number22 | (no subject)

Without the money from Todd Chad, the work is certainly different.

It's more violent, for one, with Philip taking whatever he can get. It's usually something as simple as delivering a warning, roughing someone up, making sure to leave behind a few good bruises before he walks off into the night, and it's not as if he isn't used to it, he's done far worse things for money, but he'd had things so easy for a time.

Still, he has plenty of money at the moment and so he's not particularly concerned about his financial state. The work is harder and he'd quite enjoyed coasting, but there's a fair bit of enjoyment to be had in all this as well. To be had in wrapping his arm around someone's throat from behind and pulling them into the shadows where he can deliver a few well placed blows in near silence.

That isn't what he's doing tonight, though he supposes the job is just as illegal. There are four different men who owe money to a certain loan shark in the city and in this case, Philip's job hasn't been to rough them up or break their fingers or anything violent at all, although he's delivering a message all the same. Over the course of the night, he's broken into three different homes and left a framed family portrait in the middle of the kitchen or dining room table. On each photograph, a red line had been drawn across the throat of the man's wife and any children he has.

It's a little dramatic and silly, but Philip is being paid to deliver the portraits and so he does.

He's just finished the last and is easing his way out of the house when he realizes he's not entirely alone. There's someone on the street and although he can't be entirely certain, he thinks he may have been seen.

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Philip's not wasting any time, not bothering to tease or draw it out. He sucks wetly, greedily, and Freddie bits his lip harder as he grips Philip's hair tight and rolls his hips again, sliding in further, welcoming the press of Philip's wandering fingertip. Confined as he is in his own pants and trousers, he can't spread his legs as wide as he'd like, but that's half the appeal, too. He's stuck here just as Philip is, stuck in the middle of some family's back garden with Philip's mouth on his cock and his own knees still damp from sucking on Philip's.

It's heady, really. All of it. The idea that they may still get caught and, more so, that Philip is doing this at all, that he hadn't zipped up and gone on his way just as soon as Freddie'd swallowed.

He lets out another grunt, a choked off little groan as his cock bumps the back of Philip's throat and that finger nearly, nearly touches where he wants it most. Riled as he is, it's enough to send him over and he tugs sharply at Philip's hair, half in pure instinct and half in warning as his cock pulses and he comes, head falling back to blink blindly up at the night sky with a silent cry.

There's a warning in that pull of his hair, but Philip doesn't pull back, instead surging forward, taking Freddie as deep as he can and he feels the urge to gag, but forces it away, instead focusing on the way he can feel Freddie's cock twitching between his lips and against his tongue. And he can't catch it all, Freddie comes into his mouth and he has to finally pull back a little, semen dribbling from between the lips even as his throat works and he groans again, half in pleasure and half in some sort of discomfort that he loves almost as much.

It isn't until he can feel that Freddie's hips have stopped moving that he pulls back finally, carefully letting Freddie slip from his mouth before he wipes the back of his hand against his chin. While he doesn't care much what people think of him, he doesn't exactly want to get into a conversation with someone about the state he's currently in while he tries to head home.

This isn't enough, he wants so much more than this, but even he knows better than to shove Freddie's trousers down and bend him over in a public place like this. No matter how badly he might want to, it's a bad idea.

Freddie comes back to himself slowly, finally letting out a low grunt of satisfaction before sucking in a deep breath. He glances downward, catching the white of Philip's eyes in the darkness. His eyes have adjusted enough to make out the barest glimmer of come that drips from his mouth, glinting in the bare moonlight. The sight of it makes him groan all over again and, supporting his weight on one arm, slides his other hand down his belly to curl around himself. He's still half-hard, still sensitive, and he hisses quietly as he taps his spent cock twice against Philip's chin and then tucks himself back into his pants.

"Guess I can mark that one off my list," he says, grinning as he reaches out to brush his fingers along Philip's stubbled cheek.

He's still breathing a little hard, his muscles loose and he still feels like there could be more here. He wonders how far Philip would be willing to go as he leans in closer, eyes dark. "Tell me -- how many people have you fucked in a stranger's back garden?"

"Recently?" Philip asks in return, though he's smirking and he's sure Freddie knows he hasn't. Dark corners of clubs, certainly, and a back alley here and there, especially in the thirties, but never in someone else's yard, in their garden. It's not that he has lines, it's just that the opportunity has never presented itself until now.

His cock twitches at the mere thought and he can feel heat beginning to build again.

"Is that what you want?" he asks, grinning at Freddie in the dark. "Do you want me to turn you over on this little bit of lawn furniture and fuck you until you're loud enough that the lights finally turn on?"

It feels like a dangerous question somehow, as though Freddie'd not considered any such thing until Philip voiced the question. That's not the case, of course, but now that it's out there, it tugs at Freddie's insides and he slides a hand up the front of Philip's chest, tugging at the fabric of his shirt to draw him closer. The chaise is hardly comfortable in the least and Philip's hovering rather precariously, but Freddie hardly seems to care as he arches upward.

"The point is to not get caught," he insists, his voice low against Philip's lips. "I can stay quite as a mouse while you're fucking me." He arches an eyebrow then as he loosens his hold on Philip's shirt, sliding it downward to tug the tail end free of Philip's trousers, spreading his hand wide over warm skin. "Unless it's the challenge you want. See if you can make me break and start begging for you?"

He would really rather not be caught, simply because spending any sort of time in jail doesn't sound the least bit appealing, but he grins anyway and in response he captures Freddie's mouth in a long, slow kiss. It's deep and messy and by the time he's pulling back, he's breathing hard again, his cock halfway to ready. As far as unexpected plans go, this has to be one of the better ones and although his position is awkward and uncomfortable, he slides his hands down to Freddie's hips and tugs him closer.

"I'll fuck you until you can't breathe," he promises in a low voice. "Words won't be a concern."

And then he kisses Freddie again, heedless of his answer. He has a feeling he knows what it will be, regardless of where they've found themselves. The danger truly is part of the thrill, after all.

It's far more of a promise than a threat, though the edge of danger in Philip's voice coupled with the very real likelihood that Philip could easily make it a treat send a shiver down Freddie's spine. His gaze drops immediately to Philip's mouth, lips visibly red and spit-slick even in the darkness before those lips are on his once again, stealing a low groan as Freddie worms his hand between them, scrambling at the front of Philip's trousers and delighting in finding him hard yet again.

"Better make it quick," he says between one gasp of breath and the next as he clumsily tugs at Philip's underpants and shifts closer, right up to the edge of the chaise. He pulls away soon enough, his lips bruised and breath fast in his lungs, lifting up enough to tug his own underwear and trousers down his thighs. "Wouldn't want to get caught balls deep in a bloke, would you?"

In truth, a bit of Freddie finds the prospect incredibly alluring. But he's not keen on getting arrested for indecent exposure either.

It's a funny statement, but not one without truth, and even as Philip grinds out a laugh, he has to realize the reality of it. Darrow is different, of course, and while they would still get arrested if anyone were to catch them, it wouldn't be because they're both men. In the thirties, that in itself was illegal and Philip had been exceptionally careful never to get caught. He does the same in Darrow. It's true he doesn't worry quite as much, but he also doesn't take any men out on dates like he does with women.

Even now, he's careful about what he does.

"Wouldn't want to get caught either way," he says instead, because he's not about to let anything ruin this. He tugs at Freddie's trousers, getting them down further and he knows it's going to be a tight fit, rough and quick, but that makes it somehow more appealing. "Ought to get me ready, shouldn't you?"