Page 5 of Steam

Knuckles deep in Trent’s ass and he almost sounds concerned. Trent can’t help but chuckle.

“Consider it my lucky fucking day, probably,” Trent says. He can’t help himself. The hand on his hip goes tighter.

“That right?”

There’s something hard edging into his voice.

“Can’t say I’d mind it, Chester – fuck.”

The hand disappears from his hip and he can hear Chester fumbling one-handed with the lube and what might be a condom, still stroking into him. He’s pleased that the guard isn’t going to drag this out – not because he wants it to go by fast but because if the man denies him that cock for much longer, Trent knows he’ll be begging for it.

And no – he’s not above begging. It’s just nice to get what you want sometimes.

He hears the distinct sound of a condom package opening and then watches the wrapper as it falls on the desk in front of him.

The strong hand is abruptly back at Trent’s wrist and Chester wrenches his arm behind his back, forcing him harder over the desk. Trent lets out a little yelp in spite of himself. It hurts — and it’s exactly what he wanted.

“Tell me if you want to stop,” Chester says, quickly, sounding alarmed by Trent’s reaction.

“Oh, you wanna slow down and get me to sign a consent form and agree on some safewords?” Trent teases, his voice strange from the way his face is pressed against the desk. “Because I had the distinct impression you were actually gonna fuck me instead of — “

Chester pulls his arm harder and then he’s pressing his slicked cock in. It takes Trent’s goddamn breath away.

It’s a tight fit even with the prep, Chester sinking in slowly before he rocks his hips to stroke shallow into Trent. He moves experimentally, pressing deeper until he’s finally sheathed and Trent breathes out a sigh with the satisfaction that only being fucked full seems to bring him. It’s like every tense muscle in his body is letting go.

“God that’s good,” Chester says softly. He starts to move now, impossibly slow.

“Better than paperwork?” Trent asks, and fuck, he almost wants it to hurt. “C’mon.” He moves his hips, meeting Chester’s slow strokes and pressing him deeper. At Trent’s urging, Chester begins to move faster, making use of every inch at his disposal as he fucks into the body beneath his.

* * *

The little thiefis hot and tight around Chester and making the most incredible sounds that only get better every time Chester gets rougher. Knowing how hard the kid is getting off on the way Chester handles him adds a strange layer of pleasure — as if the entire situation weren’t screwed up enough. Letting a shoplifter talk him into this, fucking him over the shared desk where he goddamn works…

Fuck it,Chester thinks. I hope I get fired from this miserable job.

With that thought, he lets himself go. He doesn’t even stop stroking forward as he leans down to grab Trent’s other wrist, pulling it behind him and then locking both of the man’s wrists together at the small of his back with one big hand.

Trent tenses and strains against the new position, but Chester doesn’t bother asking if he likes it. The moans that go louder and ragged as he works his cock tell Chester all he needs to know.

Chester tangles his free hand in the back of Trent’s old t-shirt, pressing down in the middle of those narrow shoulders as he lays his full length into Trent. The office is filled with the obscene noise of it, with Trent’s hitching breaths. Chester’s pulse pounds as he reaches a steady rhythm. Everything falls away: the long shift, the thought of paperwork, the ever-buzzing industrial lights… The world seems to be balanced there in the feeling of the smaller body under him, the slick heat as he fucks into this cocky stranger.

He’s so absorbed in the sight of the skinny wrists crossed under his hand that he almost doesn’t notice when Trent starts slipping, his bare feet slowly losing ground on the crappy office carpet. Chester stops, releasing his wrists to steady him by the hips — humming when Trent keeps his wrists in place obediently.

“C’mon,” Trent says, straining for a glimpse over his shoulder, urging Chester to continue. Chester doesn’t move and he’s met with a frustrated whine. Instead, Chester reaches up experimentally, pushing his fingers through the kid’s messy hair and then tangling them, making a fist just tight enough to pull the hair firmly at the roots. Trent goes still and shudders as Chester leans over him, pressing the length of his body against his back and burying his cock as deep as Trent can take it.

“Turn over.”

He steps back then, releasing his hair and pulling out to let Trent move.

Trent changes position quickly, and when he turns, he’s grinning ear to ear. He leans forward, reaching towards Chester — but Chester pushes him until his back is against the desk, the little pile of contraband scattering further. Chester hitches him up by the thighs until his skinny legs are propped on Chester’s shoulders before pressing back in.

Trent moans but doesn’t stop grinning.

“Is something funny?” Chester asks, resuming the brutal pace, fucking into him and enjoying the new view: the band t-shirt raked halfway up Trent’s body, flushed cock bouncing against his own belly.

“Not at all,” Trent says, his voice hitching with every thrust. “I was just thinking: can I get your number afterwards, or do I gotta keep stealing shit for this to happen again?”

“Smartass.”

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