It's cooler inside the liquor store, and full of signs proclaiming this week's specials, but I'm too busy trying not to stare over at the counter to pay real attention to any of that. The usual guy is sat there - late twenties, with dark hair and looking kinda scruffy - but it's the little monochrome TV that I'm more worried about, cycling through different camera views. Mostly shots from different angles of the store, but every so often it's the parking lot out front, or the alley behind it, or - making my stomach clench each time - the sidewalk where Aidan and I were just standing.
The saving grace, or at least what I'm hoping will be, is that I think I'm paying more attention to what's on-screen than the guy who actually works here. He's staring down at his phone, scrolling disinterestedly.
"Here," Aidan says, breaking into my swinging "maybe I'm doomed, maybe I'm saved" thoughts.
I turn, just in time to grab the big pack of beers he practically tosses at me. Glare at him, as I clutch them to my chest.
"Asshole."
Aidan just grins.
"Go pay, then," I suggest. Maybe I can just stand by the doorway.
"You've got the cash, idiot," he reminds me.
I could tell him to go digging in my pocket for it, make some story about how my arms are full with the beer, but having Aidan go rummaging around in my shorts probably wouldn't help my hopes of being surreptitious. I try not to clench my jaw, as I drop the pack on the counter.
"Hey."
He looks up, expression dour. "Hey."
Officially he should be asking for ID, but then again it's not like we're new faces. He stabs at the touchscreen on the register a few times.
"Cash, or..."
"Yeah," I say, forestalling the question. Hold out the wad of bills.
When he takes it, though, he doesn't pull his hand back. Just stares at me, with about as curious an expression as I've ever seen his face make. Though that's a pretty low bar.
"Don't think I ever got your name, dude."
I frown, resisting the urge to point out that the reason for that omission is because you usually don't formally introduce yourself to the guy selling you beer and cheap vodka.
"Lincoln," I say, instead.
He nods. Slowly; like that fits, somehow, or maybe because he overheard one of my friends call that name out before, and now he knows who it applies to.
"Brody."
I smile, or try to, anyway. Hoping I don't look as antsy and nervous as I feel right now.
"Is it hot out, still?"
The question leaves me wordless, for a moment.
"I figured," Brody continues, "what with the shorts."
There's really no need to glance down - not like I'm unfamiliar with what I'm wearing - but I do it anyway. There's the shade of a grin waiting for me, when I look back up at him.
"Yeah, pretty hot," I concede.
Brody nods again. "No windows in this place." He gestures with his chin, to where a regular store - one not worried about people breaking in and stealing a whole bunch of liquor - might have a view of the street outside. "I only see the real world on that little screen."
He doesn't turn, doesn't make any indication of it, but it's not like I'm left guessing what screen he's referring to. The TV ticks through its dozen or so scenes: the refrigerators in the aisle Aidan and I were just in; a row of wine bottles; then my own back, stood at the counter. Each only shown for a handful of seconds, but it's sufficient to give me a new perspective on just how much skin this outfit bares. White shorts high on my thighs, and the deeply cut arm holes of the muscle shirt practically flaunting my obliques.
"You can pause it," Brody adds, casually. Reaches out - still looking at me, not the display - and taps a button.
It's the view of the side street, and I don't know whether that was coincidence, luck, or something else. The universe taunting me, perhaps.
"Useful," I say, my throat feeling thick.
No nod, but his grin tilts a little further. "You never know what you're gonna see."
Swallowing shouldn't feel this difficult.
"Is... is it recorded? What the cameras see, I mean."
For a moment I think I've managed it: got the words out without it sounding like I'm teetering on the edge of sudden panic. Ambitions torpedoed by the way he licks his lips.
"Rolling loop," Brody explains. "Saves over itself every 24 hours, unless we choose to keep a section for later. For whatever reason."
"Shoplifters," I suggest, my voice sounding hollow.
"Or people getting up to shit outside."
I want to glance at Aidan, to see if he's as thrown by all this as I'm feeling right now, but I can't. The muscles in my neck aren't complying.
"I always figured you guys were just friends," Brody observes, breaking into my spiraling thoughts.
Now I do turn, as if there might be a fourth person in the room. Someone who snuck in, while I've been paralyzed at the counter.
Only Aidan, though, who seems to be finding everything amusing. Or maybe it's just my squirming.
"We... we are," I stammer.
Brody raises an eyebrow. I don't know if it's to show skepticism at my weak protest, or something else.
"Friends... with benefits, maybe," he suggests.
Aidan snorts. The sound of it makes me flinch.
"He just likes showing off," he says, like it's a perfectly understandable - no, perfectly reasonable - explanation for what I'm now pretty confident Brody watched happen on his little black and white screen.
"Hence the shorts." Brody sounds entertained by the idea. "Still, pretty big difference between a slutty outfit, dude, and finger-fucking yourself while you jerk off on the sidewalk."
I have to resist the temptation to reach up, touch my face. See if the flesh there really is as numb as it suddenly feels. Not like I didn't have a good idea that what happened outside was overlooked, and yet hearing the description so bluntly unlocks another level of dismay.
"It was... it was just a, a dare," I stutter out.
His eyebrow lifts. "What else have you been dared to do?"
After a second or two, his intent stare cracks up into laughter. When I turn, it's to catch Aidan crudely miming a blowjob. The innocent look he gives me is deeply unconvincing.
"If I'd known you were so friendly," Brody observes, blessedly opting not to comment on my flushed face, "I needn't have been so gutted when my boyfriend and I broke up."
I blink at him, while my brain processes. I hadn't really thought about whether the guy who sold us beer several times a week might be into girls or dudes; honestly, I'd just assumed he would be straight. Just like I always assumed I was straight, really.
"Uh... sorry to hear that," I fumble out. Then flinch, at the surprise of Aidan's hands on my shoulders. Urging me forward.
"Go cheer him up, bro."
I should laugh, should make all this a joke, and yet instead I'm letting the momentum of my legs take me around the counter. Watching - as though from above, like my eyes are yet more lenses for the ever-greedy security system - as Brody turns on his stool. Long legs spread in black jeans, the heels of his Converse caught on the footrest. I grit my teeth, to resist the urge to shiver at the weight of his gaze.
It's a calculating look. A hungry one. Like how Riley and his buddies watched me, down in his basement that other night. Like, for that matter, the way me and my friends have looked at girls over the years.
I'm suddenly very curious whether those girls disliked the attention, or if - like I'm feeling now - there was something weirdly good about it.
Brody casts a pointed stare at my crotch. "You got another load in you?"
I think back, scant minutes to the sidewalk outside, but also to Riley's kitchen table not all that long ago. How I'd creamed Harper's insides, while he whimpered and grunted on top of me.
"Probably not," I admit.
He laughs. "You want another load in you?"
Aidan's snort is audible.
I ignore him. Shrug, knowing it's not an answer but then it's not a denial, either. Not the "we probably shouldn't do this" that the sensible voice in my head insists I ought to be saying.
Easier, though, to step forward into the splay of his legs. To stand, unprotesting, as Brody's fingers slip through the wide arm holes of my sleeveless shirt, skating across my ribs. To try not to flinch - because it tickles, not because it's unwelcome, and we both know that - when his thumbs graze my nipples.
"Anyone ever tell you, you've got blowjob lips?"
They haven't, and I'm not sure it's meant to be something I take as a compliment, so I just shrug again and let him grope at me. Brody's touch seeming to get bolder, more direct with each passing second; like he's gradually getting the idea that I'm not going to bolt away, or freak out, or whatever straight guys are supposed to do when gay guys - or whatever Brody actually calls himself - hit on them.
His fingers come to rest on my shoulders, and the downward pressure - mild, but unmistakable - leaves no confusion as to where I'm meant to go next.
My head's about level with his crotch, as I squat between his legs. I'm almost surprised at how steady my hands are - hardly a shake at all - as I reach for Brody's fly. Tugging his jeans open, the tight black denim resisting but not quite enough to prevent me from pushing my hand in to paw at his crotch. Feel his hardness, straining urgently at the front of his briefs.
He's grinning down at me, his eyes a little glazed, when I glance up. Nods, in a way that feels like permission.
Not that my fingers require it, their course apparently set, now; autopilot active, and my brain at liberty to tumble in slow, confused, horny loops over what the hell I'm doing here. Still questioning it, in fact, even as I pull his cock free; sticking up, long and sharply curved, the broad head already gleaming with precum.
Brody tilts his hips, his ass easing to the very edge of the stool, as I pull his erection down. His fingers gripping the torn vinyl cushion, knuckles white, as though he's afraid of falling.
He hisses, the sound caught behind clenched teeth, when I ease his tip between my lips.
Familiar, then, weirdly so, unbelievably so, and yet different with it. The newness of his shape, the way his upward curve is grinding his cockhead against the roof of my mouth, competing with my natural instinct to suck and slurp. Barely seconds before the drool is dripping down my chin, and the gooey, wet sounds of my efforts are loud enough that I'm sure Aidan can hear it even from across the counter.
"Fuck, you're good," Brody murmurs, his fingers cradling my skull.
It's a weird thing to take pride in, a weird way to fuel my ego. To get off on being praised while I'm crouching on the dirty floor of some liquor store, a near-stranger's dick already brushing the entrance of my throat. Maybe I was right, when I accused Riley of breaking me, but it was more like a dam breaking. Letting loose some side of me - a cock-hungry slut, his capacity for self-preservation no match for his eagerness to be desired - I never knew existed.
I gurgle, the sound rumbling through my chest, as Brody pulls my head into his lap. Feeding me even more of his dick, as if he's trying to find the source of that sound, those vibrations.
My fingers are tight on his thighs when he finally releases me. I hear his groan as I rock back on my heels, even above my own panting. Slime gleaming on his long inches, dripping down onto the tight clench of his balls which, seconds ago, were pressed against my chin.
I don't wait for him, for his hands to reach for me. Revel, instead, at the shudder that passes through his body as I impale myself on him a second time.
Brody's thighs are shaking, when I hear the rough electronic chime of the door opening.
No way to pull back, though, not with his fingers digging into my skull. Forced to shuffle around as he twists the stool, ducking my head under the edge of the counter. Panic leaving my ears ringing, though not to the point I can't hear his surprisingly level voice as he calls out vague greeting.
Two new voices, maybe three. Loud, and young, and boisterous; I can picture them grabbing crates of beer from the banked refrigerators. Flinch, a moment later, at the loud slap as something's dropped down onto the wooden surface above me.
"You got ID?" Brody sounds shockingly calm, for someone whose cock is currently buried balls-deep in another guy.
It's flirting with disaster, I know it is, but I can't help but grope slyly at his balls while I swallow around him. Rewarded by his twitching and squirming; his attempts to hold still even as I torment his most sensitive parts.
My own ruin, that's what I'm tempting, but I can't stop myself. Even knowing that all it'd take would be a glance across the counter, the angles conspiring, and I'd get caught. Exposed as the sort of cocksucker who doesn't let details like being in public stop him from stretching out his throat.
The fantasy spirals from there, my brain treacherous and imaginative. Picturing myself hauled out, from my barely-hidden crouch, and dragged across the battered wooden surface. Shorts tugged down, ass exposed. The wet slap of spit hitting my hole, before nameless dick pushed inside. Spit-roasted between the case of lottery scratch cards and the racked candy bars and gum. Aidan watching it all happen, recording it on his phone so as to share the grunting depths of my brazen compliance with my best friends.
The beep of the register drags me from my fantasies. The loud swing of the door; the unrecognized voices receding.
Brody turns again, dragging me off his dick. Glaring, practically, his face flushed.
"Greedy little cocksucker."
I can't help it, my grin at his taunt. Can't really protest it, either.
He grunts - an exasperated, "this is ridiculous, but fuck it" sound - and then yanks me forward. Unbalancing me, only his grip in my hair stopping his cock from slamming deep into my gullet.
It's probably more self-interest, than sympathy for my tolerance: he just doesn't want me to throw up across his legs.
The slap across my cheek sets my mouth working: lips closing on his first few inches, tongue lashing eagerly around his swollen tip. The taste of him stronger, compared to when he was sheathed in me completely. A steady stream of precum deposited directly onto my tongue.
Strange, still, to have sucked enough dick, that I know to note the way his cockhead grows fatter, more filling. Recognize it for a silent warning.
And yanked back again, at the very final moment. Mouth still open in surprise, Brody's fingers bunched in my hair, painfully tight. Pinning me in place, as his load erupts across my face.
For a few shocking, unexpected seconds, I think there's a very strong chance I might cum in my shorts. The heat of Brody's cream splattering against my skin, the force of it, and the strangled noise of pleasure twisting out from the depths of his chest, all conspiring to drive me to the very edge of yet another orgasm. Hands-free, like some teenage kid turned on beyond belief.
His cockhead pushing into my mouth, through the glaze of slime dangling from my lips, drags my focus back. My crotch a dull throb in the background, as Brody's load overwhelms my tastebuds.
When he squirms away, finally, his face is flushed, mouth hanging open. Panting, practically, even as he shoves his junk back inside his jeans.
I grin up at him, though the view is blurry. My eyes half-closed, to keep out the cum dripping from my eyebrows.
After a moment, of us both staring in silence, Brody cracks up laughing.
"Fuck, you're a mess."
I resist the urge to point out whose fault that is.
He gestures up, toward the corner of the room. "Smile for the camera?"
My muscles clench, even though I do my best to keep my voice level.
"You'll wipe the video?"
Brody nods. "You think I want my boss watching that?" Another laugh.
My legs protesting, I push myself to my feet. The sensation of trickling cum is already starting to get distracting.
"Gotta towel?"
He bites his lip, for a moment - looks younger when he does it, too, like he could be my age or even less - then shoves the crate of beer across the counter in my direction.
"Free, if you walk home like that."
I go to frown, then rethink it as a fresh wave of goo threatens to come sliding down my features. "Dude, I can't..."
The smirk sheds any of that momentary innocence from his expression.
"You don't like free beer?" Brody shrugs. "Plus, you look fucking hot like that."
I have no intention of telling him that it's the praise, not the discount, which is swaying me.
Aidan clears his throat, cracking into the moment. Flashes me a "dude, come on" look. Maybe he just means we should be heading back; maybe he can't believe I'd turn down free alcohol.
I sigh. "Fine. Whatever."
When I grab the crate, turn again, it's to find Brody standing closer. Near enough, it's no stretch at all for him to run his index finger down my cheek.
When he holds the digit up, it's near enough to my face that I can't quite focus on the glaze of cum gathered across the tip. Not that it matters; I don't need crystal-clear vision to see him push it between my lips.
For a few, long seconds, I suck gently on his fingertip. The taste of him stronger, brighter, even to senses that've already been overloaded.
Brody chuckles as he finally eases his finger free. "Nice meeting you, Lincoln."
I can't nod my head, not properly; not without sending more trickles down me. Give it a little jerk, instead, and hope that suffices as the required courtesy.
Aidan holds the door for me, with the sort of expression that suggests someone is trying very hard not to say a damn thing. I wait until we're on the sidewalk, the weight of Brody's gaze on my back a shudder-inducing memory, before I glare at him.
"This is all your fault, asshole."
He taps the beer I'm still clutching. "You're forgetting the upside."
"And the downside is dripping off my chin," I hiss back.
Aidan's look is withering. "Oh, please. Like you didn't love it."
I flinch, as he reaches under the crate to palm the front of my shorts. I may not have cum in them just now, but my dick is still rigid.
"Still wanna claim you didn't get off on that?" His tone is rich with mockery.
Choosing not to respond isn't admitting defeat, I tell myself, as I try to ignore his hand, and the mess across my face, and the fact that at any moment someone could turn the corner and catch me with another dude's load all over me. It's just common sense, when even speaking is enough to send fresh, sticky dribbles down onto my already-wet shirt.
"Fuck you," I grind out, through my clenched teeth, and ignore Aidan's hoot of delighted laughter.
Thank you for reading, and for your comments and ratings! If you enjoy muscles, skin-tight singlets, and a whole lot of sex, you might enjoy Eoin's adventures in my story "College Wrestler Secrets" - his big bros on the team are more than eager to show him the ropes...
