John spends ten minutes wandering around the store, picking things up off the shelves and putting them down again without ever really seeing them. He probably looks like a shop-lifter.
He loops back around to the front again and this time there's no one at the customer service. It's now or never, and as tempting as it is to let never win, he takes a deep breath and heads over to the register.
The guy behind the counter looks up, blond hair flopping into his eyes. He looks bored and he doesn't smile when he says, "Can I help you?"
This would be so much easier if John weren't horny and nervous. Between the two of those, he's got like three brain cells left. He bounces a little and takes another deep breath.
The guy gives him a look like John's already starting to annoy him, but that does nothing to kill John's hard-on. At least he doesn't have to worry about hiding it. He's more than a little bitter about that reality, but it does have its advantages.
"Can I, uh, get an application?" John says, cringing at how high and nasal his voice sounds, even after six months.
"We don't hire high school students," the guy says, and the only good thing about that is it means he thinks John's a guy, not a dyke.
John lifts his chin. "I'm twenty."
"Aim a little lower next time if you want to be convincing."
"I'm not lying," John says, and his voice takes that opportunity to betray him (again) by cracking.
"Let me see your ID, then."
John looks away. "Don't have it on me."
"What are you really, like fourteen?" The guy laughs, fucking laughs, and John's had it.
"Fine," he snaps, "you want to see my ID?"
John digs his wallet out of his pocket and slaps it down on the counter. The guy stares at him, stunned by his outburst.
"Well? Are you gonna open it or not?"
Johns fists are clenched, nails digging into his palms. His chest feels tight and it's got nothing to do with his binder. He is trying not to shake.
The guy picks it up slowly. The sound of the velcro is loud when he pulls it open.
The picture is old, but the resemblance is there. The guy looks at it and then back at John.
He says, "Oh."
John snatches it back. His face is burning. "Can I have an application now?"
"Yeah, of course." The guy ducks his head, lips pressed together. John still wants to fuck him so bad it hurts.
The guy holds out the application and their fingers touch when John takes it from him. If this were a book or a movie there'd be a spark or something, but it's just like touching anyone.
John mumbles thanks, folds up the application and stuffs it in his pocket with his wallet. He just wants to get out of there, but the guy says, "Wait."
"What?" John says, trying not to get his hopes up.
The guy looks down at the papers he's shuffling. "What's your name?"
"You saw it," John snaps.
"No." The guy looks up at him then. His eyes are really blue. "No, I mean." His mouth twists. "Not that name."
"Oh," John says. His heart is racing. "It's John."
"Cool," the guy says, and then, "See ya."
John grins. "See ya."
It's only when he's lying on his bed later, jeans kicked off and his hand between his legs, that he realizes he never got the guy's name.
The guy's not there when John goes back the next evening. Maybe he should've come earlier. He's half tempted to hold on to the application and come back another day, but the help wanted poster's already gone from the window. The girl who takes his application says she doesn't know if that means they've already hired someone, but it can't hurt to try.
He's still kind of nervous about public restrooms and he doesn't even really have to piss, but he stops in anyway and it must be fucking fate or something, because the guy is standing at the urinal.
The guy glances over as he shakes off, and he says hey like he's happy to see John, and maybe a little surprised.
John swallows and says hey back. He wonders what the guy would do if John went over and just dropped to his knees. He thinks the way the guy's looking at him he might not complain.
The guy zips up slowly, eyes still on John, and John can't help taking a step forward.
It's not in front of the urinal and John's not on his knees, but without a word they end up in the lone stall.
The guy has him up against the wall and at first John thinks the guy's gonna kiss him, but he crouches down, goes for John's belt. He pulls John's jeans and shorts down, pushes his binder up, and he's so close John can feel the guy's breath on his dick.
Nothing about this whole thing seems to faze him. He's got his hands on John's hips and he looks up from under long lashes as he flicks his tongue out. The wall is cold against John's bare ass, but that's not why he rocks forward, pushing into the guy's mouth.
John goes weak in the knees when the guy starts sucking, and he presses his hands flat against the wall to try and hold himself up. He hasn't done this in forever, gotten head. Not since starting T, and Jesus fuck, it feels fantastic.
The guy's tongue presses flat along the underside and he sucks hard on the head of John's dick. John's getting a blowjob, just like any guy.
In a public restroom. Where anyone could walk in any minute. And maybe they're in a stall, but someone could still see through the crack, or hear, or just know.
He should probably be feeling anxious or worried or something, but it's exciting. He grabs the guy's hair with one hand, brings the other to his mouth and bites down hard, muffling a moan as he comes.
The guy sucks him through it, doesn't move until John pushes him away, and then he sits back on his heels with a grin. No, a smirk. Definitely a smirk. The guy's dick is out, too, one hand gooey. John never even noticed him jerking off.
This is kind of the weirdest thing that's ever happened to John, but maybe the awesomest, too.
They get straightened up in silence, and the guy's drying his hands when he says, "I'm off at eight."
John says oh yeah? because he's not sure if that means what he hopes it means. It's five-thirty now. He could hang around.
"If you want to..."
"Listen," the guy says, "I'm sorry about--"
The guy opens his mouth, then shuts it. "Okay," he finally says. "So. Eight?"
"Yeah," John says, then, "Wait."
The guy stops, one hand on the door handle. "What?"
"What's your name?"
"Oh," the guy says. "It's Rodney."
"Cool." John grins. "See ya."