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dethoratsPrompt: Code Name
Word Count: 387
It was silly. Really silly and verging on ridiculous. And yet it wasn’t something he was ready to give up yet. His boyfriend, short and compact and, in his opinion, utterly adorable, grinned at him from across the crowded kitchen. Lunch rush was nearly over and they both had the –incredibly rare – evening off. In less than an hour they could be out of the sweltering heat that came with working around busy fryers and ovens and grills. A shower, because Sam would have bits of mashed potatoes and fry batter underneath his fingernails and he himself would reek of onions and raw meat, and then absolute freedom. They could do whatever they wanted: go out to dinner themselves, see a movie, take a walk, chill out in front of the television. But all he could think of, out of the seemingly endless possibilities, was sex.
He wanted to get laid. It had been a few days and jerking off hastily in the morning before he climbed out of bed or wanking in the bathroom after his shower just wasn’t going to cut it any longer. He needed a hand on his cock that wasn’t attached to his body, wanted lips and breath and sweat and spit and, oh, he HAD to hear that one gasp…And thinking such thoughts at work, when he still had half a screen of orders to get through, wasn’t going to make time go any faster. Determinedly he shoved aside thoughts and memories of Sam, shut up the mental debate raging inside him over whether he should go for it and – if he did – whether he wanted to do the fucking or be fucked. Salvation, of sorts, came with a returned order that screwed up his rhythm, and it wasn’t until he had finished re-stocking and had turned to eye the clock that he was reminded of the night’s possibilities.
Sam brushed by, coming around the long way from the freezer with a case of shrimp, and skimming along his food-stained hip. “Hey there, Grill Master.”
And just like that his problem was solved. “Almost finished up, Fry Boy?”
A sandy head nodded in response, an extra wiggle in Sam’s steps as he walked back to his station, and those last ten minutes REALLY took forever to go by.
Word Count: 387
It was silly. Really silly and verging on ridiculous. And yet it wasn’t something he was ready to give up yet. His boyfriend, short and compact and, in his opinion, utterly adorable, grinned at him from across the crowded kitchen. Lunch rush was nearly over and they both had the –incredibly rare – evening off. In less than an hour they could be out of the sweltering heat that came with working around busy fryers and ovens and grills. A shower, because Sam would have bits of mashed potatoes and fry batter underneath his fingernails and he himself would reek of onions and raw meat, and then absolute freedom. They could do whatever they wanted: go out to dinner themselves, see a movie, take a walk, chill out in front of the television. But all he could think of, out of the seemingly endless possibilities, was sex.
He wanted to get laid. It had been a few days and jerking off hastily in the morning before he climbed out of bed or wanking in the bathroom after his shower just wasn’t going to cut it any longer. He needed a hand on his cock that wasn’t attached to his body, wanted lips and breath and sweat and spit and, oh, he HAD to hear that one gasp…And thinking such thoughts at work, when he still had half a screen of orders to get through, wasn’t going to make time go any faster. Determinedly he shoved aside thoughts and memories of Sam, shut up the mental debate raging inside him over whether he should go for it and – if he did – whether he wanted to do the fucking or be fucked. Salvation, of sorts, came with a returned order that screwed up his rhythm, and it wasn’t until he had finished re-stocking and had turned to eye the clock that he was reminded of the night’s possibilities.
Sam brushed by, coming around the long way from the freezer with a case of shrimp, and skimming along his food-stained hip. “Hey there, Grill Master.”
And just like that his problem was solved. “Almost finished up, Fry Boy?”
A sandy head nodded in response, an extra wiggle in Sam’s steps as he walked back to his station, and those last ten minutes REALLY took forever to go by.
