With his hand trapped by Arcade’s, Jake started to rock his hips into their combined fists instead. Arcade wasn’t touching his cock directly, but this still felt far too close for comfort. He tried again to tug Jake’s hand away. Jake whined.
“Please, help me come,” he begged. “This is killing me.”
“I can’t,” Arcade said. “Do you even know who I am, Jake?”
Jake looked at him through eyelashes spiked with moisture. “Arcade,” he said. He reached up with his free hand and clutched the lapels of Arcade’s coat, tried to pull him down. “Help me. Make me come, Arcade.”
Arcade freed himself from Jake’s grip and stood up, turning away so Jake wouldn’t see the effect he was having on his anatomy. He glanced at his doctor’s bag and wondered if he could risk tranquilising him again. He didn’t want to, not when Jake’s system was already flooded with unknown chems. Leaving him in his current state was no better. The flush of hormones brought on by orgasm might genuinely help him, but if prolonged intercourse with two different women had brought him no relief, masturbating wasn’t going to get him any closer.
Unless—Well, maybe there was another solution after all. A different kind of stimulation could give him release. The only problem was providing that stimulation. None of the options made him feel remotely comfortable.
Jake groaned and turned on his side, still groping himself. “Do something,” he pleaded.
“It’s okay,” Arcade said. He leaned down and smoothed the hair back from Jake’s forehead. “I’ll go get someone to help you.”
--
“What do you mean, he quit?”
Arcade stood facing Francine Garrett across the bar. She stared back unapologetically. “I mean, he quit. Few days ago. Ran off with some NCR boy. Hadn’t even finished paying back his debts yet.”
“And Santiago was your only male... companion?”
“Yep.”
Arcade gritted his teeth. “What about the robot.”
Francine shook her head. “Now there’s another wasted investment. Damn thing’s on the fritz again. James has been working on it upstairs for the last week.”
“Right.” Arcade closed his eyes. This couldn’t be happening. The next best option would be to get Jake to the Strip, but Arcade had serious doubts about the likelihood of getting him dressed and on his feet, never mind all the way to a major casino and past security in his intoxicated and feverish state.
“Our Ellie looks enough like a boy from behind,” Francine began, but Arcade raised a hand to stop that thought.
“No. Thanks. It’s not for me,” he told her. He leaned on the bar, drumming his fingers on the surface. “It’s—Look, as ridiculous as this sounds, it’s a medical emergency.”
“Uh huh.” Francine looked unmoved. “Ain’t it always.”
--
Arcade eyed his reflection in the bathroom mirror, blurry without his glasses, and gave himself a silent pep talk. He could feel proud, he told himself, of the heroic job he’d done of so far resisting Jake’s advances. Especially since that man was basically all of Arcade’s wet dream fantasies rolled into one, and that was before he was writhing naked under him and begging to be touched. If Arcade could withstand pressure like that, he could surely find a way to get through this with a minimum of damage to both of them.
Even so, he felt guilty. Guilty for looking, guilty for getting hard, and guilty that he was about to go into a stall and jerk off so he didn’t come in his pants the next time Jake rubbed against him.
“Really goddamn heroic,” he said, and doused his face in cold water.
--
Having dealt with his erection in record time—even if he hadn’t been in a rush, he wouldn’t have lasted three minutes with those images of Jake fresh in his mind—Arcade went back to the room. Veronica had spotted him on his way to the stairs, but he’d given her a kind of vague ‘Everything’s fine’ gesture, and she’d stayed at her table. Better to lie than have to explain what he was about to do.
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timeasmymeasure
Fever (All Through the Night), 1e/1i
Date: 2014-03-22 08:37 pm (UTC)“Please, help me come,” he begged. “This is killing me.”
“I can’t,” Arcade said. “Do you even know who I am, Jake?”
Jake looked at him through eyelashes spiked with moisture. “Arcade,” he said. He reached up with his free hand and clutched the lapels of Arcade’s coat, tried to pull him down. “Help me. Make me come, Arcade.”
Arcade freed himself from Jake’s grip and stood up, turning away so Jake wouldn’t see the effect he was having on his anatomy. He glanced at his doctor’s bag and wondered if he could risk tranquilising him again. He didn’t want to, not when Jake’s system was already flooded with unknown chems. Leaving him in his current state was no better. The flush of hormones brought on by orgasm might genuinely help him, but if prolonged intercourse with two different women had brought him no relief, masturbating wasn’t going to get him any closer.
Unless—Well, maybe there was another solution after all. A different kind of stimulation could give him release. The only problem was providing that stimulation. None of the options made him feel remotely comfortable.
Jake groaned and turned on his side, still groping himself. “Do something,” he pleaded.
“It’s okay,” Arcade said. He leaned down and smoothed the hair back from Jake’s forehead. “I’ll go get someone to help you.”
--
“What do you mean, he quit?”
Arcade stood facing Francine Garrett across the bar. She stared back unapologetically. “I mean, he quit. Few days ago. Ran off with some NCR boy. Hadn’t even finished paying back his debts yet.”
“And Santiago was your only male... companion?”
“Yep.”
Arcade gritted his teeth. “What about the robot.”
Francine shook her head. “Now there’s another wasted investment. Damn thing’s on the fritz again. James has been working on it upstairs for the last week.”
“Right.” Arcade closed his eyes. This couldn’t be happening. The next best option would be to get Jake to the Strip, but Arcade had serious doubts about the likelihood of getting him dressed and on his feet, never mind all the way to a major casino and past security in his intoxicated and feverish state.
“Our Ellie looks enough like a boy from behind,” Francine began, but Arcade raised a hand to stop that thought.
“No. Thanks. It’s not for me,” he told her. He leaned on the bar, drumming his fingers on the surface. “It’s—Look, as ridiculous as this sounds, it’s a medical emergency.”
“Uh huh.” Francine looked unmoved. “Ain’t it always.”
--
Arcade eyed his reflection in the bathroom mirror, blurry without his glasses, and gave himself a silent pep talk. He could feel proud, he told himself, of the heroic job he’d done of so far resisting Jake’s advances. Especially since that man was basically all of Arcade’s wet dream fantasies rolled into one, and that was before he was writhing naked under him and begging to be touched. If Arcade could withstand pressure like that, he could surely find a way to get through this with a minimum of damage to both of them.
Even so, he felt guilty. Guilty for looking, guilty for getting hard, and guilty that he was about to go into a stall and jerk off so he didn’t come in his pants the next time Jake rubbed against him.
“Really goddamn heroic,” he said, and doused his face in cold water.
--
Having dealt with his erection in record time—even if he hadn’t been in a rush, he wouldn’t have lasted three minutes with those images of Jake fresh in his mind—Arcade went back to the room. Veronica had spotted him on his way to the stairs, but he’d given her a kind of vague ‘Everything’s fine’ gesture, and she’d stayed at her table. Better to lie than have to explain what he was about to do.