Chapter 13
THIRTEEN
Theo Pembroke
The thought of offering Beckett a place to live with us tied my stomach in knots.
What if he refused because of Asher? Or worse—what if he turned me down because he was too proud to accept what I could give him?
My fingers drummed against my thigh as I rehearsed the words in my head.
I needed him to accept. I needed to see his face light up at the possibility of making a home with us.
When Asher filled me in on what happened during class, I worried it might have made things worse with Beckett.
Apparently, he’d reduced Beckett to begging—something I’d never seen from him before.
Part of me wished I could’ve been there to witness it, but Asher had done the next best thing: captured a recording.
After he shared it with me, I asked if he planned to post it anywhere. He shook his head, explaining that since Beckett hadn’t consented to being recorded, the audio would remain our private indulgence.
I couldn’t blame him. Something about Asher’s authoritative tone and Beckett’s begging sent heat coursing through me, making me count the hours until the weekend when I could unravel his composure piece by piece.
I imagined his desperate pleas, the way his voice would crack.
And maybe soon, Beckett would join us, those virgin lips finally put to proper use—for both of us, if Asher was interested.
Of course, neither had actually consented to any of this yet, but a man could dream.
I settled in the living room, adjusting my laptop on the height-adjustable coffee table while checking the time. Asher had texted that his study group would run late, but promised to return before Beckett’s departure.
“Talk to him alone first,” he’d said. “I’ll give you guys space.” A thoughtful gesture I couldn’t help but appreciate.
The agenda for tonight felt overwhelming enough that I caught myself wishing Beckett already lived here.
First, the video upload, then a crash course in financial literacy—banking portals, payment methods, all those basics most people absorb through osmosis growing up.
I’d learned it all the hard way after launching my FanFeed channel, right around when my credit card statements started resembling small mortgage payments.
What could I say? This level of style maintenance didn’t come cheap.
Beckett pushed open the door, sauntering into the living room with a bottle of wine held aloft like a trophy.
“Look at me, successfully exchanging currency for goods,” he announced with that half-smile that hit me like a wave every time.
The joke landed because we both knew the truth—he could swipe a card with the best of them, but ask him about his account balance and you’d get a blank stare.
Hence my presence on the couch, laptop open, ready to play financial advisor.
“I’ve got everything ready for us,” I told him, nodding toward my open computer.
This time, I had sent the video to Beckett for approval last night.
We decided to post it together since I knew how to write the captions.
After posting, I’d clip a teaser for my own page with a link back to his—our little marketing strategy from before.
I liked our routine. There was something comforting about these moments—just us, a couch, and the strange intimacy of preparing to share our most private acts with strangers.
“How about we post it while drinking our wine, then go over our financial literacy lessons?” Beckett asked.
He managed to make my heart beat out of rhythm, even as he said something as mundane as “financial literacy lessons.”
Something had shifted in him. The Beckett who’d shown up at my door—broke and desperate—would have sooner eaten glass than ask about banking.
That version of him certainly wouldn’t have suggested we film ourselves together, wouldn’t have looked into my eyes while the camera rolled, wouldn’t have watched the playback with that strange mix of pride and vulnerability.
I couldn’t tell if financial desperation had cracked him open or if I’d somehow coaxed this version of him to the surface.
Either way, I wasn’t complaining.
Beckett moved through my apartment with the ease of familiarity, returning from the kitchen with two wine glasses dangling between his fingers.
He settled beside me on the couch; the cushion dipping under his weight as he poured generous servings for us both.
I lifted mine immediately to my lips, letting the first sip linger before taking another, longer one, hoping to get the nerve to talk to him about moving in.
The wine burned a path down my throat as I realized the absurdity: I’d faced down my roommate about adding Beckett to our apartment with barely a flutter of anxiety, yet here I sat, unable to form the simple question to the man himself.
While I waited for the wine to take effect, I started typing a caption for the preview on my page.
My straight friend had so much fun last time that he came back for more, and Asher joined us again, eager to have a little fun with the guy he loves to hate.
We started frotting together—his first time—before Beckett took charge and finished us off with his hands.
For a straight guy, he wasn’t so bad. The full video can be found on @Beckett’s page!
Then, I wrote a similarly compelling caption for his page about what to expect.
I even took an extra few minutes to send an automatic message to his followers, prompting them to check out the page and leave a tip.
Beckett would get a big check this Friday for any tips made before Thursday evening, and he’d get his first deposit from his subscription fees for the month after the weekend.
I hoped his tips were enough to get by until then.
“You’re so good at this,” Beckett praised, his eyes fixed on my screen. A small smile tugged at my lips.
“I have a true passion for making and marketing porn,” I replied with a light laugh, though beneath the joke lay truth. I excelled at this work.
“Well, thank God for your natural talent,” he murmured, gaze still lingering on my handiwork.
"I don't think God is to be thanked for that," I teased.
Beckett scooted closer to me until our legs brushed. He hesitated for a moment, like he wasn’t sure if he should, then slowly rested his head on my shoulder. The weight of it was light, but it felt intentional.
His fingers twisted in the hem of his sleeve before he spoke. “I don’t know what I would’ve done without your help, Theo. Truly.” He swallowed, his voice going quieter. “I hope you know how much I…” He cleared his throat, shifting slightly against me. “…care about you.”
For a moment, I thought he might say those three words.
We’d said them before, of course, but perhaps now—with the new intimacy between us—he worried about their weight.
Maybe he feared I’d misinterpret, hear something more in them than what had been there before.
But whatever was happening between us had already transcended the physical. It wasn’t just bodies anymore.
“I care about you too, Beckett. Which is why I have to talk to you about something. Hear me out, okay?” I took a deep breath.
His shoulders tensed, as if he were bracing for whatever came next, his brows knitting together.
“I want you to move in with us. I know you hate Asher. I know our third bedroom is a sex room, but we can make it work. I’ll add a bed to my room, or you can use the couch, which converts to a bed.
I’ll let you contribute to rent so you don’t feel like you’re not doing your part.
And maybe we could up filming to twice a week, if you’d like that,” I pitched my idea to him.
Beckett’s face softened as he reached for my hand, his fingers wrapping around mine with a gentle squeeze.
“I’d like that. I actually looked at a place yesterday, but halfway through the tour, it hit me—why live with someone I don’t know when I could be here? With you. With…both of you.”
Something loosened in my chest, a knot I hadn’t realized was there. He hadn’t just mentioned living with me, but acknowledged Asher, too. It felt like a step in the right direction.
Without thinking, I leaned in and pressed my lips against his. For the first time, there were no cameras, no expectations, no performance. Just two people kissing because they wanted to.
He didn’t hesitate. His lips met mine, softer than I’d ever felt before.
It was nothing like the rough, almost feral kisses we’d shared for the videos.
Those had been loud and hungry, all teeth and urgency.
This was different. Slow. Gentle. His hand found my cheek as if he were afraid I might disappear, and the kiss lingered, warm and careful, like we had all the time in the world.
“So…twice a week, huh? What if we started now? I’m sure our subscribers would love to see the straight guy give his first blow job.”
My eyes widened. Christ. Beckett’s sexual awaking was going to be the death of me.
That was the last thing I expected him to suggest. Suddenly, I forgot all about financial literacy.
The only head of mine that was thinking was in my pants, and by now, it was ready to escape the confines of my sweats.
“Oh, uh, yeah. That would work.” I tried to play it cool, but Beckett chuckled and shook his head.
For someone so new to being with men, I expected more hesitation.
Instead, he finished his wine in one elegant motion, set the glass aside, and rose from the couch.
My question about where he was going answered itself when he dropped to his knees between my legs, his hands finding my thighs and easing them apart with quiet confidence.
Instead, I felt like a nervous, fumbling mess.
I remained fully dressed, but the way his eyes fixed on the outline pressing against my sweats made my breath catch, my body responding instantly to his unmistakable desire.