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Complimentary Room Service

2021

The mayor's real name stares back at Jeremy from the computer at the front desk of the Grand Chrysanthemum Hotel. It was a unique name, but not necessarily in a way that was gaudy or unattractive. Jeremy quite liked it actually, but the mayor hated it, avoided using it whenever he could.

Most likely he had made a reservation and snuck in when Jeremy wasn't on shift, thinking the name would cover up his tracks. But Jeremy hadn't told him about his rapid rise to assistant manager, that he could see any of this information whenever he wanted to.

He commits the room number to his memory, then shuts off the computer and turns to the other staff member on shift.

“There you are,” Dean says with a smile. “I thought I’d be looking at chrysanthemums all night.”

Well, the two of them would still be looking at chrysanthemums. The symbolism was obvious, the hotel’s second function was abundantly clear. But everything was covered in a thick patina of money, so everything looped back around to being luxurious again.

The chandelier above them was shaped like a chrysanthemum, providing the perfect intensity of light for an evening shift, the panel behind the front desk was a wood etching of chrysanthemums in bloom twining around each other, the floors were gleaming amber tile with gold-foil chrysanthemum stamps.

Even the uniforms weren’t spared from the heavy-handedness, which was a shame. This was the most expensive and nicely-tailored outfit Jeremy had ever owned: a crisp white shirt and black pants with a matching black vest and black D’Orsay flats. It made his waist look nice and legs look long.

But the buttons were little silver chrysanthemums and there was a big yellow chrysanthemum decal on the back of the vest and decals on the tips of the shoes.

It was laborious to look at. As Dean succinctly said once: “We get it, anal sex happens here”.

Jeremy sighs and smiles at his friend. “Sorry to leave you hanging.”

Dean shrugs and leans back in his seat.

“Don’t apologize. Being assistant manager is draining.”

Dean was probably the only other person on staff who could relate. Despite the hot pink buzzed hair and the glittery eyeshadow, he was actually the assistant manager when Jeremy first arrived. They had reversed arcs—Dean was chafing in his role, Jeremy was growing more comfortable with his. Butting heads eventually turned into platonic make-out sessions when they both had a break, and soon they were like two peas in a pod.

It was a shame those make-outs were just about the only action Jeremy got since starting here, and that’s why it hurts all the more when Dean says:

“You should blow off some steam tonight.”

Jeremy rolls his eyes and slumps in his chair. “I knooooow.”

“So, what’s the problem? No one’s going to stop you.”

“It’s not like I’m nervous—” Jeremy was, but that was neither here nor there. “Just, you know, no one’s really caught my eye tonight,” he says, finishing his statement with a little shrug.

Dean swivels around and gives him a dirty look. “Are your eyes good, man? Literally, the best-looking guests come in at night, like, objectively.”

“You can’t just say things are objective, that’s not how that works. And I’m not saying they weren’t attractive, they’re just not my type.”

Dean thinks. “Not even that swinger couple? You can get the best of both worlds.”

“Ugh, no!”

Dean snorts.

“Okay, okay. Why not just call up one of the restaurant staff? They’re usually down for whatever.”

Jeremy shakes his head.

“What do you do when you need to ‘blow off some steam’?”

“These days?” Dean ponders this for a moment. “Well, I normally have my hands full outside of work, so—”

The conversation is cut off by the lobby doors opening, the rush of cold night air and the sounds of traffic from the highway. The two of them scramble to their feet, clasp their hands in front of them, and chant “Welcome to the Grand Chrysanthemum” in perfect unison.

Unbeknownst to their guests, Dean taps Jeremy’s foot with his. Jeremy sighs internally. In actuality, he is well within his rights to tap back, but an assistant manager shouldn’t be petty.

See, the guests that had just walked in were probably the most important people the Grand Chrysanthemum would ever service. The Grand Chrysanthemum was located right in the beating heart of B-Town. The mayor of B-Town, the man who brought it from a backwoods ghetto to one of the biggest metropolitan areas on the coast, had just stepped through those doors—a one A.J. Bishop, former heavyweight champion and current mayor of B-Town.

He looked as a mayor should. Tall with broad shoulders and a prominent chin. He was big, as expected of a former boxer, but his black suit gave him a sleek sturdiness of a panther on the prowl. Smooth dark skin gave way to long gray locks, tied back into a loose braid that hung down to Bishop’s knees. Surrounding him was an entourage of bodyguards, none of them as imposing as he was, but all of them just as capable in fight.

Bishop glides across the floor up to the desk. His gaze is confident, his smirk is cocksure, and his eyes are locked on Jeremy. Jeremy swallows and keeps his eyes focused on the space between his gray eyebrows.

As Bishop rests his forearms on the desk, leaning into Jeremy’s space, his bodyguards swarm over to Dean’s half of the desk like a herd of eager golden retrievers.

“I believe there are two reservations under Bishop,” he says, voice rumbling like thunder.

There are indeed two reservations under Bishop’s name. Jeremy checks him in and validates their key cards in a way that is nothing short of professional. Bishop’s hands are warm, his fingers thick and calloused.

“Feel free to make your way up,” he says, with his usual farewell wink. “Luck seems like she’s on my side tonight. Come on, boys.”

Bishop saunters off. One by one, his bodyguards tear their attention away from Dean and follow him to the elevator.

Jeremy and Dean stand at attention for ten more seconds, then slump back into their seats like puppets with cut strings.

“Was I right or was I right?” Dean says.

Jeremy rubs his eyes, reaches blindly for his water. “What are you talking about.”

“Bishop! He’s gorgeous and he’s DTF! Get at him!”

“Yeah, because nothing will go wrong with me fucking the most important political figure in the region.”

“If he wants to do it, and you want to do it—”

“What are your plans for the evening, Dean?” Jeremy says a bit too loudly. “The boys seem like they haven’t seen you in ages.”

Dean sighs and takes the bait.

“I guess. I’ve been taking a few odd jobs so I can have a little extra spending money.”

“…On top of the money your five subs give you?”

“That goes to rent. I just need a little spending money, you know? How else am I gonna maintaining this femme top realness?”

Dean bats his lashes. Jeremy snorts, and that snort turns into an embarrassing cackle that only gets worse as Dean keeps batting his lashes.

“You’re right though,” he says, once he’s bored of the gag and Jeremy’s calmed down. “I should give them a reward.”

He makes an obscene gesture as he slowly swivels his seat, his eyes landing on the computer and the computer’s clock.

“Thought you could distract me, eh?”

“Oh, it’s my break?”

With no further ceremony, Jeremy stands and dusts off his vest. Dean blinks.

“You’re seriously going to do it?”

Jeremy waves over his shoulder as he makes his way to the elevators, completely ignoring the door to the staff area.

It’s obvious that this is his first time. He’s fidgety in the elevator, walks too quick once he’s on the right floor, hesitates before he knocks—nothing like the assistant manager he’s supposed to be. He brings his key towards the scanner, then pulls away, gritting his teeth as he paces back and forth in front of the door.

It shouldn’t be like this, and that’s why he’s annoyed. This should be his home, his refuge, his sanctum. So why does he feel guilty and anxious like this? Why does he feel like he did when he left?

Jeremy turns back to the door and scans his card before he can think about it, forgoes knocking entirely and marches in, slamming the door shut behind him.

For the first time, the mayor isn’t waiting for him, isn’t set up so that he looks perfect the first time Jeremy lays eyes on him. That didn’t mean he wasn’t dressed the part: gold platform heels, a black brocade dress with a tight pencil skirt and off-the-shoulder sleeves so low that the tops of his gold, x-shaped pasties were visible. His gold hair was tied up into two conical buns, avant-garde and sharp enough to cut, but still exposing the delicate nape of his neck.

The mayor was so intently focused on one of the paintings on the wall that he looked less like a hotel guest and more like an art museum patron.

The anxiety flows out of Jeremy as he watches the mayor. He closes the gap just like he would on any other day, wrapping his arms around the mayor’s waist and pressing the side of his face against the cool fabric of his dress. The mayor says nothing, wraps an arm around him and continues to study the painting on the wall. Jeremy’s sure the mayor has studied everything in this room like this. He didn’t really stray from his usual haunts, so, when he did, he was usually like this.

Jeremy knows better than to interrupt him, and, after a few moments, the mayor turns to him with a smile.

"Oh, don’t you look handsome in your uniform!” he says, smoothing out Jeremy’s lapel and pressing a kiss to his lips.

It’s nothing serious, but Jeremy melts into it nonetheless, wrapping his arms around the mayor’s neck and holding him close. The mayor indulges him until he can’t anymore, chuckling into Jeremy’s mouth and pulling away.

“You know we see each other every weekend, right?” he says, cupping Jeremy’s face and pressing one last kiss to his nose.

Jeremy blinks, remembering why he even came up here in the first place.

“I should be asking you the same thing.”

“Then I guess we have the same answer.” The mayor winks and gestures for Jeremy to follow. “Two days just isn’t enough.”

He flops on the lush king-sized bed, sinking comfortably into the mattress. Jeremy follows him, but stops at the foot, staring through the mayor’s body. The mayor frowns at that, but it doesn’t take long for Jeremy to open his mouth.

“I miss you,” he says.

“Well, I came to see you.”

“I wish you hadn’t. I hate it here.”

The mayor sighs heavily. Jeremy is shocked out of his own melancholy by the sound, his eyes finally flicking up to the mayor’s face. For once he looks slightly closer to his age, his face lined as he actually frowns at Jeremy.

“If you hate it,” he says, tone pointed even as he offers up a hand, “why bother?”

Jeremy bites the inside of his lip. He had his reasons for being here. His choice to work at the Chrysanthemum wasn’t an accident, but it obviously was the sort of thing that could break a relationship.

He glances back into the mayor’s eyes again.

A normal relationship.

Jeremy takes a breath—the mayor raises an eyebrow—and takes his hand.

“I,” Jeremy starts, “was worried about us.”

“Oh? How so?”

Jeremy thinks for a moment. “You know what happens at this hotel, right?”

“I didn’t see anything particularly special about it.”

Jeremy lies down on the bed next to the mayor, sinking into his side.

“I’m…allowed to be here. Employees at this hotel are allowed to have their pick of the guests. You know…”

“Ah~.” A smile finally creeps back onto the mayor’s face. “A nice reward after a long day?”

“I wouldn’t know,” Jeremy says with a shrug.

“Oh? Too busy for even that?”

“I—Well, I am assistant manager now.”

“Congratulations! Why don’t we find a third guest to spend time with then? Who’s caught your eye?”

“No, I—“ Jeremy groans and covers his face. The mayor rolls over to better look him in the eye. “I…I haven’t done anything like that here. And if I did, I don’t want it to be with you around.”

The mayor says nothing, waiting for Jeremy to continue.

“I took this job because I wanted to try having sex with someone else. I didn’t want to cheat or anything, and it’s not that I don’t like you. But you’re so much older than me—”

“I don’t mind inexperience.”

“It’s not experience that’s the problem. I just wanted to try it with someone else once before we—”

Jeremy’s words stop short, stopping a train of thought he didn’t even know was boarding. The mayor’s mouth opens, ready to press him, then the train finishes boarding and heads for the stop in his head instead.

Before we commit to forever.

The two of them stare at each other like wide-eyed lovestruck teenagers. The mayor glances away first.

“…It’s not like this is my first time either,” he says quietly. “I’m scared of some things too. Long-term things.”

Jeremy smiles sheepishly and rolls over onto his side.

“I’m glad we’re on the same page. I guess being a c-committed couple is all about taking things slow, right?”

The mayor looks back at him and smiles.

“I suppose you’re right.”

They spend a moment basking in the new mood, in the weight of this new phase of their relationship. And then the mayor rolls him over and straddles his waist, hands reaching for his lapel.

Jeremy grabs his wrist. The mayor stops. Jeremy licks his lips.

“C-can I try? I know you like to bottom, but I…I want to suck you off.”

The mayor relaxes, allowing Jeremy to flip him onto his back.

Jeremy slides between his long legs, pushing up his skirt with the movement. The mayor immediately wraps his legs around him, caging him in. His cock is half hard, and Jeremy immediately wraps his hand around it, coaxing it to full hardness and…and…

Maybe Jeremy should have just sucked it up and boned someone else. Having his first blow job with the mayor was tender and sweet and all, but sucking the mayor’s dick was not for beginners. His jaw would probably be fine, but his voice would be fucked for at least a week. And his parents barely understood cell phones, let alone texting. If he called to say he was skipping the weekend visit, they’d know something was up immediately.

The mayor’s expression is the smug shade of embarrassment that only occurs when your cock is too big to fit in someone’s mouth. He glances off coquettishly.

“You don’t have to force yourself,” he says, patting Jeremy’s head.

Jeremy huffs, his nose ring jiggling with the moment, then licks his lips and kisses the head. It’s a start. The mayor looks at him like a cat that got all the cream. Which he should. Patience might not get him to follow through, but spite might.

Jeremy opens his mouth wide enough for the head and swallows.

It’s about as unappealing as he imagined. His throat already hurts and it hasn’t even been in there that long. He feels like he can barely breathe and breathing through his nose doesn’t help much. The mayor’s clean but the taste is still too raw for his taste and the taste of his pre-cum isn’t too appealing either.

Jeremy grunts internally and glances up at the mayor.

He’d never seen an expression like this on the mayor’s face before, even though they’d fucked plenty of times. His eyes were scrunched up like he was about to cry, but his gaze was focused solely on Jeremy, mouth half open like he was about to moan and barely holding back.

…Maybe he could give this an earnest go. See, the mayor could just take pictures of Jeremy in compromising positions with his “good” eye, but Jeremy actually had to suck his cock. Life’s a bitch like that.

Jeremy pulls off, panting raggedly, a thin string of saliva connecting his bottom lip to the head of the mayor’s cock. That was kind of hot actually. Jeremy prepares to give it another go, this time swallowing in and breathing in through his nose as he sinks back down to the base.

Second time’s a charm. With a better rhythm established he can try more earnestly. He runs through all of the mayor’s favorite tricks: hollowing his cheeks as he pulls off, using his single, inferior tongue on the head, playing with his balls. The mayor doesn’t cum, but he does grip the back of Jeremy’s head, which is basically the same thing.

“A-ah, Jeremy, I—”

Jeremy didn’t think a day would come when he would be kind of happy to have someone shoot a load down his throat. Luckily or unluckily for him, today’s not that day.

The door to the room opens.

Jeremy pulls off—the mayor pushes him off—and the two of them pull apart like awkward teens caught mid-kiss. Of course, it’s too sudden, Jeremy starts coughing and spluttering and the mayor sits there semi-helplessly glancing back and forth between Jeremy and the mini-bar and their new guest.

Jeremy pulls it together and glances at the door.

Today was a mess. Its highs were kind of okay-ish and its lows were fucking chasms.

Case in point: Bishop was standing in the door, with furrowed brow and quivering lip.

The three of them stare at each other for a while, until Bishop finally says:

“Am I interrupting something?”

“No,” Jeremy says, but his throat is so fucked it’s barely discernible.

“Yes,” the mayor says, pulling Jeremy back into his arms. Jeremy rolls his eyes. On one hand he was sure that the mayor was just chilly, but the mayor could be possessive when he wanted to be.

Jeremy clears his throat (it doesn’t help) and tries to bandage over the situation in the best way a hotel assistant manager can.

“Th-this is the mayor of B-Town, AJ Bishop. Mayor Bishop, this is the mayor of A-Village.”

The mayor, Jeremy’s mayor, brightens up immediately.

“Oh, it’s very nice to meet you!”

Bishop only sulks harder, attention focused only on Jeremy.

“I see,” he says. “I thought we had something going between us, but I guess you have to think about the business first.”

“No, no, no, hold on,” Jeremy rasps, getting up from the bed. “Are you trying to imply that I’m sucking his dick instead of yours for financial benefit? Have you been to A-Village?”

“Hey!”

“You know what I mean.”

The mayor sulks. That’s two mayors sulking now.

“I don’t know,” Bishop grumbles, rubbing the back of his neck. “I really thought we had something so I really can’t imagine why you would go and see someone else tonight…”

Jeremy drags a hand down his face. Being civil wasn’t helping things, but perhaps being honest might.

“You’re right. I should’ve communicated my intentions to you more clearly. I like you, but I figured it wouldn’t work out since we’re both tops.”

Bishop looks confused, but it’s the same quizzical smile you might give to a toddler speaking gibberish. It’s better than the sulking.

“You’re not a top,” he says, rather matter-of-factly for someone who got stood up tonight.

Bishop is still a customer. So even while the mayor tries and fails to hold back his laughter, Jeremy politely and patiently presses on.

“What makes you think I’m not a top?”

“Jeremy,” Bishop says with condescending paternalism, “you were just sucking that man’s dick.”

Nothing about this comment registers as odd to Jeremy. Then he remembers that Bishop is old. Not old like the mayor is old, but old like old-fashioned, dated, out-of-touch, limited thinking. He was a sexy, silver fox, but he had yet to reach that age where he stopped being old, and started being fun and interesting again.

He is, however, still a customer.

“Some people who like to top, also like to suck dick,” Jeremy says calmly.

Bishop shrugs like he doesn’t agree.

“C’mon, now. You’re a little guy,” he says, rubbing the top of Jeremy’s head. “Who’d wanna be topped by you?”

The mayor makes a little choking noise. Jeremy sucks in a breath, and gently removes Bishop’s hand from the top of his head.

“I assure you, I am a top.”

“I think this is a very interesting attempt to get out of spending the night with me.”

“Wow,” the mayor says, interrupting the dead and spiraling conversation. “If only there was some way two tops could have a good time.”

The two of them stop arguing and glance at the mayor. Well, Bishop glances over at the mayor, and Jeremy watches Bishop watching the mayor. He ignored him when he first came in, but now his gaze is more appraising. The mayor crosses one leg over the other with a cocky grin, allowing himself to be appraised. Bishop’s eyes roam the length of his body—his narrow waist, his long legs, his still-hard cock, then back up to his face, cocking his head in something like satisfaction.

Jeremy swallows, his eyes finally flicking away from Bishop. He didn’t think of the mayor as his by any means, that would be presumptuous, but there was something thrilling about the mayor being admired by others, especially when he had so much to be admired. It was one of the reasons he never minded that the mayor’s half of the relationship was still open, so long as he got to see the finished product first.

The mayor stops, looks at Jeremy and reaches out his hand.

“So long as my darling is willing, I’d be happy to defend his honor as a top,” he says as Jeremy takes his hand and settles on the bed again.

“We typically don’t encourage gatherings like this,” Jeremy starts, “but if both guests are in agreement, I’m willing to exercise some authority as assistant manager and make an exception.”

The two of them look at Bishop. He gives the mayor another long stare, then looks over Jeremy for a bit too.

“Are you two a couple?”

“Something like that,” the mayor says.

“I’m not at liberty to disclose that information during business hours,” Jeremy says, shushing the mayor. “Are you in or not?”

Bishop shrugs and smirks. “It’s been a while since my last threesome.”

Jeremy’s sure he’s had plenty.

The mayor, who is far more practiced in dealing with multiple partners, claps his hands and rolls onto his hands and knees. Jeremy takes just a bit too long to long to pounce. The mayor glances back at him with his usual cocky smirk and shakes his hips from side to side.

The sight is hypnotic, and Jeremy isn’t just talking about the barely-there pattern on the fabric of the mayor’s dress. It’s been a while since they last fucked, and “a while” was an understatement. Of course, Jeremy would be left high and dry, but the mayor certainly wasn’t.

That wasn’t necessarily a deal-breaker.

Jeremy’s eyes are fixated on the mayor’s zipper. A thin strip of gold arching through a sea of black, dipping with the arch of his back and curving upward with his ass. The mayor stiffens, finicky as always with his garments, but he doesn’t say anything. Jeremy unzips him, revealing the smooth skin of his back and the shiny silk of his corset.

How many others had done the same thing since Jeremy was away? How many had felt the mayor’s cool skin beneath their hands, had touched every inch of him in their desperation to get off, had left him worse off than when they arrived? The idea wasn’t necessarily a deal-breaker. It never had been. Nothing got Jeremy harder faster, except maybe the idea of seeing the mayor suck someone else’s cock for once.

Jeremy unzips his fly, frees his erection before he stains his pants with pre-cum. Normally, the mayor would do this for him, in a way that was a lot sexier and made his cock stiffer. A glance at the mayor proves that his was fine, better even. The mayor watches over his shoulder with his good eye. Not his favorite eye, the gold one, but his human eye, the one that Jeremy likes. The gold eye doesn’t have a pupil, and it doesn’t dilate when the mayor’s aroused like this one does.

His cock is stiff between his legs.

Jeremy doesn’t remember the moment of penetration. He was suddenly just inside the mayor, like that’s where he should’ve been the whole time. He does remember plunging his hands under the fabric of the mayor’s dress, the way the mayor yelped but didn’t actually do anything to stop him. He knew the mayor liked the feeling of Jeremy’s hands and much as Jeremy liked to feel him.

It’s easy to forget they’re not alone.

The bed dips as Bishop rests one knee on it, holds the mayor’s chin with one hand and taps the head of his cock against his lips with the other. His mouth moves, he says something.

“Yes,” Jeremy answers, breathless as he keeps pumping his hips, sounding about as desperate as the mayor would have if he were given a chance to answer.

The other men freeze, not that Jeremy notices or cares. The mayor glances back at Jeremy with soundless exhale, and Bishop chuckles.

“You’ll have to excuse him,” the mayor says, taking Bishop’s cock out of his hand. “And I do hope you’ll pay attention to this, darling.”

Jeremy does. Bishop’s a large gentleman with the equipment to match. Jeremy wasn’t astounded by the mayor’s ability to such his cock, it just felt good. He was astounded when the mayor took Bishop to the base with nothing more than a slow lick up the side.

Bishop seems just as shocked, like he’s used to more foreplay before the grand finale. The mayor didn’t work like that. Once he got started, he was insatiable, and pretending to act demure and normal wouldn’t get him what he wanted any faster.

It’s fascinating to watch from a third-person perspective. Jeremy pulls one hand out from the mayor’s dress and gently wraps it around his throat, feeling the bulge from Bishop’s cock there. The mayor “shudders”, though when he’s in this state it’s more like a full-body purr. A non-verbal request for more that comes with him clenching around the both of them, trying to pull them in deeper.

It works on Jeremy. Or perhaps it would be better to say that Jeremy doesn’t resist it. He picks up the pace just like the mayor wants, his hips moving without him considering technique or form or whatever good tops think about.

Bishop is too preoccupied with himself. He puts his hand on the back of the mayor’s head, and, while the mayor likes it rough, prefers it even, it’s a bit too close to messing up his hair that even Jeremy wants to cringe. He wants to be the one to set the pace, to have come semblance of control, but the mayor will face-fuck himself if that’s what he has to do.

Of course, Jeremy can’t help but watch. He can only imagine what the mayor’s doing to him, can feel the barely-there sensations on his own cock as he recalls his own first time with the mayor, and that amazing thing he did with his tongue.

He fucks faster at the memory.

He can feel the mayor’s growing irritation with Bishop’s obstinacy, and picks up the pace, hoping to preempt his annoyance. Not like Jeremy has much to worry about. With every glance he steals, Bishop is crumbling, losing more and more of his composure, half covering his face in an attempt to avoid embarrassment.

It only eggs the mayor on. He digs sharp, manicured nails into Bishop’s thigh, tearing through the fabric of his suit pants and digging into the muscle there. Bishop roars in pain, lowers his guard, and cums down the mayor’s throat.

The mayor’s mood improves greatly as Bishop pulls out and flops on his side on the mattress, exhausted. With a glance and a smirk and a clench, Jeremy follows suit, though he’s not nearly as embarrassed as Bishop is. The mayor waits for him to pull out, then rewards him with a few kisses.

“Still hungry?” Jeremy says. Normally, they avoided this outcome when they were together, but where two or more are gathered…

The mayor’s eyes are hungry and his smile is enigmatic. He glances back at Bishop, expression cold.

“Can you go another round or is that your last pump for the evening?” he says with a barely concealed snarl.

Bishop makes an okay sign with his fingers before his arm flops down again. The mayor rolls his eyes and grants Jeremy one last kiss before turning around and flipping Bishop onto his back with ease.

“Pull it together,” the mayor grumbles, jerking him back to hardness with only two pumps.

He shucks off his dress with ease, inadvertently undoing his buns in the process, not that it stops him. His hair drops down to cover his face, showing only the glint of his golden eye as he bottoms out on Bishop’s cock, drawing a grunt from the other man.

He looks feral in that glamorous mayor way. He only needs to tip his head for Jeremy to come crawling over, to get him to slip his cock into what little space he has left to offer.

The mayor clings to him as they fuck. Well, as Jeremy fucks him. Bishop stays still beneath them, whining periodically as the mayor rides him. With Bishop there, it’s a tight fit, feeling Bishop’s hard cock sliding against his with every thrust and hip drop, feeling the mayor clutching around them both, not afraid to let out his cries until Jeremy silences the mayor’s mouth with his.

He cums mid-kiss.

Moments later, Jeremy thanks the mayor for cleaning up his cock, then zips up the fly of his pants. The mayor watches, licking his lips like the cat who just got the cream. He’s wearing his dress again, but his heels have been kicked off and his hair is still down from before.

Jeremy turns to leave, but the mayor catches his by one of his belt loops and makes a few last minute adjustments before patting him on the butt.

“See you in the morning?”

“Mm-hm.” Jeremy pecks him chastely on the forehead. “Do you have any plans for the evening? Should I send up some room service?”

“That would be lovely,” the mayor says. “Hopefully, I can get Bishop up for another round. Or, barring that, a reasonable discussion about politics.”

Jeremy chuckles and glances at Bishop. He’s snoring loudly on one of the sofas, his limp cock still out of his pants.

“Have fun, then. And be careful with him, not everyone has your stamina.”

The mayor smiles and cheerfully waves him off.

The elevator trip down is a lot calmer, but only because Jeremy is exhausted. The mayor had a way of burning off that excess energy. It’s late enough at night, or perhaps early enough in the evening, that there are no other guests around. Jeremy can slouch and lean up against the elevator’s walls for a quick doze.

When he returns, Dean is still sitting at the front desk. He sits up when he notices Jeremy approaching, then glances at how much time has elapsed.

He’s laughing by the time Jeremy comes behind the counter and playfully shoves him.

“You actually did it, you madman!” Dean says, raising his arms to defend himself.

“Literally, suck my nuts,” Jeremy says before they both dissolve into laughter in the empty lobby.

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