Back at my penthouse apartment—second only to Dad’s in state-of-the-art security—I grab a first aid kit and start patching my guard back up.
I shouldn’t be enjoying this as much as I am. Having Aron lying on my suede couch, shirtless, his tan skin rippling with every movement of those toned muscles … He’s hurt again because of me, though he never complains. Just sips his beer while I carefully restitch the torn skin.
For a spoiled mafia brat who never paid much attention in school, I make a decent medic. Every time Aron gets injured, I watch the doctors and nurses with keen interest. They’re putting my best friend back together, after all, and nothing’s more important than that. As the years go by, I’ve acquired enough medical knowledge to keep Aron alive if we’re ever stranded without access to Dad’s team. With all that in my head, fixing a few stitches is a breeze.
“We could have gone to Tito’s men,” Aron says as I slide theneedle into his skin. “You don’t have to do this, Matt.”
“Hush. Lie still.”
Aron chuckles and takes another sip. “You missed your calling, dude. You’ve got a great touch.”
“Can you imagine the look on Dad’s face if I’d gone to med school instead of following in his footsteps?” I shake my head and tie off the first stitch. “He would have blown a gasket, then blown up the university, then blownmeup for even considering it.”
“He wouldn’t have blown you up.”
“Why do you say that?”
Aron’s expression darkens. “Because I would have jumped on the bomb before he had the chance.”
I freeze mid-stitch as my blood runs cold. “Don’t say that.”
“Your dad pays me well to keep you safe. He never said who from.” His eyes meet mine, and he grins. “But enough of that. Tie me off, so I can go home to Emily before she freaks out.”
Nothing kills a moment like Aron mentioning his wife. “Oh. Yeah. Emily.”
He rolls his shoulder, testing it, before putting his shirt back on. “Yeah. Emily. You remember her, right? The only other person besides you and Tito who can tell me what to do, and I’ll actually listen.”
I bite my tongue to fight the urge to argue with him. Me? Tell Aron what to do? If that was the case, I’d tell him to stay.
Aron stands up and stretches slowly. “Well, time for me to go. Much as I enjoy our time together, I’ve got the next two nights off. I’m taking Emily to her next OB appointment tomorrow. You’re stuck with Beto until then.”
Beto. Ugh. He’s a decent enough guard, but no personality. Just stands around. Doesn’t engage. “Cool. Have fun.”
I watch Aron stride out the door with a heavy heart. For all my supposed bravado, I can’t bring myself to tell the one personwho matters most what he means to me. I just watch him leave, over and over again, frozen and mute as the door shuts behind him.
Flopping on the couch with a sigh, I turn on the massive TV to see if there’s anything interesting on. While Aron keeps me company inside the apartment when he’s on duty, the other guards all stay just outside the door. It’s not like anyone’s going to get to me twenty floors up, but it’s the principle of it. Why not interact with your boss? Does Dad have everyone else on such tight leashes that they’re afraid to even say “hello”?
Boredom settles in as I flip the channels, aimlessly searching for a good show. Not that I couldn’t watch anything I wanted regardless of what the dozens of streaming channels have available. Dad’s tech guys can hijack the studios’ mainframes, get me the latest before it’s even in the theaters. Since theaters are notoriously difficult to secure, that’s what I usually do if I want to see a film.
Problem is the major studios don’t produce the kind of film I’m in the mood for.
That’s okay, though. I have a healthy stash of quality movies on a hard drive. Just plug and play.
I flip through my files in search of the right vibe. Sports? No. Prison? Eh, a little too close to home some days. Stepbrothers? Not really what I’m in the mood for.
Ah, there we are. Best friends.
I shouldn’t torture myself by watching a movie with this theme, but it’s what my heart—and my dick—currently crave. Since I can’t have what I want in reality, I’ll watch some fantasy and take care of business on my own.
Once I’m settled, with a beer in one hand and my dick in the other, I start the show.
The movie I chose is an old favorite. It features a Latino man and his Italian best friend, two buddies who can’t resisteach other. The plot is thinner than the briefs these two wear onscreen, but I don’t care about plot. I want raw, unbridled passion.
Sure, they’re actors. They might not even be gay offscreen. That doesn’t matter. I’m in it for the thrill of watching them. Pretending I’m one of them.
Pretendinghe’sthe other one.
As the actors lock lips in the basement while their friends host a party upstairs, I start slowly stroking my cock. In my mind, it’s not my hand though; it’s Aron’s. Aron’s hand gliding up and down my shaft, Aron’s tongue teasing my tip, Aron’s firm body kneeling at my feet.
