After Close the Barrel Room Got Hot

The Hollow Pine Taproom had gone quiet except for rain on the tin roof and the drip under a burst coupler. I was twenty-nine, soft through the middle, shirt stuck to my back, and I should have been locking the door on Haywood. Instead I was on my knees behind the bar with a wrench, swearing at a keg line that had blown pale ale across the mats. Dex came in through the side door with rain in his beard. Thirty-six, flannel plastered to a chest that made the room smaller. He held up my hoodie. "You left this on my seat," he said. "Street's a river. I'm not driving you home in that."

"You didn't have to come back." I stood. My knees popped. I had the belly and hairy forearms the regulars called cub, like it was a compliment and a dare. Dex looked at the mess, then at me, and it landed low in my stomach. "Yeah, I did." He set the hoodie on a dry stool. "Mop in the closet, or are we baptizing the barrel room?" "Left of the walk-in. Stay and you drink. House rule." "Dangerous rule." He rolled his sleeves. His forearms were thick and dark with hair, and I watched the muscle move like I had any right.

We worked quiet at first. Hops and wet cedar filled the hall. Dex pushed the mop. I hauled the bad keg toward the barrel room, boots squeaking. Every pass, his shoulder brushed mine. The third time he didn't move. I stopped with the keg between us, breathing hard, and he didn't look away. "You've been staring at my mouth since February," he said, almost kind. "I'm done pretending I don't like it." Heat climbed my face. "Dex." "Say no and I finish the floor and take you home. Say yes and I'm done mopping." Rain roared. My hands were sticky with ale. I wanted him so badly my thighs ached. "Yes. Back here. Lock the side door."

He shot the bolt. Then he crossed the barrel room and put me against a stack of empty cedar casks. The wood was cool through my damp shirt. His mouth was not. He kissed me like he'd been saving it, beard rough on my chin, tongue slow. I opened for him and made a sound I would've swallowed if his hands hadn't already found my hips and hauled me in. He was solid, heat coming off him in waves. I got under his flannel and felt the dense hair on his stomach, soft give over muscle. He groaned when I tugged. "Off," I said against his mouth. "I want to see you."

We stripped fast. Flannel on a stool. My tee on a dry barrel. Boots, jeans, the hop-stained apron I hadn't noticed I still wore. Dex stood in black briefs, cock thick and straining the cotton, chest broad, nipples dark in the hair. I was softer, a trail of hair over my belly into gray boxers that hid nothing. He looked at me like I was the pour he'd waited on all night. "Come here."

I went. He kissed the back of my neck until my knees threatened to quit, then dropped. Concrete cold under him. He dragged my boxers down and took me into his mouth, hot and wet, one hand on my thigh. I swore and found his hair. He sucked slow, then deeper, beard scratching my balls, tongue on the underside until I was shaking and leaking. "Dex. I'm not gonna last." He pulled off, lips shiny. "Then don't waste it in my mouth. I want you in me." The words hit like a fist around my cock. "You sure?" "Been sure." He kissed me so I tasted myself, then dug a condom and a small bottle of lube from his jeans like he'd hoped and hadn't counted on it. "Barrel. Bend me over it."

The empty cask was waist-high. Dex braced his forearms on the wood, back wide, ass thick and hairy in the low light. I rolled the condom on, slicked myself, then worked two fingers into him, slow, watching him open. He pushed back. "More. I can take it." I lined up and pressed in. The head caught, then gave, and heat closed around me so tight I had to stop halfway and breathe against his shoulder. He grabbed my wrist and pulled me deeper until my hips met the soft meat of his ass. "There. Move."

I moved. Short thrusts, then longer, the wet sound of lube and skin under the rain. Every stroke dragged a groan out of him. His cock hung heavy, dripping on the concrete. I wrapped a hand around it and stroked in time, feeling him thicken. My belly slapped his ass. Sweat ran into the hair on my chest. He turned his head and I kissed the corner of his mouth, messy. "Harder. Don't be polite. I've wanted this since you started Thursdays." I gave it to him. Hips snapping, one hand on his shoulder, the other on his cock. The barrels creaked. My thighs burned. He clenched and cursed my name, and it went straight to the base of my spine.

"I'm close. Come with me." "Don't stop. Jonah—" He came first, pulsing hot over my fingers, ass gripping me in tight squeezes that pulled me over with him. I drove in deep and stayed, spilling into the condom, forehead between his shoulder blades, shaking. For a few seconds there was only his heat, the rain, and cedar.

We held until my legs threatened to fold. I pulled out, tied off the condom, and found a clean bar towel. Dex turned, flushed, beard wrecked, and laughed once. "House rule still stands?" I kissed him slower, salt on his mouth. "You're drinking. Street's still a river. My place is four blocks if you don't mind getting wet." He hooked two fingers in my waistband. "I mind leaving more." Outside, Haywood ran like a creek. Inside, his hand stayed on my belly like it belonged there. I believed him.