Break Time A Burnt!Te Production 8/98 Disclaimers: They belong to Surfer Boy, they like me better. Spoilers: Ha! Ha Ha! Archive: Nowhere right now, thanks. Summary: John needs a little something. For CiCi, because she asked.... And then was kind enough to beta. Break Time by Te Daddy793@aol.com **** John F. Byers stretched out luxuriously in his chair. He could tell by the satisfying cascade of pops that it could've been a good one, had he allowed himself to stand. The sort of stretch that went right down to your pelvis and settled there with a sway and a thrust. Surreptitious glance across at Langly. The straw-yellow hair, so soft on the hands, was a disaster. He'd been chewing on it again. They were, all of them, in that phase of newsletter production where the next tantalizing bit of paranoia was *just* out of reach. As such, they were chained to their respective desks, slowly going blind and insane at the never ending scroll of images, letters from the edge of society. It made him horny. Of course, everything made him horny these days. Toothpaste. Popcorn. Joey Ramone. "Pet Sematary" was no Celeste Aida, but it was damned inspiring when sung in the vicinity of his balls. A permanent heaviness seemed to have settled itself in his groin. Heat and need and damn, but he was tired of settling himself behind assorted obstacles in mixed company. Langly was no help. Trying his hardest to look innocent, the gleam on those glasses nothing, *nothing*, compared to that glitter. Dead leaves coated with ice. Mean little slash of a mouth that felt so good... sharp, even teeth... //Fuck this.// Byers closed his eyes for a moment, set about focussing all of his need in his face, trusting that Frohike was duly buried in his own research. "Langly." The sound of his own voice terrified him. Harsh, far lower than his usual tenor. Brief glance to Frohike's terminal revealed the older man hadn't moved. "What is it?" Clueless, utterly clueless. "I think I found something you might find... interesting." The blonde head shot up. Byers made a mental note about "s" sounds and breathiness. "Really? What do you have, John?" Byers spun a little toward his lover, made a show of adjusting his tie, but let one hand creep down his chest and lower. "Come and see." Langly looked him up and down with ostentatious lust. This was quickly getting dangerous, but so long as that constant, irregular tap- tap from Frohike's terminal continued.... John could indulge. He ran a thumb over the seam of his suit pants, biting his lip against the giddy thrill of transgression, very, very happy he'd sprung for the 23" monitor. "All right, I'll do that then." The exaggerated calm nearly made him start giggling, the effort to suppress it sending another wave of lust through his body. John could feel his eyes widening as Langly walked toward him, the ratty jeans doing little to hide the signs of the other man's arousal. Their eyes locked for a long moment before Langly rested a possessive hand on the back of the older man's chair and spun him around to face the screen. "Whatcha got here, Byers?" A dim, distant realization that the tiny reassertion of control had evened Langly's voice nicely and John was fighting the urge to blush. "Take a look." Langly leaned in carefully, casually, cruelly close. John could feel his eyes glazing at the slight tang of the younger man's scent. If he leaned just a few inches closer he could bury his face in that pale, smooth throat and-- Oh, Jesus. Slow, shameless hand. Clever hand. Evil hand. Byers stifled a groan in a cough, spread his legs a little farther apart. "Yeah, this is pretty interesting, Johnboy. Where'd ya hear about it?" The whisper of his zipper being lowered killed several more brain cells, the sight of his cock, swollen with need and wrongly, wickedly in the same visual tableau of the HQ, nearly lost him the power of speech. "Oh... Some random ng..." Stroke. "Y-you know how--" Squeeze. "Yeah, I do. Hey, what's that on your monitor?" Flip of thumb over the leaking head of his cock and he couldn't help himself. Grasped the forearm Langly was bracing himself with on the desk, threw his head back against the lean body behind him. "Hmmm...?" "Never mind, I'll just use your handkerchief." The teasing hand left him and John nearly whimpered, but then it was digging much too hard in his breast pocket, pinching his nipple almost absently as it retrieved the square of linen. John pushed back into the taut belly as he arched, earned the tiniest of gasps, and then the hand was back where it belonged. A patter of nonsense from behind him, easy to hide his pleasure in the non-commital grunts of his replies, dig his fingers into the younger man's forearm, curse the squeaky chair that limited his thrusts. He was an addict for this, grown stupid and cock-heavy for his friend, needful and strange to himself and he wouldn't change a thing. The attempt to hold back his scream was only partially successful. John wasn't looking forward to having to explain how he'd bitten his lip clean through... //Maybe I can walk into a door...// "You know, John..." "Yes?" Sleepy, sated, hoarse. He could hear the smug smile in Langly's voice. "You seem a little... distracted. Maybe you should take a break?" Quick glance revealed he'd been tucked away neatly again, the handkerchief stuffed rather unceremoniously in his pocket at some point. John stood as gracefully as he could, hiding the slight wobble of his knees in a stretch. A good one. The kind that glued hazel eyes to your body quite effectively. "I think you're right. Care to join me for a little... lunch?" John let himself slump out the stretch, the sprawl of his limbs against the desk felt positively decadent. Long silence in locked eyes, challenge... request and acceptance. The air smelled like sex. "Bring back a pizza. Anchovies." Frohike's voice was a scary little shock. The fear, unsurprisingly, made Byers twitch. Langly's voice was dreamy. "Yeah, sure, Frohike. Anchovies." It seemed as though they should be arguing that, but John suspected that if they even remembered to get the pizza it would be a feat. Another several moments of conspicuous want, and John could finally bring himself to turn away and go, Langly at his heels. He made a point to ignore the smirk on Frohike's face. **** End. ****