Work Text:
“God, I am so fucking ready to go home.”
“You’ve only been here for two hours, Re.”
“Don’t remind me.”
Janus cackles to himself, shaking his head as he polishes a glass before turning away from a sulking Remus to survey the scene before him. Friday nights tend to bring in the crowds, though not quite as much as a Saturday. Though it’s not as if that’s much of a concern to Janus or Remus, as they’ve found themselves working the one and only ‘event room’ their (slightly rundown) bar has to offer. Their bar, as they call it — in actuality, they’re just the two most notable staff members, they have a good rapport with the regulars who traipse in week after week — is one of the more popular gay bars in the area. Cheap alcohol, good music, average lighting. They have a good reputation, and Janus knows for a fact he adds to that. He began working here almost as soon as he’d turned twenty one, snagging the job listing the second it’d been posted in the window. Two years later, he can confidently say he loves his job. (For the most part, of course. As with any public facing position, he deals with his fair share of drunk assholes — but he gets a kick out of cutting people off, or having them hauled out the property.)
The event space tonight is taken up by a local theatre production, who had apparently completed their final performance just hours ago. When Janus had questioned how they’d managed to book the event room so last minute, having noticed the change on his schedule a mere two days before the shift, Remus had huffed and explained that he’d called in a favour, and directed Janus’ attention to the actor who had played the lead — Remus’ twin brother. Which had explained things.
In all honesty, Janus had expected tonight to be more… interesting. The cast and crew have been loitering around the room for an hour now, a few of them having ordered easy to make drinks, whilst most situated themselves on the plush seating to the side of the main (albeit, small) dancefloor. Really, he thought theatre adults were meant to be like… horny weirdos. At least, that’s what he’d noted in his college theatre society. Those guys were always hooking up and falling out and getting into relationships and breaking up. He was excited to see some real drama, maybe a few thrown drinks, but so far all he’d witnessed was — ugh — polite conversation.
It’s all so boring, that Janus hasn’t even managed to work up the motivation to be annoyed at their third bartender’s lateness. Virgil was meant to start at the same time as himself and Remus, but had called in about coming in an hour and a half late, without giving a proper reason. Janus had rolled his eyes at the time, jovially called Virgil a dick, and told him to get his ass to work. But it doesn’t even matter, because these annoying customers won’t even fucking order. So, Janus resigns himself to a night of listening to the same remixed top 40 songs with the occasional Madonna sprinkled through, and bizarre conversation with Remus.
The multi-coloured lighting sways around the room in beams, pinks and purples that sweep over the empty dancefloor as what appears to be the majority of the cast and crew from the production placate themselves around sticky tables. This is all so terribly boring. Usually when tending to these events, Janus can busy himself by making pointless chat with the one overly talkative patron, but even tonight, he’s denied. No one’s even ordered in fifteen minutes.
“I thought actors knew how to drink,” Janus huffs as he deposits the glass he’d been fiddling with below the bar, turning back to Remus who’s occupied himself with uselessly adjusting the bottles along the back wall. He keeps turning them so the labels face away, then fidgeting them back into their original positions. Jesus, even Remus is clawing for something to do, and typically he loves an excuse not to do his job. And he still takes a bigger transaction average than Janus. Bullshit.
Remus clicks his tongue, pushing the sleeves of his black shirt further up his arms and spinning in place. “Me too, man. These guys are duds,” he practically growls the words out, head falling backwards on his neck with an exaggerated groan. He wrings his fingers together, gives Janus a fake yawn and shuffles foot to foot.
Grabbing a rag from beside the unused glasses, Janus wipes the top of the bar down. It’s clean, it doesn’t need to be wiped, but fuck it’s something to do. That’s… thirty seconds wasted. Great! If he just does this six-hundred more times, his shift will be over. Jesus fucking Christ. Five hours remaining. An hour of set-up waiting for these stupid shitting actors to arrive, an hour of serving practically no one, and five more hours of serving — at this rate — three people an hour to go. His tips are going to be shit by the end of the night. At least Janus hasn’t been left with the responsibility of clean-up, that horror has been placed solely on the shoulders of Remus and Virgil. If Virgil ever shows up that is.
“You’d think they’d at least dance,” Remus sighs, draping himself over the bar next to Janus, gesturing vaguely to the crowd. The music continues to pump through the speakers languidly, bass far too loud for the unenthusiastic production team. “I haven’t even seen Roman yet. He’s such an attention whore, at least he’d provide some entertainment!”
“Oh, am I not entertaining enough for you?” Janus gasps where he stands, tossing the rag at Remus’ face with a mock-offended expression. He lays his hand over his heart as Remus splutters, throwing the rag back at him with renewed passion.
“No, you’re fucking boring,” Remus replies with a smirk, hands resting on his hips.
The door leading into the back corridor swings open, nearly in perfect timing with the main hall door too. Through the event door, the aforementioned twin storms in, arms spread wide, cheering at his own arrival — and in stark contrast, Virgil rushes behind the bar in a dizzying blur, stumbling to catch his breath.
“Have no fear, Roman is here!”
“I’m so fucking sorry, guys. I’m here, sorry-!” Virgil almost collapses to his knees, matching black shirt sticking to his skin rather obviously.
Janus grimaces, visibly, “glad you could finally join us, Virgil! Go freshen up, you haven’t missed much.”
Virgil, still full of apologies, thanks Janus quickly and rushes into the back of house once more, hopefully to wipe himself down with some paper towels and spray himself silly with deodorant. When Janus turns back to Remus, he finds the man on his toes, canting over the other end of the bar, talking animatedly to his brother. His hands are flying, his words impossible to make out over the pounding music, so Janus spins to survey the crowd once more.
It’s then that the door pushes open again, two more men sauntering in. They catch Janus’ eye, each for different reasons. They’re both wearing glasses, yes, but one of the men is significantly taller, and the other is quite obviously older than the majority of the occupants so far. If Janus had to guess, he’d place him around his late thirties, maybe thirty eight. He’s dressed in all black, aside from the sweater hastily tied around his shoulders — and Janus has never seen anyone pull that off before, yet this man seems to. The two of them look around the room slowly, the taller of the two seemingly spotting someone he wants to talk to and ushering away.
Janus takes an opportunity to study the remaining newbie. He’s broad-shouldered, a little chubby around the middle, but he looks strong. That dad sort of strength, where it’s clear he likes to indulge a little, but years of work have carved muscle into his arms. His face is rounded, glasses reflecting the pink lights down his cheeks. And his smile. Janus had noticed his smile the moment he’d stepped into the room, bright and wide, beaming with nothing to hide. He’s the first person to look genuinely pleased to be here. He steps closer to the bar, and Janus does his best to mask his ogling, going for a more subtle observation. Lips pressed into a thin line, Janus busies himself by fiddling with the straws in an unused glass, glancing at the man from the corner of his eye.
Beside his smile, the next thing Janus notices is that he’s hot.
Remus has told him that he has daddy issues before. That he has a thing for old men. Janus would disagree. He has a thing for refined men. Experienced men. This man is just another to add to the list in his head titled: Would if I could!
Because this man is hot. He’s hovering around a stool, tapping the pads of his fingers off the overly cleaned wood, looking around at the bottles behind Janus’ head, waiting. His curls are slightly greyed at the temples and that fact alone almost has Janus’ knees buckling.
“Hey, hon,” Janus starts, clearing his throat before he speaks and turning his full attention to the man before him. “Know what you’re after tonight?” He raises an eyebrow, a dark, starved creature inside his belly stands to attention, prowling slowly in his gut. The words purr out of his mouth as he leans over the bar slightly, leaning his elbows on the counter. Remus is still nattering away in the corner to his brother, and Virgil hasn’t emerged from the back just yet.
The man’s grin widens as his fingers curl up to fix his glasses on his face and adjust his hair. “Gosh, I’m not sure. I don’t drink much these days! Any recommendations?” His voice is just as bright as his smile, peppy and enthused. It only feeds the beast within Janus, the creature stirring into his lungs, claws wrapping around his heart, deadly.
Janus sticks the point of his tongue out to sweep it across his lips. A little flirting never hurt anybody. In fact, it usually increases his tip average significantly. And that’s all this is, a little bit of fun, flirting with an attractive man, and hopefully making more money. He doesn’t see a ring on his finger either, so it’s fair game. “We make a mean pornstar martini,” Janus offers, stroking his fingers over his left cheek, where a large patch of vitiligo lies.
The man seems to flush at that, possibly due to the hooded nature of Janus’ stare, or the way he deliberately flutters his lashes, or maybe just the word pornstar in general — the way Janus draws every syllable out, deliberate. “Well, that sounds perfect!” He places a credit card on the counter and rocks on the balls of his feet in a way that is positively adorable. As weird as it feels to call a grown man cute, Janus can’t help himself, can’t stop the word from bouncing around in his brain. “Just start a tab for me?”
Grinning, Janus plucks the card off the bar and hums to himself. “Before I ring you through, I will have to see some ID?” It’s a quaint little trick he holds onto for the older customers. Those who are quite clearly of age, to get in their good books.
And oh does it work. The man goes a splendid dusty rose, complimented beautifully by the tickled pink lights that swirl in the room, stammering over his words with glee. “Goodness me! I don’t remember the last time I was ID’ed at a bar!” But he complies, all giggles and grins, tugging his wallet from his back pocket again to slide his drivers license into Janus’ palm.
Janus is sure to skim the soft pads of his fingers along the man’s inner wrist as he takes the card, humming low in his throat as he takes an exaggerated amount of time to study the identification. “Forty-one, huh?” Janus raises an eyebrow, arching his back ever so slightly where he leans on the bar, scandalous. “I wouldn’t put you a day over thirty Mr… Sanders,” he glances back down at the card.
“Oh please, Mr Sanders was my father, a first name basis is just fine!”
“Well then, Patton,” Janus glances up from the ID and lets the name drip off his tongue like sweet toffee, watching how Patton flicks his wrist dismissively through the air, brushing away the compliments. “You look good, and not just for your age.”
The staff door creaks open, and a significantly more put together Virgil creeps back into his position, just in time to hear Patton as he laughs. “You’re such a charmer!”
Janus grins back at him, not noticing Virgil sauntering to his other side, waving down another production member who’d been hovering at the corner of the bar. Virgil’s eyes, though seemingly focused on taking this order, are burning distinct holes into Janus’ side, though he ignores it with practised ease. “I’m serious! You certainly could’ve fooled me,” his teeth catch his bottom lip as he tosses Patton a lazy smirk, tilting his head to the side.
“You outta get your eyes checked then, kid,” Patton shakes his head, though his bright grin never dissipates, merely growing on his face.
“I’m no kid, I assure you. I’m twenty three,” Janus purrs in response, sliding Patton’s ID back across the countertop to him, reaching for his bar jigger to start making his drink.
“Then you’re eighteen years younger than me,” Patton whistles, and Janus does nothing more than grin wickedly back at him, wiggling his eyebrows as subtly as he can manage. Patton’s dismissiveness does nothing to quell the swimming desire in Janus’ gut. In fact, the addressing of their apparent age gap only adds fuel to the figurative fire raging within him.
Janus pours the drink swiftly, over ice, and passes the glass to Patton, dropping a straw in as he goes. “Enjoy that now, Patton,” he drags his words out deliberately, catching sight of Virgil in the corner of his eye, turning to look sceptically at him. “And come back to me when you inevitably want another, hmm? I’m the best man we’ve got,” he tops the sentence off with a wink, as smooth as the twist of orange floating in Patton’s drink.
Patton flushes even further, a gorgeous red in the multicoloured lighting that begins to shift towards a blue hue. “I- I most certainly will, thank you kindly!” He turns with a wave, dipping his straw in and out of his cocktail as he walks off, mixing the drink together. And whilst Janus hates to see him go, he loves to watch him walk away.
“Seriously?” Virgil sounds from beside him, eyes rolling so dramatically Janus can practically hear it. “Could you be flirting any more obviously?” His arms cross over his front, eyes scanning Janus up and down. The uniform they wear to work here is rather simple, yet flattering on almost anyone. Long sleeved black button up, plain black slacks and all black shoes. They look like they could easily be part of the production crew who swarm around the room. Remus and Virgil prefer to keep their sleeves rolled up to their elbows, whilst Janus keeps his cuffed around the wrists.
Fluttering his lashes, and doing his damn best to look a picture of innocence, Janus tilts his head to the side. “I haven’t a clue what you mean, Virgil!” It isn’t very successful. In spite of Janus’ efforts, he’s known Virgil long enough for the other to be able to see straight through his facade. (That, and he’s not as good at lying as he suspects.)
It’s then that a freed up Remus staggers over, looping his arms around Janus’ waist from behind to tuck his chin over his friend's shoulder. “What’re you talking about, Jay? That was the most blatant fuck me eyes I’ve seen you give in a while. Even Roman picked up on it. He was all ‘eww Patton is old enough to be my dad! Don’t let your sexy, sexy, beautiful friend get plowed by him!’”
“I very much doubt that’s what your sexually repressed brother said, Remus,” Janus scoffs, tugging half-heartedly at Remus’ hands in an attempt to be released.
“Maybe not entirely, I’m paraphrasing,” Remus huffs, refusing to let go and making eye contact with Virgil over Janus’ shoulder. “He is old enough to be your dad though.”
“Janus is into that,” Virgil retorts with a grimace, shrinking in on himself at the sly smirk Janus shoots his way.
Resigning himself to his capture in Remus’ embrace, Janus moves from pulling at his hands to instead stroking affectionately over his knuckles. “Even if I did find him attractive, which I don’t to be clear, I could’ve put in a lot more effort into flirting. I didn’t even roll my sleeves up!”
Remus digs his fingers into Janus’ belly, and Janus squeals in return, wrestling in the grip until Remus finally releases him. “But you would fuck him, wouldn’t you?”
“Duh,” Janus gestures out across the bar, to the plush seating where Patton has plonked himself, “look at him. Of course I would. I’d eat that softie alive.”
“Daddy issues,” Virgil practically sings at him, and Janus lunges to grab his damp rag, throwing it at Virgil’s face. The man catches it, drops it back onto the bar, and sticks his tongue out.
Refusing to admit defeat, Janus returns the gesture, prodding his tongue out from between his lips. It does feel… a little immature to be engaging in such childish back and forth — sinking to Virgil’s level, especially since Janus is two years his senior — but he’s not going to take such insults lying down. “Projecting, much? Just because your dad left you.”
Virgil rolls his eyes, “listen, my parents divorced but at least mine still talk to me.” The words are cast in just as jovial a light as the previous sentiments, and the two are close enough for it to be acceptable. If a stranger had said that to Janus, he’s certain either himself, Virgil, or Remus would’ve been on the attack almost immediately.
Stumped, Janus instead flips Virgil off and turns to rearrange glasses that don’t really need to be moved, but fucking hell he needs something to do.
After ten minutes of the three of them fucking around, there’s a sudden rush of people to the bar. Janus is halfway through pouring his third gin and tonic in two minutes, when he overhears the reasoning for the random, all encompassing, desire for alcohol. To his right, Virgil is serving Roman, and in the most stereotypical, irritating theatre actor voice Janus has ever heard, Roman boasts: “I told everyone it’s time to get up and dance! We must celebrate such a successful show!”
Virgil, who seems totally uninterested, merely hums and nods slowly, dumping a double shot of vodka into Roman’s class.
Roman continues, “are you a musical fan, fine young sir?”
“Not really,” Virgil muses dismissively, topping the drink off with lemonade and placing it in front of Roman. “Are you starting a tab?” He really makes no effort to look interested, face stern, as set as stone.
“Just put Roman’s on mine,” and that voice catches Janus’ attention. He’s taking another card, starting another goddamn tab (this group better fucking tip well), when Patton’s voice shakes him to attention.
“Hey, big spender,” Janus interrupts, ignoring the line of production waiting to bustle Patton in front of him. He curls his fingers in a come hither motion, beckoning Patton forward. He seems unenthused to be skipping the queue, but slides between waiting customers anyway, settling his elbows on the bar. “Paying for the leading lady I see?”
“Just this drink,” Patton amends, and Roman sulks beside him. Janus catches the glare he receives from Roman, the one who had apparently picked up on Janus’ blatant desires. Not that Janus is particularly concerned. Again, it’s not like he’ll get the chance to act on these urges. Very rarely does he have the opportunity to actually shack up for the night with a patron. In two years of diligent service to this gay bar, he’s only fucked three of his regulars.
“You’re the best, Pat,” Roman drops a firm, clapping hand onto Patton’s shoulder, turning in a way that makes the blue lights catch the sparkling highlighter high on his cheek.
“Last name?” Virgil questions, bored, as he taps mindlessly on their till system, “so I can add it to the tab.”
“Sanders,” Janus answers, turning over his shoulder, before spinning back to face Patton with one of his best beaming smiles. Remus is still rushing about next to him, practically growling under his breath about horny coworkers lumping me with the shit. Janus ignores him. “What can I do for you, Patton? Another pornstar, a sex on the beach?” Deliberately salacious choices, he’s well aware. If he’s trying to rile Patton up a little, well, that’s nobody's business but his own. The better he flirts, the better tips he makes, the more everyone gets at the end of the night. Simple mathematics really.
And Patton, beautiful, maddening, Patton — actually fucking giggles. He lifts his hand to his mouth and giggles, and blushes once more, shaking his head. His curls fly around his head, whilst Roman gives a final grimace before he walks off, seemingly disturbed. “You are too much!”
Janus lets his teeth catch his bottom lip again, fingers fiddling with his shirt buttons by his wrists. Does he dare? “I’d say I’m just enough, wouldn’t you?”
“Oh my,” Patton mutters, and Janus wonders how long it’s been since someone properly hit on him. Because if he’s stammering after just this much, then Janus might have to step it up even further. He sort of wants to see how far he can push the older gentleman. He wonders what it’ll take to make Patton break. “I feel like I should at least ask your name before I ask you to give me sex on the beach.”
A little stunned by the reciprocation, Janus curls his lips into a distinctly devilish grin. “It’s Janus, and usually I expect to be wined and dined in advance,” just as before, he fires Patton a wink. “But I can forgive it this once. A sex on the beach, coming right up.”
Usually, he’d keep quiet whilst pouring drinks, allow the patron to chat at him for the time being — but in this instance he’s compelled to keep the conversation flowing. If only to make Patton go crimson once more. “Will we be treated to some of your dance skills tonight?”
“Me? God, no,” Patton chuckles, watching with rapt attention as Janus adds ice to a glass. “I’m not- not one of the actors. I just handle the props!” He smiles softly to himself, eyes tracing Janus’ carefully practised movements as he breezes around the bar.
“Is that so?” Janus raises an eyebrow, grinning at Patton. “Props are very important, aren’t they?”
“Oh absolutely! I make a lot of them myself, or I supply them. I go around the country with it, get hired out. Everything from Broadway to Hollywood to local productions like this one. The travel is fun,” he takes his finished drink from Janus, but doesn’t move. Not even as the other man he’d entered with, the tall one with glasses, breezes past and lays his hand on Patton’s shoulder, murmuring to him. Patton shakes his head in response, and the man blows out a long breath, begrudgingly trudging onto the dance floor.
“Really? Where’s the best place you’ve been with it?” Janus leans over the bar, which has quieted down significantly. It seems as though Roman has successfully wrangled nearly the entire production onto the dance floor, the music pumping steadily through the speakers. Janus does his best to tune it out, to focus in on Patton’s face. On the smile lines creased around his mouth and eyes, on the greyed hairs at his hairline, on the width of his shoulders. On the obvious strength in his arms, the slope of his stomach as he slouches slightly, the breadth of his hands. Christ…
Patton muses and slips his straw into his mouth, tongue toying with it in a way that is downright filthy. Janus is almost certain it isn’t intentional, but finds himself caught up in the way Patton works his mouth around the straw anyway. “London was really amazing. I do most of my work in the US, but I worked on a film set that took me to London for a few weeks. The places I went were… spectacular. And I had to go out to Paris with a different company once too. Just two days, but still…”
Janus hums and fiddles with the ends of his sleeves again, slipping the cuffing buttons from their confines in order to slide the sleeves up his arms. Behind him, off to the side, Remus and Virgil audibly scoff and promptly go back to polishing glasses, murmuring and laughing together as they do. They give Janus a pointed look, Remus mouths ‘Daddy issues!’ at him, and Virgil shakes his head super obviously. Janus flips them off once again, hand hidden below the bar, before it creeps up, elbow on the wood, chin in his palm. “I’ve always wanted to visit London. I know that’s super stereotypical American of me but…” he sighs, fluttering his lashes, “I’d love to do all that stupid touristy stuff. It’s so cool you’ve travelled. I love a cultured man.”
Taking his free hand, Janus strokes along the wood of the bar, making pointed eye contact with Patton, leaning scandalously towards him. Patton, who does go that lovely red colour, stutters and laughs, flicking his gaze away and sipping his drink frantically. “You flatter me too much, Janus!”
“Is that so?” He wonders briefly if he looks okay, if red could be his colour — just as the lights shift towards a more purple colour. Janus prays he looks good, prays his hair hasn’t come too loose from its ponytail. He likes to keep his hair rather long, having had Remus’ assistance in dying chunky blonde highlights through it. More blonde stripes than highlights, but Janus rather likes it. Finds it’s quite complimentary to his skin, dotted and splattered with patches of vitiligo. He’s grown to love his unique features, though it had taken some time. (And maybe he’s not all the way there yet, but that’s not something he’s going to worry about tonight.) “Will flattery get me anywhere with you, Patton?”
The straw falls from Patton’s lips as he places his drink back on the bar, “I think I might be a bit old for you,” he chuckles, shaking his head. As if he thinks Janus is joking. As if he can’t accept Janus being attracted to him.
Janus merely hums in response, fanning his lashes over his cheeks, gazing up at Patton through them. “How's your drink?” He asks instead, tongue darting out to wet his lips. He catches how Patton tracks the movement.
“It’s- it’s lovely, thank you,” he responds, tugging at the grey sweater tied around the shoulders of his black polo. The hue of the lights shift towards a lighter blue once more, and Janus can’t help but think that Patton would look splendid in blue.
Janus smiles at him, coy and precise, “I told you — I make the best drinks here.” He spreads his fingers along the bar, lets Patton stare at the new bare skin before him. It’s not like he’s a prude, it’s not as though it’s Victorian London and Janus has just shown an ankle — but he keeps himself in fairly good shape, and he wants Patton to look. He’s lean, and he’s mean, and he wants Patton to get an eyeful.
“I quite believe it,” Patton replies, his voice trembling. He’s fighting, a war raging on in his own brain, fighting between his obvious wants for Janus, and his worry over being older. Not that Janus is concerned by that. In fact, to Patton, he almost seems excited by it. Patton supposes that should calm his nerves, it doesn’t, but he tells himself it should. It can’t be that bad, not if Janus is an adult who is clearly flirting with him.
Maybe it’s all for tips, simply for monetary purposes. Maybe Patton is falling into his trap, like a mouse to the cheese, by enjoying it. That’s the worst part, oh, he’s enjoying it. He likes how Janus looks at him through his lashes, how he splays himself across the bar, how his mouth moves around each word he speaks. Patton likes how Janus’ eyes trace his body, how the looks linger, how his tongue rests between his teeth.
Janus does so now, his tongue poking out from between his lips slightly. “Finish that up, and go dance. Lord knows I’d love to see how you move,” the tone is teasing, the words striking Patton in the chest. He’s almost frightened by how compelled he is to comply. He’s definitely scared by how much he doesn’t mind Janus telling him what to do.
He’s hit with the phantom feeling of lips against his own, trailing down his neck, and hands firm on his lower back, unbidden in their ferocity. Something in his gut turns sour, coloured by arousal, and in an attempt to drown it, he chugs back the rest of his drink. Patton smiles at Janus, finishing off the last sip. It’s not enough to get him drunk, not even tipsy, for crying out loud he’s a fully grown man — it’ll take a lot more than two weak cocktails. But still, he stumbles on his feet, under the crushing stare of Janus, brain fogged by his salacious smile.
“Pity you can’t come dance with me,” Patton offers, clearing his throat. “I’m sure it gets rather boring, standing behind that bar all night!”
“Oh, not at all. Sometimes a very handsome prop master will come and talk to me, which keeps me plenty entertained,” Janus catches his bottom lip with his teeth again, and again Patton blushes in response. He scratches at the back of his neck.
“Speak for yourself, I mean, you’re gorgeous,” comes Patton’s reply, a sweet slide. He’s pushing it, he probably shouldn’t be reciprocating but… can you blame a guy for trying? Janus is attractive. All long lines and bright eyes, and patchwork skin that Patton cannot stop staring at. Janus is taller too, long and lean and exactly Patton’s type — if younger. He’s young and that too should turn Patton away, and it does, a little bit. But at the same time… He’s reeled in. Hooked on the attention that Janus is serving up to him on a silver platter.
Janus chuckles at him, straightens where he stands and takes Patton’s empty glass from him, dumping the ice out. “Go dance, Patton. I’ll be watching!”
And Janus is watching. He watches as Patton slinks away, occasionally glancing at Janus over his shoulder. He watches as Patton waves to his friends in the production, as he bounces about to the music, as he tips his head back and laughs. Janus watches, and he cleans some glasses, and wipes down the top of the bar, and tries his best to ignore Remus and Virgil vying for his attention.
Unsurprisingly, that last one doesn’t really work. They come at him together, circling and boxing him in, each wearing expressions of varying glee. “Hello, boys,” Janus manages, continuing to wipe down the counter as the two lean on the wood, one Virgil on his left, Remus resting on his right. Remus places a hand on his back, keeping him in place.
“Jan, you dirty dog,” Remus chimes, a wicked grin carving into his cheeks. The fingers of his free hand press into Janus’ wrist, drawing attention to his rolled up sleeves. Ah, so they’d noticed. “You’ve got him right where you want him, don’t you?”
“Again, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Janus keeps his features schooled to a perfect neutral. In his head, he plays images of what he thinks Patton would look like looming over him.
“I can’t believe you,” Virgil voices, “you finish before the rest of us. You’re totally gonna fuck him, aren’t you?” There isn’t much shock to Virgil’s voice. He’s aware of Janus’ tendency to flirt with anyone who moves. They’ve been on work nights out, he’s seen Janus in action. He’s been a reciprocant of one of Janus’ drunken kisses — as has Remus. In fact, all three of them have made out at one point or another. So really, he isn’t surprised that Janus is plotting after a customer. Virgil may have only worked for the bar for six months, but he knows Janus.
Janus hums, tilts his head this way and that, then shrugs. “Maybe.” Non-committable, easy-going. He lets a small smile fall across his features. “Maybe I will.”
He does. He most certainly does.
Janus watches Patton dance, and sulks a little when Patton doesn’t come to order another drink. He observes, as best he can, Patton laughing with the actors, with the crew, with the man he’d entered with. Virgil serves said man a few more drinks and informs Janus that his name is Logan, so Janus can stop calling him ‘the man with those glasses.’ Remus buzzes about, collecting glasses from the seating area, getting caught up chatting to his brother. And Janus… Janus watches.
He can’t help himself. There’s not much time left of his shift, and he serves a few more random people, flirts a little here and there — this time actually for the tips. As the event draws to a close, some members of the theatre team drunker than others, Janus laments his lot in life. Maybe Patton isn’t interested in him, or had second thoughts, or something. Misery.
People begin to stagger out, waving their boisterous goodbyes, going to collect their jackets from the cloakroom. Janus spots Patton, just as he’s finishing splitting the collective tips with Remus and Virgil, and in a last ditch effort, beckons him over to the bar. To his shock, Patton follows. He murmurs something to Roman, who seems unsteady on his feet, and creeps over to the corner of the bar, settling himself with a smile.
“Hey,” Janus breathes across to him, ignoring the way that Remus and Virgil grimace at him. He prays Patton ignores them too. “Did you have a fun night?”
Patton beams at him, and again, Janus’ knees almost buckle. “The best! This really is one of the best teams I’ve worked with in a while.” He’s just so happy. Happy, and a little sweaty from dancing, and Christ Janus hadn’t known he was into that before, but he’s realising now he most certainly is.
Janus hums, “that’s good…” He trails off and glances over his shoulder, then looks back at Patton, “how would you like to make it even more fun?” He trails a finger over the wood, then makes eye contact with the reddening Patton, smirking. He drags his fingers towards Patton, grazing the arm that rests on the bar, hinting.
“W-what do you mean?” Patton asks, though the quiver in his voice tells Janus he knows exactly what’s being implied.
“My shift just ended,” Janus adds, not clarifying anything, “and I live right around the corner.”
It’s a delight to watch Patton’s mouth part, and it’s delicious to watch him stammer over his word choice. Janus can hear the wheels in his brain turning, deciding if he’s really going to do this. “Are you inviting me over?”
“I am, yes,” Janus chuckles and drags his fingers back across Patton’s arm again, purring out his words. “Is that something you might be interested in?”
“I- I’m so much older than you, Janus,” Patton reminds him, and all that does is spur Janus on.
He blinks slowly, processing the information with a grin. “I know you are,” he leans over the bar further, “it doesn’t bother me one bit, Patton, I like an experienced man.”
There’s a beat, a pause as Patton sucks in a breath.
“I’ll wait for you outside.”
And Janus grins, bright. Because he’s won. “I’ll only be a minute,” pouting his lips out, he smacks a kiss into the air and releases Patton, sauntering away, over to Remus and Virgil to pick up his third of the tips. He can feel Patton’s eyes on him, studying the sway in his hips, the slight curve to his waist. It only makes him beam more, and Virgil shakes his head.
“You’re so weird, man,” Virgil comments, stuffing his few cash tips in his pocket. They’ll split the transaction ones later, it’s not Janus’ job, he is getting out of here. “He’s like fifty.”
“Forty one,” Janus corrects, tightening his ponytail slightly. It hovers just above his shoulders for the time being, tied in the center back of his skull.
“That’s not any better,” Remus laughs, tilting his head back as the overhead lights in the event space flicker on. He walks back from the lightswitch, still grinning. “But still man, go get plowed and tell us how it goes, yeah?”
Janus rolls his eyes when Remus claps him on the shoulder. “Yeah yeah, I’ll text you.” He spins on his heel, heading towards the employee door.
Half way through exiting, Virgil pipes up. “Don’t get murdered!”
“I won’t!”
True to his promise, Patton is waiting outside for Janus. He’s leaning against the exterior wall of the bar, shuffling his feet back and forth, playing an inane mobile game on his phone. Janus emerges from the side door, jacket zipped over his black shirt, hands in his pockets, grin on his face. They exchange niceties, Patton pays him a generous compliment, and Janus tugs one of his hands free to loop around Patton’s arm. He drags him home, towards his apartment, chatting mindlessly all the while. The night air is rather cold, but Patton is still warm to the touch, hot wherever Janus shifts his palms to.
Janus is fumbling to get his keys out of his coat pocket when Patton surges forward to kiss him. It catches him off guard, but only for a moment. Patton catches his chin in his hand, pulls Janus into it, pressing their lips together frantically. Patton’s free hand comes back to cradle Janus’ skull, pushing him backwards until his spine knocks off the front door, the two of them still standing in the hallway of the apartment building, where anyone could see them. If anything, it adds to Janus’ excitement, knowing Patton can’t wait any longer.
Janus adjusts, sliding his knee forward to inch between Patton’s thighs, dragging deliberately along his crotch and revelling in the sweet groan he’s gifted. Patton pants against his mouth, biting down on Janus’ bottom lip and tugging. His fingers scratch at Janus’ scalp, broad chest pressed close, grinding rather unsubtly against Janus’ thigh. He has a little stubble, and it scratches delightfully against Janus’ chin, and it’s that combined with the fingers messing up his hair that have him groaning into the kiss. Patton uses this as an opportunity to slide his tongue past Janus’ lips, licking around the back of his teeth, nudging ever closer.
Pulling back and gasping for breath, Janus tilts his head back against the door, panting. Patton makes quick work of his neck, breathing heavy against his skin, and Janus can see his back heaving with each gulp of air. Patton inhales deeply, breathing in the lingering scent of alcohol and cologne, and he groans out quietly against Janus’ pulse point, a soft: “what am I doing?”
Janus strokes his palm down Patton’s back, chuckling. “Lets go inside, hm?” He rocks his knee a little, pressing against Patton’s clothed cock, and the man jerks in place, grunting into Janus’ skin. His teeth graze over his flesh, just a little, making Janus’ breath stutter.
Patton is silent for a moment, seemingly content with nibbling at Janus’ jaw, but finally he gets out, “sure. Yes. Yes, that would be good. Yeah!” He sounds enthused, if a little nervous. But Janus supposes he can understand that. He just prays Patton doesn’t feel too much like a creep. Maybe he wants Patton to feel a little bit perverted, going to bed with someone eighteen years his junior. Maybe Janus is into that, just a bit. Maybe he likes the control it offers him. Maybe he wants to see Patton battle with his desires and his morals, and succumb to the fact that he wants to fuck Janus. Maybe Janus finds that idea very, very hot. Sue him! If that makes him a bad person, then fucking sue him.
Giggling to himself and (begrudgingly) nudging Patton off, Janus manages to get his key in the lock and open the door. It’s a flurry from there, a race of torn off clothing and fast, dirty kisses. Patton wrestles with the buttons of Janus’ shirt, right after tearing his coat off, as the two stumble in the direction of Janus’ bedroom through the dark apartment. It’s illuminated only by the silver moonlight spilling through the open curtains, and Janus uses the opportunity of a struggling Patton to take his hair down. He slides the hair tie down his wrist, lets his hair fall around his shoulders, chunky highlights and all.
“C’mon, gorgeous, give me the goods,” Janus encourages, untying the sweater around Patton’s shoulders and tossing it over the back of the couch as they pass. He kicks his bedroom door open, walking backwards into the room as Patton finally manages to get the last three buttons of Janus’ shirt undone. His chest on display, Patton takes a moment to admire and oh, if that doesn’t spark arousal deep in Janus’ stomach.
It seems that Patton is too caught up in his staring to pay much attention to Janus’ words, so he reaches out, tugging at the bottom of Patton’s black polo. Which seems to do the job. Flicking his gaze back to Janus’ eyes, Patton offers him a smile and moves to strip off his shirt as Janus dances around the room, flicking on a couple warm lamps — set the mood and all. His hands over at his belt, undoing the buckle before he saunters back over to Patton, and slings his arms around Patton’s neck. He chews on his bottom lip, admiring the now shirtless Patton before him. He’s got a little pudge, a hairy chest and stomach, and god that drives Janus insane. Some of his chest hair is greying, and Janus genuinely has to resist the urge to drop to his knees then and there. “Fuck me, you’re gorgeous.”
Patton flushes pink down to his collarbones and chuckles, sliding his hands up Janus’ sides and sliding his open shirt off his shoulders. It drops to the floor silently. “That’s rich coming from you, pretty boy.” Warm, solid palms stroke down his front, down towards his undone belt, before wrapping around the buckle and tugging. The belt slides free, and with it, Janus stumbles forward with a contented hum, eyes blown wide. Patton’s large hand trails over Janus’ waist, trailing down to palm over his cock, in a moment of confidence, and Janus groans, dropping his head to Patton’s shoulder.
“You’re still-” Janus cuts himself off with a hiss after a particularly deft stroke of Patton’s fingers, “still wearing too many clothes,” he squeaks out, rolling his hips deliberately into Patton’s palm, sighing with relief.
“I’d say the same thing about you,” Patton comments, still sounding far too put together. That just won’t do. Janus turns his head a little, nuzzling into Patton’s neck. He licks over his pulse point, nipping gently before sealing his teeth down properly, biting. Patton’s surprised yelp melts into a pleased, debauched moan, and Janus files that information away. He scratches at the top of Patton’s spine, and he slouches, his hand stuttering over Janus’ crotch enough for Janus to be satisfied.
Pulling away, Janus undoes the button of his slacks, pushing them down his thighs and delighting when Patton does the same, kicking them off his ankles. He hops a little whilst getting his socks off, and Janus chuckles, moving to sit on the edge of his bed. He watches with hooded eyes as Patton hesitates with his boxers. He seems apprehensive. Janus turns up the charm in response. “God, you’re so hot,” he mewls, and watches as Patton looks over at him. He takes the opportunity to stroke over his boxers, tented, and arch his back a little, groaning out. It does the trick, because Patton shakes off his bout of nervousness, tugging his boxers down and tossing them behind him. “Get over here,” Janus beckons, actually licking his lips at the way Patton’s cock bobs between his legs.
Patton chews on his bottom lip and complies, stalking ever closer into Janus’ open arms. He strokes down Patton’s chest, over his abdomen, hovering over a love handle at his hip. “Your hands are cold,” Patton comments with a chuckle, own palms encouraging Janus further back onto the bed. He goes, because of course he does, lips parted, eyes hooded, to settle against his mountain of pillows.
“Come warm me up,” Janus purrs, luxuriating in the attention as Patton slides closer, leaning down to press their chests together. He connects their lips, rocking his naked crotch against Janus’ clothed one, the two of them groaning in tandem. They continue like that for a minute more, rolling turning more into rhythmic thrusting, a simulation of fucking that has Janus straining up into Patton. “C’mon, get a move on. Enough teasing, please,” the plea slides out without Janus meaning it to, but Patton is clearly a fan, groaning and nodding.
“Okay, baby, let me take care of you,” Patton murmurs, fingers trailing along the elasticated waistband of Janus’ boxers. His fingers slip beneath, pulling, and Janus lifts his hips to assist. It’s with a pleased sigh that Patton wraps his warm palm around Janus’ cock, the stroke slow and dry, but it’s enough to have Janus whimpering. Janus lets out a low groan and Patton releases him, licking his palm before taking Janus back into his hand, and Janus moans aloud, jerking his hips into the touch. “You make such sweet sounds, god.”
“Patton,” Janus hurries, his hands sliding up Patton’s arms, grabbing at his biceps. He rolls up into the touch, doing his best to look as ‘seductive’ as possible, whining. “Please, please, I want you to fuck me. Come on.” Whilst the touch is nice, of course it is, it’s not what he wants. He wants Patton to fuck him into the mattress, he wants to feel it the next day, he wants to bury his face in the pillow and scream.
Patton grunts above him and nods, drawing back. “Okay, okay, baby. Where- where do you keep, you know, lube and such?” He sits back, onto his heels, and Janus pauses, the words not quite reaching his ears as he takes in the sight before him. Patton, essentially a stranger, thick thighed and soft, his eyes wide behind his glasses (that Janus sincerely hopes he intends to keep on), lips parted, swollen from kisses. His cock, heavy and thick, throbs, glistening at the tip. All because of a couple kisses and some light grinding. All because of Janus. God, this could be the death of him. He’s exactly Janus’ type. He looks as though he could throw Janus across the room, or bundle him up in blankets and take care of him.
Okay, maybe Janus has daddy issues. Something to unpack at a later date.
“Bedside drawer,” Janus manages to get out, leaning and stretching to pull said drawer open. He tosses a half-empty bottle of lube onto the bed, and follows it with a wrapped condom, settling back comfortably into the pillows. With any luck, he’ll end the night face down in them, but for now he’s contented to witness Patton’s face. He’s perfectly happy admiring Patton’s form, his gentle curls, the flame in his eyes as he leans closer, sucking a mark into Janus’ shoulder. Janus whines into the warmth of his bedroom, making fists in his bedsheets and rocking up into Patton. They let out simultaneous groans at the slide of their cocks together, the friction shocking Patton into pulling his shit together.
“Let’s get this show on the road, huh?” Jovial, Patton giggles, running his fingertips down the inside of Janus’ spread thighs. Usually the use of… that sort of language would be a turn off, but Janus is endeared. He smiles and nods and spreads his legs wider, encouraging. He hears the tell tale snap of the lube cap, and leans his neck, watching as Patton spreads the viscous liquid over his fingers. “You’re so beautiful,” he compliments, dragging his non-lubed hand over Janus’ thighs again, giving feather-light touches to the base of his cock that leave Janus panting in want.
Patton presses the tip of his finger to Janus’ entrance and he lets out a long breath he doesn’t even realise he’d been holding. He rocks down into it, trying to encourage Patton past his rim, and Patton goes. He slides one finger in, letting Janus get used to the intrusion, and connecting their lips once more. And it’s messy, messy as Patton starts to move, pumping his finger in and out for a second too short before adding another. The stretch stings with a pain that Janus just loves, his mouth dropping open. The kiss is more panting into each others open mouths, occasionally swirling tongues together, and when Janus’ head tips back, saliva drops onto his chin. Patton’s scissoring his fingers, properly, actually, stretching Janus open, and the thought of it makes his mind a little fuzzy.
“Doin’ okay?” Patton asks, voice a little gruff. Janus can feel a third finger prodding, waiting for his response.
When he opens his mouth, Patton curls his fingers, and the good, yep, Janus had been prepping to say dies on its way out. Instead, it’s replaced by a strangled cry, a gulp for air that’s almost embarrassing. “Please,” Janus says, and Patton’s quick to slide the third finger in. It’s all too much, and not enough, and it’s exactly what Janus has been looking for. “I’s enough, it’s good- it’s great, come on, Patton, please. Want- want your cock now.”
Patton groans, his chin dropping to his chest. He retracts, his fingers pulling out. He reaches for the condom Janus had tossed his way, unwrapping it to roll down his cock. Janus watches, mouth agape, face flushed with delight. “You’re gonna be the death of me, kid,” Patton comments, hoarse and rough. His face contorts as he brushes over his cock, breath a shaky exhale between his teeth.
Janus hums, “don’t call me kid whilst I’m drooling over your dick,” he jokes, stretching out deliberately. He hears how Patton’s breath catches in his throat at the sight, glowing with pride.
“Sorry,” Patton giggles, shifting forward on his knees. “How do you want this? You prefer being on your back or…?”
“Lemme flip over,” Janus insists, getting one last, long look at Patton’s form. “I want you to fuck me into the mattress. Don’t be shy. I know you’ve got it in you,” he practically purrs against Patton’s ear, leaning up to nip at his earlobe.
He rolls over, and Patton pets down his spine, hands grazing over the swell of his ass before stroking down the backs of his thighs. “What a way with words,” Patton jokes, sarcasm dripping from his voice. Janus hadn’t expected that from the seemingly rather peppy persona Patton has, but he can’t say it’s unwelcome. He turns his cheek against the pillow as Patton shuffles forward more, the head of his cock nudging against Janus’ hole. When he presses in, just a little bit, Janus chokes on his retort, voice breaking into a high, pathetic whine instead. “Cat got your tongue, baby?”
Janus groans and surges his hips back, not afraid to look desperate. He sort of likes it, maintaining his control whilst giving into the sensations too. He rocks back and forth, propped up on his knees and elbows. With any luck, it won’t take long for him to be flat on his face, sobbing into the pillow. “Please,” he urges, “more. Please?”
“How can I deny a voice as sweet as that?” Patton murmurs. He strokes down Janus’ back again, one large palm coming to rest on his waist, thumb tracing soft circles into his skin. Patton shifts his hips forward, sliding home with a low, vibrating groan. When he’s flush with Janus’ ass and panting, Janus beams, hiding his smile by tilting his chin down.
“God,” Janus huffs, breathless, “fuck. You’re big. Bigger than I thought,” he sways a little, trying to adjust. It stings, just a bit. But it’s good. “Okay, okay. I’m good. You can move.”
“You sure?” Patton sounds as though he’s gritting his teeth, apprehensiveness creeping back into his voice.
“I’m certain,” Janus assures, dragging himself forward before fucking himself back on Patton’s cock, drawing a soft moan from his lungs. “Fuck, I’m more than certain. Please, move. Please,” he repeats the motion, too impatient to resist fucking himself.
Patton groans, his hold on Janus’ waist getting harsher, digging in. “You’re really tight,” he grunts, leaning further over Janus’ body, lips trailing absent mindedly over the back of Janus’ neck. “And you’re so needy, greedy for it, aren’t you, baby?”
“Uh huh,” Janus squeezes his eyes shut, arching his back to push his ass up more, a much louder moan dropping from his lips this time. It’s then that Patton chuckles against his skin, his breath blowing on Janus’ hair, which falls around his face, framing him. He holds Janus’ waist tightly, retracts his hips, and thrusts back in, hard.
Janus moans obscenely, head dropping, mouth open. He whines, the jolt everything he’s been needing. “Please,” he repeats, “please. Again. More, please-” his pleas are cut off by Patton repeating the motion, groaning lowly against Janus’ ear, pressing his bare chest to Janus’ back.
Patton groans out against Janus’ skin, changing the angle of his thrusts after a minute of the back and forth, and is rewarded by Janus crying out. His whole body tenses, head dropping low as he moans, trembling under Patton’s grip. “There!” He practically sobs, and Patton braces himself as best he can, gripping Janus’ waist hard enough to leave bruises.
“Fuck, baby,” Patton whines, hips slapping obscenely off Janus’ ass, “fuck, you feel so good,” the praise lights a fire within Janus, who sobs, nodding and rocking in Patton’s grip. Patton speeds up a little, something he doesn’t think he’ll be able to keep up for long, but he’s inclined to try.
“There, there, please-” Janus is almost incoherent, delirious with pleasure as he shakes. His shoulders give out, arms stretching forward to grip at his pillow as he turns his cheek against it, eyes hazy as Patton continues to pound in and out. “Please, please, more. Oh god, oh god, please, Daddy!”
And Patton goes deathly still. He stops, abrupt and panting, and all Janus can do is whine and drool against the pillow, trying in vain to tilt his head back and look at Patton.
Patton is… conflicted. His mind is racing. Jumping between oh god, oh no, this is so wrong, this is so wrong, he’s so much younger than me and, of course, holy shit please call me that again.
He digs his thumb into Janus’ hip, drinking in the sweet gasp he receives like wine. He presses his lips to the back of Janus’ neck, the hand not gripping his side coming up to collect some of Janus’ long hair, tugging. Janus goes with a moan, his eyes closed, lips swollen and parted. Patton shifts his hips again, leaning up, tugging Janus with him by the hair until he’s back on his hands and knees. “God, baby, you’re really quite the whore, aren’t you?”
Janus cries out, doing his best to nod, though it’s in vain with the grip Janus has on his hair. He’s pulled back enough to expose the ark of his neck, the long line of his throat. “Yes- yes,” Janus gasps, pushing back into Patton’s harder thrusts, “you like that, hm?” He manages to groan out, “like it when I call you Daddy?”
The hand in his hair tightens, and Janus groans again, whatever he was going to say dying on his lips when Patton shifts the angle once more, pounding directly into his prostate. “Mmm, maybe,” Patton grunts, tugging at Janus’ hair and basking in his high moan.
“Fuck,” Janus cries, shaking in Patton’s hold. He can feel it, a fuzzy tingle building in his scalp, spreading through his muscle, ever downwards. “Fuck, please, please, Daddy, more,” he tries to drop his head again, feeling heavy, body jerking back and forth as Patton speeds up, his thrusts harsher than before. He’s not certain how much noise he’s making, everything sounds underwater, all he can feel is the intensity of Patton’s cock — stretching him open, pounding into him — and the strain of his hair being pulled.
Patton’s mumbling something, biting at his shoulder, his eyes squeezed tightly shut. And then the hand on his waist is releasing, creeping over his body, stroking every inch of skin as it goes before wrapping firmly around his cock. Janus moans weakly at the touch, caught between fucking up into Patton’s fist, or rocking back on his dick. “You’re so light, baby. Could just throw you around,” Patton comments, fist moving in time with his thrusts.
The mere idea has Janus crying out, rapidly approaching his release. “Ah- you, you could- if you wanted. Oh god, you could,” he tips his head back, skull connecting with the expanse of Patton’s soft chest. “God- Daddy, feels s’good, please don’t stop, please,” there’s tears brimming, his eyes rolling back in his head as each comment, each slurred daddy only seems to spur Patton on more. He’s groaning over Janus, his glasses sliding down his nose, forehead damp with sweat.
Janus sort of wants to lick it off. But that’s a thought for another day too.
It’s a little pathetic, yeah, Janus recognises that. But he doesn’t care. He feels much too good to care. This perfectly fine older man is giving him his best fuck in a while, and his eyes are rolling in his head, his teeth clamped down hard enough on his lip to draw blood, and Patton doesn’t let up, tugging at his hair and stroking his cock and pounding into him ferociously.
“You feel so good, baby. So tight and hot for me,” it’s nothing like the shy, yet enthusiastic, man at the bar. Janus feels almost privileged to see this other side of Patton. “Wanna make you come on my cock, can you do that for me? Can you come on Daddy’s cock, baby?”
Janus practically screams, rocking between the tight hand on his dick and the insistent push and pull of Patton’s body. “Yes- yesyesyes, please, please,” he can barely get the words out, delirious. “I can- I can, I’m gonna- please, Daddy, please. So close, so fucking close-”
Patton chuckles against him, his hips faltering a little, “me too, pretty baby. Come on, come on. Come for me, let Daddy feel how tight you get- let me hear you.” The encouragement, mixed with the praise and the fact that Janus is making Patton feel just as good is so nearly enough. So nearly-
And then Patton pulls on Janus’ hair, hard, jerking his neck back, and the heat flooding Janus’ body surges downwards, every nerve buzzing as he trembles. “Daddy!” He cries out, Patton’s hand on his cock doing him in. He tenses, tightening every muscle as his orgasm is dragged out of his body, spurting over his previously clean sheets.
Behind him, Patton groans loudly, Janus’ tightening around his cock enough to pull him over the edge, spilling into the condom as he continues to rock forward. Janus whines in overstimulation, straining against the tight hold on his waist and hair. He’s going to have bruises in the shape of Patton’s hand in the morning for sure.
Patton breathes hot air over Janus’ neck, releasing the grip on his hair as he edges his cock out, petting over Janus’ spine as he whines in overstimulation again. “I know, baby, I know. You did such a good job for me, so good.” He ties the condom off quickly, swiping the back of his palm over his forehead to try and get rid of the sweat.
Janus flops forward on his bed, avoiding the wet spot as best he can, pressing his face into the pillow with a deep exhale. He can hear Patton shifting, tossing the used condom in the waste basket, before shuffling awkwardly. “Thank you,” Janus eventually groans, voice hoarse from shouting. “Do you need me to call you an Uber or anything?”
Patton seems stunned by this, as Janus rolls over to face him, hanging on the edge of his bed. Janus raises an eyebrow, stretching and clicking out his strained muscles. “Oh-! No, um, it’s okay. I can call myself. I’ll uh- I’ll get out of your hair-!” Had he expected Janus to ask him to stay? That’s not what this is, he has to know this is just a hookup, right?
“Alright,” Janus shrugs, “that’s your choice. I had fun though, thank you for that.” He yawns, deciding that he can clean up in the morning, he’s expecting to wake up to about a thousand texts from Remus, and maybe three from Virgil. If he’s lucky, he’ll be able to tidy and change his sheets and invite the two over for drinks and debriefing.
He watches Patton collect some of his clothes that are in this room, redressing as Janus reaches for his boxers on the floor, trying to reach them without leaving the bed. He uses them to mop up the come on his sheets and stomach, before tossing the now dirtier underwear onto the carpet once more. “I had fun too…” Patton trails off, buttoning his jeans and sliding his socks back on. “I suppose I’ll be off then- I guess. Um- bye, Janus! Maybe I’ll see you in the bar again!”
“Yeah, maybe!” Janus calls back, waving a goodbye to Patton as he trails out of the bedroom. He leaves the door open, and Janus catches sight of him collecting the rest of his clothes and redressing before leaving through the front door. It clicks shut as he goes, and Janus shrugs, reaching into his bedside drawer, around the condoms for his pack of after-sex cigarettes and a lighter.
Drawing one to his lips and lighting it, he relaxes back into his pillows. Illuminated by the lamp light and naked, Janus smokes slowly to himself. Satiated, satisfied, pleased. He smiles around his cigarette, what a successful night!
Patton waits for his Uber outside, satiated, satisfied, cold. He chews on his nails, the guilt beginning to settle into his gut more and more with every passing second. One things for sure, he cannot tell anybody he slept with someone as young as Janus. Never.