His second and more imperative request is followed by Patty’s voice in the stairwell.
‘Loris! Change the star for me, love!’
‘Yeah, sure!’
Charles lets himself fall against the armrest to allow Loris to stand up. ‘Change what star?’
‘Staropramen. Czech pilsner. The keg is empty.’
‘Less poetic than I thought.’
Loris chuckles and pushes a door between two fridges.
Mentally beheading the customer who has to drink pilsner, Charles approaches to lean against the frame. The cold room is crammed too, with barrels, beer lines and gas cylinders all over the floor. Loris is bending forwards to connect a coupler to a new keg, and his tight jeans completely cancel out the refrigeration unit in Charles’ view.
‘How long is your break?’
‘Half an hour. But I need to eat. You’re a great snack, but you’re not gonna keep me going until my friends let me go to bed.’
‘There’s a piece of pie in your fridge.’
‘I had it before my shift. I was meant to thank you for that.’
Loris’ boyish pout contrasts with his dishevelled appearance. For a beat, Charles blots out the plan he had in mind. But when Loris sweeps him along, whispering a ‘Thanks’ against his cheek, it rushes back, more specific than ever.
‘Does Patty come down here?’
‘Not anymore, you’ve seen the staircase. Why? If you’re implying that I’m responsible for the mess—’
Charles pins him againstthe next fridge.
Loris hooks his thumbs over Charles’ belt, smiling into the kiss, obviously content with an unhurried soft one. Charles disagrees with all his heart and hitches up Loris’ jumper to follow his V-lines. Loris quivers and smiles again, until Charles undoes the buttons of his jeans and slides his hand inside.
Loris jolts. ‘Charles...’
‘Is it alright?’
‘I’m at work.’
‘You’re on break.’
‘Still very much at work.’
Charles is tingling from head to toe at the feel of Loris’ dawning erection. ‘That’s a no, then?’
‘No…’
‘So, yes?’
Loris nuzzles in the crook of Charles’ neck with a deep breath, which Charles interprets as permission to caress him. A permission confirmed a second later when Loris pushes both his waistbands down below his hips.
Charles cups his chin with his free hand and pulls him into the sanity-erasing kiss he’s counting on to avoid overthinking what he’s doing, while he’s doing it.
There would be clues to read in the scratches Loris is leaving on his back, in order to find the rhythm he truly likes, but Charles is too enraptured. He’s been in sole control of someone else’s pleasure before, but relating to it increases the thrill tenfold. And when Loris spasms, carving new nail marks that will take a while to fade away, a rush of blistering energy courses through Charles’ nervous system.
He loosens his grip, laughing at Loris’ babble against his jawline.
‘Are you actually lost for words?’
