The first card he flips has a picture of Austin spread-eagle on his bed. His cock is hard in the photo, and his balls have been painted to look like a skull. “Well, that sucks. Death card right out of the gate. Don’t worry though, Johnny. I had another guy get the Death card yesterday, and he’s doing just fine.” He pauses and chews his cheek. “Actually, he’s the subscriber I was talking about a minute ago. Daddy McSnack. I haven’t heard from him since I read his cards yesterday. I told him his cards probably didn’t mean he’s dying, but I’m an amateur at best when it comes to this stuff, so who knows? I sure hope he didn’t die.” Ezra stares dreamily into the camera. “He has a really cute butt.”
Johnny’s eyes fly open. “He does?”
Ezra nods. “If you want, I’ll ask permission to show you his profile picture. I stare at it a lot because it’s so pretty. I kind of want to bury my face between his cheeks and lick until I can’t lick anymore.” Johnny blushes furiously for reasons I don’t understand, and I think I might be blushing just as brightly.
“Is that something you enjoy?” I ask Ezra. “Licking other men’s buttcracks?” I have to pause to consider the kink, trying to determine if I’d be okay with my boy tongue-fucking my hole. “If that’s somethingyou need, all you have to do is ask. I’ve got a hole, and it’s yours if you want it.”
It’s Ezra’s turn to blush. “Fuck off and die, trash,” he whispers, but there’s no real weight to the words. He looks up through his lashes. “I don’t know. Maybe. I’ve never really explored anal play. I mean, I’ve been fucked, obviously, but I’ve never been the one doing the licking or the, well, you know?”
“The fucking?” Johnny breathes.
Blushing, Ezra nods. “I’ve enjoyed a bit of toy play, but when I was little, all the stuff I did to survive involved me taking the submissive role. I guess eating a man’s asshole could be seen as submissive, but I don’t know. It still feels like the only reason to do that would be to get someone’s hole ready to be fucked, and that’s never been my territory.” His cheeks darken even more. “What’s the point, it’s not as if I’m going to get to fuck anyone with my little guy.” He stares down at his lap and sighs. Is he insinuating he would be a shitty lay because of his little dick? That shit ain’t going to fly with me.
“Ezra,” I say firmly.
“Yeah?”
“You can lick mine anytime you want,” I say, my voice full of conviction. “If that’s something you’ve wanted but haven’t had the courage to ask for, ask me. You never have to be scared of asking me for anything. Johnny too. If you need an ass to eat, you come to us. And if you want to fuck an ass, it don’t matter how big your dick is. You can fuck me.”
Johnny’s eyes bulge open again. “The fuck?”
I pat his knee. “Picture your meadow, baby.” Leaning closer, I whisper, “Picture Ezzy’s face right between those cheeks as the wind blows through your meadow.” Johnny closes his eyes and nods, probably trying to picture it.
“Hey, Little Dick,” he whispers, low enough that Ezra can’t hear, thank God. As Johnny starts making soft, grunting sounds, his hips roll slightly, and he tugs his bottom lip between his teeth.
“I’m serious, Ezra,” I say. “If you want to eat someone’s ass, all you have to do is ask.”
Ezra nods, blushing. “‘Kay.” I guess Little Man is a little too nervous to look me in the eye, because he’s staring down at his cards like if he looks away they’ll disappear. He flips another card over, and on it, Austin is wearing a long white robe, open at the center, revealing his hard, leaking cock. Why the fuck I let Dallas talk me into photographing the pair of them in various states of undressed arousal for Ezra’s custom tarot deck, I’ll never know. Some of the poses they chose left me feeling dizzy on their behalf. My bro needed me, though, and I was there for him. We’re The Core Four. It’s just what we do for each other.
“The High Priestess,” Ezra says. “Well, that’s hardly a good sign.” To my surprise, Johnny doesn’t question him, just nods like he’s heard it all before. His hips are rolling a little harder now, too, and Ezra picks up on it, his mouth falling open. “Bubba?”
I rub my hand up and down Johnny’s back as he wriggles around on the stool beside me.
Flipping the final card over, he stares at it like it’s an impossible card to pull. Disbelief peppers his expression, and he glances up at us, then back at his card.
“Well?” Johnny asks, his hand trembling against mine, eyes still clenched shut. When did he start shaking? Why is he shaking?
“I don’t understand,” Ezra whispers to himself.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
“Nothing’s wrong. It’s just, I pulled these cards yesterday too. I remember, because I had to look at my flashcards to figure the combination out.”
“Is that uncommon?” Johnny asks, his voice shaking just as much as his hand.
“I’m not sure about other psychics,” Ezra admits. “But it’s never happened to me before.”
“Well, what does it mean?”
Ezra sits back in his chair and stares at us. His eyes look to be focused on what I’m assuming is Johnny. He’s got his arms folded across his chest, skeptical, but I’m not sure what there is to be skeptical about.
“It means you’re going to connect with someone on a level you’ve never experienced before. A deep, meaningful bond, stronger than any you’ve ever felt.” He lifts the death card and emphatically shakes it in front of the camera. “And then you’re going to die. Too bad, so sad for you.” He moves his neck with fluid grace, and it tilts from side to side, looking like one of those snakes that pop out of wicker baskets when the gender-fluid guy in his robe plays an ominous tune on his flute. “The cards never lie, baby.”
“Was that an English accent?” I ask.
“Sorry, I was channeling my inner Miss Cleo, but she’s got a fake Jamaican accent, and I don’t feel comfortable imitating it. It’s cultural appropriation, and it’s wrong, Bubba.”
“Well, the voice you just used was pretty fuckin’ hot, if I’m being completely honest. I want you to use it more often. Can you do that for me, little guy? I’ll pull out Big Ben if you do.”
