Chapter Four #2
Belly down on the plush mattress, Jeremy grinds his hips into the pliant material as he imagines a hard cock inside of him.
He’s not necessarily thinking of Barry, or Clark.
He’s mad at Clark, after all, the memory of how he’d talked down to Jeremy in front of the EPs infuriating him even in this private moment.
He reaches between his legs and under his sweats, roughly stroking himself from the base.
Exhaling sharply, he closes his eyes and imagines Clark roughly thrusting into him anyway.
His phone vibrates in his hand with a new message. Peaking up at the notification at the top of the screen, the text is from an unknown number. He presses it without much thought and is brought to a new message thread, the incoming text reading, “hey . come up to mine”
Intrigued, Jeremy pulls his hand out from his pants and types back, “Who’s this?”
There’s an ellipsis that signifies the other person is typing before a new message appears: “clark”
Jeremy rolls over and sits up fully, staring hard at his phone screen. He’s not sure if this is a joke or not, so he responds with, “Do you know who this is?”
“duh,” then another text, “i got ur number from the crew list”
Not sure how to react to all this, Jeremy asks the next question he has without much consideration, “Ok… Why do you want me to come up?”
Clark is typing, those animated ellipsis dots taunting Jeremy with how long they stay up on the screen.
They go away, then come back. Jeremy flops face down on the bed as he waits, thinking that he’ll reject the invitation no matter the reason.
Finally, his phone buzzes with a notification and Jeremy jumps to unlock his phone and read the message.
“have dinner with me,” is all the text reads.
Scowling, Jeremy types back quickly, “I don’t feel like drinking.”
The reply is fast too, “real food. i ordered 2 much. eyes bigger than stomach”
Jeremy chews on that, wondering as he types out, “What kind of food?”
“the best,” is one text, and another, “caviar n shit.”
“Shit?”
“shut up. cmon already”
Typing out “why,” Jeremy deletes it and stares at the string of messages.
He’s really entertained this conversation for someone who’s supposed to be mad at the recipient.
But that’s Clark’s super power, his undeniable charm even in the virtual realm.
Sighing, Jeremy succumbs to his growling stomach and asks, “What’s your room number? ”
“penthouse,” is the only response. Being petty, Jeremy just gives the message a thumbs up before taking his time getting ready.
He showers and plays with his butt under the shower head’s spray, although not able to achieve the orgasm he’d woken up hungry for.
Out of the shower, he gets on some casual clothes - a t-shirt and jeans - but sprays on some of his mild cologne.
Still feeling groggy to the point of being a little loopy, he stumbles out of his room and heads to the elevator.
He’s not sure how to get to the penthouse, but he’d rather figure it out than ask Clark.
In the elevator, there’s his answer: a sole button just for the penthouse.
He presses it but nothing happens. There’s a black pad above the buttons, Jeremy pressing his key card against the pad and pressing the button again.
It lights up green and the elevator doors close, sending Jeremy to the tippy top of the resort.
The elevator doors slide open and there’s a short hallway to opulent double doors.
Hallway ultra chilled, Jeremy shivers as he steps through it and up to the door before gently knocking.
He waits a while, considering texting Clark to let him know he’s here, when the door opens and Clark looks at him confused, “What are you doing?”
“What?” Jeremy has an urge to run away.
“You’re just standing there,” Clark opens the door wide, “Come on.”
Jeremy follows Clark inside, closing the door behind him before turning back to the extravagant space. The penthouse is like its own villa, multi-roomed and decorated with the finest of furniture. Clark gestures him forward, “Food’s out here.”
Wandering from room to room, Jeremy is able to keep face up until stepping outside.
The sun hangs low in the clear sky as the ocean is lain out before them, unobstructed from the large wrap around patio with red peonies edging the entire perimeter.
A massive white pergola stands above the whole area, an extended cushioned bench wrapping around the railing and a long table laden with rich foods in the center.
Clark sits at the head of the table with his back to the ocean where a half smoked cigar is sizzling in a crystal ash tray beside a tumbler full of whiskey.
He looks back over to Jeremy and finally locks eyes with him.
Taking the cigar between his teeth, his gaze makes Jeremy squirm.
He looks down at the spread before him, saying, “Looks good.”
“Yeah?” Clark sounds amused, “Help yourself.”
Jeremy looks over the food stuffing the tabletop, eyes landing on glistening black beads surrounded by saltines. He points at them, saying, “You really have caviar?”
“Mhm,” a twist of smokey tobacco tumbles out of Clark’s mouth, “Ever had it?”
He feels somewhat embarrassed as he shakes his head, no.
“You gotta try,” Clark presses, pointing at the elevated silver bowl of fish eggs.
Jeremy licks his lips, leaning forward over the array of cured meats and stinky cheeses to scoop a portion of the caviar onto a cracker.
He takes a bite and the salty yet fishy taste with the squishy texture has him swallowing as quickly as he can.
Clark laughs at the reaction and Jeremy puts the tiny spoon back, saying, “Must be an acquired taste.”
“It only tastes good when you’re the one paying for it,” Clark chuckles.
“Well,” Jeremy wipes his hands together and picks up a finger sandwich instead, sitting down at the table to the right of Clark and munching, “Thanks.”
“You sure you don’t want a drink?” Clark asks, sipping at his few fingers of whiskey, “It is the weekend after all.”
“When has that ever stopped you?” Jeremy stabs.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Jeremy shrugs, suddenly uncomfortable as he doubles down, “That you drink whiskey like it’s water?”
“That’s it,” Clark grumbles as he leans forward for another glass, “Just for saying that, I’m forcing you to have a drink with me.”
Beyond dehydrated from the intense work week, Jeremy rolls his eyes but only considers protesting further.
It’s not like Clark will put a funnel in his mouth to pour the liquor down, Jeremy will just have to nurse his glass.
He takes a sip to cleanse his palette as he looks out over the crashing waves below.
“What the hell are you doing?” Clark asks.
Jeremy is getting a lot of whiplash from Clark this evening, brow crinkled as he replies, “What?”
“We didn’t cheers yet,” Clark huffs, holding up his glass expectantly.
Sighing, Jeremy recalls the Hawaiian toast from the party and clinks his glass against Clark’s, saying, “Kāmau.”
“Huh,” Clark raises an eyebrow, “Eneki’s really rubbing off on you, hm?”
Jeremy’s gaze drifts back off to the expansive ocean and he admits, “I like it here.”
“Of course you do,” Clark scoffs.
Suddenly defensive, Jeremy spits back, “Yeah, so?”
“It’s just everybody does,” Clark sips his whiskey and gestures at the saturated sunset, “It’s Hawaii. Don’t be so predictable.”
Feeling like he just got hit between the eyes, Jeremy sits up straight and puffs his chest, asking outright, “What’s your deal?”
Clark laughs, “My deal?”
“Yeah. What, did you ask me here just to pick on me? And that shit yesterday with the EPs, what was that?”
“What are you talking about? Shit with the EPs,” Clark brushes him off.
“Don’t fuckin’ gaslight me, man,” Jeremy begins to seethe, deciding to rehash the incident, “I made a suggestion and you stomped all over me.”
“That?” Clark leans forward in disbelief, “Look, Jeremy, I mean this with full sincerity - you’re gonna need tougher hide than that if you want to make it through this movie. Don’t let just anybody get under your skin.”
“It wasn’t just anybody. It bugs me because it was you,” Jeremy tells him with heated intensity.
Clark visibly deflates at that comment, sitting back into his chair.
He puffs on the dying cigar, smoke making his expression hazy.
Slowly, the tension in Jeremy’s shoulders eases as well.
He takes another healthy swig of his whiskey and glances overhead to two passing terns, squawking as they fly by.
“Alright. You got me,” Clark suddenly says, confessing, “I’ve had a bad week. I guess I was taking it out on you. Sorry.”
Thumbing at the rim of his crystal tumbler, Jeremy clears his throat before asking, “What’s up?”
Clark doesn’t answer right away. A lengthy silence falls over them before Jeremy finally looks over to find Clark staring at him outright with a fixed expression. The ember at the end of the cigar burns bright as Clark inhales, exhaling the smoke as he says, “Would you be willing to sign an NDA?”
“Aren’t I already on, like, two?” Jeremy grumbles, conceding, “Yeah, sure. What’s another?”
Clark swallows the rest of his whiskey then pours himself another while topping off Jeremy’s drink. At last, Clark starts with: “Laurelai and I are getting divorced.”
“Oh… I’m sorry,” Jeremy says. Yet inside, his heart is racing. Some part of him is thrilled to know that Clark’s marriage has failed, irrationally excited at the sad event.