After Travis leaves and I put the horses up, it's everything I can do to keep my mind off that creek.

I want to take a shower. I smell like horse and algae and Travis. But I know if I do, I'm going to have my hand wrapped around my cock the second the water hits my body, imagining that scene playing out to its inevitable conclusion.

It doesn't help that as worked up as he got me, as much as I wanted him, I'm even more hurt by his sudden exit. I knew having a thing for him was a bad idea, I just figured this would happen some other way. We'd have an amazing, mind-blowing night together and then he'd find someone else to hook up with, because a guy like him can have his choice of men.

But no. He's turning me away because… he doesn't want to hurt Jake? It seemed like a weak excuse to me then, and it's even weaker now as I'm trying—and failing—to get him out of my head. He doesn't know Jake at all if he thinks his brother would be hurt by us being together. He might make some wise-ass remarks, and he'd look out for us both, but that would be the extent of it.

There's more to this, I know it. But it's not my job to unpack the inner-workings of Travis' mind. It's not a job I want, either, I remind myself as I grab a beer from the fridge and crack the top off. I'm attracted to him. He has a nice body, and I could get off just to the memory of him pinning me against the bank of that creek—something I never thought I'd even like, considering how much control he had over me in that moment.

But that's all it is. I may be able to admit he's a nicer and more considerate person than I expected him to be, but it's not like I'm pining away. I'm just horny. It's been too long since I've gotten laid, and my body's reacting to Travis because he's convenient.

That's it. Nothing more going on.

That thought—even if I know deep down it's not true—brings me a little bit of comfort. And that combined with the slight buzz I'm getting as I quickly down my beer makes me think I could take care of this problem without even thinking about Travis.

I just need to queue up one of my go-to videos and stroke one out to the sight of two strangers fucking.

It's such an obvious, easy solution, and I reach for my laptop like a man dying of thirst. Knowing I'm not going to get anything close to a reliable connection with the satellite internet we have out here, I put my phone in tether mode and connect my laptop to the wifi.

I navigate to the gay page of my favorite site, getting set up on the couch, my knees falling apart. My cock still hasn't gone fully soft from earlier, and I know it won't take too long to get to something workable.

But just as I'm about to click on the "saved videos" tab, I see a familiar still image at the top of the Hot Videos listing. I've only seen it once, but it's been a fixture of my thoughts for days: Travis' bare back and ass positioned right in front of the camera.

I know I shouldn't click. The last thing I need to do is watch an actual video of the man I'm trying not to think about. But I find myself clicking on it anyway, turning the volume up, and hitting play when the page loads.

The first part of the scene plays out just like I remember. Travis with his back to the camera, his muscles flexing as he pushes his partner to his knees. His voice is gruff; commanding. What shouldn't be a turn-on for me is already making me rub my dick through my jeans.

It's hard to see much, but I can hear the sounds of someone vigorously sucking Travis' cock, and my mouth waters. When Travis' stance widens, I can see the underside of his sac as he pumps into the man's mouth, his gluts clenching with every thrust.

It's hard not to be jealous of the man he's fucking, even knowing what he did; knowing I'm only watching this video because some asshole decided to make himself famous.

That thought sends a shot of guilt through me, but I remember Travis' words from earlier. I'm not ashamed of the tape. I like sex.

And it's easy to see that in this video. Travis is enjoying himself as he pulls his partner to his feet and kisses him hard. He's enjoying himself as he shoves the man down on the bed, leans over him, and takes his cock all the way to the root. He's enjoying himself as he fingers and tongues his partner's hole.

And I'm definitely enjoying watching him. Listening to him, especially, as he moans even while he's giving pleasure to someone else. I squeeze my own cock, shuddering as a wave of pleasure shoots through me, and pull off my jeans and underwear without anything resembling shame.

There should be something wrong about this, but with Travis occupying most of the frame, it feels like this is a video he made for me. I can put myself in the other man's position and imagine him dragging his tongue over the seam of my balls as he jerks my cock. My hand mimics his motions, the muscles in my abdomen clenching as I already start to feel myself getting close.

But that's where I start to put some distance between the video and myself. Because if it were me, I'd be writhing on the bed by now, practically begging him to fuck me. I'd let him know what he was doing to me with every moan and gasp. My hands would get tangled in his hair, I'd clutch at his arms, and he'd have to hold down my thighs to keep me from bucking off the bed.

This guy is moaning, but it's the tell-tale moan of someone who's faking it. He sounds like a bad porn star, and he's just lying there and letting Travis do all the work. Even when he does beg for it, his voice isn't breathy and desperate. He sounds almost… bored.

Nothing has ever killed my desire so fast. My hand stops, my dick still hard, but forgotten as I try to see if maybe I'm just imagining it. But no. There's no passion. No emotion—not even lust. When Travis is inside of him, he's passive and barely moving, where Travis is going all out, fucking him with everything he's got.

I've never seen somebody less interested in their partner, and it makes me sick.

And angry.

The longer it goes on, the more I'm filled with what I can only call rage. Rage, and some crazed, protective instinct that makes me want to find that guy and knock him clean out for treating Travis this way. For not appreciating everything he's got. For not worshiping the man like he deserves to be worshiped.

And that's the moment when I can't tell myself I just need to get laid. With my pants zipped up, laptop closed but temper still flaring, I know I'm not fooling anyone.

I don't just want someone to warm my bed. I want Travis. I want to show him what he's been missing; to make up for this prick he wasted so much time on.

That feeling is so sudden, so strong that I reach for my phone. Only to find a text message already there.

From Travis.

I want to see you.

The timestamp is from ten minutes ago, at the most. I was so focused on the video that I didn't even hear the notification.

As I pull up the message, I try to tell myself it doesn't mean anything. Maybe he just wants to apologize for leaving without a word earlier. He seems like the type of person who'd want to apologize face to face, and if I jump him the second he opens the door, I'm not sure that's going to go well.

I draw in a deep breath and let it out, trying to calm the thunderous beating of my heart as I tap out a casual response.

You know where to find me.

Nothing's going to happen. He'll probably show up with another box of donuts or something.

But even as I tell myself that, I can't help but hope an apology is the last thing on his mind.