Daydreaming about walking home drunk from the bar with him. He's smoking another cigarette. The air is frigid on the street. He can't get the cig lit with the wind blowing. I suggest dipping into an alley up ahead. Before he knows it I am pulling him down the dim lit stone cavern tucked between two old buildings, hardly wide enough for two people to walk through. He asks if this is the way to my place and I tell him not to ask so many questions, that just past this curve in the alleyway the wind won't hit us. His hand is warm in mine. He only holds two of my fingers in his grasp as I drag him forward. When I finally stop, I get in close. Pushing him up against the walk rougher than I probably should. I hope his head doesn't hit the brick but I trust him to not let it. As if I couldn't already smell him with his jacket over my shoulders, I breathe it in from his neck. Every corner of him smells like his cologne. Thats not what I want, not what I crave. I want to smell his sweat like I used to. Feel it on the nape of his neck. For now I will have to settle.
I tuck my fingers between his belt and the button of his jeans. I kiss him hard, taking charge. He gets nervous when I kiss him like this. Grunts softly. Little echoes of what he'll sound like when I finally do get him back to mine.
Can I? I'd ask, soft against the shell of his ear. I'd kiss around it, sucking on the lobe only long enough that it seems like I've missed where I meant to suck his skin between my teeth.
He doesn't know exactly what I've cooked up for him but he agrees. He always does. He's so trusting, so warm under my hands, not yet fired and rigid. Ready and willing for me to tempt him.
"Just until you finish your cigarette?" I plead like he hasn't already told me yes. He nods, less hesitant this time.
I slide his jacket off and lay the leather down on the cobblestone. Men piss on these streets every day and my dress is so short and skimpy. I use both my hands to unbuckle his belt urgently, but I check up on him before I go for the zipper. He's lighting his cigarette and taking the first drag. I know this is a dangerous game but I pull the waistline of his jeans under his ass so I can take handfuls of it in my hands, kneading the flesh as I dig my blunt nails into his boxers. Soon they are pulled down too, tucked just under his balls. He's hard, but the cool air isn't helping. His poor, pink tip is exposed to the elements, his foreskin pulled back from enthusiasm alone. I haven't touched him here yet. Barely grazed his thigh at the bar. I know it will expand more once I have it in my watering mouth. My maw aches to start lower, lick a stripe from his taint and between his balls to the base of him but I take mercy, not wanting to leave any part of him colder than necessary, not when I am yearning to take him in where it's warmest.
I take him in mouth whole, steadying the base with my cold hands. I try to keep it wet and a little sloppy without drooling too much. The skin is warm and taut under my tongue as I lazily suck him off. I don't plan on finishing him here. I just needed to have something in my mouth of his and this is somehow less humiliating than asking for his fingers.
There are voices on the street. Drunk partygoers returning from the same pubs we had just left. They're yelling too loud for this time of night but it serves to cover up what the back of his hand pressed to his lips can't. His cigarette needs to be ashed but he hasn't noticed yet. The wind breaks off the excess and lands it in my hair.
He cups my face to get my attention again. Footsteps. Not on the sidewalk, no. These steps echo on the cobblestone of they alley. I pull away and straighten my back, taking his jacket up with me. I lean my front against his quickly to hide his undress in the darkness. I kiss him, hard. A hand around his waist to pull him in and one on his face to steady him. He is breathing hard.
The man stumbles by drunkenly. He whistles at the man in my arms but he doesn't pay us any mind. He's passed us as fast as he came around the corner, bumping into the wall on his way.
He brushes the ash out of my hair and drops his cigarette butt in between the stones. I don't stop kissing him to let him straighten himself. He works around me, my hands under his shirt as he tries his best to rectify his pants with a hard on still fighting the fabric. He leaves his cock against his stomach, the tip peaking out of his waistband. He tries to push off the wall I've pinned him to as I brush my thumb against it's underside, the glands of him hidden only by his t shirt. He laughs for me to get off of him and pushes past me. He doesn't wait for me to catch up. He knows well I am like a dog on his tail whether I like it or not. I pull on his jacket again, stuffing my hands in the pockets as a chase after him a few short strides and we are shoulder to shoulder again.
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