fathers, do not provoke your children to anger by the way you treat them.

[twotwelfths]

EPHESIANS 6:4




It ends up being a bit of an eye-opener, his encounter with Lucifer which sounds foreboding in what you'd think would be the exact way his dad had imagined it. James limps home from Lux, sleeps for close to twenty-four hours and then, dives straight into a sex party some acquaintance's arranged in a beach house near Malibu. It's mostly just a way for the young and beautiful of the L.A. beach community, most of them students or restless rich kids, to meet up and rub genitals, but sometimes select guys over 40 sneak into the mix as well, because they have good taste, obviously, and no morals to speak of.

James cruises the huge house, two stories, terrace and ocean view, for quite a long time, comparatively, everyone else's pretty much started in on the fun already as he moves from room to room. Feeling antsy, and it's not because he doesn't need a fuck desperately, he finds that nothing truly speaks to him, seeing as he knows most of these guys beforehand, has slept with more than a handful on other occasions, he isn't looking to repeat himself tonight.

Probably Lucifer Morningstar's not the easiest act to follow, he'll give all these randy twenty-somethings that, but someone in here should be able to leave him remembering their name in the morning, right?

On his third walk-through, still no bites, he ends up at the open bar and pours himself a glass of Scotch on the rocks, tipping the whole glass back and downing it in one go, because if he's lucky a little loss of inhibition should help him along nicely.

"Someone ought to tell you excessive alcohol consumption ages you quicker," a dark voice sounds from behind him, heavy accent, and James looks over one shoulder, meeting the blue eyes of a tall, Scandinavian-looking Viking type. At least a couple decades older than everyone else in here. Himself, included. He raises an eyebrow, smiles, slow curve at the corner of his mouth, alcohol already kicking in, relaxing him. He thinks about Lucifer.

"Depends on who we're talking about," he replies.

"Let's say you," the man says, coming up to the bar counter and mixing himself a G&T. Out the corner of his eye, James watches him, the breadth of his shoulders, the heavy line of his neck, his slightly rounded features, blond hair, cropped. He's nice-looking, if a bit military, not really James' usual type, but the vibe between them is already making the hairs on his arms stand on end. Electric.

"You're right, in a few years I won't be much to look at," James tells him, provocatively. "Too much sun, salt, sand. You better fuck me while I'm still hot."

The man turns his head slowly to catch and hold his gaze.

~

Half an hour later, they crash one of the bedrooms upstairs, James' back banging into the doorframe painfully, but they're kissing angrily, so he doesn't make too much of a fuss, though the naked girl on the bed jumps up with a yelp. Hey, we're kinda in the middle of something here, one of the two guys also on the bed says, getting to his feet and trying to look imposing with his hard cock bouncing against his abdomen. The man ignores him, pushing James roughly into the middle of the room before walking over and grabbing Boner Dude by the neck and pretty much just walking him out the door. HEY, he yells, stumbling into the wall, opposite side of the hallway. James' pick of the night then turns towards the other two, the guy and the girl, with a quietly murmured, get out, watching them as they look at each other first, then quickly start collecting their things and disappear out the same way their friend went. The man slams the door shut behind them, locks it.

Only reason James can remember when he was last this hard? Is because it was less than forty-eight hours ago.

~

They don't do anything as boring as lie down on the bed, instead the man pushes him backwards, ass up against the desk on the far-end side, the whole wooden construct rattling, something sliding off the surface, falling onto the floor, breaking, but neither of them pay much attention to it, not even as it crunches underneath the man, his mysterious stranger's shoe. Both his hands are shoved down James' waistband, palming his buttocks.

"Wanna fuck you." A murmur, just as dangerous as the tone of voice he struck with the threeway he sent scrambling. James breathes in hard, pulling out of the kiss, leaving a slick trail of spit from his lips along the man's jaw. His asshole contracts a little at the notion, only to remind him that he's still sore from last time. Generally, he listens to his body when it's trying to tell him something, especially when it's been as good as to take a ten-inch anything the night before.

"No," he says and twists, catching the stranger's hands between himself and the edge of the desk. He quickly withdraws them with a huff, instead flattening his palms over his waist. In the dimness of the room, James can tell he's frowning, before shrugging and leaning in to take his mouth again. The rest is more of an exhalation than an actual, coherent sentence against the man's open, hungry mouth. "Think of something else."

"Fine," he finally says and spins them around, settling himself with his back against the desk and James leaning in against his front. His hands release his waist to land on his shoulders instead, giving him a push, down. "Better make your mouth good and tight, my pretty."

James drops to his knees like he was commanded to - because he was, right, and shit, is he a sucker for that stuff, Lucifer did it, too.

Firm guidance.

~

Afterwards, they lie sprawled out on the mattress, finally, a bundle of limbs whichever way's most comfortable. James' head is resting on his stranger, named Kevin's chest, right above his heart. He can hear the post-orgasmic thud, thud, thud of it, beating. Guard your heart... The man's running his fingers through his hair, slow stroking motions. They're honestly just waiting for their bodies to warm up once more, second round, go.

They've played a game of "guess my age", Kevin pinpointing him at 25 which he will be in a month's time anyway while James was nice, and shot Kevin at 39, missing the mark by six years. Can't tell you're 45, James tells him, stroking the underside of his lower arm with his fingers, fingertips brushing over his wrist. He can feel the muscles quiver, ticklish.

"Weren't aware you were into older men," Kevin asks him with a chuckle. Smiling, James shrugs.

"I was aware I had daddy issues, isn't that the same thing," he wants to know, in response.

Against his thigh, Kevin's cock gives an interested jerk and you'd think that meant yes.