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A Dance for Two
Chapter 4 – Fourth Façade
The red Ferrari floored Law to the point where he was a mere ant on hot pavement. He felt too scummy to get into the car, but the valet driver ushered him in ever so gently as if he were decorated in diamonds, not rags. He had no choice but to contaminate those soft, black leather seats with his dirty rear.
The interior was well-lit by the car's overhead lights, and after he shakily strapped himself in, he turned just in time to see the man from table forty-two's profile before the lights snapped out and left the interior in shadows.
A strong jaw. That red hair. Fierce eyes. Everything he'd seen in the club. A slight scar above his eye that was pale pink. Sharp collared white shirt with a black overcoat. A deep, seemingly perpetual frown. New things he'd seen clearly only now in the car.
The man started driving wordlessly, tearing out of the parking garage and down the street. The rate of speed was exhilarating, but the car handled so smoothly Law barely felt the pull of gravity as the man braked hard for a red light. He couldn't see his buyer, but he could see his scenery awash in man-made light, and the car's headlights illuminated all the street names. They were going into the elite side of the city. After seeing the car, Law had expected no less.
The silence in the vehicle was beginning to unnerve him. He expected the man to try and make an effort at small talk to comfort him, as he had in the past when he'd ordered those lap dances. But the man remained stoic.
Law couldn't take it.
"I can't believe you paid over eight thousand dollars for me," Law said quietly.
He could see the man's dangerous eyes flash his way in the darkness, as if he was surprised Law would choose to speak to him.
"Hey, I told you I'd pay double whatever those other idiots in there offered up for your services. I'm a man of my word, Heart." He let out a breezy laugh.
And, all at once, the tense air was broken.
"You are indeed a man of your word, monsieur."
He got himself a chuckle out of the man on the other side of the gearshift. "So, Heart, tell me what you'd like to eat. Sadly, today I can't take you home with me, so we're going to have to go second-rate."
Eat? That was about all he heard. Law's stomach instantly growled and he hugged his arms to his chest in hopes of stifling the noise. Eat? He'd eat anything. Well, almost anything. He wouldn't eat Bepo's work boots, if it came to that or starving. The stench of that man's feet was enough to knock anyone out.
"I'll eat almost anything. I'm not too picky."
"Seafood?" the man asked shortly.
Seafood. He hadn't had seafood in a very, very long time. He couldn't' even remember the last time he'd gone to a restaurant to order seafood. Well, he couldn't remember the last time he was in a half-respectable restaurant, period, so maybe he had to reevaluate his criteria regarding seafood.
Seafood was expensive in this city. But there was no doubt in his mind this man would be able to pay any price. Still, why food? Where was the lousy roadside motel sex? Would that come later? At all?
"Seafood is nice. But, I have to ask, why would you pay to feed me? Haven't I cost you enough money as it is?"
The man laughed again. Like really, honestly, laughed. At him. "What? You're not hungry? I don't believe that; I can hear your stomach ripping itself apart all the way over here. Besides, I wanted you for your company, and I couldn't stand by and let you go to one of those greasy old men sitting up front. Unless you like getting yourself fondled by elderly people, in which case I apologize for taking you out of their wrinkly hands."
Clamping his mouth shut suddenly, Law bit the inside of his cheek, giving himself a shot of pain and adrenaline. Normally, he would have spat out a curse and been done with it, but what came through his parted lips upon his job being put into question instead surprised him.
"Shut the fuck up."
He cringed at his own language. He was going to get dumped on the side of the road. He had screwed up big time. Tonight he'd done too much mouthing off. First to Doflamingo, now to Mr. Forty-Two. Fuck.
The man was silent for a few seconds as Law mentally beat himself senseless, then he laughed raucously. Again. A spine-chilling laugh that made Law's toes curl out of instinct. "Fuck, I knew you were the feisty sort. So, you are hungry then?"
Law managed to squeak out a relieved yes and pressed his lips together until they turned a sickly white. He resolved not to open his mouth again until he absolutely had to. There was no telling what his uncensored thoughts might feed to his tongue.
Feed. Food. Ugh, he was ravished from not eating for hours at a time. It seemed like so long ago that he'd brought home pizza to share with his friends. He was the kind of hungry that could not be described.
Wrong. He knew exactly how to describe it. He was 'Ace-Hungry'. After all, that man's bottomless pit was, well, bottomless.
Thinking of Ace helped to calm his nerves as the Ferrari slowed down and pulled into a parking lot. He had lost track of the street names at this point, but one look outside of his window made him draw up against the leather seat. Into a full body cringe.
He was not dressed for the Baratie.
"Best seafood in the city," the man said, a statement Law knew was fact, not fiction. The Baratie was legendary, as it had started years and years ago as a seafaring restaurant operating out of a grand ship on the ocean. And many of its beautiful traditions had survived.
Including its fight ring.
"Shall we?" the man asked, cracking his door open and putting a foot outside on the pavement. Law scrambled to exit the vehicle, knowing there wasn't much he could say otherwise on the matter. He just hoped nobody would decide to kick him out based on what he was wearing.
They made their way to the entrance of the restaurant. The most interesting feature of the Baratie was that it had been built in the remains of a full rigged vessel that had gone aground. The entrance was on one side and from a distance looked like a plank that rose up into a hole in the hull. But there were glass doors there, and despite the shipwrecked look of the Baratie, the structure itself was not only sound but also beautifully reconstructed.
Inside, the Baratie sparkled and waiters waltzed around in dark suits. But Law hardly noticed them straight off, because he was busy squinting at the man who had wrapped his arm around his waist, and was gently guiding him along. Never before had he been treated so much like a…female.
"Hey, I can walk without you prodding me around, you know," he found himself saying as a waiter directed them to a seat near the back. He wasn't really being pushed about, but the very implication that he was being the submissive one in this strange relationship, that this man was making him do things, just ticked him off.
His captor chuckled but his hand never left his lower back. "So?"
"So hands–"
Law stopped himself. He couldn't exactly say 'hands off.' The man had bought him. He was entitled to hands on.
Gritting his teeth, Law sucked in a whoosh of air through his nostrils and forced his mouth to stay closed. He would grin and bear it, he decided. He was going to eat delicious food, pay nothing, and then go home after this.
Hopefully.
The notion that this man had bought him for sex had, obviously, crossed his mind more than once. And, no matter how good-looking this man was, he hated being forced to do anything he didn't particularly want to.
They took their seats and the waiter, a lean man with a curtain of blond hair swept over an eye, dropped some menus on their table before gallantly hurrying off to help an older lady who was having troubles with her walker.
Law looked about the place with fabricated interest, taking in the sight of fishing apparatus stuck artfully to the wall and fancily dressed people with only the tiniest of unease. In this part of the restaurant, under a dim lamp, nobody gave him and his street clothes any notice. It was all couples staring dreamy-eyed at one another across candlelit tables. The saccharine sight brought a bit of involuntary bitterness to the back of Law's throat.
"What would you like to eat?" the man asked. "You can order anything, of course."
Law had avoided staring at him so far, but now he found he couldn't tear his eyes away. Besides the occasional candle on some tables, the place was weakly lit to create an atmosphere of sensuality, and the soft light above their table cast frightening shadows across this man's broad features. He noticed how the shadows warped across this man's nose, making it seem misshapen. The longer he stared, the more he came to realize this man had had his nose fractured at some point. He knew that from his foray with old surgeon textbooks.
It was an effort to cast his eyes down at his menu. He saw the special of the evening on the front, and that looked more than good enough for him. Especially that price tag. "I think I'll get that."
"You sure?"
"Yep," Law said, setting his menu aside with an air of finality. The man didn't speak again, rather took Law's hand and fondled his sinuous fingers, until the waiter came to take their orders. Law found the man just ordered whatever he was having, which for some reason eased his jumpy nerves. He had made a point of ordering what was probably the cheapest thing on the menu, because he really didn't want this man spending too much on him. Not when he had already paid so much for his company.
Law didn't want to completely rip Mr. Forty-Two off. The longer he sat at the table, trying to figure out the motives behind this man's generosity, the faster the desire to suck up all his money left him.
If it were any other person, maybe he would order the most expensive meal, but not with Forty-Two. There was an air of hazard about this man, one he had felt when first approaching him a few nights ago, and Law didn't want to annoy him, if he could avoid it.
Besides, those fierce eyes and the firm curve of his jaw softened Law in ways he didn't want to think about. As a consequence, he crossed his legs and began to instruct himself to breath deeply and regularly, fixing his gaze on something that wouldn't rouse him.
"Tell me something about yourself," the man said suddenly.
Law quit studying the fountain on the other side of the room and trained his eyes on that red hair. Something about him? Hmm. Certainly not his name. It wouldn't do to get overly friendly.
"I like reading," Law said vaguely. He would play it on the safe side.
"And what do you enjoy reading?"
He more than expected this question, and the thought of lying artfully crossed his mind, yet it hardly seemed necessary. "Scientific and medical curiosities."
The man actually chuckled, a deep, dark, grumbling sound in the pit of his stomach. "I suppose you must have an extensive collection of thick books."
Law nearly burst into laughter. He barely concealed his mirth under a lopsided smile. An extensive collection of books? More like a well-worn library card. He picked up a few books here and there at flea markets, but seeing as he lived day to day barely able to feed himself, books were a want rather than a need.
"I have a few books," he said coyly, hoping his smile and the seductive incline of his head would drop the subject. No, he could see by the way the man's forehead lifted that he had more questions fluttering around in his frontal lobe. Time to turn the tables. "Do you read?"
"Only when I must," the man said. "Which is more often that I'd like, but such is a consequence of holding the position I have at work." The man dismissed his reality with a bored drone, which piqued Law's interest. What could he possibly do outside of sitting at the back of the Pink Flamingo?
It was a red flag move to ask a client too many personal questions, so Law merely shrugged. Though he was curious about this man, pathetically so, he could never ask questions about the man's job, his personal life, or what his name really was. It was unprofessional.
The waiter brought their food, shrimp and lobster dishes, and any inklings of a conversation dissolved. Law kept up a steady stream of food and wine en route to his stomach, and was encouraged to see that the man wasn't exactly one for excessive manners, tearing into his meal with almost vicious yearning. The buttery lobster practically melted down his throat, and he couldn't help but make a few quiet, appreciative noises that he hoped the man wouldn't hear.
He hadn't eaten such a good meal in…weeks? Months? Too long ago.
Both men polished off their meal without leaving any edible scraps, which seemed to please their blond waiter immensely when he returned to collect the plates. But now, with the food cleared out of the way and their mission to consume food complete, Law was left wondering: what now?
The man answered his thoughts, almost as if he knew what Law was thinking. "Do you want to go see if they're running any fights in the ring right now?"
The Baratie's fight ring. Perfect for a time waster. "Sure."
The waiter returned with the check, lying it face down on the table in a leather sleeve. Law badly wanted to see the sum they'd racked up, but the man's hand was already on the leather sleeve that housed the bill. He took one glance, set it back down, and reached into his overcoat. Law watched carefully, but the man sorted through his wad of bills without ever taking them out of his wallet. When he decided upon the amount, the precise way he lifted the stack of bills out of the wallet and stuck them in the sleeve only hinted at their worth. Never revealed it.
The sleeve went down again, hiding the money from sight, and Law irritably stood up and looked around for something to occupy himself while the man got to his feet. His eyes landed on the fountain again, but before he could study it in detail, he registered a palm pressing into his hip.
Somehow, that warm, firm hold set him off. He wriggled out of the man's grasp, tugged at some loose fabric instead, and led the way before the man could domineer him again. The man followed barely two paces behind. He'd been to the Baratie before and knew the fight ring's location, back when Penguin still had a job working as a bus boy for the cooks, but after he'd been fired he hadn't been back to the Baratie since. And that was a long time ago now.
He found he was leading the man along in the wrong direction. But he didn't allow himself to be embarrassed when the man turned him around fully and prodded him towards the soft murmur of a crowd. Down a hallway they went, occasionally passing a few couples that gave them odd stares. Law couldn't blame them: a man in a suit and one in a sweater and jeans holding hands was sort of an oddity.
Yes, the man had the nerve to reach down and grasp his hand. He didn't particularly like the feeling of the man's hand cradling his. They were calloused and leathery, kind of like his wallet. Then again, the condition of his hands told him volumes about the rest of the person. Above all, it told him the man didn't just sit in an office twiddling his thumbs all day. Or at least he hadn't always sat in that office. Those hands held history, and for once Law was quite curious to learn what had shaped that skin.
His natural inquisitiveness was going to cost him one day. He just knew it.
There was already a fight going on in the ring when they arrived, and the sitting stands were packed with people. Luckily, the sides of the actual ring still had a few free spaces, but Law figured the man in his posh clothing would want to sit, rather than stand.
He was proven wrong when the man took control of the situation and brought them up to a spot just wide enough for a person and a half. Then the elbow came up and he jostled for a place. Law refused to be impressed when the guy who received that elbow took one look at Forty-Two and skedaddled.
They got their spot and watched the fight that was just finishing up. There were always many different styles to watch, as the Baratie was hardly discriminatory when it came to choosing fighters to amuse their crowd. Right now a man with algae green hair wielded swords against another who couldn't keep pace with his moves. The fencing came to an end when the algae-head stabbed at the man's chest after parrying a sloppy attack. The sword glanced off of the protective gear and the referee called for them to break apart.
Next up was a pair of boxers. The crowd seemed to enjoy them immensely, as streams of blood were actually drawn as blows connected to noses and cheeks that got sliced open. Law couldn't help but look up at the man. They were ridiculously close, shoulder-to-shoulder, and Law could feel his heat running through the fabric of their clothes. The lighting was slightly better in the fight room, and Law made out some more thin, pink scars on the man's face that he'd never noticed until now. There was, of course, the biggest scar above his eye, but a multitude of marks on his forehead were only now presenting themselves for his pleasure.
The man felt his eyes on him and turned his head to direct that animalistic stare to Law. "You bored, or what?"
"No, just checking you out," Law divulged with a half-grin. He didn't know whether he was joking or not. It was true that he'd been trying to take stock of his buyer, but to what extent? "You like the fights?"
"Yeah. Used to be a bit of a fighter myself, a long time ago. Sometimes it's a good stress reliever to punch someone's brains out through their nose."
This should have unnerved Law. Instead, he was snickering. "That so? Well, I guess that explains your scars."
"Oh, you noticed." The man appeared disconnected from his surroundings all of a sudden, his wolfish grin slipping from his features as he stared with glazed eyes over the top of Law's head.
"I have a few scars of my own," Law said truthfully, thinking of his back and the jagged pink lines that ran up and down the length of his spine. The mediocre light of the club hid those lines when he danced. The ones that were too noticeable, Thatch did work on.
"I never noticed." Of course he didn't. Thatch was a master at cover-up, at least when it came to thin lines of damaged skin.
They continued watching the fights. Martial artists came and went, some defeated, some triumphant. Eventually, they began a little harmless betting with no stakes involved. Law won a few of the bets, but he often liked to bet on the underdog, the thinner man. The one he most identified with. Whereas his client always placed his bet on the strongest, the rudest, or just in general the one who appeared fiercer.
Wining and losing like this meant nothing to Law, but the way the man smirked every time he won one of their bets irritated him. He was used to being the winner in all things amongst his friends, and he didn't like that smirk that mocked him in the semi-twilight. After a while he said, "We'll be here all night if we keep betting on people."
"I suppose you're right about that," the man said. He had taken the hint and moved off the side of the ring. "Do I need to take you home? Have I made you miss your curfew?"
Law snorted. His annoyance was piquing. "I can only take so much triviality."
"I'm just rubbing that beautiful hair of yours the wrong way."
They left the Baratie, and the man still insisted on keeping his hand on some part of Law, even though the stripper delicately insisted on the contrary. Only when the man shut Law back inside the Ferrari did he have any freedom. Strangely enough, he found that freedom was rather cold.
Then the man pulled the driver's door closed, reached over with his other hand, and smoothed Law's hair down. Instinctively, Law jerked away.
"Sorry; I just wanted to feel it. It's been bugging me all night. I love the softness of your hair," the man said. Law, however, felt it was something more. The petting was a domineering move. The man wanted to exert his temporary ownership over him. Law had known this would happen eventually. There was an unfair power struggle at work here, and now the man had exposed it.
"I'm sorry," the man repeated, rather off-handedly, his hands firmly locked on the gearshift and the steering wheel. The car had already been turned on, and was purring almost silently in anticipation for the drive. "Look, just tell me where you live."
He'd broken a rule. The don't-ask-for-extremely-personal-information-whatever-you-freakin'-do rule. Without realizing it. His ignorance baffled Law.
"I'll just…give you directions from here. Go right out of the parking lot."
Law concentrated on giving commands, trying to decide where he'd lead the man to. Certainly not Bepo's apartment. And he hardly wanted to go back to the Pink Flamingo. It was closed at this hour, and besides, most of the busses had stopped running downtown. So that left only one possible place that would be relatively safe and not far from his temporary residence.
The only words Law and the man exchanged were directions. Turn here, turn there, right, left, straight through. The whites of the man's eyes shone in the reflection of light off his rearview mirror, the best sign a car was riding their bumper. Only when that car turned off did Law lose all of the man's facial expressions to the shadows within the vehicle.
"It's here. Turn right and just stop." The headlights revealed a line of trees, and in the not so far off distance a metal playground gleamed.
"Where are we? This is some sort of park."
Law nodded, then realized the man likely could barely make him out in the blackness. So he said, "Yeah, it's a park near my place. I can get home from here."
The man didn't question, only shifted the car into park and reached up between them to flick on a light that illuminated the interior of the car. This was the best light Law had seen the man in all night.
Red hair. Fierce eyes. Pinkish scars. Same old, same old. Pale skin. Rough features. A heavyset chest. A tantalizing bulge in his slacks…
"Your money's in the glove compartment. I separated it earlier, when your stylist was getting you ready," the man said brusquely. Law tore his eyes away for a moment, facing forward. Then the man leaned over him, his weight pressing against Law in the cramped space as he located the button that clicked the compartment open. As he withdrew, Law felt a wave of tension settle itself into his shoulders.
He grabbed the thick, manila envelope out of the glove compartment. Numbly, he noted that it was stacked on top of a variety of things. A few documents and a very dark case, which from his position he could see had a very long numerical lock on one side. Before he could jokingly ask what could possibly be in there, the man leaned over again and jerked the compartment shut.
His heat against Law's body suddenly became that much more welcome. Law felt the urge to climb over the center console and establish himself on the man's lap. Instead, he contented himself with thumbing through the money.
It was all there. How the hell this man could simply have all this cash in his freakin' car he did not know, and did not dare question. He almost wanted to make a run for it, but then another feeling washed over him not unlike the one he had just felt with the man brushing up against him. A strange mixture of lust and guilt.
He couldn't accept this man's money. Not without earning it. And, in his eyes, he hadn't earned even an eighth of the contents of the manila envelope.
It was imposing on his pride as a man.
Before he could use his better judgment and sprint off into the shadows of the night, he was leaning over the console with one hand on the steering wheel to steady himself and forcefully kissing pale lips.
He jumped a little, as was to be expected, but his quick conversion to animalistic desire startled Law even more. The man's arms slinked around his body, holding him in place, and those lips seared him, occasionally biting and holding him in place like a trapped animal. Leaving sharp jabs of pain. Then he was pulled into the man's lap, his back banging against the low steering wheel, and the seat was thrown back with a quick jab at a lever.
"Fuck," the redhead muttered as Law repositioned himself so he was closer to hugging every inch of chest that beckoned him. "Fuck." With a smirk, Law dove for the buttons of his overcoat, taking this opportunity to sink his taped fingers into the hot flesh that was revealed when he peeled back that crisp white shirt underneath.
He pressed a lingering kiss to the man's cheek as he finished off with the buttons and began to run his hands over smooth muscles, enjoying the dips and curves that were in no way perfectly shaped, but more than good enough for him. The way the man panted, heaving great exhales and slow, sensuous inhales, drove him to kiss the man senseless. Just to see if that pattern of intense breathing could be interrupted.
Up until that point, the most the man gave him was rough caresses under his sweater, but all of a sudden there was a hand in his hair, pulling him back and away. Law startled, getting ready to move on the offensive should this man decide to toss him after all, but devouring lips attached to his neck halted all coherent thought. Then came the attack. Never before had anyone bit him there, but just under his jaw he knew the skin would be faintly coloured to some extent tomorrow.
He let out a quiet gripe at being used, then tried to recover a bit of himself before he succumbed to this stranger's domineering traits by sniggering. The mouth slowed down and withdrew, unsure of what the dark chuckling meant.
Law took advantage of the hesitation. "I had hoped you wouldn't think I was going to let you go with nothing," Law whispered against parted lips. Then he kissed the man again, alight in the fact that he could feel something stirring down below. In those dark slacks there was definite movement.
Wishing to immediately confirm his suspicions, he snaked a hand down that trembling skin and over that bulky belt, palming the man through his slacks. He felt a tremendous twitch and the man let out a low groan. Absolutely shameless.
Law liked that. He liked that a lot.
So was his elation that he dropped his body between the man's feet, wriggling his butt, then his trim waist, past the steering wheel so he sat between the man's slacks. He grinned as the man's breathing hitched, and he kneaded the growing lump until rough, abrasive hands tore him away from his task. The man opened his pants himself, a powdering of rouge coating his cheeks.
Suddenly, the Ferrari's interior went as black as the night outside their comfy abode. The light overhead had flickered out, and the man instinctively scrambled to find the switch on the roof that would activate it again. But Law grabbed that roaming hand, pinned it down against a leather armrest, and whispered, "Leave it off. Close your eyes. Relax. Let me do allthe work."
The man let out a shaky sigh and probed the shadows until he located the back of Law's head, then began to massage his scalp with the flat of his palm. Despite not being a fan of such callous use by a stranger and the darkness that didn't help his vision, Law managed to free the man from his slacks and whatever elastic banded undergarment lay under them. He felt the hot weight in his hands, smelled the tang of ecstasy in the humid air, and closed his eyes against the darkness as he brought his lips to his own hand, and then upwards to foreign flesh.
The fingers in his hair tightened, and the thighs he rested his elbows on shuddered twice, matching twin groans that resonated deep in that warm chest he laid his fingers on. He tongued the base of the man's erection, then licked up to the tip. Repeated. Flicked his tongue over veins and the ridge that flared out of the head. Played. Teased. Did as he pleased.
The man's orgasm was just beginning to build, if his trembling balls were any indication. Law closed his eyes as he lowered his lips as far as he could dare go in such a cramped space. The angle was wrong, any prospects of deep throating completely dashed, but he had a feeling his client was too far gone with his current nurtures to handle anything more passionate.
He pulled back just as the grunts began to get heady and the fingers in his hair started pulling too urgently. He could feel the heat of the man's length just in front of his face, and the cool metal and leather of the steering wheel on the back of his head. Those fingers tried to force him forward none to gently, but he sat firmly in place. He panted hot air over the tip of the man's erection, and in the inky dark he could swear that veined length convulsed happily.
"Do you have any special requests for a beautiful finish?" Law asked, sultry voice breaking through the low panting that fogged up the windows of the car. He reached out with his fingertips and played with the man's foreskin, rolling it about between his thumb and index finger, pulling it taunt and then releasing it. "Would you like me to swallow? Squeeze your balls? Give you a nice sloppy kiss on the lips when I'm all done?"
Law chuckled as he realized that, even though his back ached from his bowed position seated atop floor mats on the bottom of the car, half under a steering wheel, he was having fun. He hadn't been with anyone intimately like this for a long time, and the excitement of being with a total stranger, in the dark, with an envelope containing a fortune stuffed in the front pocket of his hoodie, just thrilled him.
"All of the above," the man said breathlessly, resuming his petting of Law's head. He barked out a crude laugh when the skinnier man tried to pick his fingers away from his short, shaggy locks, clawing at him with sharp nails. He knew he was being irritating, but he absolutely had to have that texture between his fingers. Plus, both were beginning to sweat, and the dampness that clung to that hair was pleasantly muggy.
It was true, he just had to touch this man in some way. Had to. His very being was just so damn sensual, and to touch meant a connection to this force that had long captivated him.
"All of the above it is then," the stripper muttered, going back to work with increased suction, no longer intent on toying with him. He held the man's testicles in one hand, feeling that euphoria of being so in control of the man's pleasure, and poised his other hand in the air above the man's chest. Waiting for the perfect moment.
It came soon enough. He felt the shaft in his mouth tremble along with the flesh that he held in his hands, and squeezed his fingers, giving the man that final push. He heard the staggered breath, imagined the open mouth and glazed eyes, and felt the hot sticky substance coat his insides and begin to trickle down his throat. He tasted the salt and swirled the thick liquid towards the back of his throat with his tongue, swallowing it as fast as he could. He didn't much care for the texture, after all. Yet he couldn't deny that the taste hadn't been bad compared to others he'd had.
Just as Forty-Two began to come down from his high, he ripped his nails down the man's front, that hand in the air finally having something to do. The result was a trickling bit of come shooting forth, and he swallowed the last of what the man gave him with a grin that was entirely for himself.
A job well done.
His hand wandered up the side of the door, feeling the cool leather and metal until he came to a bunch of odd, protrusive shapes. He flicked one. By chance he heard the click of the car door locks. The man didn't notice. Or if he did he simply did not care.
Quickly Law wriggled back into Forty-Two's lap, and delivered the wet, sloppy kiss that he had promised. The man seemed too stunned into submission from his climax to reply to his affections properly. That or he hadn't been expecting to taste himself on the other man's tongue. Either way, it made getaway a walk in the park.
Or a run, in Law's case.
He pushed open the driver's door and leapt out, landing on his feet after a bit of awkward staggering to get his left leg free. He heard a panicked shout behind him, but following in the darkness was impossible and he knew the man wouldn't even try. He clutched the envelope in his pockets, feeling much better now that he could justify having earned it, and tore down a familiar park pathway. He could see that the Ferrari had been kicked into action, and high beams were illuminating the trees and surrounding pavement.
He was long gone, hiding amongst the small trees a volunteer group had planted, with a clear view of the car. Rubbing his sore joints, especially his neck, Law watched as the man circled the parking lot, doubtlessly scanning the trees looking for him, and then finally left. Peeling out of there, the acrid smell of burning rubber remaining long after the car was gone.
Law stretched and headed for Bepo's apartment, or more specifically his bathroom, intending to both count the money before dropping it into a bathtub to lie in triumphantly, and rub one out to the salty taste that lingered in his mouth.
A.N.: Out a day earlier than my usual! Well, this chapter was certainly straightforward, but I daresay there may have been some, ahem, foreshadowing in there. Also, I think now is a fair enough time to warn you all that I'm not going to censor anything, because that's not really my style, so if that last scene caused any involuntary stomach contractions, I advise you to refrain from reading future chapters. That is the extent of my disclaimer (since I ALWAYS forget to put a little warning at the beginning of my stories...)
My wonderful reviewers, as always I thank thee for taking the time to leave me with something to chew on! You guys really spur me on to write quickly. I swear, I haven't been this productive in...ever.