Pattycake21: Yum. More please.
DTFU09: Did he win the contest? Is it over? Do we get to watch him fuck you?
Hawt4U: Yes. Please? We want to see you take that huge cock.
Ken4Ken: So pretty.
DannysDaddy666: whore whore whore whore whore whore whore whore whore whore whore whore whore whore wh—
Day pulled his earbuds from his ears and threw them on the side table before slamming his finger down on the spacebar to stop the voice from reading. His heart slammed against his ribs hard enough to make him feel lightheaded, his face burning with humiliation. He pushed his laptop away with shaking hands.
“Day, dinner’s ready,” Jackson said, leaning into Day’s doorway.
“O-Okay,” he managed, his tongue tripping over the word.
Jackson frowned. “You’re white as a sheet. What’s wrong? What happened?”
Day just shook his head. “No-Nothing. I’m f-f-f—” He huffed out a noise of frustration as his brain caught on the ‘f,’ causing the sound to go on for too long. “Fine,” he finally ground out.
Jackson came to sit on the edge of the bed, resting his hand gently on Day’s knee. “You’re clearly not fine. What’s happening? Did somebody upset you?”
Day could barely think past the heat of Jackson’s hand on his thigh, as comforting as it was distracting. He didn’t want to tell Jackson what it said. It was just a word. It came with the territory. It wasn’t the first time somebody had called him a whore, and it wouldn’t be the last. He should have just lied, but when he looked at Jackson and his big brown eyes filled with what looked like genuine concern, Day could only pick up his laptop and hand it to him.
“Do you know this guy?” Jackson asked, voice full of gravel, like he was trying to hold back something.
Day gave a helpless shrug. “I don’t know any of them, not really. Some of them, like that guy, want to talk with me on Stripversity but he never has a picture. It’s just always a dark screen. I talk. I perform. He watches. He never talks. A couple of weeks ago, he sent me a lot of money for no reason. A lot. It freaked me out, so I didn’t touch it. I just left it in my cash app.”
Jackson pulled his phone from his pocket and punched in a number. “Webster. Jackson. I need you to backtrace an internet user on an app called OnlyFans.” Day wished he could quell the shaking of his insides, but it was impossible. It wasn’t even the word…it was the rage beneath it. He glanced up at Jackson as he said, “I don’t care how hard it is. I need you to track this guy. Now.” Jackson’s hand squeezed Day’s knee again for emphasis, and Day hated that he felt better just from Jackson’s touch. “If it's not life or death, drop it and work on this. No, there’s no case number. No, I don’t have to tell you what it's about. Call me when you have something.”
When Jackson ended the call, he looked at Day and gave him a reassuring smile, which he didn’t return. “You didn’t have to do that. I’m probably just being stupid,” Day muttered.
“You’re not being stupid. This kind of behavior could be nothing or it could be some kind of escalation. This is what I do for a living, and that kind of response is…abnormal.”
“I just mean I get messages like that from time to time,” Day said, not bothering to argue Jackson’s point about his intelligence, instinctively knowing that Jackson wouldn’t allow him to call himself stupid, even if it was true.
“Then why did this one, in particular, upset you?” Jackson asked, his voice that same soothing tone that somehow lowered Day’s pulse but doubled his craving to bury himself in his strong arms and just pretend the rest of the world didn’t exist.
“I don’t know. I guess because I wasn’t expecting it on my OnlyFans account. That sort of thing is usually for the guys who show up in my live shows and want something for nothing, never from my supporters.”
“Then it doesn’t hurt to take a closer look at him,” Jackson said. “Can you send me his info on CashApp and his screen name and what sites he follows you on?”
Day’s panic swelled within him. “I can’t right now,” he blurted. “I’ll have to look them up. I can get them to you later.”
At Day’s odd babbling, Jackson once more squeezed his thigh. “Webster’s a pro. Your client will never know we were looking at him. I promise.”
“Yeah, okay,” Day said, letting out a deep breath.
Jackson stood, offering Day his hand. “Come eat dinner with me, and then we can find something to watch on television before you have to start working.”
“Does it bother you?” Day said before snapping his mouth shut. Why would he ask that? They didn’t even know each other.
“Does what bother me?” Jackson asked.
Day scrambled to think of another logical question instead of the one he wanted to ask, but he froze, finally just asking what he really wanted to know. “What I do for a living. Does it bother you?”
Jackson’s mouth turned down at the corners. “Does it bother you?”
Day scoffed, folding his arms across his chest. “Don’t do that. Don’t do that thing that shrinks do where they just repeat shit back until they tie you up in knots.”
