The band finally snapped, and Bass thrust roughly against Doc as he came. Release washed through his nerves like champagne. He lay limply on top of the wiry, half-dressed body for a second, his mouth pressed against the damp hollow of Doc’s throat as he mouthed hopefully inaudible lies.
He’d always been a post-come promiser. It made him sentimental.
Doc stroked his sweaty hair back from his face and brushed a kiss against his ear. He didn’t squirm out from under Bass or check the time. Apparently he really was new to hookups. Bass let it go. He was kinda comfortable, considering how many sharp lines Doc had to his body.
Eventually he had to sit back and strip the wet condom off his softened cock. He tied the end and gave Doc’s sprawled body a once-over. One of his arms was tucked under his head, and his hair was damp with sweat instead of rain. The ex was an idiot. Doc wasn’t the prettiest man Bass had ever had, but he had something.
Bass cleared his throat.
“The point of a hookup is you don’t hang around for breakfast, Doc.”
Doc arched an eyebrow without actually opening an eye. “Would I get a breakfast?”
“Nope.”
“Well, then….” Doc sat up with a wince for overworked muscles and extracted himself from under Bass. Once he was up, he made a try at presentable. He hitched up his trousers, tucked in his shirt, and buttoned his creased jacket. His shirt still flashed a 70s’ vee of chest, and he still looked well-fucked. Bass didn’t object, but he supposed whatever MILFs infested Doc’s fancy suburb might. “Any chance I could get an Uber to come down here?”
Bass smirked as he lay back on the couch, naked and spent, and watched Doc try to do something with his post-sex hair. There had never been a lot of moments where he could just be… done, especially not since he got back to Plenty. The life he lived demanded he stay on guard. So he enjoyed the rare times he didn’t have to be, even if the moment didn’t mean anything.
“It’s the Heights,” he said. “We need to get out to go and work for you rich folks. We’ve got Uber, Doc.”
Doc nodded and looked around for his phone. He found it on the floor. As he picked it up and swiped in his code, he said, “Tag.”
Bass tilted his head.
“My name,” Doc said. “Taggart. Tag.”
Bass scratched his stomach, which was still sticky with come. “I like Doc,” he said. Some old vestige of hospitality poked at him. “If you can’t get a cab and don’t mind a ride on a bike….”
“I don’t,” Doc said dryly as he glanced up long enough to flash a crooked smile. “My ass might.”
