The Peppermint Schnapps Predicament

by Clare London

  He has no idea that the relaxation is all down to his company. Firstly, I’ve barely thought about the claustrophobia since we started smooching. And secondly… I feel oddly relaxed next to him like this. Two men, facing an awkward situation, who barely knew each other before now.

  Liar.

  Okay, yes, be honest. I’ve seen him in the accounts office, of course. In the staff room. In the store, laughing with the other counter boys and girls. At Customer Service, an arm around some old lady, joking with a young couple, sorting out some problem or other. He always catches my eye. Frankie Faraday’s difficult to miss.

  Not that I can afford the time or personal vulnerability to date.

  No way.

  Frankie kisses me again. His mouth tastes of chocolate, even after all the making out.

  No way at all.

  FRANKIE

  SO, BILL Mason has confessed he’s gay. Who would’ve guessed? Well, me, actually. Even though I refused to contribute to the secret staff poll last Christmas on who was and who wasn’t. Apart from being appalled at the basic crudeness of the whole game, I was told I’d have an unfair advantage with my gaydar.

  But the day Bill wore that glorious rose-pink tie into work, I suspected. Built like Thor, but with the sly glances of a Tab Hunter; that may have been when I first started lusting after him. Now he has his arm around me. All the way around. I take a moment just to savor that. He hasn’t put his shirt back on, and I’m certainly not reminding him to. His muscles can ripple away to my heart’s content.

  Yet he’s more than just a gym bunny, right? And he isn’t the disciplinarian boss I’d thought he was. I’m still chuckling over his dreadful closet joke.

  Amazing, how these things work out after some face-to-face time. And thigh-to-thigh. And mouth-to-mouth. Another shiver of pleasure makes me jerk. Bill gathers me closer as if he thinks I may be cold. How thoughtful is that? When he nuzzles against my neck, I arch to give him more skin to play with.

  “Frankie, what made you join up so eagerly for the annual inventory? Most sales assistants try to avoid it at all costs.”

  I hesitate. Yet he’s been honest with me, right? “Well, mainly it was to get extra time close to my biggest and bonniest man crush.”

  “Who…?” Then his face clears and he flushes all the way down to his neck. “Really?”

  Adorable.

  “But also, I’m interested in business. In how it works, in the strategy and management.”

  “You are?”

  Good God, not him too. “I know, it’s not like I look the part, is it? Even when I wear a suit, the nail varnish and the highlights give me away. And I know I swish rather than stride across the shop floor.”

  Bill has the grace to look sorry. He’s thought the same himself, I can see.

  “But I’m not changing myself just to conform, you hear me?”

  Bill’s eyes narrow. “I hear you, Frankie.”

  “I have a lot to offer this company, and I have strong ideas of how things can be improved. Not just qualitative changes, to make this the one place where all staff aspire to be, and are proud to work. But also ways to improve profitability and shareholder returns. You should reconsider how some of the floors are set out, the reach and target of your marketing campaigns, the stock rotation….” God. I’m being so pushy, yet I refuse to apologize. “I never did very well at school. But I’m studying in my own time, Bill. I will get qualifications. I will be taken seriously. One day.”

  I wait for Bill’s laugh or maybe a pitying platitude. But it’s not forthcoming. He’s nodding instead.

  “We have an internship scheme here, don’t we?” he says. “What you were telling me, about the work you did for the charity your mother was on the board of—”

  Oh God, I was blabbing on about that too?

  “You should apply for our management team, Frankie. You already seem to know more about these things than I do.”

  “Oh, please.”

  Bill grips me rather too tightly and twists me so I’m facing him fully. “I won’t have any discrimination in my store. If you can do the job, you’ll be judged on that. You may not go about it the same way as others—”

  You said it, honey.

  “But what we need in this place is some spirit—a new facelift.”

  “With eyeliner?” I say wryly.

  I’m startled when Bill grips even tighter. “Stop that!”

  “What?”

  “Running yourself down. Joking about it all. If you want to be taken seriously, Frankie, you have to take yourself seriously.”

  He’s right, of course. Damn.

  He sighs, and it’s heartfelt. “Frankie, it seems neither of us fit the mold. Tell me your ideas. Tell me more….” He blushes. “Unless it’s a case of us and them.”

  “Huh? I mean, sorry?”

  “Well, I’m management in my ivory tower and you’re the hard-worked shop assistant. Like you said before, I’m the boss, you’re the minion. Maybe you don’t trust my kind.”

  Dear God. “Bill, you know your office is a cubicle behind Promotions and no ivory tower?”

  “And you have a staff lounge and your own coffee machine?” he replies slyly. “I have to bring my own mug in each morning. So… what I said describes neither of us, right?”

  I smile—slowly, widely.

  “Much better,” he says. “So much better.” His eyes are bright and he leans over me again. His lips start gently, like he’s still nervous of touching, but confidence grows fast. When his tongue flicks into my mouth, it’s like being claimed. Like coming home. He tastes of strength and plain-speaking, yet there’s a thrill of adventure there too. And… passion? His breathing is like a sibilant moan. So much passion lies underneath, I just know it, and it’s a delightful shock. My slacks are feeling too snug around the groin area.

  “No one ever thought I could be business-minded,” I say with a sigh. “I mean, I love sparkly, you know?” Bill coughs discreetly. “But I also appreciate the same mature, good-quality, special things that other people do. Like loyalty and efficiency, and hard work. I also love tools, household goods, books, good meals—and I’m in serious need of an updated laptop. My mother bought me a rainbow-colored, glitter-filled lava lamp last Christmas. My own mother! I think she’s reliving her girlish youth through me. I’m dreading what she may buy me this year. In fact, I’m dreading that whole holiday.”

  Bill strokes his hand soothingly down my back and draws me in again. He’s a great hugger. He surrounds me, at the same time as treating me like a precious, delicate eggshell.

  “What would you really like, Frankie?” he asks softly.

  “What do you mean?”

  “For Christmas. If you could have anything at all.”

  Wow. How adorable is he? I’m almost scared to believe he’s genuine. Deep breath, Frankie, and tell the truth. “I want what you said. I want to be taken seriously.”

  Bill doesn’t laugh. He nods. It’s a fine recovery if he expected me to say tickets to an ABBA revival concert. Or maybe… he really did want to know. I sigh rather theatrically. “I joke I’m Mr. Disturbance and Subversion, but it’s true, isn’t it? Why are we stuck in here in the first place, eh?” Bill is silent. “Exactly. My clumsy fault. So I tend to act the way people expect when they look at me. Sometimes it’s easier that way.”

  Bill’s shaking his head. With despair, I suspect.

  “I can’t believe it,” he says.

  Good God, what have I done now? Too clingy? Too forward? Too irritating? I take a discreet sniff under my right arm, in case it’s the warm air in here making me glow a little too much. Should I move away?

  Bill’s looking at me very oddly.

  Oh my God, it’s all been about me, hasn’t it? All I can hear is my own voice, prattling on. Finally—sadly—I understand what my mother means when she says I’m my own worst enemy, that I should keep my damn trap shut. I should play the corporate game, like Auntie Veronica tells me. My career at Maso
n’s may be over. I should never have presumed to advise the beloved son of our founder, the sacred successor to a firm that’s been in place for so many years. He may have chatted easily to me in this outrageous predicament, but he’ll soon revert to the smart, assertive, son-of-the-boss.

  I brace for censure.

  “I thought you’d be more resilient, Frankie,” he says, a bit pompously. “We need your kind of spunk at Mason’s.”

  Oh God. Bill’s done it again. He really should update his vocabulary!

  I start laughing.

  BILL

  I’VE SLIPPED way beyond stir-crazy.

  Maybe it’s that smudge of chocolate at the corner of his mouth. Or the sparkle in his eyes from too much schnapps. Or the laughing—that high, musical giggling!

  “Bill? My spunk’s available for you anytime.” He smirks.

  Okay, so maybe it’s that ridiculous sense of humor. But something makes me ache with longing for Frankie Faraday. And after he’s been rambling on about how people don’t take him seriously, I’m so sorely tempted to do just that.

  Take him at his word, that is. And take him.

  “So what is it you want for Christmas, Bill?” His voice is shy but a little mischievous.

  “Courage,” I say, without even thinking first. “To do what I really want.”

  Frankie doesn’t laugh at me. He nods. “So you’re the Cowardly Lion, and I’m the Scarecrow, needing my brain.”

  I start to laugh.

  “We really are friends of Dorothy this Christmas,” he says, chuckling with me.

  Oh, Frankie, you’re so cute. Time for me to practice some of that courage. I slide my hands farther down his body, and he relaxes into it with something like glee. I get the impression he likes being held close. Shit, of course I don’t want him to think I’m abusing my position as boss, as I was just thinking—

  “Oh yes,” he moans. “Yes, please!”

  There’s my answer.

  I dive in for another kiss, dragging him down to the floor. He comes with me, offering up no resistance, unlike the sacking, which barely stays in place beneath us. It was never made to resist two fully grown men making out, determined to be horizontal. My hip catches the edge of the metal shelving as I go, and Frankie’s elbow knocks a high stack of boxes that shakes ominously but luckily doesn’t fall. We could be buried under hundreds of dollars’ worth of broken stock, but I don’t care about any of that.

  Frankie’s mouth is soft and sweet on mine, and to be honest, I’d be happy to keep smooching all night long. All thoughts of rescue are lost for the moment. But when his hand slides over my fly and grips me, I let loose an eager grunt.

  “Is this okay?” he whispers into my ear.

  “Yes,” I whisper back. “Jesus, yes.” We both grin.

  He rolls me onto my back underneath him. After flipping the button of my slacks with ridiculous speed, he eases the elastic of my boxers down under my balls. It reminds me of the efficient and eager way he stripped those Santas. Yes. Oh, yes. The cool air tickles my pubes.

  He dips his head toward my lap. Oh. Fuck.

  Frankie’s mouth is on me before I can even speak, though I manage a groan when he licks me root to tip like a candy cane. Do I! He chuckles in return, which only serves to excite me even more. His voice vibrates up and down my dick like hummingbirds at play. I’m not usually that poetic about sex. Frankie seems to inspire me in a whole bunch of new ways.

  “Tasty,” he murmurs. I think that’s what he said. I can’t concentrate properly. That’s not a complaint, you understand.

  He licks around and over the top. His lips tighten, letting me slide through them, pop out, then sucking me quickly back in. Once, twice. Many times. He’s loving this as much as I am.

  Oh. Fuck. Again.

  “Frankie?” I’m perilously close to coming. His hand’s cupping my balls, so he must be able to feel them tightening up. “Slow up….”

  Another chuckle.

  I grip his hair. I want to fondle him, to get his clothes off, to return the favor. “Let me—”

  But he doesn’t. Let me, that is. Instead, he drags my hand off and straightens up. My cock slides from his mouth with an obscene slurp and my heart stutters. His fingers tighten around my wrist, and he pushes my arm above my head until my knuckles rest on the floor. Wow. Who would have thought I liked that kind of treatment? Not too aggressive but very firm.

  “What?” His voice is rough. He tilts his head as if challenging me to resist.

  “Nothing,” I murmur. “I’m all yours.” I’m making a habit of not complaining where Frankie Faraday is involved.

  Judging from that distinctly evil grin on his face, he likes that answer.

  He leans back down over me, balanced on his elbows, rubbing our dicks together. He’s still in those way-too-tight slacks, and I love the friction of the fabric against my exposed erection. Huh. Another of those alliterations. I’m not going to bother mentioning it to Frankie while he’s otherwise engaged. He slips down the zipper of his own slacks and wriggles against me, shuffling them down over his hips. At last!

  The pants were cool against my groin, but his long, gorgeous cock is all warm skin. Damp at the tip. I want it so badly I forget to breathe for a long moment.

  “You’re fabulous,” he sighs, running a hand over my chest. He slips it up under the hem of my T-shirt, his fingers trailing through the hair on my pecs and rib cage.

  Need flutters deep in my belly. I arch up against him.

  “Stay there. I’ve got this.” The growl is such a surprise from him I nearly come then and there. He shifts his weight against me. I know I could throw him off if I needed to. But… why the hell would I? He straddles either side of my thighs, his hands holding mine against the floor.

  Wow. Again. He’s so slender. But those wrists are pretty strong when needed. When I need him to be.

  I smile up at him. “Your curls are all sweaty.”

  “What?” His eyes widen and his eyebrows vanish up into the tousled fall of hair on his forehead. “Oh my God, does it look—?”

  “Great. It’s great.” I’m happy with his looks to the point of ecstasy. “It’s really hot.”

  His laugh is just a catch in his throat. He leans onto one arm and folds his free hand around both our cocks. Long, slim fingers. Of course they are.

  “This is a dream, right?” He sounds amazed, and the delight in his eyes shines brighter than the tree lights. “Me and you. Me and Bill Mason.”

  “Me and Frankie Faraday? Yeah. It’s as real as all hell,” I say bluntly. I suck in a breath as he strokes us together. “Or I should say heaven.”

  We both smile, then grimace. Our hips roll together, our cocks shifting and sliding inside his fist. I lift a hand from above my head and place it over his to join in the fun, and I cover him completely. He sighs very happily.

  And then we both come. Suddenly, shockingly, superbly. I gasp and instinctively grip tighter, my cum spilling through my fingers. Frankie’s gasp is softer, cuter, and his thighs tighten around me. He wriggles when he comes too, and it goes on for longer than mine. Gives me a chance to watch his face while he moans on top of me.

  Then slumps.

  We lie together for a few moments, panting, happily sated, though it’s really uncomfortable on the hard floor. My left foot has wedged between a packing case and a roll of what feels like old shop floor carpet. When Frankie rolls off to one side, I discover some kind of goddamn pout forming on my face and reach to tug him back. Don’t go yet! We fumble about on the floor some more, and I run an appreciative hand down his flank to where his pants are crumpled around his upper thighs, and—no, I can’t help myself—I chuckle. There’s a stray half-eaten Santa stuck to his left asscheek.

  “What? Oh my God!” He realizes what I’m looking at and reaches to brush it off.

  “No, let me.” I swipe the chocolate with my fingers. That gets most of it off his pale, smooth skin. His buttock flexes as I caress it. What a wick
ed, wonderful sight! Before he can protest, I roll him quickly onto his front and shimmy down to lick the chocolate off. Before Frankie, I’d never have used the word “shimmy.”

  Frankie laughs, startled. I just keep licking. Frankie’s skin is covered in very light hairs and a delicate sheen of sweat. I like the taste of skin. I love the taste of Frankie’s skin. My tongue teases the crease between his cheek and his upper thigh, and I run my hand over the dip at the base of his spine. The muscles in his buttocks clench.

  “Maybe…?” he whispers.

  “Yes, maybe.” I smile against his flesh, nuzzle my nose into his glutes. “But not tonight. Not here. It’s just that you’re….” I don’t miss the way he tenses. He seems to expect bad feedback all the time. What kind of man does he think I am?

  “You’re so tasty,” I whisper to him. “Delicious.”

  And Frankie relaxes.

  A few minutes later, we’re sitting back against the wall, side by side, comfortably silent. You might think it’d be weird, the aftermath of making out with someone on a storeroom floor. Not at all. Frankie has found another box of candy—pink-and-white candy canes this time—and he’s sucking on one like a postcoital cigarette. I’m munching on a packet of cinnamon cookies. Somewhere along the way, the hem of my pants dragged in spilled peppermint schnapps and is clinging around my ankle, sticky and clammy. But I’m still smiling.

  I clear my throat. “Are you… dating anyone?”

  Frankie looks at me sideways through his lashes like he’s some kind of ingénue. “Don’t you think it’s a bit late to ask that?”

  “Oh Jesus, Frankie—”

  He laughs happily, easily. “It’s okay. I’m young, free, and single. Well, I was free before I got trapped in this damn room.”

  “Good. I mean….” How come I’ve turned so shy now?

  “I know what you mean. I hope so, anyway.” The candy cane has painted his lips pinker. He grins, as if he knows what I’m thinking, reaches out and flicks a cookie crumb off my chin. “I’d love to go out with you, Mr. Mason.”