Disclaimer: I don’t own ‘em, wish
I did, just enjoy writing about ‘em for free etc
Pairings: 4x2
Category: Quatre POV, AU, PWP
Warnings: Yaoi, lemon
Spoilers: None
Notes: Christmas stocktake, a mall full of
shoppers, and two horny young men finding a different kind of retail therapy…
Blackster - enjoy!
Feedback: If you liked it, PLEASE let me know!
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!”
End