Good Idea
folder
Original - Misc › -Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
1
Views:
3,632
Reviews:
3
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Original - Misc › -Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
1
Views:
3,632
Reviews:
3
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The Author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.
Good Idea
-Good Idea-
There was sex in the air. You could pretty it up, say that the club was rife with the energy of abandon, make up some poetry about pheremones and chemistry, blame it on the smell of sweat and desire, but this was the sort of place you came to to make things happen- often in public, always with a stranger, and usually forgotten within an hour or your next lay, whichever came first. The smell of rut hung heavy, like cheap drink in the bloodstream, from the darkened corners of the bar to the very center of the dancefloor. Lights pulsed dimly there in disoriented time to the music, all of it in rhythm with the bodies writhing together in the strobes\' flickering embrace.
Two young women danced, practically a part of one another as one groped under the other\'s skirt from bd, hd, hands demanding, teeth equally so. Twenty feet away, a man leaned in over the bar to grind against the lady of the hour, friction of fabric proving too frustrating to deal with... scrabbled for his zipper, his belt, scrabbled for a hold on sweat-soaked thighs, scrabbled for entrance as she hitched up the skirt, legs spreading on instinct. One man was getting a sloppy, wet blowjob a few stools down, and one seat down from that, two boys were making out, one perched in the other\'s lap, squirming in frustration, wanting little more than the strip his admirer with his teeth.
Admirers had free reign to express here, without bounds or worries. Every gender combination was visible on a night like this, and you knew coming in the door that your right to be choosy was forfeit, that you would probably lay a half a dozen people by the end of the night and that come morning, none of them would call you or likely even remember your face. This was where the pretty people came to play.
Aaron had never been to a place like this. Was never much of an exhibitionist, didn\'t really go for casual sex, but something called him in here tonight, something primal that demanded satisfaction. He wasn\'t a regular, but he was young and pretty and slender and he had the cover charge, so they let him in the door... and that first judgement matters more than anything that happens inside. Inside, you\'ll always meet approval as long as you\'re willing to spread.
How long had he been here? Five minutes, maybe ten, and sweat had already broken out along his hairline and in a dozen other places. They kept the heat way up in here on purpose- sweat makes lube less necessary, makes the act more animalistic, feeds the hedonism of the clientele. It was still damned uncomfortable in all of his clothing. Hopefully, someone would be willing to relieve him of them.
...now, that was an unusual thought, and it was eh toh to still his motion for a moment, eyes narrowing into the strobelights. It was only a few second\'s pause, but it was enough- hands came up around him from behind suddenly, large, strong hands that grasped at him possessively. One slid down the front of his jeans, the other clamping over his chest. Pressure against his jeans from behind as a very obvious erection strained against him. The slide of leather over fabric was unmistakeable as the man behind him began to rock in the of of unforgiving, insistant dry hump that needs so desperately to go further.
It all happened in an instant, really- one minute, you\'re standing by yourself, thinking about getting a drink maybe, and the next, you\'ve got a hand down your pants with someone trying like hell to ram their dick through leather and denim just to get into you.
A piece of silvery blonde hair fell across Aaron\'s face from behind. He smiled.
When those hands went to his belt, Aaron didn\'t protest, his own hands sliding over the other man\'s, guiding them to the buckle, to the clasp, to the zipper, moving with them to peel away the jeans and slide down along the inside of his thighs. When they disappeared for a moment to attend to his own belt, Aaron didn\'t protest -that- either.
When the sweat-slicked tip of the man\'s shaft pressed into his asscrack, begging entrance, demanding it, protesting was the furthest thing from Aaron\'s mind; the word \'no\' wasn\'t even in his vocabulary anymore. Nevermind that the man was larger than anyone he\'d ever taken, nevermind that sweat was the only thing easing the passage, nevermind that once he\'d worked the head in, it was only a second before the man was balls-deep in him, roughly and thoughtlessly and straining to go deeper. Hands shifted to Aaron\'s hips, pulling the boy back against him in time with increasingly needy, selfish thrusts, teeth clamping onto his neck and burying in sweat-soaked brown hair.
It was the very definition of a quick, dirty fuck. It was like nothing Aaron had ever experienced. It was the best sex he\'d had in months, and if he had the presense of mind, he might have worried about that fact, but all conscious thought had been dedicated to the rush of the act, pressing himself back against the stranger, craving more, deeper, faster, harder- even desiring the discomfort that came with it, sharpened and outlined in brilliant white as nothing more than atioation, devoid of positive or negative value, piercing through the enveloping heat.
...and it was over far too soon, though any other result would have been a betrayal of the experience. The arms around Aaron tightened, there were a few last sharp, shuddering thrusts- and it was done, though the stranger at least had the decency to pull two hard, grasping strokes down Aaron\'s straining member, pushing him neatly over the edge and onto the polished dancefloor. Had the courtesy to hold him steady as the stars cleared out of his vision, had the foresight to guide him over to the bar, pants still in a crumpled heap around his ankles, to sit him on a stool, buy him a drink, and squeeze his shoulder reassuringly before disappearing into the crowd.
The indulgent, knowing grin was the last thing Aaron remembered seeing of the stranger before the other faces swallowed him up, and though he would later find it odd, was the only thing he would concretely remember about the tall blonde that he\'d let fuck him half into a coma on the dancefloor. File it under \'it seemed like a good idea at the time.\'
*
There was sex in the air. You could pretty it up, say that the club was rife with the energy of abandon, make up some poetry about pheremones and chemistry, blame it on the smell of sweat and desire, but this was the sort of place you came to to make things happen- often in public, always with a stranger, and usually forgotten within an hour or your next lay, whichever came first. The smell of rut hung heavy, like cheap drink in the bloodstream, from the darkened corners of the bar to the very center of the dancefloor. Lights pulsed dimly there in disoriented time to the music, all of it in rhythm with the bodies writhing together in the strobes\' flickering embrace.
Two young women danced, practically a part of one another as one groped under the other\'s skirt from bd, hd, hands demanding, teeth equally so. Twenty feet away, a man leaned in over the bar to grind against the lady of the hour, friction of fabric proving too frustrating to deal with... scrabbled for his zipper, his belt, scrabbled for a hold on sweat-soaked thighs, scrabbled for entrance as she hitched up the skirt, legs spreading on instinct. One man was getting a sloppy, wet blowjob a few stools down, and one seat down from that, two boys were making out, one perched in the other\'s lap, squirming in frustration, wanting little more than the strip his admirer with his teeth.
Admirers had free reign to express here, without bounds or worries. Every gender combination was visible on a night like this, and you knew coming in the door that your right to be choosy was forfeit, that you would probably lay a half a dozen people by the end of the night and that come morning, none of them would call you or likely even remember your face. This was where the pretty people came to play.
Aaron had never been to a place like this. Was never much of an exhibitionist, didn\'t really go for casual sex, but something called him in here tonight, something primal that demanded satisfaction. He wasn\'t a regular, but he was young and pretty and slender and he had the cover charge, so they let him in the door... and that first judgement matters more than anything that happens inside. Inside, you\'ll always meet approval as long as you\'re willing to spread.
How long had he been here? Five minutes, maybe ten, and sweat had already broken out along his hairline and in a dozen other places. They kept the heat way up in here on purpose- sweat makes lube less necessary, makes the act more animalistic, feeds the hedonism of the clientele. It was still damned uncomfortable in all of his clothing. Hopefully, someone would be willing to relieve him of them.
...now, that was an unusual thought, and it was eh toh to still his motion for a moment, eyes narrowing into the strobelights. It was only a few second\'s pause, but it was enough- hands came up around him from behind suddenly, large, strong hands that grasped at him possessively. One slid down the front of his jeans, the other clamping over his chest. Pressure against his jeans from behind as a very obvious erection strained against him. The slide of leather over fabric was unmistakeable as the man behind him began to rock in the of of unforgiving, insistant dry hump that needs so desperately to go further.
It all happened in an instant, really- one minute, you\'re standing by yourself, thinking about getting a drink maybe, and the next, you\'ve got a hand down your pants with someone trying like hell to ram their dick through leather and denim just to get into you.
A piece of silvery blonde hair fell across Aaron\'s face from behind. He smiled.
When those hands went to his belt, Aaron didn\'t protest, his own hands sliding over the other man\'s, guiding them to the buckle, to the clasp, to the zipper, moving with them to peel away the jeans and slide down along the inside of his thighs. When they disappeared for a moment to attend to his own belt, Aaron didn\'t protest -that- either.
When the sweat-slicked tip of the man\'s shaft pressed into his asscrack, begging entrance, demanding it, protesting was the furthest thing from Aaron\'s mind; the word \'no\' wasn\'t even in his vocabulary anymore. Nevermind that the man was larger than anyone he\'d ever taken, nevermind that sweat was the only thing easing the passage, nevermind that once he\'d worked the head in, it was only a second before the man was balls-deep in him, roughly and thoughtlessly and straining to go deeper. Hands shifted to Aaron\'s hips, pulling the boy back against him in time with increasingly needy, selfish thrusts, teeth clamping onto his neck and burying in sweat-soaked brown hair.
It was the very definition of a quick, dirty fuck. It was like nothing Aaron had ever experienced. It was the best sex he\'d had in months, and if he had the presense of mind, he might have worried about that fact, but all conscious thought had been dedicated to the rush of the act, pressing himself back against the stranger, craving more, deeper, faster, harder- even desiring the discomfort that came with it, sharpened and outlined in brilliant white as nothing more than atioation, devoid of positive or negative value, piercing through the enveloping heat.
...and it was over far too soon, though any other result would have been a betrayal of the experience. The arms around Aaron tightened, there were a few last sharp, shuddering thrusts- and it was done, though the stranger at least had the decency to pull two hard, grasping strokes down Aaron\'s straining member, pushing him neatly over the edge and onto the polished dancefloor. Had the courtesy to hold him steady as the stars cleared out of his vision, had the foresight to guide him over to the bar, pants still in a crumpled heap around his ankles, to sit him on a stool, buy him a drink, and squeeze his shoulder reassuringly before disappearing into the crowd.
The indulgent, knowing grin was the last thing Aaron remembered seeing of the stranger before the other faces swallowed him up, and though he would later find it odd, was the only thing he would concretely remember about the tall blonde that he\'d let fuck him half into a coma on the dancefloor. File it under \'it seemed like a good idea at the time.\'
*