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Humdinger

Nerd and Jock's Adult Roles: Part I

By Benedict LaubPublished 5 years ago 3 min read
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"Aren't you forgetting something?" Sky asked Nathaniel as the young businessman was about to dash out the door. Sky's tone was playful with sultry undertones, that masculine friskiness that Nate had come to know so well.

"I'm running late to the office," Nate sighed, but his hand stopped as it lighted upon the doorknob.

"Your tie needs straightening," Sky offered cockily, grabbing the black-striped, red silk piece somewhat brusquely in his large right hand and drawing Nathaniel close, "And the rest of you needs un-straighening."

His resolve breaking for the moment, Nate allowed the stronger man to gently pull him in for a goodbye kiss. Late as he was, Nate couldn't help but adore his boyfriend's impetuousness, male strength, and aggression tempered by warmth.

His full lips parted for the stronger man's long, probing tongue. Nate's own tongue responded gently, but it was clear who in this ritual initiated and who responded. Sky lowered his left hand to Nate's crotch, rubbing the wool of his trousers gently, but not too gently.

And there they both stood, mouths interlocked. Muscular Skyler in his cut-off gym shirt, smelling faintly of male sweat hours before his training gig began. Thin, cute Nathaniel in his tailored wool suit, one arm on the door, and the other on his briefcase, being grabbed two ways.

Nate's cock responded to his lover's touch, and Sky began to rub more quickly, the counterclockwise swirling that always drove Nate into a frenzy, as he continued to explore Nate's mouth with his tongue.

Of course, eventually Nathaniel's work anxiety had to win out over his burgeoning affection, and he broke away from the kiss. "Late, late, I'm gonna be late. Come on, someone's got to pay the bills around here." Skyler kept rubbing his crotch.

"Ah, what are you doing to me?" Nate whined, batting Sky's hand away with a half-hearted gesture. "Not only am I running late, I'm going to be tenting all through that presentation this afternoon. I'll be a laughingstock."

"Hey, all the more reason for you to stop by later for 'lunch'," Sky chuckled through his trademark, lopsided half-leer. "With our schedules, I barely get to see you as it is."

"OK, OK, you talked me into it. Home for 'lunch' today," Nate said as Skyler finally did straighten his tie.

Sky pecked Nate on the cheek and absently rubbed his silver tie clasp. "Go get 'em."

Nate backed out of the driveway slowly, trying to calm his rushing thoughts. Don't think about naked Sky, don't think about naked Sky. Think about fourth quarter dividends. Think about business process analysis. Think about–

But images of Sky kept crowding into Nate's consciousness. Of Sky slowly stripping out of his cut-off. Of Nate's mouth closing around Sky's hardening nipple.

"Dividends," Nate muttered, drifting into the right lane to slow the car. "Process. Toyota Production System. Fourth quarter spreadsheets..."

As Nate was fighting traffic on the way into the office, he couldn't help but chuckle at the curious kismet between him and his his love. How they had 'met' in high school—if 'met' were really the right word for it—and serendipitously met again years later.

Nate pulled into his office lot at last, only five minutes behind schedule. He grabbed his briefcase and bounded for the elevator. Not too too bad, he thought. Hitting the button for floor nine, his thoughts immediately began to drift to his lunch break. If he got out just a little bit early, he could hit the highway just in time to–

"Best of luck on that presentation this afternoon, Nate." Nathaniel looked up, startled. He hadn't noticed that he was sharing the elevator with his boss.

"I—Yes, Mark, I think it's going to be a humdinger," Nate stammered, a blush creeping up his cheeks. Humdinger? He had really just said that?

Mark Konigsberg just chuckled. "I'm sure it will at that!" Nate wondered if there were a hole somewhere nearby he could crawl into.

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About the Creator

Benedict Laub

"Art for Art's sake" is my credo.

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