Creative Employment


Creative Employment

All of my writing can be found on my website,
I now have a yahoo group at, very much in a nascent stage; all my writings will be there first, also some cheesy character sketches and such.
Massive thanks to Gardner for editing this chapter and putting up with my wacky punctuation...

Part 4

"Nice work, Gina," I said, smiling at her across my desk. "This is an excellent report. I think our client will be very happy, and I'll be proud to present it to at our next meeting. Thank you for your time and hard work." I knew I kept her skanky ass around for a reason, at least she was pretty damn good at what she did, when she did it. As opposed to when she spent her time on gossiping and other evil endeavors.

"Thank you, Mr. Merrin. It was a challenge, but I enjoyed doing it." She gave me a smile that would melt butter, showing her surprisingly yellow teeth in her fairly pretty face. Or it would be pretty, if she hadn't caked on enough makeup to add 20 years to her age.

She minced away, and I pondered that she really shouldn't wear pants quite that tight; it wasn't doing her any favors.

I wasn't usually quite this unkind, but she was currently on my private shit list; I had caught her bitching about me, in lurid, borderline-racist language in the hallway the other day. I don't believe she knew I heard her before I rounded the corner, and I did want to keep it that way for the moment; she struck me as exactly the sort of personality that would accelerate her poison campaign if she was caught in the middle of it. Chastisement might backfire, and if she got too horrible I could always can her, loathe as I would be to do so.

There had also been some veiled aspirations cast upon my sexuality in what I had overheard, that while true and nothing I would hide if confronted, made me a bit paranoid about what was being said. By Tom, maybe? No, I dismissed that one out of hand. He had a great deal more to lose then me on that score.

Secretly, though, I knew the real reason I was feeling so unkind towards Gina; she had been flirting with Tom earlier in the day, blatantly and in full view of my office window. Oh, I couldn't hear a word they were saying, but the way she was arching into the conversation was worthy of a cartoon. And what really frosted my cookies is that, obviously, she wasn't flirting alone, it was a two-person tango.

His body language was relaxed, chest out, shoulders down, a cocky half-smile on his face. He had gotten his hair trimmed recently, and it was especially attractive around his face. He always looked so very tasty in green...Since I knew I must have been shooting laser beams across the office, I made myself look away and attempted to banish any thoughts and concentrate on supplier bids.

But watching Gina slip out, unbidden I found myself mentally assessing his carriage with her because it was not something I had actually seen very often, this relaxed demeanor. Oh, he smiled around me, and I had always thought he was relaxed and comfortable and happy, but was he really?

Actually, Tom would talk and talk and talk to me excitedly. Unlike now, where he was letting Gina trill at him with an amused expression that was not unlike a smug cat's. When we were alone together it was like being with a caged animal: he would pace and then stop and then pace again and then change direction and do something else.

But around the office he moved casually, slowly, cheerfully efficient but naturally languid. How had this never consciously occurred to me before?

The last time we had screwed around had been three whole days ago, when he had snagged me twice in one day with some 'testing'... and then he let it drop the next day that his 'mother-in-law-to-be' was in town. And he's since treated me like I had Mad-Gay-Guy disease, staying at least several feet away whenever we ran into each other.

I wasn't sure exactly what that meant, but it seemed to mean he had to be a good boy, even when at work. Selective morals; I wondered if it was his Catholic upbringing.

"Keep your face scrunched up like that, Will, and it's going to stay that way forever." Ah, Allie, my office ninja. She unceremoniously dropped a stack of folders on my desk and leaned against it, right eyebrow aloft. "Still grumpy?"

"Grumpy?" I asked, surprised. "When have I been grumpy?" It's not like anything much has changed enough in my life to trigger grumpiness.

"For about the last week. But it's been really bad the last two days. Got something on your mind?" She leaned forward, now with both eyebrows almost in her hair. "Or SOMEONE?"

It was difficult to resist the urge to scotch backwards. "Huh?"

"He's got red hair, great ass, easy smile; you watch him like he's walking prime rib..."

"Allie!" Was my voice higher then usual? I cleared my throat and attempted to sound manly. "What are you talking about?"

She crossed her arms. "Do you know Martin?"

"Weasely guy in accounting? Bad skin?"

She laughed out loud at that one. "Don't let him hear you say that; he thinks he's a pretty hot property. And he's not happy YOU haven't noticed just how hot he is."

This is where I attempted to look innocent, and probably failed. "Why would I?"

Her look was doom, and I sighed. "So I've been spotted?"

"Ogling Mr. Computer? Hell, yeah, but that's alright; we all do. What I don't think Martin noticed, though, was the reciprocal ogling. Or the fact you BOTH look like you're going to eat each other when you're in the same room."

"Shit." So I was spotted and identified. Ah, well, no one had left burning Ken dolls on my desk or the like, so maybe I would escape Openly Gay and unscathed. But what about Tom? Would he be okay if it got out? I'm sure he'd quit in a heartbeat, of course, but how would he FEEL?

And was I worried about how he'd feel, or about how it would affect us together if he found out it was known that I was gay?

"Doesn't he have a chick? Or is that a lie?" she asked curiously. Why, that's exactly the issue I was thinking about.

"No lie." I sighed. "And not that much is happening, Allie, it's just a stupid office fling that shouldn't be going on at all."

She gave my shoulder a comforting squeeze. "But if we had the power to stop ourselves..."

She walked out, and I resisted the urge to let my head fall on my desk. It was even harder to resist one minute later, however, when I received an email that said only: <i>so if nothing is happening... Why are you so grumpy? - Allie </i>

An excellent, excellent question. Now that I was AWARE I was grumpy, I could also be aware that I was getting grumpier the more I thought about it.

The bloom, I thought unhappily, is increasingly fading off the flower of this sorta-relationship. Tom's tendency towards post-fling analysis made me wonder if it was a precursor to a voluntary separation on his part. Was he sensing how hard it had become for me not to talk about my day with him, how much I had to force myself to get away from him ASAP before I did or said something that made us both uncomfortable? How I was quickly starting to be rude as to not get cloying?

We'd passed each other early that morning, and when I'd casually asked him how he was he'd laughed with a tad too much enthusiasm and exclaimed some mindlessness about having to deal with both Lori and her mother.

Maybe I should consider termination of the situation before I got booted, because if there's one thing I hated, it was being beaten to the punch in a break-up.

I had my pride, damn it. My stupid, self-wounding pride.

But then, if I stopped sleeping with Tom, maybe I would lose my valuable IT guy to voluntary professional termination. And I couldn't afford that, nope.

Wasn't that really why I had hung on for as long as I had?

Oh, hell; I was starting to piss myself off. It was probably an excellent thing that one of the office matrons appeared to be getting into a near-yelling match with the stickler-for-protocol office manager within view, a common territorial battle, and I should probably stop it before the gooey-looking cupcakes in the kitchen were used as projectile weapons.

But it was probably the bleak turn of my thoughts - the constant little voice going "this is no good this is no good this is no good" - that had me accepting a surprise phone offer from Rick to join him for a drink that evening.

"We need to get you out of the office." He had practically purred.

Was I really attracted to Rick? Yes, because the fact was he was an attractive man. Attracted enough to consider sleeping with him? Yeah. He gave me his cell, directions to a worthy bar, and I wondered why I wasn't more excited then I was. Even a couple of days ago I would have found the idea more appealing.

This was exactly what I needed, I was sure. Why wasn't I more excited? Had I ever had a tendency to ask myself so many questions like I was now, and why did it make me feel like an idiot?

Tom had been installing a new software throughout the office. I was starting to see that if I was going to use him as my network guy AND my playmate, I'd better hire a backup for these mundane tasks. And due to the fact I'd been working myself up into a deeply cynical mind state over the whole thing, I was fairly stony faced when he finally wandered into my office near the end of the day.

But I had been invited out to a drink! Shouldn't that make me happy? It usually did.

"Hey, Will." Tom said with a smile, but I noticed he was fidgeting with the paper in his hand. How could I not have noticed this about him when he was around me before?!? My god, I made him obviously uncomfortable. "I have those preliminary numbers you asked me for."

Mmmm, that green brought out his eyes. Oh, how I wanted to get him around the desk to me and pull him down on my lap. This had become a reoccuring fantasy of mine.

I gave him a small smile - and took the sheet from him. "Thanks. I'll email you on my assessment after I pull the target information from corporate." I looked down at my laptop, hoping he would get the hint.

"So Lori's mother has really taken over the house," Tom blurted out, and I looked up at him over my screen warily. How many times did I have to hear about this goddamn mother?

"Uh huh." I didn't sign up for `sympathetic ear' for your hetereo relationship when I started sucking your cock, sweetheart.

But then again, even a Tom constantly, almost desperately reminding me of his upcoming marriage was better then no Tom at all, and before I could stop myself I found myself asking, "so it's that annoying, huh?"

"Yeah." He seemed almost relieved I had spoken to him as he smiled at me. He sat comfortably at my desk, and I admired the way his clothes stretched over his muscles. I was finally starting to let go of my dream of seeing him completely naked, but it would never disappear completely. "I think Lori called her in to be the cavalry in the change-Tom-completely-by-the-wedding mission. It's pretty exhausting."

"That sucks."

"It does." Fidget. He started to drum his fingers on his legs. "So, uh, good week?"

NO, you doofus, I haven't seen you semi-naked for three days, how good do you think the week was? "Busy, as usual, but I think I'm finally catching up with things around here." Fucking small talk, time for a subject shift. "So how would you feel if I hired a new IT guy?"

His eyes widened, and his face reddened. "New IT guy?" he asked, quietly. His hand clenched around his forms, giving them a good wrinkling.

I blinked at him. Was he that threatened by someone else helping him? He was a self-sufficient guy to the point of silliness, and maybe it wasn't surprising he could get a little territorial. "To take over your more menial tasks? If we're going to move forward and become more streamline from a technical point of view, we most certainly need you cleared up time wise for bigger networking and server issues. The sort of things you've been doing the last few days can be shuffled to someone less experienced."

"Oh." He breathed. "Oh. Yeah." He gave me a weak smile. "That'd be great."

"Ooookay." Wow, I thought somewhat miserably, this conversation is really flowing. "I'll talk to you about it in detail next week." If there was even going to be a next week.

I waited patiently for him to leave, holding my tongue. God, I wanted to proposition him. But the Mother fence? it wasn't me who erected the damn thing, but I'd stay on my designated side.

And then I watched him twitch for a bit. He tapped his foot. What was he DOING?

"Okay, talk to you later." He slipped out as quickly as he could.

Oh, thank god I didn't have to hear about anymore of his in-law travails.

So if I wanted him to leave so badly, why did I feel so empty?

And I had subconsciously started to steel myself for what was coming, and where this was ultimately going, because my bad mood just got worse. A brooding darkness was rising from the pit of my stomach, and the lack of excitement for drinks was worsening. What was my problem? Even if Rick turned out to not be my cup of tea, there were many other men out there to scope. Where was that excitement, that little thrill of the hunt? Feh.

And then he surprised me again.

It was rare that I got out early enough to be part of the usual Boston rush hour, but I was starving, and my grumpiness was coming out in some unhealthy ways, including a loathing of the office when I was the only one there. And there were no cute Irish boys to molest. So I would beautify and eat before going out, and hopefully perk the hell up.

Tom's non-overtime escape time was usually 5:00, so I was surprised to see him shuffling in front of the building, hands in his coat pocket. It was a chilly fall day, grey and windy, and his cheeks were ruddy. People were rushing around, dashing away from their buildings as if they'd really like to already be home and toasty.

"I saw you get ready to go," Tom said, almost apologetically, looking anywhere but at me. "But I, uh, didn't want to bother you inside, so I came out here to wait."

I wasn't exactly stupid, and the grumpiness I had resigned myself to won over tact. "Don't trust me alone with you in a dark and empty office?" I said dryly.

Oh, the blush. "Uh, no, just.... damn it." He looked truly flustered.

I sighed, and pulled my coat tighter around me. "Sorry, Tom, that wasn't fair."

He snorted, and I was beginning to get angry until he said, "Fair, what's fair? Fuck, Will."

He wasn't done, but that "Fuck, Will", a phrase saved for the most serious of moments, was what really cemented me to the spot. I waited for what truly felt like an eternity and a half, slowly tensing up. His eyes wouldn't meet mine, he was shuffling. I began to shut a part of my mind off, seeing but not seeing the rush of people one step away from the doors, or the people slipping around us from our own building.

My fingers were flexing in my jacket pockets. Here we go, I thought, you knew it was coming. And then he was staring at me.

"Ah, will you, uh, want to go for a drink?" Our eyes met, and pinned each other. "I don't think I can stand the unified forces for much longer. I need to get out for the night."

That was not what he was originally going to say to me. And from somewhere deep in my heart an embarrassingly huge smile came out. "Hell, yeah."


And surprises of surprises, he had also let me postpone meeting for an hour and had still shown up at the same blue-collar bar we had met before. I had wanted to run home, stuff my face with a sandwich and change into something much more comfortable, since I was sick of my suit.

And, of course, to call off my drink date with Rick. Which went well, because he bought wholesale my excuse that I had something I absolutely had to get out at work. He chided me for working too hard, and we promised to re-schedule.

I would, too, I promised myself, and I was only rushing off to have a drink with Tom because he was also my friend. Just a valued friend, maybe my only friend in this city.

This would naturally explain the schoolgirl giddiness, of course.

Switching to a white long-sleeve cotton shirt and my favorite (and I had been told, my most attractive) pair of jeans, I ran out again, finding him drinking a Guinness and staring blank-eyed at a football game on the corner TV.

He blushed when he saw me approach, and god, it was gratifying to my nervous little heart.

"You didn't order me a drink?" I said playfully. "That wasn't nice."

"I didn't know when you'd get here." He retorted seriously. "I didn't want it to get warm."

"I was kidding. Dork." I couldn't help myself from being playful, but he didn't seem to mind, smiling at me.

"It's your fault; you always say these things with such a straight face. I never know when you're joking."

"I know." Now I smiled wickedly back at him. "I like it that way."

"Asshole." He leaned forward, the low light catching his red hair, and his eyes gleamed. "I'll get you for that."

"You can try, Pretty boy, you can try."


The bar got busier and busier as we were there, the Thursday evening drinking crowd starting their extended weekend and also fortifying themselves against the increasing chill in the area. It was rather a macho scene -- even the sizeable amounts of women were not to be messed with -- but comfortable. The Mother hadn't appeared yet to cast her deathly pall over our conversation, and we'd easily blown some steam about the office, comparing our favorite jackasses. It was nice to hear him say he thought Gina was an evil twit.

And now Tom was cracking me up with his movie-quoting, just whipping them out one after another in rapid procession.

"A `eugoogolizer.' One who speaks at funerals. Or did you think that I would be too stupid to know what a `eugoogoly' was?" His face was a great copy of Ben Stiller's vapid Zoolander visage.

We'd briefly gone back and forth with Monty Python, but I couldn't hold a flame to his quote memory, and I told him so and bought him another drink in admiration.

"I've always been good with those sort of things," he shrugged modestly. "I don't know why I have a good memory for facts, exact terminology. I think that's why I like technical, exact things. That," And he raised his beer to his lips with a half smile and a wink, "And like you said earlier, I'm a dork."

I leaned my cheek on my fist, staring at him thoughtfully. "You're not a dork at all, you know. All of your talents are pretty damn respectable, and useful. I don't think anyone would in all seriousness call you a geek, or a dork." I took a one-handed swig of my own bottle with a rueful smile. "Unlike ME, who's just a complete and total work-dork. Over-worked wanker."

Tom leaned forward, face almost angry. "Bullshit! From what you've told me of your family, and your friends in Madison, you're pretty well-rounded. You," -he pointed a finger in my face- "are pushing yourself too hard."

"And you aren't?" I challenged, leaning over the table.

"Hell yeah." His grin was infectious, and so bloody attractive. "That's what I like about you."

"Yeah? Not my rugged good looks?"

"You're about as rugged as my 10-year-old female cousin, Will."

It was a very small round table we were at, and our hands had brushed as we had leaned forward, our lips just a slight lift off either of our chairs away from a kiss.

And since it really wasn't in any way the right place for two men to snog, we had nothing for it but to awkwardly pull back, each taking a drink in tandem and checking to see if anyone had seen us. His posture was now exaggerated in its casual masculinity, legs apart, arm thrown over the back of the chair.

Of course, it was the kind of place it'd be impossible to tell, but maybe I did see a couple of weighted stares. It was perhaps time to move.

Because I wanted to talk about the fact I wanted to kiss him, the fact I wanted to take him back to my place and do everything he hadn't let me do so far. Things I hadn't dared to try.

"Darts?" Tom suggested, as if reading my mind. He was looking nervous.

And had I just seen him shift under the table? If I kept watching his shoulders like I was, I was definitely going to need to.

"Yeah, sure." We snaked through the crowd and moved near the exit, where a couple of guys had just finished their game, and Tom paid at the bar to take over.

"You suck at this." Tom bemusedly observed a bit later, leaning against the wall, arms crossed, beer in hand. And, honestly, I did. Most likely because my contact lens prescription needed updating, and I was too damn vain to wear glasses. It was also a distinct possibility that I was hurrying my turn along so I could stand where Tom was now and stare at his ass and broad back.

And I was happy. I was comfortable. I was feeling playful; all the paranoia and creeping depression I had gone through earlier was so far away now it felt like a different version of me. As we had passed each other when switching positions in front of the board our arms had brushed, and his fingers had lingered as he handed me the darts.

"Watch it, Naughton, or your ass is going to be my real target." That came out a lot more sexually charged then actually intended, but at the very least it was the truth. Tom did his lovely blush thing again.

"Isn't it already?" he challenged, and while his voice broke slightly, his eyes didn't waiver from mine.

And it took a great deal of self control not to press him against the wall and molest him right then and there. As it was, I just smiled at him with what I hope was a predatory leer, and let fly a fairly pitiful throw.

But even without any blatantly queer moves like me throwing myself at him we were obviously questionable, because at the edges of our game a couple of guys had started to exhibit unfriendly body language.

The bar was packed, and the crowd was increasingly boisterous, but these two middle-aged men were quiet and stone-faced. One was fat and one was lean, and one was ugly and one coulda been worse (The fat one), but it was clear they were drunk and spoiling.

If I had been more watchful I would have caught it sooner, but I was far too enamored of my current cozy comfort with Tom, and the general sense of being invisible in a happy bar crowd.

I was hoping they'd go away until one of them had moved forward just enough as I stepped back for my final throw, and I ran right into the tall one.

"Oof!" I said, and turned around, furrowing my brow at them. "Sorry."

They glared at me, and I shrugged and turned away, but not before the fat one spoke up.

"You got a problem, queer?"

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Tom had pushed himself off the wall, and a few of the people immediately around us had stepped back a bit. Of course, it might have been my imagination, but it looked like a couple of people were looking to step in, too. It wasn't exactly a small, provincial city.

Diffusing the situation seemed like a good idea. But what I thought would diffuse the situation might have been a bit heavy on the sarcasm.

"I have lots of problems, really. But none of them have anything to do with you." I gave him my most persuasive smile. "Can we please get back to our game now?"

"You little..." Really, I thought as his face scrunched up, I could have informed him he was the winner of a million dollar door prize and he would still find a reason to try to hit me. Setting myself for a speedy feint and a good punch to the schnoze, I never got a chance to show my dubious skills at barroom brawling before a red-headed streak of no small stature had elbowed me out of the way and punched the guy in the gut.

"Cool, Fight!" someone yelled, and I was surprised that people actually did that outside of movies and high school gyms. It wasn't much of one, however, due to the fact that the two guys were drunk, out of shape, and no match for Tom's impressive near-fury.

He gave the taller idiot a good wallop in the jaw, causing him to yelp and stumble backwards into a couple of screechy college age students. I was stunned. And more then a little turned on, I was embarrassed to admit.

"You okay?" he turned to me, eyes blazing.

Is this where I tee-hee-ed girlishly? It was tempting. Instead I cocked an eyebrow at him. "My hero." I grinned.

"Well, he was going to, and he -- " He flustered, no longer looking so tough, but before he could get anywhere close to a complete sentence the fat dude was staggering towards us, and it looked like a couple of other guys were heading in our general direction to get involved. Whether for our team or against was unclear, but I put my hand on Tom's arm before he stormed forward, enjoying the feeling of his tensing muscles.

"Come ON," I urged, and pulled him towards the door. I could tell he was still spoiling, his handsome face still stubbornly set, but he gave in to my persistent tugging. We snagged our jackets where they sat on a chair near the board, and pushed out through the few people blocking our way to the outside. The Tall guy, nose bleeding profusely, was starting to move towards.

"Run!" I yelled, simply because it felt right, and we both took off, the bracing evening air slamming into our faces.

Laughing, we sprinted down the street and almost ran into several startled and pissy looking innocent bystanders.

"ASSHOLES!" One young woman shrieked at us indignantly as we whipped past her and her friend, accidentally clipping the bag out of her hand.

"Sorry!" Tom yelled cheerfully, arms out apologetically as he ran backwards for a second before turning around. Laughing and running was causing serious chest pains, but it was worth it.

Our feet pounded on the pavement and our breath came out in visible bursts; soon I was hot, and glad I never put my jacket on. We weren't even sure they had followed us. Really, I think we were just running to run.

About two blocks down we had entered a busier retail area, and it was Tom's turn to grab my arm.

"Whoa!" I said with amusement as he swerved me at a 90 degree angle to where I was heading, pulling open a door and pushing me in. We appeared to be in a restaurant, Asian-modern décor and dark lights, and from my brief look it seemed as if it was only half-full.

But more importantly there was no one at the host's station directly inside the door, and the bathrooms appeared to be down a hall directly across from the door, demanding no crossing in front of actual people.

"In here!" Tom said, and yanked me into the men's bathroom.

"Are you TRYING to give me whiplash?" I said, laughing, as he finally let me go. It was a fairly small room, done in tasteful woods and black marble, with only two wooden stalls that hit the floors and three urinals. "I'm pretty sure those two meatheads would have dropped of heart attacks about three feet from the bar if they tried to follow us."

"You're the one who yelled `Run'!" he said indignantly. We were both breathing hard, and I wondered if my cheeks were as flush as his. Watching his chest rise and fall, I loved how his red hair was messy and tousled, and his muscles seemed primed.

"Wellllll..." I leaned against the wall, still chuckling, "I didn't mean for us to run for so long!"

"You had no idea what you were doing." His affronted tone wasn't very convincing, and he'd leaned a bit so his side brushed mine. My heart was pounding, every sense heightened by the adrenaline coursing through my veins. Three days was a long time for a junkie.

"True.. But when do I ever?" Who moved first I'll never know, but his body was suddenly against mine, his arms around my torso. I felt his cock pressed against my leg, quickly hardening, and I pushed my own rising erection against it. He groaned, and buried his lips in my neck.

"You seem to fake it pretty well," he said as his lips moved into my hair, muffled, and I let out a breath as a hand found my ass, kneading the muscles. I turned my head to his shoulder to intercept him, and our eyes briefly met.

"What fun is faking it?" I said very quietly, and he gave me a flash of a brilliant smile before he crushed his lips to mine.

It was a kiss to die for, and I sighed into his mouth as his tongue jabbed and flirted with mine; I lost track for a moment, because then it became almost desperate, and he was pressing the whole of his body against me in a way that suggested he would take me by osmosis if he could.

Suddenly he stopped, and looked at me with big blue eyes, looking younger than he was. "God, my brother goes there all the time. I think he knows those guys. They-"

"No Fucking `Mother' moments!" I snarled at him. "Not now."

"Mother -- moments?" He blinked, I glared, and his eyes clouded again. "God, you're fucking sexy when you're mad." It was the first time he'd ever called me `sexy', and between that and the look on his face I practically dragged him by his hair into the bathroom stall.

"What are you...Fuck." Actually, it was more like `fuuuuuuuuuuck', as I shut the door behind him, ran my palm up his raging erection, and moved upwards on his chest, my touch rough and territorial.

"Missed you,'" I whispered to him involuntarily, and mentally started beating myself up as soon as I did so, watching him blush and his eyes widen. Stupid stupid stupid...

But his answer was to kiss me roughly again before running his lips down my chest and burying his face in my crotch, his nose pressed against my cock as he ended up sitting on top of the closed toilet seat, his arms wrapped around the back of my knees.

Reaching forward I drew my fingers up his back, feeling the wholeness of Tom, the solid beauty of his muscles, his strong neck, that adorable red hair. My body was humming, and the way he was kissing my erection, and then my stomach was sending sensations throughout my body.

Reaching down, he wrapped his hands around my ankles and then pulled them up, rubbing the length of my legs up to my ass, causing me to buckle into him with a small groan. In response he opened his lips and mouthed at my hardness through my jeans slowly but with growing pressure. When he found the head he gave it special attention, and I was pressing forward when he lifted his lips up and wrested his chin at the bottom of my stomach with a wicked gleam in his eyes and his smile. Oh, that smile, I thought, with its crooked, cocky ways.

"You so want me to take your pants off." Tom teased, languidly running his hands up and down my thighs. "Come on, admit it."

I clutched at his hair playfully with a snarl. "I'm not admitting anything, Irish. Not until you admit how much you just want to take them off me."

He tilted his head back to press his hair into my hand and closed his eyes, the smile widening, but instead of answering he ran his fingers up from my inner thigh up the zipper of my jeans, playing with the tab. My cock practically jumped in response.

"Cheap bastard," I accused as he brought his head up, knees bending slightly into his touch again. The music piping into the bathroom was of a twangy Asian variety, and it seemed an amusingly apropos touch, like the soundtrack in a samurai movie as the geisha makes her move.

"You gotta ask," he teased. My zipper came down a few inches, his knuckles brushing my increasingly insistent penis, and I let out something that probably sounded like a hiss.

"Damn you." I gave his hair another tug. "This better be worth all this effort, boy." I attempted to look stern before he gave my head another kiss and my eyes rolled a bit.

"You know it is, boss man." He rubbed his chin cheekily on my groin and I laughed out loud.

God, these games turned me on, in some ways more then the possibility of his touch.

"Please..." I gave his hair a tug again, "fucking release me. Asshole." I added for good measure, feeling my body begin to get desperate.

With an answering hard squeeze of my ass and a grin that was fit to burst Tom used his right hand to finally pull down my zipper and push down the top of my jeans and the top of my tight boxer-briefs, causing my erection to spring out and strain upwards.

I expected another smart remark but instead he surprised me by opening his mouth and taking me in whole, and with just a little effort adjusting so he was almost sliding down completely. It was definitely worth begging for.

I made senseless guttural little noises and let my head fall back as he let his lips ride me up and down, his body bent over as I clenched and unclenched at his soft red hair, occasionally creating an amazing seal right below my the head of my cock that drove me mad.

My hips started to move forward instinctively, and I thrust forward carefully, using every inch of self-control I had to not completely face fuck him.

It was so damn awesome to watch him blow me, I thought dazedly, and it was at that thought that I felt my vision of him go blurry, and everything to tighten and then explode as I bucked into him, clenching his shoulders instead of his head so he didn't end up bald. "
"Ugggh... "I felt his throat constrict as he swallowed my cum, and I couldn't seem to stop, involuntarily jerking forward a couple of times as he admirably held his rhythm.

There was a point where I swear I heard someone come in, pee, and run out without washing their hands, but it could have been my imagination. It could have all been my imagination.

I was still semi-hard and tingling, almost twitching, but I gently pushed him off back, and he stared at me with his big, almost childlike eyes until he grinned like the Cheshire cat, his cheeks flushed and a bit of creamy substance on the edge of his lips.

"Thanks," I said, and my smile was probably rather goofy.

"You know, I'm starting to think, `DAMN, I'm-" I shut him up before he could verbally pat himself on the back by covering his mouth with mine, holding a hand lightly to the side of his head while I used my tongue to lick up my cum and run the tip around the edge of his lips, skillfully evading his tongue. "...good." He almost whispered, face redder then before as I straightened up and pulled my briefs back up my body.

His blue eyes were now foggy, and he distractedly ran a finger down my semi-hard cock through the fabric.

"You'd think," Tom said jokingly, looking up at me with a cocked eyebrow, "This would be empty by now."

My body actually reacted to his touch, and his smile widened. Damn, he was hot, and I knew I wanted to make him feel something close to what I did, almost as revenge.

I wanted him completely Of course, there was only so far I could go with that... but damned if I could stop myself. I wanted to see how he'd react if I took it one step further, and I was bold with the feeling of our mutual comfort in the bar and our silly adventure.

"Oof!" Tom said as his body collided with mine as I suddenly jerked him up, and my arms wrapped around him. It was very pleasing that he was hard, and I took one of his hands and lifted a finger to my mouth, gently playing with the tips with my tongue.

Tom watched, fascinated, and I felt his bulge tighten underneath his loose work pants as I hooked a finger in a belt loop, drawing him around in a circle and now taking two fingers carefully in my mouth as I sat down where he had been.

He appeared fascinated by my movements, even as I took my fingers out of his mouth and drew them down his chin and then his chest, pulling with my fingernails. He followed my course with his own hands even as I opened his belt, pushed down his boxers and admired his beautiful thickness, lightly running my fingers up his length.

Tom's hips thrust forward naturally, and after an indrawn breath he smiled down at me. "Something wicked this way comes," he said teasingly, and I lifted my mouth to look at him with mock surprise.

"You read? No way."

He snarled in response and gave my hair a good yank. "Just suck, wench," he ordered playfully, but with a palatable sense of urgency; he was very, probably excruciatingly turned.

"Wishes and commands..." I said sweetly, and took him in my mouth, lightly working him up and down. His breath started to become ragged, with small throaty noises that suggested he wasn't going to last long. I backed off and kept my ministrations teasing, as much as I reflexively wanted to push it further.

Slipping a hand up between his legs I cupped his balls tenderly, using my other hand to stroke where my lips had been as I licked and rubbed his sac.

"UggggH..." His hips jerked forward, and he fucked my mouth when I once again let him bump against my throat, hard near to distraction as I continued my light blow.

My hand worked upward and slipped between his crack, and my finger brushed his puckered hole, clamping my lips around his cock at the same time.

"Fuck!" Tom swore but arched into my touch, which was exactly the response I wanted.

"God no..." he groaned when my lips left his body.

"Turn around." I ordered, and then he simply looked confused but did as I said, amusingly twisting his body around despite his pants trapping his ankles.

Oh, I loved his ass so much. Grabbing his hips I pulled him back so it was even with my face.

"What are-" he said over his shoulder, but cut himself off as I buried my face between his cheeks and let my tongue slip between his perfect muscles, his body spasming with a strangled noise and his arms shooting out to steady himself against the walls of the stall.

I felt the ring of muscle and jabbed in and out of his hole with my tongue, getting increasingly enthusiastic. He pressed backwards and his breath was desperate, almost panting.

My right hand wrapped around his body and I started to jack him, no longer teasingly but full on, as his erection was leaking and rock hard.

Tom's body seemed to lose control, bucking into my hand but obviously not wanting me to stop eating him out, and it took a great deal of concentration not to lose focus on one of the two things I was doing. But I as pulled on him I let my tongue go as deep as it could, keeping them both stronger and deeper.

"Fuck, FUCK, Oh, god, yes.." His words strangled off and there was no way I could keep my tongue work up, but it didn't matter because he was coming, his beautiful muscles tense and clenched then jerking, his fair skin red and his body burning up.

I kept my grip on his cock as he came explosively all over the stall and what appeared to be over himself, coming in waves. He tried to control it, pounding one hand against the divider, but the involuntary shakes took a while to die down as I finished stroking him and kissed his back, tenderly.

Thank god I had come first, because I was already turned on again.

"Oh, fuck.." he whispered raggedly, head bowed, and I smiled as I gently kissed up his ass, hands now running down his beautiful, rounded legs. Some of his skin was lightly freckled, something I'd never noticed before. "Mmmm." He seemed to be enjoying my light ministrations, briefly sounded contented, and a smile in his voice.

But only briefly.

His body was suddenly very still, and I knew in my gut before I was consciously aware of it that this was a sign that he was now thinking. Thinking was probably not good.

Oh, no no no, part of me thought, don't move, not again. Tom shimmied in his jeans and scurried out of the stall after a clumsy, hands-shaking second trying to open the latch.

And another part of me thought, resigned, sad, like a hangover you'd thought you'd gotten over but once again rears its ugly head, Of Course Again. I stood up with a sigh and walked out after him, cleaning my hands in the sink next to him as he cleaned his shirt, wincing inwardly as he gave me a brief look out of the corner of his eyes and a shifted minutely away.

I should probably rinse my mouth out, I thought, but right now, the taste was all I had.

Drying my hands, I leaned down to grab our jackets, ignobly thrown in the corner, and waited. He was taking an awful long time to wash his hands.

"You okay?" I asked quietly.

He was silent for a couple of uncomfortable beats.

"That was, that was -- Fuck!" He stood there, lost, and I reached out an arm with his coat at the end of it. Snatching it, he opened the door. "I've got to get out of here." He muttered almost angrily, and I decided now was not the time to tell him his fly was open.

We slipped out, and I gave a shrug and an apologetic smile to the startled young hostess who was now manning the front station before we slipped out into the chill air.

He was pacing on the sidewalk in front of the closed drugstore next door, and I mindlessly noted the sale on toothbrushes. I needed a toothbrush. I needed a clue.

"That was?" I prompted him, not even looking in his direction.

"GROSS!" Tom blurted out, and I reflexively rolled my eyes. "I mean, no, but, fuck! That was fucked up."

"Yeah?" I leaned up against the cool glass and kept my features relaxed, not putting my coat on, letting myself get cold as a distraction from this drama. Letting the cold settle in, to wrap itself around my bones and slip underneath my ribcage.

Something about my response was not working well, because he looked truly upset. "Fuck, yeah." He was silent as an older man slipped by, as if some stranger hearing us mattered, and he turned back to me, eyes lost. "This wasn't how it was supposed to GO tonight, Will, Fuck, I was, was- fuck."

"Was going to tell me to leave you the fuck alone?" I suggested dryly as I pushed off from the window, now putting my coat on. "Was going to ask I stop molesting you?" I couldn't look at him, his crazy hair, his askew coat collar, his open fly. His incredible attractiveness, his lost-boy cuteness. So I looked at the shops, the Boston architecture, and an empty spot across the street.

"No!" He shook his head. "Yes, god, yes, this can't happen, Lori and her mother... my brother goes to that bar all the damn time. " He spun on me. "That was FUCKED UP."

"More so then me regularly giving you blow jobs?" I countered, tired of this. "And vice versa?"

"It's all fucked up." He sounded so damn lost; I couldn't take it any more. I started to walk away. "Will..."

I stopped, but refused to turn. "You're such a fucking stereotype, Tom," I said resignedly. I started walking again. "But, hell, so am I." I waved over my shoulder before shoving my hands in my pocket. "See you at work tomorrow."

Goddamnit, I thought as I started the long, cold walk to my condo, I really should have rinsed my damn mouth out.

But I wasn't dumb enough to think that would have gotten rid of all the bad taste I now had going.

To be continued...