Frozen for a second, Diego arched back, but Josh kept a firm hand on him, leaning in close to cup his other hand around Diego's neck, blue eyes flashing with delight. "If they paid attention to me, I gave the toys back."
"You're fucked up," Diego breathed, his cheeks hot. He couldn't help but notice how Josh's normally sleek hair had fallen into his face, obscuring that self-satisfied, arrogant look, so he tried to push Josh's face away, but his wrist was caught in a tight hold.
"I like you," Josh replied with a curve of his lip.
Exhaling a shuddering breath, Diego turned his face just so from Josh, elbowing his chest to get him to back away a little. He did, giving Diego room, letting go of him and taking a step back with his palms up. "I like you," Josh repeated, "but you're never nice to me, Diego. You don't flirt with me. I wasn't quite sure what to do with that, but then I found out how cute you get when you're annoyed. It's pretty easy to annoy you.
"But," he continued, and this time his voice was soft, "it'd be nice, I guess, if I could get something besides annoyed."
"You..." Diego snarled. "Yeah right, you just don't like being ignored. If I gave into this, tomorrow you won't give one shit about me." Even as he said this, he was the one closing the distance between them, reaching for the hand that had let go of him.
Josh stared at him for a moment, eyes focused but expression unreadable, and then his smile spread into a grin. "You don't want me to stop chasing you?" With that, he took Diego's outstretched hand, and brought that palm up to nuzzle against it, his breath hot against Diego's skin. "I can chase you, even if you're not running."
"Fuck..." Diego breathed, closing his eyes. He reached up and sifted his fingers through Josh's hair, earning a sound of approval as he moved in closer.
"You'll give that watch back, right?"
"Fuck you."
There was a low, almost-displeased chuckle, and then Diego found himself manhandled around and towards the brick wall lining the lot, and held his hands up just in time to brace himself before he was shoved chest first against the dirty wall. "My suit, you fucker," he growled.
"Yeah, yeah," Josh muttered behind him, slipping a hand under Diego's jacket, grazing up to rub a thumb over his nipple. Lips pressed against the back of Diego's neck, sucking and nibbling, and it was hot, a tongue, Diego dropping his forehead against the wall with a frustrated groan.
"Say, Diego," Josh said, his light tone matching the soft finger Diego felt run down his neck, making him shiver. "Think you could like me?"
With his pants tight around his crotch, with Josh's heat caging him in, Diego wasn't sure if he could clearly think through that question. "It's possible," he said, finally.
The other hand was at his waist, he watched his belt get tugged open, his fly zipped down. Josh palmed him, massaging roughly. "Christ," Deigo choked out.
"Let's have fun working together from now on, Diego," Josh continued. "I'll bite my tongue when you flirt, but you have to be nice to me, ok?"
"Ok," Diego acquiesced softly, thrusting into Josh's hand. He gasped in surprise when he felt spit-soaked two fingers nudge against his hole.
"Ok?" Josh said into his ear.
"Ok."
He tensed up when the fingers shoved into him, pushing and pushing, his hips shaking, unable to find a steady rhythm between fucking forward into Josh's hand or grinding back around his fingers. Biting his lip, he just managed to grab his pants before they slipped to his ankles.
Josh pressed his face against the slope of Diego's neck, licking at it as Diego panted. "Well, you're pretty sweet after all," he said roughly, and Diego could just see the smirk. "Maybe I should move in. We could do it dorm style—quiet—me gagging your mouth with my fingers, yeah?"
Closing his eyes, Diego swallowed, his face crumpling with rising need. "Josh..."
"You close, baby?"
Diego nodded.
And then Joshs fingers constrained around his cock like a vise, and Diego choked, eyes opening wide. "You fucker."
Josh laughed against his neck. "Do we have a deal, Diego?"
"What?" Diego's voice was high with frazzled desperation.
"You and me. We'll try it out? Keep in mind, this is what I'm like."
Fuck, he was so close, edging around the orgasm like it was just one tiny stroke away. "You are the worst," he growled, trying to buck against Josh's hand, but Josh wouldn't allow it.
"Yeah, yeah, I'm the worst. What's your answer, Diego?"
"Ok," Diego breathed, finally slumping back against Josh's chest. "Fine."
There was an exhale behind him, Josh nuzzling his face again. "Good," Josh said, and then his hand was stroking rough and fast again, making Diego jerk at the sudden attention, gasping and trembling in Josh's grip until he let out a cry of relief, coming a thick strand against the wall.
Josh kissed him gently on the temple. "I think Harrington caught on to me, you know. He's gonna want your undivided attention back."
"Yeah," Diego replied, dizzy and not really listening.
"Come on." Josh tucked Diego back into his pants, and zipped the fly. "You don't want someone else swooping in and taking him. I set him up with a couple of suits to keep him busy, but you have to close the deal."
"Yeah..." Diego repeated, getting some of his focus back. He looked up at Josh. "What?"
Josh's smile held—maybe—a trace of shame. "See it as my apology. We'll double-team him into buying you all the way to this month's top commissions. He'll love it."
"I can get top commissions without your help," Diego replied irritably, finally finding the self-possession to start straightening his clothes. "Before you."
"Oh yeah?" Diego almost didn't want to, but he glanced at Josh again. Amusement flashed in those blue eyes. "Is that a challenge?" Josh asked. "What do I get if I win?"
Lips in a flat line, Diego shoved past Josh and started tromping back towards the alley. He heard laughter and footsteps behind him. An arm slung around his shoulder, and then Josh was ruffling his nose in Diego's hair. "You keep being you," Josh said. "Don't make this easy for me."
"Shut up," Diego growled, his heart pounding.
A hand curled under his chin, forcing him to turn his head, and then Josh kissed him, and then kissed him again. Pulling back, their eyes met, and Josh grinned. "It'll just be that much better when you finally give in."
At that, Diego immediately vowed not to. But he didn't say anything to Josh.
It would probably just encourage him.
NO COMPLAINTS
Diana Sheridan
They called it 'Customer Service,' but it was basically the complaint department. Todd spent his working hours (seven-thirty a.m. to four p.m. five days a week, including weekends every third week) primarily listening to women grouse and gripe about their kitchen appliances—and, given the nature of the products that the Electro-Supreme Appliances company manufactured, the callers were mostly women.
Yes, the world has its share of male cooks, and not just Famous Name Chefs, but overwhelmingly the callers whom Todd and his co-workers soothed and sympathized with every workday were women. So when Todd hung up from the wearying drone of the woman with the slow cooker whose lid had cracked and picked up his next call, he was surprised to hear a baritone "Hello?"
Not only was his caller a man, but the voice was resonant, musical, sensuous. It struck a chord deep inside Todd that had nothing to do with business.
"Can I help you?" Todd asked. He was already thinking of the ways he'd like to help his latest caller. He could start by helping him out of his clothes.
Immediately reprimanding himself for letting his fantasies run away with him, Todd missed what the caller said next and had to ask, "I'm sorry—would you mind repeating that?"
"It's my new toaster oven. It does an excellent job of burning toast. If there's ever a market for burnt toast, I can get rich for sure." He chuckled.
So many of the callers were irate, even incensed. Todd appreciated that this caller not onl
y had a delicious voice but used it to make light of his complaints. Point two in his favor.
Of course, he reminded himself, the fellow with the mellifluous voice could well be a total troll. Or straight and married. Or both.
Meanwhile, considering all this, Todd once again failed to register what the caller was saying. "We seem to have a bad connection," he lied. "I'm sorry, but would you mind repeating what you just said?"
"I can hear you just fine," the caller said.
"The problem must be on this end," Todd replied lamely. "I apologize for the inconvenience."
"I'm not worried about the inconvenience. I'm more concerned about the burnt toast. I don't know whether to return the thing for repair or for replacement or just get my money back and buy a different brand."
"Electro-Supreme stands behind all our products. We'll accommodate you whichever way you prefer to handle it. Refund, exchange, repair—you tell me."
"If I exchange it for another one, how do I know the replacement won't have the same flaw?"
Todd didn't know what got into him then. He knew the call might be monitored, and what was more, although despite the fact that the caller had displayed a sense of humor, he was stepping way over boundaries. Nonetheless, he said, "If the replacement doesn't work right, you can come over and personally whip me." As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he sat there, stunned at himself and fearful of what the caller's reaction would be.
His reaction was a throaty laugh. "Naah," he said. "I'm not into BDSM. I'm strictly a vanilla kinda guy."
Todd exhaled, realizing he'd been holding his breath. "Me too," he said.
"Maybe I should return the appliance in person," the caller said in a teasing voice.
"You might have a long trip. This is a national call center. We're in Kansas City. Where are you located?" He could be calling from Alaska, California, Maine...
There was a loud whoop at the other end of the phone. "No shit? Really? Me too! Are you putting me on?"
"No! I mean, I had no way of knowing where you were calling from. Are you really in Kansas City?" The Caller ID had simply read 'Private.'
"Yes. Which one are you in?"
"Kansas."
"Missouri for me—but we're still neighbors."
"Reckon so," Todd said.
"Where are you located? I can drop by with the blankety-blank-blank toaster oven."
Now it was Todd's turn to laugh, inspired by the caller's brand of cussing. "Is that your strongest language? 'Blankety-blank-blank'?"
"Hell, no! You should hear me when I really get going. But I don't know you well enough."
"Yet."
"Is that an invitation?" he asked Todd.
"Plain as day. Although I don't even know your name."
"Barry. Barry Keefe."
"And I'm Todd Mannheim."
"What are you doing after work tomorrow, Todd Mannheim?" The playful tone was in Barry's voice again.
"Is 'meeting you for drinks and dinner' the correct answer?"
"Ding! You win the jackpot prize!"
"What is the jackpot prize?" Todd asked.
"Me!"
"Before I get in trouble, give me your home phone and then let's settle what you're going to do with the 'blankety-blank-blank' toaster oven. My number's 913-555-7846. Call me later, or I'll call you, and we'll make plans for tomorrow."
"What time do you get home from work?"
"By five unless there's a traffic tie-up."
"No tying up. I told you I'm not into that scene."
They both chuckled, then Barry gave Todd his home phone, and they settled the matter of the defective toaster oven, which Todd instructed Barry on how to return. "If there's ever a run on burnt toast, you'll be sorry you gave it up and lost out on your chance to make a million!" Todd teased.
"As long as I don't miss out on my chance to meet you," was Barry's response. "I'll talk to you later."
They hung up, and Todd answered the next call in queue. It was an irate woman, screeching because her electric griddle took too long—in her estimation—to warm up. Her shrill, raspy voice and matching demeanor failed to pierce the rosy aura surrounding Todd, however. He was on a natural high, and nothing could bring him down.
Despite a steady flow of callers that kept him busy, the hours dragged till quitting time. Finally, there were only ten minutes to go. Todd hoped he didn't get stuck on a long call as he once again answered, "Customer Service. Todd speaking."
To his relief, the call wasn't a complaint and promised to be quick, too. A woman who had just bought a slow cooker wondered if the company sold a recipe book specifically for slow cookers.
"There should have been a recipe booklet packed inside the body of the appliance, but if it somehow got left out, we'll be delighted to send you another copy."
"Thank you, I have that, but it only has twenty recipes in it. I was hoping for something more extensive. I thought your company might sell cookbooks to go with your slow cookers."
"Sorry, we don't, but there are such books on the market. Your local bookstore or Amazon.com would be good resources for you."
"Thank you," the woman said, sounding disappointed but still polite. "Well, have a good evening."
I'm about to—but my tomorrow evening figures to be even better, Todd thought, but aloud he simply said, "Thank you. You do the same."
They hung up, and Todd rose and stretched his cramped legs. One minute to four o'clock. He could get ready to leave now. Making sure he had Barry's phone number in his pocket (they never had settled which one was to call the other), he left his work station and hurried toward the door with more than his usual speed. Barry was waiting at the other end of the phone line, and Todd was eager to get home, talk to him, and make plans.
*~*~*
Todd pulled into the driveway of his rented house and bounded up the walkway to the front door with much more energy than he normally had at the end of his shift. Dropping his jacket on the arm of the easy chair once he got inside, he hesitated a minute, wondering whether to postpone pouring his usual rye and club soda in favor of calling Barry immediately. The question was taken away from him by the ringing of the phone. He hurried into the kitchen, pulled the cordless off its cradle, and answered, "Hello?" while hoping it wasn't another damn sales caller.
It wasn't. It was Barry. "I hope I'm not calling too early," he said without preamble.
Since Todd kept the bottle of rye in the kitchen, he cradled the phone between his ear and shoulder as he quickly mixed a drink for himself. "I'd only complain if you called too late—or not at all," Todd responded, stopping to take a slug of his drink.
"Not a chance of that. Well, shall we do the getting-to-know-you bit now or save it for tomorrow? And what time tomorrow and where?"
"How about a little of both—the bare essentials now, and fill in the details tomorrow?"
"Sounds like a plan," Barry said.
Todd heard him swallow and guessed, "Are you having a drink too?"
"That I am. Vodka Collins. What's yours?"
"Rye and soda," Todd answered, making a mental note to stock up on vodka and Collins mix. "Well, you know what I do for a living. What's your nine-to-five like? Metaphorically speaking, that is. My 'nine to five' runs from seven-thirty to four."
"My hours are my own. I'm self-employed."
"As what?"
"If I told you I was a corporate spy, would you believe me?" There was that teasing tone in his voice again.
"No." Todd took a chance that that was the right answer.
It was. "Good. 'Cause I'm really a C.P.A. But corporate espionage sounds much more intriguing."
"You're intriguing. I like your sense of humor," Todd said.
"Is that what attracts you to a guy?"
"It counts for a lot, yes."
"Good, 'cause I'm three-foot-ten, with a scarred face and missing teeth, and a hunchback." Barry's voice was level, but Todd didn't take him seriously for a minute.
"And you're
so full of shit even your eyes are brown."
Barry roared so loudly Todd wondered if he'd never heard that line before. "Bullseye," he said.
"Don't you mean 'bullshit?" Todd challenged him. "I like your sexy voice, and I especially like your sense of humor."
"So you wouldn't care if I were three-foot-ten with a scarred face, missing teeth, and a hunchback?"
His tone was still playful. Todd decided it wasn't a serious question."Welllll... not all of the above. Maybe four-foot-nine with one interesting scar that looks like it might have come from a duel. An affaire d'honneur."
"Hey—the man is bilingual." Barry's voice was lilting.
"Hardly. I can say 'gesundheit' when somebody sneezes, but that doesn't mean I speak German, either."
"What do you look like?" Barry asked.
"I have short brown hair, sideburns, brown eyes, an oval face, I'm tall and what some folks describe as 'rangy,' and despite my fondness for garlic-flavored potato chips I don't have a pot belly. And you? For real!"
"For real? Okay," Barry answered. "I have long red hair tied back in a ponytail, a moustache and beard, green eyes, and a swimmer's build—although I'm not a swimmer. Think we'll recognize each other tomorrow night?"
"Hopefully, or I may go home with the wrong guy and be vastly disappointed. You could send a picture of yourself to my cell phone. Or we can live dangerously and find each other the old-fashioned way. Do you know Angelina's Delectables?"
"The quaint little place with the brick walls and the eclectic menu, in your Kansas City?"
"That's the one," Todd said.
"I've been there once, but not with such enjoyable company."
"Flattery will get you everywhere," Todd joked.
"I hope so," Barry said with a strong streak of sincerity in his voice.
"Were you there with a lover?" Todd asked.
"With a client."
"What is your story—your romantic history—if I'm not asking too early in the game?"
"No, but you're asking too late in the evening. I signed up for a seminar that starts at seven. I'd better shower, change clothes, gulp down dinner, and get on my way. That's the only reason I didn't ask to see you tonight," Barry explained.
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