Special
"Right, right here," JC was whispering urgently, and before Chris could protest that right here really ought to be behind the lobster tank, if not in the men's room, he found himself with two fistfuls of curls and his ass up against the loose potatoes.
The part of his brain that wasn't utterly distracted by the liquid pull of JC's mouth muttered something about graveyard restockers, and he must have said it out loud, because JC withdrew a little, licking solidly around the head of Chris' cock as he did. "There's a reason I come to this Ralphs this late, you know," he said, giving a reassuring squeeze accompanied by a smooth and steady stroke, and Chris' knees buckled just a bit. "They're way understaffed weeknights."
A demi-wall of potatoes, Chris realized, really didn't provide much lumbar support. "Uh," he said helpfully, then "uhhh" as JC moved back in with a firmer grip and a spiraling genius of a tongue, and then "ohhh shit," because the potatoes were shifting beneath Chris' increasingly spastic hips, and a cascade of tubers would undoubtedly bring the one cashier JC seemed to think was on hand during the 3am shift, and that cashier's arrival would be completely incongruous with the whole point of this exercise, which was to prove that JC gave the best head anytime, anywhere. Not that Chris had initially argued the point.
"C, can we move it to the -" and JC clearly didn't want to move anywhere, because his mouth was urging Chris to stay, stay, stay, and his hands were stroking down the outsides of Chris' thighs, and his tongue was running fucking victory laps around Chris' cock. JC was sucking hard and deep, and when he pulled off again, Chris wondered hazily if he could get a 2-for-1 type deal with this, maybe recover over in the canned foods section, then head over to the cereal aisle for take two. Then he had no more time to think, because JC was devouring him again, wet and fast and with an intensity that shot stars behind Chris' eyes. Chris was caught up in the rush, helpless to stop it; he thrust, and thrust again, and there he came, and whoops, there the potatoes went.
JC was laughing before Chris' dick had fully slipped from his mouth, and the tingly vibrations were a little too much for Chris to handle. He found himself sliding down to the floor next to JC, shaking his head ruefully as he zipped himself up. JC shoved a couple of Idaho Russets out of the way, sending them skittering across the linoleum. "Hey," Chris said, poking at JC's shoulder, "they're gonna be calling for a clean-up in the produce aisle."
"Oh, I think you've already cleaned up in the produce aisle." JC leaned in to lick at the corner of Chris' mouth, and what was Chris to do? Who knew what could happen if he denied JC the pleasures of his attention? A cataclysmic event in the vicinity of the dairy section, no doubt. No, it was better to take his chances amongst the fallen cousins of the Yukon Golds, and just shut up and kiss JC.
"Mmmm," JC smiled happily a moment later. "We should really come to the grocery store more often."
Chris sighed. "You've been in LA way too long, dude. We civilized folk call it the supermarket."
"Yeah, well." JC grinned. "You say tomato-"