Yay for another chapter! You know what…I wonder if I can manage one lemon per chapter. Is that even possible? :P That would be another first for me! No promises, though. ;)
I haven't had such a good night's sleep for years. I wake up right as my alarm goes off, and I slam my fist into my clock to shut it up.
The bed creaks as I sit up and swing my legs over the edge. I arch my back and stretch, hearing the satisfying sounds of my joints popping. I feel invigorated, alert, more alive than I've felt in a long time.
It's all thanks to the kid upstairs. What's his name again? Ichi-something. Ah, that's right. Ichigo. His innocent boyish looks is fucking misleading; he's a firecracker once he's turned on. My shoulders are sore where he squeezed it last night. I look in the mirror and notice the light bruises that have formed there overnight.
I'm sure this is nothing compared to the bite mark that I left behind. I chuckle in glee as I imagine him cussing at me when he sees it.
Then my mood sours when I suddenly remember why I'm here in my own apartment, alone. Before I know it, anger is bubbling in my chest and there's a new crack in the wall next to my bathroom mirror. I rub my knuckles to check if anything's broken.
I really need to get a grip. I don't understand why I just don't learn.
My boxers drop to the floor in a messy heap and I jump into the shower for a quick one. I kind of regret hitting the bed all sweaty and shit last night, but damn I had been tired to the bones then. I think I've unloaded three months' worth of sexual frustration onto the poor kid. I wonder if he can walk today.
After I'm dressed and presentable, I stop at my fridge briefly to grab a small cube-shaped box of milk. You know, the kind that's short and stumpy and contains about two mouthfuls of that miracle liquid. Whole milk, none of that non-fat shit that tastes like contaminated water.
Hmm, speaking of which, I think Ichigo served me full cream milk last night. Looks like he and I have more in common than peach-scented body wash and the knack for fucking complete strangers.
I pick up my car keys and open my door, balancing the keys, the milk carton, my work boots, and my jacket in both hands. I take the rickety elevator down to the garage and go to my car—my brand spanking new BMW M6 convertible. If there's anything left in my life that's worth loving, it's this baby. If you've been wondering why I'm carrying my work boots instead of wearing it, now you know why.
My boys Nnoitra and Ilforte think I'm nuts to spend so much money on a car when I live in such a crappy neighborhood, but they don't understand. A car keeps your warm and comfortable and takes you places, it loves you back unconditionally and doesn't betray you, and I don't have to pick its shit up after it when I take it out for a walk. What else can I ask for?
The engine roars to life and I peel out of the garage.
Half an hour later, I arrive at Cero Constructions. It's a small place, almost like a shack, but it's my sweat and blood. Well, our sweat and blood, since the three of us own it. "Constructions" is a big word, but in truth we mostly do kitchens, flooring, patios and the occasional landscaping.
The minute I step out of the car, I hear Nnoitra's mad cackle coming out from the office, followed by Ilforte's voice.
"I don't believe you," Ilforte is saying.
I snort out loud and kick the front door open to announce my arrival. "What'd the idiot say this time?"
Nnoitra glares at me with his one good eye. "What would you know about big titties you damn faggot!" he snarls.
I let out a bark of laughter right as he breaks into a grin, while Ilforte just shakes his head. That pretty much sums up our interaction. That's Nnoitra's way of showing his "brotherly love", which doesn't bother me the least. Now that I think about it, Ilforte is the only real grownup in the gang.
"What do you have there?" I peer over Ilforte's shoulder and catch an eyeful of two big sacks of flesh. "The fuck?"
"This," Ilforte sighs. "Is apparently Nnoi's latest conquest."
I shiver as I picture Nnoitra getting squashed by those. I rip the top of the milk carton open and pour the content out in a chipped mug, then I stick it into the microwave that we have in our kitchenette.
"He claims that they're real," Ilforte continues, wrinkling his nose in distaste.
"No fucking way," I say immediately.
Nnoitra bangs his fists on the table in exasperation. "I had them in my fucking face! They're soft and squishy and—"
I tune him out like I always do when he starts rambling. I catch a baleful expression on Ilforte's face and feel sorry for the guy. Ah, Ilforte, always the good friend. I empty the cup of milk in two big gulps and watch him fiddle with his long blond hair as he listens to Nnoitra's rant. I swear, he's the only one I've seen who can pull off this hairstyle and not look gay. Legolas has nothing on him.
I finish washing my mug and settle into the chair in front of our work computer. I go through the list of orders that we have. We don't have any that are in-progress, which is rare and a damn good thing. I need a change of scenery.
"Hard wood flooring for convenience store on Hollow St," I read aloud. "When'd this come in?"
"This morning before you dragged your sorry ass in," Nnoitra replies helpfully as he starts to take stock of the tools that we will need for a first-time visit.
I pick up the phone and dial the number listed on the order form. A cheery voice answers, and I quickly work out an appointment for us to evaluate the scope of work that needs to be done.
Two hours later, we're standing in front of the weirdest-looking store front I've ever seen in my entire life. And by weird, I mean fucking ugly. The awning is a sheet of plastic with garish green and white stripes, the exterior of the shop is the same shade of green and white, and the door is dark green.
I swear I will kill somebody if the walls and floor in there are green too.
Luckily for our client, the interior of the shop is relatively acceptable. The floor is carpeted, the walls a muted beige. Rows of lacquer-finished wooden cabinets fill up most of the space.
The first thought that crosses my mind is that it's going to be a bitch to clear out this room for us to work on the floor.
"Can I help ya?"
I look in the direction of the voice. A redhead, his hair tied up in a high ponytail, waves to us from behind the counter.
"We're here to see yer boss," Nnoitra says, looking bored already.
I snicker at the way he just straight up assumes that this kid isn't the boss. I'd be pretty damn pissed off if I were the redhead, but the man just grins good-naturedly and hollers, "Geta-boshi!"
I have no idea what he just said, but two seconds later an older man with shaggy blond hair appears from another door. He looks a bit confused at first, then he takes in our work boots and gloves and his eyes brighten.
"Ah! You are early!" he exclaims.
I recognize the singsong voice that I have just endured this morning.
"Yeah, so is this the room you're looking to redo?" I ask.
The man nods. "Yep! How much will it cost?"
With that, we get down to business. Nnoitra breaks out the measuring tools and Ilforte shows the shopkeeper some sample wood pieces. I walk along the walls and examine the carpet to see how much work it's going to take to rip it all up.
Everything is going great until the front door opens and someone walks in with handfuls of plastic bags.
"Food's back! I—"
I turn my head so fast that my neck pops.
Standing there, with one leg still extended to hold the door open, is Ichigo. He looks stupid with his mouth hanging open, but the blush that's spreading across his cheeks is cute enough to make up for it.
"What're you doing here?" he blurts.
I straighten up and flash him a lecherous grin. "How are you?" I ask casually.
The kid opens his mouth, but nothing comes out.
"My my, you two know each other?" the blonde dude interrupts. "Does that mean I get a special rate? Friend of friend discount maybe?"
I ignore the idiot.
"How's your...back?" I push, loving the bright pink stain that's practically eating up the kid's face.
His widened eyes tell me that he knows just which body part I'm really asking about.
"It's fine," he croaks. Then his eyes harden a bit and he repeats his question, "What are you doing here?"
"Your boss wants to redo the floor," I reply and jab my thumb in the direction of the shopkeeper.
Ichigo's eyes dart from his boss—I assume, me, the floor, Nnoitra, and Ilforte.
"Oh," he says finally.
Is it just me, or does he sound disappointed?
I open my mouth to embarrass him further, but this time I'm interrupted by the redhead, who has left the counter and is now walking towards Ichigo with a curious expression.
"So how'd you guys know each other?"
Ichigo looks between me and the redhead and goes even redder. Seriously, if he keeps this up he's going to start bleeding from his ears.
"He's my…neighbor," he mutters.
The redhead's eyebrows arch sky-high and his mouth turns into a comical "O", but before he says anything, Ichigo elbows him in the ribs.
I can feel Nnoitra and Ilforte's eyes boring into my skull from behind, so I clear my throat and introduce my innocent little neighbor to them. Nnoitra looks at me pointedly, and I know that I'll be getting the third degree from him later.
That's fine with me. The idiot's not the only one who likes to flaunt his conquests. Ichigo may not have a set of tits but he sure has a strong set of lungs, not to mention the tightest little—
Shit. I have to stop thinking about this before I get a boner in front of everyone. I clear my throat again and excuse myself so that I can continue inspecting the carpet. As I crouch down, I sneak a glance at Ichigo and see him unpacking the take-out that he brought back. The strong aroma of Thai food assaults my nostrils and my stomach growls.
Right on cue, the blonde shopkeeper calls out, "Are you guys hungry? We have extra food if you're interested."
Nnoitra is at the counter in a flash, while Ilforte and I stroll up there a minute later. I'm hungry, but I don't want to seem desperate, you know? As I sit down on one of the tall stools, Blondie pushes a box towards me, and I open it.
"Pad thai," he tells me.
I grab a fork and dig in. As obscene slurps and chewing noises pick up around me, I look up to see who the pig is. Across from me, Ichigo does the same, and our eyes meet.
I'm captivated by his eyes. I don't understand why I'm drawn to them so much. I mean, he has brown eyes, as does eighty percent of the people in this country. There's just something in there that sucks me in, although I haven't the slightest clue what the fuck it is. I don't know what's going through his mind, but he looks like he's just as stuck as I am. He's staring at me, not blinking even once.
I wonder if he's thinking about last night, because I sure as hell am.
Finally, he blinks and lowers his head to look at his food. I watch him as he takes in a mouthful of noodles using a pair of chopsticks. His eyelashes flutter as he closes his eyes briefly, then with a soft slurping sound, he slowly sucks the rest of the noodles into his mouth.
I think my eyes are bulging out of their sockets.
I grip my fork tighter as he continues to reel in the noodles with his tongue and hollowed cheeks. My eyes follow the food as it slides inside between his lips, bit by tiny bit, and then it's gone and I'm left staring at a pair of pink, supple lips that are shining with grease.
He's playing me. He fucking knows that I'm watching him.
I stare and stare at him until he lifts his head. He catches my gaze and smiles knowingly.
The little tease!
I stand up abruptly, nearly knocking over my take-out box in the process. Everyone turns to look at me, including Ichigo. He looks a little nervous.
"Need to use the restroom," I announce calmly.
The redhead shows me the way, and I shut the door as soon as I'm inside. I gasp against the sink, trying to get the image of Ichigo and his greasy lips and his sucking out of my head. A few seconds later, I know I can't win this battle. I unzip my pants and release my throbbing cock. I'm about to start taking care of it when someone knocks on the door.
"It's me," Ichigo's voice whispers. "Are you okay?"
Am I okay?
I open the door and yank the kid inside before he can even squeak.
"What are you doing?" he asks frantically.
I glare at him and show him what I have in my fist. "What do you think? You can't do that and expect me not to do…this!"
He lets out a groan like he's exasperated, but his groan turns into a surprised yelp when I grab his crotch. He's half hard.
That's all I need to know. I clutch a fistful of his hair and pull him close so that our lips touch.
"You want this as much as I do, you slut," I tell him, then I kiss him.
He moans softly into my mouth.
We must both be crazy to do this here when so many people are out there, obviously waiting for us to go back. But I'm not exactly known for being cautious or modest, and Ichigo looks like his brain has shut down.
I know we'll have to be quick if we want to actually get off before we're caught, so I start unbuckling his jeans. I push it down just far enough for me to access his cock, then I press myself against him. He stumbles back and hits the wall next to the sink.
"You're still sore, aren't you?" I murmur into his ear as I close my hand over both our cocks.
His response is a whine, which he tries to muffle by biting his lip. I lean in and bite his earlobe, and I repeat the question in a lower, more dangerous tone.
"Y-yes," he pants.
Hearing him admit to that is so hot that I close my eyes and groan against his neck. He flinches, and I pull back to see the souvenir I left on him last night. The dark red mark looks painful, so I lean back in and slowly lick it. He shivers as soon as my tongue touches his neck. That just makes me want to lick him even more.
The entire time, my hand doesn't stop. We're both rock hard and aching for release, and I can feel it coming. Just a few more pumps, a few more…
I'm caught by surprise when Ichigo suddenly grunts and bucks into my fist. His seed coats the hem of my shirt and drips onto my hand.
"Shit," I grit out. The way he's trembling against me is driving me nuts.
Then his hand joins mine to help finish me off. His fingers are thin and long, unlike mine. Maybe it's the fact that they're so shockingly different that pushes me over, because not five seconds later, something snaps in my belly and I spill myself all over our hands. I continue to rock my hips, my body still pressing into his, until the last tremor of my climax subsides.
"Crap, they're going to wonder where we are," he whispers fiercely and tugs his pants back up.
"Relax," I say. I wash my hands thoroughly to get rid of our combined scent. "Just tell them that the toilet got stuck and you were helping me with it."
He stares at me, his eyebrows half-raised in a funny way as though he's evaluating if I'm being serious.
"I'm sure you can think of something," I assure him.
To be continued...
Note: In case you're not a Lord of The Rings fan, the "Legolas" I referred to is the elf in the fellowship. As for the percentage of people with brown eyes in "this country", it's just a number I cooked up. ;)
So…I know, some hints but no answers. ;) I wanted to let you all speculate, and hopefully when I reveal the answer it will still be a surprise. :)
