|Laylah (laylah) wrote in kinkfest,|
@ 2008-03-06 06:16:00
|Entry tags:||a: laylah, f: baccano!, march 06, p: claire/luck|
"Between Shows," Baccano!, Luck/Claire
Title: Between Shows
Length: ~1700 words
Prompt: Luck/Claire - talking during sex - "I'll kill them for you"
"If we let just anyone come back to see him," the carnie says, shifting his weight so he blocks the opening in the fence a little more completely, "he'd never get a minute's peace. He's a pretty popular fellow."
The man is doing his best to loom, but Luck has Berga for comparison, and isn't deterred. "He's my brother," he says. "You don't make exceptions even for family?"
The carnie squints at him -- it's true they don't look like brothers, and with good reason, but it doesn't make them any less close. "Which one are you, then?" the carnie asks. Luck feels warm. Claire talks about them to his friends in the circus.
"Luck," he says. He's about to continue -- you can toss me out again if he's not happy to see me -- but the carnie steps back.
"He said you might come by. If any of the lot of you did, he said it'd be you."
Luck smiles. "So I can come back and see him?"
"Don't take too long," the carnie says. "We have another show later tonight. It's the third car you come to. And don't wander. Dangerous things back here, you know."
"I know," Luck says. "Thank you." He thinks the danger might be why Claire likes it so much; he sends post cards to New York with scrawled, exuberant anecdotes about the lions almost eating someone or how easily the elephants can smash things when they're startled. The post cards never mention how easy it would be to fall from the tightrope. Luck wonders if it's even occurred to Claire that such a thing is possible.
The grass is damp already with the dew, clinging to the cuffs of his pants. The air smells like livestock, and he can hear chains rattling in the dark, further into the circus grounds. Luck counts off three cars along the caravan, and climbs the stairs to the door of the third one. He knocks twice.
"Come in," Claire calls through the door. Like he's expecting the interruption.
Luck unlatches the door and ducks inside; the trailer's lantern-lit, warm, and smells like dust and grease paint. "Don't you ever get tired of being right all the time?"
Claire laughs, and looks up from the mirror where he's been sponging off his stage makeup. "Wouldn't do much good if I did," he says. "Since --"
"The world is made for your convenience?" Luck finishes for him, as Claire gets up. From the way Claire smiles, he can see he's right; Claire hasn't given up on that yet, then. "So what purpose am I serving in your grand adventure tonight?"
"Let's find out," Claire says. He steps into Luck's arms, his hands sliding under Luck's coat, and leans in for a kiss. He's grown taller again in the months the circus has been on the road, and Luck is momentarily annoyed that it seems likely he'll remain the shortest of the four of them, but then Claire's tongue is in his mouth and he has better things to think about. Claire's mouth tastes like lemonade, of all the ridiculous things. His costume feels as exotic as it looks, sleek and clinging under Luck's hands. It shone blue under the spotlight, but in the dim light of the trailer it looks almost black. Luck pulls back to get a better look.
"I missed you, you bastard," he says. Claire looks wonderful, his hair fire-bright, his eyes still smudged with paint that makes him somehow look even more animated than usual.
"I missed you, too," Claire says. He pulls at the knot of Luck's tie. "You should take off this fancy suit before I make a horrible mess of it."
Heat washes straight down Luck's spine. "Is that so?" he says. He shrugs out of his coat.
Claire nods. He's wearing that expression like he means to be serious, only the smile is trying to escape anyway. "You learn a lot, traveling with circus people," he says. He reaches for the hem of his shirt, tugs it up over his head. The muscles of his chest and shoulders are well defined, solid, more obvious than they were last year. Luck gets to work on his shirt buttons.
It takes far too long for him to get all the way out of his clothes, precious moments of Claire not touching him when they don't have much time, but eventually -- finally, long after Claire has finished -- Luck gets the last of his clothes off. "Missed you so much," Claire says, pulling Luck down with him onto the trailer's little cot. He stretches out on top of Luck so their cocks nestle together, and presses their lips together in another kiss. Luck holds him by the hips and rocks under him, slow sliding friction. Eventually one of them will break, push a hand into the tight space between them to trap their cocks together and thrust hard, but Luck wants to draw this out as much as they can afford to. He wants to make sure he gets enough of this to tide him over until the next time Claire comes back to town.
Too soon, Claire moves -- but he's not reaching down, he's reaching up, past Luck, grabbing for something tucked into a little shelf above the cot.
"What are you doing?" Luck asks.
"Getting ready." Claire smiles, reckless and delighted. He sits up, his legs splaying, knees sinking to the mattress on either side of Luck's hips, and reaches back behind himself. For a moment that doesn't make sense, and then Luck feels like he's just had the wind knocked out of him as Claire starts to rock on top of him. Oh. They've never -- never gone so far.
"What can I do?" he asks. His voice comes out hoarse. "Should I --" He reaches for Claire's cock.
Claire shakes his head. "Talk to me," he says. "About something else. Anything else. How is everyone?"
"Doing well," Luck says. It's not the whole answer. He's having a bit of trouble concentrating. "Keith is, ah. We think he's found a girl." Claire's thighs flex against his hips. Claire's arm flexes, pushing. "He won't tell anyone about it, of course."
"Of course," Claire agrees. His smile is crooked, his lower lip caught between his teeth. Some things are beyond even his inhuman self-control. Luck can gloat later, though, when he doesn't run the risk of ruining this. "We won't know for sure until we get wedding invitations. What else?" Claire shifts his weight, and his fingers are slippery when they close around Luck's cock --
"God," Luck says, when he feels where Claire is positioning him, the heat and the tension that almost yields. "I can't keep --"
"I know," Claire says. "Me either." He pushes, the bastard, and he's hot and he's tight and Luck thinks oh, oh, oh as Claire settles down into his lap and he almost misses the rest of the explanation -- "But I don't have time to do things in order and I couldn't decide which I wanted more, and -- talk to me, Luck, think about other things, it'll last longer."
Thinking about this lasting longer almost makes it over right then. "I'm -- you're ridiculous, Claire, oh god, move like that." Luck presses his hands flat against Claire's thighs like he could hold him down. He must have more news. "You remember, ah, Firo, down the street?" Claire nods. His cheeks are flushed. "He's -- the Martillos are interested in him. He's learning to fight with knives." No, that's not going to help, thinking about Firo's speed and grace with a knife.
Claire's still hard, and he wraps a hand around his own cock now. Luck closes his eyes, not sure he can stand to look, but it's all he sees in his mind and god, the way Claire moves around him, tight, sliding just enough -- "How's the family business?" Claire says, his voice shaky. Luck opens his eyes again and Claire's hand is working his cock fast and hard, like he can't stand to wait despite his grand plans.
"Not bad," Luck says. He pushes with his hips and Claire moans. Luck's breath stutters. He can't last much longer no matter what Claire wants. "We have some -- some territory carved out and -- mostly it's, ah, good -- Claire, yes, please -- a few guys causing us trouble but -- oh, fuck," and he loses the thread of that story completely because Claire is coming and he can feel it, not just the splatter of fluid across his stomach but the clench of muscle around the base of his cock and he thinks he's going to die, it feels so good --
And Claire's eyes snap open again, fierce, hungry, and he says, "Who's giving you trouble, Luck? I'll kill them for you," just as Luck loses control and oh, that shouldn't make it better as much as it does.
Claire laughs. "That does it for you, huh?" he says. "You are going to be a big tough mobster when you grow up."
"Shut up," Luck says, but he's grinning back all the same. "You picked a hell of a moment to offer, that's all." When he reaches up, Claire spills forward in his arms easily, meeting his mouth for a kiss, and Luck almost slips free.
"I meant it, you know," Claire says after the kiss, his face still only inches from Luck's, his eyes dark and feverishly intense. "Just say the word."
Luck tries to imagine it, realizes he can imagine it, realizes that he's halfway to believing Claire's absurd claims to be capable of anything. "I --" he stops. "I can't make that decision by myself," he says. "Keith and Berga will want to be involved, too." This is an opportunity, he realizes. "If you're seriously offering, you should come home so we can talk about it."
"Hmm." Claire smiles. "There aren't any shows on Sunday," he says. "I could come into the city for the afternoon."
"Do that," Luck says, and waits for Claire to nod. They all miss him, now that he's gone so much of the time. The house isn't the same without him. "We'll be waiting for you."