I wrote something :D
It's original characters and it's not very long, but damn did it feel good to write. Especially since 98% of it just flowed outta my pen onto the paper. It's been so long, I don't remember where the heck my header template is so I'm faking it.
No title
1400 words
rated R most likely
self edited
it started in a bar and finished in the shower.
The only way to wake up, in Marcus' opinion, was with a hot shower pounding down across your back and scalp. Under the beat of water on tile he heard the faint click of the bathroom door. Well, maybe a hot shower was the second best way to wake up he amended. An encore to the night before being the first.
And oh, what a night it'd been, he grinned to remember. It had started out as a quiet Tuesday evening drink to wash away the casual bigotry of work and ended with him bringing home a stray. He one hundred percent hadn't planned on getting involved in the scuffle on the other side of his normally quiet bar, but a loud 'dirty fucking fag' and the sound of a fist connecting were just too much.
He'd beat the bartender to the side of the room by a scant margin and utilizing his height and the drill instructor voice he'd inherited from his daddy barked out 'What the hell is going on?'
The two skinny punks folded at the sight of some one bigger, and therefore badder, like the bullies they were. 'Not a damn thing,' the braver one muttered, the other letting go his hold on the third in their little tableau.
'If it's nothing, you'd best take it outta my bar,' the bartender, Mike, growled.
'Fine, whatever. C'mon Chuckie, Joey. Let's go.' He grabbed Joey with what looked like a bruising grip around the kid's wrist, pulling him in their wake.
Totally without thinking Marcus dropped a restraining hand against Joey's chest as the little group shouldered past. 'Oh, no, I thing this one is staying right here.' The look of resignation on the kid's face flickered to fear, that though Marcus supposed was warranted, broke his heart a little.
'Fine man, whatever,' the ring leader said. 'We'll catch up with you later, Joey.' The menace in his voice clear for anyone half intelligent to hear. And Joey clearly heard it if the slump of his shoulders was anything to go by.
Marcus and Mike turned to watch them saunter toward the door and as soon as they were clear Marcus let go of Joey. 'Hey now,' he started, talking quick before the kid could bolt, 'I work at the Third Street Shelter. What can I do to help?'
Marcus was banking on the shelter's reputation, even on this side of town, to get the kid to stay a minuet and maybe even take the help he was offering instead of bolting out into what was surely the waiting arms of the two bullies.
'Sure buddy,' Joey snorted, 'you work at Third Street. What the hell do you want?'
Really, Marcus couldn't blame the kid for not believing him. With his height and bulk, not to mention the snaking lines of tattoos just visible on his dark skin, he looked more like what you needed to be sheltered from than the one doing the sheltering.
'To help, if I can,' Marcus replied. 'Here,' he reached into his wallet, 'Marcus Wellerton, certified trauma counselor.' He handed over the card. The kid gave it the stink eye, still projecting disbelief.
'He's on the up and up,' Mike the bartender broke the tension. 'C'mon, have a drink - on the house. I don't put up with Ryan and Chuckie's brand of shit and they know it. Give it a few and they'll be long gone and you can take off without them seeing which way you went.'
And that was why Marcus drank at a bar on the other side of town from work and why Mike was one of his best friends. The man knew people and how to ease a situation.
With a wry grin and a nod the kid, Joey, followed them back across the bar. Settling on the stool, he seemed to loose some of the fear and tension of the last few minuets. 'Joesph Polanski, semi-professional. Call me Joe.' He stuck out his hand.
Marcus shook it with an amused look. 'Semi-professional?' he asked.
'The world's oldest profession, but only part-time. I'm studying social anthropology.' The kid laughed at the look Marcus could feel on his face - it sounded like a load of bull crap. 'Really. I take classes at the W.D. High,' he said.
Marcus recognized the nickname of the local community college. Not ivy league by any stretch of the imagination, but regardless of reputation, they didn't actually let anyone enroll.
A couple deep swallows of the beer Mike slid in front of him and the last of the tension left Joe's frame. 'Thanks for the save by the way. Ryan thought he could shake me down and turn me out. I work for no man and certainly not some little two-bit shit like him.'
'Not a problem,' Marcus replied. 'I can't stand a bully.'
The kid roused Marcus' curiosity. Joe had initially been just as scared of him as he'd been of Ryan and Chuckie. Marcus knew he was a big, intimidating, guy, but now the kid was sitting next to him calm as anything, sharing a drink. It wasn't something he was used to in his line of work. Most times the people he scared stayed scared.
'I gotta ask man, professional curiosity, but what made you trust me so quick? I'd love to use it at work.'
'Easy,' he started ticking off on his fingers, 'I'm in here fairly regular and know Mike is a fair guy who doesn't hassle the working girls or boys as long as they're not trying to pick up one of his customers. You took your hands off me as soon as Ryan and Chuckie were out of reach, had a business card - which is brand new, not one you've been holding in your wallet for just such and occasion - you let me keep the business card, and Mike backed your play. All of which says to me you are exactly who and what you say you are.'
'Well, damn,' Marcus laughed, 'I guess you really are what you say you are too. That is one fine analysis of the situation.'
What followed had been a stimulating discussion that ranged over what seemed like every topic imaginable. What had started as a depressingly same Tuesday as the week before ended up one of the better days he'd had in months. It had only gotten better.
Finishing his third beer - turned out 'kid' wasn't an accurate description of Joe, he was actually two years older than Marcus' 26 but his slender frame and baby face apparently were great for business - Joe turned to Marcus and said, 'take me back to your place.'
'I don't think those punks are still waiting'
'No,' Joe interrupted him, 'take me back to your place and fuck me through the floor.'
The sharp spike of lust that shot through him was undeniable, the sudden snap of sexual tension like electricity across his skin and there hadn't been a single touch between them since Marcus had stopped Ryan from pulling him outta the bar.
'You're pretty sure of yourself. How do you know I'm even interested?'
'Social anthropology,' Joe answered, smug. 'We've been talking the better part of three hours and even if you're not gay, I think I can safely say you'd have no problem pounding my tight ass.'
'Jesus, Joe, your mouth.' Marcus heard a lot of people talk all day at work but Joe's matter of fact delivery was going straight to his cock.
'You could fuck that if you'd rather,' Joe offered.
'Christ,' Marcus groaned. 'Hey, Mike, I need to clear my tab.'
'I heard,' Mike deadpanned and damn was Marcus glad a blush didn't show on him. 'You better not be picking up a trick in my bar boy. That don't fly.'
'Nah,' Joe grinned, 'this is for me. C'mon man, let's get outta here.'
That's where the whirlwind that is Joesph Polanski, semi-professional, started. They'd barely gotten in the door before Joe was on his knees, working open Marcus' flies. As promised, he'd had a wicked mouth and a fine ass.
A sleep warmed body snuggling against him pulled him back to the present. As clever fingers ran through his chest hair he decided that actually the best way to wake up was seeing if third time really was the charm.
x
This entry was originally posted at http://ranua.dreamwidth.org/175919.html. Please comment there using OpenID.
No title
1400 words
rated R most likely
self edited
it started in a bar and finished in the shower.
The only way to wake up, in Marcus' opinion, was with a hot shower pounding down across your back and scalp. Under the beat of water on tile he heard the faint click of the bathroom door. Well, maybe a hot shower was the second best way to wake up he amended. An encore to the night before being the first.
And oh, what a night it'd been, he grinned to remember. It had started out as a quiet Tuesday evening drink to wash away the casual bigotry of work and ended with him bringing home a stray. He one hundred percent hadn't planned on getting involved in the scuffle on the other side of his normally quiet bar, but a loud 'dirty fucking fag' and the sound of a fist connecting were just too much.
He'd beat the bartender to the side of the room by a scant margin and utilizing his height and the drill instructor voice he'd inherited from his daddy barked out 'What the hell is going on?'
The two skinny punks folded at the sight of some one bigger, and therefore badder, like the bullies they were. 'Not a damn thing,' the braver one muttered, the other letting go his hold on the third in their little tableau.
'If it's nothing, you'd best take it outta my bar,' the bartender, Mike, growled.
'Fine, whatever. C'mon Chuckie, Joey. Let's go.' He grabbed Joey with what looked like a bruising grip around the kid's wrist, pulling him in their wake.
Totally without thinking Marcus dropped a restraining hand against Joey's chest as the little group shouldered past. 'Oh, no, I thing this one is staying right here.' The look of resignation on the kid's face flickered to fear, that though Marcus supposed was warranted, broke his heart a little.
'Fine man, whatever,' the ring leader said. 'We'll catch up with you later, Joey.' The menace in his voice clear for anyone half intelligent to hear. And Joey clearly heard it if the slump of his shoulders was anything to go by.
Marcus and Mike turned to watch them saunter toward the door and as soon as they were clear Marcus let go of Joey. 'Hey now,' he started, talking quick before the kid could bolt, 'I work at the Third Street Shelter. What can I do to help?'
Marcus was banking on the shelter's reputation, even on this side of town, to get the kid to stay a minuet and maybe even take the help he was offering instead of bolting out into what was surely the waiting arms of the two bullies.
'Sure buddy,' Joey snorted, 'you work at Third Street. What the hell do you want?'
Really, Marcus couldn't blame the kid for not believing him. With his height and bulk, not to mention the snaking lines of tattoos just visible on his dark skin, he looked more like what you needed to be sheltered from than the one doing the sheltering.
'To help, if I can,' Marcus replied. 'Here,' he reached into his wallet, 'Marcus Wellerton, certified trauma counselor.' He handed over the card. The kid gave it the stink eye, still projecting disbelief.
'He's on the up and up,' Mike the bartender broke the tension. 'C'mon, have a drink - on the house. I don't put up with Ryan and Chuckie's brand of shit and they know it. Give it a few and they'll be long gone and you can take off without them seeing which way you went.'
And that was why Marcus drank at a bar on the other side of town from work and why Mike was one of his best friends. The man knew people and how to ease a situation.
With a wry grin and a nod the kid, Joey, followed them back across the bar. Settling on the stool, he seemed to loose some of the fear and tension of the last few minuets. 'Joesph Polanski, semi-professional. Call me Joe.' He stuck out his hand.
Marcus shook it with an amused look. 'Semi-professional?' he asked.
'The world's oldest profession, but only part-time. I'm studying social anthropology.' The kid laughed at the look Marcus could feel on his face - it sounded like a load of bull crap. 'Really. I take classes at the W.D. High,' he said.
Marcus recognized the nickname of the local community college. Not ivy league by any stretch of the imagination, but regardless of reputation, they didn't actually let anyone enroll.
A couple deep swallows of the beer Mike slid in front of him and the last of the tension left Joe's frame. 'Thanks for the save by the way. Ryan thought he could shake me down and turn me out. I work for no man and certainly not some little two-bit shit like him.'
'Not a problem,' Marcus replied. 'I can't stand a bully.'
The kid roused Marcus' curiosity. Joe had initially been just as scared of him as he'd been of Ryan and Chuckie. Marcus knew he was a big, intimidating, guy, but now the kid was sitting next to him calm as anything, sharing a drink. It wasn't something he was used to in his line of work. Most times the people he scared stayed scared.
'I gotta ask man, professional curiosity, but what made you trust me so quick? I'd love to use it at work.'
'Easy,' he started ticking off on his fingers, 'I'm in here fairly regular and know Mike is a fair guy who doesn't hassle the working girls or boys as long as they're not trying to pick up one of his customers. You took your hands off me as soon as Ryan and Chuckie were out of reach, had a business card - which is brand new, not one you've been holding in your wallet for just such and occasion - you let me keep the business card, and Mike backed your play. All of which says to me you are exactly who and what you say you are.'
'Well, damn,' Marcus laughed, 'I guess you really are what you say you are too. That is one fine analysis of the situation.'
What followed had been a stimulating discussion that ranged over what seemed like every topic imaginable. What had started as a depressingly same Tuesday as the week before ended up one of the better days he'd had in months. It had only gotten better.
Finishing his third beer - turned out 'kid' wasn't an accurate description of Joe, he was actually two years older than Marcus' 26 but his slender frame and baby face apparently were great for business - Joe turned to Marcus and said, 'take me back to your place.'
'I don't think those punks are still waiting'
'No,' Joe interrupted him, 'take me back to your place and fuck me through the floor.'
The sharp spike of lust that shot through him was undeniable, the sudden snap of sexual tension like electricity across his skin and there hadn't been a single touch between them since Marcus had stopped Ryan from pulling him outta the bar.
'You're pretty sure of yourself. How do you know I'm even interested?'
'Social anthropology,' Joe answered, smug. 'We've been talking the better part of three hours and even if you're not gay, I think I can safely say you'd have no problem pounding my tight ass.'
'Jesus, Joe, your mouth.' Marcus heard a lot of people talk all day at work but Joe's matter of fact delivery was going straight to his cock.
'You could fuck that if you'd rather,' Joe offered.
'Christ,' Marcus groaned. 'Hey, Mike, I need to clear my tab.'
'I heard,' Mike deadpanned and damn was Marcus glad a blush didn't show on him. 'You better not be picking up a trick in my bar boy. That don't fly.'
'Nah,' Joe grinned, 'this is for me. C'mon man, let's get outta here.'
That's where the whirlwind that is Joesph Polanski, semi-professional, started. They'd barely gotten in the door before Joe was on his knees, working open Marcus' flies. As promised, he'd had a wicked mouth and a fine ass.
A sleep warmed body snuggling against him pulled him back to the present. As clever fingers ran through his chest hair he decided that actually the best way to wake up was seeing if third time really was the charm.
x
This entry was originally posted at http://ranua.dreamwidth.org/175919.html. Please comment there using OpenID.