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sweet cream

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No matter how much cheap cologne they wore, there was always a musty smell beneath. On every single one of them. Fugo always managed not to make a face when it caught his nose. The man had introduced himself (Paulo), but hadn't asked Fugo's name. He had been stone-faced as the man led him through dirty streets to the sort of grungy hotel Fugo was accustomed to by now.

This life had maybe come too soon after he'd been shut out from his family, it felt like, but Fugo was a smart kid. For those who didn't recognize him as the rich kid who'd been acquitted in the university trial, he was still too young to employ. Not even for simple tasks or blue-collar work. But his professor had taught him something in the end: there were men in the city who would pay him for certain services — in cash, not simply scholastic favors.

He swiftly realized this was a possibility for those times he couldn't steal enough money or food to get by. Fugo was a smart kid, after all. 

The wine smelled almost cheaper than his perfume, but when the man asked if he wanted some, Fugo accepted. No one said he had to stay totally sober for this. In fact, being more relaxed would come in handy, he knew. What he didn't know was why almost all of them were like this — trying to give Fugo sweets or wine, as if this were a romantic evening. Even his old professor had liked having fancy dinners for him. Fugo supposed it must have more to do with them than himself.

The man slid a hand up Fugo's thigh, a libidinous smile upon his lips. Fugo, as he'd learned the hard way, only let him get more adventurous after handing over his payment. Fugo set it aside with his wine glass, weighed down by the penknife he kept handy. That itself was a clear statement, though neither of them spoke about it. This was a rough neighborhood, after all.

From there, Fugo let the wine fuzz his perception. Their clothes were off in what seemed like a few blinks of the eye and the man's dry hands roamed over his slight form, not shy in the least. He murmured something, bringing Fugo a hot flash of annoyance at having to pay attention. The man wanted him to say his name while they were together.

Fugo took a moment. What had his name been?

Ah. Paulo.

Fugo did as asked, affecting a breathy tone to his voice while the man touched him, felt up the insides of his thighs and played with his balls and half-hard cock. Fugo swallowed as the man stroked him. He didn't have to fake the small gasp; some part of him always expected it to feel different — or to feel like his professor. The man shifted them, directing Fugo to the edge of the bed, and Fugo took a last sip of his wine as he reminded himself what the man had paid for.

He got to his knees, settling between the old man's — Paulo's — thighs. He was hard and twitching, a dribble of precome already rolling down his length. Seeing no point in wasted time, Fugo licked up the fluid all the way to his swollen head. Paulo's hand fisted into his hair while he made some low sound. Fugo tipped his head, working his lips down the side of the man's length. The man's legs quivered on either side of him as he worked from base to tip again. By the time Fugo had his mouth around the head, Paulo panted lightly above him. And by the time he'd sucked down half the man's length, he started rocking into Fugo's mouth. 

Fugo clutched at the bedspread on either side of Paulo, keeping still while the man clutched at his hair and used his mouth. This, too, was a common theme with them, like they were so eager they couldn't be bothered to wait. If he gagged, they didn't seem to mind. In fact, it usually excited them more — it certainly did for Paulo.

But then, cursing, he stopped and pulled Fugo away. The boy peered up at him through watery eyes to make a quick assessment — did he need to get the knife after all? The man hadn't released his tight grip on Fugo's locks. But no — Paulo just chuckled breathlessly and said he didn't want to come too soon. That it was hard to hold back, because he had such a pretty face and a hot little mouth. 

Fugo just smiled coquettishly as he licked his lips, tasting salt and sweat.

The man released his hair, beckoning Fugo back atop the mattress. Fugo followed, laying back as desired and letting his muscles relax from the earlier pop of tension while Paulo busied himself with a condom and lubricant. Not that it took him long; the old man was so fervid Fugo could practically see his dick twitch from where he lay. The man slipped up the mattress, working his hand between Fugo's thighs again. This time they were cool to the touch, slick with lube and again the man wasted little time pressing against his entrance. 

Fugo arched his back, allowing his legs to be propped up and wide while the man worked him open. Fugo let out a shaky sigh, allowing the wine-haze to cloud his mind again, his gaze distant past the cracked ceiling above them. Time ceased to matter, there was just sensation and sound: Paulo panting and grunting while he fingered Fugo — one and then two, eventually three fingers, working his hole open and then curling and flirting with his sweet spot just inside. 

He arched when the man pressed on it, letting loose a soft whine as his own cock jerked against his belly. Paulo chuckled and asked if he was ready. Fugo just nodded. 

At this, the man went slowly, allowing Fugo to adjust more than some of the others had. But the man would feel like a huge invader regardless; Fugo's still-growing frame was slender, a little petite for his age. He breathed deeply, squeezing and then consciously relaxing the muscles of his splayed legs. Paulo pressed all the way into him, making him feel so full that Fugo quivered around his length. Gently, the man rocked his hips, testing Fugo's limits. And even though Fugo didn’t indicate any pain, the man pulled out of him and took a moment. With what, Fugo didn’t see — by the time he started to lift his head, the man pushed back into him, fully seated in the span of a breath.

Soon enough, he set up a pace in more earnest, fucking Fugo into the mattress with deep and hard thrusts. His eagerness showing itself again. Fugo gasped and moaned, holding onto the  man's shoulders — and then remembered the request at the top of it all. Fugo rolled his head back on the pillow, making a little whine of a sound and calling the man's name. Paulo, Paulo, Paulo!

The effect was to drive the man wild. He grasped tight at Fugo's hips, his pace becoming quick and erratic as he chased release. Given how over-excited he'd been the whole time, it didn't take long. Paulo panted heavily and jerked against him, swiftly filling Fugo up with his warm and sticky fluid. Fugo blinked. Hadn’t he worn a — ? Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted it crumpled on the floor next to the man’s shirt.

So that’s what he’d been doing. Weird. Seemed like a waste of a perfectly good condom.

Fugo squirmed, but eventually got his hand on his own cock and lazily stroked himself to completion while the man watched, entranced and chest heaving for air. Fugo came with another soft moan of the man's name — enough to make him shiver.

He sank into the mattress, lying still with the man against him, before he finally stirred and murmured about using the shower. Fugo told him to go ahead, still coming down from it all. Clearly the man was out of it, because he stumbled to the attached bathroom without even grabbing his clothes. Fugo remained where he was, cataloging all of his new aches and soreness — and now extra-messiness — while afterglow subsided. The euphoria helped with that. As did the wine. Fugo eventually reached for his glass to drink the rest of it. It was cheap, but no reason to let it go to waste. He grabbed the fold of bills from beneath the knife. Not bad.

But it was even better with the "tip" he fished out of the man's wallet.