Chapter 36
THIRTY-SIX
Ethan
The final show at The Firehouse drew an impressive crowd. It was an hour before showtime, but the place was already packed. Groups of men milled around the runway, shoulder to shoulder, chatting and sipping cocktails.
Virgil wove through the crowd, greeting his regulars and friends with hugs and cheek-kisses.
He’d put on a chic black button-up shirt for the event, but that apparently counted as dressing up, since he’d paired it with threadbare jeans and a pair of black Converse sneakers so worn that his pinky toe peeked through a hole in the canvas upper.
Ethan had never seen him so radiant, smiling and joking around, clapping men on the back as he doubled over with laughter. It was a lovely change from his default state of world-weariness. Maybe he was reconnecting with the joy he’d experienced when he first opened the bar.
Over on the dance floor, men navigated the rows of tables set up for fundraising events.
Xander helmed the table closest to the stage, collecting community donations.
A poster of a huge thermometer hung on the wall behind him.
With his light linen shirt completely unbuttoned, he swayed to the music, smiling and winking at the patrons, who were drawn to his smooth tan chest as if they were following a homing beacon.
Whenever the thirsty guys stepped up to his table, Xander slipped his hands into his pockets, strategically sweeping his shirt tails to the side.
Once his nipples were exposed, he’d turn on the charm.
A compliment or two, a flirty squeeze of the guys’ biceps, and a subtle lean forward so they could smell his cologne, and bam – they were pulling out their phones to Venmo money to the club.
He’d already filled in half of the thermometer with red marker scribbles.
Tables in the middle of the dance floor were dedicated to the silent auction, Ethan’s contribution to the night’s efforts.
Local businesses had been incredibly generous with their donations to the auction, but the prize everyone was talking about was the Siren VIP package – a private party at the club for ten guests.
In addition to a full show (which promised to be a little racier than the typical show), partygoers would enjoy a champagne meet-and-greet with the dancers, complete with lap dances and “exclusive VIP treatment.” Ethan didn’t ask Blake to elaborate on that one. The less he knew, the better.
At the table nearest the door, Blake was holding court under a Meet Dirk Slocum banner.
Hollis had the idea to mobilize his fan base, and the turnout was better than either he or Blake expected.
Shirtless and oiled up, Blake autographed pictures and merchandise, as well as a few chests and ass cheeks.
For an extra donation, he’d pose for a selfie with a fan.
Ethan sat at the bar with Hollis, who was now social media coordinator and brand manager for Siren. He might have looked like an accountant, with his horn-rimmed glasses, white shirt, and black tie, but his bubblegum pink blazer announced he was there to cut loose.
While Hollis sipped a martini and scrolled through Instagram on his phone, Ethan tried to relax and enjoy himself.
It wasn’t even his club yet, but he felt the responsibility to make sure the night went off without a hitch.
His gaze kept drifting over to Blake’s table – just to make sure everything was running smoothly.
Definitely not because Blake’s massive pecs were glistening with oil, or because his cut obliques were visible above his jeans.
“He looks hot tonight,” Hollis said.
“Yeah,” Ethan said, his voice dreamy and distracted.
“How are things going with you two?”
That question sobered Ethan up. “What do you mean?”
“You’re dating, right?”
“Not anymore. Just business partners.”
Hollis regarded Ethan with a curious expression, then shrugged and went back to Instagram.
Ethan’s gaze drifted toward Blake again, and a flash of gold caught his eye. Then another. And another. A lot of the men gathering around Blake’s table were carrying what looked like oversized gold flashlights.
Oh no.
“Why are so many men in line to see Blake carrying Fleshlights?”
Without looking up from his phone, Hollis said, “Dirk Slocum has a sleeve with a custom texture and an opening cast from Blake’s asshole.”
His tone was surprisingly casual for someone delivering the news that hundreds, if not thousands, of men were playing with a toy shaped like his boss’s butthole.
“And you knew about this?” Ethan asked.
“Who do you think got him the deal with Fleshjack? I’ve been managing his online presence for years.”
Ethan pulled his phone out of his pocket and Googled Dirk Slocum Fleshjack.
Dirk Slocum had a dedicated page on the Fleshjack website, as one of the “Fleshjack Boys.” The primary image showed Blake reclining on a bed, wearing only a pair of skimpy blue briefs.
Featured prominently was a photograph of his Fleshlight, with a puckered opening that, judging from the few times Ethan had seen it, definitely looked like Blake’s hole.
The cutaway view of the sleeve showed the inner texture, named “Tight End” – a narrow channel studded with a dizzying array of ridges and bumps that didn’t look like it left much room for a penis.
Ethan skimmed Dirk’s bio, and mumbled the last line aloud. “Dirk has never bottomed, so live out your fantasy of being his first by sliding into this dominant top’s tight end.” He turned to Hollis. “Is that true?”
“Is what true?”
“Blake has never bottomed before?”
“Not on screen.”
Ethan scanned the row of thumbnails at the bottom of the page and clicked on the image of a very familiar dick.
“What the fuck?” he gasped. “There’s a dildo cast from Blake’s dick?
‘Dirk’s cock is not for the faint of heart,’” he read from the product description.
“‘A girthy eight inches, this dildo is for the experienced bottom.’ I was able to take it,” Ethan said, and heat rushed to his cheeks.
Hollis flashed a mischievous grin and nodded his chin in Blake’s direction. “Break time.”
Blake jogged over, his wavy chestnut hair falling over his forehead. He retrieved the bottle of baby oil he’d stashed behind the bar and squirted a liberal amount into his palm. “Time to oil up again.”
He smoothed his oily hands over his pecs in sensual circles, his fingertips lightly brushing his erect nipples. A single drop of oil trickled down his abs, gliding over each band of muscle on its way to his waistband.
“Oh my god,” Ethan mumbled under his breath, as heat pooled in his crotch.
Tenny stopped over with a glass of water garnished with two lemon wedges. “Good crowd,” he said, resting his forearms on the bar.
“I know, right?” Blake beamed. “A lot of them are staying for the show, so my tips alone might pay for the renovations.”
He finished oiling his abs and moved to his bulky biceps. Those arms…
One night, after they’d worked on the business plan for hours, Ethan was on his back in Blake’s bed, with his legs in the air, waiting for Blake to fuck him.
After easing his cockhead inside, Blake wrapped his strong arms around Ethan’s thighs and pulled him onto his dick, inch by thick inch slowly sliding inside…
“Ethan discovered your Fleshjack toys,” Hollis said.
Ethan kicked Hollis’s foot so hard his loafer fell off.
“Oh yeah,” Blake said. “Posing for those was a weird experience. I had to shave myself completely bald down there.”
Blake held the oil out to Ethan. “Would you do my back?”
Ethan nodded, unable to form words. He squirted some oil into his palm and rubbed his hands together to warm them. When he placed his hands on Blake’s shoulders, he kneaded the tense muscles.
“That feels so good.” Blake groaned, a sound of pleasure that sent a zing straight to the tip of Ethan’s dick.
His heart pounding, Ethan continued his massage, working his way down Blake’s thickly muscled back. He needed to keep the conversation going to distract himself from the situation in his pants. He latched onto the first thing that popped into his head.
“How did you stay hard during the casting process?” Ethan cringed the moment the words left his mouth. Smooth. You just asked your business partner about his hard-on.
“A cock ring and Viagra. And, um… the guy making the mold gave me a rim job while the gunk was setting.”
Now Ethan was imagining himself rimming Blake. Licking the sensitive ring of muscle. Breathing in his musky scent as the soft hairs in Blake’s crack tickled his nose.
His hands slid lower, toward the jeans sitting low on Blake’s hips. There was a gap between the waistband and his lower back. He could take a little peek inside…
“Can I get you anything, Ethan?” Tenny asked with a smirk.
Ethan pulled his hands away as if he’d been burned. “Nope, just a towel.” He patted Blake’s shoulder and took the towel from Tenny. “All set,” he said, wiping the oil from his hands.
Blake turned around. “Thanks.”
It was hard to say for sure in the dim lighting, but Blake’s bulge looked more prominent.
“Dirk!” Xander stood at Blake’s table, beckoning him back. “Break time’s over!”
Blake chugged his water and thunked the glass on the bar. “My fans await.”
He jogged back to his table, and Ethan definitely did not watch how his jeans strained over his glutes, as his well-developed muscles flexed and released.
Hollis chuckled. “Just business partners, huh?”
To warm up the crowd, Dom shimmied down the runway in silver hot pants and fluffy white Cupid wings, dancing to “I Touch Myself.” He thrust his hips, grabbed his crotch, and made his wings flap by snapping his shoulders forward and back.
The men in the audience clapped along, laughing at his antics.
Some held up tips which Dom collected with his teeth.