Title: one night stand; bandaid.
Author:![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif)
saint_sorrows
Rating: NC-17
POV: Third
Summary: A messy break up, one too many vodkas, and a lap dancer in a PVC nurse’s outfit.
Disclaimer: Fictional. All of it. Don’t sue me.
Author Notes: Guys, this is totally awfully written. I just had to do it.
Warnings: sex, prescription drug abuse. PVC…
‘Hey- c- can I get a beer an’- a shot of vodka?’ Frank sets his empty glass on the counter, drawling a little to the girl behind the bar. The sound is lost to the thumping, crude beat of the techno that rings through the speakers of the strobe licked club, but she catches it in the flash of his lip ring and his lopsided smile and nods, whipping around to take his order.
That done, Frank sidles back on over to his seat and oozes into it, stretching out cat-like in the leather upholstery, eyes trained on the twirling mass of limbs on the table in front of him, twined around the long pole. The strobes are still flickering over his irises and he blinks them away irritably, groggy with drink and weed, but tinny laughter tells him the small group of men he arrived with are still there and most likely planning to stay until the club calls for closing time. He flexes his legs a little in his seat, bored and itching to go home so he can continue his drinking without the repetitive whine of dance music assaulting him from all sides, wishing to high heaven that he’d just told Quinn to fuck off- that he really didn’t feel like hanging out in a gay bar again just because he was too chicken shit to set foot in one alone.
But whatever.
Anyway. He’s just settled, thinking about that bitch and what she’s doing right now- if she’s fucking him in their bed or whether she’s crying, trying to call the cell phone he pitched off the bridge this morning on the way to work, wondering if it’s Friday or Thursday and not caring because he knows there’s no way he’s turning in tomorrow, when suddenly he feels someone pat his shoulder from behind, scruff his hair in- congratulations?
And that’s when it happens.
Something descends on him, amidst the jeering encouragement of his peers and the smoggy, acrid scent of smoke and booze and piss. Something in tight white PVC.
And suddenly Frank’s not thinking about her. Because his eyes are held captive by the slow, sweet little rocking motions of a pair of narrow hips, shrink wrapped to the top thigh in the white nurse’s dress that makes his guts twitch violently behind his dick. The swaying continues, rhythmic and soothing against the heavy bass, and as his eyes drift up, his throat gets tighter; the noise fades out. The hips slope up into the smooth bowl of a navel, shiny plastic clinging to every curve, light branching off like blood into veins over ribs and softly defined pectoral muscles and there’re these fucking endless collar bones and throat like an avalanche.
It’s a boy. Cheek slightly inclined away from him, dark, soft hair falling in curled tendrils around his jaw. As Frank watches, mouth slightly open, milky thighs part a little and he moves over Frank’s knees, little dress riding up to reveal white lace suspenders, attached to sick, slutty broad netted stockings, punched full of little punk rock holes and tears. Frank suddenly can’t decide whether this arouses him or confuses him, but concludes it doesn’t matter, just watching the hypnotic movements of the rubber sealed torso in front of him, tacky red First Aid cross stretched across his heart.
From somewhere to his distant left he hears Quinn’s voice- Frank, man, you’re being a total square; encourage him- and without his consent, his hand automatically moves to grab his wallet. He removes a crisp ten dollar bill, leans forwards to tuck it into the elastic of the suspenders, and closer, he can see the sly shadow of the boy’s groin where his little nurse outfit just isn’t long enough. His breath catches for a second, almost caught by- surprise? Lust?- and he reaches out, just tentatively, and suddenly latex-coated fingers wrap around his wrist and breath hits his ear.
‘No touching, naughty...’
It’s said with this disgusting prostitute purr that makes Frank shudder in his seat, and he thinks, fuck, what am I doing? because seriously, this is creepy- but again, he reaches into his wallet, takes out another note, snaps it into the elastic.
‘How much for touching?’
His voice sounds strange, oddly underwater, and for a moment he thinks the dancer may not have heard him. His hips keep swaying, smooth, pale arms raised delicately above his head with the gentle rolls of his ass, and he whips around once, pressing back against Frank’s chest with his PVC hugged behind and tips back his head, hair falling back from his face, sliding down his body with his own.
And then he’s dropping himself neatly into Frank’s lap and twisting to swing his fishnet-glad legs over the arm of the chair, tipping his face to look at him properly. Even in the green red blue pink yellow white, Frank can see his eyes are the perfect shade of gold-crushed hazel.
‘How much is touching worth to you?’
And now he doesn’t really know how he got here. All he knows is that he said something right and the lips upon his own and the wet, sweet tongue swirling against his is exactly what he fucking needs, exactly what he deserves for that one answer. He’s got that pretty little Twink in the nurse’s outfit pushed up against the door of his apartment, he realises suddenly, and the little slut’s moaning into his mouth like he’ll die if Frank stops kissing him- if he lets him go. It’s a fairly brief, thoughtless decision when Frank decides quickly not to let him go, but he’s comforted somewhat by the little mewling noises that he’s making; the way his gloved fingers are scrabbling at Frank’s pockets for keys of some sort. The little punk’s still got no shoes on with those ridiculous stockings but for all the gold in the world you couldn’t fucking tell he was a boy in a dress for the looks he was getting when Frank bundled him into the cab- and now they’re here, and Frank’s thrusting hard against his jeans, hard and desperate and he can feel the little slut arching into him, moaning and rubbing and it’s fucking torture...
In the best fucking way possible...
‘Nn... take me inside...’
And now it’s totally unbearable.
He fights with his jeans for a moment, fumbling for the keys and moaning softly as the boy presses up behind him, nibbling sweetly at the junction of his neck, tugging at his shirt collar whilst Frank presses all the wrong keys into the lock. He feels the rubber coated fingers start to paw at his crotch through his jeans and lets his eyes roll back as finally the door swings open. The Twink’s still pressed close, all this heavy, cute breathing reverberating against the back of Frank’s neck with his heady little exclamations of want and there’s a little flood of shock that seeps through him a little when he feels this pretty little doll of a boy press his dick up against his ass, all innocent and questioning whilst they both stumble through to Frank’s bedroom, tripping over the carpet and various discarded pairs of jeans and shirts. It’s wrong, somehow, and a little confusing. It’s hot as fuck.
The pair stop in the doorway and Frank squirms a little, giving a little grunt of mm at the attention to his throat from those pretty pink lips.
‘C’mere,’ he breathes, groping behind himself for his hands, slowing down a little now he’s somewhere he can relax. The boy moves around obediently, big eyes even more beautiful in the darkness, away from all that fake fake fake, and before he can stop himself, Frank finds himself brushing his hair back behind his ears gently; smiling and pressing a warm kiss to his lips, drunken affection pouring through his lust. ‘Y’wanna drink..?’
‘No...’ there’s a shy smile, and he starts to unbutton his shirt, pushing it from his shoulders gently. He can’t help but marvel at the flesh exposed, all ink and soft muscle definition. Frank’s fingers curl under the hem of the nurse’s dress and he shivers. ‘Y’got any pills? Xanax?’
‘Mmm...’ Frank chuckles a little, the funny little point of a cold nose pressing into the junction of his neck demandingly, then shakes his head idly. His palms flatten against the exposed flesh of his thighs, drawing a soft whimper from the boy. ‘No... no Xanax... got some Oxy, if that’s..?’
A nod and Frank finds himself lurching into the bathroom, the light flickering on above him with a cold, dejected hum. He rattles around for a few minutes in the cabinet, knocking aside allergens and flu tablets until finally his fingers wrap around the pill bottle and he’s moving to the bedroom, shaking them out into his palm as he goes-
He stops. The pill bottle hits the floor.
The wings of his sharply defined shoulder blades bunched together within the confines of the tight rubber, the boy manages somehow to look even more fucking angelic than he did when Frank first set eyes on him, the soft little keening sounds escaping him shooting straight to Frank’s cock. He watches him, boxers discarded and the dirtied soles of his feet exposed as he fucks his fingers. Eyes held by the steady rise and fall of his hips, Frank takes in his rucked up nurse’s outfit exposing the pale curve of his ass; the hand of one arm curled tight into jet hair, chest and cheek pressed to the headboard of Frank’s bed with the fingers of his other hand buried deep inside his asshole.
‘Oh...’
‘F-nn- mm- fuck me-?’ murmurs the boy, lips falling open in a breathless, silent moan, and Frank doesn’t need to be told twice because fuck, he’s fucking gagging for it, but he knows that first thing’s first so he stays quiet, moving towards the bedroom dresser and tipping the handful of lucky oxycotin onto the surface. Humming, he pulls open the drawer to take out a roll of aluminium wrap- kept there for such an event- and scrapes the pills in carefully, folding the sheet up systematically until he can start to crush the painkillers a little with his hands, before depositing them on the side and continuing with the butt of a vase she left.
Behind him, a moan sounds. The hairs on the back of his neck stand on end and Frank lets out a quiet cooing noise, just concentrating on grinding up the pills.
‘If that dress isn’t off by the time I turn around, you’re not getting anything...’ he mutters. Almost immediately there’s a slick sound like plastic wrap from a candy apple and the tear of a zip. His smile grows; Twink’s a right fucking slut.
‘Nn- I took it off...’
‘Mm.’ Frank’s eyes flicker closed. ‘Tell me how you look right now.’
Opens them again. Keeps grinding.
‘Nn- I- m’naked... on my back for you... on your bed...’
There’s a hesitance there that’s endearing. Frank gives a soft hum at the mental image, all that stark flesh and bright eyes, and almost fails at restraining a short moan, biting his lip hard to stop himself.
‘Sounds good,’ he manages casually. His voice sounds like sandpaper. He sets down the vase and takes a peek; crinkles it back up again and stands, swaying slightly, ‘sounds really good. S’it good?’
‘Why’n’t you look, see f’y’self..?’
As he turns, Frank can’t help to take a fleeting moment to wonder what the fuck he’s doing, bringing some anonymous dancer back to his apartment for meaningless sex, but then once again he finds his gaze stolen and the more dominant side of his brain- possibly the most intoxicated part- yells fuck off! at his conscience.
Twink’s got some fucking thighs...
Leg’s spread wide, he’s still fingering himself resolutely, spine bridged into a sweet little peak. His thighs are hitched up a little so that only the balls of his toes rest on the mattress, feet arched somewhat delicately into the tension of his thighs. Head thrown back, stockings clinging to supple white flesh, lips parted and he’s fucking moaning- ah-, crying- ah-! screaming- FRANK-! for him.
Suddenly everything seems so very quiet. Frank’s breathing hard as he shucks his jeans and underwear, moving to settle between those beautiful fucking thighs slowly, knocking the Twink’s hand away and tucking his knees up gently against the sides of his hips. He sets the foil carefully on the mattress, hands skirting to smooth up from his ankles, over knees and the gentle slope to the inside of his thigh. Fingers play in the rivet of flesh between his thigh and his pelvis, and Frank can’t help but smile idly, wrapping his fingers around the boy’s cock to give a few languid tug-pulls that really only suffice to make him more turned on by the reaction the simple touch elicits.
‘Oh-! Awh... Frank...’ he gasps, head tipping back, shallow chest rising and falling rapidly, ‘c-c’mon- fuck- come on...’
‘Mm... soon, promise.’
‘Now...’
The giggle that escapes his lips is foreign even to Frank, drink hazed and sex kissed and he likes it; the hot rush it gives him when fingers grab his hair and pull his lips fall into a hard, bruising kiss, too much like fucking to be entirely a kiss but not inside one another enough to be anything but.
‘Mff- off- one moment- c’mere...’ his fingers shake as he unwraps the aluminium and, damping his fingers, Frank tabs the ends with the white powder before pushing them into the boy’s mouth slowly, carefully, massaging along the base of his teeth before exchanging another hot kiss. Pale hands snake their way down and Frank’s obligingly passed a twenty dollar bill. He rolls it carefully whilst the dancer taps a line of Oxycotin out onto his bare stomach, then presses the makeshift straw to his left nostril and draws it straight up with a sharp breath-
Awh-!
There’s a tiny, muffled explosion in the back of his head- that itch that’s not quite an orgasm grabbing at the hollow of his lungs where he’s inhaled and tingling, tickling and stinging the back of his throat and the insides of his face like lemon sherbet. The dancer pulls him into another aggressive kiss, tongues sharing the acrid aftertaste of the meds as Frank feels himself fall flush against the boy beneath him, those lean legs wrapping tight against his middle, that constant tick-tock sway of his hips the only clue that he’s the same boy from the club. Through the haze, Frank feels the heat of his entrance pressing tight against the underside of his dick and groans, the noise resulting in a desperate nod.
‘Frank- yeah, yeah- please, now, come on...’
‘I wanted to-’
‘Do whatever, just- come on- I want di- OH-!’ his head snaps back into the pillows and Frank grins dirtily, fingers working deeper and deeper inside of him, the powered oxy spilled against the sheets carelessly where he’s coated his fingers in it. ‘Fr-Frank- Frank- oh- oh-! S’good- s’good- yes yes yes-’
His cries grow in volume, Frank’s fingers scrubbing the powder furiously into the tissue they find, twisting this way and that within the hot confines of his flesh, eyes watching the reaction in his dick with unwavering attention until the boy’s hands find the heel of his, three fingers submerged deep, the tips massaging his prostate roughly. He’s trembling under Frank’s efforts, white and sweating, and his hips buckle weakly, trying to force his hands away.
‘Y’okay..?’ Frank’s lips find his hipbone and he sucks gently as he finishes the query, eyes earnest. Above him, there’s a soft moan and dark lashes flutter in a way that’s almost embarrassingly camp until his eyes open wide and he nods, tongue darting out to wet his lips, the contours of his face picked out by the lights from the streets outside that pour in through the open curtains.
‘Frank,’ he breathes, still pushing back down on his fingers helplessly, ‘I- please- come on-’
The sentence is bitten off when, finally extracting his fingers with a soft groan, Frank’s hands grasp at his hips and he drags him down the bed, pushing his thighs back tight against his chest and filling him with one short thrust-
‘Oh! Y-yeah- yeah like that please- awh-!’
Frank really can’t get over how much this fuckin’ kid talks, but right now the feeling of having his cock crushed by amazing is playing on his ability to care. He curls in close on him, their bodies fitting together like careful components, and breathes in the feeling of him- the soft, shuddering breaths and patient stance; the little panting pulses of his chest and hips. From here he can feel the boy’s pretty dick trapped between their chests and he can’t help but wonder if he could suck him off while he fucked him- but he decides that such sexual acrobatics are best left for a time when he’s not off his face, merely initiating the steady, smooth rock of his hips that tears the moan from their throats.
He twists his head around to bury his nose against the junction of the dancer’s neck, smelling fucking sweat and apples and glitter and feeling it warm him, all this fucking beauty in one person. He’s not perfect- that much is testified by the soft, silvery lines on the insides of his arms and hips, and the tiny little scar in the cradle of his upper lip- but he’s so fucking close Frank can taste it. Gloved, dirty fingers twine into his hair in a way that makes these squeaking, tense noises and the dancer moans again, head tipped back, jaw slacked against the rough, dry-but-wet sensation of Frank moving inside him, sharp and steady and just right. The slow pressure mounting in that totally unidentifiable place inside him is so fucking good, and the soft drag of Frank’s stomach against the underside of his length only adds to it.
‘Frank- Frank s’so good,’ he breathes; feels Frank shift to kiss him and answers it furiously, thighs wrapping around his middle. The soft noise of his response sends vibrations running down the back of his throat and it’s just. So complete, being screwed like this. There’s no rush- no fucking desperation. Just Frank, fucking him as slowfast as he pleases into this mattress, the burn that’s slowly spreading up the back of his thighs only increasing the effect of those fleeting twitches against his prostate. ‘Don’t stop…’
Frank almost laughs at that. Don’t stop. He couldn’t if he tried, so he just keeps moving; rolls his hips in those long, careful circles that give him hot draw warm stroke hot deep and he can’t even describe how this feels right now, ‘cause he can’t remember the last time he had such perfect, undemanding sex, aside from the usual pillow-talk type bitching, and when he feels that tell-tale little trigger in the muscles hugging his length he groans, surges his hips forward harder and harder and harder- ‘oh- oh-! Oh-! Oh-’ until he can’t take it any more, palms releasing the sheets-
The boy lets out the most beautiful, dirty sound Frank has ever heard when he slams him up against the headboard. Those white thighs are spread like fucking disorganisation personified, one slung heavy over Frank’s arm where his hands brace against the wood, the other folded artlessly about his hip and he writhes, arms twined around his neck and his mouth pressed to his ear. Frank fucks him into the wall mercilessly, too encompassed in pain pleasure anything but emptiness to feel discomfort until there’s this slow, muscular contraction and the dancer’s head hits the board behind him, and fucking heat smatters between them and Frank can’t just stop fucking driving into that- that- that-
‘Awh..!’
It’s a feeling like falling into an endless stream of music.
He falls back against the mattress, the boy following, both panting hard, skin tacky with perspiration. Frank smiles at the soft, hungry kisses to his throat, petting his hair softly and humming, exhausted. Neither of them speak for a moment, to wrapped up in absorbing one another’s body heat and the sex-saturated, chemical scent in the air around them, and then Frank slowly smiles; lets his fingers trail lazily down the boy’s naked back.
‘I was right…’ he whispers.
‘Mm..?’ the boy opens one eye sleepily, inclining his head a little to press a soft kiss to his lips. Frank just grins, letting his head hit the mattress again softly, and sighs.
‘Priceless.’
A/N: so this is really badly written, but it was in my head and I just had to fucking write. I started this last night at about three AM so please, guys, if you see anything that looks like it’s been written in a state of insomnia-induced delirium, feel free to comment things like SAL YOU FUCKIN’ SPAZZZZZ.
Aside from that, enjoy. This is the start of a one night stand series I will update VERY, VERY SPORADICALLY. You’ve been warned. There’s another that’s halfway to being written, but it’s basically going to be random oneshots about various sexual encounters. I’m looking to explore, see. If you guys want to leave requests for pairings, prompts, you can- because I’m totally down with trying new stuff- but just be warned that this is only as a break from my other works. I hope you like it. R&R plz bbz xoxo.
Author:
saint_sorrowsRating: NC-17
POV: Third
Summary: A messy break up, one too many vodkas, and a lap dancer in a PVC nurse’s outfit.
Disclaimer: Fictional. All of it. Don’t sue me.
Author Notes: Guys, this is totally awfully written. I just had to do it.
Warnings: sex, prescription drug abuse. PVC…
‘Hey- c- can I get a beer an’- a shot of vodka?’ Frank sets his empty glass on the counter, drawling a little to the girl behind the bar. The sound is lost to the thumping, crude beat of the techno that rings through the speakers of the strobe licked club, but she catches it in the flash of his lip ring and his lopsided smile and nods, whipping around to take his order.
That done, Frank sidles back on over to his seat and oozes into it, stretching out cat-like in the leather upholstery, eyes trained on the twirling mass of limbs on the table in front of him, twined around the long pole. The strobes are still flickering over his irises and he blinks them away irritably, groggy with drink and weed, but tinny laughter tells him the small group of men he arrived with are still there and most likely planning to stay until the club calls for closing time. He flexes his legs a little in his seat, bored and itching to go home so he can continue his drinking without the repetitive whine of dance music assaulting him from all sides, wishing to high heaven that he’d just told Quinn to fuck off- that he really didn’t feel like hanging out in a gay bar again just because he was too chicken shit to set foot in one alone.
But whatever.
Anyway. He’s just settled, thinking about that bitch and what she’s doing right now- if she’s fucking him in their bed or whether she’s crying, trying to call the cell phone he pitched off the bridge this morning on the way to work, wondering if it’s Friday or Thursday and not caring because he knows there’s no way he’s turning in tomorrow, when suddenly he feels someone pat his shoulder from behind, scruff his hair in- congratulations?
And that’s when it happens.
Something descends on him, amidst the jeering encouragement of his peers and the smoggy, acrid scent of smoke and booze and piss. Something in tight white PVC.
And suddenly Frank’s not thinking about her. Because his eyes are held captive by the slow, sweet little rocking motions of a pair of narrow hips, shrink wrapped to the top thigh in the white nurse’s dress that makes his guts twitch violently behind his dick. The swaying continues, rhythmic and soothing against the heavy bass, and as his eyes drift up, his throat gets tighter; the noise fades out. The hips slope up into the smooth bowl of a navel, shiny plastic clinging to every curve, light branching off like blood into veins over ribs and softly defined pectoral muscles and there’re these fucking endless collar bones and throat like an avalanche.
It’s a boy. Cheek slightly inclined away from him, dark, soft hair falling in curled tendrils around his jaw. As Frank watches, mouth slightly open, milky thighs part a little and he moves over Frank’s knees, little dress riding up to reveal white lace suspenders, attached to sick, slutty broad netted stockings, punched full of little punk rock holes and tears. Frank suddenly can’t decide whether this arouses him or confuses him, but concludes it doesn’t matter, just watching the hypnotic movements of the rubber sealed torso in front of him, tacky red First Aid cross stretched across his heart.
From somewhere to his distant left he hears Quinn’s voice- Frank, man, you’re being a total square; encourage him- and without his consent, his hand automatically moves to grab his wallet. He removes a crisp ten dollar bill, leans forwards to tuck it into the elastic of the suspenders, and closer, he can see the sly shadow of the boy’s groin where his little nurse outfit just isn’t long enough. His breath catches for a second, almost caught by- surprise? Lust?- and he reaches out, just tentatively, and suddenly latex-coated fingers wrap around his wrist and breath hits his ear.
‘No touching, naughty...’
It’s said with this disgusting prostitute purr that makes Frank shudder in his seat, and he thinks, fuck, what am I doing? because seriously, this is creepy- but again, he reaches into his wallet, takes out another note, snaps it into the elastic.
‘How much for touching?’
His voice sounds strange, oddly underwater, and for a moment he thinks the dancer may not have heard him. His hips keep swaying, smooth, pale arms raised delicately above his head with the gentle rolls of his ass, and he whips around once, pressing back against Frank’s chest with his PVC hugged behind and tips back his head, hair falling back from his face, sliding down his body with his own.
And then he’s dropping himself neatly into Frank’s lap and twisting to swing his fishnet-glad legs over the arm of the chair, tipping his face to look at him properly. Even in the green red blue pink yellow white, Frank can see his eyes are the perfect shade of gold-crushed hazel.
‘How much is touching worth to you?’
And now he doesn’t really know how he got here. All he knows is that he said something right and the lips upon his own and the wet, sweet tongue swirling against his is exactly what he fucking needs, exactly what he deserves for that one answer. He’s got that pretty little Twink in the nurse’s outfit pushed up against the door of his apartment, he realises suddenly, and the little slut’s moaning into his mouth like he’ll die if Frank stops kissing him- if he lets him go. It’s a fairly brief, thoughtless decision when Frank decides quickly not to let him go, but he’s comforted somewhat by the little mewling noises that he’s making; the way his gloved fingers are scrabbling at Frank’s pockets for keys of some sort. The little punk’s still got no shoes on with those ridiculous stockings but for all the gold in the world you couldn’t fucking tell he was a boy in a dress for the looks he was getting when Frank bundled him into the cab- and now they’re here, and Frank’s thrusting hard against his jeans, hard and desperate and he can feel the little slut arching into him, moaning and rubbing and it’s fucking torture...
In the best fucking way possible...
‘Nn... take me inside...’
And now it’s totally unbearable.
He fights with his jeans for a moment, fumbling for the keys and moaning softly as the boy presses up behind him, nibbling sweetly at the junction of his neck, tugging at his shirt collar whilst Frank presses all the wrong keys into the lock. He feels the rubber coated fingers start to paw at his crotch through his jeans and lets his eyes roll back as finally the door swings open. The Twink’s still pressed close, all this heavy, cute breathing reverberating against the back of Frank’s neck with his heady little exclamations of want and there’s a little flood of shock that seeps through him a little when he feels this pretty little doll of a boy press his dick up against his ass, all innocent and questioning whilst they both stumble through to Frank’s bedroom, tripping over the carpet and various discarded pairs of jeans and shirts. It’s wrong, somehow, and a little confusing. It’s hot as fuck.
The pair stop in the doorway and Frank squirms a little, giving a little grunt of mm at the attention to his throat from those pretty pink lips.
‘C’mere,’ he breathes, groping behind himself for his hands, slowing down a little now he’s somewhere he can relax. The boy moves around obediently, big eyes even more beautiful in the darkness, away from all that fake fake fake, and before he can stop himself, Frank finds himself brushing his hair back behind his ears gently; smiling and pressing a warm kiss to his lips, drunken affection pouring through his lust. ‘Y’wanna drink..?’
‘No...’ there’s a shy smile, and he starts to unbutton his shirt, pushing it from his shoulders gently. He can’t help but marvel at the flesh exposed, all ink and soft muscle definition. Frank’s fingers curl under the hem of the nurse’s dress and he shivers. ‘Y’got any pills? Xanax?’
‘Mmm...’ Frank chuckles a little, the funny little point of a cold nose pressing into the junction of his neck demandingly, then shakes his head idly. His palms flatten against the exposed flesh of his thighs, drawing a soft whimper from the boy. ‘No... no Xanax... got some Oxy, if that’s..?’
A nod and Frank finds himself lurching into the bathroom, the light flickering on above him with a cold, dejected hum. He rattles around for a few minutes in the cabinet, knocking aside allergens and flu tablets until finally his fingers wrap around the pill bottle and he’s moving to the bedroom, shaking them out into his palm as he goes-
He stops. The pill bottle hits the floor.
The wings of his sharply defined shoulder blades bunched together within the confines of the tight rubber, the boy manages somehow to look even more fucking angelic than he did when Frank first set eyes on him, the soft little keening sounds escaping him shooting straight to Frank’s cock. He watches him, boxers discarded and the dirtied soles of his feet exposed as he fucks his fingers. Eyes held by the steady rise and fall of his hips, Frank takes in his rucked up nurse’s outfit exposing the pale curve of his ass; the hand of one arm curled tight into jet hair, chest and cheek pressed to the headboard of Frank’s bed with the fingers of his other hand buried deep inside his asshole.
‘Oh...’
‘F-nn- mm- fuck me-?’ murmurs the boy, lips falling open in a breathless, silent moan, and Frank doesn’t need to be told twice because fuck, he’s fucking gagging for it, but he knows that first thing’s first so he stays quiet, moving towards the bedroom dresser and tipping the handful of lucky oxycotin onto the surface. Humming, he pulls open the drawer to take out a roll of aluminium wrap- kept there for such an event- and scrapes the pills in carefully, folding the sheet up systematically until he can start to crush the painkillers a little with his hands, before depositing them on the side and continuing with the butt of a vase she left.
Behind him, a moan sounds. The hairs on the back of his neck stand on end and Frank lets out a quiet cooing noise, just concentrating on grinding up the pills.
‘If that dress isn’t off by the time I turn around, you’re not getting anything...’ he mutters. Almost immediately there’s a slick sound like plastic wrap from a candy apple and the tear of a zip. His smile grows; Twink’s a right fucking slut.
‘Nn- I took it off...’
‘Mm.’ Frank’s eyes flicker closed. ‘Tell me how you look right now.’
Opens them again. Keeps grinding.
‘Nn- I- m’naked... on my back for you... on your bed...’
There’s a hesitance there that’s endearing. Frank gives a soft hum at the mental image, all that stark flesh and bright eyes, and almost fails at restraining a short moan, biting his lip hard to stop himself.
‘Sounds good,’ he manages casually. His voice sounds like sandpaper. He sets down the vase and takes a peek; crinkles it back up again and stands, swaying slightly, ‘sounds really good. S’it good?’
‘Why’n’t you look, see f’y’self..?’
As he turns, Frank can’t help to take a fleeting moment to wonder what the fuck he’s doing, bringing some anonymous dancer back to his apartment for meaningless sex, but then once again he finds his gaze stolen and the more dominant side of his brain- possibly the most intoxicated part- yells fuck off! at his conscience.
Twink’s got some fucking thighs...
Leg’s spread wide, he’s still fingering himself resolutely, spine bridged into a sweet little peak. His thighs are hitched up a little so that only the balls of his toes rest on the mattress, feet arched somewhat delicately into the tension of his thighs. Head thrown back, stockings clinging to supple white flesh, lips parted and he’s fucking moaning- ah-, crying- ah-! screaming- FRANK-! for him.
Suddenly everything seems so very quiet. Frank’s breathing hard as he shucks his jeans and underwear, moving to settle between those beautiful fucking thighs slowly, knocking the Twink’s hand away and tucking his knees up gently against the sides of his hips. He sets the foil carefully on the mattress, hands skirting to smooth up from his ankles, over knees and the gentle slope to the inside of his thigh. Fingers play in the rivet of flesh between his thigh and his pelvis, and Frank can’t help but smile idly, wrapping his fingers around the boy’s cock to give a few languid tug-pulls that really only suffice to make him more turned on by the reaction the simple touch elicits.
‘Oh-! Awh... Frank...’ he gasps, head tipping back, shallow chest rising and falling rapidly, ‘c-c’mon- fuck- come on...’
‘Mm... soon, promise.’
‘Now...’
The giggle that escapes his lips is foreign even to Frank, drink hazed and sex kissed and he likes it; the hot rush it gives him when fingers grab his hair and pull his lips fall into a hard, bruising kiss, too much like fucking to be entirely a kiss but not inside one another enough to be anything but.
‘Mff- off- one moment- c’mere...’ his fingers shake as he unwraps the aluminium and, damping his fingers, Frank tabs the ends with the white powder before pushing them into the boy’s mouth slowly, carefully, massaging along the base of his teeth before exchanging another hot kiss. Pale hands snake their way down and Frank’s obligingly passed a twenty dollar bill. He rolls it carefully whilst the dancer taps a line of Oxycotin out onto his bare stomach, then presses the makeshift straw to his left nostril and draws it straight up with a sharp breath-
Awh-!
There’s a tiny, muffled explosion in the back of his head- that itch that’s not quite an orgasm grabbing at the hollow of his lungs where he’s inhaled and tingling, tickling and stinging the back of his throat and the insides of his face like lemon sherbet. The dancer pulls him into another aggressive kiss, tongues sharing the acrid aftertaste of the meds as Frank feels himself fall flush against the boy beneath him, those lean legs wrapping tight against his middle, that constant tick-tock sway of his hips the only clue that he’s the same boy from the club. Through the haze, Frank feels the heat of his entrance pressing tight against the underside of his dick and groans, the noise resulting in a desperate nod.
‘Frank- yeah, yeah- please, now, come on...’
‘I wanted to-’
‘Do whatever, just- come on- I want di- OH-!’ his head snaps back into the pillows and Frank grins dirtily, fingers working deeper and deeper inside of him, the powered oxy spilled against the sheets carelessly where he’s coated his fingers in it. ‘Fr-Frank- Frank- oh- oh-! S’good- s’good- yes yes yes-’
His cries grow in volume, Frank’s fingers scrubbing the powder furiously into the tissue they find, twisting this way and that within the hot confines of his flesh, eyes watching the reaction in his dick with unwavering attention until the boy’s hands find the heel of his, three fingers submerged deep, the tips massaging his prostate roughly. He’s trembling under Frank’s efforts, white and sweating, and his hips buckle weakly, trying to force his hands away.
‘Y’okay..?’ Frank’s lips find his hipbone and he sucks gently as he finishes the query, eyes earnest. Above him, there’s a soft moan and dark lashes flutter in a way that’s almost embarrassingly camp until his eyes open wide and he nods, tongue darting out to wet his lips, the contours of his face picked out by the lights from the streets outside that pour in through the open curtains.
‘Frank,’ he breathes, still pushing back down on his fingers helplessly, ‘I- please- come on-’
The sentence is bitten off when, finally extracting his fingers with a soft groan, Frank’s hands grasp at his hips and he drags him down the bed, pushing his thighs back tight against his chest and filling him with one short thrust-
‘Oh! Y-yeah- yeah like that please- awh-!’
Frank really can’t get over how much this fuckin’ kid talks, but right now the feeling of having his cock crushed by amazing is playing on his ability to care. He curls in close on him, their bodies fitting together like careful components, and breathes in the feeling of him- the soft, shuddering breaths and patient stance; the little panting pulses of his chest and hips. From here he can feel the boy’s pretty dick trapped between their chests and he can’t help but wonder if he could suck him off while he fucked him- but he decides that such sexual acrobatics are best left for a time when he’s not off his face, merely initiating the steady, smooth rock of his hips that tears the moan from their throats.
He twists his head around to bury his nose against the junction of the dancer’s neck, smelling fucking sweat and apples and glitter and feeling it warm him, all this fucking beauty in one person. He’s not perfect- that much is testified by the soft, silvery lines on the insides of his arms and hips, and the tiny little scar in the cradle of his upper lip- but he’s so fucking close Frank can taste it. Gloved, dirty fingers twine into his hair in a way that makes these squeaking, tense noises and the dancer moans again, head tipped back, jaw slacked against the rough, dry-but-wet sensation of Frank moving inside him, sharp and steady and just right. The slow pressure mounting in that totally unidentifiable place inside him is so fucking good, and the soft drag of Frank’s stomach against the underside of his length only adds to it.
‘Frank- Frank s’so good,’ he breathes; feels Frank shift to kiss him and answers it furiously, thighs wrapping around his middle. The soft noise of his response sends vibrations running down the back of his throat and it’s just. So complete, being screwed like this. There’s no rush- no fucking desperation. Just Frank, fucking him as slowfast as he pleases into this mattress, the burn that’s slowly spreading up the back of his thighs only increasing the effect of those fleeting twitches against his prostate. ‘Don’t stop…’
Frank almost laughs at that. Don’t stop. He couldn’t if he tried, so he just keeps moving; rolls his hips in those long, careful circles that give him hot draw warm stroke hot deep and he can’t even describe how this feels right now, ‘cause he can’t remember the last time he had such perfect, undemanding sex, aside from the usual pillow-talk type bitching, and when he feels that tell-tale little trigger in the muscles hugging his length he groans, surges his hips forward harder and harder and harder- ‘oh- oh-! Oh-! Oh-’ until he can’t take it any more, palms releasing the sheets-
The boy lets out the most beautiful, dirty sound Frank has ever heard when he slams him up against the headboard. Those white thighs are spread like fucking disorganisation personified, one slung heavy over Frank’s arm where his hands brace against the wood, the other folded artlessly about his hip and he writhes, arms twined around his neck and his mouth pressed to his ear. Frank fucks him into the wall mercilessly, too encompassed in pain pleasure anything but emptiness to feel discomfort until there’s this slow, muscular contraction and the dancer’s head hits the board behind him, and fucking heat smatters between them and Frank can’t just stop fucking driving into that- that- that-
‘Awh..!’
It’s a feeling like falling into an endless stream of music.
He falls back against the mattress, the boy following, both panting hard, skin tacky with perspiration. Frank smiles at the soft, hungry kisses to his throat, petting his hair softly and humming, exhausted. Neither of them speak for a moment, to wrapped up in absorbing one another’s body heat and the sex-saturated, chemical scent in the air around them, and then Frank slowly smiles; lets his fingers trail lazily down the boy’s naked back.
‘I was right…’ he whispers.
‘Mm..?’ the boy opens one eye sleepily, inclining his head a little to press a soft kiss to his lips. Frank just grins, letting his head hit the mattress again softly, and sighs.
‘Priceless.’
A/N: so this is really badly written, but it was in my head and I just had to fucking write. I started this last night at about three AM so please, guys, if you see anything that looks like it’s been written in a state of insomnia-induced delirium, feel free to comment things like SAL YOU FUCKIN’ SPAZZZZZ.
Aside from that, enjoy. This is the start of a one night stand series I will update VERY, VERY SPORADICALLY. You’ve been warned. There’s another that’s halfway to being written, but it’s basically going to be random oneshots about various sexual encounters. I’m looking to explore, see. If you guys want to leave requests for pairings, prompts, you can- because I’m totally down with trying new stuff- but just be warned that this is only as a break from my other works. I hope you like it. R&R plz bbz xoxo.
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