Crack Attack: A Collection of One-Shots and Other Disturbing Shit

Aftertaste (Chipotlan)

Warning: This story is not intended for smut virgins, innocents, or anyone who tries to avoid sexually explicit stories. This one-shot is loosely based on the song "Aftertaste" by Shawn Mendes.

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It's been too long. Four months. It's been four whole months since I last touched down here in the States. It's been four months since I last walked out these sliding doors and into the airport parking lot. It's been four months since I last saw you. I've missed you, but it won't be much longer until you're in my grasp again. In less than half an hour, I'll be sprawled out in the gaming chair in the guest room at Merome's house with you laying next to me, your sweet, spicy scent drifting through the still, cool air. It's chilly at night here in November and I need you to warm me up. I can't wait any longer.

The minutes crawl by as I wait in line with Jerome, pretending to yawn and scroll through my Twitter feed while he talks about some video idea he and Mitch concocted this morning. I couldn't care less. I can see you only centimeters away behind the steamy glass. I can smell you like you're right in front of my face, taunting me. I can feel you in my hands like you had just left me a few seconds before. Things are just like they were over the summer, like nothing has changed and no time has passed since I left you behind. But things have changed.

You have to forgive me. I was desperate. I didn't mean for it to happen, bae. I was so lonely, so weak. Yeah, I'm needy. Yeah, I regret cheating on you and I won't ever do it again. I learned my lesson for good this time - no one can replace you. It wasn't right, and it wasn't even good. It wasn't worth it. My desperation just left a terrible aftertaste in my mouth and I need you to help me get rid of it for good. You are my one, my only, my true love. You feel it, too. We both need this, don't deny it. I'll make it up to you tonight, I swear.

Jerome offers to pay from somewhere in the distance, and I quickly hand him my rewards card so I can start earning credits again. I need to make the most of my three weeks here, Preston's "real Southern food" or no. I'm not pretending to eat Rob's nasty tomato-and-egg moist bagels again. Fuck that noise. I'll stockpile burritos from every Chipotle in Dallas-Fort Worth in the fridge if they're going to play that card again, cheap fuckers. Every night is Friday night with you.

I get my food in a separate bag and I start snacking on the chips and guac on the way to the house, only half listening to what Jerome says. Who can pay attention to his yakking when they have the burrito boner of the century being grilled by said Bacca's dinner through the bottom of the bag? I almost can't hold it in when he opens the garage door - I jump out and grab my luggage while the automatic door shuts behind us. I told him on the way back from the airport that I have some last-minute editing to do that I didn't have a chance to finish before my flight, so I was going to eat while I finished it up. I guess he bought it because he doesn't question me running down the hall with my food, trying my best not to walk awkwardly when I reach the doorway. This is the boner from hell.

I've practiced the set-up so many times in my head that my body springs into action as soon as the door is shut and locked and the gorgeous brown bag is resting on the dusty black desk. It's become a reflex. The scratchy clothes slide right off and it's like the black, fluffy towels flew up on the chair by themselves. My hands are shaking as I pull your hot length out of the bag, setting the rest of the chips and guac aside as the headlights from the cars outside on the street reflect off of your shining silver skin. I almost forgot how beautiful this scene was. It's time now.

I'll make it up to you, for my absence and my infidelity. I'll make it worth it. I'll make it good. I'll prove to you that you're the only one for me. I'll show you how sorry I am, how much I regret doing that to you behind your back. That other burrito... It was nothing. It was bland, cold, stale, weak. Everything you're not. Nothing can compare to you, bae, nothing at all.

I tightly grasp the back end of the burrito and begin peeling away the delicate silver foreskin, breathing in the intoxicating scent of addiction. You can take the Chipotle away from Lachlan, but you can't take the Chipotle out of Lachlan. It was only a matter of time before we were here together again. A familiar warmth fills every cell of my body as I test the firmness of the warm, solid shaft. It's perfect. It's even better than I imagined it would be.

What we have here... This is true perfection.

I pull the foil back to the very end of the burrito and recline back in Mitch's old gaming chair, closing my eyes as I rest my head against the little built-in pillow. It's time to prove myself. It's time to perform.

The burrito slowly descends, forcing my mouth open with stubborn determination. You really want to get your due today, don't you? A small line of tangy juice trickles down my neck as the tip of the burrito finds its way past my lips, stretching my jaw open as wide as it can go. Farther, farther, farther... Wider, wider, wider... Until my mouth is completely full and there's nowhere else to go. Then it goes a little farther.

Tears start streaming down my cheeks as the sheer size of the spicy shaft pushes me closer and closer to my limit. I hold back my desperate gagging as the huge, smooth length slides slowly in and out of my mouth, showing me the error of my ways. This is my punishment for being needy, unfaithful, irresponsible. I don't deserve another chance. I'll do anything you need me to to make it up to you. Whatever you need, I'll do it.

Faster, harder, rougher, the burrito thrusts into my open, eager mouth, my eyes watering more than ever and my throat closing tightly around the persistent shaft. It seems to go on forever and only seconds at the same time. I want it to end and to be forgiven, but I want it to last so I can savour the moment, the feeling, the taste. Nothing and no one can replace you. I've waited so long for this...

Suddenly, the sides of the burrito burst after running past my teeth so many times. My mouth fills with the thick, creamy, chunky goodness of the load. Thankfully, it fills my mouth so much that it muffles my moan as I lose control and release, too. I don't know how long I sit there, eyes closed tightly as I feel the slick, spicy filling slide down the back of my throat. All I can think of is the overpowering aftertaste of you.

It's amazing.

It's beautiful.

And I'm finally forgiven.