Work and Play Pt. 04

"If you might be a little quieter, it would help me out," I respond calmly. "Or do you need help with something? It seems as though you've been here for a while and I'm glad to help with anything."

"I'm just about done, Nancy. Traded offices with Thomas so you'd better get the stick outta your ass, cause I'm not goin' anywhere," Clay laughs. I swear he's so loud, the window vibrates with the sound.

"Who's Thomas?" I ask, wondering who hates me enough to stick Clay Edgar in an office next to mine.

"Shit, I don't know his name. Greg? Grant? Goose?" Clay acts as if that's the funniest thing he's ever heard, and begins laughing along with his friend Jack.

Greg Thomas...

Grayson Thomas. Fuckin' shit Grayson you ASSHOLE.

"Grayson Thomas' office is over there on the south side. He's in there, SITTING there, right now," I respond. Clay shrugs.

"Well I'm already here, Princess. You're gonna have'ta deal with it. I promise I won't bite ya." And with that, Clay ignores me, continuing to be as loud as he can, spewing the word "faggot" along with a few more degrading terms more times than I can count between 4:34 and 5:00. This is not happening, no way.

I don't even notice that it's finally silent after 5:00 hits.

Clay left, finally.

It's taking everything I have to stay awake at my desk while I wait for 5:30. Grayson offered to start running with me again in the mornings, but I said we should try nights. Mornings are hell, and as of right now, I'm too tired to do anything.

We started running together when we first became friends, but stopped about two or three months ago. Organizing our big commercial had me staying up all night. I enjoyed heading the project, but Grayson and I stopped working out together. He probably took that pretty hard. Of course I didn't have a clue back then that he was interested in me.

He said his office is too cold, and that's why he's trading with Clay, but I know it's because all of the other people in his position are upstairs.

I figure if I go to the restroom, it'll waste some time and maybe wake me up. I'm not immune to falling asleep in the car, either. I prefer not to endanger myself.

I walk upstairs, taking as much time as possible. In less than a half-hour, I'll be out of here. I have that meeting tomorrow with Shannon and that Harold guy, and I prefer to be well rested. There's a bathroom upstairs close to Clay's office that I know is not used due to its inconvenient location. Before I was relocated downstairs, I would observe how many people used the bathroom. Most days, it was between zero and three.

There's Zeke for you; observing people who use the restroom. To waste even more time, I decide to use a stall instead of a urinal. Disregarding my surroundings, I take my sweet time. I'm almost buttoned up and ready to leave when I'm pushed back into the stall. I know it's Clay before I even turn around. My heartrate quickens and my brain goes into panic mode.

"Relax, Harvard," I hear right in my ear. I turn around and shove at his chest, but he simply slams into the closed door and grabs my wrists. Every kind of thought starts going through my head now. He's not going to hurt me, right? Right now? I decide that if I calm down, he might get bored. If I act overly professional, that will scare him. So I let out a breath and twist my wrists out of his grip.

"Let me leave," I say calmly. Clay isn't much taller than Grayson, and is not even near Gabriel's height. But something tells me he was destined for something harsh before business caught him, because his hands are scarred up and he has big arms. I doubt he's going to try to fight me or anything; I wish I weren't so panicky.

"You know what people hate about you?" Clay says slowly, articulating each syllable. I was never bullied or harassed in school or in college, so I'm all instinct right now. "You just come in here like you know shit. Like you're better than all of us."

"I don't even work with you anymore—"

Clay puts two fingers over my lips and motions toward the door. "You want everyone to hear you whine like a little bitch? 'Clay get away from me' and 'Clay let me leave'—gimme a fuckin' break, kid." Every part of me wants to just shove him out of the way, but I don't want anyone to know what happened... or might happen. I harden up, stepping as far away from him as I can in the tiny stall, but he's on my ass, fingers still violating my lips and his other hand palming my torso, feeling me up. To my knowledge, he's been divorced with a kid, but I suppose that doesn't stop people.

By standing here, letting him touch me, I'm knocking down a million walls of "don't let people walk all over you". I can do something but I'm not. What the fuck, Zeke, c'mon get him away from you damnit.

I just shake my head, probably looking scared out of my mind, while Clay slides his hand around to grab my ass. Why can't I fucking say anything what is this bullshit why can't I just make him fucking stop—

"See, I'm sick of getting nothin' outta this job, Princess. You were all pretty to look at, and then you had to go on and move... now that's not fair to a hard-workin' man like me. I'm gonna be here for 8 hours, I better have some incentive."

"Don't do something stupid," I say urgently. "Just let me go and I won't say anything."

Clay laughs. "You won't say anything if I 'let you go' now or I 'let you go' an hour from now, Harvard. You're too proud. Nothin's stopping you from leaving. Go on. Go on and tell everyone about how 'mean ol' Clay touched me and made me feel like the fuckin' sissy I am'. Gimme a fuckin' break, kid. I'm onto you."

With that, Clay pushes his body against mine, grabbing my hips and groaning harshly into my neck like he's drunk or something, which wouldn't surprise me at all. And all I can do is stand there and tremble like a scared rabbit, my pants still unbuttoned and shirt untucked.

Am I being sexually harassed? Is this what it feels like? It should feel good—it would feel good otherwise—but I didn't ask for it. I don't understand. It's as if I'm frozen in time. I could shove him off, and it wouldn't matter if people found out what happened. He's a creep. But I just sit here, letting him get off to having himself pressed on me, not even bothering to hide his hard cock as he grunts, feeling up my body in that sickening pervert kind of way. I could stop him, I could make a bunch of noise and get him the fuck off of me, but ultimately, that would mean someone knowing that I was in here with another man, and whether I wanted it or not, he was getting busy with me.

Damn it, he's right. It's all the internalized homophobia getting the best of me. I'm not going anywhere.

I try to psych myself out, noting that Clay isn't that bad looking, or that it could be worse, or that it's okay because if I imagine that it's Gabriel touching me instead—

"Turn around." I can't process what he says at first, and instead look him in the eye in horror. Clay chuckles, and now I can actually smell alcohol on his breath. "You think I'd strip you right here? I have some decency, kid. I just wanna see that pretty ass everyone keeps talkin' bout." Clay pushes me against the wall and slithers up behind me. "You know everyone talks about your ass, right? How nice and—" Clay grabs me by the hips and humps me hard, "—firm it is? Fuckin'—I think about stickin' it in you all the time, Princess."

His dirty hands grope me in just about every way possible, sliding down my torso and unashamedly palming my dick—which isn't hard, I was afraid some part of me might be aroused by this—and wrapping his arms around my torso while he tells me how 'fucking pretty' I am. I just want it to be over. I don't know if I can handle much more of Clay's heavy breathing and how he humps into me like I'm a fucking toy. I can feel my breathing turn ragged and my head get heavy.

Fuck no, Zeke. You are 24 years old and you are NOT going to cry about something that is most definitely in your control. I could've shoved Clay off of me a long time ago. Do not fucking cry, Zeke. You do not fucking cry about this.

The watch on Clay's wrist says 5:38 by the time I think he's finally getting bored of me. I've clenched my jaw and tried to control my staggered breaths for too long. Clay almost hits my breaking point when I feel his lips on my neck.

"Okay!" I snap. And as soon as I open my mouth, I feel the stinging behind my eyes. "Okay. Okay. Y-you happy yet? I-I'm done. Get off me."

"Well, Harvard. Here I was thinkin' you were enjoyin' yourself," Clay laughs. Then he smacks my ass.

At that, I bang on the stall door, hard. The sound rattles throughout the bathroom in echoes. "Get the FUCK off me," I seethe through my teeth. Clay lets me go, straightening up his shirt and giving me a disgustingly smug look.

"Same time Monday?" he asks.

"You're a sick fuck."

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I sit at a small table with Shannon, looking gorgeous as ever, Marlon Harold looking as old as ever, and his daughter, Penny, who looks like she's tried on every ounce of makeup known to man. She's touched my leg three times. All I've been able to think about is Clay, and how he's going to be in the office next to mine for god knows how long.

My mind even drifts to the thought of telling Gabriel what happened. And for what? He's not going to do anything. I'm not his responsibility; we're not even anywhere close to having a relationship. I just want to shake the dirty feeling from my body. An hour into this dinner and I'm tapping my foot already. I want to just go home. I want to get yesterday's nightmare out of my mind.

I did cry yesterday.

I know Shannon's probably just a little frustrated that I refuse to flirt with Penny, but I can't do anything right now. My mind is caught in a time loop. Marlon Harold's voice reminds me of Clay's voice, and all I want to do is hear Gabriel talk to me. Who cares if he tells me how stubborn and heard-headed and cocky I am? I think he'd tell me to put it all aside and speak up instead of having my head up my ass. Because that's what it is. Clay saw his opportunity and took it. Something about me says that I'm too proud to admit when I need help, and Clay sees that. Everyone sees that.

Curse me for wanting Gabriel so badly right now.

"Excuse me for a moment," I say, politely heading off to the bathroom. Luckily, nobody occupies the bathroom as I enter the stall. I sift through my contacts until I see the letter "G", singular. That's how I saved his number. I don't want to feel like I need him, but right now, I don't feel like there's anything else I can do.

I schedule an e-mail to myself to arrive at a certain time, so I can say I have to go.

-----------

ZEKE: 1047 H Avenue Academy Circle.

GABE: zeke?

ZEKE: I really kind of need to see someone right now.

GABE: ... Ezekiel, right?

ZEKE: yes, GOD

I don't know what I expected, but Gabriel doesn't text me back until about an hour later. By then, I've taken a shower and a half, chewed my nails down to nubs, and attempted to drink two Coors Light. Everything tastes bitter. It's a good 70º right now, but I keep shivering nonetheless.

GABE: You do live in Fort Collins, correct?

I see headlights turn off from outside, and my heart starts racing. What if this was a bad idea? I barely know the man; part of me wants him to just listen to me cry and stroke my hair. The other part wants him to fuck all my worries away. I rush to the door without making a decision. Gabriel stands outside his car, looking around and tapping on his phone, waiting for my response. He snaps to attention when I open the door, and the sidewalk lights up like a runway. "Are you alright?"

"Come inside," I respond quickly. My neighbors are far enough away that it wouldn't matter if they saw the car, or me, or Gabriel. One's an old lady, and the other is a family of six.

Locks of Gabriel's hair fall gently in his face as he quickly makes his way up the stairs. It's odd seeing him in a dark blue t-shirt and jeans, but I need to calm down before I can think about how horny that might make me in the next few minutes. I close the door behind him, and attempt to stop my anxiety ridden shivering by digging my nail into my forearm.

Gabriel breaks the awkward silence first. "This is a very lovely house."

"Thanks," I reply shortly. If anything, he makes my house seem even smaller than it is. He takes up a lot of space. "Um, sit if you want."

"No, thank you... you look terrified. Are you okay?" he asks again. I consider trying to play it off, but he'll most likely see right through it. So I shake my head "no" and fold my arms tightly.

"I'd rather not even go there right now. Do you want a drink?" I ask. Gabriel shakes his head. I go to the kitchen anyway.

"You know," Gabriel starts from the living room, "I'm not here to be your stress-reliever."

"Then why'd you come over?" I ask spitefully. I take a sip of the warm beer I couldn't get down earlier and drum my fingers on the counter. "I don't know what the fuck we're doing right now so... I'm just flowing with it." Gabriel joins me in the kitchen. I offer my bottle to him, and he takes a quick sip. Then he sets his wallet on the counter. It looks just like mine. Funny.

"I don't mind being a booty call," he sighs. "As long as I'm the only one."

After I don't respond, Gabriel approaches me, tilting my chin up and kissing me once. My eyes are closed by the next kiss. My mind tells me to stop being such a stubborn little prick and just let him in. We've already fucked twice now. Despite our quarrelling, I think he's already got me figured out more than I think. And that's why I pull him close to me by his hips and relax. I don't need someone to take care of me, but it's okay if I let Gabriel control this small part of me.

I'm trying to get everything off my mind now. Clay, my failure of a meeting, CEO, my whole shitty week—he's a physical form of comfort. I'm okay with that.

I grab his hand and quickly make a decision to bring him to the living room instead of my bedroom. I've never had proper sex in my own bedroom. Not once. Even during college, I wouldn't fuck anyone on my own bed. Maybe that's more of an emotional thing too, but I'm not going to read into that right now.

I curse myself for thinking of Clay when Gabriel touches me from behind, but the feeling quickly goes away. I don't feel heavy or dirty with Gabe; when he sucks a bruise into my neck, I do nothing short of praise him for it and moan out loud, encouraging him to grab my hips and grind into me the right way.

My fingers tangle in his hair, and we share a sloppy, over-the-shoulder kiss. He reaches his hands around to creep under my shirt and palm at my abs. I turn around quickly, pushing him onto the large La-Z-Boy and straddling him before he can react. It's nice to not have the threat of someone walking in on us, even if last time we barely heeded that threat.

Shit, Sandy saw us though. I can't believe I forgot about Sandy. I know she's a kindhearted lady but now she knows I'm gay and not only am I gay but I'm fucking the Bill Gates of OrtegaTech. Goodness knows I'm not the most careful person ever -I left a giant dildo in my bathroom when I hosted a dinner party—and I'm running on pure luck here.

"What are you thinking about? 'Cause it's not me," Gabriel says with a chuckle. When I zone out, it's completely arbitrary and clearly noticeable. "If you're thinking about work or the meeting or whatever—just let me make you feel good."

With that, Gabriel slips my shirt off and tosses it aside. I continue to lick inside his mouth and swathe our tongues together until I get him groaning. I'm just happy he likes kissing just as much as I do. His hands slip into my jeans, past my briefs, and forcefully grab at my ass.

Everything about him is hard, solid. Strong. He kisses in between my pecs, and admires the starry display of freckles along my collarbone and chest. With the lights on, I can see his every reaction while we conduct ourselves in reasonable foreplay, palming each other's cocks and whispering sexual technicalities. I switch places with him, and he strips his shirt off when his knees hit the floor. Gabriel laughs lowly every time I demand something (bite my lip, smack my ass, kiss my neck, etc.), which I don't realize I am doing so often until he says with his Gabriel Laugh, "Hey, I've fucked you twice now. Cut me some slack, huh?"

Which is really REALLY embarrassing, because I'm just begging for him to ask again what's wrong with me by my next demand.

"Oh—oh yeah. Grab my waist," I beg, eyes closed and mouth open, sucking in air like it's going out of style.

"What's really up with you?" There it is.

"Probably one of my worst weeks ever, and I didn't call you over to be my therapist," I say, almost out of breath. "That's what my real therapist is for." Gabriel raises one eyebrow as he begins taking off my jeans. "Kidding."

"Oh my—really? Zeke made... a joke? What on earth did I do to provoke such mockery?" Gabriel says. I simply shake my head.

"You can't laugh at me enough. It never fails," I sigh. Gabriel smiles, proceeding to use his teeth to unzip my jeans and his hands to pull them off. He doesn't hesitate to kiss the damp spot where the pre-cum built up, and he licks along the length of my cock while it's still contained in the thin fabric. Every brush of his lips, his tongue, his fingers, makes me shiver and this time, in the good way. My pounding heart beat makes my whole body pulse. The only sound is the overhead fan as Gabriel teases me. I reach forward and tug at his shirt for him to take it off.

Gabriel has me completely naked, and he strokes me slowly, just staring at my 6 ½ inch cock like it's some foreign object. "Well?"

"Don't rush me," he says.

It's like I can SEE him thinking. When he said "I don't suck cock", he meant it. He's NEVER done this before. It's almost cute how he sits there, building up the courage in his head. Well. Shouldn't I feel special.

I gently massage my fingers in his hair. He blinks—quickly, repeatedly—long eyelashes fluttering. I can see his mental "one, two, three" before he starts kissing the inside of my thighs. After that, it's like he isn't even questioning it anymore. Eyes closed, he licks up the side before taking just the head in his mouth. God, he's gorgeous. Gabriel is absolutely the sexiest man I have ever met.

He takes half the length in the hotness of his mouth, gently getting used to the feeling of having me on his tongue. Eventually, he takes in more and more of my leaking dick, finding a comfortable rhythm. I raise my leg and prop it up to give him more room. He moans once and tightens his lips around the thickness before sucking off with a loud pop.

"Fuck!—Gabe," I breathe. "Hey, I actually have lube in my room." Gabriel digs in his pocket and pulls out three silvery packets. "Never mind." I feel bad for interrupting him, but he's back to sucking me off like before with no problem. I don't want to laugh out loud at the fact that he puts so much concentration into making me feel good, that he actually hands me a packet of lube to open so he doesn't stop giving me head... but it's pretty damn funny.

He slicks his fingers up, gently starting with one and quickly working in the second into my tight hole. He swirls his tongue around my full balls and scissors his fingers at the same time. I'm surprised I can even breathe properly.

I'm starting to get close when Gabriel stops. "What do you want me to do?"

"What? I don't know. I'm close; keep going," I breathe. Gabe smiles, looking up at me this time as he takes me in his mouth. I can only watch; I'm more turned on by the fact that he's blowing me than by his actual skill. I wish he'd do more, but it is his first time, so I'm just rolling with it. It's not often I get head anyway.