How did he want to remember Charlie? Alastair wanted to be marked all over so whenever he looked at himself he was reminded; he wanted to be black and blue covered in marks that Charlie had left with his mouth and his teeth⊠ but Alastair wasnât going to say that.
He couldnât say that, mostly because his face was pushed into the couch and Charlie was fucking his hole with his fingers.
With a happy whine, Alastair wriggled against the grip just to try and test how dominant Charlie would be with him. But then even that stilled as Charlie replaced his fingers with his cock and filled Al up just perfectly. Serendipity, indeed.
âFuck, just like that,â Al said, fingers gripping onto the couch. âFuck me hard and Iâll remember it every time I fuckinâ walkâ Jesus Charlie.â
Alastairâs hole opened up for him easily-- pliant like he was born to take cock, soft and wet and warm like the most experienced whore. Pleasant shivers crawled down Charlieâs spine, down the flex of his arms, down where his fingers were still gripping Alastairâs hair whilst the other brushed over heating, sweaty skin.
Teeth skirting the curve of Alastairâs ear, Charlie murmured a quiet: âYou have a dirty fucking mouth.â But then his hands found purchase in Alastairâs hip, the hold of it tight to keep him from moving, and he was moving back and forth in steady thrusts. He drew back long, pushed in deep-- theyâd fucked only the night before, had done so twice and Charlie knew better than being afraid Alastair would break-- and the more he worked Alastair open, the harder his thrusts became.
Hard, Alastair said. So Charlieâs fingers tangled in his hair, pulled hard enough to sting, and his teeth nicked the corner of his jaw before they dragged along the muscle in his neck, and his hips slapped forward, again and again and again, into the perfect curve of Alastairâs ass pushed just right towards him.
[TEXT] hi Charlie [TEXT] Charlie Iâm with people from work and Iâve been drinking thank god for autocorrect [TEXT] can you come get me Thank you xxxxx
[TXT] Where are you?[TXT] I mean, yeah, Iâll pick you up, but I canât do that if I donât know where you are.
[VOICEMAIL] So... someone at work said it's steak and blowjob day today. [laughs] as if that's a real thing. anyway, looks like I'm coming over after work to give you a steak and a blowjob. You better prepare yourself, Mr. Sparre.
Seeing the little smile on his face, Zamira immediately returned it. Even though the man was probably quite a few years older than her, his behaviour reminded her of the one of a boy sometimes. Something that was actually pretty cute though. âThat one over there!â, she eventually replied after placing another ice tea in front of Charlie, nodding her head in the direction of his colleague, âAnd yeah.. he can be one sometimes! Donât tell him I said that though or I might need to kill you. Which would really be a shame!â
As Zamira pointed, Charlie brought a hand up to rub at his chin to look casual as he contemplated this âKyleâ and his appearance. Indeed, Kyle was a chode in a shirt with loud colours, a fucking-- human dildo, with arms pressed together to his torso and a wide stance in his legs. Charlie bit his lip against the distinctive, intense urge to say this out loud.
Then his head snapped as it turned, giving Zamira an incredulous look at the declaration of murder. He was surprised. Appalled.
And yet the question on his lips was, âAnd how would you get away with that?â
She hadnât expected to see him; of all the people in New York - the thousands and thousands of people - the last person Iris expected to see was Charlie.
When she did see him, standing there with a sign, she had to laugh. He may be trying to hide his appearance, but she knew him. She knew every single part of him; parts that he tried to hide from everyone else.
And even though a part of her was telling her to walk away; to keep going and not look back at that part of her past, she ignored it. And Iris approached Charlie.
She wondered if he would recognise her. It had been a long time.
âHello, Charlie,â Iris started, her voice calm and sweet and quiet, as always. A hand gestured to his sign. âI recognised your handwriting.â A pause. âWhat do you need help with?â
There werenât very many things that made Charlie hesitate, but Iris was pretty up there. It didnât matter that itâd been years since he saw her (years since he failed her, years since heâd been too selfish and too proud and too fucking ugly in the soul); nobody made him feel weak the way Iris did, made him feel simultaneously like he could carry the world on his shoulders and then drop it with one wrong move.
The sign dropped before she stood in front of him. His lips were parted, an expression of confusion on the edge of his tongue, and he swallowed dryly.
âI...â He spared the sign a glance, and then furrowed his brows like heâd forgotten the entire point of it completely. What did he need help with? Did it matter when the first person heâd ever loved-- really, really, really loved-- was standing in front of him now, here, like this?
âI lost my train of thought.â He bit the inside of his cheek, somewhat embarrassed. âSorry, I...
âIris. I didnât. Uh. My writing isnât as messy as it was, is it?â
He felt tiny, shy. Felt every bit like the child he was when they were together.
But I miss you
But thereâs no cominâ home
Thereâs no cominâ home
With a name like mine
I still think of you
But everyone knows
Yeah everyone knows
If you care then let it go
He had promised himself it wouldnât get like this again. That he could handle it. That it was just to take the edge off. But thatâs what they always say, isnât it? And it never works out, does it? So he trusted a couple of the wrong people, went out with those people, ended up getting high with those people and maybe drinking a little too much, as well. Thatâs how it always was. He over indulged. And they left him, passed out, in the alley behind the club where he needed to go puke up the combination of cocaine and too much tequila.Â
And they left him. And he had passed out.Â
And tomorrow when this would all come back to him, along with a hangover, he would be embarrassed, and ashamed.Â
But right now he was only aware that he maybe needed help.Â
So he nodded, or he thinks he nodded, a few times âI can hear youâ he said, his voice rough from both cigarettes and, from he assumes, puking. âWasted, not deaf.âÂ
Just his luck that this half-dead piece of shit had a fucking attitude. Charlie considered leaving him here on the concrete on that quality alone, but the little voice in his head that insisted he do good (God, who did good 24/7, anyway?) had him pulling a kerchief from his pocket to dab lightly at the kidâs mouth where some vomit was left.
âThatâs nice,â he said, giving the cloth a look once heâd cleaned him up properly, and then folding it to hide the mess before he put it back where it came from. âI donât know enough ASL to be helpful to a deaf person.
âDo you have anywhere safe you can go? Dunno if youâre aware, but youâre by the backdoor of one of the shadiest nightclubs Iâve ever seen.â
Charlie was at least 65% sure the name of said nightclub revolved around mermaids and tequila. He did not, however, have even the slightest brain capacity required to even try to remember what it was.
Pretending to think hard about what he had just said, Zamira eventually shrugged. âAlright, maybe you simply are one then!â, she stated with a straight face but quickly gave him wink before turning away for a few seconds to make a cocktail someone had just ordered. âIf it wasnât ok, I already would have gone somewhere else. And Kyle does that all the time so he might as well work a little more today..â, the girl replied a few seconds later as she turned back around towards him, nodding her head at her colleague. âIâm not really sure if Iâm the best for this faerie guide job though but friend definitely sounds good!â, she added, grinning a little at his obvious insecurity when asking about the latter.
Friend sounds good, she said, and so Charlie nodded once with the tiniest little smile and ordered another iced tea when Zamira was free to make another drink. At least liking it plain meant she wouldnât have to go through leaps and bounds to add the insane amounts of alcohol a Long Island version would require.
âWhich one is Kyle?â he asked, leaning forward on his elbows when he got his new serving and taking a proper sip out of it to punctuate his question. âDude sounds like a serious chode.â
That-- was how people talked to their friends, right?
Probably. (He was copying what he saw in the movies.)
Hand in his hair, Alastair moved down with a yelp, face pushed into the sofa. He laughed, enjoying the roughness and the touches, humming.
âMmmm, Iâm your baby,â he murmured. His hips thrusted forwards at the smack on his ass. Alastair laughed again. God he loves that. The fingers in his ass, the hand pushing his head down into the sofaâŠ
âMmm, please,â he mumbled. âPlease, please, please. Oh Charlie. Please.â
He pushed his ass back into Charlieâs hand. âFuck, I want you all over me⊠marking me⊠letting me remember you when Iâm back at homeâŠâ
Yeah, Alastair looked good like this-- bent over, ass shown, hole clinging to his fingers with all the hunger of a practised whore. He sounded even better, running his mouth, begging and cooing and calling himself Charlieâs baby. The worst thing, Charlie felt, was that Alastair knew it would get to him. The best thing was that there werenât any misconceived pretences to be had.
âAnd how do you want to remember me?â His fingers withdrew and his hand reached into his trousers, pulling his cock up over the waistband of his sweatpants. A proper dip through the lube on Alastairâs back and Charlie slicked himself up; there was a gentle smack of the tip of his prick against that hungry, pink pucker, and Charlie dragged the fingers in Alastairâs hair down over his neck, along one shoulder and around to his chest.
Down and down and down it went until he could grasp the curve of one hip, the tip of his cock just barely breaching Alastairâs hole before he pulled away again to make it all the more obvious of how empty Alastair was. How do you want to remember me, Charlie had asked, but he already knew the answer.
He knew it when he sank into that heat, head dipping to kiss Alastairâs neck and drag his front teeth down over his skin. And he knew it when every single thrust forward brought him deeper and deeper, splitting Alastair as if he hadnât done it twice the night before already.
âI am comfortable,â Alastair replied, smirk still on his face as he remained stretched out just for Charlie. It was all for Charlie now; his mind, his body, his heart. âAre you cominâ?â Alastair started, but stopped when Charlie spoke again.
Charlie called him a good boy and Alastairâs cock twitched. Half of him wanted to say no, wanted to tease and be naughty so he could be punished but he didnât know if that was what Charlie liked.
So he did as he was told, turning and getting onto his hands and knees, bending forwards so his ass was up in the air and all ready for Charlie. Alastair spit in his hand and rubbed himself hard, looking over his shoulder.
âIâm lonely over here,â he pouted.
The way Alastair's spine curved was unbelievably erotic, made even worse with the hang of his cock and the way his fingers worked it. Jesus, Charlie thought, and then he wasn't thinking at all.
Kneeling behind Alastair, one hand slid up his back to the nape of his neck, and then higher to tangle his fingers in his hair. Charlie pushed, one hand on Alastair's hip to keep his ass raised, and he pressed Alastair's head down, forehead to the cushion, his lips moving to brush the small of his back.
One hand kept him down, the other squirting lube right on Alastair's tailbone. He dipped his middle and index fingers into the small puddle, making them sticky and wet, and when he lifted his hand next it was to deliver a quick, half-stinging swat to one of those cheeks.
"You really are my baby, you know that?" Charlie murmured, fingers breaching Alastair's hole and sinking in to the last knuckle. "Pouting and whining like that..."
Drifting up, Charlie's teeth scraped the curve of Alastair's ear, his cock nudged against his ass and rubbing slowly, different from the quicker, slick sounds of his fingers stretching open, his palm smacking fast against a round cheek.
Alastair didnât like waiting. He whined into Charlieâs mouth when he was told to, but he liked the way Charlie laughed, and removed his tank top, and then came back to kiss him again.Â
But then his shirt was off too and there was a finger on his nipple and Alastair was going to moan in happiness and start tugging at Charlieâs trousers when he heard a yip and a laugh from Charlie, and he looked to his side at the pile of clothes that seemed to have a dog hidden in them.
He lay back, breathless, chest heaving up and down when Charlie got up to pick Matilda up. He suppoesd it was definitely a good idea to keep her away from what was going to happen.
âOkay,â he murmured, watching as Charlie picked her up and took her into his bedroom. Whilst he was gone, Alastair decided to rid himself of the rest of his clothes (only a pair of shorts, thanks to Charlie lending him some) and then he lay back on the couch, completely naked and waiting (im)patiently for him to return.
âAll right,â Charlie said, having put Matilda in and (rather cleverly, he felt) procured the lube theyâd used earlier, âI donât think sheâs going to bother us any...â But as he left his hallway and was forced to witness the sight of Alastair completely naked on his cushions, his voice died out and his eyes widened in something like surprise.
He took a moment, as all perverts did. Stood there and stared at Alastairâs face and the lines of his body-- the shape of his chest, the softness of his stomach after breakfast, the lines of his Adonis belt leading down to the shape of his cock. His legs were spread just enough to be inviting without being quite so shameless; Charlieâs trousers, loose as they were, felt tighter than they did earlier.
He could have come forward. Could have gone and kissed the beautiful man on his couch, ravished him quick and fast until cum splattered between them, until he had Alastair seeded as the most primal instinct wanted.
Instead, Charlie crossed his arms over his chest, leaning against the wall at the edge of his hallway, caring little for the fact the position made the outline of his prick in his trousers evident in its interest.
âWell, you look comfortable.â I want to push your face down and pull your hips up, sink my teeth into your spine, press my nails into your skin. âArenât you going to present yourself like a good boy, or do I have to ask for everything?â
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