Chapter 23
Chapter twenty-three
In the days that followed Thomas’s revelation, he opened more of himself up to Scott, including the forbidden room.
One wall would’ve looked at home in a serial killer’s lair, except instead of weapons to dissect and mutilate, there were sex toys pinned to the brickwork.
All different sizes, shapes and colours.
A lot of them Scott didn’t know whether they were for external or internal use, and when he questioned Thomas, he replied it depended on how brave you were.
Thomas hadn’t brought him into the room to show off his collection of toys, though.
He led Scott to one of the bookcases and told him to pick a folder.
Scott hesitated. The folders were all black, with nothing that hinted at what the contents might be.
He picked one, opened it up to be confronted with newspaper cuttings with a boy, because at fifteen that’s all he’d really been, being unmercifully mocked, compared to a grotesque monster in a film from the fifties.
“This is…horrible,” Scott murmured, flicking through.
It wasn’t an isolated incident; all the newspapers were at it. They’d all edited and manipulated the images to change Thomas’s appearance. Scott closed the file and selected another, shaking his head at the print-outs of the comment section on YouTube.
“Why would you keep these?” Scott asked.
Thomas gestured to the bookcases. “This is my defence during the court case. All two hundred and fifteen files.”
“But why keep them now?”
Thomas didn’t answer.
“You should burn them.”
“Maybe one day.”
Scott pushed the folder back onto the shelf. “Do you come in here to look at them?”
“I used to,” Thomas admitted. “I’d sit on that sofa over there” – he gestured to it – “and I’d pick a file, and I’d read, and I’d remember, and I’d get sad, then angry, so angry, and I’d convince myself I was better off alone.”
He strolled over to the sofa and patted the space beside him as he sat down. Scott shook his head at the bookcases one last time before going to join Thomas. A laptop was open on the coffee table in front of them, and Thomas tapped the keys until it came out of hibernation mode.
“Beauty and the Beast,” Scott read. He leaned in with wide eyes. “How many subscribers have we got?”
Thomas snorted. “2,908 –”
“Each paying twenty-five pounds a month…”
“Over seventy K.”
Scott laughed in disbelief. “Jesus…”
“That last video, the one with you fainting. It took off. I was going to cut the video before that part, but I left it in to see the reaction.” Thomas snorted like he didn’t believe it himself, then leaned forward to scroll down to the comments.
Scott tensed, glancing over to Thomas’s bookcase.
“Relax,” Thomas murmured. “I’ve deleted any negative ones.”
“Can we do that?”
“It’s our profile. I’ll do whatever I need to do to protect you, and that means there’s no negativity on our page.”
“For either of us,” Scott said.
“For either of us,” Thomas agreed. He kept scrolling, flashing glimpses of the comments at Scott. “Just lots and lots of thirsty people.”
“Slow down,” Scott said, placing his hand on Thomas’s.
Thomas raised his brow. “Ah, so you do want to read the nice comments after all.”
“That one is a load of raindrops, then a hot face, then flames, and then a deceased emoji.” Scott nudged his shoulder into Thomas’s. “He got so turned on that he died?”
Thomas chuckled, sliding his free hand onto Scott’s thigh.
“I like this one,” Thomas said, searching through the thousands of comments, then he read it aloud.
“Never thought I’d be in the staff room toilets, masturbating during my lunch break while I watch Lizard-Man torment the male version of Mary-Jane into coming until he passes out… but I’m here for it.”
“Lizard-Man.” Scott shook his head. “You’re a snake, not a lizard.
How about…” Scott said, putting his finger close to the screen to follow the words.
“I thought my earbuds were in while I was watching, turned out I was wrong, and now my girlfriend isn’t speaking to me…
” He glanced at Thomas. “That’s not good. We’re breaking people up.”
Thomas smirked. “Hold on, I’m pretty sure he comments again.” He scrolled down, finding the update. “I showed her the video, she agreed it was hot, and we’ve watched it on repeat for three hours.”
“Three hours!”
Thomas slumped back onto the sofa, encouraging Scott to keep reading. There were so many, comments of a single word, like hot, sexy, niiiice, then longer replies detailing how crazy the video drove them, what they did to themselves while watching it.
Scott had never seen more raindrop and flame emojis in all his life, with aubergines thrown into the mix too.
“We…made a lot of people come.” Scott chuckled.
“That was the goal right?”
“The goal was to make money.” Scott bit his lip. “This is an added bonus.”
“Do you want to watch it?” Thomas asked.
Scott shook his head. “I don’t need to. I was there.”
“But don’t you want to see what’s got everyone so worked up?”
“There’s only one person I care about getting worked up,” Scott murmured, glancing back at Thomas with a sly smile. “And that’s you.”
Thomas licked his lips. “Do you want to see what got me worked up?”
His eyes were heated, burning straight into Scott’s.
“I…” Scott’s cheeks warmed. “I don’t want to be embarrassed –”
“You have absolutely nothing to be embarrassed about.”
“It’s easy for you to say, you’re not the one who fainted.”
Thomas clicked his tongue to the top of his mouth. “That really bothers you, doesn’t it?”
“Of course it does.”
“Why?”
Scott looked away. “It feels like I let you down.”
“You couldn’t be more fucking wrong if you tried,” Thomas murmured. He slid his arm around Scott’s back, grabbed his waist and yanked him closer. “Sit on my lap.”
“What? Why?”
“I want you sat on my lap while we watch it together.”
Scott resisted, pulling a frown. “I don’t know…”
“Do you think two thousand people are wrong?”
“I think it might be…uncomfortable to watch, like listening to your own voice or seeing yourself attempt to act.”
“Your wrecked and worn-out voice is crazy hot.” Thomas tugged, and Scott relented, slipping onto his lap. “And there’s no acting involved.”
“But…”
“A few minutes…then I’ll stop it if you don’t like it.”
“Fine.” Scott rolled his eyes and hit play.
Scott was pretty sure it was unacceptable to get that sexually frustrated while watching yourself.
There must’ve been something deep-seated in the human psyche that said no, it was not allowed, it was self-deprecating, bad for the species, a disaster for all of humanity to be turned on by yourself.
It was vanity, arrogance, perhaps it even had threads of incest, but it was happening.
Scott was getting aroused by himself.
For the first few minutes of the video, Scott had scrunched his face up at the sheer awkwardness, but then, after the first orgasm was out of the way, things started to happen.
Things happened to present Scott because of what was happening to the past one on screen. Thomas using the word ‘pussy’ was enough to give him chills, and watching his body contort as he chased his first prostate orgasm had him peeking through his fingers like the climax of a horror film.
He was sat on Thomas’s lap, hard, and mortified all at once, which was an odd combination.
“Put them down,” Thomas ordered, and Scott dropped his hands into his lap. He endured watching the video, grimacing at everything he could remember while his cock twitched and throbbed in his jeans, and Thomas remained deathly silent at his back.
Then things began to change. Scott changed.
He didn’t recognise the out-of-control man on screen, cursing and growling through the overstimulation.
His cheeks turned crimson, his hair was a mess as he tossed and turned, and he stretched out his neck, showing the veins and tendons all close to the surface as he fought to get to the other side.
When he did, he collapsed, going boneless, stretching out his legs as the pump kept on sucking him and the buzzing of the vibrator inside him got louder.
Thomas praised him, stroking Scott’s chest, his hair, his face.
The Scott on screen was blissed out, unaware of his surroundings, looking at Thomas like he was a god that had pulled him away from the brink.
“Can I touch you?” Thomas asked, startling Scott back to the present.
“Erm.” Scott fumbled for the top of his jeans, undoing his button and zip to relieve some of the pressure. “Yeah,” he breathed. “That would help a lot.”
He cursed himself for being presumptuous. Thomas didn’t touch Scott’s cock; he stroked his hands beneath his shirt, groping Scott’s chest before zeroing in on his nipples. Thomas pulled on them, then nudged the side of Scott’s face with his nose, getting him to keep watching as he was played with.
It was building again. Scott’s cock tingled with the memory of it, the relentless sensation, the sound, the sight when Thomas lifted his head for him to watch.
That viewing window. The head of his cock compressing with each pump.
His voice from the video came out panicked, warning Thomas over and over it was coming, it meaning the next orgasm. He sounded fearful of it, looking to Thomas for guidance, who shushed him, stroking his hair, and told him he’d be okay.
Scott hissed at the harsh pinch to his nipple, glancing down at his shirt moving with both Thomas’s hands beneath it. The buttons he never did up at the top, let him catch a glimpse of Thomas’s nails on his skin, the peaks of his red nipples waiting to be touched.
“You’re going to come again,” Thomas warned.
Scott groaned, shifting his hips, seeking help from the fabric of his jeans. It was tight, oppressive, but if he lifted his hips, humped the air like a desperate dog, it dragged against him enough for something.