Heat rose to Callum’s cheeks, yet again, as he ordered the drinks. His voice stuck in his throat a little, and part of him wondered if a blow job really was a cocktail or if Dylan was just trying to make an idiot out of him. But the bar man nodded and started making a drink with Irish cream and Kahlua in a tall shot glass. He layered the two alcohols and then squirted a liberal amount of cream on the top.
Callum took the drinks back, bemoaning the fact that the cocktail had cost him three times the price of his pint. Next time, he’d make sure Dylan got the drinks.
He expected Dylan to take the shot glass out of his hand, but the guy waited for him to put it down.
“Have you ever had a blow job?” Dylan asked.
Callum stiffened. Dylan was winding him up. If he didn’t rise to the bait, the guy would stop goading him.
“I’ve not drunk one, no.”
“But darling, swallowing’s the best bit of giving a blow job.”
Callum tried to smile. He’d walked right into that comment.
Dylan put his hands behind his back. “You can be all demure and sip a blow job, but the best way is to down it in one. No hands,” he added, waggling his eyebrows. “The pleasure comes from the mouth.”
He leaned forward and stretched his plump lips around the rim of the glass. Then he sat up, tipping his head back to empty the cocktail into his mouth. Drips of the brown liquor and white cream dripped down his chin. He put the shot glass back on the table, still not touching it with his hands, and then used his tongue to slowly lick the remnants from around his mouth.
“This part’s much better if the guy I’m with is usinghistongue to clean me up.”
Callum didn’t know what to say or do. He couldn’t look away from the slow movement of Dylan’s long, thick tongue. He had a piercing through the middle of it with a barbell through it, which moved as he licked. When Dylan had finished, the skin around his mouth was glistening with saliva, but there were still dribbles of liquid and cream on his chin.
“Do you want one?” Dylan asked. “A blow job? I’d be more than happy to give you one.”
Callum wiped a hand over his face, which had to be a glowing beacon of light. He cleared his throat and picked his pint up. “I’ll stick with beer, thanks.” Then he proceeded to drink half the pint in one go.
He definitely had froth around his mouth, so he wiped it away with the back of his hand, not missing the fact that Dylan licked his lips as he did so.
Smirking, Dylan stood. “I’m going to dance again.” He leaned down and rested his forearms on Callum’s shoulders, bringing his lips close to Callum’s ear. “I’m not sure you’re as straight as you think you are,” he whispered. “Later, Tattoo Boy.”
With that, he waltzed away, swinging his hips in the most suggestive way possible. Callum tried to collect himself, but his face was still scorching hot and, worse still, his cock was pressing against his zipper in an uncomfortable way. He had no clue what it meant, but he was one hundred percent sure that Dylan had noticed. Overwhelmed with embarrassment, he finished his pint and left.
