Closing Time

Chapter Two

A/N: I’m not sure what to think of this chapter. Am I proud of it? Not really. It seems spotty. I’m off my game.... The part in the middle originally rambled about the biblical story of Abraham, but even though it was originally gonna be kinda central to the plot, I wound up hating it and hacking it out...

Jose’s a good character. He’s based of a school friend of mine (except the bisexuality part. Real Jose was pretty much as gay as gay gets.) so he pretty much writes himself. Jack’s much more difficult. =/

--

Though I am nothing of a builder
Here I dreamt I was an architect
And I built this ballistrade
To keep you home, to keep you safe
From the ouside world.
But the angles and the corners
Even though my work is unparalleled
Never seemed to meet; this structure fell about our feet
And we were free to go.
- Decemberists, “And Here I Dreamt I was an Architect”

--

Thirty-five minutes after leaving, Aidan once more parked in the student parking lot, slamming Blue’s door shut on his way out and jogging for his dorm room. He muttered a litany under his breath as he hustled, swearing flat tires and brunette Christian navigators, already late and wondering how else things were going to screw up tonight. The elevator took three minutes to get down to the lobby and, when it did, three Juniors he recognized but didn’t know, finished with the semester and ready, obviously, to take the summer semester off to visit their families, shoved rudely past him with suitcases, chattering brainlessly to one another. The elevator door almost slid closed and he barely made it in time to stop it.

He didn’t lock the door behind him so he didn’t know Jose was home until he nearly ran into the shorter boy. “Oh, hey, Ai,” the stocky hispanic chirped, neatly side-stepping as his more erratic roommate blew past him. “You got a text message, man; the beeping was annoying me. Someone’s waiting to meet you at the Holiday Inn in old Greenbelt.” He flashed a smutty smile and leaned against the wall, arms folded. “Want to tell an old friend who it is?”

Aidan snorted, rolled his eyes, folded his arms and tried not to look defensive. “Try my aunt from New Jersey, dude,” he deadpanned. “She’s visiting to check up on me.”

“Mm hmm.” Far from convinced, Jose kept one eye on his roommate as he made his way, slowly, over to the other side of the main room, as though expecting Aidan to strip naked and starting singing love songs to his mysterious suiter at any moment, and not wanting to miss the show. Jose was enthusiastically bisexual, and when he’d first learned that aspect of his new roommate, Aidan had been at least a little hopeful; he was certainly cute enough, pudge aside. But the hispanic had been gently assertive; he never dated within his school, much less within his housing arrangements. He claimed it polluted the nest, and Aidan saw the logic in that. Not everyone had Micah’s charm, to stay friends no matter what rocks tripped up relationships. Jose snatched a plumagranite from the fruit bowl and started peeling it. “Well, he- oh, she, sorry, she seemed to expect you sometime around six, and it’s almost six now. It’s a good fifteen minute drive into Greenbelt.”

“Shit.” Aidan started wrestling his shirt off with one hand as he plowed into his bedroom with the other; Jose trotted around to get a better angle for peeking through the doorway. Aidan didn’t move to close the door; if his roommate was that interested in his bare back and armpit hair, he was welcome to the details. He rubbed a quick layer of deoderant over the old layer from that morning, considered cologne, decided against it with Jose watching, and snatched a blue button-up shirt that was still almost clean from the hanger he’d thought to put it on after he’d taken it off last time. The jeans, he didn’t bother with. All his jeans were ratty, and his slacks seemed like stain magnets every time he wore them; they were lying in a frustrated heap by the foot of his bed. In contrast to the maelstrom of mess that defined his side of the room, Micah’s looked very neat and... well, plain.

“Wow. Someone getting ready for a pretty hot date with their aunt.” Jose stepped gingerly over a pile of mismatched socks, tossed the discarded Pink Floyd tee out of the way, and grabbed the comb that had been hidden by the black fabric. “Honestly, that’s kind of creepy.”

The redhead snatched the comb away from Jose’s stubby fingers with a certain sharp lack of gratitude and started wrestling with the shoulder-length mop of strawberry curls. “I just don’t want her to think I’m living in a pile of my own filth,” he muttered through gritted teeth, wrenching the plastic teeth through a particularly nasty snarl. Split ends frayed and ripped under the pressure and the knot stuck to the teeth, ripping clear out. The plastic comb’s second and third voyages through the knotted mess ended pretty much the same way, with Jose staring in disbelief, like an army grunt at his first fight.

Finally, he couldn’t watch the doomed battle anymore. Snatching the comb back from his roommate and grabbing a handful of blue fabric to drag Aidan along behind him, Jose made his way out of the bedroom and towards the tiny bath. “Dude, I don’t believe you,” he muttered, tugging the white kid along without much effort. “And you do live in a pile of your own filth.”

Jose did this every time he thought Aidan had a chance to get laid, and the red-head got, frankly, a little tired of it. “Fine, then. I don’t want her to know I live in a pile of my own filth, and I don’t have time for you to dress me up pretty, Jose!” Aidan sprang for the comb, but it was jerked quickly out of his reach, and he was rudely shoved into the bathroom. “And I don’t care how fast you can come, man, I need to get out of here. So no quickies in the shower, either.”

“I’m in stitches.” Jose kept one hand resolutely tangled in Aidan’s shirt, with the comb held between his thumb and his palm, using the rest of his fingers to hunt around in the cabinent under the sink. He finally brought out a small white bottle with the label mysteriously peeled off. Aidan was instantly suspicious. “This, man, is called leave-in conditioner. It’s like conditioner, but you leave it in. It detangles even nasty-ass nests like what you claim is your hair.” He dropped the comb and his grip on Aidan’s shirt, but gave him a glare that left no doubt for what would happen to hopeful escapees.

Aidan nervously watched the hispanic pouring a generous amount of pale fluid into one palm, not sure what, exactly, his roommate was trying to do- whether he was trying to earnestly help his friend, or pull something over on him. What was ‘conditioner,’ anyway? “I find it difficult to believe you’re bi, dude,” he admitted, reluctantly allowing his roommate to rise up to his tip-toes and rub the white paste into his scalp. “I can’t imagine you and a chick.”

Behind him, Jose sniffed and toyed a little more with his roommate’s thick mane. “I don’t have sex with my girlfriends,” he protested in the most ridiculously flamboyant voice Aidan had ever heard in six years of being out. “We paint each other’s toenails. Give me the comb.”

Whatever vile liquid Jose had polluted Aidan’s head with, it seemed to work. The comb slid much more easily through it, and, when he dared to look into the tiny bathroom mirror, Aidan was pleased to see that it hadn’t dyed the curls any sort of unappealing color or set it on fire or dissolved it down to the skin. In fact, he found the mane of hair now hung down to his shoulders like hair, now, instead of sticking around at all angles, like tumbleweed.

He also found, when he went back to his bedroom and grabbed his phone back out of its charger, that he was already ten minutes late. He spun on a dime and charged back into the main room, muttering, “Shit. I gotta go,” just loud enough for his roomate to hear. He darted for the door; Jose was already reclining in one of the good chairs, by the television. “I’ll be back by midnight-ish.”

“Wear a condom,” the hispanic replied, distractedly. Aidan’s response was a rude gesture Jose didn’t even see.

--

Eleanor Roosevelt had founded Greenbelt during her husband’s stint as President, as a natural, green, trees-and-fields ring around Washington, DC. Perhaps less true to her vision than other projects she had worked on, downtown Greenbelt was a magpie’s nest of fast food restaurants, cheap motels, sleazy shopping malls and drivers that had to be either blind or armless, legless cripples that steered with their teeth and rested a brick on the gas pedal. Aidan liked the milleu of the place, with its bright lights and metal signs, but he found slithering torso-men tended to want to go a lot faster than Blue could manage, even with her new tires, and were willing to go to extraneous lengths to achieve those speeds.

He was more than a half-hour late and had gotten a new stripe of blue paint ripped off the side of the jeep where some jackass had passed him on the right shoulder so close his side mirror had scraped Blue’s door. As Aidan hopped out in the motel’s parking lot, he inspected the damage, frowning as he traced the line. At least there didn’t seem to be a new dent to worry about.

He never bothered to lock the car; there was nothing whatsoever in it more valuble than the windows any GTA’s would smash in anyway. He just skipped up the steps, pushed his way into the motel lobby, and rested his folded arms on the service desk.

The young woman at the desk was wearing headphones and playing solitare on the computer, but, after he rang the bell a couple times, he managed to time one with the end of one song and she started and looked up. Immediately, she minimized the game and took her headphones off, blushing furiously. “Welcome to the Holiday Inn. Can I help you?”

“Sorry to bother you,” Aidan replied, and he was. She sensed that and smiled a little. “I’m here to deliver a message to a Mr. Jack Wolfe. He turned off his cell and his boss needs him to do something for him.” It came as natural to his lips as telling the truth; he’d made up that story months ago.

“Of course.” She clicked around on the computer for a little while, then said, “Room 205. Should I page him, and tell him you’re coming up?”

“I don’t think I’m going to surprise him, in all honesty,” Aidan answered, with a shy smile. The woman smiled at the joke, but he noticed her picking up the phone as he left the lobby, and heard her cheerful voice as he waited for the elevator informing a Mr. Wolfe that there was a young man here to see him, delivering a message from his boss. She laughed a little into the phone, then the metal doors slid open with a ring and Aidan slipped into the elevator, jammed the button in for the second floor, and waited, silently cursing the tinny chimes of the tight box’s repetitive music. Between the student housing building and all the hotels, he was starting to hate elevators.

--

Six years earlier

“We sure spend a lot of time over here,” Micah called out from the kitchen, grabbing two cokes out of Aidan’s fridge and running them over to the wide couch in the living room the red-head was perched on, thumbing petuantly through the Book of Leviticus. Aidan smiled as he took one of the cans, more grateful for the interruption from his reading than for the drink itself, and put the thick Bible aside as he popped the top open. “Why don’t we ever hang out over at my house?”

“’Cause your parents are always around. At least, your mom always is. My parents’re always gone, so we get the house to ourselves.” It was true, of course, the absolute truth; it just wasn’t the whole thing. Micah’s parents made Aidan feel... small.

Micah might have caught the subtext; he glanced over at his friend, then sighed, shrugged and forgot the scruple. “Alright. Whatever. Did you find the passage?” He took a deep drink of his coke, then put it on the coffee table by the couch and gestured for the book Aidan had just put aside.

The red-head passed it back, frowning. “No, I didn’t. I just saw a lot of crud about eating fish without fins.” He didn’t want to be so disrespectful of his friend’s beliefs, but, honestly, whoever Leviticus was, he seemed pretty much full of hot air. “You find it. It’s your book.”

Micah flipped through a few pages, then pointed, victoriously, to the short quote on the correct page. “There it is. Lying with another man.” He kept his finger positioned right under the first line as he angled the page so Aidan could see it. The red-head glanced at it, but didn’t bother to read it.

“Am I also inherently sinful of I drink out of a container a mouse died in?”

“No,” was the halfway impatient, halfway condescending reply. “Some of these rules were absolved when Jesus died for us.” Micah folded the book over one finger and frowned over at his friend. “You aren’t really into this, are you?”

“I just think it’s easy for God to tell us what to do.” It felt weird to refer to ‘God’ as a person, as something concrete, as something that existed. He’d never really thought about religion before; God had always been something abstract, like a doubt bugging in the back of his mind. Like the little voice that worries whether you left the oven on before leaving for vacation; maybe there really was a God who was offended by his lack of beliefs, but he didn’t think so and he’d feel better if he forgot the whole thing and concentrated on the here-and-now. His parents never really talked about faith or anything like that; he’d heard Micah’s father talk about it for long enough to plant the seed in the back of his mind, but the idea that there really was a giant bearded man sitting on a cloud somewhere over their heads was kind of a ridiculous thought. “Why didn’t he absolve the one about being gay?”

“Some sins are bigger than others. And some got sort of out of date, I guess.” Micah sighed and slid his finger out from between the book’s pages, letting it close completely. “Listen, dude, God has his reasons for the things he asks, even if you don’t want to do them.”

Aidan looked down at that treacherous book again, then, slowly, shook his head. “Alright,” he said again, and folded his hands in his lap. He still didn’t get it. He didn’t think he had anything to prove to God. He knew he didn’t have anything to argue about- it didn’t matter. He knew it didn’t matter. “Alright. Whatever. Then let’s start with it.”

--

Time reset

The door to room 205 swung open before Aidan could land his third knock. Tall, broad, and well-dressed, the thirty-two year old man in the doorway had the weathered but barely time-touched skin of a young man who spends most of his time outside, and the already salt-speckled hair of someone who spends too much time around children. One hand remained on the door’s inside handle, while the other snaked out to grab Aidan’s shoulder and tug him rudely in, shutting the door behind him. It was hard to tell if he was happy to see him or not. “You’re late,” he mentioned, only a touch of good humor lightening the brisk words. “I’ve been here almost three hours.”

“Well, that’s good,” Aidan answered, following the larger man into the tiny suite. Professor Jack Wolfe started for the twin porcelin sinks in the back of the main room, beside the tiny bathroom and beside the mini-fridge, while his best student perched on the foot of the queen-sized bed. “Fewer people will think anything of us coming into the same hotel three hours apart. So, you know, the entourage of spies you seem to think your wife has set on you won’t even associate us together.” He sighed, and propped one foot on the edge of the bed to begin the long process of taking off his boots.

“I’m being careful, Aidan,” was the quiet reply. Jack braced his hands on the counter and stared at his reflection in the mirror. He looked older than he thought he looked yesterday. “Would you rather we get caught?” There was a lump in his throat as he touched the ring finger of his right hand, then traced the trembling digit down to the plain gold band at the base. He slid his ring off and set it on the sink, beside the individually wrapped sample-sized bars of soap and complimentary bags of cheap coffee. “Unless I’m particularly confused where you’re concerned, you never seemed like the type who needed to live dangerously.”

One boot fell to the floor with a clunk and Aidan started on the other one. “Of course not,” he said, rolling his eyes. He wasn’t exactly an exhibitionist. The laces were stuck, and by the time he’d looked up from the knot, his science Professor was standing right in front of him, a particularly mischievious look in his eyes. He caught the red-head’s angular face in his hands and leaned down to kiss him, by that odd definition of kiss where there’s little affection in the clash of tongue and teeth.

“Then you should be dating someone your own age,” the older man purred, the words brushing and reverberating over the sensitive skin of Aidan’s lower lip. “Or at least, someone safer. Not your teacher,” he murmurred, eyes half-lidded, as he slowly drew away, leaving one last warm lick around the curve of Aidan’s parted mouth.

“I don’t know what you see this all as, Jack,” was the quiet reply, “but I’m not dating anyone. I’m having a salicious affair with my married Professor in motels every odd Friday.” As if to illustrate his point, he started unbuttoning his shirt, one at a time, letting the glimpse of lightly-toned tan skin gradually grow. “Dangerous, sure. But the part where I’m dating escapes me.”

“Hmm. Someone’s being awfully sarcastic today.” Jack didn’t even bother unbuttoning his shirt; it was too big for him anyway and he easily tossed it off. He’d taken off his tie while he was waiting for Aiden to arrive, and it lay like a silk snake on the floor. He was a big man, in great shape, with abs you could sharpen an ax against, dark with thick curls of hair. Aidan took every detail in with the same greedy hunger he’d felt the first time they’d done this, drinking deeply the Professor’s broad shoulders, the dip of his collar bone, the lines of his hips, the glimpse of hair that trailed down from his belly-button down under the line of his slacks.

Aidan twisted the last button out of its eyehole and slowly, shrugged the thin fabric off one shoulder at a time. “I’m right, though,” he pointed out, enjoying the show as Jack kicked his loafers off and tugged his slacks down over his hips, and loving the way the older man studied the quieter, softened lines of the younger man’s torso, shoulders, waist and face with the same desire the red-head knew was written across his own face. Aidan could see his boner already through the thin fabric of his plain black boxers. He tossed his shirt down on the floor, and reclined a little back against the bed, the cheap comforter tracing silk-smooth against his back, and wiggled his toes inside his socks at his Professor, waiting for the older man to come take over the taxing task of undressing him further. He could deal with tight jeans, getting tighter, for a few extra seconds.

“I guess so.” Jack took his own socks off, one at a time, with his pants bunched around his knees, then pulled a foil packet and a tiny aluminum tube out of one pocket and stepped out of each leg of his slacks. Aidan wasn’t much of a ‘leg’ kind of guy, but Jack had a great pair to him. He hooked his thumbs under the waistline of his boxers and slid them down past his hips so they fell to his ankles, smiling at Aidan’s half-lidded leer. “Tell you what. Do your homework for a whole semester and I’ll take you out to dinner some time.”

“Yeah. Of course.” Aidan snorted and flopped back, wiggling until he was resting against the pillows in what he figured what close enough to a come-hither pose, sprawled vulnerable on the bed. “One dinner for fifty, sixty hours of work? Damn, man, I’m sleeping with my Professor. This is the homework.”

Jack laughed and tossed the tube of lubricant, underhand, to his lover; Aidan ignored it and let it hit the pillow, watching the older man turn his attention to the condom wrapper. “You honestly don’t mind this being nothing but sex?” He wasn’t looking at Aidan, though; the foil packet wasn’t ripping when it tried to tear it, only folding over on itself, and he had to bring it to his mouth and rip the thing open with his teeth.

Aidan chose to ignore the question. “Careful as always,” he sighed, a trifle petuantly. After all this time, he couldn’t work up any real resentment; to a point, he almost complained out of habit. Jack didn’t answer until the foil had finally given way and he had spit the ripped aluminum strip out of his mouth.

“Nothing against you,” was the clipped response, when it finally came. “I’m a husband and a father, Aidan. I can’t afford to come down with anything I could give to Marie.”

“Hmm. Whatever. I’m clean.” Jack didn’t answer, and Aidan sighed and gave it up, again, like he had every time it came up between the two of them. He let his mouth curl up into a smile until the sneaking, prickly annoyance at what he thought Jack was implying had faded again. “Doesn’t matter. Let me blow you before you put that on.”

Jack always had trouble turning that part down. “Sure.” When Aidan just smiled, wickedly, and lay there, not making any move towards the older man’s straining skin, Jack climbed on the bed, sprawling luxiuriously over his lover, who let out a surprised squeak at the attack. Jack let the unwrapped condom rest on the comforter, his warm hands folding possessively around the boy’s sides, his knees positioned at either side of his hips. He considered the situation, smiled like a kid with his hand in the candy jar, and thrust down against his lover’s groin, dry-humping the obvious bulge in the red-head’s jeans, just as Aidan’s hands slid up his legs and curled around his thighs. The boy moaned, but still tugged insistantly at the strong body he hung from, guiding Jack to shuffle forward on the bed until he straddled his lover’s abs, the dark curls of hair between his legs tickling against the soft, pale flesh there, and his balls resting against the small knots of muscle under the skin. Aidan’s arms curled tighter around his thighs, lifting his shoulders off the bed and curling up so his head was level with his Professor’s dick. The half-lidded desire spelled out in Aidan’s face was almost poignantly erotic, and the sight of his red tongue running hungrily along the pink line of his lower lip, leaving it glistening, as his eyes traced the hard lines of Jack’s lower body, was something the older man wanted to hold on to for the rest of his life. He reached out with one hand and brushed strong fingers through the boy’s soft strawberry curls, his other hand tracing four little circles with the lightest touch from the tips of four fingers on Aidan’s barely ticklish stomach.

Aidan leaned forward and let the warm gusts of his breath brush against the underside of the older man’s cock, but for a moment he ignored the swollen organ, touching the straining, tanned skin along Jack’s hip bone instead with the tip of his tongue. He licked a moist trail from the line where Jack’s groin met his thigh to the tip of his hip bone, where the younger man closed sharp teeth over a fold of tanned skin, rolling the soft tissue a little in his grip, then sucking, hard, against it. He alternated little bites and sharp sucks until he knew a red-violet bruise had shown up, to replace the last hickey Aidan had marked his lover with, that had faded away a week ago. Discreet but definitively present markings; Marie, for her part, knew only that Jack did yard work shirtless, and assumed he attracted Hell’s Own mosquitos.

Satisfied he’d left a mark, Aidan returned to the matter at hand. He readjusted, then leaned in to trace his tongue along the edge where the head of Jack’s cock met the smooth skin of his shaft, then flicked up over the tip, tracing tiny circles with expect flicks. The very tip was already moistened with the Professor’s precum; Aidan felt the bland liquid beading against his tongue and let his well-placed licks smear it over the hot skin. Jack moaned, a deep, daring moan that begged and demanded more, and his fingers tightened in Aidan’s hair. As his student and his lover, Aidan figured it was in his own best interestests to deliver what was asked, so he pulled away for a second, studying the straining skin before him, wanting to swallow it down in one go and hear the older man scream out for him, then parted pink lips and leaned in to draw the cock head into his mouth with his tongue.

Jack groaned, eyes fluttering closed as that amazingly warm mouth closed over him, and then forced them half-open as Aidan’s deliciously erotic pink lips sealed over the hard skin, sliding slowly down the older man’s shaft. The hand tangled in the boy’s hair slowly but firmly pushing against the back of his head, urging him forward, while the fingers against his stomach trailed down, hitting the edge of his jeans and undoing the snap and fly with practiced haste. Aidan’s tongue was pressed against what little of Jack’s dick was already in the boy’s mouth, moving and sliding against it, and while the red-head was concentrating more on sucking as much down his throat as he could, an inch at a time, the little tongue-play felt amazing. Groping blindly about the tangle of jeans and tented boxers that covered Aidan’s own dick, Jack finally found the hot skin underneath. He traced light fingers over the hard heat he found there, feeling Aidan shiver a little under him in anticipation.

He managed to take more of Jack’s dick into his mouth than the Professor remembered him being able to take, and it felt nothing short of amazing. Aidan swallowed at the tip lodged deep in his throat, relishing the way his lover’s skin tasted, and the way Jack’s moans jumped up an octave when he did that, and the way the fingers over his own dick toyed and teased and dared him to do more. The Professor’s fingers tightened again in his hair, holding his head still as he drew himself half an inch out of Aidan’s mouth and humped shallowly into his throat, pulling back a little further and rocking in a little deeper each time. The younger man closed his eyes and concentrated on the sensations, the moment, and keeping his throat as relaxed as possible, letting the hot, hard flesh slide down deeper than he’d thought he’d be able to swallow it. The feather-light touches along Aidan’s own cock evolved into firmer petting, then, finally, Jack’s strong fingers curled completely around the rock-hard shaft and pumped it, slowly, up and down. Aidan’s fingers dug into his lover’s thighs, and he moaned deeply around the intrusion in his throat, a constant vibration around Jack’s dick. The answering moan was more desperate, louder than before, and Aidan knew the older man was close. Jack stopped rocking his hips against his lover’s throat, and Aidan lunged, wanting to swallow him down, wanting to taste him running down his throat like the only water he’d ever need.

“Damn. That’s good. Stop, Aidan.” The talented fingers around his dick pulled away, and Aidan groaned in disappointment, but didn’t pull his mouth away from the warm, hard skin held a delighted captive between his lips. The determined hunger in Aidan’s green eyes and that tongue playing against him again almost changed Jack’s mind, but his young lover had only just gotten there, and they had so much time to kill. He untangled his fingers from Aidan’s strawberry curls and wrapped both hands around the boy’s shoulders, pulling himself out of that wonderfully warm mouth. The saliva against his skin cooled immediately in the air-conditioned motel room, and Jack instantly felt an animal sort of regret.

Aidan groaned, uncurled his arms from around his lover’s legs, wiped off his mouth and stuck out his tongue. “I know,” Jack said, smiling at the expression. “But I don’t want to come in your mouth. Not right now, at least.”

“Mm. I know.” Aidan let himself fall back against the pillows, arms out at his sides, while Jack shuffled backwards, snatching the condom from the foot of the bed. “I’ll forgive you.” Bright green eyes watched the Professor slide the latex over himself, and, a second later, he remembered the tube lying on the pillow, next to his head. He fumbled for it and unscrewed the cap as practiced, powerful hands slid his jeans and boxers down off his hips, then dragged them down his legs, hurriedly stripping the skinny kid to the pale stretch of his skin. A second later, his socks were tugged off, one at a time. Jack was rather passionately against wearing socks or shoes during sex; he thought, for some reason Aidan wasn’t quite clear on, that it was tacky.

The clothing was dropped with a muffled thunk against the motel’s thin carpeting, and Jack gingerly took the offered lube from his younger partner. Aidan liked having other people prep him, just like he liked having other people undress him. He liked to be handled, unwrapped, opened up, exposed. Bracing his elbows against the pillows, he sat half-way up, spread his legs, loving the way his heart fluttered, loving the way he felt so vulnerable exposed like this, and watched Jack squeeze a semi-transparent glob of lube onto his fingers. He rubbed the slick liquid over his first three fingers, until they were glistening, and Aidan shivered a little, anticipatory, and stretched his thighs a little further apart. When one cool finger pressed against him, toying lightly over the sensitive skin in one of Aidan’s most private places, he gasped, steeled himself for what was coming, and murmurred, “And no, by the way. I don’t mind.”

Jack slid his finger all the way in, hurriedly, more than ready to get past this part, and get on to more fun things. “Don’t mind what?” he asked, wiggling the digit buried inside his lover, amused by how it made him squirm.

Aidan twisted under the larger man teased him, poking and prodding a little before sliding the second finger in. “I don’t mind that- ah!” The two digits spread apart, scissoring and stretching out the tight muscles around his hole. Aidan’s toes curled around the silky comforter at the sensation. “I don’t mind... it’s all about the sex. I like the sex.”

Jack laughed a little, then shoved his third finger past the tight ring, loving the way the red-head’s face contorted every time a new one was added. He lowered his head and caught one pink, pebbled nipple in his mouth, rolling it gently between his teeth as his fingers fucked his younger lover’s ass.

Aidan moaned, squirmed a little, and buried his fingers in his Professor’s hair, letting him do whatever he wanted. “More,” he murmurred, barely breathing the words. “All of you. I want you.”

Those were the words Jack had been waiting to hear; he gave one final, parting lick to the reddened nipple and pulled away, sitting up and slipping his slick fingers out of his ready lover one at a time. Aidan whimpered as the last one slid out, leaving him empty for the time being, and Jack smiled, an affectionless, predatory smile at the need on the boy’s face. “I’m glad,” the older man purred, his tone hovering before good-humored and dangerously possessive. “I like the sex, too.”

“I never used to like it. Didn’t before I found you.” Aidan made no protest or struggle when both of his wrists were caught in one of Jack’s hard hands, and pinned above his head. The larger man guided himself to Aidan’s hole with the other, stretching a little at the ring of muscle with the latex tip. The feeling was familiar, and stirringly erotic; Aidan humped a little at the air in anticipation, trying to thrust down on the teasing head of his lover’s cock.

Jack wasn’t sure he was comfortable with how that made him feel, but he didn’t answer. He just pushed himself, slowly, through the tight ring, relishing the way the hot skin closed around his dick, squeezing down around it. Aidan shut his eyes tight and moaned, stretching out around something much larger than a finger, groaning in his throat as his body was filled with it. Jack’s dick always felt bigger than he remembered it being, and it seemed to take forever to get all of it in him; it felt like it would keep easing into him forever, inch by rock-hard, hot inch. When he finally felt Jack’s hips flush against his own, the dark thatch of his pubic hair tickling against his balls, Aidan felt, once more, completely filled; he groaned and panted and let it body adjust and relax around the intrusion, as he was so used to doing by now. Jack watched him through half-lidded eyes, grinding their hips together every few seconds, waiting restlessly for the smaller of the two lovers to get reacquainted with the sensation so he could continue to relentlessly pound his way in and out of the velvet heat inside the younger man. No matter how much a whore for the feeling Aidan might have been, Jack still knew it had to hurt to be stuffed full like that; with the hand that wasn’t still holding Aidan’s wrists against the pillows, he teased a little at Aidan’s cock, pulling another little serenade of pleasured sounds out of the boy’s pink mouth.

After a stretch of seconds of this sort of play, Aidan braced his shoulders against the pillows and ground back against Jack’s hips, granting the Professor one of the most slutty smiles he’d ever seen. He didn’t even have to ask out loud, though his mouth was open to do so when the older man pulled himself out until only the head of his cock still held Aidan’s ass open, then plowed back in to the hilt, hard enough to knock the breath out of the red-head’s lungs. The next handful of thrusts had the same length and force, though on the third Jack changed the angle, and struck Aidan’s prostate with the full force of every thrust, mercilessly pulling cries that were almost screams of pleasure out of the boy’s throat. Aidan closed his eyes shamelessly and rode it, each powerful thrust burying him into the bed and sending shockwaves of the more incredible feelings down his spine. He thrust back to meet Jack’s hips as hard as he could in his vulnerable position, but mostly he moaned and twisted and panted and sweat and generally enjoyed the ride.

Too soon, though, Jack’s long, powerful thrusts got shorter and faster, and his breathing got louder and more erratic. He was still hitting all the right places, and it felt nothing short of incredible, but Aidan needed more- a hand on his dick if nothing else. He tried to pull one of his hands away from where Jack was holding them, but the older man’s fingers only tightened until the grip was strong enough to hurt. As he approached his own climax, Jack was humping into his lover faster and faster, animalistically fucking him into the comforter, and bringing Aidan close enough to orgasm from the anal attention alone that he almost screamed out loud. Then the Professor buried himself entirely in Aidan’s ass and the boy could feel him coming through the thin latex; the older man cried out, a ragged approxmation of Aidan’s name, then kissed him hard enough Aidan wouldn’t have been surprised if his lips were bruised purple. He rode out his orgasm breathing heavily into Aidan’s mouth, leaving tooth-marks on his lips, then finally pulled away, panting raggedly. Aidan whimpered, and looked up at his lover, only to find the older man hungrily looking down at the red-head’s own, still rock-hard dick. He let go of Aidan’s wrists (both of which, defying temptation, lay where they’d been left) and wrapped both of his own hands around the boy’s hips, holding him still while Jack pulled his cock, slowly, out of the smaller man and readjusted above him on the bed. The older man didn’t waste time playing or teasing, just leaned in and, in one practiced movement, sucked most of the entire length into the hot cavern of his mouth like the last meal he’d ever be given. He deep-throated the boy in one go, nose buried in strawberry thatch, and swallowed, hungrily, at the tip, all in one fluid motion that made Aidan see stars.