Pulp Friction: Atlanta

Pulp Friction Atlanta round 3: Fifty-fifty Chances Are Ch. 1

Fifty-Fifty Chances Are

Part One

Muffled noises signaled Rory's pleasure. He knelt on the bed, erect and wanting, stroking himself slowly with an elasticized band of ebony beads. Glistening drops of pre-cum formed at his tip.

Pearly white teeth sank into his plump lower lip. A bead of sweat dripped from smooth brow to faintly stubbled jaw. His tanned, muscular body practically vibrated with tension and arousal. It was time. He was ready.

"Come over here," I whispered, shifting forward in the armchair and spreading my thighs. I popped open the buttons of my Levi's one by one as he watched, eyes wide, nostrils flared with arousal.

He bounced up off the bed, lips parting in a huff of effort. His cock bobbed as he strolled across the room, ending level with my mouth as he stood in front of me.

"Kneel." I pulled my cock from my jeans, gave it a quick squeeze.

Rory slid to his knees in one graceful movement that made me envy his youth. I stared down at him, studying his features. The scar at the corner of his eye was still noticeable, but the injury itself had long since healed. I wished that I could say the same for Rory.

In some respects, the incident at The Nexus had made Rory perfect for me. He no longer teased me to fuck him, seemed completely satisfied with the sexual relations we had even without penetration. I should have been happy as hell that I was getting exactly what I wanted, exactly how I wanted it, but it didn't feel right.

But there was something different, something not-Rory about the way he was now, that made me want to offer to fuck him. It made me want to do whatever he wanted to get back the Rory I'd known then. The one whose eyes glittered with cocky self-confidence, the one who accepted my whims but didn't give up on asking for what he wanted.

Because it seemed to me, even as his mouth closed on my cock and the metal tongue stud stroked along the thick underside vein as he took himself in hand, that some part of Rory was sitting back watching, guarding against God knew what instead of being wholly in the moment with me. I missed the Rory who threw himself wholeheartedly into pleasing me and himself.

Release came easily but the orgasm was hollow and Rory bounced back to his feet so quickly I was looking at his back heading to the restroom before my heart stopped beating in my ears. The smell of sex and sweat hung in the air, but I had no idea if he'd come when I did or not. It wasn't a very satisfactory experience, and I fastened my buttons while he cleaned up.

He returned in a short white robe that showed off the golden tan of his skin and reached for his pants on the dresser. The crisp khakis had replaced his uniform as he was no longer deemed fit for service. He snapped them so the garment unfolded neatly.

"Wait for me." The words weren't planned, and when he froze, head bent, I realized he hadn't been expecting them. Those words usually preceded what we'd just done, but there wasn't any rule that said they couldn't follow it. Besides, I made the rules. I could change them when I wanted.

"I need to go." He didn't turn around; his voice was rough, tense.

Go? Go where? He wasn't working, still on medical leave, and though the jerk who'd raped him had been forced to move out of the apartment Rory shared with some other rookies, he seldom stayed there any more.

"I have to go down and check in on Gerry," I explained, watching his still figure intently. Gerry was bartending, and although I'd forced myself to trust him with the money again after the incident several months prior when he'd attempted to steal from me, I always checked on him randomly, just in case he got too comfortable and the cash in the till got too tempting again. "It won't be for long."