Request: Matt Engarde giving Ron DeLite a blowjob please.
Pairing: Matt/Ron, with background Ron/Dessie and hints of Matt/Juan weirdness
Warnings: Explicit sexual content
Summary: Matt is willing to make sacrifices for stardom.
Author's note: Someone on the meme made the valid comment that it's hard to see why Ron goes along with this; there's more in my head but I was having a lot of trouble with Ron's voice in general. Concrit completely welcome, as always.
Metal clanked; someone new was being brought into the maximum-security block. The warden was leading a scrawny kid, who was trembling violently, down the row. The kid's hair fell to his waist in stringy clumps; Matt was reminded of too many would-be starlets, drunk and fucked, with their perfect hair coming down after Matt had yanked out the bobby pins.
There was something familiar about the kid, who wasn't a kid at all; he was probably close to Matt's age, but he still had the gangly frame of a teenager. Matt was sure he'd seen him somewhere before. Not in person, and the kid wasn't nearly pretty enough for show biz, not even with the fact that he could play someone half his age with almost no makeup at all. No, that kid would never make it in Hollywood; not even wearing a mask. Wait, that sounds right. Something about a mask...
"D'ya want him?" the warden was saying. Clearly, he'd stared too long; now the warden was giving him a funny look and waiting for an answer. "There ain't any open cells; he's gonna haveta share. He's only in here for two days, anyway."
"Hang on, I'm gonna check with my neighbor, dude." Matt leaned over towards (but not through the bars dividing his cell from the next one. "Dude, what do you think?" Not that Matt cared; but it gave him a chance to think. Besides, if you asked someone for permission, you could usually blame them for the consequences. Two days; who the hell gets put in this shithole on a two-day sentence? OK, it's worth it just to find out. "Sure, Mister Warden. I'll take good care of this little dude for ya."
The cell door opened, and the kid shuffled in. Only then did he actually look up, and he did the familiar double-take Matt had been expecting. "Y-You're that actor! The one M-M-Mr. Wright lost a case over; or maybe he won; I was never quite clear on that..." The kid's voice trailed off as he seemed to realize that this was not the best conversation opener. So the kid knows that lawyer. Interesting.
"So, what did they get you for?"
"Jaywalking. Or, at least that's what they said. But it's not really because of that, I mean, well, it is, but it isn't. It's because of the stealing..." Again, his voice trailed off. Matt was sure, now, that he knew the kid from somewhere; he'd heard that voice do exactly that before.
"What's your name, dude?"
"R-Ron. Ron Delite. Or maybe Mask deMasque, but not any more, not really."
Mask deMasque; so that's who the kid was. The robberies had been all over the news before the trial; while Matt had still been a star. And then the story had reached even in here; that lawyer had gotten the kid off on a technicality; after getting Matt put away when he hadn't even killed anyone himself. And that's why the kid is in a maximum-security facility for jaywalking. Everyone knew Mask deMasque had gone vigilante after his acquittal; neither law enforcement nor the criminal underground was happy with him. Matt wondered why the kid bothered. Something to do with his wife, wasn't it? Yeah, that was it. He'd seen a TV interview with them; he'd known the instant he laid eyes on her that that woman had serious style. Pity she saddled herself with this pathetic loser, though. But a vigilante might just be exactly what he needed; exactly the lucky break Matt needed to rejoin the glittering world of superstardom; the final piece in his grand return.
The cops hadn't been interested in anything Matt supposedly had on de Killer, but he really did have information. He had never intended to rely just on one video tape for insurance. And now he had a way to get it out there, presuming the kid was cooperative. If the kid (or his wife; she seemed like the better bet) could take down de Killer, or at least throw the cops onto him, Matt would be free to blow this joint. He'd laid the groundwork over the past two years in here -- a clemency deal would be trivial. Every warden and guard in this place would agree he'd been a model inmate, and he already had the story ready for the court and the press. A little makeup would cover the newer scars; they'd healed better than the old ones, and he still had the rest of the pretty face that had won over millions. Now all he needed to do was win over one scared kid.
Speaking of which... The kid was still standing just inside the cell door, still trembling faintly and tugging at his hair. "So you're the famous Mask deMasque? I'm Matt Engarde, famous actor." Matt stepped closer, into the kid's personal space; offering a clear challenge. "I have a deal to offer you." And then Matt smiled; a new smile, one he'd been working on for his re-debut. A seductive smile; more world-weary and wryer than he'd ever dared to look before; nothing at all like his "refreshing" smile. That image was gone forever. This was the new Matt Engarde, the passionate man who had, in a fit of jealous despair, thrown away stardom for petty vengeance. The man who'd been so devoted to Celeste Inpax that he'd killed the man who had killed her. Thankfully, she was dead and wouldn't be in a position to argue. And he could deal with anything the Andrews woman said; she had been jealous, and she was easy to control.
The smile was working; the kid wouldn't quite meet his eyes. Now it was time to get started. "You see, there's this assassin dude. Calls himself Shelley de Killer. He's a maniac, and I have dirt on him. Dirt that would put him away forever. But the cops won't look at it because I'm already in here. All because of one little mistake that got out of hand." The kid was lapping it up -- he looked up at the last few words. Clearly, Matt had hit a nerve. "But I'm afraid I don't have," and here Matt paused, letting a little false uncertainty creep into his voice, "much to offer in return." Matt looked at the ground, calculating how long he should wait for the kid to catch on. A soft gasp a moment later indicated that the kid wasn't quite as dumb as he looked.
"B-B-But, Dessie..." That must be the wife.
"And why does she need to know about this? What would she think if she knew her husband was even talking to me about it?"
"Dessie, she's a big fan of yours. Or, she was, anyway. Before you were on trial. She'd... She'd think it was hot." The last few words were barely above a whisper, but Matt heard them. I was right; that woman does have style. And taste. Matt was pretty sure, though, that the kid still wouldn't want her to know about any of this. Time to get to work, before he relaxes at all.
"Relax, Mister Thief. This can be our little secret," Matt said, as he walked the kid back to the corner of the cell and pressed him gently against the cinder block. Matt snagged a pillow off his cot to protect his knees, and pulled down the kid's sweatpants and underwear with one smooth motion. He reached out a hand to start convincing the kid's body to play along. Obviously, he didn't share his wife's opinion of Matt, but that shouldn't be a problem. As Matt's hand slid around his still-soft cock, he squeezed his eyes shut. As soon as he'd done that, Matt was pretty sure the kid was thinking of someone -- anyone -- else, but his body was responding. If he's really that devoted to his wife, it's his loss. There, that's enough of that. The kid's erection was standing on it's own now; Matt's shoulders stiffened slightly with resolve and he leaned forward and slid his mouth over his cock.
Without moving his head, Matt ran his tongue up and over the warm flesh, listening to the little sounds and cataloguing each little twitch to plan his attack. How many times have I done this, anyway? How many bastard execs, producers, even stupid tabloid reporters? All to break into the business before he did. Matt had become an action hero at an almost impossibly young age; if he'd wanted to be a fresh-faced romantic lead, it would have been easy. But action was where the money was, and action was where Juan wanted to be. So action was where Matt was. There, that's the rhythm. Matt's head and tongue had found a steady pace. He let his hair fall down over his face, covering all the scars. If the kid opened his eyes, he'd get the best view possible.
Up, down, circle the tongue and back. And how many times had Juan done this? He'd always spent this time by thinking about the fact that Juan, for all his stuffiness and old-man attitudes, wasn't any older than Matt. So he must have made these little sacrifices as well. But it was harder to imagine Juan now; hard to imagine that ladies' man smirk falling from his face as he was humiliated yet again on the floor of some nameless suit; hard to imagine Juan doing anything at all now. Juan was dead; that throat squeezed tight by his own scarf; it wouldn't be doing this ever again. And there was something else to hate de Killer for; all Matt could do was imagine. He'd never gotten to see the video that had sealed his own fate. He'd never had a chance to see Juan's final moments, watch him struggle and fail. Did he beg, soundlessly, as the noose tightened? Did he pray? Did he cry? And did he know that it was Matt who had beaten him, once and for all?
A soft shudder above him shook Matt out of his reverie; it was time for the next step. The kid was starting to make noises. Just little squeaks, but it was more than Matt cared to hear. He reached up and caught one of the kids hands, pulling it away from the wall it was pressed against. He raised the hand to the kid's mouth, and pushed it in. Then he pulled his mouth off and wrapped his right hand in its place, squeezing just a little harder than was probably comfortable before starting to stroke. His hand was moving faster now; the kid was biting down hard on his own hand, and his knees were starting to shake.
The kid flinched, once, and Matt's hand was suddenly slick. Before he could even start to catch his breath, Matt wiped his hand on the kid's prison-issue sweats and rose smoothly to his feet. He reached out his (still slightly sticky) hand and pulled the kid's hand from his mouth. Making sure to close his hand directly over the crescent-shaped bite marks, Matt slid their hands into a handshake and shook vigorously.
"So, dude, we have a deal, right? I take care of you in here, and you take care of de Killer out there." Now was the time to push, Matt knew. "Dude..."
The kid nodded, not yet ready to speak, and blinking quickly. Matt knew he had him now; he was dumb enough to think that promises were for keeping. He'd take on de Killer, he was likely to succeed, and he'd probably even manage to keep his mouth shut as to why. Matt smiled; this time, his real smile. He was going to win this.