Chapter 2
I blink once, slow, as Walker waves a hand in front of my face. Miles crouches by the couch and drags a finger from my wrist to my elbow. My skin breaks out in goosebumps.
“Huh,” Miles says.
Finn blows a sharp puff of air directly into my ear. I have thoughts about this. Multiple, very aggressive thoughts. None of them I let show on my face.
“Nothing,” Finn says. He sounds genuinely impressed. “Bro. Nothing.”
“Poke him again,” Walker commands.
“I already did. He flexed.”
“The flexing was involuntary. That’s not him moving, that’s just his nervous system.”
“Those aren’t the same thing?”
“Bro,” Walker sighs. “Please.”
Walker crouches until he’s eye-level with me, his “diagnostic face” fully deployed. He presses his hand flat against my chest. There’s nothing inherently weird about it; it’s the same way he probably palpates a shoulder at the clinic.
“Bro,” he mutters.
“What?” Grant asks.
“His heart rate is completely normal.”
“He looks hypnotized.”
“Bro,” Finn says, shoving his face right above mine to have a better look, “this is just like hentai.”
“Gross,” Walker complains, though he’s grinning.
Grant shakes his head. “That’s a wild thing to say, man.”
“I’m just saying. The whole not-moving thing is a whole category.”
“And of course you’d be the one to know that kind of shit.”
“The dick wants what it wants, man,” Finn defends.
I almost break character just to avoid listening to this shit. The absolute last thing I need in my brain is the list of things that make Finn’s dick happy.
Walker exhales a long breath. Then he speaks, sounding like he came to a very difficult decision: “Guess there’s no other way. Sorry, man.”
He reaches down and clamps his hand over my junk, squeezing my balls through my shorts.
Super fucking hard, for the record.
I glare at him, trying to murder him with my eyes alone. Walker just grins back, unbothered.
My cock, however, doesn’t give a damn about the pain. It twitches.
Just once, but obvious as hell.
Finn’s eyes go wide. “Holy shit. Did you see that?”
“I saw it,” Miles confirms, a weird, unreadable expression settling onto his face.
“Bro likes it.”
I don’t like it. My dick did that without checking with me first, which is rude as hell.
I need to stop thinking about why it reacted right now. I need to focus on Idaho and block out the fact that four guys are crowded around the couch and one of them just had a handful of my nuts, and my body apparently has opinions on the matter.
No, fuck that. I don’t have opinions. I’m just lying here.
Come on, Idaho. Help a brother out.
“Okay,” Finn mutters, and I can hear the smirk in his voice. “But what if we... you know. Call the bluff?”
Grant hesitates. “Dude.”
“What? He knew the rules. If he moves, he loses.”
Grant tracks the line from my dick to my face, then back again.
“Yeah, man, he knew the rules,” Walker says, hooking his finger into the waistband of my shorts and tugging. They slide off easily, and now I’m just lying on the couch with my junk out in front of the four guys I’ve lived with for two years.
Idaho.
From this angle, it could be New Hampshire.
“Fuck, dude,” Walker says, looking from my dick to my face. “You’re deadass serious about this.”
He wraps his hand around me.
I’m getting harder by the second, and I’m definitely not thinking about that. I’m thinking about Idaho.
But I’m thinking about it. About the fact that Walker’s hand is warm, that he’s handling me without a shred of shame, and that my cock is kinda pulsing.
Okay.
No big deal.
Really.
Genuinely.
Just another Tuesday.
Walker pinches the cockhead between two fingers, and my length jumps again.
Fuck, this shit is a big deal.
And getting bigger.
Walker milks the shaft once. Base to tip.
The room absolutely goes off.
“Bro, what the—”
“Dude!”
“Gross, man.”
None of them move, though.
Four different voices are yelling some version of “what the hell,” but not a single one of them takes a step back.
And Walker doesn’t stop. In fact, he works the length again with way more confidence.
His eyes flick to my face, then back down to my meat—now fully hard and seeping some pre onto his fingers.
I feel my jaw lock. It’s a micro-expression. Almost nothing, really. If you weren’t watching my face with the obsessive focus Miles is currently bringing, you’d miss it.
Miles doesn’t miss it. But he says nothing.
It takes around three more strokes for me to realize something: it’s not Walker’s hand that’s making my cock pulse like this. Walker’s hand is just a hand. It’s warm, it’s got the technique down, and that’s fine—whatever.
That’s not the trigger.
The trigger is the four of them.
It’s the way they’re all staring at me while I give them nothing back. There’s something about it—being the only object in the room that isn’t reacting while everything else is—that brings heat to my core, something I’ll have to unpack later, when my brain is back online.
“Let me try,” Grant says, pushing Walker away.
He isn’t gentle. He grips me with the confidence he brings to everything physical, adding a slight twist on the stroke, searching my face for a crack.
Nothing from my face.
My dick, however, is being loud as hell.
“This is the most unhinged shit I’ve ever seen,” Grant mutters. When he shifts, I notice—because his crotch is inches from my face and I’m not blind—that he isn’t exactly unaffected. He squeezes his own junk, quick, like he’s hoping no one sees it.
I see it.
I go back to Idaho.
Finn kneels up, elbows digging into the cushion next to my hip.
“Dude.” I look at him. He’s radiating that weed-high energy that means he’s going to say something, and there’s no stopping it. “If you don’t move, I’m gonna rail you. No joke.”
“What the fuck, man?” Walker barks, looking at him with huge eyes.
“What? He’ll move if there’s real danger. I don’t wanna pay his rent, man.”
I should probably be disgusted, because that’s a gross thing to say. I should be getting up off this couch right now.
The only thing that moves is my dick, though, jumping once in Grant’s grip.
“I feel like,” Miles says carefully, from his crouch by the couch, “this has escalated.”
“It has escalated,” Grant agrees. His hand doesn’t move from me.
“He can say stop, though,” Finn points out. “He could’ve called it before Walker even—”
“He can call it right now,” Walker says, looking me dead in the eye. “You can say stop whenever, man. We can just call it a draw.”
I don’t move.
“Hold on,” Grant interjects, his voice dropping into a careful tone. He’s still got my junk in his hand, his knuckles glazed with all the drool my shaft is seeping.
He scans my face for a long moment.
“Kit,” he says, and I meet his gaze. “If you want us to stop, blink twice.”
The room goes completely quiet.
I look at Grant, catching the flick of concern underneath his usual jock energy.
I don’t blink.
A new bead of pre runs over my swollen tip.
Miles sits back on his heels, rubbing a hand over his mouth. “Huh,” he mutters.
Grant’s hand stays locked on my shaft. He tracks the syrupy leak from my tip, then flicks his eyes back to mine. “He’s… good.”
“Yeah,” Walker echoes.
“He’s good,” Grant repeats, sounding like he’s trying to process a whole new reality.
My cock throbs so hard it’s almost comical, and Grant finally lets go. He stands up, wiping his palm on his thigh.
Maybe it would be a wild sight to some outsider—me lying here with my dong wagging at the ceiling and four guys staring at me like I just spoke in tongues. But I’m feeling pretty chill about it all.
“Okay…” Grant says. “What the fuck does that mean?”
“It means he’s good.” Walker looks at the others. “Isn’t it?”
“I know what it means, bro. I’m asking what it means.”
Finn leans over me again, his face about eight inches from mine. His eyes are huge and a little feral. “Dude. What the fuck is that supposed to mean? Tell me!”
I keep looking at him without so much as a twitch.
“He’s not going to answer, man,” Miles says, from somewhere near my thigh. “That’s the whole thing.”
“That’s what I’m asking about, the whole thing—”
“He didn’t blink,” Walker cuts in. “He knows exactly what the offer is. And he didn’t blink.”
“Right, but...” Grant runs a hand over his face again. “I mean. We’re not actually…”
Absolute silence.
“That’s insane.” Miles says it the same way he says a piece of code is insane, like it’s genuinely impressive even though it’s also a problem. He pushes his glasses up. “That’s actually unhinged.”
“Is it gay?” Finn asks.
Everyone looks at him immediately. I look at him too, because that’s a wild question to drop right now.
“I’m just... throwing it out there. Is it?”
“It’s gay,” Grant declares.
“I don’t know if it’s gay,” Walker counters.
“It’s a dude, bro.”
“Yeah, but he’s not—he’s just lying there. He’s not participating.”
“That doesn’t make it not gay.”
“Okay, but like…” Finn sits back on his heels. “Is it gay if the other person is just an object?”
“His dick’s so hard it’s got its own gravitational pull, bro. It is gay.” Grant says.
“Okay, but that’s involuntary.”
“Is it?”
Grant is right. This is definitely gay.
I’m oozing so much pre down my shaft I can feel it pooling on my nuts.
I’m not looking at it, but I sure as hell can feel it—that slow, warm glaze sliding down the side of my dick.
I’m more turned on than I have ever been in my twenty-two years of life.
Which, again, leads back to the question: is it gay?
The right answer is: I don’t have to think about it right now.
I figured out—while lying here with the debate buzzing above me like I’m a piece of furniture they’re trying to appraise—that it’s not the actual idea of being fucked that’s doing this to me.