Page 35 of Play Hard

help

Robert replied, omw, then walked toward the toilets as casually as possible.

Of course, the room wasn’t empty. Another customer stood at one of the urinals, swaying drunkenly and humming the melody of “The Wild Rover.”

So Robert unzipped his jeans to attempt a pish—no easy feat, as he was sporting a semi-erection from the mere thought of what Liam was doing in that cubicle behind him.

“And it’s no, nay, neverrrrrr...” The gent next to him slapped the black tile wall four times at the end of the chorus’s first line. “No, nay, never, no mooooore…”

Robert grimaced, glad the man had had the presence of mind not to clap his hands.

“…will I plaaaaay the wild roverrrr

No neverrrrr, no more.”

By the time the guy finished the third of his off-key, ever-crescendoing choruses, Robert’s excitement had flagged enough that he could relieve himself, which in turn restored him to a normal state.

Once the “singer” had departed, Robert went to Liam’s cubicle door. “What’s wrong?” he whispered through it.

“It won’t go in.”

“Did you use the lube?”

“Of course I used the fucking lube, ya rocket. Cannae get the angle right or something. Maybe my arms are too short.”

“I can’t do it for you. Someone could walk in.” He eyed the exit nervously. “This isn’t the sort of place where they understand these things.”

“I know.” It sounded like Liam was gritting his teeth. “Just…talk about football. Maybe that’ll relax me. But not about Warriors. Too personal.”

Robert drew a blank as he tried to remember today’s transfer news. He pulled out his phone, which still displayed his messaging app. “Okay. Duncan texted me this afternoon to say Sunderland are close to signing Lamine Koné from Lorient.”

“Who?”

“He’s an Ivorian center-back. Duncan’s over the moon about it, says John O’Shea’s been lost without a decent partner in the back line.”

“Ah. That’s interesting, but not too interesting. Go on.“

Robert continued, musing how Sunderland’s recent signings could help them avoid relegation. Liam didn’t give much of a toss about English football, so perhaps the subject would be just distracting enough to do the trick.

Soon there came a soft “Och” from within the cubicle, a sound he knew well. A good sound. A very good sound.

“Is it in?” he asked Liam, feeling turned on already.

Liam pulled in a long, deep breath through his nose, then let it out. “Oh aye. It’s in.” There was a rustle of plastic bag, then a quick zip, then the clink of a belt buckle. Finally the door opened.

“All right?” Robert asked.

“Better than all right.” Liam blinked rapidly, his pupils already a bit dilated. He brushed his lips over Robert’s. “Thanks for the assist.”

* * *

This was destinedto be the longest two hours of Liam’s career at Hannigan’s pub. But probably—definitely—also the best.

With every step he took, he could feel the plug rocking within him, brushing his prostate with wee teasing taps. The base was small enough to be comfortable but big enough to slide against his ever-more-sensitive perineum and provide ample security—which meant no emergency hospital trips to extract a lost toy.

“Are my eyes sparkling?” he asked Robert after he’d endured this sublime torture for forty minutes. “Feels like they’re sparkling.”

“No, but your face is red.”

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