I clear my throat and shake my head. “You were in the middle of shooting a really big load, little guy. You must be hearing things.”
He looks like he believes me, thank God. “Okay. Yeah. Good.” Stretching out his arms and legs, he yawns, almost falling off my lap, but I grip him harder, keeping him safe. Once he’s all stretched out, he slowly stands, and my lap feels a little lonelier than before. Weird.
He grabs his speedos and bends over to pull them on, and I nearly catch sight of his hole, but he must know it’s about to be on display, because he whirls his ass toward the lake, shielding it from me. I still remember how it felt against my finger. Warm and inviting.
Why is there a bitter ache in my chest?
When I look up, prying my eyes away from him, Bubba is walking down the dock, having just enjoyed the show from his truck, probably.
“That was beautiful. I’m so proud of you. That’s my good boys,” he praises, and fuck if it doesn’t make my heart swell with pride. Ezra, too, if his wobbling legs are any indication. He blissfully waves at Bubba, almost stumbling and falling on his now-covered ass. The speedo is basically nonexistent, but it still feels like too much fabric, because I really liked how close we felt with no barriers. I get why Ezra likes it, and I think I understand why Austin allows it to happen. There’s a certain level of connection forged when a grown twink shoots a load in your arms, claiming his undying platonic friendship to you. The bond feels like it’d be hard to break, but as soon as Ezra grabs Bubba’s backpack off his shoulders and places it on the floor of the boat, he reaches in and pulls out his sunscreen. So much for that unbreakable bond.
Ah, fuck. “Ezra, wait,” I say, but it’s too late. He’s already squeezed a huge glob on his palm, and now he’s working it all over his face, not paying a bit of attention to me. Bubba is, though. He’s staring right at me, and I can tell he knows I did something bad. It has to be written all over my face.
I try to say the words. I try to tell Ezra about the stupid prank I decided to pull before we agreed to be friends, but then my eyes lock on his ass, because each time he rubs another glob in, it jiggles like sourdough rising in the fridge when you bump the bowl. It’s like I’mlocked in a haze, and as hard as I try, I can’t drag my eyes away from him.
“Johnny?”
I look up to find Ezra smiling down at me, holding the bottle of sunscreen I tampered with earlier. Normally, I wouldn’t stoop to his level, but after the asshole inserted himself into our trip, then whined about being bored for most of the ride, I snapped. Bubba made us stop at Walmart to grab sunscreen for Ezra, because he’s got skin whiter than cocaine, and he’d be as red as a lobster by the end of the day, otherwise, but Ezra refused to go in, claiming Walmart is where hillbillies and inbred folk shop, and he’s neither of those things. That’s when I made my decision. If he wanted a war, I figured I'd give him one. I don’t want to fight it anymore, though, and he’s going to kick my ass when he realizes I swapped the sunblock with self tanner, but I used the cheap stuff, so maybe it won’t be too noticeable.
I check his chest, and sure enough, his skin is already turning a light shade of orange.
Fuck. “Yeah, Ez?”
He wiggles the bottle in front of me. “I can’t reach my back. I was going to ask Bubba, but would you mind doing it instead?”
I don’t know why they fuck my heart is fluttering, but it feels like it’s racing a mile a minute. He wants me to spread it all over him. To wipe my cream into his skin until he’s coated.
My dick chubs.
I know I should tell him about the sunscreen so maybe he can jump in the lake and wash the rest off, but I can’t. He wants me to touch him. I bought the darkest shade of orange I could find, and Ezra’s skin is so white it’s almost translucent. He’s going to look like an Oompa Loompa by the end of today, but telling him means risking this chance,and even though I don’t know why I want to rub the sunscreen on him, I know I want to.
I take the tube and squeeze a large glob in my hand. Bubba sits on the other side of the boat, and Ezra straddles his lap. I don’t feel jealous like I usually do. It’s replaced with this warm, fuzzy feeling in my chest I can’t quite name.
“It might be cold,” I say, my voice little more than a whisper.
Ezra looks back at me, peeking up through his lashes with a sleepy smile on his face. “I don’t mind.”
Nodding, I inch closer and kneel behind him. His ass is right fuckin’ there, jutting out at an impossible angle. The British flag is wedged right between his cheeks. I bet gay guys love his ass. How could they not? It’s just so ...perfect.
I feel awful, because I'm about to make his botched-tan situation even worse, but I’m not turning back. I can’t. He can hate me all he wants—I’ll take it. I think it might be worth a week of his sassy side. I think I kind of like his sassy side. So, I give his shoulder a gentle squeeze, then drop a large blob of tanner on his back. “I'm sorry.” He probably thinks I mean because the liquid is cold, but what I regret is not being sorry enough to stop myself.
“It's okay,” he says, smiling when he looks back at me. Fuck. I'm blushing. I know I am.
Darting my eyes down, I spread the tanner all over, knowing I’m writing my own death warrant, not giving a single fuck in the process, because he’s making all these tiny, whimpered sounds that are fuckin’ with my head. They remind me of the noises I used to make while stroking my cock, trying to picture Annie, only for my mind to flash to Bubba. It always sent a jolt of lightning right through me, and this feels like more of the same. The same tiny sparks popping under my skin. Static dancing up and down my spine. His skin is soft like fuckin’cashmere, and the longer I squeeze, the more sounds of my own I start making. I try to stop them at first—the grunts and quiet gasps for air–but each time I squeeze him just a little tighter, I growl this throaty growl that makes him purr like a fuckin’ kitten.
As it goes on, I realize I’m only working with one hand, but I don’t have time to try and make my hidden hand make sense, because Bubba pulls me out of the moment just as building pressure mounts in my gut.
“Johnny,” Bubba says, and when I look up at him, his eyes are glazed over. “Fuck, baby.”
“What?” I ask, dizzied, unable to think properly. It’s only when he looks down and I follow his gaze that I realize where my other hand went. It’s wrapped around my unsheathed cock, stroking myself with a tight, relentless grip. I keep stroking as I stare at him, unable to process what’s going on.
“It’s okay, baby. Come for us.”
“Oh my fucking God,” Ezra says, staring at my cock. Seeing him wide-eyed with shock at the size of my massive cock is enough to send me over the edge.
I stare Ezra in the eyes, confusion clouding my judgment. “Ezra.” I blink, my hand gliding up and down my cock. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to—”
He shakes his head, grinning like a fool. “It's okay, Johnny. It's okay if you have to come.” He stares down at my cock like it’s a slab of beef. “Come for me.”
