Chapter Seven #2
The way Xander tilts his head to the side, messy hair shining against the pillow, the way he runs the tip of his tongue along his lower lip and the way he lets out a soft moan while his hands glides to his stomach only to then disappear inside his underwear tells me all I need to know—no, it fucking wasn't.
If the image doesn't get the message across, Xander makes sure I know exactly what he thinks about my sentiment when he says, "I don't think you're right.
But that's okay." He lifts his chin up, his slender neck straining as his hand moves leisurely inside his boxers.
"It feels good," he purrs. "It feels so good to be wrong sometimes. "
I stifle a groan as my cock stiffens, going from half-mast to uncomfortably hard inside my gym shorts and my nostrils flare. That's it. He's gotta fucking learn. And if I can't get through to his stubborn, pretty head with words, I can sure as fuck show him what it is he's playing with.
I reach out and turn the tap all the way on, increasing the pressure of the water, making it louder. "Fine, then. Strip."
Xander's movements halt, exactly how I knew they would, and he looks straight into the camera. "Wha—?"
"You heard me. Come on now, this is what you wanted. Isn't it?"
He blinks, but remains silent.
"Isn't it?"
I don't miss the way his stubble-covered cheeks change shade from tan to dark red, but he nods nonetheless and the image changes to solid color as he puts his phone away. To undress, I assume.
It's fine. I expected him to get this far. He'll back out soon enough.
There are a few seconds of muffled noise and the image changes again.
I force my sight out of focus so that his body is merely a blurred tan silhouette, because Xander is now, in fact, naked.
A part of me wants to take a closer look, to inspect him inch by inch, but that wouldn't be wise.
My mission requires I have all my wits about me, despite what my cock thinks, twitching dangerously against the rough fabric, trying to break free.
"Lube. Got any?" I bark out, making sure I sound as harsh as I can.
He nods again, and doesn't hesitate this time as his frame stretches and he reaches his phone-free hand somewhere off the screen, to the side.
My eyes focus against my will.
Jesus.
Beads of sweat form on my forehead, and I'm not sure I can attribute them to the temperature inside the claustrophobic shower stall.
From his outstretched neck, to his pecks that have no business being as sculptured as they are for a guy his size, to the abs, visible even when he's not flexing, to his thick, deliciously looking dick, resting against his lower abdomen, amidst light-brown, neatly trimmed pubes.
I allow myself exactly three seconds to appreciate it, its size, its color, the plumpness of the head before I focus back on Xander's face. I will never look at it again.
And no, I won't dream about it either. Ever.
"Now what?" he asks, purple bottle of lube in hand, and I can already hear the change in his voice. I can tell he's trying. Trying to tease, trying to sound sure and steady. It's the gentle, barely there tremble that gives his actual mental status away.
But it's enough for me. My senses have been well-trained. "What? You don't know what to do with lube?" I tsk and shake my head. "That's disappointing."
He's stubborn, I'll give him that.
His eyes are fixed on the camera, corners twitching, as he pops the cap open with his thumb, levels it with his cock and squeezes, a lazy, thick string falling down, covering his length from the bottom to the top and back again, as he moves it, drowning his junk. To stall, probably.
"That's excessive," I point out, and it's not until I hear myself out loud that I notice my breaths are deep and uneven.
He tosses the bottle aside and, without my prompting, wraps his fingers around his thick, slippery shaft, the lube spilling from between his knuckles.
He lets out a sigh and gives himself one, two, three slow, diligent, and undoubtedly slippery strokes, before he says, equally slowly, "Yeah, well. I like excessive.”
My jaw clenches, because fuck, some of that conviction is back in his voice, the gentle tremble no longer audible, even for my trained ear.
I reach to the faucet and squeeze the now-hot metal until my knuckles whiten. Anything to stop myself from reaching for my own cock, because fuck, do I need to get off right this second.
I won't, of course. I'm way stronger than that.
The movements of Xander's hand pick up pace, as he strokes himself more forcefully now, the sloppy sounds of lube audible even through the loud rumble of water.
My shorts stick to my body at every point of contact. From the humidity. From my sweat. From the pre-cum that keeps leaking from my cock as I watch my private show on the screen.
Shit. That's not how it was supposed to go.
"What's next, boss?"
Somehow, against the odds, Xander seems to have learned exactly which buttons to push. Either that, or he's just lucky, but my body responds all the same, shivers running down my spine and I have to force my hips to stay still.
Clearly, this isn't enough to scare him, and it makes sense. Stroking his cock is too familiar, even if he's got an audience. Heck, maybe he's even done this before. After all, I don't know him from Adam.
"Stop."
All his movements halt at once. I hate how much I like it.
"Drop your hand down. "
Xander's chest is heaving, and he's breathing through parted lips as he obediently slides his hand down, cupping his balls, giving them a nice pull while his face crooks into a grimace of pleasure.
"I said down."
I don't miss the way his eyes widen. His Adam's apple bobs as he swallows, and he's motionless for a few seconds.
I forget to be cautious, my gaze bouncing between his flushed face and his swollen cock, lying abandoned on his stomach in a perfectly straight line.
He should back down now. And I should want him to.
But neither of those shoulds come to fruition and with a long, shaky exhale, Xander spreads his thighs and drops his hand lower, his fingers no longer in view from this angle. And all I'm left with is my imagination.
"And then?"
Fuck.
I'm gripping the faucet so tight I can no longer feel my palm.
His fingers are bound to be covered with lube already, so I skip that part. "Now, " I start, my voice coming out raspier than I intend. I clear my throat. "Now I want you to push your index finger in. All the way in. Nice and slow."
And although I don't see it, the way his face changes, going through a range of reactions, his teeth appearing and disappearing time and time again lets me know he's doing just that.
His face finally settles. "And then?"
And yeah, just like I thought. He no longer sounds convinced. No longer cocky. No longer sure of himself. The problem is, I no longer care about any of that.
"Now," I say, "pull it out. Halfway. And then back in." My voice is no longer steady either.
And again, all I have to go off on is his face. And again, I know he's doing exactly what I tell him to.
"And then?"
Jesus, it's hot in here. I swallow, my constricted throat making the action almost painful. "How does it feel?"
He bites on his lower lip. God, I want those lips. "Uncomfortable," he finally says.
"Then why do it?"
He takes another moment to contemplate, before he says the one thing, the only thing, that can break me. "Because you want me to."
And then, I break.
"Fuck," I mutter and let go of the faucet, pressing the heel of my numb palm to my groin as hard as I can, my cock crying out in a mix of pain and ecstasy.
I stand like this for a few moments, motionless, mimicking Xander, hoping, praying that it will be enough.
It isn't.
I lost. I lost at my own game.
I don't control my groan as I undo my shorts, my fingers shaking, and pull them down along with my underwear, the fabric sticking to my skin as I do.
Wrapping my hand around my aching cock, I look at the lens for the first time in a very long time and say, "Do what you want, Xander. Whatever feels good. Show me what you got."
His hand shoots up so fast it's a miracle he doesn't injure himself and he's stroking his cock so fast it's dizzying. But before I can speak, before I can give him any more directions, he says, "Down."
That throws me for a loop, but I don't slow down for a second, my hand pumping up and down my dick like I've been celibate for ten years. "Huh?"
"Phone. Down." His words are shooting out of his chest staccato style, accentuated by sharp breaths. "Angle your phone down. I wanna see." And then he adds, "Please."
And with that, I lose all my power.
I outstretch my phone-holding hand, barely managing to keep it out of the cascading stream of water and angle it down, just as he asked.
The word mistake echoes through the back of my mind, but somehow it feels foreign. Everything does.
We don't talk after that.
The stall fills with clipped moans, groans and curses as we both sprint to the finish line, entrapped by the images, the sounds, our imaginations.
My dick throbs in my hand and my eyes water.
I squeeze them shut as the last shred of control I possessed vanishes and I lose it, completely fucking lose it, as come shoots out of me with might.
I let out a final groan and my body slacks against the now-hot tiles, Xander's name on the tip of my tongue. I make sure not to say it.
I sigh instead, and slowly open my eyes, only half-ready to face the humiliation of coming first.
Except I'm not sure I did. Another curse escapes me as my eyes land on Xander's chest, skin glistening with come, his cock no longer in the frame.
I lift my eyes to look at his face, and… oh. There it is. Now it's here.
Xander's eyes dart from left to right, to the ceiling, to the side again. He's looking everywhere. Every-fucking-where except at the camera. He can't even look at the screen. At me.
The face of regret.
I swallow and huff at the same time. For fuck's sake.
"I should—" he starts, his voice faint, but I cut him off.
"Yeah. Me too. Talk to you later."
I end the call as soon as I finish speaking. I can't bear to see that regret.
I wipe my face with my palm and look around. My clothes are scattered on the tiled floor, drenched with water. So is the towel. Water's still running. I don't think there's enough water on this planet to cleanse me right now.
I sigh, unlock my phone again and do exactly what I should have done the second Xander left the club last night—block his number.