You Don’t Know My Name

Title: You Don’t Know My Name
Pairing: Zach/Jon (Grinto/Quintoff)
Rating: Light R
Length: 1245
Warnings: Fluffy fluffer fluff. No, there aren’t fluffers. Well, I’ve never been to Joe’s Pub, but it didn’t seem like that kind of establishment from the youtube video. *beats back new plot bunny with a stick* No, I won’t be following that train of thought. Explicit descriptions, and dirty talk. Shameless, hawt dirty talk.

Disclaimer: Filthy, dirty, horny lies with the hope that sometime, something similar to this might have maybe been true… but if it was I have no way of knowing.

A/N: For the lovely ewinfic for the Day That Shall Not Be Named. Not usually the couple I ship, but for her, I’m making an exception because I luuuuuuuurve her. You really should watch this video to get the full effect of this fic. (Sorry it’s not embedded. I’m not all that sure how to do that. Links work, too.)

The dark of the pub is cozy rather than depressing, small votive candles flickering on the tables set close together with barely enough room for the cocktail staff to slip between chairs. The back corner of Joe’s Pub, where I’m seated, is close to the bar but the tone of the workers doesn’t interfere with the hush that’s fallen over the crowd as the emcee introduces tonight’s talent. And oh, tonight’s talent…

Black t-shirt tight across his chest, hint of nip at certain angles, dark jeans that cup his ass just so, mop of curly hair flopping into his eyes now and then…

Oh, Jon, Jon, Jon. The strains of his next song begin, one I’ve heard him singing in the shower, and the transcendence of his voice, the memory of its echo against the tile walls, the fact that he kept singing it even after I’d stripped down and climbed in with him, pulling him close to taste his skin as his abs clenched to keep the notes true despite my hands and mouth on him, all of it surges a fit of arousal from my scalp to my toes, ping ponging around my body before concentrating in my groin. Yes, I do know your name.

The slight gyrations of his hips have me transfixed, his open and smiling face, so expressive when he’s performing.

Feels like ooooh oooh oooh.

I shift in my seat a little, my jeans a bit too tight for comfort at the moment, and I’m glad for the dim lighting. He surreptitiously keeps meeting my eyes, or trying to despite the lights pointing in his face. He knows the vicinity of my seat, looking in my direction, singing, “And you’ll never know how good it feels to have all my affection.”

Wrong there, Jon. I do know how good it feels. And I plan to know how good it feels later on tonight. Repeatedly.

The way he plays the crowd, the easy moves, slight twists of his hips, quirks of his smiling lips, he’s a great entertainer, engaging and fun. The crowd responds, a few hoots at the right moment, a giggle here and there at a coy face he pulls. I want to jump on that stage and kiss his adorable face off.

He gets a look on his face then. “You know what, I’m just gonna call this boy. Does anybody here have a cell phone?” The crowd whoops, and a laugh bubbles up in my chest as someone offers their phone from the front row. Mic goes back in the stand and he digs a card out of his pocket to chuckles from the audience, the piano softening but keeping the mood of the song going. He dials.

My phone vibrates in my pocket, and I dig it out to see his smiling face on my screen. Cheeky bastard. I answer as softly as I can so that he can still hear me.

“Hey, baby.”

“Could I please speak to…” looks at the name on his little card he set on the piano. “to Michael?”

“You know damn good and well you’re looking for Zach,” I husk into his ear, watching his reaction, a smile playing over my lips. Oh, the boy is in for it if he thinks calling me during this bit is a good idea.

“Oh hey, how you doin’?” his eyes searching me out in my corner.

“I’d be even better if you weren’t wearing clothes up there.”

He runs his hands through his hair, keeping a remarkably straight face at the words, the huff of breath I let out over the phone. I don’t know if he can hear that part, but maybe he can.

“Listen, I feel kinda silly doin’ this, but uh, this is the waiter from the coffeehouse on 39th and Lennox.”

“You on the menu there?”

“…Not the one with the braids.” The crowd laughs again, eating it up. Eating him up. “Yeah, well, I see you come in every Wednesday, I think you come in on Wednesday on your lunch breaks, I think?”

“I’ll come wherever and whatever day you want me to, baby. Repeatedly.”

“And you always order the Special.” More laughter. “With a hot chocolate.”

“When I’d rather be ordering you, with a side of fellatio and rimming.” I can’t help chuckle a little myself, knowing my replies to him sound like cheesy porn dialogue. But goddammit if he isn’t getting me going with this hidden-out-in-the-open phone call.

“And my manager be trippin’ talkin’ about how we gotta use water, but I always use the milk and cream for you because I think you’re kinda sweet.” And oh, he completely made eye contact there. Heat bloomed all along my spine, and a surge of want cannonballed straight to my dick.

“I can be dirty too, you wanna talk about milk and cream. Or milking your cream.” Did I seriously just say that? Good thing it’s just him on the phone and no one can hear my half of the conversation.

“You’re always wearing this fine blue suit, and your cufflinks are shinin’ all bright. So what you do?”

I huffed a laugh into the phone. “You. As soon as your set is finished. I wanna bend you over that piano and worship that ass in front of the whole crowd.”

“Oh, word?” He’s remarkably composed. Too composed.

“Yeah, my cock pounding into your tight hole, making you come undone.”

“Yeah, that’s interesting. Listen man, I don’t wanna waste your time, and uh, I don’t normally do this? But I was wondering if maybe you’d like to get together sometime outside the restaurant? ‘Cause I do look a lot different outside my work clothes.”

“Well aren’t you a coy motherfucker?” my voice breathy in his ear. “I’m gonna get you out of your ‘work clothes’ the first chance I get.”

“I mean, we could just go the park right here across the street.”

“Mmmhmm, public sex. Sounds good to me.”

“Oh, hold up. Hold up, my cell phone’s breakin’ up, hold up… Can you hear me now?”

“I want to fuck you now.”

“So what day did you say?”

“Today. Just a few more songs to go, and I’m gonna have you naked and begging for more, coming undone beneath me.”

“Thursday. Thursday’s perfect.”

I let a phone-sex-voiced chuckle go down the phone line again. “We can fuck on Thursday, too.”

He starts up the song again, singing to the phone in his hand before giving it back to the person who lent it to him, and that angelic voice cuts straight to the horny center of my brain. “And it feels like ooooh oh oh oh oh oh oh oh oh oh ohhh. Will you ever know it? My naaaaaaaaame.”

The call ended, and I quickly opened a text message to him. “And you’ll be screaming my name in just a little while, baby. Count on it, you sexy fucker.”

~ by A on June 6, 2011.