[fic] The "Hookers in a Bar" Fic, Part 2
Title: The “Hooker in a Bar” Fic, Part 2
Authors: shingo_the_pest and k_e_wilson
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Bones/Jim
Warning: prostitution, exhibitionism, alcohol
Notes: Everyone must understand that k_e_wilson is the most awesome beta and co-author IN THE WORLD. Got it? Good, just wanted to get that message out. =) Latest revision 1/7/10.
Go Back to Part 1
McCoy remains at the bar longer than he really should, or had planned on. He quietly harasses the bartender- who seems un-fazed if not for the quirking of his left eyebrow. But McCoy falls silent after a while, and watches the crowd through the bar's mirror, eyes roaming over drunken dancers and partiers.
He gets up twice, circling around the dance floor with three fingers of bourbon in a glass as he skirts first the edge of the dance floor and then the perimeter of the bar, passing by the door and getting a hefty loft of hot dry air from outside that sends him back to the bar like a kicked dog. If he's being honest with himself he knows why he keeps circling back to the same seat at the bar, and it has nothing to do with the refills he keeps asking for. He's waiting to see if that young trick in the tight jeans- Kirk, his mind supplies, but he tries to force it away, because, goddamnit he is not that interested- will be back.
Kirk, though, isn't the only one trying to turn a few tricks in this bar, and McCoy scorns himself for picking this god-forsaken hot spot instead of his usual hole-in-the-ground shit shack with cheap beer. There's a hand full of girls and boys who are obviously on advertisement, just a few of them and they're obviously getting attention among the hundreds of partiers here. He’s used to the kinds of places where nobody wanted to turn tricks because nobody was looking past their own fucking problems. This place had a band playing raunchy music in the far corner- it was loud, but not oppressively so; the people here were more interested in finding the next fling than in drowning the last one away.
Kirk does show up again, several hours after he left. He comes strutting through the crowd like a proud peacock, head high as he flirts across the room toward the bar. His white wife beater lay perfectly against the trim line of his body, leaving just enough to the imagination, his jeans tight, the outfit showing off the delicious curve of his back and the well-toned hardness of his thighs. (McCoy focused on the tights, because he did not want to acknowledge the welcoming top button of the other man's jeans that lay undone.) The man was fit, body honed from bicep to thigh and McCoy was struggling to remain uninterested, failing completely through the lens of too many glasses of bourbon, and when the younger man came to a flamboyant halt against the bar, elbows propped on the dark surface, hips jutting forward and legs partly spread- a position that was all about showing off every. fucking. muscle- McCoy found his eyes darting to meet Kirk's own.
"Hey," Kirk’s voice was low, but not tinged with the same comeonfuckme that had been there with the other guy, "You're still here; why am I not totally surprised?"
McCoy manages to not roll his eyes, but fails to stop the quirk of one sharp eyebrow, and when he speaks he knows his drawl is slapped on the ass of the words like molasses. "Because you're an obnoxious fool with an ego complex."
Kirk grins cheekily, leaning closer toward McCoy so he can run one hand up the man's arm. "Oh, I'm not so bad- in fact, I'm quite popular. If you want, I can show you why." It's a blatant offer, and McCoy knows he should be rightfully off-put by the thought of how many people have probably heard that tonight alone, but his cock doesn't know any better and gives an interested jerk.
In an effort to try and admonish both himself and Kirk at the same instant, “No!” flies off his lips like a gravel stone as it thunked through the air.
Kirk's smile just grows and it's a bit dazzling to think that the rose-pink lips have probably been plowed by a good number of men- McCoy's balls tighten expectantly, and he forcefully swallows the almost groan that's clawing it's way up his throat as Kirk leans closer to him, carrying the waft of musk and sex.
"You won't dance with me?" Those confident, smiling blue eyes know Kirk has an effect on McCoy.
"No." It comes out in almost the same fashion as the first no, but this one's got a bit of a wavering undertone that McCoy tries to ignore, because goddamn it his resolve is not breaking for some blue-eyed trick in a spicy bar.
"I'll do all the work," and suddenly Leonard's got himself a lap full of tight muscles and sun-kissed skin; the kid's got his arms braced on the bar, legs on each side of the older man's hips and he's slowly grinding their groins together. "All you do is enjoy it, promise." The 'promise' in that statement comes out as a purr against Leonard's ear and sends a flash of heat straight into his groin.
"This a freebie, kid?" McCoy grounds out, eyes lowering slightly in what is definitely not an attempt to look at their groins as they move together.
"I don't believe in freebies." Kirk whispers, grinds his hips once in a slow circle that has McCoy throbbing in response. When the words register, he almost pushes the goddamn tease off his lap, the raging hard-on be damned. And in mortification, McCoy glances around the bar, to all the people around them. This was a goddamn bar, not some strip club! But the kid doesn't seem to care, and fuck it, Leonard's close to not caring either. Kirk's hand makes his body jerk as it trails it's way down his side and into his pocket, slipping inside, a warm pressure against Leonard's thigh, before pulling out his old leather billfold. McCoy tries to find some semblance of sanity, to stop the kid, as Kirk lazily flips it open, fingering through the few notes inside. "Not much in here, is there? Fifty bucks? Now, where's your sense of adventure?" It's a light tease as Kirk's hips slide forward with delicious speed that belies his comments.
"Left it at home." Leonard tries to grouse, only it comes out a bit strangled at the beginning. Kirk glides against him, thighs holding close to his own, in a particularly wonderful way that was like a slide and a twist rolled into one. McCoy loses his breath for a few moments.
"Sure your bones know that?" Kirk whispers into his ear, hips moving in a jerky almost-pattern that has McCoy struggling not to just grip the young man's hips and thrust. "Looks like no archeology for them tonight, doesn't it? But surely they'll want to come try again tomorrow..."
And Jim is enjoying this. Fifty bucks isn't much in Jim's book, but god damn if he's not struggling against the urge to just say 'gimme what you got' and consequences be damned. Jim likes this guy; likes his eyes, his nose, those wide hands hesitantly resting on his hips, and god does he like the man's voice with it's southern drawl that twangs just right. But James T. Kirk has better sense than that, and he's not given out freebies since he was new to turning tricks; he's learned that it pays off better in the long run if customers know these goods are high quality, and they cost a pretty penny.
But he can't really stop his hips from rolling on the welcome heat of the other man's erection, loves the feel of his thighs pressed wide by the stranger’s, so he pockets the inadequate amount and leans forward to whisper, "I'll give you a discount, just once. Dance like this usually costs over a hundred, but I think you need this tonight." He can feel the shivers shoot down the other man's spine as Jim’s hands come to rest on the broad expanse of shoulders, feels the stranger’s fingers flex but not slide any lower. That sends a pleasurable spike into Jim's mind; handsome and polite.
Jim smiles as he hears the groan under him, snaking his crotch across the man's erection as he revels in the feel of the other man's cock through denim and slacks. He doesn't hesitate to use his thighs to raise himself, tilting his pelvis so the other man is nestles just between his balls, the head of his cock grinding through fabric into the space just behind Jim's scrotum. Suddenly, Jim can't hold his own groan in any more and leans forward, dragging his hips into the other man's as his voice trips into his ear, "Harder, Bones... Come on, rut me..." and he feels something snap in the man beneath him.
Leonard's mind goes wild and blank at Kirk's whispered demand. He has little experience with 'dances' like this; the girl from his bachelor party long ago had left him hard and so aching with need that he'd had to beat off in the bathroom like a fifteen-year-old. But Kirk wasn't stopping, and his hips are doing wonderful things to Leonard's cock. All he can see are the blue, blue eyes fixated on his own intimately, in a way no playgirl's looked at Leonard before. Kirk's arms are wrapped around his neck, hand gripping gently in McCoy's hair as they pant together. Everything about the kid, his quivering lips, his open eyes, his tight arms, his feverish skin, is telling Len that they aren't just doing stripper play- this is sex. They're having sex through their clothes on a bar stool in a room packed with people. It's intense, and intimate, and open, and so much like it was back when he and Jocelyn had been at their best. And fuck that backstabbing bitch for invading his mind right now, because he's going to plow into this young trick harder than Jocelyn could ever take it.
Kirk's nose is touching his own, their breath hot and moist across each other's cheeks as Leonard leans forward to mouth at the kid's jaw, following the trail to a velvety neck as they rut against one another. Almost too soon, their breath is hitching, Kirk's voice startled and urgent and his body's tensing in Leonard's lap-
They both cum. "Fuck..," Kirk melts, and Leonard would agree with the sentiment if he could speak, but right now he's panting just to stay upright as Kirk's head drops to his shoulder, lips mouthing at the older man's neckline. Kirk curls around him, fingers lightly tracing from the crown of McCoy's head, through his hair, and down the back of his neck. Leonard’s arms tighten around Kirk’s back as he realizes that he's having a post-coitus cuddle on a goddamn bar stool.
His thighs ache, as does his back, but this moment isn't going to be ruined by minor pains, or the fact that he's probably walking out of here with a strange tilt to his gait from the odd feel of coming in his pants. He forces those thoughts away and focuses on Kirk, wonderfully curled on his lap. They stay forever that way.
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When they finally part, it's with slow kisses. Kirk 'Call-me-Jim' has an expression that, on anyone else, McCoy might call apprehensive, and heaven knows that's how Leonard feels too.
"You usually here?" Leonard asks; they've moved their little 'show' away from the bar (and Leonard still can't believe he blew in his goddamn pants like a pre-teen in front of that bartender; can't believe the bartender just stood by and let them do it). They're pressed against the far wall, now, the shadows hiding them from the crowd, who- in all honesty- probably don't give a fuck where they went; but it's much more private here where their words only carry between the two of them. Jim's close enough for Leonard to inhale the trick’s breaths, and it makes his nose tingle pleasantly. Drunk off the sight and smell of sweaty skin and playful blue eyes, Leonard runs a thumb over Jim's clavicle, almost absently.
"I'm here most nights." The young man responds to Leonard's almost-forgotten question. "You planning to come back tomorrow?" Jim looks hopeful, lips turning up and chin tilted to stare up at the man who's got a few inches on him.
Leonard almost says yes, wants to say it. But he's out fifty bucks now, and he's pretty sure he can't afford Kirk. He askes the dreaded question. "How much?"
Jim doesn’t respond immediately, and stares at him silently. For a minute, Leonard’s terrified he's said something out-of-bounds and broken some unspoken fourth-wall kind of thing, because Jim's leaning back, not leaving him arms, but no longer pressed close either. Only his hands on Leonard's shoulders remain as he sinks against the wall. The kid's considering, and Leonard knows he needs to just shut up and let him do it, his own irrational not-fears be damned. "Four hundred."
It's like a full-on kick in the gut, and McCoy rasps it back at him, "Really? It's really four hundred?"
But Jim just nods, eyes still on Leonard's, "For a full ride. Half that for a blow...but I'll make a deal. Three fifty for the whole night, anything goes, as much as you like." There's a flit of a smile as Jim darts forward to press a kiss against Leonard's ear. "But that's tomorrow night only. So you be here tomorrow, or there's no deal."
Leonard's aghast, jaw slack for an instant before growling, “Deal? Christ, kid, that's more than half a week's pay!" Now he gets how Matthews felt- wanting something so bad, and wondering how the fuck you're going to pay for both it and rent. He thinks for an instant of trying a sympathy card, explaining his alimony check and the bills for a career that he almost had- but he quickly shuts the thought down, and pride casts the idea aside.
And while McCoy is thinking, he's got no idea how close Jim is to breaking and lowering the price again; the word is teetering on the tip of his tongue, ready to fly out like a caged bird even though everything Jim knows- everything he's learned all these years- is screaming against it. The scruffy man is Highly Likely to Return- no discounts needed for incentive. The only thing driving at the price right now is Jim's own asininely irrational fear that McCoy might disappear. But this man is coming back- Jim can see that in the man’s blue-green eyes. But Jim really really wants to... "Bring two fifty. We'll haggle specifics later."
Leonard sighs in relief, even though it's still really too much. But Jim's kissing him again before he can say any more and they melt into one another, chests flush. The kisses grow longer, a moment becoming minutes, and Jim thinks he might just say fuck it- he wants to stay here, tonight, pressed into the back wall with this disheveled man. The man's stubble feels welcome against Jim's cheek, and he knows he should really walk away now- best to leave them wanting more- but he almost can't, because it feels nice to have this man’s hands on him. It takes everything he's got to pull away, and go back to work. He’s still got several hundred more to earn to reach this night's quota.
Next Chapter
Authors: shingo_the_pest and k_e_wilson
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Bones/Jim
Warning: prostitution, exhibitionism, alcohol
Notes: Everyone must understand that k_e_wilson is the most awesome beta and co-author IN THE WORLD. Got it? Good, just wanted to get that message out. =) Latest revision 1/7/10.
Go Back to Part 1
McCoy remains at the bar longer than he really should, or had planned on. He quietly harasses the bartender- who seems un-fazed if not for the quirking of his left eyebrow. But McCoy falls silent after a while, and watches the crowd through the bar's mirror, eyes roaming over drunken dancers and partiers.
He gets up twice, circling around the dance floor with three fingers of bourbon in a glass as he skirts first the edge of the dance floor and then the perimeter of the bar, passing by the door and getting a hefty loft of hot dry air from outside that sends him back to the bar like a kicked dog. If he's being honest with himself he knows why he keeps circling back to the same seat at the bar, and it has nothing to do with the refills he keeps asking for. He's waiting to see if that young trick in the tight jeans- Kirk, his mind supplies, but he tries to force it away, because, goddamnit he is not that interested- will be back.
Kirk, though, isn't the only one trying to turn a few tricks in this bar, and McCoy scorns himself for picking this god-forsaken hot spot instead of his usual hole-in-the-ground shit shack with cheap beer. There's a hand full of girls and boys who are obviously on advertisement, just a few of them and they're obviously getting attention among the hundreds of partiers here. He’s used to the kinds of places where nobody wanted to turn tricks because nobody was looking past their own fucking problems. This place had a band playing raunchy music in the far corner- it was loud, but not oppressively so; the people here were more interested in finding the next fling than in drowning the last one away.
Kirk does show up again, several hours after he left. He comes strutting through the crowd like a proud peacock, head high as he flirts across the room toward the bar. His white wife beater lay perfectly against the trim line of his body, leaving just enough to the imagination, his jeans tight, the outfit showing off the delicious curve of his back and the well-toned hardness of his thighs. (McCoy focused on the tights, because he did not want to acknowledge the welcoming top button of the other man's jeans that lay undone.) The man was fit, body honed from bicep to thigh and McCoy was struggling to remain uninterested, failing completely through the lens of too many glasses of bourbon, and when the younger man came to a flamboyant halt against the bar, elbows propped on the dark surface, hips jutting forward and legs partly spread- a position that was all about showing off every. fucking. muscle- McCoy found his eyes darting to meet Kirk's own.
"Hey," Kirk’s voice was low, but not tinged with the same comeonfuckme that had been there with the other guy, "You're still here; why am I not totally surprised?"
McCoy manages to not roll his eyes, but fails to stop the quirk of one sharp eyebrow, and when he speaks he knows his drawl is slapped on the ass of the words like molasses. "Because you're an obnoxious fool with an ego complex."
Kirk grins cheekily, leaning closer toward McCoy so he can run one hand up the man's arm. "Oh, I'm not so bad- in fact, I'm quite popular. If you want, I can show you why." It's a blatant offer, and McCoy knows he should be rightfully off-put by the thought of how many people have probably heard that tonight alone, but his cock doesn't know any better and gives an interested jerk.
In an effort to try and admonish both himself and Kirk at the same instant, “No!” flies off his lips like a gravel stone as it thunked through the air.
Kirk's smile just grows and it's a bit dazzling to think that the rose-pink lips have probably been plowed by a good number of men- McCoy's balls tighten expectantly, and he forcefully swallows the almost groan that's clawing it's way up his throat as Kirk leans closer to him, carrying the waft of musk and sex.
"You won't dance with me?" Those confident, smiling blue eyes know Kirk has an effect on McCoy.
"No." It comes out in almost the same fashion as the first no, but this one's got a bit of a wavering undertone that McCoy tries to ignore, because goddamn it his resolve is not breaking for some blue-eyed trick in a spicy bar.
"I'll do all the work," and suddenly Leonard's got himself a lap full of tight muscles and sun-kissed skin; the kid's got his arms braced on the bar, legs on each side of the older man's hips and he's slowly grinding their groins together. "All you do is enjoy it, promise." The 'promise' in that statement comes out as a purr against Leonard's ear and sends a flash of heat straight into his groin.
"This a freebie, kid?" McCoy grounds out, eyes lowering slightly in what is definitely not an attempt to look at their groins as they move together.
"I don't believe in freebies." Kirk whispers, grinds his hips once in a slow circle that has McCoy throbbing in response. When the words register, he almost pushes the goddamn tease off his lap, the raging hard-on be damned. And in mortification, McCoy glances around the bar, to all the people around them. This was a goddamn bar, not some strip club! But the kid doesn't seem to care, and fuck it, Leonard's close to not caring either. Kirk's hand makes his body jerk as it trails it's way down his side and into his pocket, slipping inside, a warm pressure against Leonard's thigh, before pulling out his old leather billfold. McCoy tries to find some semblance of sanity, to stop the kid, as Kirk lazily flips it open, fingering through the few notes inside. "Not much in here, is there? Fifty bucks? Now, where's your sense of adventure?" It's a light tease as Kirk's hips slide forward with delicious speed that belies his comments.
"Left it at home." Leonard tries to grouse, only it comes out a bit strangled at the beginning. Kirk glides against him, thighs holding close to his own, in a particularly wonderful way that was like a slide and a twist rolled into one. McCoy loses his breath for a few moments.
"Sure your bones know that?" Kirk whispers into his ear, hips moving in a jerky almost-pattern that has McCoy struggling not to just grip the young man's hips and thrust. "Looks like no archeology for them tonight, doesn't it? But surely they'll want to come try again tomorrow..."
And Jim is enjoying this. Fifty bucks isn't much in Jim's book, but god damn if he's not struggling against the urge to just say 'gimme what you got' and consequences be damned. Jim likes this guy; likes his eyes, his nose, those wide hands hesitantly resting on his hips, and god does he like the man's voice with it's southern drawl that twangs just right. But James T. Kirk has better sense than that, and he's not given out freebies since he was new to turning tricks; he's learned that it pays off better in the long run if customers know these goods are high quality, and they cost a pretty penny.
But he can't really stop his hips from rolling on the welcome heat of the other man's erection, loves the feel of his thighs pressed wide by the stranger’s, so he pockets the inadequate amount and leans forward to whisper, "I'll give you a discount, just once. Dance like this usually costs over a hundred, but I think you need this tonight." He can feel the shivers shoot down the other man's spine as Jim’s hands come to rest on the broad expanse of shoulders, feels the stranger’s fingers flex but not slide any lower. That sends a pleasurable spike into Jim's mind; handsome and polite.
Jim smiles as he hears the groan under him, snaking his crotch across the man's erection as he revels in the feel of the other man's cock through denim and slacks. He doesn't hesitate to use his thighs to raise himself, tilting his pelvis so the other man is nestles just between his balls, the head of his cock grinding through fabric into the space just behind Jim's scrotum. Suddenly, Jim can't hold his own groan in any more and leans forward, dragging his hips into the other man's as his voice trips into his ear, "Harder, Bones... Come on, rut me..." and he feels something snap in the man beneath him.
Leonard's mind goes wild and blank at Kirk's whispered demand. He has little experience with 'dances' like this; the girl from his bachelor party long ago had left him hard and so aching with need that he'd had to beat off in the bathroom like a fifteen-year-old. But Kirk wasn't stopping, and his hips are doing wonderful things to Leonard's cock. All he can see are the blue, blue eyes fixated on his own intimately, in a way no playgirl's looked at Leonard before. Kirk's arms are wrapped around his neck, hand gripping gently in McCoy's hair as they pant together. Everything about the kid, his quivering lips, his open eyes, his tight arms, his feverish skin, is telling Len that they aren't just doing stripper play- this is sex. They're having sex through their clothes on a bar stool in a room packed with people. It's intense, and intimate, and open, and so much like it was back when he and Jocelyn had been at their best. And fuck that backstabbing bitch for invading his mind right now, because he's going to plow into this young trick harder than Jocelyn could ever take it.
Kirk's nose is touching his own, their breath hot and moist across each other's cheeks as Leonard leans forward to mouth at the kid's jaw, following the trail to a velvety neck as they rut against one another. Almost too soon, their breath is hitching, Kirk's voice startled and urgent and his body's tensing in Leonard's lap-
They both cum. "Fuck..," Kirk melts, and Leonard would agree with the sentiment if he could speak, but right now he's panting just to stay upright as Kirk's head drops to his shoulder, lips mouthing at the older man's neckline. Kirk curls around him, fingers lightly tracing from the crown of McCoy's head, through his hair, and down the back of his neck. Leonard’s arms tighten around Kirk’s back as he realizes that he's having a post-coitus cuddle on a goddamn bar stool.
His thighs ache, as does his back, but this moment isn't going to be ruined by minor pains, or the fact that he's probably walking out of here with a strange tilt to his gait from the odd feel of coming in his pants. He forces those thoughts away and focuses on Kirk, wonderfully curled on his lap. They stay forever that way.
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When they finally part, it's with slow kisses. Kirk 'Call-me-Jim' has an expression that, on anyone else, McCoy might call apprehensive, and heaven knows that's how Leonard feels too.
"You usually here?" Leonard asks; they've moved their little 'show' away from the bar (and Leonard still can't believe he blew in his goddamn pants like a pre-teen in front of that bartender; can't believe the bartender just stood by and let them do it). They're pressed against the far wall, now, the shadows hiding them from the crowd, who- in all honesty- probably don't give a fuck where they went; but it's much more private here where their words only carry between the two of them. Jim's close enough for Leonard to inhale the trick’s breaths, and it makes his nose tingle pleasantly. Drunk off the sight and smell of sweaty skin and playful blue eyes, Leonard runs a thumb over Jim's clavicle, almost absently.
"I'm here most nights." The young man responds to Leonard's almost-forgotten question. "You planning to come back tomorrow?" Jim looks hopeful, lips turning up and chin tilted to stare up at the man who's got a few inches on him.
Leonard almost says yes, wants to say it. But he's out fifty bucks now, and he's pretty sure he can't afford Kirk. He askes the dreaded question. "How much?"
Jim doesn’t respond immediately, and stares at him silently. For a minute, Leonard’s terrified he's said something out-of-bounds and broken some unspoken fourth-wall kind of thing, because Jim's leaning back, not leaving him arms, but no longer pressed close either. Only his hands on Leonard's shoulders remain as he sinks against the wall. The kid's considering, and Leonard knows he needs to just shut up and let him do it, his own irrational not-fears be damned. "Four hundred."
It's like a full-on kick in the gut, and McCoy rasps it back at him, "Really? It's really four hundred?"
But Jim just nods, eyes still on Leonard's, "For a full ride. Half that for a blow...but I'll make a deal. Three fifty for the whole night, anything goes, as much as you like." There's a flit of a smile as Jim darts forward to press a kiss against Leonard's ear. "But that's tomorrow night only. So you be here tomorrow, or there's no deal."
Leonard's aghast, jaw slack for an instant before growling, “Deal? Christ, kid, that's more than half a week's pay!" Now he gets how Matthews felt- wanting something so bad, and wondering how the fuck you're going to pay for both it and rent. He thinks for an instant of trying a sympathy card, explaining his alimony check and the bills for a career that he almost had- but he quickly shuts the thought down, and pride casts the idea aside.
And while McCoy is thinking, he's got no idea how close Jim is to breaking and lowering the price again; the word is teetering on the tip of his tongue, ready to fly out like a caged bird even though everything Jim knows- everything he's learned all these years- is screaming against it. The scruffy man is Highly Likely to Return- no discounts needed for incentive. The only thing driving at the price right now is Jim's own asininely irrational fear that McCoy might disappear. But this man is coming back- Jim can see that in the man’s blue-green eyes. But Jim really really wants to... "Bring two fifty. We'll haggle specifics later."
Leonard sighs in relief, even though it's still really too much. But Jim's kissing him again before he can say any more and they melt into one another, chests flush. The kisses grow longer, a moment becoming minutes, and Jim thinks he might just say fuck it- he wants to stay here, tonight, pressed into the back wall with this disheveled man. The man's stubble feels welcome against Jim's cheek, and he knows he should really walk away now- best to leave them wanting more- but he almost can't, because it feels nice to have this man’s hands on him. It takes everything he's got to pull away, and go back to work. He’s still got several hundred more to earn to reach this night's quota.
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