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It reeked of body odor and shitty men's cologne. Arthur hated this job. Every part of it was awful. The pay, the hours, and the cleaning of food halls and public bathrooms. It was disgusting, honestly.
He should be getting stoned with his friends during their D&D campaign tonight as they talked about their annoying professor. But college doesn’t pay for itself. Instead, he stood in front of the men's locker room, a bucket full of cleaning supplies gripped in his gloved hand. "The faster I get this done, the sooner I can go study," he reminded himself as he set his supplies down. It could be worse. Or could it, really?
“Is anyone left in here,” Arthur called.
No answer. Only the sound of the showers running again.
Ugh. Guess it was time to work.
Arthur grabbed his supplies and made his way over to the showers. “Might as well start there,” he muttered to himself. “This place would be a pigsty if I didn’t have to come here. How hard is it for a grown adult clean up after themselves?” The words left his lips in a quiet but bitter tone. He looked at all of the crushed water bottles on the floor. God only knows why the shower was left on this time. His eyes looked up as he got to the source of the sound, only to be met with another man’s eyes. Then the long blonde hair that was being held up by his toned arms. Then the little bit of hair covering his chest that led neatly down to his pubes. The stranger cleared his throat, watching Arthur scramble to turn around.
“Fuck! I am so sorry—” Arthur could feel the hair stand on the back of his chest—the adrenaline pumped through his veins, all of his frustration with this job threatening to teeter over. “Why are you still in here, the game ended an hour ago,” he shouted, back turned to the other man.
“It is no big deal.”
His accent was the cherry on top. This man was gorgeous. Arthur’s mind raced with thoughts, but now wasn't the time for this.
“You should join. I saw you staring.”
“You’re joking.”
“No. You seem like you could use the stress relief.”
What the fuck is going on? Was this some weird prank? The Brit stood still for a second before dropping his supplies and taking his clothes off. What was the worst that could happen? Sure, missing out on a night of baseless college debauchery with his friends stung, but scrubbing toilets for hours to avoid it? No, he’d rather take his chances with whatever this was. Besides, this was a part of the college experience, right?
Francis’ hand covered his mouth as fought back a smirk, a mischievous mixture of amusement and shock. All the times he had tried in the past hitting on other people, and this is what got the quickest results? But here he was, watching this stranger get on his knees. The dim lighting pronounced the man’s muscles— the angle just right to have him wanting more as the janitor got on the wet floor.
Arthur groaned as he felt the stranger’s hands grab the back of his hair, his fingers firmly grasping a handful of his damp locks. This was insane. He doesn’t even know this guy. And here he was, a random man’s dick resting on his face in a public shower. The water fell into his mouth as he licked the underside of Francis’ shaft, the mild taste of salt coating his tongue. The mixture of steam and the musk of Francis had Arthur choking on the air to get a good breath. He could hear Francis’ breathing hitching high in his chest, a low, guttural noise that was far more satisfying than any conversation they might have had. Arthur didn’t even have a name to moan. All he knew was this guy was built like a statue and Arthur was here to worship it. His hands gripped the stranger’s balls as he shoved more of Francis down his throat.
“God,” Francis groaned, his hands forcing Arthur’s head down further. Francis pleaded, begging Arthur to continue. “I am so close, let me—“ he cut himself off, whining as Arthur pulled away.
Dazed blue eyes met lust-filled green ones. The Brit licked up his stomach until he was standing until he met Francis’ neck, gently pressing the other man’s back against the cold tile. Watching him get snapped back to reality was cute. It would almost be endearing if he cared about this man. Arthur turned his body, droplets still clinging to his fair skin, deliberately rubbing his ass with agonizing slowness against the other man’s shaft.
The heat from the shower and arousal had Francis reeling. The humidity in the air made it feel like he was close to choking. Watching the way the stranger bent himself over had him lost in his own world— not to mention how toned his back was. Francis could stare at each muscle on Arthur for hours. He wasn't a virgin by any means, but this was the most impromptu sex he had ever experienced; he didn't even realize this was a possibility. A sly, possessive smile tugged at his lips, a mixture of disbelief and desire thick in his voice. “So,”the word was a low murmur, almost swallowed by the drone of the bathroom fan, “do you do this with every man you walk in on?” One hand found its way to Arthur’s ass, the other holding a selfish grip on the man’s thigh. “Or am I special?”
Arthur’s head snapped over his shoulder, a scowl obviously fighting its way off his face. “Fuck off and hurry up before I change my mind.” He grabbed Francis’ hand, guiding it towards his mouth. “Don’t try to stick it inside of me with no lube. I’m not looking forward to it behind uncomfortable when I sit due to your lack of foresight. Twat.” Arthur’s tongue coated his fingers, his stomach churning at the sound of Francis stifling another moan.
Spit-covered fingers made their way to Arthur’s ass yet again— this time much more successfully. Francis slowly inserted a finger as he watched the Brit try to ground himself on nothing. Watching the stranger try to keep his nonchalant persona while the tip of his dick had a string of precum dripping to the floor. Soft kisses fell onto Arthur’s ear and neck as Francis slowly guided himself inside the other man inch by inch, a line of profanities falling from his lips. Rough hands made their way to Arthur’s neck and hip respectively as Francis inched himself further. His feet slipped on the damp floor as he turned the other man around, pressing his front side against the cold wall with a loud thud.
Holy shit had been so long since Arthur’s gotten laid.
There was no way he could finish right now— this opportunity couldn’t go to waste. But he felt his body slowly betraying him. His chest felt like it was going to explode. The warmth from Francis’ chest radiated on his back. The cold wall had his head spinning. God, he had never felt like this before. His hands slid around the tile, desperately trying to ground himself in any way possible. What was he even trying to grab on to? Feeling the other man’s hips press against his ass was his final straw. A pathetic groan escaped his lips, and his face flushed with embarrassment as he felt himself losing control. His body trembled from the effort of holding back; the sound of his own cum hitting the floor snapping him back to reality.
Fuck.
Arthur huffed in and out, desperately trying to catch his breath. “I’m so sorry,” he panted. “Please don’t stop.”
This guy was a fucking loser.
But they already made it this far, and if this guy was willing to keep going— who was Francis to say no?
The sounds of moans and skin slapping skin filled the room as Francis continued. His eyes were locked on the little bit of the other man’s face— trying to pick apart any more information he could before this short spurt was over. The Frenchman could feel himself getting close again, especially while thinking about the head he received earlier that day.
“My name is Francis,” he moaned in between thrusts.
Arthur’s head spun. Could this man be any more perfect? Long, beautiful blonde hair. His thighs were huge, too. That sexy accent and equally sexy name. He knew he’d be touching himself to that man— No— Francis, later. “Francis, please,” he mumbled off into a line of nothing.
That was all he needed to finish. Francis pulled out, finishing on his hand, his back arching slightly as a wave of release crashed through him, leaving his limbs shaky and his breath ragged. All he could do was stare at the soaking wet mess in front of him. He turned on the shower with a twist of the knob, lending a hand to help the shaken man under him. A spark of jealousy shot through the back of his mind at the thought of just moving on. Maybe it was something to keep in mind, but not for now. “Can I get your name now,” he inquired as he lathered up some soap between his hands.
“Its Arthur. I’m a junior here.”
They cleaned off in silence punctuated by small talk—talk of classes they hadn’t taken, majors they’d abandoned, how they ended up here.
“Well, Arthur.”
God that voice saying his name was music to his ears.
“I have practice on Thursday. Everyone should be gone by 5:30. Do with that what you please.” Francis fixed his shirt and slacks that hugged his legs so well. “I hope the rest of your shift goes well.”
And with that, the Frenchman left Arthur in the locker room alone. Who gave a shit about his friend’s D&D campaign? The hours ticked down in his head now, each swipe of the sponge, each wipe of the mirror a second knocked off the clock: Thursday, Thursday, Thursday.