Product Placement

Chapter 7 - Debts Repaid

Collections were one of Francis' least favorite things to do. They cost him time, effort, and profit – plus he just heard the same bullshit over and over again. Eventually someone would be sniveling and he would be richer, and it all made him feel kind of like a dick. But business was business, and if they didn't pay up of their own volition he had to make them pay, lest he be considered a softy.

This collection however, Francis was looking forward to.

It wasn't going to be a collection job- not at first. Francis was going to corner him, confront him straight on. He had figured it would be better to bide his time, to wait. Wait until Butch ran out of the thing he needed most, what all those IOU's were for. But there was a small hitch in his plan. Butch was taking an extraordinarily long time to deplete his cigs. The pack that normally took him two days to deplete was taking a week and a half. After ten days Francis remembered vaguely that Butch had mentioned that his girl didn't quite tolerate the smell of smoke like Francis did – and since Butch was spending more time with her instead of him…

No matter. This snag was easily undone.

"In a sec Fran."

Butch found the cigarette plucked from his mouth, stomped beneath the hustler's boot. Francis grinned cruelly at him and crossed his arms. Butch stared with some mixture of shock and anger, exhaling the last bit of smoke before mimicking the hustler's body position and scowling at him.

"The hell was that for, huh? Can't wait three goddamn minutes-"
"No. No I can't."
"What the hell is so important-"
"We have business matters to discuss. Now."

Francis' tone left no room for argument. He stepped back, slipping into a nearby alley. Butch let him lead the way, but took his sweet time following him. He knew better than to take too long – Francis seemed pretty pissed and business was all this guy did. To deprive him of that meant a fist in his face. With some small measure of disappointment he remembered that was his last cigarette and he slipped into the alley.

Once his eyes adjusted Francis appeared out of nowhere, pushing him somewhat gently into the wall. Butch almost yelped – but he choked it down and took a chance, sliding off to the side a bit. Francis barred his path. Butch shrugged – he had expected it, but what did it hurt to try? He grinned sheepishly at the salesman, trying to piece together a sizeable, believable, universal excuse to keep himself bruise-free.

"You seem to have quite the tab, Butch" he said, "What do you suppose we do about that?"
"Aw, c'mon now Fran-"
"No no, can't be giving you special treatment, Butchy boy." The hustler grinned his best grin, his fist gathering up a good part of Butch's shirt "You know my rules and I bent them more than enough for you so… "
"We take this as a learning experience?" Butch tried, his overly large nervous smile faltering when Francis slowly shook his head no.
"Don't look so glum, Butchy boy." The hustler said quietly. "I'm not gonna hurt you. I just want my money."
"That's the problem y-you see." Butch winced at his stuttering, "I… don't got any."
"You don't. Oh, well that is a problem." The hustler almost smiled, but he kept himself in check "Stop that wincing, still not gonna hurt you. Tell you what – give me what you have left and I'll give you a day."
"Ah… another problem there." Butch explained, looking for a way out "I… kinda finished what you gave me. I was… gonna get some more tomorrow and pay you back then, really!"

Francis made a tsking noise and shook his head. Butch felt his organs sink to his toes. This wasn't going well. Fran looked real calm but Butch had heard stories – the more pissed off HK was the more level he became. It was kind of scaring him, actually. Butch might have passed it off on his one-too-many serial killer books and movies, how the most horrifying ones were the ones with no expression while they hacked away at their victims. But now that he was here, he was really freaking out. He knew they were friends- kind of, maybe a little more than that, but not really. He was just doing his job, after all, and Butch couldn't blame him for that. Of course bears just snapped defenseless little deer necks and that was their job too. That didn't mean Butch wanted to deal with the business end of either of them.

"Ooh, strike two." Francis said suddenly, jerking the hand holding Butch's shirt and snapping the storyteller back into reality.
"You don't gotta do nothin rash now-"
"I'm not, I'm not. In fact I may be so inclined to believe your story – something I don't usually grant my clients on… collection calls. You should be honored."
"I am." Butch squeaked "Really appreciate that Franny now if you let me just squeeze by here-"
"We're not done."
"Relax wouldja? I gotta another option up my sleeve. Well, one of three." The hustler paused a moment, waiting for Butch's eye to open so he could explain "I wasn't gonna tell you this, on account of we're pretty good friends and I didn't want to freak you out. I normally offer three options of payment, you see."
"A-And those would be?"
"Cash, grass, or ass." Butch choked a bit, shrinking down while Francis elaborated. "Either you pay me in dead presidents, that other green stuff, or –"
"Ass huh?" Butch found it in him to chuckle a little "I didn't think you swung that way-"
"In your case, I'm going to kick it until I get my damn money."

Butch laughed- a high, needlessly sharp sound- more nervous than anything. He babbled on and on, trying to get Francis to let go of his shirt and leave him in once piece. But the hustler wasn't having any of it. His placid face turned into a frown, then a scowl. This only made Butch babble on worse, throwing every excuse in the book at him, raising his voice in an effort to get anyone to notice them so he wouldn't die in some back alley for a cigarette tab Before too long Francis had had enough and he interrupted Butch with a shove.

"Let me put it this way – you cough up my money or I'm gonna get mad."
"Now don't do that just lemme explain-"
"No. No more explaining either you give me my money or you put that mouth to better use and you earn it." Hustler growled, shoving him back into the wall.

Butch shut his mouth up quick, staring blankly at the hustler. Francis thought for a moment he broke him, thought maybe he had been too harsh. But then something strange happened. Butch's face went from blank to near manic, his mouth splitting into a wolfish grin. Perhaps strangest of all, Butch – the committed man with a girlfriend of barely a month – leaned forward and kissed the waiting hustler.

All at once, Francis gave into it. He hadn't expected this, not at all. He had expected Butch to wrinkle his nose or throw a fit. He had expected Butch to call him a sick fuck and try to fight. He had expected a nervous little laugh, after which Francis would join him in a chuckled and he'd be let off the hook, on the condition he come by later and pay off his tab with interest. He had not expected to be smiled at like that, to see that look in Butch's eye like he did in the alley, before they almost kissed the last time. He certainly did not expect Butch to kiss him, though he was loath to complain about it now. He was far too stunned to do much of anything but hold the other male and kiss him back.

"My mouth to better use, huh?" Butch purred as he pulled back, "You mean like this?"

No, he hadn't, actually. He had meant nothing like this. What Francis had meant was more product placement, actually. More of him selling, of Butch pushing his products and being a good little salesman himself, maybe even a mention or two of his stuff in Butch's captivating stories. He waned to see Butch more, was all. It was weird not being stalked by the smoky-shadow. He didn't like that girl monopolizing Butch's time. Sure his sales were suffering, but he wanted company more than anything.

But that did not stop Francis from nodding his head and saying; "Yeah, somethin' like that."
"Not quite what you wanted?"
"Didn't say that…"
"Mmkay. Let's try something different."

Butch wasn't sure why he was reacting this way, why he was acting like this, or why he was suddenly so willing to be… this way. He had decided, hadn't he? That this was a problem, something that shouldn't be happening, and something that would run the both of them? At least, Butch thought he remembered something along the lines of him and Fran's reputation being on the line, but he couldn't recall anything about this feeling bad or wrong.

That being said, he was a little shocked to find himself sinking to his knees in front of the hustler liberally stroking the front of his pants and looking up with a cocky smile at Fran's flushed face.

Francis bit his lip, sucking in a soft breath and looking around. He was… there was something so strange about all of this. A good strange, but strange all the same. It seemed Butch never ceased to surprise him. It bothered the hustler that he was doing this at all, though. Could he really swing both ways? Could he be looking for a new story, or using him for experimental purposes, never to speak of this again? Maybe he was already in debt and figured this was the cheapest way to get out of it. Regardless, Francis found himself looking down at Butch while he rubbed, feeling some familiar tingle crawl up his legs right beneath Butch's hand.

"You really gunnin for this, huh?" Francis murmured, placing a shaky hand on Butch's head to steady himself.
"You offered, an' I don't wanna get strung up by my fingernails."
"You…" Francis stopped himself. He almost told Butch – he almost said 'you don't have to' "You done this before?"
"Another story for another day, Franny." Butch dismissed, bored of stroking and digging his way into the hustler's coat.
"Hey - watch the merchandise!" Francis hissed quietly, watching a few train tickets and hall passes flutter to the ground around Butch's knees.
"You better watch it or a certain item's gonna be damaged beyond repair." Butch warned, fiddling with Fran's belt.
"Alright aright just…."

The hustler's voice died away, his mouth turning cottony. He was too occupied with watching Butch carefully work his way through his clothing to form words. Butch was glad – he didn't want his credibility called into question. He was nervous enough as it was. He had no goddamn idea what he was doing or why but some large part of him really wanted him to do it so who was he to question this weird craving? All he had to go on were the snowy old tapes he stole from Joey's closet and the occasional porn site. He hoped to hell and back that would be enough.

Francis seemed to appreciate his awkward fumbling though. He didn't make much noise -which pissed Butch off a little – but he did exhale a lot louder and lean forward into the wall. It amused Butch that, while HK leaned forward, putting his arm up to keep from scraping his face against the wall, the hustling coat draped forward, blocking Butch in. He chuckled. Even if he was mostly hidden, his bent legs and the telltale little noises were still clear, and a bit of thick fabric wasn't going to help hide anything.

Butch chanced a glance up at the hustler, who looked right back down at him. He wasn't the screwed up, flushing, panting and moaning wreck Butch saw in all those tapes. He looked rather calm, if not a bit blank and red in the face. It bothered him, but he turned his eyes back to the task at hand, watching in slight amazement as Francis reacted to his touch. It wasn't spectacular – he had one of these, he knew how it worked and what his main objective was. But it was strange to think of anyone else reacting to the same kind of movement and stroke. The thought made him pause – well, that thought and the much larger overall scenario of him on his knees stroking Fran's dick in a back alley.

"Getting cold feet?" Francis suddenly rasped, keeping his voice low and even, only wincing a little when Butch stroked harder in retaliation. "Okay okay… just be… careful. Okay?"

Butch eyed him for a moment, holding his smirk in check at Fran's lack of eloquence. He continued to stroke him a bit longer before he gathered up the courage and will to at least attempt what he figured Fran had in mind. He looked around at the glittering watches and hard drives and watches that doubled as hard drives winking in the muted light. For some reason the useless junk made him feel better, and he leaned forward to have himself a taste.

Francis hissed, and that made Butch pull back and look up. He was hoping he hadn't done something wrong, but he found quite the opposite. In fact he even goaded a reaction from the hustler, who in that moment of weakness squeezed his eyes shut and exhaled loudly. Taking it as a personal victory, Butch did it again, and was gifted the same forced exhale. He smiled cockily up at the hunched over hustler, waiting for him to open his eyes before he did anything else, just to make sure he knew how good of a job he was doing.

"What are you waiting for?" Francis asked him, looking down with cloudy but focused eyes, his voice still infuriatingly even "G-Go on."

Butch frowned a little but continued, glancing up to watch Fran's face screw up and his eyes slide shut It gave him satisfaction for some reason, to know he had this kind of effect on the normally stoic male. And it wasn't even really all that labor intensive on his part. In exchange for complete and total power over the school's best hustler all he had to do was endure the state of skin and salt and the somewhat crippling fear of discovery. It seemed like a fair enough tradeoff to Butch.

But what fun was life if one didn't take risks?

Though Butch was more than sure he had Fran pegged, it bothered him he wasn't moaning or exhaling louder or even grabbing his hair hard enough to make his head hurt. It was all too comfortable, so he figured it was time to shake things up a bit. With some measure of trepidation he slipped the head of his cock into his mouth. He figured that it wouldn't suddenly taste worse (kind of like he did with vegetables) and once it was in he was good to go. However, unlike veggies he couldn't just swallow it down (well he could – but he wasn't anywhere near proficient in that particular skill set- him not being a whore and all), so the object where there to stay. Once the realization kicked in it was quickly followed by the bigger picture, and Butch was glad for two things: the darkness of the alley and Fran's closed eyes to hide the sudden heat in his face and his lack of a gag reflex.

This being said, Francis was more than pleased with Butch's… performance. He was doing quite well for what Francis could only assume was his first time. He couldn't really think of much to do other than breathe deeply and grip Butch's oddly soft hair, guiding him closer to his torso. At this point Francis was almost sure he could have bitten though his lip. This wasn't his first, but the fact it was Butch and he was doing so well made his gut twist and churn so pleasantly it was taking everything he had not to outright moan. He was getting closer and closer the more Butch moved his mouth or hand or tongue. The hustler choked on his newest breath, his eyes screwing shut tight while he fought for composure. He was losing. Badly. It wouldn't be long. His fingers twitched over Butch's scalp, his eyes shut so hard he saw white, breathed heavily though his nose and then Butch moaned around him and he couldn't-

Francis shoved Butch's head away, knocking him over on his side. Butch recovered quickly and got to his feet, dusting off his knees and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He stretched, watching Francis hunch over himself, leaning heavily against the wall. Butch thought of giving him a bit of privacy, but it wasn't nothin' he hadn't seen or done before, so he looked on. There wasn't really much to see. Francis' hand and anatomy were blocked by his coat. He barely moved, his face was hidden, and all that came out of him was a grunt before he slumped. Butch was disappointed at the lack of show, but he shrugged and reached for a cigarette. Finding none, he frowned, and turned to leave. Maybe if he got out of here then Francis wouldn't come to his senses and still want to beat him up.

Before he could though, the hustler tapped his shoulder. When Butch turned he was gifted with a pack of cigs and a much calmer, more relaxed looking Francis. Butch smiled a little, slipping one of the skinny sticks out of the pack and lighting it. Fran smiled back and Butch, somehow finding this whole thing funny (if not a bit disturbing) tried to get at least one of the last words in.

"Debt clear?" Butch asked.
"Debt clear." Hustler affirmed "Pleasure doing business with you."



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