Chapter 5
FIVE
Except it did.
It happened again. It happened so much, god.
For days and then weeks, Jesse sorted his provisions, took stock of supplies, healed up his ankle as best he could, cleared snow off the solar panels, fixed leaks in the roof, repaired the turbine, chopped and stacked more firewood — and he jerked it.
Constantly, desperately, repeatedly.
Jerked it every night, sometimes multiple times a night, jerking himself to sleep with a viewing schedule that consisted of increasingly vivid and kinky fantasies, Wyatt taking the starring role in all of them.
Which was… kinda understandable? Maybe?
Like, Jesse had spent the last two years living in constant peril, stranded in the oozy, gooey depths of the zombie apocalypse.
That sure as shit would do a number on any guy’s libido.
But now that Jesse was safe and clean and warm, and he had a real bed to himself, and more privacy than he’d ever had — was it a surprise that his sex drive was back and raring to go?
Fuck no.
What was a little surprising, though, was that his horndog tendencies were still so fixated on Wyatt — fixated to an honestly pretty worrying degree. And maybe Jesse should have been worried, but everything felt too good to worry about any of that shit.
Just like right then, spread out in bed, the usual pink panties and a pair of Maddie’s weird socks pulled all the way up to his thighs. Wyatt’s flannel too, buttoned up to his chin, just the way Jesse liked it.
Didn’t like that Wyatt’s scent was fading now, though. The shirt smelled mostly of Jesse and the cheap shower gel that Mr. Tin Foil Hat stocked by the boxload.
But Jesse could pretend. He’d gotten real good at pretending.
The heat in the shirt was from Wyatt’s body, not Jesse’s. The hands running down his belly, dipping in under the waistband of his panties — the hand cupping his aching cock, firm and sure?
Wyatt’s hand. It was all Wyatt.
Just like those fingers slipping down a little ways to press against Jesse’s taint. Because Wyatt knew Jesse liked that, the pressure, the tease, feeling it outside and a little inside too.
“God.”
Jesse canted his hips up to meet the press of his— of Wyatt’s fingers. He did it again, more certain. Again, a little smoother, feeling the motion like he was made for it, just like the thrumming, irresistible heat spreading through his veins.
And that heat flared, oil on the fire, when Jesse skimmed some fingertips across his hole.
“Oh, fuck.”
He wasn’t about to go knuckles-deep. He was a medical professional. Preparation and lubrication, the two key tenets of any brand of butt stuff. But the tease was enough. Just the idea, the images he spawned in his head to work in combo with his tameass butt play.
Wyatt’s thick, capable fingers opening him up. Wyatt’s monster of a cock bullying him wide and filling him full. Wyatt fucking Jesse until Jesse’s eyes were rolling and his legs were shaking and he was coming like some tacky casino fountain.
Just a fantasy, though. Jesse knew it was all just fantasy, because Jesse didn’t want a dick up his butt.
Or okay, like — he wasn’t opposed to the idea. Not violently. Shit, he’d even tried it a couple times, just with his own fingers. With the trashy dildo he’d bought online, some stupid joke with his roommate that had spiraled way out of control.
Jesse wasn’t bigoted. The magic butthole button existed for a reason. He wasn’t not gonna press it. And maybe he had, repeatedly, with his fake silicone dick, and then came like he meant it, handsfree and whining.
“Damn,” Jesse breathed.
Because honestly, when he considered it from that angle, maybe he did want a dick up his butt, just to see how the real thing compared.
But what Jesse wanted didn’t matter. Because Wyatt wouldn’t want that. He wouldn’t want to fuck Jesse. Wasn’t that desperate for pussy, jeez.
Whatever. Thoughts didn’t count.
Which was good, because Jesse’s thoughts right then were thinking mostly about Wyatt and pussy and fucking, and Jesse was rubbing the flat of two fingers over his hole, again and again, and he was so hard.
“God.”
Jesse’s cock jumped with it, kicking up against his panties, rubbing up against them, breaking tiny little shivers of sensation as Jesse humped nothing but thin air and his own imagination.
Those shivers fired along the lines of his nerves, the tickle making his nipples pebble hard under Wyatt’s flannel, and that was some kinda feeling too.
“Fuck. God, fuck.”
Jesse couldn’t see himself in the mirror from here. He probably looked stupid, though, because he did most of the time. The socks and the panties would add to the stupidness factor. The whining and moaning compounded it.
But fuck, wasn’t like it mattered how stupid Jesse looked, how much of a turn-off he’d be to Wyatt, because he wouldn’t even be a turn-on to begin with.
Wyatt was big and bulky and hairy, as manly as manly got.
Wasn’t hard to guess his hometown team. Throw Jesse in a game, and Jesse wouldn’t even be playing garbage minutes.
“Jesus.”
Jesse shook his head. He was thinking too much, still. Just some stupid jerk-off material. That’s all this was.
Except…
Fuck, did it have to be?
Because when Wyatt got back, because he was coming back, they’d be holed up together for the whole rest of winter, just the two of them, for weeks and months.
So maybe…
Maybe if Wyatt got real desperate, no other options, no pussy on offer except what Jesse had to offer, then—
“Fuck.”
—could Wyatt pretend? With Jesse half-dressed in half Wyatt’s clothes, tucked neat and forgettable in his panties, his hair falling in his face, could Wyatt pretend? Or fuck, if Wyatt couldn’t, could he ignore it, what Jesse had between his legs? What he didn’t have.
We all get lonely, bud.
But how lonely was lonely enough to ignore the extra dick in the bedroom? Wasn’t like Wyatt would be lonely now, though, not with all those grateful women back in Waterville opening their legs for him, absolutely no underwhelming dicks to ignore.
“Jesus,” Jesse whispered. “Stop it,” he told himself, flinching through a kick of something that didn’t feel good, a pining hit of jealousy, a useless ride up a one-way street. Because Wyatt sure as shit wasn’t out there pining for Jesse. He was hunting zombies and fucking hot chicks.
Or like — probably not fucking them. Too risky, these days.
Grinding on them, probably. Or handjobs. It was probably handjobs. Handjobs were safe.
Blowjobs, maybe.
Yeah, blowjobs, that was it. Jesse nodded to himself as the idea settled. Wyatt was out there, completely safe and totally uninjured, getting his dick sucked by a succession of beautiful, grateful women.
Women with soft, pouty lips and delicate tongues and slim, swan throats. They’d gag themselves on a dick like Wyatt’s. He’d be too much for them. Too big. Not like—
The mental image was almost scary, in both the suddenness and the extreme high-def clarity. Jesse saw himself down on his knees, hands braced on the thick muscles of Wyatt’s thighs, a blissed-out expression on his face as Wyatt fed Jesse his fat cock.
Jesse pictured it, he shoved a hand into his panties, and he came like coming was all he knew how to do. No paramedic training for Jesse. Just majoring in blowing his load from imagining himself sucking on his bestest bud’s big dick, summa cum fucking laude.
“What the fuck?” Jesse whispered, but the fuck eluded him completely. He had no answers. None.
He took a second, though, licking his fingers clean, salt and sweet and bitterness on his tongue.
He eased his panties back into place, the cotton sliding soft across his softening dick, snug against the easing throb.
His heart was slowing too, and his eyes were already heavy.
The need for a post-nut nap was hitting hard.
Jesse tried to blink himself awake. He still had shit to do. He knew that. Brake the turbine for the night. Haul in some more firewood. Lock up. He needed to lock up. He promised Wyatt he’d lock up, and he always did. Every night at nightfall, always.
Except…
Jesse cast a heavy-lidded glance toward the door. Shut and latched tight. That was enough, right?
“It’s fine, bud,” he whispered, like imitating Wyatt would wipe away the foul, make that sudden flare of guilt fizzle out.
Didn’t.
But fuck it. Jesse had a whole heap of shit to feel guiltier about. There was a lake’s worth of icy water between him and anything out there, living or dead, that wanted to hurt him. He could afford to be a little lazy.
He’d lock the door later. Spirit of the law, not the letter.
So yeah, later. He’d do it later.
And lost in those perfect hazy, lazy vibes, in the cozy glow and the flicker of the fire, in that big soft bed, where Jesse was safe and warm and surrounded by Wyatt, he was asleep between one second and the next.