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The background: way back in the day, paddies,
aided by susanderavish,
posted something called the fic
of my dreams challenge. the premise? Take ten (okay, nine) of Justin's first
times with different sex acts. Write them. The end.
I've decided to try to write all ten. The nine of Gio's, and one that will remain a mystery for awhile!! Whether I get through all ten or not, we'll see. In addition, I've changed the premises slightly. Some of the "first times" are combined, some only include the particular act but aren't necessarily firsts (just "times", if you will), and they're all out of order to keep up the element of surprise.
Thanks to paddies for the original idea, susanderavish for reading through the first one i wrote, and zeldachilds for the brilliant title suggestions :X:X:X:X:X:X:X!!!!!!! **==!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
"Come here often?"
Justin throws back the shot in front of him, not bothering to look at the man who belongs to the voice; he's bored with this night already. Bored with the night, bored with bars and guys with lame pick-up lines, bored with the blahblahblah of having to make stupid small talk when all he really wants to do is hurry up and fuck somebody so he can go home -- or what passes for home these days -- and pass out.
"Every fucking night," he says sharply, wiping away the taste of shitty whiskey from his lips and turning to face-- oh, okay, wow. This night just got a whole lot more interesting, because the guy leaning against the bar beside him isn't some gross old perv. He's hot. As in really, really fucking hot, as in basically the epitome of tall, dark, and handsome, multiplied by infinity to the infinitieth power. And okay, sure; maybe Justin's sort of drunk, but he knows hot when he sees it.
The guy smirks at Justin, obviously reading his interest, and kicks out the stool next to Justin with his boot before sitting down.
"What are you dri-- no, never mind, I can smell it," the man says, wrinkling his noise in clear distaste. He motions to the bartender. "Two Maker's Marks."
Hello, big spender.
The shots arrive seconds later, and they toast with shared half-smiles. Out of the corner of his eye, Justin watches the guy tip the glass toward his mouth with a practiced hand and swallow neatly, showing no external sign of the burn that the alcohol makes going down.
He catches Justin watching him and leans in close. Close enough that Justin can feel the guy's breath against his neck, smell the sweetness of the liquor. "What's your name?"
Justin shakes his head. "I don't do names," he says, and the guy reaches around with one hand to jerk Justin's stool even closer to his.
"Suit yourself," he shrugs. His lips brush Justin's earlobe on each word. "I'd really like to fuck you tonight."
Justin pulls back enough to meet the guy's eyes and sees arousal there, thick and heavy and so, so contagious.
"I only bottom for my--" partner, Justin thinks, but doesn't say it. "I don't bottom."
The guy raises an eyebrow, one end of his lips quirking up to match. "But you're so pretty," he says, and his tone is mocking but Justin certainly sees his point. It's not like he's never had this same discussion with other tricks, but usually all it takes is one look at his dick to change their minds, and he's opening his pants before he has time to register that he's in public. Like public public, not backroom or baths public, but whatever. He wants to fuck, and if this helps him get there, he'll wave his cock around the room and make it do a song-and-dance.
"Well okay then," the guy says appreciatively, his dark eyes fixed on Justin's open zipper. "I'm sold. You lead the way, pretty boy."
Justin tries to stand and can't quite get his footing, tilting precariously until one strong hand grips his bicep carefully, holding him up. "You sure you're up for this?"
Justin wills the room into focus. "I'm sure," he says.
They make it to the bathroom which, thank God, is empty and surprisingly clean; Justin figures it must not see a whole lot of action. Either that or it's embarrassingly early in the night to be doing this, but what the fuck ever. He almost doesn't even bother going into a stall, but his new friend takes care of that for him, pushing Justin inside and locking the door behind them.
Justin quickly regains control, pressing the guy up against the wall, and when he has to stand on his toes in order to get at face level, he realizes that he probably could've picked someone better suited to his height, but again -- whatever, whatever. It's all just details at this point, especially when he's looking at the fullest, most fuckable pair of lips he's seen in a long time. He's sort of dying to kiss them, but he settles for laying a heavy hand on the guy's shoulder and leading said lips to his waiting cock. The guy goes down onto his knees easily, opening his mouth and taking Justin's dick all the way inside at once.
His hands on Justin's hips are the only things keeping Justin standing right now; Justin thinks he'd fuck the guy's mouth if he could trust himself not to fall over from the effort. All of the blood in his body has moved south to his cock, and the buzz from the alcohol has magnified into a full-out tingle that spans from head to toe. He's almost, almost to that point where he'll come whether he wants to or not when the guy pulls off, settling back onto his thighs in spite of Justin's groan of protest, and then he's standing back up, pressing a condom and lube into Justin's hand.
Justin fumbles with the package while the guy undoes his own pants, and when they're around his ankles and he's braced himself with one hand on the wall, Justin slides two wet fingers into his ass, preparing him roughly. He scissors the fingers, drives them in and out a few times -- probably not enough to keep it from hurting -- and orders, "Bend your knees."
The man does, and it would be comical just how much he has to bend to make this work if Justin's dick weren't about to explode like a too-full balloon. He pushes into the guy's ass in one quick thrust, gasping loudly at the tightness and unbelievable friction. There's no point now in even trying to set a decent rhythm; Justin can't even promise that his trick will get off from this, only that his own orgasm is fast-approaching and there's nothing he can do to stop it. It's too hot, too slick, too everything, and he barely registers when the guy grabs Justin by the hand, bringing it around to stroke his dick.
Amazingly, although Justin has absolutely no idea how, the guy comes before he does, and if he thought this was a great fuck before, the contractions that the man's orgasm elicit are nothing short of mind-blowing. Load-blowing, Justin thinks and then does just that, burying his face between the guy's shoulderblades. He might black out. It's possible that he's dead right now.
"Are you okay?"
"Yeah," Justin says, gritting his teeth against the over-sensitivity that comes from pulling out.
The guy turns around and smiles down at Justin, buttoning his fly while Justin ties off the condom, then opening the stall door. He goes to the sink to fix his clothes and Justin moves to stand the one next to him. Their eyes meet in the mirror.
"That was hot," he says. Justin grins.
"Does that mean you'll let me try it at Woody's when I get back home?"
Brian laughs. "In your fucking dreams, Sunshine. What happens in Los Angeles stays in Los Angeles."
"That's Vegas, you dope. Not Los Angeles," Justin says, rolling his eyes and shoving Brian playfully toward the exit.
Brian holds the door open, letting Justin pass through back into the smoky, dirty bar, slinging an arm across Justin's shoulders as they head toward the door. "You're ready to go?" Justin asks, a little surprised.
"Yeah," Brian says seriously. "I've got to get back and fuck my partner."
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