Why is it a rule of human nature that when you're anxious for time to pass by quickly it seems to take at least twice as long for it to go by? I found myself asking that question in my head over and over again as I listened to my clients' monotonous drone about their latest product and what their ideas were for advertising it. Of course, typically their own ideas were for shit; that's what Kinnetik was for. For me, 6:00 couldn't get here fucking fast enough. I had some serious reuniting to do with a certain blond, rebellious tease.

At last my final appointment of the day was approaching – Grant Hardwoods. If anyone was suited for this client, it was me, I thought, smirking. But this Grant guy sounded like a total dork; I mean, who would name their furniture company that? If that was MY last name, I would have fucking changed it a long time ago.

Nonetheless, both Ted and Cynthia had assured me this was a large and prestigious firm out of the Seattle area, and it would be a definite coup for Kinnetik if we were to successfully land the account, so with my neatly pressed Prada suit (thank God for backup clothes in my office closet) and polished Gucci shoes, I arrived at the downtown Marriott at precisely 3:50 p.m., not too early to appear overeager but just early enough to be professional. Besides, I was hoping I'd be in and out of there quickly so I could still get to the airport in time to meet Justin, aka the Tormenting Twat.

I approached the front desk, and asked the young woman there to call Mr. Grant's room for me to notify him I had arrived; due to security reasons, they would not give me the actual room number until they had spoken to him.

"He said you can go on up, Mr. Kinney," the red-headed girl advised me a few minutes later, giving me a cursory, admiring glance that was, of course, totally wasted on me unbeknownst to her. It didn't hurt to work the old charm, though, in any case; I found it normally worked well, and always to my advantage. "He's in Room #801 – top floor."

Thanking the girl with one of my sexy smiles, I took the elevator up to the eighth floor. As I disembarked and got my bearings, I noticed the rooms were located farther apart from each other, indicating these were actually suites. Well, at least this Grant nerd apparently has good taste, I thought.

I finally located #801 at the far end of the hallway; I walked confidently up to the door and knocked a few times. After there was no response, I got a little irritated – after all, I had an extremely important reunion that I needed to partake of in less than two hours. This time I knocked louder in hopes of getting the man's attention. Come on, Pal, I don't have all fucking day here.

Finally, I heard a somewhat muffled voice respond. I barely could make out an instruction to "come on in – the door's unlocked," before I opened it and walked in. I had never been in this newer Marriott before, and I had to admit I was impressed. As I had suspected, it was indeed a suite, and a luxury suite at that. There were two large areas – an expansive sitting room and an open, fully-equipped kitchen, along with two other doors that I assumed belonged to a bedroom and a bathroom. I also noticed two all glass, French double doors leading out to a spacious, private balcony. Seeing no one in the immediate area, I placed my briefcase down on a nearby table and walked over to peer out at the balcony. I noticed to my surprise that the outdoor area contained several patio plants that, combined with the privacy panels on either side, provided a great deal of seclusion; it was definitely not your typical, cookie cutter hotel balcony.

Turning around back to the actual suite, I tried to figure out where the source of the previous voice had come from. "Hello?" I called out. This was getting ridiculous; why in the fuck did this always seem to happen whenever you were in a hurry? Walking toward the two closed doors, I was determined to get this show on the road; as I approached one of them, I finally heard what sounded like a shower running. Why in the hell did this Grant person decide to take a shower now of all time?

"Shit!" I muttered in exasperation. I could care less if this fucker was well-groomed; I had to get the hell out of here. "Mr. Grant?" I called out. "It's Brian Kinney. We had a 4:00 appointment. Should I come back? Hopefully next week, pal – I've got more important things on my agenda at the moment.

Instead, I heard the same muffled voice saying, "No, no, I'll be right out. Make yourself comfortable. Have a drink from the bar."

Sighing, I decided maybe a little Jim Beam would help make my interminable wait a little more palatable. But I swore that, possible lucrative account or not, after a week of frustration and perpetual horniness, if that man wasn't out in the next five minutes, I was out of here. Fortunately, about 30 seconds later, I could hear the shower being turned off and what sounded like a glass door being slid back as the man apparently exited the stall. Finally. I took my glass of scotch over to one of the overstuffed leather recliners and sat fidgeting, as I nursed my drink in barely-controlled impatience. As the door to the bathroom opened, however, my annoyance quickly dissipated as I got a good look at the owner of Grant Hardwoods and my mouth fell open. The man's entire body was still encased in a light sheen of water from the shower and positively shone in the nearby lamp. Oh, my God…..hard wood indeed, I thought, as I ogled the glorious human specimen in front of me and my eyes roamed downward.

The owner wasn't a nerd at all; in fact, he was a slender, blond vision with the bluest eyes I had ever seen and he was wearing nothing but a big smile, a yellow hardhat, and a calfskin leather, double-pouched tool belt slung jauntily over his hips. Oh, and did I mention he also was displaying an impressive piece of his hard wood? Funny, too, how it seemed to match the same exact one I had at the moment.

He looped his thumbs in his belt and slowly swaggered toward me, looking like an extremely sexy version of John Wayne, a large silver ring full of keys jingling as he strode closer and stopped about five feet away; at this point not only was my mouth hanging open, now it was downright salivating.

"Mr. Kinney, I presume?" he purred softly at me, eyes twinkling. Fuck, he was HOT.

Get a grip, Kinney. Right. Too late – I was stammering like a virgin fag getting ready for my first lay. "Uh, um, yeah, that would be me," I finally managed to utter, as I noticed Justin's eyebrows rising and his lips curling under in an attempt to keep from laughing out loud at me. He brought one of his hands up to cover his mouth in an unsuccessful attempt to disguise his glee. I am SO fucked.

"I understand from a couple of your employees that you've been having problems with sawing wood this week," he teased as I continued to gaze up at him, transfixed, a small smile now appearing on my face. He pulled out a small handsaw from one of his pouches and added, "I think I'm just the tool man to fix your problem." He took the saw and flexed it between his two hands for emphasis. "You got any wood that needs special attention?" he cooed, holding the saw out in front of him.

I outright grinned now. "Definitely," I drawled, as I shakily placed the drink down on the nearby end table and rose to familiarize myself with this sexy handyman. "But I must say, I'm impressed with your sample so far. It's definitely the hardest wood I've ever seen, but I'll have to test it personally to make sure it will last. By the way, remind me to kill a couple of my employees on Monday when I get back into the office."

Ignoring that statement, Justin smiled wickedly as he asked me in a professional voice, "Would you care to pick out one of my tools for your test, Mr. Kinney? I have several here that might get the job done."

"Hmmm," I replied thoughtfully, as I moved closer to my target and took a glance at the various tools Justin had stuffed into his pouches. I noticed he had two or three dildos in various sizes, a large tube of heat warming lube, a pair of leather handcuffs, a couple of large black and white feathers ("authentic turkey," Justin informatively pointed out – the best for tickling, he was assured at the toy store), and a dark blue, soft cloth blindfold, which he courteously pointed out he had made from one of our bamboo washcloths I had previously gifted him with. "I noticed you brought several sizes of screwdrivers," I smirked. "No Taste of Sunshine?" I asked him.

Justin smiled smugly. "Of course – only you get the freshly-squeezed kind tonight." And with that statement, he took my hand and, tugging me closer, suddenly took hold of something else and firmly squeezed.

"Fuck, Justin!" I immediately moaned as our week of no-contact quickly caught up with me.

"I was just testing the quality of YOUR wood," he protested innocently, as he leaned in and blew a hot breath into my ear before he gave my cock a harder squeeze through my expensive Prada pants.

That was it – I couldn't stand it any longer. I mean, I was normally a man of great control, but even Brian Kinney has his limits. Roughly slamming the slender body to me, I clamped a hand around his neck and crushed his lips to mine, my other hand wrapping around the slim, silky waist and coming to rest just above the crease in his delicious bubble butt. My sexy belt boy immediately opened his lips as my tongue demanded entrance, a soft moan escaping his lips this time. I knew I was undoubtedly bruising his pink, lush lips with my urgent kisses as I angled his head for an even more in-depth exploration, but I was so turned on by now I couldn't help it. Besides, from the breathy murmuring I heard and rapid heartbeat I felt coming from Justin now, I don't think he really minded.

My right hand continued to grasp the pale neck possessively, as my other hand rose lower to caress circles on the two luscious globes. So soft and round, I marveled, as I cupped one of his buttocks and slowly crept toward the crease in between. I tentatively poked one finger in the hole; this time Justin was the one who reacted.

"God, Brian!" he cried, as he jerked back from our kiss just enough to look me in the eyes – his entire face was flushed, his eyes were sparkling with the dark blue hue of obvious lust, and his lips were battered and covered with my saliva. I thought it was the most exciting thing I had ever seen, and I was horny as hell. "I was just trying to make sure I remembered where to put my post hole digger," I informed him, as now both my hands continued to caress Justin's lower back and ass.

"I'm sure your post hole digger is working just fine," he stated breathlessly as I chuckled. "But you're wearing WAY too many workclothes," he scolded me. "Time to take the jackhammer out, Big Boy," he teased as he wantonly rubbed against me and my cock hardened impossibly more.

Groaning, I couldn't resist swooping in for another deep kiss as his hands busily got to work pulling my tie open; I briefly pulled away from our kiss just long enough for him to whip the tie over my head before possessively clamping my lips back onto his. I hurriedly shrugged my jacket off my shoulders, and felt his slender fingers quickly rushing to unbutton my shirt. As soon as my shirt was finally open and my cuffs unbuttoned, I roughly wadded the shirt up and threw it on the floor; the damn thing was the LAST thing on my mind after 38 hours, 23 minutes, and 14 seconds of Justin withdrawal.

Our lips finally broke apart, both of us breathing rapidly, as my mouth trailed a wet, hot path down the side of his face to his neck, where I suckled and nuzzled him until I couldn't resist planting a couple of bites to mark my territory. I could hear Justin's sharp instant intake of breath and feel his increasing desire for me as both our hands worked furiously at removing the final obstacle to our goal.

"Let me," Justin panted, voice heavy with need. I acceded to his wishes as my hands roamed up his chest to tweak both nipples before I playfully gave the right pink peak a lick. I grinned as I heard Justin groan my name in frustration as he continued to try and unbutton my pants. Finally, I felt my cock spring unfettered from its confinement as Justin pushed both the dress pants and my briefs down my legs; I keenly felt our brief separation as he knelt down and deftly removed both of my shoes so I could step out of the rest of my clothes.

He stood up as, at last, we were clothed in minimal attire; I in only my socks, and my little sexy handyman in his hard hat and tool belt. As I hungrily drunk in the sight of him, I reached to crook my right fingers into the leather strap. As I walked backwards, pulling him slowly toward what had to be the bedroom, I asked him, "Is your wood pressure treated? Because it's going to have to stand up to a LOT of HARD testing tonight."

Justin giggled. "I think it can handle it, old man. Bring it on," he challenged me, a definite glean in his eyes.

"Okay," I agreed, as I suddenly let go of him and pulled him to me to pick him up by his hips. Justin squealed as he wrapped his legs around my waist and I quickly walked us toward the bedroom door. Opening it up with one hand as I continued to hold onto him with the other, I noticed with satisfaction that the large, king-sized bed already had the luxurious sheets conveniently turned down for some serious fucking.

"Timber!" I shouted, as I dropped my prized piece of giggling lumber onto the bed and promptly pounced on it. "Time to take that wood down!"

"I think we'll need the BIG screwdriver for that job, don't you think so, Mr. Kinney?"

"Very astute observation, Sunshine." I saw Justin roll his eyes as I told him, "And then after I'm done fucking you senseless, we'll get the large dildo out."

"Ouch!" I unexpectedly heard him yell.

"What is it?" I asked, concerned.

"This fucking belt is stabbing me. Unbuckle it, will you?"

"Will pleasure, Sunshine. Uh…..That's not actually a chastity belt, is it?

"Ha, ha….come here and I'll show you chastity." I busily undid his belt and dropped it on the floor after pulling out the large tube of lube; before silencing my little handyman with a bruising kiss and preparing my prized piece of hard wood for ramming into his tight little post hole, though, he breathlessly asked me one last question.

"Brian?"

"Yes, Sunshine?" I asked somewhat wearily. "Less talking now, more action." Justin was not to be deterred, however, at least temporarily.

"Tomorrow night, can I put on my chef's outfit? I think I'll have some buns that need sampling."

"No problem........as long as I get to lick the bowl."