According to my calendar and time zone, it is March 21. This means next to nothing, except for the fact my cohort/beta/idea factory for Product Placement have dubbed it Butch's birthday! (Unofficially and totally made up, of course).
I would have said something earlier, but I'm a bad person and sort of forgot. Whoops. BLAME MIDTERMS AND MY TERRIBLE MEMORY.

I felt bad not giving Butch an actual present by way of the actual story, so I dug this old oneshot up and edited it JUST FOR HIM.
What better present to give this horny bastard than sex, amirite?
General Warnings: Gay (birthday!) sex between Butch and Hustler (aged up, of course) from Recess.

Product Placement Warnings: This is a bit out of the storyline. Further down the road, but not by much. There are no spoilers really, save for a few kinks and the way Fran acts and maybe their banter. No actual plotty bits revealed, however. Read at your leisure!

Enjoy!

"You want what for your birthday?" The hustler cried, probably loud enough to wake the neighbors "You get that every day, Butch- Your birthday is supposed to be used to ask for things you can't get at the drop of a fly"

Butch paused, about to correct Fran's misuse of the cliché, but he got the point before the words left him. Instead he huffed indignantly, looking at his boots. Sure, he wasn't being too creative with the birthday thing, but Ma had already drained him of any idea that was PG 13 and under. All he had left that he could even begin to think he wanted was sex. Only Franny could give that to him.

"Well… yeah. But not in your… car." Butch blurted, a smile breaking over his face. Oh, that would be great! He thought of good things.

Francis, on the other hand, looked horrified. "In my car?" He hissed, "It's brand fucking new! I haven't even had it a month yet!"

"That's the point, Franny" Butch chirped, looking all to happy with himself. Ah, sex and new-car smell. This was shaping up to be one of his better ideas – and he hadn't even had to plan it.

"There isn't anything else. Dinner and a movie? Tickets to a premier? Contraband?"
"Nope. I wanna do it in your car. Preferably once in each seat but that'll get really clammy and awkward after a while."

The hustler sighed, rubbing his temples. Butch merely grinned, sliding over to his side and looping an arm around his side. Francis peeked out from between his fingers and tried to smile back, but it looked painful for him to do so. Not his problem – Fran had asked, Butch had answered, and now he was dead set on some good old-fashioned teenage-hormone dominated backseat car sex. No way he was gonna get outta this one, no matter what plans he had brewing in that sneaky brain of his.

"Nuh-uh." Butch murmured, leaning up to kiss his temple "You're not gonna squirm your way outta this one. No way, no how."
"Why would I deny you your birthday request?" The hustler pouted, looking offended. Butch smiled at him and kissed him properly.

All the while, Francis wondered how Butch had gotten so good at reading him. Furthermore, he wondered how in the hell he was going to get out of this mess.

O/O

"Happy Birthday Bu-Ah! No! Butch no! We're still in your parent's driveway!"
"…Oh yeah."

Butch reluctantly let himself be placed in the passenger seat of the nice new car. He arched a bit and wiggled, wondering just how different the seats would feel when he was naked. Then he turned in his seat and ran his hand over Fran's thigh, drawing little circles on it and leaning over until he was batted away.

"So lets get to it." Butch purred, looking over to an already chuckling hustler.
"Butch- It's your birthday. Let me spoil you a little first."
"Fiiine." Butch pouted and withdrew, crossing his hands over his chest.
"Good. How about dinner, at least? Anything you're in the mood for?"
"Well, what I'm really in the mood for is you – but you're already shaking your head and looking disappointed, so… surprise me."
"Surprise it is."

O/O

Francis was beginning to suspect Italian was a terrible, terrible idea.

He was trying to be romantic, or at least some semblance of it. Italian food was a good start, if only because he didn't really feel much like cooking. It was a special occasion – why not spoil his boyfriend a little bit? Knowing how touchy Butch was about public affection, he drove to a smaller place out of town that wasn't known to be overly crowded. He thought Butch would loosen up a little bit.

He didn't think he'd loosen up quite that much.

In the past hour, Butch had done a whole mess of things to get past the dinner and back into his car – pressing against him, blowing on his ear, feeling up his leg and his ass and just generally being an annoying prick about it until HK wrenched his hand back and told him to stop, dammit this Is a restaurant not a back alley.

He finally let go when the food showed up, but Butch only made things worse. He might have done it without thinking at first, but after a few quick glances he saw Butch smile devilishly and he was sure he was doomed. Butch was merciless; eating his food slowly, licking things clean of sauce, swiping a bit off sauce off his plate and licking it off his finger, the little noises of pleasure at the food he was eating – and that was only the tip of the iceberg. By the end of it Hustler was cross-legged and red, trying to focus on his food despite all of Butch's efforts to draw it elsewhere.

"Why." Francis hissed, putting his fork down "Why can't you eat like a normal person?"
"Whatever do you mean?" Butch asked innocently, happily licking his fork clean.
"Ah, how was the meal?" The waiter asked. Before Hustler could get a response out he added "Anyone ready for dessert? We have a chocolate mousse that will have you licking the spoon!"
"Oh Jesus Christ no check please."

Butch was already laughing, scooting over and trying to see what Fran's crossed legs hid. He slapped the wandering hand away and paid, fastening his coat securely closed.

"Whacha hiding Franny?" Butch purred, playing with one of the coat ties "Is it a present for me?"
"Perhaps. If you be a good boy." Francis shot back before he could stop himself.
"Aww, but I've been a good boy all year – it's my birthday and I want my present!" He whined, pressing against him while the strolled out the door. Francis didn't much care for being seen anymore. He was almost looking forward to this little gift.

He'd look forward to it more if it hadn't involved his new car.

"Tell you what." The hustler cooed, grabbing Butch by the arm and pinning him against the door of his car, "If you can hold off for just a little while longer, then you'll get as much of your present as you can handle. Sound like a deal?"
"I think I can hold off…" Butch purred, arching a little, his hand already snaking between them to palm the hiding bit of anatomy he was so interested in "But I'm gonna need a big present to satisfy me when we get where we're going…"

Francis smirked, pecked his cheek, and left him to get in on the drivers side without another word.

O/O

The moment they had parked outside of town, in a field parking lot that was more or less deserted, Butch felt two things. One, he was sure this would either end up as a romantic Titanic- like night of passion, or they were going to die at the hands of some maniac with a hook for a hand. Two, he was incredibly horny and wanted sex now.

He reacted more favorably to the second feeling, crawling into Fran's lap without much time for second thoughts. Firmly seated there, he stretched his legs so they lay sprawled over the consol and into the passenger seat. He wrapped one of his arms around the hustler neck and kissed him, the other hand looping around the headrest to get some balance (and keep from leaning on the horn). Francis wasn't too slow on his part either, kissing him back with the same urgency, has hand already slipping down into Butch's lap to undo his pants and worm its way in, almost lazily stroking the sensitive skin there.

Once he was freed, Butch squirmed, trying to wiggle his pants down some more. Horn or serial killer be damned – this place was deserted enough. Not like they could be arrested for having sex in HK's property. Could they?

Apparently, though, Hustler wasn't having any of his extra motion.

"Remember how it's your birthday?" he purred, stroking him to life "Consider this the first part of your present... and partly my revenge for those stunts you pulled at the restaurant"

Butch grinned in response, fully intending on abusing Franny without outright touching him if he was going to a stubborn prick and not fuck him in the car like he promised. He arched a bit into the hand, nibbling the closest ear and groaning into it. The hustler chuckled and leaned down to nip at the nearest patch of skin, giving a particularly sharp tug. Butch jerked a bit but otherwise kept at his easing. He slid his hands up into the short hair, gripping it as best as he could to keep balance while Francis stroked.

Eventually Fran found a way to kiss him again, he did a damn good job of keeping him there. He felt the bigger hand slide up his back and lace itself in his hair, keeping him anchored. No matter how he squirmed, Francis never picked up the pace, ever so slow and calculating. It got to the point where arching wasn't enough. Butch had stretched across the length of the car, his boots digging into the passenger door and seat in an attempt to get more contact. All that managed to do was make the passenger seat creak in protest.

"M-More, dammit!" Butch panted in his ear "Stop the damn teasing!"
"Getting there, Butchy boy?" He hissed, feeling Butch nip his ear sharply "So yes?"

Butch growled at him and molested his ear and neck and jaw until mercifully he felt the salesman pick up the pace. Moaning then, he let his head fall onto the curved glass of the window while Fran attacked his neck. It didn't take long before he was reduced to whimpers and whispers, bucking his hips into the larger, rougher hand. Francis just hummed in agreement, encouraging him, teasing him, trying to get him to come without much effort on his part. He hoped this would count toward Butch's self-imposed total of 'once in each seat.'

He buried his face in Butch's neck and grinned, enjoying this in spite of the supposed damage his car was receiving. Before too long he felt Butch stiffen in his hold and then, with a rather quiet sigh on Butch's part, he felt the gush of warmth spill over his hand. Hustler was a little put off by the quiet contented nose, not to mention the probability that some of that warmth probably spilled in his car. But he didn't much care after Butch lifted his hand and licked one of his fingers. It was gross and inapplicably hot at the same time, but Butch was good at dichotomy like that. It was a little much when the storyteller kissed him (he still couldn't stomach that particular kink), but he supposed it was his punishment for copping out. It was still gross, and he grunted and grimaced accordingly, but that was pretty much forgotten the more Butch squirmed on his lap.

"Mmm… seems like I'm not the only one who's turned on…"
"You're not the only one who's gonna be coming if you keep squirming like that."
"Backseat. Pants off."
"Eager are we?"
"It's my birthday. Now get back there and service me, dammit."

Francis chuckled and kissed Butch, ushering him into the back seat. He followed soon after, pinning him to the back seat and kissing him in the awkward tight space like any good teenager would be well versed in doing. Hustler, not being a normal teen, found it exceedingly hard to get comfortable and stay balanced. He slipped off the seat twice, nearly taking Butch with him. Unfortunately for him, Butch found this all quite hysterical and took charge after Francis proved incapable.

Now perched on his hips with Francis' back digging into the seatbelts, Butch grinned and kissed his nose and palmed his crotch all in one fell swoop. The hustler groaned half in pain, half in pleasure, biting his lip. He hoped Butch wouldn't try to kiss him again, at least not without some mouth cleaning. He wasn't crazy enough to refuse him when he tried, though, and he did his best to return it despite his want for a toothbrush. Butch nipped him for his troubles. At least his hand kept moving.

Butch pulled back and kissed along his jaw, his hand moving a bit more, pulling him free from his pants. Now they were both out in the open (so to speak) Butch amused himself by stroking them in tandem. Francis squirmed a bit and chewed his lip, trying not to be too loud. Butch loved it when he tried to be all strong and silent when he knew damn well Butch could get him to scream if he so desired. He snickered and bit the nearest patch of skin, making him hiss and whimper. Oh, that'd be a nice mark to explain tomorrow.

Butch bucked his hips a bit, happy to see Fran responding. He was plenty hard, but Butch wanted to be a tease for a change, so he rubbed against him. It was getting warm and it really was rather cramped here, but he really didn't care. Francis was making little noises, rolling his hips. The friction was nice, almost enough to satisfy him and continue until he came again. But where would the fun be in that? Butch had other plans, namely actually getting screwed, so just before he figured Fran was about to loose it, he pulled his cock and hand back, leaving him twitching and exposed. The hustler shot up, trying to figure out where he went, panting a bit and blinking in the dark.

"So're you gonna fuck me or what?" Butch panted, half grinning.

A split second later, Butch found himself hunched over with his back against the door and his legs up in the air, pants being yanked off his legs. He would have yelped if the door handle wasn't digging into his back, which instead made him grunt in mild discomfort. He did manage to smile though once his pants were off and his knees pushed up to his chest. He wasn't sure if Fran was smiling back (it was warm, sticky, and now a lot darker than before), but he was fine with that. He could hear him breathing, feel his hands on him, dropping lower, past his cock. Butch grinned a little, hearing a soft click of a familair bottle being opened.

But it was unneeded.

"Oh you slut." He murmured, is breath heavy somewhere over him.
"Anything to keep you from taking so damn long." Butch growled, arching his hips "Fuck me dammit!"

The hustler laughed warily, already breathing hard and ready. He'd never figured Butch for the type to… prepare. He was always the 'just do it' type. Not that he was complaining. He was just about ready to come – why prolong it? For once he was thankful Butch wanted to be fucked now.

He yanked Butch's legs up over his shoulders and lined himself up with the already slicked hole and pushed right on in. Butch nearly screamed, gripping the leather seats so tight he thought he'd rip them. Francis was too focused on digging his fingers into Butch's legs and gritting his teeth to notice any damage. The car was the last thing on his mind – he was more taken in by the scream Butch had no intention of stifling when he shifted inside of him. He almost paused until that scream turned into a garbled version of 'fuck me more please.'

What more was there left to do but start moving?

Butch choked on his next shout, gripping the seats for purchase in the dark while Francis curled over him, one knee pressing into the seat and the other leg outstretched and digging into the floor to keep balance while he bucked his hips. Each thrust drove Butch further into the door, making the car rock and groan in protest (a noise that was duly drowned out by Butch's incessant moans for more). Butch's breath hitched and caught in the cramped space while he hung off the back of the seat and tried not to have the door handle imprinted permanently in his back. Somewhere along the line Francis caught on and scooted back a bit, twisting Butch sideways so one leg was hooked over his shoulder and the other around his hip. Butch grunted, grabbing the edge of the seat, trying to anchor himself while he was pounded into. He felt the hustler's breath wash over him, felt his fingers digging into his leg. He thought about opening his eyes but he wouldn't have been able to see anyway. He was more than happy moaning and trying to push back (though his now sweaty self made that harder than normal).

Francis moved his hand suddenly, grabbing his hips instead of his leg and lifting him off the seat. This shift in position had Butch screaming anew with his hoarse voice. Something about the way he was pushing in now seemed phenomenally better than before, even if Franny needed to cut his damn fingernails. Another shift provided some contact to his neglected cock – something he appreciated and bucked into eagerly. Fran must've gotten the message (however belatedly) and gripped it, jerking it hard. That was more than enough for Butch, who screamed again and arched his back almost painfully, spilling over Francis' hand. He heard a groan rather close to his ear somewhere in the darkness while he rode his climax out, and moments later the same groan, only stopped short and accompanied with a sudden stiffness and clawing of his hips.

Not that he minded in the least.

Francis collapsed on top of him (more due to space constraints than just exhaustion – thought that was a factor), unbearably warm and clammy and heavy as all hell but Butch found it oddly comforting even with his legs contorted like they were. He was sure it was the afterglow or maybe it had something to do with the kisses on his neck but whatever it was he was fine with it. He smiled a but and tried to catch his breath, wondering just how big of a mess they made and how he could ask for this again without getting an angry response or being called a glutton for illegal and dangerous manners of sex. Francis, for his part, was trying to stave of the headache he was undoubtedly going to have from smashing his head against the roof and the seats multiple times. It didn't slow him down (oh hell no), but now his head was clearing and responsibility was coming back to him. He tried his best to fight it off by making sense of Butch under him – poor thing seemed twisted into a weird position. He wondered if he was hurt.

"Welp, I'm satisfied." Butch stated blandly as he could manage in his scream-cracked voice, smiling at the chuckling hustler "Was it good for you?"
"I'm just happy we didn't tip the car over." He kissed his nose and pressed his face into the still clothed shoulder "So how exactly are you going to explain the limping tomorrow?"
"I twisted something."
"Like your torso? Want me to move?"
"No, I'm okay. I was thinking leg in a pothole or something. Oh well."
"Did I hurt you? Really. I was kinda… rough."
"Glad you were." Butch smirked a bit "Reminded me of old times."
"You could say something-"
"Every time I do you're always so damn careful-"
"Because last time we did it like that you sobbed!"
"Shut up. I did not cry." Butch paused, recalled the incident, and grunted, "Okay, maybe a little. But I didn't regret it. No matter. I've got my fill of it for now… not that I don't like the soft stuff or nothin' but…"
"You'd rather have me fuck you than make love."
"Make love? Jesus what are you, fifty? No one calls it that unless you're singing R&B"

Francis bit him, which made Butch moan and squirm a little. They remained one on top of the other for a while longer. Butch was sure he'd be sore in the morning (hell he was feeling kinda of sore now) and Francis was sure his car was going to need to air out for a few days. Not that either regretted it. They were far from that. Even Francis didn't mind it too much. He would have rather it happen in his old car, yes, but he'd be damned if he didn't like it.

He managed to sit up, pulling Butch onto his lap with him. He remembered he still had the majority of his clothing where Butch was just barely clinging to his shirt. Butch rested against him heavily, probably already sore, but he could still feel a smile against his neck. They'd have to get moving eventually – someone would have undoubtedly noticed how hard the car was rocking, if not the screams and fogged up windows. Still, he was more willing to sit here and cuddle in the afterglow, as cramped and hot as it was. For once, Butch seemed willing to sit back and do nothing too.

But it didn't last long.

Butch pulled off his lap with a groan, grabbing his pants off the floor and puling them on as best as he could He still looked a mess, but at least he was covered. He even had the decency to stuff them both back in their pants before he bent backward and turned the key to start up the electrical system. He opened the front two windows while the spent hustler drew pictures on the fogged windows.

Butch took his place on the hustlers lap and rested his head on his shoulder, waiting until Francis was done drawing before he pushed the power window down and breathed in the fresh air. They both sighed, then glanced at each other, grinning some at the mutual reaction.

"How late is it?" Francis asked, seemingly too enamored by the stitching in Butch's shirt to look at the center consol himself.
"Clock says eleven-something."
"Wanna go home?"
"Which home?"
"The one with your parents in it."
"Not really. I smell like gay premarital sex. Even if it is my birthday they won't approve."
"To my home then?"
"As long as I can shower and then we can have some more gay premarital sex." Butch grinned, "I still have an hour left of my birthday. Six more hours if you want to go by when I was born."
"No rush, then." Hustler murmured, looking out the window (and surprising Butch a tad) "I kinda like it here for now. Mind if we stay? Or should I try driving with numb legs?"
"Naw." Butch cooed (surprising himself), shutting his eyes "Take all the time you need. S'nice."

Yep. That happens.
I really love their conversations in this. They're so damned snarky. Hee.

Oh, and if anyone's wondering Fran's birthday is September 23. Also unofficial and totally made up.
(There are reasons those dates were picked, but they are all dumb. Herp derp.)

Thanks for reading!