fic: got all your numbers
shecrows is finally watching Prime Suspect and I guess I celebrated by writing porn. This is straight up sex. Sex that I wrote sober too, which you can definitely tell because I'm a bit blushing virgin about the whole thing and normally I'm like yeah take it bitch! stick it where it fits! yeah, suck that dick like a low-rent porno. Apparently I even need a little social lubrication when it's just me.
There is legit nothing doing on in this story except two drunk dudes making the beast with two backs. What is character development. Lawd have mercy and the bb jesus too. Anyway, this is too long to to go in the festive fucking ficathon but it's sort of a fill for that and sort of a sequel to this, if the definition of sequel is: takes place in the same inebriated universe. Whatever.
got all your numbers
prime suspect
augie/lou. hard r
That’s the word for it - eager.
got all your numbers
New York’s never dark, not really, and Lou’s place glows a cool blue from the lights of the bar down below. The treacherous shapes of furniture loom: a table in the entryway Lou stained himself, the arm of a couch moulded to the shape of Augie’s shoulders, the unsteady bookshelf sagging under the weight of ten thousand awful thrillers with peeling, cracked spines. Shadow ghosts flicker across the walls. Augie walks Lou backward, thumb at the pulse point under his ear. Augie cups his hands around Lou’s hips, drags his mouth against the faint stubble along Lou’s jaw as they shuffle across the floor to Lou’s bedroom.
Sober, Augie could make this walk blindfolded, but they’re drunk, so drunk - but maybe not as drunk as earlier when Lou had them tossed stumbling out of the bar - and Augie’s chasing the acrid taste of tequila out of Lou’s mouth. They get caught on the door frame, Lou’s shoulder knocks against it and then Augie’s creeping his hand around the hard line of Lou’s pelvic bone where his shirt’s untucked, pressing Lou’s spine back against the wood. Lou tips his head back, parts his legs just enough for Augie to slide his thigh in. Augie tucks his mouth into the warm salty skin just beneath Lou’s jaw, where it smells most like the fancy shaving cream Lou’s little girl gets him for every gift - sharp and a little soapy like he missed a spot washing it off this morning. Augie has a flash - sense-memory, whatever - of Lou against the wall, pinned by Augie’s shoulders, Augie’s mouth tracing the tendons of his neck, and the way Lou just opens up for it, grinds down on Augie’s thigh like maybe it’s some kind of thing for him. It’s hot, a guy like Lou, all sharp edges and firecrackers going soft and open under him. He leverages his thigh a little more, feels the way Lou tenses against him, chokes a breath against Augie’s mouth.
Lou makes a short, aborted sound like a groan catches in his throat and he sinks down, sharp and hard against Augie’s thigh. Augie slides his leg in more fully, braces one hand above Lou’s head to give Lou something to push against. It’s good, hot and close with Lou shifting down and pulling him in, one hand wrapped around Augie’s neck and the other fisted in the back of his shirt. Except - except there’s no where really to go and it’s all a little too symbolic, in the threshold of the bedroom, feet from the bed; Augie’s not the guy that can’t close. Also the angle is really killing his elbow.
“Hey-” he pulls off just barely and Lou’s laughing up at him, eyes heavy lidded but sharp when he releases Augie’s shirt and pushes him back. The strident crack when Augie drops his hand seems overly loud. Lou reaches up to rub the back of his own neck, where the wood’s probably been eating into him.
The time to back out is now.
“Gettin’ old, huh?” says Lou, all gravel and throat, like he has no idea. Sex voice, thinks Augie, and files it away into a dusty, locked compartment somewhere behind his ribs.
“You can fuck yourself.”
“Yeah.” Lou grins, backing up those few short, critical steps into the bedroom, toeing off his shoes and unknotting his tie. Lou’s not fast or sloppy about undressing, but he’s not awkward either, just draping his shirt and slacks over the back of the chair as if he’s remembering how much he hates ironing. He falls back against the bed, hastily made like Lou rushed out the door this morning but couldn’t shake his mother’s voice in the back of his head, props himself up on his elbows with hands splayed out on either side. He’s smirking, an easy half-grin, eyes dark in the dim, cool light of the bedroom. He looks good - drunk, but good, laid back and anticipatory, like wow me, asshole.
Augie hovers at the edge of the bed for a minute, lingers on unbuttoning his shirt for a half a second too long because then Lou’s there, yanking Augie down saying c’mon, c’mon in the warm, fond voice he uses when he says lock the door every time they get out of the car. Augie goes, kneels above Lou to awkwardly finish pulling his shirt off and dropping it in a crumpled heap, braces himself on one hand to feather his fingertips along the sparse hair of Lou’s upper thigh, memorize the divot in the muscle. Lou slides his hands up Augie’s back, pressing his mouth to Augie’s chest in wet open-mouthed kisses. He spreads his thighs to bracket Augie’s hips, groans flatteringly when Augie grazes his teeth against Lou’s neck.
“Are you gonna-” Lou tugs meaningfully at Augie’s belt, cups one hand over Augie’s dick.
“Well I was,” says Augie and Lou laughs, a wide open smile stealing across his face. Augie rolls his eyes. Ungrateful fucker. When he unbuckles his belt, Lou grabs the buckle and tugs, hard enough that it loosens and slides out suddenly, cracks a sharp whip-snap in the still, cool air that startles the fuck out of both of them. “Shit. Fuckin’ A, Lou.”
“Oh my god,” says Lou. Are you okay gets lost somewhere between his throat and Augie’s mouth, Lou chuckling, bringing one hand up to Augie’s face and the other to skate along Augie’s side, checking for damage or welts or whatever. “Sorry.” It’s dark, but even in the dim blue of the bedroom, Augie can see the faint color in Lou’s face.
“Smooth.”
“I’m drunk,” moans Lou, falling back fully against the pillows. Augie laughs at him, shucking his pants in a fit of kicking that would’ve been awkward if not for Lou’s hands on him, sliding eagerly under his briefs to cup his ass.
That’s the word for it - eager, with none of the shadowy trepidation lurking in Augie’s chest. Lou hitches his leg up a little bit more near Augie’s waist, looks at him dead on with an easy expression - full of sex and booze, sure but there’s nothing hiding there. It’s not bad , it’s just the few (dozen, hundred, thousand, who’s counting) times he’s imagined wrapping his hand around Lou’s dick, which is warm and dry as the rest of him, it’s been rough and secret, all posturing after a rough day or a long shift, just grateful to fuck and be touched. Not shoving his hips into Augie’s hand and tugging him closer, tiptoeing his fingers on the knobs of Augie’s spine, nosing against Augie’s cheek. It’s the kind of thing that makes Augie want to close his eyes against it.
Augie leans back a bit, away from Lou’s feverish skin, tacky now against Augie’s. The cool air is calming, clearing his head of Lou’s faintly smoky scent. Lou sucks in a long, hitching breath, cranes his neck to the side. “There’s um- wait.” he reaches out a hand to tap the bedside table, knocking a garish paperback to the floor. When he pushes up on one elbow, his hips roll against Augie’s and he lets out a huff of air. Lou takes a little longer than is strictly necessary messing his sex drawer before dropping back triumphantly with his prize. “It’s kinda dry.”
“So flattering.”
“Yeah, it’s all about you,” mutters Lou. He rolls his eyes, but groans a second later when Augie leans over him, fingers wet with lube, which, okay, does make everything a little easier, if a bit messier. The mild friction against Augie’s hand is replaced with a hot slide, worth it for the way Lou rolls his whole chest and shoulders against the mattress. It’s good, easy, pushing against Lou every time he jerks his hips, heat pooling in the base of Augie’s spine in a slow, steady build, watching Lou lose it by increments until he’s breathing hard and sharp on every breath. Augie dips his other hand to Lou’s balls, feels him tense, the way his breath stutters in his whole body, then crawls back by millimeters against the tender skin, encouraged by the low, raspy sounds in Lou’s throat. When Augie reaches home, thumb circling just outside of Lou’s ass, Lou stills for a half a beat and then spreads his legs wider.
Impress me, asshole. Fuck.
Suddenly slow and steady is not enough, knowing that he could split Lou wide open and fuck right into him, that Lou would take it, like it. There’s not enough slow and steady in this world. “I’m just gonna-” Augie doesn’t bother finish, just pulls Lou down against him, hips flush together, and sinks down over Lou’s chest. Lou makes a sound like ah ah ah, grasping at the muscle on one side of Augie’s spine, pulling their mouths together for something that’s a lot of collision and very little finesse. All the air seems to leave his body when Augie thrusts hard and deep into the crease of Lou’s leg. Lou’s slick and wet all over it feels like, breathing hard, hot and tight where he has one leg thrown over Augie’s back.
Augie’s talking, murmuring low in Lou’s ear; he knows he is because he always does, running his mouth with no filter, filthy ridiculous porn shit: you’re so good so fucking hot taking it yeah you love it. Lou’s laughing; “oh my god are you serious,” broken up by a series of broken, cut-off moans, head turned away from Augie into the rucked-up bedspread. Augie traces the fluttering pulse at Lou’s jaw with his lips, the long line of his neck in sharp relief in the darkness, thinks I wanna see you, next time I wanna see you when he jerks his hips.
Lou was already close and loses the rhythm quickly, his ragged breaths turning into bitten off grunts behind buttoned lips. He pulls Augie close, mouths against his temple and Augie tries to cast it to memory even as the fleeting sensation of Lou’s lips passes. When he comes, his legs tense around Augie, close and stilling for frame or two, hips jerking against Augie until he breaks his silence with a low string of fuck, fuck, fuck.
Augie pulls back a space, just enough to watch Lou’s features smooth out, the way he leans up for a kiss, licking into Augie’s mouth with his hands on either side of Augie’s head, cradling. “You can...” he says, words a hoarse whisper. It goes straight to Augie’s dick.
“Oh, can I? Thanks, dick.” Lou grins thrusts up just a little bit. Augie doesn’t miss the way he shivers, how his eyelashes flutter, a little too soon, but he takes the opportunity, pushing slow and deep against the hot skin. He buries himself in the smell of Lou, like sweat and wet wool, like shaving cream and detergent, Cambodian take-out and the shitty office coffee, how now all those things will taste and smell like Lou, right here in this moment. Augie can feel it building, simmering in his stomach, the faint scratch of Lou’s cheek against his, the slick come between them, the way Lou holds on to him, clinging. Thinks how he’s wanted this for years and how easy and it good it is, better even than he’d thought - stupid, silly, drunk, the kind of sex you have with your best friend - how good Lou is.
Thinks fuck, fuck me I am so fucked before he’s trembling and white-hot, tucking his face against Lou’s, breath hot and damp. The world comes back in increments: the stark white of the duvet, the rhythmic clink-clink-clink of the ceiling fan, his own breathing, Lou’s leg propped against his hip, the scents of shampoo and sex, Lou’s thumb stroking the soft spot at the nape of his neck. He rolls off Lou at an angle, into the mountain of pillows, stares at the fan at the pattern of dust exploding across the ceiling.
“Want some water?”
Lou doesn’t wait for an answer, just gets up, stretches his shoulders and back, a series of clicks as everything aligns. It’s a nice picture. He lifts one leg gingerly, grimaces. Augie can’t resist. “Who’s the old fuck now, huh?” Laughs when Lou flips him off.
Augie goes to piss, wipes off his stomach with the cornflower blue towel hanging on the rack. He looks strung out, glassy-eyed and flushed under the bone-colored light. It’s colder in the apartment than he thought. He stares at the bottles of Advil and Tylenol behind the mirror, tucked between the orange prescription bottles of painkillers and cholesterol medication, trying to remember which not to take with alcohol. He shrugs and shakes out two of each, familiar rattle of the pills echoing in the bathroom comforting. He swallows them dry.
He brings to the towel with him back to the bedroom. There’s a full glass of water on the side table. “Is that my face towel?” Lou’s tucked away under the duvet. He’s mumbling about laundry as Augie stands next to the bed staring at Lou tucked away on one side. Lou pauses and looks up. “You’re not seriously gonna stay up?” Augie shakes his head, lies down next to Lou, who doesn’t even bother with any kind of preamble, just tucks right up next to him, warm and oddly familiar under Augie’s arm.
“So,” says Lou, brushing his thumb against Augie’s collarbone “Even better than you thought, huh?”
Augie closes his eyes, feels his face instantly flush, hot from the neck up. “Fucking tequila.” Lou’s smiling, slow and sleepy, mouth plush, so it’s hard not to kiss his smirk. “God, fuck you.” Lou makes some suggestive noises like maybe tomorrow and it’s easy to laugh, to treat it like a promise. Augie tugs him a little closer, touches his nose to Lou’s hair, and they drop off to the hum steady whir of the street down below.
end.
There is legit nothing doing on in this story except two drunk dudes making the beast with two backs. What is character development. Lawd have mercy and the bb jesus too. Anyway, this is too long to to go in the festive fucking ficathon but it's sort of a fill for that and sort of a sequel to this, if the definition of sequel is: takes place in the same inebriated universe. Whatever.
got all your numbers
prime suspect
augie/lou. hard r
That’s the word for it - eager.
got all your numbers
New York’s never dark, not really, and Lou’s place glows a cool blue from the lights of the bar down below. The treacherous shapes of furniture loom: a table in the entryway Lou stained himself, the arm of a couch moulded to the shape of Augie’s shoulders, the unsteady bookshelf sagging under the weight of ten thousand awful thrillers with peeling, cracked spines. Shadow ghosts flicker across the walls. Augie walks Lou backward, thumb at the pulse point under his ear. Augie cups his hands around Lou’s hips, drags his mouth against the faint stubble along Lou’s jaw as they shuffle across the floor to Lou’s bedroom.
Sober, Augie could make this walk blindfolded, but they’re drunk, so drunk - but maybe not as drunk as earlier when Lou had them tossed stumbling out of the bar - and Augie’s chasing the acrid taste of tequila out of Lou’s mouth. They get caught on the door frame, Lou’s shoulder knocks against it and then Augie’s creeping his hand around the hard line of Lou’s pelvic bone where his shirt’s untucked, pressing Lou’s spine back against the wood. Lou tips his head back, parts his legs just enough for Augie to slide his thigh in. Augie tucks his mouth into the warm salty skin just beneath Lou’s jaw, where it smells most like the fancy shaving cream Lou’s little girl gets him for every gift - sharp and a little soapy like he missed a spot washing it off this morning. Augie has a flash - sense-memory, whatever - of Lou against the wall, pinned by Augie’s shoulders, Augie’s mouth tracing the tendons of his neck, and the way Lou just opens up for it, grinds down on Augie’s thigh like maybe it’s some kind of thing for him. It’s hot, a guy like Lou, all sharp edges and firecrackers going soft and open under him. He leverages his thigh a little more, feels the way Lou tenses against him, chokes a breath against Augie’s mouth.
Lou makes a short, aborted sound like a groan catches in his throat and he sinks down, sharp and hard against Augie’s thigh. Augie slides his leg in more fully, braces one hand above Lou’s head to give Lou something to push against. It’s good, hot and close with Lou shifting down and pulling him in, one hand wrapped around Augie’s neck and the other fisted in the back of his shirt. Except - except there’s no where really to go and it’s all a little too symbolic, in the threshold of the bedroom, feet from the bed; Augie’s not the guy that can’t close. Also the angle is really killing his elbow.
“Hey-” he pulls off just barely and Lou’s laughing up at him, eyes heavy lidded but sharp when he releases Augie’s shirt and pushes him back. The strident crack when Augie drops his hand seems overly loud. Lou reaches up to rub the back of his own neck, where the wood’s probably been eating into him.
The time to back out is now.
“Gettin’ old, huh?” says Lou, all gravel and throat, like he has no idea. Sex voice, thinks Augie, and files it away into a dusty, locked compartment somewhere behind his ribs.
“You can fuck yourself.”
“Yeah.” Lou grins, backing up those few short, critical steps into the bedroom, toeing off his shoes and unknotting his tie. Lou’s not fast or sloppy about undressing, but he’s not awkward either, just draping his shirt and slacks over the back of the chair as if he’s remembering how much he hates ironing. He falls back against the bed, hastily made like Lou rushed out the door this morning but couldn’t shake his mother’s voice in the back of his head, props himself up on his elbows with hands splayed out on either side. He’s smirking, an easy half-grin, eyes dark in the dim, cool light of the bedroom. He looks good - drunk, but good, laid back and anticipatory, like wow me, asshole.
Augie hovers at the edge of the bed for a minute, lingers on unbuttoning his shirt for a half a second too long because then Lou’s there, yanking Augie down saying c’mon, c’mon in the warm, fond voice he uses when he says lock the door every time they get out of the car. Augie goes, kneels above Lou to awkwardly finish pulling his shirt off and dropping it in a crumpled heap, braces himself on one hand to feather his fingertips along the sparse hair of Lou’s upper thigh, memorize the divot in the muscle. Lou slides his hands up Augie’s back, pressing his mouth to Augie’s chest in wet open-mouthed kisses. He spreads his thighs to bracket Augie’s hips, groans flatteringly when Augie grazes his teeth against Lou’s neck.
“Are you gonna-” Lou tugs meaningfully at Augie’s belt, cups one hand over Augie’s dick.
“Well I was,” says Augie and Lou laughs, a wide open smile stealing across his face. Augie rolls his eyes. Ungrateful fucker. When he unbuckles his belt, Lou grabs the buckle and tugs, hard enough that it loosens and slides out suddenly, cracks a sharp whip-snap in the still, cool air that startles the fuck out of both of them. “Shit. Fuckin’ A, Lou.”
“Oh my god,” says Lou. Are you okay gets lost somewhere between his throat and Augie’s mouth, Lou chuckling, bringing one hand up to Augie’s face and the other to skate along Augie’s side, checking for damage or welts or whatever. “Sorry.” It’s dark, but even in the dim blue of the bedroom, Augie can see the faint color in Lou’s face.
“Smooth.”
“I’m drunk,” moans Lou, falling back fully against the pillows. Augie laughs at him, shucking his pants in a fit of kicking that would’ve been awkward if not for Lou’s hands on him, sliding eagerly under his briefs to cup his ass.
That’s the word for it - eager, with none of the shadowy trepidation lurking in Augie’s chest. Lou hitches his leg up a little bit more near Augie’s waist, looks at him dead on with an easy expression - full of sex and booze, sure but there’s nothing hiding there. It’s not bad , it’s just the few (dozen, hundred, thousand, who’s counting) times he’s imagined wrapping his hand around Lou’s dick, which is warm and dry as the rest of him, it’s been rough and secret, all posturing after a rough day or a long shift, just grateful to fuck and be touched. Not shoving his hips into Augie’s hand and tugging him closer, tiptoeing his fingers on the knobs of Augie’s spine, nosing against Augie’s cheek. It’s the kind of thing that makes Augie want to close his eyes against it.
Augie leans back a bit, away from Lou’s feverish skin, tacky now against Augie’s. The cool air is calming, clearing his head of Lou’s faintly smoky scent. Lou sucks in a long, hitching breath, cranes his neck to the side. “There’s um- wait.” he reaches out a hand to tap the bedside table, knocking a garish paperback to the floor. When he pushes up on one elbow, his hips roll against Augie’s and he lets out a huff of air. Lou takes a little longer than is strictly necessary messing his sex drawer before dropping back triumphantly with his prize. “It’s kinda dry.”
“So flattering.”
“Yeah, it’s all about you,” mutters Lou. He rolls his eyes, but groans a second later when Augie leans over him, fingers wet with lube, which, okay, does make everything a little easier, if a bit messier. The mild friction against Augie’s hand is replaced with a hot slide, worth it for the way Lou rolls his whole chest and shoulders against the mattress. It’s good, easy, pushing against Lou every time he jerks his hips, heat pooling in the base of Augie’s spine in a slow, steady build, watching Lou lose it by increments until he’s breathing hard and sharp on every breath. Augie dips his other hand to Lou’s balls, feels him tense, the way his breath stutters in his whole body, then crawls back by millimeters against the tender skin, encouraged by the low, raspy sounds in Lou’s throat. When Augie reaches home, thumb circling just outside of Lou’s ass, Lou stills for a half a beat and then spreads his legs wider.
Impress me, asshole. Fuck.
Suddenly slow and steady is not enough, knowing that he could split Lou wide open and fuck right into him, that Lou would take it, like it. There’s not enough slow and steady in this world. “I’m just gonna-” Augie doesn’t bother finish, just pulls Lou down against him, hips flush together, and sinks down over Lou’s chest. Lou makes a sound like ah ah ah, grasping at the muscle on one side of Augie’s spine, pulling their mouths together for something that’s a lot of collision and very little finesse. All the air seems to leave his body when Augie thrusts hard and deep into the crease of Lou’s leg. Lou’s slick and wet all over it feels like, breathing hard, hot and tight where he has one leg thrown over Augie’s back.
Augie’s talking, murmuring low in Lou’s ear; he knows he is because he always does, running his mouth with no filter, filthy ridiculous porn shit: you’re so good so fucking hot taking it yeah you love it. Lou’s laughing; “oh my god are you serious,” broken up by a series of broken, cut-off moans, head turned away from Augie into the rucked-up bedspread. Augie traces the fluttering pulse at Lou’s jaw with his lips, the long line of his neck in sharp relief in the darkness, thinks I wanna see you, next time I wanna see you when he jerks his hips.
Lou was already close and loses the rhythm quickly, his ragged breaths turning into bitten off grunts behind buttoned lips. He pulls Augie close, mouths against his temple and Augie tries to cast it to memory even as the fleeting sensation of Lou’s lips passes. When he comes, his legs tense around Augie, close and stilling for frame or two, hips jerking against Augie until he breaks his silence with a low string of fuck, fuck, fuck.
Augie pulls back a space, just enough to watch Lou’s features smooth out, the way he leans up for a kiss, licking into Augie’s mouth with his hands on either side of Augie’s head, cradling. “You can...” he says, words a hoarse whisper. It goes straight to Augie’s dick.
“Oh, can I? Thanks, dick.” Lou grins thrusts up just a little bit. Augie doesn’t miss the way he shivers, how his eyelashes flutter, a little too soon, but he takes the opportunity, pushing slow and deep against the hot skin. He buries himself in the smell of Lou, like sweat and wet wool, like shaving cream and detergent, Cambodian take-out and the shitty office coffee, how now all those things will taste and smell like Lou, right here in this moment. Augie can feel it building, simmering in his stomach, the faint scratch of Lou’s cheek against his, the slick come between them, the way Lou holds on to him, clinging. Thinks how he’s wanted this for years and how easy and it good it is, better even than he’d thought - stupid, silly, drunk, the kind of sex you have with your best friend - how good Lou is.
Thinks fuck, fuck me I am so fucked before he’s trembling and white-hot, tucking his face against Lou’s, breath hot and damp. The world comes back in increments: the stark white of the duvet, the rhythmic clink-clink-clink of the ceiling fan, his own breathing, Lou’s leg propped against his hip, the scents of shampoo and sex, Lou’s thumb stroking the soft spot at the nape of his neck. He rolls off Lou at an angle, into the mountain of pillows, stares at the fan at the pattern of dust exploding across the ceiling.
“Want some water?”
Lou doesn’t wait for an answer, just gets up, stretches his shoulders and back, a series of clicks as everything aligns. It’s a nice picture. He lifts one leg gingerly, grimaces. Augie can’t resist. “Who’s the old fuck now, huh?” Laughs when Lou flips him off.
Augie goes to piss, wipes off his stomach with the cornflower blue towel hanging on the rack. He looks strung out, glassy-eyed and flushed under the bone-colored light. It’s colder in the apartment than he thought. He stares at the bottles of Advil and Tylenol behind the mirror, tucked between the orange prescription bottles of painkillers and cholesterol medication, trying to remember which not to take with alcohol. He shrugs and shakes out two of each, familiar rattle of the pills echoing in the bathroom comforting. He swallows them dry.
He brings to the towel with him back to the bedroom. There’s a full glass of water on the side table. “Is that my face towel?” Lou’s tucked away under the duvet. He’s mumbling about laundry as Augie stands next to the bed staring at Lou tucked away on one side. Lou pauses and looks up. “You’re not seriously gonna stay up?” Augie shakes his head, lies down next to Lou, who doesn’t even bother with any kind of preamble, just tucks right up next to him, warm and oddly familiar under Augie’s arm.
“So,” says Lou, brushing his thumb against Augie’s collarbone “Even better than you thought, huh?”
Augie closes his eyes, feels his face instantly flush, hot from the neck up. “Fucking tequila.” Lou’s smiling, slow and sleepy, mouth plush, so it’s hard not to kiss his smirk. “God, fuck you.” Lou makes some suggestive noises like maybe tomorrow and it’s easy to laugh, to treat it like a promise. Augie tugs him a little closer, touches his nose to Lou’s hair, and they drop off to the hum steady whir of the street down below.
end.