pout.
Rolling his eyes, Clayton twisted his chair around so that his back was facing Grant and muttered, “smartass,” under his breath.
“I heard that!” Grant felt it pertinent to mention that pride was instantly wounded like an arrow to the knee. He would have, if he didn’t already know that the obscure Skyrim reference would go completely over Clayton‘s head. Clayton glanced at Grant over his shoulder, offering him a smirk to end all smirks.
“I know.”
“Rude.”
“You like it.“
“Oh my god,“ Grant groaned, because Clayton calling him out on things like that was utterly horrifying. It could only mean that he was completely aware that he was dragging Grant around by the dick, and enjoyed it immensely.
Clayton’s laugh was a sharp, sudden bark that eased all of Grant's fears--he wasn’t being a tool, he was just attempting to lightheartedly tease and failing miserably in every aspect except that he made Grant want to lock himself in the bathroom for the rest of eternity.
The phone rang not long after, which was really the prelude to more runs coming in, and Grant spent a good few minutes dispatching Billy and Mike for some in-city tows and sending Elliot on a jumpstart.
He filled out the paperwork, glancing up at the computer when it honked at him for another tow call. Grant had to resist the urge to smother a coil of disappointment, because he was totally enjoying forcing Clayton to endure his presence in hopes that he would start to find Grant's company pleasurable through sheer exposure.
“Got one for you,” Grant said to Clayton, grabbing the dispatch paper meant for drivers and starting to scribble down everything Clayton needed. Clayton stood, stubbing out his cigarette and walking around until he was standing behind Grant to look at the computer screen.
He bent down, chest pressing against Grant's back and shoulder and squinting his eyes. Grant's heart was thundering like mad, hiccupping and pounding in his chest when he caught a whiff of cologne that made him want to do unspeakable things that would probably cost him his job if the owner ever reviewed the security tapes.
“Where is it at?”
“Uh,” Grant said intelligently, lifting his pen and tapping the screen as he read the address out loud. Clayton bent in further, eyes narrowing while he followed the movement of Grant's pen. Grant took it as incentive to also show Clayton where everything else was, the customer’s information, the car’s year, color, make and model, and the comment box that had details on the type of call.
The words left him in a rush, awkwardly explaining everything in excessive detail because he possibly, maybe, wanted an excuse to keep Clayton close like teenagers and their vampire romance stories.
Clayton didn’t move right away, skimming his eyes over the screen before he reached a hand up and settled it on the back of Grant's neck. Grant's body felt like a livewire, barely able to stop himself from sucking in a sharp breath when Clayton‘s fingers squeezed his neck gently before he stood. If Grant were a cat, or a lesser man, he would have happily gone limp in Clayton’s hands, leaving the man free to do whatever he wished with Grant.
“Okay, do you have the paper?”
Brain melted into a pile of goo, Grant absently tore the info sheet from the pad and handed it to Clayton. “Here,” he choked, clearing his throat. Clayton took it, other hand landing on Grant's head and ruffling it with a tiny smirk. Grant squawked in protest, shoving at Clayton’s hand and getting an amused snort in return as Clayton slipped out of the office.
Grant sat there for a few seconds, and then slowly brought his hand down between his legs to readjust himself--because he’d apparently somehow gotten a bit of a chubby from just that single touch. Honestly, it was like he was back in high school and had nearly busted a nut just from brushing arms
Rolling his eyes, Clayton twisted his chair around so that his back was facing Grant and muttered, “smartass,” under his breath.
“I heard that!” Grant felt it pertinent to mention that pride was instantly wounded like an arrow to the knee. He would have, if he didn’t already know that the obscure Skyrim reference would go completely over Clayton‘s head. Clayton glanced at Grant over his shoulder, offering him a smirk to end all smirks.
“I know.”
“Rude.”
“You like it.“
“Oh my god,“ Grant groaned, because Clayton calling him out on things like that was utterly horrifying. It could only mean that he was completely aware that he was dragging Grant around by the dick, and enjoyed it immensely.
Clayton’s laugh was a sharp, sudden bark that eased all of Grant's fears--he wasn’t being a tool, he was just attempting to lightheartedly tease and failing miserably in every aspect except that he made Grant want to lock himself in the bathroom for the rest of eternity.
The phone rang not long after, which was really the prelude to more runs coming in, and Grant spent a good few minutes dispatching Billy and Mike for some in-city tows and sending Elliot on a jumpstart.
He filled out the paperwork, glancing up at the computer when it honked at him for another tow call. Grant had to resist the urge to smother a coil of disappointment, because he was totally enjoying forcing Clayton to endure his presence in hopes that he would start to find Grant's company pleasurable through sheer exposure.
“Got one for you,” Grant said to Clayton, grabbing the dispatch paper meant for drivers and starting to scribble down everything Clayton needed. Clayton stood, stubbing out his cigarette and walking around until he was standing behind Grant to look at the computer screen.
He bent down, chest pressing against Grant's back and shoulder and squinting his eyes. Grant's heart was thundering like mad, hiccupping and pounding in his chest when he caught a whiff of cologne that made him want to do unspeakable things that would probably cost him his job if the owner ever reviewed the security tapes.
“Where is it at?”
“Uh,” Grant said intelligently, lifting his pen and tapping the screen as he read the address out loud. Clayton bent in further, eyes narrowing while he followed the movement of Grant's pen. Grant took it as incentive to also show Clayton where everything else was, the customer’s information, the car’s year, color, make and model, and the comment box that had details on the type of call.
The words left him in a rush, awkwardly explaining everything in excessive detail because he possibly, maybe, wanted an excuse to keep Clayton close like teenagers and their vampire romance stories.
Clayton didn’t move right away, skimming his eyes over the screen before he reached a hand up and settled it on the back of Grant's neck. Grant's body felt like a livewire, barely able to stop himself from sucking in a sharp breath when Clayton‘s fingers squeezed his neck gently before he stood. If Grant were a cat, or a lesser man, he would have happily gone limp in Clayton’s hands, leaving the man free to do whatever he wished with Grant.
“Okay, do you have the paper?”
Brain melted into a pile of goo, Grant absently tore the info sheet from the pad and handed it to Clayton. “Here,” he choked, clearing his throat. Clayton took it, other hand landing on Grant's head and ruffling it with a tiny smirk. Grant squawked in protest, shoving at Clayton’s hand and getting an amused snort in return as Clayton slipped out of the office.
Grant sat there for a few seconds, and then slowly brought his hand down between his legs to readjust himself--because he’d apparently somehow gotten a bit of a chubby from just that single touch. Honestly, it was like he was back in high school and had nearly busted a nut just from brushing arms
Similar Books
