Product Placement

Chapter 25 - Alone Time

Francis shouldered his way into his home, his coat tightly belted, and locked the door behind him. He whipped his head around and, thankfully, found his home to be empty. It wasn't new, but he wasn't sure he ever felt so glad to find it deserted. He stalked up the stairs to his room and shut and locked the door there, too. He groaned.

That bastard! That jerk! How could he do this to him? In the middle of freaking school no less! It was bad enough he did it when they were in some semblance of privacy, but in the middle of school? He snarled, rubbing his face, the scenario playing over in his head regardless of his permission.

O/O

"Hey Franny!"
"I asked you not to call me that."

Butch smirked at him, slinging an unwelcome arm across his shoulder. He was in an oddly good mood. Francis briefly wondered why. Then he decided getting that arm off of him was more important. Butch didn't seem to care, puffing away on a half-gone cigarette.

"You got my merch, Fran?" He was pointedly ignored. Butch stared, then sighed "Oh-kay… Do you have my order Hustler?"
"Why yes I do."
"Great!"

He pulled a clipboard from the inside of his coat and looked down the list. He tapped his pen and checked off the box.

"You ordered… Malbros, three Bic lighters and a bag of Starburst?"
"Mmyep."
"You're smoking Malbros now?"
"I figured I'd give 'em a try."
"...What's the Starburst for?"
"What's with the third degree?" Butch snapped, "You pick at all your customers like that?"
"No. Just you." He answered coolly, retrieving the items in question "What's it for?"

Butch sighed and retrieved a piece of printer paper from his coat. He unfolded it and presented it to the hustler.

"What's this?" He asked.
"Directions to make a paper star." He shrugged at the Hustler's odd look "I got bored of messing with cherry stems."

Francis gave him another odd look and turned his gaze down to the paper. They were, as he said, directions to make a paper star out of candy wrappers…using only ones tongue and teeth.

At first glance, it didn't bother him. But then his mind clicked and turned and put two and two together. Then his face flared up before he could stop it. He had put two and two together. Cherry stems, tongues, lips, teeth. He shivered. That damned mouth!

"Hey Fran… you feelin okay?" Butch pressed a hand to the others forehead and one to his own. "You feel kinda warm…"
"I'vegototgoI'lltalktoyoulater" He cried suddenly, shoving the things he ordered into his hands and making a mad dash for the exit.

Butch had called after him, something about avoiding him, but he didn't stick around to hear it. He ran off. He shoved half his stock to Fingers, babbled some quick excuse to keep him from asking questions and dashed away without another word.

O/O

He slammed his fist into the wall. Why wouldn't it go away? He had spent fifteen minutes in the bathroom at school, trying to get it to go down. He had no choice but to flee the school and peel off. The sudden drive home didn't help, nor did the fear of being caught. Hell, nothing was gonna get this shit to go down!

Hustler shrugged off his coat and ran a hand through his hair, shuffling uncomfortably to his bed. He flopped down on his side, nursing the hand he rammed into the wall. Maybe it would just take a little time to go down. He had few hours before he had to open the garage…

But could he stand having this ache for that long?

Francis growled at himself, burring his face in his pillow. Stupid Butch and his… his mouth… making him think things like this in public. Making him hard like this…

He snorted, looking down at his 'problem.' He hadn't done this in fucking months. There wasn't any need to. Not with payment options open to him and being able to see Butch and… blow off a little steam. He hadn't had much of a reason to take care of himself. He was always busy or he had someone else take care of it. There was the rare occasion at the beginning of puberty, but that was a while ago. It wasn't that he'd forgotten- just that it seemed… below him.

But, this little problem wasn't going away on it's own. He didn't have much of a choice…

With some small sigh and a little wince on his part, he undid the belt and the zipper on his jeans. He gulped, refusing to look down. Gently pressing his hand to the ache, he remembered why he hated doing this on his own- it was humiliating.

But it felt good.

He shut his eyes and pressed down a little more, feeling it throb between his legs. He groaned, feeling a little more bold than embarrassed. He could just… jerk off until the problem went away. But he had three hours. Why not have a little fun while he was at it? He rolled over on his back, arching up a little into his hand. Again the hustler groaned, allowing his mind to wander for a change.

Immediately he imagined Butch's mouth wrapped around his cock.

Francis yanked his hand back like he'd been fucking burned. He even hissed, his eyes flying open and sitting up straight. What the /hell/ was that? Where the hell did that come from? He coughed and looked anywhere but down at himself. That wasn't what he was expecting. Okay, so he'd been spending a little more time with Butch than girls. That didn't mean anything. He was just more readily available. And it wasn't like it was a random thought; Butch had sucked him off before, and he was good at it… but still!

Hustler snorted and lay back down, shutting his eyes again. It wasn't that weird. It was all his fault, really. Going on about that mouth and what he could do with it. Him and his cherry stem bows and paper star wrappers… jerk. All his fault. All of it. He was the reason he was… less than presentable.

He shook his head, nestling into the pillow. There was no reason to be ashamed – it wasn't like there were people watching or he had any real chance of being caught. He was just being paranoid. With another sigh, he reached back to grip the pillow and pressed his hand back where it was before. Yep. Still hard. It throbbed appreciatively at the contact and Francis hissed a little, turning his head to the side.

Butch took over his mind again the second he forced himself to relax.

'Shit, this was so wrong' the hustler thought, pressing down a little more. He could feel him and only him, splaying his hand over his clothed chest and forcing him up for a kiss. He was bound to be good at them by now. He'd seen many a cherry stem meet it's fate in that hot, wet mouth. He knew personally what it could do, and to think he taught him a few things. He felt those warm lips on his own, kissing him, tasting him, and he moaned for more. He was almost certain he was louder than he had meant to be, but at the same time he couldn't bring himself to care.

He felt Butch hands (though he knew for certain they were his own), trail down his chest and over his hips, drawing a lazy path down his body. He cursed softly, feeling his fingers wrap around the clothed bulge, almost teasing him. The hustler arched; he could almost hear that bastard chuckling in his ear, breathing on it just to be a fucking cocktease. He shivered in spite of himself and arched up into the hand that was clumsily stroking him.

In his mind, he could see Butch smirking and eyeing him with his dark eyes. He was murmuring his name, stroking the clothed flesh. Another nip to his ear and the image of Butch snickered, sliding down his body. He felt the hands trail down him again and press against his arousal, pulling a sharp gasp from him. Francis' hand mirrored Butch's slow, careful motions, trying with all he had to prolong this little vision, but he was close as it was. He decided (like there was much of a choice) to just give in.

He didn't regret it for a second.

As if on cue, his mind kicked into overdrive and Butch grinned up at him with that glint in his eye that Hustler knew meant trouble. He watched helplessly as Butch freed him from his clothing, sticking out that talented tongue to lap at him. Francis threw his head back, feeling his hand speed up that much more, feeling Butch lap at the head with that evil little pink tongue. He could see that smirk and those dark eyes looking up at him, daring him to make a sound louder than a moan.

Francis snorted, biting his lip. He'd deny that smug bastard the satisfaction, even if he wasn't really there. He could have sworn he felt that hot, wet mouth close around him, felt that skilled tongue press against the underside while he took more and more into his mouth. His hand sped up. Screw taking his time, he needed to come! Dream Butch had other ideas, looking up at him with those dark eyes and slowly, slowly pulling back, half smiling around his cock and drawing his free hand up and pressing his tongue right under the tip-

He threw his head back and came with a cry, tightening up all over. He entertained the notion of the storyteller swallowing it down- but that was dashed when he felt it gush over his hand. He winced. Some exhausted part of his mind reminded him why else he hated this. Francis caught his breath, pulling his hand away, making some small noise at the cooling liquid coating the majority of his hand. He should have planned ahead…

He allowed himself a few moments to relax before he attempted to sit up. A few tissues, a zip, and some hand-washing later he was good as new again. A glance at the clock confirmed he had only managed to kill about a half an hour. He had two and a half hours until he needed to open. He only had a half an hour before people would actually be out and about to see him. He'd probably get a call from Fingers in about fifteen minutes.

The hustler sat back down at his bed and rubbed his face with the hand he hadn't used. One thought kept picking at him, threatening to consume his entire mindset. Why had he though of Butch? It was only Butch, he realized. There hadn't even been an attempt at imagining a girl. It was just the other boy… and that bothered him quite a bit.

He kept running the situation over and over in his mind, his chin in his hand. He couldn't piece it together… but the clock ticked away and suddenly time was weighing down on him rather than granting him time to think.

Francis stood, brushing off his coat and fixing his hair. He decided the image of Butch and only Butch was merely the result of recent events. Who had been dominating his time? Who had been with him last? Who else but Butch? It was just because he had been spending so much time with the storyteller, intimate or otherwise. That was all. A simple explanation. It wasn't even really worth thinking about anymore, really.

With that though securely out of his head, he headed to the garage. He grabbed up his phone and, as if on cue, it started to ring. He sighed and answered it.

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