Chapter 2 (chapter 3 in tumblr chapters)
Gord Vendome was the first to admit he had what could be called in no uncertain terms a fetish for people of lower class. He'd accepted that. There was just no thrill to dating within his own wealth bracket. In ten years time he would be matched with some appropriate girl of breeding, get married and produce heirs to the Vendome family. His parents practically had it marked on the calender. So he was going to have his fun while he was young, and that meant dating anyone he liked from any background he found romantic.
In fact, his father had told him personally that there was nothing wrong with a few 'flings' so long as he didn't produce any little bastards, and as long as they never came to the house. Well, he was breaking one of those rules right now, but it was unlikely that anyone was going to end up pregnant in this exchange, so that was something.
In all honesty, Gord had expected Duncan to be like a copy-cat of Jimmy. He was Jimmy's substitute for this entire misadventure, after all. No doubt if Jimmy had agreed to do the work like Gord had wanted in the first place they would be in a similar position right about now. But it wasn't Jimmy, it was someone new. Someone who scared Gord on a more fundamental level, whom he didn't know and couldn't predict. He'd known Jimmy long before they ever started exchanging gifts and the things that came after. He was rough around the edges, of course, and had kicked Derby and all their asses before they were fully accepting of him, but deep down Jimmy was a gentleman and he was only nasty if you did it to him first.
Duncan was different. Jimmy Hopkins had gotten his last chance: he was still at Bullworth. Duncan had lost his. He was a kid from the wrong, wrong side of the tracks, who lived in a world so different to Gord's the only thing he knew they bothdid was what they were doing right now. They had nothing to talk about, no way of relating to one another, but they could do this – necking in the living room with the back door open and the smell of summer wafting through the air.
The fist that had been balled in Gord's hair was loosened, and sat around his neck like the collar of a coat, warm and a little clammy. He didn't mind sweat, not the labouring kind. It was a sign of work, the kind he'd never do in his life.
He consumed kisses one after the other, tasting the gourmet food that he'd put in Duncan's mouth, and it was heaven. So when Duncan slid a hand onto his collarbone and pushed him back, it was like having heaven snatched away from him. That didn't make him happy.
"Hey," he protested. "Why are you stopping?" he fumbled in trying to carry on, but Duncan had him held away like a parent with a sticky child. "I thought we were having a good time."
"Sure," Duncan answered with a snarling grin, "but I'm not being paid to give you a good time." That sounded worryingly like an excuse to go back outside and keep on teasing... working, whatever.
"Would you like to be?" Gord responded right off the mark. When Duncan scowled he realised he may have taken a wrong step. Now the hands came off him completely, and the stack of masculinity he'd been lusting over stepped back.
"Not even I'm that desperate for your money," he growled. It was an insult, Gord realised. He'd tried to buy him, like an escort.
"I didn't mean it like that," he tried to amend. "I just-" Duncan was trying to walk away. He daren't try and grab him again. "Wait," he called out instead. "Can't we just..." Duncan stopped and pivoted on one heel, crossing his arms over his chest aggressively.
"You want some of this?" he invited, quirking his head to one side. God yes, Gord thought. That was exactly what he wanted. He was sure Duncan read that in his expression, because he bristled like a preening bird. He knew who wanted who more in this situation, and was letting it flatter his ego. "Then earn it."
Now Gord crossed his arms too, one across his chest and the other balanced on his wrist, resting an outstretched forefinger against his temple. What kind of invitation was that, he wondered.
"How do I earn something without money?" he asked, and Duncan gave a derisive snort.
"Same way everyone else has to," he scathed. "With hard work. Fraid' you might have to get your hands dirty," he taunted, and Gord saw what game he was playing. Oh that was cute.
"I can 'work' for you any way I like?" he inquired wryly, tending to a smirk of his own this time.
"Whatever floats your boat," Duncan answered like a challenge. "S'long as it keeps me happy." Happy, he said, but there were plenty of other interchangeable words for that. He thought of Gord as too prim and proper, clearly. That he liked the thrill of being grabbed and put upon by some commoner, but could only take and couldn't give – like most entitled, spoiled children.
Well, Gord had been around with Jimmy Hopkins, and if that wasn't a lesson in hard love nothing was.
"Very well," he announced, brushing fictitious dust from his shirt front. "Sit down," he said, and flicked his eyes at the designer-pattered sofa in the centre of the room. Duncan quietly evaluated his orders, then went over and slumped into the couch. Gord calmly started to unbutton his shirt and slipped it off his shoulders, hanging it preciously over the edge of a chair, then did the same for his shoes, socks and pants.
"This is the worst strip tease I've ever seen," Duncan critiqued, and Gord gave him an exasperated sigh.
"I don't want to crease, stain or otherwise damage my things," he explained aloofly. His outfit cost more than Duncan could make in a year, and just being too close to him was probably a bio-hazard. "So just be patient." Duncan snorted, obviously thinking it was hilarious, but when Gord was done and feeling only slightly self-conscious in tight-fit Aquaberry boxers, he politely buttoned his lip. Maybe he approved of what he saw.
Duncan had sprawled in the corner of the couch with his legs thrown apart, a move of ultimate indifference to his surroundings. However, he started grinning like a Cheshire cat as Gord moved in on top of him. One knee between Duncan's legs and a hand across his chest, spanning his fingers over the latticework of tissues that made him up. Last, Gord leaned in and kissed him, taking advantage of the upper position and pressing down with more of his weight.
Though Duncan was scrupulously not revealing anything about what he felt – he was accepting, but no more than that – he responded to the kiss, touching a hand first to Gord's ribcage, then wrapping around his back, winding him in closer until they rested in a more comfortable tangle. The skin on skin felt fantastic, not completely pressed together like bookends, but touching here and there, pectoral to collarbone or hip to rib. Gord kept moving, changing angles, never content to stay exactly in one position for too long. It finally started to take a toll.
"You sure do wriggle around," Duncan panted with a flush creeping up his neck and a more hazy blur to his eyes. It wasn't just tongues that had been rubbing together; he had squirmed closer and pressed a combination of thigh and crotch over the front of Duncan's jeans. Gord grinned in a way that made him feel powerful: he was only just getting started. Without announcement, he slid down and put his hand back over the buckle of Duncan's belt, which had a marijuana leaf embarrassingly embossed over the chrome. It made him roll his eyes, but Gord didn't mind it as he was immediately about to take it off. Perhaps he could lose it and then Duncan wouldn't wear it here again.
The candidacy of his gesture seemed to impress the townie. Or maybe he just wasn't expecting Gord to pull his jeans off with quite so much blasé. Perhaps he thought the prep was going to chicken out – like that was going to happen. Gord was made of stronger stuff than that. And he liked this – the sleazy, dirty side of getting off with someone.
It fascinated him that a person with nothing could still have a cock and do the very same things with it as the great Derby Harrington himself. In fact, Duncan was surely much better with his, if Derby's narcissism extended to all reaches of life, which Gord was sure it did. It was the great unifier, the leveller. Money didn't buy you love, and it didn't make you good in bed either. Gord could attest to that.
That said, Duncan was without any complaints about the class of service being offered now. Gord had continued stripping him and unceremoniously started work on the semi hiding under distressingly dirty boxers. He liked to slum it, but the dirt was usually meant to be metaphorical. He put it out of his mind as he sucked Duncan hard and then a little extra. Soon he was making betraying noises of enjoying it and being somewhat surprised at Gord's generous gag reflex.
It was cruel irony that the only person he couldn't give a fantastic blowjob to was himself. Because he liked doing it, and he'd learned to be good at doing it, yet he was the only person who couldn't experience his own ability. He had to settle for getting his thrills in other ways.
Duncan was getting along just fine, fumbling fingers through Gord's hair and gasping in the middle of exhaling when Gord rubbed him just right with his tongue. When the time was right, he pulled out his hidden ace and added a hand below his mouth, employing a signature twist of the wrist that had Duncan groaning with intense, confused pleasure. He came in about a minute, somewhat surprised about it.
"I, uh... wow," he gurgled inarticulately, while Gord pulled back onto his knees and wiped his mouth. Etiquette lessons as a boy had impressed upon him that under no circumstances was it socially acceptable to spit, so no matter how unpleasant the thing you'd put in your mouth was, you would swallow it and smile. Funnily enough that lesson had translated over quite well; Duncan at least seemed pleased. "You're good," he complimented clunkily.
"I know," he answered. "You did say you wanted to be kept happy."
"Sure," Duncan replied. "I just wasn't expecting... where did you learn to do it like that?"
"Just admit that you underestimated me," he taunted, chock full of pride. There was a unique pleasure in knowing he'd blown some unknowing commoner's mind.
"Easy," Duncan chided. "You're good," he asserted, "but you're not the best I've had." And Gord's jaw dropped like Duncan had said he hated his outfit.
"I don't believe you," he insisted; Duncan laughed.
"Oh you're just full of it, aren't you, rich boy?" He kicked his boxers off his foot and slid more upright. "Don't take it the wrong way, you're top ten at least." He smirked. "Maybe even top five." Gord wasn't sure what scandalised him more; that Duncan had a list of the best oral sex he'd ever gotten, or that Gord wasn't at the top of it.
However, before he could kick up a fuss about what must surely be inefficient evaluative method, Duncan was on his knees up at Gord's height, and a second later was pushing him down on the sofa.
"Fair is fair," he murmured as he gripped Gord's shoulder with such strength he couldn't have twisted away without putting something out. "You earned it."
He anchored himself between Gord's legs, which flexed up and around his waist as he pressed Gord down against the sofa cushions. His parents hadn't minded when he'd said he wanted to do pilates and flexibility training. They didn't need to know why. Then Duncan kissed him without squeamishness, slipping another hand to his underwear to pull him straight, keeping comfortable as he lay underneath Duncan being rubbed and palmed hard. An occasional bite to the lip or neck only made it better, and if Duncan had him pegged as wanting it this way, he didn't mind.
Soon enough they'd pulled apart just to get the last modesty of his underwear out of the way, and with an impolite slobber into his hand Duncan wrapped it around Gord's cock. He had water-based lubricants for that upstairs, and he wasn't entirely thrilled with the idea of olive-and-prosciutto flavoured saliva reducing his friction, but when he was being jerked off on the living room sofa by a rough kid from the townies with a Mohawk and tattoos he could overlook it. Far happier to moan and sigh and push his hips up any chance he got.
"You never stop fidgeting," Duncan rasped in Gord's ear, hanging over him with enough space between them to move his hand, but cheek-to-cheek up top. He didn't answer, just made an indifferent moaning noise and carried on. Duncan was pressing his crotch against Gord's backside idly, habitually rolling his weight into it, but it wasn't going to go further than that. The hint was just enough to get him excited; a whole week's work, Duncan had said. There would be plenty of time for that.
With a nip on the ear like some kind of signal, Duncan moved back and re-supplied his hand with spit, ready to finish. Gord opened his eyes and watched, taking in the picture as a final stimulus to push him over the edge. It curled up him, releasing with a satisfied moan and a smattering over his torso – that was why he took his clothes off to start with. He only needed to learn that lesson at the expense of one Aquaberry sweater.
Of course, he was going to have to get up and wander naked through the house in order to deal with the mess anyway, but it at least didn't involve a washing machine. For now he was content to lie back and sigh, a sleepy grin on his lips.
"Right." A business-like tone clubbed him from his contentment. "I'll get back to work," Duncan's announcement came as an unwelcome sledgehammer to Gord's post-climax haze, and the abandonment of warm skin against his even more so.
"Wh- wait just a... you can't go already," he jabbered, sitting up and glancing down at himself for only a moment. Skin could be cleaned, but the sofas couldn't. Better on him than elsewhere.
"I'm being paid to work," Duncan reminded him, dragging on his boxers and jeans, then picking up a boot from where it'd been discarded. "So I'm gonna work."
"Well I... yes, I suppose so," he murmured with dissatisfaction. He hotfooted it across the living room for a box of tissues, but by the time he'd balled up two into the waste-paper basket Duncan was already back in the garden pushing the wheelbarrow away from him.
Seeing as he'd been abandoned, Gord decided he might as well take a shower. By the time he was out of it mummy had come back. She'd probably been through at least a bottle of champagne, so he didn't imagine she'd notice anything like disturbed sofa cushions or wonder why her son was showering mid-afternoon. Gord stayed in his room most of the afternoon anyway, alternating between the binoculars and being irritated at himself for bothering to look.
He hadn't been snubbed, he convinced himself, Duncan was just hard-working. He didn't want to waste time when he could be making money. Perhaps he was saving up for his next meal, or he had an alcoholic parent to support, or a drug habit. Gord really ought not have expected him to waste valuable working time just for a post-coital buzz.
At about 6pm he was sitting down in the living room with mummy, the two of them half-napping to the backdrop of whatever shopping channel she'd turned onto, when an assertive cough shook Gord from his doze like someone'd put a jolt of electricity through him. Duncan was standing in the doorway, now wearing his shirt again, stained as it was in browns and grey.
"I'm done for the day," he announced. He'd been there since the morning, it was fair, but somehow Gord didn't want to let him go.
"You stayed until nine yesterday," he found himself commenting.
"I started at five yesterday," he answered bluntly. He was tired, Gord could see. He'd been out there for eight hours. He ought to let the fellow go home.
"Fine," he sighed, getting up and rifling through a pot of loose change for some fifties. Anything smaller his father had a habit for giving to coffee-shop baristas who flirted back at him. "I'll see you to the door." Duncan stomped through the living room in a slightly surly way, but he stopped half-way noticing Gord's mother.
"Thank you, ma'am," he said politely. She raised her eyes at him through heavy eyelashes and smiled.
"Any time, darling. Come back and play soon," she murmured on mummy-autopilot, and Duncan gave Gord a bemused look. He rolled his eyes and gestured him to follow.
At the door he started on the business of the money. He'd inconveniently only found fifties to hand, and on the agreed rate Duncan was owed eighty. He handed over two bills and let him do the math.
"This is extra," he said suspiciously, though clearly pleased to be holding a hundred bucks in his hand all the same. "Don't you think of paying me for-"
"I don't have any change," Gord snapped, defensive for some reason. He'd imagined that by now he could be claiming whatever affection he wanted from Duncan, and here they were quibbling over money. The experience had been exactly what he wanted, but the fallout hadn't. Maybe it was the equivalent of sleeping with the boss.
"Well I haven't got a twenty either," Duncan muttered. He had free money in his hand that he could obviously use, and yet he looked like he wanted to punch Gord for trying to pay him like a hooker. Gord would save him the trouble.
"I'll just take it out of your next payment," he announced cruelly, and Duncan grit his teeth behind a scowl, then tightened his lips again, forcing them to be neutral.
"Good," he said with a vindictive growl, like the cough of an engine. "I'll see you tomorrow." This time he didn't wave.