The first bottle went up in a wild plume of foam, and they both stumbled back. Kester was whooping appreciation, and Phil let the laughter bubble out of him. By the time he'd trialled three different ways of suspending the mint cunningly in the cap of the bottle, they were both splashed with bubbles and giddy with laughter.
Then the last bottle, balanced a little too precariously on a flat slab, slipped a little and began to tip, still spewing out froth.
It got Phil in the face and, while he was still spluttering and flailing, it swung around to splash Kester. They both dived for it, and by the time it had sprayed out its last, they were coated in sticky brown foam.
"Look at you," Kester managed, grabbing Phil's shoulder for balance as he laughed.
"You're as bad," Phil protested and then winced. "Your shirt's going to stain– we should get it in the wash."
"Trying to get me naked?" Kester asked, waggling his eyebrows.
Phil felt the traitorous blush rise in his cheeks again, but he managed to drawl, "Well, I wouldn't object, but it's a genuine offer, if you want to shower and borrow a shirt."
Kester looked down at the splotches over his grey sweatshirt and grimaced. "Yeah, I wouldn't mind." He swung an arm around Phil and began to lead him back toward the house. "Man, why did I never do that when I was twelve?"
"The Internet hadn't yet told us it was possible," Phil said, leaning against him. He smelled good, the sticky sweetness of the drink merging with a lingering hint of sweat and wood smoke. "Have you been burning things?"
"My neighbours don't stop grilling outdoors until the snow starts. The smell gets into every—oh!"
Phil chuckled into the curve of Kester's neck, where he had just pressed a quick, nipping kiss. "It smells good on you."
Kester's breath caught again, and he shivered against Phil's side, his hand clenching Phil's hip. Oh, one of those places. Delighted, Phil let him make it to the back door and then turned to press him against the glass as he brushed slow teasing kisses across that spot, making Kester quiver and gasp. Plastered against him, Phil could feel the hard line of Kester's erection against his own thigh.
He'd forgotten how good it felt to tease someone like this, especially when Kester's fingers tangled in his belt loops to pull him closer, his back arching as he rubbed himself against Phil. His eyes had fallen closed, and his teeth were caught in his lip, so Phil slid his hand in between them to palm Kester's cock through his jeans, shaping the denim against that hard line until a groan broke out of him.
Phil leaned in and breathed, "I need you to take your clothes off."
Kester blinked at him, eyes hazy, and Phil grinned and opened the back door, circling them into the utility room. He tugged up the hem of Kester's sweatshirt, pulled it off him, and threw it into the washing machine. "Come on. You don't want that stain to set."
"You're so selfless," Kester murmured, wetting his lips, and stripped off the rest of his clothes in one fumbling rush, then emptied his pockets and kicked his shoes aside. He had a nipple ring, a small gleaming loop that shifted as his nipples immediately pebbled in the cold air. Phil couldn't look away from it, his mouth going dry, until he belatedly remembered to strip his own shirt off and toss it in as well. He turned to toss in a scoopful of laundry detergent, and Kester's hands slid around his hips, thumbing open his fly as he pressed against Phil's back.
"I wasn't going to go this fast with you," he breathed into Phil's ear and then sucked on the lobe, making Phil jerk against him.
"Third date," he managed to answer and turned around to meet Kester's mouth as the washing machine began to thud behind them. This kiss was mindless and hungry, their mouths slipping against each other as their tongues entwined.
"I have a bed," Phil offered as Kester shoved his jeans off and closed his hands around Phil's hips, jerking him closer. The sudden hot press of Kester's erection against his, through the thin cotton of their boxers, made him groan. "Oh yes. Oh fuck."
"Upstairs," Kester insisted. "Now, or it's going to be here."
They made it to the bedroom in a stumbling, hot-handed rush, leaving the last of their clothes tangled on the floor behind them. Kester threw himself back onto the bed and Phil crawled over him, marvelling at all that golden skin against his dark sheets. Kester looked so good, with his cheeks flushed and his chest heaving and his beautiful thick cock rising off his flat belly, the head flushed and swollen.
Phil kissed him on the mouth first, deep and slow. He slid down to that spot on the neck again, this time with a nip of teeth that made Kester let out a choked cry. Then he got his mouth over Kester's nipple, teasing the ring with his tongue.
Kester's hand closed around his cock, startling him, and he thrust into that tight hold, the touch sending fire up his spine. It almost killed him to pull away, but there was something he wanted more, and he slid down to press his face into the curve of Kester's thigh, breathing in the scent of musk and sex. Then, raising his head enough to meet Kester's eyes, he licked slowly up Kester's cock with the flat of his tongue.
"Oh God, Phil!" Kester was shaking under him, and Phil felt triumph rush through him. He'd forgotten how much he loved this.
He fastened his mouth over the head of Kester's cock, tasting him. He felt every quiver as he ran his tongue across the head, dipping down to brush the frenulum before he settled in to suck, closing his hand around the base of Kester's cock to jerk him off.
Every choked cry made his own cock throb, and he hummed a protest when Kester suddenly pulled back, sliding out from between Phil's lips with a wet plop.
"Going to come. Phil, please. I want…."
Phil kept his hand where it was, stretching out along the bed to kiss Kester's clumsy, yearning mouth. He traced soothing circles on Kester's balls as he finally remembered to say, "I like to be on the bottom. Is that okay?"
Kester's eyes were wild. "Yes, oh, yes. I've wanted you forever. Please, oh, keep touching me. I want—I…."
He was stunning, coming apart like that, and Phil felt the rush of it. Deliberately, he lowered his body onto Kester's, pressing their entire lengths together. He almost lost track himself then, overwhelmed by all that warm skin. He held it together enough to ask, "Fuck me?"
Kester's breath shuddered out, but he gasped, "Yes. Yes."
Phil lunged for the bedside table. He'd bought a box of condoms that morning, afraid he was jinxing himself, and now his fingers were clumsy just getting the plastic wrapper off the box. Kester, plastered up against his back, chuckled and grabbed the lube out of his hand. A moment later, his thumbs were pulling Phil's cheeks apart. When he blew gently on Phil's hole, Phil fell forward in shock. He caught himself on his hands and gasped again when Kester's finger slid down his crack, slick and cold.
"You okay there?" Kester murmured, pressing a kiss to his hip.
"Fuck me," Phil begged.
Kester groaned and his finger pressed in. Phil arched back, his whole body going taut with the desperate need to be filled.
Another finger, scissoring out to stretch him, and Kester's breath was coming fast. Phil sobbed as Kester suddenly found that spot inside him, thrills shooting through him. "Now, please, now. Oh, oh."
Kester's finger pulled out, and Phil heard the crinkle of foil. Then Kester was turning him around and shoving a pillow below his hips, gasping, "I need to see you. I need to see it's finally you."
"It's me," Phil said, reaching out to drag him near. "Please."
He felt the first nudge of Kester's cock, the broad head breaching him in one stretching moment of pleasure and pain. Then Kester was in him, the fleeting pain already fading into pleasure as he pressed slowly forward. As he bottomed out, Phil pushed up to meet his kiss.
It was only a sweet clumsy brush of lips against lips, but it shot through Phil like lightning. By the time their mouths parted, he was rocking up against Kester, his hips jerking involuntarily. Kester smiled at him, his whole face bright with joy, and pulled back slightly.
Kester pushed
in hard, and Phil let go of everything else but sensation, feeling each thrust rock him as he wrapped his legs around Kester's hips. Kester moved in him with a fierce, exultant force, every thrust that brushed against his prostate sending more thrills rushing through him. Phil knew he was keening out his pleasure, but he could barely hear his own voice above the thunder of his pulse as he clung to Kester, his hands sliding off his sweat-slick shoulders.
He knew when he was about to come, felt it gathering in him, and opened his eyes in time to see Kester staring down at him, his eyes wide with awe and his mouth open, before the orgasm boiled up through him in a blaze of white and gold.
He felt it when Kester stiffened and then slammed forward in a final jerk; felt the kisses scattered across his shoulder as Kester buried his face in his neck; the slow shudder as Kester pulled out and then came back to curl around him, but it was all through a haze, still floating on aftershocks. It wasn't until Kester breathed, a note of worry in his voice, "Hey," that he managed to even bring his arms up to lock around Kester's warm back.
"Hey," he answered with a slow sigh. "Wow."
Kester relaxed, pulling a corner of the quilt up half-heartedly to wipe them clean and then cuddling closer, his leg sliding between Phil's until they were completely entangled. "Yeah?"
"You can't have your clothes back," Phil told him, still dizzy. "I'm keeping them so you can never leave."
He got a snort of laughter for that, and Kester lifted his head to smile at him. "If I'd known you were in the market for a naked houseboy, I'd have applied years ago."
"Can't afford one," Phil replied, letting his fingers wander across Kester's back, learning the lines of him. "No wages for you."
"Slavery. Kinky. I like it."
Phil chuckled. "Not sure what I'd use a slave for. Except sex and making coffee."
"Doesn't sound too demanding." Kester cuddled down again, his head on Phil's chest. "Though you drink too much coffee. You might have to settle for just the sex."
"I like coffee," Phil grumbled and then relented. "I like you more."
He got thoroughly kissed for that, with Kester settling on top of him lazily, his hair falling in rough soft lines around their faces. It lacked the urgency of earlier, but it felt so good, their bodies moving easily against each other, and Phil's cock began to stir again.
"Fine," Kester murmured at last. "I'll let you keep the coffee, but the cola's still bad for you."
"I thought you were my slave," Phil protested, working his hand in between them to wrap around both their cocks. "Shouldn't I be giving the orders?"
"Order away," Kester almost purred. His cock was swelling against Phil's palm and he rubbed against Phil warmly. "Just don't stop doing that. Mmm."
Phil forgot everything else and set to work to see what new noises he could provoke.
HE tried to look discreet and professional on Monday morning, but he knew his body language was shouting "I got fucked!" It didn't help that Kester had a parking space, and they got out of his car just as Sharleen and Danielle walked in, peering at them gleefully over their paper coffee cups.
"Good thing we're both out," Kester said with an easy shrug, but he squeezed Phil's hand before he vanished into his basement.
Phil put up with the flurry of wolf whistles and applause he got when he walked into the office. He was in too good a mood to care. The only thing that wasn't perfect in his life right now was the cola thief and, with luck, he'd catch the villain before the end of the day.
He set the rigged bottle in the bottom of the fridge carefully and made sure he propped his door open so he'd hear the screams.
Unfortunately for Phil, midway through the morning somebody slammed the door to the stairwell beside the kitchen. The bang must have jolted the wall enough to knock over Phil's bottle, because thirty seconds later the fridge exploded.
Phil's afternoon featured an unpleasant meeting with HR, and he was still smarting when he closed his computer down at five. Luckily, Kester was waiting for him on the front steps, and he slid his arm around Phil's waist with a sympathetic smile.
"You're still standing."
"Only just," Phil said, but as he leaned close, he felt better. "Licking my wounds."
"Want me to kiss them better?" Kester offered and then glowered over Phil's shoulder at someone. "What do they think they're staring at?"
"We are out in public."
"Yeah, and my boyfriend's had a bad day." Then he hunched his shoulders, looking abashed. "I mean, that's probably a bit forward, but you know I—"
"I like it," Phil said, his heart swelling.
Kester kissed him quickly, just a light brush of lips. "Good, good. Um, just so you know, I'm probably going to do that right here every day until everyone gets over it."
"Fine by me," Phil said gravely. "I know you like your missions for social justice. Just promise me, no sit-ins in HR."
"Promise," Kester said. "Come home with me."
Phil grimaced. "I have to go and pick up another package for my sister. After that?"
"Any time. How many packages can she get?"
Phil shrugged. "Eight and half months, and mean to boot. Mine is not to reason why."
He did ask Lauren, though, as he found himself putting together her crib in exchange for crappy coffee and big-brother points.
"Free shit," she said from where she was settled on the sofa.
"Nice language, Mommy."
"Fuck you, Philip. I found all these mom-and-baby clubs to join online. Free advice and samples and competitions to enter. Look what I won!"
She pointed imperiously to the mantelpiece, and Phil went over to have a look. It looked like a mechanical eyeball on a stand.
"Um," he said. What did he know about baby stuff? "Looks, er, like a fun toy."
"It's a baby monitor, dumbass. You plug the camera in above the crib and get a live feed to your smartphone. And I've got three bags of nappies, socks, and lots of hats. Babies have to have hats now, did you know?"
"Nice," Phil said absently, eyeing the baby monitor. A cunning plan was forming. "Can I borrow this for a day or two?"
A LITTLE ashamed of himself, he didn't even tell Kester his new plan. He knew he should just let it go. It was only a drink, after all, and he should just forget it and enjoy all the good things life was giving him.
But stealing was wrong, and he wanted this over now. It was spoiling his happiness.
Sure enough his drink was gone at lunchtime, with a note that read, Sorry you got into trouble, gorgeous. :(
Phil managed to repress an evil laugh as he retreated to his office to review the video. He fast-forwarded through it, looking for anyone who opened the fridge.
What he discovered left him frozen in his seat with disbelief. His hands were shaking around his phone, so he put it down and replayed the clip again, hoping against hope it would change and offer some innocent explanation.
"Phil?" Lisa was standing in his doorway, looking worried. "Your phone's been ringing for five minutes."
"Right," Phil said and passed her his smartphone as he picked up the call. He dealt with the customer on autopilot, registering her gasp as she watched the video. When he put the phone down, she was staring at him in horror.
"Oh. My. God," she said.
Phil took his phone back and, for the tenth time, watched Kester's pixelated but unmistakable figure open the fridge, take out the cola, and pour it down the sink.
"My boyfriend's a pharmacist," Lisa blurted out. "I can get you laxatives if you want to spike his drink."
"No," Phil said. "Thanks, but…. No. I—" His throat closed up. He should have known it was all too good to be true.
Lisa hugged him, which was deeply inappropriate, but he couldn't bring himself to protest. He pulled away, thanked her, and got back to work. It wasn't until she'd gone that he realized the whole office would probably know by the end of the day.
Kester turned up at his door five minutes later. Phil ignored him when he said he
llo and when he spoke again, his voice suddenly unsure. He didn't go away, though, so without looking way from his screen, Phil said, "Go to hell."
"What?" Kester said, and Phil knew his lovely eyes must be wide with shock. He didn't look, though.
"Perhaps while you're there, you could retrieve all my missing drinks."
"Shit," Kester whispered. "Phil–"
"Go away."
Kester went, and Phil finally let himself drop his face into his hands and rub his fingers under his eyes. They were watering from staring at the screen, he told himself. It wasn't because Kester had just been having fun at his expense. It wasn't because his heart hurt in his chest, and his head pounded, and he could still feel the ache from where Kester had fucked him the night before. It wasn't that at all.
Kester e-mailed him twenty times that afternoon, and he deleted them all unread. He crept home early, rationalizing it with the memory of all the overtime he'd worked the week before. He ignored the way his phone was shaking its way across the kitchen table and set to work on sanding the floor in the spare room, a job he'd been putting off for months. When the doorbell rang, he looked out the window to see Kester pacing back and forth along the front walk and ducked down out of sight. It wasn't even that hard to block out the shrill of the doorbell. All he had to do was crawl into bed, pull a pillow over his head, and try not to smell the lingering scent of sex and sweat that clung to the sheets.
He managed to walk into the office with his head held high the next day, though he knew everyone was looking at him. Mid-morning, he heard raised voices and stood up to go and defuse the situation.
Philip Collyer vs the Cola Thief Page 3