Unholy Communion // Claude & Bradley
Running his hand across the expanse of Bradley’s chest, Claude moaned into his mouth as he felt The Boy’s fingernails scratch his neck. In retaliation, he located his nipple, giving it a tug as he bit at his lip, soothing the roughness of his teeth by passing his tongue over the victimized lip. His mouth still tasted of something sour, but he barely noticed, too distracted by everything else that was going on. He had more than made up for calling him from his home earlier than was reasonable, and it seemed that he would continue to do so. The fast, uttered declarations of want and desire that fell from the boy’s lips rung in his ears, made his heart beat faster. He did not know what to say. He wanted Bradley nearly as much as the boy wanted him, it seemed, but he could not tell him that, the words sticking in his throat. “Don’t get ahead of yourself,” he breathed against his lips. “I’m not through with you yet, Mr. Hirschal.” The name still felt so good rolling off of his tongue, and he smirked to himself as he brushed his lips against the boy’s. Releasing Bradley’s nipple, he slid his hand down his chest, over his abdomen, seeking the button of his jeans. Finding the button, he tugged at it for a moment, letting out a frustrated growl when it did not immediately slip free. “Hold on,” he said, grabbing the wrist of the hand that was wrapped around his shaft. Pulling his hand away, he let out a groan as his cock slipped free from Bradley’s grasp, twitching once more in protest. Placing his hand on his chest once more, he firmly pushed him back towards the passenger door before moving his hand back towards the zipper of his hoodie to finish unzipping it. As he did so, the fabric slipped open to reveal his bare chest, and Claude smirked in approval.
Moving his hands to the button of Bradley’s jeans once more, he was much more successful at unbuttoning them that time. Swiftly unzipping his jeans, he pried them open, revealing a pair of boxer-briefs, patterned with… ice cream cones? Looking up at Bradley, he raised an eyebrow at him, smirking. “Interesting,” he said, running his hand over his ice cream patterned bulge. He stroked him slowly, almost reverently, before he raised his other hand to his mouth. Spitting into his palm, he watched his other hand intently as he rubbed the boy’s shaft through his boxer-briefs before taking a hold of his own. His lips parted slightly as he touched them both, one hand slicking wetly over his own cock, the other smoothing over the soft cotton that encased Bradley. The situation was very surreal, bizarre to him, and it nearly felt like he was in a dream. It was filthy and hot and just a bit horrible, and he had a feeling that it was only a taste of what was to come. He was about to slip his hand inside Bradley’s underwear when something caught his attention out of the corner of his eye. Looking up abruptly, his hands pausing in their movements, he saw a car pulling up to the stop sign at the street directly on the other side of the parking lot, and his heart skipped a beat. Shit. He had forgotten where they were. Looking back down at Bradley, his hands tensed on both of their shafts, unsure of what to do. He did not want the moment to end, but he also did not want to be caught in such a compromising position with a male sex worker half his age who he barely knew. “Pull yourself together,” he said quickly, releasing his grip on Bradley and shifting in his seat. Slipping himself back into his briefs, he buttoned his trousers and zipped them up before setting to work on his belt. Wiping his hand off on his leg, he reached behind him to grab his seat belt. Looking over at his companion as he slid the metal piece into the latch with a satisfying click, he felt a pang of regret. “Buckle up,” he told him before reaching for the gear shift. “I’m taking you to my apartment.”
From the experienced and unabashed way Claude's hands and lips moved over him, Bradley assumed that this was not his first time with someone of the same sex. He was bold, commanding, and Bradley could have fucked him for a whole fortnight and still want more. His preference for older, dominating men had only amplified his desire. The assistant commissioner was everything he wanted, the kind of man who caused him shameful daydreams, sinful and sleepless nights. As his hands roamed over his chest, his teeth bruising into his lip, he pushed himself into him as much as he could. It still didn't feel like enough. He burned, his skin aflame, and Claude's careful compensation brought him a kind of relief he felt as though he had gone too long without. This was different than being with a client. This was his choice, he wanted this, wanted him. He was himself, not a well crafted reflection of whatever the client desired most. It felt good to be wanted for who he was, not what he did. But maybe he thought too much. Maybe Claude's interest would ebb, and somewhere inside Bradley's troubled mind, that clock had begun to tick. When Claude grabbed his wrist and pushed his hand away from his cock, he whined in protest, but only a moment later he was being pushed against the passenger door and undressed. A shuddering sigh slipped past his lips and his hips involuntarily moved up to meet Claude's touch. He leaned his head back, breathed hard, a tiny spark of panic setting off. He doesn't know. And yet, he couldn't make himself say the words slow down.
He looked back at him, heart thumping in his chest, and watched him work. His eyebrows flexed together, whimpering as he watched Claude spit into his hand and set to work on his own erection. The sight alone was deeply erotic and he could barely keep himself from begging him to take him right then and there. He blushed at the older man's comments about his boxer briefs and almost began explaining himself, his lack of foresight, but was quickly distracted by the touch of his hand. Those hands would be the death of him. "Fuck." He hissed, barely able to watch without losing his mind. He almost said it again when his partner suddenly stopped. "What is it?" He asked, hushed, eyes big. He whined when his grip on him tightened suddenly, half discomfort and half arousal. But then, just as he knew it would, the moment passed. Expecting it didn't make it hurt any less. "What? Why? What's wrong?" He sat up, recovering himself, zipping up his pants and setting to work on his hoodie. He tilted his head, curious, too many questioning teetering on the tip of his tongue. When he said that he was taking him back to his apartment, he smiled despite himself. His emotions had always been too close to the surface. "Really?" His eyes went fell to the visible bulge in his trousers. It couldn't have been comfortable, his hands itching to be back on it, playing, toying, teasing, but he refrained. His eyes came back up, a tainted innocence reflected in them, his wide-eyed naïveté mixing dangerously with his intense and unholy desire. "I'll be good." He pulled his seatbelt across his body, snapping it in place with a click. His zipper felt cold against his bare chest. "Just what is it you want with me if you're not through with me yet?"
