Product Placement

Chapter 16 - SWAK


When either Butch or Francis wanted to cash in on their deal, so to speak, they had a few options. First and best was Francis' mansion – large, empty, and equipped with comfortable beds and couches. Next would be an alley or something shady like it, because that was where they felt most comfortable, but it came with some degree of risk that neither was much willing to take. Last-ditch effort would be a hotel – provided Francis could ever convince Butch to actually go to one. Butch's house was nice, but it was more or less out of the question. There were other people there, and that didn't work out well for their private, mutually exclusive relationship.

But this time around they had no choice.

Butch's parents wanted to spend time with their remaining son, and though they were thrilled he had a little friend to hang out with (finally! A nice young man to break the broody silence – and so polite!), as parents they felt entitled to monopolize their sons' time. Francis had protested even Butch's invitation to come over, but finally caved, lured in by the promise of home cooked food and the ability to do terribly naughty things to the teenager that lived in the basement. That, and Francis had been so damned /lonely/ lately not that he'd admit it), and Butch seemed to cure that particular sadness.

So here they were, in Butch's basement, on Butch's couchbed, with the TV playing loud enough to cover stray noises while they made out while Butch was perched happily on Francis' lap. They were wary of footsteps above them, but Butch had assured (while pushing Francis down on the couch so he could get at him) that his mother was fluttering about the house baking any number of things for anyone she felt like giving them too. They went on about their business undisturbed – at least until the hustler thought of something, and broke the kiss to breathe some.

"Amateur." Hustler sighed, tapping Butch's cheek after breaking a kiss. The other male blinked at him.
"Oh, so you wrote the book, huh?" He shot back, refusing to let the hustler get away from him. "Why don't you just show me how it's done then, Casanova?"
"Is that a challenge?"
"Damn straight."

The hustler grinned. He liked challenges. This was a new one, though. He couldn't rightfully say someone had ever dared him to teach him or her how to kiss, much less expect him to teach. Butch was different. He was standing toe to toe with him (albeit on his knees- he was a few inches shorter when standing, but relatively the same height in this position), smirking and making it seem like he was being dared. No matter. Hustler never backed down from a challenge, bet, or dare- that would be against the code. He smirked right back.

"Fair enough. If you're willing to learn, I'm willing to teach."
"I do have a few rules. No bitching, first off. If you don't like it, man up and tell me to quit it. Two, keep your hands off my ass and I'll extend you the same courtesy. Three, don't let this get 'round – consider it a special offer. Now go wash your mouth out or have a mint or something."
"Jeeze, yah want me to take you to dinner first too?"
"Silly Butch, I can't expect that from you. You're poor."

Hustler just chuckled, patting Butch's face. He generously offered a mint and forced it down his throat, making a noise of approval while Butch was left to choke. Butch glared at him, but crossed his arms and waited. Hustler stared back.

"Well what?"
"Show me how to kiss then."
"You have to relax, first."
"I'm relaxed."
"No, you're not." He carefully grabbed each wrist and detangled the crossed arms "This does not indicate relaxed. You need to calm down. I'm not going to force anything on you – you asked for this, after all. Now loosen up."

Butch chuckled and unfurled, setting his hands on his hips. The hustler raised a brow, wondering if Butch realized how queer that made him look. Butch looked up at him and tilted his head, gesturing for him to hurry the fuck up.

"You gonna start or do I gotta kick you outta my house?"
"I have a better idea. You show me what you think is the best way to kiss someone."

Without wasting much time, Butch leaned right up and grabbed his shoulders, hauling him forward for a kiss. It was rushed, quick, clumsy, and anything but perfect. It wasn't terrible, but it wasn't great. Regardless, the hustler returned it, trying to ease him back. He cut it back once Butch tried unsuccessfully to nip his lip and deepen it.

"Okay, let's stop there."
"What? That bad?"
"Oh, no… but it wasn't good, either." Francis sighed and re-situated them so they sat face to face. "Now, lesson two-"
"What was lesson one?"
"Good hygiene. Namely, keeping your mouth from tasting like the inside of a chimney."
"You weren't complaining before!"
"Now I am. You want to know the next step or not?"
"Teach away."
"Lesson two: Take it slow. Allow me to demonstrate."

Butch nodded and Francis moved in. He took it slow, easing in, drawing it out more so than usual. Butch leaned back a little, only to be goaded forward again. Hustler stopped advancing until Butch relented and calmed. He moved in again, slowly, carefully until he was hovering near his lips. Butch shivered a little, anticipation bothering him more than the thought of being corrected. It was only when the hustler paused a mere breath from his lips did Butch start getting aggravated.

"See?" He asked, pulling back.
"See what? You didn't even do it."
"True, but you can't deny I got you to tremble with anticipation."
"Nevermind. Lesson three: Gentle. You rush in like you did before and you might knock out a tooth."
"You're exaggerating."

This time, Francis moved in all the way. He took his sweet time doing so, but lip contact was made, and Butch realized with some small measure of defeat that the hustler had been right. This was… better than his. As corny as it sounded, he felt that stupid little cliché shock that shot through him at the touch. It was just a light pressure on his mouth, not aligned or picture-perfect or anything, but it wasn't bad. It felt nice. He was fine with that. It was the lingering that bothered him. Francis' hands on his shoulders kept him from moving in closer, making it more forceful. This bothered Butch much, much more than it should have.

"There, see?"
"Did I loose you for a second, Butch?" Hustler chuckled, taking in the blush Butch was desperately trying to hide. "Now, show me what you've learned."
"Wasn't expecting a pop quiz…"

Butch sighed and rolled his shoulders, reaching up to settle his hands near the hustlers' neck. He mimicked, mostly mocked the slowness Fran had used before until he finally made contact. Again with the stupid little shock to him but he pushed past is and kept it even and light and nice and God, this was bothering him so much how could he do this and not want more immediately? Some part of him realized the hustler was smiling a little and kissing back just enough to keep him from thinking he wasn't totally fucking up. Be that as it may, he parted from the other male, taking note of the little sigh that Francis had half-hidden.

"Much better, don't you think?"
"Eh. " Butch shrugged his shoulders and looked off to the side. "Not bad, I guess."
"You want to stop?"
"… Naw. Go on."
"Lesson four and five, then. Four is a manner of timing. I pulled back when you seemed uncomfortable. It's easy to spot- on you anyway. But I digress. Five is the addition of hands." Francis wiggled his fingers for emphasis "Are you going to be weird about this?"
"Not if you aren't"

But Butch couldn't help but flinch at the sudden hands on his face. Francis withdrew his hands and shot him a look, but the storyteller 'harrumphed' and put the hands right back where they were. Francis, as punishment, took an exceedingly long time in touching his cheeks an the corners of his mouth, dragging them down to his neck and finally letting them rest on his shoulders. Butch gulped and shivered in spite of himself, half heartedly listening to the next part of the lesson.

"Hands are important with longer kisses. If it's a peck, you don't have to bother. For longer ones, not using your hands is weird and frankly, kind of creepy. That being said, stick to places that aren't inherently sexual. In short-" And here the hustler generously groped the storytellers ass, trying with all his might to keep from cackling at the squeak "No groping. Not yet. "
"Asshole! I thought you said you weren't going to put your hands on me!"
"I was making a point."
"What point? You're an asshole? 'Cause I got that."
"Wow." Francis backed off, putting his hands up in defeat. "Sorry. My fault. I'll just go."
"Wait, but we're not done, are we?"
"So where the hell are you going?"
"No where." He said, shifting to the other side of the couch. "Just giving you some space."
"You just… I wasn't expecting it. Get back here and finish what you started."

He hadn't meant to sound so desperate. He shook his head and let go of the sleeve he'd grabbed while the hustler attempted to retreat, flirting with the idea of just abandoning this entire plan and learning from old movies. He turned and coughed, planning on doing just that. That was until the heavy hand gently turned him back around.

"Remember lesson four?"
"Shut up and teach me, Francine."

The hustler chuckled and pulled Butch in, sliding his hands up his arms, over his neck and into his hair. He paused for a moment, hovering above his lips to draw a short breath before lowering his mouth to his. It was light, almost not there. Butch shivered and Fran shifted his hands just a bit, applying a little more pressure. He felt Butch moan and couldn't stave back the smile. Did he dare teach him the next part without warning?

Of course.

Carefully, he let his hands fall down to Butch's neck. Stroking the skin there, he pulled back for the barest moment and shifted to draw Butch's upper lip between his own. Again he felt the shiver of a moan. Francis smirked, closing his mouth around his lip, only to pull away. He kept at it, switching from top to bottom, from open mouthed to closed, until Butch started to mimic.

"See?" Francis whispered, barely breathing against Butch's lips, smiling a little at the tremor he felt under his fingers. He kissed him again, a simple little one to counter the complex. Kissing really was an art form, to the hustler at least, and some cocky part of him thought Butch should be flattered to be receiving lessons from a master. Another, larger part of him was just glad to have someone to practice with.

Butch seemed to enjoy it quite a bit, if the muted little noises were any indication. He didn't bother to answer or ask him for the next lesson. He just dragged him into another kiss. He really liked this. He never thought he'd like being corrected so much –but hot damn Fran was good at this. Butch didn't even mind feeling Francis let him down until his back touched the cusions. He didn't care when he felt the other male slide beside him, almost on top of him. Again the hands slid up to hold his face and he felt the fingers stroke his cheeks. He kissed the hustler back the way he had been 'taught,' hoping he had the hang of it.

Lost in this moment, he barely minded the feel of the hustlers tongue swipe along his upper lip. He gasped a little, conceding to it without another second thought. He felt the slick appendage slide into his mouth, just a little. It touched the tip of his, slipping against it for a moment before retreating. The lips closed, pulled from his, and started the pattern over again. Butch mimicked to the best of his ability, his mind a bit hazy. It felt… it felt so good.

His brain started to turn for a moment, scattered thoughts despite his better interests. He wanted to think about how fucking good it felt to be teased and touched and kissed like this. It was hard to think of someone's tongue in your mouth as erotic, or even hygienic. Butch hadn't thought much into it before being instructed. He figured he'd been lost in it too much to think and trying to focus and copy made him think more than usual. The more he thought (though he was trying really hard not to do or feel or think anything more than the feel of it), the stranger it felt. It wasn't a terrible strange… just odd. He could feel Francis teasing, stroking his tongue and poking around his mouth and no matter how fucking weird it was to think that it felt so goddamn good he nearly whined when he felt him pull away.

"You're distracted… something wrong?" The hustler purred, speaking against Butch's lips.
"Fuck no…"
"Really? I think you might need a little more… practice."
"Shut up and kiss me."

Butch didn't wait for him. He rushed it a little more than Francis had demonstrated, but at this point he really didn't care. He just wanted to feel more of those shocks and shivers. The hustler didn't seem to mind, and gladly kissed him back, allowing Butch to initiate. He even politely opened his mouth to let Butch in to explore when he shyly touched his tongue to the seam of his lips. He had been paying attention, the hustler noticed. The way he tenderly touched his tongue to his was textbook, and the long, gentle strokes were a pleasant change from the usual in-out tongue fucking.

They were quickly approaching much more advanced territory, Francis realized. Technically he was only supposed to teach Butch how to kiss… but this seemed like a natural progression. Especial now that the storyteller's hands were liberally exploring. The hustler moved slowly, mirroring his actions, mindful of the little outburst before. Butch wasn't complaining at all, though. In fact there were hands frantically clutching and twitching along his scalp, drawing him closer and closer. He was being pretty good about breaking for breath and going from one technique to the other… perhaps he could reward him.

Francis shifted his position, hovering over the other male, and let his hands drop down to Butch's waist. He pulled back to let the boy gasp; only to have his mouth reclaimed with more fervor than before. Francis worked and arm around Butch's back and held them flush together – lip to lip, chest to chest, stomach to stomach, even hip to hip. His broad hand supported his back while Butch's hand threaded through the hustler's short brown hair and gripped his shirt. Against his own will, Francis' arm flexed and pulled him up tighter than they had been. Butch bucked at the sudden increase in pressure, which made the hustler above him groan into his mouth and suck a bit harder on the already kiss-swollen lip than he originally planned.

Butch nipped him, rolling his hips and clinging to him desperately. He broke the kiss to lick his jaw and neck, murmuring mindless drivel. Francis kissed his face and eyes and tried to reach his neck but Butch wouldn't let him move away that much without forcing a kiss on him. Not that Hustler was complaining. In fact he was looking for ways to propose the idea of sex. He could pretend he was giving him a few pointers on foreplay… but really he was just looking for an excuse to fuck the flushed, panting face and make it scream his name mindlessly and beg for the chance to come.

Again the kiss was broken and, despite the frantic attempts otherwise, Francis wouldn't let him dive right back in. He wanted to find the words to ask him to move on even though they had deviated quite a bit from the lesson plan. If the pressure on his hip was any indication, Butch liked where this train of thought was going, even though his eyes were cloudy and he looked somewhere between confused and angry that the contact had stopped. He arched, licking his neck and chin and trying to kiss him again. The hustler pushed him down, breathing heavy, and the hand that had been supporting Butch slid under his shirt, barely stroking the scarred skin. Butch moaned, lifting his eyes and nodding, a small smirk on his face.

Butch let the hustler "show" him the next steps. His eyes were closed but he could feel the rough hands slide under his shirt and twitch against his skin. He thought he heard a few words, probably more directions. The storyteller had no patients for that, so he grabbed the hustler by his shirt collar and yanked him down for another one of those expert kisses. He was goaded to lead, but he was a quick study. He got the hustler to moan in his mouth and move those hands from his chest to his hip and the front of his pants… He smirked, nipping at his lower lip and arching up into the hand that was pressing against his crotch. He felt the hand move up a little, flicking open the button of his jeans, taking hold of his zipper, pulling it down tooth by tooth and-

"Butch, sweetie? Are you hungry? I saw Francis' car is still out front is he staying for dinner?"

Butch pulled down his shirt and coughed, smoothing back his hair. He heard himself say something along the lines of 'No ma, we're fine' despite her insistence that dinner for an extra would be no trouble at all. He squinted up into the light falling from the top of the stairs, halfheartedly redressing himself and trying to look like he hadn't just been half an inch from fucking. The banter continued on for a while, Butch assuring they were more than okay and would be upstairs if- when- they felt like eating. When Butch stood up to stand at the bottom of the stairs, the conversation shifted to why he looked so disheveled. He blamed it on goo old-fashioned horseplay- and in that case he was only lying when it came to how 'horseplay' was defined.

All the while, the hustler glared daggers at him from his new spot on the floor. Somewhere along the line he crawled back up on the couch and dusted himself off, stretching out. Butch's attention was divided between the waiting salesman and the doting mother. Finally, she retreated, promising to get some cookies for them. Butch stepped back into darkness and took a few deep breaths, trying to keep from panicking. No reason to panic. She didn't suspect a thing. She was making them cookies for Christ sakes. They were in the clear. He turned his attention to the Hustler and uncrossed his unconsciously crossed arms.

"So…" Francis cooed suddenly, sitting back on the couch, looking quite relaxed despite the near discovery "Come here and show me what you learned."

Butch stared at him, which made the hustler arch a brow. He was probably trying to figure out which move to use next. No problem. He could wait.

He wasn't expecting for him to move so quickly. It seemed like out of nowhere, Butch was on his lap, his legs on either side of his. He was hunched over, bent close to his face, his hands on Fran's shoulders and holding him in his place. This… confused the hustler a little, but he didn't let it faze him. He simply smiled and looked up at the hovering male.

"You're in the wrong position." He chided gently "This is usually the girl's stance."
"Ask me if I care." Butch breathed against his lips, kissing him once more.

Though Francis was a little unnerved by the fervor he was using, he supposed it was a good thing. He hoped had been paying attention and wasn't just spouting off a little extra energy. Butch was a fast learner… but it could have been because of that oral fixation thing he kept blaming his smoking habits on. It didn't matter, really. At least he wasn't completely in the dark and floundering around like some awkward teens. He actually got him to kiss the air after he parted – that was a feat for someone without experience. He smiled.

"Not bad…" He praised, "but there's one last rule. You leave 'em wanting… they're libel to take it by force" And, with a smirk on his behalf, he leaned up and took what was being denied.



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