"What the hell are you doing?" Steven is standing, back turned to the door, making faces in the mirror, wearing a dark grey suit that's miles too big for him and trousers that are trailing on the ground.
"Brendan! What are you doing here?" He spins round at the sound of my voice, the horrified, guilty look on his face of a child who's just been caught stealing cookies from the biscuit tin.
"Are you pretendin' to be me again?" He promised he'd stop this after I caught him last time; complete with a fake moustache, eating an apple in a somewhat less than flattering manner and rambling on about Saint Patrick's day in a humorously unconvincing accent into Chez's camera. "Yeah" His head hangs low in shame, but I can see that he's trying not to giggle. I shrug dramatically, waiting for an explanation.
"Sometimes…I just come into Chez Chez… and put your clothes on…and do your accent…and your hand thing." Hand thing? I know what hand thing he enjoys but I'm pretty sure that's not what he's doing alone in my club.
"That's really weird, man." I jokingly chastise him. Again he reminds me of a little boy, playing dress up. It's endearing even if it is slightly unnerving.
"Yeah, I know." We both know how ridiculous it sounds but it doesn't surprise me. Who wouldn't want to be me? I'm awesome. "D'you want a jam sandwich?" Where the fuck did he magic that from?
"Not hungry." Not for a sandwich anyway. It's hard to deny that, sick as it is, the colour of my suit really brings out his eyes.
"I've been looking for that suit everywhere. I'm gonna need it back." To be honest, I've got so many I'd never have noticed it'd gone but teasing his is such a tempting thought.
"Right. Better go get out of it then." My hand reaches out and pushes him back gently as he starts to move past me. He's going nowhere.
"I'm gonna need it right now." The adorable look of shock on his face is stunning.
"What, now?!" He looks at me like I'm insane. It's a strong possibility but he should be used to it by now.
"As in now, now." Much as I love the suit, it'll look much better on the floor right about now.
"I've got nowt else to change into." That's the point, I think. I lean back on my heels with a throaty laugh and wait.
"Are you asking me to strip?" He should know by now that I don't ask for anything, don't need to with Steven. He knows what I want. I lean in closer, and whisper my demand in his ear, accentuate every word. "Take off yer clothes. Or should I say, my clothes." His eyes light up in anticipation of what's coming and he arches his back, slowly slips out of the jacket and throws it into my arms. I'm distracted by the way his muscles ripple as he flexes his arms to unbutton the shirt. Then he starts to sway and I realise that he's actually going to strip, dance and all.
"Dear God don't do the dance." Too many memories, of too many amazing, drunken nights that will have me coming in my pants before we've even got to the good part.
"Trousers." He doesn't need asking twice, eagerly pulls off the trousers and holds them out to me with a smug look on his face. I can't resist lifting them to my nose and inhaling them, the scent of Steven. Don't think I'll bother washing this before I wear it again, the thought of walking round smelling of him all day enough to make my lips curl into a twisted smile. I suddenly remember there's a naked boy standing before me, my boy. Well not completely naked. Not yet. He follows my line of sight to his bulging crotch and gasps. "Me boxers? These are my boxers they're not yours!" He really thinks this is still about the suit. I lean in again, so that we're almost touching, so that he can feel the heat of my breath.
"Steven. Take. Off. Your. Boxers." He bares his teeth and growls, a minxy, sassy, irresistible noise straight from the back of his throat and slips the underwear off, revealing a pert arse just dying to be touched. I discard the suit strew into my hands, never having cared less if it's ruined beyond repair on the floor. It's not the only thing about to be destroyed.
I push Steven back against the bar, savour him as another rumble escapes his lips. He's shivering but I don't think it has anything to do with his nakedness. Long fingers grip my face, keep me just where he wants me. Our lips meet, firm but soft, tongues slipping between them. My hands explore his exposed chest, smooth and toned and just the right size from my hands to roam. Breaking the kiss, I bend and catch his left nipple between my teeth, nibble with just enough force to draw a hiss from Steven. I circle the nipple with my tongue until it's rock hard before moving across his chest and doing the same to the other one. A hand begins to rub against my trousers, stroking my erection through the material of my suit. I roll my hips against his hand, continue to lick and bite his perfect skin. He's impatient though, undoes my zip and reaches into my boxers to grasp my cock in his hand. I return the favour, lower my hand and gently stroke the tender tip of his dick while he does the same to me. "Move." I whisper, but it comes out less like an order and more like an invitation. We stumble backwards, into the office and I kick the door shut behind me quickly undoing my buttons and shrugging out of my shirt. Steven impulsively makes his way to the desk, perches on it, eyes exploring my body, his dick hard and waiting. We're gonna try something different today.
I walk past him and sit myself in my chair, recline it a little and put my hands behind my head, as nonchalant as I can be when my heart is racing and that I'm already sweating with the thought of what I want to do to him. He rises from the desk, head angled in confusion. I hold out my hand, motion for him to join me. On the way, he opens the drawer and pulls out a condom, tosses it onto the desk as he sits on my lap. I kiss him again, more urgently than before, tongues colliding manically. He shifts on me, straddles me so that one leg is at either side of my hips. Still kissing him I move us together, tilt us back so that I can reach the condom. Steven takes it from me, kneels so that he can slip it onto my throbbing dick without tearing his lips from mine. Then, gently, he slides onto me, slow enough to give himself time to adjust. His hands push against my shoulder, forcing the chair to recline all the way back so that he's seated on top of me, a seductive smile playing on his lips. I start to raise my hips but he stops me, stills them with his thighs until I'm powerless to do anything but lie and wait for him to have his way with me. Eventually he begins to roll his hips, slow but deep. The angle is perfect and I can feel every muscle in him tighten in time with his movement. The pressure is just right and I can see the effect this position has on him, his eyes glistening with power and control.
I'm all too willing to give it to him, trust him more than anyone in the world and I lie back and enjoy the sensations he's sending through my veins. Soon though, I can't resist thrusting my hips, fucking him as he rides me so that I hit his prostate again and I again. I can't tell who it feels better for, me or him but we're both panting and gasping and I know that neither of us want it to stop. His dick is so hard it looks painful and my hand finds itself pumping furiously. "Fuck, Bren." Steven's face is flushed, skin glowing with the familiar heat and passion that he always gets pre-climax. He circles his hips faster now, determined to make us come together and we do, combined screams and curses and shivers. He slumps against me, too tired to be squeamish about lying in his own cum and we lie there until our breathing returns to normal. He can never know what it feels like to be me, not truly, because he'll never know how fucking good it feels to fuck Steven Hay.