Valentine's Day Porn Hell
[Remember that "Alan tries to rescue Sean from his self-destructive man-whoring" idea I was kicking around? Well...]
Supply and Demand
by
Dara Sue Vega
Disclaimer: The following is a work of fiction. Real-life names and background details are used for verisimilitude only. No statement or implication of actual facts about named persons or institutions is intended.
Warnings: Angst, mention of real-life significant others.
***
"Have you ever done it with a guy?"
Alan Colmes turned to look at his partner. Of all the phrases he had ever expected to hear coming out of Sean Hannity's mouth, that one had to be in the all-time bottom ten. Alan looked for a glint of laughter in the other man's dark eyes and didn't find it. "No," he said cautiously. "Have you?"
Sean looked away and didn't answer.
"Are you okay?" Alan asked. He suspected the answer was no. Had suspected it ever since Sean had asked if Alan wanted to go out for beers after the show. While Alan and Sean got along perfectly well at work, they had never hung out alone together during their off-hours. Yet here they were, sitting on the floor of Alan's living room, watching the Clinton impeachment highlights on C-span on the old 19" set in the corner.
"I don't know," said Sean, shaking his head. "Never mind."
"Hey, Sean." Alan reached over to put his hand on Sean's arm. "If there's something on your mind, you can tell me," he said, even though he wasn't entirely sure he wanted the burden of that knowledge.
Sean looked back at him. "If I told you I'd done some really horrible things, would you still want to be my friend? Would you still want to work with me?"
"I don't know. Why don't you tell me so I can decide?"
Sean did something else Alan had never seen him do before. He put his head in his hands and sniffled with a bitten-back sob.
"Whoa. Sean." Alan rubbed his partner's back. "Whatever it is, it can't be that bad. Did you murder somebody?"
Sean shook his head.
"Rape somebody?"
"No," Sean said, in a shaky voice.
"Kick a puppy?"
"No." There was a hint of mirth behind the tears this time.
"Then I can't imagine what could be so bad you think I'd never talk to you again."
"I'm a fraud. I'm as bad as him." He gestured toward the tv set. "Worse. Democrats don't pretend to have morals."
Alan couldn't help rolling his eyes, but Sean didn't notice. "So... you fooled around on Jill? Okay, that's not great, but there are worse things."
"Yeah, but that's not the worst of it," whispered Sean. "I can't even tell my priest about this stuff. I'm going straight to Hell."
"I really doubt that's the case," said Alan. "And in case you hadn't noticed, I'm not a priest. But I will keep it a secret, if you want to confess to me."
"You promise? Swear on... on everything?"
"Yes," Alan said solemnly. "Now, don't you think you'll feel better if you talk about it?"
Sean took a deep breath and started talking.
***
Sean is twenty-two years old, tightening the last clamps on the hookup for the spa he's just finished installing on the beachfront deck of the Santa Barbara mansion. He can feel the eyes of the house's owner, a 40-something studio exec whose name will only be passingly familiar to Sean when he reads of the man's death from a drug overdose years later, crawling all over his sweat-soaked t-shirt and form-fitting bluejeans. He's almost used to it by now; approximately one out of every three customers seems more interested in the tool in Sean's briefs than the ones on his belt. He's getting better at holding his temper when the men try to do more than just look, but he's not quite there yet.
He checks the fittings one last time, closes the access panel and straightens up. "All set," he says to the man lounging on the deck chair. "That'll be three hundred." His normal rate is $250, but he decides to charge a little extra for the show. This guy looks like he can afford it, anyway.
The other man's wallet is on the end table next to the deck chairs. He counts off four hundred-dollar bills and stands up, taking a step toward Sean. "You do good work," he smiles, and before Sean can blink, the other man is in his personal space, slipping the bills into Sean's front pocket.
Sean takes a step back. "Yeah, and that's all I do, got it?"
"You sure about that?" He steps forward again, and Sean finds himself backed against the railing.
"Yeah, I'm sure."
"That's too bad." The executive's hands are braced on either side of Sean, boxing him in. "Because you look like a man with many, many talents."
Sean has had enough of this. "Okay, look, I'm going to ask you nicely. Get out of my face or you're getting decked, I don't care how much money you have."
"What are you scared of, pretty boy? Afraid you'll like it? Or do you know you will?" The man's fingertip runs over Sean's jawline, comes away slick with sweat. He brings his finger to his mouth and sucks on it.
Sean's eyes widen and he's about to shove the other man away and make a run for it when he presses against Sean, his thigh between Sean's legs, his upper body against Sean's chest, effectively taking away all of Sean's leverage. The railing is hard against Sean's lower back, and there's something else hard against Sean's stomach. "What the fuck do you think you're doing?" he manages to gasp.
"Relax, pretty boy," the other man whispers. "I won't hurt you." His tongue flicks out to taste the skin just below Sean's ear. "I won't even try to fuck you. But there's another two grand in my wallet. You do a little solo act for me, and you can take it all."
"What?" Sean just blinks, not even comprehending what the man is saying.
The executive eases out of Sean's personal space just far enough to slip his hand between the two of them and rub the crotch of Sean's jeans. "You get yourself off, while I watch."
Sean hears a whimper escape his clenched teeth and hates himself for it, almost as much as he hates himself for the traitorous stirring under his zipper. "Why would you do that?"
"Because I like knowing that everybody has a price," the man smiled. "Even good little Catholic boys from Brooklyn."
Sean is from Long Island, actually, but that's the least of his worries right now.
"And I like knowing that if you'll jerk off for two grand, maybe next time you'll blow me for four. Or let me fuck you up the ass for five."
"You're out of your fucking mind."
"Am I?" He takes a step back. Sean is free to leave, but he stands frozen, clutching the railing with both hands. The other man continues: "How many months' rent on your shitty apartment would that pay?"
The answer is, a lot.
"Go, if you want to," the man grins. "But you'll be back. Won't you?"
Sean doesn't answer, just takes a step toward the sliding glass door on unsteady legs. When the other man doesn't try to stop him, Sean breaks into a run, throwing the patio door open just far enough to squeeze through, bolting through the house's high-ceilinged living room and out the front door. He flings himself into the driver's seat of his beat-up Chevy van and cranks the engine, not even pausing to fasten his seat belt.
He glances at the mansion in his rear-view mirror as he speeds down the street, silently vowing never to set foot in this neighborhood again, no matter how much the job pays.
***
A week later, his pager goes off. It's the executive with the beach house. He wants some shelves installed in a closet, and he offers Sean twice his standard rate. "No funny business," warns Sean, and the other man agrees amiably enough, but when Sean is finished with the shelves, he turns to see his client watching him again from one of the overstuffed chairs on the other side of the room, a martini in his hand. He's wearing a bathrobe, and Sean has a suspicion he's naked underneath. The man nods his head toward the bed, on which there is a pile of hundred-dollar bills.
"Take your fee," he smiles. "But if you want the rest, you'll have to earn it."
Sean looks at the pile of money. It's more than he'll make this month, by a substantial margin. And somehow actually seeing it, and knowing he could walk out with it in his pocket just for doing something he usually only does in his bedroom at night with the door locked and the blinds closed, makes his resistance waver. Makes it seem almost ridiculous.
Feeling a hot blush spread over his face, he says, "And you'll only look? Not touch?"
"I won't touch you, pretty boy."
Sean isn't looking, but he can hear the smile in the other man's voice. Without taking his eyes off the pile of money, he stretches out on the bed, feeling a stab of spiteful glee at the thought of his work clothes and boots messing up his client's expensive silk sheets. His hands are trembling and for a second he thinks he won't be able to get his fly open, but then the zipper gives way with simple ease and he shoves his pants and briefs down, taking his cock in his hand and stroking hard and fast, just wanting this to be over. He hears the soft skin-on-skin slide of the other man doing the same, and Sean's mind may be horrified but his cock loves it, stiffening to aching hardness in his grasp. Sean closes his eyes and tries to imagine it's a beautiful woman watching him. It doesn't work. He can't get the idea that it's another man watching him, paying him, using him, out of his head, and instead of being turned off he feels a dark, sinuous arousal uncoiling inside him like a cobra. When he comes, spattering hot fluid all over the hem of his t-shirt, he doesn't have to fake a yell.
Sean lies there with his eyes closed, listening to the other man's orgasm, wondering how he's going to get up and walk out of here and ever be able to look at himself in the mirror again. Then he opens his eyes and looks at the money he's just made and thinks it might be a little easier than he would have expected.
***
When he goes back the next week, his client doesn't even make a pretense of having Sean do any handyman work. Sean goes home with three thousand dollars in the nail pouch of his tool belt, and a bad taste in his mouth.
***
The next time, in addition to a stack of bills, Sean gets a bonus in the form of a line of coke, and not the cheap stuff either, if he knows his client's spending habits as well as he thinks he does. The other man takes a snort from the neat array of white lines on the hand-mirror lying on the nightstand, and then offers the straw to Sean.
"A little nose candy, pretty boy? It'll help you relax."
Sean's never done coke in his life. He couldn't afford it back when he used to get high, and it's been a few years since he's even smoked weed. But it seems like the perfect accompaniment to letting someone fuck you for money, so he doesn't turn it down.
When he inhales the line, cold fire rips through his nasal passages and then the euphoria hits, and he feel like he's coming even before the other man enters him. He expects it to hurt, and it does, a little, but it feels good, too. No, it feels amazing. He's vaguely heard of something called the "G-Spot" but he thought it was only women that had them. He decides thinking about it is too much effort and just closes his eyes and lets himself be taken. The other man's cock slams into him relentlessly, hitting that sweet spot on every thrust. Sean barely touches his own erection before he's coming harder and longer than he ever has in his life.
"See, I told you everything was for sale," the other man whispers in Sean's ear after he finishes.
Sean doesn't answer.
***
That particular client doesn't call him again, but Sean gets a few referrals in that neighborhood. Some male, some female. He draws the line at handcuffs and videotape. He freely accepts coke.
***
"All right," said Alan, looking into his partner's damp, miserable eyes. "So you did some things you aren't so proud of when you were young and desperate. Who hasn't?"
Sean laughed joylessly. "Have you ever prostituted yourself?"
"Well, not in the literal sense... look, it's over with. Ancient history. You're not the same person now that you were back then. None of us are."
"No," said Sean, looking away. "Now I'm the one paying for it."
"Okay..."
***
A dingy motel room, lit only by street lights, in a part of the country where Fox News isn't on basic cable. Sean's still taking a stupid chance, he knows he is, but he needs this. The other man, a truckstop hustler in tight jeans and a Hypercolor t-shirt, takes Sean's money and reaches for his zipper. Sean's cock hardens as his stomach tingles with the anticipation of the act and the anxiety that this guy will be the one who caught one of Sean's talk show appearances or heard him sitting in for Rush.
Sean kneels on the bed, gripping the headboard, and looks behind him to make sure the other man is putting on a condom. When he feels a latex-sheathed cock press against his opening, he closes his eyes and leans back into the man's thrusts. Then everything else fades away, leaving only the ecstasy that's so addictive Sean's willing to risk everything he has, everything he is, to get it.
The other man leaves without a word afterward, a fact for which Sean is profoundly grateful. As Sean is driving down the town's nearly-deserted main street en route to the interstate, he sees him hitchhiking. Sean doesn't even slow down.
***
"Oh, Sean," Alan said softly. He slid his arm around Sean's shoulders and pulled him into an awkward semi-hug. "It's okay." He hated how trite the words sounded coming out of his mouth.
"No it's not," Sean whispered against Alan's neck.
Alan sighed. "I know. But, Sean..."
"If you're going to tell me how it's okay to be gay, save it. Maybe for you it would be, but not for me."
"And it's better to live a lie?"
"The lie is the only redeeming thing about me."
"Sean. No." Alan pulled back far enough to look Sean in the eye. "You're dedicated, you're hardworking, you're passionate about what you do... those qualities won't go away just because you love a man."
Sean shook his head. "It's not about love. It never has been."
"So what is it about?"
"I don't know. It's like... every time, I'll tell myself I'm never doing it again. And then I'll get this itch I can't scratch except with that. This must be what heroin addicts feel like."
Alan took Sean's hand and held it. "Sean, you can get that need filled by someone who cares about you. Someone you can trust."
Sean gave him a bitter half-smile. "What, are you offering?"
"Would you take me up on it if I were?"
Sean shook his head. "It doesn't matter." He looked down at the floor. "Jill's pregnant." His eyes met Alan's again. "Men don't walk out on their families."
"Sean." Alan took Sean's other hand. "That's all the more reason for you to stop doing this to yourself. Every time you sleep with a stranger, you're spinning the wheel and betting that this isn't going to be the one who blackmails you or slits your throat or has AIDS and a defective condom. One of these days it's going to come up double-zeroes. You want to put Jill through that?"
"Haven't you been listening? I can't help it!" The rims of Sean's eyes glistened with tears again.
"You can't help what you want, but you can choose who you get it from. If not me, then somebody who won't hurt you."
"If there were anybody else, I wouldn't be here."
"Thanks, I'm flattered."
Sean snickered sadly. "You know what I mean. There's nobody else I could even talk to about this, let alone... anything else."
"Maybe that's your problem right there."
Sean sighed. "Would you really sleep with me?"
"Yes."
Sean's lips formed an almost-smile. "I didn't even know you swung that way."
"I don't. But if it'll keep you from doing something that could potentially end your career and your life, I think I can fake it." Alan raised his eyebrow conspiratorially. "And I'll admit there's a little bit of self-interest involved. If you get canned over some sex scandal, you think the network's going to keep me around?"
Sean laughed, the sound desperate and shaky. "I'll try not to get either of us fired." He squeezed Alan's hands. "Thanks for listening to all this." He let go and started to stand up. "I should get going."
"Sean." Alan caught Sean's wrist. "Promise me you'll be safe."
"I promise," Sean said, not meeting Alan's eyes.
"I'm not letting go until you say that a little more convincingly."
Sean looked at Alan. "I can't."
Alan tightened his grip on Sean's wrist. "Stay."
Sean sat back down on the floor next to Alan. "I don't know if I can do this with somebody I know," he said, his voice trembling.
"Let's find out," whispered Alan, leaning in to kiss him.
Sean ducked to the side, letting Alan's lips only brush against his cheek. "Don't," he murmured.
"What do you want?" Alan let go of Sean's wrist and wrapped his arms around him, pulling him close.
Sean didn't answer, just slid his hand to the crotch of Alan's trousers and rubbed. Alan shivered, feeling his heartbeat quicken. Any doubts he had that he could do this evaporated as his cock hardened under Sean's hand. Sean undid Alan's zipper and slipped inside his boxers, his fingers hot on Alan's bare skin. When Sean slid Alan's pants and boxers down and leaned over to take Alan's erection in his mouth, Alan had to bite back a moan. The sight of wholesome, all-American Sean Hannity with his eyes closed and his hand and lips wrapped around Alan's cock was making Alan's head spin, and the feeling of it was making him practically delirious.
"Christ, Sean, that's good," Alan sighed, clutching at Sean's hair, pulling his head away before he could take Alan over the edge. He stroked Sean's hair, looked into his dilated eyes. "I want this. I want you. I really do."
"Then do it," said Sean, his cheeks flushed crimson. "Fuck me."
"Come on." Alan hitched up his pants and took Sean's arm, hauling him up and leading him to the bedroom. By the time Alan had retrieved a condom and a tube of Astroglide from the closet, Sean was lying face-down on the futon, wearing only his t-shirt and socks. Alan slipped out of his trousers and stretched out beside him, running his hand from Sean's thigh, over the curve of his ass, up under his shirt, stroking his lower back. "You really are gorgeous," he whispered, leaning down and kissing the nape of Sean's neck.
"You don't have to do that," said Sean.
"Do what?" Alan's hand slid back down to rest on Sean's hip.
"Be gentle."
"Why not?"
"Because I don't want to..."
"What? You don't want to enjoy it too much?"
"Yeah." Sean sighed.
"Oh, Sean." Alan wrapped his arm around Sean's waist, pulling him into a reluctant embrace. "I know this isn't what you would have chosen for yourself, but things are what they are. We don't live in an ideal world. You don't have to hate yourself for taking a little bit of happiness where you can find it."
"Yeah, I think I do."
Alan kissed Sean's temple. "Did it ever cross your mind that if doing this with a trustworthy partner lets you go home and be a good husband without going crazy, maybe it's the lesser of two evils?"
"No."
"Maybe you should think about it." Alan moved his hand to cup Sean's face, then kissed his lips softly. This time Sean didn't resist, moaning and parting his lips to allow Alan's tongue entry. Alan ran his hand down Sean's back to rest on his warm, bare skin. Alan's mouth left Sean's, brushed over his cheek, nibbled on his earlobe. "I want to do this for you," Alan whispered. "And I want you to enjoy it."
"I think I enjoy it more when I don't enjoy it, if that makes any sense."
Alan smiled. "It makes about as much sense as most of what comes out of your mouth."
Sean chuckled, smiling for the first time in about an hour. "Coming from a liberal, I'll take that as a compliment."
"Now that's the Sean Hannity I know and love." Alan gave Sean's ass a squeeze.
"Hey, no L-bombs. That's against the rules." Sean slid his hand between them to stroke Alan's cock through his boxers.
"Maybe the rules need to change," said Alan, giving Sean a quick kiss before letting go of him long enough to tear open the condom wrapper.
"I'm already breaking the rules by doing this with somebody I'm going to see again." He helped Alan out of his boxers and watched him roll the condom on, then looked back up to meet his eyes. "Are you ever going to be able to look at me the same way after this?" Sean's voice was quiet, his face serious again.
"You mean will I still respect you in the morning?" Alan kissed Sean's forehead. "Sex always changes things. But not necessarily in a bad way." He lubricated his cock with the Astroglide. "It might make things a little more exciting when we're facing each other across the desk if we're both thinking about me bending you over it and having my way with you."
"Mmmm..." Sean smiled. "I like that."
"What, the thought of me having my way with you?"
"Yeah, and..." Sean lowered his eyes, blushing. "I like it when you talk to me like that." He gasped as Alan slid one slick finger inside him. "Telling me what you want to do to me."
"Yeah?" Alan grinned, slipping a second finger into Sean's entrance, probing for that spot that would make Sean moan. He leaned down to whisper in Sean's ear, "I'm going to fuck you 'til you vote Democrat."
Sean's breathless laughter dissolved into a low groan as Alan found his prostate and stroked gently. "Oh, God, Alan. Do it."
Alan withdrew his fingers and eased Sean onto his hands and knees, positioning himself between Sean's legs. Alan stroked Sean's ass, then gripped his hips and entered him. "Are you okay?" he asked when Sean buried his face in the pillows and moaned.
"Yeah," breathed Sean, as Alan moved his hips in slow, deep thrusts. "Do it harder."
Alan quickened his pace slightly, still holding back. "I don't want to hurt you," he whispered, leaning down to kiss the nape of Sean's neck.
"You won't," Sean said. His eyes were closed, his hands clutching at the sheets.
"Like this?" Alan thrust faster and deeper, feeling shivers of his own climax building. It had been a long time since he'd been with anyone, and the sensation of being inside Sean was exquisite.
"Mmmm... yeah..." Sean's breath was coming in shallow gasps. "Give it to me." His hand moved to stroke his own erection.
Alan braced himself with one arm, wrapped his other hand around Sean's hand on his cock. "You feel amazing," he murmured against Sean's neck.
Sean's only reply was a moan.
Alan closed his eyes and slowed his breathing, trying to hold on, losing himself in Sean's tight heat. "Come for me, Sean," he whispered, pumping his hand in time with the rhythm of his hips.
Sean was moving with him, meeting his thrusts, whimpering softly every time Alan plunged into him. Sean's hungry, desperate sounds ran together into a scream from behind clenched teeth as Alan moved his hand and his hips faster and then Sean was spilling hot fluid over their interlaced fingers, his body shuddering and tightening around Alan's cock. Alan let himself go, groaning against Sean's back as his own climax rocked him, wishing he didn't have the latex barrier separating the two of them, wanting to feel every soft, slick caress of Sean's flesh against his.
Alan held Sean tightly, collapsing against him as the last tremors of their orgasms subsided. "Sean," he sighed, then realized he had no idea what he'd planned to say.
Sean stirred in his grasp. "I should go."
"You don't have to."
"Yeah, I do."
"Is that another one of the rules?" Alan loosened his grip.
"Yeah." Sean slid out of Alan's arms and reached for his jeans on the floor.
The sudden chill without Sean's body pressed against him reminded Alan that he was still half-naked himself. He tossed the condom in the trash can and slipped back into his boxers. When Sean sat down to pull his jeans on, Alan wrapped his arms around him, resting his head on Sean's shoulder. "This isn't just another one-night stand," Alan whispered in Sean's ear. "I care about you. Get used to it."
Sean sighed. "This is going to end in disaster, isn't it?"
"Most relationships do. That doesn't mean we can't enjoy it while it lasts."
Sean ran his hand over Alan's forearm. "So now we're in a relationship?"
"We're friends who have sex. That sounds like a relationship of some kind to me."
Sean was silent for a moment, and then whispered, "You think that's always going to be enough? For either of us?"
"I don't know. It's good enough for right now." Alan kissed Sean's neck. "Believe it or not, I get lonely and horny, too. And I'm happy to be your friend-with-benefits, or your part-time lover, or whatever you want to call it."
Sean closed his eyes, tilting his head to let Alan's lips brush over his skin. "So now what? We go back to work and pretend nothing happened until the next time I need to get fucked?"
"If that's the way you want it, yes." Alan nipped gently at Sean's earlobe.
"I don't know what I want," said Sean.
"Why don't you stay here a while and think about it?"
"I really can't," Sean sighed. "I need to head home."
"Okay." Alan gave Sean one last squeeze and let go of him.
Sean finished pulling his jeans on and turned to look at Alan. "Well, I guess I'll see you tomorrow."
"Yeah." Alan reached out to stroke Sean's hair. "Sean, I really did enjoy being with you tonight."
"You mean, fucking me?" Sean's lips turned up in a rueful half-smile.
"Yes. And kissing you, and holding you, and just talking to you." He cupped the back of Sean's head, holding him still and leaning in to press a kiss to his mouth.
Sean didn't pull away. "I don't know if I know how to be a friend-with-benefits, or a lover, or anything but a whore."
"Then be my whore."
Sean snickered, but his smile was genuine. "I think that may be the most romantic thing anybody's ever said to me."
Alan kissed Sean again. "I mean it. Promise me I'll be the one you call when you've got the itch you can't scratch."
Sean looked into Alan's eyes and whispered, "I promise."
This time, Alan believed him.
-end-
Supply and Demand
by
Dara Sue Vega
Disclaimer: The following is a work of fiction. Real-life names and background details are used for verisimilitude only. No statement or implication of actual facts about named persons or institutions is intended.
Warnings: Angst, mention of real-life significant others.
***
"Have you ever done it with a guy?"
Alan Colmes turned to look at his partner. Of all the phrases he had ever expected to hear coming out of Sean Hannity's mouth, that one had to be in the all-time bottom ten. Alan looked for a glint of laughter in the other man's dark eyes and didn't find it. "No," he said cautiously. "Have you?"
Sean looked away and didn't answer.
"Are you okay?" Alan asked. He suspected the answer was no. Had suspected it ever since Sean had asked if Alan wanted to go out for beers after the show. While Alan and Sean got along perfectly well at work, they had never hung out alone together during their off-hours. Yet here they were, sitting on the floor of Alan's living room, watching the Clinton impeachment highlights on C-span on the old 19" set in the corner.
"I don't know," said Sean, shaking his head. "Never mind."
"Hey, Sean." Alan reached over to put his hand on Sean's arm. "If there's something on your mind, you can tell me," he said, even though he wasn't entirely sure he wanted the burden of that knowledge.
Sean looked back at him. "If I told you I'd done some really horrible things, would you still want to be my friend? Would you still want to work with me?"
"I don't know. Why don't you tell me so I can decide?"
Sean did something else Alan had never seen him do before. He put his head in his hands and sniffled with a bitten-back sob.
"Whoa. Sean." Alan rubbed his partner's back. "Whatever it is, it can't be that bad. Did you murder somebody?"
Sean shook his head.
"Rape somebody?"
"No," Sean said, in a shaky voice.
"Kick a puppy?"
"No." There was a hint of mirth behind the tears this time.
"Then I can't imagine what could be so bad you think I'd never talk to you again."
"I'm a fraud. I'm as bad as him." He gestured toward the tv set. "Worse. Democrats don't pretend to have morals."
Alan couldn't help rolling his eyes, but Sean didn't notice. "So... you fooled around on Jill? Okay, that's not great, but there are worse things."
"Yeah, but that's not the worst of it," whispered Sean. "I can't even tell my priest about this stuff. I'm going straight to Hell."
"I really doubt that's the case," said Alan. "And in case you hadn't noticed, I'm not a priest. But I will keep it a secret, if you want to confess to me."
"You promise? Swear on... on everything?"
"Yes," Alan said solemnly. "Now, don't you think you'll feel better if you talk about it?"
Sean took a deep breath and started talking.
***
Sean is twenty-two years old, tightening the last clamps on the hookup for the spa he's just finished installing on the beachfront deck of the Santa Barbara mansion. He can feel the eyes of the house's owner, a 40-something studio exec whose name will only be passingly familiar to Sean when he reads of the man's death from a drug overdose years later, crawling all over his sweat-soaked t-shirt and form-fitting bluejeans. He's almost used to it by now; approximately one out of every three customers seems more interested in the tool in Sean's briefs than the ones on his belt. He's getting better at holding his temper when the men try to do more than just look, but he's not quite there yet.
He checks the fittings one last time, closes the access panel and straightens up. "All set," he says to the man lounging on the deck chair. "That'll be three hundred." His normal rate is $250, but he decides to charge a little extra for the show. This guy looks like he can afford it, anyway.
The other man's wallet is on the end table next to the deck chairs. He counts off four hundred-dollar bills and stands up, taking a step toward Sean. "You do good work," he smiles, and before Sean can blink, the other man is in his personal space, slipping the bills into Sean's front pocket.
Sean takes a step back. "Yeah, and that's all I do, got it?"
"You sure about that?" He steps forward again, and Sean finds himself backed against the railing.
"Yeah, I'm sure."
"That's too bad." The executive's hands are braced on either side of Sean, boxing him in. "Because you look like a man with many, many talents."
Sean has had enough of this. "Okay, look, I'm going to ask you nicely. Get out of my face or you're getting decked, I don't care how much money you have."
"What are you scared of, pretty boy? Afraid you'll like it? Or do you know you will?" The man's fingertip runs over Sean's jawline, comes away slick with sweat. He brings his finger to his mouth and sucks on it.
Sean's eyes widen and he's about to shove the other man away and make a run for it when he presses against Sean, his thigh between Sean's legs, his upper body against Sean's chest, effectively taking away all of Sean's leverage. The railing is hard against Sean's lower back, and there's something else hard against Sean's stomach. "What the fuck do you think you're doing?" he manages to gasp.
"Relax, pretty boy," the other man whispers. "I won't hurt you." His tongue flicks out to taste the skin just below Sean's ear. "I won't even try to fuck you. But there's another two grand in my wallet. You do a little solo act for me, and you can take it all."
"What?" Sean just blinks, not even comprehending what the man is saying.
The executive eases out of Sean's personal space just far enough to slip his hand between the two of them and rub the crotch of Sean's jeans. "You get yourself off, while I watch."
Sean hears a whimper escape his clenched teeth and hates himself for it, almost as much as he hates himself for the traitorous stirring under his zipper. "Why would you do that?"
"Because I like knowing that everybody has a price," the man smiled. "Even good little Catholic boys from Brooklyn."
Sean is from Long Island, actually, but that's the least of his worries right now.
"And I like knowing that if you'll jerk off for two grand, maybe next time you'll blow me for four. Or let me fuck you up the ass for five."
"You're out of your fucking mind."
"Am I?" He takes a step back. Sean is free to leave, but he stands frozen, clutching the railing with both hands. The other man continues: "How many months' rent on your shitty apartment would that pay?"
The answer is, a lot.
"Go, if you want to," the man grins. "But you'll be back. Won't you?"
Sean doesn't answer, just takes a step toward the sliding glass door on unsteady legs. When the other man doesn't try to stop him, Sean breaks into a run, throwing the patio door open just far enough to squeeze through, bolting through the house's high-ceilinged living room and out the front door. He flings himself into the driver's seat of his beat-up Chevy van and cranks the engine, not even pausing to fasten his seat belt.
He glances at the mansion in his rear-view mirror as he speeds down the street, silently vowing never to set foot in this neighborhood again, no matter how much the job pays.
***
A week later, his pager goes off. It's the executive with the beach house. He wants some shelves installed in a closet, and he offers Sean twice his standard rate. "No funny business," warns Sean, and the other man agrees amiably enough, but when Sean is finished with the shelves, he turns to see his client watching him again from one of the overstuffed chairs on the other side of the room, a martini in his hand. He's wearing a bathrobe, and Sean has a suspicion he's naked underneath. The man nods his head toward the bed, on which there is a pile of hundred-dollar bills.
"Take your fee," he smiles. "But if you want the rest, you'll have to earn it."
Sean looks at the pile of money. It's more than he'll make this month, by a substantial margin. And somehow actually seeing it, and knowing he could walk out with it in his pocket just for doing something he usually only does in his bedroom at night with the door locked and the blinds closed, makes his resistance waver. Makes it seem almost ridiculous.
Feeling a hot blush spread over his face, he says, "And you'll only look? Not touch?"
"I won't touch you, pretty boy."
Sean isn't looking, but he can hear the smile in the other man's voice. Without taking his eyes off the pile of money, he stretches out on the bed, feeling a stab of spiteful glee at the thought of his work clothes and boots messing up his client's expensive silk sheets. His hands are trembling and for a second he thinks he won't be able to get his fly open, but then the zipper gives way with simple ease and he shoves his pants and briefs down, taking his cock in his hand and stroking hard and fast, just wanting this to be over. He hears the soft skin-on-skin slide of the other man doing the same, and Sean's mind may be horrified but his cock loves it, stiffening to aching hardness in his grasp. Sean closes his eyes and tries to imagine it's a beautiful woman watching him. It doesn't work. He can't get the idea that it's another man watching him, paying him, using him, out of his head, and instead of being turned off he feels a dark, sinuous arousal uncoiling inside him like a cobra. When he comes, spattering hot fluid all over the hem of his t-shirt, he doesn't have to fake a yell.
Sean lies there with his eyes closed, listening to the other man's orgasm, wondering how he's going to get up and walk out of here and ever be able to look at himself in the mirror again. Then he opens his eyes and looks at the money he's just made and thinks it might be a little easier than he would have expected.
***
When he goes back the next week, his client doesn't even make a pretense of having Sean do any handyman work. Sean goes home with three thousand dollars in the nail pouch of his tool belt, and a bad taste in his mouth.
***
The next time, in addition to a stack of bills, Sean gets a bonus in the form of a line of coke, and not the cheap stuff either, if he knows his client's spending habits as well as he thinks he does. The other man takes a snort from the neat array of white lines on the hand-mirror lying on the nightstand, and then offers the straw to Sean.
"A little nose candy, pretty boy? It'll help you relax."
Sean's never done coke in his life. He couldn't afford it back when he used to get high, and it's been a few years since he's even smoked weed. But it seems like the perfect accompaniment to letting someone fuck you for money, so he doesn't turn it down.
When he inhales the line, cold fire rips through his nasal passages and then the euphoria hits, and he feel like he's coming even before the other man enters him. He expects it to hurt, and it does, a little, but it feels good, too. No, it feels amazing. He's vaguely heard of something called the "G-Spot" but he thought it was only women that had them. He decides thinking about it is too much effort and just closes his eyes and lets himself be taken. The other man's cock slams into him relentlessly, hitting that sweet spot on every thrust. Sean barely touches his own erection before he's coming harder and longer than he ever has in his life.
"See, I told you everything was for sale," the other man whispers in Sean's ear after he finishes.
Sean doesn't answer.
***
That particular client doesn't call him again, but Sean gets a few referrals in that neighborhood. Some male, some female. He draws the line at handcuffs and videotape. He freely accepts coke.
***
"All right," said Alan, looking into his partner's damp, miserable eyes. "So you did some things you aren't so proud of when you were young and desperate. Who hasn't?"
Sean laughed joylessly. "Have you ever prostituted yourself?"
"Well, not in the literal sense... look, it's over with. Ancient history. You're not the same person now that you were back then. None of us are."
"No," said Sean, looking away. "Now I'm the one paying for it."
"Okay..."
***
A dingy motel room, lit only by street lights, in a part of the country where Fox News isn't on basic cable. Sean's still taking a stupid chance, he knows he is, but he needs this. The other man, a truckstop hustler in tight jeans and a Hypercolor t-shirt, takes Sean's money and reaches for his zipper. Sean's cock hardens as his stomach tingles with the anticipation of the act and the anxiety that this guy will be the one who caught one of Sean's talk show appearances or heard him sitting in for Rush.
Sean kneels on the bed, gripping the headboard, and looks behind him to make sure the other man is putting on a condom. When he feels a latex-sheathed cock press against his opening, he closes his eyes and leans back into the man's thrusts. Then everything else fades away, leaving only the ecstasy that's so addictive Sean's willing to risk everything he has, everything he is, to get it.
The other man leaves without a word afterward, a fact for which Sean is profoundly grateful. As Sean is driving down the town's nearly-deserted main street en route to the interstate, he sees him hitchhiking. Sean doesn't even slow down.
***
"Oh, Sean," Alan said softly. He slid his arm around Sean's shoulders and pulled him into an awkward semi-hug. "It's okay." He hated how trite the words sounded coming out of his mouth.
"No it's not," Sean whispered against Alan's neck.
Alan sighed. "I know. But, Sean..."
"If you're going to tell me how it's okay to be gay, save it. Maybe for you it would be, but not for me."
"And it's better to live a lie?"
"The lie is the only redeeming thing about me."
"Sean. No." Alan pulled back far enough to look Sean in the eye. "You're dedicated, you're hardworking, you're passionate about what you do... those qualities won't go away just because you love a man."
Sean shook his head. "It's not about love. It never has been."
"So what is it about?"
"I don't know. It's like... every time, I'll tell myself I'm never doing it again. And then I'll get this itch I can't scratch except with that. This must be what heroin addicts feel like."
Alan took Sean's hand and held it. "Sean, you can get that need filled by someone who cares about you. Someone you can trust."
Sean gave him a bitter half-smile. "What, are you offering?"
"Would you take me up on it if I were?"
Sean shook his head. "It doesn't matter." He looked down at the floor. "Jill's pregnant." His eyes met Alan's again. "Men don't walk out on their families."
"Sean." Alan took Sean's other hand. "That's all the more reason for you to stop doing this to yourself. Every time you sleep with a stranger, you're spinning the wheel and betting that this isn't going to be the one who blackmails you or slits your throat or has AIDS and a defective condom. One of these days it's going to come up double-zeroes. You want to put Jill through that?"
"Haven't you been listening? I can't help it!" The rims of Sean's eyes glistened with tears again.
"You can't help what you want, but you can choose who you get it from. If not me, then somebody who won't hurt you."
"If there were anybody else, I wouldn't be here."
"Thanks, I'm flattered."
Sean snickered sadly. "You know what I mean. There's nobody else I could even talk to about this, let alone... anything else."
"Maybe that's your problem right there."
Sean sighed. "Would you really sleep with me?"
"Yes."
Sean's lips formed an almost-smile. "I didn't even know you swung that way."
"I don't. But if it'll keep you from doing something that could potentially end your career and your life, I think I can fake it." Alan raised his eyebrow conspiratorially. "And I'll admit there's a little bit of self-interest involved. If you get canned over some sex scandal, you think the network's going to keep me around?"
Sean laughed, the sound desperate and shaky. "I'll try not to get either of us fired." He squeezed Alan's hands. "Thanks for listening to all this." He let go and started to stand up. "I should get going."
"Sean." Alan caught Sean's wrist. "Promise me you'll be safe."
"I promise," Sean said, not meeting Alan's eyes.
"I'm not letting go until you say that a little more convincingly."
Sean looked at Alan. "I can't."
Alan tightened his grip on Sean's wrist. "Stay."
Sean sat back down on the floor next to Alan. "I don't know if I can do this with somebody I know," he said, his voice trembling.
"Let's find out," whispered Alan, leaning in to kiss him.
Sean ducked to the side, letting Alan's lips only brush against his cheek. "Don't," he murmured.
"What do you want?" Alan let go of Sean's wrist and wrapped his arms around him, pulling him close.
Sean didn't answer, just slid his hand to the crotch of Alan's trousers and rubbed. Alan shivered, feeling his heartbeat quicken. Any doubts he had that he could do this evaporated as his cock hardened under Sean's hand. Sean undid Alan's zipper and slipped inside his boxers, his fingers hot on Alan's bare skin. When Sean slid Alan's pants and boxers down and leaned over to take Alan's erection in his mouth, Alan had to bite back a moan. The sight of wholesome, all-American Sean Hannity with his eyes closed and his hand and lips wrapped around Alan's cock was making Alan's head spin, and the feeling of it was making him practically delirious.
"Christ, Sean, that's good," Alan sighed, clutching at Sean's hair, pulling his head away before he could take Alan over the edge. He stroked Sean's hair, looked into his dilated eyes. "I want this. I want you. I really do."
"Then do it," said Sean, his cheeks flushed crimson. "Fuck me."
"Come on." Alan hitched up his pants and took Sean's arm, hauling him up and leading him to the bedroom. By the time Alan had retrieved a condom and a tube of Astroglide from the closet, Sean was lying face-down on the futon, wearing only his t-shirt and socks. Alan slipped out of his trousers and stretched out beside him, running his hand from Sean's thigh, over the curve of his ass, up under his shirt, stroking his lower back. "You really are gorgeous," he whispered, leaning down and kissing the nape of Sean's neck.
"You don't have to do that," said Sean.
"Do what?" Alan's hand slid back down to rest on Sean's hip.
"Be gentle."
"Why not?"
"Because I don't want to..."
"What? You don't want to enjoy it too much?"
"Yeah." Sean sighed.
"Oh, Sean." Alan wrapped his arm around Sean's waist, pulling him into a reluctant embrace. "I know this isn't what you would have chosen for yourself, but things are what they are. We don't live in an ideal world. You don't have to hate yourself for taking a little bit of happiness where you can find it."
"Yeah, I think I do."
Alan kissed Sean's temple. "Did it ever cross your mind that if doing this with a trustworthy partner lets you go home and be a good husband without going crazy, maybe it's the lesser of two evils?"
"No."
"Maybe you should think about it." Alan moved his hand to cup Sean's face, then kissed his lips softly. This time Sean didn't resist, moaning and parting his lips to allow Alan's tongue entry. Alan ran his hand down Sean's back to rest on his warm, bare skin. Alan's mouth left Sean's, brushed over his cheek, nibbled on his earlobe. "I want to do this for you," Alan whispered. "And I want you to enjoy it."
"I think I enjoy it more when I don't enjoy it, if that makes any sense."
Alan smiled. "It makes about as much sense as most of what comes out of your mouth."
Sean chuckled, smiling for the first time in about an hour. "Coming from a liberal, I'll take that as a compliment."
"Now that's the Sean Hannity I know and love." Alan gave Sean's ass a squeeze.
"Hey, no L-bombs. That's against the rules." Sean slid his hand between them to stroke Alan's cock through his boxers.
"Maybe the rules need to change," said Alan, giving Sean a quick kiss before letting go of him long enough to tear open the condom wrapper.
"I'm already breaking the rules by doing this with somebody I'm going to see again." He helped Alan out of his boxers and watched him roll the condom on, then looked back up to meet his eyes. "Are you ever going to be able to look at me the same way after this?" Sean's voice was quiet, his face serious again.
"You mean will I still respect you in the morning?" Alan kissed Sean's forehead. "Sex always changes things. But not necessarily in a bad way." He lubricated his cock with the Astroglide. "It might make things a little more exciting when we're facing each other across the desk if we're both thinking about me bending you over it and having my way with you."
"Mmmm..." Sean smiled. "I like that."
"What, the thought of me having my way with you?"
"Yeah, and..." Sean lowered his eyes, blushing. "I like it when you talk to me like that." He gasped as Alan slid one slick finger inside him. "Telling me what you want to do to me."
"Yeah?" Alan grinned, slipping a second finger into Sean's entrance, probing for that spot that would make Sean moan. He leaned down to whisper in Sean's ear, "I'm going to fuck you 'til you vote Democrat."
Sean's breathless laughter dissolved into a low groan as Alan found his prostate and stroked gently. "Oh, God, Alan. Do it."
Alan withdrew his fingers and eased Sean onto his hands and knees, positioning himself between Sean's legs. Alan stroked Sean's ass, then gripped his hips and entered him. "Are you okay?" he asked when Sean buried his face in the pillows and moaned.
"Yeah," breathed Sean, as Alan moved his hips in slow, deep thrusts. "Do it harder."
Alan quickened his pace slightly, still holding back. "I don't want to hurt you," he whispered, leaning down to kiss the nape of Sean's neck.
"You won't," Sean said. His eyes were closed, his hands clutching at the sheets.
"Like this?" Alan thrust faster and deeper, feeling shivers of his own climax building. It had been a long time since he'd been with anyone, and the sensation of being inside Sean was exquisite.
"Mmmm... yeah..." Sean's breath was coming in shallow gasps. "Give it to me." His hand moved to stroke his own erection.
Alan braced himself with one arm, wrapped his other hand around Sean's hand on his cock. "You feel amazing," he murmured against Sean's neck.
Sean's only reply was a moan.
Alan closed his eyes and slowed his breathing, trying to hold on, losing himself in Sean's tight heat. "Come for me, Sean," he whispered, pumping his hand in time with the rhythm of his hips.
Sean was moving with him, meeting his thrusts, whimpering softly every time Alan plunged into him. Sean's hungry, desperate sounds ran together into a scream from behind clenched teeth as Alan moved his hand and his hips faster and then Sean was spilling hot fluid over their interlaced fingers, his body shuddering and tightening around Alan's cock. Alan let himself go, groaning against Sean's back as his own climax rocked him, wishing he didn't have the latex barrier separating the two of them, wanting to feel every soft, slick caress of Sean's flesh against his.
Alan held Sean tightly, collapsing against him as the last tremors of their orgasms subsided. "Sean," he sighed, then realized he had no idea what he'd planned to say.
Sean stirred in his grasp. "I should go."
"You don't have to."
"Yeah, I do."
"Is that another one of the rules?" Alan loosened his grip.
"Yeah." Sean slid out of Alan's arms and reached for his jeans on the floor.
The sudden chill without Sean's body pressed against him reminded Alan that he was still half-naked himself. He tossed the condom in the trash can and slipped back into his boxers. When Sean sat down to pull his jeans on, Alan wrapped his arms around him, resting his head on Sean's shoulder. "This isn't just another one-night stand," Alan whispered in Sean's ear. "I care about you. Get used to it."
Sean sighed. "This is going to end in disaster, isn't it?"
"Most relationships do. That doesn't mean we can't enjoy it while it lasts."
Sean ran his hand over Alan's forearm. "So now we're in a relationship?"
"We're friends who have sex. That sounds like a relationship of some kind to me."
Sean was silent for a moment, and then whispered, "You think that's always going to be enough? For either of us?"
"I don't know. It's good enough for right now." Alan kissed Sean's neck. "Believe it or not, I get lonely and horny, too. And I'm happy to be your friend-with-benefits, or your part-time lover, or whatever you want to call it."
Sean closed his eyes, tilting his head to let Alan's lips brush over his skin. "So now what? We go back to work and pretend nothing happened until the next time I need to get fucked?"
"If that's the way you want it, yes." Alan nipped gently at Sean's earlobe.
"I don't know what I want," said Sean.
"Why don't you stay here a while and think about it?"
"I really can't," Sean sighed. "I need to head home."
"Okay." Alan gave Sean one last squeeze and let go of him.
Sean finished pulling his jeans on and turned to look at Alan. "Well, I guess I'll see you tomorrow."
"Yeah." Alan reached out to stroke Sean's hair. "Sean, I really did enjoy being with you tonight."
"You mean, fucking me?" Sean's lips turned up in a rueful half-smile.
"Yes. And kissing you, and holding you, and just talking to you." He cupped the back of Sean's head, holding him still and leaning in to press a kiss to his mouth.
Sean didn't pull away. "I don't know if I know how to be a friend-with-benefits, or a lover, or anything but a whore."
"Then be my whore."
Sean snickered, but his smile was genuine. "I think that may be the most romantic thing anybody's ever said to me."
Alan kissed Sean again. "I mean it. Promise me I'll be the one you call when you've got the itch you can't scratch."
Sean looked into Alan's eyes and whispered, "I promise."
This time, Alan believed him.
-end-