Chapter Fourteen
A fledgling sort of deja vu, as I rode the elevator in their building. I’d only been there once, but my imagination had conjured so many variations. Auditioned a hundred different ways for Oli to feel, as he walked down the hallway toward the cracked door.
I was pushing off my shoes as William appeared. Smiling, a wolfish sort of smile; a smile that spoke of anticipation, and need, and of a trap so well set, your prey willingly stumbled into it a second time.
“Hey, Oli. You look good.”
His stare was predatory, too. Hungry.
“So do you. Thanks for having me over again.”
He chuckled. “When I saw your name pop up, I couldn’t resist. But I wouldn’t want to flatter your ego too much by explaining why.”
I grinned back at him. He really was attractive, my lopsided memory of the first time hadn’t conjured that detail up.
Barely covered by a loose, sleeveless shirt - the wide arm holes gaping to reveal smooth skin - and shorts.
Gym-wear, basically, for the sort of gym where being watched is as important as working out.
“Maybe I can encourage a few complimentary words out of you tonight,” I suggested.
Another laugh. “You want a drink?”
I glanced toward the bedroom. Imagining what I’d be able to see, were my eyes capable of peeling back the wall. Who I’d see.
“And keep him waiting?”
William licked his lips. “The anticipation might be good for him.”
I took a step forward; gratified that he made no move to back away. When I ran my hand down the curve of his ass, I could feel the straps of the jock through the clinging shorts.
“I think I’m anticipating enough for all of us,” I murmured.
It was a pleased smile; the sort which recognizes a compliment.
He led me by the hand, into the bedroom.
My memory had gone light on detail, sketching in a big bed and the chair across the room, and little else. Ignoring the nice lamp, and the other furniture, and the soft gray of the sheets, as it prioritized the parts I’d instinctively known I’d want to return to over and over again.
Even this second time, my eyes were drawn like magnets to the corner.
White t-shirt, gray sweatpants. Flynn’s feet bare on the rug. The leather gag of last time was gone, a tight black mask that covered his nose and mouth in its place. Hugging the contours of his lips.
His eyes flared in recognition, as I was guided to the center of the room.
“Let me.” William’s fingers were already reaching for my shirt, tugging at the buttons. Baring my chest, inches at a time.
I stood, arms hanging by my sides, as he undressed me. Watching Flynn, wishing there was some way I could dip into his brain to understand his reaction. Know what was going on behind that near-inhuman stillness.
“You’re so sexy,” William purred, easing the shirt off me and pawing at my chest. Fingers stroking down my belly, to tug at my belt.
It was performance, I knew it was. Staged and barely for my benefit, as he pulled down my jeans. As soon as I stepped out of them, William pushed his face into my crotch; I could feel the vibrations of his satisfied groan.
I wanted to know what noise Flynn would make, as he yanked down my underwear. Whether it’d be the same hiss of triumph that his boyfriend made, as he stood again and molded himself to my side.
Erection pressed into my leg, he reached down and hefted me in his hand. As though he was serving me up on a platter.
“Damn, look at this fucking cock.”
He was staring at me while he said it, but I knew the words were for his boyfriend. The one who was struggling to hold my gaze, his eyes flitting down to my crotch and then bouncing back up again. Over and over, as William manhandled me.
A fist, stroking down my length. Catching and smearing the drool that’d been threatening to spill from my tip, onto the rug.
“Look how fat it is, babe.” William’s voice practically a purr, thoroughly delighted with the evening’s toy. “It’s so fuckin’ hard. I just know it’s gonna feel incredible.”
I could see Flynn’s breathing growing faster, his fingers tightening on the arms of the chair. Wondered whether that was from what he could see, now, or what his partner was telling him he planned to do with it all.
“You think I should suck it, babe?” It was a rhetorical question; everyone knew Flynn wasn’t going to nod, much less speak through the skin-tight mask. “You think I should get on my knees, and let him use my throat?”
I glanced at him, feeling him hump his dick against my leg. The motion so small, I wasn’t even sure William knew he was doing it.
“Less talk, more sucking,” I told him.
He chuckled as he dropped to a crouch. Turning me - his hands on my hips - until we were side-on to Flynn, the perfect view in profile of William’s wide open mouth.
I fought the urge to watch Flynn’s face, to try to gauge his reaction, as I buried myself in his boyfriend.
William’s eyes flared as I looked down at him and grinned.
“You like that?”
As much of a nod as was possible, his face skewered.
“You think your boyfriend likes it? Watching you get another guy off, instead of him?”
I wanted to turn, but I knew I couldn’t. That this performance had to be between William and I; that it only worked if Flynn was the silent observer, the self-inflicted audience.
William’s hands urged me on, the movements faster and more aggressive. Until, unable to stop myself, I grabbed his head. Feeling how he instantly relinquished control, happy to have me ream him this way.
Eventually, feeling the churn of pleasure between my legs, I pushed him off me. Sending him toppling back onto his ass on the bedroom floor, a look of glazed triumph on his face.
“Strip. Now.”
A grin, mischievous and knowing, but he still obeyed. Shirt and shorts gone in a moment, and the front of his jock tented obscenely.
I beckoned him over. William’s back to his boyfriend, automatically bending at the waist as I groped at his cheeks.
“Damn, even better than I remembered from the first time,” I told him, approvingly. “Am I your first today?”
He grunted, as I pulled at him with my fingers. “Yes.”
“You didn’t even let your boyfriend take a turn?” I looked up as I said it. Flynn’s stare was intense; I could see how tight his lips were, through the clinging fabric.
William snorted. “Nope. So hurry up.”
I laughed, as I worked him with my hand. Not even sure what was hotter: the anticipation of the sex, or the fact that my old friend was watching me prepare for it.
No, that was a lie: I knew which was hotter. So much hotter.
“You like it rough, don’t you?”
William’s groan came with a shudder. “Yes.”
“Yes, what?” I bunched the waistband of his jock in my fist.
He gasped, rising up on the balls of his feet. “Y-yes, sir!”
I smirked at Flynn. A “well, will you listen to that?” grin.
The condoms were still in the nightstand drawer.
I could feel Flynn’s eyes on me, as I rolled one on.
William had positioned himself on his knees, at the edge of the mattress.
Back arched, face against the bedding; I knew, with a crisp certainty that bordered on admiration, that he’d picked both the position and the pose so as to be as exposed to his watching boyfriend as possible.
Putting my foot up on the mattress, I tilted my hips as I stroked William’s cheeks. Playing up the angles, making sure Flynn had the perfect view of what I was borrowing from him that evening. Wanting him to not only imagine it, but be able to see it in detail.
The first time William and I had fucked, I’d still been half in shock.
Confused by the setup, one half of the couple watching the other and a stranger.
That compounded with the knowledge that it was Flynn sitting, silent and hard, watching from across the room.
Even across from him the following day, over coffee, I’d struggled to comprehend quite what had happened, what I’d done.
This time, though, the shock was behind me. The noises William made not quite familiar but recognized, at least. The way he clawed at the bedding; the feel of his narrow waist between my hands, as I yanked him back onto me.
The room was hotter than before, sweat already running down my chest. The prickle, too, of Flynn’s eyes on me, as though his stare was a physical thing, a tangible one. The thoughts mysterious behind that intensity.
I could overthink it, I knew, or I could lean into it; it only seemed right to pick the latter. Reveling in the sound of my slick skin hitting William’s, his gasps barely muffled by the sheets. Knowing, instinctively, that he’d never tap out, that doing so would mean wounded pride.
I wanted to know if Flynn was imagining it was him, on all fours.
If, behind that mask and the mute lips pressed against it, his fantasy was to be on the bed instead.
Or the roles upended and shuffled, perhaps; if, in his imagination, I was the one clawing at the comforter and gibbering mindlessly for harder, deeper, more.
He could have either, that was the sick truth of it. I was fucking his boyfriend, but Flynn could stand, yank me away from William, and do as he pleased with me.
That he didn’t - that his feelings were as impenetrable as ever - had the anger surging inside me. Frustration seeing me drape myself across William’s back, hugging him to me. Savoring his heat and his musk; the smell of his shampoo, as I buried my nose in his hair.
I’d never really fantasized about exhibitionism before, about being watched.
Even now, I wasn’t sure if it was the observation that had cranked my arousal up, or the person doing the observing.
This strange, unexpected sense of showing Flynn the man I’d grown up to be, what the kid he’d known was capable of, now.
That - far from some scrawny child - he was now worthy of being lusted over.
“Oh fuck, you feel so good,” William gasped.
I wasn’t really one for talking during sex. Then again, I’d not really been watched while I was doing it before, either.
“You like that?” My voice louder than it needed to be, pitched for our audience. “You think you can handle it?”