modern au pt 2

[declares]

It isn't a week after their first encounter when Thomas requests the contact information of his previous, ah, worker, and is provided with an email address.

The message he sends is quick, and to the point:

May I hire you for an evening event, and the night after?

He provides the information required: the date, the event (charity), and the dress code (black tie).

I will, of course, provide for purchase of proper attire.

He hesitates, before appending:

It would be a pleasure to see you again.

- Th.

Comments

[declares]

The very structure of the car works in their favor, and Jefferson's height, both combining to give the impression that the dash and the car doors rise protectively high.

Jefferson's duty, as a man, a driver, a person with a conscience, is to push Burr away and ask him to hold off until they're somewhere more private. He does not do this, and he is an idiot for it. Switches to driving with his left hand, and his right weaves into Burr's hair, spreads protectively and possessively across the back of his skull.

For a long moment, he seems frozen, in a kind of astonishment, as Burr's breath dissipates on his skin, the tentative tongue laps at him. Tentative? No, it must be teasing; there is no possible way Burr isn't confident of Jefferson's desire. And Burr shows it, immediately after: Jefferson has to brake a little too hard at the next stoplight as Burr's hot mouth envelops him. His cock twitches at Burr's commanding touch.

"Oh, the windows," he remembers, and he pulls down the sunshade on his side. It's probably illegal to drive with these down at night, but it provides an extra shield of privacy. As he does, his thumb strokes Burr's stretched lips. He continues stroking, Burr's cheek, the back of his neck, occasionally urging him deeper as Jefferson sighs with sensation. "Oh, what can I say? You are a lurid thing -- if you were conjured from my fevered -- mm! Ah -- debauched imagination, you could not be more enticing."

The click of the turn signal; he turns into the narrow, cramped parking lot of a closed restaurant. Flicks the car off, and then he's cupping Burr's head in his hands. "I can't, I can't focus with you like this," he says, breathless -- "I've heard of a wicked tongue, but you are all wicked -- your palate, your lips, even," as Burr takes him deeper, "even that muscle, ah, Aaron, the muscle at your throat--"

His hips twitch up, breath escaping in a whimper. Good boy makes him shiver, a wave of goosebumps. He lets Burr urge him into a rhythm, but it's a slow one, lingering and sensual.

[slowtoanger]

"Don't hold back," Burr says, when he pulls off with a sinful, wet pop. He knows his lips are shining wet, swollen, red, and ke dips back down immediately to flatten his tongue against the underside, running down, down, to lick over balls. "I want you to use me," Burr says, "I want you to fuck me."

And he pulls back then--a quick, aggressive dive to take Jefferson down to the base, to slide the head in and down until he feels it gagging him, hitting sensitive skin, turning just so, relaxing, letting it slide deeper, until his nose hits Jefferson's skin. He takes care to breathe through his nose, to go relaxed and pliant as he bobs up and down. And he does make those sound--the wet ones, and the choking ones, because men like those, sometimes. Like it messy and sloppy, and who is Burr to refuse?

He wraps his own hand over Jefferson's, in his hair. Urges him to fuck himself on Burr's mouth. To use him as quickly and harshly as he pleases. Burr likes it, when he alternates those quick, brutal, punching thrusts with grinding Burr's head down onto his cock and leaving him there. He's limp--he takes it, and Burr is the good one, despite what he said.

He's painfully hard himself, afraid he'll rip out the button on his pants. Weak little gyrations against the interior of the car. He'd like to see Thomas stretched around him, the way he's stretched around Thomas. Perhaps he'll even think about it later, when he brings himself off in the shower, washing Thomas's come from his thighs and ass.

[declares]

"I'm not," and his fingers go tight on the back of Burr's neck, a soft wounded sound as Burr lavishes attention on his balls. "No, I am, but I -- I want to savor you, you're worth savoring." He cannot breathe, with Burr so tight around him, so deep on him.

He sees Burr's hips twitch against the seat, or against the console, hard to tell the way he's draped over, but that sends a fierce pulse of desire through him. He is aflame -- "Oh," and he sounds a little shocked, "you like this." This, this is what spurs him to roughness, because he can see how Burr reacts to it. "You like to be used -- did you think about it, when you prepared yourself earlier?" Did you think of me, he wants to ask, because it is so easy to lose himself in this fantasy, of lovers, can't keep their hands off each other even for just a car ride, desperate to touch and feel. But it is just a little too pathetic, he thinks, and he pushes that thought, that question away.

Strings of drool, half-visible, darkening denim fabric. Thomas feels near-frantic with desire, seized by the urge to possess, something unfamiliar and needy and skirting around a darkness in him that he does not care to touch.

"You take me so deep," and his voice is gasping. "I can feel your throat --" And he holds Aaron there, a moment longer, with Aaron's eyes watering and his hips working, working against so little.

Aaron does the same as before: apparently endlessly patient, sloppy and wonderful, and then as Thomas starts to twitch up, when his balls start to tighten and his breath comes quicker, Aaron sucks him hard, and Thomas comes just as hard, completely losing himself in it for a split-instant.

The copiousness of it astonishes him. His cock twitches as he shoots semen in Burr's mouth, on his tongue, and he has time to withdraw and mark Burr with the rest. On his lips, his cheek. Thomas is hypnotized with it: takes himself in hand, not yet softened, and uses the head of his cock to smear it against Burr's skin. It is lewd and indulgent, and he cannot look away.

He drags Burr onto him again, to lap the rest from his cock, to clean him. He softens slowly, and Burr is obediently on him, not wiping away the come. "You're wonderful," he says, softly -- "Look at you -- I've never seen anything like you."

[slowtoanger]

Burr takes him. Let's himself be choked by him, the pulse of his own need painful. They are awful, filthy--pressed down on Jefferson's cock in a parked car in the middle of the city. He sucks hard, swallows greedily, when Jefferson comes, surging a little forward, thinks of fighting when he is drawn back--glad that he hadn't, when Jefferson releases hot on his face, smears it around with the tip of his cock.

Burr is panting, and plaint, and he gives a little groan when he feels the wet there, staining him. He licks Jefferson clean greedily, tucks him back into jeans stained dark by Burr's saliva.

Jefferson is a mess--cheeks stained red, but Burr is worse. His pants still uncomfortably tight, painted with Jefferson's come, hair mussed and clothes rumpled. But Jefferson doesn't tell him to clean himself, so Burr leans up, pushes Jefferson back against the car seat, and kisses him. Licks into him, fucks him with his tongue.

[declares]

His lips are parting before the kiss connects -- and so it becomes an open-mouthed, clashing thing, the moment where they touch harsh enough to make the car move a little on its shock absorbers. It is biting, raw, hungry. Thomas wants to pull him close; he wants to know what it would be like to have Aaron ride him, close and cramped and desperate, in the car. He wants, he wants; this is all unlocking something in him, a series of careful, neat closed doors, and within the wild creature that Thomas might become.

He does drag Aaron as close as he can, half over the central console. He breathes in quick gasps before he tangles again with Aaron's fierce, questing tongue. One hand has grabbed at the fabric of Aaron's sweater -- the other presses at the junction of his legs, finds where Aaron is so, so hard, and grinds his palm there, holds steady for Aaron to thrust against if that's what he wants. He can smell and taste his own come, and far from being disgusted, he's fiery with it. He kisses it off of Burr's cheek, licks, and then surges against his mouth again.

[slowtoanger]

Burr likes the kissing. Likes more the greedy hands the drag him over the center console. It's a good thing he's so slight, that he can fit here, back to the driver's window, and open his mouth to Thomas's attentions.

He can't get off like this, in the confines of too-tight jeans, working against Jefferson's palm. He doesn't want to, though he does let himself relax against the other man. He likes the warmth, the feeling of him, warm through layers.

There's something about it. Something appealing, in reducing Thomas to this whole Burr himself remains still hard. It seems more like a favor, more like he's giving Thomas something, instead of Thomas taking. He tucks his head into the crook of Thomas's neck, breathes in.

[declares]

"You've awakened me." Thomas lets his breath escape, touches his lips to Burr's temple in a gesture too tender for this. "I wanted to be intimate again, I--" He stops himself. "I thought of you, quite a bit," he says, instead. "Absurd, and I'm sure you hear that entirely too often."

He would do well to keep his heart out of the mix, here.

"I am under no illusions," he adds. That this is anything more than a job, no matter how genuine Aaron seems in intimate moments. "But if this event goes well, I would like to discuss an ongoing arrangement."

[slowtoanger]

Burr has him. And he needs only to reel him in. To make sure he himself doesn't get pulled away as well, a catch too big for him. Old Man and the Sea. He always hated that story.

And it scares him. Makes him less--makes him feel less in control. He doesn't like that he likes Thomas. He doesn't like that he doesn't know what he would do, if Thomas changed his mind about him.

But--they're not too far gone, are they? Thomas hasn't said anything about the bruises on his face. Or the address Burr have him. The bad neighborhood. It's still a business transaction. And it's about setting expectations.

But Burr always was one to get carried away.

"I moved another client for you," he says. Which is a lie, but Burr had moved his schedule around. He's got his fingers in Jefferson's collar, and he trails fingertips there at the edge, where skin is showing. He can't flush on command. Not really. But he knows what to say to make himself blush, which is functionally the same. "I thought about you earlier, when I was in the shower--" when he prepped himself. "I know it's just a job," he says, quickly. And it's all part of the dance. So what if he's not lying? "But I--you see me," Burr says. "Not just our bodies. But our thoughts."