Page 5 of Glitter

Something had drawn my eye to him as he danced on the crowded club floor. And not just his appearance, as incomprehensibly beautiful as that was. And something had drawn his attention to me. And there was no way that would’ve been my own appearance. There’s absolutely nothing remarkable or attention-grabbing about my looks. Average in height, chubby cubs with average faces, dressed in boring, average jeans and a t-shirt were not lucky enough to grab the notice of earthly, sparkling angels unless there was some other sort of draw between them. An unspoken, unheard, and unseen call between souls, perhaps.

So, I had to agree with my angel’s groaned analysis—fucking him felt so, so good. Not that I was able to verbalize that agreement with anything more than a grunt.

Hey, what could I say, fucking somebody hard and fast was hard work. Lots of heaving breaths and racing heartbeats.

But despite how incandescently pleasurable fucking my angel was, the sound of the door to the stall next to ours banging shut briefly distracted me.

I couldn’t help but wonder if the activity was caused by the two guys who’d been in the stall when my angel and I had entered the bathroom, who’d been engaging in their own bit of hanky-panky but who had to have been done by now, or if it was somebody else now going into the stall. And was it only one person in there, or was it another pair of horny men, too eager to engage in some frisky activities to wait until they could go somewhere more private than the men’s bathroom of a gay club? If it was a new person or a couple of new people, were they wondering what was going on inside the stall my angel and I were in? They probably didn’t have to wonder—the sounds we were making were pretty self-explanatory. But what did he/they think about what we were doing in here? Were they disgusted? Intrigued? Aroused? Were they going to listen to our activities or would they do the polite thing and pretend nothing was going on?

Luckily, my hips were smarter than my brain, maintaining their motion and continuing to propel my dick in and out within the snug grip of his ass, even as my attention took a bit of a detour.

“I’m going to start jerking myself,” he stated, releasing a low moan a scant second after. “Hope you’re almost there too, boo. Our time’s probably running out before somebody tries to kick us out of this stall so they can take their turn in here.”

Being inside of him felt so good that I’d love to keep going and going and going. But he was probably accurate in his assessment that we’d tied up this bathroom stall for about as long as could be considered polite. And while the thought of fucking him for as long as he’d let me sounded fantastic, realistically I was quite close. I could feel the buildup of my approaching orgasm in the tightness of my balls and the pleasurable pressure low in my stomach.

“Yes. Almost,” I said, the words rough and a little heavy on the wheezing. This was the most aerobic of workouts I’d had in quite some time.

My knees felt kind of wobbly—from the physical exertion, from my impending orgasm, maybe a combination of both—so I shuffled my feet a bit farther apart to try to regain a better balance. It worked okay, but much, much better, the slight shift in position must’ve jostled the angle I was thrusting into my angel just enough…

“Fuck! Yes! That’s even more perfect, boo. Right there. There!”

His loudly gasped words were quickly followed by his channel tightly squeezing around my cock. And the two things together were enough to propel me over the edge right along with him.

I attempted to let him know that I was coming, but all that came out of my mouth was a singular garbled moan. “Fuuuck…”

The pulsing spasms of my cock as I shot into the condom felt so intense that I heard an accompanying thumping sound. It wasn’t until a voice from elsewhere in the bathroom said, “Yo, the soundtrack for the live show has been real entertaining, but try not to break anything. Don’t want the club to ban us from using the bathrooms for fucking,” that I realized the thumping noise wasn’t all inside my head. No, I’d apparently been banging my hand against the stall door in time to the thrumming pulses of my climax.

Mortification that someone had been listening to our physical intimacy had any sort of verbal response I could give effectively locked down. Naturally, my sparklingly confident sex partner was not so affected.

“Why thank you kind sir, we’re supremely glad that our activities were able to amuse you. If you’d like to leave some sort of tip to show your appreciation, on a sliding scale of just how long you were listening in for, feel free to set it on the counter and we’ll collect it on our way out. Otherwise, I’d suggest that you mind your own business, finish up with whatever it is you were doing in here, and kindly depart. Especially as you seem to have thoroughly embarrassed the friend I have in here with me and I, for one, am not amused by that.”

It seemed like more proof that there was some sort of connection between us that my angel could sense my emotions while we were back to front and he couldn’t even see my face. And whether or not he truly meant the words he said to some random stranger, I felt a rush of gratitude and warmth that he wasn’t mocking my chagrin.

Nonetheless, I mumbled a quiet “sorry” into the back of his head for letting an eavesdropper discomfit me and for allowing the job of defending our activities fall solely onto his shoulders.

When he held his left hand up with his index finger raised, at first, I thought he was shushing me. But then his head tipped ever so slightly to the side, the artfully rumpled coils of his hair gently tumbling with the movement, and I realized that he was listening for something.

A silent beat or two passed, then I heard a scuffing sound, a squeal of metal hinges, then a soft whoosh and thunk as the bathroom door was opened and then swung closed again.

Another moment passed, then apparently appeased that whoever else had been in the bathroom with us had left, my angel commented, “Naughty, nosy ninny.Hmmph. Whoever he is, I think he’s gone now.” The soft snort that seemed to be about the level of laughter he allowed himself to indulge in preceded his slyly voiced speculation. “Wonder if he did leave us a tip. If he did, I hope it was a lot. I certainly wouldn’t mind somebody else fronting the money for a drink or two at the bar.”

I wasn’t sure how to reply to that, as evidenced by the ineloquent “Uhhh…” that came out of my mouth.

He continued speaking as though I hadn’t said anything. Just as well, since I hadn’t, not really. “I definitely plan to go check. But in order to do that, I should definitely clean myself up first. I am delightfully dirty. Not that the spunk in my hand—and, oops, looks like a bit of it got away from me and landed on my stomach, too. Anyway, like I was saying, not that it’ll stay delightful for much longer. But first, before I can do that…”

A small wiggle of his ass made me realize that I still had my deflating, half-hard dick nestled inside of him.

I was about to apologize again, this time for blanking on the post-sex etiquette of withdrawing in a timely manner post-orgasm, but before I could, he stated, “I’m going to need you to unlodge your cock from my ass. I know it’s a fantastic ass…” My mouth lifted into a grin of agreement so quickly that my cheeks hurt. “And trust me, I’m adoring the way your fat cock is stretching me, boo,” he added. “But when the fun is done, clean becomes queen.”

That was…not a saying I’d ever heard before. It was cute, though. Or maybe it was cute just because of who’d said it.

And his sentiment was correct—the heated pleasure of our hookup was over and it was time for us to deal with the aftermath. I needed to take care of the condom, he would need to wipe the cum off his hand, and we both needed to right our clothing and vacate the bathroom stall before we did encounter an individual or two who was irate over how long my angel and I had hogged the space.

“Alright. Yeah, let me just…” Holding the base of the condom, I carefully eased my cock free, unable to stop a grunt of disappointment over losing the hot, tight clasp of his channel around me. “Okay. I’m… Uh. I’m out,” I stated. Needlessly, because it wasn’t as though he wouldn’t be able to feel that my dick was no longer inside of him.

I awkwardly held the floppy, cum-laden, and lube-slimy used condom in my hand, uncertain what to do with it. There wasn’t a trash can in the stall, I wasn’t going to clog the toilet by attempting to flush it, and the thought of discarding it on the floor… Yuck. No.

Resolved to having to hold it until we left the stall and I could dispose of it in one of the trashes by the sinks, I expressed my appreciation with a wordless murmur when my angel turned to the side, pulled off a long length of toilet paper from the spool, and handed me a large chunk of it, saying, “Here. Some for you, some for me.”

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