He picked a flake of tobacco off his tongue. The kid’s eyes flicked to the motion, just the littlest break in his story about the cops in the john before starting up again.
Larry wanted to look away. That long nose, the center part of his hair like he was some kind of motherfucking Alfalfa, his tight fucking jeans and that handful of bulge right there. Jesus Christ on a fucking street corner.
He shifted in his seat, taking a long drink of beer to take the edge off of his interest. The cocktail table hid his own traitorous dick from Joe’s view. Larry felt his heartbeat, and it felt like it was reaching for this kid, this unknown guy with the innocent, conman’s face. He was so fucking young, so goddamn proud of his story, trying to put on grown-up pants and play with the big boys for once.
Larry bet his ass was fucking begging for it.
He laughed as he finished up the story. No shit, washing up his hands with the bag right fucking there with the cops just bullshitting.
“I gotta drain it,” Larry said, never taking his eyes from those lips. That lower lip, full and begging for the head of Larry’s cock smearing across it. He blinked slowly, wondering if the kid would take the sign. Didn’t matter much if he did or not, because the image of him was gonna be in the shitter with Larry regardless.
The stall door slammed shut, the clank of metal covering the softer sound of Larry’s belt buckle and his sucked-in breath as he got his fist around his dick.
“Shit,” he gasped. He braced against the back wall and fucked into his hand, letting a full drop of spit fall to grease the way.
The thought of those sad looking eyes gazing up at him as he pushed into his mouth. He’d beg Larry for it, beg to have his mouth fucked. And Larry’d shove in before he even finished rattling on, babbling until Larry shut him the fuck up with a mouthful of cock. Those shining eyes would fucking grin the fuck up at him, their owner getting exactly what he wanted. That’s when Larry’d know that the kid was running the show as much as he was. A dick in the mouth didn’t mean a guy wasn’t calling the shots.
Larry squeezed the head of his dick, stroked down, squeezed again.
A hand around his jaw, pulling it open. Another hand on the kid’s forehead, and then he’d just mouth fuck that bastard until spit was running down his chin. Until the john was full of the sound of gagging and fucking.
“Ah, god,” Larry whispered. He was gonna nut soon. He spit again, the runner of it leaving a streak across his own chin as it fell. He licked his lips.
The kid would unzip those tight jeans and take out his own cock. A good handful. The kind that looks good limp or hard across a guy’s stomach as he’s getting his ass reamed. Larry figured this kid was the kind that liked it in his hole, staying hard through the whole thing, maybe even leaking without even palming himself. A nice shiny streak of come across his stomach, Larry fucking it right out of him. Shit, his tight little ass squeezing the jizz right the fuck out of Larry’s dick, buried to the balls in his bare ass. That fake as hell wedding ring shining as he hung onto the pillow for dear life as Larry drilled him.
Larry sighed as he came. It had only taken a couple of minutes with the kid’s face in his mind.
Fuck. Not real good, he thought as he tucked himself back in. Not a fucking stellar idea, Dimick.
His hand was still on top of the stall door, white knuckled and damp in the creases with spit and spunk, when he saw him. Half-lidded eyes gazed at him, tight ass leaned right up against one of the sinks. The fucker smirked, and Larry couldn’t miss the line of his cock under those jeans.