Tyler dribble

The warehouse was quiet.  Tyler's desk empty. 

Six days to surgery.

Halfway down the last row of filing cabinets, Tyler was pressed against the cold metal, his hands gripping at the t-shirt of the boy pressed against him.  Those lips pushed against his own, aggressive and demanding.  He yielded.  The lips left him abruptly, traveling downward and giving a gentle shove to his chin before latching onto his neck.  The hand cupping the opposite side of his neck allowed the thumb to travel over Tyler's jaw as a soft moan left him.

John's hand ducked into the front of Ty's pants.

"Ah!" The small cry echoed in the empty warehouse.  Tyler grabbed the wrist.  "No, no... John, we can't..."

"Sure we can," came the breathy reply against his collarbone, "but we do have to lose a little of these clothes..."

"I'm at work," he said in a hushed whisper.

"You're on break." The hand wrapped around Tyler and squeezed gently.

The blond gave a gasp and a soft moan.  "My boss..."

"Isn't allowed to join, but is more than welcome to watch.  Now relax."  He undid Ty's pants and pushed them and his boxers off.  "We have to get you to start going commando..."

"Jo--" The lips pushed against his again.  He melted.

John sucked his lower lip gently and slid his fingers into those blond locks.  "I have to enjoy you while I can... in a week, I won't be able to do anything to you for at least six more..."

Or possibly ever again... Ty added mentally, but didn't bother to say anything.  He smiled a little to John, but wasn't happy.  Lucky for him, John didn't know him well enough to notice.  "All right.."

"Thatta boy."  John kissed him again, undoing the front of Tyler's shirt and sliding his hands over the pale body.

Tyler pulled John's t-shirt off, returning the heated kisses as he fumbled with the younger's belt.  He froze.

"What?"  John murmured as Tyler stopped.  "I'll get it."

"No, I heard something.  The door..."

John shook his head.  "I didn't hear anything.  Besides, you locked it.  You're just nervous."

"But.."

"Shh... If someone came in, wouldn't they call for you?"

Tyler considered, then nodded.

"Well, then, there we go.  Now, I believe we were right about here..." He took Tyler's hands and placed them on his unbuckled belt.

They kissed.  The second pair of pants hit the floor, leaving the Irishman bare as he pushed against Tyler.  He picked Ty up--he weighed nothing--and pushed his back against the cabinets, kissing at his neck again, making certain to leave Tyler with a hickey as he positioned himself at the other's opening.  He started pressing...

BANG! CRASH!

"SONUVABITCH!  OW!  ME TOE!   CHICKENSCRATCHPAD!   DOORBELL -HANGER-TOE-JAM!"

A simultaneous gasp came from Tyler and John, both their heads jerking in the direction of Al's pained yelling.  John pushed closer, not to enter, but to shield his lover.

"Who the bloody 'ell are you?"  John yelled.

Tyler turned scarlet.  "That's my boss, John."  He wiggled a little.  "Put me down.  Lemme get my pants."