Chapter 2: Take a Knee
Javier’s fingers brushed against the hot, velvety skin. A jolt shot up his arm, locking his breath in his throat. Ethan’s grin widened, a predator’s smile in the humming fluorescent light.
“See? Not gonna bite. Feels good, right?” Ethan’s voice was a low, encouraging rumble. He kept his grip on Javier’s wrist, guiding his hand to wrap more firmly around the thick shaft. “Just like that. Get a good grip.”
The weight of it was shocking, a heavy, living heat in his palm. Javier’s own cock twitched painfully against the zipper of his work pants. The disinfectant smell of his mop bucket mingled with the scent of Ethan’s soap and something muskier, primal.
“I… I shouldn’t,” Javier muttered, but his fingers curled tighter of their own accord. He gave a tentative stroke, from root to tip, feeling the vein throbbing under his thumb.
“Shouldn’t, but you are.” Ethan let go of his wrist and leaned back against the cool metal lockers, a low groan escaping him. “Fuck, your hands are rough. Feels amazing.”
Javier’s movements grew less hesitant, more rhythmic. He watched, mesmerized, as his own calloused hand worked over the smooth, hard flesh. Pre-cum beaded at the slit, a clear, sticky pearl. Without thinking, Javier smeared it down the length with his thumb, making the glide smoother, wetter.
“Yeah, use that,” Ethan breathed, his head tilting back. His abs clenched. “Just like you’re polishing a fucking trophy. You want it, don’t you? This dick?”
Javier couldn’t lie. A shaky, “Yes,” was all he could manage.
“Then get on your knees and taste it.”
The command hung in the humid air. The disco beat from the gym speakers thumped distantly, a counter-rhythm to Javier’s pounding heart. His knees felt weak. This was the line, the one he’d never crossed. He looked from Ethan’s arrogant, expectant face down to the cock standing rigid and glistening in his fist.
He sank down.
The concrete was cold and gritty through his thin pants. The perspective from here was overwhelming. Ethan looked even bigger, more dominant. Javier inhaled the raw, salty scent of him, and his mouth watered.
“Open up,” Ethan said, not asking.
Javier did. He leaned forward, his tongue touching the blunt head tentatively. The taste was sharp, alien, and intensely masculine. He flinched but didn’t pull away.
“More. Take it.”
Ethan’s hand came down to cradle the back of Javier’s head, not forcing, but guiding. Javier opened wider, letting the fat head push past his lips. It filled his mouth, stretching it. He gagged slightly, tears springing to his eyes.
“Relax your throat, c’mon,” Ethan coached, his voice husky. “You can take it. Just breathe through your nose.”
Javier tried, focusing on the sensation of being full, used. He began to move, bobbing his head clumsily, his tongue pressing along the sensitive underside. Saliva dripped down his chin. The sounds were obscenely wet in the empty locker room.
“That’s it, you dirty fucking janitor,” Ethan grunted, his hips giving a small thrust. “Cleaning my cock with your mouth. Is that what you do on your breaks? Suck off the members?”
The degradation sent another sharp thrill through Javier. He moaned around the intrusion, the vibration making Ethan curse.
“Hands on my ass. Pull me in deeper.”
Javier obeyed, his hands sliding around to grip the hard, muscular curves of Ethan’s ass. He pulled, and Ethan pushed, and suddenly the cock slid deeper, hitting the back of his throat. Javier’s eyes watered profusely, but he held, learning the rhythm. In and out. The taste of skin and salt and pre-cum coated his tongue.
Ethan was fucking his face in earnest now, shallow, brutal thrusts. “You’re a natural, Javier. A fucking natural slut. Gonna make me cum.”
Javier felt his own erection straining, a desperate ache. He fumbled with his free hand, popping the button on his pants, shoving them down just enough to free himself. He started jerking his own cock in time with Ethan’s thrusts, his grip tight and frantic.
The pace increased. Ethan’s breathing became ragged, his fingers tightening in Javier’s hair. “Gonna fill your fucking mouth. You swallow it, you hear me? Every fucking drop.”
A guttural sound was Javier’s only answer. He was close, so close, his own strokes becoming punishing.
Ethan stiffened, a long, strained groan tearing from his chest. “Here it is. Take it!”
The first hot pulse hit the back of Javier’s throat. It was bitter, thicker than he expected. He swallowed reflexively, trying to keep up, but some of it escaped, dripping down his chin. The rhythm of the jets coincided with his own climax. His back arched as he came in thick, silent stripes across the dirty concrete floor, his body convulsing around the cock still pumping in his mouth.
For a long moment, the only sounds were their ragged breaths and the dripping shower head in the distant stall.
Slowly, Ethan softened and slipped from Javier’s lips. Javier knelt there, spent, panting, tasting the man on his tongue and smelling his own release on the air.
Ethan looked down at him, a complex mix of satisfaction and something like curiosity in his eyes. He ran a thumb through the mess on Javier’s chin, then wiped it on his own thigh.
“Not bad for a first time,” he said, his voice returning to its usual casual tone. He stepped over Javier’s kneeling form, picked up his towel, and began to dress as if nothing had happened.
Javier stayed on the floor, his pants around his thighs, the cold reality of the concrete seeping into his bones. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead. The mop bucket waited by the door, his unfinished job.
Ethan zipped his hoodie and slung his bag over his shoulder. He paused at the locker room door, glancing back.
“You clean up this mess, right?” he said, his gaze sweeping over Javier, the floor, the abandoned mop. “That’s your job.”
The door sighed shut behind him, leaving Javier alone in the silent, stained room. He slowly pulled his pants up, the fabric chafing his sensitive skin. He looked at the puddle on the floor, at the bucket of clean water. His shift wasn’t over. He still had to mop the showers.