Meet Me After Work?

They come in again, about five o'clock. Good, I think. They're nice to look at, in between customers. When they get to the front of my queue, I don't treat them any different. Why would I?

"Alright?"

"Alright, yeah, you?"

I scan their items and ring up their total.

"£8.65. Anything else or is that you?"

"That's me, just -- listen, it's completely fine if you say no, but I wondered if you wanted to get a drink after your shift."

"Are you asking to get a drink with me or are you asking to buy me a drink?"

"What's the difference?"

"You know the difference."

"Do you have a girlfriend or something?"

"Maybe I do, maybe I don't."

"Hmm. Maybe we shouldn't, then," they tap their card on the reader. "I don't know if I can trust myself."

"I finish at seven."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"See you at seven, then."

"See you at seven."

I refuse to think about it at all until the end of my shift.

They meet me outside, leaning against a low wall, their legs straight out in front of them.

"Hello."

"Hey."

"Rest of your shift alright?"

"Not bad, not bad, can't complain. Where do you want to go?"

"You know the pub on the corner?"

"Yeah, sounds good. Let's walk and talk."

They get up and we start walking, hands in our pockets.

"You changed?"

I'd changed out of my uniform into dark blue jeans and a black t-shirt.

"I wanted to look sharp."

"You look good."

"I don't smell good, I smell of sweat."

"Come here," they grab my arm to stop me walking, lean close to my neck and take a deep breath. "No, you smell good."

"I can't believe you just sniffed me."

"You smell good, though."

We walk in silence the rest of the way to the pub.¬

It's an old man pub, no two ways about it. They're sitting in twos and threes at tables dotted around the room, all white hair and jowls, but they don't look up right away, because for a moment we pass as the kind of lads they expect to see there. They don't realise we are different kinds of boys. My date orders two pints of light ale for us at the bar and the bartender looks at us properly, then looks back down at his taps.

We sit around the corner and I watch them skim the foam off their pint. They're so pretty it makes my stomach hurt. I want to stare at them uninterrupted for a few minutes at least, just taking in the way their forehead melts into their cheeks and then their jaw, so firm and so soft and something else I can't name.

"What are you looking at?" They raise an eyebrow at me.

"What?"

"You're staring at me."

"I'm just looking at you."

"You're staring."

"Well, you're not bad to look at."

They look away from me and look down into their glass as they take a sip.

"What, are you nervous or something?"

"No."

"Good, because you're the one who picked me up."

"Yeah, I did."

"What took you so long?"

We stare at each other, both too competitive to let the other one score a point. There's a slow, burning feeling in my stomach, and I feel like I know how this is going to end, and I want to fast forward to that part. I kick their foot under the table. They kick mine back and grin to themself. I smirk into my pint and take a long drink.

"Am I reading this right?" I ask.

"What are you reading, sweetheart?" they said, and I feel a faint blush rise in my cheeks.

"I'm thinking you want to make small talk with me until we finish our drinks, and then you want me to go to the toilets, and then you want to follow me."

"Sounds about right."

So we talk about my job and how long I've worked there, and we talk about how hot it's been lately, and the roadworks and how they're making the buses run slow, and we take swigs instead of sips between sentences. When my glass is empty, I stand up from my chair.

"See you in a minute?" I ask, and they nod. I don't turn back to see if they watch me walk to the toilets.

I let them into the stall and they're on me immediately, grabbing a fistful of my shirt. I wrap my hands around the back of their neck and kissed them hard, as they push me against the wall and hold me there. Their tongue pushes into my mouth and I push mine back, the kiss much rougher than it is tender.

I feel a bulge pressing between my legs and reach down to touch it, running my fingers over it. I move my other hand to their throat and squeeze, just a little. They moan into my mouth, a soft and needy whine that they try and play off deeper. I tug at their belt and unbuckle it with one hand, pulling away from the kiss for a second to murmur a question.

"Can I?

"Yeah, fuck yes."

I reach into their jeans and squeeze their dick, trying to gauge its size. I bite their bottom lip hard and pull away, lowering myself onto my knees. They run their fingers through my hair and tug at it at the crown of my head, as I pull their strap out from their jeans and stroke its length.

"That's it, on your knees."

They reach their other hand to rest on the wall for balance. I'm caught in the space between their body and the wall, nowhere to go. I suck them into my mouth, inch by inch, hearing their breathing get heavier, the pressure on my scalp brighter as they tug on me.

"Fuck, that's it, suck my fucking dick. I knew you were faggy since the minute I saw you. That's it, take me all the way, baby," their voice is quiet, breathy and desperate, each sentence broken up with little moans. "Fuck, just like that. I knew you were faggy but I didn't think I'd get you on your knees in the pub toilets after one drink. Don't stop. Do you want me to fuck you in this cubicle? Is that what you want?"

I take them all the way into my throat and look up at them, eyes as wide as saucers, until I gag and spit on their dick, stroking it up and down, wet.

"I don't get fucked. I don't take it, I only give." I say.

"What?"

"You heard me."

"You don't take strap?"

"No. I'll suck you off or I'll fuck you. If you don't want that, it's fine, but I don't take."

They look down at me, their chest rising and falling, breathing almost as hard as they're thinking. I lean back against the wall, keeping their gaze.

"Okay," they say.

"You sure?"

"Yeah, I'm sure. Help me?"

They start pulling their jeans over their hips and I stand up to help, pressing my lips against theirs again. They wrap their arms around my neck, so I take over pulling their jeans and underwear down, unfastening their strap and taking it off. I hold it to my crotch as I fiddle with the straps, pulling away from them so I can look down.

They kiss my neck, sucking on the part where it meets my shoulder, and my head swims. Over my jeans, I get the straps around my thighs and position the cock where I want it, gripping their hip as they move up my neck and suck on my pulse point.

"Get on the cistern?"

Their jeans around their ankles, they hop up on the cistern and open their legs to me. I put my fingers between their thighs.

"Fuck, you're so wet."

They nod, their bottom lip between their teeth. Two fingers slip easily inside them and they sigh. Even so, I bring my fingers up to my mouth and spit on them, wanting them even wetter.

"Ready?" I ask.

"Mhm, yes," they say.

My hand resting on their side, I push the head of their cock inside them. They grip onto my arm, their breath heavy. I move my hips gently, fucking into them deeper and deeper, little by little, letting them get used to me. They start to relax and I go a little harder, working up a rhythm that makes them move their hips back against me.

"Talk to me like how you were before," I say, shutting my eyes.

"What?"

"When I was sucking your dick."

"Yeah?"

"Please."

"You liked me telling you you were a slut for it?" They ask, grinding back against me. "Needed it so bad you're fucking me in here where anyone could hear?"

"Yeah, like that." My body is hot and desperate, and I have to slow my hips from going too hard too fast, but all I want is to be deeper inside them.

"So fucking desperate for me. Fuck, you're so good at that."

"Tell me?"

"Tell you what?"

"Tell me I'm good at it?"

They stare down between us, watching me fuck into them, in and out, their wetness glistening on me.

"You're so good at using that dick. Fuck, it's so dirty you're fucking me with my own cock. You're so good at it, don't stop."

I slow down to lean my face close to theirs, and they cup the back of my head in their palm as we kiss, slower, deeper, intimate.

"Call me a good boy?" I ask.

"Yeah? You're a good boy. You're a good fucking boy, keep fucking me just like that. Deeper, fuck, good boy."

"That's so fucking hot," I say, shifting closer to them so that I'm barely moving, just pulsing the strap inside them, as fast as I can. They press their face into my shoulder to muffle the sounds they're making.

"I want to come on your cock so fucking badly. Don't stop, baby, that's it. That's a good fucking boy," they murmur. "Do you want me to choke you?"

It feels like I blush all over.

"Yes please, fuck."

"That's my good boy," they say, wrapping their hand around my throat and tipping my jaw up to look them right in the eye.

"I like that."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"That's it, baby, don't stop. That's my good fucking boy, all mine. Fuck, it's like you were made to fuck me, that feels so good."

I reach my hand in between us and rest it across their lower stomach, my thumb just brushing their clit. The small friction is enough to make their fingers squeeze my neck tighter.

"Fuck, just like that, I'm close," they pant. "Stay deep in me. Fuck, that's it, that's it, I'm coming, I'm coming."

Their body goes rigid as they press their face into the crook of my neck to muffle themself, and I freeze, letting them clench and pulse around me, thighs shaking and squeezed tight around me. I let them hold onto me as their orgasm rushes through them, and then their body goes soft and floppy again. I pull out slowly, and they lean back against the window frame, rubbing their jaw.

"God."

"Are you okay?" I ask, my hand on their knee.

"I'm good. That was really, really good. I haven't come like that in a long time."

"What do you mean?"

"With someone inside me. Well, like, never."

"Never? Are you being serious?" I am suddenly ashamed that I've let someone's first time taking strap be in a slightly suspect pub toilet.

"Yeah. But it was good!"

"If I knew it was your first time --"

"What, you would've made it more romantic?" They tug their jeans up their legs and hop up to pull them over their hips. "Don't be daft. Here, let me."

They step so close to me I can only see their face, close up, soft and rough all at once, so pretty and something else. They grip my hip and kiss me, stepping me back to the middle of the stall. They kneel in front of me and lick my strap gently, tasting themself on it, then suck it into their mouth.

I slide my hand into their hair and watch them suck me clean, feeling like I'm melting into the floor. When they're done, they stand up and wipe their mouth with the back of their hand.

"You want this back?" I ask, taking off the strap.

"Nah, give it back to me later," they say, squeezing past me to get to the door.

"You going to come pick me up from work again, then?"

"That okay with you?"

"Sure."

"Sure."