miracle (miracle) wrote in luke_noah, @ 2008-12-12 18:26:00 |
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Original poster: qafaddiction
Title: For Sale - Chapter 4/?
Author: Heather
Characters: Luke/Noah
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: None.
Summary: This is an AU story where the boys are rentboys who share more than a street corner.
Notes: I started writing this in response to nouveau_monday's rentboy/alternate universe (AU) prompt, and it has turned into a short series.
If you need to catch up, here are the previous chapters:
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Luke reaches out and rests his hand on Noah's abdomen. His fingers trail along the ridge of the scar, the skin still soft and tender, a pale pink reminder of how close Noah came to being seriously hurt, or even killed. "Does it bother you?"
A frown tugs at the corners of Noah's mouth. "No, but it might bother the clients. You know... damaged goods and all."
Pulling him closer, Luke presses his cheek to the raised line, then traces it with his tongue. "I think scars are sexy."
"Yeah right... maybe if you’re a gladiator. But this..." Noah glances down at the area being marked by Luke's lips. "This makes me look like a woman who had a c-section."
"Stop." Luke laughs in spite of himself. "You're perfect."
The compliment is met with an exaggerated eyeroll from Noah, who is secretly relieved that Luke still finds him desirable. Not just because of the scar, but... well, because of everything.
"Your skin is so fair that once it heals completely, it'll be practically invisible."
"I hope you're right."
The touch against his skin switches from an absent tracing of a freshly-healed wound to one that is much more focused. Luke rubs his thumb against one of Noah's nipples with a quiet intensity that matches his own demeanor. A small, approving noise forms in the back of Noah's throat, and his fingertips trace the line of Luke's spine all the way down his bare back, smoothing over every bump. He notices the vertebrae sticking out a little too much, and reminds himself they both need to eat more, and get some meat on their bones before the bitter cold sets in.
Noah buries his hands in Luke's hair, tugging at it gently, letting his fingers dance along Luke's scalp. The blonde continues his ministrations, his tongue tickling the skin of Noah's lower abs while the stubble on his chin gently scrapes the tip of Noah's stiffening penis, driving the dark-haired hunk crazy and causing him to demand that Luke hurry up and suck him.
Luke needs no further encouragement. A spark of wickedness flits from behind his eyelids, and his lips become ardent devotees of Noah's erection. They begin their worship at the base of the smooth, solid pillar as if it were a columnal shrine, then continue their praise upward. The dark rosy blush of Luke's tongue contrasts with Noah's pale skin, so smooth and slick it's as if God swirled white marble and pink alabaster into polished perfection.
Noah closes his eyes, and he and Luke ease into a rhythm of fresh rapture. No matter how often they do this, it always feels brand new.
Heat builds, and Noah chokes out a cry. His back arches, pushing him up off the bed as he strains to get more of his cock into Luke's mouth. He feels a slight pull across his abdomen and winces a little, but Luke reaches out and grips Noah's fingers tightly in his own. He runs his thumb over the back of Noah's hand, letting him know he's there, and gives Noah a moment to regroup. Noah finds himself welcoming the pain, even needing it a little. Pain is a reminder that he's still alive. It keeps him from falling into numbness.
"Christ, that feels good," Noah moans. “Keep going!”
"I don't want to hurt you." Luke's vivid desire is tinged with concern.
"The only way you can hurt me is if you stop!"
Luke laughs, and the vibration rocks through Noah, sending signals from his dick all the way up to his brain, making him feel dizzy and euphoric. Luke knows there's always more where Noah's erections come from, so he even though he would love to feel Noah inside him, he goes with the flow, and does as he's told.
Noah knows he's close, but he wants to last as long as possible. He concentrates on the feeling of the crumpled cotton sheets beneath his body, the sounds coming from beyond the windows, anything but how completely electric he feels at this moment. He moans as Luke grins up at him, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth before sliding his mouth down the shaft once more, gripping the base of Noah's dick tightly in his fist.
Every glimpse of his cock slipping between Luke's lips sends a rush through Noah. When Luke's hand disappears between his legs, Noah feels the steady rhythm of the blonde's elbow against his knee, and he knows Luke is jacking himself off. The thought of Luke getting off on getting him off always pushes Noah over the edge.
"Oh fuuuuck...." The orgasm tears through Noah, surprising him and overpowering him. He gasps for breath and feels Luke's liquid warmth splashing against the inside of his thigh. Opening his eyes, Noah sees his cock still buried in Luke's mouth, those perfectly-shaped lips working over the sensitive skin, as the blonde rides out the rest of his climax.
Luke swallows hard and slowly pulls himself off Noah's cock, wrapping his lips tight around the long, slender shaft, taking every drop with him.
* * *
The next morning, Luke slips out before Noah wakes up. When he returns to their apartment, his arms are loaded with snacks, two cups of coffee, and a variety of clean bandages and ointments.
"What's all that?" Noah asks, propping himself up in bed, his body still heavy with sleep. He's worried that Luke's spending money they don't have, all because of his unfortunate run-in with a knife. He ducks when a bag of cheese bugles comes flying at his head.
"You're so concerned about being scarred for life, I brought you magic potions, straight from the local apothecary." Luke smiles, tugging at his wool cap.
Noah chuckles at the reference to Shakespeare In Love, a film about a play in which the apothecary (a 19th century pharmacist) fusses anxiously over wearing just the right hat. It's been a while since they've seen a movie together, but Noah loved how much it made Luke laugh.
For the first week or so after Noah got hurt, Luke had kept a close watch over him. At first, Noah hadn't been inclined to argue, finding himself exhausted and in more than a little pain. But now that he's on the mend, and a little more aware of what Luke is sacrificing to tend to his needs, he knows he needs to get back on his feet (or, more aptly, on his knees) and start bringing in some money.
Luke emerges from their tiny kitchenette and hands Noah his coffee. He has transferred the brew from its paper cup into a slightly-chipped novelty mug decorated with cartoon racoons that they'd found in a cupboard when they'd first moved in. Luke had claimed it immediately, stating that the masked creatures were "cool and bandit-y." He hopes the mug will bring a smile to Noah's face, if only for a few moments.
"Let's turn that frown upside-down!" Luke quips, dropping into the chair next to the bed, his hair sticking up in static-electric spikes.
"It's not that easy, considering someone tried to let my insides out not that long ago," Noah mumbles, wrapping his long fingers around the warm ceramic.
"Then let me be Mary Sunshine for a little while, okay?"
Noah shoots him a wan smile. He shrugs absently before lowering his head over his mug. Despite Luke's occasional indifference, Noah is aware that he is a caretaker -- his caretaker -- and he doesn't want to take that for granted. He hates seeing the worried look on Luke's face when he doesn't return that optimism, lost in his own thoughts, as if trying to escape what's really going on around him. Sometimes things get hazy, as if the things he's experiencing aren't really happening to him... like his life is the property of someone else, someone much more carefree than he is now.
Noah remembers another morning when he and Luke sat atop a picnic table at a roadside rest area after a night with a couple of truckers. They sipped their coffee and shared vending machine treasures. They had a map spread out in front of them while they plotted possible routes and destinations, murmuring thoughtfully over town names.
"This one has potential," Noah remarked, pointing to a place further south, near the water.
Luke nodded absently, his own hands wrapped around his cup of coffee, attempting to leech warmth from it into his palms.
"I knew a guy from there once. He hated kissing."
Luke stopped mid-sip. "Really? Was he a client?"
"Nope, not a client, just a friend of a friend. He said it totally turned him off, and he couldn't understand why anyone would want to press their lips to another person's lips. Or touch tongues."
"I can just imagine what he'd think of rimming, then." Luke grinned, taking another sip of his coffee, letting the steam fill his sinuses and the caffeine flow into his veins.
* * *
It's late when Noah stirs from a restless sleep and makes his way out to the main corridor of the building, down the hall to the outside door. Opening it wide, he leans against the frame as cool wind ruffles his hair and he lets the darkness fold around him.
His mind whirls over everything that's happened in the past few hours, days, years. He's oblivious to the silent tears that begin to slip down his cheeks after a few moments of contemplation. He tries to ignore the crushing weight that seems to be squeezing air from his lungs. He knows he shouldn't be feeling this way, but he's not sure how to feel right now.
The memory of the day he nearly spilled his guts (literally) returns like clockwork. It's something he would rather not think about, save for that sweet moment while under the influence of alcohol he'd spilled his guts (figuratively) and told Luke he loved him. That single moment had been so clear within the haze of everything else that his mind continually wraps around it and draws it close for inspection. He recalls tiny details, from the sound of Luke drawing in a small gasp of breath to the way his own heart had practically thumped its way out of his chest. He remembers Luke pulling up a chair next to the bed, and how he'd wished that the blonde had climbed into bed with him instead, like he'd done so many times before, whispering words of love that weren't spelled l-o-v-e, but that made him feel safe, and wanted.
Noah's skin flushes at the memory. The heat rises in his cheeks as he clings to the thoughts, even though he knows that bringing the subject up would make Luke uncomfortable. The fantasy is preferable to the combination of fear and depression that strikes in the dark hours and drains him of hope.
"There you are."
He turns around to find Luke standing a few feet back.
"Couldn't sleep?" It's more of a statement than a question, but Luke senses how fragile Noah is and therefore treads softly.
"No. Not really," Noah murmurs.
Silence wraps around them, carrying with it a slight edge. A light gust of wind skims Noah's face, alerting him to the streaks of moisture that have dampened his cheeks. Self-conscious, he swipes at them with the back of his hand. "What about you?" he asks, the words sticking against a tightness in his throat.
"Checking on my patient." Luke places a hand on Noah's shoulder.
The silence falls once more, broken only by the hum of a dryer down the hall, and various distant night noises.
Noah gazes towards a horizon that is hidden somewhere in the dark, beyond the concrete jungle, hinting of new, unexplored worlds. He tries to look forward, but his mind keeps pulling him back, making him ponder what he could have done differently. Was there was a way he could have turned things around, or was his fate simply inevitable? He considers that his survival is like coming out the victor in a duel he never wanted to win. "Sometimes I think this is all a test."
"What's that?"
"This... us... all of it. Life." He's turned it over a million times in his mind, but he still can't make sense of it.
Luke raises an eyebrow. "It's not a test, Noah. If it is, then I failed a long time ago." A part of him understands where Noah's coming from. He hasn't been at this as long as Luke has; it hasn't hardened him or made him cynical. Noah's willing to give second chances, and even tried to reconnect with his father after the hell he put Noah through.
"You sound so sure."
"I think you want to hold on to something that's no longer there. You still have hope, even when everything we knew, everyone we knew, is further away than ever. We're doing what we can to survive. I don't think there's any great plan in that."
"It's just easier to think this isn't forever, you know?" He stares out into the distance again, knowing there's more out there, beyond this life. "That it's not real, and maybe that makes it less... wrong."
"So we're wrong?" There's an edge to Luke's voice. "Wrong to try and survive? To be with each other?"
"I didn't mean it like that."
"I'd rather be wrong than alone." Luke tightens his grip on Noah's arm, as if trying to keep him from leaving.
Noah simply nods, too tired to argue. And somewhere in the back of his mind he's wondering why he didn't realize that living like this would be so damned difficult.
"We do what we have to do," Noah repeats softly, swallowing against the lump in his throat, not sure he believes it.
"Come back to bed." Luke's voice is softer now.
"In a minute."
Luke slides his hand up Noah's arm. His index finger gently tucks under Noah's chin, forcing him to look up. "I might be asleep before you get there," he says playfully, trying to lighten the mood. "And then you won't get your goodnight kiss." His sly smile hints at any number of interesting places he might plant that goodnight kiss.
Noah's a million miles away, but the connection he feels to his enigmatic, determined partner is undeniable. "I'll be right there. Don't you trust me?"
"Trust you?" Luke smiles, and that twinkle is back in his eye -- the one that continually assures Noah everything is going to be okay. "Not a bit."