Disclaimer: I don’t own ‘em, wish I did, just enjoy writing about ‘em for free etc
Category: Quatre POV, AU, PWP
Warnings: Yaoi, lemon
Notes: Christmas stocktake, a mall full of shoppers, and two horny young men finding a different kind of retail therapy…
Blackster - enjoy!
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The ‘Pocky’ arc strikes again…
The door to the stockroom squeaks behind me, though I leave it a little ajar. I can hear the sounds of laughter back in the shop; a shriek of someone’s over-excitement; the rattle of baskets; the Christmas music over the speakers on the wall. Someone’s child is arguing fiercely about another of those blasted giggling Santa beanies, the ones that we’ve got on promotion this year. “You said, you said I could have one!” she wails. It’s been a really busy day, and we’re all getting tired; it’s been fun working here, through the holiday season, but no easy time! I peer into the dim room in front of me.
“Duo? You in here?”
The guy at the back of the room straightens up, groaning a little, though I don’t think he heard me come in. It’s at its darkest over there – the light from the store doesn’t reach into the corners and the main bulb has blown again. Another of the things I was meant to be fixing last week, before the Christmas rush! He’s just a tall, athletic shadow, his white tee shirt a splash of bright negative in the blackness, as he stretches his arms over his head, popping tired joints. His braid is tucked discreetly behind him; ever since that day he got it caught in the till, he’s cautious at work. He hitches at his pants – they keep slipping down at the side, I’ve noticed. He’s lost weight with all the hard work this season, the new store and all. Let alone the fact he’s not eating regularly.
I sidle past the piles of stock boxes and paperwork, dragging some cobwebs with me. Shredded packing floats up from the floor, attaching to my own pants; I brush it off. I bite back a curse as some stapled cardboard drags at my tee shirt; I’m enjoying watching Duo at work. He’s so engrossed in the stocktaking in that area that he still hasn’t heard me.
He’s so damned hot, you know? Even with a clipboard in his hand, and the most serious expression I ever see on his face; he’s like that, in all things concerning his family business. It’s one of the many things I admire about him – his desire for success; his capacity for hard work; and – especially today, here in this dark, musty room – his tight, tasty ass!
He yelps rather attractively when I touch said object of desire, and spins round to face me. “Quatre! Where the hell did you spring from? Aren’t you meant to be covering greetings cards -?”
I give him my own special greeting – two lips and tongue-full of it! He’s pinned back against the shelving, and I can’t resist pressing my body up against him. He’s slightly damp, like he’s been throwing the boxes around and got sweaty. It’s a stimulating smell – sweet and thick and very much Duo. I’d like to say it gets me aroused – but then I’ve been like that since we opened the damned store this morning!
He responds very eagerly; his tongue is thrusting back into my mouth, with the familiar yet exciting taste of mutual passion. When he pulls back a little, it’s with reluctance. “Mmm… Quatre… no, it’s good – but…I’ve got work to do…”
“So have I!” I grin, sliding a hand down between our crushed bodies, cupping at his groin. I hum with approval at what I find there; it’s an impressively fierce reaction. “You got this on your stock list, Duo? Cock – large. Quantity – one. Re-order level – not necessary…”
He laughs – but he’s wary, too. I’m close enough to see his face now, of course, and although there’s an answering gleam in his eye, his gaze flickers over my shoulder, back towards the door to the stockroom. There’s another sudden burst of shrieking, and the music gets turned up a little. “The door’s still open, Quatre – the shop’s busy. This isn’t going to look very respectable is it, if anyone catches us?” I lick at his neck – light, teasing strokes that I know he likes, and he shivers. I know he’s weakening; I know my tenacity. “Got my list of boxed candy to get through, Quat –“
“I’ll help you,” I murmur. I slip my hand up under his tee shirt and pinch at a nipple. I’m rather pleased to feel his whole body tense up against me. “Nipples – two. Skin flavoured.” I run my fingers along the lines of his ribs. He coughs, rather awkwardly. My fingers move on down, massaging the flesh above his waistband; the cloth of his pants dips, allowing me to nudge at the elastic of his boxers. I lean in again, nuzzling at his neck with my rather heated breath.
“I – can’t, Quatre – “ he gasps. “Don’t – I mean, anyone could come in! We’re really busy - the customers are dropping in on their way home from work; the beanies need re-stocking… I – don’t –“
“Don’t what?” I hiss. My mouth is suckling at the side of his lips; my tongue teasing around his ear lobe. “Don’t want? Don’t need? Check that list again, Duo. You’re on mine, I can tell you –“ He groans. His mouth opens again to suck on my probing tongue; I know he’s excited. If it’s anything like my own agitation, I’ll be worrying about being surrounded by all this flammable packaging!
It’s only a fleeting moment, but suddenly the slice of light from the shop blazes above our heads, and the mumbling, chatting voices rise in volume. Just as quickly, it all fades down again; someone had obviously been at the door, opened it, then closed it back again. “I’ve got the red one in here somewhere!” calls one of the assistants, her voice pitched back at someone in the main shop. “No? OK, let me show you the one on display, then –“
The voice has gone now, but Duo’s heart is hammering in his chest. “Hell, that was close! You’re one mad guy, right?” he laughs, breathlessly. “Let’s take this home tonight, perhaps I can get off earlier than expected –“
I’m ignoring him; the sudden thrill of fear has aroused me almost painfully. My hands tighten on his waist, and my kissing is rather aggressive. “Uh-huh, no way are you going to escape yet! I want to get off way earlier than seven tonight!”
“No!” he hisses at me, and tried to push me away. This looks like it’s turning into some kind of a fight, until I push him back against the shelving again and press the something that’s appeared in my hand against the loose sleeve of his tee shirt. There’s a loud, ker-chunk noise, and a look of shock on his face. “What was that? Quatre – you didn’t -!”
I tug at his other arm, holding it out to the other side of his body, his back still flat against the wall. Another ker-chunk. There’s a vicious looking tool in my hand, and I drop it down on to a nearby box with a short, soft laugh.
“You’re a lunatic!” he snorts. “You’ve stapled me to the stacking!” He looks to either side, shaking his head in sorry astonishment. His arms are slightly outstretched, and a line of rather sturdy looking staples pin the fabric of his tee shirt sleeves to the soft wood behind. “Do you think this’ll hold me if I choose to pull away?”
“Try it,” I shrug. “By all means. Explain to the guys out there why you’ve got ripped sleeves and a bulge in the front of your pants that may – or may not – be holding it’s own supply of candy. You’d do better just to relax and surrender to me…”
His eyes glitter at me. “You threatening me, Quatre? Do you think I’m actually excited by this inappropriate game?”
“I think you have your own stock of Pocky, that’s what I think,” I laugh, quietly. Keeping a hand on his quivering stomach, I sink to my knees in front of him. “And I’m going to get my fill!”
“Ridiculous…” moans Duo, as my fingers flip the button of his pants.
“So fucking unprofessional…” he complains, as I push the cloth down, and lift his swelling cock out of his boxers.
“Best damned cocksucker I ever knew!” he gasps, as I moisten my lips and slide my mouth down over the column of hot flesh. No point wasting too much time in anguished foreplay, eh? My tongue teases at his cock as I go. There’s a sticky coating of pre-cum at the top – a long, thick shaft of savoury delight all the way back down the stem. I don’t know what damned flavour this candy is, but I just commandeered the whole stock for my own, personal feast!
He wriggles above me, obviously a little wary of wrenching himself away from the staples. He curses a little – laughs likes he doesn’t want to, but can’t resist. He starts panting, rather heavily. I suck faster and harder, and although he’s far more silent in his excitement than he ever is at home, I can feel his thighs tensing as his climax races up to consume him.
And then I pull away, my mouth releasing him with a wet sucking noise.
“What the -?” he hisses.
My hearing is better than his. I can hear the trolley on its way back to the stockroom; I hear the creaking of the hinges of the door as it’s pushed open again, and a pile of empty boxes trundled in for eventual disposal. Duo yelps, but in a second, I’m back up on my feet and pressing up against his body, shielding him from the increased light yet again. Back here in the corner, we shouldn’t be seen too easily. Not if the boxes are piled high enough – not if he keeps still enough, instead of the damned wriggling all the time -!
There’s some raucous yodelling from the guy who brought in the boxes; his iPod’s in his ear again, though Duo’s told him time and again not to wear it at work. God knows what the music is, for his singing’s unrecognisable as anything this side of a caterwaul. Thank God, I think, as he turns and ambles back out of the room without a second glance our way!
The semi-darkness falls again, as the door’s pulled over. Duo’s whimpering softly. His exposed cock is pressed against my thigh. It’s throbbing its frustration for anyone who wants to know; I may bear the impression in my flesh for quite a while. The thought makes me smirk. “Hurts…!” he groans. “You better not be smirking there, at my expense! Ain’t gonna be forgiving you for this, Quatre, not this side of next Christmas!” I don’t answer - I’m busy at his arms instead, prising out the staples with a knife. Is that disappointment I see in his face? “OK,” he says, trying to steady his breathing again. “So this was all a bit of a laugh, and maybe some time when we feel like a role-play we can reprise this in a more attractive setting –“
His words snap off short as I tug him down from an unsteady footing. He stumbles; he drops to his knees and a couple of boxes rock dangerously at the top of the surrounding piles. “Huh-?”
I drop to the floor beside him – push him none too gently on to his back on the dusty boards. There’s the noise of popping – a soft, squeaking rush of something underneath our bodies. “Ouch!” hisses Duo, squirming as if there are a hundred little pebbles under his butt. “What’s that?” I’m kissing him again, my passion not the slightest abated. I stretch my arms either side of his shoulders, flex my fingers against the floor, and – pop! Pop! “Bubble wrap!” he groans in recognition. “Jeez, Quat, what’s wrong with a damned blanket on the ground?”
“Hush!” I grin. “Feels good – feels damned good –“ All of it does – his torso under my hands; the laughing protests on his lips; the bubbles under my knees, popping erratically, making me shake gently above him. I tug his pants down, they’re virtually falling off by now. The boxers get snagged on the button, and then they’re off too. I fumble with my own clothes, flipping the button of my pants, pushing the cloth hastily down my thighs – just enough to be able to release my own aching flesh, to let it spring free, and rub against his...
“You don’t mean to do it right here?” he moans. But there’s no way his complaint is genuine. Let’s face it, I wouldn’t be taking any notice, even if I thought it was! I’m staring down at the fantastic sight of my lover, tee shirt up round his armpits, and totally naked from the waist down. Rearing up from between his legs is the most delicious thing I’ve ever tasted this side of – well – Pocky, I guess! And underneath that is the promise of something hot and tight and wickedly inviting…
“Yes, most definitely here,” I sigh, wriggling on my knees between his outstretched limbs, and tugging his legs up around my waist. I’m as wet as I ever can be, and I hope it’s enough. I can’t say that I haven’t dreamed of this, time and again – but that doesn’t mean I’ve actually planned it. Then to my delight, he gives a short, deep grunt, and pulls my hips in tight between his straining thighs. I’m nudging at his entrance; the pucker of it is damp and straining for me; I think they might be able to hear my heart thumping out there in the shop, even over the full might of Phil Spector’s Christmas Hits at volume 10.
“Be damned quick about it!” he hisses. “I only left the shop to finish the candy stocktake and grab a coffee! I said I’d be half hour at the most!”
“Suits me!” I groan as my eager cock starts to ease its head into him. “I only came to pick up the last stock of beanies. I’ve got seven customers waiting at the till -!”
He stares at me with amazed horror – but I press on in, and his eyes roll up with the sensation. His thighs grip me – he pants loudly, and the softest mumble of provocative curses starts to tumble out of his mouth. I withdraw a little – I thrust back in. The skin of our lower bodies is sweaty and slippery; we’re cocooned in amongst the piles of stock, with barely enough room to stretch out our long limbs, rolling around with a strangely pleasurable pain as each little plastic bubble of the wrapping explodes underneath us.
It’s going to be fast. But it’s going to be damned good!
His right hand flails outwards as he desperately grabs for something to anchor himself to. A box falls to the floor with a tinkle of something broken, and he groans. “Novelty mugs,” he gasps. I start to move faster inside him – gripping his hips, thrusting deeply into him, jerking his body almost up on to my lap. He’s groaning now, keening my name. His other hand flies out, dislodging another box. This time, when it falls, the top breaks open, and a pile of fat, soft, beanie Santas spill out. One of them rolls up beside his head, and the force of it starts off the giggling mechanism. “Christ!” he hisses to me. “Stop the damned thing! Shut it up!”
I don’t know whether I’m laughing, or hiccupping, or what! I can hear the toy giggling; I can hear the bubble wrap spitting its final air pockets at me. I can hear Duo’s groans, and I can hear the sound of my own climax approaching as if Santa were announcing it from the rooftops himself! I cry out Duo’s name, clutching him tightly, and exploding everything I’ve got up into his body.
He comes, seconds after me, spilling out across our hugged bellies. He’s trying his best to be silent; but he’s grabbing at me, gasping, laughing, scolding, sucking my breath into his mouth, trying to prolong every sweet, painful, poignant moment of it -
And the door to the stockroom swings open again, accompanied by Phil Spector blaring out the Bells of St Marys, and the sound of a myriad of young voices wailing from tiredness and the fury of being refused their heart’s desire.
“So where the hell is he?” comes the complaint from the door. Both of us cower down behind the boxes, trying to hold our rasping breath – it’s his sister, bravely holding the fort for us while we cavort here in the darkness! “Trust Duo to take a break just as the schools get out! Quatre? Are you in here? Have you found those extra beanies yet? I’ve got sixty ten-year-olds baying for my blood out here! They all want a Santa who giggles, farts, blows his nose and can fit in a Christmas stocking! Who said today’s consumers were demanding?”
“Who indeed?” I snicker softly against the pulse throbbing at Duo’s neck. He slaps a hand over my mouth.
“I dunno,” she grumbles, shaking her head and pulling the door shut tight behind her. “I just feel that Christmas comes earlier and earlier every year!”