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rainbowfic2020-06-06 12:03 pm
ilthit) wrote in rainbowfic2020-06-06 12:03 pm
Entry tags:
Grey #8: Hidden Angles (Peccadillo Parlour)
Name: Hidden Angles
Story: Peccadillo Parlour
Colors: Grey #8: The men in grey suits
Supplies and Styles: n/a
Word Count: 1,000
Rating: explicit
Summary: A hotel room hook-up between a lawyer and a former client.
Contains: Barely any context. Rather terrible men. Casual sex. All of the "7 Dirty Words", because I wanted to submit this to Banned Together Bingo. Reference to a real life UK political bestiality scandal.
Notes: This really is just a bit of PWP, I'm sorry. Crossposted onslashficlets.
“I needed that,” said Henry. “It’s been a cunt of a year.”
“You throw that word around a lot around here, I’ve noticed,” said Jimmy. The summer had started out with a heatwave and the airconditioner in this London hotel room was already whirring, cooling the sweat on his narrow chest. Jimmy was short and softer than Henry, but they shared that feature with him, at least. Where their skins pressed together, Jimmy’s shoulder to Henry’s chest, his ankle to Henry’s thigh, they stuck together. “Cunt, you know? Back in Boston, it’s considered a bit shocking.”
“Mmm.” Henry took a drag of his post-coital cigarette. “You Americans like do being shocked.”
“Well, that’s true.” Jimmy picked the cigarette up from Henry’s lips and took a drag himself. “We’d probably make more of a fuss if our country’s leader fucked a pig.”
“Times are changing.” Henry directed a wry smile at the top of Jimmy’s dark head of hair. This was just another shag in a long line of casual affairs, but he’d meant what he’d said. He’d needed this.
He’d first met Jimmy in Boston, cleaning up the paperwork for some holdings his father had had in a dodgy business over in America. The company liquidation had worked out in their favour, especially after Jimmy and his colleagues at Holmes, Gordon & Gibbs had been through it. Henry didn’t know the details; he didn’t have to. He would have forgotten the whole thing if they hadn’t run into each other again by coincidence.
Well, maybe it was coincidence, or maybe Jimmy had had it all planned. He seemed like the kind of guy who was always working some angle. It wouldn’t have been difficult to find out Henry’s tailor. Probably wouldn’t even be hard to find out he had a thing for a nice waistcoat and a dirty flirt, and an app on his phone to find a hotel with same-day booking.
At least this time he hadn’t been off his tits on whiskey and misery. He could fuck sober. And not just Phyllida, or slutty twinks ten years younger than him. It was good to be reminded.
He raised a lazy hand to ruin what remained of Jimmy’s hair gel and took his cigarette back. Jimmy’s lips were still pink and puffy from the cocksucking he’d done earlier, and the look was putting Henry back in the mood. He leaned in and sucked the taste of smoke from that mouth. Slippery and soft and inviting. Yeah, he could go again. Jimmy hooked his hand behind Henry’s head and they kissed like that, a dirty wet cum-and-tobacco snog while the cigarette went to waste between Henry’s index finger and thumb.
He dunked it into the glass of water on the bedside table, next to the pack of rubbers, and rolled back on top of Jimmy.
“Motherfucker,” Jimmy breathed out as their lips smacked apart. Henry’s fingers had found his arse, almost as slippery-slidey as his mouth. “I won’t be able to shit for a week if you fuck me like that again.”
“Mmm.” Jimmy was taking the piss. Henry had been downright gentle. Flattery. Yeah, he had to have an angle. In any case, Henry preferred his mouth for now. He raised himself on his knees and tugged Jimmy on his elbows by his short hair. A little adjustment, and he had his fingers knuckle-deep inside him, Jimmy’s open lips seeking the tip of his cock. He held his hand at the back of his head as lightly as you might hold a bird, and Jimmy closed his mouth around him, bobbed his head and pulled at the foreskin with his lips. The sound of pleasure he made came as a clear, high tone. Henry wondered if Jimmy could sing. Like an angel, probably. He moved his fingers casually in and out of his hole, wondering if he could make him hit a high note.
He caught his breath. Bloody hell, the man was good with his mouth.
Jimmy Banks was a snake. It was just difficult to forget that, with that heat around his cock, how acerbic and funny the man could be. He pushed a little just to assert dominance, and Jimmy opened his mouth wide, taking the jab at the back of his throat without complaint. He might ruin him for karaoke, for the night at least. He pushed again, was accepted. Shifted his weight on his knees, adjusted his hand at the back of Jimmy’s head.
He let him lick and suck and squirm, watching closely as Jimmy worked his lips even pinker, then rocked his hips, kept rocking them. Let him breathe only here and there. Jimmy grabbed Henry’s hip and moaned around him.
Henry shut him right up.
There was something about sex with someone you didn’t particularly respect that gave it a special thrill. Henry closed his eyes and let himself enjoy it. The whirr of the airco. The obscene sunlight pooled on the polished floor.
Jimmy shifted to impale his head on Henry’s cock. He was determined to work it out of him, and Henry was going to let him. His fingers slipped out of Jimmy and he sat back, let the guy work. Fuck. The sunlight blurred. The ceiling lamp above became his point of fixture. It felt so fucking good, like he was meant to be here, in Jimmy’s mouth, more than anywhere else in the world.
Jimmy’s hand closed around his shaft, another fondling him, spreading him. Henry realized they’d need another rubber in a moment. Fine. Just let him—
Jimmy came up for air with a pop. “You like?” A cheeky grin.
“Fuck you.”
He forgave him a moment later, with his seed squirting deep inside Jimmy’s ruined throat.
He’d needed this. He’d probably regret this. But as Jimmy crawled up his body, his cock poking at Henry’s thigh and Henry opening his legs like a tart in his post-orgasmic lassitude, he figured he’d worry about it later.
Story: Peccadillo Parlour
Colors: Grey #8: The men in grey suits
Supplies and Styles: n/a
Word Count: 1,000
Rating: explicit
Summary: A hotel room hook-up between a lawyer and a former client.
Contains: Barely any context. Rather terrible men. Casual sex. All of the "7 Dirty Words", because I wanted to submit this to Banned Together Bingo. Reference to a real life UK political bestiality scandal.
Notes: This really is just a bit of PWP, I'm sorry. Crossposted on
slashficlets.“I needed that,” said Henry. “It’s been a cunt of a year.”
“You throw that word around a lot around here, I’ve noticed,” said Jimmy. The summer had started out with a heatwave and the airconditioner in this London hotel room was already whirring, cooling the sweat on his narrow chest. Jimmy was short and softer than Henry, but they shared that feature with him, at least. Where their skins pressed together, Jimmy’s shoulder to Henry’s chest, his ankle to Henry’s thigh, they stuck together. “Cunt, you know? Back in Boston, it’s considered a bit shocking.”
“Mmm.” Henry took a drag of his post-coital cigarette. “You Americans like do being shocked.”
“Well, that’s true.” Jimmy picked the cigarette up from Henry’s lips and took a drag himself. “We’d probably make more of a fuss if our country’s leader fucked a pig.”
“Times are changing.” Henry directed a wry smile at the top of Jimmy’s dark head of hair. This was just another shag in a long line of casual affairs, but he’d meant what he’d said. He’d needed this.
He’d first met Jimmy in Boston, cleaning up the paperwork for some holdings his father had had in a dodgy business over in America. The company liquidation had worked out in their favour, especially after Jimmy and his colleagues at Holmes, Gordon & Gibbs had been through it. Henry didn’t know the details; he didn’t have to. He would have forgotten the whole thing if they hadn’t run into each other again by coincidence.
Well, maybe it was coincidence, or maybe Jimmy had had it all planned. He seemed like the kind of guy who was always working some angle. It wouldn’t have been difficult to find out Henry’s tailor. Probably wouldn’t even be hard to find out he had a thing for a nice waistcoat and a dirty flirt, and an app on his phone to find a hotel with same-day booking.
At least this time he hadn’t been off his tits on whiskey and misery. He could fuck sober. And not just Phyllida, or slutty twinks ten years younger than him. It was good to be reminded.
He raised a lazy hand to ruin what remained of Jimmy’s hair gel and took his cigarette back. Jimmy’s lips were still pink and puffy from the cocksucking he’d done earlier, and the look was putting Henry back in the mood. He leaned in and sucked the taste of smoke from that mouth. Slippery and soft and inviting. Yeah, he could go again. Jimmy hooked his hand behind Henry’s head and they kissed like that, a dirty wet cum-and-tobacco snog while the cigarette went to waste between Henry’s index finger and thumb.
He dunked it into the glass of water on the bedside table, next to the pack of rubbers, and rolled back on top of Jimmy.
“Motherfucker,” Jimmy breathed out as their lips smacked apart. Henry’s fingers had found his arse, almost as slippery-slidey as his mouth. “I won’t be able to shit for a week if you fuck me like that again.”
“Mmm.” Jimmy was taking the piss. Henry had been downright gentle. Flattery. Yeah, he had to have an angle. In any case, Henry preferred his mouth for now. He raised himself on his knees and tugged Jimmy on his elbows by his short hair. A little adjustment, and he had his fingers knuckle-deep inside him, Jimmy’s open lips seeking the tip of his cock. He held his hand at the back of his head as lightly as you might hold a bird, and Jimmy closed his mouth around him, bobbed his head and pulled at the foreskin with his lips. The sound of pleasure he made came as a clear, high tone. Henry wondered if Jimmy could sing. Like an angel, probably. He moved his fingers casually in and out of his hole, wondering if he could make him hit a high note.
He caught his breath. Bloody hell, the man was good with his mouth.
Jimmy Banks was a snake. It was just difficult to forget that, with that heat around his cock, how acerbic and funny the man could be. He pushed a little just to assert dominance, and Jimmy opened his mouth wide, taking the jab at the back of his throat without complaint. He might ruin him for karaoke, for the night at least. He pushed again, was accepted. Shifted his weight on his knees, adjusted his hand at the back of Jimmy’s head.
He let him lick and suck and squirm, watching closely as Jimmy worked his lips even pinker, then rocked his hips, kept rocking them. Let him breathe only here and there. Jimmy grabbed Henry’s hip and moaned around him.
Henry shut him right up.
There was something about sex with someone you didn’t particularly respect that gave it a special thrill. Henry closed his eyes and let himself enjoy it. The whirr of the airco. The obscene sunlight pooled on the polished floor.
Jimmy shifted to impale his head on Henry’s cock. He was determined to work it out of him, and Henry was going to let him. His fingers slipped out of Jimmy and he sat back, let the guy work. Fuck. The sunlight blurred. The ceiling lamp above became his point of fixture. It felt so fucking good, like he was meant to be here, in Jimmy’s mouth, more than anywhere else in the world.
Jimmy’s hand closed around his shaft, another fondling him, spreading him. Henry realized they’d need another rubber in a moment. Fine. Just let him—
Jimmy came up for air with a pop. “You like?” A cheeky grin.
“Fuck you.”
He forgave him a moment later, with his seed squirting deep inside Jimmy’s ruined throat.
He’d needed this. He’d probably regret this. But as Jimmy crawled up his body, his cock poking at Henry’s thigh and Henry opening his legs like a tart in his post-orgasmic lassitude, he figured he’d worry about it later.