First of all, I'm a jerk for making you wait this long for this fill, but I'd be an even bigger jerk if I didn't first point you in the direction of this rentboy fic on the kinkmeme. I've tried to put my own little twist on the trope (*cough*Bottom!Larry*cough*); hope you like it!
Sneakers tapping on the park bench, Freddy stole a glance at his wristwatch. The last bus of the night should've already arrived. When dusk had retreated, he'd perched himself atop the bench's backrest in an attempt to claim the unfamiliar area as his own. Unruly hair, ripped acid-washed jeans, mid-drift top just like Johnny Depp's in Nightmare on Elm Street. He kept one foot on his electric-blue Jammer and trained his eyes forward, silently weighing his options. Not enough money for a cab. The route wouldn't take quite as long on his board, but the prospect still irritated him. He sighed. It was his own fucking fault for mixing up the bus schedule.
Instinct kicked in and his spine went rigid. He saw the movement in his periphery first, the sure-footed gait of a loner approaching from his left. Freddy tilted his head just enough to gauge the situation; the man was older, stockier. About his height. Black Chinos matched with a navy polo. His shoulders were bent, hands shoved deep in his pockets, glance focused on the concrete ahead of him. It seemed unnatural from someone of his build. The moment Freddy turned his head away, he felt the stranger's eyes roam over him. Without thinking, he let his posture loosen, hair falling forward, hoping to make himself invisible.
When the man began to approach him, real panic surged, bitter and settling in the back of his throat like bile. He clenched his hands into fists, preparing for the worst, fear bringing everything into sharp contrast.
It took a second to make sense of the words, uttered quickly and nervously. Freddy glanced up; the man couldn't even look at him.
The man startled, expression a muddle of indecision, then moved closer. He cleared his throat and raised his voice just a little.
"Your rates. How much?" he reached into his back pocket and fumbled with his wallet, "I only got a fifty. What'll that get me?"
Struck dumb, almost shaking with relief, Freddy just stared, blinking. The adrenaline crested, and a different kind of euphoria hit him. He could play the role convincingly. His body had already fallen into it; legs spread just a little wider, one shoulder slouched, hips tilting. Slowly, he pulled his bangs back and leveled him with limpid eyes.
It was obvious the man was as new to the situation as he was, which gave Freddy room to bullshit a little. There were a batch of seedy motels on the thoroughfare near the park's periphery. He doubted that detail had gone unnoticed.
So, not a quick fumble in the front seat of a parked car. The ease with which he considered prolonging the ruse was disturbing. Freddy licked his lips.
Surprise, then concern, flashed in the stranger's eyes. Freddy smiled shyly as his conscience screamed at him. He resolutely ignored it, managing only an expectant silence.
"There's a Denny's not to far from here."
And that was that. He grabbed his board and jumped down from the bench, refusing to let his mind play things through to the end. That was a bridge he'd cross when he came to it.
The man ordered black coffee and silently watched him eat. Under the restaurant's lighting it was easier to take stock of him. Mid-forties; laugh-lines etched into his cheeks and forehead. Succinct but polite with the waitress. He was the type who escaped notice until he grinned, then that was all she wrote. Just a few bashful smiles made Freddy a full-blown goner. The certainty of what they were about to do both thrilled him and terrified him. He scarfed down his pancakes with a jittery hand.
"Do all the kids dress like that these days?"
Coloring, Freddy glanced down at his bare stomach. He loved the subversion of it. Like Bowie or Jagger.
"It's a statement," he shot back, chin thrust forward.
"It's a statement alright," the man smirked, "I'm just not sure what the hell it's trying to say. I guess I'm stuck in the past with French cuffs and Oxford balmorals."
"How conventional of you."
"We can't all be as effortlessly cutting-edge, kiddo."
Freddy fished for a comeback as the waitress came with a refill of coffee. The man asked for a twenty and two tens back. Freddy stared intently at the bills before they were neatly folded and placed inside the tan leather wallet. They walked out into the night, bodies tense in the coastal heat. Freddy felt strange holding his board, but riding it would seem rude. The closest motel wasn't far away.
Freddy figured that not many of the young men who turned tricks showed up with a Santa Cruz in tow. Maybe the clerk thought they were father and son, maybe he was too jaded to give a fuck. The man handed over a ten and ridiculously, Freddy wondered what most johns got out of a thirty dollar investment. They trudged the dingy, pea-green carpet and came upon the door too quickly. Freddy hesitated when the man held it open for him. Crossing the threshold meant no turning back.
"I won't hurt you," the man soothed. Freddy tensed, reveling in his vulnerability. Adrenaline junky. He walked forward and tossed his board onto the floor.
"You pick up more business with that thing?"
"No," he answered truthfully, reckless, "you're my first."
"No!" the man sputtered, "that's fucked up. Christ, what the hell am I doing?"
He yanked out his wallet and threw the remaining bills at his sneakers as he turned to leave. A strange desperation clawed at Freddy's throat.
"I don't want your money. I just liked the attention. I'm sorry."
It was the most truthful thing he'd said all night, and it stripped him bare. Shoulders hunched, he looked away as the man glanced back in his direction.
Freddy glared at him, stinging.
"You saying it ain't gay if there's cash involved?"
The man's lips narrowed into a line.
The retort was dead-pan. Sighing, the man bent down and retrieved his cash.
Real smooth. Freddy crossed his arms over his chest and bit down on his laughter.
The bed groaned as the man sat down on it and bent forward, clutching his head in his hands. There was nothing Freddy could say, so he kept silent, trapped in the surreality of the situation.
"There're some things you just can't do with women," the man finally whispered. Freddy had the heart not to ask him to repeat it.
"Like what?" he asked, "show me."
"Yeah. I've wanted to fuck you since you ordered me that glass of orange juice."
Laughter, then those fucking dimples. Embarrassed, Freddy studied the flimsy, moth-eaten drapes.
"Don't do anything you don't want to."
He nodded and risked a glance. The man was undressing, thick arms lifting his shirt over his head. His chest was wide, with muscles that came from natural labor and not meticulous hours spent at a gym. There was an effortless masculinity to him. He was ignorant of Freddy's enraptured stare as he unbuckled his belt and stepped free of his trousers. His briefs hung low on his hips, hugging the curve of his ass. When he turned, Freddy could see the outline of his cock, hard and tucked up, trapped under the thin white cotton. He had to force himself to breathe.
The man locked eyes and pulled his briefs down, slow, letting the thick swell of his cock peek over the elastic. Freddy blinked, frozen like a jack-rabbit. When the full length bobbed free and he had to remind himself to keep breathing.
He didn't know what he'd been expecting, but when the man lowered himself onto his stomach, Freddy nearly gaped. He'd just assumed that age meant seniority. But it was unequivocal submission that he was being presented with. The man tilted his ass just a little and Freddy's cock twitched.
"Are you sure?" he rasped.
"Yes, god. I bet you're hung, aren't you? The skinny ones always are."
The man turned his head. His dark eyes were blown black. Freddy couldn't get undressed quickly enough, almost stumbling as he approached the bed.
"Check my right-hand pocket."
He nodded, thankful for the stranger's forethought, and pulled out a lubricated condom. His heart slammed in his chest as he crawled onto the mattress and bracketed the man's thighs with his knees. One splayed palm and a soft caress over his flank and Freddy felt the shudder beneath him. He dipped his thumb into the crease and traced the tight hole, barely pressing in. The noise the man made was indecent.
"Please," he begged, deep, gasping, and raised his hips.
"I want to lick you first."
The man turned his face into the pillow and moaned. Freddy was so hard he was dripping, balls swollen and tight against him. He leaned forward, spreading the man's cheeks, and swiped his tongue quickly, just getting a taste of him. His cock pulsed and he reached down, jerking himself slowly as he went in again. This time, he delved deeply, relishing the man's stuttering cry as he pushed his tongue in, face slick with saliva. It was heaven.
"Fuck me. God. I need your prick."
Hands shaking, Freddy tore open the packet and rolled the condom on. The man's asshole was quivering and still wet with his spit. He pressed two fingers in and hissed as he was taken deep, met with equal force. The thighs beneath him flexed, desperate. Lips quirking, he gradually withdrew his fingers. Gripping his cock by the base, he pressed the tip in just enough to crown, and held it there.
The hot, wet clench around him was almost unbearable. Elbows locked, Freddy leaned forward and rested his forehead between the man's shoulder blades, taking a moment to collect himself. A tilted pelvis and a rough, needy thrust against him. An answering roll of his hips and a quick slam in had both men groaning. Freddy was light-headed, marveling at the pleasure he took in giving it. Blunt fingers reached back and grabbed at him, urging him closer, faster. Centering himself, Freddy fucked as hard as he could, marveling as he reduced the man to short, piercing gasps.
"Lean back, let me jack you off," he murmured.
It seemed the polite thing to do. They fit together just right; he leaned his chin against a broad, sloping shoulder and reached down. It was cut, curving, and heavy in Freddy's hand. A few quick, tight squeezes was all it took. The man went rigid and collapsed against him, neck arched. Against all better judgment, Freddy tilted his head and brought their lips together, swallowing the surprised groan. He pressed in deep and held, emptying himself silently, clutching the man closer. His mind was nothing but white noise.
It was strange. He felt soft kisses along his hairline and a large hand cupped along his jaw, guiding him. Then warmth. A strong, rapid heartbeat. The sheets were ratty and prickled against his clammy skin. He couldn't bring himself to care.
"Please, don't take the money."
He opened his eyes, surprised.
"Good. Because I'd hate for you to get the wrong impression. I want to take you out proper, like to a ball game or something. Maybe make a habit of it."
Was this how men asked each other on dates? Freddy didn't know. He ducked his head, bashful.
"Good. Just sleep now. Sweet boy, you were so good."
