client begins to move his hand in a circular motion, rubbing a little firmer each time until a rather sizeable bulge pushes back against his palm. Ville smirks with his success and kneels up behind Gerard, his muscular thighs slipping around his whore’s backside so that they’re seated back to chest. Gerard moans a fraction and lets his eyes flutter closed, his teeth dragging across his lip as he feels Ville’s heat radiating against him from behind.
“Oh, I do hope you’re vocal.” Ville says in a casual manner, almost conversationally so, the effect marred slightly by the hard on now pressing into the small of Gerard’s back.
“I am rather.” Gerard pants, reaching a hand upward to cup the back of Ville’s neck, forcing his pink lips to lower over his alabaster neck. He’s always been partial to a little vampire roll play, and as Ville sinks his slightly pointed teeth into his throat he moans loudly with pleasure.
“Lie the fuck down, Honey.” Ville mumbles thickly, gripping Gerard’s shoulders tight enough to bruise and drags him around to press his smaller body into the plush silken sheets. “Now,” Ville inspects the panting, flushed-faced Testosterone Boy before him and says thoughtfully. “You’re wearing too many clothes, and we both know that fucking is better when you’re naked. Ya know, hot, sweaty, bare skin sliding over one another in the dim bedroom light, that sorta thing?”
Gerard swallows with great effort and immediately starts to undress. First, he slides off his suit jacket and tosses it aside, his eyes fixed on Ville’s face, which looks absorbed with concentration as skin is bared to him a fraction at a time. Gerard begins to un-knot his red tie, his fingers struggling slightly as he strives to concentrate on his client’s burning eyes. The jade colour has turned to a dark, emerald green. Lusty, Gerard thinks.
“Too slow, Sugar, let me.” Ville says impatiently, reaching out and batting Gerard’s hands away so he can do it himself. “I feel like your fucking mother.” Ville mumbles distractedly as he pulls the tie from Gerard’s neck and flings it aside.
“That’s a mood killer.”
“And so are these pants, away with them I tell you!” Ville snorts, basically ripping Gerard’s dress shirt open to reveal the creamy, untouched skin beneath, buttons flying in every direction.
“Yes, master.”
Gerard giggles, undoing his bat buckle obediently and tugging the belt free, throwing it aside so that Ville, now satisfied with his ruin of Gerard’s shirt, can pull the black trousers down at his leisure.
Ville takes off his crushed velvet jacket and begins to untie the knotted scarf at his neck. Gerard rests his head on his hand, elbow propped up on the silky pillow, and watches Ville undress with great attentiveness. After all, it isn’t everyday you see a hot Finnish overlord stripping off before you now is it?
“Isn’t my shirt nifty?” Ville says smugly as he unwinds the scarf after toying with it for a full minute. Gerard chuckles and nods, biting his lip a second later as said shirt is pulled over its owner’s head to reveal a pale chest and indigo tattoos that just look stunning to say the least.
“Pretty.” He says, reaching out and running a curious fingertip over the dark blue swirls on Ville’s slightly muscular arm.
“Yeah, hurt like a bitch when I got it done though.” Ville replies, sitting as he unlaces his shoes, indicating that Gerard should do the same, which he does.
The two pairs of shiny leather dress shoes fall neatly to the darkly carpeted floor, socks following soon after so that both whore and client are left in only their trousers.
“Gerard, Sweetie, wanna lie back down?” Ville says softly, kneeling on the bed and watching as his whore does as he’s told. “Now, arms up.” His grin grows slightly devilish as he reaches over to the nightstand and picks up the pair of handcuffs that were so conveniently left there by the room’s previous users.
“I knew you’d be into kink.” Gerard smiles happily as he raises his arms so that they’re resting against the metal headboard.
“Damn fucking right I am.”
Ville grabs one of Gerard’s wrists and slips the handcuff over it, closing it with a satisfying click that makes Gerard’s midriff twist and the bulge in his trousers grow with an almost aching anticipation. The coldness of the metal doesn’t bother him much, in fact he rather likes it. Ville twists the chain through the bars on the headboard and takes Gerard’s other wrist, imprisoning it just the same as its twin. Then he sits back on his haunches and gazes at his whore who’s sitting there quite meekly, his hair slightly mussed and his lips cheery red from kisses and biting. He sighs most contentedly before the devil in him rears its ugly head.
“You look so fucking vulnerable, you know that?” he says lightly, reaching out a hand to stroke up Gerard’s taught thigh.
“I should bloody well think so,” Gerard says, a smug little smile gracing his rogue lips. “I’m told I have a reputation for the innocent when about to be fucked senseless thing.”
“Cocky little bastard aren’t you?” Ville laughs, crawling forward on his hands and knees so that his thighs slip between Gerard’s legs and his palms press into the bed on either side of Gerard’s bare torso.
“And you love it.”
“Yes, yes I do.”
Gerard breathes in deeply, his eyes closing for a fraction of a second as Ville’s fingers begin to busy themselves with the catch on his trouser front. Not a moment later his trousers are being unzipped and Ville gives out a low, appreciative whistle that makes Gerard’s cheeks flame.
“Commando guy, eh?” Ville says, his eyebrows slightly raised as he tugs Gerard’s pants down slowly so that the fabric causes a delicious friction against his whore’s erection.
Gerard moans loudly and tips his head back, the handcuffs clinking as his hands jerk in response to the onslaught. His natural instincts are to touch himself and now he finds he most certainly can’t. He gives a grunt of frustration and watches Ville throw his trousers to the floor and survey his now completely naked body.
“Well, well, well…” Ville smirks, his hands slipping to Gerard’s svelte sides and beginning to rub slowly to gain moans he so longs to hear. He isn’t disappointed. “Gerard, you’re hot.”
“Thanks,” Gerard pants, groaning as Ville’s fingers draw circles across his stomach and the line of his pelvis. “But aren’t you forgetting something?”
Ville sees Gerard’s eyes wandering to the obvious tent in his pinstriped pants and his cheeks flush pink.
“Oh yeah…”
“I’d help you, but ya know, it’s kinda hard being all trussed up like this.”
Gerard grins as Ville takes off his trousers and chucks them away to join the rest of his clothes on the floor.
“And you said going commando was a bad thing,” Gerard tuts in amusement as Ville shows a pretty damn obvious lack of underwear. “Shame on you Ville, you naughty little liar.”
“I’m hardly little.” Ville says indignantly.
“True.” Gerard nods, biting his lip slightly as he surveys Ville in all his glory. His cock twitches a little at this most pleasing sight and he curses himself for being so damn easy, but really, what whore isn’t?
“You don’t need lubricant do you?” Ville asks as he searches the nightstand for protection.
“Bitch, please…” Gerard mumbles, rolling his eyes. “How many cocks do you think have been up my ass?”
“I dread to think.”
“Just put on a condom, be damned with the lubricant ’cause Honey, this whore likes it rough.”
Ville frowns slightly as he fishes a condom from the draw, looking back at a clearly frustrated Gerard.
“If you like it so rough, why use the condom?”
“Because,” Gerard says in a bored voice, as though he’s said this many a time before, which in all truth he probably has. “It’s a regulation. This is a clean club Mr Valo, we wanna keep our employees safe from sexually transmitted diseases thank you very much.”
“Oh, okay.”
Ville smiles. He likes to know why something is happening and then he’s fine with it and does as he’s told. It’s when he’s told to do something and not given a reason why he has to do it that he gets peeved.
He opens the wrapper and draws the condom down over his now painfully hard erection, letting out a rather loud moan that makes Gerard start out of whatever daydream he was in. He watches as Ville’s mouth opens in delight as his hand lingers to pleasure himself just that little bit more.
“Horny bugger.” Gerard mutters, grinning as Ville opens his eyes and grins back with embarrassment.
“Gerard, Honey, open those pretty legs of yours, k?”
“Yes master.”
Back in the dance hall the crowd has, if possible, swelled as prime time comes around again as it does every night. And with it comes three smartly dressed people at the silver double doors. Now this particular event only happens every so often, as the three people standing in the club’s entrance hall are if anything the baddest and best of the slowly dwindling mob scene in this large city of illegality and crime.
The two on the outside are Ray Toro and Bob Bryar, the best drug traffickers in town. You want it, they got it, and they won’t sell you shit that’s been cut with rat poison either, they’ll get you the best your hard earned money can buy. They’ll even sneak you a little ecstasy, if that’s your thing or if you’re a bit desperate they’ll smuggle you heroin at no extra cost. They’ve got all the cash they need to lead a comfortable life, the smart suits and hats they’re wearing are enough to tell us that. They don’t see the need for making more than they actually need, so if you can’t pay or need a little on the side of something else, they tip their hats and either shoot you for your impudence or hand it over with a smile. It depends how pissed off the guy in between them gets.
And that guy is Adam Lazzara, a mob boss and sexual predator. You don’t keep up with your payments he’ll either rape you or make a trade for your children’s virginity, however much you plead he’s one to squeeze until he gets what he wants and I don’t believe I can remember a time when he hasn’t. He supplies Ray and Bob, they do the work and if the money doesn’t come back to him you’re for it, end of story, goodnight Vienna. He carry’s a six shooter under his jacket and he ain’t afraid to use it either. If anyone so much as looks at him funny it’s BANG BANG GUNS GO BANG, and you’re dead son, no matter how much of an innocent mistake it was.
Lazzara is quite the one for the boys if truth be told, and coming to Pierre Précieuse on occasion is a perk he takes great delight in. As do the Testosterone Boys who fuck him and the Harlequin Girls who suck him. He’s one for the orgies, if he feels so inclined at the time, and will take half the club down with him if his six shooter has anything to say about it.
It’s not as though he’s particularly unattractive either. He’s relatively tall, his skin lightly tanned and his chin forever graced with stubble. His hair is a dirty mouse colour, sometimes filthy blonde in the right light and his eyes are a delicious brown but have a sharp glint to them that some people are intimidated by. His lips are a dark pink, and like the younger Way, he wears lip-gloss if he feels in the mood. His voice is quite sensual, even if it’s saying something incredibly cold and cutting like ‘I’m gonna kill you now you motherfucker’, which incidentally he says a lot.
Tonight though, he doesn’t quite feel in the mood for sticking a gun to a miscreant’s temple and pulling the trigger so the bullet goes bang. He likes the suit he’s wearing too much for it to be covered in blood and brains and would rather not have to fork out for the dry cleaning bill.
“Mr Lazzara, Mr Toro, Mr Bryar, welcome!” says the greasy black haired young man sitting behind the admittance desk. He’s quite a good-looking lad, and yes in case you were wondering Adam has had the pleasure of fucking him before, and the tight jeans and black shirt he’s sporting do wonders for his already attractive figure.
“Well hello Master Good, or Matt I suppose I should say.” Adam replies, dropping a lazy smile, which makes the young boy blush crimson.
“How are you this evening Sir?” Matt asks politely.
Ray and Bob stand either side of Adam, guns held tightly in their pockets, their ears and eyes alert to any danger ready to threaten their influential boss.
“I’m fine,” Adam says, waving a hand uninterestedly at Ray and Bob who acknowledge the action with little nods. “So are they, they’re just busy making sure I don’t have my head blown off or my eyes gouged out. Do forgive their rudeness.”
“May I get you anything Mr Lazzara?” Matt offers as the three make to enter the dance hall.
“Yeah, get these two a date with Petite Étoilee in The Blue Room as per usual, I don’t need them hanging round me this evening breathing down my neck like a couple of vultures. I’ve had a tough day, I just wanna find some kid, fuck their brains out then maybe, just maybe I’ll have time for a drink with you before I leave.”
“Me?” Matt repeats disbelievingly, quite flattered.
“Yeah,” Adam nods, smirking and winking as he passes. “And perhaps I’ll do a little more than buy you a drink or two, maybe I’ll get you all liqueured-up and take advantage, how does that sound?”
“Like heaven.” Matt whispers as the three mobsters enter the dance floor to start their evening off in style.
The masked stranger breaks away from Frank’s lips and turns his head slowly, eyeing Sonny with slight interest, a plan forming in his perverted mind.
“Sonny, Babe, wanna come here?”
Sonny stands up immediately and the masked stranger grabs a fistful of his shirt and drags their lips together with a clash of teeth, tongue and saliva that makes Frank groan. The stranger pushes Sonny away a moment later however, much to the disappointment of Femme Fatale and Frank, who was greatly enjoying the show.
“Now,” the stranger grins, licking his lips free of Sonny’s sweet taste and looking to Frank who smiles to show his appreciation. “Frankie, how would you like a back massage?”
Taken back a little, Frank nods slowly, his throat slightly dry as the stranger leans forward and places a thumb on his lips, dragging the pink flesh down. Frank sucks on the stranger’s thumb and the innocent smile that accompanies it makes the stranger moan a fraction as he pulls his thumb free. The stranger’s eyes seem to gleam as he lets a finger trail across Frank’s soft lips, running then to linger over his chin and throat, the hot skin pleasing him greatly.
“Sonny, Darling, give Frankie a little helping hand, okay?”
“Mais oui.”
Sonny swiftly makes his way behind the sofa and places both hands on Frank’s taught shoulders, pressing in with his fingers and starting a slow rolling action that makes Frank’s head tip back with pleasure. Every touch is electric as he feels himself harden under Sonny’s small hands and the stranger’s lips, which have somehow come to latch onto his throat, sharp teeth nipping ever so slightly.
Frank feels a burning heat swamping between his thighs and starts, letting his head roll forward so he can see what’s happening. He gulps, physically gulps, when he sees the stranger kneeling between his legs, those effeminate hands placed spider like upon his denim-clad thighs, those deep hazel eyes glittering enticingly from behind the satin visor. Frank watches as the stranger drags his pink tongue across his glossy lips and his throat closes up, a moan barely distinguishable from a growl as the stranger edges his hands nearer to Frank’s clothed crotch.
“Fuck…”
Frank’s hiss of contentment is drowned by Sonny’s lips, which have sneaked round to grapple his own in a heated, almost painful, kiss. Sonny’s hands work his shoulders and slip beneath the neck of his shirt while the stranger’s are working another place entirely. Frank’s eyes flutter closed as he slips his tongue out to rub desperately across Sonny’s lips. They open at once and soon the two boys are locked in a mouth to mouth wrestling match, moaning and gasps for air taking the place of the blood and gore that should have been spilt.
The stranger’s hands are busy indeed, as a second later Frank breaks the kiss with a small yelp of surprise as his jeans are unzipped and his total lack of underwear is revealed to his two companions.
“Somebody’s excited…” the stranger says, his lip curling in a smirk that makes Frank’s face flush with embarrassment. “But aren’t we all?”
“I know I am.” Sonny mutters, leaning over the back of the sofa and seizing Frank’s neck between his teeth, biting down hard enough to draw blood, making Frank gasp and squeeze his eyes tightly closed.
“Well, Frankie,” the stranger giggles, “No need to be embarrassed. I’m sure I can solve your little problem…”
Frank’s eyes shoot open as the stranger’s lips wrap warmly around his erection and begin to move, his sandy brown head bobbing in Frank’s lap. Frank’s hands dart forward instinctively and grab at the stranger’s hair, dragging his face nearer so that his glossy lips slide up and down in a very pleasing rhythm.
Sonny, sensing he should be doing something round about now, moves out from behind the sofa and walks to where the stranger is seated on the red carpet. Sonny gives Frank a mischievous little smile and kneels down behind the stranger, his small hands capturing his hips.
For a second the stranger releases Frank’s hard on and growls, only to have Frank’s hands drag him back to finish what he started. He hated loosing that hot cavern of wetness and longed for it to surround him again, giving out a satisfied moan as it did so.
Sonny meanwhile, has begun to unclasp the catch on the front of the stranger’s trousers, drawing down the zip with such light, uninterested touches that the stranger groans with frustration. This instantly sends a powerful vibration through Frank’s erection that causes his entire body to jolt with pleasure, his head tipping back against the sofa cushions, his eyes close tight and his mouth opens that little bit wider.
Sonny slaps the stranger’s firm ass and the stranger yelps, sending another jolt through Frank who moans appreciatively. Sonny giggles at his own skill, and threads his fingers through the belt loops of the stranger’s jeans tugging them down to reveal soft, pallid flesh that looks so incredibly inviting, it’s all Sonny can do not to bite it rosy and red to match their surroundings.
“Très beau…” Sonny says, running his hands down the stranger’s sides to cup his firm backside.
“Merci!” the stranger manages to gasp before Frank forces his lips to continue their most pleasing work.
Sonny smiles to himself, the snakebites adorning his bottom lip glinting slightly. He raises a hand to his mouth, slipping two fingers delicately between his pale lips, sucking on them to coat the digits with a generous amount of saliva. Frank watches him, engrossed. The stranger has no clue.
A familiar charge is beginning to build within Frank’s stomach and Frank, not wanting to spend himself so soon, pulls free of the stranger’s skilled mouth, much to his surprise. The stranger frowns and is about to speak when his voice is ripped from him by Sonny’s fingers pushing themselves unheeded into him, the pain blinding for mere moments until a pleasure of such ferocity over takes him and he is compelled to do the only thing he can do. He rides. Eyes closed tight and mouth open in ecstasy he drives himself down on Sonny’s slick fingers, his haunches working furiously to keep him from falling sideways on the plush red carpet.
Frank, feeling slightly left out, slides off the couch and kneels before the stranger, grabbing both sides of his masked face and crashing their lips together. The stranger gives a low, guttural moan and his hands snake up to cling wildly onto Frank’s shoulders, dragging the emo boy nearer so that their lips can mesh and their tongues can explore. Frank’s hands drag down the stranger’s front, until he reaches the hem of the tight Anthrax shirt he’s wearing. Not waiting for the go ahead he tugs it up and over the stranger’s head, stopping for a second so the stranger can pull his arms free. Frank’s eyes dart over the smooth expanse of creamy pale skin and pointed pink nipples. He bites his lip momentarily before removing his own shirt.
He watches, breathless, as the stranger continues to ride Sonny’s fingers, the part of his face not concealed by the visor, flushing a heated pink. Frank catches Sonny’s eyes and the French boy nods, drawing his fingers free to the stranger’s great annoyance and frustration.
“Get on your back, bitch.” Frank smirks, watching the stranger scramble to obey. “Sonny,” Frank looks to see the French boy hovering by his side. “You’re wearing too many clothes, Baby.”
Sonny grins and immediately tugs the tight fitted shirt over his head and then gets to work taking off his jeans, moaning breathily as he accidentally brushes his now raging erection. Frank smiles down at the stranger who is watching Sonny strip most eagerly. Frank notices that the stranger’s jeans aren’t quite off yet, and feeling obliging, he removes them himself, leaving the masked stranger naked and writhing on the red carpet.
“Viens ici…” Sonny murmurs, scrambling across the carpet so that he’s sitting in front of Frank.
Before Frank can comprehend the mischievous smile gracing Sonny’s lips, Femme Fatale has grabbed the waistline of Frank’s open jeans and is tugging them down, discarding them a second later, leaving all three of them, trembling, horny and most definitely naked.
Frank looks at Sonny and growls with arousal. The boy is just as beautiful naked as he was clothed, his inky black hair mussed up hanging in his heavily made-up eyes, the red splashes of dye still looking like patches of blood. Frank plunges forward and grabs Sonny’s face, tangling their tongues together and sucking on the boy’s silver snakebites. The kiss however is only momentary as Frank pulls back to look longingly at the other beautiful boy lying beside them.
“Can I fuck you?” he asks before he can stop himself.
The stranger nods, a smile breaking across his masked face. Frank grins and rolls away from Sonny so that he’s hovering between the strangers generously spread legs. However Sonny coughs pointedly, causing the other two to look around at him questioningly.
“Protection…” Sonny mumbles.
“Shit, I forgot about that.” The stranger curses himself for his idiocy and sighs, not really wanting to move from this comfortable position. “Sonny, be a doll and get some out of the nightstand?”
“Oui, Monsieur.”
Sonny scrambles to his feet and pads off across the room, as naked as the day he was born. The other two watch him, Frank’s hands running up and down the stranger’s calves as he waits impatiently. Sonny returns a mere second later, dropping to his knees behind Frank, who seizes the offered condom at once and rips the wrapper open. Sonny, who took a second condom for himself, does the same. The two boys, watched most interestedly by the stranger, roll on their separate condoms and get ready to get down and dirty.
“Do your worst.” The stranger smirks up at Frank who smirks back.
“Oh, don’t worry, I will.”
Frank kneels between the stranger’s open legs, placing his palms flat on either side of his skinny torso and waits as he feels Sonny’s thighs brush around his backside.
“You need any preparation?” Sonny asks politely, the perfect little gentleman as his hands smooth along Frank’s tattoo littered sides.
“Not a bit.” Frank murmurs, whipping his fringe impatiently out of his eyes by jerking his head to the side. “Just go for it.”
“If you’re sure?”
“I’m sure.”
“Okay then…”
And a second or two later Frank’s entire body jerks forwards, a howl of pain escaping him, ripping from his throat, as Sonny drives his whole length deep into him from behind. This jerk, though not meant to do so, sends Frank’s erection thundering between the stranger’s cheeks and into his well-prepared hole. All three of them shriek in unison, Sonny from the sheer tightness of Frank’s body and the other two just out of pure pain.
They stay immobile for a second, three sets of eyes closed tight, three separate mouths open. And then the movement starts, Sonny first causing Frank to plunge forward into the stranger, all three of them groaning loudly as the pleasure of it all overwhelms them. Sonny grips Frank’s delicate hips and Frank takes great fistful’s of the carpet and the stranger can only hold on desperately to Frank’s taught arm muscles. And then they’re moving again, driving forwards and back, moans ripped from them and perspiration dripping down their necks and clinging to their straining muscles.
Frank pushes himself deeper making the stranger cry out and his fingers to dig into his tattooed forearms. The stranger pushes back, causing such a delicious friction between their sweat-slicked skin that Frank pants desperately and is torn between pushing back against Sonny and pushing forwards against his partner. Sonny’s hands are like two vices on his hips, squeezing so tightly that there is no way in hell there won’t be bruises there tomorrow. His chest feels constricted as he’s tugged forward and back, his throat sore from his laboured breathing but his mind full of flashing images such as all the gay porn he’s ever seen.
The stranger’s back is red and raw from its prolonged battle with the carpet and his mask is becoming an unpleasant weight on his heated face, but no, he won’t remove it. If he removes it all will be lost, so instead he pushes his hips up frantically, his muscles squeezing around Frank’s length, causing Frank to gasp and splutter with pleasure. Sonny gasps loudly as Frank in turn bucks back against him.
“There!” Frank groans as Sonny finds his spot. “There! There!”
Sonny obediently sets a fast, hard rhythm, pounding into Frank’s prostate, making Frank’s body jar and his hips roll. The stranger growls, his eyes shut tight as perspiration clings to his brow. Frank strikes something inside him that causes his voice to shatter the sound barrier.
“Again!” the stranger shouts, and Frank (helped out a little by Sonny’s now frantic thrusting) obliges.
Frank’s muscles ripple with a clenching spasm and he manages to choke out a moan as the stranger tightens around him.
“I’m-I’m-” The stranger stutters but pleasure swallows his words and turns them to a shuddering groan as he comes hard over his stomach, riding out his orgasm with good grace.
The sight of the stranger’s spent body writhing beneath him causes Frank to loose himself completely, reaching his climax at long last and coming, his vocal pleasure clear as a long, loud scream shreds his throat to ribbons. Sonny follows close behind, his guttural moan low and reserved in comparison to his fellows.
The three of them collapse against each other, a shuddering mass of spent flesh and trembling escapes of breath. The stranger cuddles up to his two companions and they cuddle back, grins fixed to their flushes faces, The Red Room heavy with the scent of sex.
Adam stalks through the dance hall like a prowling tom cat, his strides determined and even as his hands reach out to run here, there and everywhere, sometimes latching onto a girl or a boy that he proceeds to kiss and fondle until oh no he has to go, upon which he stalks off all over again. This routine becomes tiresome after awhile, so he settles himself in a darkened corner, warding off anyone that approaches him for a good time by patting the gun that is visible beneath his suit jacket. Soon he is given a thankfully wide birth, and he relaxes a little, letting his eyes rove the club and the bodies therein.
There isn’t much to entice him this evening if truth be told, typical. Just when he has a well-deserved night off, there is nothing and no one who can slake his lust for touch. The music, pounding and heated, does little to improve his mood as he finds it of a style which he distaste’s. The blaring disco lights burn his eyes and he squints, hating how vulnerable this night makes him feel. He hates to feel vulnerable, as he’s rather used to being in control.
As he lights a cigarette and inhales the poisoning yet savoury nicotine, he sees through the twirling smoke something that quite sets his nerves aquiver with desire.
Set high into a corner of the dance hall’s wide chamber there is a suspended cage, behind the interlocking bars of which sits a boy of such breathtaking, degradable beauty that it’s all Adam can do not to climb the walls and take him away to a back alley somewhere to conduct deeds he’s many a time been condemned for. The boy is skeletally thin, his body edgy and smooth beneath clothes that certainly aren’t what Adam usually goes for, but which look wonderful on this new fancy. He’s wearing skate pants that brush the tops of a very battered pair of Chuck Taylor’s, and his short sleeve shirt is red and filth ridden. Many elaborate tattoos snake up his arms and from what Adam can see he’s wearing wristbands. The boy’s hair is long and matted, obviously dyed black but with dark brown roots that are growing through from his scalp. The little Adam can see of his face is pinched and pale, withered from drug use but very handsomely so.
Just as Adam is about to look away, the boy turns his head very sharply, locking their gazes. Two round, glassy, piercing blue eyes stare at Adam and he feels his stomach lurch with want as the boy smiles weakly his way.
In less than a moment Adam is sweeping through the dance hall and out into the entrance where he marches up to the admittance desk, his face set and his mind focused on one thing.
“Master Good!” he shouts, causing the young boy behind the counter to jump and turn around with surprise.
“Mr Lazzara, what can I do for you?” Matt Good asks shakily, ringing his hands with nervousness as he takes in Adam’s agitated state. “Is something the matter?”
“Who on Earth is that boy in the dance hall and why is he locked up in a cage?” Adam snaps, laying his palms flat on the desk and leaning forwards to glare into Matt’s face.
“Oh, erm,” Matt doesn’t know what Adam is on about but hazards a guess. “The tall, pale boy with the artificial black hair? The one who looks like he’s just been pulled out of a dumpster?”
“Yes!” Adam says testily, “Why is he in a cage?”
“Because he lives in there!” Matt replies quickly, sensing Adam’s annoyance and not fancying a bullet through his brain any time soon. “Gerard rescued him from the streets, said he was a good looking lad and said he could live in the club and be a sort of, I dunno, attraction.”
“I want to talk to him.” Adam says decisively.
“Who, Gerard?”
“NO!” Adam spits and in a second Matt Good is looking down the barrel of a fully loaded gun. “I want to talk to the boy and further more I want his name, age and price!”
“Yes, yes of course!” Matt stammers, eyeing the gun pointed at his face with a vastly palpitating heart. “His stage name is Sale Jésus, but his real name is McCracken, Bert McCracken. He’s 21, lived on the streets for a few years after his parent’s chucked him out and h-he’s-he’s not for sale!”
“What did you say to me Master Good?” Adam growls, tightening his grip on the six shooter. “Did you just say to me that he is not for sale? Me?”
“Gerard said-”
“Be damned with Gerard!” Adam snaps, “If you wanna live, I advice you to do as I say and get that boy outta there and into a room with me! Got it?!”
“Yes Sir, of course Sir!” Matt squeaks, scrambling out from behind the desk. “I’ll get that sorted for you right away Mr Lazzara!”
“Good,” Adam lowers his gun, a smile curling his lips. “Now run along, I’ll be at the bar when he’s ready for me.”
And just like that, Adam strolls away, tucking his gun back under his jacket, leaving a trembling Matt Good behind.
*It's not often i write a chapter of this length, but i had ALOT of inspiration tonight. So, don't expect the next chapter to be so long or so soon delivered after the previous one. Comments are <3 as per usual*