tensions | Prompt - Crane Wife (alternative sidestory)

He briefly lets himself be dragged, lets Monty direct his movements, his long, thick fingers surprisingly delicate and limber as he strokes over Monty's entrance, feeling how slick and stretched he already is. He knows it was meant as an open invitation, a typical measure for those in this particular profession, not meant for anyone in particular, but the reality of it is still deeply arousing.

But that wasn't exactly what he was in the mood for, at least at the moment.

"Mm, are you really going to let me do whatever I want with you tonight, Monty?" He asks, something arch and hungry in his tone, as he slides his fingers around that tight ring of muscle, with off-handed expertise.

His hips sway and push back against Justin’s touch. “Yes,” he says, lashes fluttering, thighs spreading wider, responding automatically to the hunger in his client’s voice. “I’m all yours, sir. However you want me. I’ll make all your dreams come true.”

He ends that popular line with a laugh because they both doubtless know how ridiculous and scripted that sounds. But once again, Monty finds himself surprised by how he’s feeling genuine about what he’s saying.

“So tell me: what’s your fantasy tonight?”

He laughs softly, a slightly wistful expression entering his eyes, but it is clear he is looking at Monty, not imagining someone or something else. "I don't put much stock in fantasy, these days," he replies.

"I want you on your hands and knees on the bed for me, gorgeous," he decides after another moment, pulling his hands away from Monty and tilting his head in an additional silent, but sure, command.

“Oh? Maybe I can change your mind.” He winks but then rises, all long limbs and soft skin, keeping his motions gentle and enticing, easing himself down on the bed in a long, drawn out stretch.

"I wouldn't mind watching you try," he replies, pushing himself up to his feet and observing Monty, laying himself out and glancing back over his shoulder at Justin, clearly trying to coax him over, his legs spread invitingly.

Justin did intend to take him up on said invitation, but likely not in the way Monty might expect.

"Do you use your fingers," he asks, glancing around the room before he walks over to Monty, "when you're getting yourself ready for your patrons? How do you like to stretch yourself, knowing what you might be asked to do before the night is over?"

He lies his head down now, deepening the dip of his back. He knows how appealing he must look, knows by how hot Justin’s gaze is burning over his skin.

“Sometimes. It’s how I’ll start. But it’s usually not enough.” He grins, peeking once again over his shoulder to see what Justin might be doing, how he might be receiving this information. “I like using some toys on myself too. Or asking a friend for help.”

A pause. “Would you like to watch me sometime, sir?”

Edited 2022-05-20 19:27 (UTC)

"I think I'd like that," he replies, with absolute composure; whatever Monty might be expecting to see, there is no obvious outward change or manifestation of Justin's interest, save for a certain bright-eyed expectation in his facial expression. He pulls open a drawer, helpfully placed there for the convenience of guests, and removes a vial of oil.

"'Not enough,' hm?" He repeats, almost under his breath, but in this enclosed room, Monty, at least, can hear everything he is saying regardless. "Not enough for you to be pleasing for your customers? Or not enough to satisfy such a greedy whore?"

Oh. So he likes it like that, huh? Monty smiles to himself. He can work with that.

"I'd say the latter. My customers don't tend to walk away unhappy, sir."

He continues his slow little motions on the bed, spreading his knees a little farther, stretching his torso forward just a bit more here and there, his hair becoming a tussled mess, falling into his face, giving off just the right sort of disheveled look that could make a man's mouth water.

"And I'm assuming you didn't either. Considering you came back to me."

His laugh is delighted, a light, musical sound, far less fraught then the intimations of their earlier conversations, more amused than offended by Monty's provocation.

"Well, you still remembered me," he points out, resting one hand at the small of Monty's back, almost a petting motion, an unexpected affection in the small gesture, before his large hand curves, cupping Monty's ass firmly, fingers digging in just so. "Even without knowing my full name. So I must have made an impression." Or his generosity had, considering he hadn't really given Monty anything physical to remember him by.

Oh, but he had. Yes, Justin hadn't indulged himself in all the ways he might have been able to that first night, but that didn't mean Monty didn't starkly remember the warmth of his touch, the exact feeling of his fingertips grabbing at his hair, or the sound of Justin's voice when he was particularly pleased with something Monty did.

All of those things, little trinkets of their time together that Monty found himself surprisingly fond of.

("You're so sentimental," Alecto had scolded him a few nights ago, listening to Monty wax poetic about something or other. He must have been far too drunk to even clearly recall it now. Alecto had kissed his hair, let him lean against his sharp shoulder, saying, "But I understand. You just love to be loved. It's a shame you ended up here."

Monty doesn't really understand what that meant. He still doesn't really want to think too deeply about it.)

"Of course I remember you," he croons, biting his lip with a groan when Justin grabs his ass like that. "I remember everyone."

(Damn it. Alecto's voice in his head is sighing.)

He hums an acknowledgement, his hands shifting Monty on the bed and rearranging him to his liking, coaxing his knees wider on the bed, while making sure he can rest his weight down comfortably if (when) it gets to that point. "You'll be good for me, won't you, gorgeous?" He murmurs, infusing the gentle weight of expectation into his voice, letting it settle over Monty. "You'll do exactly as I say?" He reaches for the oil, and opens the vial, spilling a generous amount onto his palm and slicking his fingers, the scent of sandalwood filling the air.

Be good for me. Monty let’s those familiar words wash over him. Men always wanted that from him: a good boy with big, eager eyes hiding a desperate, hungry whore beneath it all. Was it the contrast that did it for them? Probably. He wasn’t sure. But time and time again they’d praise him like this. Good boy. What a good boy you are, look how pretty you are on your knees for me. You’re so good at following my orders, you love it don’t you? What a good little slut you are.

So very, very good.

“Yes, sir,” he replies, quietly, his smile feeling a bit stiff. “I,” can’t, “won’t say no. I’ll do whatever you tell me to. So, please, won’t you tell me what to do to make you happy?”

"Just two things," he replies, and shifts to the side, brushing a kiss against Monty's forehead before he slides his slick fingers down along the crack of his ass, catching gently against his already stretched hole. "Relax for me, yes?"

Even though Monty is already stretched, already slick, he takes his time, sliding one finger in with confident. It's not a typical gesture of Monty's clients, even if one of them did happen to be inclined to take the extra time to be considerate; it's a clinical, specific expertise. Justin takes his time - to let the oil warm and ease the way, for Monty's body to adjust - before he curls his finger just so and strokes a careful, expert rhythm against Monty's prostate, letting the pleasure build up slowly, eyes alert for all of Monty's physical reactions.

"And enjoy yourself."

Prompt - Crane Wife (alternative sidestory)

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