“You two think of everything,” Magda says with a telling smile. “This place was not even on our radar until last week. Clearly, we’re late to the party.” She swivels around. People are chatting and drinking while music plays.
Across the way, Rufus has a DJ booth set up. “It’s a hobby of mine,” Rufus said to Greg one night as he was texting Julien about ways to improve happy hour while waiting his turn for the Xbox. He’s so techy that this made sense. “I’d do it for free. I just want the experience. I have all the equipment.”
Greg and Julien agreed, which turned out to be a good move. Rufus is solid at this. He’s playing the right mix of upbeat pop tracks to keep everyone bopping along while they drink.
“How’s the food here?” Andre asks.
“Delicious,” Julien says. “Chef Marco is very talented.”
“If the food is anywhere near as good as these drinks, you’re going to need to roll me out of here,” Magda says, shimmying her shoulders with excitement. “I’ve decided. We’re staying for dinner.”
“Will we need a reservation?”
Greg is about to say no, when Julien swoops in with the much cooler “I think we’ll be able to squeeze you in.”
Greg isn’t even aware that he does it because it comes second nature to him, but he places a hand on Julien’s lower back. Instead of shifting away, Julien presses into it, tilts his head, and smiles at him. Greg wants to paint that smile as a mural on his bedroom ceiling.
As the happy hour portion of the evening winds down, drinks are still flowing freely and liberally. So much so that people are leaving behind nice chunks of change as tips, which will leave them with a solid split at the end of happy hour.
Greg is relieved. He’s finally going to be able to start paying down his credit card bills. Getting back on his feet. He might even be able to set some of this aside to purchase one of the hollow strap-ons he’s been eyeing on the sex toy websites Julien sent him.
It’s not that he isn’t enjoying the anal play they’ve already been having. The cock ring is helping him get and maintain an erection that’s more sensitive than before, but he still hasn’t found his full confidence. He fears if he rolls on the condom and enters Julien (something Julien would never say he wants so as not to put pressure on him), his boner will be DOA, which will frustrate him. Kill the mood.
Online, he found an eight-inch toy in a body-safe silicone that comes with a jockstrap harness. All Greg would need to do is slide his cock (no matter how hard) in the hollow end of the toy and he’d be equipped to peg Julien, fuck him with his whole body the way he’s wanted to since that first night.
At the very least, using the strap-on will remind him of the sensation, the hip thrusts, and it might even inspire him to slip off the dildo, on a condom, and inside Julien without the fear that he’s going to lose his erection or his fresh sexual assurance.
Greg is starting to feel like his old self again except with a twist. And like the twist of the orange rinds he’s affixed to the cocktails he’s been serving, it’s all thanks to Julien.
JULIEN
Greg is the one to thank for the thick roll of singles Julien is taking home tonight, and he can think of over a dozen ways he’d like to repay him—both in and out of the bedroom. With clothes and without.
Julien is so happy with how well the last several weeks have gone that he could kiss Greg. He won’t. That would be way too intimate for their sex pact arrangement and would likely only complicate their working agreement, but that doesn’t stop him from fantasizing about it until Aunt Augustine nudges him aside to get to her office.
“Whoa there, Mr. Moneybags, look at you.” She breezes past him, voice full of gibes. “That DJ kid was good tonight. He played lots of Whitney Houston. Just the way I like it.” She hums a snippet of “I Wanna Dance with Somebody.”
“That’s Rufus. He’s Greg’s cousin. I met him when I was over there last week.”
Aunt Augustine doesn’t look like she even attempts to mask her smirk. “Over there last week, were you?”
He is not about to air his dirty laundry to his aunt, so he says, “We were filming TikToks. You know the ones that keep getting us these bigger and bigger crowds?” He’s saddling his sassy high horse and riding it off into the sunset.
Aunt Augustine is unimpressed. “Never thought I’d see you so jazzed about TikToks. Are you sure there isn’t anything else going on?” She winks a knowing wink that winds him up. They’ve always been open about his love life, but this, what he has with Greg, is different. He’s safeguarding it. Even from the most caring people in his life.
“I think I would know better than you,” he says, sounding defensive.
She holds up her hands, backing off. “Okay. All right. Don’t tell your dear aunt who dropped everything to raise you and provide for you. It’s fine.”
“You know guilt trips don’t work on me.” He raises a shrewd eyebrow.
“It was worth a try. Thought Greg might be softening you up.”
“The only thing Greg...” he trips slightly over Greg’s name since he’s most used it while lying on his back, body quaking “...is doing is securing me the bag for my advanced sommelier course.” He happily paws at his wad of bills. “This is exactly what I needed to pay for my SKA.”
She offers him a maternal smile. “That’s wonderful, Julien. Remind me what the SKA is again?”
Julien’s never annoyed when Aunt Augustine has to ask for clarification around sommelier jargon. Unlike Uncle Martin, she listens the first time he mentions something and simply gets bogged down in restaurant business, losing the information in a jumble. Uncle Martin doesn’t listen, period. But no parent figures can ever be perfect.
