The Two Gentlemen of Chicago (AKA Scenes From A Cheesy Porn Film).
Words: 2,566
Pairing: F/K. RayK third-person POV.
Warnings: AU…very AU for one of them. This comes under the warning of "cheap and cheerful" fiction.
Rating: Why, U of course. Get your children and grandmother to read this.
I tag missapocalyptic, as we share a deep appreciation for the wonder that is Geoffrey Tennant and his ass.
The Two Gentlemen of Chicago
It had been exactly 8 months and 12 days since Ray last got laid. Stella had kept her boots on and was wearing a new perfume called ‘Despondency’. That should have been Ray’s first clue, really.
It had been exactly 13 hours and 25 minutes since he sat across the table from Stella, and signed his divorce papers with a shaky, sweaty hand. She had gotten her hair trimmed half an inch and was wearing a new powder-blue suit, which probably cost her more than his salary. He had lost his Cubs season tickets in the settlement and that had hurt more than anything else.
It had been exactly 5 hours and 13 minutes since he had opened this bottle of 20-year-old Glenfiddich, which had cost him more than the hotel room. He was now on his fourth glass. Triple shots. Ray felt pretty and witty and…bright.
It had been exactly 35 minutes since he rang the Waterfall escort agency using the number he found in the vandalised phone-box, and spoke to a smooth-voiced lady, identified as “Crystal”:
“Uh, yeah, do you do hookers?”
“We supply professional escorts, sir. Would you like to hire one for the hour?”
“Yeah, I mean uh...yeah.”
“Do you have a physical preference?”
“Not blonde, absolutely, positively no-one blonde. And big. Yeah, tall and not blonde. Someone who isn’t Stella, ok? The exact opposite of my ex-wife.”
“Of course. And where are you located?”
“Look, you’re not gonna tell my mom are you? I haven’t had sex since Labor Day.”
It had been exactly 10 minutes since he called Sandor and ordered a large, deep-pan ham and pineapple pizza. With ‘slaw.
---------------------------------------------
Ray sat in the corner chair in his dingy hotel room that had become a temporary home, wearing a wife-beater and shorts with the splintered wicker digging into his ass, mentally surveying the remnants of his life so far: One newly-minted ex-wife. One leather jacket with a hole near the collar. One tarnished policeman’s badge. One pair of glasses with smears. One un-read book that Ray had mentally re-titled “So Your Life Is In The Toilet?” given to him by a semi-sympathetic work colleague. One hotel room with a broken lamp on the floor. One bruised and blooded hand.
The quiet knock on the door pulled Ray from his reverie, and the room span around in big, whirling circles as he went to answer it. It felt kinda cool not knowing where gravity was.
On the other side of the door stood an unfamiliar dark-haired man, dressed in a blue shirt and impossibly tight jeans, looking expectantly at Ray. He looked like a character from Ozzie and Harriet.
“Good evening. You, erm...ordered…”
“Oh yeah, you were quick. Where’s Sandor? Just on the...on the desk over there, ok?”
“Certainly, sir.”
Ray staggered into the bathroom to get his wallet from his discarded jeans, heard the familiar zipping sound of the pizza bag and the jangle of small change, and yelled through the open door.
“How much is it again?”
“$45. Unless you would like something extra, of course. I have bought some supplies with me.”
“$45? Jeez. No, no, just this will be ok. Man, I shoulda ordered onion rings.”
Ray stumbled back into the bedroom, momentarily crashing into the door-jam -that was gonna hurt in the morning, no mistake. As he fumbled with counting out, losing track, and then re-counting the notes in his hand, he glanced up at the pizza guy to see….
Well, a naked ass bent over the desk.
A really built naked ass.
What the fuck?
“Uh, hey, erm…where’s the pizza?”
Oh nice one, Kowalski.
“Pardon?”
“The pizza? Ham and pineapple.”
“I’m sorry, is that some kind of euphemism?”
“No, I meant...Oh god, you’re the hooker?”
“Well I am a male escort. You did give this address when you called this evening. I’m terribly sorry; I did get the correct room, didn’t I? I promised myself after the last incident that...”
“Yes! I mean...no. I…”
The polite naked guy pushed himself off the desk and shifted his legs back together, ran a finger across his eyebrow, and retrieved his jeans from the small, neat pile of clothes in the corner of the room.
“If this has been a mistake, I can leave...”
“NO! No, don’t...I mean...erm…you’re just not what I was expecting.”
What the hell was he doing?
The stranger…hooker…whatever, dropped his jeans back to the floor and casually walked across the room over to Ray, wearing nothing but a crooked smile and a strangely innocent gaze, with his head tilted to one side.
“You have never had sexual relations with a man before, am I correct?”
Ray felt the guy’s warm hand run up and down his right arm and, unable to speak, nodded his head with a flush, realising that this was the first time that anyone had touched him in the past six months. The thought made him goose-bumpy. Or maybe that was just the whisky. Yeah, the whisky. That, and the in-ground smell of stale sex that this guy had, probably from his last customer…and the one before that. Oh god.
The stranger’s smile widened, his eyes softened, and his voice dropped a couple of octaves.
“It’s fine, it’s going to be really good. We can start off slow, I can do that.”
Ray belatedly realised that he was kinda hyperventilating here, what with the heat and the touching and the...oh yeah, naked guy in front of him. A naked guy who was currently leaning forward with one hand wrapped around Ray’s neck, and pressing his lips against Ray’s jaw, cheek, ear, neck in desperately slow, precise movements. The lips felt good, softer than he would have imagined, even against the three-day stubble that Ray was sporting. Ray opened his mouth in an attempt to get more oxygen into his system, before he, ya know, passed out on the floor and had to be revived by the hot naked guy with erect nipples. He wouldn’t want to explain that one to the paramedics.
The guy took Ray’s open mouth as an invitation, and slowly ran the tip of his tongue around the inside of Ray’s lips as a promise of things to come, before plunging fully into his mouth. Jesus. The guy kissed him deeply and wetly, pulling Ray’s tongue into his own mouth and sucking on it intently, like a suction pump. Ray could do this, he was absolutely down with this. This felt fucking good, just like kissing the Stella…only not.
“Uh wait, I thought people like you didn’t kiss on the mouth. Like, it was against your code of hookers or something...”
The guy looked momentarily confused and then, unbelievably, actually looked prim.
“It's 'escort'. Oh, yes we do kiss. You’ve been watching Pretty Woman, haven’t you? We’re not all Julia Roberts you know, although that film was wonderful for business…”
His voice dropped into a pure, liquid growl.
“…I, for one, will do anything you ask me to.”
Well that one went straight through Ray like a Taser, up his spine to the ends of his hair. All his blood eagerly redirected from his brain and lungs to further south, where the guy was now making small light circles with his finger-tips on Ray’s upper thigh while simultaneously sucking on his neck.
“Wait, wait. What’s your name? I can’t keep calling you hooker-guy through this.”
The guy stopped with the sucking and Ray felt him smile against his jugular.
“My name’s Fraser. It’s a pleasure meeting you, Ray Kowalski. A big, big, pleasure.”
Shit.
Shit.
“How did you know my name? Did the department put you up to this? The whole thing’s a big joke right?”
“I’m sorry? No, no. It was written on your badge over there.” He replied, pointing towards the desk. “I always try to find out names in case someone doesn’t pay. It happens more often than you would think, believe me. But you’re a policeman, so I trust you.”
“You know I’m a policeman? I could arrest you right now for this.”
“And how would you explain how we met? I’m not worried, Ray; I already have two regulars who are policemen and I’m very discreet. Do you like handcuffs as well?”
Christ
-----------------------------------------
Fraser returned to sucking on Ray’s neck and slowly moved his way down Ray’s chest, pushing up the black undershirt that Ray had put on after his shower.
“Can I take this off you? It smells clean. I wouldn’t want it to get dirty.”
Higher mental functions were not Ray’s strong suit right now.
“Uh, yeah, go ahead. Knock yourself out.”
“Oh, I don’t intend to do that Ray. It would spoil all the fun. Would you like it if I touched you? I think you would.”
Ray felt his breathing becoming increasingly ragged. Holy fuck. Fraser took his silence as acceptance and also pushed Ray’s shorts down his legs. Ray had never thought that 50% polyester- 50% cotton-mix on skin was a turn-on before…or maybe the turn-on was just the big, sweaty hand which was now stroking his dick, and the calloused thumb circling the head. Yeah, that must be it.
Ray closed his eyes, struggling against the overwhelming sensations that he hadn’t felt for so, so, achingly long, and his mocking, oxygen-starved brain suddenly remembered the recess songs about him back in eighth grade: “Stanley isn’t manly! Stanley isn’t manly!”. After he changed his name, he was still jeered with “Ray is gay! Ray is gay!”. Of course, they had all shut up when Ray kicked-in the heads of those three ninth graders, and they went to taunt the poor seventh-grader with a lisp, whose surname was “Bucker”. He wondered what everyone at school would think about him now. Not that he gave a flying fuck of course, not when it felt this damned good.
Ray came back to the present with a start, and realised that Fraser was looking at him curiously. The stroking on his dick had slowed and it seemed like Fraser, who was licking his own lips obscenely, had just asked him a question. Crap.
“Er…what?”
“I asked if you wanted me to blow you. My tongue is highly regarded around these parts.”
“Whose parts?”
Fraser laughed a rich throaty chuckle, although Ray’s mind had fixated on the word “tongue” and now, apparently, he couldn’t keep his eyes off Fraser’s smiling, open, wet, mouth.
“Okay, it’s probably best if you lie on the bed, this being your first time.”
“I was married for 13 years. I have been sucked off before, you know.”
“Not by me, you haven’t.”
Uh, Ok.
Ray’s knees seemed to be about two steps ahead of what was left of Ray’s fried brain and collapsed of their own accord onto the faded polyester flowery duvet. Well, if he was going gay, he may as well go in style. What the hell was in that whisky?
He needed to buy a crate of the stuff.
Fraser knelt down in front of Ray, just as Ray propped himself back on his elbows. He could just see Fraser’s tousled head over the edge of the bed and felt Fraser’s big hands sliding up both of Ray’s thighs until they reached his hips. Jesus, he was holding Ray down - just how good was this going to be?
It took an embarrassingly small amount of time to find out.
Fraser started licking his dick gently, teasing and sucking the head, making Ray slick with saliva and pre-cum. Ray could already feel the tell-tale rapid throbbing of his cock as Fraser slid his tongue down the underside of the length, until he reached his balls and softly took one in his mouth, sucking on it hard. He felt like the fucking Hoover. Not that Ray had ever tried that, of course.
He needed to see this, he needed to see that tongue on him, he needed to come...Oh, Jesus, Christ of Murphy. As Ray used all his willpower to sit up on the bed, Fraser dropped his ball, playfully tugged on Ray’s hair with his teeth, and sat back, taking in the length of Ray’s cock into his mouth. Ray could feel the sandpaper rough feel of Fraser’s wet tongue as he pushed deeper and deeper down his throat and…god, was this guy going to eat him? Fraser was sucking on the entirety of Ray’s cock like it was dripping chocolate, and Ray lost all power to stop the inevitable. He clutched his hands in Fraser’s curling hair, had one finger in each of Fraser’s ears and never wanted to let go. Fuck, Jesus, fuck, Jesus…just a few more seconds…
And suddenly Fraser’s mouth was gone.
Ray opened his eyes blearily and saw that Fraser had moved across the room to fetch the mostly-empty Glenfiddich.
“I thought you might enjoy this.”
“What? No, I’ve had enough, otherwise I’m gonna be vomiting all over you.”
“No, not drinking it. Don’t move for a minute.”
Fraser took a large mouthful of the whisky straight from the bottle, and even watching THAT was hot, never mind the whole erection thing, and returned to Ray’s dick, swallowing it whole along with the whisky. The liquid felt ice-cold around his cock and Ray woke up from his orgasm-building haze with an ear-splitting groan. Fraser was back in business, sucking, and licking, and gently running Ray’s dick between his teeth as he moved in and out. Ray grabbed hold of the back of Fraser’s head even tighter than before, and started thrusting into Fraser’s mouth without any rhythm or finesse but fuck, it felt incredible. This guy could give orgasms to Popsicles. Fraser’s hot tongue ran across the head, contrasting with the cold alcohol, licking deeper and deeper, and …oh god, yes, yes, fuck, yes, that was it. That was fucking it.
Jesus Fuck.
Fraser swallowed Ray neatly and stood up, smiling warmly at Ray who was now sprawled on the bedspread feeling like someone had removed his skeleton through his nostril, and headed towards the door. Naked.
Huh?
Ray realised that Sandor had finally turned up after far too long, and Fraser was paying him out of the money that Ray had dropped on the floor earlier. Ray didn’t want to look at the scene but he knew Sandor could see him on the bed without any clothes on, and would have to be blind to miss the giant naked hooker-guy with a hard-on the size of Michigan, who was politely taking the pizza, while carefully working out a 22% tip. Crap. He’ll need to find an alternative pizza delivery place. Maybe.
Fraser walked back with the pizza-box, placed it by Ray’s head, took a slice, wrinkling his nose up at the shrivelled ham but still stuffed the thing in his mouth, and started putting his clothes back on.
“Hey, wait, where you going?”
Fraser turned around and looked at him in comic surprise, with his jeans half way up his thighs. Great thighs. Great legs that Ray suddenly wanted wrapped around him.
“You paid for an hour. It has been 53 minutes. Admittedly, I now owe you 7 minutes but since I paid for the pizza out of…”
Ray swallowed and looked straight back at Fraser.
“How much do you charge for the whole night?”
Fraser, with a grin, dropped his jeans on the floor for the third time that evening.
Pairing: F/K. RayK third-person POV.
Warnings: AU…very AU for one of them. This comes under the warning of "cheap and cheerful" fiction.
Rating: Why, U of course. Get your children and grandmother to read this.
I tag missapocalyptic, as we share a deep appreciation for the wonder that is Geoffrey Tennant and his ass.
The Two Gentlemen of Chicago
It had been exactly 8 months and 12 days since Ray last got laid. Stella had kept her boots on and was wearing a new perfume called ‘Despondency’. That should have been Ray’s first clue, really.
It had been exactly 13 hours and 25 minutes since he sat across the table from Stella, and signed his divorce papers with a shaky, sweaty hand. She had gotten her hair trimmed half an inch and was wearing a new powder-blue suit, which probably cost her more than his salary. He had lost his Cubs season tickets in the settlement and that had hurt more than anything else.
It had been exactly 5 hours and 13 minutes since he had opened this bottle of 20-year-old Glenfiddich, which had cost him more than the hotel room. He was now on his fourth glass. Triple shots. Ray felt pretty and witty and…bright.
It had been exactly 35 minutes since he rang the Waterfall escort agency using the number he found in the vandalised phone-box, and spoke to a smooth-voiced lady, identified as “Crystal”:
“Uh, yeah, do you do hookers?”
“We supply professional escorts, sir. Would you like to hire one for the hour?”
“Yeah, I mean uh...yeah.”
“Do you have a physical preference?”
“Not blonde, absolutely, positively no-one blonde. And big. Yeah, tall and not blonde. Someone who isn’t Stella, ok? The exact opposite of my ex-wife.”
“Of course. And where are you located?”
“Look, you’re not gonna tell my mom are you? I haven’t had sex since Labor Day.”
It had been exactly 10 minutes since he called Sandor and ordered a large, deep-pan ham and pineapple pizza. With ‘slaw.
---------------------------------------------
Ray sat in the corner chair in his dingy hotel room that had become a temporary home, wearing a wife-beater and shorts with the splintered wicker digging into his ass, mentally surveying the remnants of his life so far: One newly-minted ex-wife. One leather jacket with a hole near the collar. One tarnished policeman’s badge. One pair of glasses with smears. One un-read book that Ray had mentally re-titled “So Your Life Is In The Toilet?” given to him by a semi-sympathetic work colleague. One hotel room with a broken lamp on the floor. One bruised and blooded hand.
The quiet knock on the door pulled Ray from his reverie, and the room span around in big, whirling circles as he went to answer it. It felt kinda cool not knowing where gravity was.
On the other side of the door stood an unfamiliar dark-haired man, dressed in a blue shirt and impossibly tight jeans, looking expectantly at Ray. He looked like a character from Ozzie and Harriet.
“Good evening. You, erm...ordered…”
“Oh yeah, you were quick. Where’s Sandor? Just on the...on the desk over there, ok?”
“Certainly, sir.”
Ray staggered into the bathroom to get his wallet from his discarded jeans, heard the familiar zipping sound of the pizza bag and the jangle of small change, and yelled through the open door.
“How much is it again?”
“$45. Unless you would like something extra, of course. I have bought some supplies with me.”
“$45? Jeez. No, no, just this will be ok. Man, I shoulda ordered onion rings.”
Ray stumbled back into the bedroom, momentarily crashing into the door-jam -that was gonna hurt in the morning, no mistake. As he fumbled with counting out, losing track, and then re-counting the notes in his hand, he glanced up at the pizza guy to see….
Well, a naked ass bent over the desk.
A really built naked ass.
What the fuck?
“Uh, hey, erm…where’s the pizza?”
Oh nice one, Kowalski.
“Pardon?”
“The pizza? Ham and pineapple.”
“I’m sorry, is that some kind of euphemism?”
“No, I meant...Oh god, you’re the hooker?”
“Well I am a male escort. You did give this address when you called this evening. I’m terribly sorry; I did get the correct room, didn’t I? I promised myself after the last incident that...”
“Yes! I mean...no. I…”
The polite naked guy pushed himself off the desk and shifted his legs back together, ran a finger across his eyebrow, and retrieved his jeans from the small, neat pile of clothes in the corner of the room.
“If this has been a mistake, I can leave...”
“NO! No, don’t...I mean...erm…you’re just not what I was expecting.”
What the hell was he doing?
The stranger…hooker…whatever, dropped his jeans back to the floor and casually walked across the room over to Ray, wearing nothing but a crooked smile and a strangely innocent gaze, with his head tilted to one side.
“You have never had sexual relations with a man before, am I correct?”
Ray felt the guy’s warm hand run up and down his right arm and, unable to speak, nodded his head with a flush, realising that this was the first time that anyone had touched him in the past six months. The thought made him goose-bumpy. Or maybe that was just the whisky. Yeah, the whisky. That, and the in-ground smell of stale sex that this guy had, probably from his last customer…and the one before that. Oh god.
The stranger’s smile widened, his eyes softened, and his voice dropped a couple of octaves.
“It’s fine, it’s going to be really good. We can start off slow, I can do that.”
Ray belatedly realised that he was kinda hyperventilating here, what with the heat and the touching and the...oh yeah, naked guy in front of him. A naked guy who was currently leaning forward with one hand wrapped around Ray’s neck, and pressing his lips against Ray’s jaw, cheek, ear, neck in desperately slow, precise movements. The lips felt good, softer than he would have imagined, even against the three-day stubble that Ray was sporting. Ray opened his mouth in an attempt to get more oxygen into his system, before he, ya know, passed out on the floor and had to be revived by the hot naked guy with erect nipples. He wouldn’t want to explain that one to the paramedics.
The guy took Ray’s open mouth as an invitation, and slowly ran the tip of his tongue around the inside of Ray’s lips as a promise of things to come, before plunging fully into his mouth. Jesus. The guy kissed him deeply and wetly, pulling Ray’s tongue into his own mouth and sucking on it intently, like a suction pump. Ray could do this, he was absolutely down with this. This felt fucking good, just like kissing the Stella…only not.
“Uh wait, I thought people like you didn’t kiss on the mouth. Like, it was against your code of hookers or something...”
The guy looked momentarily confused and then, unbelievably, actually looked prim.
“It's 'escort'. Oh, yes we do kiss. You’ve been watching Pretty Woman, haven’t you? We’re not all Julia Roberts you know, although that film was wonderful for business…”
His voice dropped into a pure, liquid growl.
“…I, for one, will do anything you ask me to.”
Well that one went straight through Ray like a Taser, up his spine to the ends of his hair. All his blood eagerly redirected from his brain and lungs to further south, where the guy was now making small light circles with his finger-tips on Ray’s upper thigh while simultaneously sucking on his neck.
“Wait, wait. What’s your name? I can’t keep calling you hooker-guy through this.”
The guy stopped with the sucking and Ray felt him smile against his jugular.
“My name’s Fraser. It’s a pleasure meeting you, Ray Kowalski. A big, big, pleasure.”
Shit.
Shit.
“How did you know my name? Did the department put you up to this? The whole thing’s a big joke right?”
“I’m sorry? No, no. It was written on your badge over there.” He replied, pointing towards the desk. “I always try to find out names in case someone doesn’t pay. It happens more often than you would think, believe me. But you’re a policeman, so I trust you.”
“You know I’m a policeman? I could arrest you right now for this.”
“And how would you explain how we met? I’m not worried, Ray; I already have two regulars who are policemen and I’m very discreet. Do you like handcuffs as well?”
Christ
-----------------------------------------
Fraser returned to sucking on Ray’s neck and slowly moved his way down Ray’s chest, pushing up the black undershirt that Ray had put on after his shower.
“Can I take this off you? It smells clean. I wouldn’t want it to get dirty.”
Higher mental functions were not Ray’s strong suit right now.
“Uh, yeah, go ahead. Knock yourself out.”
“Oh, I don’t intend to do that Ray. It would spoil all the fun. Would you like it if I touched you? I think you would.”
Ray felt his breathing becoming increasingly ragged. Holy fuck. Fraser took his silence as acceptance and also pushed Ray’s shorts down his legs. Ray had never thought that 50% polyester- 50% cotton-mix on skin was a turn-on before…or maybe the turn-on was just the big, sweaty hand which was now stroking his dick, and the calloused thumb circling the head. Yeah, that must be it.
Ray closed his eyes, struggling against the overwhelming sensations that he hadn’t felt for so, so, achingly long, and his mocking, oxygen-starved brain suddenly remembered the recess songs about him back in eighth grade: “Stanley isn’t manly! Stanley isn’t manly!”. After he changed his name, he was still jeered with “Ray is gay! Ray is gay!”. Of course, they had all shut up when Ray kicked-in the heads of those three ninth graders, and they went to taunt the poor seventh-grader with a lisp, whose surname was “Bucker”. He wondered what everyone at school would think about him now. Not that he gave a flying fuck of course, not when it felt this damned good.
Ray came back to the present with a start, and realised that Fraser was looking at him curiously. The stroking on his dick had slowed and it seemed like Fraser, who was licking his own lips obscenely, had just asked him a question. Crap.
“Er…what?”
“I asked if you wanted me to blow you. My tongue is highly regarded around these parts.”
“Whose parts?”
Fraser laughed a rich throaty chuckle, although Ray’s mind had fixated on the word “tongue” and now, apparently, he couldn’t keep his eyes off Fraser’s smiling, open, wet, mouth.
“Okay, it’s probably best if you lie on the bed, this being your first time.”
“I was married for 13 years. I have been sucked off before, you know.”
“Not by me, you haven’t.”
Uh, Ok.
Ray’s knees seemed to be about two steps ahead of what was left of Ray’s fried brain and collapsed of their own accord onto the faded polyester flowery duvet. Well, if he was going gay, he may as well go in style. What the hell was in that whisky?
He needed to buy a crate of the stuff.
Fraser knelt down in front of Ray, just as Ray propped himself back on his elbows. He could just see Fraser’s tousled head over the edge of the bed and felt Fraser’s big hands sliding up both of Ray’s thighs until they reached his hips. Jesus, he was holding Ray down - just how good was this going to be?
It took an embarrassingly small amount of time to find out.
Fraser started licking his dick gently, teasing and sucking the head, making Ray slick with saliva and pre-cum. Ray could already feel the tell-tale rapid throbbing of his cock as Fraser slid his tongue down the underside of the length, until he reached his balls and softly took one in his mouth, sucking on it hard. He felt like the fucking Hoover. Not that Ray had ever tried that, of course.
He needed to see this, he needed to see that tongue on him, he needed to come...Oh, Jesus, Christ of Murphy. As Ray used all his willpower to sit up on the bed, Fraser dropped his ball, playfully tugged on Ray’s hair with his teeth, and sat back, taking in the length of Ray’s cock into his mouth. Ray could feel the sandpaper rough feel of Fraser’s wet tongue as he pushed deeper and deeper down his throat and…god, was this guy going to eat him? Fraser was sucking on the entirety of Ray’s cock like it was dripping chocolate, and Ray lost all power to stop the inevitable. He clutched his hands in Fraser’s curling hair, had one finger in each of Fraser’s ears and never wanted to let go. Fuck, Jesus, fuck, Jesus…just a few more seconds…
And suddenly Fraser’s mouth was gone.
Ray opened his eyes blearily and saw that Fraser had moved across the room to fetch the mostly-empty Glenfiddich.
“I thought you might enjoy this.”
“What? No, I’ve had enough, otherwise I’m gonna be vomiting all over you.”
“No, not drinking it. Don’t move for a minute.”
Fraser took a large mouthful of the whisky straight from the bottle, and even watching THAT was hot, never mind the whole erection thing, and returned to Ray’s dick, swallowing it whole along with the whisky. The liquid felt ice-cold around his cock and Ray woke up from his orgasm-building haze with an ear-splitting groan. Fraser was back in business, sucking, and licking, and gently running Ray’s dick between his teeth as he moved in and out. Ray grabbed hold of the back of Fraser’s head even tighter than before, and started thrusting into Fraser’s mouth without any rhythm or finesse but fuck, it felt incredible. This guy could give orgasms to Popsicles. Fraser’s hot tongue ran across the head, contrasting with the cold alcohol, licking deeper and deeper, and …oh god, yes, yes, fuck, yes, that was it. That was fucking it.
Jesus Fuck.
Fraser swallowed Ray neatly and stood up, smiling warmly at Ray who was now sprawled on the bedspread feeling like someone had removed his skeleton through his nostril, and headed towards the door. Naked.
Huh?
Ray realised that Sandor had finally turned up after far too long, and Fraser was paying him out of the money that Ray had dropped on the floor earlier. Ray didn’t want to look at the scene but he knew Sandor could see him on the bed without any clothes on, and would have to be blind to miss the giant naked hooker-guy with a hard-on the size of Michigan, who was politely taking the pizza, while carefully working out a 22% tip. Crap. He’ll need to find an alternative pizza delivery place. Maybe.
Fraser walked back with the pizza-box, placed it by Ray’s head, took a slice, wrinkling his nose up at the shrivelled ham but still stuffed the thing in his mouth, and started putting his clothes back on.
“Hey, wait, where you going?”
Fraser turned around and looked at him in comic surprise, with his jeans half way up his thighs. Great thighs. Great legs that Ray suddenly wanted wrapped around him.
“You paid for an hour. It has been 53 minutes. Admittedly, I now owe you 7 minutes but since I paid for the pizza out of…”
Ray swallowed and looked straight back at Fraser.
“How much do you charge for the whole night?”
Fraser, with a grin, dropped his jeans on the floor for the third time that evening.