PsyCop 2.2: Many Happy Returns

Many Happy Returns

by Jordan Castillo Price

©2007 by Jordan Castillo Price. All rights reserved.

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Kenneth shot a plastic tab through the seam of a hideous sweater. He wasn’t sure why he bothered. It wasn’t as if the sweater hadn’t been returned at least three times. Not that it was defective, per se. It was just so ugly that no one would ever want it.

But Kenneth was only there to earn enough money to buy a new computer. Part-time, seasonal work seemed harmless enough, or at least it had, the day he’d accepted the job of staffing the most obscure return desk in the least-known subbasement of SaverPlus.

He shot a plastic tag through a baseball cap, and wondered what type of person would return a hat. Someone with a head that was really big, or really small? He decided that he thought too much. Always had.

The clock clunked. It was an industrial piece of electronics, circa 1953, and it was far too retro to simply tick. Eight fifty-nine. He turned around and looked at the piles of clothes that had accumulated during his shift.

Time to fold up the ugly returns and punch his timecard.

Forty-two years old and punching a time clock. Kenneth tried not to spiral down into a haze of self-pity by distracting himself with another thought, since his brain was so insistent on thinking.

Flat screen monitor. Bluetooth keyboard. Relax. Breathe.

The sharp ring of a call bell sent images of new computer systems scattering to the edges of Kenneth’s mind. He looked up at the return desk, startled, and found a man in a leather jacket with spiked blond hair leaning over the counter on both elbows, chewing gum. He smiled at Kenneth. More of a devilish smile than an expression of actual happiness.

“We’re closed,” Kenneth said. “They’ve shut the lights off.” The customer peeked back over his shoulder, as if something had snuck up on him while he was trying to get Kenneth’s attention.

“Sure,” he said. “But look, maybe you can do me a favor.”

Kenneth resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He couldn’t imagine what would prompt him to do a favor for a total stranger, particularly at this purgatory of a job, and especially at 9:01 pm.

“This shirt,” the customer said, swinging a plastic bag onto the counter.

“I need a large.”

Kenneth sighed through his nose and reached into the bag. He had a big enough pile of returns. If he had the shirt in a large, he could scan them, swap them, and send the gum-chewer on his way.

He pulled the shirt onto the counter. It was, in Kenneth’s opinion, the only decent shirt that SaverPlus carried. He owned three, himself.

“Whoa,” said the customer, pointing. “You’re wearing the same one.” He levered himself up onto his palms, leaning over the countertop, into Kenneth’s personal space. “That’s pretty wild. Don’t you think?”

“We haven’t got this in a large,” Kenneth said. “Not in black, anyway.”

“But I need black,” he said. “The shirt’s from my mom. And she’ll get all weird if I don’t wear it the next time I see her.”

“I’m sorry, sir....”

The customer snorted. “Call me Crash.” He squinted at Kenneth’s name tag. “Kenny.”

Kenneth composed himself. Bluetooth. DVD-RW. Five hundred gig hard drive.

“These shirts are sold out in black large. They have been since November.

If you’d like the shirt in mocha, I can do the exchange, but....”

“Gimme yours.”

Kenneth blinked. “What?”

Crash leaned farther still over the counter. He was tall and slim, and he had a very long reach. He stared hard into Kenneth’s eyes and then reached up, fingering the collar of Kenneth’s shirt. He had amazing eyes, pale, pale green. “Your shirt,” he said. “It looks like a large. I would make it worth your while.”

“You can’t have my shirt.”

Crash cocked his head to one side, and ran a tongue stud back and forth over the top edge of his lower teeth. “Everyone’s got a price, Kenny.

What’s yours?”

Kenneth swallowed hard and got ready to tell Crash to go to hell--not a very festive SaverPlus farewell, but Kenneth was just a seasonal temp, after all--when Crash got a knee up onto the counter and started clambering over it toward Kenneth.

“Are you crazy?”

Crash grinned wide, and flashed his tongue stud.

Kenneth almost called security. Almost. Except Crash wasn’t particularly threatening. He crawled across the return desk like a stripper, his pale green eyes fastened on Kenneth’s face the whole time. And when he oozed over the far edge of the counter, he kept on going down, sinking to his knees right between Kenneth’s feet.

“What’s that shirt worth to you?” he said, unbuckling Kenneth’s belt.

Kenneth grabbed the edge of the counter and tried to will his knees to stop shaking. Before he could even register what was happening, his slacks pooled around his ankles.

“I can’t believe you’re just going to....” Crash ran his palms up Kenneth’s thighs. He had silver rings on every finger, and the metal felt smooth gliding over Kenneth’s skin, hot from its contact with Crash’s fingers. “What, no one ever ambushed you before? You’re a good-looking guy.”

Objectively, maybe. But Kenneth had always managed to put a “don’t bother me” vibe out there that resulted in him being left alone more often than not.

Crash tugged Kenneth’s boxers down to his knees.

“And you’re totally hung,” he said, face so close that Kenneth felt the warmth of Crash’s breath ghosting along his balls.

Kenneth meant to get another hand on the countertop to help hold himself up before his legs gave out from under him, but instead he found himself cupping the side of Crash’s face, running his fingers over the crunchy spikes of hair and tracing the line of silver studs and hoops in Crash’s ear.

Crash had a hand on each of Kenneth’s thighs. He leaned in and pressed his face into the crease of Kenneth’s groin, and Kenneth felt his cock throb, getting hard, fast. It brushed Crash’s cheek, standing away from Kenneth’s body in no time flat.

He gasped at the touch of Crash’s hot, wet tongue. He swore he could feel that tiny metal stud playing along the veins on the underside of his shaft. Kenneth’s fingers fanned over the side of Crash’s face, tracing the sinew of his jaw as his hot, wet tongue stroked its way up, and down.

“You wanna feel the inside of my throat?” Crash asked teasingly, looking up from his crouch with his face nuzzled alongside Kenneth’s hard-on.

Kenneth had a hard time forming a reply. Even a single-syllable word.

“You gonna give me your shirt?”

Kenneth nodded.

Crash raised one eyebrow. “Then take it off.”

Kenneth looked out over the counter. The return desk faced a hallway, mostly. A dingy hallway that hadn’t been painted in years, or redecorated in decades. He could see some of the sales floor if he craned his neck.

And the guards had never bothered him in the past as they made their closing rounds, other than to yell, “See you later,” as they passed the hallway entrance.

Crash’s tongue darted between Kenneth’s balls, and Kenneth had to clench his jaw to keep from yelping. “Your shirt,” Crash said, forming the words against Kenneth’s scrotum.

Kenneth peered out over the counter again, toward the darkened sales floor.

“What do you care if anyone sees?” said Crash. “It’ll be totally hot if they do.” He tilted his head back and fit his lips around one of Kenneth’s balls, cradling it with his mouth and teasing at it with the tip of his tongue.

Kenneth squirmed. His cock was so stiff now it almost hurt, and his balls were tight. If he was so turned on already, how amazing would it feel if he were buried deep in that wicked mouth?

Kenneth pulled his shirt off with one quick tug, and let it fall to the floor beside his foot.

Crash smiled up at him, then reached into his mouth and pulled out the wad of chewing gum. He twisted around and stuck the gum beneath the counter. “Good choice,” he said, and turning back to meet Kenneth’s gaze again, he wet his lips with a long, slow swipe of his tongue.

Crash’s hands slid up the backs of Kenneth’s thighs, grabbing his ass, squeezing it, pushing Kenneth’s hips forward so his cock sank deep, deep into Crash’s hot, slick mouth.

Crash just held him there for a moment. Good thing, Kenneth thought, both hands clutching the counter so hard that his knuckles went white.

He was in the midst of a giant headrush that threatened to leave him sprawled on a pile of ugly, poorly sized, or just plain unwanted holiday gifts.

Crash’s tongue moved, an unhurried slither that dragged the smooth ball of his tongue stud tantalizingly over the bottom of Kenneth’s stiff dick.

“Oh, God.”

Crash grunted a reply. Kenneth thought he sounded pleased with himself.

Crash began to suck, and Kenneth’s world tipped on its axis. His legs started to quiver, at first just a slight trembling, and then a full-on shake. Crash held his ass more tightly, sinking his fingers deep into the flesh, driving Kenneth’s dick deeper still into his throat. Kenneth felt the softness at the back with his sensitive cockhead, felt Crash hum, and swallow, and use every trick in the book to make him explode.

Kenneth’s hips started flexing, rocking his dick in and out of Crash’s mouth, the root sinking deep and then revealing itself again, over and over, shining with spit.

Kenneth took a deep breath, and even though he wanted to just grab the back of Crash’s head, feel a handful of that stiff, spiky hair as he crammed himself in as far as he could, to fuck Crash’s face until that dam burst and he was coming straight down that talented throat--even though he wanted that more than anything else, Kenneth stopped. He held himself very still.

Crash pulled off of Kenneth’s cock with a slurp so loud it practically rang through the subbasement. He poked his head up above the edge of the counter to see if somebody was watching. “What?” he whispered.

Kenneth’s eyes darted back toward the entrance to the sales floor to make sure there wasn’t a guard listening in. “Show me your dick.” The sly grin spread over Crash’s face again. He grabbed Kenneth hard by the waist and pulled him down onto the floor behind the counter. The carpet was threadbare and dirty, but there were enough piles of clothing there to cushion them.

Crash’s jeans were so old and tight that they hugged his long legs and slim hips perfectly, with no need for a belt. He faced Kenneth, kneeling, as he yanked the fly open.

Crash grabbed Kenneth’s hand and stuffed it down the front of his pants.

It was too tight in there to feel anything specific, and yet just the thought of it, having his hand on some total stranger’s hot, hard cock, made Kenneth’s breath catch.

Crash eased his tight jeans down over his hips and his dick fell free, perfectly stiff. He wove his fingers through Kenneth’s, and they stroked it together as Crash stared into Kenneth’s eyes.

It was too intense for Kenneth. He needed to look away. He stared down at his own hard-on and took it in his other hand, stroking it alongside Crash’s.

Crash pulled his hand free, leaving Kenneth with a stiff dick in each fist, one wet, one dry, stroking them both. A bottle of cheap hand lotion was tucked beneath the return counter. Crash grabbed it and shot a generous squirt of lotion on both of them.

The sensation changed from good to incredible as the lotion oozed through Kenneth’s fingers. Crash draped both of his arms around Kenneth’s shoulders and pressed their foreheads together. “That’s right,” he said in a hoarse whisper. “Jack me off.” Somewhere on the sales floor, a guard’s keys jingled as he made his first rounds of the night. The lights were still on over Kenneth’s desk, which wasn’t so uncommon. Sometimes he had a little trouble shutting down his register.

“Have a good one,” the guard called out on his way past the hallway.

Kenneth’s eyes peeked over the top of the counter. He’d stopped stroking momentarily, though of course the situation would be compromising enough if he were to be caught, whether or not his slippery hands were moving up and down.

He blanked out what he’d normally say for a horribly long moment, and then shouted, “You too,” thinking that his own voice sounded alien.

He looked back at Crash’s face, eyes almost too close to properly see.

Crash’s grin was a mile wide. He tilted his head to the side and fit his lips to Kenneth’s. “Get me off,” he said against Kenneth’s mouth.

Crash’s closeness was overwhelming. Kenneth wanted to back up but there was nowhere to go. And the feel of Crash’s mouth on Kenneth’s lips made his dick even harder. Kenneth’s hands moved faster and Crash gasped. It felt good to wrest control from him, even in that small way.

Kenneth concentrated on his strokes, making them even and regular, focusing on the way Crash breathed against his face. He wanted to make that breathing go ragged. He wanted to make Crash moan.