Chapter 14 Luc
FOURTEEN
LUC
Ghost: So how was dinner?
ME: It was equal parts mortifying and awesome.
Ghost: Let me guess, they ribbed you about being nominated for Sexiest Man Alive?
ME: Shut it.
ME: But yes. Treyden read quotes from the internet.
Ghost: Ohhhh. Wait, is that the guy that reads poetry and tells off state senators on TikTok?
ME: That’s the one.
Ghost: I like him.
ME: He’s pretty great when he isn’t sharing my biggest embarrassment in front of the whole team.
Ghost: THAT'S your biggest embarrassment? Damn, we’ve got to get you out more.
ME: Ha. Ha.
Ghost: We got our proofs from the photoshoot back today.
ME: Yeah? How’d they turn out?
Ghost: You tell me…
The next message is an attachment. I open it up and… Oh, Holy Night.
I have jerked off to many pictures of Jesse. Especially ones where he’s performing and he’s all sweaty, or the selfies he takes after he gets off stage.
But this…
Jesus.
It’s a shot of Jesse, alone, with no background and simple, muted colors.
He’s wearing the most obscene pair of leather pants I’ve ever seen.
The front of the pants has a plunging waistline, leading straight to his dick, which is a hair's breadth from being exposed. I can actually see the shape of the base catching the shadows, and the full shape of his cock down the inside of his right leg. His hand is resting over the bottom half of his shaft, not quite gripping, but curled around enough to be suggestive. His other hand cups the back of his neck, feigning a timidity that doesn’t reflect in his eyes at all.
The pose and the placement of a thin belt around his natural waist, lengthens his body, accentuating the nakedness of the front of the pants.
He’s standing with his legs just a little more than shoulder-width apart and leaning slightly back, making his hip bones and Adonis belt pop.
He’s looking down at the camera like the photographer was on their knees.
He’s not wearing anything else. His chest, arms, and throat are completely bare.
His hair is wet or gelled and looks darker than usual, and his green eyes are rimmed in black eyeliner that’s smudged just enough to make it look like he’s had a wild night.
Goddamn he’s so fucking hot. Otherworldly hot.
I have to unbutton my pants to get comfortable, adjusting my cock against my waistband and absentmindedly stroking myself while I stare at the photo.
I’m zooming in to look closer at how his cock is possibly fitting in those pants when the screen lights up with a video call. I’m so surprised, feeling caught red-handed zooming in on Jesse’s dick-print, that I almost drop my phone.
I don’t have time to make myself look less completely shook, so I answer and give him the brunt of the state I’m in. My face is flushed, I’m sweaty, and my hair is falling in my face.
Jesse, of course, looks flawless. His hair is damp, so he might be fresh out of the shower.
I can almost smell his shampoo, the herbal scent that reminds me of mulling spices and sex.
I consider the stupidly expensive bottle of shampoo in my shower at home and wish I’d replaced my travel bottle of Irish Spring 3 in1 that I keep in my away bag.
I don’t smell like him after showering when we’re on the road.
“You went quiet on me, heartthrob.”
I give him a look. “First of all, just no. Second of all, you kind of shorted out my brain.”
“Yeah?”
“Uh, yeah. Those pants defy physics. And decency. What the hell were these photos for?”
“Rolling Stone.”
“I love how you say that so casually, like it's nothing to be in Rolling Stone magazine.”
He smiles and shrugs, and it occurs to me that, to him, it probably isn’t that monumental. I know he’s been on the cover at least one other time.
“I can’t imagine they’ll get away with having this on the cover.”
“I’m wearing the pants on the cover, but not this pose. And the rest of the band is in it, too.”
“What are they wearing?”
“Nothing quite so extra,” he laughs.
I blow a huff of air at a lock of hair that’s fallen onto my forehead. “Well, you look…” I swallow, not really having the words.
“Show me.”
“What?”
“Show me how much you liked it.”
Blinking rapidly, I look down at myself.
I’m wearing the same pants I wore on our date in Dallas, and a long-sleeve black button-down.
The shirt is tucked in, but I’ve undone my pants to give my raging erection room to breathe.
It’s poking out of my underwear, leaking pre-cum all over the bottom of my shirt.
“Come on, baby. Don’t be shy.”
I shiver at the low tone of his raspy voice. And then I tilt my phone screen down, showing him what he’s done to me.
Jesse whimpers. “God, just look at that. Fucking gorgeous, and so wet and messy. You’re going to have to explain that to the dry-cleaner, you know.
I close my eyes and let out a pained chuckle. He might be right. Although I’d probably toss the shirt before I did that. But hearing him admonish me for getting cum on my clothes is insanely sexy.
He knows it too.
“Take it all the way out,” he tells me. “I want to see just how messy you are.”
Slowly, and with trembling fingers, I switch the camera around and point it down at my lap. Jesse hums.
“So wet from just one little picture? Tsk.”
I huff a laugh. “That wasn’t just any picture, and you know it.”
He laughs. “Well, I’m glad you like it.”
“I don’t think that’s a strong enough word for it.”
“Now you have some idea of how I felt when I saw you smile into the camera for me. I knew you were thinking of me, just like I was thinking of you when I had that photo taken.”
I groan and prop my phone up on the dresser and sit across from it.
It’s clear where this is going, and I’m here for it.
I’m hard, and I miss him, and I want to feel close to him.
I’ve jerked off while he was talking to me, telling me things he wanted to do to me.
I want him to do that now while I can see him.
“Let me see you, Jesse.”
He bites his lip and grins like he was waiting for me to say just that. He moves around, setting his phone up to face his bed. Then he crawls onto the bed, wearing just a black button-down shirt and–
“Jesse.”
“Hmm?”
“Don’t act all innocent. What exactly are you wearing?”
“Just a shirt. And…” He slowly unbuttons his shirt as he talks, opening it to reveal red lace. “…some panties.”
“Panties,” I croak. My hand stalls mid-stroke.
“Do you like them?” He asks, looking almost legitimately sheepish.
“Let me see them closer,” I demand, smoothing pre-cum down my shaft.
Jesse knee-walks to the edge of the bed, close enough that I can see him from nipple to thigh.
“Goddamn, beautiful. You are…” I take a breath.
“Fucking stunning.” He’s wearing a pair of blood-red lace boy shorts with a black waistband.
The lace is doing nothing to contain his erection, the lace pushed out from his body.
“Turn around,” I beg. “Let me see the rest of you.”
He obliges, slowly turning around, and I nearly choke on my own spit. His delectable ass is cupped perfectly by the scalloped hem of the lace, and the fabric at the back is held together with strings that look like corset ties.
“Sweet Jesus, what are you doing to me, Jesse?”
Instead of answering, he slowly bends forward until he’s on his hands and knees, then lowers himself even more to put his face to the mattress.
The corset strings are tied together at the base of his balls for easy access to his hole that he’s presenting to me with his back curved and pert ass sticking up like an offering.
My mouth waters. My dick leaks, and I have to pinch the base of my crown to keep from blowing my load before I even start stroking myself.
It can’t be legal to be this sexy.
While I’m trying not to come, Jesse reaches around himself to untie the bow at his taint, and the middle of the panties unravels to show bare skin, lace framing the perfect view of his spread cheeks and perfect, tight pink hole.
“Goddamn Jesse,” I groan, as his body starts to rock, his right arm shaking with the movements of jerking himself. I start stroking in time with him, quickly working myself up to an edge.
Jesse rolls over on his back, with his feet on the bed and knees bent. He starts thrusting up in to his hand, and the dirty words come tumbling out of his mouth.
“I miss you so fucking bad, baby. I want you so much. Fucking me, filling me up. I want your cum dripping out of me,” he rasps, voice getting higher and shakier as he gets closer to release.
“And I want to fuck you. I want to feel you squeeze my cock as you cum so hard for me, you scream my name and milk the cum into your tight ass.”
“Oh, fuck, Jesse–”
I’m half bent over, with one hand on the dresser so I can get as close to the phone screen as possible, not wanting to miss a single detail.
My orgasm is coming, but I try to slow down, to stave it off until he’s pumped the last bit of cum from his balls.
I don’t want to chance my eyes crossing when I finally bust.
“Fuck. Come for me, Jesse. Soak those pretty panties.”
“Loooooosssssssss–”
He lets out a long, guttural moan and strokes faster, until he shoots into the air and spills down the sides.
Shit. Shit. Shit. I can’t hold it anymore.
“I can’t see!” he cries, scrambling to his knees to watch me, and I have just enough cognitive function to adjust how I’m sitting right before I spray all over my chest and stomach.
“Fuuuuucckkk,” he moans, still stroking himself, and we ride out the aftershocks of our orgasms together, muttering barely intelligible things to each other.
I almost want to cry from the release when we come down. It’s still a pale shadow of what it’s like to be touched by him in real life.
When I can breathe a little easier, I unbutton and toss my filthy shirt away and scoot back onto the bed. For a while we just lie there, both lying on our sides as if we were in bed next to each other.
“I came out today. To my team.”
“No shit?”
I shake my head, smiling as my cheeks heat.
“Ugh, don’t do the blushing thing. It’s too adorable. I’ll just get hard again, and I am close to chaffing with how much I’ve jerked off since the smile that broke America’s brains.”
I scoff and put a hand over my face.
“Luc?” I open my fingers to peek at him, and he laughs. “Did you really?”
“Yeah. It was kind of an accident,” I say, and give him a brief rundown of the conversation. “I didn’t want to lie. And it’s not even that I’m closeted, I’m just a private person and don’t like talking about myself. Besides, I didn’t really know for sure until now anyway.”
“What do you mean?”
“I never really thought about what label to use. It’s never been important. Will made a joke, and I thought about it, and I’m definitely into you in a big way, so I think it’s okay to use gay as the closest thing.”
“I assumed you were bisexual. I know you’d never been with a man our first time, but what kind of people have you dated since then? Just women? Or was it a mix?”
I clear my throat and avert my eyes, trying to think of how to say I’m not into anyone else that I’ve met so far in my twenty-seven years.
“Luc?”
“I mean, I went on a few dates with someone, but there wasn’t a connection for me. Besides, I only went out with her in the first place because AJ set us up.”
“What about hookups?”
I shake my head. “No. You’re the only hookup I’ve ever had.”
“Really?”
“Jesse, you’re the only anything I’ve ever had.”
“What do you mean?”
“Don’t laugh.”
“I would never.”
I give him a look, and he returns it with a cheesy grin.
“Before the night I met you, I’d only had sex once, and not to completion.”
“Not to…completion?” he repeats under his breath. “You mean you didn’t come?”
“Uh-uh. She didn’t either. It wasn’t right. Parts of it felt okay, I guess. I mean it’s a dick, if you rub it, something’s going to happen. But I didn’t really find it enjoyable. I just never liked sex.”
“You seem to like it well enough with me,” he says, sounding rather cocky. “But there’s not been anyone else since that night? At all?”
I shrug. “I’ve never met anyone else I felt interested in.”
“Ever?”
I shake my head. “Maybe it’s because I didn’t really put myself out there. Or maybe it’s because I was still so overwhelmed with the memory of you. And not just the sex. I felt something the first time I saw you. A recognition or awareness that I’d never experienced before and haven’t since.”
“So I’m the only one you’ve ever come with?”
Why does he sound proud of that? I want to die, but I nod, holding my breath and looking away from the screen so I don’t have to see him process what a loser I am.
Jesse groans.
“Sorry.”
“What? What are you sorry for?”
“I dunno, bringing the mood down. Making it weird. That’s probably too much to put on something so new, and we barely know each other.”
“You didn’t make it weird. What’s weird is how much I like the idea that I’m the only one who has ever had you this way.”
He pumps his eyebrows and I hide my eyes with my hand. “Pretend I didn’t say anything. I’m still delirious from what you put me through with that picture and then those panties.”
“These panties?” Jesse holds up the panties with one finger, and I can see they’re completely drenched.
“You’re trying to kill me.”
“No,” he says simply. “And you’re not allowed to die, anyway. I think we might be soulmates, Luc Martín. I’m keeping you.”
“Soulmates?” I say skeptically. “Really?”
“I never believed in that sort of thing before,” Jesse says, laying his head on his pillow and blinking up at me with earnest green eyes. “But tell me what else it could be.”