Chapter 2 Adrian
Adrian
It takes me a few seconds to settle into the room. The energy hits first, something big and masculine, lightly drunk, buzzing in the air like static before a summer storm.
Some jokes fly around about the groom’s impending doom, or happiness, depending on who’s teasing harder.
“So, how’d you two meet?” I ask, nodding at the groom.
“We were fifteen. High school sweethearts. She was one of my mate’s sisters,” Trevor says with a lazy smile. “A few breakups, lots of drama. But yeah, she’s the one. She always was.”
That earns some ribbing from the others, but it’s all affectionate. George tosses in a quip about how marriage is just extended manual labor. Lance says it’s not real until the joint tax return hits.
Trevor waves his beer at Vince. “How are you doing, mate? What’s the golden boy up to these days?”
Vince leans back, unbothered. “Same as always. Football, training, and a few modeling gigs. They pay me to break my body on TV, and I’m dumb enough to keep doing it.”
Trevor snorts. “Dumb? You’re a millionaire with abs. Nobody’s crying for you.”
“Tell that to my knees,” Vince says dryly, taking a sip.
Trevor claps him on the shoulder like it’s a running gag, and Lance jumps in with some crack about Vince’s insurance bills.
George talks about the headaches of running his auto shop. “You’d think fixing cars was the hard part, but no. It’s getting high schoolers to show up sober and on time. I got a couple gay guys in the crew too; they flirt with me really hard, more than my ex ever did.”
I raise an eyebrow at George. “And when they flirt…do you flirt back?”
George snorts. “No, not really. I’m flattered, yes. It makes work interesting. But sometimes, I wonder what they even see in me. I’m always covered in grease and yelling about timing belts.”
Lance smirks and elbows him. “What’s not to like? You’re tall, hard as rebar, and move like you’re about to bodycheck a truck. You used to be in the Navy, for god’s sake. That alone will get you all the attention. Hell, if I even halfway liked dick, yours would probably make me switch teams.”
I laugh with them, until I glance over at Vince again. He’s still quiet, just sipping his beer like it might answer a question he hasn’t dared ask yet. I hear him grunt or give clipped answers to his friends, but I’ve obviously made this night complicated for him.
“I would too,” I add lightly, eyes skimming over George, before landing on Vince. “Big guys with callused hands? Yeah, kind of my thing.”
Vince meets my gaze briefly, but something flickers behind his eyes.
A scowl, or maybe just discomfort, I can’t tell.
I’ve put on more muscle since high school.
Back then, Vince kept his hair cropped short, his build lean from sports.
Now his shoulders are broader, chest thicker, hair grown out just enough to curl a little at the ends.
He looks less like the quiet boy from art class and more like a man who could snap a doorframe just by leaning on it.
Lance laughs into his beer. “Honestly? Respect. You should work a shift in the ER. I’ve seen everything.
But last month…” He holds up a finger. “Guy comes in with two dildos. Huge ones. Stuck. Up his ass. He couldn’t get them out.
We had to sedate him and ease them out. And you know what?
The poor guy wasn’t even panicking or acting like he was in pain.
He was just…embarrassed.” Lance’s medical training kicks in, his voice shifting to that clinical detachment medical people use.
“It made me think about pleasure versus safety. Risk assessment. What drives someone to push those boundaries?”
I blink. “Did he make it?”
“He’s alive and wiser,” Lance says, then rubs his chin.
“But I started wondering, what kind of pleasure pushes someone to that edge? Like, how good does it have to feel to take that kind of risk? So, I started reading testimonials and forums, even watched some educational content. Medically. For research.”
George chortles. “You researched gay porn?”
“Educational material,” Lance deadpans, but there’s a flush creeping up his neck. “It’s called expanding your understanding of human sexuality.”
Trevor nearly spits his drink. “You’re a menace.”
“I’m just saying,” Lance says, nodding to me. “Some of the stuff guys describe? They make it sound spiritual, like a transcendence thing. It makes you wonder what you’re missing.”
Their attention slowly turns back to me. The air feels warmer. I can feel the shift, the way their personas are dropping away, replaced by something more primal and curious.
“You do this full-time?” Trevor asks, his tone casual, but his gaze sharp. The easygoing mask is slipping, revealing something hungrier underneath.
“Part-time,” I say, slipping onto the edge of the couch. “I’m actually an artist. Oil and ink, sketching mostly. I sell some pieces online, and I hope to fund a gallery show soon. This job is…temporary. My friend, Holly, hooked me up with it when I needed extra cash.”
“Do you like it?” George asks, and I catch something in his voice, that Navy discipline warring with genuine interest.
“Most of the time,” I say honestly. “When the vibe is right and people respect me. It pays well, and I’m good at it. But it’s not forever, just enough to rent the space, hang my work, and get seen.”
They’re all watching now, even Vince, though he’s doing that thing where he pretends not to stare while definitely tracking my every move.
I let my eyes flick to him briefly. Still the same chiseled jaw, same hard-to-read eyes.
I remember how back in high school, he barely spoke during art class, but when he did, it was always something that stayed in your head.
He was different then. Quieter but not cruel, or kind. Just…distant.
Now he’s quiet again. But I can’t read him, not fully. I notice the measured way he’s breathing, like he’s weighing each inhale.
“In this job, you learn to adapt. It’s not just sex, it’s performance. It’s trust. Timing.”
“Have you ever done DP?” Lance asks, eyes bright but not crude, his clinical background making him approach the question like he’s taking a patient history.
George squints. “DP?”
“Double penetration,” Lance answers, like George is an intern.
“Of course, I know what it is. Just…the female variety.” George shifts in his seat, looking uncomfortable. I can feel his confusion and interest in how it would work with a man…with only one hole.
My tone stays professional, like he asked about paint types. “I can’t say I don’t want to try. But I do know it takes prep, practice, and breathing. You’d be amazed what a body can do when it feels safe.”
Trevor laughs softly, shaking his head, but I catch the way he shifts in his seat. “That sounds…intense. But like, not in a bad way.”
Lance crosses his arms, leaning forward. “So, you’re…a bottom?”
“Yeah,” I say. “I’d say that’s entirely me.” It must be obvious anyway. My build is slender but toned, smooth skin, no tattoos, and my ass…well, my bubble butt tends to announce itself before I do.
Trevor leans back against the couch, and I see something crack in his carefree facade.
“I kissed a guy once, back in college. It was one of Vince’s teammates.
He just leaned in one day after practice.
I didn’t hate it, but I didn’t really think about it again after.
It’s like, I know I’m straight, so it was just another set of lips on mine, but it was intriguing, in a way.
” He pauses, vulnerability bleeding through what must be his usual confidence.
“Sometimes I wonder what would’ve happened if I hadn’t pulled away so fast.”
Vince shifts beside him, surprised. “Wait, which teammate?”
Trevor flashes a smile, but there’s something deeper there now. “Nah, you don’t need to know, ‘twas like a spur-of-the-moment thing. But if we’re being honest, I’m drunk enough tonight that if someone gave me a blowjob, I probably wouldn’t care what kind of plumbing they have.”
More laughter, but it’s different now. Charged. I can feel the way they’re looking at me, like I’ve opened a door they didn’t know existed.
Vince obviously can’t move on. “Was it Jamie?! He’s the only one I let inside our dorm room. I know he’s gay because he told me, but I never would have guessed he’d take interest in someone like you,” he says with a deadpan expression. “You’re too…loud.”
Trevor tries to look offended. “Why not, mate? No one can really resist all this,” hands gesturing at himself, “fine specimen of a man.”
Lance’s eyes narrow, his initially innocent interest mixing with something hungrier. “So, if you had to teach someone how to take it, like, really take it, what would you do first?”
I smirk. “I’d show them how to prep. Finger work. Breathing. Stretch. Get them used to the sensation.”
Lance licks his lips. “In a very heterosexual, educational way…would you show us?”
George chuckles. I can tell he’s intrigued, approaching this like he would any new skill worth learning.
Trevor watches me over his bottle, his carefree mask completely gone now.
I glance at Vince. His face barely moved, just a faint clench at the hinge of his jaw, the rhythm of his breathing too neat to be calm.
He looks like he’s furious with himself for staying, but even more so at the thought of leaving.
His eyes burn with a hunger he’s trying to suppress, judgment and desire warring in equal measure.
And suddenly, I want to perform, not for the group, but for him.
I strut back to the couch, slide onto the armrest, and let my smile sharpen into a blade. “Clear some space, gentlemen. Officer Naughty has declared this a crime scene.”
Trevor cheers, his excitement genuine and unguarded. Lance scrambles to move, his interest winning out over social conditioning. George sighs, resigned but appreciative, like he’s watching a master craftsman at work.