Chapter Text
Oh, god. He’s cut his hair. The fucking guy has cut his hair.
Steve gapes at the screen. His entire day is ruined.
Until now, when he’d watched the CCTV view of the lobby on his phone, it was the long hair that prevented Steve from really being able to see the guy. He keeps a screenshot of each of his clients in his phone, just for safety’s sake, since he’s allowing them entry into his home, but this guy’s shaggy hair has always meant Steve couldn’t get a good clear shot of him. It’s really goddamn annoying.
Not that it actually matters, not that Steve gives a shit about clients’ faces—anonymity was literally the entire point of a glory hole—but, fuck, sue him, he’s been curious about this guy.
He barely glances at the screen for his other clients before he buzzes them in. But with this guy, he’s started delaying pressing the buzzer, really trying to get a look, each time. He knows it’s stupid and maybe weird, but he isn’t doing any harm. It’s not like he’s been creeping the guy’s Facebook or something. He doesn’t even know his full name. He just wants to get a little look.
He’s tall, Steve can tell. Maybe kinda built—it might just be a trick of the camera angle, but he looks really fucking broad in the shoulders. Probably fairly young, based on his clothes. He’s obviously out of Steve’s league, anyway, not that Steve was kidding himself about dating again. Sometimes Steve catches a flash of the guy’s eyes as he buzzes him in, but that’s all; he’s usually looking down, shuffling awkwardly, the curtain of his hair masking his face. It’s been driving Steve a little crazy.
Because the guy never speaks. Not a word. No, worse: he never makes a sound. And, honestly, Steve does not care either way if guys are quiet or loud when he’s going down on them; he’s been doing this long enough not to take people’s reactions personally. If there’s anything he’s learned to appreciate about his clients, it’s their infinite variety, and he’s just as used to the deep breathers as he is to the dirty talkers and the screamers. Some dudes are just quiet. Sure, hypothetically, in a relationship Steve would prefer a responsive partner, but that’s completely irrelevant. He doesn’t have a relationship, and it’s not like any of these guys are sticking around for a cuddle afterwards anyway.
It’s just—look, Steve is a fucking master at what he does, all right. A straight-up cocksucking genius. People tell him all the time. He’s generally a modest guy, he would never brag about it, but it’s a simple fact that if there were an Olympics of giving head, then he is definitely Michael Phelps AND Usain Bolt combined in one small yet talented package. He knows what he’s doing.
And this dude, this fucking tall guy with his shoulders and his face-concealing hair, keeps fucking coming into Steve’s home, and also, like, coming into his home, and receiving what Steve knows to be the best fucking anonymous fellatio it was possible to get, in the whole city, and he doesn’t even breathe hard.
It pisses Steve off. It shouldn’t, but it does. There was just nothing; not a whimper, not a satisfied exhale, nothing at all to indicate there’s even a person on the other end of the dick Steve was so generously sucking. For a price, but still. Generous. Every time, this guy just stomps into Steve’s apartment, sticks his cock in the hole, and comes in absolute silence about five minutes later before stomping out again. He never even says thank you. It’s hard not to be insulted.
It also doesn’t help that the guy has the most beautiful dick Steve has ever had the pleasure of seeing. And he has seen so, so many dicks. But this one was…wow.
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He’d fallen for it hard at first sight, maybe seven or eight months ago. He got a text from Wade, one of his regulars, saying u interested in new client? buddy looking with a phone number. Initially, Steve was planning to decline, since he was happy with his select list of regulars and wasn’t interested in running the glory hole more than one day a week. It wasn’t like he needed the money any more. But Wade was a good guy, and had been with him for so long, Steve figured it couldn’t hurt to help out a friend. He sent a text to the new guy’s number and saved him in his contacts as new guy (wade’s friend). They’d set up their first appointment in a couple of brief messages. He hadn’t thought much more about it until the guy showed up and fed his cock through the hole.
After a couple of minutes, Steve had made a mental note to send Wade a gift basket. Maybe some balloons. Fucking champagne.
This dick…it wasn’t just that it was big, although it most definitely was that. It was the whole thing. Really big but not too long, uncut, already half hard. And the way it was already starting to flush with color, Jesus Christ, and the thick, blunt head, and ohh my God…
Steve had grinned. He was in. love. with this dick, and he was going to suck it so. good.
Or at least, he thought he was. He thought he had. He’d started slightly cautiously, as he always did with new clients, but he eventually built up a nice rhythm and used a few of his go-to moves that usually got a good reaction. The guy being quiet didn’t bother him that first time; lots of guys were quiet. And this dude seemed to be enjoying himself despite his silence; he was leaking and fucking rock hard within a minute of Steve first touching him. Everything seemed to be going well.
When the orgasm came, Steve had only been briefly, mildly disappointed at the lack of audible reaction; the guy’s cock pulsed gorgeously for ever and there was a frankly startling amount of come, so it would have been nice to hear a moan or a sigh or something. But it hadn’t been that big a deal. Every guy was different.
But then, the guy had fucking ghosted. Steve was just finishing cleaning up the last of the come from the guy’s head with his tongue, and he was feeling just unreal, so spacey and turned on and fucking awesome. He was about to lean back and stretch and sigh and say, “how was that?” or something equally mindless and post-coital, but the second his lips left the guy’s dick, the guy pulled back through the hole like he’d been burned. There were loud, fast footsteps and then Steve’s front door slammed as the guy left. He practically sprinted.
Even that wasn’t anything unusual, really. Nobody at a glory hole exactly stuck around to chat--except Wade, and he didn’t count. Most of his clients would take a second to get themselves presentable before they left, or ask to use the bathroom. Plenty of them thanked him. Profusely. But not everyone! A lot of guys who came to Steve were straight, or ashamed of what they were doing, or whatever. It was an awkward thing for some people, and Steve had to remember that they didn’t owe him any reaction, no matter how phenomenal their dicks were. One guy being quiet really shouldn’t have bothered him as much as it did.
It was just that he’d really wanted this guy to enjoy himself. And he absolutely had to have that stunning cock in his mouth again. Was the guy not satisfied? Steve had assumed, from the seemingly devastating orgasm that had occurred, that he’d done a good job, but now this guy’s silence during the whole thing was coming back to him and Steve was starting to wonder if he’d fucked up.
He decided, perhaps unwisely, to text him.
was that ok?
The reply had come a moment later. All it said was, yeah.
Steve waited another minute, but that was it.
“Yeah,” Steve grumbled. “How expressive.” He was starting to pout. “You’re fucking welcome, asshole.”
Wade texted him later, How did James like it? And Steve texted back Oh my god, don’t tell me his NAME, and Wade just sent him back OOOOPSSSS and a string of random emojis that didn’t make sense, and Steve figured that was it.
But then, a few days later, he got a text from the new guy’s number:
u avail next week?
Steve changed his contact name to new guy (james), and James became a regular.
Steve pulled out all the stops, and the guy came like a freight train every time, but never made a sound and always ran out the door. Steve didn’t understand. Guys never just stood there impassively while on the receiving end of his best deepthroat work. It was unheard of. But James kept making appointments, and never went more than a couple of weeks without coming back. Steve tried to just accept it without stewing. But it was getting to him.
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By now, Steve has admitted to himself that he’s gotten a little preoccupied with New Guy James. He wants to ask Wade about him, but that would really not be cool. Steve values and protects his clients’ privacy. He’s extremely serious about it. But he’s just so curious about what this guy’s deal is. And that cock is fucking second to none. Steve cannot be blamed that he wants to see the rest of him.
But now. Dear God. This asshole’s turned up for their appointment with his hair cut.
He’s standing in the lobby, and Steve’s finger is hovering in midair above the button to buzz him up, but it’s frozen in place and he actually whimpers out loud, because oh no. This guy’s face. Steve finally has a clear shot of it, and he is so fucking hot. Like, intimidatingly, unattainably hot. Like, crazy beautiful.
He’s also wearing just a t-shirt instead of his usual eighteen layers of sweaters and jackets, and the thin fabric is confirming every suspicion Steve’s had about the jacked-ness of this dude’s body.
Even by the shitty, grainy image on his screen, Steve can tell that this guy is basically every model, athlete, and movie star that he’s ever fantasized about, rolled into one. Ten times hotter than any guy Steve has ever even seen. Steve wants to cry, he’s so hot. He wants to lie on his bed and scream. This guy should be, like, making passionate athletic love to his superhero husband in a fucking castle, or whatever. Not visiting a shitty glory hole in Flatbush twice a month. What the fuck.
Steve stares for a few more seconds at the beautiful face on his screen, then gets himself together. This is so, so unfair. He’s feeling weird and nervous now, like the guy’s going to figure out that he’s too good to be here. He buzzes Extremely Hot Guy James upstairs and pulls out the homemade false wall where the hole is.
The guy comes in, and Steve blows him. It feels off, hesitant and timid by Steve’s standards, but the guy unloads down his throat after a few minutes anyway. He does it without even so much as a whisper, and is out of the apartment before Steve’s even stopped swallowing.
Steve sits back on his heels and sighs. It was a decent BJ, and it shouldn't feel so anticlimactic. He actually feels like shit, which sucks because he usually feels fantastic after a client. He can’t figure it out, why is this stupid situation even bothering him? He cleans up his supplies moodily and tries to forget about it.
Later he gets a text, same as always: u avail next week?
Suddenly Steve’s mad. How dare this fucking guy get in his head and make him feel bad. Steve Rogers is the best cocksucker of his generation, thank you very much, and he isn’t going to let some silent asshole mess up his game, no matter how good he looks.
He types a reply.
yep. same time is good.
Sooner or later, he thinks, I’m gonna make you scream. He smiles to himself, and presses Send.
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