Tyler’s in a mood. Asher can tell from the moment he comes in. He’s late for work; Asher wants to talk to him about that but it’s the first time it’s ever happened, and Tyler’s energy is all weird. Not angry or upset—other than from tardiness, for which he apologizes—but vibrating and projecting intensity. Asher wonders if he should have Tyler on the floor.
He retreats to his office to see if he can swing a shift without him when Tyler lets himself in.
“Got any work for me, boss?” Tyler asks.
“Sure,” Asher says. “George and I drafted a new winter menu yesterday. Think you could call our vendors and price stuff so we can make final decisions? I’ll have to pull you off the floor. Is that okay?”
“Of course.” Tyler cocks his head. “This is my job too, right?”
“Yeah.” Asher examines him. Tyler’s shirt is wrinkled. His clothes are never wrinkled. “Is something up?”
“Nope,” Tyler says. He pops the “P” at the end and when he looks at Asher it’s almost challenging, too direct and raw.
That crackle, that tension that sometimes comes over them, cuts through the air. Tyler’s body is taut, held together too carefully. Asher turns away and reminds himself to breathe. It was always one thing to feel attraction when there was no danger that it would go anywhere.
One minute Tyler is sure it’s over with Malik, and the next Malik calls or texts and Tyler’s not sure if Malik wants to come back. Asher is not sure if Tyler would go back, but regardless, a door has opened between them. It’s dangerous, but tempting. Whenever this happens, Asher doesn’t see Tyler’s age or worries or his often confusing changeability. He sees a man whose skin looks inviting to touch, whose full lips are shaped like temptation and whose eyes burn bright when brought to life, who has a beautiful core self he only sees in intriguing glimpses.
There’s a moment of silence again. When he’s no longer sure he can bear the weight of the tension surrounding them Asher stands, ready to make an excuse to get out of this room. Tyler seems to have decided to do the same. There’s not room in here for them to do much more than shuffle in that awkward, “no, you go ahead,” dance. Tyler’s hand brushes his, and the touch punches the breath right out of Asher. Before he realizes he’s going to do it, Asher threads their fingers together and then crowds his body closer. Tyler inhales in a small gasp, then exhales with a shaky breath.
“Oh god, is this—” Asher starts, lips already so close to Tyler’s.
“Yes,” Tyler grips Asher’s waist, hard, and pulls him in. Asher’s hands are at the small of Tyler’s back, and when their lips meet Tyler sways into the touch; his body curves in a lovely arc and melts into his hands. Asher curls one palm behind Tyler’s neck to keep him there, tilts his head and then gets to work on those lovely lips: tiny tasting licks and nips and breathing in Tyler’s little whimpers. He crowds closer, then lifts him so that Tyler is on the counter with his knees hugging Asher’s waist. Tyler shifts and the kiss turns from a teasing, a little testing, to scorching.
Asher pulls away slowly. He swims up and out of the moment enough to realize that Tyler’s hands are inside his shirt. Tyler’s eyes open slowly; his long lashes flutter. The beautiful green irises are dark; his pupils are wide. He bites his lip. Asher cradles Tyler’s knees with his palms carefully and, when Tyler doesn’t stop him, runs them up the length of his thighs, feeling the flex of them as they’re still squeezed tight around his hips. He presses his thumbs along the inside seam of Tyler’s pants and thrills at the way Tyler’s breath hitches and his hands come up around Asher’s neck.
“Is this okay?” Asher asks. He stills his fingers and watches, fascinated, when Tyler squirms. This is so fast and out of control, but it’s delicious.
“Oh, my god,” Tyler says. His voice is breathy and high. “Please.”
Asher kisses below Tyler’s ear and runs his thumbs inside the juncture of Tyler’s thighs. Tyler spreads them a little more, then turns his face to give Asher access to his neck. Asher runs one finger, too lightly, up the length of Tyler’s cock. Tyler makes another one of those beautifully needy noises. They’re heady; they make Asher’s blood sing. He bites Tyler’s neck lightly and cups him, feels how big and hard Tyler is.
“Asher, please, oh fuck—”
It’s been so long, too long, since Asher’s touched someone, since he’s had the contact of someone’s skin and lips. And he’s wanted Tyler for much longer than he’s let himself admit. Drunk on this closeness, on being able to touch him, Asher’s fingers fumble with the button of Tyler’s pants. Tyler lets go of him long enough to try to help, and everything is a mess of fingers, and then Tyler leans back and lifts his hips enough for Asher to push his pants down. It’s all awkward angles, and Tyler isn’t as close as Asher wants, but that’s okay because he’s so beautiful. Asher pushes Tyler’s shirt up, touches the taut skin over his belly, grips Tyler’s cock and squeezes lightly.
“What do you like?” Tyler asks, biting his lip and obviously trying to keep still.
“Right now, I think that’s what I’m supposed to ask you.” Asher says with a light laugh. He holds his hand to Tyler’s mouth. “Lick,” he says. He keeps his eyes on Tyler’s, holds his gaze. Tyler shivers. When Asher presses one finger against Tyler’s beautiful lips, he opens his mouth and sucks lightly and moans. Asher doesn’t let go of his cock. He strokes it lightly and, when Tyler has gotten his fingers wet enough, he switches hands.
“Fast? Hard?” he prompts. His fingers close over the head of Tyler’s cock as he strokes it. His other thumb is on his balls. Tyler is shaking.
“I don’t—I, oh fuck—what?” Tyler is struggling to keep his eyes open, arching his back and tilting his pelvis. He tries to spread his legs farther but they are constricted by his pants.
“Keep your eyes on me,” Asher instructs. Tyler’s eyes open; its hypnotic. He’s mesmerizing, and the confidence of his own desire courses through his own body. Asher loves this. He’s good at this.
“I can’t,” Tyler whimpers. Asher wonders if he’s asking too much.
“Kiss me then,” Asher says quietly. Tyler hauls himself up and does. Asher works him over fast and hard. Tyler pants against his lips; his hands are around Asher’s neck. Asher can feel the tension in Tyler’s body as it works toward orgasm.
“Look down,” he says. Tyler does. “Does this feel good?” Tyler’s vulnerability and hesitations are sweet, unintentional seduction.
“Yes,” Tyler says helplessly.
“You want this? Do you want to come?”
“Please,” he sounds undone.
“It’s okay,” Asher whispers against Tyler’s temple. “I’ve got you.”
“Asher,” Tyler says, voice laced with disbelief and pleasure. “Oh god, Asher,” Tyler moans. His body grows tight; his forehead is against Asher’s and his dick pulses as he comes all over them both.
It takes Tyler a long time to pull himself together. Asher’s smooths his shirt down and rubs his back, even though his hand is a mess. Tyler keeps his face tucked into Asher’s neck and tries to calm his breathing. Tyler smells so good; his sweat has made a once familiar scent more concentrated.
“I—Asher…” Tyler finally looks into Asher’s eyes. They’re steady and focused. He puts his hand under Asher’s shirt. His skin is hot to the touch. “Let me,” Tyler whispers, hooking one finger under the waistband of Asher’s pants.
The ring of the back bell, loud and shocking, startles them both badly.
“That’s the produce,” Asher whispers. He closes his eyes and takes a breath, kisses between Tyler’s brows and backs away, then finds a rag to wipe his hand with.
“Wait—” Tyler pushes himself to stand.
Asher smiles. “We’ll pause.”
“Are you sure?” Tyler asks.
“Of course, don’t worry,” Asher says. He isn’t upset or frustrated. Anticipation is a lovely, intoxicating presence. He kisses Tyler, then leaves the office.
It is the produce, with their regular delivery man, Marcus, at the door. Asher fakes calm. It’s all he can do not to rush Marcus out of the door. He attends to small talk and wonders what’s going on with Tyler, who hasn’t left the office.
After what seems like hours, Marcus finally leaves. In the office Tyler is in Asher’s chair, staring off into space. His pants are done up but his shirt is off. Asher leans against the door and appreciates Tyler’s body; uncertainty edges Tyler’s smile. “I… I didn’t know what to do with my shirt,” he says and crosses his arms, one hand cupping his shoulder.
“You can borrow one of mine,” Asher says. He checks the clock. “You have some time before George gets in.”
“Is that—”
“Stop asking if it’s okay,” Asher says and laughs. He pulls Tyler out of the chair. His skin is soft and lovely, and his waist is small in Asher’s hands. He kisses Tyler slowly, giving him time to move away if he wants. Tyler doesn’t. He kisses Asher back with increasing heat and confidence and when Asher pulls away he delights in Tyler’s little noise of protest. “You’d better go,” he whispers.
“All right,” Tyler says. He makes no move to leave. His eyes are wide, jade bright and wondering.
“We’ll come back to this later,” Asher promises. “If that’s what you want.”
“Yeah,” Tyler says, breathlessly. “Yes, please.”