curious_spells | Cupidity - chapter two (Reply)

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Chapter one

Cupidity
Chapter two

Angel blinked at his phone. So. He had a place to sleep tonight. He frowned. There had to be a catch. Things like this didn't happen to him. There were no last minute saves in his life.

He texted back and was told to wait outside. The limo (of course) was long and black and slim and came with a tall, slim driver in a snappy black uniform who smiled and shook Angel's hand when he stuck it out.

Angel rolled down the privacy window and hung over it, hoping for some information on this Goodfellow guy.

"So what's he like? You work for him or some limo company?"

"His car. I work for him," the driver said. The driver's name was Marco. He had nice, long fingers, Angel thought, even in those gloves.

"What's he like? Is he cool?"

Marco snorted. "Oh, yeah. Like ice."

"But okay to work for?"

"Sure. As long he gets exactly what he wants, he's the nicest guy you could hope to meet."

"Huh." Angel didn't ask what he was like when he didn't get exactly what he wanted. He wasn't sure he wanted to know.

The concierge gave him a more permanent-looking keycard this time. It had his picture on it, and Angel wondered when the hell Goodfellow had taken that. No come on his face, so definitely a before shot.

There was no one waiting when he stepped out of the elevator. The windows held the dark glittering mass of the city. Low lights were dotted about the place and the room smelled of expensive leather sofas and flowers. It held the sort of silence that Angel associated with the churches of his childhood.

"Hi," he called, feeling suddenly about several miles out of his depth. He dropped his bag in the middle of the space and looked around. Over by the kitchen area was a dining table. There was a note on it; black ink scrawled across thick soft paper.

Wash, get dressed, eat. Your room is ready.

So much for a friendly welcome. Several doors led off to the right. One of them stood open, waiting. The walls were dark red and the furniture was all low and modern in some wood that was nearly black. The ensuite seriously overdid it on the marble and chrome and fluffy towels. He picked up the clothes that lay on the bed. Heavy soft cotton and fine wool, well cut jeans and a shirt, even socks and underwear. Angel laid them back down carefully. The jeans alone probably cost more than everything he owned.

The shower gel smelled of ginger and the shampoo was some special stuff that made his hair all soft. He shaved with a real razor and little brush, cleaned his teeth, picked out one of the many bottles of cologne on the bathroom shelf and sprayed some on.

The jeans fitted him like they'd been made for him, and so did the shirt. It clung to his body, just tight enough to show his nipples. He combed his hair and let it fall down over his shoulders. It was still damp.

There was food back out in the main room; soup and pasta and seafood. He tried to eat some, then gave up and went to stare out at the city.

Finally the elevator swooshed and pinged softly. Robin Goodfellow stepped out. He didn't seem surprised to see Angel.

"Hi," said Angel.

"So, you agree."

"Yeah, sure."

"Do you understand what I want?"

Angel shrugged. "A fuck?"

Goodfellow frowned, just a light crease between his eyes. "Or maybe you don't understand your situation here at all. I was quite serious in my ad."

"What the hell is a guy like you doing putting something like that on fucking craigslist?"

"It seemed expedient. And it worked. Here you are."

Angel folded his arms over his chest and leaned against the window. The glass was cool on his shoulder and hip. "Here I am."

"In my home, wearing what I've bought you, eating food I've provided." He stepped closer and laid a hand on Angel's chest, nails scratching lightly downward. "Another possession. A convenience. I don't merely want 'a fuck.' I want you whenever, wherever, and in whatever way I choose, and I want you to understand that you have no say in it."

"A slave."

"Don't be absurd. Nothing will keep you here except your own greed."

"Hey, I'm not--"

Goodfellow touched Angel's mouth. "Hush. I don't consider greed a negative attribute. It's an even exchange. I shall be very greedy with your time and your body. Are you getting a clearer picture now?"

"Is that my own room, where the clothes were?"

"Yes. And I'll ask you to keep out of mine when you're not specifically invited."

"Whatever. So." He shifted his weight and looked out at the city again, with its dancing spectrum of light, from halogen white to neon pink. "You're not into anything freaky, are you?"

"Not in my estimation. You might have a different view, of course."

"What if I don't want to do whatever it is you want me to do?"

"You can always leave." He pulled an envelope out of his suit jacket and handed it over.

"What's this?"

"Your severance package, in advance, so you can leave any time. Five thousand in cash."

Angel gaped at him and flipped through the cash. Five thousand dollars. "Jesus wept. You're just giving me this? I could just walk out right now with this and never come back?"

"Yes. If that's what you want, be my guest." Goodfellow turned away. "Otherwise I'll expect you naked on your bed in half an hour. Lube yourself, please. I don't want to wait."

Angel stared down at the money. He could just go. He could. He looked up. Goodfellow was watching him. Five thousand dollars wasn't much, but it was real. Or he could let this total stranger fuck him and buy him expensive cars and hot clothes.

Back in his room he tucked the money in his kit bag and took his new clothes off, laying them neatly over a chair. There was a dark wood cabinet by the bed. He opened the drawer and wasn't exactly surprised at the contents. Slick, condoms, a couple of dildos and a butt plug. They were new, still in their plastic packaging. He pulled out the small bottle of lube.

The bed had smooth dark sheets made of cotton so fine that it gleamed. He folded them back. The slick was silky on his fingers. He put one knee on the bed and reached underneath himself, closing his eyes at the touch of his own fingers. He'd done strange things in his life, but none of it seemed stranger than this right now. It didn't stop him getting hard though, when he had two fingers sunk into himself and was fucking himself, thinking about Goodfellow's eyes.

He knelt up fully on the bed, feeling sweat break out on his skin as he slid his fingers out. He drew them up the underside of his cock, wondering how much Goodfellow was interested in Angel's own pleasure. He hadn't even mentioned that.

The door opened, finally. Goodfellow came in and closed it behind him. He was wearing a black robe and not much else. It showed a slice of smooth pale chest and his neck, which was long and elegant. He looked different like that, sort of exotic.

"Get on your hands and knees," was all he said.

"Sure." The bed dipped behind him and Angel shivered at the soft cool touch of hands on his hips, arranging him. "Like this?" he heard himself say. "Is this okay?"

"Spread your knees wider," Goodfellow said. "Good, like that."

He didn't wait, just like he'd said. He rubbed the head of his cock over Angel's hole once then pushed in, slowly but steadily. Angel grunted, and Goodfellow pushed in deeper, harder, and then he wasn't holding back at all anymore. His breath came faster, and his nails scraped sharply down Angel's sides. His hips snapped forward.

Angel listened to the wet sounds they made and the slap of skin, and he went down on one elbow, other hand reaching for his cock and jerking himself fast. It felt good. Hot breath ghosting over the back of his neck, the thick weight of the cock inside him, opening him up. There was sweat gathering along his spine, and his heartbeat was picking up.

That was when Goodfellow finished, grinding deep and spilling inside Angel without more than a harsh breath. His cheek brushed against Angel's. "Mm. You smell good," he said. He pulled out and pushed at Angel's shoulder until he fell onto his back. "Finish while I watch."

It shouldn't have been hot. He was a rude, inconsiderate, arrogant prick, and he'd just totally left Angel hanging, and now he sat on the edge of the bed all cool, eyes on Angel's dick where it stood up against his stomach.

"Well?" he said.

Angel licked his lips. "Yeah. Okay." He got more slick on his hand and just went for it, fast and hard and flat out, sneaking glances at Goodfellow's face, at the crazy intensity in his eyes as he stared. He looked at Angel like he owned him, casually pushed his knee down for a better view. Angel hissed out a breath and rubbed hard over the head of his dick and spurted all over his stomach.

He gasped when Goodfellow reached out and slid his fingers through the mess. He lifted his fingertips to Angel's mouth, gaze flicking from Angel's mouth to his eyes.

"Lick," he said, softly.

Angel opened his mouth, maybe to say no, but he didn't. Instead he sucked them into his mouth and sucked the taste of himself off those long pretty fingers. The tips of his nails were smooth and neat and under everything else was the tang of his skin. Angel sucked for longer than he needed to, and Goodfellow didn't stop him, just kept watching.

"You can have anything you want from me that it's in my power to give you," he said. "And I ask the same from you. Do you understand?"

Angel nodded, which was possibly a lie. Goodfellow leaned closer, so that his warm breath gusted over Angel's cheek. He slid his fingers over Angel's lips.

"Pretty. You can have anything you want. Clothes, jewellery, cars. Any sort of toy you can imagine."

Angel shut his eyes because that gaze was just too much. He couldn't think of a single thing he wanted. "Okay. Yeah. I'll-- I'll let you know."

Goodfellow nodded. "Make sure you're ready in the morning. I want you in my shower at seven." He walked out.

Angel collapsed back on the bed, winded like he'd been running since Goodfellow stepped out of the damn elevator. Which he guessed he had been, in a way. He looked up at the subtle gilded scrolling that wove like vines across the scarlet ceiling.

Crazy. This was pure fucking crazy. There was an alarm clock next to his bed. He wasn't surprised to find it was already set for 6:45.

Eventually, he dragged himself up and cleaned off, turned the bed down. He took all his little bits of crap out of his bag and lined them up in rows on the bedside table. Zippo with scratched and faded dragon it, Marvin the Martian Pez dispenser sans Pez. Pocketknife, tiny notebook and pen. Battered copy of the Jungle Books, the only book he'd ever read start to finish and the only thing of his mom's he'd taken with him when he left home.

Besides that, there was his phone, a couple shirts, underwear and socks, another pair of jeans. He was thinking maybe he should just throw the clothes away, but he couldn't do it. He stood over the wastebasket with them in his hand for a few minutes and then stuffed them in the back of the closet along with the bag and the envelope full of cash.

The closet was about a quarter full, and at that it was still more clothes than he'd ever owned at once in his life. Most of it was expensive jeans and silk shirts, a couple suits, a tux. He wondered where he'd be going in that. The drawers held underwear in various degrees of sluttiness and socks and pajamas.

He pulled out a pair and held them up against himself. They were the deep red of his hair, silk, smooth and slick against his skin. They felt alien when he slipped into them, and so did the bed when he slipped into it. Too soft, too comfortable. It took him a long time to fall asleep.