Eating crow
There were times when
No one watching him that he was interested in. A few
girls, but when was he ever interested in that? None of the men hit his do-me
buttons, and he was infinitely bored by the yammer of the child next to
him. At least they didn't card here. So he had a drink with a great deal of
alcohol in it grasped in his hand, thank God. The numbing blaze of the vodka
trickled across his senses as he turned away from the golden haired idiot
sitting next to him, someone who proved once and for all that a pretty face did
not an intelligent person make, and got up. Moved into the crowd and
disappeared between one flashing strobe and the next. He'd deal with the child
and his temper tantrum at school, later. If he even dared admit he'd gone out
with the fag, and that he was one himself.
How deliciously saddening it was to see a person so deep in
denial about their ownselves.
There was movement on the stage, tiny little place where they were setting up
instruments and so on. Some men, moving around speakers, laying down cords,
whatever it was they had to do to get ready. Boring.
But...one of them, obviously a band member as he stood out the front, tuning
his guitar and nodding to something another one of them was saying to him, was
not. Jean-Paul drifted closer to the stage, intrigued despite himself and arguing internally. The teen was probably
straight. The prettiest, most interesting ones usually were. And
possibly violently homophobic. But marde, the
boy was pretty, even if it was in that I hate the world and display my
teenage rebellion by wearing black and make up kind of way.
Long, long lines, with legs that seemed to go on forever in
black denim until they finished off in clunky looking heavy black boots.
The boy was all angles and lines, slimness and almost deceptive fragility.
Still, Jean-Paul knew that he often gave off the same air and woe betide anyone
who underestimated him. Closer now, he tilted his head to the side,
silver-streaked black hair falling away slightly to expose one pointed ear,
crystal bright eyes running up from the teen's feet to his ass approvingly,
then along and up the front of him. Sheer mesh top that
didn't hide the pierced nipple glinting from behind the black material, elegant
seeming hands busy on the guitar. Nails painted black and chipped a
little, again fitting with the stereotype of tortured Goth musician.
And then the dark head lifted, turned and bright brown eyes surveyed him
coolly. Jean-Paul smirked slightly, lifted one eyebrow and let the tip of his
pink tongue touch his upper lip for a moment. Definite flash of interest in
those brown, brown eyes, underlined by dark black lines and sensual mouth
darkened unnaturally with lipstick. It might be...interesting to see what would
transpire.
The band was being introduced now, pretty stepping up to the mike with a
swagger and a roll to his hips that made the tight jeans move beyond obscene.
Jean-Paul watched with interest, not moving from his spot as the teen finally
spoke, voice harsh and husky, dark sinful melody rolling through the mike and
out onto the crowd. British, very British, and scraped straight from the
gutters from the sound of it. Struck a pose on stage, legs splayed and guitar
held against the front of him, hand held on high for a glittering endless
moment, before it came down and struck the first chord. Brash and aggressive,
the entire band, dressed up in their leathers and denim, piercings
metallic in the over head lights as the smoke machines pumped a little bit more
of cloying raspberry flavoured mist out into the
densely packed club.
That voice, rising above everything else and the look on his face was almost orgasmic with pleasure.
"In the darkness, watch us bleed, memory just another disease, oh, won't
you, won't you, won't you..."
The lyrics didn't make much sense. But they didn't really need to, not for
Jean-Paul. He just let the sound of the singer wash over him, eyes filing away
little things to keep. In case what he was almost certain of didn't eventuate.
Even if he had been meaning to go before, he was almost transfixed now as
pretty strutted and owned the stage. Like he was born to be
there. Always adored, always wanted, lusted after and worshipped until
he fell, gone, blazing star extinguished by drugs or sex or whatever form of
slow suicide he had chosen. The French Canadian would wager that every girl in
the place was wet, panting after him like little bitches on heat. That any man with a tendency to his own sex was hard, aching,
wanting to possess that defiant form.
Or wanting it to possess them.
Voice all cigarette smoke and blasphemous secrets, while the
body it was attached to was sin and decadence in motion.
Sometimes...when things were right, they were very right. Jean-Paul's eyes fell
on the twit who'd tried to put the moves on him before, coaxing out to this
little hole of a club where his friends would never go and was entirely too
amused to see him swapping spit and disease with a little female armful. Very female. To the point of being
nauseating. How long it had taken for him to forget Jean-Paul and run
back to reaffirm his heterosexuality. It was almost insulting. No, it was
insulting. But he would not be annoyed by something so trifling, when something
so much better beckoned.
Until the band wound down, closed off the mikes and started packing up. The DJ
came back on, seemingly pale by comparison with the
live act. Once again, the young and seemingly jaded started to dance and court
each other, a weltering mass of velvets, silks and leather. Goths.
So dramatic. And pretty was looking at him again,
carefully packing his guitar into its case, fingers sliding over the neck of
the instrument like it was something alive and precious. Cherished.
After the band packed up and moved off stage, Jean-Paul wondered if he had
misread the signs. He usually didn't...but...perhaps pretty was just looking,
not able to actually play. Which would be disappointing, since he could have
been out of this dingy hole hours ago. But no...one of the club staff came back to him, where he
stood on the edges of the crowd watching the disaffected youth dance together,
and invited him back stage. With a careless smile, Jean-Paul went. Even if it irked him to come when called. The possibility of
something at least amusing coming out of the night was too good to pass up.
There was so little that was vaguely interesting these days...unless you
counted the 'mutant menace', which he didn't.
The entrance to the back of the club led into what seemed to be a warren of interesting
passages, close and cramped. Jean-Paul wrinkled his nose fastidiously and tried
not to touch the walls.
"...won't be a problem, Gayle?"
"Of course not!" Lighter feminine voice,
still British but classes above the tones of the singer that Jean-Paul recognized
as the other voice came drifting up the hallway. He felt no compunction about
eavesdropping. The walls must have been as thin as paper for him to hear
anything. "Go, have your fun, darling. Then come home and tell me all
about it. You know I love my bedtime stories."
A pause. Which gave Jean-Paul time
to think. Just what was happening here? Aided and abetted cheating, at a
guess. Well. He smirked slightly, amused by it. Obviously it didn't count as
cheating if her little guitar playing boy toy went and rolled around with a guy
or two, but he bet that the claws came out if he even looked at another female.
Sounded like it might even be a kink for her. He'd do
his best not to disappoint, and make her ah...bedtime story interesting.
Door opened and pretty came out, wiping dark colored lipstick off his mouth and
looking at Jean-Paul carefully. Making sure he was the right one, he would have
to guess. Since the staff here didn't seem overly intelligent, he guessed he
could forgive pretty for the look...
"Jono."
"Jean-Paul."
Square-shaped hand with long fingers wrapping around his own
more slender one. Jean-Paul looked him over critically, now that they were
close up. The shackles and collar hadn't gone, and there was the distinct aroma
of sweat coming off him, but he was better looking close up then he had been
from far away. And he'd been pretty tasty then. So he could forgive the smell. At least until they got somewhere with a shower.
"Now that the introductions have been gotten out of the way..."
Jean-Paul murmured, watching Jono. He was definitely worth watching, if not his
normal fare. Sometimes, a change could be a good thing. Idly, he wondered who
would wind up where. He wasn't sure he minded either way, and he usually had a
preference. "Do you have somewhere we can go?"
"Yeah, band's got a couple of hotel rooms. Is that alright with yer?"
"Oui."
A taxi was found easily, and Jean-Paul leant over to kiss this British import
and see if he was certain this was what he wanted out of the night. Breathless
moan into his mouth and Jono's hand sliding down the arch of his back to cup
his ass and Jean-Paul was quite sure. Talented mouth, at more then one
thing, and his hands were just as good at playing him as they'd been on the
guitar. The mesh shirt was quite stretchy and easily pushed up...just as Jono
was easily pushed down onto the seat so that Jean-Paul could grind against him,
biting at his mouth and listening to him gasp. He'd suspected as much, since he
could quite obviously fuck his girlfriend or whatever Gayle was, but getting
fucked was something that really, really should be left to the ones born with
the equipment. Not to say he wasn't aware of what girls could do to make
up for the lack of a cock, but...no, there wasn't anything quite like the real
thing.
"Is this what you want, pretty?" Jean-Paul murmured, nimble fingers
finding the nipple ring he'd seen glinting in the bright lights of the stage
and twisting a little. The Brit under him groaned, hips pushing at him
insistently and denim rasping against the softer material of his own pants. A
feral little grin lit up the elfin teen's face, pointed and full of sharp teeth
before he kissed Jono again. Hot and wet and talented tongue stroking along
his, back along his teeth and yes, this was good. This was what he'd been
waiting for tonight, even if he hadn't known it. Willing body
underneath him, those long legs wrapped around his waist and arching up to be
touched. Greedy boy. Something
vulnerable in his kiss-reddened mouth as he gasped for air, the long curve of
his throat. Jean-Paul bit it, hard. Not quite hard enough to draw blood,
but enough to leave a mark.
After all, what was a story without visual aids?
The apparently well cashed up boy toy flung some bills at the cab driver when
they arrived at their destination. Gayle must pay him well...or the struggling
musician gig paid better then he thought it had. Jean-Paul worried at the lobe
of pretty's ear with his teeth, flicking the metal
stud that pierced it with his teeth and feeling the other teen lean into him
with a drawn out groan. Vocal little thing. Pushed at
the small of his back to make him walk, sliding his fingers down the back of
his pants. Sweat slick, so at least he wasn't wearing leather...still, he'd
look good in it. This would be all he got, though, so best to make the most of
it.
"What's your room number, Jono?" he murmured into the teen's ear,
long fingers sliding along the crease of Jonothon's ass. Such
a nice ass as well. He was looking forward to this, and he was enjoying
the scandalized looks they were getting from the people in the hotel foyer as
well. One could only hope his father would hear about this.
"Room 3-aaaah-12," was his gasped answer as he shallowly penetrated
the musician with his finger, guitar calloused fingers clutching at him for a
moment. Long neck bared, throat so vulnerable and white except for the livid
bites and suck marks he'd put on it during the taxi ride here. So pale. So obviously hard and panting and
wanton. This would be fun. Getting up to the room was made easier
through the availability of an elevator, and Jean-Paul slapped the close doors
button as an elderly couple came up through the lobby and headed for them. No,
he wanted this space to himself. He wanted this...Jono, to himself. Must be short for Jonathon or something of that nature.
Pushed him up against the wall, shoving his hands down the back of those tight
jeans, denim rough against his skin and hot smooth skin against the palms of
them. “Oh, god...”
Oui, wanted him just like this, gasping and desperate,
writhing against him as time seemed to slow down for a moment, low moans
purring through his throat. Like the music he’d been playing on stage only
about an hour before. Arch and grind of his hips flowing in that same smooth
melody. Jean-Paul snarled and fixed his teeth around the delicate wing of
collarbone that he could see through the mesh of the shirt, tasting sweat and
cloth. Bit hard.
Got a full strength thrust
and a low wail, hoarse and desperate in his ear.
Perfect.
Spilling
out of the elevator door as they reached the right floor, Jean-Paul panted and
stared up and down the corridor. Where the hell was
312? Crisse d’ostie de tabernac! Where was that fucking room?
“This
way, down ‘ere.”
Tugging
at his hand, and they turned the right way down the
corridor. Scattered moments where he could think, taste of salt on his tongue,
the silk of the boy’s hair in the palm of his hand, opening the door and then
slamming it behind them. And he swore to God, that if anyone interrupted then,
he was going to eviscerate them. With a spoon. The
mesh ripped easily under his fingernails, pretty’s
back arching as he twisted the nipple ring. Soft low keen
music to his ears. Usually he didn’t get off on what his partners said
and the noises they made so much, but there was something different about this
one. Probably a good thing he’d be tripping back to his keeper bitch in the
morning. Kept him from being stupid.
“Mmm...so, petit, where’s some
lube? And condoms,” Jean-Paul felt pressured to add. God knew who the boy had
slept with before, and he didn’t trust anyone enough to have sex bareback. He
didn’t trust himself either. In this day and age, you couldn’t. Yet at the same
time, the idea of going without sex was deplorable. What a choice to make.
Still,
perhaps, one day.
“Bedside
table,” Jono gasped, long fingers tangling for a moment in Jean-Paul’s hair and
back arching to press closer to the clever mouth kissing and nipping its way
across his chest. “In the, ah god, drawer. Please!”
The Quebecois grabbed the hand that was in his hair and took it away, pressing
the wrist to the coverlet as he brought one knee onto the bed, crouching over
the musician and holding him still. Right there. This
time, he was in control and everything would be done his way. Just as he wanted. “Christ!”
“Get
naked,” Jean-Paul hissed between his teeth, sitting back for a moment, legs
straddling Jono’s waist and ground down. Back arched as he threw his head back
and one hand on the bedspread, somehow having managed to crawl his way onto the
bed entirely in some fevered movement that he didn’t quite remember. The boy’s
erection was hot and heavy behind the denim, zipper scraping noisily against
the soft cloth of his pinstripe pants. Felt good. Far too good, as pretty
thrust upwards desperately, brown eyes wide and reddened mouth gasping for
breath. After a moment, he got off and pulled off his shirt. It hit the floor
with a rustle as he sauntered over to the table that Jono had indicated. The
sound of heavy Goth boots hitting the floor came next, kicked off with laces
barely undone and buckles scraping against the carpet.
Nice
hotel, his feet sank into the pile quite deeply. When he sat down on the edge
of the bed and deliberately, slowly unlaced his shoes and put them on the
ground, the white plush was soft against the bare soles of his feet. Jean-Paul
took off his pants with the same slow deliberateness, knowing that Jono was
pausing to watch him, even as he heard the stuttered sound of the zip going
down. Knew it, and gloried in it. When his partners stopped watching him, then
he’d know to get worried. But they watched. And they adored him. Which was, of course, exactly as it should be. If they got
this far, they had damn well better adore him. And he knew, for this one night,
Jono would. Pretty sullen Goth boytoy,
pouting mouth and blacklined eyes. Opened the
drawer of the bedside table and looked into it, feeling the faint breeze from
the air conditioning move across his bare skin as he stood now nude. Feeling burning eyes follow the feline movements of his body.
And
it was very good.
He
resisted the urge to touch himself for the moment. Why should he bother? There
was someone who was ready and willing to do it on the bed behind him. And just
what did he have here, besides the usual and what he was expecting? Jono and
Gayle were obviously very naughty people. They had to give the housekeeping
staff nightmares and kittens. Maybe Daddy bought everybody off on his
princess’s behalf; the girl’s voice hadn’t given off the aura that she’d made
her own money. Far too young, too stupid. And much too spoilt. Turned slowly, holding lengths of
leather straps in his hands and coiling them around his fingers, loose loop
lying between before he drew his hands apart. Snapped them tight and watched
the glow in the other teen’s eyes turn into a burn.
Oh,
maybe one day he would be tired of being right, but as long as it led to
fantastic orgasms for all involved, he’d keep being right. Letting one end
unwind itself from around his hand and hang by his side as he stalked back
towards the bed. Naked on the bed, Jono almost glowed in the overhead light. White, like alabaster. So very pale.
So extremely British. The silver hoop of the nipple
ring lay against his chest, dark rings of aureole standing out against his pale
skin. The dark brown thatch at his crotch added to the burden of proof that the
curtains did in fact, match the drapes. Naturally a brunette
then. Cute. From what he’d seen at the club, he
had doubts that more then ten percent could have told him what their original
hair colour was. Beautiful cock. Which by that point
in time, he’d almost been expecting.
“Come here.” Waited by the side of the bed with the
straps in hand for Jono to come to him, long limbs uncoiling from the almost
certainly constructed pose that had been waiting for him when he turned around.
Slender wrists and neck still encircled by black leather bands, hoops for
attachments glinting with his movements. Bondage poster boy.
And it was all just about to get better. Motioning with one finger for Jono to
turn, Jean-Paul quickly threaded one of the leather straps through the rings on
the wrist cuffs and tied them behind his back, tight and sure. “So, what’s your
safe word, pretty? Or do you fly high without one?”
Traced his fingers down the teen’s torso on one side, and was mildly distressed
to feel ribs. Just in an aesthetic way. Starved never did anything for him; he
knew what starvation really looked like. And he hadn’t liked it. Little suburbanites
playing at malnutrition disgusted him.
“Thatcher,” and the skin under his fingertips jumped, and he could feel
a laugh being restrained. Ticklish, was he? That meant sensitive. Excellent. Ticklish areas meant sensitive nerve endings,
which in the bedroom translated to erogenous zones. Always
good things to find on a new lover.
“Thatcher?” Jean-Paul said in a tone of
bored inquiry.
“Yeah...like Margaret Thatcher. Y’know. Guaranteed that if she comes up in sex, the urge to fuck has died a
cold and lonely death. Possibly mauled by ugly
bulldogs beforehand.”
“You’re babbling.” Threaded his fingers through seal
brown hair as he walked around to the front of the Brit and dropped the other
leather straps on the bed. Held the strands tight, and leant in to
devour his mouth until the boy was leaning into it almost helplessly, hard cock
rubbing against his stomach and indulging in a little mutual frottage. Just
more of what they’d done in the cab, but naked now. Which
made it all that much better. “Suck me, petit. And make it good.”
Awkward drop to his knees with his hands tied behind his back throwing off his
balance, and more awkwardness as he leant forward to take Jean-Paul’s erection
in his mouth. Beautiful even with that, the little
imperfections adding to the effect. Lapping at the
head of his aching cock before taking it in behind those sinful lips into wet,
wet heat. “Ummm, oui,”
the elfin teen purred throatily, one hand still wrapped in dark hair, hips
thrusting slowly as he closed his eyes for a moment.
Looking down with his eyes barely open, he could watch the movement of
Jono’s tongue and lips around his dick. If there was a better look for the boy,
he didn’t know what it would be. Hands tied behind him and so obviously enjoying what he was doing,
industriously working his mouth and head bobbing to take in more of his
dominant partner’s cock each time. Hard and aching, but
working on his lover’s pleasure instead of his own. Jean-Paul put his
other hand on the opposite side of Jono’s head so he was cradling it in his
hands and thrust, feeling the instinctive choke before the boy swallowed and oh
Dieu, oui, oui...right down
his throat. Hot and wet and tight. No signs of distress as he automatically checked for
them, so he started to fuck the teen’s mouth as hard as he felt he could get
away with. Light scrape of teeth and he hissed, fingers tightening in silky
strands, watching wide brown eyes underlined with kohl. There was still a smear
of dark lipstick on one corner of his mouth, that had
missed being wiped off or kissed off. Mouth wet and shiny with spit and precome, glistening on his chin as his skin started to
gleam with new sweat. Delicate flutter of his tongue along the sensitive skin,
and it was just suddenly too much and just enough.
Jean-Paul threw his hips forward, shoving his cock down the kneeling
teen’s throat as he came, a guttural noise escaping from behind his clenched
teeth. Back arched and lean athlete’s muscles standing out in stark relief as
he tensed, eyes slamming closed to hide as much of himself as he could. Orgasm
could be far too intimate. Letting go of the hair in his hands slowly, he
opened his eyes as Jono cleaned his limp dick with his mouth. The licking was
almost too much for his sensitive flesh to bear, but it still felt good.
“Now we’ve got the quick one out of the way...” Jean-Paul ran his
fingers through sweat damp hair, tracing the shape of Jono’s skull through the
dark strands. Let him continue to nuzzle at his groin, tracing the shape of his
dick and balls with his tongue and pretended not to see just how hard the teen
at his feet was. The needy little thrusts of his hips that he
couldn’t quite hold back. How patient he was being, and here Jean-Paul
had thought he’d be a demanding, pushy bottom. Even when subbing. Pulling him
upwards onto his feet, not letting him fall forward onto his face like he
almost did, the French Canadian kissed Jono, invading his mouth with his tongue
this time. Tasting himself, and swallowing soft moans
with his kiss.
“Oh, Christ, please, please, oh yeah,” gasped
into the curve of Jean-Paul’s neck as he started to jerk Jono off, using the
musician’s precome to slick his hand. Head falling
back onto the curve of Jean-Paul’s shoulder at the onslaught of pleasure and
the promise that he’d get to come, bruised mouth open on a gasp before it was
claimed and covered again. Teeth grated against each other, tongues mating
wetly in a passionate kiss as thin hips thrust forward to meet the movement of
an elegant hand. “Oh god, oh yeah, oh fuckfuckfuck!”
“Come for me, pretty.” Jean-Paul bit down on one of the bites he’d already
laid down, finger of his free hand pressing down on the strip of skin running
between Jono’s balls and his hole, thumb flicking over the head of his cock.
Felt him cry out, shudder and come all in one moment, twisting his glance
upwards for a moment to see the look on the teen’s face. He even managed,
somehow, God only knew how, not to look stupid when he orgasmed.
It was a very good thing that pretty had a keeper bitch to return in the
morning, or Jean-Paul could have been tempted to do something stupid.
Idly, he smoothed his hand over the smoothness of Jono’s stomach,
rubbing white onto white. And now they both stunk. Ugh. Still...for a quickie, it had been good. Now,
the rest of the night wouldn’t be quite so urgent. He could take his time. At least, until morning. He was certain that he would have
the night; it just fit with what was happening. Besides, Gayle would probably
make sure. No point in chopping off the end of her bedtime story, was there? Might as well let him have the time to make it a good one.
Tugging at the leather strap that was holding the silver rings of the cuffs
together, the knot fell apart and soon Jono was rubbing his wrists softly and
watching him with deep brown eyes that someone more romantically minded might
have fallen into.
“Shower first,” the elfin teen told the almost solemn Brit. He wrinkled
his nose slightly, then licked his fingers slowly. Tasting him obviously. Salt on his skin that wasn’t his.
Bitter. Tasted a lot like any other man, and there was something vaguely
reassuring about that. “You were already sweaty, and now it’s worse.” Something
like a quirk of a smile about the used looking mouth,
and he followed the British teen to the exceptionally large and well appointed
bathroom. Which was of course, full of...frippery. The shampoo and conditioner
in particular made him curl his lip a little, the flowery scent getting on his
nerves.
When he got home, he was washing again to get this stupid smell off him.
Flowery and feminine, sickly. Next thing he knew, it would be all speaking with
a lisp and limp hand movements. It could be a slippery slope to becoming a
flaming queen, and Jean-Paul had no intention of ever even setting foot on it.
He might be gay, but that was just because he liked cock. Becoming a stereotype
was something he had pondered on for about five seconds in the interests of
scaring the pants off every red blooded heterosexual male who attended his
school, then put away firmly. That was just not his thing, thank you very much.
Being bitterly sarcastic and cutting was much more to his liking. Respect was
something he had to have for himself, seeing as he felt so little of it for
other people.
Slick with water and soapsuds, Jono was just as pretty as he’d been on
the bed. Showers were excellent places to press in and get closer, since there
was so little room available anyway. The eyeliner didn’t even run, and he’d
been expecting panda eyes or similar by the time they got out. Scrubbing
himself down briskly, before passing the towel over his head to dry and stop
his hair from dripping everywhere, he glanced sideways at Jono as the boy
seemed to just stop and stare.
“What is it?”
“Your ears…”
“Oui?” Jean-Paul said and the temperature of the
room suddenly dropped down to something suitable for the
And he bit down ever so gently,
mouth warm and wet with hard teeth lurking inside.
Turning quickly, Jean-Paul kissed him again, trailing the nails of his
hands down Jono’s torso maybe just a bit harder then he should. Messy, wet and hard kiss. Reminder of just who was
meant to be in charge here, no matte what had happened just then. Grabbed one wrist, somehow thin in his hand
and felt Jono back into the wall of the bathroom. Right there, feeling them both start to get
hard again as he bit and nipped his way into devouring the musician’s mouth. Clash of teeth, grating, but so right for that moment.
In a moment of mutual agreement, they stumble back out of the bathroom
to the bed. The bed was softer, and had far more handy points of attachment.
Because Jean-Paul was back into his bitter mood, hard and feral, and he wanted
to see the pretty bleed all of a sudden. Because, maudit,
he’d have to hand this one back. Not even a chance of seeing him again, and it
made him hold hard enough to bruise, kiss hard enough to cut and claw sharp red
marks onto pale white skin. Pushed him down onto the bed,
feeling the boy’s legs open up around his waist to hold him in the cradle of
them, cock to cock and grinding against each other with the same hungry,
desperate movements. He wanted him to remember, wanted him to feel the ache and the burn for a few days
after. He didn’t get to keep things,
and what he had wasn’t really his.
Threw his head back on a gasp as he tore his mouth away from pretty’s, hips still moving in a relentless rocking dance
of eroticism and arousal. Lube, oui. And condoms, because he wanted to fuck his way into this body that
was writhing under him. The leather straps from before were still on the
bed, and he eyed them thoughtfully as he slid back and stepped off the bed.
“Oh, Jesus, Jean-Paul...”
Reached out and slapped him across one thigh, leaving a bright red mark
behind. Hadn’t really meant to do that, but he had the feeling that the almost
milky tone of the teen’s skin just did that anyway. If he was into the whipping
part of the kink scene, he’d probably adore that aspect. Rubbed his fingers
over the mark, almost in apology and Jono was rolling over his stomach and
around in some acrobatic twist to lick his hand.
“Stop that,” he said, amused despite himself.
And then Jono was sucking on his fingers, clever tongue licking between and
across them in the same patterns that he’d used on his cock, and the French
Canadian hissed. Blinked to clear his head, rubbing his thumb
on the outside of his bedmate’s cheek to feel faint
stubble while his fingers stroked his tongue. Taking his hand back after
a moment, he ran spit slick fingers down from the small of Jono’s back to his
cleft, fingertips brushing over his hole. And he wanted, and by the way pretty
whined and thrust back, he wanted too. “In a minute, cher,
just wait...have some patience.” Biting kiss to the back of his neck, teeth leaving
imprints as he tasted salt sweat and water.
Should make him wait longer, but Jean-Paul desperately wanted to fuck
him. Long, long legs sprawled open on the bed as Jono rolled back over onto his
stomach, erection heavy against his stomach and the silver of the nipple ring
glinting from his chest. Small grin as he saw Jean-Paul watching him, tucking
his feet underneath his ass, knees still spread wide and leaning back in a
feline arch that displayed everything. Hands crossed at the wrist above his
head, and Dieu, but that looked uncomfortable at the same time that it was as
hot as hell. The principle behind all bondage, non?
“You want it hard, petit?”
The lube was cold on his fingers as he put some on his hand, rubbing it
to get it warmed. Always best to have some consideration. If he didn’t trust
the person who was going to do the fucking, he always prepared himself. He kept
his nails clean and neat. The British rockstar in the
making would have no reason to want him to <i>not</i> do this. He wanted to feel him hot and tight around
his fingers before he felt the boy around his cock.
“Oh yeah, mate...hard an’ fast.” Stroked his hands
down the tops of his legs, uncoiling himself as he sat up to watch Jean-Paul
with dark eyes. Deep. “How do yer want me?” Pretty, offering everything up. At least for tonight. Littered with bitemarks
and sucking bruises from the Quebecois’s mouth already.
“Like that is fine, for now, Jonothon,” he heard himself purr, voice
husky with arousal. So. Pretty. Got
onto the bed next to him, leant over to kiss him, mouth hot and opening under
his as he slid his tongue across reddened lips. The first finger slid in
easily, and one of Jonothon’s hands clutched at his back, black chipped nails
sliding across the back of his ribs and the smooth muscle of his back. So
tight, but he added another finger almost immediately, pumping them in and out
of hot clinging flesh as he bit at the other teen’s lower lip, listened to him
moan. Hips moving with the fuck of his fingers, thrusting back onto them and
trying to get them deeper, touch that magical spot that all men were born with
and women, sadly, missed out on. Poor them. He was
just about certain, from what he’d heard, that a clitoris just couldn’t
compare.
Slurred curses in that
Jean-Paul leant down and tasted,
sliding his tongue around the tip of his lover’s prick. Salt on his tongue as
he just licked, didn’t suck and Jonothon’s hips rose even further off the bed
as he keened, trying to get Jean-Paul to do something more. Oh, non. Not tonight. Pulling his head back, he stared at
Jonothon with icy eyes, winter child cold and remote even while his fingers
continued to move.
“I want you on your back, petite, I want to be
able to see your face when you come for me...”
“Yeah, unh, Christ!” Low groan as he slid his fingers
free of clinging silken heat, Jonothon’s face twisting for a moment in loss as
he paused to put on a condom. Moved himself to lie in
the cradle of the boy’s spread legs, watching as he chewed on his bottom lip
and reddened it further. A moment, just to breathe and watch, before he threw
his hips forward and pushed himself inside and fully in with one long thrust. “Ahhhh!” Jonothon’s voice soared
upwards in a wail of pleasure, keening.
“Dieu,” he muttered through gritted teeth, managing not to come at just
the feel of him around his buried cock as Jonothon arched underneath him,
pressing his long lean body up against his like something wild. Baring his
teeth, he grabbed the other teen’s wrists in his hands and pressed them to the
mattress above his head. Slowly, he pulled out until just the head of his cock
was still inside, before he slammed his erection back inside the hot sheath of
Jonothon’s body. “Is that hard enough for you, petite? D’ostie!”
“Yes, oh god, yes! Fuck me!” Low stuttered moan as
he fucked the warm and willing body underneath him with sharp, hard thrusts.
Not enough traction on the sheets as he held the boy’s hands above his head and
he wished he’d thought to tie them. Keep them up and out of the way. “Christ!”
“Marde, so good, petit, just...” Bit him at
the sensitive juncture of neck and shoulder, worrying an already purpling mark
he’d left earlier and felt Jonothon’s hands fly to his back as he released
them. Grabbed the boy’s ass and pulled it up, feeling his cock slide
infinitesimally deeper and heard the cigarette and whisky voice cry out in his
ear as he finally got the angle right to hit his prostate. Coming and going, by
the way Jonothon’s nails dug into his back. Just the right
spark of pain, of edge, as he tasted blood in his mouth, blunt teeth finally
splitting the skin.
“Oh, oh god!”
Cry of anything but pain, moaned into his ear like Jonothon was dying,
hips moving with his as they fucked. Bloody on the bed, spots of red as he
relinquished the bite, body moving and straining for the moment of ecstatic
oblivion they were both moving towards. So quickly.
Now he was inside, the heat, the bliss of fucking him was just...
Damn, for a one nighter, he was a damn good fuck. A pity, almost, that
he wouldn’t be anything else. It’d be nice to know that a piece of ass this
good was available on the general rota of people he deigned to share his body
with.
“Fuck me, unh, god, Jesus, oh god, yesyesyes,
fuck me!”
Noisy. Almost made him wish he had a gag to shut him
up, but there was something attractive about the way he spoke. Low rasping
moans and garbled exclamations and pleas and prayers. All
mixed up together and drowning in cigarette smoke. His voice was so
melodious at the same time it was harsh. Pleasing complexities, so much depth
in it, on stage singing or here in bed getting his brains fucked out. Fingers
clawing at his back, lean body moving in an erotic dance of muscle and movement
against his, oh Dieu, underneath him and around him and Jean-Paul kissed him
again. Drank in his moans like he could taste them, silencing him for a moment
with the force of his kiss as he tried to devour him, make him a part of
Jean-Paul forever and inside him.
The bedsprings underneath them creaked as the bed rocked with the force
of their movements, Jean-Paul doing his best to fuck both their brains out. He
wanted them both incoherent and dazed by the end of this, wanted the boy to
feel the ache in his ass all day tomorrow and probably the day after as well.
Hot, Dieu, so tight, holding his cock so tightly inside him and sucking on his
tongue like it was the sweetest thing to ever get in there. Felt him tighten,
shudder as he held on with his fingers and legs wrapped around his waist and
come with a gasped shout that Jean-Paul swallowed, trying to put away the
moment to remember. Let the scalding heat that had been building in his veins
overflow, feeling himself fly for an everlasting moment in orgasm as he came,
feeling Jonothon going boneless underneath him.
So good.
Lay for a moment on top of him, feeling them both pant and gasp for
breath, neither wanting to move just yet and break the spell of the little
death they had just come out the other side of. Hesitated, and then rolled off
the warm, sweat slick body underneath him to lie on the bed. Taking the condom
off, he tied a knot in the end of it and threw it tiredly into the bin near the
bedside table. Neither of them moved to touch or cuddle, and after a few more
minutes to gather his wits together, Jean-Paul got off the bed silently and
went to shower alone.
The water he turned up as hot as his skin could stand, heat making his
body flush as he washed away the sweat and muss that sex brought. He always
hated the after effects. When he was clean, he dried himself off and went back
out, hair dripping and water droplets sliding down the slope of his back.
Jonothon was still lying on the bed, obviously feeling no need to go and clean himself up. Lazy. Dressed quickly and with economy of motion, disliking the feel of
sweat stained and rumpled clothes on his skin once the urgency of his lust had
been met. If one could only...run from these situations, these moments
between when the sex was over and he was leaving. Make them go faster.
“Good bye, petit. Have fun with your girlfriend.”
Cruel cutting smirk as Jonothon’s eyes flashed open, and Jean-Paul left
silently. Relished the memory of sudden hurt almost as much
as he had enjoyed the sex. Sometimes he was just malicious. The hotel
wasn’t quiet, people moving to their rooms and so on, but he held his head
arrogantly and went downstairs to catch a taxi home. Or maybe he’d go out and
get drunk first. Which would embarrass and discomfit his
father more, that was the question...
Noticed with pleasure as the eyes of people turned to follow him as he
hit the lobby, sauntering stride and looking far too satisfied with himself to have been doing anything legal. And that was as
it should be. Everything was back to normal.