Chapter 5 Danger Zone
The following week, the summer heat finally arrives for real. Oliver and I try to game in the afternoon, but the AC can’t keep up with the sun’s onslaught. It’s sweltering; impossible to focus.
Oliver gets up from his gaming chair. “Wanna make popsicles?”
“Yes, please,” I say with a relieved sigh. “I’m dying.”
I follow him out of his room, and as we walk downstairs, I hear the telltale thuds coming from the garage.
Mason must be in there, pumping iron in this heat.
Every time we’ve crossed paths, I’ve tried not to let my eyes linger on him for too long, but he’s shirtless more often than not, and his body is, um… Let’s just say it’s eye-catching.
Oliver gathers everything we need on the kitchen counter: silicone molds with handles for the popsicles, sugary sweet raspberry juice, and a pitcher to mix the juice in.
“Crap,” Oliver says, rummaging around the cabinets. “Where’s that freaking pour thing?”
“The pour thing?”
“The funnel for the molds. Shit gets everywhere without it. Gets all sticky and gross when it melts. Fuck. I think Mason borrowed it for his stupid toys.”
Toys? Mason doesn’t strike me as someone who still plays with toys, unless it’s, um… those kinds of toys, and in that case, I doubt Oliver would mention it so casually.
“Um, okay. Want to ask him?”
Oliver rolls his eyes. “Nah, let’s just do without it. I don’t wanna go into his room; he’s probably shirtless or something.”
“Isn’t he at the gym?” I ask casually, as if I don’t keep meticulous track of his whereabouts. “I’ll go get it. I’m sure he won’t mind.”
I’m sure he will mind; I’m just looking for an excuse to see his room.
Oliver sends me a cautious glance. “Fine. Just be quick.”
I feel like I’m on a top-secret mission as I sneak up the stairs. At the opposite end of the hallway from Oliver’s room, is the door to Mason’s room.
It looks unassuming. No stickers, no posters, no sign that says “stay away,” though I know I should do just that—stay away.
The door opens with a click, and I step inside.
Danger zone.
I don’t know what I expected, but his room is even more unassuming than the door.
Nothing really stands out. There’s a desk, a bed, and a bunch of moving boxes in the corner.
Looks temporary, and I suppose it is. He’s not staying long, just for the summer.
Then he’ll be out of my life, and I’ll be out of his.
My eyes gravitate toward the bed. Dark blue duvet, nice fluffy pillows. On the nightstand, there’s a big white bottle that at first glance seems innocuous, but paired with a box of Kleenex, its purpose becomes all too clear.
My cheeks flush, and I gulp and turn my attention to the desk, which is cluttered with plastic bits and frames.
Small tubs of paint line the far edge, and there’s a cardboard box with an image of a robot—a Transformer?
There, among the paintbrushes, is the metal funnel Oliver must’ve been looking for.
I feel like I’ve stumbled upon something that I’m not supposed to see. When Oliver said “toys,” my mind instantly assumed it was something dirty, but turns out it’s a surprisingly nerdy and wholesome hobby.
I take a step toward the desk, and as my hand closes around the funnel, the door shuts with a click behind my back.
“Hey, puppy.”
I spin around, my heart in my throat.
Mason stands there, sweaty and shirtless, dressed in gym shorts and with a thin silver chain around his neck. He looks unbothered, as if he didn’t just catch me red-handed in his room.
“I, uh…” I begin. “I was just looking for p-popsicles.” Great. It’s not just my dick that misbehaves whenever he’s near; now my brain’s malfunctioning, too.
“Popsicles?” Mason smirks and takes a step forward, which makes me take a step back.
“No, I mean, uh, this thing.” I hold up the funnel, my hand a little shaky.
Mason just looks at me with that predatory gaze of his, smirking, as if he knows something I don’t. He takes a step forward. And another.
Panicked, I point toward the nightstand. “What’s that?”
Without taking his eyes off me, he says, “Lube.”
“Why…” My mouth goes dry, and I have to take a deep breath before I can go on. “Why is it so big?”
It is. It’s fucking huge. An industrial-sized bottle of lube.
Mason shrugs. “The rules say I can’t leave the house much. Makes it pretty hard to get laid, so I gotta make do with my hand in the meantime.”
“How… how often do you…” What the hell? Why did I ask that?
“Glad you asked, puppy,” Mason says casually, as if this is a perfectly normal conversation to be having. “As often as I need to. More often now that you’re in the house.”
I stare at him. “You… I… What?”
He takes another step toward me. “Oliver told me to stay away from you, but he’s pretty boring, and I need something fun.”
I back away, but he’s herding me further into the room like a puma on the prowl. I gasp as my back hits the wall, and when I look down at Mason’s gym shorts, his crotch area is tented from the bulge between his legs. Oh, fuck. It looks as offensively big as his bottle of lube.
“Lane! Did you find it?”
Oliver to the rescue. Thank God.
“Yeah, I’ve got it!” I yell, and Mason rolls his eyes. I half expect him not to let me pass, but when I approach, he steps to the side with a little smirk.
“Next time, puppy,” he says, and it feels like a promise as well as a threat.
I slink past him with my heart in my throat.
My mind is set on escape, but the heat between my legs tells a different story.
Mason seems to enjoy making me embarrassed, and that part of my body seems to enjoy it just as much as he does—something I’d never admit to him, and I hesitate even admitting it to myself.
The evidence is pretty hard to deny, though.
I try my best to deny anything and everything as I meet up with Oliver and hand him the funnel with shaky knees. I pretend as if nothing is wrong while a storm rages in my mind, and the relentless heat between my legs makes it hard to focus on anything he’s saying.
Hold this, pour that, and all I’m thinking of is Mason, his huge bottle of lube, and the way he looked at me as if he wanted to eat me.
The following day, Oliver and I enjoy the popsicles while we play Xbox games in the living room.
I still feel rattled after what happened yesterday, and last night, I had trouble sleeping again. It’s becoming a real problem. I’m exhausted during the day, and I can’t let Oliver know why.
That night, I try jerking off in the shower before bed, but my brain is too used to the visual stimuli of porn.
Trying to make do with my own fantasies inevitably leads to thoughts of Mason.
I try to be quiet, to be quick and just get on with it, but no matter how hard I try, I end up frustrated to the point of tears.
Scowling, I finish my shower, get dressed in an oversized T-shirt and boxers, and go to bed.
“Something wrong?” Oliver asks as he’s scrolling on his phone. If I know him, he’s scrolling through raid strategies in online forums.
“No,” I sigh. “Just tired.”
We chat about gaming a bit before bed. What loot we’re dreaming of, what bosses we want to defeat, that sort of thing. It’s a welcome distraction from my thoughts about Mason, but it’s not quite enough to clear my mind of him.
Ten minutes after lights are out, Oliver’s already snoring, and I’m wide awake and rock hard.
I turn around, my stubborn hard-on tenting my underwear. What if I just went to the bathroom again and tried to take care of it? If I brought my phone, maybe it would work this time… Or maybe failing would make me even more frustrated.
I groan and twist and turn, ending up on my stomach.
Mason is at the other end of the hallway, with that offensively huge bottle of lube. Is he really thinking about me when he gets himself off? And what does he look like when he, um… does it?
Before I can stop it, I get a vivid image in my mind of Mason lying naked on his bed, pumping his bottle and pouring lube over his erection. He seems like the type of guy who’d savor the process of masturbation—someone who’s made it a sort of ritual.
How does he like it? Loose and fast or hard and slow? Is he quiet and stoic during it, or does he buck into his fist and moan?
I’m moaning. I’m pressing my hips into the mattress, desperate for any relief I can find.
I could almost cry from how horny I am and from the predicament I’m in.
Going to the bathroom to jerk off would be like admitting to myself that I get off to thoughts of Mason, but I can’t lie sleepless all night either.
Maybe it’s in my best interest to keep humping the mattress… My boxers are already damp with precum, and I feel like a string about to snap. So close. Only a few more seconds of this, and I’m…
Oliver huffs out a great big snore, startling me. His hand flops over the edge of his bed and brushes against my shoulder.
I roll over with a frustrated sigh. I can’t do this while my best friend’s a few inches away. It’s too weird.
I guess I’ll try to sleep despite the ache between my legs, no matter how long it takes. I’ll figure out some other way to get off that doesn’t involve Mason. I won’t betray Oliver. I won’t. I won’t…
Eventually, I manage to fall asleep somehow, and when I do, I dream of strong hands holding me down, glittering eyes in the dark, and a husky voice whispering in my ear, “Next time, puppy.”