Chapter 19 Niko
Niko
Username: Dragonfly
He wrote like a human. Not like a person who just uses my videos and then moves on.
I imagined Hercules as someone I’d actually be friends with in real life, if everything wasn’t anonymous. I didn’t know him, so it was a strange feeling to have.
But I let myself believe.
No harm in a fantasy, right?
Oliver looks like he’s just been caught in a murder.
And that’s when I realize it’s true.
“Hercules,” I repeat, turning toward him in the bed, watching him want to evaporate in front of me. But I hold my arm around him.
I keep him close.
And I feel like some kind of miracle just happened.
I’m flooded with some strange feeling, like I’m finally seeing clearly after a lifetime of blurred vision.
“Can we just go to sleep?”
“Holy fuck, Oliver, I am never going to let you live this down for the rest of our lives,” I murmur, unable to keep a smile from my face. “You are Hercules. You’re my Hercules. God, and you practically look like the real-life version of him, all buff and doe-eyed.”
“I thought I hated you in high school, but I think I hate you more, now,” he says, grabbing the comforter and shoving it up over his face.
“You really are my biggest fan. Ollie, do you realize you were one of my favorite commenters? Sometimes, when I filmed, I thought about Hercules seeing it, and I made it extra-special, just for him. For you, apparently.”
I pull down the covers around his face and look at him.
“What do you want from me?”
“Want to make you squirm. And it’s working.”
I lean over and claim his mouth in a kiss. I reach down and run my palm over the bulge under his sweatpants.
“I should have told you. I just…”
“It’s okay that you didn’t, fanboy.”
He sighs at that nickname, but I feel him getting hard at the same time.
“I feel like you know everything about me now.”
I shake my head. “No. Not even close. I want to know so much more, Oliver.”
In another moment I’m shoving the waistband of his sweatpants down and closing my fist around his cock. Now, more than ever, I feel the distinct urge to reward him.
Oliver is embarrassed about his comments and seemed like he was worried I’d be upset, but the polar opposite is true.
He feels more like he’s mine than ever.
Because in some small, anonymous way, he was already mine, before I ever stepped foot in Onyx House.
I kiss him deeply as I stroke his cock, and he shoves into me, thrusting into my hand.
“I couldn’t stop watching you,” he utters against my neck as I lean over, burying my head in his hair.
“I know.”
“I never should have kept going to your page, but I kept going back, over and over…”
His words break off into a moan as I squeeze around the base of his cock, then stroke again in a steady rhythm.
“I’m glad you watched,” I tell him. “I always want you to watch me.”
“I always will.”
I stroke him as I lean upward again, looking in his eyes.
His skin is flushed and his plush lips look so perfect, slightly parted, always kind of looking like he’s waiting for my kiss.
“Even after we stop doing all this,” I tell him, “I don’t want you to stop watching me. I like knowing you’re watching. You’re always allowed, Ollie.”
He exhales as his eyelids flutter shut.
I’m saying a lot.
Saying too fucking much.
“I’ll always watch,” he says as his eyes open again and he looks at me, half-lidded, and I feel a tiny bit of his precum coming out as I stroke his tip.
“Thanks, boyfriend.”
“Fuck,” he hisses, throbbing as I call him the nickname.
He likes it.
He’s always liked it, even back when I first said it.
And the truth is that I like calling him that, too.
I drag my free hand down the front of his chest and toward his stomach as I move my whole body lower.
I’m between his legs now and I kiss his cock head before plunging down, taking him to my throat.
“Oh, God, that’s going to make me come,” he utters.
I hum around him, gripping his thigh with one hand as the other remains fixed around the base of his dick.
“Fucking… love this…” he whispers, and it’s barely audible through his gasps.
I know you do.
I feel him tense up underneath me and when he starts to come in my mouth, the feeling that washes over my body is unlike anything I’ve ever felt.
Come for me.
The only person you’ve ever come for, the only person you’ve ever given this to.
It gives me far more pleasure than it should. Never in my life had I hooked up with a virgin before I started doing this with Oliver, and I’m starting to get too addicted to it. Even my own first time was with someone who’d done plenty before they met me.
Oliver is special. Everything about him is.
He only knows what it’s like to come for me.
Only knows what it’s like to be mine.
And nothing’s ever felt quite like that to me before.
My cock aches between my legs as I swallow around him, taking every drop. And the moment I pull off of his cock he’s already moving on the bed, propping himself up on his elbows to meet me in a kiss, like he’s needy for that, too.
“Can we try something?” he murmurs against my lips.
“I just got harder from you even saying that, so, yes,” I tell him.
His eyelashes flick low, then he looks back up at me. “I don’t have any lube here. But I want you between my thighs. Want to see if you can come like that.”
“Oliver Ashford,” I murmur, running my thumb along his lip. “Are you suggesting thigh fucking?”
“Nobody calls it thigh fucking.”
“I do.”
I give his body a shove so that he’s lying on his side and I’m behind him. I reach down and shove away my sweatpants, stripping naked from the waist down. I lean over and give the back of his shoulder a bite, bucking my hips forward so my cock connects with his body.
My tip pushes up against the tight cleft just below his ass, and he parts his legs just a little for me, letting me shove into the gap between his thighs.
He closes them tight again around me.
And I take it slow.
I buck my hips in that steady motion as his tight muscle clenches around me.
“For not having any lube, this is pretty fucking good,” I utter behind his ear.
“You need to come, too, boyfriend,” he says in a sultry tone.
Christ.
My cock throbs between his legs. It’s not typical for Oliver to call me that, and the sound of it on his lips is a little too tempting.
How goddamn addicted am I?
My words practically come out like a growl. “Don’t call me that.”
“You call me that all the time,” he protests, then clenches his legs tighter around me.
I let out a low moan and keep fucking the spot just below his ass, and something about being this close to his ass but not being able to take it is maddening.
“You’re going to fucking miss me when this is over,” I tell him.
Some kind of monster is rearing its head in me, and I don’t have the control to make it go away.
“I think you’ll miss me just as much, boyfriend.”
“God,” I hiss at him and grip his hips hard, digging my fingers into his skin. “Want you to think about this, when it’s all over. How I’m about to come down your fucking legs for your Christmas morning present.”
“You want to be on my mind like that, don’t you?”
“I’m going to live on repeat in your head,” I utter. “No one else will ever give you what I do.”
“And nobody else will do anything for you like I will.”
I exhale against the top of his back.
I love being close to him like this.
Spooning him from behind, practically pantomiming that I’m fucking him.
I need to come.
My head isn’t clear right now, and I know it’s just because I need release.
“You’re mine,” I whisper near his ear. “I think you always have been, Oliver.”
“Then use me like I’m yours.”
I groan and pump my cock harder between his thighs, sensation pooling low in my groin until I can’t hold back the wave anymore.
A full feeling crests inside me and I move my hand up until it’s around the front of his throat.
I keep my hand there, just cupped around his throat, as I let go, coming over and over as he squeezes around me with the hard muscle of his thighs.
I love this.
I love this so fucking much.
Too much, and I don’t know what to do.
My breathing is heavy as I slide my cock out from between his legs and he turns backward a little on the bed, moving his head so that he looks in my eyes.
I kiss him so he won’t speak.
I press my lips against his mouth before he can say a single thing that’ll break my goddamn brain again.
Because if I’m kissing him like this, he can’t call me boyfriend.
Christmas, somehow, starts out perfectly.
Right before dawn, Oliver and I fall asleep faster than either of us probably expected after we both came.
At nine o’clock on the dot, the faint smell of cinnamon, bacon, and maple comes floating through the air, and I wake up first, turning over toward Ollie in bed.
“Fuck you,” I say in a low, soft tone.
He squints as he blinks his eyes open. “Excuse me?”
“You’re one of those people who manages to look good even when you sleep. So annoying.”
A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth and he reaches a hand up, flipping me off.
“So weird,” he says, closing his eyes again for a second. “Had a dream we were married. We were, like, a decade older, and you were outside swimming in our backyard pool, naked.”
Suddenly I feel like there’s a hot, molten core at the center of my chest.
“Definitely weird,” I tell him, getting out of bed and not looking toward him any longer. I gather some clean clothes from my backpack and head toward the door. “Going to go shower off.”
The hot water beating down over my skin is the antidote to feeling like a prisoner in my own mind.
Why the fuck would he have a dream like that?
And what am I doing to him if I’m causing dreams like that to even be possible for him?
He can’t think about those things.
Or else I’m doing something very, very wrong and convincing him I’m someone I’m not.
I shove the idea of it out of my head. Just because Ollie dreamed about us being a real couple doesn’t mean he’s deluded himself into thinking it’ll happen. He’s smart. He knows the score.
He has to know that it’s impossible, too.
The idea of being married to Oliver may as well be like dreaming about winning the lottery. Sure, it could be nice, in a world where it was ever viable.
But he deserves a life like this.
A man who comes from a loving family, just like he does.
Not someone like me, who will only make his world worse.
I get dressed in a white long-sleeve thermal shirt and force myself to remember what I’m here for.
I’m basically a paid actor. I act like I’m Ollie’s boyfriend, and I’m paid by being able to film him doing sexual things.
Which… has turned into just doing sexual things, and not always filming them, but fuck it.
I have to put on my mask.
The invisible one I wear in real life, now.
And today I’m going to absolutely nail the role of Perfect Boyfriend.
Downstairs, the immense feast that Cheryl is cooking up fills the air with incredible smells. I head down first while Oliver takes his turn in the shower, and there’s already cinnamon rolls coming out of the oven.
For the entire day, I feel like I’m in a movie.
A normal, family-oriented Christmas day is something I’ve never had before. My mom would usually buy me plenty of gifts, and we always had an artificial Christmas tree that Mom’s housecleaner would set up near one of the front windows.
But there were no other festivities.
Nothing like this.
All day, there seem to be new layers of the Ashford family Christmas that reveal themselves. In the morning, it’s food and presents. I brought small gifts with me for each member of the family, simple ones like tea, chocolates, or a candle.
Cheryl got me and Oliver matching reindeer sweaters, which I reluctantly pulled on over my long-sleeve.
When midday comes, a few of Oliver’s aunts, uncles, and cousins show up, and the whole house turns into a bigger gathering. Everyone wants to know how I met Oliver, and we make up a cute story about being high school hockey rivals that secretly had crushes on each other.
And the whole family seems completely unaffected by the awful events with Emily last night. She’s happy, although she’s chugging electrolytes to stave off a hangover. Cheryl and Victor don’t seem to show any signs of animosity.
The whole family wants to have a good day together.
Imagine that.
At night the living room becomes a game room again, and along with all of the cousins, we take turns trying to beat each other in trivia and racing video games.
In some moments, I feel like I’m part of it all.
Other times, I feel purely like an observer.
This is what a real family can be like.
And when I see Oliver interacting with his family members, smiling, laughing, hugging new people who come in…
I know that this is what he deserves.
He’s so good, like this.
Surrounded by warmth.
Love.
And one day, I know he’ll want something like this of his own. The dream he had about me, where we lived together and he saw me out in the backyard pool…
It’s not the kind of life I’ve ever pictured for myself.
I’ve dreamed of being a jet-setting model, flying out for photoshoots in Tokyo, Milan, Paris, or New York. I’ve dreamed of penthouses overlooking glittering cities.
I’ve never thought about anything like this. Because when would any of this be available to me, anyway?
In truth, I’ve always felt like a monster.
Known I’m a monster.
And when I’ve felt like I’m behind a glass cage all my life, manipulated or gaslit or forgotten… how am I supposed to trust anything in the real world?
Christmas is a surreal blur.
I kiss him to sleep that night, knowing that our moments together are limited, at this point.
After the New Year’s party, we’ll be done.
And he’ll be better off without me.
I think we have another week to exist in this little snowglobe, and then I’ll go back to being alone. For one more week, I can hold him like he’s mine.
But the next morning, it becomes clear we won’t have that long.
In one split second, my ugly reality comes shattering back down on us.
It only takes a moment for something good to break.