Chapter 6
Nantes
Lying in bed and staring at the ceiling, I indulge in the memories of that night.
It was one of the formative moments in my life as a young gay kid.
Waking up with Van massaging my chest and rubbing his swelling cock against my bare ass is a core memory and it took me a few minutes to realize he was still mostly asleep and not aware he was feeling me up.
The temptation to let him explore was strong, but I was afraid he would totally freak out once he had a dick in his hand.
Plus, I didn’t want him to know I was hard as a rock with his hands on me.
Sure, I could’ve laughed it off as being drunk and unaware like he did, but I was terrified he would see through the lie.
Even now, my cock swells and twitches slightly. I had messed around a little at that point, but I went to great lengths to avoid getting too close to my best friend. Waking up smashed together was a dream come true. For a few seconds, anyway.
Remembering that reminds me how long it’s been since I’ve actually hooked up with someone. Too long. First I had work as an excuse, then transitioning back into the family business, but now that I’m settled, what’s my excuse?
It’s just so fucking hard. Weeding through the fuckboys and weirdos trying to find an actual connection is exhausting, and I guess I just haven’t been up for it. But lying here now, my dick half-hard from a memory of when I was still a teen is a good sign it’s been too long.
I roll onto my side and squeeze my eyes closed, hoping for sleep, but my mind is racing. I know the only way to make it go away. Quietly, I open my nightstand and grab my bottle of lube. I probably need to get more soon, as I’ve been using this with more regularity than I care to admit.
Vanian is in the room right next to mine, but I’m sure he can’t hear me. The walls are well insulated thanks to my grandpa’s old-school mentality. Look at the old man coming in clutch right now so I can jerk off without my best friend knowing.
After kicking the blankets off, I drizzle some of the sticky liquid over my cock, exhaling slowly as I wrap my fingers around it. I close my eyes, conjuring up my favorite fantasy inspired by endless hours of watching porn.
I’m lying on a large wooden table, surrounded by a crowd of people in masks, all of them admiring me like predators surveying a fresh kill. I could run if I wanted to, but I don’t. I want their eyes on me. Their hands.
It’s always the same. A handsome man steps forward, wearing a black suit and a matching mask that obscures most of his features, except a rugged jawline and full lips.
As he unzips his slacks, other people move closer, rubbing my arms, my legs, my torso, until the man tugs me down so he can finger me.
His touch is rough, aggressive, and I love it. I love all the people watching me, I love the helplessness of it. The man’s fingers slide in and out of my hole, stretching me for what’s coming next.
As he enters me in my mind, I stroke my cock slowly, then fast, then slow again, writhing in my bed and imagining I’m in that other place with all those people. And him.
The man fucks me hard, not worried about being gentle with me, and I’m glad. I want to be fucking wrecked. I want to feel it for days.
My balls draw closer to my body, and I’m a little sad.
I want to draw this out, enjoy the build-up as long as I can, but my body has other ideas.
I’m already on the edge, fucking frantically into my fist, and in my sexy fantasy, the man hovers above me, smiling down at me before ripping his mask off.
Wait. That’s never happened before.
The scene around me changes, my teenage memory infiltrating my fantasy, and just like that, it’s Van hovering above me, fucking into me, gazing down at me like I’m the best thing he’s ever seen.
Part of my brain tries to push the image away, but the feral, horny part of me is in charge, and as I arch my back, I bite back his name, swallowing my moans of pleasure as cum shoots straight up and splashes down on me again.
I ride the wave of pleasure, biting my hand to stay quiet until it finally subsides.
After catching my breath for several minutes, I finally open my eyes, but I’m mortified.
After all these years, my animal brain still wants to use Van as spank bank material.
Dammit. That’s not gonna make hanging out easier, especially now that he knows I’m gay.
Quietly, I get up and shuffle to my attached bathroom to clean up.
I have to admit, I feel a lot better now.
Maybe that was enough to get thoughts of my friend out of my head for good.
He’s straight and I don’t fuck with straight boys.
Not ever again. That’s a surefire recipe for heartache I know all too well.
I climb back into bed and roll onto my side, getting comfortable again. This is fine. It was a harmless fantasy Van will never know about. Tomorrow, we’ll find some fun things to do and it’ll be like the old days.
Except for the part where I wanted him to wake up queer one day and realize he was in love with me. Definitely except that part.
Stumbling out of bed, I rub my forehead on my way to the kitchen. I don’t know what time it is, but I feel like I’ve slept for twenty years—refreshed and somehow groggy at the same time. I need coffee.
Just as I make it around the corner to the kitchen, the rich scent of freshly brewed coffee tickles my nose, sending a shiver of alarm through me as I snap my eyes fully open.
Van is standing at my coffee station, filling a mug. Oh. Right. Van is here.
He turns around, his eyes roaming from my face to my feet and back again. Then he raises an eyebrow. “You forgot I was here, didn’t you?”
Chuckling, I nod. “Yep.”
“Kind of figured since you looked startled.” He sips his coffee. “Also, you’re naked.”
I immediately cup my hands over my dick. “Shit. I’m sorry, dude. I’m so used to being alone.”
He shrugs. “Not like I haven’t seen a dick before.”
“Be right back.”
I back out of the kitchen and dart down the hall to my room. Opening a drawer, I grab a pair of sweatpants and tug them on. At least he took it in stride. He’s right—it’s not like we’ve never seen each other naked before, I just didn’t walk around swinging my junk in front of him.
What I did last night rushes back, making my stomach flip and my cock twitch with interest. Uh no. We’re not going there. He’s my friend. My straight friend. That’s it.
I make my way to the kitchen again. Van is still leaning against the counter, drinking coffee. He’s only wearing a pair of boxer briefs, which isn’t exactly helpful. He looks good—less bulky than he was in high school, but still defined. Especially his abs. You could shred cheese on his belly.
“How did you sleep?”
“Great, actually. The bed is nice, and it felt good to let go of reality for a while.”
“I bet. I was gonna go into the office for a bit and see what we have planned for events today, but I’m sure I can get out around lunchtime or a little after.”
“Cool. I’ll just hang out here if that works?”
“Of course. Make yourself at home.”
Van nods as his phone buzzes across the counter. His brow creases as he picks it up and stares at his screen. I notice his cheeks flushing and a concerned look in his eyes.
“Is something wrong?”
He snaps his head up, forcing a smile to his lips. “No. Just a news story I’ve been following.”
“About?”
“Related to that story I told you yesterday.”
“The client who died?”
“Sort of. Just the situation.”
“What’s going on?”
Van exhales slowly, looking at his phone again. “It’s weird. Normally, the police don’t work on these cases too hard. It’s kind of like, why put resources towards solving the murder of a piece of shit?”
“But? What’s different?”
“There’s a new detective who’s looking at some of the cases to see if there’s some overlooked evidence. It’s all over the news in Chicago.”
“Do they have an idea who’s doing it? Not a suspect, I mean, but a profile.”
“Sure. That’s what the article was about, actually. They’re talking to the therapist in my company who met with the victim. The article says the FBI is getting involved to provide a profile of the possible killer.”
“Double-edged sword, right? On the one hand, these creeps deserve to die, but I guess law enforcement has to at least look like they’re doing something.”
“Yeah, for sure.” He sets his phone down. “It’s high profile enough that a new detective could make a name for themselves if they solved it.”
“Right. Seems to me like whoever is knocking these guys off is doing the city a favor.”
Van nods, seemingly staring straight through me. “Yeah.”
“We had this case about a year ago, I think.” I walk over to the counter to pour some coffee.
“It was a pastor at a church in Milwaukee. When he was busted, he had mountains of child sexual abuse material in his possession, and it turns out he was abusing his authority at the church and as the youth group leader. The last I heard, he’d been accused by over twenty kids.
This has been going on for years. Some of those kids are adults now. ”
A muscle in Van’s jaw twitches. “That’s disgusting. How did he get found out?”
“His son was suspicious and did some digging. It was all over the news. And the worst part is there wasn’t any real evidence about his crimes with specific victims, so he was busted on the CSAM, removed from his position in the church, and of course he got prison time, but he had some high-powered attorneys who appealed and got the case thrown out because more than one person had access to the computer where he kept his smut. It gave the jury reasonable doubt.”
“He got off?”
I nod. “Yeah. Fucked up, isn’t it? I mean, his life is still ruined. He can’t get another clergy position, and he had to move away. If he fucks up again, I’m sure it would be easier to convict him.”
“He’s living his life as a free man while his victims get no justice.”
“Yep. It’s maddening. Fetterman, that’s his name. Alex Fetterman.”
Van exhales slowly, scratching the scruff on his chin. “I hope he gets everything he deserves.”
“Me too.” I sip my coffee. “If you get hungry, come over to the house. We have fresh pastries every day.”
He smiles, seemingly shaking off the heavy convo we just had. “I’ll do that.”
“Good. Nonna will be excited to see you, and we can figure out how to spend the afternoon. Until then, do whatever.”
“Thanks, Nan.”
“No problem.”
I take my mug with me to my room, my head buzzing with thoughts.
It must be so frustrating for him to work with victims of people like Alex Fetterman and see them more or less get away with it.
Maybe one day that douchebag will come across the wrong person and get his ass handed to him.
When the system fails, I’m not against a little violence to make things right. Seems like Vanian agrees.