The Exception

Billy lies on his back, stunned, his vision is blurred with unshed tears and spots dance in front of his eyes. His whole body feels like it’s brimming with static electricity, shocks rolling through him, making him shudder and tremble and clutch at the bedding for stability. His dick is red and hard against his belly, and every slight movement sends a wave of hot pain-pleasure through him.

Alan’s hands leave stripes of tingling skin behind, and the semen on his belly makes him itch. Billy’s eyes are heavy and his whole body throbs with his heart beat, and he lifts a trembling hand to wrap around his dick and hisses at the intensity of it.

He hears the water running and then, the chime of Alan’s phone getting a message. Billy opens his eyes and looks up at the cracked paint on the ceiling, he looks toward the bathroom and he can see Alan with his head down, standing at the sink.

“I think that’s your pervert.” Billy calls out. He thinks now he was a little impulsive to get off so early, but at the same time he feels like he could get worked up all over again real quick. He does wonder about Alan, though. How long until he’ll be hard again?

Billy reaches up and feels for a pillow, it only takes him a moment to pull it out of the pillow case, and he lays that above his head in easy reach. Just in case.

“Ready to go, Daddy?” He calls to Alan, grinning.

Alan hears Billy and hums, turning off the sink, tidying himself back up.  His mind feels like it’s scattered in a hundred places.  He closes his eyes for a moment, considers the task at hand, feels his attention focus.  Alan walks back out to Billy, plucks up his phone and idly wipes over his belly as he does so.  

“Are you?” He asks with a curl of his lips as he glances up at Billy’s face, searching quickly.  He drags his gaze back to his phone again, sends a reply.  “Get dressed if you want.  He’s on his way up.” 

Alan adjusts his collar neatly over his bruised neck, considers his belt in his hands before setting the braided leather aside.  He’s tucking his satchel under the bathroom sink when there’s a knock on the door.  Alan feels excitement tighten in his chest as he crosses the room, so he softens his eyes and furrows his brows to blanket it in faux modesty and nervousness. 

Carl’s nervous, excited smile almost mirrors Alan’s own facade and he’s thrilled.

… recent string of murders across several states, sources say that police are searching for a white female, between twenty-five and thirty-five years of age, who is likely hitchhiking or engaging in prostitution, if you see anything suspicious, contact authorities on …

                                           B O R N   T O   D I E   !!

Idealism sits in prison, chivalry fell on it’s sword         Innocence died screaming, honey, ask me I should know

Everything shrinks down to this, the hot breath between them, the slick hard stroke of Alan’s hand around their dicks, the way every muscle in Billy’s body is stretched taut as he’s wrapped around Alan’s hips, and straining to thrust up into his hand, and arching against the mattress, and feeling like he’s being torn apart all at once.

The rumble of Alan’s voice tickles something primal in Billy’s gut, and he stops making sense, stops begging with words and just whimpers and groans and clutches harder, squeezes his thighs together until the shape of Alan’s hips must be imprinted there. The liquid heat in his belly feels like he could burst, but there’s more still, the slick friction of Alan’s cock against him, that hand pressing them together, drives Billy to the brink and holds him there, teetering on the edge until it feels like torture.

A choked sound catches in Billy’s throat, his eyes roll back and he shudders as hot ropes of come spit across his chest and belly, splattering as far as his throat. He clutches at Alan desperately and his hips jerk with the last few pumps of come and then he goes limp and pants for air, quickly becoming over sensitive, overwhelmed by sensation. 

Eyes watering, Billy squirms under Alan, still holding onto him, but now desperate in a different way, pained but still wanting, spent but desperate, he wants to keep fucking Alan’s hand even though it hurts, his dick stays hard, and it burns and Billy bites his lip so hard he tastes the metallic tang of blood, and he claws at Alan’s back and bites at his shoulder, where he can reach.

Alan’s insides are twisting with pleasure like they haven’t in years and he groans, deep and genuine, palming up over their slick cock heads.  He shudders and bucks forward, instinctively searching for more, more heat, more pressure, more of the desperate boy scrambling and whining under him. 

When Billy finally jerks, arching again and coming, impossibly hard, Alan can’t breathe at first.  He groans again finally and it’s almost too much to feel Billy’s cock jumping against his fingers, against his own throbbing, aching want.  The hot sensation of Billy’s teeth and nails tear over him and he only squeezes his hand harder around them.  One, two, then a third, more jagged thrust and a grunt of ecstasy as Alan follows him over the edge.  He’s gripping Billy’s hip with bruising force as he watches his come pour out over Billy’s cock and stomach. 

“Awful job at cleaning up, hm?” He offers a breathless laugh and leans down to kiss at Billy’s shoulder and face, reveling in the shudder of over stimulation, the weak tremble of a well-earned release.  He mouths over his neck and laps up the come he finds there before pulling away, licking his lips.  He cups Billy’s face and caresses him there, pausing before smiling. 

“I’ll get a wash cloth.” He presses a kiss to Billy’s knee as he pulls away. 

Billy nods, his teeth sunk into his bottom lip, his hands grasping at Alan’s shirt for stability. The underwear hoisted down his thighs fetches up against his knees and as Alan leans over him his legs are pressed to his chest, and he ought to feel squashed and uncomfortable, but it’s just hot, being twisted up underneath Alan, his legs hiked up, his dick out, everything exposed.

He shudders and mewls as Alan plays with him, his movement is restricted but he does his best to thrust his hips up into Alan’s hand, eyes narrowed to slits. Something about this makes him want more and to run away, he can’t stand hearing Alan call him a good boy, if only because he thinks it must be a tease, it must be making fun of him. Part of him is too thirsty to care, though, and drinks in the praise desperate for more.

“Oh shit!” he gasps, and for a moment he can’t do anything but arch against the mattress, his head thrown back, throat exposed, his hands are numb and tingly and he feebly tries to drag Alan even closer. “Please,” he whimpers, “please, oh, please, Daddy,” he’s shivering, but he’s overheated in his skin, feels like he’s ready to burst with the rush of sensation through him.

All thought of what they’re about to do has crowded into the back of his mind, all he can focus on his Alan on top of him, and the sensation that is almost enough to drown out the blinding panic that wants to consume him.

Billy’s sounds and motions are enticing, fascinating.  It’s a pleasure in and of itself just to see the boy writhing under him, feel him pressed close against him and struggling.  Alan imagines he could strangle Billy like this, with his cock in his hand, pinned down into the cheap bedding.  It’s a thrilling little fantasy, but not one that he lingers on.

The sharp breath he sucks in as Billy starts to beg surprises him, and it’s hard to focus as a heavy wave of arousal roils in him. Alan maneuvers Billy’s legs, tugging his boxers away from one leg so that he can spread them and press closer down over him.  “Shhh, shh, I’ve got you.”  He murmurs and grabs Billy’s cock again.  He sets into a slow rhythm at first, just teasing his hand up and down as his free hand works at his pants, shoving in to free his own arousal from their confines. 

He works them both separately at first, breath heavier as he watches pre-come dribble onto Billy’s sex from his own.  He lets out a measured breath as he presses them together, squeezing his fingers around them, feeling a shudder run up his spine at the heat and sensation.  There’s an uncomfortable tug of friction and he lifts his hand to his mouth, licking over his palm before continuing with the added lubrication of his own saliva, rocking his hips into the motions.  “C’mon Billy, show me how much of a mess you are.”  There’s an edge to his voice, almost a growl as he squeezes harder and presses a hand up over Billy’s chest.  He gropes over one side and then thumbs at a pert nipple, giving the flushed nub an experimental pinch. 

Billy’s heart stops when Alan’s knee presses between his thighs, and then it starts up again in double time, pounding away in his chest. He sucks in a gasp and lifts his knees, spreads them. He wriggles under Alan’s hand, and when Alan leans down close to kiss him, Billy’s knees bracket his hips.

Digging his heels into Alan’s backside, Billy urges him closer, he wants to rub up against him, feel the weight and the heat of his body on top of him, he wants … he wants … he doesn’t know what he wants, but he’s frantic with it, hands grasping at Alan’s shirt, reaching up to pet his hair, feel his beard and cup the back of his neck. 

Billy nods, teeth sunk into his own lip, and it takes a moment before he can form words to answer back. “Yeah,” he says, “yeah, please, please clean me up.” Arousal runs through him like electricity, and he arches under Alan, shuddering and panting for air.

Alan can’t help a wide euphoric grin and a breathless laugh at Billy’s desperation.  He feels his insides twist and his own cock throbs and hardens in his pants, Billy’s frenzied grabbing sending excitement buzzing down his nerves.  He buries his face against Billy’s neck, mouthing and dragging his teeth, nipping, sucking, his hand grasps and squeezes wantonly at Billy’s thigh, slides under him to cup and squeeze at his ass, pulling them flush together. 

He pulls away for breath and his eyes drag over to his watch on his wrist where his right hand is buried in the mattress.  His eyes are back on Billy before he finishes inhaling and he shifts, hands pushing up over his middle, his chest, his neck, to cup his face in his hands.  “Don’t worry, Billy.  I’ll take care of you.” He leans down for a deep kiss and he slides his hands back down to tug his boxers down off his hips enough to give himself access. 

“There you go.  There’s my good boy.”  Alan’s hands grope over Billy’s bare hips and his ass again before one cups at his hard, leaking sex.  He rubs his palm over Billy’s cock-head so it’s slick when his fingers wrap around his length.  He gives Billy a slow, firm stroke and there’s a smug curve to his lips as he watches for his reaction.  “Feel good?”

Carl Newman has been sweating since he woke up that morning. Today was the day. He’d called out of work when Walter had told him he’d be close enough for them to meet up.  Them.  Him and his boy.  Just the thought makes him feel hot and his hands feel slicker where he gripped the steering wheel.  He swallows, clenches his teeth, grins to himself. 

Billy’s cheeks flush and there’s a flutter in his belly that is somewhere between nervous and excited. Alan’s hands on his waist make him want to lean into him, the touch to his nipple makes him shudder, and he lets out a shaky breath as Alan kisses his cheek and moves off. Billy looks down at his semi poking against his boxer briefs.

He takes a few steps back until his knees hit the mattress and he flops down on his back, watching Alan through his lashes. Excitement, fear, his stomach turns, even as his dick strains against his underwear. Would Alan let this Charles or whatever the fuck his name is actually hurt Billy?

Almost certainly, if he felt like it. Capricious, that’s the word for Alan.

“What would your colleagues think if they found out what you get up to on the road?” Billy wriggles against the bedding and rubs his hard on through his underwear. “Do you think they’d be horrified? Do you think they’d wanna get in on it too?”

Not that Billy would dob him in, of course, but he could. If he felt like it. If he were pushed.

He touches himself again and is faintly embarrassed at the whine that comes from his throat, he can feel a wet patch at his tip already and he dabbles his thumb over it and watches a string of precome hang between the digit and the wet patch. “Look at this, Daddy,” he says, “what a mess.”

Alan pulls out his laptop, runs the right programs, logs into the right sites, sends the address and a few lines of text, half listens to what Billy’s saying.

“Oh, some of them would be positively traumatized.”  Alan fidgets with his belt buckle and watches Billy in the corner of his vision.  “Some would be all too eager to write off my success because of the scandal--or eager to make their own names riding on the infamy of it all.”  Alan sighs at that and wets his lips. 

“I’m sure a few would be envious.  Though, I doubt they’d admit it.”  Alan thinks of one man who might only be mildly disappointed that Alan’s fun was drawn to such an anticlimactic close.  The flash-memory of hard shining eyes and a bemused upturn of the other’s lips is forgotten entirely when Billy’s lithe form shifts against the bedding again. Alan tuts and brushes his fingertips over Billy’s thigh, slipping under his boxers, indulging in the soft warm flesh they find there. 

Billy springs up as the money is dangled, to take it before it disappears. He counts through it, and then while Alan is distracted moving things around, he hides it in a secret pocket deep in his satchel. After a moment’s thought, he hides his satchel away in the musty smelling closet. There’s no point letting a stranger see his stuff even if he’s going to be out of the picture soon.

“Ooh, secret identities and everything?” The air in the room isn’t that cold, but it still makes Billy’s skin prickle, and his nipples stand out hard as pebbles. He stands behind Alan and slides his hands over his hips, around to touch his belly, slipping lower over his belt, just to tease.

“Don’t you mean you’re Daddy?” It is more than a hunch that Alan’s into that shit, even if he might not want to admit it as such. “Are you looking forward to seeing your friend, Daddy?”

He slips a hand lower, fingertips finding the opening of Alan’s pocket and slipping inside, ignoring the stuff in there in favour of groping him through the lining, feeling the tender jumble of his cock and balls through his underwear.

“You’ll have to show me what to do, Daddy.” Billy smiles and bites his lip, it’s almost too fun to tease Alan.

Alan watches Billy and tries to decide if he wants to tuck his own bag into the closet or under the bathroom sink.  He’s less worried about it being seen and more concerned with it coming into contact with any evidence.  Billy pressing up behind him serves as quite the distraction. 

“Something like that.”  Alan laughs, quiet and breathy.  He inhales when he hears that word leave Billy’s lips and he feels his nostrils flare.  There’s something about the way his body follows through a checklist of aroused response--dilated pupils, flushed skin, increased heart rate--something uncharacteristically awkward, uncertain.  Alan Bloom, who never thought of his own father as much more than a nuisance, an annoyance, a blemish to be blotted out of childhood memories, finds something embarrassing about the connection. 

“That’s not really necessary, is it?” He laughs again, huskier as he wavers between annoyed humiliation and amused arousal.  He feels the heat of his skin flushing and it makes his throat ache where his bruises are still healing.  Billy’s hand snakes its way into his pocket and he sucks in a breath, tilting his head back.  His cock aches with a fresh rush of blood southward.

“Of course, Billy.  I want to have my fun but I’m here to help you however I can.”  He whispers over his shoulder, then gives in and turns, hands sliding over Billy’s hips to grope at his waist.  His lips hover so close enough to Billy’s mouth that he can feel his breath, one hand sliding up over his ribs, thumb dragging over a pert nipple. 

Billy’s watching Alan take stuff out of the bags and trying to figure out what the hell he could be up to when the bomb drops. Billy looks at Alan, his mouth working silently as he processes, he watches him tuck a big tub of bleach under the bed, the gloves and bags and peroxide. He scratches his face.

“Oh.” Billy says, and laughs. It starts off an uncertain chuckle, and then grows, a deep belly laugh that makes him clutch himself and makes his eyes water.

The laughter tapers off a little, and Billy begins getting himself under control, but the way Alan phrased it rings in his head I want to watch him fuck my son, and it sets him off again, howling with laughter until his stomach hurts and he has to pull a pillow over his face to try and calm down.

“Wow,” Billy says, “wow. Shit.” He hadn’t expected Alan to just outright say something like that.

He puts the pillow over his face again, and thinks. Of course he wants to hang around and see what Alan’s going to do. Sounds great. Crazy, but great. He can’t think too hard on the particulars or he’ll start laughing again, but first things first, there is an important question he has to ask.

“How much money?”

Alan presses his hand over his mouth again, tries not to laugh himself, but it’s contagious as he watches Billy lose himself.  He feels like he’s won the lottery, like the firs time he kissed someone, like speeding down the highway, like he could do anything, have anything, be anything.  He takes a breath, trying simultaneously to calm and center himself and to savor the moment. 

“You can have it either way, if that’s what you’re asking,” Alan replies with a smirk.  He doesn’t expect, with that reaction, that Billy would prefer a movie.  He shifts in his seat and fishes his wallet out of his back pocket, flips it open, thumbs through it’s contents.  “Sixty-four.”  Alan stands and holds the bills out between his fingers, not quite close enough for Billy to reach. 

“If you stay--well, he’ll be expecting to find a nervous boy, won’t he?  So no worries there.”  Alan laughs a bit, frets about moving things here and there, unbuttons his collar, remembers his bruises, re-buttons it.  “He’s been going by Charles--a pseudonym of course--and he thinks my son’s name is Jacob.” 

“Oh. Alright.” It’s no skin off Billy’s nose, either way he’ll be getting to California sooner or later. He starts with a swig of coffee, since Alan’s still fiddling with the food, and winces at the taste. Oh well. He chugs it and grabs the other cup for a chaser, the juice-coffee combo is not the greatest, but it’s something at least.

Billy takes his waffle and toppings, dumps them all on at once and digs in. Waffles aren’t his favourite, but pretty much anything is better than what he ate in the home, so this disappears in short order, and he barely restrains himself from licking the chocolate sauce from the container.

Replete, he yawns, stretches, and flops back onto the bed, considering going right back to sleep if Alan’s going to be off doing something academic or whatever. He rolls onto his side and squirms until he can tug the covers back over himself, watching Alan lazily.

“How long are you gonna be busy for?” He could mess around a bit, maybe, though he’s not sure how far he wants to go, but he thinks of Alan kissing him the night before and it makes him go all tingly again.

Alan doesn’t feel like eating but he knows he’ll regret it if he doesn’t.  He picks over half a waffle, some walnuts, strawberries.  He’s thinking about Carl Newman again, thinking about the dark scruff on his jaw and the glasses he wears in half of the pictures he’d found of the man when he was checking up on him.  Alan hopes he wears the glasses and can’t help smiling to himself as he takes another bite. 

“For a while.”  Alan dabs at his mouth and sits back, still smiling lightly as he looks at Billy where he’s tucked up under the blankets.  “I’ll give you some money to go into town if you want, or you can stay and help.”  He stands and gathers up their trash and disposes of it, starts picking through the items he’d bought, mostly for clean up after the fact.  He tucks gloves and trash bags and peroxide into the nightstand drawer, slides a half gallon of bleach under the bed. 

Out like a light. Billy sleeps so soundly that he hardly moves the whole night, he stirs briefly when Alan leaves, but not enough to breach into consciousness, and he doesn’t wake up until there is a noise from outside, the screech of tires or the shriek of an un-oiled hinge that makes him jump into awareness.

Alan is gone. For an icy split second, panic rises in Billy’s gut, his throat seizes up and he is about ready to leap up and scarper. But there’s a note, and though his heart is still racing, he calms, he looks around and Alan’s stuff is still there, and he can’t have been gone too long, because the bed where he’d slept is still warm.

For a while Billy lies there, comfortable, wondering what Alan might bring for breakfast. Fantasising about coffee and donuts and tinned peaches. But he doesn’t want to lie there forever, he gets up to use the bathroom and takes his time washing his face and neck with cool water, cleans his teeth again, and picks at a pimple on his jaw.

He hears the door and pops out to smile at Alan, just wearing his boxers and socks. “What’s for breakfast? Did you get coffee?” Billy’s feeling optimistic this morning, and well rested. “How far we gotta drive today to be on time?”

“Waffles.”  Alan replies with a bright smile of his own.  He drops a few bags on his side of the bed and carefully lowers the cup-holder onto the nightstand. 

“Oh--”  He’d gotten juice for Billy.  “I’ve already had some of the coffee, but you’re welcome to the rest if you’d like.”  He arranges the boxes of waffles and fruit and little containers of butter and syrup, nuts and chocolate chips that the local little diner had provided him with.  The wait staff had asked if he was surprising his wife with breakfast in bed.  Alan just told them that they weren’t married yet and had a good laugh.

In the passenger seat of the car, Billy is all tingles; where Alan kissed him, on his forehead, and his mouth, the tip of his nose which is warming up, his fingers and toes–he didn’t realise how cold he was outside–and his belly. He feels slow, though, sedated by the warmth, the long day’s drive catching up with him at last.

Back at the hotel he shuffles along like a somnambulant, cleans his teeth and peels off his clothes and crawls into bed. He’s half asleep already, working mostly on autopilot. All his stuff goes in the right place, all his belongings are accounted for, but he doesn’t remember doing it.

Billy curls up under the covers, pulling them up to his nose, and snuggling into his pillow. When Alan gets into bed Billy scooches over to him and reaches out to press his hands against his side. He wants to get as close as he can and awkwardly rubs his cheek against Alan’s shoulder, growing sleepier by the minute.

“That was real nice,” he mumbles against Alan’s shoulder, “it was nice up there, wasn’t it?” But he is soundly asleep before there is much chance for conversation, a hand on Alan’s belly, and the covers pulled up around his ears.

Alan’s trying to go over a list of things he’ll need to buy in the morning, going over what he’ll need to do, in what order, what time he should be finished with X to move on to Y to move on to Z.  He’s pleasantly distracted by Billy, though, and watches him between getting ready for bed himself. 

“It was. Even better with good company.” Alan murmurs in reply, but Billy’s breathing has evened out and he doesn’t expect a reply.  Part of him wants to roll over, wrap his arms around the boy, mouth over his neck to wake him back up just enough.  It’d be good for Billy to get some rest, though.  Instead he twists carefully, bending so that he can press a kiss to the top of his head.

Alan thinks he might lie awake all nigh himself but surprises himself by dozing off.  He wakes with a sharp focus in the inky black of the motel room.  It’s half an hour before his alarm would have gone off and he’s glad he doesn’t have to risk waking Billy.  He jots down a note (getting breakfast x) just in case and leaves without a sound.

Billy shrugs, Alan’s weird and over-sharing mood makes him feel uneasy, like he’s the one showing some kind of weakness. Out here it feels stupid to be so worked up about it, it isn’t like someone’s going to jump out and shout gotcha if he admits that he’s enjoyed this leg of his trip more than pretty much the rest of his travels. And that it doesn’t even have much to do with having eaten more and more regularly than he has in a while.

“Gotta be used to it, otherwise how would I do anything?” But then Alan moves closer, and Billy’s breath catches and he thinks god, maybe–but he doesn’t want to let his guard down, he doesn’t want to be let down again. More than that, he can’t handle the damage it does every time he’s been vulnerable and been knocked back or tossed aside. In the long run it seems safer to only trust himself.

Alan’s hand on his face, and the way his words shape his expression confuse Billy, but he leans into the touch almost without intending to, Alan’s hand is warm, and the fantasy he spins, that there’s a soft place to land, and that Billy could possibly deserve it is sweet as xylitol and just as fake.

“Alright,” he says, but he doesn’t move, he doesn’t want to break away from the contact, he wants to lean in, to push his face against Alan’s shoulder, but he doesn’t do that either, just stays exactly where he is, looking up at Alan’s dark eyes.

When Billy doesn’t pull away, Alan pulls closer.  Something about the crisp air and the cold, bright stars makes the moment feel significant.  Billy looks wounded and uncertain and hopeful.  The expression is satisfying in a way that feels like a warm flutter in Alan’s stomach.

Something about Billy’s jaw and cheekbone under his hand feels grounding and exhilarating all at once. His other hand joins the first as he leans in, his eyes slipping closed as he presses a kiss to Billy’s forehead, then his lips.  It’s easy to linger there.  He wants more, wants to squeeze Billy’s body flush against his own, wants to feel his tongue along the edge of his teeth. 

Instead, he caresses Billy’s face and pulls away just enough to meet his gaze again.  “Your nose is cold.”  Alan laughs and nudges their noses together again.  “Let’s get you warmed up.” He pats Billy’s cheek and pulls away finally, heading toward the car.