AN: This piece takes place earlier in my timeline than chapter one, but is after Conrad has known Luce for a while and after he has slept with Luce. We're actually basically working backwards; the next piece will be before they've slept together, when things are just getting sexual. I think my overall summary makes this seem like it'll be a lot about Conrad's problems, and it really is. There will be a lot of scenes with just him, or just Lamont, that have the brunt of this. And then there will be the parts where Luce makes things worse - like this. Anyway, Hanna is Not a Boy's Name still belongs to the marvelous Tessa Stone. I am not making any money and mean no offense.

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PSYCHOLOGY OF A HUMMINGBIRD

-by: Lira-

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.002. - "Orgasm/Comeshot" - .Amateur Artwork.

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Luce noticed when Conrad did obsessive-compulsive shit like leave the room to wash his hands. Luce's apartment was not so bad that Conrad had to fucking clean himself if he touched too many surfaces, although more likely his issue was letting Conrad sneak off just to scrub himself when Luce should have him neatly trapped within the apartment. Luce countered this by padding after Conrad to the bathroom, pushing open the door, and moving behind Conrad.

Luce's bathroom featured a mirror spanning the entirety of one wall that had been there before he'd gotten the place. Even he wasn't enough of a vain bastard to need a massive fucking fancy mirror in the room where he pissed. The sink was also installed in a very low cabinet construction directly in front of the mirror, as if the designer of the bathroom had intended for it to only be used by children, or perhaps midgets. This meant Conrad was half bent over, and when Luce looked over his shoulder he noticed that Conrad was scrubbing determinedly at the rim of the sink, which was nearly as filthy as the fixtures. This maybe explained why his sink had been looking cleaner and cleaner the past few weeks.

When Luce placed his hands lightly on Conrad's shoulders, the kid jumped slightly, looking up from the sink with a guilty expression on his face. Luce didn't care about the sink. Yeah, he didn't keep Conrad around because he wanted a personal maid, but he really didn't care. Luce's hands traveled down across Conrad's chest, pulling the boy back against him and looking over Conrad's shoulder at the two of them in the mirror. His top two buttons were undone in a concession to comfort, but Luce still looked fairly put together after class. Conrad on the other hand was slightly damp and disheveled looking from wrestling with the sink.

"Were yeh thinkin' if yeh did chores, Ah'd let yeh stick aroun' rent-free?" Luce asked, amused.

"I just don't want to get diseases from your bathroom," Conrad complained, meeting Luce's eyes in the mirror. "I figured I'd just... Work on it a little bit at a time, and you'd come to like a sink that was actually the color it came in."

"Yer rent wouldn' be covered by scrubbin' house," Luce continued, as if disregarding the assertion that his bathroom bred diseases would kill it. His face in the mirror was leering back at Conrad. "Ah've other chores fer yeh, kiddo."

Holding Conrad firm against him, Luce could feel it when Conrad shivered. He knew Conrad's little brain could keep up plenty fine, that he need not detail exactly what services Luce might like him to perform instead. So calmly, perfectly calmly, Luce's hands traveled low enough down to access Conrad's fly and open Conrad's pants. Conrad did not even protest, and in the mirror Luce could see Conrad lick his lips, quickly, a flick of tongue across the lower one. Conrad did not object, because Luce could always just turn around and say Conrad's chores would be typing all of Luce's handwritten notes before exiting the room. If he wanted. Which he did not.

Luce pushed Conrad's pants down just far enough to get a nice view of Conrad's underpants in the mirror. Luce then eased those down as well, fingers carefully keeping out of the way of anything sensitive, refusing to touch Conrad until he decided he would. Luce could see Conrad's eyes darting from what Conrad could see of them in the mirror, to Luce's hands resting briefly against his hips, back up to Luce's eyes in the mirror. Luce looked right back as he shifted his arm to reach around Conrad's middle, wrapping his hand firmly around Conrad's dick without a single hesitation.

Luce's strokes were sure and his grasp was tight, squeezing to the point where Conrad would start to cringe in pain before gasping instead when the line was deftly toed as to what would simply feel breathlessly good. Luce knew that Conrad was such a faggy little artist, and he noticed how Conrad would try and look at him objectively, with his artist's judgment, only to falter and give Luce one of those pathetic mooning-eyed looks he tried so hard not to make. Luce could tell that Conrad just fucking liked looking at him, and yeah it was a great ego-stroke. But Luce also noticed when Conrad did not like looking at himself, slanted his gaze away when too much attention was called to his physical attributes. How it would never cease to color Conrad up, to tell him what a sweet fucking ass he had.

The beauty of the arrangement, therefore, was that Conrad received a fine view of Luce. Usually if Luce was behind him, touching him, not allowing him to decide for himself what he wanted because Luce didn't let him think that far, Conrad couldn't look at him. But at the same time Conrad had to look at himself, had to acknowledge where Luce's gaze was touching in the mirror and see what Luce was doing to him. He had to watch his dick hardening fully in Luce's grasp but also look at the way his eyelids fluttered briefly in pleasure when Luce's hand twisted just so over the head of Conrad's cock.

"Keep yer eyes open," Luce bid him, the softly-spoken words still obviously a command.

The penalty for failure to comply was obvious. Comply, or Luce could remove the stimulation.

Conrad's eyes popped back open, and he craned his neck up to look at Luce directly. Luce looked down, knowing full well that the one thing Conrad wanted just then was a kiss, his lips slightly parted. And Luce leaned down, so that his breath wafted across Conrad's face, across his lips so precious precious close, but bringing himself no further.

"Good boy," Luce told him. "But yer fergettin' ter watch."

It could have been a gasp or a sigh, but since Luce had briefly squeezed Conrad's dick even tighter, he was going to go with gasp. Conrad's gaze flicked back to the mirror, straight to where Luce's hand was just then pumping him faster. This time Conrad's attention was firmly caught, watching the rise and fall of Luce's hand, moving swiftly, motions calculated. Luce could see when Conrad's gaze glazed slightly, his adam's apple bobbing once when he tried to swallow, panting out instead.

In the process Conrad had pressed his ass back against Luce, and every so often his hips would try to stutter forward into Luce's grasp, but Luce would hold him firmly in place. Conrad's hands had tightened against the edge of the sink, knuckles white from how tightly he was holding on. He continued watching, almost stubbornly, as if daring Luce to say he'd done anything other than breathlessly observe the proceedings, yanked closer and closer to orgasm as Luce worked his flesh.

Luce knew when Conrad was going to come, because his eyelids fluttered in spite of Luce's instruction to only watch. Conrad was already partway arched over the sink, and when he came with a shaky gasp, he came across the face of the mirror with hard spurts of white. Luce cradled him gently as he did so, if only to ensure the thorough spattering of the fancy bathroom mirror. Conrad didn't seem to even realize what he'd done at first, eyes still open but not really looking at what he was seeing, trembling lightly where Luce held onto him.

"Aye commend yer artwork," Luce murmured, a self-satisfied taunt.

Conrad looked up at him slowly, blinked once, and swiftly colored to an impressive shade of red. He jerked his head back around to stare at the mirror and released a low, tortured moan.

"Oh Luce that's disgusting," he said, the words coming out like another moan.

"Should Aye take a picture?" Luce asked. "Sumthin' ter be said fer youth, Ah've gotta say."

"You did that on purpose," Conrad accused, still eying the stain on the mirror with horror.

"Aye think Mont has ter see this," Luce decided, far too cheerfully.

"You're just going to leave it there?" Conrad asked, still with that dull horror. Luce noted that his fingers were twitching slightly, as if he itched to be cleaning it off already.

"Think we'll let Mont find it fer himself th' next time he comes by," Luce decided, taking Conrad by the shoulder.

Conrad turned away from the mirror regretfully, trying to look back at it even as he was awkwardly pulling his pants back into place. Luce found himself hoping that Lamont would get lost for a week or so, leave Conrad plenty of time to know that his mark was still on display in the apartment festering more and more by the minute. Mont would appreciate it all the better if it was crusting a little. And Luce would have to make sure Conrad didn't make a bid at cleaning it during the interim.