#shoutout to Faded by zhu...one of the best songs of the 21st century

[sadroundface]

10022 (excerpt)

franko and his first OMC!

“Hungry,” Justin says, pulling back and looking pleased.  He wipes his lips with the back of his hand.  Christine doesn’t like sloppy kisses.  “Man, I thought you English blokes were all repressed and Protestant, but you’ve got some passion in there.”  

“What,” Frank says, trying to compose himself a little, “So I’m your first Protestant?”

“Yeah, it’s New York City, please.  I’m all about the Jewish boys and the guilty Catholics.  That former altar boy thing!  I’ve never been with the Church of England.  Who’s paying before we get the fuck out of here?”

“I—I will.”  Frank wants Justin to like him.  He wants to be liked.  And luckily he’d thought ahead and withdrawn quite a lot of cash from the ATM earlier.  No need to whip out the Amex that says “Frank Lampard” on it.  He felt like he was playing enough games with fate tonight as it was.  

Justin stares at Frank’s wallet.  “You didn’t know personal training could pay so much,” Frank said.

“Yeah, I sure the fuck didn’t.” 

“You probably couldn’t make it work.  I think it’s the accent.”

Justin squints.  “Something about you doesn’t add up, you know” he says.  “But it’s fucking hot.  I like a mystery.”  He gropes at Frank through his pants and Frank feels like he’ll pass out.  Nothing has ever felt this good in his life.  It’s not Christine, not Elen, not some girl he’s drowning his whole lifetime of sorrows in at a club.  It’s a man’s hand…

They leave the club with their arms linked together, looking like a couple, surely, like the two men Frank had seen going in earlier.  Could dreams be real?  As a kid he’d always dreamed of being a professional footballer.  Dreams could be real. 

Justin pulls them toward a taxi as Frank watches the sidewalk for black patches of ice.  He looks up to notice that the driver has a Man Utd crest hanging from the rearview mirror.  And the panic is back.  

“No!” He tugs Justin’s arm in the other direction.

“You’re changing your mind?  C’mon, we’ve barely gotten to have fun.”

“No, I’m not changing my mind.  I’d just rather take an Uber.  They’re more comfortable.”

“Jeez.”  Justin sighs and pulls out his phone.  “I’ll get us one, then.  You really want the royal treatment, huh?”

“Of course.”

“There’s gonna be surge pricing. It’s Saturday night and it’s freezing, no one’s taking the subway.”

“I’ll pay you back.”  Frank squeezes his hand.  He feels brave enough to do this because he has gloves on. 

Justin grumbles.  “Put in your address, Sir James.”  Frank does.

“It says it’ll be here in three minutes,” he says.  “That’s not bad.”

I guess now I get to look at you in proper lighting,” Justin says.  The streetlamps are very bright on this block of 6th Avenue.  Even the darkest corners of the closed shop entrances glow a strange orange tonight.    He’s about Frank’s height but considerably skinnier, and his hand feels strong as it grips Frank’s chin.  “Damn.  Your eyes are something else.”

“I’ve been told.”

“Yeah, I’m sure the guys all say it.”

“Uhhh…”. He thinks I’ve been with lots of men?  It’s an exciting thought, but reassuring as well—he’s been doing it correctly tonight, somehow.   

“You kind of give cutie and daddy at once.  I’ve never seen that before…Tonight’s gonna be fun.”

“Yeah,” Frank whispers.  The alcohol is hitting him all at once.  He’s supposed to be taking good care of himself as the 36 year-old playing with a bunch of young lads.  Not drinking too much and staying out too late and hopefully—likely—getting fucked by a strange man who he’ll hopefully likely never see again.

“You top?”

Frank’s mouth hangs open, the bitter wind making his lips feel dry instantly.  Oh, this is getting too real.  What should he say?  He hasn’t got the slightest idea.  But what does he want to say?  “N—“

Justin’s eyes light up.  “No fucking way.  A tank like you’s a bottom?  No switching?  Good boy.”  The Uber is pulling up and he smacks Frank on the ass hard, his thick wool coat barely dulling the feeling.  Oh, so he’s a good boy.  Good boy good boy good boy.  He’s supposed to be a good boy.  Would Jamie ever call him that?  Would he say it and make it sound fucking filthy like this man just has on this windy, dirty street?

Their driver has the radio on and it’s playing the same song they’d just heard in the club.  “Justin?” the driver confirms as they shut the doors, and he turns right at the corner to make his way crosstown.  

“This song’s everywhere,” Justin says.  “Baby, I'm faded, all I wanna do is take you downtown…”

“Mmmm” Frank says.  He leans his head on Justin’s shoulder and smiles.  What had he been so nervous about, really?  This hadn’t been so hard.  The way Dad and his friends had always acted like there was something visibly wrong with him, and this was what it was…I guess that worked in my favor tonight, Dad.

“Baby, I’m wasted, all I wanna do is drive home to you…Close your eyes, Sir James.”

So Frank does, and he feels lips kiss each eyelid and then slide down onto his mouth.  The kiss is different than it had been at the bar.  That was exploratory, he guesses.  But this one has a purpose.  He opens his mouth wider for tongue.  The car hits a pothole and their teeth clatter together.

He lets the alcohol bring his real self out of hiding.  “Can’t wait for you to fuck me.”  He can pretend the flush spreading across his cheeks after saying something like this is also from the alcohol. 

“Shhhh, not so loud, be classy,” Justin says, but then he murmurs.  “Me too.  We’re going to have so much fun tonight, won’t we?”

Their driver stops suddenly and leans on the horn.  “Fucking dick,” he yells in an accent Frank can’t place.  The car is suddenly very cold.  “Hey, the street is empty, why are you driving like a fucking crackhead?”  A voice yells something back at them.  “Yeah, fuck you too!”

“Excuse me, could you close the window?”  Justin asks.  Frank’s eyes are still closed, and he giggles as he reaches between Justin’s legs to grope at him.  His gloves are still on.  He loves it here.  He fucking loves it here!  Anything can happen and things are happening.

The song is fading out, though the beat behind it continues.  “Jesus, welcome to our charming city,” Justin grumbles.  Someone on the radio starts talking over the beat.  This is 103.5 KTU, nonstop commercial-free for the next hour.  Twenty-two degrees outside and just getting colder, can you believe it, New York?  We’re bringing the party to you.  Stay indoors, stay safe, and keep the party going. This is Solomun’s remix of Late Night.

Frank peers out the window.  “We’re almost home.”  He shifts under Justin.  They’re both hard—oh God oh God—against each other.  

“Midtown East?   Kind of soulless.”

“I like it.”

“Weird.  Guess I’ll just have to fuck the soul into you.”