Notes: Visual aids and a little context here.

Waiting for it
 

New York, 1997

Look, he's got to admit it - the thought of making Puffy wait kinda gives him a kick.

Christ knows it doesn't happen to the guy often enough. Like this morning when he rang Ashton out of the blue and straight out told him, didn't ask, told Ashton, 'I got tonight, ten o'clock. Meet the car at the usual place.' And just like that, Ashton was supposed to drop everything and say 'sure.'

He said okay, but showing up on the dot would be like admitting something, and it's bad enough he's already on the run-around for this guy. Ashton may not be rich like Puffy, famous like Puffy, not yet - but he's still not nobody, he's not Puffy's goddamn flunkey.

Half an hour waiting should make the point. Have Puffy riled up nice and good, yeah.

So he likes jerking the guy's chain, okay?

It's thirty-three minutes past the hour when Ashton makes it to 'the usual place' - an underground parking lot, cavernous and just about empty.

There's no one else around but Ashton's guy would be hard to miss even if it were crowded. In real life Puff Daddy looks just like he does in magazines: a little shorter, maybe, but the way he leans against his silver Lincoln, arms folded and eyes hidden behind smoky shades... Not the first time they've met like this, not even the fifth, but the sheen of his diamonds and cut of his suit can still make Ashton blink.

Ashton walks in slow. Puffy pointedly glances at his designer watch, one foot tapping the concrete, but Ashton doesn't step up the pace. Payback for that phone call, he thinks, and struggles to be solemn. But it's hard to keep a straight face when you know that you did that, that you've actually kept the Puff Daddy himself waiting for half an hour and there's not a fucking thing he's gonna do about it, and after a moment Ashton just gives up and smiles.

Puffy doesn't. He takes off his shades and tucks them into his pocket. "You're late," he says flatly, eyes heavy-lidded, mouth sullen. "No one saw you coming here, right?"

"Geez." Ashton rolls his eyes. "No one saw me, okay? I know the drill." He takes out a battered pack of cigarettes and makes an elaborate show of patting down his pockets for a box of matches he well knows is sitting on his kitchen table. "You got a light, man?"

Puffy sighs but reaches inside his jacket. The lighter he pulls out and tosses over is sleek platinum.

Ashton catches it deftly. "My hero." Puffy watches him light up with an inscrutable expression that Ashton returns with interest. "Well?" he demands, casually slipping the lighter into the back pocket of his jeans. "What are we waiting for? Let's go."

He has to choke down a laugh at the look on Puffy's face when he says that.

Puff doesn't say a word, though, just raps his knuckles on the driver's window. At the sound of the engine purring to life, two bodyguards Ashton hadn't even noticed materialise from the shadows. Big tough thugs, blank-eyed and expressionless. Ashton is still not used to the whole security thing and the bodyguards kind of creep him out but he brings the cigarette back up to his lips real casual anyway.

Puffy lets Ashton get in the car first. He doesn't open the door, though, Ashton has to do that himself.

"Hilfiger's got something happening tonight," Ashton says conversationally, throwing his backpack into the back seat and sliding in after. "You going?"

Puffy looks bored. "Yeah, I guess so. I got an invite."

Of course. Puffy gets invited to everything. That's how they met - some bash for the Marc Jacobs spring collection, Puffy there as a guest and Ashton not supposed to be there at all. He was just a model, a gate-crasher looking for free booze who snuck in the back door and ended up leaving in Puffy's limo.

Skip to four months later and Ashton thinks nothing much has changed.

The Lincoln rolls out of the parking lot, tailed by security's black sedan. "So what time's your party?" Ashton says out loud, pulling out the ashtray built into the car door and tapping the end from his cigarette. "Won't you be late?" He sneers.

"Yeah." Puffy shrugs. "But it don't matter. Nothing's gonna happen without me."

"Sure." Ashton lets sarcasm curl the word up at its edges, and that's the last thing either of them says until they get to the hotel.

Even then, they don't say much.

It's just a hotel. One where the staff know how to keep their mouths shut, yeah, but other than that it's nothing special, nothing fancy. The bed is clean, the curtains close, what more do they really need? Just a burning desire to get laid, and there's no shortage on that front so Puffy doesn't waste time on the niceties. He's out of his clothes in an instant, suit folded neatly over the back of a chair and shoes kicked carelessly underneath.

Puffy stands naked while Ashton takes his own sweet time, still playing at this game. He pulls off each item with great deliberation, shoes and socks, then undoes his shirt one slow button after another. As he unbuckles his belt he forces himself not to hurry, not to look up, though Puffy's expression right at that moment must be priceless.

He's just finished very nonchalantly unzipping his fly when Puffy mutters something, maybe "motherfucker," and pushes Ashton up against the wall, not roughly but not too soft either. "So you like making me wait, huh?" Puff says, mouth pressed to Ashton's ear. "You've been a real bitch tonight, you know that, don't you. Yeah." His hands fumble at Ashton's trousers, tugging them downwards, and boxers too.

Even with his back against the wall, Ashton can't help thinking this is still pretty funny. So he laughs. "Yeah, well fuck you too," and then Puffy's hand is wrapping around his cock and he can't speak any more let alone laugh.

"Like that, huh?" In reply Ashton's hips jerk, knees start to buckle, he just can't help it. "Yeah, you're just begging for it. And you'd let me, wouldn't you?" Puffy says, his voice low and even, "Bet you'd let me fuck you here like this." And he bites down in the place where Ashton's neck and shoulder meet, the tendon across the bone, teeth pressing into skin.

There's a tense moment when he thinks it might actually happen - that he's finally pushed the guy too far - and Puffy's going to take him right there, pushed up against the wall with his pants around his ankles - he's going to do it and, what's more, Ashton's gonna let him.

But the moment passes and Puffy takes a breath, steps back.

Ashton falls forward, shoving at Puffy's chest. "You're such a fucking prick," but it doesn't come out sounding angry, he can hear his own voice and it sounds like a come-on, and Puffy is smiling. "You motherfucking asshole-" and Ashton tries again but he knows his heart's not in it, and then Puffy is licking at his mouth so he guesses Puffy knows it too.

Their stumble towards the bed isn't the most graceful thing - Ashton stubs his toe against Puffy's shin when he kicks the pants off his feet, and he cops a painful elbow in the ribs from Puffy as they fall onto the mattress - but it gets them where they want to be.

"Goddamn," Puffy mutters, kneeling over Ashton and shaking his head. "Always gotta make this so fuckin' difficult..."

"Well, if you weren't such a selfish--" Ashton starts heatedly, gives up in the next breath when he sees Puffy's grin. "Oh, shut up."

And when Ashton rolls over and pushes Puffy down beneath him, it's hard to remember why he tried to hold this off, why he'd ever want to make Puffy wait.

By Ro, October 2003
Thanks to SQ for usefully advising and patiently listening.

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