I get up, wince, take a leak, and go back to sleep for two more hours because it’s Saturday and my body is filing a formal protest.
* * *
I get up eventually, pulling on sweats and a shirt, and then I shuffle downstairs looking exactly like someone who got railed by four guys and slept like a corpse afterward.
The kitchen smells like coffee and bacon.
Grant is at the stove, clearing his throat every forty seconds for no reason. Walker is at the table and doesn’t look up from his phone. He’s been on the same screen since I walked in. Finn is eating cereal with his head down. Chew. Stare at the bowl. Repeat. He has not blinked.
Miles looks up, nudges his glasses, and raises an eyebrow like “you good?”
I give him a nod.
He goes back to his laptop.
I grab a mug, pour some coffee, and lean against the counter to watch the four of them being the most awkward they’ve ever been in the two years we’ve lived together.
Grant clears his throat again.
“Okay,” I say. Finn’s spoon stops mid-air. “You guys are being weird. It was a dare. It’s fine.”
Nobody says anything.
Silence. Walker looks at the wall. I walk over and thump his shoulder. He flinches, then looks up.
“It’s fine, man,” I say again. Then I reach across Finn and swipe two strips of bacon he didn’t even start eating yet.
“Hey—”
“Bacon tax,” I say, with a smirk. “You owe me a lot of bacon, man.”
Finn looks up with the most hand-on-the-already-empty-cookie-jar face ever. Miles snorts, and that breaks Walker, who laughs and shakes his head, and Grant makes a noise at the stove that’s almost a laugh.
Miles closes his laptop, and just like that we’re all sitting in the kitchen being normal again. Walker starts trashing Grant’s cooking, Miles argues about butter versus oil for frying eggs, Finn talks about a new game, and I sit here eating stolen bacon and letting it all wash back to normal around me.
It’s fine.
It’s almost completely normal.
Except at some point, I scratch the back of my neck and Grant’s eyes track the movement. I see his jaw tighten before he looks away, suddenly fascinated by his spatula.
I touch the skin
There’s a bruise there in the shape of his hand. I saw it in the mirror earlier.
I drink my coffee and don’t say anything about it. Neither does he. And that’s fine. That’s completely fine.
I go back to sleep after breakfast and don’t wake up until two in the afternoon. By this point the house is empty and quiet. I lie in bed for a while doing absolutely nothing, which feels incredible.
My ass still aches.
I think about it. What it felt like. Walker’s cock splitting me open for the first time, the burn of it, the way my body had rioted and then just decided it was fine, actually. Good, actually.Delicious,actually. Miles’ precise strokes that found my new best friend inside me. Grant picking me up, sitting me on his cock, and using me like I was a cocksleeve. Even Finn’s desperate, virgin-ass thrusts were good.
I’m hard.
I roll over and take care of it in about forty seconds because my brain has a lot of material to work with now.
Then I just stare at the ceiling wondering what that says about me.
