Indiscretion

A/N: This is something that just popped into my head earlier today. Expect a considerable delay in the posting of the rest. For those concerned about my other story Carpe Diem, do not despair. I am still working on it. I'm just a little stuck at the moment.

Indiscretion

The throng about him pulsed, gyrated with the music. There flowed through the crowd an energy, a lust-filled tension which would not be satiated until it had enthralled all in its embrace. The band on stage but played the part expected of them—singing songs of love and loss and sex. His gaze searched the crowd, flickered from face to face in search of his next victim; he desired a fresh face tonight, someone he could break in. His search, though, proved to be a vain endeavor: there was nobody beyond the usual crowd. He slunk back to the bar and ordered another drink. He would need to be very drunk indeed to settle for any of these emo losers. He settled into his seat in the corner, among the shadows. He regarded his most likely targets with a splenetic disrelish, one which he generally reserved for the fetid odor of putrid corpses, they were so repulsive to him. Awash in waves of excess, of indulgence, of desire, to such an extent that they had lost control of themselves. He had almost given up what little hope yet dwelt within his heart when he noticed a decidedly fresh face, virginal in its purity, enter. Standing tentatively at the edge of the dance floor, he appeared delightfully self-conscious. The band struck up a new song—sensuously erotic—and the boy began to dance. He watched the boy, for a time—watched as he moved nervously through the dancing crowd, an almost imperceptible smile at the edge of his lips. After a moment, he got up to stalk his prey. He drifted through the shifting crowd, slowly making his way towards the boy.

Their bodies were drawn together, their movements synchronized by the music's concupiscent chords. He towered over the boy; made his presence known by pressing into the boy's back; delighted in the slight blush that overcame the boy's delicate cheeks. This one would certainly prove interesting.

“I'm Aiden,” he said into the boy's ear.

The boy stuttered in reply: “I'm Lucien.”

The seemingly permanent blush staining Lucien's cheeks revealed that he had already discerned Aiden's intentions. Not that his knowing mattered; Aiden would not be dissuaded. They continued to dance for a while, Aiden's lust for the boy only increasing with each innocent movement.

“Would you like a drink?”

“No, thank you,” Lucien managed to reply, “I don't drink.”

“Is that so. . .” Aiden said, mostly to himself. Truly a keeper, he thought.

They were facing each other, now, grinding against each other. Need and desire filled Aiden with thoughts of a most lascivious nature. He noticed that Lucien was similarly afflicted. The cross-shaped necklace around Lucien's slender neck swayed hypnotically with its owner's movements, captivated Aiden's gaze. Swaying. . . back and forth. . . glinting silver sparkling in the flashing lights. . .

He took Lucien's hand in his and began to head for the exit; Lucien did not resist. The cool night air startled them in its contrast to the claustrophobic heat of the night club. Aiden's head was still swimming with thoughts of what he would do to this boy when they got back to his place.

Lucien leaned up to his ear and whispered: “I'm staying at the hotel across the street.”

They quickly crossed the street, not caring that the crosswalk was at the end of the block and not in the middle, and entered the hotel, Lucien now in the lead.

“Third floor,” Lucien added as he guided them towards the elevator.

A cheerful ding accompanied the reflective metallic doors' opening. They entered, and Lucien pressed the appropriate button; they waited—somewhat impatiently. The elevator took its time in ascending. That they managed to mostly keep to themselves for the duration surprised Aiden, though pleasantly. They reached his room—number 312—with no great celerity, their previous desperation having waned following their separation. Aiden placed his coat on the coffee table.

The room itself was nothing much to speak of, though Aiden did notice a sizable bed. A suitcase rested at the foot of the bed, and, by the neatness of its contents, Aiden gathered the boy had only recently arrived.

“So,” Aiden began, “are you ready to get started?”

Lucien was already at the bed undoing his shirt. Aiden walked over and sat next to him, looked deep in his eyes. Kissed him. He did it with, perhaps, a bit more passion than he had intended. Their eye-contact never broke. He took Lucien's now still hands in his and leaned so that he was lying on top of the boy. He took up where the boy had left off in unbuttoning his shirt. Breaking their kiss, he looked at the seductive vision beneath him: the bright blond hair splayed on the sheets, the white shirt enshrining his boyish frame, the green eyes staring right back at his. Such a sight should be treasured.

He went for the boy's neck, next; savored the sweet, fresh taste of the pale skin. Lucien shuddered beneath him. His mouth moved along the contours of the boy's slender body. The small gasps and other noises Lucien produced made Aiden take his time. He made sure to leave marks.

“Oh God,” Lucien stammered as Aiden flicked his tongue over a nipple.

Aiden smiled to himself. When, on his journey ever downwards, he reached Lucien's pants, he relented. He sat up for a moment to study the scene before him once more as he considered his next course of action. The boy's cheeks were flushed scarlet again; his breath came out in pants. He certainly is responsive, Aiden thought. His hand found the boy's zipper and, within moments, relieved Lucien of his pants. He lowered himself again and mouthed the boy's manhood through the cloth barrier of his underwear, which act sent Lucien into visible spasms of ecstasy. What sounds left his mouth made no sense to Aiden, except to leave the impression that Lucien very much enjoyed what Aiden was doing. Aiden's hands went to remove this one last obstruction as he raised his head to get a better look at the boy's face.

They remained still for a moment longer than necessary basking in the moment: Lucien completely naked, Aiden as yet fully clothed. Lucien's eyes were clouded with lust and passion. His body lay there, mostly lifeless, waiting for Aiden to make the next move.

Again, Aiden lowered himself. He took Lucien into his mouth—all of him. He moved his head up and down in an oft practiced rhythm. He slid and pressed his tongue against all the right places to make Lucien practically scream for release. He could feel the boy's body tense beneath him in preparation for the nearing climax. Lucien's pleas grew louder and more desperate as Aiden continued his work.

“I'm going to. . . I'm going to. . .” he managed between pants.

Within moments it was over. He was limp inside Aiden's mouth, and his eyes watered from the sheer rawness of the sensation. His mind still reeled from the shock, the suddenness of it all.

But Aiden was not yet finished.

He rose from the bed and removed his clothing, headed for his jacket on the coffee table. Took out a bottle and a wrapper. He returned to Lucien. He spread the boy's legs apart and coated his fingers with the slippery, vanilla-scented lubricant. His entrance resisted at first, but soon welcomed the lone finger. The finger was soon joined by another, whose entrance was accompanied by Lucien's flinching and squirming. Upon the addition of the third, the boy let out a yelp, which was soon replaced by a cry of both surprise and pleasure upon Aiden's hitting that magical spot. Aiden's main intent, though, was to stretch and prepare, which caused Lucien some measure of discomfort.

Once Aiden was satisfied with his preparations, he retracted his fingers and sheathed himself, positioned himself. Entered. The hot tightness constricted around Aiden as Lucien protested at the intrusion. The sensation nearly drove him mad with desire. He remained motionless to allow Lucien to adjust. But only for a moment. He soon reached a brisk tempo. The tightness pulsed around him as he thrust; soon the boy was aroused as well. But he can take care of that himself, Aiden thought. And he did, pumping to Aiden's rhythm. They were both moaning and panting, this time, as release approached. With a grunt, he released himself; the boy followed shortly with a sharp cry.

They collapsed, Aiden still on top. Their minds were limpid from the release, and their bodies exhausted from the exertion. They kissed.

The moon, in its fullness, shone in through the window onto the bed. From its light—for they never bothered to turn on any—Aiden could make out tears falling down Lucien's face onto the pillows. Why's he crying? thought Aiden, Was I too rough?

And then it hit him: he was a virgin.

“How old are you?” he asked, throwing decorum aside.

Lucien mumbled incoherently in reply.

“How old are you?” he repeated, the perceptible desperation in his voice increasing.

“Fif. . . fifteen,” Lucien managed to reply at last before drifting to sleep.

Instinct told him to run, but his pity for the boy made him stay. His thoughts became a jumbled mess of concern and apathy and fear as sleep descended upon him as well.