The tingling warmth of his panted breaths mixed with the filthy praise turns my nipples to steel pins and sets my pulse racing so fast and loud it’s like my body is creating its own background music.
Ryan comes first, shooting off inside me and coating the walls of my hole with his hot cum. It feels right, having him there, emptying himself in me. It has done since the first time, like we were both made for it, made to have each other like this.
When Ryan's body shudders out its last shot of cum, he carefully pulls out and urges me to unwind my legs from around him. Once my legs are steady under me again, Ryan drops down to his knees and takes my cock into his mouth. He works me with a tight mouth and his clever tongue until I'm coming down his throat with a shout.
Ryan stands back up when my legs threaten to give out and wraps his arms around me. I clutch onto him like he's my lifeline, which he sort of is, and bury my face in his chest.
We stay like that for a while, holding each other up, until the door to the bathroom bursts open and someone comes rushing in. I'm surprised we got so much time interrupted, to be honest, although it's possible someone did come in whilst we were fucking and I just didn't notice. Our friends have complained about us being oblivious to other people when we're having sex.
The knowledge we’re no longer alone prompts us to disentangle and redress, covering ourselves back up.
I can still feel Ryan’s cum inside me, the muscles of my hole keeping it from spilling out unless I purposely loosen them. My shift is for another few hours, and it's hardly the first time I've worked with Ryan's cum up my arse. It'll become uncomfortable at some point, but I don't mind that. It's worth it to feel like I'm holding onto a piece of him even when we're apart.
Ryan catches my gaze and smiles. It's a post-fucking smile, all soft and sexy. I'm low-key obsessed with putting it on his face. Unfairly provoked, I wind my arms around his neck and press a tender kiss to his well-used mouth. Ryan's hands return to my hips and he drags me closer.
We're on the cusp of getting lost in each other again when the sound of someone gasping painfully from outside the stall breaks through and gets our attention.
Ryan steps back, a concerned frown marring his handsome face. We exchange a quick glance before he opens the stall door and walks out. I follow after him.
In the corner of the bathroom is a teenage boy I recognise from the homeless shelter where Ryan and I volunteer. He's sprawled out on the floor, one hand clutching at his chest and the other scrabbling off to the side like he's trying to catch hold of something none of us can see. His eyes are scrunched up in obvious distress.
"Tony!" Ryan exclaims in shock. He rushes over to the boy and kneels beside him.
Tony is sweating profusely, his pallid skin drenched with it. He looks like a drowned ghost.
Ryan puts a hand on Tony's shoulder. "Tony? Hey, it's me, Ryan. From the shelter, remember? Can you tell me what's wrong?"
I move closer and almost gasp when Tony's eyes spring open to reveal that the whites of his eyes have bright blue veins pulsing along them. His brown irises are cloudy like he's gone blind.
Tony reacts to Ryan's voice and turns towards him. He opens his mouth as if to speak, but all that comes out is an agonised noise, like an animal caught in a trap.
Ryan grabs hold of Tony and drags him into his lap. He looks up at me, calmer than I could ever be in a situation like this. "Go call an ambulance." Then he turns his attention back to the boy and gives him a small shake. "It's ok Tony, we're going to help you. What did you take? Can you tell me?"
Tony opens his mouth again as if to try and answer, but this time he chokes and a spray of blood erupts from him instead. Ryan tightens his hold on him as he chokes and wheezes, more blood spilling from his mouth and coating his lips a dark red.
I've seen my fair share of drug overdoses, but they never get any less terrible and scary to witness.
Panic takes root inside my chest, and I turn around to run from the room to do as Ryan bid me.
Rushing through the crowd to the bar, I wave manically to get Ben's attention and he comes over. He must note the fear on my face because he doesn't make any jokes about my sexual escapade with Ryan like he normally would.
"What's wrong?" he asks with a rare seriousness.
"We need an ambulance," I blurt out. "There's a boy having a drug overdose in the bathroom."
Ben's eyes widen, but he doesn't hesitate to turn back around and head straight for his phone. He snatches it off the counter and goes into his office, which sits in a room behind the bar. There are people gathered around the other side of the bar, presumably waiting to order drinks, and they look at me with a mix of interest and confusion. I ignore all of them.
Once Ben closes the door to his office, I grab an empty glass and a clean towel from behind the bar and sprint back to the bathroom.
What I find when I get there is nothing less than harrowing. Tony seems to have gotten worse even in the short time I was gone. It appears he's stopped breathing altogether, his parted lips having turned a faint blue. His body is limp and his cloudy eyes show no signs of consciousness. Ryan is leaning over the skinny blond-haired boy, giving him CPR. He has blood smeared on his lips from where's tried to blow air back into Tony's lungs.
Ryan doesn't look up at me when I come in, too intent on his task, too caught up trying to save Tony's life.
I kneel on the other side of Tony, my knees pressing painfully into the tiles, and put the empty glass and towel down next to me.
Long seconds go by as Ryan tries over and over to help Tony breathe. I hold mine, as if in solidarity, waiting and hoping desperately that Tony will come back to us. My heart thuds with increasing speed, dread playing out a rhythm inside my chest that feels too familiar.
When Tony dies, it's like a punch to the stomach. I know the moment it happens. I've seen enough death to realise when there's nothing else to be done for Tony. His vacant, blue-veined eyes stare blankly up at the bathroom ceiling. He's gone, his body left behind like a statement, like it’s meant to be tangible evidence he was ever here to begin with.
