"Hang on… nearly got them," Blair panted, his fingers scrabbling wildly
for the keys that he'd dropped behind the small fridge in the break
room. Pulling it out would've been a bitch as it was wedged in firmly
between two cabinets, and as Jim hadn't volunteered to retrieve the
bunch of keys with his longer reach, Blair had gamely dived in.
Jim sat and watched, his breathing shallow and even through a force of
will, his gaze mapping, memorizing the shape of Blair's ass, thrust
upward impudently, temptingly. Blair's T-shirt had ridden up, too,
exposing pale skin and a ridge of backbone made for following to its
conclusion in either direction; the nape of Blair's neck, when the skin
lay warm and hidden under the wealth of hair, waiting to be clasped in
Jim's hand, or bitten, licked -- or the base, when the point of bone
lay over the enticing cleft, dark heat trapped by skin.
Blair spread his legs wider and wriggled his ass, striving to add an
inch or two to his reach. Jim swallowed hard, and licked suddenly dry
lips that wanted to shape a moan. He was aroused to the point where
standing up and walking away wasn't going to be an option for a while.
Sunlight through dusty windows struck sparks from Blair's hair,
illuminating a dozen shades in a single strand. Jim had never
understood how Blair could scrawl 'brown' so blithely on forms asking
for his hair color. It was first cousin to a lie as far as his senses
were concerned.
Liars needed to be punished. Jim toyed with some innovative ideas of
his own along those lines that all seemed to require that Blair be
completely naked and which all ended with him buried balls deep in
Blair's ass grunting ecstatically as Blair (repentant and deserving of
mercy) begged for harder, faster, do me, Jim, do me
--
No one was around. He could stand up -- adjust himself and try not to
come in his fucking pants -- and go to help Blair. Lean over him, his
body pressed close, reach down, his breath hot against Blair's face,
that cinnamon-fire hair a tickle against his, and --
"Got 'em!"
Triumphant, beaming, Blair gave a final backward squirm and
straightened, turned, the keys grasped firmly in a grimy hand.
Jim sighed. All good things had to end. "C'est la vie," he muttered
philosophically.
Blair frowned, not looking pleased at all. "Who's Larry?" The frown
faded. "My ape, you mean? Huh? What? Jim, that was years ago!"
"Never mind," Jim said tiredly and waved at the door. "You go on. I'll
be with you in a minute."
Blair hitched up his jeans, the denim pulling tautly across the
question mark curl of his cock.
"Two minutes," Jim amended.
Return to Home
Click here if you'd like to send
feedback