Flight delayed, I crash at this faceless airport hotel. Suitcase drags behind, stuffed with Virginie’s panties—stuff I bought her, now mine to ditch. Anonymity hits hard: no one knows me here, gone by morning. Keycard beeps, room 412 overlooks runways, lights blinking in the night. Head to the bar downstairs for a beer. Spot Sylvain, colleague on the same layover, nursing a drink. We nod, chat work bullshit. My bag catches his eye.
“Virginie’s panties in there?” His grin says it all. I spill: breaking up, returning her gear. He digs in discreetly under the table, pulls a fuchsia Brazilian brief. “Dare you: swap your boxers in the john, come back wearing it.” Heart pounds. Toilets empty, echoey. Pants down, shoes off, slide it on. Fabric hugs my cock sideways, string bites my ass crack. Half-hard already. Back at table, pass him my boxers. His eyes light up. I grab a blue cotton thong for him, high-waisted. He vanishes, returns strutting subtle. Snapchat buzzes: his bulge straining it, smooth shaved cock peeking. Snap vanishes. Beers half-gone, we bolt. Grab sushi takeout. Elevator dings, just us. He lifts shirt—blue string peeks. I snap it high, string digs deep. Corridor footsteps fade. Keycard swipe, door clicks shut.