Erotic short. Dai Laithe is approached by another Lashton youth.
Erotic short, M/M with two cis men, rated E, 1.8k. Masturbation for an uncaring audience, implied heavy drug use, PTSD, and two emotionally stunted PTSD boys. The ideal!
Set about a year after Daddy’s Boy:
https://johannestevans.medium.com/daddys-boy-59b1f3657206
It was late at night, and as far as Dag and Siân knew, Dai was at home in his bed. Maybe they’d noticed by now that it wasn’t the case, maybe they’d looked around for him, but they knew better than to try go looking for him — none of them could ever find him unless they tracked his phone, and Dai’s phone couldn’t be tracked by anybody but him.
The bar was quiet, which was how Dai liked it — on the nights where it was crowded, he couldn’t bear to be in the fucking place, all those people brushing him when they went past, the crush of the crowds against his shoulders, his chest, as he tried to get a drink, no table service —
No.
No, this was better.
It was a leather bar, one of the oldest gay bars in Lashton, and the first time he’d walked in, a bouncer had put a hand on his chest and told him it wasn’t for little boys like him, and when Dai had stared into his face, he’d seen Oidhche Laithe’s features, and recoiled, mumbled an apology, hurriedly let him past.
That had been over a year ago, and Dai didn’t remember what the bouncer’s hand had felt like anymore, but he remembered the way it had made him feel sick, the way it had made him tremble and shake and shudder because he hadn’t expected it, and he’d been so fucking triumphant he’d stayed calm in the face of it, but at the end of the day he’d lingered in the bar for an hour before leaving by a side door and vomiting in the alley.
The bouncers didn’t touch him now, and the bartenders knew him by name. If any of his family ever came in here, they’d know he was a regular, but none of them did — the only one of them that did was his father, and Daddy hadn’t come into Blues since the 70s or the 80s, or at least, that was when the last photos of him on the walls seemed to be from.
He liked to take a booth, one of the ones that had a bench on the side he sat on, his back to the wall, and stools on the other side, sit back with a drink.
People talked to him, sometimes, came and flirted, which he didn’t mind, because they couldn’t touch him by surprise. They had to reach across to do it, and people didn’t normally try.
The bartenders warned the people that looked at him, and Dai liked that. He didn’t know what he wanted from this place, really — he’d come when it was busy, and come when it was quiet, come when people were dancing and fucking and doing demos of whips and shit, and he came most of all on nights like this, when it was quiet and the music was quiet too, and people were drinking or talking quietly.
He liked to observe. He liked to talk to the people that talked to him, quiet, one at a time, controlled — it was controlled, that was what he liked about it. He and Daddy talked about it, from time to time, where he went on nights like this — except for the twins, it was only Daddy that really asked, in a way that didn’t sound like he was trying to invite himself along, or trying to supervise, or trying to check that Dai was alright.
“Aw,” he’d said. “Trying Daddy’s old haunts on for size. You want to go through my wardrobe while you’re at it?”
“No, thanks,” Dai had said. “I’m not interested in piercing my nipples, and judging by the pictures, most of your old shirts were based on piercings.”
The man that approached him tonight didn’t look controllable in the least, didn’t look particularly controlled either, and Dai studied him as he walked closer, directly, with confidence. He didn’t say anything as he stood in front of Dai’s booth, slipped his jacket off his shoulders and tossed it aside, unbuttoned his shirt, too, and threw that aside.
He didn’t have nipple piercings, but he had scars. The spell damage spread over one side of his chest in criss-crossing white, raised marks, coming up one arm and spreading over his heart, trickling a little up the left side of his neck, too. He had other scars — spit-shiny burns on one hip, marks and cuts from blades and knives, a claw mark cutting through the lightning scars, and by his waist was a messy, jagged scar from a bite.
A gryphon’s bite, if Dai remembered rightly.
“You’re Valorous King,” he said.
“You’re Dai Laithe,” replied Valorous. “May I?” He gestured to the table, and Dai, not understanding but not wanting to admit he didn’t, trying to focus on the pleasant, cool buzz of the tranquilisers he’d taken, gave a slow nod of his head.
Valorous slid onto the table without touching Dai, his legs spread apart, and when he put his legs down on the other side of the table, he did it with his knees wide apart enough that his feet didn’t brush against Dai as they touched the bench he was sat on, resting on the leather on Dai’s either side.
As Valorous undid his belt and loosened his jeans, Dai sipped his drink, and he looked at Valorous’ cock. It was a nice cock, Dai thought, though he was no expert: it was slim and long, looked remarkably unmarred compared to the rest of Valorous’ body, with all the scars on it, and very bare, because Valorous apparently shaved himself all over.
“You don’t touch anybody,” said Valorous, and spat in his hand. The shine of his saliva was obvious in the room, and Dai inhaled slowly as he watched him take himself in his own grip, squeezing around the shaft of his cock and squeezing in a slow, measured way, twisting his grip as he brought his palm up toward his cockhead. He knew how to put on a show. “You don’t take anybody home with you, don’t fuck, don’t even let anyone suck your cock.”
“Is this a formal complaint?” asked Dai.
“You’re high as fuck,” said Valorous King, and then he sighed out a groaned noise of pleasure, tipping his hips up into his palm as he began to stroke himself at a regular rhythm, foreskin pulled back to show the fine, pink brightness of his cockhead. It looked vulnerable in a way no other part of Valorous did, and Dai wet his lower lip, watching the way its eye winked, a little wetness slipping out to linger glossy where it dripped down to his frenum. “Pills stop you getting it up?”
“I don’t get it up,” said Dai. “Not normally.”
“Car accident fucked your dick up?”
“Not physically. It’s a common symptom of PTSD, I’m informed.”
“Not for me,” said Valorous.
“No,” agreed Dai mildly. “I’ve heard you’re a regular whore.”
“Irregular,” demurred Valorous, and then moaned again: he’d shifted the position of his hand so that he was almost grinding against his palm, two fingers pressing against the underside of his shaft, down toward his balls hidden in his jeans. The fabric frustrated Dai, he found — he wanted to see more, wanted to see the whole of Valorous’ cock, his tightening sac, perhaps his arse, too. It was interesting, to want that. He didn’t normally want much. “Want to touch it?”
“No,” said Dai. “Spread your legs wider apart, bring up this knee… That’s it. Very nice.”
Valorous’ breathing was a little heavier, little breathless grunts eking out of his lightning-scarred throat as he thrust up and into his palm, a little more slick pre dripping over his hand, down his wrist. His eyes were tightly closed, but he focused on it, kept thrusting, slightly to the right, twisted his grip again and again, held himself tighter —
“You do look good like this,” said Dai. “I can see why so many people want to sleep with you.”
“You don’t?”
“Not particularly, but I’d be happy to watch if you look like this.”
“Ungh,” Valorous said, eager and half-grinning, and his laugh was soft but strained as he fucked up into his hand, thrust his cockhead into his fist as he came, so that his orgasm dribbled thick and white and very wet over his fingers.
Dai handed him his handkerchief, and Valorous took it, chuckling. “You’re a gentleman,” he said. “And there was me thinking you’d be like your daddy.”
“You’ve fucked my father?”
“Mmm mmm,” said Valorous. “Why, would you like it if I had?”
“I wouldn’t feel one way or the other about it,” said Dai.
“Can I suck you off?”
“Now?”
“Sure.”
“No.”
“When?”
Dai shrugged. “Another time.”
Valorous King’s eyes had heavy shadows underneath them — the bags under his eyes were even worse than Dai’s were — and his eyes were a dark, dirty green. There was a hint of uncomfortable gold in the colour, like it was pond scum or weed on top of a pool of pure magic, and Valorous’ eyes glinted with hunger and magic alike.
“Another time,” he repeated, and pulled up his jeans.
He picked up his shirt, his jacket, but he didn’t put them back on, and Dai watched him go, finishing his drink. It was rare he felt much at all, through the haze, but he felt that, the pull toward Valorous’ body, touching him, tasting him, letting Valorous touch him. Probably, it would be that if he tried, tried to touch the other man or let him touch Dai back, he’d be sick, want to rip off his skin, spend a few hours in the shower with the overstimulation of the touch, but —
He did want.
That was a good sign. That was what he came out for.
He stood to his feet, brought his phone up to his ear.
“Hi, baby,” said Daddy. “You out?”
“Coming home,” said Dai. “You?”
“Brutus was, ha, just gonna drive us home. We’re gonna pick up Bridie, and then we’ll come for you. Sound good?”
“Yeah, Daddy, thanks,” said Dai, and hung up.
Valorous King was leaning on the bar, wearing his jacket again but not his shirt, and he was reading the palm of the bartender — or at least, he was holding his hand and caressing his forearm.
“I’ll bring a toy next time,” he called over his shoulder as Dai went to the door. “You don’t have to touch me, you know. You can fuck me by proxy. See my hole clench without touching it.”
Dai met Valorous’ gaze. He’d asked it to shock him, he thought, to put him off-balance, but for all Dai was feeling things, he was too stoned for that to work.
“Get a glass dildo,” said Dai. “I want to see the inside, too.”
Valorous’ lips parted, his eyes widening so that the gold in them shone more, but he didn’t look away. He nodded wordlessly, and Dai went outside to wait for his father and his sister to pull up.
There was a smile on his face when the car pulled in, and it lingered with him on the drive home.
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