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Money is the Root of All Evil

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'There’s no need to be kicking up such a fuss.’ Gustave offers soothingly, fucking into Dmitri Desgoffe-und-Taxis a little harder.

‘Stop - stop fucking talking!’ Dmitri growls, except it’s more of a whine, really. Gustave has the decency to not draw attention to it, at least. He simply drops his head down into the crook of Dmitri’s neck and peppers him with kisses. Fucking queer.

This is, of course, only happening because of dire circumstances. The old bitch had left the concierge all her money - his money! - and all because he’d been good in the sack. Dmitri groans - in annoyance, obviously - and turns his head away, burying it in one of the lavish pillows. Sure, he wasn’t /bad/ at this whole fucking business, but hardly good enough to give his entire inheritance too - oh, fuck, fuck, what the fuck was he doing now? He felt himself being pulled up a little higher, and before he could complain, Gustave was at it again, different angle - Dmitri lets out a shocked little shriek and promptly buries his face back into the pillow, muffling any following undignified noises that might escape involuntarily. Fine, the man clearly had a fiendish knowledge of sodomy, it was only natural that when being manipulated, Dmitri would be tricked into this evil world of -

‘Darling, you’re being awfully shy,’ Gustave sighs fondly, pulling out and flipping Dmitri over onto his back. Dmitri suddenly feels a bit skinny - he’s not that light,surely. Gustave smiles kindly down at him. Dmitri’s eyes narrow into angry slits. He tries to casually cover his face with his hand.

‘I’m not shy, you old fruit!’ He snarls, ‘I don’t need you fuckin’ trying to sweet talk!’ Gustave blinks in surprise, then laughs with delight.

‘Sweet talk? I’m only concerned for your comfort, Dmitri, I’ve yet to begin any kind of - ‘ Grinning, Gustave laughs again, ‘-Sweet talk! What an endearing way to put it! I do so often underestimate your ability to turn a phrase.’ Horrified by this absolute ridicule, Dmitri scowls and pulls away, hurriedly running his hands through his hair in order to tidy it. How dare he? He’s only doing this for the money that Gustave had practically stolen from him. The sheer nerve of it. Un-fucking-believable, that this...public servant! Concierge, for Christ’s sake, should belittle him like that. He opens his mouth to tell him just that, but all that comes out is a shaky moan, as Gustave seems to have managed to get between his legs and close his mouth around Dmitris cock without him having noticed. Charming. His hands twist nervously in the Egyptian cotton, what the fucking fuck, this is repulsive, but. But -he is in control now! He is a man, not some old pansy, and in this position he can show this pathetic fag who’s boss -

‘Oo- oh, fuck, please -’ He whimpers, squeezing his eyes shut as Gustave licks over the tip. He’s somehow still managing to smile with a fucking cock in his mouth, like some kind of seasoned professional at the art of cock sucking. This is ludicrous. Dmitri might die.

Gustave draws back and hums, ‘Charming to finally see some manners!’ before sliding back up and pressing his lips against Dmitri’s. Dmitri yells with anger and shoves him off, panting.

‘Don’t fuckin’ kiss me, what the fuck!’ He yells, sounding practically on the verge of tears. He is not on the verge of tears, and if he is, they are tears of pure and unadulterated anger. ‘I don’t want to taste my own cock, Jesus Christ!’

Gustave slowly raises his eyebrows. ‘You do enjoy being crude, don’t you?’

‘You’re the one being vulgar!’ Dmitri splutters, pulling back and trying to shuffle away. He ends up trapped against the headboard. Gustave pouts and spreads his arms wide.

‘Fine. If kissing offends you, I shan’t engage in it.’ Gustave announces solemnly, gathering Dmitri in his arms, who’s all awkward long limbs and vaguely squirming. ‘But I must say, you don’t know what you’re missing out on.’ Dmitri rolls his eyes, wiggling with irritation as Gustave maneuvers him onto his lap. He doesn’t want to have to look at the old fag while they do this, not in the slightest. Gustave cheerfully reaches over to the ochre bedside table and plucks up the small rose tinted glass vial of lubricant. Dmitri cringes.

‘I don’t - need anymore of that shit, just get on with it.’ He grumbles, legs on either side of Gustave’s waist. The humiliation is already too much to bear, he’d rather get it over with then have to stomach his way through more of Gustave’s gentle precautions.

‘Nonsense.’ Gustave purrs, frowning with teasing disapproval, the monster. ‘The last thing I wish is for my bed partners to experience any kind of discomfort. Now, shall I apply it, or you?’ Dmitri turns an angry shade of purplish red, and looks away.

‘Fuck. You.’

‘Very well.’ Gustave agrees graciously, and dips two fingers into the jar, coats them generously, before working them into Dmitri. Dmitri frowns deeply and makes a cut off little gasping noise, wincing. His forehead drops down onto Gustaves shoulder, only because that’s the only available place to hide his face. Not that he’s shy, or what-fucking-ever Gustave was rattling on about. He just doesn’t want to have to look at Gustave’s smug face. He feels himself being stretched ever so gently, disgustingly gently, infuriatingly gentle about it all, really. Typical, that first time someones gentle with him is when he’s getting fucked by M. Gustave H. Finally, the man removes his fingers and Dmitri exhales the breath he didn’t realise he was holding. He keeps his forehead pressed against Gustave’s shoulder, resigned.

‘Are you quite ready, darling?’ Gustave sing-songs, lifting Dmitri by the back of his thighs and lining up against him. Dmitri shudders and refuses to dignify him with a reply. Instead he just nods, quick and jerkily.Gustave presses a kiss to his hair before pulling Dmitri down onto him, letting out a pleased, groaning sigh. Dmitri yelps, goddamn it, his spindly hands leaping to brace himself on Gustave’s shoulders. Gustave, who’s maddenly warm and rather pleasantly solid beneath him. This is a purely carnal reaction, which can’t be helped, and has little to nothing to do with Dmitri’s emotions.

‘You could always help, you know.’ Gustave huffs, out of breath and snarky. Dmitri frowns down at him, mouth hanging little open as little gasps of breath escape each time Gustave fucks up into him.

‘What - what the fuck do you mean?’ He hisses, squeezing his closed so he doesn’t have to look at Gustave exerting himself; it’s positively repulsive, he’s all kind eyes and a little pink in the face. Truly awful.

‘You’re not the heaviest thing, but you could always put in the effort. This position doesn’t become any easier with age.’ His last few words taper off into a small, pleased moan as he drops Dmitri back down onto him.

‘A-ah, shit, fuck - what? I’m not, I’m not going to ride you like one of your - oh - overeager - o-oh - old birds!’ He growls, voice growing higher. The very thought of lowering himself to such a level, equal to a common whore, is shameful. So shameful it makes him shudder and groan at the very thought. Gustave laughs breathily.

‘There’s no need to be quite so defensive, Dmitri! It’s all in good fun!’ As if to make his point, he thrusts up at the same time he tugs Dmitri down by his bony hips. This has the effect of Dmitri losing his breath, train of thought, and any sense of rhyme or reason. The scoundrel knows exactly what he’s doing, damn it. This continues on for some stretch of time, during which Dmitri desperately tries not to come. Prior to this encounter, he hadn’t had much experience with the act of coitus. He’d been rather busy with scheming and spending money and glaring at people, that sort of thing. So if he was struggling to maintain control, that could only be blamed upon his lack of experience, rather than any kind of appeal Gustave could possibly hold. This was why, of course, Dmitri found himself whimpering into the crook of his neck. The man reeked of L’Air de Panache. The smell was unspeakably dandy, like wood and leather and flowers. Dmitri opens his mouth and subtly tries to taste it. Gustave giggled.

‘My dear man, despite your temperament, you look perfectly exquisite like this. It seems you haven’t any idea of your own appeal.’ He slips a hand down in between them and begins to stroke at Dmitri’s cock in time with his thrusts.

Dmitri tries to yell at him, but it comes out as more of a gasping moan,  ‘Don’t, don’t say crap like that!’ A bit of drool escapes his mouth and he unthinkingly wipes his lips across the warm flush of Gustave’s neck. Gustave huffs and raises his eyebrows, ceasing in pulling Dmitri up and down utop of him. Dmitri whines and unthinkingly resumes the pace for him, bouncing on Gustave’s cock in quite an undignified manner. Gustave is delighted, and leans back against the headboard.

‘Darling, I only speak the truth! You’re positively lovely, a vision!’

‘Fuck.’ Dmitri whispers, one of his hands leaving Gustave’s shoulder and dropping down to wrap around his cock, batting Gustave’s away. ‘Fuck. I’m going to -’

‘I know.’ Gustave hums, indulgent. ‘It’s perfectly fine, go on.’

Dmitri collapses against Gustave’s warm chest and starts to come, face scrunched up, cursing. ‘Fuck, fuck, fuck you, I hate you - ah -’ He pants, before crying out and quivering atop of him. Enchanted, Gustave grips him by the arms and holds Dmitri steady throughout, watching his grimaces and gasps. Once it’s over, Dmitri wipes the sweat from his brow and hurried clambers off of Gustave, coughing and taking deep breaths. A scowl is already starting to reappear below his ridiculous moustache. Gustave smiles and starts to lazily rub up and down his own cock, deeply amused.

‘Oh jeez, fuck off!’ Dmitri grumbles quietly, flashing a glance down to Gustave’s hand as it increases in pace, as he squeezes himself at the base and twists his wrist deftly. Gustave laughs and comes with a surprised gasp, folding in on himself for a moment. Dmitri blinks, watching with mild horror, before quickly looking away. He allows the old fucker a moment before whirling around and snapping, ‘Well. I’d like the money that is rightfully /mine/ now, thank you.’ Panting, Gustave leans back against the headboard, bemused.

‘You wish for an allowance? You only had to ask. I’m happy to support my friends.’

Dmitri splutters indignantly. ‘We - we are not friends, old man, what the fuck do you mean, I only had to ask? Fuck you!’

‘Oh my Darling, at least give me a moment to recover. I’m not quite as young as you, you know.’

Dmitri is going to spend all his fucking money. On things Gustave hates. He’s going to bleed this dreadful hotel dry, leave them penniless -

‘Fine. We’ll go again in ten minutes.’ He grumbles.