The story below is a work of fiction, set in the format of reality. Any resemblances to real people, alive or in the hereafter, is entirely coincidental in nature. It is not meant to accurately reflect upon persons, of continents or islands, in countries, counties, cities, towns, villages, neighborhoods, streets, cul-de-sacs, nor governmental or non-governmental areas, which the story is staged. If a sexual scene involving male-to-male relationships offends you, then why are you here? Seriously, if guy-to-guy sex stuff makes you barf or is going to screw up your mind, you should not read this story. Additionally, if you are under 18 years of age, in most states and countries, you are not allowed to read this story, by law. Check with your local laws regarding such.
% Sexual safety matters. Remember guys, this is fiction. In real life, use protection.
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RancH HanDs 12 a continuation of `CoMPany payLoaD', WriTten by T. Chase McPhee
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"What's the holdup?" Nolan asks the camo-clothed security guard at the mess hall door.
Never having met Nolan before, the guard stiffly rebukes, "Shouldn't you be somewhere? We're in lock down, you know?"
Going back to the `old' Harrellsson way, if this dude was on his interview list, he would hire for the sheer sake of being handsome over any kind of experience he had. Instead of perturbed, Nolan smiles, saying, "Do you happen to know who I am?"
Rather than a friendly attitude, he gets, "It doesn't rightly matter. We're in lockdown and according to regulations, until that ban is lifted, no one should be roaming the hallways. Therefore, I'm going to insist you stay here with me until the all clear has been given."
`No problem!' Nolan was thinking, saying, "All right if I stand over here?"
It was, so Nolan stood over in a little cubby, near the water fountain. Out of the way, it gave him good access for checking out the guard, but also great vantage point for conversation, "What's your name?"
Seeing no harm in being a little friendly, the guard states, "David Goudrou. And you?"
Walking across the hall and over to David, he extends his hand, "Nolan Harrellsson."
He knew `the name' would invoke action, David replying as he took Nolan's hand, "I'm so sorry Mr. Harrellsson, but I..."
"I know. No hard feelings. You were doing your job, David and that's good to see."
"Thanks for being understanding, sir."
"No problem. Now can I have my hand back?"
Things began to ease up, bod's starting to filter through the hallway.
With the electronic doors to the dining hall sliding open, David says, "I guess it's over. I can't imagine what would take so long."
Apparently David had no clue it was part of a web, tangled around Nolan, him saying, "There was a little confrontation in my office and..."
Like he's known Nolan for centuries, "I hope you're all right, sir?"
Feeling comfortable with David, Nolan says, "Uh, `sir', that's for servicemen. Why don't you call me by my name?"
"Sure. No problem, Mr. Harrellsson."
"No, David, I meant, `Nolan'."
"Really?" David replies.
With guys passing by them, into the eatery, Nolan says, "Ready for some supper?"
"I wish, but I'm on duty until midnight," David informs him.
"Not every night?" Nolan keeps stirring up conversation.
"Pretty much so. Five nights on, two off. It's a living around here. Then again a need may arise where my boss wants me to take on additional shift time."
"Doesn't leave much for social activity," Nolan digs into David's personal life.
"I'm unattached. I spend most of my free time at the seedling hatchery. I'm crossing over from a life in the military, to environmental studies. If I want to attend the college here, I have to pull my shifts at night," David explains.
"Hmm," Nolan contemplates, "seems to me if you're crossing over to another field of study, you should be employed in that area, no?"
David replies, "Sounds logical, but according to George Thomas, that's not the way things work."
"George Thomas," Nolan recalls the name, the face, meeting him once at an orientation meeting, "is that who we're talking about?"
Feeling he could trust, David says, "Between you and me, I think George plays favorites."
If he played favorites the way Art Smith played up guys' lives around here, Nolan would not put it past George, "I see. Well," patting David on the shoulder, "never give up hope!"
"Thanks, sir. I mean, Nolan."
"Anytime you want to talk, David, give me a buzz?" Nolan leaves him with a smile.
"Thanks, but your buzz number is classified."
"It is, is it?" Nolan remembers him being told not to be frivolous in giving it out. However, his loins were also giving him the go ahead. "Well, don't tell anyone else it's," he mouths the numbers, `5-4-6'!
Met with a smile, David mouths back, Thanks!' Nolan wasn't the only one, all eyes', David watching until the head honcho fades into the crowd. He turns back to his door duty, noting his emergency guarding has terminated. Nudging shoulders with a dude he hasn't seen before, David courteously says, "Excuse me, sir."
Demont, with Marco Donzanti accompanying him to lunch, after the brush, "Well hello, soldier boy!"
No less than infatuated with David's looks, Demont asks, "And where are you hurrying off to?"
"No disrespect, sir, but I've got a job to do?" David replies.
More than once, Demont's eyes traveled David's physique from top to bottom. Denoting the manner of addressing him, Demont asks, "What are you into, David?"
David replies, "Into, sir?"
Throwing hint, Marco gives out inside information, "Same thing `I' can get into!"
Instantly, Demont asks, "You two know each other?"
David reveals, "Back when the Verts used to house three, instead of two room mates, Marco, myself and another guy lived together. Marco," David glances to Marco, "and myself, we used to play games with our room mate."
"Games?" Demont was hoping the same `games' he liked to play, glancing to Marco and then David.
But Demont's head switches back, giving Marco his full attention, as he says, "For hours, David and I acted as slaves to our room mate's total discretion."
Liking that game very much, Demont replies, "Then maybe you would like to join Marco and me for some fun tonight?"
Marco boasts, "Heath Hartshorn is going to be there, David!"
"Heath? Hot!" David says, adding, "Oh man, I wish I could take it like Heath does!" In reluctance, "But I'm on duty until midnight."
Not that Marco hadn't lost a sense of appetite, but `feeling' for David and what fun which could be had in the wee hours of the evening, he says, "Y'know, suddenly I don't feel so hungry?" he rubs his taut abs, sliding a hand down over his belt.
"What's up with that?" David asks.
Knowing, Demont says, "I think what Marco is suggesting, David, instead of spending your hour dinner in the officer's mess hall, you might consider an hour of a preview of things to come?"
If David wasn't feeling it, he should have been, but was, the sensation a man gets when coupling some hot fun with sex, "I suppose I could message the officer's mess hall and say I'm spending time in the seedlings lab?"
"Hold it a minute!" Demont says, whipping out his cell phone. He excluded himself from the presence of the twenty-one and twenty-three year olds, taking his business to the water fountain alcove.
"What do you know about Demont?" David asks Marco.
"Hot, handsome and I know he likes to play, can play soft or rough. Did you know he's shackin' up with Heath?"
"Lucky guy," David replies. Stealing a glance to Demont, "Can you image how hot it's going to be for Heath, getting fucked every night?"
Marco laughs, "Hey, there's one thing we don't know."
"Don't know what?"
"Maybe Demont's packin' a little sausage?"
Laughing it off, David replies, "Gotcha, but hey, with that build, he's got to have something substantial!"
Walking back to them, Demont is obviously having trouble with his phone, "Damn thing! Which one you guys knows how to turn this off?"
"I know," Marco swipes it out of Demont's hand, "lame they put the on-off button on the bottom and not the side."
"Great," Demont says, then carries right into his phone conversation, "You could also mention to George, David, that Mr. Harrellsson has transferred you to security and you will not be returning to perimeter duties."
Sarcastically, David says, "Oh, that should make George a real happy camper."
Lying a bit, because Nolan told Demont to tell David, if George gave him any flack, to see him about it, but Demont takes it upon himself, "If George gives you a hassle, tell him to see me," Demont giggles, "then hang up!"
"Oh damn! You don't know George. He'll buzz me right back!" David exclaims.
"Then you abort to plan B."
"Plan B?" David questions.
"Yes. You take your phone, place it in the middle of the floor, then clobber it with the heal of your foot!"
Laughing heartier than before, Marco couldn't help but join in. David, more on the serious side, at first gasped at the idea, then gave in to their stab at humor.
Walking into the mess hall, Nolan had an idea pop into his head and instead of waiting till he got back to his office, he took the matter of David Goudrou into his own hands, phoning Demont. After cutting off that conversation, he searched heads, atop shoulders, not between legs, looking for Hewy. Figuring he must be busy in the kitchen, he resigned to looking for a place to sit, waiting out the lines which had formed at the banquet tables. Smiling, upon seeing Hector Izquierdo all by himself, Nolan zeroes in on his table.
"Well, where have you been Hector? I haven't seen you since setting foot in this place?"
"Oh hi, Nolan," Hector stopped long enough to allow the entrails of his spaghetti to zip into his mouth! Wiping hands quicker than the eye, he offers a handshake.
Nolan returned it, as he made himself comfortable in a chair.
"No appetite?" Hector asks.
"Of course, but I'd be losing more weight than I care to, fighting off the crowd. So, what have you been up to?" Nolan asks, pocketing an opened napkin in his crotch.
Hector proceeds, "I didn't think I'd like it, but found I like it, what they gave me to do in the office."
Wishful thinking, Nolan asks, "Office manager to a dozen hot secretaries?"
"Nope. Matter of fact we don't have a supervisor, only a guy who comes in once in a while to audit our paperwork."
"Just what exactly is it you're doing, Hector?"
"Didn't they make you the head honcho?" Hector asks.
"I've been in the job `one day'. Give me a break?"
"Si. Okay, so when I report, they team me up with Gilberto..."
Nolan cuts him off, "Hot?"
Pompous, synonymous with Hector's personality, he states, "Of course! You don't think I would work alongside some pansy?"
Nolan laughs it off, just the way Hector said it. "And?"
He was hoping for some more `hot' material, but instead Hector turns to the serious nature of his position, "Gilberto shows me everything there is to know about being a seed cataloguer. I feel very steady about the job." Then Nolan gets a bit of dirt, "I think Gilberto thinks I'm hot!"
"Hmm, do I detect something here, Hector?"
As he says it, Hector stands. Looking up, Nolan sets eyes on a very hot Latino.
"Nolan, this Gilberto." Cluing Gilberto in, "This is our boss above all bosses."
He looked very macho from where Nolan sat. Even when he got up from his chair, Gilberto towered a couple of inches above his own height. Shaking his hand, Nolan checked out the light brown, almost hazel eyes, which had a piercing effect. Catching him quite by surprise was the friendly attitude and the brightest smile.
In a slightly Spanish accent, Gilberto firmly shakes Nolan's hand, "Mr. Harrellsson, it is good to finally meet you, sir."
`Polite' was Nolan's second reaction. His first was shoulder-to-shoulder shape of Gilberto's swimmers-build. "Likewise," Nolan replies. It slips out, about the handshake, "Firm grip."
Gilberto wasn't sure if he could joke with Nolan, so deviates from an evil thought, "Thanks. I workout at the gym regularly."
Hector butts in with an, "Ahem! Gilberto says he's going to show me some routines at the gym, which will help firm up my physique."
Nolan, having known Hector from Harrellsson Building days, comments, "Hector could use some firming up. Have you seen his big gut?"
Gilberto couldn't contain himself this time, "Matter of fact I `have' seen Hector's big gut!"
Hector differs, in a sweet way, "I don't have that big a gut!"
Prying, Nolan asks, "Oh, so you have seen his gut?"
Again, that pompous attitude shows through, Hector saying, "Oh Nolan, honey, would you stop beating around the bush. We stripped each other in the seedling closet this morning and made love. Gilberto has like more seed than a man can digest and..."
"Um, Hector?"
"What?" Hector questions his seed-provider.
Gilberto proceeds, "Do you think you can save `some' secrets for us?"
Seeing a possible little spat forming, Nolan says, "Uh, I think the food line is ready for me!"
Though as Nolan walked away from the two chatterers, he wondered. If what Hector talked about, a flood of seed, then the wave of cum must've flowed from a hefty faucet, draining from a hefty set of balls. The other `secrets' he left for his imagination.
Walking down the line, Nolan smiled. Then, he felt a hand enclose around his wrist, somebody saying, "Cut in here."
Nolan recognizes not only the voice, but the person, "Serkan?"
"I talk to you."
"Hey, it's nice of you, but I don't the think the twenty other guys on line are going to like that I..."
"They okay with it. Trust me," the twenty-eight year old replies.
"Alright. So what's up that is so important?"
"I meet Hewy."
"You did?"
"At Atlantis. I go back to get shirt you wear and then they lock us in," Serkan replies in a choppy vocal manner.
"I see. So you two got to chat?" Nolan supposed, taking baby steps.
"More."
"More?" Nolan responds to Serkan, shedding some new light.
"He and James have lot to drink. But meantime... it all my doing. I be first to say I lead security man into cabana."
"Wait a minute. You've got me mixed up here."
"I know you don't follow. Follow this," Serkan wraps it up, telling the tale of him finding Trystan standing over Hewy and James, their elbows in the sand. Then, he broke off and told about how much he was getting turned on by Trystan's packed speedo. "One thing lead to next and we in cabana. Then, before Trystan can get door latch-up, Hewy stops him. Next thing we two know, Hewy and James come in."
Intent on hearing the whole story, Nolan steps out of line, dragging Serkan with him, retiring to a spot out of ear's reach.
"I'm sure this is all getting to something," Nolan says, out of curiosity, plus his stomach growling with hunger.
"I tell you it is. Hewy was drunk. When he leaves he is too drunk to walk. When lock up over, he say he has to get to work at the kitchen. I get him coffee. I put arm over my shoulder and we walk circles. I make him drink more coffee. We walk. Soon we can walk here. He say he has headache, but he okay. What you think?"
Knowing there was a gap left unsaid in Serkan's story, he looks upon the positive and placing a hand on the Turk's shoulder, "I think it's good Hewy has made a friend who looks out for him. Now, do you think we can back in line?"
Watching Serkan in action, it seemed the man was revered by just anyone. With courteous manner, the two were accepted back into line and not near the end by a longshot. Nolan would find out the rest of the story later, the James-variable left out, but for now had decided right there, whom was filling the shoes of his new valet!
%
They slowly walked the corridor to the dining area, from the office suites, talking, Dillon saying, "Yeah, I can get into it, but I don't like to do it all the time. How has it been for you?"
Almost since they met, Dillon Li and David Schlesinger have talked up the subject of bdsm, which Dillon had brought up as a result of the reason behind meeting David in the first place, a spinoff of Art Smith's desire for some kinky weekend play.
David replies, "The whole story would take hours to tell, but the quick version is, abused in my childhood, getting involved with a leather crowd off campus, then just `liking it' and seeking out others who had an interest in it. Simple, huh?"
"Have you ever had a love interest?"
Mostly serious, David Schlesinger did have a kind, gentle, even humorous side, "No. Are you volunteering?"
"Not if you don't like Asians!"
"How did you know... I mean... never mind!" David makes a comeback with, "It was a personal assumption, but I think I've already disproved the theory?"
Caving in to the kinky side of things, Dillon says as he manhandles his own hidden `assets', "I don't know about your theories, David, but I doubt you'll disapprove of this?"
Almost to the dining hall, David replies, "You're making me lick my lips and I swear it's not the whiff off the food they're serving up?"
Looking around, like anyone would do when they are about to do something sneaky, Dillon tags David's arm and ducks into the nearest jon.
"Huh? What's up?" David replies, yet is not in the dark over why a pair of guys beat it into a jon.
"Me?" Dillon says, Li pulling the lining of his gym shorts down, parking it under two boulders.
David exclaims, "Oh man! You're awesome!"
"Yeah? What about this?" Dillon whips his tee shirt off overhead.
"Nice. Really nice," David says of the twenty-seven year old's rounded pecs, patch of black hair in the middle, circles of the same stuff around each nip, strip down the middle and thin trail running to the treasure he's already aware of.
With authority, which gets David pulsing, Dillon directs, "Now it's my turn to see what I've got to work with?"
"Oh! You want me to take my clothes off!" Not waiting for an answer, David, still in habitat working clothes, begins to unbutton at the bottom of his shirt.
"No. Start at the top!" Dillon says, standing there with arms across his middle, like an army sergeant.
"The top," David repeats, refastening the bottom button of his shirt he just unbuttoned and traveling up the shirt, glances at Dillon. Because the mode in which Dillon was conducting himself, David remarks, "Yes, sir. Right away sir," going for the top button.
Catching David's drift, falling into the figure of authority, Dillon states, "And make it sexy or else I'll have you button up and start all over again."
"Yes, sir!"
Though, Dillon was doubting whether he would actually make David button up and repeat the act, because he was feeling too horny.
It was entertaining, if not sexy, watching David do some foot moves, trying to do three things at once, shuffle his feet, work his hands at the buttons and trying his best to sing `Party Rock Anthem', nonsensical lyrics to the instrumental part, "Dit-do-dit-dooo-dit-do--dit-do-dit-dooo-dit-do--"
"You've got some good moves there, David."
Stopping dead in his tracks, with one button to go, "Ya think?"
"For a thirty year old!"
David smiles, saying, "Pardon me, sir, but I ain't quite there yet?"
"I'll get that," Dillon says, when David's hands remain too long in limbo.
"Fine. I mean, okay sir!"
Undoing the last button of David's shirt, Dillon peels it back over David's shoulders, with the order, "At ease soldier."
Smiling, David reverts to a more easy going style, "How much at ease?"
Dillon replies, "Let your balls be your guide!"
Sure, David's balls were churning with ecstasy, but it's those big globes and hardened cock which drove him on and going to his knees, they just outright buckled.
It was strange. This afternoon, Dillon set out on a course with Art Smith to engage a man in some weekend play and instead of finding a bat around and fuck the living daylights out of, he found something more.
Having his mouth open, ready to engulf, Dillon poses, "Y'know David, you really have some good dance moves?"
"You think so?" David looks up Dillon treasure trail to his eyes.
Dillon shakes his head.
David's expression goes from happy to horrible, "What? What'd I say? Go ahead. Punish me!"
Casually, Dillon says of the last item, "Punish you? Maybe later. You didn't do anything wrong David. I'm thinking maybe I shouldn't interrupt you, because you want something so bad?"
"It's your call," David surrenders thought.
"Okay. What I really want is to know what you want?"
In slow motion, David thinks it out, "You want... to know... what I want?"
He resembled the statue of `the Thinker', on one knee, elbow on the other.
"Right. You got it. At this very moment, what do you want David? Are you following my directive, being on your knees, feeling I'm making you suck my cock or do you really want to?"
"I really want to!" David snaps back with, delayed, "Um, because you want me to? I mean, I could wait till later if you don't want to get sucked now?"
Why wouldn't Dillon want to? His tanks were full, his gas hose all primed and ready to pass on its high octane, "I could go for a hot blowjob, but I could go for a lot more?"
He found David could have a sense of humor, "You want some more `Party Rock Anthem', while I strip off my pants?" he stands and goes for his belt buckle.
"Nah. Why don't we get dressed, go eat, go back to your place, then later on we can go to Atlantis and you can show me some of those `Party Rock' moves. We'll spend up all of our debit tags getting drunk and then figure out what happens after that?"
David replies, "I don't know where I got it, that I disliked Asians!"
%
Terry's first day at class, he hit it off quite well with Dr. Blecic, especially when he heard of him allowing Denis to be late to class and not put him on report to Art Smith.
"It's really nice and all for you to stay and give me a trim?" Gregg thanks Terry for giving him an expert hair cut.
"My pleasure. You've got beautiful hair Gregg, you know?" Terry cheerfully replies.
Because Terry didn't want to get hair on his shirt, he had whisked it off.
His twenty-eight year old professor remarks, without touching Terry's cub-like features, "I'm not the only one with beautiful hair?"
Terry smiles back, saying, as he brushes off the light brown hair covering his pecs and beefy stomach, "It's not all mine. Some of yours mixed in here too?" He stops, hand still on his tummy and as a flirt, "Am I getting it all?"
"No," Gregg shakes his head back and forth, "you will probably be wearing it until you get a shower."
Feeling a buzz of horniness, Terry leads him on, "Well, could you at least try to help?"
When Gregg sat for his haircut, he had stripped his shirt as well, but wore an old piece of bed-sheet about his bod, tucked in at the back of the neck.
Following Terry's pitch, Gregg stands as he replies, "I suppose it's the least I could do, to pay you back for this chic haircut you are bestowing upon me?"
With purpose in mind, as Gregg stands, a hand on the inside of the sheet gives a pull. Fully on his feet, the sheet disengages at the back of the neck and falls down his bod, to the floor.
"Oh, look what happened."
"My fault!" Terry claims, bending over and picking up the sheet. On the rebound he notices the bulge in his professor's pants. Knowing Gregg knew, he straightens up, asking, "What's that about?"
"You," Gregg replies, going at the invited, brushing Terry off.
First it was one shoulder, then both shoulders, Gregg hands gently smoothing any hair away. "Oh my, I really did need a haircut, didn't I?"
Terry chances, "By the way, Professor Blecic, how's your pubes? Need a trimming?"
With a look of question, Gregg replies, "Y'know? I really don't know. Maybe you should have a look?"
Moving his shoulders about, Terry says, "I really feel itchy."
"My hair," Gregg deduces. "I have a garden cottage not far from here, if you care to take a shower?"
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Meanwhile, Denis Crew had chosen to fall in with the band, heading to the mess hall for dinner. All along the way, Ontario apologized like crazy, saying, "I didn't mean to pressure you into anything, Denis?"
Flick, on Denis' right side, `wipes' Ontario's arm from Denis' left shoulder, "Shut up Ontario. Face it. You know you're a whore!"
"Fuck you Flick!" Getting even, Ontario says, "At least I don't go around begging guys to drink their recycled beer!"
Being adult about it, Denis didn't flinch even a facial response, yet he knew Ontario was talking about Flick drinking down some guy's piss.
The usually silent member of `The Cowbulls', Patrick Oaken, has already guessed Flick's hitting on Denis might be paying off, "Mind your manners and shut the fuck up, Ontario," said like a bad actor reading a script!
Making a swift about face in the hallway, Ontario confronts him, "Why don't you make me Oak?!"
Seanie jokes, "Why don't you shove your violin bow up Ontario's ass, Oak!"
"Nah," Jeremie replies, "he might like it!"
They knew Ontario wasn't serious, but Oak, being sensitive, could seem like it felt as such. Throwing an arm around the sensitive fiddle player, Devin Provost says, "I'll save ya Oak!"
Shooing the whole situation away with a sway of his wrist, Ontario shucks the whole problem, running ahead of the group and like nothing's ever happened, yells, "I'll snag us a table!"
Denis says to Flick, "For a minute there I thought Ontario was going to punch Oak's lights out."
"Nah," Flick replies, then stops walking, turns around, asking, "You okay Oak?"
"I'm fine."
Turning back and walking, Flick had a smile on his face. Provo was still `attached' to Oak.
%
Trailing Demont down the hallway, all he could do is smile, hearing the back and forth conversation between Marco and David. One key tidbit of their conversation, after Demont had mentioned Art Smith on his way out, was a name, that a `Quentin Hillman'.
Even though it was thought to be `in the bag', Demont assuming the role of head of security, he hears David mention to Marco, "Yeah, if anybody deserves the job, it's Quentin."
"You would know," Marco replies, "you work with him... see him all the time."
Upon mentioning, `seeing him', David says, "Yeah. What a hunk. But not only the looks, you can tell the guy's got it all upstairs!"
Slowing his pace, Demont questions, "This Quentin. You know him personally?" he asks David.
"Uh, yeah," David says, an inflection to his voice, like he's holding back, "we've spoken." What got David off the hook, is looking up and saying, "Un, like there he is now!"
Reaching a `T' in the hallway, them dead-ending it, Quentin was sweeping past.
Catching only a blur of Quentin Hillman, Demont says, "Sure would like to meet him!"
Knowing it a hint, David takes off running and from where Demont and Marco stand, it can be heard, David's voice yelling down the unseen corridor, "Hey Quentin?!" His thumb pulsing over his shoulder, "I got a guy I want you to meet!"
From distance, coupled with fast pacing, Demont totally underestimated Quentin's physical makeup. Walking to him, David at his side, he could see Quentin not much shorter than his 6'4 build, maybe by an inch. However, Demont senses Quentin really filling out the camo uniform, rather nicely!
Quentin walks right up to Demont and in a deep voice, says, "David tells me you're Demont?"
Taking the offered handshake, Demont says, "I'm him," with glee.
"I've heard so much about you," Quentin tells him.
Their conversation carried on, like the population of the hallway were two and not four.
Still a hand coupled to Demont, the two stare at each other, Demont taking the initiative to press his hand to Quentin's shirt, rub the back of his hand against it, "I can see you like to go to the gym, too?"
In a gruff response, Quentin replies, "Woof!" followed by, "Anytime you're in the mood for a workout!"
"How about now?"
In Quentin's other hand was a sheet of paper, him exhibiting it, "I was on my way to hand this in, then I was going to rustle up some grub at the mess hall. You're all finished?" he guessed, because the trio was headed away form the dining hall and not towards it?
That's when David steps in, "We were going to skip and have some fun at Demont's place."
Reflecting on the part David left out of his part about Quentin, Quentin dwells on, "What kind of fun?"
Grinning, Demont says, "What kind of fun did you have in mind?"
David levels, "Demont likes to have the same kind of fun you and I like to have on occasion, Quentin."
"Is that so?" Demont replies. "Then maybe after you hand in your paper, you'll want to head over to the security shed?"
Then, realizing the subject matter of the paper in hand, "You're not gonna like this, Demont."
"Why not?" Demont keys his attention on the paper.
Holding it up by the header at the top, Quentin smiles, saying, "Read!"
His hand was no longer engaged, but rubbing the back of his hand once again, to Quentin's stomach, Demont allows it to sag over the beltline, "Oh really?" Demont says, after reading about Quentin's intentions of applying for the position of top security manager at the habitat, Art Smith's former position. Back of his hand swiping Quentin's crotch, "I'm not a greedy person. I'm willing to share!"
Smiling and in a more comfortable tone, Quentin replies, "Then I better get on my way, lest I miss out on all the fun!"
Marco offers, "If you want, I could run that over to the office for you, sir?"
They hadn't met, David taking the honors, "Quentin, this is my friend, Marco Donzanti."
"Donzanti?" Quentin says, eyeing Marco up and down. "Italian, is it?"
"Yes, sir," Marco lay it on, with the short history David has provided of Quentin, hoping to gain favor.
"Hmm," Demont sums up the situation, "David and I will get started. You two can catch up later, after you turn in your `worthless paper'!" he laughs.
%
Terry thought Gregg the perfect host, ushering him into his cottage, cozy interior. Checking, because Gregg didn't call out anything upon arrival, like `Honey, I'm home!', inquires in a roundabout way, "I know these garden cottages are built for two?"
"Right," Gregg replies. With his shirt unbuttoned and parted, "I guess you can say I lucked out. This semester I don't have a room mate!"
"You lucked out!"
After stashing his attache under the desk, Gregg asks, "Drink?"
"Sure. Anything you've got?"
"Beer, good?"
"Fine," Terry obliges.
Walking behind a counter, which apparently was a railroad styled kitchen, refrigerator, stove, counter and sink all lined up in a row, Gregg takes two bottles of chilled beer, uncaps them, handing one to Terry, clinks and says, "To us!"
The moment he said it, it dawns on Terry, `Denis'.
Guzzling half the bottle, Gregg looked like he stare up at the ceiling, which in lifting his arm, made his shirt part more.
Oh how Terry yearned to taste some of that fur!
Lowering the bottle, along with his shirt, Gregg asks, "Beer flat?"
"No," Terry takes a quick swig. "It's perfect," however his thoughts about being here with Gregg weren't so perfect.
Taking another slurp off the top, Gregg closes in on the distance, saying, "If you haven't thought about it, or the case, have thought about it, don't feel a bit inhibited about being here with your college professor."
"Um, no," Terry replies, "never crossed my mind." However, Denis did!
"Great," the twenty-eight year old professor replies, setting his empty down, peeling his shirt off over the back of his shoulders, shucking it and then approaching Terry.
He knew he should have been more reluctant, but when one bear cub faces another cub, there's a tendency to let things go over one's head. Especially, when Gregg began working his hands along the edge of Terry's belt, hands touching the skin of his torso, sneaking up under the shirt.
"I have a confession to make."
"Oh?" Terry replies, standing there, arms at his side, one weighted down with the beer bottle.
"Earlier today when I looked over your shoulder to help you with your design?"
"Which time was that?" Terry asks, because it seemed like Gregg was giving him a lot of pointers.
"After the first time my eyes peered down the collar of your shirt and saw all this," his hands worked up, under Terry's shirt, feeling his meaty pecs and covering, "I had to go back for more!"
Terry bit his lip, knowing he probably should not be venturing out of what he's built up with Denis, but he couldn't help himself now, not with Gregg's palms running through the hair on his chest, fingers and thumbs toying with his nips, "Oh-h-h-h-h-h-h-h!"
"Sensitive, are we?"
Things began to get too far gone, Gregg, as he lifted Terry's shirts, bent over, his mouth reeking pleasurable havoc on Terry's right nip!
He had a choice and the choice he was making, right, because it felt so good and right to do, or wrong, his cheating on Denis, Terry was the one making the decision to take his shirt off over head. He could have interrupted Gregg's tongue, licking the carpet around his nip, but instead make his own decision to remove his shirt.
Once his shirt was off, Gregg figured it was the go ahead to devoid Terry of the rest of his wardrobe, his hands busying themselves at the unbuckling detail. Sinking down, his tongue followed the light brown trail down Terry's rounded stomach. "Mm-m-m-m, I love this!" he show Terry what he liked doing to a man, making his tongue pointy, digging into a hairy, deep bellyhole!
"Oh-h-h-h," Terry replies, having to steady himself, by placing his hands on Gregg's shoulders.
Gregg stops, "Like it?" then keeps going, Terry saying, "Feels good."
"It's about to get better!" Instead of pressing his tongue into Terry's cub navel, Gregg continues his descent, licking at the hairy bridge and thumbs inserted in the elastic of Terry's briefs, almost simultaneously lowers them, as his tongue journeys to the already semi-hard barrel.
Again, instead of doing what he probably should have been doing, pulling up his pants and hightailing it out of there, once Gregg opens his mouth, Terry's hands slip behind Gregg's ears and he pulls on the back of his head, trying to do what Gregg did to his bellyhole, instead, Terry forcing his 8.5c down Gregg's throat!
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Copyright 2011 T. Chase McPhee
`CoMPany payLoaD' - RancH HanDs may not be sold, nor made part of any collection, without prior consent from the author.