A Good Night
Jun. 15th, 2011 10:38 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sonora_conejaPairing: Face/Hannibal
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: prostitution
Summary: A fill for this prompt on the kink meme.
Prostitute AU! A young Templeton Peck gets himself a ridiculously hot John Smith...
John Smith’s client for the night wants to play a game. It’s just obvious from the way the kid’s acting...
Hannibal takes one look around the upscale bar on the downtown hotel third floor, looking for tonight's client. It's a nice place, one of his favorites, a smaller boutique kind of place, this lounge one of three, all done up in glass and dark wood, one of the best places in town for jazz. It's a Friday, too, so it's busy, a swirl of humanity all around him, women in flowing dresses that catch in the light, men casual with open collars, everybody preening, trying to look beautiful in a city where everything's transitory.
Everyone except one.
Right where he's supposed to be. At the far end of the bar, something in a martini glass, stem grasped a little too tight between his fingers, the dark polo stretched nerve-tight across his back, a little too casual for the setting.
Fucking New York, Hannibal thinks fondly as he approaches the kid. That's what he wants to be tonight. A college student, trust fund baby, parents footing the bill. But he's older than that, successful lawyer already or something, wanting a bit of fun. Has to be, to afford Hannibal's evening. The service gave him a place, what kind of game the client wants to play, his specific preference, just like they always do, so he knows exactly who he's talking to - and why - as he sits down next to the young man.
"You gonna stare at that drink the rest of the night, kid?" he asks softly, fingers just barely brushing a shoulder, feeling solid muscle under that silky-fine knit. "It's not just going to osmose out of the glass for you."
The kid twitches, either at the touch or at the words; Hannibal knows how effective both can be for him. A pair of blue eyes meet his, clouded for a moment with confusion, and the older man holds that gaze. Kid's a good actor, Hannibal can give him that. Almost like he genuinely doesn't know what he's in for tonight.
But that's the game, the service said, which is why it's Hannibal's gig. He loves the whole blushing-virgin thing with clients. So many men, gay and straight, want the seduction, the surrender, the domination, need to lose control...
"It's, uh, it's not very good," the kid half-stammers. Adorable, Hannibal thinks, and lets their thighs meet, just for a moment. "I was thinking about getting something else..."
"Let me get it for you," Hannibal urges softly, getting the hesitant little nod he knows is coming, just a bit later than typical, and flags the bartender. "You look like you could use a beer," he observes, and orders some microbrew he likes here.
The kid flashes him a brilliant little smile, and then chuckles, rubbing his hand across his mouth. "I, uh..."
"My treat, kid. Don't worry about it," Hannibal shrugs as bottlecaps hit polished wood, and slides the first beer over to the client.
The kid chugs half of it in one go, and gasps a little as he slams it back down. Hannibal takes the opportunity to rub his back, letting his hand stray lower and lower as he goes. "Look like you needed that, kid."
"Yeah," he answers with that shaky little laugh again. "Real bad."
Hannibal allows a slight pause, like he's considering something. Like he was really trying to pick up some nervous boy right now. It's not hard to stare. The client's gorgeous, all sensual lines and caramel-blonde hair. Probably has a boyfriend back home, or a girl maybe. How could he not? It'd be criminal, cute thing like this, not having that.
Just when he's starting to squirm, playing nervously with his beer, Hannibal drops his other hand on top of his, stroking a little with his thumb. "Surprised to see somebody like you in here alone."
"I'm waiting for somebody," he says.
"Your boyfriend?" Hannibal asks coyly, moving away enough take a sip of his own beer. Cold and delicious. He realizes he's already getting hot, hard, thinking about this one. It's going to be a good night. He just knows it.
The kid squirms again. "A...a girl, actually."
"Oh, really?" Hannibal asks, feigning disappointment, and makes like he's completely disengaging. "I'm sorry. My mistake."
The kid's still playing with the bottle, staring at it intensely. "No, it's okay. My frat brothers got all pissed at me when they found out I haven't...set something up for me, I guess you could say."
Interesting twist, Hannibal thinks. A clever boy, thinking up a story like that. Straight, faced with a male escort. It'll make this whole thing so much more fun.
"That you've never been with a girl?" he says, watching that fine column of throat bob as the kid finishes the rest of the beer. He gets a sheepish little nod in return, and Hannibal takes the empty bottle away. "There's no shame in that."
"Sure there is," the kid replies, and that's bitter.
Hannibal strokes his client's hand again, fits it into his. "Girls are fun, kid, but that's not all that's out there."
Those blue eyes raise again, and there it is, an edge of lust, shining out behind the confusion now. "I'm not..."
"What's your name, kid?" Hannibal interrupts, playing his fingers up the kid's arm, watching those fine lips part, just a little bit. This one wants some romance, he decides, something very slow and very, very sultry.
No problem.
"Umm, oh shit, it's Templeton," he gasps.
Hannibal chuckles. "I'm John."
"John..."
He squeezes a bit, knowing this phase of the game's starting to grow stale, that they need to keep moving to keep on the crest of it. Even if he could spend the whole night, just like this, make the boy come right here in those designer jeans of his, throw him into a bathroom stall, take him hard and fast and shuddering...
But, if he plays it right, maybe he'll get another repeat customer here. Wouldn't that be lovely with this one?
So Hannibal keeps himself in check. Keeps it professional. "Well, Templeton, I've got a room here, and I promise I won't fake it for you. Something real for your first time. Something good," and he tucks a lock of hair back off the kid's face, feeling a little shiver beneath lingering fingertips. "What do you say?"
Templeton takes a deep, shaking breath and puts his fingers through Hannibal's, pulling the older man's hand away from his face.
And nods.
Hannibal smiles to himself as he leaves the bar with the client, careful not to do any more than brush against him, let that fantasy of shame and arousal mount and mount and mount.
A very, very good night, tonight.
On the ride up to the room, paid for and already prepped, Hannibal sizes this Templeton up a little bit more. Out of the dim lights of the bar, the boy’s even more beautiful. And he’s very, very good at this - so good that if Hannibal didn’t know better, he’d think that the kid really was this nervous, this uncertain, this torn by shame and arousal in equal measure.
He’s practically sweating, for fuck’s sake.
But that’s all fine. Realism he can do. Realism won’t be a problem with this one at all.
So Hannibal lets his hand drop, pulling Templeton’s into his, pulling the younger man close, close enough to touch. Close enough to play with those thick, gorgeous locks. “I don’t normally do this sort of thing, Temp,” he says, making it sound like an admission rather than the bald-faced lie it really is.
Blue eyes turn on him. “Then why...”
“There’s something about you,” Hannibal tells him softly, hand straying over a lightly stubbled cheek. And that’s not a lie. There really is something with this one, some vast, untapped reservoir of passion right under the surface, and the older man feels a sudden stab of anger at whoever’s letting it go so neglected. So neglected he has to come to a prostitute to make his fantasies come true. “Something very special. You’ve been alone too long, looking for something you don’t think you can find...”
Those blue eyes get wider. “I just wanted to get laid tonight.”
“We’ll get there, kid. I promise.” And Hannibal chuckles. “Indulge an old man. Let me seduce you, just a little bit.”
Templeton makes like he’s going to answer, and then the elevator dings, their floor reached, and Hannibal pulls him along, down the hall, holding him close and murmuring little reassurances the whole way.
Uber-submissive, the service said, but Templeton’s a bit more nuanced than that, Hannibal thinks as he digs for his key card and the kid runs nervous hands through his hair. Vulnerability, still wanting to trust, starved for touch but unsure of what he wants. A virgin’s game, and it’s utterly delicious. No hardship at all, fulfilling that.
The kid’s betraying his own arousal with every sharp little inhale, every tremble, and Hannibal catches him up, fully against himself, sweeping him into the room. “Relax, Temp,” he whispers in the young man’s ear. “Just relax. You’re going to be fine...”
Templeton moves out, away from him, looking around at the room. THe older man lets him, turns on a lamp so he can take it all in.
This is important.
Hannibal took the time to prep it before hand, all those little touches the thing that heighten the realism, enhance the experience, the reason he can charge the prices he does. A tie thrown across the back of a chair, briefcase spilling cords across the table, an open suitcase, half unpacked.
“You in town for business?” Templeton asks, fingering that tie, back to the older man.
“In from Boston,” Hannibal lies easily, “but I’m down here all the time. Sales...”
The client nods, making a little noise in the back of his throat, and tenses up again, killing the tie in his fist. “John, I... I don’t think I should be here...”
Aha. Lovely. A bit of refusal. A bit of chase. How very, very lovely, the escort thinks to himself, and slots up behind Templeton, wrapping him up. One hand draping down a strong shoulder, the other curling around a trim waist, pressing flat into warm belly. “It’s okay to be confused, kid. Especially if you’ve thought yourself straight, all your life...”
He tenses as Hannibal pulls him back, holding him flush, ass to groin, letting him feel everything’s he’s paid for, that cock of his that gets him more business than anyone else in the service’s register. “I’m not gay,” the kid protests, heated.
Right, Hannibal thinks, chuckling silently to himself.
“But here you are, kid. Why is that?”
Templeton squirms, laying his hand over Hannibal’s, where its resting on his stomach, like he wants to pull away. But he doesn’t. “W-what...what do you want with me?”
“I only want to make you feel good, Templeton, show you wonderful things,” Hannibal murmurs to that, lips softly working the lines of the young man’s neck, joined hand slipping down to press against the rapidly growing tent in designer demin. “Let me show you, baby. Let me take you there...”
A twist, the whisper of fabric, and blue eyes are staring up into his again, tongue flicking out against the curve of lip. “Baby?” the client echoes, so soft and uncertain.
“Baby,” Hannibal confirms and tilts his chin up. “Gonna make it so good for you. Like you deserve, you sweet, sweet boy...”
Those eyes close and that head falls back, and he seizes the opportunity, follows the order.
And kisses the younger man breathless.
Hannibal lets the kiss go on and on, a little dizzy himself, too. In the moment, in the illusion. Just a businessman, just an ordinary boy, desperate for affection. Templeton is shivering against him, little noises escaping the imperfect seal of lips and tongue, moaning, moving, trying to get just that perfect angle. A little more aggressive, as if his confidence is building, like his brain is losing the fight against his body.
So appropriate. He's had to have played this game before. Hannibal only hopes he'll want to play it again.
Make it good for him... he reminds himself.
So Hannibal nips gently, and moves one silky hand down to his own crotch, holding the client there. A silent promise of what's to come. "So hard for you, baby. Want you so bad," he moans.
Gets a little answering moan of John, please... in return.
Beautifully, beautifully done.
Hannibal hooks a finger through a belt loop at that, runs the other back into that soft, soft hair, noting with delight how Templeton's hand stays where it is, shyly starting to rub. It's just the right amount of pressure, and with a pleased growl, the older man starts kissing again, starts maneuvering, gentle, gentle across the hotel carpet, kicking off his shoes as he pushes Templeton back against the wall nearest the bed.
Slams him back the last three inches.
That gets a surprised gasp, yet another of those sweet sounds, and Templeton tries to buck up against him, groins sliding together. Nice move, kid, Hannibal thinks, but cups that beautiful face in both big hands, thumbing ever so slightly.
"Feel good, baby?"
"Fuck," the kid agrees, letting his voice shake to the point of cracking.
"Mm, it's gonna be so good, Temp. Better than you ever dreamed before," Hannibal murmurs, easing his knee in between trembling thighs. "Everything you ever wanted..."
Caramel hair hits the wall as the client throws his head back, exposing his throat, so needy and submissive and gorgeous... "John, I can't..." he pleads again.
Hannibal smiles, his own arousal pounding high in his ears now, and sneaks a hand between them, palming the kid's rock-hard erection, still trapped in his jeans. "I hear you, baby. Need it so bad, don't you?"
And Hannibal kisses him again, not giving him a chance to answer.
Another whine, high and loud, echoes sweetly in his own mouth, as he starts working that hard flesh. Under all those layers of material and heat and skin, Hannibal can feel need, a deep, burning need, and he chases it. Teeth and tongue and fingers and knee, holding Templeton open, breaking him down, seeking out every defense he's built up against this pleasure and tearing it down, working it all apart until the kid cries and convulses and spills himself, warm and hot and so, so wonderful, into his pants.
A dark stain starts spreading as his knees buckle, so appropriate for a first-timer, virgin-sweet, and Hannibal catches him before he can fall.
The kid clings to him like a little boy, and when he speaks, there's fear and desire there, fighting for dominance. "That, that..."
Hannibal shushes him and half carries his boneless client over to the bed, just a few steps away, fingering the hem of that polo as he lays him down. "Hang on, baby," he gentles, and slides the young man's shirt clean off, letting his hand spread out over the thudding heart he finds there. "It gets better..."
Those beautiful blue eyes, so guarded and so expressive all at once, widen a little bit, vanishing for a moment as Hannibal skins the shirt right off his client, and emerge on the other side. Harder. Determined. Like he's made a decision, with that first touch of bare palms to bare chest.
"Let me see you, beautiful boy," Hannibal murmurs, moving up to straddle the kid's lap, giving his client's game the tiniest acknowledgment with the words. One big hand trails down the smooth expanse of warm, warm skin. Bright and unblemished, the faintest scattering of light hair, muscles not quite defined. Like he's not yet filled out yet. He seems incredibly young. So, so innocent... "Just gorgeous."
"I'm not..."
"Shh," Hannibal says, leaning forward to kiss him again, positioned just right to reach down between them and start unbuckling and unzipping the client's jeans. "You are."
He is, too. All flushed skin, aching to be touched, kiss-swollen lips and hair mussed against the pillows, hands digging in to Hannibal's shirt, then shoulders, then sheets, as the older man lifts and strips everything clean off him, damp pants and boxers and shoes and socks, all in one cleanly practiced flick. He lingers on the task, his favorite part of any job. Opening a man up, exposing him, who he is, that shameless burst of pleasure that comes, the first moment where Hannibal can touch and taste and see, all at once... It's his game, from then on. His alone. And it never gets old.
Still, he finds himself staring at Templeton as he undulates back up on top of him, making sure the boy can feel him every second, stripping his suit jacket off, tossing it away with a perfectly pitched laugh as he moves back in for another kiss.
Templeton arches into this one, letting his body beg for it now, letting that virgin facade grow bolder, and Hannibal hooks a leg around his. Draws the kid up tight, trapping his hardening cock between their bodies. He lets his hands now, explore, pressure increasing with every pass, says the thing the client's paid to hear, knowing he'd say them anyway.
"You are beautiful, Templeton. Can't believe you've never..."
A soft hand brushes the front of Hannibal's own shirt, and he's met with an eager little smile. "Can...can I see..."
So shy, even now, and Hannibal loves the kid for dragging this out. Most men let it all fall apart right about here, begging to be fucked, clothed and fast, but this one's focused.
Whole experience, then.
Hannibal sits back on the kid's thighs, unbuttoning his top button, and then stopping, adopting a bit of a frown, hands still. "You sure about this, Temp? I know you've said you've never...I don't want to force you..."
The kid swallows hard, and nods. Once.
Hannibal stands, lets all his clothes fall away as effortlessly as his not-inconsiderable skill allows, his own blood spiking hot, a wave of relief as his fully erect cock springs free to slap up against his belly.
And if he thought those eyes were huge before...
"Woah," the client says, sitting up a little on an elbow, on his side, as the escort slips back against him. "You're...but I'm..."
"Doesn't matter," he replies gently as their bodies spark, skin touching in all the right places. "Only want you, baby..."
"John, John...I don't know what to do here... I..."
Only fifteen-plus years of practice at self-control keeps Hannibal from coming on the spot. The hesitancy, the warring desires there. It's so, so real...
"Ever touched another man before?" Hannibal purrs in a finely shaped ear, reaching for an old favorite in this game, knowing the answer is yes, but loving the head shake of no anyway, guiding one of the client's hands down again, and sighs happily as it closes, uncertain around the base. "Just feel, kid. It's no different from touching yourself..."
"Yeah, but you're huge," Templeton says, laughs a little, and starts stroking lightly. It's not nearly enough, and Hannibal knows that this client can probably do a lot more, but this is a pretty great imitation of inexperience. "Oh, god..."
"Feels amazing," Hannibal reassures him, not lying at all. Normally, here, he'd expect a little more aggression, a breakdown, something to indicate...
The kid's bright red, rock hard against Hannibal's own thigh, those smooth legs trying to wrap up around his, needing purchase, and Hannibal slides a hand down one, lifting it over his own hip, groaning involuntarily at the way the client's hand tightens around him, does a little twisting thing...
"Oh, oh, Temp. Just like that, baby."
A shy, proud little smile, and Hannibal gathers him up for another kiss, gripping tight to that leg, the one that's attempting to pull up the side of his body now. He reaches for the lube and condom he's got hidden on the nightstand, distracting the kid with more hard, hard kissing.
It works. Perfectly. Templeton's a puddle of goo in his arms, beneath him as he pulls back to roll the rubber on. Kid's looking fucked-out already, like he can't remember his own name, and they haven't even got to the good part yet.
Married, Hannibal decides, the familiar squeeze of latex telling him he really needs to get going, and uncaps the tube.
Eyes shoot up.
"Spread your legs, Temp...yeah, just like that, so beautiful...trust me, baby," he croons, exaggerated but by no means false. Not now. Templeton wants this? Well, Hannibal wants him. Now. Again. Every goddamn Friday night, if the kid can pay. Maybe even if he couldn't...but that's a dangerous thought. He shakes it away, slipping his hand down, and presses a slick thumb against the quivering, waiting ring of muscle. "You've never felt anything anything like my fingers, my cock. So, so deep..."
He sinks in, all the way..
The kid cries out, loud and sweet and almost, probably, most certainly, in pain...
And Hannibal's blood goes cold.
Then very, very hot.
There's no way this ass has ever been fucked before. He's way too tight, that pain genuine, the unaccustomed pleasure genuine, all of it real...
The kid isn't playing with him at all.
"John, oh fuck, John..."
"Shh, baby." He covers his pause by wriggling his thumb, very, very gently, considering. Frat boy? His housemates probably set this up for him, practical joke or something more sinister, maybe, hoping to humiliate him... But the kid had asked him to keep going, the kid wasn't faking that raw hunger Hannibal feels, even now, shooting through him.
He can't stop now. Not without doing all the work and then some for those damn frat buddies of his.
So Hannibal makes a mental note to find them and thank them and then kill them later.
But he just. can't. stop. now.
"Feel good?" he murmurs, circling wider now, stretching now. "Tell me what you need, baby, tell me how you want it..."
"P-please," the kid begs, shaking again, hands grasping nervelessly at the covers. "Please, John, f-fuck me..."
Settles that, Hannibal thinks, and leans low for another kiss. "Anything you want, sweetheart," he tells him.
And when he slides a second finger in, he knows it's there because they both want it to be.
Hannibal takes his time from there, working easily, slowly, as careful as he possibly can, gentle strokes, avoiding the prostate with all but the lightest touches.
Templeton is trying to burrow under the older man's skin, too, with every new twist and change. All incoherent hands and lips and words, arching up against him, sweaty and slick. So lost and so, so beautiful. Hannibal could bring the kid off right now, he knows, right like this, harder than he's ever come in his short life.
But he promised him seduction, something real and certain and good, and Hannibal's seen enough bad things in his line of work to know that anything less than his promise could be very, very bad for this young man. He's stopped the exaggerated noises, stopped all the extraneous falsities, focused down on what Templeton really needs, what he can actually handle.
His own cock is leaking freely into the condom, though, and he wants Templeton to have that, too.
He scissors.
Templeton moans, wanton.
As ready as he's ever going to be.
"Legs up, baby," he instructs, helping the other strong thigh to his waist, holding it with one big hand, playing a finger just behind the knee, across perfectly silky skin. He takes in the sight in front of him, trying not to remember his first time, something hard and cold in the shower bloc at basic training, and kisses that quivering belly, tasting sweat, all the strain. "Gorgeous, Templeton, you're gorgeous..."
"John," the half-senseless man whimpers. It's no experiment for him. Hannibal can hear that so clearly. Years of undisclosed desires, unknown...it's overwhelming, utterly overwhelming, to think that's nobody's ever done this for this Templeton before. That he's the first, that he'll be the one the kid compares the rest of his lovers to, that he gets to have this...
Utterly overwhelming.
"I got you, sweetheart," Hannibal replies gently, barely holding it together himself, lining up, wishing he could say more, that there was more to say, and pushes in.
Templeton comes again, the second Hannibal feels the head of his cock pop through the virgin muscle. He body tries to collapse backwards, hot gushes of semen coating both their chests, cries ripping loose, earnest and true, like the older man hasn't heard in far, far too long.
It's all he can do drive in any further, but he has to, has to give the boy at least some of what he deserves, what he's wanted for so long and never realized until tonight. He's too tight and too inexperienced to take much, let alone the full length of everything Hannibal could give him, so the escort settles for shallow penetration, just a few strokes, just enough.
For Templeton to be moaning again, even in his post-orgasmic haze.
For Hannibal to lose himself. His vision whites and his balls draw up and he's barely aware of any of it, letting himself tumble off that edge instead of pushing over it. A real orgasm, nothing forced about it, something honest and real and shared, given freely, without cost but, in his life, without price.
He recovers slowly, realizing he's fallen off to the side of the kid's limp form, realizing he's nuzzled into a soft patch of hair, smelling good product and sweat and musk, almost sweet itself, perfect for this boy.
He's gorgeous.
He also has no idea he just fucked a prostitute.
Hannibal can't leave him right now. He can't stay, but he can't go. Not if he doesn't want to ruin the illusion he's worked so hard on this evening.
So he stays, working them both under the rumpled sheets, pulling the boy back against him. Just in case.
And in sleep, Hannibal feels those limbs wrap back around him, too.
Almost real.
Real enough.
+++++
Hannibal’s not used to falling asleep next to clients.
He’s even less used to waking up next to them.
So when Templeton stretches and turns and yawns against him, he’s not really ready for it. Not ready with anything to say as sleep-soft fingers stroke against his side, half-aware of themselves. Nothing at all to say as blue eyes flutter open and meet his own.
He tries to remember when the last time he did this was. What he said the last time. When he slept with a man he wanted to sleep with, of his own choice, for free, strings attached.
He can’t. It’s been too long.
“Mornin’, beautiful,” he murmurs, winging it as best he can. “How’d we sleep?”
“Like a fuckin’ baby,” the kid says with another yawn, and a giggle, and rolls up against him. “Mm, John...”
Hannibal lets him, lets the kid move in to the crook of his arm, closing it around those shoulders, absently playing with those caramel locks. He really is a gorgeous thing, and not just for the way he looks. No, there’s so much going on in this one. So many secrets to uncover, so much to explore.
“Sweet boy.” The over-extended compliment is completely worth it - the college kid blushes bright. “Was that everything you’d hoped it would be?”
“I...I didn’t know,” he says, face hidden in the older man’s shoulder. “I didn’t know it could be...uhh, that...that much fun?”
Hiding. Or at least, trying to. “It’s okay to say it, Temp.”
It bursts out of him then. “I didn’t know it could be like that. That it could feel like that...”
“It doesn’t always,” the male escort tells the kid, honest, and strokes the fine edge of that jaw. “I haven’t had anything like that in a very, very long time.”
“Some first-time twink?”
Can’t have that, the kid’s self-esteem deflating so badly, so Hannibal kisses him. Lingers. “You’re no twink, Templeton. I told you, there’s something special about you.”
The kid snuggles closer. Even as he asks, “more than the whole first-time thing? I know some guys have a kink for it...”
“My kink’s sweet sex, Temp,” Hannibal admits, starting to touch again. His next appointment isn’t until the afternoon. If the kid could, maybe they could stay here and play. Wouldn’t that be something? Be the mentor to an incredible creature like this? “And you are the first man I’ve met in a long, long time who’s given me that. Thank you...”
Templeton’s eyes widen, and then some alarm on his cell goes off in his pants, and he’s up. “Shit, shit,” he’s saying. “I have to go! I have a class in a couple of hours I shouldn’t miss, and...”
Hannibal sits up in bed, letting the sheets pool in his waist as he watches the kid scramble for his clothes, fight his way into them, swear a little bit.
It’s a pity, really, the older man’s thinking. This Templeton deserves someone who will know to hunt those things out, know what to do with it all once found. Few men are going to be up to the challenge of this one.
Really is a shame.
Templeton is hopping into one shoe when he looks up at Hannibal, and freezes. Frowns. “John, what, what are you looking at?”
“You,” he says simply, throwing the cover off and stalking over. He slides a hand up the kid’s arm, helps him back into his shirt from last night. “You are a beautiful man, Temp...”
“John...” and he licks dry, dry lips. “John, I know you’re not from...here... but if I gave you my number, would you call me back?”
He shouldn’t. Something like that could be dangerous. For him. For Templeton. Both of them...
But.
“Yeah, kid. I’d like to see you again.”
Watching the shiver that runs through the young man’s body at those few little words, make whatever is going to come of this, completely worth it.
For Templeton.
For this beautiful boy.
And kisses him again.
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: prostitution
Summary: A fill for this prompt on the kink meme.
Prostitute AU! A young Templeton Peck gets himself a ridiculously hot John Smith...
John Smith’s client for the night wants to play a game. It’s just obvious from the way the kid’s acting...
Hannibal takes one look around the upscale bar on the downtown hotel third floor, looking for tonight's client. It's a nice place, one of his favorites, a smaller boutique kind of place, this lounge one of three, all done up in glass and dark wood, one of the best places in town for jazz. It's a Friday, too, so it's busy, a swirl of humanity all around him, women in flowing dresses that catch in the light, men casual with open collars, everybody preening, trying to look beautiful in a city where everything's transitory.
Everyone except one.
Right where he's supposed to be. At the far end of the bar, something in a martini glass, stem grasped a little too tight between his fingers, the dark polo stretched nerve-tight across his back, a little too casual for the setting.
Fucking New York, Hannibal thinks fondly as he approaches the kid. That's what he wants to be tonight. A college student, trust fund baby, parents footing the bill. But he's older than that, successful lawyer already or something, wanting a bit of fun. Has to be, to afford Hannibal's evening. The service gave him a place, what kind of game the client wants to play, his specific preference, just like they always do, so he knows exactly who he's talking to - and why - as he sits down next to the young man.
"You gonna stare at that drink the rest of the night, kid?" he asks softly, fingers just barely brushing a shoulder, feeling solid muscle under that silky-fine knit. "It's not just going to osmose out of the glass for you."
The kid twitches, either at the touch or at the words; Hannibal knows how effective both can be for him. A pair of blue eyes meet his, clouded for a moment with confusion, and the older man holds that gaze. Kid's a good actor, Hannibal can give him that. Almost like he genuinely doesn't know what he's in for tonight.
But that's the game, the service said, which is why it's Hannibal's gig. He loves the whole blushing-virgin thing with clients. So many men, gay and straight, want the seduction, the surrender, the domination, need to lose control...
"It's, uh, it's not very good," the kid half-stammers. Adorable, Hannibal thinks, and lets their thighs meet, just for a moment. "I was thinking about getting something else..."
"Let me get it for you," Hannibal urges softly, getting the hesitant little nod he knows is coming, just a bit later than typical, and flags the bartender. "You look like you could use a beer," he observes, and orders some microbrew he likes here.
The kid flashes him a brilliant little smile, and then chuckles, rubbing his hand across his mouth. "I, uh..."
"My treat, kid. Don't worry about it," Hannibal shrugs as bottlecaps hit polished wood, and slides the first beer over to the client.
The kid chugs half of it in one go, and gasps a little as he slams it back down. Hannibal takes the opportunity to rub his back, letting his hand stray lower and lower as he goes. "Look like you needed that, kid."
"Yeah," he answers with that shaky little laugh again. "Real bad."
Hannibal allows a slight pause, like he's considering something. Like he was really trying to pick up some nervous boy right now. It's not hard to stare. The client's gorgeous, all sensual lines and caramel-blonde hair. Probably has a boyfriend back home, or a girl maybe. How could he not? It'd be criminal, cute thing like this, not having that.
Just when he's starting to squirm, playing nervously with his beer, Hannibal drops his other hand on top of his, stroking a little with his thumb. "Surprised to see somebody like you in here alone."
"I'm waiting for somebody," he says.
"Your boyfriend?" Hannibal asks coyly, moving away enough take a sip of his own beer. Cold and delicious. He realizes he's already getting hot, hard, thinking about this one. It's going to be a good night. He just knows it.
The kid squirms again. "A...a girl, actually."
"Oh, really?" Hannibal asks, feigning disappointment, and makes like he's completely disengaging. "I'm sorry. My mistake."
The kid's still playing with the bottle, staring at it intensely. "No, it's okay. My frat brothers got all pissed at me when they found out I haven't...set something up for me, I guess you could say."
Interesting twist, Hannibal thinks. A clever boy, thinking up a story like that. Straight, faced with a male escort. It'll make this whole thing so much more fun.
"That you've never been with a girl?" he says, watching that fine column of throat bob as the kid finishes the rest of the beer. He gets a sheepish little nod in return, and Hannibal takes the empty bottle away. "There's no shame in that."
"Sure there is," the kid replies, and that's bitter.
Hannibal strokes his client's hand again, fits it into his. "Girls are fun, kid, but that's not all that's out there."
Those blue eyes raise again, and there it is, an edge of lust, shining out behind the confusion now. "I'm not..."
"What's your name, kid?" Hannibal interrupts, playing his fingers up the kid's arm, watching those fine lips part, just a little bit. This one wants some romance, he decides, something very slow and very, very sultry.
No problem.
"Umm, oh shit, it's Templeton," he gasps.
Hannibal chuckles. "I'm John."
"John..."
He squeezes a bit, knowing this phase of the game's starting to grow stale, that they need to keep moving to keep on the crest of it. Even if he could spend the whole night, just like this, make the boy come right here in those designer jeans of his, throw him into a bathroom stall, take him hard and fast and shuddering...
But, if he plays it right, maybe he'll get another repeat customer here. Wouldn't that be lovely with this one?
So Hannibal keeps himself in check. Keeps it professional. "Well, Templeton, I've got a room here, and I promise I won't fake it for you. Something real for your first time. Something good," and he tucks a lock of hair back off the kid's face, feeling a little shiver beneath lingering fingertips. "What do you say?"
Templeton takes a deep, shaking breath and puts his fingers through Hannibal's, pulling the older man's hand away from his face.
And nods.
Hannibal smiles to himself as he leaves the bar with the client, careful not to do any more than brush against him, let that fantasy of shame and arousal mount and mount and mount.
A very, very good night, tonight.
On the ride up to the room, paid for and already prepped, Hannibal sizes this Templeton up a little bit more. Out of the dim lights of the bar, the boy’s even more beautiful. And he’s very, very good at this - so good that if Hannibal didn’t know better, he’d think that the kid really was this nervous, this uncertain, this torn by shame and arousal in equal measure.
He’s practically sweating, for fuck’s sake.
But that’s all fine. Realism he can do. Realism won’t be a problem with this one at all.
So Hannibal lets his hand drop, pulling Templeton’s into his, pulling the younger man close, close enough to touch. Close enough to play with those thick, gorgeous locks. “I don’t normally do this sort of thing, Temp,” he says, making it sound like an admission rather than the bald-faced lie it really is.
Blue eyes turn on him. “Then why...”
“There’s something about you,” Hannibal tells him softly, hand straying over a lightly stubbled cheek. And that’s not a lie. There really is something with this one, some vast, untapped reservoir of passion right under the surface, and the older man feels a sudden stab of anger at whoever’s letting it go so neglected. So neglected he has to come to a prostitute to make his fantasies come true. “Something very special. You’ve been alone too long, looking for something you don’t think you can find...”
Those blue eyes get wider. “I just wanted to get laid tonight.”
“We’ll get there, kid. I promise.” And Hannibal chuckles. “Indulge an old man. Let me seduce you, just a little bit.”
Templeton makes like he’s going to answer, and then the elevator dings, their floor reached, and Hannibal pulls him along, down the hall, holding him close and murmuring little reassurances the whole way.
Uber-submissive, the service said, but Templeton’s a bit more nuanced than that, Hannibal thinks as he digs for his key card and the kid runs nervous hands through his hair. Vulnerability, still wanting to trust, starved for touch but unsure of what he wants. A virgin’s game, and it’s utterly delicious. No hardship at all, fulfilling that.
The kid’s betraying his own arousal with every sharp little inhale, every tremble, and Hannibal catches him up, fully against himself, sweeping him into the room. “Relax, Temp,” he whispers in the young man’s ear. “Just relax. You’re going to be fine...”
Templeton moves out, away from him, looking around at the room. THe older man lets him, turns on a lamp so he can take it all in.
This is important.
Hannibal took the time to prep it before hand, all those little touches the thing that heighten the realism, enhance the experience, the reason he can charge the prices he does. A tie thrown across the back of a chair, briefcase spilling cords across the table, an open suitcase, half unpacked.
“You in town for business?” Templeton asks, fingering that tie, back to the older man.
“In from Boston,” Hannibal lies easily, “but I’m down here all the time. Sales...”
The client nods, making a little noise in the back of his throat, and tenses up again, killing the tie in his fist. “John, I... I don’t think I should be here...”
Aha. Lovely. A bit of refusal. A bit of chase. How very, very lovely, the escort thinks to himself, and slots up behind Templeton, wrapping him up. One hand draping down a strong shoulder, the other curling around a trim waist, pressing flat into warm belly. “It’s okay to be confused, kid. Especially if you’ve thought yourself straight, all your life...”
He tenses as Hannibal pulls him back, holding him flush, ass to groin, letting him feel everything’s he’s paid for, that cock of his that gets him more business than anyone else in the service’s register. “I’m not gay,” the kid protests, heated.
Right, Hannibal thinks, chuckling silently to himself.
“But here you are, kid. Why is that?”
Templeton squirms, laying his hand over Hannibal’s, where its resting on his stomach, like he wants to pull away. But he doesn’t. “W-what...what do you want with me?”
“I only want to make you feel good, Templeton, show you wonderful things,” Hannibal murmurs to that, lips softly working the lines of the young man’s neck, joined hand slipping down to press against the rapidly growing tent in designer demin. “Let me show you, baby. Let me take you there...”
A twist, the whisper of fabric, and blue eyes are staring up into his again, tongue flicking out against the curve of lip. “Baby?” the client echoes, so soft and uncertain.
“Baby,” Hannibal confirms and tilts his chin up. “Gonna make it so good for you. Like you deserve, you sweet, sweet boy...”
Those eyes close and that head falls back, and he seizes the opportunity, follows the order.
And kisses the younger man breathless.
Hannibal lets the kiss go on and on, a little dizzy himself, too. In the moment, in the illusion. Just a businessman, just an ordinary boy, desperate for affection. Templeton is shivering against him, little noises escaping the imperfect seal of lips and tongue, moaning, moving, trying to get just that perfect angle. A little more aggressive, as if his confidence is building, like his brain is losing the fight against his body.
So appropriate. He's had to have played this game before. Hannibal only hopes he'll want to play it again.
Make it good for him... he reminds himself.
So Hannibal nips gently, and moves one silky hand down to his own crotch, holding the client there. A silent promise of what's to come. "So hard for you, baby. Want you so bad," he moans.
Gets a little answering moan of John, please... in return.
Beautifully, beautifully done.
Hannibal hooks a finger through a belt loop at that, runs the other back into that soft, soft hair, noting with delight how Templeton's hand stays where it is, shyly starting to rub. It's just the right amount of pressure, and with a pleased growl, the older man starts kissing again, starts maneuvering, gentle, gentle across the hotel carpet, kicking off his shoes as he pushes Templeton back against the wall nearest the bed.
Slams him back the last three inches.
That gets a surprised gasp, yet another of those sweet sounds, and Templeton tries to buck up against him, groins sliding together. Nice move, kid, Hannibal thinks, but cups that beautiful face in both big hands, thumbing ever so slightly.
"Feel good, baby?"
"Fuck," the kid agrees, letting his voice shake to the point of cracking.
"Mm, it's gonna be so good, Temp. Better than you ever dreamed before," Hannibal murmurs, easing his knee in between trembling thighs. "Everything you ever wanted..."
Caramel hair hits the wall as the client throws his head back, exposing his throat, so needy and submissive and gorgeous... "John, I can't..." he pleads again.
Hannibal smiles, his own arousal pounding high in his ears now, and sneaks a hand between them, palming the kid's rock-hard erection, still trapped in his jeans. "I hear you, baby. Need it so bad, don't you?"
And Hannibal kisses him again, not giving him a chance to answer.
Another whine, high and loud, echoes sweetly in his own mouth, as he starts working that hard flesh. Under all those layers of material and heat and skin, Hannibal can feel need, a deep, burning need, and he chases it. Teeth and tongue and fingers and knee, holding Templeton open, breaking him down, seeking out every defense he's built up against this pleasure and tearing it down, working it all apart until the kid cries and convulses and spills himself, warm and hot and so, so wonderful, into his pants.
A dark stain starts spreading as his knees buckle, so appropriate for a first-timer, virgin-sweet, and Hannibal catches him before he can fall.
The kid clings to him like a little boy, and when he speaks, there's fear and desire there, fighting for dominance. "That, that..."
Hannibal shushes him and half carries his boneless client over to the bed, just a few steps away, fingering the hem of that polo as he lays him down. "Hang on, baby," he gentles, and slides the young man's shirt clean off, letting his hand spread out over the thudding heart he finds there. "It gets better..."
Those beautiful blue eyes, so guarded and so expressive all at once, widen a little bit, vanishing for a moment as Hannibal skins the shirt right off his client, and emerge on the other side. Harder. Determined. Like he's made a decision, with that first touch of bare palms to bare chest.
"Let me see you, beautiful boy," Hannibal murmurs, moving up to straddle the kid's lap, giving his client's game the tiniest acknowledgment with the words. One big hand trails down the smooth expanse of warm, warm skin. Bright and unblemished, the faintest scattering of light hair, muscles not quite defined. Like he's not yet filled out yet. He seems incredibly young. So, so innocent... "Just gorgeous."
"I'm not..."
"Shh," Hannibal says, leaning forward to kiss him again, positioned just right to reach down between them and start unbuckling and unzipping the client's jeans. "You are."
He is, too. All flushed skin, aching to be touched, kiss-swollen lips and hair mussed against the pillows, hands digging in to Hannibal's shirt, then shoulders, then sheets, as the older man lifts and strips everything clean off him, damp pants and boxers and shoes and socks, all in one cleanly practiced flick. He lingers on the task, his favorite part of any job. Opening a man up, exposing him, who he is, that shameless burst of pleasure that comes, the first moment where Hannibal can touch and taste and see, all at once... It's his game, from then on. His alone. And it never gets old.
Still, he finds himself staring at Templeton as he undulates back up on top of him, making sure the boy can feel him every second, stripping his suit jacket off, tossing it away with a perfectly pitched laugh as he moves back in for another kiss.
Templeton arches into this one, letting his body beg for it now, letting that virgin facade grow bolder, and Hannibal hooks a leg around his. Draws the kid up tight, trapping his hardening cock between their bodies. He lets his hands now, explore, pressure increasing with every pass, says the thing the client's paid to hear, knowing he'd say them anyway.
"You are beautiful, Templeton. Can't believe you've never..."
A soft hand brushes the front of Hannibal's own shirt, and he's met with an eager little smile. "Can...can I see..."
So shy, even now, and Hannibal loves the kid for dragging this out. Most men let it all fall apart right about here, begging to be fucked, clothed and fast, but this one's focused.
Whole experience, then.
Hannibal sits back on the kid's thighs, unbuttoning his top button, and then stopping, adopting a bit of a frown, hands still. "You sure about this, Temp? I know you've said you've never...I don't want to force you..."
The kid swallows hard, and nods. Once.
Hannibal stands, lets all his clothes fall away as effortlessly as his not-inconsiderable skill allows, his own blood spiking hot, a wave of relief as his fully erect cock springs free to slap up against his belly.
And if he thought those eyes were huge before...
"Woah," the client says, sitting up a little on an elbow, on his side, as the escort slips back against him. "You're...but I'm..."
"Doesn't matter," he replies gently as their bodies spark, skin touching in all the right places. "Only want you, baby..."
"John, John...I don't know what to do here... I..."
Only fifteen-plus years of practice at self-control keeps Hannibal from coming on the spot. The hesitancy, the warring desires there. It's so, so real...
"Ever touched another man before?" Hannibal purrs in a finely shaped ear, reaching for an old favorite in this game, knowing the answer is yes, but loving the head shake of no anyway, guiding one of the client's hands down again, and sighs happily as it closes, uncertain around the base. "Just feel, kid. It's no different from touching yourself..."
"Yeah, but you're huge," Templeton says, laughs a little, and starts stroking lightly. It's not nearly enough, and Hannibal knows that this client can probably do a lot more, but this is a pretty great imitation of inexperience. "Oh, god..."
"Feels amazing," Hannibal reassures him, not lying at all. Normally, here, he'd expect a little more aggression, a breakdown, something to indicate...
The kid's bright red, rock hard against Hannibal's own thigh, those smooth legs trying to wrap up around his, needing purchase, and Hannibal slides a hand down one, lifting it over his own hip, groaning involuntarily at the way the client's hand tightens around him, does a little twisting thing...
"Oh, oh, Temp. Just like that, baby."
A shy, proud little smile, and Hannibal gathers him up for another kiss, gripping tight to that leg, the one that's attempting to pull up the side of his body now. He reaches for the lube and condom he's got hidden on the nightstand, distracting the kid with more hard, hard kissing.
It works. Perfectly. Templeton's a puddle of goo in his arms, beneath him as he pulls back to roll the rubber on. Kid's looking fucked-out already, like he can't remember his own name, and they haven't even got to the good part yet.
Married, Hannibal decides, the familiar squeeze of latex telling him he really needs to get going, and uncaps the tube.
Eyes shoot up.
"Spread your legs, Temp...yeah, just like that, so beautiful...trust me, baby," he croons, exaggerated but by no means false. Not now. Templeton wants this? Well, Hannibal wants him. Now. Again. Every goddamn Friday night, if the kid can pay. Maybe even if he couldn't...but that's a dangerous thought. He shakes it away, slipping his hand down, and presses a slick thumb against the quivering, waiting ring of muscle. "You've never felt anything anything like my fingers, my cock. So, so deep..."
He sinks in, all the way..
The kid cries out, loud and sweet and almost, probably, most certainly, in pain...
And Hannibal's blood goes cold.
Then very, very hot.
There's no way this ass has ever been fucked before. He's way too tight, that pain genuine, the unaccustomed pleasure genuine, all of it real...
The kid isn't playing with him at all.
"John, oh fuck, John..."
"Shh, baby." He covers his pause by wriggling his thumb, very, very gently, considering. Frat boy? His housemates probably set this up for him, practical joke or something more sinister, maybe, hoping to humiliate him... But the kid had asked him to keep going, the kid wasn't faking that raw hunger Hannibal feels, even now, shooting through him.
He can't stop now. Not without doing all the work and then some for those damn frat buddies of his.
So Hannibal makes a mental note to find them and thank them and then kill them later.
But he just. can't. stop. now.
"Feel good?" he murmurs, circling wider now, stretching now. "Tell me what you need, baby, tell me how you want it..."
"P-please," the kid begs, shaking again, hands grasping nervelessly at the covers. "Please, John, f-fuck me..."
Settles that, Hannibal thinks, and leans low for another kiss. "Anything you want, sweetheart," he tells him.
And when he slides a second finger in, he knows it's there because they both want it to be.
Hannibal takes his time from there, working easily, slowly, as careful as he possibly can, gentle strokes, avoiding the prostate with all but the lightest touches.
Templeton is trying to burrow under the older man's skin, too, with every new twist and change. All incoherent hands and lips and words, arching up against him, sweaty and slick. So lost and so, so beautiful. Hannibal could bring the kid off right now, he knows, right like this, harder than he's ever come in his short life.
But he promised him seduction, something real and certain and good, and Hannibal's seen enough bad things in his line of work to know that anything less than his promise could be very, very bad for this young man. He's stopped the exaggerated noises, stopped all the extraneous falsities, focused down on what Templeton really needs, what he can actually handle.
His own cock is leaking freely into the condom, though, and he wants Templeton to have that, too.
He scissors.
Templeton moans, wanton.
As ready as he's ever going to be.
"Legs up, baby," he instructs, helping the other strong thigh to his waist, holding it with one big hand, playing a finger just behind the knee, across perfectly silky skin. He takes in the sight in front of him, trying not to remember his first time, something hard and cold in the shower bloc at basic training, and kisses that quivering belly, tasting sweat, all the strain. "Gorgeous, Templeton, you're gorgeous..."
"John," the half-senseless man whimpers. It's no experiment for him. Hannibal can hear that so clearly. Years of undisclosed desires, unknown...it's overwhelming, utterly overwhelming, to think that's nobody's ever done this for this Templeton before. That he's the first, that he'll be the one the kid compares the rest of his lovers to, that he gets to have this...
Utterly overwhelming.
"I got you, sweetheart," Hannibal replies gently, barely holding it together himself, lining up, wishing he could say more, that there was more to say, and pushes in.
Templeton comes again, the second Hannibal feels the head of his cock pop through the virgin muscle. He body tries to collapse backwards, hot gushes of semen coating both their chests, cries ripping loose, earnest and true, like the older man hasn't heard in far, far too long.
It's all he can do drive in any further, but he has to, has to give the boy at least some of what he deserves, what he's wanted for so long and never realized until tonight. He's too tight and too inexperienced to take much, let alone the full length of everything Hannibal could give him, so the escort settles for shallow penetration, just a few strokes, just enough.
For Templeton to be moaning again, even in his post-orgasmic haze.
For Hannibal to lose himself. His vision whites and his balls draw up and he's barely aware of any of it, letting himself tumble off that edge instead of pushing over it. A real orgasm, nothing forced about it, something honest and real and shared, given freely, without cost but, in his life, without price.
He recovers slowly, realizing he's fallen off to the side of the kid's limp form, realizing he's nuzzled into a soft patch of hair, smelling good product and sweat and musk, almost sweet itself, perfect for this boy.
He's gorgeous.
He also has no idea he just fucked a prostitute.
Hannibal can't leave him right now. He can't stay, but he can't go. Not if he doesn't want to ruin the illusion he's worked so hard on this evening.
So he stays, working them both under the rumpled sheets, pulling the boy back against him. Just in case.
And in sleep, Hannibal feels those limbs wrap back around him, too.
Almost real.
Real enough.
+++++
Hannibal’s not used to falling asleep next to clients.
He’s even less used to waking up next to them.
So when Templeton stretches and turns and yawns against him, he’s not really ready for it. Not ready with anything to say as sleep-soft fingers stroke against his side, half-aware of themselves. Nothing at all to say as blue eyes flutter open and meet his own.
He tries to remember when the last time he did this was. What he said the last time. When he slept with a man he wanted to sleep with, of his own choice, for free, strings attached.
He can’t. It’s been too long.
“Mornin’, beautiful,” he murmurs, winging it as best he can. “How’d we sleep?”
“Like a fuckin’ baby,” the kid says with another yawn, and a giggle, and rolls up against him. “Mm, John...”
Hannibal lets him, lets the kid move in to the crook of his arm, closing it around those shoulders, absently playing with those caramel locks. He really is a gorgeous thing, and not just for the way he looks. No, there’s so much going on in this one. So many secrets to uncover, so much to explore.
“Sweet boy.” The over-extended compliment is completely worth it - the college kid blushes bright. “Was that everything you’d hoped it would be?”
“I...I didn’t know,” he says, face hidden in the older man’s shoulder. “I didn’t know it could be...uhh, that...that much fun?”
Hiding. Or at least, trying to. “It’s okay to say it, Temp.”
It bursts out of him then. “I didn’t know it could be like that. That it could feel like that...”
“It doesn’t always,” the male escort tells the kid, honest, and strokes the fine edge of that jaw. “I haven’t had anything like that in a very, very long time.”
“Some first-time twink?”
Can’t have that, the kid’s self-esteem deflating so badly, so Hannibal kisses him. Lingers. “You’re no twink, Templeton. I told you, there’s something special about you.”
The kid snuggles closer. Even as he asks, “more than the whole first-time thing? I know some guys have a kink for it...”
“My kink’s sweet sex, Temp,” Hannibal admits, starting to touch again. His next appointment isn’t until the afternoon. If the kid could, maybe they could stay here and play. Wouldn’t that be something? Be the mentor to an incredible creature like this? “And you are the first man I’ve met in a long, long time who’s given me that. Thank you...”
Templeton’s eyes widen, and then some alarm on his cell goes off in his pants, and he’s up. “Shit, shit,” he’s saying. “I have to go! I have a class in a couple of hours I shouldn’t miss, and...”
Hannibal sits up in bed, letting the sheets pool in his waist as he watches the kid scramble for his clothes, fight his way into them, swear a little bit.
It’s a pity, really, the older man’s thinking. This Templeton deserves someone who will know to hunt those things out, know what to do with it all once found. Few men are going to be up to the challenge of this one.
Really is a shame.
Templeton is hopping into one shoe when he looks up at Hannibal, and freezes. Frowns. “John, what, what are you looking at?”
“You,” he says simply, throwing the cover off and stalking over. He slides a hand up the kid’s arm, helps him back into his shirt from last night. “You are a beautiful man, Temp...”
“John...” and he licks dry, dry lips. “John, I know you’re not from...here... but if I gave you my number, would you call me back?”
He shouldn’t. Something like that could be dangerous. For him. For Templeton. Both of them...
But.
“Yeah, kid. I’d like to see you again.”
Watching the shiver that runs through the young man’s body at those few little words, make whatever is going to come of this, completely worth it.
For Templeton.
For this beautiful boy.
And kisses him again.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
A Good Night
Date: 2011-07-14 04:22 am (UTC)Re: A Good Night
Date: 2011-07-14 04:27 am (UTC)