After the longest dinner of Joe’s very long life, Nicky drags him to a nightclub.
“And how will you be tormenting me at this venue?” he asks as they sidle up to the bar.
Nicky laughs and kisses him, then leans back and sips his gin. He’s surveying the dance floor like he’s lining up a shot, which Joe thinks is unfairly sexy of him.
“There,” he says suddenly, and Joe follows his gaze. Nicky’s looking at a man who, at least from a distance, looks a bit like himself—brown hair, pale white skin, broad shoulders.
He looks over to Joe. “I want you to go dance with him.”
“Okay,” Joe says slowly, unsure of where this is going. Historically, they’ve not had great luck with bringing in a third party.
“Make it good,” Nicky tells him.
“The dance.”
“Yes.” He kisses Joe’s jaw. “I’ll be watching.”
Joe swallows and pushes his way through the crowd.
The music is pulsing loudly enough that he doesn’t try to talk to the man—he just makes eye contact and telegraphs his movements as he comes to dance against him.
The man wraps his arm around Joe, one hand almost on his ass. Up close, there’s not actually much resemblance to Nicky, but then, really, who could ever compare? It’s strange, being touched like this by someone who isn’t Nicky, but it’s no hardship. The man smells good—expensive—and he’s a good dancer.
He glances back to the bar, and even from all these feet away, the intensity of Nicky’s stare changes the tenor of this little exercise, whatever it may be. Joe doesn’t look away as he places one of the man’s hands in his curls and grinds their hips together. He feels the man gasp in his ear, but he’s mostly focused on how Nicky looks like he wants to eat him alive.
Nicky wants a show? That’s what he’ll get.
Joe snakes a hand under the man’s t-shirt, then dips it just under the band of his jeans. He undoes two more buttons of his own shirt and watches Nicky’s face as the man gropes his pecs.
Nicky gives a sudden jerk of his chin, the movement exaggerated so Joe will catch it even at a distance. Joe looks to the man and makes a face of regret, then hurries away, back to Nicky. Luckily, Joe is too turned on to feel guilty about using the guy.
———
Outside, Nicky shoves him up against an alley wall.
“Do you know how you looked in there?” he hisses in Joe’s ear.
“Uh. Hopefully good,” Joe manages to gasp while Nicky sucks on his neck.
“So good. So shameless.” He grinds against Joe, then takes two deliberate steps back.
Joe whines. All he gets for sympathy is another smirk. “You still want to take my hand, hmm?”
Not so much out in a public street, but Joe knows what they say about beggars. “Yes. Please, Nicky.”
“Then I want you to save me some effort. Turn around and pull down your pants.”
And he’s just going to have to trust that Nicky will prevent them from getting a public indecency charge.
When he’s done as asked, Nicky steps to stand beside him. “Hold out your hand.”
Joe does, and Nicky produces a small tube of lube from his trouser pocket. He squeezes some into Joe’s palm.
“Get yourself wet and open for me. Three fingers.”
The position is awkward—he’s got one hand braced against the wall and his trousers are trapping his ankles, limiting the spread of his legs—but Joe manages. He goes as fast as he can manage, knowing that the sooner he’s done, the sooner he’ll get what he’s been working toward all night.
He’s careful not to brush his prostate—he’s hard enough as it is. By the time he pushes the third finger in, they’re both panting.
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timeasmymeasure
Re: FILL: Joe/Nicky, the sub earns a reward, 2/3
Date: 2020-11-07 01:00 pm (UTC)“And how will you be tormenting me at this venue?” he asks as they sidle up to the bar.
Nicky laughs and kisses him, then leans back and sips his gin. He’s surveying the dance floor like he’s lining up a shot, which Joe thinks is unfairly sexy of him.
“There,” he says suddenly, and Joe follows his gaze. Nicky’s looking at a man who, at least from a distance, looks a bit like himself—brown hair, pale white skin, broad shoulders.
He looks over to Joe. “I want you to go dance with him.”
“Okay,” Joe says slowly, unsure of where this is going. Historically, they’ve not had great luck with bringing in a third party.
“Make it good,” Nicky tells him.
“The dance.”
“Yes.” He kisses Joe’s jaw. “I’ll be watching.”
Joe swallows and pushes his way through the crowd.
The music is pulsing loudly enough that he doesn’t try to talk to the man—he just makes eye contact and telegraphs his movements as he comes to dance against him.
The man wraps his arm around Joe, one hand almost on his ass. Up close, there’s not actually much resemblance to Nicky, but then, really, who could ever compare? It’s strange, being touched like this by someone who isn’t Nicky, but it’s no hardship. The man smells good—expensive—and he’s a good dancer.
He glances back to the bar, and even from all these feet away, the intensity of Nicky’s stare changes the tenor of this little exercise, whatever it may be. Joe doesn’t look away as he places one of the man’s hands in his curls and grinds their hips together. He feels the man gasp in his ear, but he’s mostly focused on how Nicky looks like he wants to eat him alive.
Nicky wants a show? That’s what he’ll get.
Joe snakes a hand under the man’s t-shirt, then dips it just under the band of his jeans. He undoes two more buttons of his own shirt and watches Nicky’s face as the man gropes his pecs.
Nicky gives a sudden jerk of his chin, the movement exaggerated so Joe will catch it even at a distance. Joe looks to the man and makes a face of regret, then hurries away, back to Nicky. Luckily, Joe is too turned on to feel guilty about using the guy.
———
Outside, Nicky shoves him up against an alley wall.
“Do you know how you looked in there?” he hisses in Joe’s ear.
“Uh. Hopefully good,” Joe manages to gasp while Nicky sucks on his neck.
“So good. So shameless.” He grinds against Joe, then takes two deliberate steps back.
Joe whines. All he gets for sympathy is another smirk. “You still want to take my hand, hmm?”
Not so much out in a public street, but Joe knows what they say about beggars. “Yes. Please, Nicky.”
“Then I want you to save me some effort. Turn around and pull down your pants.”
And he’s just going to have to trust that Nicky will prevent them from getting a public indecency charge.
When he’s done as asked, Nicky steps to stand beside him. “Hold out your hand.”
Joe does, and Nicky produces a small tube of lube from his trouser pocket. He squeezes some into Joe’s palm.
“Get yourself wet and open for me. Three fingers.”
The position is awkward—he’s got one hand braced against the wall and his trousers are trapping his ankles, limiting the spread of his legs—but Joe manages. He goes as fast as he can manage, knowing that the sooner he’s done, the sooner he’ll get what he’s been working toward all night.
He’s careful not to brush his prostate—he’s hard enough as it is. By the time he pushes the third finger in, they’re both panting.
“Have I earned it?” Joe asks, desperate.
Nicky bares his teeth. “Almost, my love.”