The Cuban’s cologne washed thick through his nostrils, mingled with tangy sweat and the scent of a boozing john’s cigarettes. “Not nice to steal, pretty boy,” Rafael purred, the scent of the black chick’s generously shared mojito sweetening his every breath.
Marc’s back flattened against the damp, slick skin of Rafael’s chest. It was smooth, just like his own, yet on the Cuban, it was all natural, which somehow made it feel more masculine. More powerful. As powerful as the arms that wrapped around him. Raphael slid that hand down his stomach toward his jock. He barely heard the black chick hollering over the thumping beats of the music, particularly as Rafael’s finger brushed the tip of his cock. He was hard again. He could feel it. Could taste his precum as Rafael probed his mouth with the same curious finger. “Fucker,” he sighed, feeling the firm muscles of Rafael’s stomach push flush against his back.
“Awww, come on,” Rafael whispered through what Marc assumed was that soul-melting grin of his. “Let’s give them a real show.” The Cuban’s hands were on his shoulders again. Before he could move, he’d been spun around to face those endless, dark eyes, the soft, full lips, and a layer of stubble far better maintained than its appearance let on.
Marc closed his eyes, feeling Rafael’s kisses brush down his chest and stomach.
The Cuban cheekily nipped the visible waistband of Marc’s jock before hooking a finger into each side of it and leaning straight back, extending his body as far out as he could for every john’s viewing pleasure. Not to mention Marc’s.
The black chick tucked a fresh twenty into Rafael’s belt before he righted himself with a killer smile.
“Come on. Let’s make it look good,” the Cuban whispered, flashing the same smile at Marc.
He didn’t need to be told twice. Crouching down until the sweat beading over Rafael’s tight snail trail was inches from his nose. He threw a hand between the Cuban’s legs and grabbed the back of his belt, throwing him off balance, just for a second.
“Easy, stud,” the guy cautioned him.
Marc cursed under his breath. He didn’t have Rafael’s rhythm, his confidence, or a fraction of his looks. But he could move his ass well enough to get whatever was clinging to it stuffed full of cash. His hips started rolling as he rose to his feet, hands sliding up the smooth muscles of Rafael’s back as he went. He finally hooked them over the man’s shoulders from behind, clasping hold as they ground against each other.
Rafael got the idea soon enough. Spreading his grin wide once more, he cupped his own hand around Marc’s ass and held him tight in place, letting Marc lift a leg around his calf, sliding deeper against him as he descended again.
Marc kissed the Cuban’s chest before hooking a hand into the front of his belt and leaning back, eyes still locked on his dance partner. He closed his eyes, savoring for a moment the whoops and hollers that filled the air, the clink of glasses placed at their feet, the feel of fresh green paper being slid into his jock before it snapped back into place, Rafael’s strong hands on his body, gripping his waist and holding it firm. Marc tilted his head back, arms following until they planted down on the bar, arching his back as Rafael lifted him into the absurd bend. Upside down, he could see the Tulane jocks at the end of the bar, clapping wildly and roaring their appreciation in deep, exaggerated faux-straight guy whoops.
“Yeah!” barked Blaine from the other side of the room.
The black chick howled with delight, adding her own claps to the din.
Gently lowering his ass to the bar, Marc righted himself, grabbed Rafael’s wrist and stood up to full height again. Rafael drew closer, stopping less than an inch from his face, his breath hot and inviting against Marc’s lips. For just one second, a crazy idea entered Marc’s head. To kiss him. To lap at those warm, beautiful lips and let the whole damn place lose its shit. Not letting go. Not pushing. Just kissing, arms around each other for hours, until...
Until Dan fired both their asses. Not happening. They were there to put on a show, and a show, the crowd would damn well get.
Marc’s eyes darted over the black chick as she slammed down her tequila shot and slid the lime between her lips. He caught her coy smile as she saw him looking, her mouth showing up the lush green skin of the fruit she then spat and jammed into the empty glass. She raised her fingers at Dan for two more, flashing Marc a wicked grin.
He gyrated against Rafael a little longer, supporting himself with a hand on his shoulder and shaking his hips while the Cuban raised his thick arms, clasping the back of his head.
Marc heard the clink of the glasses at his feet, just as the black chick slipped a fresh twenty into his jock. He flashed his best smile and bent down, whispering in her ear. “Thanks, gorgeous.”
“Yeah!” erupted another cry.
Marc looked up, expecting to see Blaine. Instead, Ash flashed him a wicked grin before he turned back to the husky-looking guy whose arm was around his shoulders.
“You boys thirsty?” The black chick nodded at the two fresh shots on the bar.
For what? A ten here and a twenty there? Marc suddenly had a better idea.
He pulled himself close to Rafael, pushing his face against the man’s slick, damp chest, playfully biting the air just an inch or two short of the man’s nipples. Rafael’s natural scent almost overwhelmed him, mingling with the sweat running down his neck and biceps, into his perfectly trimmed pits. Marc pushed his tongue out and buried it inside one of those beautiful pits before anyone could stop him.
Rafael flinched, but soon realized where the money was at, letting Marc get to work as the whole damn bar whooped and hollered again.
Moving from one armpit to the other, enjoying Rafael’s faint moans as he savored the taste, Marc felt the black chick slide a shot and a wedge of lime into his hand.
He pushed his tongue farther into Rafael’s beautiful pit, tasting nothing but salty sweat from the humid night. He let it coat his tongue, resisting the urge to rub his face in it. When the scent became too overpowering, he pulled back sharply, shooting the spirit in one smooth movement. It went down fast, smooth, and easy. Top shelf shit. The black chick really liked him.
Rafael grabbed the wedge of lime from him before he could protest, squeezing it over his powerful chest, letting the juice run down the shallow gullies of his stomach and into his jock.
Marc stuck out his fat tongue and rolled it along the curves of Rafael’s chest, catching every drop of juice as their audience reached frenzy. Sucking it from the lines of Rafael’s abs. His nipples. The lip of the jock that teased him from just above the Cuban’s belt. Everywhere it had spilled. The perfect tartness of it against the soft saltiness of the man’s skin.
“Yeah!” The black chick’s cry pierced over the cheers that erupted from around the bar.
Marc grinned out the corner of his mouth, licking juice from his lips and turning, grinding his backside against Rafael as they lapped up the attention and tips. Most nights, he was plenty happy to get a couple of hundred bucks in his jock. But tonight was different. Tonight was fun. No. Better than fun. It sated a need for attention. Hell, maybe even love, for his body at least.
He closed his eyes and let it surround him, barely feeling Raphael slip a hand over his hip and up his stomach. He smiled again as the Cuban tweaked his nipple, the heat of their dance warming his back. Hot breath warmed his neck, and the inviting heat of sex pushed through the back of his jock. Lips that felt strangely cold kissed the back of his neck, while the hands that encircled him worked their way down to the lip of his jock, teasing it, flicking at it, beckoning the fully swelled hard-on threatening to break free. It wasn’t like anybody cared. If anything, it would double his tips. Marc let the man’s heat, scent, and arousal overwhelm him as he pulled down his jock and let his cock spring free.
He was immune to the applause now, as the hands rolled smoothly over his skin, over his hips, along the crease of his ass, and down the inside of his leg, while he pumped at his erection with steady, clean strokes.
They weren’t supposed to be doing this, but Dan wasn’t doing shit to stop them. Would Marc even listen if the man did? He felt the cold fingers stroking under his balls, another working the lip of his ass, until they squeezed together, the combined pressure more than he could take. He tried to let go of his cock too late, as white hot juice erupted over his hand, his belly, his key strap, the bar... Only when he opened his eyes did he realize he’d missed the black chick by inches.
Rafael just looked at him, stunned.
Even in the fog of post-orgasm euphoria, surrounded by the whooping and hollering of the entire bar, whose patrons were now tossing scrunched up green bills in their direction, he could feel Dan’s eyes on him, ready to ream him out for popping his cork in the open. He dived off the bar and ran, pushing a pissed-off, half-dressed Jimmy out of his way before fleeing into the night. Its thick humidity filled his lungs and clung to his bare chest as he ran, putting as much distance as possible between himself and the incriminating wayward load.
He was up St Louis and halfway over Rampart before he realized where he was, or that Rafael was on his heels.
“Hey, Marc? Marc! Where are you going, man?”
Good question. What was his plan, now the whole bar has seen him shoot his wad? Dan had to be spitting hell. And he was heading for…where, exactly? The cemetery? Dumbass. Was he trying to get himself killed?
“Jesus! Wait up, will ya?”
“Yeah, all right, stay there. I’m comin’.” Marc fidgeted as he scanned Rampart Street for traffic, trotting over to his show partner, who just stared at him in disbelief. What the fuck had possessed him to do a stupid thing like that?
“Shit, man!” Rafael said, leading him back into the Quarter and a good block away from the bar before relaxing against an ornate doorway. All trace of his ‘Cuban’ accent was gone as moonlight caught the sweat on his dark shoulders and chest. “You want to warn a guy before you bolt? Where’d you learn to run like that? And where did you think you were going? Fuck!”
Marc shook his head, hands resting on his knees. Stupid. He should have waited. Should have tried to explain or work it out. Now, give it a day and he’d be on the blacklist of every bar in the Quarter. No dancing. No hustling. No cash. “Dan’s pissed as hell, isn’t he?”
“Don’t worry about Dan.” Rafael waved away his question. “There’s more green than white on the bar right now, if you get my meaning. Unless some cop I don’t know was in there tonight, I think you’re cool.”
A smirk formed on Marc’s face as he remembered what some ex-hustler had told him one night when he was first starting out. Get to know the cops, or better yet, know what one of them likes.
Then, the smirk turned into a laugh, one that started Rafael laughing, until they were both in hysterics.
“That was...” Marc finally wheezed. “I mean, when you—”
“Hey, you’re not the first to pop his cork on the clock, all right?” the Cuban got out. “Sorry to disappoint you. But man, what a scene!”
“Did you see…did you see the black chick’s face? I think she thought I was gonna—”
“You nearly did. Are you on a dry spell or something? You exploded in there.”
“That was your fault.”
“Me? You got riled up all by yourself, stud.” The Cuban laughed again, sidling closer, taking cover inside the doorway from the lights of a passing car.
The scent of the man’s cologne hit Marc immediately, stronger than it had in the bar, amplified by the perspiration that coated his body. Rafael leaned back against the doorway, lifting his arms above his head, the same powerful arms he’d wrapped around Marc in the bar.
“What time is it?”
Marc swallowed, hoping it would suppress the massive boner that had sprung up inside his jock. It didn’t do shit. “Almost two.”
Rafael grinned as Marc adjusted his jock. “Wow. Doesn’t take you long, does it? You’ll be ready for an encore.”
“I don’t know about that.” He stifled a laugh, watching as Rafael lowered a hand and hooked his thumb into the waistband of his jeans. “How about you?”
“Maybe.” Rafael’s grin glowed in the middle of his dark face.
Marc dove straight toward it, tasting the rum still on Rafael’s lips, enjoying the warmth of the man’s chest as he pulled it close to his own. The Cuban mumbled something into his mouth, only to receive Marc’s tongue. Marc seized the invitation, relishing the sweetness of it as he slid his hands over the dancer’s slick back.
Rafael gripped his sides with both hands, gently but firmly breaking his hold and forcing him back. The man was staring at him, all the cockiness now gone from his dark eyes.
“What are you doing?”
“I…” Shit. What had he been doing? It had felt good. That much he knew. Rafael had tasted good. “I don’t know. I’m sorry. I didn’t—”
“It’s cool,” the Cuban interrupted, raising his hands. “Just save it for the bar, yeah?”
“Yeah,” Marc said automatically. “The bar. Yeah, of course. That’s what I…what I meant.”
The man was gone before he even finished. Marc winced, screwing his eyes tightly shut. Why the fuck had he done it? What had he expected to happen? They’d put on a show, got their cash, or more likely, Rafael had got their cash, and he’d mistaken it for what? Some kind of moment they’d had? A moment that had added his name to the dubiously honored list of hustlers who’d gone full service porn star on the bars of the French Quarter? For a stunt that hadn’t earned him a fucking dime?
When he opened his eyes, Ash was standing right where Rafael had been moments before. Standing there, staring right at him.
“What was that all about?”
Mark shook his head, pushing his way out of the doorway. He just needed to walk.
“Hey, where you goin’? I’m talkin’ to you!”
“I got excited, all right?” he answered. Jesus, did Ash have to know every fucking detail? “It felt good up there.”
“Oh, uh-huh? Well, it looked good, Marky. Looked real fuckin’ good, ‘til you freaked out and took off for the fuckin’ cemetery in nothing but your jock. You tryin’ to get yourself killed? What the fuck’s wrong with you? You had ‘em eatin’ out of your fuckin’ hand.”
“Yeah, my fuckin’ jizz soaked hand. Classy, huh?”
“Like they give a shi—will you hold still and listen to me?”
He gasped as Ash grabbed hold of his shoulder and spun him. “Hey! Chill out, will you?”
“Me? Oh, I’m supposed to chill out? Man, you get your ass back there before Dan decides to fire it, and me along with. You get me?”
He snorted, almost silently as a couple of well-dressed queens shuffled by.
“Evenin’,” Ash called to them, not taking his eyes off Marc.
The two strangers didn’t even look up.
“Did you get my tips?”
“Get your…get… bitch, I’m keepin’ your tips! Like you said, we got rent comin’ up.”
Whatever. He wasn’t in the mood for this. Not Ash’s temper. Nor his attitude. But Ash and Rafael were right about one thing. He had to go back and apologize. Maybe save his shitty job.
“So, you gonna answer me?”
“I told you. It got me excited.”
“What did? Dancin’? Just dancin’ with that spic got you hard enough to blow your—”
“Geeze, will you keep it down?”
“Oh, well, I’m soooo-rry!” Ash howled, letting his voice echo off the houses around them. “His royal majesty would appreciate some discretion about the fact that he slobbered all over some big brown cock this evening.”
“And you’re a fucking asshole!”
“Nothin’ but truth though, ain’t it? That fat, spic foreskin gettin’ you all ‘excited’ and all.”
“Jesus! Ash, what the hell is wrong with you?”
“You know what’s wrong, you little bitch!” Ash snarled, shoving him with a loud bang against a courtyard fence. �
�You think I’m stupid? I fuckin’ saw you. I saw everything. Hey, I expect it from that sleaze ball. But you?”
“It was just a dance, man. Jesus.”
“Jesus, fuck. Will you quit lyin’ to me? You were all over him. You kissed him! Fuck! Probably would have sucked him off right there, if he’d let you.”
“Ash, you saw it. Up there on the bar. He wanted to show off with me. He had his hands on me.”
His friend stared at him a moment, confused. “No, he didn’t.”
“He did! Fuck! You were watching him. He had his hands all over me. Is that what you can’t stand? That some ‘spic’ might actually want me?”
“He didn’t touch you in there, you crazy son of a—”
“I felt him, Ash!”
“Oh, you felt him, huh? Felt those big, greasy paws all over your pasty white—”
“Will you stop?”
“Stop what? I’m just givin’ it to you straight, Marky. Straight. Like the Cuban fuck you just threw yourself at. Oh yeah! His old lady popped out a fresh little spic last month, in case you didn’t know about that!”
“Ash—” he growled.
“Oh, I’m sorry! Does the truth hurt? Does the truth hurt, Marky? I know you would have sucked him, and then you would have come right back to me. Kissed me with a mouth full of his spic jizz.”
“Fuck off!”
Marc was too blind with rage to duck the fist before it hit his jaw, sending him back into a wooden gate with another loud crack that echoed around the street. His face ached, and his cheekbone felt as if it had been driven up behind his eye. He wasn’t sure if his jaw was even in place. He couldn’t feel anything wrong with his teeth, as he overheard Ash muttering, pacing in the street.
“Fuck,” Ash mumbled. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, man. Why do you do this to me?”
“I didn’t do shit!” He cringed and cowered as Ash surged toward him, stopping just short of his face, breathing heavily.
“Fuck,” Ash muttered. “That’s gonna leave a mark. A mark on little Marky. Shit, why’d you make me do that?”
Skin Page 9