Work Text:
“You were out longer tonight,” Louis informs Armand when he walks through their front door four hours later than usual. There’s a schedule to these things, a careful balancing act that allows them all the peace of feigned ignorance.
“He made more of a mess tonight,” Armand answers, slipping his coat off his shoulders. Louis closes his book– not quite a slam, but a clean, resonant pop that makes its way to the base of Armand’s spine.
“Yeah?” The book set aside, a confident lean back, a parting of his knees. Armand nods and plops himself into Louis’ waiting lap, winding his arms around his neck.
“A boy tonight, a real boy. Bright enough to sprout through the dirt of the American school system early, eager enough to do an extra credit assignment for a class two years away from his grasp. Had this reading been a week ago it would have been quite a nasty legal situation for Professor Molloy.”
Armand lays his cheek against Louis’ chest just in time for his laugh, clear and resonant, echoing against Armand’s ear. Louis’ hand comes to rest on his thigh, an encouraging squeeze, and Armand joins him in laughter, a giggle bubbling from his throat. The boy’s blood sings in his veins. He feels radiant, untouchable.
“Ah, barely legal. Saw yourself in the boy, huh?”
The hand, wandering, sliding up the inside of his thigh. Armand laughs and tries to squeeze his knees together, but Louis pinches him. All fingernail. He wishes his pants were already off so he could feel it. A wiggle of his hips and Louis will get the idea, he imagines.
“Mm,” he hums.
Another pinch. Armand squirms away, but he’s caged in. It’s hard enough that he can feel his nails through his clothes.
“Use your words.”
“Of course.”
“Of course?”
“I talked to him, after. Saw some things.”
“Just talked to him?” Louis laughs. He got the idea– he pops open the button of Armand’s pants with a thumb.
“He was a good drink. I saw a lot from his eyes– ah,” Armand gasps when Louis’ hand wraps around his cock, warm and solid. He didn’t realize how much he was aching.
“Miss getting the real thing, huh? Closest you could get to it now?”
“No– no. This is enough. I’m glad you let me do it. It’s a kindness.”
–
Armand is cheating on Louis. It’s not particularly upsetting to Louis– he’d gone behind his companion’s back enough times that even he wouldn’t have the audacity– it’s just that he never expected it. Armand, who would grovel at his feet for their relationship. Armand, who sat in righteously aggrieved silence as he cleaned up the bodies of one hundred dead boys, bothered not by the fact that they were taken from this world too early or maimed or torn apart but by the knowledge that Louis’ cock had been inside them an hour earlier. That Armand, his companion of 40 years, squealing in a motel bed belonging for that hour to a married man Louis had been determined to kill a decade before.
It’s not that Louis hadn’t picked up hints. He absolutely had, just didn’t particularly care. Obviously he would go places in the daytime when Louis had to sleep, and if he came back smelling like the same brand of cheap cigarettes and the same brand of cheap cologne, if Louis woke up horny and Armand was already soft and swollen and fucked-open, that was none of his business.
Armand steals through the apartment door at 4:38 P.M., a deep bruise still blooming on his throat. When he sees Louis up, he jumps. A guilty pull of his coat around himself. Always trying to look small.
“You’re up early,” he says, voice high.
“Am I? I didn’t realize. You were kind enough to leave the blackout curtains closed when you were out. I know you normally don’t.”
“I– It’s not when I was out. The sun is nicer through the windows. I kind of like it that way. You don’t wake up a lot in the day, you know. Small sample size.”
“Armand.”
“I wouldn’t– well, I. I love you, you know that? More than anyone or anything, now or ever–”
“ –Armand!”
Armand winces, makes himself small.
“You think I didn’t know? I’m just surprised it’s him.”
“After I saved him, when you came back into your mind, you– well, you said he had to survive, that he could be a living testament to our bond.”
Louis barks out a laugh. “Ah right, you’re fucking the boy out of respect to our relationship. Of course.”
Armand doesn’t answer, his eyes turned deferently downwards, his hands clasped in front of his belly. His thoughts are racing so much that even Louis can push past the defenses of his mind and hear the rushed, half-formed responses, the way all the scenarios play out. None are particularly rational.
“How long?” Louis asks.
“Just this one time.”
“Don’t lie to me. You wouldn’t be this careless if it was just one time, I know you better than that. You know his wellbeing is important to me now, you know I seek him out, make sure he’s doing well, that I hadn’t ruined his life. You knew if he was close enough I would listen in, and you jumped into bed with him anyways.”
“I was careless, you know I can be. It was only this time, I won’t–”
“Last night, the hostel down in the Lower East Side. You were careless, so I went to see. He’s in town for a month, on the ground research. He wondered how you knew his wife was pregnant again when you asked how she was doing. He wondered why a hookup would ask him so much, if you were angling for some sort of assistant job. Sexy secretary bit and all that. He thought he couldn’t pay you in anything but this, and fucked you standing up in the shared shower. It seemed safer than the bunks.”
“I–”
“And then today! In a way you were more careful, in a way you weren’t. Met him in the middle of the day, sucked his dick in the bathhouse. He didn’t recognize you. Why would that be?”
“Okay, I lied. I’m sorry, I don’t–”
“You lied,” Louis agrees, not wanting to hear his inevitable groveling. “There aren’t supposed to be lies between us anymore. I don’t appreciate it, but I’ll give you one more chance. How long?”
“A decade.”
Well that does surprise Louis. He knew once Armand started with him, he wouldn’t stop, that he never stops with someone he’s started with. He just didn’t expect that he seemingly started the moment they left Daniel on his own.
The cold gulf of Armand’s dread presses up against Louis’ mind. He’s managed to pick his eyes up off the ground, pupils huge and pleading as they meet Louis’. Armand must think he’s felt anything particularly strongly about him in the last decade, and that he could summon up any anger now. For his own ego, he feels compelled to at least pretend– he shifts his weight, crosses his arms over his chest. Armand’s hunched shoulders inch ever closer to his ears.
“Please, let me speak. I know I have no right to ask that, but I am. It meant nothing, it was just a… a compulsion, something purely physical. I checked on him, for you, to give you peace of mind, and it was easiest that way. You know it’s easy for me, I’m good at it.”
“I know.”
“I won’t do it again. I won’t, you’re all I need, Maître. I love you.”
Ah, here it comes. Maître when he wants something, just a companion when he sneaks off behind his back.
“You know, Armand, you were right.”
A blink.
“What?”
“You were right, about Daniel. He is a testament to our bond. I’m glad he’s alive, and apparently thriving. And you know, I think I want it to stay that way.”
“Okay,” Armand says, sounding hesitant. Louis loves when he can catch him off-balance. Having the upper hand with Armand feels so rare. Too rare. He wants to savor the feeling, and he does want Daniel to live, not to die in some misguided attempt from Armand to prove his love.
“I don’t appreciate being lied to, and I don’t appreciate you sleeping around the way you do. It’s easy for you, I know, you’re good at it. But we’ve both grown, and we’ve both committed to this relationship. Should we not keep it that way?”
“Of course! Of course.”
“But I want you to keep checking in on Daniel. Carry on as you were, just don’t sleep with him. Shouldn’t be too hard, right? Come back to me after, and tell me about him. I’d like to know.”
“No, it– it won’t be too hard. Of course. I love you. I’ll give you anything.”
Louis smiles, and gives Armand a pat on the shoulder. He savors the way Armand flinches, subtle as it is.
–
There’s a certain thrill to it of course. Something very classic novel, very old Hollywood starlette with the impossibly shining eyes and the long cigarette dangling from her fingers. A vigilante journalist, a professor with grey pushing back his temples and a wedding band on his ring finger. Yeah, maybe he’s a guest professor without an office our hours to be had there or a car nicer than the cheapest one the rental place had that day, maybe the he’s not actually in his class, but Professor Molloy compliments him on his insightful commentary and says oh wow you’re only a freshman asking questions like that and would you like to come discuss further over beers– oh, you can drink, right? No he can’t, but Professor Molloy has a few at his hotel.
“Can’t even drink,” Louis laughs, “our boy’s going to get himself in trouble one day.”
“Not as much trouble as you,” Armand mumbles, pressing his lips lazily against Louis’ neck. He doesn’t want Louis to talk, wants to bask in this closeness. Pulled onto Louis’ lap, his mind reaching into his and wrapping around the story, a hazy pressure builds under Armand’s navel. Louis’ hand on his cock is almost an afterthought, a warm anchor to his own body and not much more.
“Not as much trouble as me,” Louis repeats, his tone still light, “because I know better than to ask that, don’t I?”
“Mm, you just take what’s yours, Daddy.”
It’s a struggle for Armand to pull himself out of Louis’ lap, but he manages. It’s worth it to see the smirk on his face, the way it grows when he settles down onto his knees. Louis’ legs fall open, and Armand takes the invitation, nuzzling his cheek up against the tent in his pants.
They both know they won’t make it to beers, and they don’t. The boy is emboldened as soon as Professor Molloy offers his hotel. What should he do? What’s the hottest thing to do fucking your married teacher? The tension in the car and the sheet number of options is paralyzing. He hasn’t done this before. He goes with something easy, reaches across the center console and puts his hand on Professor Molloy’s thigh. He raises his eyes, then slides his hand off the gear and grabs the boy’s wrist, pulling his hand onto his dick. The boy almost laughs, stops himself. He’s giddy, but he doesn’t want to seem like some virgin. Confidence. Fingers pull down the zipper, only fumble a little in search of married dick. He leans down, chest across the console– road head, that’s a thing, right? Suitably transgressive, suitably liberated. The angle is awkward and his neck already kind of hurts but he commits to it, pulls him into his mouth and starts bobbing. Fucking hell, it’s like you don’t even want us to make it to the hotel room, Professor Molloy laughs. The boy takes it as a compliment.
“Young and overeager,” Louis says, petting the top of Armand’s head. Armand hums around his cock, obediently swallows him down again. It was uncomfortable for the boy. It hurt and he wanted to pretend like it didn’t, eager to please. Armand pushes forward more, until his nose pushes up against coarse hair, until nausea rises from the back of his throat and his eyes water, until he can’t even feel the familiar heat of Louis down his throat anymore because it just feels numb.
“Eager, eager,” Louis says, but he’s proud to hear just a hint of breathiness in his voice. “That’s good, but I’ll teach you how to make it better, sweetie.”
His gentleness hardens, the soft pet of his hand on Armand’s head curling into an iron grip holding him in place. Armand swallows back another wave of nausea, tries to focus on somewhere deep to fight it back. A tear leaks from his eye as Louis slowly starts to rock his hips, the movement small but agonizing. Think of how good he must feel, how good it is to be used like this, to be appreciated. A spasm rocks his throat– Louis holds him for one more second, just long enough to let him start to gag in earnest, then releases him. Coughing violently, Armand tries to catch his breath, to make himself available again as soon as he can. The boy was so excited, so eager to prove himself. Ugly as he surely is right now, face red, hair a mess, chin coated in thick, mucousy drool, Armand has proven himself. He is wanted.
They don’t make it back to the hotel, but they make it to the parking lot. They make it to the back seat of the car, where Professor Molloy throws a neatly-clipped bundle of papers to the floorboard. It’s hot, at first, scorchingly so, when the boy is manhandled into position on all fours. He can make a grown man with a house and a bed and probably no roommates, so desperate he needs to climb on top of him in the back seat of his car. He can make him need him so bad that he spits on his palm and pushes right inside. The idea of it rushes to the boy’s head, makes him feel like he’s floating.
But the idea of it doesn’t get him very far before the reality of it drags him down from the clouds. The reality is a bed and no roommates might be nice, because his back already hurts from arching and his neck is craned awkwardly and his knee is slipping off of the side of the seat. The reality is that the professor is just… slamming into him and the whole thing doesn’t feel very good no matter how hot it should be. He gives it a valiant effort, an infusion of fantasy, mewls oh Daddy in his best feeling-good voice. A reminder that hey, I’m still down here, a person with aching knees and an asshole that kind of feels like it’s being torn open. All he gets in return is a grunt and balls slapping against his ass.
He opens his mouth and says hey man, can we– not really knowing what he’s going to ask for but not getting the chance either way, because Professor Molloy’s fingers are hooked into his mouth as he laughs and says hey man? You’re not fucking one of your frat bros anymore, man and then that’s that, he’s not fucking one of his frat bros anymore because it kind of doesn’t feel like he’s fucking anyone, it feels like he’s a thing getting fucked whether it feels good or not, and maybe he shouldn’t even feel good anyways, is that the point of this?
Louis uses him the way Armand’s body finds itself when it’s manhandled into place, knees askew, one elbow under him and the other arm splayed to break his fall. Nothing really matters except where Louis splits him open, where Louis makes him real, his contorted limbs and his aching joints rendered phantom by their lack of clear purpose. Here is what part of him has purpose, and here is purpose fulfilled, Louis fucking him like it’s all he was made for, rough and inelegant and uncaring. In, out, in, out, uncomplicated. He comes hard and fast inside him, hips not even stuttering.
“Thank you, Daddy,” Armand mewls, pride rising up the back of his throat. I hope you felt good, he thinks, since he doesn’t think the boy would say it.
“I got off,” Louis says aloud. He smacks Armand’s ass and pulls out, letting him crumple down onto his stomach. Somewhere deep inside Armand: disappointment. He wants Louis to use him like this again and again and again, until Louis is satisfied and until he is used up. But the boy wouldn’t think that, didn’t think that. The boy wanted to go home and pull his comforter over his head and sleep all weekend.
Louis carefully settles down next to him, knocks their foreheads together. Armand goes to join their lips, but Louis Laughs, leans back.
“Finish the story,” he says.
“You know how it ends.”
“I want to see how it ends. Show me. You haven’t been shy until now.”
The boy accepts the ride back from Professor Molloy, when all things are said and done. He stays in the back seat. The drive is silent, the two of them saved from conversation by the low buzz of the late-night news radio Molloy put on.
He tells him it’s a ride home. It isn’t. Maybe he doesn’t want the professor to know where he lives, or maybe he doesn’t want to go home and make it real. He gives him a cross-street, oh I live on the corner of Pleasant and Hadley, and luckily he doesn’t even have to bother to pretend to walk into a random house because Professor Molloy doesn’t even wait to see him in before he drives off. Keep asking questions, kid, he tells him when he opens the car door. Okay, the boy thinks, okay.
There’s a park, just across the road. A big one, the kind you can get lost in. The boy decides to get lost, taking one path and turning onto another with what feels like reckless abandon. Exciting night all around, truly. And then, a development: another man. Long hair, curly, walking towards him. He hasn’t seen anyone else all night.
“Is it always a park with you?” Louis teases.
“I thought you wanted the story.”
“I do.”
The man feels… comforting, somehow. Despite his strangely colored eyes boring into him the closer the boy gets, despite his strangely still walk, the boy thinks this is a friend. When their paths cross, the man opens his arms, and the boy folds himself in for the hug. He’s crying. He doesn’t know when he started.
Let’s sit, the man says, I know you hurt. He does hurt. His ass is already sore, and it made him walk strangely. He’s been walking so long tonight. It suddenly hits him that he’s exhausted. They sit on the bench. The man holds his hand, looks into his eyes with his strange golden ones.
I know now it feels like a great disappointment, a great hurt, the man tells him. He’s nodding along. A great hurt. Yeah. A rude awakening.
A rude awakening, yes, the man echoes. It’s happened to me, it’s happened to everyone. But personal hurt is not a great hurt. Don’t make it one. What happened, really? You went home with a man to have sex with him, and he had sex with you. These things don’t always work out how you imagine. It’s the way of the world. You feel used, you feel like you didn’t sign up for it, but did you not? Did you not want to be used? Did you not offer yourself up? This is what it’s like to be an adult, a series of misunderstandings, a realization that you can never be understood the way you want to. Let this pass.
Let this pass, the boy echoes back. Yeah. Yeah, that’s what he wanted, that’s why he came here to wander. To let it pass. The man is nodding at him, squeezing his hand. Tired, the boy lays on his shoulder. Hands slide between his shoulder blades, rubbing softly.
You were not hurt. You were enjoyed. You brought pleasure. That’s how I think of it. It brings me peace, satisfaction. It will bring you peace if you do too, and if you never bring it up again. The boy nods against the man’s shoulder. Peace sounds nice. The man presses his lips to his neck. Warm. It tickles, and then burns, and then darkness rises up behind the boy’s eyes. He rests.