Page 3 of Steam

The guy sits back down and regards Chester with a scandalized look.

“Oh, so it is tempting, then?” He spreads his knees a few degrees wider in a way that’s impossible to miss.

“That’s not what I meant,” Chester says quickly – and to his dismay, he realizes he’s blushing. Two more seconds and I’ll be flubbing my words. “What I mean is that you’ve created a mountain of paperwork for me that I wish I didn’t have to do before I go home tonight.”

Chester looks down at the ID as he talks. Trent Fisher. He checks the birthdate, and sure enough he’d turned 20 just 10 or 12 days ago.

The kid leans forward, propping his elbows on the desk.

“So, why don’t you just forget about this big misunderstanding. You get off and I go on my way.”

Chester half chokes.

“Get off shift, I mean,” Trent says in a way that clearly communicates that that is not at all what he had meant.

Chester doesn’t want to admit that this is getting to him — that some part of him wouldn’t mind abandoning the stupid paperwork and bending this mouthy jerk over the desk. He wouldn’t be flushing and near-flubbing if the idea wasn’t pushing his buttons in spite of himself.

Instead of rising to the kid’s bait, though, he clenches his jaw and looks down to transcribe the ID info to the first page of the first of many forms.

“Oh for Pete’s sake,” Chester says.

“That’s – uh… that’s adorable,” the kid says through a laugh. “You can curse. I’m not gonna tell.”

Chester rolls his eyes.

“What’s the problem?”

“I got the wrong form.”

Chester pushes up from his chair and crosses the small office. The guy intercepts him before he can leave, placing a hand in the center of Chester’s chest and standing close. The sudden proximity has Chester on edge and suddenly the insinuations are harder to resist. He’s broader than the shoplifter – Trent, he remembers – and his hands would look awfully good on those narrow hips.

“Why don’t you forget the paperwork?” he suggests, his hand twisting in the uniform shirt and dragging Chester a little closer. “Why not just take my offer?”

“Oh?” Chester says, steadying his breath. He’s close enough to count the kid’s freckles. “And what offer is that?”

“Yeah, right, who’s playing dumb now?” the kid says, sneering, his eyes dropping to Chester’s lips. “Since you’re not a real cop, I guess I can spell it out for you.”

Chester starts to sputter out something to stop him but Trent barrels forward, voice low and lips close to Chester’s ear.

“The offer is you closing that door, abandoning that paperwork, and fucking me until I’ve learned my lesson,” he says quickly.

Chester frowns, sucking a breath at the words.

“Although, I should warn you,” Trent says, slipping his free hand across the groin of Chester’s polyester uniform pants. “I’m a notoriously slow learner.”

* * *

Apparently the guardhas had enough because in one movement, he’s hipped the door closed, wrenched Trent’s arm behind his back, and pushed him until he’s bent over the desk. The bottle of wine tips and rolls, coming to a stop against Trent’s discarded jacket, and the books and lube go clattering. Trent draws a shaky breath.

He’s either in deep shit or about to have the night of his life.

The hand disappears from his arm and when Trent stands and turns, the guard is clicking the lock on the door. He’s frowning, but he doesn’t look like he’s about to beat the everloving shit out of someone — and when Trent’s eyes roam, he gets all the confirmation he needs. The guy is already half-tenting his pants.

“Good choice,” Trent says, closing the distance between them. He catches the guard’s mouth with a kiss — and maybe the guy hadn’t expected it because it takes a minute for him to respond. But then he does, pulling Trent roughly forward and kissing back ferociously. Trent doesn’t waste any time, yanking the man’s shirt where it had been carefully tucked into his pants and then fumbling with the belt. The other man breaks the kiss to breathe out a groan.

“What’s your name?” Trent asks, finally undoing the belt and moving on to the button and zipper.

“Because you care?” the man asks, dubious.

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