“I think I’m going to head home, I have a bit of a headache,” Dylan said after they paid the bill. The plan had been to go to the movies, but Dylan did not feel up to sitting through a two-hour movie.
“You’ve been a little out of it,” Coco agreed, rubbing his arm. “Don’t let your new boyfriends run you ragged.”
Dylan snorted and shook his head. “They’re not,” he said.
The problem was more that they weren’t running him ragged enough. It had been almost a week since he’d seen them, and it was pathetic how much he missed them.
“I’ll walk you home,” Annie said. Dylan shook his head and waved her off.
“No, go to the movies. I’ll take an Uber back to the apartment and go to bed.”
Annie studied him. “If you’re sure?”
Dylan nodded. He pulled out his phone and ordered a car, standing up and putting on his coat as he waited for the app to match him with a driver.
“I’m sure.” His phone made a noise, alerting him that his Uber was just one minute away. “And I have a car. You go and have fun at the movies and I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Caleb, Coco, it was nice to see you guys again.”
“You too,” Caleb said, Coco echoing the sentiment.
“See you later,” Dylan said, walking away from the table and out of the restaurant. A blast of cold air hit his face as he stepped out onto the sidewalk, and for a moment the sensation of cold winter air filling his lungs chased away the restless craving that had been growing steadily worse over the course of the dinner.
Looking down the street, Dylan spotted his Uber and waved. He climbed into the back of the car, the beginnings of a headache brewing behind his eyes.
Hopefully some sleep would make him feel better.
* * *
The next morning, Dylan was not feeling better. He’d had a restless night, jerking off three times to increasingly wild fantasies about Ryker and August, his sleep coming in fits and starts that left him feeling even more tired than when he’d gone to bed.
His dreams had been weird, but Dylan couldn’t remember specifics – other than one really weird sequence in which he’d somehow magically been turned into a pair of boxing gloves. August had put him on and promised that this wouldn’t change anything between them, and then he’d jerked off, sliding his Dylan-clad fist up and down his pulsating shaft and coming all over him.
It was by far the strangest thing Dylan had ever dreamed.
Pulling himself out of bed, Dylan trudged to the bathroom and stepped into the shower. He was even hornier than he’d been before he went to bed, but he had absolutely zero desire to jerk off. He eyed the shampoo on the shelf next to him, sizing up the slim bottle and comparing it to the size of Ryker’s thick cock, and before he’d even made the conscious decision to do anything, he’d slicked the bottle up with bodywash and had the tapered end pressed against his hole.
The body wash burned as he pushed the bottle into his hole, the bottle stretching him open even wider than August or Ryker’s cocks had ever done, but for the first time since he’d started feeling like shit, the empty, horrible feeling in Dylan’s lower gut went away.
Shoving the bottle up his ass, the pain making him grit his teeth and close his eyes, Dylan chased the feeling of being full, relieved to finally quench the empty feeling inside of him.
Once he had the bottle in all the way to the cap, he pulled it back and started fucking it in and out of his hole.
It wasn’t enough. While putting the bottle inside of him had chased away the immediate sensation of being empty, fucking himself with it didn’t give him that rush of pleasure and satisfaction that he got when August and Ryker fucked him.
Working the bottle in harder and faster, the pain making him tear up as he chased any kind of climax, Dylan finally pushed too hard and yelped as his hole swallowed the bottle.
The whole thing was inside of him.
Dylan froze, his abused hole stinging with pain, his insides feeling full in all the wrong ways.
Something was wrong with him, he realized. He liked getting fucked, sure, but not so much that he’d shove a bottle of shampoo up his ass without even a drop of real lube.
Pushing, Dylan tried to force the bottle out of his hole. Pressure suffused his face, his neck clenching, but no matter how hard he pushed, Dylan couldn’t get the bottle out.
Trying to reach into his hole and get a grip on it yielded similarly poor results.
Standing there, lukewarm water beating down on his back, his guts playing host to a bottle of shampoo, Dylan was horrified to discover that the empty feeling and craving for something to fill him hadn’t gone away.
Overwhelmed and scared that something was seriously wrong with him, Dylan burst into tears.
