[A/N I start everything in media res lol. Such a diverse writer here.
BTW I'd like to point out that the title is taken from Rapper's Delight from the Sugar Hill Gang. Easily the best 14 minute long rap song. Hell, easily the best rap song period.
Rating: I chose M just to be safe but there is no explicit sex.]
"Oh, no no no no no," I said, slamming my hands down on the counter a little harder than I meant to. "That's just not going to work," my eyes flicked down to the man's name tag, "Feliks. Surely you have something else. Some other arrangement?"
"Like, I just said dude. Only two rooms, both with a queen sized bed and no tub, only a shower. There's, like, a convention or something in town. Boring stuff. But the hotel's mostly, um, booked."
I turned to Ludwig, silently appealing for mercy. I found none returned in his level gaze. Sure, I understand that he was tired. He did do most of the driving today. But couldn't he understand that there were very few options for us here, absolutely none of them to my liking?
Ludwig held my gaze for a moment more before flicking it tiredly to Feliks. "We'll take the rooms, please. Here's my credit card. Feli, be a dear and help Gilbert get the bags from the car while I finish up here." Feliciano did as he was asked, leaving Ludwig and I at the counter.
I cleared my throat meaningfully, but Ludwig ignored me. The bored looking blond man behind the counter had gone back to leafing through his magazine after tossing the hotel registry papers on the counter. Ludwig patiently scratched away at them, dutifully filling them out in triplicate with his small, insanely neat script. It looked as if the forms had been filled out with a type writer, his writing was so uniform. Ludwig was definitely ignoring me.
"Ludwig I'm just going to come right out and say it. I won't share a room with that man."
"Well, Roderich, I don't know what to tell you." Ludwig snapped, slapping the pen on the table and turning an exasperated gaze upon me. "I'm tired and I have no mind to find another hotel. It's just for one night. You'll survive."
"I'll room with Feliciano then," I said brashly.
"You do know he sleeps naked," Ludwig mused. "I even watched him pack for the trip. No pajamas in his overnight bag or suitcase."
My stomach had that feeling you get when you think you've missed a stair in the dark. "So naturally, it would be best if Feli roomed with me," Ludwig concluded.
I was so miserable I could spit. I had half a mind to do it too, out of sheer bad sportsmanship. Life seemed exceedingly unfair at the moment. Why should I have to spend the night, sleep in the same room, with the very man who once grabbed my ass in a crowded elevator and asked how I liked it in the bedroom, then not even two hours later tripped me at my own birthday party. Straight into the cake.
"Give me that," I practically spat, pulling my overnight bag out of Gilbert's grip with more force than was strictly necessary. Gilbert didn't pay me any mind. He was too busy texting with one hand and dragging our bags along the floor with the other. The fact I couldn't raise an argument with him made me more aggravated.
"Oi," Ludwig said, hailing us from the elevators on the other side of the lobby. "I have the keys. You three come on now. I want some sleep dammit."
Feli skipped to Ludwig without a care in the world. And why shouldn't he be happy? He didn't have to spend the evening cooped up in a room with an uncouth ruffian. We all four boarded the elevator. Somehow Gilbert and I got into an elbowing match as both of us tried to slip through the doors in front of the other. I jabbed him particularly hard before stepping to safety, separated with our two travel companions between us. "Here," Ludwig said, handing me a key card. The other one he put in the back pocket of his jeans. Gilbert didn't look up from his phone, which was periodically buzzing to show he had new messages. He held out his hand in Ludwig's general direction. After nothing happened for several moments, Gilbert actually took his eyes from his phone. "Card," he drawled, going straight back to his phone as it buzzed again. Who on earth could he be texting so vigorously with? You really can't tell me there's actually someone who enjoys extended conversations with that damned albino brute.
"You and Roderich will have to share a room. There's a convention in town this weekend and the hotel only had two rooms to let," Ludwig stated in his matter-of-fact voice. I cringed a little even though I already knew. It was just hearing the news again gave me the same sensation as having a cold, slimy fish put down the back of my shirt unexpectedly.
Gilbert didn't respond. Or if he did, I didn't hear it because we had reached our floor and I flew out of the elevator. "Roderich," Ludwig called after me as I stomped to room 47. "We're in room 41. Remember, I want to leave by nine tomorrow so we can make it into the city before dinner." I didn't slow down or acknowledge I heard. Maybe if I got to the room quick enough I could lock Gilbert out…..
But dammit, that bastard is speedy. He kept pace with me easily. I fumbled with the key card, too flustered to time the swipe and turning of the knob on the first try. Or the second. When I swiped the card the third time Gilbert swiftly turned the knob, his hand on top of mine. I don't like it when he stands so close. I don't trust him and he makes me feel uncomfortable.
Gilbert flicked on the lights. The room was standard roadside fair. Not the kind of place you would stay in for a nice vacation, but sufficient enough for an overnight layover. The carpet was dingy and the press wood furniture was nicked and scratched. I looked around, desperately hoping that there was a sofa or at least a padded arm chair I could sleep in, but unfortunately this room had neither. Some hotel rooms had desk or table sets, but this room wasn't large enough. No, it was just a low dresser, tv, bed, nightstand, and lamp.
"Hey," Gilbert said, surprised, "There's only one bed? Did West give us the wrong key?"
"Both rooms are the same," I responded, not caring how blunt my voice was. "Naturally, you'll be sleeping on the floor."
Gilbert snorted. "Like hell I will. You sleep on the floor."
"I will not," I said. This floor is much too dirty. My skin crawled at the thought of any of my body touching that floor, including my bare feet. Choosing to ignore Gilbert, I set to work pulling the bedspread off onto the floor. Really, those things are so disgusting. Hotels may change the sheets but they don't change the bedspreads. I'd be surprised if they washed them even once a year. You don't know what debauchery has occurred on them. I certainly won't be sleeping with one of those near me.
I reached down to get my duffle bag and saw Gilbert was removing his shirt. "What are you doing?"
"I'm going to take a shower. Jeesh." At least he went into the bathroom and shut the door before removing the rest of his clothes. Since there was nothing better to do I flicked through the channels on the television. I settled on watching BBC World News. Once I kicked off my shoes I realized how tired I was. Sure, I was just setting in a car all day but that in itself is taxing upon the nerves. I was much too tired to attempt a shower. Might as well wait to do it in the morning. I might just turn in now and save myself a hearty late night argument with Gilbert.
I unzipped my duffle bag and pulled out a white t-shirt and—and where are my pajama bottoms? Don't tell me I forgot my pajama bottoms? Dammit, I'll have to sleep in my underwear. I took off my jeans and folded all of my clothes back into the duffle bag. Carefully, I put my glasses in their case and tucked them away as well. If I slip under the covers and get up before Gilbert in the morning he'll be none the wiser. I switched the bedside lamp off and curled up at the edge of the bed, facing the dowdy curtains covering the windows on the far wall. The sooner I go to sleep the sooner this unfortunate stay will be over.
Unfortunately, I wasn't asleep when Gilbert finally came out of the bathroom, though I pretended to be. The lights flicked on and they stung my tired eyes. "Do you mind?" I asked, trying not to sound snotty.
"What?" Gilbert said, nonchalantly. "You weren't sleeping. I could tell by the way your shoulders were tensed up. Mad because I caught you pretending?" I couldn't stand the smug tone in his voice. It just pushed my buttons too much. I decided to take the high road and not answer.
The lights went out after a few minutes. I expected the tv to flick on but Gilbert just climbed into bed and laid down. I tried to be patient as Gilbert settled in, trying to make himself comfortable. He better not be riching around all night or I'll knock his block off.
The bed shook once as Gilbert rolled over. He was encroaching on what I thought of as my side of the bed and I didn't appreciate it. Finally, though, he was still. I concentrated on going to sleep. That proved to be counterproductive. I had a hard time nodding off in unfamiliar places and the current circumstances weren't helping one bit. Man, do I hate hotels. That's why I never go on vacation.
The bed sheets rustled softly as Gilbert inched himself closer to me. I was starting to get a bad feeling about this. I couldn't decide whether to say something or pretend to be asleep. I wracked my brain indecisively, becoming slightly frantic as I failed to make a decision. Then I felt his arm slide over my waist. Gilbert moved just a little closer until he was almost spooning me. That's it, that's the final straw.
"What do you think you're doing," I whispered hoarsely, my words not nearly as powerful or authoritative as I had meant them to be. Gilbert didn't answer but I felt his lips gently touch the back of my neck. My skin was overly sensitive to the sensation and I barely managed to suppress a shiver. "Stop," I croaked.
"Why," Gilbert asked, his lips moving against my neck.
"Because….." I trailed, unable to find any more words. Gilbert began moving his hands across my stomach, just under my rib cage. His touch was light and the trail of his fingertips left a ghost sensation dragging across my skin. Why was I so sensitive? My body was on edge. I tried to speak again but my throat remained thickly closed. My mind was a deer caught in the headlights. The solution it came up with? Just ignore this until Gilbert stopped. Eventually he would stop. He had to stop. Surely he would lose interest. This was all just a game to him, wasn't it?
Gilbert's hand dipped lower. His hand actually went under my shirt and touched the soft skin of my stomach. I had to stop myself from sucking in a loud breath. No reaction, no reaction, don't show him a single reaction. Gilbert lingered over the skin around my belly button, drawing nonsense patterns just above it. He then trailed a single finger until it dipped into my belly button then dragged it lower still. Now Gilbert's touch was just above the waistband of my boxers. I held my breath, unsure of what he would do next. To my surprise, he backed off a little, running his hand to my chest, allowing the thin fabric of my shirt to separate our skin. Now used to his touch, to his pleasantly rough hands running lightly over my skin, the separation made my skin cry out for the friction. My own body is turning traitor and my mind didn't know how to handle it. Surely I didn't desire Gilbert of all people.
My breath caught as his hands ventured lower once more. Gilbert ran past my stomach, over my underwear to rub my hips in that same maddeningly slow way. His hand ran from one hip to the other as best he could considering I was lying on my side, slowly increasing in pressure. Back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, the palm of his hand pressing pleasantly against my right hipbone as it passed. I was so concentrated on the anticipation of him passing from hip bone to hip bone that my hips twitched before I even knew they were thinking of twitching.
I swore in my head. Gilbert laughed self confidently. "Why are you doing this," I asked, still whispering conspiratorially, as if we might be overheard.
Gilbert pressed his lips once again to the back of my neck. I could feel his hair, wet from the shower, touch my head. "I was just wondering the other day," he said conversationally, "what it would feel like to have you cum in my hand."
My eyes widened in the darkness. And my lips parted to allow a deep inhale of breath. I'm not sure what I expected him to say but that sure wasn't it. This time when Gilbert ran his hands over my hip it was beneath my boxers. I didn't protest. Instead I shifted a little on the bed, leaning back on him a bit, allowing him better access to my hips and stomach. This was all the permission Gilbert needed it seemed, as he ran his hand further down my body, fingers ghosting over the edge of my pubic hair, continuing down until he was touching my thigh. The caress traveled north again then changed directions. Even though I knew it was coming, I still jumped a little as he touched my penis.
It was the first time anyone had touched me there in a long time. In a very long time. So excuse me if I was a little too eager. Judging by the feeling of his lips on my neck, Gilbert was smiling at how easy I was getting hard. For now, his touch was light and lingering, feeling me out, getting his bearings in the dark. I was also enjoying the feel of body spooning mine, of leaning on him for support as he stroked lightly.
His fingers worked nimbly, divinely around the head of my erection and I was a little embarrassed feel the slick wetness of pre-cum slick between us. Only 14 year old boys and overeager virgins pre-cum Francis had told me once, trying to sound wise and benevolent. Luckily, in the dark nobody could see you blush.
Gilberts hands were really working up to speed now running up and down my shaft with an even, practiced pressure that shamed the sloppy masturbation I sometimes indulged in when I showered. He palmed the head a little and it felt so good. My breathing was beginning to noticeably speed up and I tried not to over think this. Don't think about how awkward this is, don't think about how you're going to look Gilbert in the eye ever again, just concentrate on his touch, Oh, his touch. Oh, he's so good. Mmph. This guy must have a lot of practice.
The obscene, slightly off tempo sound of masturbation seemed to be overly loud, and as silly as I knew it was I worried briefly that someone might overhear us. At the moment though I didn't care. Gilbert's hand was giving me the perfect pressure and my hips buckled a few times in good natured thrusts. I was really enjoying myself now. Well, as much as I could considering I was going to die of embarrassment in the morning. I could feel my orgasm starting to build, low in my stomach and faintly at first, building in intensity like a dam about to break and suddenly Gilbert's tempo changed drastically. He switched to slow and steady. It should have been a letdown but someone his confident, yet slow strokes still worked towards my release, except now my orgasm was building slowly. It was driving me mad and yet I loved it. I'd never felt it like this before. I always felt orgasms to be quick, uncontrollable things. Fleet of foot but powerful. This slow build was something new.
When it finally did hit me it was like a slow motion play back of how I usually orgasm. When I masturbate alone I never make a sound but then again, it's never been as good as this. I gasped when it began to hit me, and then in took some sharp breaths. By this time I was peaking, my body jerked a little in instinctive thrusts. I threw my head back a little, luckily not too hard because I hit Gilbert's forehead with the back of my head. I gave out another gasp then a few little noises I couldn't hold back. Gilbert moaned low and quiet as I came into his hand.
When my body was finished jerking and my orgasm was regretfully gone Gilbert relinquished his grasp. I wasn't expecting it when he grabbed my face, his hand still wet with my cum, and pulled my head to my shoulder, so he could kiss me from behind. He kissed me lightly one more then laid back.
Now outside of the heat of the moment it dawned on me that I just creamed my boxers and I had nothing else to change into. I groaned and slapped a hand to my face. one of my fingers slicked over some cum that was left on my face from when Gilbert grabbed it. Oh gosh. What the hell am I doing with my life?
"What's wrong," Gilbert asked.
"I-uh, I'm wet and I don't have anything to change into," I said finally, deciding that this mess was partially his responsibility as well. "Here," Gilbert said, rustling around under the covers a bit. He pulled off his pajama pants and handed them to me. "Take your wet boxers off and wear these instead. I would hate for you to be all wet and sticky when we cuddle."
I took the pants without a word, surprised both by his generosity and his words. I didn't really peg Gilbert as a cuddly sort of person. But then again, I sure didn't expect him to give me a handjob in a shitty hotel on our way to the Frankfurt Finance and Economic Conference either.
Suddenly, I realized that this conference is a weeklong event. This is just the beginning of the trip. What the hell else did Gilbert have in store for me?
This could be one interesting conference. And I'm not just talking Euro wise.
[A/N WOOOOOO W-W-W-W-Writer's block break! I've started a couple of other stories but I just haven't been satisfied with how they flowed. This is my first good piece in awhile. I mean, it's not perfect but it's steps above the sketchy shit I've attempted to churn out lately. I feel I can be relatively proud of this :)
Please review! Even if I don't get a chance to respond back I really appreciate you guys!]