by M. C. Roth
“I live in Miami. If you want fire, just sit out in the sun for two hours in the middle of August,” said Ian. “Don’t buy your tickets yet. Let me work something out. Maybe I can come up there to you?”
Trent glanced around the house. He had yet to hang a single strand of tinsel or string of lights. The tree stand was up in the living room already, but it was empty except for a few dried needles from the previous year. He had been stuck in a rut without fully realizing it, and now he had so much to do. Christmas spirit hit him with the force of a blizzard.
“I’m so excited,” said Trent as he stood from the chair and did a small dance. “I have so much to do. I don’t even have a tree yet.”
“Just don’t go buying up the entire tree farm yet, T. I’m not a hundred percent sure I’ll be able to make it. Just let me chat with Mac, and I’ll see if he can get me a last-minute flight. Sometimes everything is all booked up this time of year.”
“Ian?” Trent asked. The other man grunted over the phone line. “Thank you, for everything. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” His arms ached with the need to hold the other man close and his heart surged with joy.
“You too, T. Love you.”
The phone went dead and Trent shouted with excitement. He scrambled for a piece of paper, then began scribbling down the perfect menu.
Chapter Sixteen
Trent fussed over last minute additions to his already-over-done Christmas plan. He had tried, and failed, to keep his hopes from getting too high. Ian hadn’t called since their last conversation about a week before and Trent still didn’t know if he was going to make it for Christmas. Their texts over the last few days had been brief at best, and Ian had finally started to feel some backlash from his unexpected announcement.
Trent had watched the media outlets explode while perched on the edge of his seat. People could be terribly mean when they didn’t really know a person but thought they could judge them anyway. There were a few accounts that he had unfollowed to support Ian, and a few others that he had started to follow. Ian’s band mates had remained dead silent, and Ian had commented sparingly. Trent wished he could line up the ones that were cursing his love, and slam a fist into each of their faces. But since he couldn’t, he did his best to focus on the good ones instead.
When Trent went to pick up a tree at the lot just down the street, there were only three left. One was barely more than a few branching twigs speckled with brown needles, and a stagnant trunk. The second was about six and a half feet high, which would be perfect for his ceiling height, but it was limp and almost completely brown. It also smelled like it had been the target of every stray cat in the township. The third was a glorious and overpriced monstrosity, that was probably only still there because it was over ten feet tall. Trent bought it anyway and dragged it up the street to his house. He was sweating and panting by the time he arrived, and his arms ached terribly. He cut off the trunk and trimmed the branches until it was down to a respectable eight feet while sitting in the tree stand. He lopped off the pointed top next and set the remainder of the tree up in the living room. It left a line of sap on the ceiling, and one of the ceiling tiles was now dented beyond repair, but it was beautiful.
The rest was easy. He spread Christmas trinkets around the house, including two stockings above the cold fireplace. He’d picked one up for Ian that had a picture of the little drummer boy’s drums on the front. It was also large enough that it would probably fit Ian’s massive foot. He stuffed it with chocolate oranges and candies—and hung candy canes from the rim.
It was as if Santa himself had taken a sparkly shit in his house. Every little nook and cranny were decked with things that he had accumulated over the years. Even the television had tinsel draped over the top.
Before he realized it, it was the twenty-second of December and the office was bustling with activity. Every time a special occasion or long weekend neared, every computer in the building put on the brakes. Trent had already spent three hours fixing the main server, which had somehow managed to crash four times. The normally toasty room where the server sat was almost stifling, between the circuit boards and the trickle of heat coming through the floor vent.
He cranked the fans and kicked the portable air conditioner that was attempting to keep the room cool. The small unit spluttered once, then idled before shutting off completely. The screen went blank and the buttons dulled as it randomly lost power.
His toe ached from kicking the stubborn unit twice already. The first time, he’d forgotten that he had used his shoes to prop the door open. The second time, with his foot throbbing, it was pure frustration that drove the kick.
“Trent?”
He heard a tiny female voice through the crack in the door. He peered over his shoulder to see Belinda peeking her head into the room. She looked from the mess of cluttered wires to his sweaty form with a mixture of unease and curiosity.
“Your appointment is here,” she said in the shrill voice could only be found in secretaries. It was slightly more tolerable over the phone but awful in person.
He wiped the sweat off his forehead as it slowly made its way down into his eyes. He vaguely recalled a blocked time slot for the afternoon, but he’d thought it was a virtual meeting, not one in person. From the gaunt growling of his stomach, it was probably later than he’d thought too.
“Can you just send them in here?” he asked as he kicked the air conditioner yet again. This time he aimed with his heel, and the impact was much less harsh. The machine shuddered and hummed for a moment before it stopped again. Without cooler air, the servers were bound to crash yet again.
He crouched down and completely ignored Belinda as she strolled away. The drawer beneath the unit was empty, as was the thin hose that sucked moisture from the tray to drip directly into a drain. Flipping onto his back, he scooted into the machine until his head was just inside. The flashlight app on his phone came in handy for times as terrible as this.
He saw the shape of male feet clad in running shoes a few steps from where his body was prone on the ground. He rolled his eyes and ignored them as he dove deeper into the inner workings of the machine. The light caught the drainage tube that was completely crusted with lime and rust.
The feet moved closer until they were almost touching his leg. He saw the Nike symbol on the side of the sneaker and wondered what the hell was wrong with the person. It was snowing outside, and Nikes were not exactly winter proof.
“I’ll be out in a second.” His voice was loud in his own ears from the small space. He suppressed a flinch as the feet moved even closer. The snow that clung to the laces dripped down onto his pant leg and the shivering temperature crept through his pants like a candle wick.
The foot moved up into the air until it was hovering just a few inches off the ground. Water dripped over his leg as the foot lifted higher and nudged his thigh. The shape of a wet footprint was stamped along his jeans, creating a chilly spot.
“What the fuck?” Trent mumbled into the machine as he watched the foot retreat again. No matter how rude salespeople could sometimes be, he’d never had one actually kick him. Even if it was a glance, it had still left his pants wet. They were black jeans, and he knew that they wouldn’t be drying for hours. He’d have to sit with the feeling of gritty dampness against his leg for the rest of the day.
He pushed his way out of the machine and prepared to let a politically correct insult fly. He looked up the black slacks to the thin black T-shirt stretched over arms that it could barely contain. A broad chin with a day’s worth of growth led to blue eyes that could carve through his soul.
“Ian,” Trent half-shouted as he pushed his way to his feet. The air conditioner rolled away from the force of his scrambling, striking the wall and kicking to life. He threw his arms around the broad shoulders that he missed so much and buried his face into the damp skin of Ian’s neck.
“You’re wet,” Trent mumbled into his neck. There were a few snowflakes still
clinging to Ian’s scruff, and their crystalized forms were slowly melting.
“Not possible. Biology doesn’t work that way.” A broad grin broke over his face. “Fuck, I missed you, T.” He pulled Trent even tighter, almost enough to drive the breath from his lungs. His voice was loud, too loud for an office where a manager or HR person could walk by at any moment.
“Keep your voice down,” said Trent, pulling back to glance back at the door. He half-expected Belinda to still be there, snooping in on his ‘meeting’. Trent strode to the door and pulled his sneakers out of the way so it shut with a quiet snick. Ian reached past him to push the small, circular lock into place.
“Will anybody come looking for you?” Ian asked as he dipped his hands beneath Trent’s sweater. They were cold against his overheated belly and warmth pooled in his stomach like a flame.
“No, but I can’t, Ian, not here.” He looked back with wide eyes, but didn’t pull away. He had missed the sight of this beautiful man and his stomach was bubbling from a mix of arousal, happiness and a touch of nervousness. Ian was close enough that Trent could smell the unique cologne that seemed to be part of his natural scent. Ian’s pupils were wide and dark with growing lust. There was something else there too.
“I missed you, T. Please let me just touch you a little,” said Ian as he pulled Trent’s hips back to meet him. He was already rock hard against Trent’s ass, and his cock twitched in its confines.
“I could get fired,” said Trent, but he was already tilting his neck to the side. Ian touched his lips to the side of his neck before sharp teeth scraped the sensitive flesh. “No marks.” He hissed softly as Ian tugged gently then smoothed the nipped area with his tongue. The touch sent a wave of electricity over his skin that made every hair stand on end. It was as if it was the first time Ian had ever touched him.
“If I get you fired, will you come sing with me?” Ian asked before he was back, nipping harder at the reddened skin.
“I won’t let you come.” Trent tried to say it as a serious threat, but it came out as a breathy moan that was too loud in his ears.
Ian pulled away and spun Trent around. He pulled at Ian’s strong neck and forced Ian’s head down to meet his lips in a blissful kiss. He plunged his tongue into the man’s mouth, taking control like he never had before. He pushed Ian’s broad shoulders until he was backed up against the smooth metal surface of the server. Having Ian back in his arms was the best feeling in the world, and no matter what had happened between them at a distance, it didn’t matter anymore. He poured every minute of longing and heartache into the kiss.
Ian melted beneath him like the most delicious ice cream left too long in the sun. A small whine came from his throat as he submitted. The sound spurred Trent on and he bit Ian’s lower lip before sucking it into his mouth and soothing the bruise.
It was the best kind of high. As much as he loved being beneath Ian, he’d never felt such a beautiful thing as his submission. Ian seemed stunned at his own response, his hands frozen and his mouth almost slack as Trent plundered it.
In one swift motion, Trent dropped to his knees and tugged down the zipper of Ian’s jeans. Ian’s hard cock pressed against the seam of his soft boxers and there was a small damp patch from the gathering pre-cum. Trent had tasted it before, and he knew how thick and sweet it was. He buried his nose against the fabric and inhaled the scent deeply.
“Don’t. I’ve haven’t showered in two days,” said Ian as his hands dropped to Trent’s hair and tugged at the thick strands. Trent only hummed and pressed his nose harder to Ian’s groin to take in the scent. It was the smell that he’d dreamed about, only to wake up achingly hard in his cotton pyjamas. The thought of tasting Ian made his mouth water and there was no way that he was going to wait another instant. If his boss burst through the door at that moment, it still wouldn’t have stopped him.
“Don’t talk or I stop,” Trent whispered as he grabbed the elastic waistband of the boxers. He stretched the band and eased it down over Ian’s cock. The jutting shaft bounced free and arched towards his mouth. There was a smear of pre-cum that glistened against the small slitted tip that he couldn’t resist tasting. Flavour burst over his tongue as he licked the head. Ian’s taste and smell were thicker than he expected, but it was nothing bad.
Ian tightened his fingers in Trent’s hair and pulled him down instead of back like he’d been doing before. Ian’s hips twitched as he pulled and soon half of his cock was in Trent’s mouth, threatening to bump the back of his throat.
Trent pulled back, freeing Ian’s grip. “You’re gonna stand there and take it, and you aren’t going to make a sound.” Trent watched as Ian shuddered and flushed dark red as his words sank in. His pupils were so wide that they almost swallowed the endless blue.
When Trent let go, Ian dropped his hands to his sides before bracing against the metallic surface behind him. He didn’t reach for Trent again as Trent slid his mouth all the way down the generous cock. He gagged as it tickled the back of his throat, so he pulled back and swallowed the spit in his mouth before it could dribble down his chin.
“You taste so good,” said Trent as he lowered his head to mouth at Ian’s sac, which was soft and loose. His balls strained tight as he sucked one into his mouth, then the other, before he swirled his tongue over the soft flesh. Ian let out a pleading whine that was almost lost to the whirl of the server and air conditioner.
“Quiet or I stop.” Trent reminded him gently before he ran his tongue along the ultra-sensitive seam of Ian’s sac. Ian bit his lip hard and gripped his hands into white-knuckled fists. “Good boy.” The praise slipped from his mouth before he could even think about it. The cock against his cheek twitched at the words, and a few drops of pre-cum wet the tip before Trent quickly licked them away.
Trent waited, licking and sucking with slow, measured strokes until Ian was trembling under the constant onslaught. All thoughts of a speedy orgasm were completely forgotten as soon as he started. A steady whine came from Ian’s throat that was almost too quiet to hear.
Trent waited until that crucial moment that Ian almost snapped, before he finally plunged his mouth all the way down Ian’s cock. The head nudged the back of his throat before it slipped farther back, past his gag reflex. He hummed, so low that it hardly made a noise, but strong enough that he knew Ian could feel every bit of the vibration down his cock. The cock pulsed and grew even harder before thick cum spilled from the tip.
Trent swallowed and swallowed, holding off his need for air as long as he could. He pulled back and sucked in a deep breath while the rest of Ian flowed over his tongue. He swallowed it quickly, managing a small grimace as the taste became overwhelming. Cum was fine in small amounts, but he’d forgotten that Ian always came in abundance.
When he finally pulled back and glanced up at Ian, the man was a trembling, blushing mess. His lips were bitten and raw, with an incisor still nipping at the sensitive surface, and a blush had swept from the bridge of his nose to his chest and belly, where a tiny peek of skin was visible from beneath his rucked-up shirt. He looked utterly and completely ruined.
“Fuck,” was the first thing that Ian finally managed to say after his chest stopped heaving. His eyelashes fluttered and suddenly he was staring at Trent, pinning him with his gaze. There was more than lust and satisfaction in it. There was wonder.
“Let me,” said Ian. He scrambled to try to lift Trent to his feet, but he was still weak from his recent orgasm. Trent smirked as the usually strong and coordinated man was reduced to a soggy mess.
Trent shifted and his hardness pressed against the seam of his pants. A line of pleasure and pain from being so confined lanced through his cock. He bit back a groan as all his thoughts suddenly went south. He was throbbing in time with his heartbeat, and so hard that he was surprised he hadn’t come already. There was a moment, when Ian’s release had first flooded his throat, that he’d thought he might come untouched like a horny teenager. Instead, he was left aching and wan
ting.
Trent wanted to pull out his cock. It would only be a few strokes before he would be coming over his hand and the laminate floor. With his luck, though, he would probably shoot his load all over his shirt or the circuit board. And the thought of his coworkers on the other side of the door, bustling around cubicles and sharing bits of Christmas candy, made him want to shrivel away.
Trent pushed himself to his feet and adjusted himself in his pants with as little contact as he could manage. He stifled the groan as he brushed the head of his cock when he forced it under the band of his boxers so it was a less-obvious line of flesh instead of a jutting bulge. He was unsteady and weak from the strength of his arousal. Even the slightest shift seemed to press just right and drive his pleasure even higher.
He grimaced and turned his back to Ian while he tried to think of something disgusting to wilt his erection. It was difficult while he was so hard, and everything was alluring in his mind. It made him think of his booty shorts that Ian had defiled, and the frilly blue G-string that was waiting in his side drawer for a special occasion. That and the strawberry-flavoured extra-long-lasting lubricant.
“T? You okay?” Ian’s voice was still soft and quiet, with just a hint of a tremble on the lower notes.
“Oatmeal, green slime in puddles, porcupines,” Trent said aloud as he turned back around to face the man. Ian gave him a strange look as he continued. “Gum stuck to the bottom of a shoe, dog drool with pieces of treats in it, sandwich bags.” He shuddered and his cock finally started to deflate.
“T?” Ian ran his fingers over Trent’s hunched shoulder. Each finger was its own pressure point that dragged over Trent’s sensitive skin.
“Stop. I’m thinking of gross stuff.” Trent glanced down the front of his pants. There was a noticeable improvement, but still too much bulge for the office at midday—unless one was the boss’ secret lover tucked away in the broom closet.