I look up to the TV right as the center fielder makes a beautiful diving catch. “Still tied,” I say, wrestling myself back to reason. “But Philly is about to bring their best to bat.”
Instead of slipping back into banter, Orlando takes my arm, grabbing above my wrist. “Who cares?” he asks. “I’m sucking your cock either way.” He slides out of the booth and stands. “Come on,” he says and starts to walk.
I grab his wrist instead, stopping him and refusing to move because that’s not what is about to happen and regardless, I am not going to miss the end of the game. “Not so fast,” I say, but when I realize someone could potentially see us, I release him.
We’re in public, for fuck’s sake. I pull myself back together, but my heart is still kicking steady and hard.
Orlando gives me an amused smile, which makes me grind my teeth.
“Sit down,” I tell him firmly, and he does. I point at the TV, back to business. “See that guy?” I ask.
Orlando nods, sobering slightly, but I can still feel his energy humming.
“When he goes to bat, the runner on second is going to make it home, and Philly will win.”
Orlando scoffs. “You can’t know that.”
On the screen, Marshall hits a fast and low one right through Detroit’s open spot. The play is lightning quick, and the runner makes it home as the crowd goes wild, just like I predicted.
I pump my fist. “Fuck yeah,” I say with a grunt.
“Looks like you won the bet,” Orlando says, voice low as he eyes me. “There’s a single-stall bathroom in the far back, away from everything else. Come and I’ll settle up.”
He walks away, and I blink.
A bathroom. Of course that’s his plan. I can only imagine the scandal I would face if I were caught with a young man in a bar bathroom.
But maybe that’s part of what’s making my dick hard right now. Maybe I need something like this, something a miserable old grump would never do.
Just once. Just to see.
What I’m considering rumbles through me, shaking my foundations, but I pull myself back together. I tell myself that I’m just going to walk to the bathroom and turn him down, that’s it.
I adjust my erection in my pants, straighten my knee brace, and stand. My pulse thudding in my ears, I walk through the sparsely populated bar to the rear and find a small door, off in a secluded hallway.
I change my mind with every step.
Could I seriously accept a blowjob from a man? I’ll probably hate it immediately and have to leave.
After a quick glance to make sure no one is looking, I rap softly on the door and open. When I step in, Orlando is leaning back against the tile wall, hands in the pockets of his jeans, waiting for me.
All my senses home in on him. I can feel his body breathing, living, beating across from me.
When I step onto the tile, something becomes real.
Eyes bearing into Orlando’s, I reach back and close the door, locking it swiftly.
He steps close. His scent hits me, pulling on the sense memory of so many years in locker rooms, surrounded by men. It’s disorienting, but somehow reassuring, too.
“You probably don’t kiss, do you?” he asks, voice low and steady.
He tilts his eyes up to mine. He’s tall, but I’m massive, a good two inches taller.
Something simmers in me, eating at the edges of uncertainty. Horny hunger starts shaping my thoughts, driving me despite the objections in my mind.
Desire coils through him, too, and I can feel it in my veins.
His breath catches as I take his chin with my other hand, and the way his cocky energy shivers and bucks against my strength stokes me for more.
