Rhys #3
“Ah… There’s no way I’m fitting in there,” I informed him quietly, eyeing it hesitantly. The last thing I wanted was to get stuck halfway with my ass hanging out like Winnie the Pooh when he’d gorged on too much of Rabbit’s honey.
“Yeah, I wasn’t expecting you to go inside,” he responded, giggling a little. “I should still be able to fit. I haven’t grown too much.”
“You probably stunted your growth with all that caffeine you used to guzzle,” I remarked, thinking about all the Saturday mornings he and my brother would spend in front of the TV chugging sodas.
It was weird, thinking about how that twerpy little bean pole and the toned, pretty-faced model next to me were the same person.
“Probably. Well, it all worked out,” he sighed. “My subscribers are totally into the twink thing.”
“Yeah, I noticed,” I said, trying to keep the dryness out of my voice.
I’d made the mistake of checking out some of his social media accounts a few weeks earlier, making myself totally jealous in the process.
His comments were flooded with flirtatious compliments and pleas for him to make another account for spicier content, especially on the posts that were less baking-centric and more about him personally.
He’d laughed at me when he’d realized I’d been jealous of the attention, but he’d soothed the sting by putting his thighs around my waist and letting me fuck him against the wall while assuring me that my dick was the longest, thickest, and best he’d ever had.
The obsessive creeps online would never get to have him like I had him.
“Okay, you just wait here for me,” he ordered, before sitting on the lip of the well and then hopping down. There was a boulder in the corner that I imagined he’d use to scramble back up to ground level once he got out.
“Ah, what if something happens?” I asked, suddenly nervous. I wouldn’t be able to see him or reach him if he ended up getting hurt. “It’s pitch black in there.”
“Don’t worry, I’ve done this a billion times,” he assured me. “Plus, I have my phone light.”
“What are you getting, anyway?”
He laughed a little, nervously twirling a loose strand of his rosy hair around his finger. From up here, he looked even smaller. “Um, I’m not sure if I want to tell you yet.”
“What!?” I asked, eyes popping wide. Was it something dangerous, like a gun? Had he been keeping it for protection, but hiding it here?
“I’m kidding,” he assured me, wincing a bit at my response. “Mostly. It’s just kind of embarrassing. Hang tight, okay?”
And then he pushed the window up and wriggled through, lithe as a slippery otter.
I strained my ears to listen, but when I realized I couldn’t hear anything from inside, good or bad, I decided to look around a bit and distract myself from visions of Kendall tripping and shattering his leg in the darkness.
At least I could see his light bobbing around through a window here and there.
There was an absolutely massive oak tree, decades old easily, blanketing the backyard with its canopy cover, with a small stone bench at the base of the trunk.
There was a whimsical look to it, like someone had once sat there surrounded by a lovingly-tended garden.
But I was too afraid to roam that far from the house where I couldn’t hear any cries for help, so I settled down on the dirt, hanging my legs into the window well.
There were empty flower beds on either side of the large hole that led down to the basement window, filled with old mulch and lined with planks of wood.
I could tell whoever had once lived in this house, probably long before I was born, had loved it once.
I suddenly understood Kendall’s aversion to having it demolished a lot more clearly. It was sad.
When I finally heard rustling from the basement and watched Kendall’s hand push the window back open, I let out a sigh of relief.
“All good,” he informed me as he carefully put his legs through and slid out to the ground. “No issues.”
“Did you find what you were looking for?”
“Yep,” he said, brandishing a dingy, dirty item I could barely identify in the dim light.
“A book?”
“It’s a journal,” he informed me sheepishly. “I used to write in it all the time, but I kept it here so my dad wouldn’t find it.”
“Oh,” I said. I could understand the sentimentality in that, at least. And it certainly wasn’t sketchy or dangerous. “Anything about me in there?” I joked, and he snorted.
“Of course not. Do you think adolescent Kendall Austin spent any time thinking about adolescent Rhys Kensington?”
I chuckled, trying not to smirk. I was pretty sure it’d been obvious to anyone who’d ever been in the same room as the two of us that he’d had a comically giant crush on me. If only I’d known how everything would turn out.
“Are you going to read the really juicy parts to me?”
“Maybe when we get home,” he responded, stepping up onto the boulder in the corner of the well using it to lift himself back to ground level. The beam of his phone’s flashlight passed over the wooden lining of the flower bed to our left, briefly illuminating something that caught my eye.
“Hey, shine that back over here,” I requested, gesturing to it. When he looked at where I was pointing, he immediately flushed a bright pink and fumbled with his phone to cut the light off entirely.
“Can we go now? I got what I came for.”
“Yeah, in a second. I thought I saw something.”