Fic: The Hollow - Part 10 (Gunn/Lindsey Hustler!Verse) NC17
Title: The Hollow Part 10
Fandom: Angel
Rating: NC17
Pairing: Gunn/Lindsey
A/N: This is the series in which Lindsey is a hustler. It is so totally AU that it shouldn't be called fanfic.
Warnings: D/s kink
Written For: poisontaster who was the recipient of glorious news! I thought she should have fic of her choice to celebrate. *twirls her* PT basically asked for Gunn and Lindsey in front of the others. At least, I think that's what she asked for. My brain kind of fried at her wording ("I'd really kind of like to see Gunn OWN Lindsay in front of the others"). Heh.
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Future Fic: Long Enough to Edify | Future Snippet: The Span of His Arch
*
Gunn thinks about it for a while but can't come up with the best way to introduce Lindsey to the others. Cordelia ends up supplying the opportunity with her demand for weekly dinners at a nearby Chinese buffet to get them out of the hotel.
Lindsey is nervous for the entire week leading up to the dinner Gunn invites him to. It's not something Gunn anticipated, wanting the others to know Lindsey, and Lindsey caring that much about what's outside of their two-person bubble, but he guesses it makes sense. Everything between them has become a lot more real since Lindsey gave up hustling and moved in. Of course Gunn wants his friends to meet Lindsey, and of course Lindsey wants to make a good impression with what is essentially Gunn's family.
"You've already met Angel and Wes," Gunn reminds him.
Lindsey shoots him a quick glare. "In passing, and not under the best of circumstances."
Lindsey is standing in the bedroom, staring at his and Gunn's entire combined wardrobe, which has been pulled from the small dresser and even smaller closet and spread out on the bed. He tilts his head to the side, then reaches for a black turtleneck.
The shirt is Gunn's and was part of his ninja costume from a few Halloweens back. Lindsey slips it on, quick and efficient, and it...looks really good. It hangs too long at his hands and falls too far past his hips, but it clings along the way, and stretches across his chest, and Gunn just likes everything about it.
Except the reason Lindsey picked it.
Lindsey glances down at himself, then over to Gunn. "Okay?"
Gunn pushes away from the wall he's been leaning against and rummages through the clothes on the bed. He pulls out a white v-necked t-shirt that's been worn thin to the point of being see-through. He holds it out to Lindsey.
Lindsey folds his arms, shakes his head. "Oh, hell no."
"Put it on." Lindsey shakes his head again and Gunn arches a brow. "That wasn't a request. "
Lindsey's been on edge and freaked out all week. As a result Gunn's ridden him hard in bed, and made his voice sharp and demanding outside of it. It's taken them the majority of the last two months of living together to find this balance, to pull what happens between them during sex into the rest of their lives just enough that it's a truth they can use to cut through the bullshit.
Lindsey's lids flutter and he breathes out in a loud, unsteady huff that leaves him looking lightheaded. He reaches for the hem of the turtleneck.
Gunn smiles; it feels hooked and clawed on his face. "That's my boy."
The efficiency and speed from earlier are replaced by shaking hands and clumsy motions as Lindsey pulls the shirt up his torso and then ducks out of it. Gunn watches him tug the t-shirt on and then try to pull the hem down to meet the waistband of his jeans.
It's a lost cause. The shirt's tight and too small, so it rides up on all sides, exposing several inches of Lindsey's skin. Through the material, which get thinner each time it's washed, Gunn can see dark splotches above one of Lindsey's nipples and high on his left side. At the join of Lindsey's neck and right shoulder is a bite mark that's mottled purple and slightly raised away from the unmarred skin around it. Half of it isn't even covered by the shirt at all.
Gunn steps closer and reaches out, slowly and seemingly harmless. Lindsey freezes, his eyes getting watchful, but all Gunn does is touch each shadowed mark through the t-shirt with the tips of his fingers. After he's traced the outline of each of them he closes his hands softly around Lindsey's biceps, fitting his fingers and palms directly over the faded yellow bruises he pressed there earlier in the week.
His grip is light but Lindsey's body melts and Gunn has to tighten his hands to hold Lindsey up.
"Don't make me wear this," Lindsey says to Gunn's feet. His voice is slurred precisely, like he's trying very hard to be understood. "Gunn. Not this."
"Look at me." Lindsey lifts his head with difficulty and Gunn can see the struggle on his face, the need and want to give in fighting with Lindsey's sense of unsettlement. Gunn's hands slide away from Lindsey's arms. One settles low on Lindsey's back, the other on the nape of his neck. Gunn digs his fingers in, hard and pointed, and says, "You hid everything."
Lindsey shakes his head. "Not us. I wasn't trying to hide--"
"Yes, you were. I get it." He pulls back and looks Lindsey up and down, taking in every inch of Lindsey's submission to be found in the way he's holding himself and letting Gunn hold him, and the way he wears Gunn's marks. "I don't want to share all this, but I ain't gonna pretend we aren't together, ain't gonna hide it."
Lindsey slumps forward and drops his forehead against Gunn's chest. "The dark blue one that I got for work?"
Gunn thinks of the long-sleeved button down that Lindsey found at Goodwill last week. It's soft and fitted and rides the lines of Lindsey's body like it was made for him. He nods. "Yeah. That one."
*
Before they go into the restaurant they have a silent negotiation in which it is agreed that Lindsey can roll his sleeves down and button the cuffs, but has to leave his collar undone. When Lindsey slides past him into the restaurant Gunn can see the edge of the bruise on his neck peeking out every so often; he has to close his eyes briefly and take a breath before he follows.
The others are already seated at a round table at the edge of the dining room. Cordelia appears to be holding court, with Wes smiling lightly and Angel messing with his water glass. Angel's eyes lift and catch on Gunn and Lindsey almost immediately. His gaze moves over both of them and Gunn has the impression he's seeing everything there is to see, no matter what's covered.
Lindsey gets more tense the closer they get, and when they're finally standing by the table Gunn sets a hand at the base of his spine and lets him lean back against it.
"Hey guys," Gunn says. "This is Lindsey."
Angel gives Lindsey a nod. "We've met."
"Thanks for that," Lindsey responds, more sincere than he generally tends to be. But Angel was the one who tracked Lindsey down to let him know that Gunn was in the hospital a few months back, and that led to Gunn and Lindsey being where they are, what they are, now. So, yeah, it makes sense that Lindsey would acknowledge that in some small way.
Gunn tips his head in Wes' direction and says to Lindsey, "Think you also met Wes in passing." They nod at each other, and Gunn knows that Lindsey is too good at reading people not to pick up on Wes' discomfort. He moves on quickly and points at Cordy. "And that's Cordelia."
Cordelia looks at Lindsey head on, taking in everything and making it abundantly clear that she's judging Lindsey and will, almost certainly, find him lacking. For numerous reasons. "So you two are boyfriends?" she says, sounding bored and dismissive. "That's...cute. Can we eat now?"
Unsurprisingly, Lindsey takes the seat next to her, leaving Gunn between him and Angel. It also puts Gunn directly across from Wes, who won't meet his eyes. Suddenly, Gunn's a little less confident about how well this evening's going to go and is wishing he and Lindsey had just stayed home and ordered take-out Chinese.
A light touch on his leg draws his attention. Lindsey's hand is palm up on Gunn's thigh, open and welcoming, and his cuff is pulled back enough that Gunn can see the marks on his wrist from when Gunn pinned it to the wall that he fucked Lindsey against the night before.
Gunn tucks his thumb into the cuff of Lindsey's shirt and presses against the bruised, tender flesh of Lindsey's inner wrist. When he glances casually to his left, Lindsey is listening to Cordelia's opinion on the color of the tablecloth, his lips curled into a soft, vague smile that Gunn knows is for him.
Once they put in their drink orders, they break to the buffet and load up. Angel comes with them and trails after Cordy, tilting his head at some of the offerings and making her roll her eyes. Wes excuses himself to the restroom and manages to be mostly himself when he returns and starts spooning rice onto a plate. Gunn thinks it probably cost him something but he can't let that be his problem.
The rest of the evening goes...pretty smoothly, Gunn's last minute nerves aside. Yeah, sure, there are a few times in which conversation comes to a sudden halt because one of them has caught site of the bite mark on Lindsey's neck, the bruises on his wrists, but it passes when Lindsey just stares back challengingly.
But, yeah, beyond that it goes well. Angel is his usual combination of intimidating and dorky, and he and Wes spend most of the meal talking about the history of some demon clan Gunn's never even heard of. Lindsey and Cordelia actually end up bonding, which is sort of terrifying and not something that Gunn can really make sense of.
Before Gunn realizes it, they're paying the check and getting to their feet. Outside, they mill around in a clump until Cordelia rolls her eyes and looks at Lindsey. "Next Saturday, thrift store rounds. Barring demons, apocalypses and, you know, bartending." She turns on her heel and faces Angel and Wes. "Which one of you is driving me home?"
Gunn and Lindsey slip away while they're figuring that out.
"See, that wasn't so bad, was it?" Gunn asks.
Lindsey shoots him a pissed off look. "We'll be talking about Wesley."
Gunn winces but nods because, yeah, there's been some questions raised that Lindsey deserves answers to. "Tonight?"
Lindsey stares at him for a moment longer and then shakes his head. "Nah. Not tonight. Soon, though."
Gunn figures that's fair enough.
*
In the truck on the ride home, Lindsey cuts frequent glances in Gunn's direction. They're laced with sex and need and desire and want and...something that they're not ready to speak of yet.
He also sets his hands on top of his thighs and stretches out his thumbs so that they touch the bottom of his zipper, just above the base of his cock. He's hard, obviously so, and Gunn is, too, when he notices.
"You tired, Gunn?" he drawls when Gunn's parking in front of their building.
Gunn was up at four in the morning and it's now after midnight, but he hasn't been tired since that first loaded look Lindsey shot him. He shakes his head, shifts the truck into park, and then turns off the ignition. Lindsey smirks and thrust his hips, one of his hands sliding up to palm his own dick through his jeans.
Gunn grabs his hand and pulls it away. "No. You don't touch yourself."
Lindsey's smile is soft and needy when he turns his head towards Gunn. "What do I do, then?"
Without conscious thought, Gunn's grip tightens until Lindsey is gasping wetly. "Upstairs. Let's go."
Gunn doesn't let go. He makes Lindsey slide along the benchseat and get out through the driver's side, just so that he can keep his fingers wrapped tight against Lindsey's pulse, which isn't racing but is instead beating out a slow and throbbing tempo against the palm of Gunn's hand.
Gunn rides his ass, humps it through clothing as they go inside and climb three flights of stairs, then exit the stairwell and go to their door.
"Let us in," Gunn rasps. He reaches around Lindsey and cups his balls in one hand while stroking Lindsey's dick with the other. Lindsey sags, boneless, but does his best to dig his keys out of his pocket. "You're such a good little slut for me, Lindsey."
Lindsey almost drops the keys. "Christ.. Just let me--" He gets the key in and turns it, and they almost fall to the floor when he pushes the door open suddenly. "There, okay--"
Gunn spins Lindsey around, brackets his face with both hands, and licks his way into Lindsey's mouth with sharp teeth and a rough tongue. "So good," Gunn murmurs. "So good, and all mine."
Lindsey shudders and groans. "Oh, god, they saw."
Gunn drags his mouth from Lindsey's and presses hard, open-mouthed kisses to every part of Lindsey's face he can reach. "I want your mouth on me."
"Fuck, yeah, that." Lindsey tries to drop to his knees right there in front of the open door, but Gunn doesn't let him. "You said--"
"Wait." Gunn kicks the door shut and drags Lindsey to the sofa. Along the way he toes his shoes off, then nudges Lindsey's feet with his own until he does the same. "Here. Let me--okay." Gunn sits down and Lindsey folds to his knees, full of grace, his hands pulling at Gunn's belt before Gunn can even get his bearings. Gunn buries his hands in Lindsey's hair, grabbing handfuls of it near the root. It makes Lindsey's eyes roll back in his head. "Sweet, sweet slut," Gunn praises faintly, and Lindsey's entire body arches.
Lindsey's mouth closes around Gunn's bare cock, and, god, it's still so fucking new because it's only been a couple of weeks since Gunn stopped wearing condoms during blow jobs.
It's hot, so hot, and wet like silk, and Gunn thinks he can feel every one of Lindsey's throat muscles when he goes all the way down and swallows twice around Gunn's length. Gunn sucks in a breath and pushes, tries to get further into Lindsey's mouth until Lindsey's eyes water and he pulls back, coughing.
"Make it last," Gunn tells him. He loosens his grip on Lindsey's hair and rubs at his scalp. Lindsey's mouth falls open and he looks drugged. Gunn guides his mouth back, and then moves his hands to the sides of Lindsey's face, which he holds tightly, fingertips digging into the hinge of Lindsey's jaw and pushing against the underside of his chin.
It goes on forever, and Lindsey's rhythm is anything but predictable. Gunn never knows if his mouth is going to be sweet and slick, or sharp and toothsome, and after a while he doesn't even have brain cells enough to try to guess. All he can do is sit there, slumped back and staring at the obscene stretch of Lindsey's swollen lips around his dick. He wraps his hand across the front of Lindsey's throat a few times, trying to feel himself inside of it. Lindsey's hands always flail for purchase then, inevitably coming to rest on top of Gunn's thighs, at which point he settles, grounded and safe.
After a certain point, Gunn stops experiencing the act as a means to orgasm, forgets that there's an end goal, and instead he luxuriates in it, eyes locked with Lindsey's, glitter shards passing back and forth, back and forth, until Gunn's dizzier than Lindsey, who can hardly find spaces in which to breathe deeply because Gunn--Gunn's dick--is taking up all of them.
Lindsey comes some indeterminable amount of time into it, and Gunn can only tell because of the way his body curls over Gunn's lap like an aftershock, because of the pained noise he makes around Gunn's dick.
Eventually, Lindsey starts to tip backwards, his eyes too bright and oxygen deprived. Gunn catches him, pulls his mouth away, and strokes his face. "Home stretch," he promises. Lindsey nods, takes a few deep breaths, then dives for Gunn's dick again, his mouth purposeful and focused, his slippery tongue working every sweet spot Gunn has. When one of his hands lands on Gunn's balls, Gunn growls and pushes at Lindsey's forehead, until his mouth slides off Gunn's dick with a pop, and Gunn comes in stripes of white across Lindsey's face, splattering his closes eyes, his flushed cheeks, and even his newly-bruised throat.
As soon as Gunn has his breath back he pulls Lindsey onto the sofa with him, then stretches them both out, Lindsey collapsed on Gunn's chest. Getting Lindsey's jeans off is a simple matter of pushing them down his hips. Gunn twists under him, kicking his own off and to the floor. Lindsey's dick is half hard between them, the result of Gunn coming. Gunn smiles and slides two fingers through the mess of come on Lindsey's face.
Lindsey closes his eyes, accepting and contented, and Gunn's smile takes on an edge. "Dirtiest little cocksucker I ever seen." While Lindsey's distracted with shaking in response to the words, Gunn reaches around him and shoves his two come-wet fingers into Lindsey's ass, hard and sudden.
Lindsey's head snaps back, his eyes fly open and his mouth works soundlessly. Gunn twists his fingers inside until he finds Lindsey's prostate. He leaves them there, resting lightly against it, and rubs Lindsey's back soothingly with his free hand.
Gunn's voice is as soft as Lindsey's dick is hard. "It's late. We should sleep."
"I--god, I can't just--you--"
"You can." Gunn is certain of this, more certain than of anything else in the world. "You will."
Lindsey does, after many long, tense minutes in which he's poised and ready for Gunn's fingers to move and bring him off. He shivers in his sleep, subtle movements like lazy waves against a quiet shore, and the motion lulls Gunn to sleep, too.
.End
Series Listing in Memories here
ETA: *facepalm* I apparently lost some edits last night before posting this. Which is, you know, annoying. But I went back through and redid them (the ones I remembered or noticed again, at least).
Fandom: Angel
Rating: NC17
Pairing: Gunn/Lindsey
A/N: This is the series in which Lindsey is a hustler. It is so totally AU that it shouldn't be called fanfic.
Warnings: D/s kink
Written For: poisontaster who was the recipient of glorious news! I thought she should have fic of her choice to celebrate. *twirls her* PT basically asked for Gunn and Lindsey in front of the others. At least, I think that's what she asked for. My brain kind of fried at her wording ("I'd really kind of like to see Gunn OWN Lindsay in front of the others"). Heh.
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Future Fic: Long Enough to Edify | Future Snippet: The Span of His Arch
*
Gunn thinks about it for a while but can't come up with the best way to introduce Lindsey to the others. Cordelia ends up supplying the opportunity with her demand for weekly dinners at a nearby Chinese buffet to get them out of the hotel.
Lindsey is nervous for the entire week leading up to the dinner Gunn invites him to. It's not something Gunn anticipated, wanting the others to know Lindsey, and Lindsey caring that much about what's outside of their two-person bubble, but he guesses it makes sense. Everything between them has become a lot more real since Lindsey gave up hustling and moved in. Of course Gunn wants his friends to meet Lindsey, and of course Lindsey wants to make a good impression with what is essentially Gunn's family.
"You've already met Angel and Wes," Gunn reminds him.
Lindsey shoots him a quick glare. "In passing, and not under the best of circumstances."
Lindsey is standing in the bedroom, staring at his and Gunn's entire combined wardrobe, which has been pulled from the small dresser and even smaller closet and spread out on the bed. He tilts his head to the side, then reaches for a black turtleneck.
The shirt is Gunn's and was part of his ninja costume from a few Halloweens back. Lindsey slips it on, quick and efficient, and it...looks really good. It hangs too long at his hands and falls too far past his hips, but it clings along the way, and stretches across his chest, and Gunn just likes everything about it.
Except the reason Lindsey picked it.
Lindsey glances down at himself, then over to Gunn. "Okay?"
Gunn pushes away from the wall he's been leaning against and rummages through the clothes on the bed. He pulls out a white v-necked t-shirt that's been worn thin to the point of being see-through. He holds it out to Lindsey.
Lindsey folds his arms, shakes his head. "Oh, hell no."
"Put it on." Lindsey shakes his head again and Gunn arches a brow. "That wasn't a request. "
Lindsey's been on edge and freaked out all week. As a result Gunn's ridden him hard in bed, and made his voice sharp and demanding outside of it. It's taken them the majority of the last two months of living together to find this balance, to pull what happens between them during sex into the rest of their lives just enough that it's a truth they can use to cut through the bullshit.
Lindsey's lids flutter and he breathes out in a loud, unsteady huff that leaves him looking lightheaded. He reaches for the hem of the turtleneck.
Gunn smiles; it feels hooked and clawed on his face. "That's my boy."
The efficiency and speed from earlier are replaced by shaking hands and clumsy motions as Lindsey pulls the shirt up his torso and then ducks out of it. Gunn watches him tug the t-shirt on and then try to pull the hem down to meet the waistband of his jeans.
It's a lost cause. The shirt's tight and too small, so it rides up on all sides, exposing several inches of Lindsey's skin. Through the material, which get thinner each time it's washed, Gunn can see dark splotches above one of Lindsey's nipples and high on his left side. At the join of Lindsey's neck and right shoulder is a bite mark that's mottled purple and slightly raised away from the unmarred skin around it. Half of it isn't even covered by the shirt at all.
Gunn steps closer and reaches out, slowly and seemingly harmless. Lindsey freezes, his eyes getting watchful, but all Gunn does is touch each shadowed mark through the t-shirt with the tips of his fingers. After he's traced the outline of each of them he closes his hands softly around Lindsey's biceps, fitting his fingers and palms directly over the faded yellow bruises he pressed there earlier in the week.
His grip is light but Lindsey's body melts and Gunn has to tighten his hands to hold Lindsey up.
"Don't make me wear this," Lindsey says to Gunn's feet. His voice is slurred precisely, like he's trying very hard to be understood. "Gunn. Not this."
"Look at me." Lindsey lifts his head with difficulty and Gunn can see the struggle on his face, the need and want to give in fighting with Lindsey's sense of unsettlement. Gunn's hands slide away from Lindsey's arms. One settles low on Lindsey's back, the other on the nape of his neck. Gunn digs his fingers in, hard and pointed, and says, "You hid everything."
Lindsey shakes his head. "Not us. I wasn't trying to hide--"
"Yes, you were. I get it." He pulls back and looks Lindsey up and down, taking in every inch of Lindsey's submission to be found in the way he's holding himself and letting Gunn hold him, and the way he wears Gunn's marks. "I don't want to share all this, but I ain't gonna pretend we aren't together, ain't gonna hide it."
Lindsey slumps forward and drops his forehead against Gunn's chest. "The dark blue one that I got for work?"
Gunn thinks of the long-sleeved button down that Lindsey found at Goodwill last week. It's soft and fitted and rides the lines of Lindsey's body like it was made for him. He nods. "Yeah. That one."
*
Before they go into the restaurant they have a silent negotiation in which it is agreed that Lindsey can roll his sleeves down and button the cuffs, but has to leave his collar undone. When Lindsey slides past him into the restaurant Gunn can see the edge of the bruise on his neck peeking out every so often; he has to close his eyes briefly and take a breath before he follows.
The others are already seated at a round table at the edge of the dining room. Cordelia appears to be holding court, with Wes smiling lightly and Angel messing with his water glass. Angel's eyes lift and catch on Gunn and Lindsey almost immediately. His gaze moves over both of them and Gunn has the impression he's seeing everything there is to see, no matter what's covered.
Lindsey gets more tense the closer they get, and when they're finally standing by the table Gunn sets a hand at the base of his spine and lets him lean back against it.
"Hey guys," Gunn says. "This is Lindsey."
Angel gives Lindsey a nod. "We've met."
"Thanks for that," Lindsey responds, more sincere than he generally tends to be. But Angel was the one who tracked Lindsey down to let him know that Gunn was in the hospital a few months back, and that led to Gunn and Lindsey being where they are, what they are, now. So, yeah, it makes sense that Lindsey would acknowledge that in some small way.
Gunn tips his head in Wes' direction and says to Lindsey, "Think you also met Wes in passing." They nod at each other, and Gunn knows that Lindsey is too good at reading people not to pick up on Wes' discomfort. He moves on quickly and points at Cordy. "And that's Cordelia."
Cordelia looks at Lindsey head on, taking in everything and making it abundantly clear that she's judging Lindsey and will, almost certainly, find him lacking. For numerous reasons. "So you two are boyfriends?" she says, sounding bored and dismissive. "That's...cute. Can we eat now?"
Unsurprisingly, Lindsey takes the seat next to her, leaving Gunn between him and Angel. It also puts Gunn directly across from Wes, who won't meet his eyes. Suddenly, Gunn's a little less confident about how well this evening's going to go and is wishing he and Lindsey had just stayed home and ordered take-out Chinese.
A light touch on his leg draws his attention. Lindsey's hand is palm up on Gunn's thigh, open and welcoming, and his cuff is pulled back enough that Gunn can see the marks on his wrist from when Gunn pinned it to the wall that he fucked Lindsey against the night before.
Gunn tucks his thumb into the cuff of Lindsey's shirt and presses against the bruised, tender flesh of Lindsey's inner wrist. When he glances casually to his left, Lindsey is listening to Cordelia's opinion on the color of the tablecloth, his lips curled into a soft, vague smile that Gunn knows is for him.
Once they put in their drink orders, they break to the buffet and load up. Angel comes with them and trails after Cordy, tilting his head at some of the offerings and making her roll her eyes. Wes excuses himself to the restroom and manages to be mostly himself when he returns and starts spooning rice onto a plate. Gunn thinks it probably cost him something but he can't let that be his problem.
The rest of the evening goes...pretty smoothly, Gunn's last minute nerves aside. Yeah, sure, there are a few times in which conversation comes to a sudden halt because one of them has caught site of the bite mark on Lindsey's neck, the bruises on his wrists, but it passes when Lindsey just stares back challengingly.
But, yeah, beyond that it goes well. Angel is his usual combination of intimidating and dorky, and he and Wes spend most of the meal talking about the history of some demon clan Gunn's never even heard of. Lindsey and Cordelia actually end up bonding, which is sort of terrifying and not something that Gunn can really make sense of.
Before Gunn realizes it, they're paying the check and getting to their feet. Outside, they mill around in a clump until Cordelia rolls her eyes and looks at Lindsey. "Next Saturday, thrift store rounds. Barring demons, apocalypses and, you know, bartending." She turns on her heel and faces Angel and Wes. "Which one of you is driving me home?"
Gunn and Lindsey slip away while they're figuring that out.
"See, that wasn't so bad, was it?" Gunn asks.
Lindsey shoots him a pissed off look. "We'll be talking about Wesley."
Gunn winces but nods because, yeah, there's been some questions raised that Lindsey deserves answers to. "Tonight?"
Lindsey stares at him for a moment longer and then shakes his head. "Nah. Not tonight. Soon, though."
Gunn figures that's fair enough.
*
In the truck on the ride home, Lindsey cuts frequent glances in Gunn's direction. They're laced with sex and need and desire and want and...something that they're not ready to speak of yet.
He also sets his hands on top of his thighs and stretches out his thumbs so that they touch the bottom of his zipper, just above the base of his cock. He's hard, obviously so, and Gunn is, too, when he notices.
"You tired, Gunn?" he drawls when Gunn's parking in front of their building.
Gunn was up at four in the morning and it's now after midnight, but he hasn't been tired since that first loaded look Lindsey shot him. He shakes his head, shifts the truck into park, and then turns off the ignition. Lindsey smirks and thrust his hips, one of his hands sliding up to palm his own dick through his jeans.
Gunn grabs his hand and pulls it away. "No. You don't touch yourself."
Lindsey's smile is soft and needy when he turns his head towards Gunn. "What do I do, then?"
Without conscious thought, Gunn's grip tightens until Lindsey is gasping wetly. "Upstairs. Let's go."
Gunn doesn't let go. He makes Lindsey slide along the benchseat and get out through the driver's side, just so that he can keep his fingers wrapped tight against Lindsey's pulse, which isn't racing but is instead beating out a slow and throbbing tempo against the palm of Gunn's hand.
Gunn rides his ass, humps it through clothing as they go inside and climb three flights of stairs, then exit the stairwell and go to their door.
"Let us in," Gunn rasps. He reaches around Lindsey and cups his balls in one hand while stroking Lindsey's dick with the other. Lindsey sags, boneless, but does his best to dig his keys out of his pocket. "You're such a good little slut for me, Lindsey."
Lindsey almost drops the keys. "Christ.. Just let me--" He gets the key in and turns it, and they almost fall to the floor when he pushes the door open suddenly. "There, okay--"
Gunn spins Lindsey around, brackets his face with both hands, and licks his way into Lindsey's mouth with sharp teeth and a rough tongue. "So good," Gunn murmurs. "So good, and all mine."
Lindsey shudders and groans. "Oh, god, they saw."
Gunn drags his mouth from Lindsey's and presses hard, open-mouthed kisses to every part of Lindsey's face he can reach. "I want your mouth on me."
"Fuck, yeah, that." Lindsey tries to drop to his knees right there in front of the open door, but Gunn doesn't let him. "You said--"
"Wait." Gunn kicks the door shut and drags Lindsey to the sofa. Along the way he toes his shoes off, then nudges Lindsey's feet with his own until he does the same. "Here. Let me--okay." Gunn sits down and Lindsey folds to his knees, full of grace, his hands pulling at Gunn's belt before Gunn can even get his bearings. Gunn buries his hands in Lindsey's hair, grabbing handfuls of it near the root. It makes Lindsey's eyes roll back in his head. "Sweet, sweet slut," Gunn praises faintly, and Lindsey's entire body arches.
Lindsey's mouth closes around Gunn's bare cock, and, god, it's still so fucking new because it's only been a couple of weeks since Gunn stopped wearing condoms during blow jobs.
It's hot, so hot, and wet like silk, and Gunn thinks he can feel every one of Lindsey's throat muscles when he goes all the way down and swallows twice around Gunn's length. Gunn sucks in a breath and pushes, tries to get further into Lindsey's mouth until Lindsey's eyes water and he pulls back, coughing.
"Make it last," Gunn tells him. He loosens his grip on Lindsey's hair and rubs at his scalp. Lindsey's mouth falls open and he looks drugged. Gunn guides his mouth back, and then moves his hands to the sides of Lindsey's face, which he holds tightly, fingertips digging into the hinge of Lindsey's jaw and pushing against the underside of his chin.
It goes on forever, and Lindsey's rhythm is anything but predictable. Gunn never knows if his mouth is going to be sweet and slick, or sharp and toothsome, and after a while he doesn't even have brain cells enough to try to guess. All he can do is sit there, slumped back and staring at the obscene stretch of Lindsey's swollen lips around his dick. He wraps his hand across the front of Lindsey's throat a few times, trying to feel himself inside of it. Lindsey's hands always flail for purchase then, inevitably coming to rest on top of Gunn's thighs, at which point he settles, grounded and safe.
After a certain point, Gunn stops experiencing the act as a means to orgasm, forgets that there's an end goal, and instead he luxuriates in it, eyes locked with Lindsey's, glitter shards passing back and forth, back and forth, until Gunn's dizzier than Lindsey, who can hardly find spaces in which to breathe deeply because Gunn--Gunn's dick--is taking up all of them.
Lindsey comes some indeterminable amount of time into it, and Gunn can only tell because of the way his body curls over Gunn's lap like an aftershock, because of the pained noise he makes around Gunn's dick.
Eventually, Lindsey starts to tip backwards, his eyes too bright and oxygen deprived. Gunn catches him, pulls his mouth away, and strokes his face. "Home stretch," he promises. Lindsey nods, takes a few deep breaths, then dives for Gunn's dick again, his mouth purposeful and focused, his slippery tongue working every sweet spot Gunn has. When one of his hands lands on Gunn's balls, Gunn growls and pushes at Lindsey's forehead, until his mouth slides off Gunn's dick with a pop, and Gunn comes in stripes of white across Lindsey's face, splattering his closes eyes, his flushed cheeks, and even his newly-bruised throat.
As soon as Gunn has his breath back he pulls Lindsey onto the sofa with him, then stretches them both out, Lindsey collapsed on Gunn's chest. Getting Lindsey's jeans off is a simple matter of pushing them down his hips. Gunn twists under him, kicking his own off and to the floor. Lindsey's dick is half hard between them, the result of Gunn coming. Gunn smiles and slides two fingers through the mess of come on Lindsey's face.
Lindsey closes his eyes, accepting and contented, and Gunn's smile takes on an edge. "Dirtiest little cocksucker I ever seen." While Lindsey's distracted with shaking in response to the words, Gunn reaches around him and shoves his two come-wet fingers into Lindsey's ass, hard and sudden.
Lindsey's head snaps back, his eyes fly open and his mouth works soundlessly. Gunn twists his fingers inside until he finds Lindsey's prostate. He leaves them there, resting lightly against it, and rubs Lindsey's back soothingly with his free hand.
Gunn's voice is as soft as Lindsey's dick is hard. "It's late. We should sleep."
"I--god, I can't just--you--"
"You can." Gunn is certain of this, more certain than of anything else in the world. "You will."
Lindsey does, after many long, tense minutes in which he's poised and ready for Gunn's fingers to move and bring him off. He shivers in his sleep, subtle movements like lazy waves against a quiet shore, and the motion lulls Gunn to sleep, too.
.End
Series Listing in Memories here
ETA: *facepalm* I apparently lost some edits last night before posting this. Which is, you know, annoying. But I went back through and redid them (the ones I remembered or noticed again, at least).