Chapter 8
Javi, Present
I press the gas a little too hard when the light turns green. The engine roars as I lurch forward and flick the damp curls off my forehead.
We lost our game tonight. I’m not going to say it was wholly Grant’s fault, but he was distracted as fuck and certainly didn’t help.
Then he had the nerve to storm off the field like a fucking child once the loss was official.
Grant is my boy—has been since freshman year—but sometimes he can be an ass. And this obsession he has with Landon is getting old. Especially because he doesn’t see it as an obsession. He thinks he just hates the guy. That Landon doesn’t belong here. Blah blah blah.
But the amount of energy he spends on making Landon miserable goes way past just hating him.
My mind wanders back to my bathroom encounter with Declan. I shouldn’t have chased after him. I know that. I just felt he needed to know that I wasn’t involved—not really.
And then he called me out. Saying that I could have done something. Stopped it.
I felt ashamed. Embarrassed. Because he was right. I probably could have done something. But I didn’t.
But did I say that he was right? No. I did what any mature person would do. I lashed out.
I hated seeing the hurt bloom on his pretty features. I hated having to let go of his face.
After the video last year, and then what everyone said after, asking if he let Landon fuck him was a valid question.
He and Landon are pretty close. And Landon’s the only person he’s let in since me.
If I’m really honest with myself, I think I might have let Grant make the banner because I thought something might be going on between Landon and Declan.
It was a way for me to punish Landon without having to actually do it myself. A way for me to enjoy his misery while still keeping my hands technically clean.
I know that’s fucked. But I don’t seem to be very rational when it comes to Declan Turner.
I harshly turn into my driveway, putting the car in park and killing the engine. Closing my eyes, I bang my head against the steering wheel and let out a sigh. When I open them again, they’re already set on his balcony.
There’s a purple glow tonight. I wonder what that means for him. Is he happy? Sad? Anxious?
I pull my gaze away and focus on my front door.
It’s ominous. Not to anyone else. But I know what’s behind it.
Declan was my respite. My time away from a cold place. Even though I hold a lot of resentment toward him—for how he hurt me—I do miss that.
My eyes wander back to the purple.
It feels like a beacon. It pulls me. I’m helpless.
Or maybe that’s just what I tell myself as I exit my car and drift toward it—going around the hedges and away from where I don’t want to be.
The balcony itself is dark. The twinkle lights that are wrapped around the railing haven’t been turned on since last school year. When it all fell apart.
Declan had Harold rig them so that they could be turned on from the ground where I’m standing now, or by the balcony door. That way either of us could be summoned if the other needed him.
Sounds kind of crazy, right? We should just text each other. But it had been a long time before Declan would trust me with his number.
And now, look. My number’s been blocked on his phone for a while.
I look at the brick wall of the house, still able to see the remnants of duct tape that Harold had used to secure an outdoor extension cord. It’s gone now. The socket’s also empty.
I stand in front of the A/C unit. I look between that and the glow above. It’s still calling.
I’m so fucking alone without him.
I miss him. I miss the friendship. But I know I can never have it again. Not after what happened.
But maybe just… looking at him—having my eyes on him—could bring some comfort.
So, I act like an insane person and climb onto the A/C unit.
Just like I used to. Then swing my arms and jump hard, grabbing onto the edge of his balcony.
Using all the strength I have in my arms, I pull myself higher until I can get a foot on the edge and hoist myself to a stand, then carefully step over the railing.
I crouch down, hiding myself in the shadows. The door is cracked, but not enough for me to see anything, and his curtains, while sheer, make it difficult to really make out what’s going on in there.
A soft sigh hits my ears.
I freeze. My heart rate picks up. And then another sigh floats through the door’s opening—louder this time. The sound has the distinct tinge of arousal coating it, making my cock start thickening in my athletic pants.
I’m straining my fucking eyes to be able to see anything, but the damn curtains are in my way. For a split second, guilt and shame bang around in my chest. This is wrong. Stalker-level. This isn’t me. I don’t do this. I’m not a creep. I should go.
I turn to make my way off of the balcony when a space by the hinge of the door catches my eye. The curtain is slightly pulled back. It’s small. A triangle opening smaller than my hand.
But it’s enough. All of my shame and guilt whooshes from my body as my more primal instincts take over.
I drop to my belly and crawl over to the opening, pressing my face against the railing to see inside.
He’s laying on his bed. His side profile lit up against the purple glow of his room, his skin so pale that it practically absorbs the light, making him look like some type of otherworldly creature.
He’s completely naked, his hard cock jutting up toward the ceiling. And I know I should look away. Fuck. I know this is bad. But I can’t stop. I’m fucking sick or something.
To be fair, I didn’t know he was up here doing this. I just wanted to look at him.
I actually don’t think that sounds any better.
My gaze greedily traces the soft lines of his body, each curve and dip so elegant—completely unlike my hard, rigid form. It doesn’t stop—my eyes run over his body again and again, ending at his toes and starting at the top of his head again before starting over.
There’s soft music in the background, and he lets the beat travel through every part of him.
His hands glide up his bedding, reaching the top of his head and then running down his skin as he moves, swaying his body with the music.
His shoulders. Chest. Stomach. Thighs. They all get a caress along the way.
It’s a sensual show. Something only for himself.
I can’t help comparing us. My masturbation consists of quick and dirty fucks with my hand while porn plays on my phone.
Nothing like this.
He romances himself.
I flip myself over, laying on my back on the balcony floor with the back of my head pressed against the railing so I can dig the heel of my hand into my now-throbbing cock. All the while my eyes never leave him as he continues roaming—touching everything but his dick.
Finally, his hand grasps his shaft and gives a slow stroke, twisting around the head and letting out a breathy “Fuck.”
A zing of pleasure rushes through my blood mixed with a bolt of frustration. I can’t see it all like I want. I want to be right there with him. Being able to memorize every detail in front of me. Watching how much his dick is leaking. Whispering all the disgusting thoughts running through my head.
He continues stroking himself, a slow torturous pace as his other hand snakes in between his legs and gives his balls a tug.
This time he whimpers. And it’s all I can do to not fully pull out my cock and start jacking off. I want to fucking taste that whimper. Put my mouth over the sound and eat it right from the source.
He abruptly sits up, drawing my mind out of my thoughts. I slouch a little more, like that will somehow help hide my big ass on this tiny balcony.
But I don’t think he sees me because he just repositions himself, sitting with his legs spread wide on the edge of the bed.
It gives me a full view of his body, showing off all the soft, purple lines created by the lighting. It feels like he’s doing it all for me—even though he doesn’t know I’m here. Maybe that’s just what I wish he was doing.
He spits in his hand and reaches for his cock again, and the slight movement makes a glint of light reflect off his chest. A quick sparkling. I strain my eyes to look and see two dainty rhinestone hoops hanging from each of his nipples.
My throat goes dry.
That’s fucking sexy. I didn’t know he had those. Has he always fucking had those?
My eyes devour his skin as he continues fucking himself, rutting his hips so his cock glides in and out of his hand. Everything about him is so soft and immaculate. He’s stunning. So pretty.
How can I despise and want someone so much in the same breath?
He starts moving faster, throwing his head back and letting out quiet whimpers and sighs.
At this point I’m barely hanging on. My last shred of decency, which is keeping my hands out of my fucking pants, is teetering right on the edge of disappearing.
And then he brings his other hand up to his mouth, inserting two fingers and sucking them between his strawberry lips.
Well, I tried, didn’t I?
I shove the waistband of my pants down, freeing my cock. It’s throbbing and leaking, leaving a drooling string connected to my underwear. When my hand wraps around it, the relief is exquisite. I have to bite my lip to keep myself quiet.
I quickly lick a stripe down my hand and begin stroking in earnest, returning my eyes to Declan. He finishes sucking his fingers and leans back on his elbow, hiking one leg up, then trailing the wet fingers down his body, skimming over his balls to reach for his hole.
I’m too far to really see what he’s doing, but when his lips part and he starts chanting “Shit shit shit shit,” while his hand flies over his cock, my mind fills in the blanks. I conjure up images of him fucking himself. His slick fingers breaching his tight hole and pumping in and out.
He starts rocking his ass against his fingers, while his legs tremble.
I’m not sure how much longer I can hang on.
It’s all too much. I love it. I need it.
I want to rest my face against his thigh and watch it up close.
Hear all the wet sounds he makes while fucking his fingers.
The urge almost makes me get up from my hiding spot and storm inside. But then, he explodes.
A low moan bursts from his lips and cum sprays from his cock in an arc against the purple light while his body fully quakes.
I’m gone. I come all over my shirt on his balcony, helplessly watching as his cock sprays two more times, leaving him a boneless mess barely hanging on to the edge of his bed.
I quietly groan as the last tremor leaves my body, and pretty much immediately, the guilt and shame return, taking the rest of the good feelings away.
I just fucking climbed up onto his balcony. At night. And hid in the shadows, watching him jack off. Oh, and I jacked off too.
Jesus Christ. This is so bad. I put my dick away and look down at the cum on my shirt, taking my hand and trying to press it into the fabric. Make it not so obvious. But it just smears it around and is not helping at all.
“Did you enjoy the show?”
My stomach drops as I slowly raise my eyes up to where he’s still sitting on his bed. He’s more upright now, making absolutely no attempt to cover himself as he gets up and walks to the door. His dick swings as it starts to soften. I know because I can’t seem to stop looking at it.
He steps one foot out onto the balcony, crossing his arms and looking down at me. “You’re huge as fuck. You think I can’t fucking see you out here?”
“I—” I can’t think of anything to say. Nothing could make this better. And I’m also so distracted. He’s gorgeous. Even though I hate him.
He sparkles against the moonlight. Particularly those two glittering hoops through his nipples.
“You don’t know what you want, do you?” he says with a slight shake of his head.
No. I don’t. I thought I did.
He doesn’t give me a chance to say anything back. “Well, I know what I want.”
He steps back and closes the door with a harsh thud. It makes me flinch.
“Go the fuck away, Javi,” his muffled voice says through the shut door. Then he reaches to the left, turning off the purple light and plunging himself into darkness, disappearing and leaving me to look at my own speechless reflection.