simplepuzzle (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
simplepuzzle) wrote2013-10-17 05:08 pm
simplepuzzle) wrote2013-10-17 05:08 pm
Entry tags:
For unbreachable
Chuck saunters into Pacific Roast with his backpack flung over his shoulder. There are perks to being the son of one of the co-owners of a corner coffee shop/cafe, and free drinks are one of them.
No free fresh pastries, unfortunately, though if it's still there by the second day it's fair game.
Which is awesome for Chuck's study-induced sweet tooth.
...and would be less awesome for his waistline if he wasn't as active as he was.
There's someone unfamiliar behind the counter, but that's not too surprising, Herc had said he and Pentecost were looking to hire some new blood since losing all three of the triplets to better jobs (not begrudging, nobody wants to barista forever). Chuck just drops his bag into his favorite armchair, staking his claim at the table before making his way to the counter and nodding at the stranger in greeting.
"Hey, mate, can you get me a flat white? Thanks." And, without waiting for a response, heads back to said staked table to unpack his books.
No free fresh pastries, unfortunately, though if it's still there by the second day it's fair game.
Which is awesome for Chuck's study-induced sweet tooth.
...and would be less awesome for his waistline if he wasn't as active as he was.
There's someone unfamiliar behind the counter, but that's not too surprising, Herc had said he and Pentecost were looking to hire some new blood since losing all three of the triplets to better jobs (not begrudging, nobody wants to barista forever). Chuck just drops his bag into his favorite armchair, staking his claim at the table before making his way to the counter and nodding at the stranger in greeting.
"Hey, mate, can you get me a flat white? Thanks." And, without waiting for a response, heads back to said staked table to unpack his books.
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"Jesus--yeah, Raleigh that's, fuck," he whines, shuddering under Raleigh's mouth.
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He's slow, a little methodical - thorough, too, like he wants to suck Chuck's brains out through his dick and leave him trembling and moaning for more.
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He's good. He's fine.
Don't stop.
God, though, Chuck watched his mouth in the shop but didn't really think he had that much talent. He's already whimpering a little at the slowness.
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not enough to stop. Not when those reactions are so goddamn priceless.
He keeps going, keeps sucking and licking and stroking.