107Hopefully all of my old, faithful readers find this again. And hopefully this finds some fresh new readers. Redrafted, edited, still far from perfect.
If you didn't catch it from the Summary, this is a Slash story. That's M/M. Gay male. Homosexual boiluv. Rated M for strong language, (lots of) explicit sexual situations, unprotected sex, implied physical/emotional abuse, prostitution, and overall because this is intended for mature audiences only.
Enjoy~
I'm sitting. Sitting and waiting not so patiently for the sound of the door, ignoring my conscience as it screams at me how wrong this. But it's the only way. I smooth down my hair, still damp from my shower, my skin still raw and red from the scrubbing - my fruitless attempts to rid myself of his smell; of the memory of his hands on my skin.
I feel sick, but I ignore it just like I ignore everything else. Just like the surging wake of emotions still piercing the defenses of my mind, eroding away the wall I'd built to protect myself. Just like the dull, aching throb in my chest where my heart used to be. Just like the tightness in my lungs and the stinging of my eyes; the precariousness of my sanity perched on a ledge, teetering towards the endless plummet of emotional and mental breakdown. Ignorance sure as hell isn't bliss, but I pretend that it is as I sit here and count the seconds on the clock as time ticks away.
I'm frustrated, glaring at the clock and wondering what the hell's taking so long. I glance away, huffing half-heartedly as my eyes land on a jacket draped over the back of one of the dining room chairs - his jacket - and I freeze. I wait for it, the crushing blow that will send me falling into the abyss, but the wave of fear and nausea passes quickly and I realize I'm stronger than I thought. He may have broken me, but I'm mending already. I just need something, someone, to erase the memory of him, to replace the feeling of his rough, careless hands on my skin.
The knock at the door startles me, and I take an even breath as my heart starts beating again. I'm shaking slightly as I make my way to the door, and I grasp the cold, hard handle - ignoring my consciences as it tells me the name of the last person who'd touched it, the last person who'd walked out the door. Nervous, impatient, relieved, and determined all at once, I twist the knob.
I open the door slowly, heart pounding and skin prickling and I still can't stop shaking. A young man stands before me, almost exactly what I'd asked for down to the mousy brown hair and brown eyes. Smooth tanned skin is accompanied by a look on his face that says he's inexperienced and unsure of what to do, so I hurry to invite him in. He's dressed in a tight t-shirt and low-slung skinny jeans, far too young and petite to be called handsome. He's pretty. And tonight, and for a price, he's mine.
"Your card?" I rasp, my throat still tight from the emotions running through me. Brown eyes nervously dart to my face as his hand slips into his front pocket, pulling out his license. I glance over it and hope to hell it's authentic because there's no way I'm turning back now.
I note his name - Elijah. How biblical. His age says nineteen, but he looks far younger. Licensed for physical contact, the card is new, clean and free of punch-holes indicating STD's - not that this means that he's clean, but I let myself be reassured by the thought anyway. The issue date on the back of the card tells me that the cautious look on the boy's face isn't the only indication he's a newbie.
"So, E-" my throat's too dry, my voice catches. I swallow. "Elijah." He swallows too, taking his card back, sliding it into his pocket. I have to bite my tongue. I want to ask him questions, learn about him, but that's not why he's here. So I don't have to ask, have to talk, have to think. He's mine for the taking and I definitely want him. Need him.
I realize I don't know what to do, where to start; were there rules? Was I in over my head? And suddenly I feel as nervous as Elijah looks, but I step forward anyways, my hand finding his forearm as I gently tow him along back into the bedroom. I can feel his pulse through his smooth skin and I understand his nerves as I pause in the doorway of my bedroom, startled and yet relieved to find it half-empty, not a trace of him in sight.
I turn around to face the boy, reaching back for my wallet. I pull out a wad of bills, knowing without counting that there's nearly three times as much as the man on the phone had told me this was going to cost. I hand the cash to Elijah and he accepts it without question, tucking it into the same pocket as his card.
The moment's pause, the hesitation and anticipation seasoning the air of the room as I realize just how much I want to touch him, this boy I don't even know. I don't want to use him, no. I think fleetingly of the other men who buy these callboys, how they use and abuse them in the cruelest manner, but that's not why I bought Elijah for the night. I want to fuck him; I want to give someone something I've been missing and longing for for months. I want to touch him, to manipulate his body in the most pleasurable ways, to prove myself a competent lover. I want to feel wanted, needed, and the inspiration of these prospects gives me courage. I start to strip, unbuttoning my shirt, my pants, leaving them hanging off my hips as I look him in the eyes and hope he knows what I'm thinking because saying it out loud would kill the bravado I've got going on.
I can hear the way his breath stalls for a moment, see the hesitation as he pulls off his shirt. I hungrily take in the sight of him - his young body tan and smooth and softly muscled. I meet his eyes again; I can see his reserve and I shake my head slightly before taking a step forward.
My fingertips ghost across his ribs, palms following suit as I pull him towards me, his steps small and hesitant until his chest is pressed against mine and he's staring up at me with wide doe eyes. I want to reassure him, turn that hesitance into desire and I kiss him softly even though I'm not sure if I should or not. His lips are dry and tense against mine and I try to encourage him. I wrap my arms around him more tightly as he relaxes a bit and fumbles to kiss back. His hands eventually find the back of my neck, pulling me down into the kiss as his mouth opens hotly against mine and our tongues meet. His mouth tastes sweet, like peppermint candy, and I want to swallow him whole.
A face flashes through my traitorous mind - his face - and I pull back from the kiss, looking down at Elijah to reassure myself that he's not there. The reservation is still in those chocolate brown eyes, eyes so unlike his that all thoughts are erased as I cup the side of Elijah's face and kiss him tenderly, pretending that he's a lover and not a callboy, a whore that I'm paying for a pity fuck.
Elijah whimpers when my lips find his neck - a soft, surprised sound that drives me to lick and suck along smooth skin, teeth grazing tense muscles below. I can hear his breathing, taste the salt of his skin, smell faint traces of cologne or shampoo, slightly fruity and yet still masculine. My lips and tongue trace his jawline as his fingers curl and twine in my hair. My own hands run the length of his back, gently massaging tense muscles, feeling the smoothness of his skin.
"You..." he tries to speak, his words fading into another whimper accompanied by a shiver as his eyes close and I run my tongue across his pulse again, smiling slightly when I'm rewarded with the same reaction. He swallows heavily, and I run my tongue across his throat, grazing his Adam's apple as it bobs slightly and he tries to speak again.
"Your name." It's not a question, more of a request, but the way his voice quivers and his eyes shyly dart around makes it sound more like a plea. I lean in, hands moving up to his shoulder blades and pulling him close.
"Michael," I whisper into his ear, gently nibbling the lobe before moving back down to his neck and he shivers again.
All thoughts if him are pushed aside as I focus on Elijah who, not even five minutes in, has already made me feel more confident than he ever did. Hands again sliding along smooth skin, the sound mingles with his panting breath and muffled whimpers and moans as he bites his lip, and his fingers desperately grip my hair. He's so tense - too tense, I decide as I drop my hands to his hips and slowly push him backward toward the bed.
When the backs of his knees hit the mattress, I pause, still kissing and nipping his neck, moving back up to claim his lips again while I unbutton his pants and, surprisingly, Elijah's hands drop to the front of my own pants, fumbling for the button and the zip. One last wet kiss to his slightly swollen lips and I playfully smack his hands away from my pants, easily falling to my knees, sliding his pants and boxers down with me.
Elijah gasps quietly, no doubt surprised to be suddenly naked, and he clenches his fists, pressing them into the sides of his thighs. I take in the sight. His smooth stomach leading down to smooth thighs, sharp hipbones, a neatly trimmed bush of dark hair just above his slightly bloated cock.
His pants and boxers pooled at his ankles, Elijah looks down at me nervously as I admire the smoothness of his skin, my hands running up his outer thighs before I slowly drag my fingernails back down. I'm rewarded with a shivered gasp and I smile as I grip his hips and lean forward, kissing and nuzzling his thighs, his hips, the junction where thigh meets groin. Kissing and nipping and licking, I tease until he's more than half hard and his hands have again found my head, fingers carding through my hair, tightening each time my mouth ventures dangerously close to his erection.
I've kept my eyes peeled, taking in every detail, noting a few blemishes on his thighs, recently shaved stubble trailing up to his navel. What I'm really looking for, I don't find. No imperfections, no discolorations, no questionable marks. His cock is perfect, throbbing and growing with his arousal. I know I could be stupid, but I'm definitely not ignorant to the risks as I lean forward and place one long, slow lick up the top of his hanging cock, from just below the head to the base, nuzzling the crinkly hairs before running my lips back down the side of his erection. His fingers tightened in my hair, gripping in surprise when my mouth engulfs the head of his cock. I should have put a condom on him first, I know that. He's a whore, he's been exposed to fuck knows how many diseases, but I ignore that. I want to taste him, feel the texture of his skin without the layer of latex separating us.
Gripping the base of his cock, I slide my lips down, flicking my tongue across the head before sucking softly, and Elijah almost immediately bucks into my mouth. Instead of grabbing his hips and keeping him from it, I take in more of his cock as he thrusts forward, keeping the suction, sliding my tongue along the underside of his cock. The moan building in his chest comes out louder than any of the others, the tone slightly surprised. I watch his stomach muscles clench, hands still gripping my hair as I begin to suck and bob my head.
His cock quickly goes from half- to fully-hard, growing in length and width in my mouth until the skin is taught and throbbing along with his pulse. I'm careful with my teeth, slightly grazing the shaft, gently running long the head, causing him to gasp and jerk and the mixture of my gripping lips, roughly licking tongue, and increasing suction have him panting and gasping, moaning more and more with each passing minute.
"Michael." Faint, almost whispered, he moans my name, and for the first time since I started, I feel a heated rush through my groin and I realize I'm hard. Throbbing, straining against the confines of briefs and jeans. But I focus on Elijah, focus on his surprisingly thick cock as it slides across my tongue. Taking him deeper, I can feel the head pressed against the back of my throat, tongue pressing the hot, hard flesh up against the roof of my mouth The sounds he's making are delicious.
I hear my name more often, the pitch and frequency of his moans increasing as his fingernails graze my scalp, his head thrown back and eyes closed, hips slowly rolling. I know he's close, I can feel his cock grow impossibly hard against my tongue, the throbbing increasing as his balls draw up tight against his body.
He doesn't recognize the signs of his impending release until it's too late, head jerking up and eyes going wide as he half gasps, half stutters my name. "M-michael, I'm..." I suck particularly hard, eyes holding his gaze as he bites his lip and grunts softly. "Fuck, I'm..." My tongue shuts him up, rubbing harshly along the underside of his cock as I suck and swallow around the head of his cock, his shuddered moan followed by a series of gasps and whimpers, my name gasped and moaned as his cock throbs and twitches and he shoots against the back of my throat. "Oh god, Michael."
His orgasm shudders through him, his body tensing, hips jerking and this time I do hold them still. His hands grip painfully in my hair, his cock spurting and gushing across my tongue, the slightly bitter/salty taste of his semen filling my mouth. His moans make everything worth it, the open-mouthed cries and gasps and whimpers amidst lip-biting and closed eyes and I can't help but compare. Elijah is far more gorgeous during orgasm than he ever was.
Elijah's thighs are shaking when I pull back, wetly sucking the last few drops of fluid from his cock, licking the head before letting it fall, still heavy and hard, against his thigh. One deft shove of his hips, and Elijah loses his balance, sitting heavily on the edge of my bed, bouncing slightly with a surprised gasp, eyes wide and hands still in my hair. He releases his grip sheepishly, an unmistakable blush tinting his already flushed cheeks as he tries to catch his breath. I make quick work of his pants, sliding them down after I manage to pry off his worn black Converse, tossing them toward the door. Ten seconds later and Elijah is completely naked, leaning back on his elbows, waiting and more relaxed than before by far. I stand up, sliding my own pants down past my hips. Elijah's eyes lock on the tent in my briefs, then my cock as it bobs free from confinement and my briefs fall down my legs, sliding to the floor.
Anticipation and lust season the air as I step forward and crawl onto the bed, straddling his hips, thighs pressed against his, hands on the bed on either side of his shoulders as I lean down and steal a kiss. Pulling back, I look into his eyes, lust making my voice sound deeper, husky.
"I'm going to make you come again," I tell him, kissing him briefly and pulling back, gazing into his eyes and making him blush crimson. "And again."
A.N.
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- The Sham