Bathroom Romp

Author's Note: This is based on a true story and I got a little carried away so if you want to skip strait to the sex it's part 3 and starts after the second "* * *".

Also, I didn't make the age thing very clear. The youngest person in this story is Ben, who is, at the time this takes place, 22 years old.

*****

The man stumbled a little under the weight that forced him forward over the counter. He had been mid-sentence, talking to an employee, who was now giggling despite herself, cash drawer still open and money still in her hand. The man rolled his eyes and leaned back.

"Get off, asshole." He smirked, "How many times have I told you not to do that?"

His boyfriend refused, clinging to his back. He had tossed his backpack aside as soon as he entered the shop and taken a running leap to wrap his arms around the man's neck, huddling close to his broad shoulders.

"Noooo," he whined, "Carry me."

"I'm trying to be all professional here," the man scolded, "Get down. Don't jump on people. Who does that?"

"Me." the boy finally let go with a wry grin, "And you love me."

"If you don't behave I'm not giving you your present," the owner pulled him close and kissed his temple, "Go wait for me in the back."

"Not until you acknowledge my adorableness."

"Fine. You're adorable. I'm trying to close. Go across the street and get me some coffee." He ruffled his hair. But the boy only pouted, expectant. "What? You don't need money. Use the card I gave you."

"I don't want money," He was insulted and it showed in his voice, "I want a real kiss."

"I'm trying to work," the man was exasperated.

"You two are vomitously cute," the employee finished counting her drawer and stepped aside.

"I try," The boy replied, and added, "Do you want anything?"

"I'm not buying overpriced coffeehouse swill for the help," the man teased.

"Oh yeah," The cashier sassed right back, "Guess you've gotta be sleeping with the boss to get that."

"I highly recommend it," the boy smirked, "10/10."

The man let out an exasperated, animalistic noise, "You're both fired."

"I don't work here," his boyfriend corrected.

"And I'm not fired," The cashier chimed in.

"Everyone is fired!" He exclaimed. "You're fired," he pointed to the girl, "From smoking in the break room, and you're fired," he pointed to the boy, "From using my xbox because you keep forgetting to switch profiles and now I've got stupid shit on my stream." He turned back to the drawer, "Are you finished? This is my last stop today."

"Yeah. Perfect down to the penny. What would you do without me?" The cashier winked and sauntered around the counter, "I'm clocking out. I'm gone."

"Wanna walk with me to get some coffee?"

"Sure,"

As she headed to the break room the boy leaned across the counter, "Why are you being so bitchy?" He put on his best puppydog eyes and looked up with a pleading pout.

"Because I'm serious about running around and jumping on shit in my stores like a crack-head."

"I'm not a crack-head, I'm just... a club kid. There's a difference." The boy had averted his eyes now, and seemed contemplative.

"Yeah," the man scoffed, counting the money and putting it in the bank bag, "One wears neon." He looked up and caught his boyfriend's face, "Fuck's sake, Ben, don't cry."

"I'm not going to cry, I'm just... thinking." he sighed.

"Well don't. You get bad shit in your head. I got you a present. Just go let me close up." He ruffled his lover's hair and went back to counting.

Ben jerked back to a standing position and let out an involuntary squeal as the cashier goosed his side. He smiled and turned to leave with her.

***

He returned alone a few minutes later to see his lover still staring at the computer behind the counter looking as stern as ever. He sighed and set the drinks down before leaning over.

"What's wrong, baby?"

"Hm?" his boyfriend looked up at him, "Oh, lock the door, ok?" then, realizing he had left the question unanswered, "Nothing's wrong. Just a long day. I'm old. I get tired easily." A wry smile crept onto his face, "I put an ounce of weed in your backpack."

The boy grinned, excited. "Is that my present?"

"No, that's /mine/. But you can have some if you'll hush long enough for me to finish looking over the daily count."

Ben smiled and hopped onto the counter where he started digging through his backpack, "That sounds boring."

"It's less boring when it's your livelihood. Jesus, Ben, don't do that here next to the giant windows. Go to the bathroom in the break room. And turn the fan on."

"But the smoke'll get out." The boy looked down at him, pouting.

"Yes. Because the bathroom doesn't need to smell like pot. Some of these places are still open. Go on. I'll be back in a minute."

"Fine" he hopped down in a huff and grabbed one of the cups, "But we could have a like... self-perpetuating cloud. We put a tent in the living room-"

"I know. I've /been/ to that apartment. It's why we hang out at my house." He picked up a stray pen and tossed it playfully at his young lover.

"You be nice to my swinging loft. I'm a starving artist."

"Come here." he motioned and his boyfriend obeyed, and overstepped, crawling into his lap. The man snaked an arm around his waist, letting his hand rest in the small of his back and pulled him up; brushing their lips together before deepening the embrace into a passionate kiss.

He broke it, leaving the boy panting, and slid him off his lap onto his feet. "You taste like cinnamon." he chuckled, and smacked his ass hard; a payback for the tackle that made him take a step forward. "Go on."

The boy giggled and did as he was told.

He strode past the break room quickly and into the open bathroom. The employee who had closed had /not/ done her job; the place obviously hadn't been cleaned. He looked around trying to find a spot he thought was clean enough to break apart the pot or roll the joint, and couldn't, in good conscious, do it anywhere and then offer it to the man who had been so good to him. The cleanest place in the room was the sink, but he could just see himself dropping half of it down the drain. He sat his backpack on the floor and pulled out his sketchpad, smiling to see the nice, full baggie that had been shoved down carefully between the art supplies and schoolbooks.

He took it, the pack of papers, and the sketchpad, and hopped up onto the sink, leaning back against the mirror. He spread the sketchpad over his lap and set the supplies out on it, carefully breaking apart the sticky buds, prying the seeds out with his fingernails and making a little game of tossing them into the poor, neglected toilet. He had a habit that his boyfriend was trying to break, of quickly and efficiently rolling up the entire ounce; something that his man said was an extra arrest because it meant, somehow, intent to sell. As if he would make any money that way. It was just an ounce. Not enough for one person to last a week. He rolled his eyes and stopped at three, not because he believed him, but because he didn't want to hear him bitch.

He slid the baggie to the end of the sketchpad, gathered the crumbs in a line, and dumped them back inside. He sealed the baggie carefully before setting the sketchpad, baggie, rolling papers and all, on the back of the toilet, and leaned back against the mirror. He turned to the side to fish his lighter out of the pocket of his jeans and met his reflection's eyes, and smiled with a vain satisfaction at how he found them. The lighter was smashed inside the pack with his cigarettes, so after removing it he tossed them aside on top of the sketchpad with everything else. He watched the cherry glow as he inhaled deeply and closed his eyes, letting the sensation flow over him as he thought about his boyfriend... doing paperwork. Always working.

He let the cloud gently drift from his lungs through his lips and spiral toward the ceiling as an idea struck him. He reached down to unzip his boots.

***

The man knew that his lover would have made it through one joint, possibly two, in the time it took him to finish his paperwork and found, to his annoyance that he either hadn't turned on the fan, or it wasn't working, because the smell met him as soon as he entered the break room. He should have never have given him permission to smoke back here. It was a terrible decision; but everything about that boy was a terrible decision. He found himself constantly putting up with things that he had sworn he would never deal with, spending money on things he couldn't really afford because he just liked seeing those big eyes light up, spending time in clubs he felt far too mature for, being dragged to events that he had no interest in- but he just couldn't say no.

He opened the door with his free hand on his temple, trying to will away the headache he was nursing. "Ben, put that out, you can still smell it from out-" he paused, taking in the scene before him. "Why are you naked?" He asked as he stepped inside and pulled the door closed. The shop was locked and he was sure they were the only ones inside, and still he found himself sliding the lock into place.

His boyfriend was still sitting on the sink, back arched, head tossed back, taking a long, slow drag, eyes closed to avoid getting smoke in them. As he pulled the joint away he leaned forward, his hips jutting back, forcing his thighs to spread to either side of the sink.

"You looked stressed," he explained, "I can't do much but I thought maybe..." he trailed off and offered the burning joint to his lover.

"Goddamn it, Ben," he smiled and took it, closing the distance between them, "You thought what?"

"Maybe," the boy replied sheepishly, running his hands down his chest, stopping onto to play with the button on his dress pants, "You'd feel better if you fucked a cheap whore into submission on the dirty bathroom floor."

"Fuck it is dirty, isn't it?" He asked, voice strange because he didn't want to exhale, "Bitch was supposed to clean."

"Miles and miles from the point," the boy pouted.

The man pushed the joint to his lover's lips, "You're being /so/ difficult today," he rested his hands on the inside of his thighs, stroking gently, "You know we can't. I mean, you're /loud/-"

"I'll be quiet," Ben promised, wrapping one arm around his lover's neck and pulling the joint out of his mouth with the other.

"You little liar, you don't know how to be quiet. And secondly," he snatched the joint away, "we don't have any lube. Unless you pack it around with you. Which might be wise, honestly. Knowing you."

"Are you calling me a slut?" the boy teased, arching, trying desperately to get his lover's hand anywhere near his erection, but it remained firmly on his thigh just out of reach.

"Well, you are naked in a public bathroom," his lover grinned before blowing smoke in the boy's face.

"It'll be good for you," Ben looked up from under his lashes, pleading with his eyes.

"Not on this floor," the man chuckled and watched those eyes dart open as he stuck the burning cherry between his legs- narrowly avoiding his dick at the last second to grind it out on the sink itself. "God, you've got it bad. /That/ made you twitch? I'm not putting cigarettes out on your cock. Don't ask. You watch too much torture porn."

Ben laughed nervously as his boyfriend put the roach away in the baggy and stood back, just looking at him until he felt his face start to burn with the blush. Finally, he seemed to have decided.

"Not on the floor. You stay right where you are."

Ben's smile widened and he scooted forward and grabbed the waistband of his lover's pants to pull him back. He undid the button quickly, and the zipper in one smooth motion. He giggled as he pulled down the boxers and his lover's impressive dick bounced up to meet him. "I knew you wanted me."

"Yes, well... You seem to be under the impression that you /have/ to have sex every time you get a hard-on. Life doesn't work that way." He sighed and pushed the boy back against the mirror, "You're going to rip."

"I'm not as delicate as you think I am. 'You're gonna rip' 'You have to breath' 'You can't leave those on that long'," the boy mocked, but was cut off by his own gasp. His boyfriend had grabbed one of his knees and pinned it to his shoulder, exposing him completely. He wrapped an arm around him and pulled him past the edge, forcing him to grab the sink to balance himself.

"It's your ass," he said with the air of a man who has been defeated, and Ben giggled.

"It's not that it's dry anyway, it's the size difference," the boy explained with an evil smile.

"Well it can't be /good/ for you." The man leaned in to kiss his neck as he pressed the head of his cock against his opening. As he pulled back he asked, "You don't want to suck it or anything first? I mean... spit maybe?"

"Just /fuck me/" The boy demanded with such conviction that it would have been impossible to doubt him, so his lover began to slide slowly inside, until he felt the shift in his boyfriend's weight as he reached up to clasp his hands behind his neck.

"I said /fuck me/," he demanded again, "Not this soft and gentle shit."

"Jesus Christ /shut up/," the man warned, "I told you the other places are /still open/. People can hear you. You can't scream like that."

"Then /fuck me/."

"Ben, I swear to god."

"I'll shut up when you do it right."

"I don't think you will, but" he brought his hips forward in one fierce motion, slamming into his lover, burying himself to the hilt; and he was right. The boy under him let out a strangled gasp of pain and pleasure that shook his body.

"Ben /shut up/ or I'll stop," he warned, "Don't be a little bitch here."

The boy opened his mouth to say something but closed it again with a grimace. It may have been an apology or another demand, but his silence stood as a testament that he could, at least, follow directions. Instead of speaking again, he rolled his hips, as if trying to get his lover even deeper inside. He whined, quietly, and let out a tentative, mewing, "please? Daddy?"

"I'm serious. That's a warning. Be good or I'll stop." The sheer dominance in his voice made the boy below him shiver; and every convulsion squeezed around the cock inside him. "Fuck."

"I'll be a good boy, I promise," said his voice, but his eyes glistened with mischief.

The man pulled back, gently, slowly rolling his hips forward. And to his credit, Ben's complaint was quiet, but pained, "Daddy /please/"

"Shut up you /stupid/ slut," he hissed, leaning to whisper right in his ear, "I'm not fucking /breaking/ you. I'm not going to rip you open. I want to use you again later."

"I /want/ you to rip me open with your huge cock. I want to be /bleeding/ and bruised and-" He was silenced by a swift slap across the face.

"I'm not telling you to shut the fuck up again." He slammed forcefully inside, burying himself again, impaling the boy who whimpered and clung to him, the fabric of his shirt bunching between his fingers.

"I... I /can't/. I need you to choke me." he looked up at the man glaring down at him; the anger in his eyes seemed real and it made him twitch, tighten; the arousal building up inside him seemed to spread through every nerve in his body, "Please?"

He didn't expect the reaction to be so instantaneous or severe. His lover's hand moved from his knee to his throat in a flash, pinning him to the mirror and squeezing. He felt the world around him fade away until the only thing that existed was the intense pleasure building up inside him; the pressure on his throat, the gentle touch on his back; the rhythmic massage on his prostate.

The man watched the boy, judging carefully. He had to time it perfectly- and let go /just/ as he was about to pass out. His lover convulsed /hard/ as he sucked in air; every muscle in his body tensed- he wrapped his legs around his hips and /forced/ him deep, lifting himself off the sink entirely- the man forced him back down, holding his hips as he slammed away; riding the boy's orgasm. His strength was leaving him, but his lover wasn't finished. He was violent now; as violent as his little fuck-toy had begged him to be, slamming painfully into his dry walls; no longer trying to silence him as he cried out in pleasure.

He heard it before he felt it. There was a sickening crack, and suddenly they were on the floor. Neither of them seemed to remember his reluctance to fuck the boy into submission on the dirty floor, because now it was in full force.

"Don't stop," the boy begged, as if it had been an option. He was folded double now, his knees at his ears as his lover slammed into him, until suddenly he felt the hot, wet convulsions /deep/ within his guts. He gasped, body responding to the knowledge that he was being filled, being taken and used; he was still leaking himself and the pressure felt so ecstatic he was afraid he was going to pass out from the sheer joy.

"Shut up," his master commanded, but he /couldn't/.

"God, Daddy," he squirmed, "I /love/ it when you cum inside me."

The man pulled him close, panting, spent. Unable to tear his gaze away with the squirming creature below him. He smiled as he felt the expert convulsions; his little toy was trying to milk him, trying to drag out everything he could from his spent dick.

"I'm pulling out, baby" he explained.

"No, daddy, please not yet." He reached to grab his neck again, "Just a few more seconds, please-"

"You've already cum there's no point. Just shss, alright?" He chuckled and started counting, "On three, Ok? One"

The boy whined but nodded.

"Two"

He tightened around his cock one last time.

"Three." He said as he pulled out and kissed his lover gently. The boy whined again at the emptiness. He hated that feeling, but couldn't explain why he loved the situation; sweaty and used up, panting on the dirty bathroom floor.

"Damn it, Ben... We broke the sink."

"Wait, what?" He pushed himself up on his elbows, "Fuck, shit. I'm sorry!"

They had. It had come off from the wall and shattered. His boyfriend was shutting off the water that had apparently been spraying for quite some time.

He shrugged, "It was worth it. I'll get it fixed tomorrow. Are you alright?"

"Huh?"

"There are fragments of porcelain everywhere." He gently pulled the naked boy up, "Are they in your back?"

"Porcelain? Is it not plastic?" The boy spoke like he was in a daze.

"You look like you're alright. Are you hurt?"

"What?"

"You're still in your whore mind. You're gonna hurt so bad when you come down, baby." He cupped his face to kiss him gently again. "Just get your clothes on. I'm going to take you to dinner."

"I got my cum on your shirt," the boy fiddled with his lover's shirt, his voice seeped with disappointment in himself.

"Shss, baby. We're /done/ for now. I'm not going to punish you..." He pulled back with a smirk, "here."

The boy giggled.

"Now come on. Get dressed. I want to give you your present."