11. Aiden
11
AIDEN
“ S o, here’s the thing about croissants,” Nolan said a week later, when we were back in the tent, practicing our bakes.
Improbably, I’d made it through another week. Wade had been eliminated just this morning, after a disastrous baguette incident that had somehow trumped even my mildly raw ciabatta for terribleness. Next week was pastry week, and we’d just gotten our assignments for Monday.
Nolan had drawn profiteroles out of a hat, which I’d never even heard of. I’d gotten croissants and been relieved at first, until I saw the face that Nolan made. It screamed yikes . Vivian had put her hand on my shoulder and said, gently but firmly, “Please practice this one, Aiden. I’m begging you.”
In truth, I thought things would be weird with Nolan after last week. But he really did seem to mean what he said about forgetting what had happened at the harbor festival. He hadn’t mentioned it once. I’d worried he’d be prickly about things, or want to call it quits on our fake relationship, but if anything, he’d been a little nicer to me this week than usual.
I didn’t know what to make of it.
“Hey. Are you listening?” Nolan asked, snapping his fingers near my face.
“Did you just snap at me?” I asked, indignant. So much for him being nicer. “Like I’m a dog or something?”
“It got your attention, didn’t it?”
“Yeah, but so would saying my name, or dearest, or love of my life, or man who makes me question how I functioned before I met him, guy who I can’t dream of living without anymore, soulmate whose very essence has mingled with mine under the light of the stars and across galaxies, will you please, please, do me the honor of gracing me with your attention?”
Nolan glanced over his shoulder. Looking for a camera, no doubt. Currently, there were two in the tent, but they were both clustered up front where the other bakers were working.
“I think I’ll stick to snapping.”
I smiled sweetly. “Snap at me again and see what it gets you.”
“Is that a threat?” He arched an eyebrow. Em’s camera was drifting towards us now.
“I don’t know. Do you want it to be?”
“What I want is to talk to you about butter. This is important.”
“Mmm. Butter. A classic lubricant. You have my attention, I promise.” I batted my eyelashes outrageously.
“You’re impossible.”
“No, just highly improbable.” I grinned at Em, who was a few feet away from us now, Nora standing next to him. “Now, go on, what was it you wanted to say about butter? Slick, slippery, oozing butter that just squelches everywhere, gets on your skin, makes it glide so smoothly, and—”
“If I murder him,” Nolan said, turning to Em and Nora, “you can play this tape in court as evidence, and there’s not a jury in the world that would convict me.” He looked back at me. “The point is, when you’re making croissants, your butter can’t be any of those things. You’re trying to keep it cold. Solid. When it starts running too much, that’s where things go wrong. If your butter leaks out of the cracks—”
“Oh, but I love it when things leak out of cracks. That’s my favorite part. Who wants a block of cold, frigid butter anyway? I mean, unless you’re gonna sculpt it into something. They used to have butter sculpting contests at the county fair when I was a kid. So maybe if we were shaping it into something kind of long and vaguely cylindrical, with a flared base—”
“Children watch this show, you know,” Nolan interrupted.
“Oh my God, calm down. I’m not destroying their innocence. It’s not like I’m telling them Santa Claus isn’t real.”
He turned back to Em and stared silently at the camera for a long moment.
“So you two are still working together?” Nora said from over Em’s shoulder.
“To my continuing remorse and regret.”
“Aw, babe. I bet you say that to all the boys.” I grinned impishly.
“What did you each draw out of the hat this week?” Nora asked.
“Well, I got butter dil—” I cut off with a yelp when Nolan kicked my ankle. “Croissants, that is. And Nolan got—what was it? Profit-er-hoes?”
“Profiteroles.” Nolan dragged a hand down his face. “I got profiteroles.”
“Right. Profiter-holes. Like I was saying. Gotta love those little holes. All empty and wide and gaping open.”
“Aren’t profiteroles usually filled with something?” Nora asked.
“Don’t encourage him,” Nolan protested.
“Wait, what?” I tilted my head to the side. “There’s a filling? I love a good filling. Tell me all about it.”
“I could have stayed home,” Nolan said wistfully. “I could have kept my old job, and never come on this show, and never had to have this conversation.”
“Yeah. But lucky for you, you didn’t. So, come on. Share with the class. What goes inside your holes?”
He looked at me helplessly. “I hate that I have to tell you that it’s cream.”
“I think you mean you love it.”
“Last time I checked, you were the one who loved cream.”
I grinned at the camera. “Turns out Nolan has a sense of humor after all. Who would’ve thought? Though, he is right. I do like getting cream-filled…things…in my mouth. Or hands. Or anywhere, really.”
Nolan banged his head against the countertop as I laughed.
All in all, it was a pretty decent afternoon.
Torturing Nolan was fun, and I was sure we’d given the editors a lot of footage to work with. Nolan and I still hadn’t confirmed that we were dating in any of our confessional segments, but I’d flirted up a storm in the tent today. There was no way you could watch the two of us together and not think something was going on.
Even more surprising was that when I followed Nolan’s insanely strict, stern, absolutely-no-fun-or-shenanigans-allowed instructions, I actually turned out a semi-decent batch of croissants. Even Mal said so, when I brought the remnants of them into the inn at the end of the day. He was sitting at the front desk in the foyer, going through some paperwork, when I brought him a sample.
“Really?” I asked as he tore off another piece and chewed it thoughtfully. “It’s good?”
“It’s passable,” Nolan said.
Mal smiled at me. “Trust me. For a complete beginner, it’s very good.”
“I’ll take it.” I turned to Nolan and smiled. “I only wish there were a way I could pay you back for your hands-on instruction.”
“Oh my God.” Nolan rolled his eyes. “You can give it a rest. There are no cameras in here.”
“Yeah, but why would I stop when it’s so fun to annoy you?”
“He raises a fair point,” Mal said, popping another bit of croissant into his mouth.
“Then he can thank you ,” Nolan said. “You’re the one who taught me how to do all of this stuff.”
“Oh, really ?” I set the sweater I was carrying down on the desk—I’d gotten a little hot and bothered in the baking tent, and not in the fun way—and grinned shamelessly at Mal. “I’d be happy to show you, or that gorgeous husband of yours, just how grateful I am.”
Mal flushed, and Nolan flicked my ear. “Don’t tease him. Mal and Deacon have been nice enough to put you up in the Wisteria all these weeks, and this is how you repay them?”
“I’m not teasing him,” I protested, clamping a hand to my ear. “I’m perfectly serious. I’m saying I’d be more than happy to repay them, however they’d like.”
I tried to flick Nolan back, but he grabbed my hand, and then my other one, and held them tight, crossed in front of my body like a straightjacket. It didn’t hurt, but it did put me in a bit of a compromised position. One that woke my dick up.
“You,” Nolan breathed into my ear, “are a menace.”
Mal shook his head. “I need to go talk to Deacon about our water bill, so I’ll leave you two alone to continue…whatever this is.”
“It’s nothing!” Nolan called as Mal walked out of the room. He let go of my hands and followed his friend. “It’s really nothing, I was just—”
His voice cut off as he disappeared down the hall. I frowned and straightened my shirt. There was no reason to feel insulted. Nolan had made it perfectly clear from the beginning that this wasn’t anything real, and that was more than fine with me.
Still, did he have to be quite so insistent on trumpeting that fact to everyone he knew?
Well, I wasn’t going to still be standing here, looking pathetic, if and when he came back. I didn’t need Nolan’s attention. I had things of my own to attend to. I owed my subscribers another video, for one thing, and since Nolan had so helpfully perked my dick up, I might as well make use of that.
Up in my room, I slid out of my clothes, propped my phone up on the dresser, and climbed onto the bed with a bottle of lube. I got on all fours, my ass facing the camera, looked over my shoulder—and frowned.
Did I like this angle?
It was a good view of my ass, but you could barely see my face, and my neck looked all weird and wrinkly when I turned my head around like that.
With a sigh, I grabbed my phone and slid up to the headboard, leaning back against the pillows and spreading my legs wide. If I bent my knees and shifted my hips, you could see my cock and my hole—except now I had a double chin.
I’d shot from these angles multiple times before, but tonight, I hated both of them.
At home, I had tripods and all sorts of tools for recording, but I hadn’t brought any of that with me. What I really needed was a second person to hold the camera. Or, failing that, a second opinion.
I snapped a quick picture of myself from my back, then took another on all fours, and sent them to Henry.
AIDEN: Hey, which one of these is hotter?
Thankfully, he texted back immediately.
HENRY: Jesus, warn a guy before you send him nudes
AIDEN: Oh come on, you like it
HENRY: You do realize I’m dating Blake, right?
I rolled my eyes.
AIDEN: Of course. Actually, send those to him too and get him to weigh in
HENRY: Omg, what are these even for?
I flopped down on the bed as I responded.
AIDEN: Must a guy have a reason to send his best friend pictures of his ass?
Henry replied with just my name, in all caps. I sighed.
AIDEN: Ugh, fine. I’m trying to figure out which angle to use for a video I’m gonna record . Which one says, I’m a little slut Daddy, please pound my boyhole within an inch of its life?
Henry took a moment to respond to that.
HENRY: I can’t believe you just made me read those words with my eyes
HENRY: I feel like I need to bleach them.
I snickered.
AIDEN: Would you prefer pussy? Or cunt? Ooh, or boy box, I’ve seen that too
HENRY: Oh my god NO . I would not prefer any of those. I already had to have a talk with Blake about the word boy pussy, I can’t believe the universe is subjecting me to this more than once
AIDEN: Obviously, the universe thinks you need to be more open-minded
HENRY: Or it’s telling me to get new friends
AIDEN: Ugh, fine. No more boy pussies. Only clinical terms from now on
AIDEN: Now will you please tell me which angle more accurately conveys, Man Who Is Not Biologically Related to Me but to Whom I Refer with Terms of Filial Affection, I need your erect penis to penetrate my lubricated anus and thrust into my rectum repeatedly before filling it with a large volume of ejaculate?
HENRY: I hate you . So much.
I laughed.
AIDEN: That’s fine, but that’s still not an answer
HENRY: Ugh, I guess if I had to choose, I’d go with the hands and knees angle. From like, a director’s perspective, it’s a wider shot, which makes you look smaller in comparison. So if you’re really into the whole Daddy/boy thing, I’d go with that
AIDEN: I’m not INTO it
AIDEN: It’s just what people want to see
I wasn’t sure why, but it seemed important that he knew that.
AIDEN: And I’m into getting tips. I’d pretend to be into vore if that was what people wanted
HENRY: I don’t know what vore is, and I don’t think I want to
Before I could explain, he texted again.
HENRY: AND DON’T TELL ME
HENRY: I know you’re about to, but my brain has been scarred enough by this conversation already
Well, that was no fun. Maybe I was the one who needed new friends.
AIDEN: Okay, but you don’t think the hands and knees angle makes my neck look weird? Or that it should be closer up?
Henry took a while to respond that time and when he finally did, he’d written me an essay.
HENRY: I mean, yeah, the one where you’re on your back is more intimate, but I feel like the room you’re in is really soft and gauzy with those lace curtains and the late afternoon sun and the lemony stripes on your comforter and the fluffy white sheets and all that. And I think you almost want to showcase that a bit, because it emphasizes the dirtiness of the fantasy compared to the innocence of the surroundings
HENRY: And that is the LAST thing I’m going to say on the subject, so please stop making me talk about your ass
What a prude.
AIDEN: Technically, we’re not really talking about my ass anymore. We’re talking about art. This is practically a term paper for you. You should show your professors these texts, I bet you’d get an A
HENRY: I’m throwing my phone into the ocean now, goodbye forever
I laughed and switched my phone back into camera mode. I wasn’t sure I was completely sold on the angle Henry had picked, but I supposed I should trust his intuition. After all, what was the point of bothering him if I wasn’t going to follow his advice?
Well, aside from the fact that it was just fun to bother him.
Whatever. I’d record this video, instead of streaming it live. That way, if I still hated it, I could delete it before anyone saw it. I put my phone back on the dresser, pressed record, then got in position on the bed, looking over my shoulder and smiling coyly.
“I need you so bad,” I whispered, adding just a touch of whine to my voice. I bit my lip and clenched my ass tight, then released, making my hole wink for the camera. “So bad.”
I looked down at the duvet for a second, searching for the bottle of lube. I grabbed it and lowered myself onto my elbows so I could flip the lid open and squeeze some onto my fingers. Then I brought my hand back to my hole, looking at the camera again.
“I’m so tight, Daddy.” I made my voice breathy. “I need you to loosen me up.”
I pushed a finger against my hole, gasped for effect, and slid it in. It slipped inside easily, lube smoothing the way, and I didn’t have to fake the low moan that escaped my lips next. It felt so fucking good, fingering myself. It always had.
Nothing compared to a cock in my ass, but I’d been doing this for long enough that I knew just what spots to press, what speed to use. I slid my finger out, parted my lips, then added a second one as I thrust back in.
“Fuck,” I moaned. “I need your cock so bad, Daddy.”
At that exact moment, the door opened, and Nolan walked in.