Standing Ovation

Something about the streetlights made this romantic. There were two of them there, one of them on his knees, the other standing just in front of him. The one standing looked at the one kneeling, though he couldn’t see much besides his hair, usually blond-brown but distorted by the orange light.

“This is what you wanted, huh?” the kneeling one said into the standing one’s fly, and the latter let out a murmur of a breath.

“Yeah,” he said, softly, pushing his fingers through the tangle of the kneeling one’s hair. As he pushed his fingers back, the other boy tilted his head upward, and the standing one smiled crookedly. He was beautiful, wasn’t he? All long hair and half-shut eyes, smiling open-mouthed and breathing clouds into the cold air.

“Like usual, right?” he asked, and the standing one nodded, breathless.

This was what he could get for twenty dollars. At first he’d paid twenty, and then another after the guy had said “see you next time.” Then he paid twenty more, and then again, and again, and here he was now. Twenty bucks could get him a few minutes alone with this guy. At this point the would have paid any price.

He closed his eyes and listened to the zzzp of his fly, shivered with a breath of anticipation when he felt hot air on his crotch. Next it was moist and warm, all soft lips and pliant tongue, all eager throat so ready to take him in.

“Fuck,” the standing one said, gripping the kneeling one’s hair. There was a half-second choke, then a murmur of apology as the hair was released. The kneeling one took him into his throat again.

He leaned back, touching his head to concrete as he listened to the noise, felt the heat, how tight it was—how wet, how perfect—in that throat. He never wanted it to stop, but he was always so quick under the kneeling one’s touch.

With a groan muffled behind his teeth, he came, shivering into that gulping throat, that mouth that slowly pulled off of him, sucking out the last of his energy as it retreated.

“Oh, God,” the standing one said, trying to keep his knees from buckling.

“Yeah,” the kneeling one said through a chuckle, “you say that a lot.”

AN: If the title made you laugh, then we would probably make the best of friends.