Re: Billy K/Jamie M: the Mayers apartment
For a lot of the same reasons, Billy liked seeing some of his clients that way. Not in backrooms, but first in the caravan and then the trailer out in the woods and now at his house, for the regulars he’d kept seeing in the last year. It felt cleaner, easier, less putting on the show and dance and more awareness of what the other guy liked, what Billy liked about them if that was something that mattered. It was what he sort of expected a relationship to be like, except, like, obvi without the exchange of cash on the nightstand and the idea of having someone know all of his intimate thoughts and shit that weren’t about the fucking.
But Jamie wasn’t necessarily easier, like in the sense that like, Billy still felt like he had to earn it. Or not had to, maybe, but definitely fucking wanted to? He wanted to learn all the things that made the guy unwind like torn ribbon off a very, very pretty package, and shed all the layers to get to the place where the guy was totally undone and it was Billy’s doing. “I have some idea,” he said breathlessly, laughing, feeling the scrape of stubble down the line of his throat as he arched up above the press of Jamie’s hand against his spine. “But you can still tell me about it.”
He grinned, fingers tightening against the back of Jamie’s neck and the sliding up into his hair, nails scraping lightly against his scalp. He let out a noise of agreement as Jamie’s weight slid down heavier on top of him on the bed and his eyes fluttered shut, focusing on the ache of his clothed cock under the guy’s hand and how badly he wanted that skin on skin but sort of loving the tease of it, at the same time. Like, for now.
“I’m not going to be the one apologizing to your sister, so please, feel free.” Billy’s skin flushed hot and if the air in the room had been cold, like, summer with the A/C on, the air around him might have looked like his breath on winter mornings when he walked to work. He groaned into Jamie’s mouth with the freedom of having most of the sound swallowed up by the seal of their lips, kissing him back hard for a second until he pulled back and hissed, quietly, into the saliva-slick sheen of Jamie’s lips. The smile was barely there, looking a little spun out himself, and his eyes were dark with brown and black like spreading ink. “C’mon, fucking touch me already, please?”