storypaint (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
storypaint) wrote2012-02-14 08:44 am
storypaint) wrote2012-02-14 08:44 am
Entry tags:
[Chicago] mistake law for justice (Billy/Amos)
Title: mistake law for justice
Fandom: Chicago
Length: 564 words
Prompt: Porn Battle: Chicago, Billy Flynn/Amos Hart, trial
Pairing: Billy Flynn/Amos Hart; mentioned Amos/Roxie
Other: R for sex. Warning for dubious consent.
Excerpt: Billy Flynn fucks just like you'd guess: to win. He's hard and fast and never lets up.
Billy Flynn fucks just like you'd guess: to win. He's hard and fast and never lets up. He only asks questions he already knows the answers to, and he never listens to the answers. He's the best lawyer. He ain't the best in bed.
But Amos isn't going to tell him that. He grits his teeth and he does what he has to for Roxie. This is work, and Amos is a good worker. He doesn't protest the long hours at his regular job. There's machine oil under his fingernails, and it'll be there until he dies. He's a good man, he has a good wife, and this thing with Flynn is just another thing he has to do. He'll do it until he can find the money to pay the lawyer, and he'll never tell a soul.
Fancy fucking lawyer, surrounds himself with women, and no one on the outside would guess the way he really feels about them: nothing, cold as Ma's icebox. Amos knows there are people like that out there, but he's never quite understood it. (Flynn digs his fingers into Amos's hip, hissing wordlessly. Amos keeps going, hoping it's a good sign.) Amos has always been into the pinup girls. A pretty face turns his eye. That's how he met Roxie to start with.
He doesn't blame her for this. He couldn't. It's his job to take care of her. And right now, that tasting a lawyer's spunk, which don't taste any different from his own, really. Fancy suits and expensive dinners, but Flynn's all man underneath. Has his needs.
Amos swallows and Flynn pushes him away with a hand on his forehead. Amos nearly knocks himself against the hard wood of the lawyer's desk, but he doesn't say anything about it. Flynn probably didn't even think about it. He's not the type who would.
Flynn sets himself to rights as Amos watches, forgetting for a moment that he's there on his knees on the lushly carpeted floor. Underwear that costs more than Amos makes on a good week. Custom tailored suit pants that perfectly match the jacket. Amos would look like a monkey in it, he thinks. Better leave the slick look to the lawyer.
Flynn turns to the window and pulls the drapes, except it's not a window -- just a mirror. He adjusts his tie and his eyes catch Amos's in the reflection.
"Are you still here?" Flynn asks in amazement.
Amos scrambles to his feet. "I am," he says. Flynn doesn't turn around, just gestures in the direction of the door.
"I have work to do. You'd better get my money by next week," he says.
"Yes, sir," Amos says, and makes for the door. His mouth tastes bitter now, unpleasant. He's too hot, suddenly, like he's going to be sick.
"I'll see you at the trial," the lawyer says, and Amos pauses awkwardly and glances back. Flynn is smiling, just a little, like the cat with the cream, settled down behind the desk. He has the little desk lamp on.
Amos fumbles with the knob, listening to the lock click as he opens it, and he shuts the door behind him without making a sound.
Flynn doesn't look up from his papers.
Fandom: Chicago
Length: 564 words
Prompt: Porn Battle: Chicago, Billy Flynn/Amos Hart, trial
Pairing: Billy Flynn/Amos Hart; mentioned Amos/Roxie
Other: R for sex. Warning for dubious consent.
Excerpt: Billy Flynn fucks just like you'd guess: to win. He's hard and fast and never lets up.
Billy Flynn fucks just like you'd guess: to win. He's hard and fast and never lets up. He only asks questions he already knows the answers to, and he never listens to the answers. He's the best lawyer. He ain't the best in bed.
But Amos isn't going to tell him that. He grits his teeth and he does what he has to for Roxie. This is work, and Amos is a good worker. He doesn't protest the long hours at his regular job. There's machine oil under his fingernails, and it'll be there until he dies. He's a good man, he has a good wife, and this thing with Flynn is just another thing he has to do. He'll do it until he can find the money to pay the lawyer, and he'll never tell a soul.
Fancy fucking lawyer, surrounds himself with women, and no one on the outside would guess the way he really feels about them: nothing, cold as Ma's icebox. Amos knows there are people like that out there, but he's never quite understood it. (Flynn digs his fingers into Amos's hip, hissing wordlessly. Amos keeps going, hoping it's a good sign.) Amos has always been into the pinup girls. A pretty face turns his eye. That's how he met Roxie to start with.
He doesn't blame her for this. He couldn't. It's his job to take care of her. And right now, that tasting a lawyer's spunk, which don't taste any different from his own, really. Fancy suits and expensive dinners, but Flynn's all man underneath. Has his needs.
Amos swallows and Flynn pushes him away with a hand on his forehead. Amos nearly knocks himself against the hard wood of the lawyer's desk, but he doesn't say anything about it. Flynn probably didn't even think about it. He's not the type who would.
Flynn sets himself to rights as Amos watches, forgetting for a moment that he's there on his knees on the lushly carpeted floor. Underwear that costs more than Amos makes on a good week. Custom tailored suit pants that perfectly match the jacket. Amos would look like a monkey in it, he thinks. Better leave the slick look to the lawyer.
Flynn turns to the window and pulls the drapes, except it's not a window -- just a mirror. He adjusts his tie and his eyes catch Amos's in the reflection.
"Are you still here?" Flynn asks in amazement.
Amos scrambles to his feet. "I am," he says. Flynn doesn't turn around, just gestures in the direction of the door.
"I have work to do. You'd better get my money by next week," he says.
"Yes, sir," Amos says, and makes for the door. His mouth tastes bitter now, unpleasant. He's too hot, suddenly, like he's going to be sick.
"I'll see you at the trial," the lawyer says, and Amos pauses awkwardly and glances back. Flynn is smiling, just a little, like the cat with the cream, settled down behind the desk. He has the little desk lamp on.
Amos fumbles with the knob, listening to the lock click as he opens it, and he shuts the door behind him without making a sound.
Flynn doesn't look up from his papers.