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They didn’t call his name.
The instructor carried on down the list of roles and who would be playing them, but nowhere did Jean hear his name. He looked around, hoping to see anyone else who noticed the mistake, but found everyone absorbed in their own worlds.
He didn’t get the part?
“Excuse me!” He called after the instructor as the class ended and people started gathering their belongings. She looked up at him from her clipboard with a wry smile.
“Yes?”
“Are you certain that’s it? I wasn’t–”
“A good fit for this production,” she finished with an air of finality. “Any further questions?”
There weren’t any, and Jean knew better than to push the issue if he ever wanted to dance under this company again. As luck would have it, it would cost too much to move back to NYC, and the unemployment checks would take a while to come in.
So back to stripping it was.
Stripping wasn’t Jean’s first choice of a side job, but it was the easiest. He could set his own hours, make some easy money hanging around women, and still keep his bills paid until the next season began.
He collected his things from his locker, wondering if his old clubs had any recent slots open, just as his friend, Noriaki sidled up to him, bag in hand.
“Are you okay? I know you were looking forward to getting that part,” he asked. Jean sighed, resting his head against the metal door.
“Yeah, I’m–no, I’m not fine! Why the hell wasn’t I picked?” He complained. “I’ve got amazing form, my work speaks for itself!”
Noriaki smiled, nodding. “It does, which is probably why they didn’t go for you this time. Nutcracker maybe?”
Jean groaned, and with a resigned sigh, he said, “I just need to find some work until then. I’ll have to hit the strip club scene again, but my heart isn’t into it there.”
They walked through the halls past other dancers and classes being carried out. As ballet dancers, their pay was limited only by which productions they were part of, and if they didn’t make the cut–well, they needed to find something in the meantime.
The cool spring air of D.C. greeted them as they stepped through the doors, and Noriaki turned to Jean and said, “Have you considered gay strip clubs?”
Gay strip clubs had been off the table for consideration, strictly due to the fact that Jean wasn’t gay himself. It seemed weird to put himself in that environment when he knew he’d just be uncomfortable, and possibly taking up space from a gay man who actually needed the money more than him.
“No, I’m not gay, man,” Jean shook his head.
“But…you are broke, right?”
That was true. “I’m not desperate though!”
“Listen,” Noriaki said quietly, “I know your pride won’t allow it, but I’m just looking out for you, okay? There’s a really nice gay club that usually gets…higher caliber clients, if you know what I mean. You actually want to dance? Go there. You have the body for it.”
“Nori!” Jean exclaimed, surprised that his usually conservative friend knew of such a place. “How do you know about this?”
Noriaki laughed uneasily, scratching the back of his head. “I might have a connection. I can get you an audition, but you’ll need a couple things first.”
It was the strangest audition Jean had ever attended. He buzzed the door to be let in in the early afternoon, then a tall, foreboding Asian man opened the door to let him in. He said nothing, even as Jean asked numerous questions and tried to make small talk. The decor of the establishment seemed pretty standard for a club, save for only one stage in the center of the room. A bar sat against the wall, and then a few other doors across the way. Booths and tables lined the opposite wall of the bar, inclined for easier viewing. He guessed that would probably be the reserved seating.
The audition itself felt closer to a job interview than anything. An older man introduced himself as Joseph Joestar and then took his legal documents and disappeared for half an hour. Upon returning, he informed Jean that he’d passed his background check and could continue to the audition.
“That was fast,” Jean commented. Usually those took a few days.
Joseph winked, and said, “We have our ways. What brought you here?”
What brought him here was an embarrassing lack of performance on his part. Rather than say, “I sucked so bad at my last audition that I’m not going to be in a ballet this season,” Jean answered, “I wanted to try something different for once, rather than the straight clubs.”
Joseph snorted, and the tall man who had walked him in looked away.
“Sure, okay. You’re straight?”
Jean furrowed his brow. “Yeah?”
“Alright,” Joseph chuckled. “Let’s see what you can do.”
The pole was daunting. Jean had seen plenty of women go up one, but never men. What if he crushed his balls trying to do a trick? It wouldn’t work in his favor if he ended up on his knees puking his guts out on stage.
“I’ll play some music, you just show me what you can do in one minute,” Joseph explained from the floor. The other man pulled a mini speaker from his pocket and connected it to his phone. Music started playing, but it wasn’t classical, nor was it techno or dubstep. It wasn’t a hyperpop mix either, something he could kind of work with.
Jean didn’t listen to hip hop. He didn’t know the first thing about this style of dance.
He tried to find the beat and rock back and forth, rocking his hips. His heart raced, unsure of what he should be doing to cater to a gay club, and tried rolling his body to the beat. He brought his hands up to his face and ran his hands down his neck and chest, dipping his fingers into his waistband as he moved, teasing at pulling his pants down a little further.
The music mercifully came to an end exactly at one minute, and the two men stepped away to deliberate, leaving Jean standing on the stage awkwardly. Whatever was being said, the guard seemed to be very insistent about something, and eventually it looked like Joseph caved, as his shoulders sagged forward and he shook his head.
“Jean, can you start tomorrow night?” He called from a ways away. Jean nodded, hopping off the stage to meet him closer.
“Yes! What’s your dress code?”
Joseph raised an eyebrow. “Whatever you’re comfortable in. Tomorrow is amateur's night. We already have a lineup, but I guess I can make an exception and squeeze you in for an early time slot.”
Amateur's night? Squeezed in? “How many dancers do you have who are regulars?” Jean asked.
“Three, four if one would answer his phone more often,” he grumbled. “You might meet them if they decide to come watch. They get my main slots. They’ve got regulars, and I have to keep business running around here.”
Jean didn’t like to overcomplicate things. When he first met Mohammed, he immediately assumed he was a person much like him who needed a job. Why he thought that of him and not Jotaro, whose name he learned later, was beyond him. He just had a gut instinct that he trusted.
“It’s good to see you man,” Jean held his hand out to shake. Mohammed had looked at it, looked at him, then nodded without ever taking his hand. He was too cool; Jean smiled.
“I’m just here for some money,” he explained. “I usually dance for women, but gay men might as well be the same thing, right?”
Again, Mohammed hadn’t said anything beyond shrugging. Jean liked how quiet he was. He was mysterious, and he looked intimidating with his large muscles and stern demeanor. He could trust this man to watch his back and not let anyone get too handsy with him.
His first night was humbling, to say the least. What could fly for an audience of women suddenly didn’t work with an audience of well dressed men. They weren’t outright rude, but the crowd was dead to his attempts at being sexy. He danced to music he provided, something he’d used many times before, and still all he received were pity tips.
At the end of his set, he collected his money only to realize he’d barely earned enough for groceries.
He looked over to Mohammed, standing behind the crowd near the bar, and took his modest earnings to the dressing rooms to get himself together.
“Don’t be discouraged, honey,” one of the dancers said when he saw Jean’s handful of cash. Jean glared at the smaller man, tan with a pretty face and lean body. “Rome wasn’t built in a day.”
“It wouldn’t hurt to actually learn how to dance,” the other one said, fair skinned with a dark bob. “The men here like to see some talent.”
“I can dance,” Jean snapped. “I just can’t do ballet here.”
They both looked at each other and snorted before devolving into laughter.
“Okay,” the bobbed man said. “Sure. I saw Corpo di Ballo del Teatro alla Scala , when I was back home, and I saw you. I know who would have made more money tonight doing warm ups.”
They continued to laugh, and Jean rushed to gather his things and head home. His ego was bruised, and his pride was starting to wane, but the ridicule only lit a fire in him.
He wasn’t allowed to dance on the popular nights, and amateur's night only happened the last Thursday of the month. In the meantime, Jean went back to dancing for all women clubs and practicing in his apartment, recording himself on camera and reviewing footage to take notes. It shouldn’t have been hard to come up with something to work with; what was he missing?
He returned to the club before it could open, so he could ask Mohammed for professional advice, as one straight man to another.
“You want my opinion?” Mohammed asked, startling Jean with a verbal response for once. “Give up. You’re not comfortable dancing for men.”
Jean furrowed his brow. “No can do. The other ones laughed at me–”
“Who, Bruno and Rohan?”
“If that’s their names, then yeah!” Jean confirmed. “The one with the hair–”
“Bruno.”
“He said the men here like talent. I am talented, but I can’t exactly relevé on the stage!”
Mohammed nodded and stroked his chin. “I could give you pointers, but–”
“Dude, would you? Because I need an unbiased opinion and some insight on what I’m doing wrong!” It’d be like dancing with Noriaki, getting an outsider’s perspective to correct his posture and call him out when his feet weren’t pointed the right way. And best of all, Mohammed seemed receptive to the idea.
Jean made a point of practicing early in the day with Mohammed so that he could go and take what he learned to the women’s clubs and test out the differences his lessons made. Mohammed was quiet, but that was something Jean appreciated, as any extra commentary would have made him uncomfortable. He sat in a chair while Jean tried to learn how to dance to r&b and hip hop, music he was wholly unfamiliar with, but that Mohammed had provided.
“These are easy songs once you get comfortable with them,” Mohammed had said. “Some of these are on Rohan’s playlist–”
“I don’t want to do anything he does,” Jean said quickly. “I can make it on my own.”
“To be truthful, no you can’t,” Mohammed countered. “Rohan has been dancing here for a while, longer than I’ve been working here. He had a serious following when I came along, and it’s only tripled since then. You need to learn from those who came before you in order to understand what you’re missing.”
Jean didn’t like Rohan. On top of being arrogant and rude, he was blunt, disrespectful, and seemed to enjoy picking on Jean for no real reason. Bruno was similar, although he said nothing to Jean and hardly acknowledged him when they were around.
But Rohan was malicious. He would sit and watch Jean’s dances from the bar and visibly laugh while sipping his drink. It was as if he only appeared to make fun of Jean, and at this point Jean didn’t care if he was the best dancer in the world ; he would never respect someone who behaved so childishly.
All he needed was Mohammed and some time.
The first time he knew he had improved, it wasn’t because of the crowd. Sure, he’d made more money, but during practice, Mohammed had shifted.
“You need to learn pole tricks,” Mohammed had said. “Not everyone can pull them off, but if you can, then it’s worth it. Are you familiar with Cardi B?”
Of course he was, even if he didn’t listen to her music. “Yeah, why?”
“Go home and watch her music video for ‘Money.’ I think if you watch that, at least you’ll understand the energy you need to come at this with.”
It was an odd suggestion, but Mohammed hadn’t steered him wrong so far. Jean didn’t bother asking Mohammed for pointers on pole work either. He needed time to get used to navigating the damned thing and getting comfortable. He’d tried convincing himself it was no different from using the banister in the practice rooms, but as he quickly learned while trying to use it in the same manner, it asked for different movements from his body.
Jean didn’t realize how self conscious he was until he was in the club by himself in the middle of the day, Joseph having let him in with him when he came to do paperwork.
“It’s good to see someone around here take their job seriously besides me,” he commented. “Call me if you need anything.”
Jean played the playlist Mohammed had sent him and thought of the music video. There were dance moves Jean could understand at a fundamental level, but translating that into his own body was proving difficult. He knew what he was looking at, but trying to be sexy as he arched his back and splayed himself across the floor felt…uncomfortable.
Still, he had no choice but to try. His savings were steadily dropping as time passed. It was October, and he’d been out of work for a month. Unemployment hadn’t yet kicked in, and he needed to start making some money or progress at the very least, quickly.
Jotaro, Joseph’s grandson, as he’d learned, sometimes lingered around the club well before it opened or on days it was closed. On a day Jean was practicing, he watched Jean practice pole tricks such as the back hook spin and the ballerina spin. Jotaro’s eyes were cold and calculating, but unreadable. He couldn’t decipher what his purpose was for watching Jean so closely, but it made him uncomfortable. After half an hour of unbroken interest, Jean finally dropped off the stage and shouted across the room, “Can I help you with something?”
Jotaro, casually as ever, shrugged his shoulders. “I’m just watching. I can’t watch?”
Not when you’re staring at me like that . “Do you want something from me?”
Jotaro pushed himself up from where he was leaning against the bar. “Jeez, you make me sound so suspicious,” he said, never taking his eyes off Jean. “For what it’s worth, Avdol won’t tell you this, but a little hint: get better outfits. Tighter. More revealing. Do something different with your hair. Put a little effort into your stages, and you’ll see a better return on your investment.” Jotaro walked away with that lingering over Jean’s head, and as much as he hated to hear it, rent was coming up.
Jean used his pole tricks that he’d practiced on the next amateur's night, and made even more money. Double what he did before. He looked out into the crowd, and Mohammed’s eyes were fixated on him. Jean had taken Jotaro’s advice and at least invested in some tight, leather shorts and a fishnet top, the most he could commit to while still getting used to the whole idea. It’d made a difference, but he still wasn’t pulling in the kind of money Rohan or Bruno made, and he still had to pay out to the house. If he wanted to make a difference, he’d have to be more serious.
Watching porn wasn’t something Jean did frequently. If he wanted to relieve his sexual frustration, he’d just go out and find a girl to hook up with. As luck would have it, his latest endeavors didn’t necessarily put him in the mood for women anymore. He would have been concerned if he weren’t so focused on work. He watched videos of men online pole dancing just to take note of how they managed to move with their bodies, slimmer than his yet still nowhere near as feminine as a woman’s. It was all going well until he noticed his lap growing uncomfortable underneath the confines of his laptop. He moved it so that a pillow sat between his body and the computer, only to realize the issue wasn’t the heat; it was him .
He was hard.
When did– He looked from between his crotch and the screen where yet another slender dancer body rolled against the pole and bent over, never bending his knees once. Mindlessly, Jean grabbed himself as he watched, then closed his eyes and tried to picture how it would look for himself to mimic the same moves. His body twisting and leaping into the air, grabbing onto the pole and touching himself with a free hand. His mouth was dry; he licked his lips and pictured the audience, hungrily eating him with their eyes, desperate for a taste. He could be coy, meeting their starved gazes only briefly before settling on one: Mohammed.
Jean jolted upright, and his dick leapt under his hand. He inhaled sharply and let go, perspiring suddenly at the thought he’d just had.
He tried to tell himself it was just because he’d been practicing with him so much, and that was it. Mohammed wasn’t sexy ; he was gruff, intimidating, and aloof. He was mysterious, as well as serious, and big . He looked like he could easily subdue Jean, despite being of similar height. His voice was low and calm, always so controlled and sexy–
Jean closed out the browser and dropped to the floor, shoving his laptop aside, so he could do some push ups. He needed to get thoughts of Mohammed and his thick, juicy lips out of his head–
He knelt against the floor, dick still hard, and cried out in frustration. This was so new and unfamiliar to him. He had never been attracted to men before, and he’d always suspected that if he were, he’d be interested in guys like Kakyoin, with tiny waists and pretty faces. Someone feminine, not a big, hulking man like Mohammed.
But here he was, fighting the urge to touch himself while he wondered what it would be like if Mohammed were to reach out during practice one day. He wanted to know how his rough hands would feel rubbing over his abs and pecs, gripping his neck. He wanted to hear that low voice whisper in his ear demands to expose himself, but just for Mohammed, and no one else.
Jean whined and shoved his hand in his shorts, giving in finally to the urge that he’d tried to repress.
After all, it wasn’t like Mohammed was into men or anything. He could indulge this one time.
If Mohammed noticed anything, he didn’t say a word to Jean, or anyone else for that matter. Rohan and Bruno continued to tease him about allegedly being straight, and Jean continued to ignore them. Rohan didn’t seem convinced when he explained that he was only seeking Mohammed’s advice.
“If that’s what he says he’s doing, then fine I guess,” Rohan had laughed. “Coaching, sure. I’ll be the judge of that.”
It was hard to judge Rohan at times. Sometimes, he was curt to a fault and spoke with the assurance of someone who knew everything there was to know, and other times he seemed pensive, content to simply sit back and watch others. On occasion, Jean watched the way he interacted with Mohammed. It appeared normal, although there was some hesitancy, something strange between them. Rohan was quieter around Mohammed, and Mohammed’s hands always seemed clenched tight at his sides, as if restraining himself. Their interactions never seemed agitated, but something had happened between them.
Jean couldn’t make heads or tails of it. Jotaro behaved similarly with Rohan, although their interactions did come across more antagonistic, as if Rohan were riling him up, and Jotaro was holding back from throwing him across the room.
And everyone seemed to call Mohammed Mo . He wondered if he too were close enough at this point to call him that.
He hoped, as he crouched down between the man’s legs in an attempt to execute a lap dance. Mohammed’s steely eyes watched him closely, arms folded tight across his chest. He sat absolutely still, barely grunting while Jean rubbed himself all over him, draping his body across Mohammed’s thicker one. It didn’t feel strange being like this. It almost felt normal at this point. Despite his brain wanting nothing more than to really give in and perform for him, Jean kept his urges in check. He could always get it out of his system on the stage. He had more self control than to just throw himself at Mohammed in a desperate plea to relieve the pent up stress he’d been holding back on. After the first time he masturbated to thoughts of Mohammed, he’d refrained from going any further.
It would be easier to get his message across on stage, where Mohammed could watch him, arching his back in invitation. The rest of the patrons were allowed to see and watch, but he only wanted Mohammed to touch .
He didn’t like Jotaro very much anymore. If he was neutral about the man before, his respect plummeted finding out that he was married.
Marriage was something sacred, something you didn’t ruin with immature urges to chase after every piece of ass that came your way. Suddenly, the tension between him and Rohan made sense as he looked out from the dressing room and watched Jotaro shove him against the wall. Rohan didn’t seem concerned, but Jean could just barely make out in their hushed whispers that Rohan needed to keep quiet about something.
Jean turned away, ignoring the sound of a slap echoing down the hall. What had Noriaki gotten himself involved with? He’d assumed his friend knew better than to get involved with someone who wore their secrets on their sleeves, but maybe Noriaki had a blind spot when it came to things like that.
He didn’t have time to think about it any further. He needed to get himself in the mindset of his new stage persona, and so he put on his headphones, and sat in front of the mirror to begin his makeup.
Jean examined himself in his reflection, his gaze carefully icy and contour dramatic. His hair hung from the back of his head in a straight ponytail, slicked to perfection, and his boots clung around his knees leaving no room for slippage.
It was hot . Not in appearance, but he was burning up. The fur coat he wore and the boots were working hard against the jockstrap and harness he wore. He stood in front of the oscillating fan bent over, trying to keep himself from melting while he waited for his show time. Some visiting dancers were going first, and then Jean would be the transition into the regulars, who could end the night with a bang. He took a deep breath and steadied himself. Performing was what he lived for, was what he did for a career and had for years. He loved dancing, and he loved the spotlights, the costumes, and the attention of the crowd.
Joseph entered the dressing room and flashed Jean a thumbs up. “You ready, Frenchie?”
Jean didn’t have it in him to be annoyed by the pet name. He simply nodded, and took a deep breath.
The pole had become a new home. Where he’d first been anxious of getting hurt, he now anticipated its rotations and movements, fixing himself around the metal beam with new grace. The music he’d selected–courtesy of Mohammed–was easier now to move to, and he could close his eyes as he swayed and rocked, leaning into the more delicate and sensual movements he’d needed to master. Instead of humiliation, he felt at home on the ground, understanding that this was just another pillar of dance, the way he’d learned in ballet.
Bills floated on stage in amounts he’d never seen before. He sat on his knees and dragged his fingers down his torso to his knees, glancing at random men in the crowd, but never lingering longer than it took for them to throw some more money.
He focused on Mohammed in the back, between the furthest seats and the bar. His eyes were focused squarely on him, as if he understood this was a show for him. Jean smiled, and returned to the pole for another trick.
It was satisfying, almost more than reaching an orgasm, to know that he had fully captivated a straight man with his performance. Jean didn’t know when the goal posts had shifted, but unconsciously they had. Before, he just wanted to prove himself to everyone who doubted him, but now he wanted to get the trophy: Mohammed.
And once again, there was Rohan, standing in the way of his first place prize.
From upside down, Jean could see where Mohammed had a tight grip on Rohan’s waist while he danced on him, and Mohammed’s face was buried in his neck.
Anger flared up, burning his throat.
It wasn’t fair.
Jean was a professional, so he finished up his performance and put on a big smile as he accepted more tips in his jockstrap. He grabbed his coat from where he’d discarded it, and quickly left the stage, leaving the stage crew to clean up his bills and into a bag with his name on it.
He was more concerned with the fact that all this time–he’d been holding back from newly discovered feelings to keep things respectful, and Mohammed had been withholding information about himself intentionally. He knew Jean thought he was straight, yet he hadn’t corrected him once.
“ Why?” Jean’s voice cracked as he stared Mohammed down. For once, his stoic face showed emotion: frustration, arousal, anger.
“To help you,” Mohammed said simply, as if that explained everything. Jean shook his head, and growled, covering his eyes with his hands. He was embarrassed and sick to his stomach. For Mohammed to stand there in front of him and try to turn this around on Jean as if it were all his fault was annoying, but there was one other pressing question to be answered.
“Did you like it?”
Jean’s back hit Mohammed’s bed with a soft thump as Mohammed hurriedly stepped out his pants and climbed up Jean’s body, mouthing kisses against his thighs and stomach. Jean’s heart was racing a mile a minute, skin flushed and hands trembling as he reached for his head to bring Mohammed’s face up to his.
His mouth was so plush and soft, his larger lips engulfing Jean’s and drinking him in desperately. Mohammed moaned softly as their crotches collided, and Jean threw his head back in ecstasy. He’d come embarrassingly fast at the club getting his ass ate while others stood just on the other side of the door, no doubt able to hear what went on, but he was consoled by the knowledge that Mohammed was just as backed up as he was.
“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted you in my bed,” Mohammed muttered, kissing Jean down his neck and shoulders. “I’ve been dreaming about this.”
Jean rolled his body against Mohammed’s and struggled to get the harness unbuckled from around his torso. Mohammed’s hands pushed his fingers away to get the latches himself, taking time to suck and bite at Jean’s pecs, taking his time to suck each nipple into his mouth. Jean didn’t even know he was sensitive there, but as Mohammed worked him free, Jean grew ever closer to a second orgasm.
“W-wait!” he whined. Mohammed lifted his head, licking his lips hungrily with a fire in his eyes. Jean panted, gasping for breath, then said, “I’ve never–I’m a virgin.”
Mohammed’s strong gaze grew darker. “Good.”
Jean cried out when Mohammed’s mouth suddenly wrapped around his dick, sucking him down with ease, and whimpered at the overwhelming sensations of soft lips around his heavy erection. He was desperately trying to hold back, yet Mohammed was making it harder with each second that passed.
“Are you gonna come again?” Mohammed asked, pulling off briefly to look up at Jean’s red and sweaty face.
Jean nodded urgently. Mohammed grinned.
“Good, I can still get one more out of you tonight.” His mouth resumed it’s work on his dick, and Jean’s feet planted into the bed, hips bucking as he fucked Mohammed’s mouth, desperately needing to be engulfed entirely as he burst over down his throat.
Mohammed swallowed him down with a loud, guttural groan, and Jean flopped back against the bed, absolutely shell shocked by the experience. His body felt so sensitive and alight; there was no way he could come again, but he wanted it–no, he needed this. He’d come so far, and he wanted to go even further.
“I’m just gonna loosen you up some more, baby,” Mohammed murmured into his thigh. Before Jean could ask what he was doing, his mouth was back on Jean’s hole, sucking and slurping the taste of his own nut out of him.
It was disgusting , but it made Jean’s thighs tremble and his stomach turn with sick curiosity. What else would Mohammed do to him just tonight alone? What would he do in the future if they kept this up?
Mohammed slid the tip of finger in along with his tongue, and embarrassingly, Jean cried out, his voice cracking and hips thrusting towards him. Mohammed held him down with a strong arm, keeping him pinned to the bed as he took his time kissing and licking the tender muscle. Finally, he slid a finger in and watched closely as Jean’s breathing tightened, his chest rising and falling rapidly.
“Take a deep breath,” Mohammed said, shushing with and rubbing at his chest. “I’m just gonna put the tip in, nothing more tonight.”
Delirious, Jean nodded and followed the directions. He didn’t care what Mohammed did at this point, as long as he didn’t stop touching him. Satisfied with the acknowledgement, Mohammed continued slowly fingering Jean, pushing deeper into him and spreading him gently with his thick finger. Jean watched where Mohammed stared down at him, fully focused on watching himself slide in and out of Jean’s body while chewing his lip.
“More,” Jean begged weakly. Mohammed suddenly broke contact with his ass to look up at Jean, and slid his finger fully in, pressing deep until hand sat flush against Jean’s taint. He moved up his body to kiss him again, and Jean didn’t even care about how nasty it must have been to taste his own ass and Mohammed’s cum on his tongue. He just needed more to get that barely there tingle Mohammed was currently teasing at.
“Hold on for me, baby,” Mohammed whispered, and then his finger was sliding out of his ass, leaving Jean turning his head into Mohammed’s shoulder and whining as he rutted his half-hard dick against Mohammed’s thick, hairy thigh. Mohammed grunted and wrapped a hand around him, pulling him on top of his body fully, while his other hand searched for his nightstand to find a bottle of lube. Jean busied himself with kissing and tasting Mohammed’s skin, sweaty and spicy with the scent of his cologne that he wore. A thin gold chain lay against his skin, warm to the touch, and Jean licked around it, nipping gently when he felt Mohammed’s dick twitch against his thigh.
He would have been content to lay there and grind against each other, slowly working themselves into a frenzy like horny teenagers, but Mohammed’s steady, experienced hands kept him on track. They kissed languidly, exchanging tongues and saliva for a few minutes while rubbing against each other, and then Mohammed slid his finger back into Jean’s ass, now slicker and cool against his hot skin.
Jean arched his neck and back, pushing back against the finger, trying to get deeper.
“Please, Mo,” Jean whispered, and Mohammed made a strangled noise in the back of his throat at the sound of Jean’s cracked voice whispering his name. He pulled out and rolled Jean off him, maneuvering him onto his stomach while Mohammed sat above him, caging his body in with his arms
“I don’t think you can handle all this,” Mohammed rocked his hard dick against Jean’s ass crack, and Jean’s body responded with a violent tremor. It felt big , and heavy between his cheeks, but he nodded frantically, pleading with quiet moans. Mohammed chuckled above him, and Jean thought he would break if he didn’t get any relief soon.
“I can take it, please!”
Mohammed sighed, rubbing the tip of his dick against Jean’s asshole. He’d said he’d only put the tip in, and he was determined to keep his word. It was hard, though, when Jean was all but demanding the entire thing. But Mohammed knew better, and if Jean had more experience, he would have gladly indulged him. Instead, he was trying to be cautious considering this man had only just come out the closet, never mind anal. One bad experience could have changed his whole mind about everything, and then Mohammed would have to sit with that guilt instead.
Slowly, Mohammed pressed the tip of his dick into Jean, just as he had before at the club. Now, he pushed further, slowly so as not to come immediately, but Jean’s hips moved on their own, pushing back against Mohammed and taking more in. Jean cried out, and Mohammed stilled him, pressing his body into the bed as he hovered above him, trying to catch his breath. It had been ages since he’d been with a virgin, probably college, and he’d forgotten just how tight inexperienced ass could feel.
“Fuck, Jean, I need you to calm down,” Mohammed gritted, resisting the urge to fuck him into the sheets. Quickly, he searched for the lube left abandoned on the bed and poured some more down Jean’s crack where they were connected. Jean replied with a dry moan, and Mohammed quickly tossed the bottle by the pillows.
“Just let me do the work,” he whispered, pulling his hips back so that he’d almost pulled out, then slid back in, still not going further than the tip. There was so much pressure around his most sensitive part, and Jean was still fidgeting under him, begging for more. Carefully, Mohammed teased him like this, loosening him up as he drove himself insane with almost but not quite full pleasure. His stomach was clenched tight from the restraint, and with a hand on Jean’s neck, he leaned forward, careful not to move his hips forward too much.
“Can I put it all in?” He asked, breath hot against Jean’s neck.
“Yeah,” Jean said weakly. As soon as he heard the confirmation, Mohammed slid forward with a snap of his hips, self indulgent and greedy.
Jean felt the air leave his lungs, and gasped, eyes watering from the intensity. Mohammed was moving faster now, holding him in place, but the place he’d been desperately trying to reach was now getting hit so much it was quickly becoming overwhelming. Jean cried out with each thrust, his dick painfully pressed into the bed between himself and the comforter, but he couldn’t form the words in his mouth to ask Mohammed to slow down. It felt amazing , but it felt like a fire was lit in his back. He felt like he needed to shit. He felt like his thighs were being split open. He felt like he was going to cum again so soon.
“Mo!” He managed in between thrusts. “Mo, wait–”
“Fuck,” Mohammed growled, but he managed to pull himself together enough to pull out and sit back. “Are you okay?”
Jean nodded and gasped for breath. “Just…I need slower–”
Mohammed didn’t want to go slower, so close to finally getting the nut he’d been dreaming about for weeks, but he also could exercise some control.
“Alright,” he slid back inside, moving gentler, rocking his hips against Jean’s ass and grinding into him with slower strokes. Jean moaned louder, rocking his hips underneath Mohammed’s ministrations, hands clutched tight in the covers. He kept the pace there, slow and steady until he felt Jean’s body start to twitch harder beneath him, at which point he sat up and resumed his faster strokes. Mohammed held Jean by both shoulders and fucked him, chasing his orgasm as Jean’s back turned red from the shoulders down, his orgasm silently milking out of him from simply being fucked into the sheets.
Mohammed smiled and tossed his head back, moaning loudly as he emptied himself into Jean’s still twitching body. He hissed, Jean’s muscles clenching around him, and pulled out slowly to watch his cum leak out onto the duvet below. He’d have to throw the whole thing in the wash tomorrow.
“You good?” Mohammed kissed Jean’s lower back and leaned off to the side, laying on his arm and rubbing his back. “Hey, you alright?”
Slowly, Jean lifted his head from the blankets, face red and teary. Mohammed was smiling at him, amused by his reaction to getting fucked within an inch of his life.
“How do you think I am?” Jean whined. “God, I don’t think I can walk.”
“You can take a shower and spend the night if you want,” Mohammed said, rolling off the bed. “Let me get you some water. Are you hungry?”
Jean rolled lazily onto his back and took a deep breath, wincing at the tenderness of his ass. “I think if I eat anything it’ll just fall straight out.”
Mohammed chuckled and walked out to fetch him a bottle of water while Jean collected himself.
Mohammed seemed a lot warmer now, a lot more relaxed than he had been the past couple weeks. Jean wondered if that was a result of being horribly backed up, or if this was the post-coital brain chemicals taking effect. Mohammed was back sooner than he’d expected, and now that he had a full look at him, Jean was amazed he’d been able to take so much on his first go.
“So,” Jean asked as he sat up, taking the bottle quickly, “Do you do this often?”
Mohammed took a long drink from his water, eyeing Jean cautiously. “Do what often?”
Jean flexed his toes and tried to shake free a leg cramp. “Sleep with the dancers.”
Mohammed shook his head. “No, I don’t typically sleep with my coworkers.”
Jean’s throat tightened. “But you have?”
“If you have enough energy to ask me a bunch of unnecessary questions, then you have energy to go another round,” Mohammed climbed back into bed and pulled Jean to him, kissing him into silence. “The past is the past, and there’s no one right now, so just focus on this ,” he said against Jean’s lips.
More questions tugged at the back of Jean’s head, but the cozy feeling of being kissed into the pillows with heavy arms holding him close distracted him from pursuing them any further. Mohammed was right; this was now, and now felt amazing .