Harley (crimsonkitty88) wrote,

FIC: Just you and I in the Curzon Bar (Pagan/Pence)

Title: Just you and I in the Curzon Bar
Fandom: Baseball, San Francisco Giants
Pairing: Angel Pagan/Hunter Pence
Rating: M
Words: 1761
Disclaimer: I own nothing. No money is being made with the posting of this story. I am in no way affiliated with the San Francisco Giants organization or the various members there in. This is a work of fiction, made with no intent to harm or defame.
Warnings: PORN. Lots of it. In a possibly unsanitary environment. Minor rough play.
Summary: Angel likes Hunter's new haircut. Hunter is just horny.

A/N: If you haven't seen Hunter Pence's late 2012 season mohawk, I suggest you make that a priority. Thanks to Amanda for betaing and keeping me from making a fool of myself. Thanks to Courtney for being herself. This is for all of you over on tumblr and twitter. You know who you are. Title from "Flux" by Bloc Party.

Also available on AO3

It’s loud.

There’s music playing, something techno and electronic and flashing eardrums. It doesn’t appeal to either of them even remotely, but then good luck finding a place with an even mix of southern rock, reggaeton, and old blues playing over the speakers.

The place is overcrowded, even for a Friday night. The few tables bustling over with short skirts and unbuttoned collars and the soft lights that get to Hunter almost as bad as the alcohol.

Libertine is one of those ultra modern places with too many stairs and glow sticks in the bartender’s cleavage. It’s stupidly over the top, like the clubs you see in late night crime shows with some socialite dead in the closet. No cops yet but Hunter’s pretty sure he saw a drug deal going down in the back corner when they walked in.

He admits he left the point of caring behind about four shots ago.

The hotel rooms were stuffy and too close, even with the A/C blasting and a pool just outside the balcony. The entire team was itching out of their skins after a tight, almost manic win that had them all bouncing off shoulders and slamming each other into the dirt. It was either get out and away or get banned from the hotel chain for life. Angel suggested a club across town a friend had told him about and he and Hunter were out the door in minutes.

Angel is sitting across from him, fingers tapping absently against the overly bright table, buttoned down shirt with the collar open and dark jeans. Looking like something Hunter’s mama used to warn him about when he was little.

Sin and temptation and blah blah blah. Angel’s had three different people offer to buy him drinks in the last two hours and he’d turned them all down with a soft smile, content to sip from his lone glass and watch the late night crowd. Hunter would be content to sit on his thighs and kiss him back into the red upholstery.

“Hey.” He taps Angel’s shin with a foot. “Hey,” he says again.

“Hmm?” Angel’s eyes shift away from the crowd, taking him in with an absent minded smile.

“I’ve got an idea.”

Before Angel can say anything, Hunter grabs his hand, pulling him up from the seat. He’s incapable of keeping in the small, giddy laugh as Angel entwines their fingers together. He’ll blame the alcohol for everything later.

Guiding them through the overcrowded tables and other patrons takes more cognitive power than Hunter realized he was capable of at this point. His feet don’t go quite where he expects them to and people are pressing in from all sides like a drunken bee hive, chattering and buzzing and clinking glasses. A pretty blonde eyes their tangled hands and gives Hunter a wicked smile.

They barely make it through when he finally yanks Angel into the bathroom in the darkest, furthest corner of the building. He only just remembers to lock the door behind them before pushing Angel against the concrete wall, happy and content to nuzzle at a soft spot in Angel’s beard.

A deep rumble laugh that Hunter feels against his mouth. “What’s got into you?”

“Mmmm, tequila. Hopefully you.”

Angel swears softly and Hunter moves upward to get a taste of the mouth he’s been staring at all fucking night.

“Could’ve done this back at the hotel,” Angel tells him between slack lips and the feel of his hands sliding into Hunter’s back pockets.

“Mph. Neighbors. Property damage.”

Angel uses his denim leverage to get as close as possible, crushing Hunter to him as they go at it like they haven’t done this in months. It feels like months sometimes when all Angel has to do is look at him and Hunter’s ready to get on his knees.

A tongue slides along his lower lip and dips into his mouth, tasting him. Hunter catches it between his teeth, playful smirk spreading across his face, until Angel pinches his ass, telling him to let go.

“I like your tongue,” Hunter tells him, sharp giggle at the end that he bites his bottom lip against.

Angel gives him a dark, smug look, telling him, “You like all of me,” before pulling him back in for another kiss.

They make out like horny drunk teenagers with their parents away (which, Hunter admits, they probably are) against the cold, vibrating wall. There are three different knocks on the door, yelling for them to hurry the fuck up but all are ignored.

Angel slowly pulls away with a deep, lingering kiss that has Hunter weak in the knees and leaning back in for more, feeling crazy and drunk and slaphappy. Angel stops him with a hand to his chest.

His gaze moves upward as Hunter can suddenly feel a hand carding through his hair, skimming the newly shaved sides and tugging at his curls.

"You like it."

The mohawk is only a few days old. It made him smile when the team barber turned him around to look in the mirror. But he thinks Angel’s been eying it for those few days the same way Hunter’s been eying his mouth all night.


Angel’s fingers tighten in the curls. He pulls back gently and Hunter can't help the small noise as his neck is slowly bared to Angel’s stare.

“Yeah.” He leans forward to nip at the underside of Hunter’s chin, free hand running up and down Hunter’s side

He pulls away, eyes searing. Says softly, “You should keep it.”

The mood shifts from playful to charged and tense so fast and Hunter doesn't know if it's the alcohol in his belly or the way Angel is looking at him that's making his face red and the hairs on his arms stand on end

Angel’s other hand comes up and lays against his neck, thumb wrapped around his adam’s apple, gentle vertical strokes of skin, and Hunter can’t help the instinctive swallow, throat convulsing against the inside of Angel’s palm.

They both freeze.

He’s barely breathing. The only movement, the pounding of his heart growing quicker and quicker. He knows Angel can feel it. Every flutter and fluctuation.

Angel takes a deep breath and pulls his hand away, thumb rasping at the stumble on Hunter’s cheek before settling on his shoulder, their chests expanding deeply against each other.

They don’t say a word. Slowly, Hunter sinks to his knees, never breaking eye contact. Angel’s eyes grow darker with each movement, fingers keeping a grip against Hunter’s scalp.

The tile is cold on Hunter’s knees as he nuzzles at the bulge in Angel’s jeans, growing harder under his mouth. The zipper is sharp and rough at his lips and he gently scrapes his teeth against it.

Both he and Angel are breathing harshly, the small bubble they’ve encased themselves in growing warmer in the spaces between. Every puff of air causing minute tremors encased in denim.

Hunter runs his hands up Angel’s thighs, allowing himself the feel of the tense muscle underneath. Strength he’s felt wrapped around his waist or pushing against him with slow deliberate movement from behind. His hands don’t shake when he undoes Angel’s belt buckle.

The first taste is Hunter’s favorite. Just a short slide of his lips, wet and hungry. Tongue teasing because he can. Because he wants to. Because he’s done this a dozen times and each infinitesimal reaction feels new and striking. Angel’s entire body shudders and Hunter watches as his head falls back with a thunk against bathroom tile.

Hunter savors the second one, slow and tight and suckling, Angel’s shoulders twitching with every disappearing inch. Like a house of cards folding in on itself.

But even as he jerks to the rhythm of Hunter’s tongue, Angel doesn’t let go. His hand only shifts to the back of Hunter’s skull, gripped tight against his palm, guiding himself into Hunter’s mouth with nudges of his hips.

Hunter lets him and suddenly Angel is pushing Hunter back down down down further than he usually would but not as far as Hunter wants. Wants them both choking with it. Wants Angel speechless.

Angel’s hand guides him to wherever wants, nerve endings along Hunter’s scalp sore and tight, tiny little waves of pain with every pull that go straight to his own cock.

The buckle of Angel’s belt slaps against the side of Hunter’s neck with every nudge, in time to the animal noises coming from the back of Angel’s throat. He doesn’t think about the red mark that’s going to be there tomorrow or maybe even the next day, jangling metal in his ears drowned out to the sound of more important things

The movements of Angel’s hands become less smooth, stuttering and fast and rough, other hand grabbing onto Hunter’s shoulder for balance, pressing into him and holding him in place until the completely silent moment when he comes down Hunter’s throat, Hunter swallowing and not having a choice, not wanting one, hot and exactly what he wanted the moment they’d walked into this place.

He rips open his own jeans, and pulls out his cock, kissing every last twitch out of Angel, until the shudders have faded with the taste still on his tongue. He doesn’t waste any time, long sharp pulls and a twist at the end, still on the floor at Angel’s feet, Angel’s hand still keeping him where he wants, breathing deep and hard against denim

There’s a quick yank and suddenly Hunter is looking up into dark eyes, bent over him like a storm and Hunter almost comes from the spark of pain alone.

Angel swallows the gasp with his mouth, sloppy harsh kisses that taste like scotch and Angel’s come.

He pulls away, letting Hunter’s gasps and deep whines escape against his mouth before he sinks his teeth into Hunter’s bottom lip and wrenches the hand attached to Hunter’s hair for one clean sharp moment of perfection and Hunter comes just like that, comes with a yell that everyone in a five mile radius has to have heard

His hand is dripping and he’s barely breathing when he collapses forward, head pillowed on Angel’s stomach, body supported by strong thighs.

Angel finally releases his hold, and it makes Hunter dizzy so he closes his eyes, blackness and the returning sound of the world outside overwhelming him. Angel’s hand comes around to grab his chin and pull him in for a sweet kiss. Hunter can feel the smile growing against his mouth.
Tags: baseball, my fic, pence/pagan, san francisco giants
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