EZRA
Who is the bartender? Why, it's me! Your favorite little asshole, back from the dead.It's a slow night at the VlamVloed (I blame the weird name; I'm thinking about rebranding), and I'm very distracted by a darkly handsome fellow whose name I never caught but has decided he needs me to make his drink personally, if you know what I mean. He's leaning against the bar with his cock deep down my throat when the door chimes open, alerting me that a customer has arrived.
"Bugger," I try to mutter irately, but of course it comes out as "Mufffhnnng." I would have done more, I really would, but my unnamed companion has his hand wrapped tight in my hair and it would be terribly rude to disengage now. Instead tall dark and anonymous turns to look back over his shoulder, eyes glassy and distant. "Bartender's cleanin' off the floor. He'll - mmm - be with ya in a sec."
Thank the gods for high bartops, eh? Not that I would mind an audience. Apparently our friend loves one, because no sooner does he turn back but he blows his load like a fucking champ, very valiantly keeping from making too much a scene of it. Rocking back on my heels, I give him a final luxurious slurp before rising fluidly from the floor and licking my lips like a satisfied cat, long hair tousled and messy and loose, shirt gone somewhere behind the bar.
"So sorry again for the mess," I purr, leaning down to place a kiss on Whatshisname's cheek. "I hope you're still satisfied with our service." He grunts something vaguely incoherent before hurrying out from behind the bar, leaving me to manage the new customer - if he's stuck around, that is.
we knew right from the start
that you'd fall apart
'Cause I'm too expensive
