![[I saw three ships]](../2005-1icon.png)
Tuesday, October 11, 7:28 PM
Livingston Dell was a busy man. After Las Vegas — which no one was supposed to know about, and that was why Livingston's phone was ringing off the hook lately — he was in demand, and had more work than he could possibly do. Some of it was even legal.
This particular job, however, was not. It wasn't that complicated, either, but he gave it his usual careful, detailed attention. Today was T minus-1, and Livingston was checking the final details. A little bit more work, and then a good night's sleep. Tomorrow, Toronto-Dominion would be $27m Canadian poorer.
Tuesday, October 11, 9:34 PM
Livingston took a deep breath, satisfied that he had done everything he could for now. He didn't usually take an active role — he knew he wasn't a very good actor — but this plan required someone to act like a tech geek, and Livingston was confident he could do that. He checked the information stream coming in from TD one more time, and then stood up. His room service should be arriving in a few minutes, and he wanted a shower first.
He stood in front of the bathroom mirror and practiced his lines a few times. He quickly realized he shouldn't try to act like someone else for tomorrow; he should try to act like himself, nervous and socially inept and a little out of his depth. Guys like Basher oozed confidence, and that worked for them. Guys like Livingston oozed geekery.
Tuesday, October 11, 10:12 PM
Livingston tossed his napkin on the plate, the last remains of a very nice steak and fries finished. He stared at the television, feeling completely confused by the intricacies of Canadian politics. It was a good thing, he thought, that computer systems were mostly the same everywhere.
Before lying down, Livingston practiced some visualization techniques: after Las Vegas, he had felt experienced enough to try major jobs on his own, but it was still a near thing. He ran through all the ways the plan could fail, and made sure that he had several solutions to every problem.
The worst part would be the waiting, and he had to remember not to get too antsy. People noticed things like that; he would just have to focus on something else while he was waiting.
This would be fine. He could do it, no problem. Livingston climbed into bed, rolled onto his side, and went to sleep.
Tuesday, October 11, 11:45 PM
The first thud woke him. The second thud made Livingston wonder why he didn't carry a gun. It took until the third thud before he figured out what he was hearing: the people in the next room were having sex, loudly, and in unpleasantly excruciating detail. Someone was panting and begging for more, and someone else was grunting.
The thuds had been from the bed jerking, but after a few more minutes of listening to the porn show next door, Livingston realized there was only one voice. It was generically male, raising with high breathy gasps and falling into low grunts. Livingston rolled over, and scrunched his pillow. The voice began gasping again, and this time, it was accompanied by the sounds of flesh hitting flesh. Spanking yourself was a little too kinky, even for Livingston.
There were also the faint sounds of a movie in the background, some explosions that didn't seem to fit with the wanking. Livingston sat up, and listened intently: yes, both the action movie and the jerking off were coming from the same room. Now that was really kinky.
He covered his head with his pillow, and tried to get back to sleep.
Wednesday, October 12, 12:21 AM
After half an hour of stewing about potential problems that might happen the next day, and six minutes of staring at the clock waiting for the idiot next door to finish, Livingston had realized several disturbing things.
The action movie wasn't over yet, and the sounds from next door were happening in nauseatingly precise concurrence with the sounds from the movie; it had to be deliberate.
There were two people involved, both men, but one of them had obviously been silently watching at first.
And the man who had been silent wasn't letting the other one come.
The voices were still a little indistinct, but one was low, soothing, directing, and the other one was in pain, begging and pleading. Livingston reassessed the self-spanking thing, and was alarmed when his dick twitched in response. He grimaced, and rolled onto his stomach. The pillow was still firmly over his head, but it didn't stop the sounds from next door, a combination of what could only be described as orders, even if their substance was less distinct than their tone, and breathy compliance. At one point, Livingston was sure he head the one who was getting spanked tell the other one, "Yes sir, please hit me harder."
The movie let off another explosion just as the guy got hit.
Livingston wanted to scream, "Just shut up already!" He hoped the frustration being enacted next door wasn't a reflection on how the plan was going to go; it would suck if his plans took after somebody's sick sex games.
Wednesday, October 12, 1:07 AM
There had been a few blessed moments of silence at about 12:47 (not that Livingston was watching the clock tick off the minutes), but then at 12:54, he began to hear the indisputable sounds of someone preparing to fuck another person. He wasn't sure if the walls were particularly thin or if his hearing was improving, but the slurping sounds of someone being lubed and fingered were loud and clear. Livingston sighed and pressed his dick further into the mattress, uncomfortably aware of how long it had been since he'd been fucked.
The guy getting fucked — and Livingston thought it was the same guy who had been panting and begging all night — was still begging, telling the other man how good it felt; all the words weren't exactly clear — and Livingston thought in dismay this had more to do with how much the bottom was enjoying it than with the hotel's acoustics — but the meaning was.
The guy doing the fucking kept calling the other man a hungry little slut, and telling him how good he looked with fingers up his ass. He was a little louder and more distinct, which Livingston did not appreciate; he also sounded like someone Livingston knew, but he couldn't place the voice. Some things should be kept private, and whether or not someone's asshole looked good wrapped another man's cock was probably one of them.
At least the stupid action movie was over.
Wednesday, October 12, 2:12 AM
Livingston had to admit that the fucker had amazing staying power, since the fucking hadn't stopped yet. It wasn't until someone yelped, and two voices responded with concerned and soothing questions that Livingston realized there were three guys in the next room.
While a small part of Livingston's brain wondered whether there were two tops, and when they had switched, a lot more of his brain was engaged with his suddenly excruciating erection.
He groaned in dismay and pounded the bed in frustration. He hadn't gotten any sleep because of his very own private porn soundtrack, and now he was harder than he'd ever been. Livingston had always maintained the practice of not coming before a job, because a study in Italy had shown that soccer players who didn't have sex before a big game performed better.
He wasn't going to give those idiots next door the satisfaction, even when the third guy started talking about how much he loved shoving his cock down his partner's throat.
The image made Livingston whimper.
Wednesday, October 12, 2:20 AM
Livingston's resolve lasted all of eight minutes. That was the time it took for the threesome next door to more from generally porny sounds to porny sounds of doom: they got a lot louder, and slurpier, and Livingston knew all four of them were approaching massive and explosive orgasms.
He sighed in defeat and reached for his cock.
Wednesday, October 12, 2:23 AM
Livingston came after the first guy — who shouted "Oh God, yes!" — but before the second and third guys — one of whom shouted, "Fuck, yes!" and the other of whom had a dick in his mouth, so he couldn't say anything.
He waited in anxious silence to see if they were really finished, or if this was another temporary break. He wasn't sure how much longer they could continue, but he wasn't going to be able to survive any more of this. It wasn't until he heard one of then guys say, "Goodnight," that he let out his breath and closed his eyes.
As Livingston drifted into sleep, he thought once more that the voice sounded awfully familiar.
Wednesday, October 12, 6:13 AM
The alarm went off much too soon, and Livingston had a brief fantasy of calling off the entire job. But he'd put too much energy into this, and besides, he'd always wanted to rob a bank. He had already decided to grab coffee on his way out rather than wait for room service again, and was half-asleep as he got dressed.
As he exited his hotel room, he was still feeling a little fuzzy and not entirely aware. When the door to the next room opened, and three guys spilled out, he couldn't help but glance over, curious about the assholes — no pun intended — who had kept him up all night.
He didn't expect Rusty Ryan's shit-eating grin, and when he saw Linus Caldwell blush, he finally realized whose voice he'd been recognizing. But it was the sight of Danny Ocean mincing gingerly down that hall that made him drop his jaw, and his laptop.
![[fin]](../2005-1banner.png)