Thug's Night Off

Vinny rubbed his skull to be more convincing. “I bumped my head on the-”
Mr. G. didn't care. “The fags got you doing yoga?”

The fag had him doing a lot more than yoga. Vinny’s cock ached with confusion. It just wanted to be inside something tight and warm or else go soft and stop being teased. “Uh… Sheryl didn’t like me just sitting in the car so I take a class with her. It’s actually kinda good for my back.”

“Good for your back?” Mr. G. snorted then flopped into the chair again. “Jesus Christ. That stupid fucking bitch. Making fucking pussies out of the whole organization. First the fag, now my own body guard.”
“Boss, did you need me or Falcone to drive you somewhere?” Vinny rubbed his eyes, struggling to think of a way to get rid of Mr. G. for the night.

For the first time, Mr. G. really focused on him and Vinny tried to look as tired and pathetic as he could. The boss’s clarity was replaced with selfishness again. “No, Vinny, if I wanted to go somewhere I would have come down here and said, get dressed, we’re driving somewhere. I just… fuck it.”

Mr. G. stood to leave then immediately sat down and dropped his head into his hands. “What’d you have to go and mention Sheryl anyways?”
Vinny was at a loss to deal with or understand his grief. “Uh…”

“We had a fight,” Mr. G. muttered. “Because of that stupid fag. She’s all like, I’m so empowered by my yoga practice and I’m so much more self-aware. And you’re too negative, Joe. And all this other crap. I ain’t negative, am I, Vinny?”
Vinny hear Tristan scoff under the bed and cleared his throat, hoping the two sounds would mingle in Mr. G.’s head. “Not all the time.”

Mr. G. snorted, "She wants me to relax. Wants me to spend more time with her and all that shit. Wants me to take a fucking yoga class with her. Man, you’ve got the right idea, Vinny. No fag ever wanted you spend more time with him? Cuddling and shit? Bang and done.”
Vinny said nothing to contradict his boss. He wouldn’t have minded more time with Tristan. He wouldn’t mind getting done with the bang part.

Mr. G. fell silent and Vinny noticed his eyes traveling over the room. They had done nothing to hide Tristan’s helmet or the little purple and yellow bottle of lube. He was breathing hard and he could hear Tristan attempting to hide his panting under the bed.
“Is it as relaxing as she says?” Mr. G. asked.

Vinny considered the yoga he’d done at Sheryl’s insistence and his mind drifted to watching Tristan bent over while he instructed the class, to Tristan’s hands correcting the posture of his hips, then to Tristan bending over the counter of the cafe’, after hours, while Vinny stuffed his cock into him. “Yeah. It’s nice.”

“Seems intensive,” Mr. G. said. “Never seen you work up a sweat before.”
“Uh…” Vinny thought about how how he was, the sweat pouring down his naked chest. “Yeah. It can be.”

“Maybe I’ll go with her, but you gotta go, too. So I don’t feel stupid all by myself.” Mr. G. stood and looked over the room again. “You oughta put your clothes in a hamper, Vinny. Didn’t your mother teach you nothing?”
“I’ll get on that, boss.” Vinny muttered.
“I ain’t gonna tell you how to live,” Mr. G. said. “Goodnight, Vinny.”

As soon as the door closed, Tristan crawled out from under the bed. Vinny looked down at his lover, sitting on his knees on the hardwood.
“I’m real sorry about that. He doesn’t usually bother me so much.”

Tristan laughed and waved him off, then put his hands at the edge of the mattress to help himself up. “It’s kind of exciting. Like sleeping with a married-”
The door flung open. “What’d ya mean, ‘not all the time’?”
Tristan dove back under the bed, head first, giving Mr. G. plenty of time to see his ass and legs, but not his face.

“This is fuckin’ ridiculous.” Vinny slapped his hands over his eyes and Mr. G. jumped half up the staircase.
“What the fuck was-?” Mr. G. cut himself off and leaned over to peak under the bed. His tone changed from surprise to a level calm. “Vinny. Is that a naked man hiding under your bed?”
“Yes, Mr. G.”
“What is a naked man… never mind I don’t wanna know.” Mr. G. Asked in all earnestness. “Why the fuck didn’t you say something, Vinny?”
“You know,” Vinny wasn’t sure himself. “I thought for some reason it would be less awkward.”

Mr. G. turned up the stairs and slammed the door. He muttered to himself as he went. “Fucking fags. Fuckin’ pussification of America.”
Vinny leaned over the bed and saw Tristan underneath shaking with laughter. Tristan looked up giggling. “Pussification?”
“Boss likes to make up new words,” Vinny said.
“You think Boss is done interrupting?” Tristan asked, sliding out from under the bed.
“He better be,” Vinny answered, reaching for Tristan’s waist and pulling him over him again. “I’m not stopping next time.”

Then Vinny hesitated and shyly said, “I mean… I’d understand if you wanted to go home…”
“Oh fuck that.” Tristan climbed back into the bed and picked up the bottle of lotion. He slathered the oil in his hand and then took Vinny’s cock into his fist, squeezing it hard. “I’ve been waiting for this cock far to long to walk away from it now.”
Vinny grinned from relief and dropped his head back to the wall with a grateful groan as Tristan pumped his cock. He lifted his hips into his lover’s hand.

“Don’t get too relaxed, Vincent.” Vinny sat straight again when Tristan’s hand abandoned his aching cock. Tristan crawled a little away on the bed and turned away from him, then bent over on his hands and knees to offer his ass. “You’re gonna have to work for it this time.”
Vinny snorted pleased by the offer, by the task. He rubbed his hands over the smooth orbs of Tristan’s ass. He remembered Tristan in downward-facing dog pose, this ass flexed high in the air. Of that other one where he knelt and bowed his head to the ground and left this beautiful ass on display for the entire class to envy and lust after. It was a pity to waist his flexible body on something as grounded as kneeling, but Vinny wasn’t going to push his luck.

He pressed the head of his cock into Tristan’s waiting ass and pushed in, found his lover was still wet and spread wide, groaned from the pleasure of it. Immediately, Vinny hammed into Tristan as if he’d never stopped. He thrust with more force than Tristan had used when riding him and Tristan moaned with delight. Vinny pushed his lover’s shoulders and face into the pillow.
“Mmm,” Tristan hummed. “Tantric.”

Vinny didn’t know what that meant, and he didn’t ask. Just grabbed Tristan’s hips and fucked him harder. He didn’t hold back this time, gripping his lover’s hips tight, pulling him back to meet his plowing cock.
Tristan whimpered and moaned and made little starts of words with each slam of Vinny’s cock. When Vinny leaned over him, kissing the back of his neck, fucking him with short shallow bursts, he could hear the words were, “yes, fuck me.”
Realizing he could be heard made Tristan louder, and he groaned. “Oh, fuck me with that beautiful cock.”

Vinny obliged, lifting away again, jerking Tristan’s hips tighter to him. He slammed as hard as he could until Tristan was crying out with each thrust wordless gasps of pain and pleasure. Vinny moved hard and fast and when he knew he wouldn’t be able to hold back another second, he ripped out of Tristan’s ass and knocked him onto his back.

Tristan fell silent and smiled up at him as Vinny torn off the condom and flashed his fist over his cock. He shot his load over Tristan’s wide spread legs and abdomen. The first spray made it all the way to Tristan’s neck and the rest coated his thin body. When Tristan hummed and shifted slightly, Vinny could see the sheets were speckled with his cum in little drops outlining Tristan’s prone body.

“Christ, I love watching you come,” Tristan said approvingly as he stroked his own cock.
“Happy to help.” Vinny said. He pointed his oozing cockhead lower touching the slick tip to Tristan’s head, dribbling onto his lover’s hard cock.

Tristan didn’t seem to notice, stroking himself harder and fondling his balls. He worked his shaft furiously, ready to bring himself and Vinny watched him. He wanted to do more, but he was worried he would do it wrong. He bowed forward to take Tristan’s prick into his mouth, to try to suck him off, then leaned back self-consciously and waited to be asked.
His lover noticed him move, saw his hesitation and chuckled about it. But he didn’t ask. Vinny said, shyly, “do you want me to, um…”
Tristan nodded. “If you want, you can.”

Vinny swallowed nervously, before he leaned over. He kissed just the tip of Tristan’s cock before he opened his mouth and took him inside. He hadn’t sucked another man’s cock since he was a teenager, before he got big and frightening. He’d been to scared to do it without being asked and no one ever asked anymore. He loved the feeling of Tristan’s cock sliding in and out of his mouth, sucked softly, nursing the shaft and licking at the head.

Tristan hummed approvingly, rubbing his hands through Vinny’s hair. He murmured soft requests. “Suck harder. Yeah, do that with your tongue. Mmm, faster.” Then just groaned with pleasure. Vinny bobbed his head the way Tristan had, trying to imitate the sensations, the technique Tristan had given him. He wanted to bring his lover so much pleasure that Tristan would always come back to him. He wanted to have him again, to fuck that ass again, to lick and suck this cock the way it deserved.
He wanted to talk to Tristan someday about WW II. Maybe cuddle and shit.

Then, from the tiny pair of shorts on the floor, The Godfather’s theme song began to play.
Tristan groaned from annoyance and tilted his body upwards to move Vinny away, to get to his phone and answer it. “That man had the worst timing in-”
Vinny hugged Tristan’s legs tighter, pinning him, forcing him to stay. He refused to be interrupted, he refused to stop sucking, and the weight of his body was more anchor than Tristan could fight.
Tristan pleaded. “But that’s Mr. Gianni calling. I have to…”

Vinny lifted his head long enough to say, “Fuck, Mr. Gianni. Spoiled prick deserves to be ignored once in a while.”
Tristan grinned and leaned back into the wall. The phone kept playing snatches of the song, then the tinny serenade stopped. Tristan moaned, clinging to Vinny’s hair, pushing his hips upwards into his lover’s mouth.
“I’m coming, Vincent.” Tristan promised.

Vinny didn’t let up. He wanted to make him come, wanted to impress this man, wanted to have his ass again, wanted to hear him say ‘Vincent’ again. Then suddenly, Tristan tensed and cried out and a sweet and salty fluid shot out into Vinny’s mouth. He smiled, but kept sucking, swallowing his lover’s cum, enormously pleased with himself when he felt Tristan shudder and cling to his head and shoulders.
When Tristan was completely flaccid, his hands slipped from Vinny’s neck and fell to the bed. He said exhausted and sated, “that was hot.”

Vinny nodded, finally lifting his mouth away from his lover. He lay his head on Tristan’s thigh and asked. “We should do it again sometime, right? Like arrange for it, not just… you know, like the other times.”
Tristan nodded, smiling sleepily. “Yeah, we’ll do it again. My place next time.”
There was a loud knock at the other door, the one leading in from the outside and Mr. G. called, “Vinny? Is that the fag’s bike on the roof of your car?”

Tristan hissed with the realization.
Vinny scowled. “Definitely your place next time.”
“Vinny, did you hear me?”
“Yeah, boss.”
“Is that the fag’s bike on the roof of your car?”
“Yeah.”
“Are you fucking the fag?”

For a hot second, Vinny almost got smart with his boss. He thought better of it and just answered. “Yeah, Mr. G., I’m fucking the fag.”
Tristan snickered and said what Vinny had been thinking. “He’s finished now. Should’ve asked about two minutes ago.”

“Jesus H. Christ.” Mr. G. stormed around outside, moving away from the door, then he reconsidered and shouted at the closed door. “Not that I give a fuck about who Vinny is fucking, but you are gonna be the downfall of this family, you coffee-loving faggot.”
Tristan answered, sweetly. “You know, Joe, that’s a very offensive word and I would appreciate it if you stopped using it.”

Mr. G. gave an inarticulate shout which faded into a storm of profanity moving away from the outside door. They heard a door slam overhead and Mr. G. paced back and forth through his house muttering and cursing.
“He do that often?” Tristan asked.
“He’s a pouty bitch,” Vinny nodded.

Tristan snorted unimpressed and hopped out of the bed. He stretched his arms over his head and said, “I’ll make nice with him tomorrow. Offer him a free class.”
Vinny rubbed the back of his neck and nodded. He watched Tristan push himself back into the tight biker shorts. “Can I give you a ride home, Tristan? Maybe get something to eat.”
“And we can talk about WWII?” Tristan smirked.

“Or I could just drive you… I mean.”
“Something to eat would be great. Is Italian too stereotypical?” Tristan laughed over his shoulder at Vinny. “And when we get to my place, I fully intend for it to be next time. No interruptions.