A Momentary Lapse of Reason

~1300 words :: A.I. :: Gigolo Joe/OMC :: 12/25/04
It’s dark. Not dark the way Jeremy remembers it from when he was a kid. Not the never-more-than-dim glow of the big city. No, it’s dark here. This town can’t afford to keep itself lit, and the moon’s only a sliver tonight.

It’s dark. Not dark the way Jeremy remembers it from when he was a kid. Not the never-more-than-dim glow of the big city. No, it’s dark here. This town can’t afford to keep itself lit, and the moon’s only a sliver tonight.

He’s not going to get many customers, that’s for sure. Be lucky if he doesn’t end up dead. But there’s always a chance someone will come by. Even in the pouring rain – which thank God, it’s not – there’s a chance, no matter how slim, and he knows if he’s not out here, he’ll be kicking himself for it, imagining this is the night he’ll get lucky with some rich out-of-towner (though why anyone would stop here, he’s never sure; his imagination generally ignores that bit of logic).

Sighing, he digs the book of matches from one pocket and his cigarettes from another. It takes a few scrapes to get a match going. Fucking damp weather. Then he’s got the cigarette lit, between his lips; he’s humming contentedly at the familiar taste and it’s calming his nerves already. The flickering light doesn’t make much of a difference, just enough to see his grimy fingernails and the worn-thin knees of his jeans, but he lets it burn all the way down before tossing it to the ground between his legs.

He always says he’ll save up his dough for one of those little handheld libraries, the ones that come pre-installed with hundreds of books – mostly classics and stuff they don’t have to pay copyright on, but Jeremy will read anything – and are backlit so you can read in the dark. It’s better than sitting here smoking cigarette after cigarette with nothing but his overactive imagination for company; cheaper in the long run, too, he imagines, and better for his health. But he’s down to his last twenty again. Never can save anything. Too weak to resist the promise of a good trip and not smart enough to learn from the bad ones.

Another sigh. Pushing himself to his feet, he stretches. Maybe he should walk around a bit. It’s obvious no one’s coming down this way tonight. He grinds the cigarette butt under his heel and turns, coming face to face with a man he swears wasn’t there two seconds ago.

“Fuck! You startled me.” Heart racing, Jeremy grins nervously. Who the hell sneaks up on someone on a night like this?

“That wasn’t my intention,” the man says.

It’s on the tip of Jeremy’s tongue to snap “Don’t I even rate an apology?” but he bites it back, because people who sneak up on other people on dark nights don’t generally have the purest of motives, and even if the guy isn’t about to mug, rape, and/or murder him, he’s a potential customer, and snapping at potential customers is never a good way to start things off. So Jeremy says “Yeah, course not” instead, and takes a couple steps back.

It’s only then that he really gets a good look at this guy – as good a look as you can in this light anyway – and what he sees has him unconsciously stepping closer again.

“Matt,” he breathes, but of course it’s not. Shape of the nose, though, and the eyes. Something.

“Matt?” The man cocks his head and Jeremy remembers to breathe again. “No, my name’s Joe.”

And of course the voice isn’t the same at all. It’s…English, maybe? Definitely not from around here. Still, Jeremy scrambles for another cigarette to calm his nerves. “You wanna smoke?”

“A cigarette. No…no, thank you.” There’s something odd about Joe’s voice, aside from the accent, but Jeremy can’t quite put his finger on it.

“Suit yourself.” He shrugs, lights up, watching Joe from the corner of his eye. It’s still there, that sort-of-Matt-ish-ness, even more pronounced when he’s not looking right at him. “So…looking for anything in particular or just enjoying an evening stroll?”

“I’m sorry?”

Jeremy’s heart sinks a little, and that’s just stupid, is what it is. He rubs his hand over his hair, mentally kicking himself. This guy’s just a potential customer, that’s all. He’s just got to be firm with himself on that. It doesn’t matter whom he does or doesn’t look like. It’s all professional.


He rubs again, nervous tic, the feel of the soft bristles against his palm almost as soothing as the cigarette.

“I mean…” He trails his finger down the guy’s shirt. “Is there anything I can do for you?”

The guy stares at him, not blinking, and then a smile spreads scross his face. Devastating. Jeremy’s breath catches in his throat. No one has the right to look that perfect.

“The question is,” Joe drawls, “is there something I can do for you?”

Jeremy’s cigarette falls to the ground, forgotten, and his already tight jeans suddenly seem unbearably so. “Uh…” he says, and then, “I…”

“Let me help you,” Joe continues, closer now than Jeremy remembers. He caresses Jeremy’s cheek, thumb sliding over his bottom lip, and Jeremy can’t resist flicking his tongue out over it.

They’re kissing when it hits him. He’s mecha. Not like any mecha Jeremy’s ever seen before, though. Explains the impossible perfection, the slightly off tone of voice, the fact that Jeremy’s pretty sure Joe’s not breathing.

Jeremy’s pushed back until he’s up against the wall and then Joe’s fingers are at his fly, inside his jeans, wrapped around his cock, and everything else ceases to matter. With a small whimper, Jeremy thrusts into Joe’s hand. His eyes widen as Joe drops to his knees, leans forward, perfect lips opening to slide down over Jeremy’s cock.

His thighs tremble and he steadies himself with a hand on Joe’s head, fingers curling in his hair. The steady suction, the way Joe’s tongue seems to be everywhere at once, it’s nothing like the sloppy blowjobs he’s had in the past. Nothing like the blowjobs he’s given and he’s always prided himself on his skills in that area, if nowhere else. Then Joe sucks him down, all the way, and for once Jeremy’s thankful he’s in some nowhere town in the sticks, because if this is what they have in the city then who’d have need of a scrawny loser like him?

From this angle it’s easy to pretend it’s Matt, and that has Jeremy’s cock jerking, has him suddenly close when he wasn’t anywhere near before. Matt’s- Joe’s throat contracts and Jeremy bites his lip, stifling a shout as his orgasm rushes through him, leaving him weak-kneed and breathless.

Joe pulls back, licking away the last drops of come, and Jeremy wonders – hysterically – where it goes. This guy’s not Matt, not even human, and he’s doing things Matt would never have done, but the temptation’s still there.

Zipping his fly, Jeremy says, “D’you…d’you wanna come back to my place?”

“I can’t,” Joe answers, getting smoothly to his feet.

Jeremy can’t tell if that’s regret or not, and hell, who knows if mecha like this have emotions anyway? He opens his mouth to ask why not, but Joe interrupts, “They’re after me. You won’t tell anyone you saw me, will you?”

“The cops? Why? I won’t say anything. You can stay with me.” It all comes out in a jumble, mirroring the tangled ball of feelings in the pit of his stomach. “No one’ll look for you here.” Don’t leave me again.

Joe smiles – sadly, Jeremy could swear – and shakes his head. “It’s too close to where they caught me before.”

“I’ll come with you.”

“You won’t be able to keep up.” Joe turns and walks away without another word.

Desperate, addicted already, Jeremy follows.