Chapter 7
ON THE peach fuzz of two o’clock, Griff roled off his bed, leaving the lights off, and moved around his basement room like a burglar, his pale feet gripping the carpet. Without even thinking, he locked his bedroom door and puled down the blinds before he went back to the green comforter on the bed. He knew he was alone in the house, but his heart was hammering, his hands jittered, and the idea of someone walking in and seeing anything made him want to vomit.
The scotch had made his mouth wet and his limbs loose. He kept his black jeans on, unbuttoned, when he climbed back onto his duvet and opened his laptop with blunt fingers. The e-mail was stil sitting on top: “ARE YOU A HOT HEAD?”
I wish.
Griff roled over so he could stretch out on the bed. His hands shaking and sweaty, he clicked the link, which opened a webpage warning him away if he was under eighteen. Then, once he was through, he was looking at a brick-red screen peppered with dumb porno language about hotness and hardness, but he didn’t even notice it.
What he saw was Dante: raven eyes, Roman nose, wine-stain mouth. Everything he wanted. They had posted a digital snap of him smiling at something just off screen, bare-chested under the red suspenders of his bunker pants, his chiseled face cocked like he knew a secret.
“NEW: FULL MONTE!” the caption read. Monte?! Who picked that? “Tonight’s STROKE OF MIDNIGHT!” He’ll never know.
Jesus. He took a breath and held it for a moment as he clicked on his best friend. Doing that swept him to another page ilustrated with a sulen Hispanic wearing a NYPD jacket—as in, just the jacket over his tattooed torso, next to a registration form asking for info so Griff could become a member for a week, a month, or a year.
A week seemed plenty awful. Griff entered his real credit card with a fake name and accepted the transaction. Done. An animated bar informed him that the site was “STREAMING HOTNESS.” Dante was his for the asking.
So this is what damnation feels like.
The clip roled as soon as a part of it had downloaded. First the disclaimer shit and then the orange HotHead logo got the animated bonfire treatment. The screen went black and a Slavic voice rumbled, “Welcome to HotHead-dot-com,” before the picture faded up.
Griff recognized the voice as Alek’s. Sure enough, this was the bald Russian he’d saved at the Stone Bone a couple weeks back. As he was watching, lights came up on a stylish sitting area.
There Dante sat, smiling from a wide, black leather armchair in front of a gray-green wal. A picture hung over his head: a bunch of purple and red splashed on a canvas. “Pretend Art,” Mrs. Anastagio caled that stuff. The room looked fake-expensive, impersonal, and very clean—like a hotel for hipsters.
At first, Dante was looking down at the floor and rubbing his hands on the smooth leather of the chair’s arms, impatient. He was wearing his turnout gear with the jacket open, a white long-sleeved undershirt under the suspenders.
“You ready?” Alek’s off-screen voice spoke from behind the camera as he stepped closer to Dante.
Dante looked right at the camera with those jet eyes. “I’m about to bust, man.” He rubbed his bely, and he wasn’t lying. Under the heavy fabric, the meaty ridge was visible pressed against his inner thigh. “Can I touch it yet?”
“Impatient.” Unseen, Alek chuckled, and somehow even his laugh had an accent. “I have a few questions first. Just some stuff to introduce you to the members. I have a feeling you’re gonna be popular.”
“Like maybe your members wil like my member, huh?” Dante sat back, tilted his head, and squinted right at the camera. The stubble exaggerated his dimples and the cleft in his chin. “Awesome, man.”
In his dark bedroom, Griff felt himself smiling like an idiot for no reason, like he was opening a present. He had butterflies in his stomach. His raked his eyes over his friend’s handsome features affectionately, charmed by his cockiness even here.
This was sort of hypnotic, watching his friend while hiding behind his computer. He turned up the volume on his laptop until he could hear Dante breathing, the sounds his tongue made licking his lips.
Griff had never thought of their fire gear as anything but practical, but for some reason, Dante wore it differently. The reflective stripes emphasized his lean build, and the worn chemical boots looked dirty and sexy instead of uncomfortable. Abracadabra; a grubby uniform transformed by the magic of porn.
“So your name is…?” Alek leaned closer with the camera for the answer.
“Monte. Sure. Hi.”
Dante was a terrible liar as usual, but Griff was wiling to bet that none of the other pervs watching gave a shit.
“Let’s get your vitals. Age, height, weight?” Alek zoomed in closer on Dante’s hard face and shoulders.
“Thirty,” Griff said in his dark bedroom to no one.
“Twenty-four,” said Dante in his plush leather throne. “Six feet.”
More like five foot eleven, but Griff found the lie almost touching. It made him feel powerful in a way, like Dante was joking but only he got it.
“Weight?”
“About a buck ninety.” Dante was nervous.
“And obviously with the charming accent, you’re a New Yorker. How often do you work out? Or do you play a sport of some kind?” Dante shook his head. “Pfft. Fucking never. I used to play basebal. But I’m too lazy. This is al natural. Good genetics.” Alek sounded impressed. “Wow. Lucky felow.”
Griff snorted, thinking of the hours and hours Dante clocked in the gym at their station. Who would believe that you kept a six-pack sitting around? He realized that Alek must have coached Dante on these answers, and the dumb porn name for that matter. This wasn’t real; this was fake bulshit for sad pervs whacking off in their dim basements. Like me. Oh, right.
Dante was bouncing his leg. “My father is almost sixty and he has the same body.”
Not hardly, thought Griff. Mr. Anastagio was about five foot seven and built like a barrel. No, Dante took after his mother’s brothers—tal and lean with eyes like gypsies.
Alek stepped farther back so that Dante was visible in the armchair from his head to his scuffed boots. “Wel, we’re glad you came by to share it with us here at HotHead. I bet your girlfriend appreciates it.”
Dante bobbed his head and took the bait. “Al of my girlfriends do. But a dude’s got needs, yeah? It’s too much for some chicks. And I don’t always wanna play nice.”
Griff tried to swalow around the lump in his throat and nudged his zipper down with his thumb, just to let his bals breathe. He knew Dante was hamming it up for the camera, but his dick didn’t know the difference. He thought about the aley fuck he’d spied on earlier, the rawness of it.
This was why he had given in. He was getting an education in his own flesh.
No one ever has to know.
On the laptop screen, Dante ran with the multiple-girlfriends idea, licking his lower lip. His smoky eyes driled right into the lens, right past Alek, right at Griff.
“Hard to pick just one. I never met a woman who could make me want to settle down.”
“Maybe a woman is not what you need.” Alek’s voice teased at him with its light accent and throaty chuckle.
Dante squinted and half smiled at that, but he didn’t say anything. He winked at Alek over the camera.
Griff swalowed, knowing Dante was just joking like he did with everyone, flirting out of habit. “Maybe I should let ’em watch this, huh? Like a preview.” Alek asked, “Have you ever done anything like this before?”
“Like porn? Nah! I mean, I’ve taped myself fucking chicks a couple times. But only for myself. Fooling around, ya know? But nothing professional.” Dante carded a hand though his hair and looked up at the camera, cocky as hel. “You’re my first, man.” Christ! Griff turned on his side to push his black jeans down, and his ginger-gold bush was exposed in the silver glow of the laptop screen. The musk of his bals made him salivate more than he already was. Reclining like that, his junk lay plump and pink against his leg; he could feel it filing slowly, the foreskin puling back a little as it grew. In front of him, Dante was splayed across his computer like a meal.
“What do you do for fun?” Alek angled the camera down at Dante’s thick pants, panning slowly up the canvas of the turnout jacket.
“You know. Parties. Pussy. Friends. SportsCenter. Get into trouble.” Dante’s hand kneaded the mound trapped against his left thigh, but the camera kept climbing, past his bunched crotch, past the open-toggled jacket, up the suspenders stretched over the length of his torso. His nipples were hard under the white Tshirt.
Once the picture on his laptop reached the stubbled throat, Griff was as impatient as Dante was.
Dante spread his legs wider, tilting his crotch toward the camera as he ran a hand through his hair. “Sometimes I get so horny I have to get off three or four times a day. Ya know? Even when I’m fucking chicks regular, I gotta beat the bone just to take the edge off, so I don’t squirt in my shorts riding in the rig.” The ridge under his bunker pants was harder now, lifting away from his thigh. He ran a hand over the curved length.
“Ungh.” Alek groaned. Even hidden out of view, his breathing shifted and his arousal was palpable. He let the camera linger and travel more slowly, savoring Dante’s uniformed body reclining there on that plush leather. “So… uh… Monte, you’re a firefighter?”
“Find ’em hot and leave ’em wet. Greatest job on earth. I pul people out of burning buildings. I get into fights and win. And I got hot and cold running sex on tap at any joint in New York.” Noo Yawk was how it sounded ’cause he was exaggerating the accent.
“Wel, that makes you a hero, yes? But what do you think makes you a HotHead?” Alek crouched, getting closer to Dante’s spread thighs, shooting up so he loomed onscreen.
Suddenly, Dante stood up right over the camera, forcing it to tilt back. “’Cause I’m a crazy son of a bitch with a sick bod.” His basket bulged right in the center of the screen, but only the lower half of his face was visible at this angle. Cleft chin, square jaw. “’Cause in Truth or Dare I always pick dare.” Towering above Alek, he shrugged out of his heavy jacket, slowly revealing the long-sleeved undershirt, emphasizing his words. “Because I don’t have a good time, I am a good time. Why the fuck else would I be here?”
– Plunk –
The bunker jacket fel to the carpet off camera. Alek scooted backward with the camera so Dante fit onscreen from his thick boots to his tousled hair, towering over everyone watching him. If nothing else, he was a natural-born tease.
Griff’s pulse was thunder in his ears, his breathing deep and ragged. He wiped his mouth, keeping his gray eyes glued to his best friend.
“When fires blaze, my arm is raised.” Dante ran thumbs under the red suspenders, puling them off his shoulders to hang against his legs. “Can I take some more off?”
He didn’t wait for an answer. He arched and puled the white shirt free of his olive skin, tossing it toward the jacket on the floor. His bronze nipples were tiny and hard, but he pinched them anyway and smiled at the lens. He ran one hand from a nipple across the T of crisp, black chest hair and down to where it narrowed into a sleek treasure trail leading straight under his waistband. His caloused hand kept pushing right under the turnout pants, into his basket, and scratched, hard enough that it was audible on camera: scritch-scritch-scritch. Thwap. In his basement room, Griff’s stiffness slapped his bely, pulsing with his heartbeat. Look at that. He hadn’t realized how hard he’d gotten. He groaned. Nice.
Alek obviously agreed. “That’s nice.”
Dante undid the button of his pants and tugged at the zipper.
Alek stepped back again. “Can you turn around first?”
Dante looked confused for a second. “You don’t want me to… oh!” He turned slowly to face the chair. “What do you want me to do?”
“Now flex.”
Dante brought his biceps up to give double guns, and the lean muscle jumped under his skin. There was a long shiny-pink burn on one shoulder, which only made the olive of his skin look more exotic. After a few seconds, Dante relaxed and dropped his hands to the back of his bunker pants, pushing them down a bit so that a hint of his crack showed.
Griff sighed. Against the rusty hair on his bely, his club of a cock had spun a strand of precum. He reached under his bals to rol them gently, lift them clear of his thick thighs. Another bead of fluid appeared at the head. He rubbed his thumb over it and brought it to his mouth. Sweet. He angled the laptop screen so he could get lower.
“Do you have something to show us, Monte?” Alek lowered the camera to focus on Dante’s asscheeks as the pants were nudged down slowly, revealing the hard, rounded perfection of his backside.
Help.
“Kidding? I got so much to show, man.” Dante looked back over his shoulder in profile and pumped his hips a little, fucking the air and inching his trousers stil lower.
Griff realized he was holding his breath.
“We want everything you’l give us.” The camera was jostled as Alek reached down to do something—like adjust his wood, obviously.
Alek’s lens backed away as the descending pants revealed more of Dante’s lower half, until the trousers were scrunched down around his boots, limiting his movement. The hair on his legs only came partway up—soft, sooty hairs dusting him from mid-thigh down—and his ass and his upper legs were smooth and cut; nothing fuzzed the lines of muscle. Almost like he was wearing a permanent pair of pants that stayed tugged down.
Griff had never noticed that before. But then, he didn’t let himself hang around Dante bare-assed these days. Since he started having these feelings. Too fucking risky. But God, he was grateful to Alek for educating him. He’d never be able to see Dante without thinking of those light hairs starting halfway down.
“You make yourself comfortable.” Alek sounded as horny as Griff felt.
Behind his camera, Alek must’ve signaled, because Dante turned around with his boner bobbing in front of him. Then he realized that he was on display and squeezed the meat hard, making the veins bulge where it extended beyond his fist. Dante’s shaft was exactly the same dark pink of his lips: medium-rare. It was long and curved and hooked to the left in a jaunty way that seemed to guarantee wicked pleasure for al involved.
Griff’s meat was a lager can; this was… perfection.
The camera dropped to Dante’s groin. Alek crouched or knelt, folowing that treasure trail down so that the entire screen was filed with the springy pubes, the brick-brown bals hanging loose in the wrinkled sack and the meaty curve of succulent hardness between them wrapped firmly in Dante’s fist.
The camera dropped lower, until it was clear that Alek was nearly on his back on the floor so he could aim up. Dante’s feet were stil caught in the pants and boots, so he had to squat to let his bals hang loose. His legs were spread slightly, revealing the firm ridge between his nuts and his anus, and the plump curve of his buttocks was just visible in back. Dante was tugging on his nuts, hard, stretching them in the skin.
“Rough, huh?” Alek zoomed up from directly underneath, a worm’s-eye view of Dante’s crotch. He rose off the floor until the lens was ful of Dante’s fat orbs squeezed down under his fist.
Dante ran the other hand along his inner thigh, then under to pet the light hairs that dipped into his crack. “Bals? Yeah. I like ’em to ache a little. When they get mashed some. Ungh.” He squeezed them hard with his caloused hand, making the bulge shine under the lights. His stiffness arched above.
For the first time since Griff had started watching on his bed, he wrapped his hand around his own fat cannon. He didn’t tug it, just squeezed it gently and slowly. Otherwise, he knew he’d pop too quick and start to hate himself before he’d had a chance to see the whole thing. This was what he had wanted to find in that bar earlier. Only it was here on his laptop and lived under his best friend’s roof.
Alek puled back and let the camera pan up Dante from the floor to show the ful, flushed length of his body. He was starting to sweat.
“It’s weird to spank my crank in my turnout gear, huh?” Dante looked down at the pants bunched at his boots, the stiff reflective stripes tangled. He tugged absently at his hard-on, like he’d forgotten what he was doing.
Alek snorted a laugh. “Surely you’ve done it before, at the firehouse.” He edged around for a side-view of Dante and his cock. “Firemen are, after al, men.”
“Nah. I mean, I’ve banged girls in the bunker gear, ’cause they dig it. Quickies. But if I’m jerking off in the station, I’m in the john or alone in the shower.” Dante answered unselfconsciously, puling lightly on his circumcised rod.
Griff had to let go of his uncut meat as he imagined Dante busting his nut at the station. How was he ever going to get to sleep again?
“Oh. I imagine you’ve seen a felow fireman jerking off and joined him, in the shower or watching a porno together.” Alek came around to the front of the chair again and stepped toward Dante. “Why don’t you have a seat?”
Dante stepped back, bumping into the chair. He put his ass on the black leather, grinning guiltily. “Uh. Maybe. I mean. Once or twice. It’s just guys and we’re al buddies. We’ve had strippers for bachelor parties and things and, you know… sure. I done a few things.” The words gave Griff gooseflesh and his breath caught. Was that the truth or just porno bulshit?
“I imagine our members would pay a fortune to be flies on those wals. Firemen helping each other with the hoses and poles.” Griff breathed out. Porno bulshit. Al that baloney was “Monte” talking for his new fans. Dante wasn’t jerking off with anyone in 181. Wishful thinking. Griff was no different from al the guys who were fantasizing about fireman gangbangs on HotHead right now, except he only needed this one guy. They could have al the fake porno firemen.
Now Dante was naked in the black leather chair, and his ruddyshaft was wet at the tip. He toed off the sturdy boots and kicked free of the pants. “There! I shoulda been a nudist.”
Alek chortled. “Never too late to change careers.”
Dante hooked one leg over the arm of the chair and started whacking his meat for real. His big bals bounced under the shaft. Dante’s dick was hard enough that it was shiny and the veins stood out. “You got something slick? Lotion or something?”
“Of course.” Alec stepped close and his hand reached into frame to offer Dante a silver bottle. His thumb flicked open the cap with a snick. “Would you like me to squeeze some out for you?”
Griff grunted and nodded.
Dante nodded and grunted. “A lot please. Yeah. My dick’s cut, so I like it real wet. To make it slide easy.” Griff licked his hand in his bedroom.
From overhead, Alec’s hand dribbled a stream of clear lube onto Dante’s rod, the slippery ribbon folding and spreading as soon as it hit his hot, plum-glossy glans.
“I used to wish I was uncut. Growing up, a lot of guys were and I felt weird.”
On his bed, Griff tried to think of someone Dante knew who was uncircumcised other than, wel, him.
Dante was jealous of my cock?
“That’s it. That’s it. A little more. Yeah.” Dante’s hand kneaded his meat lovingly.
Alek squeezed out another clear ribbon and stepped back again, hesitating a little as he realized that Dante wasn’t done with the thought.
“When you’re uncut, you can slide inside the skin—”
How does he know that?
“—but I’m cut pretty tight. I think that’s why I got the curve.” Dante squeezed his arched erection, stil smoothing al that lube into his medium-rare hard-on, some of it running into his pubes and down behind his bals. He looked down at the vicinity of Alek’s off-screen crotch. “Hey! You got a stiffie too.”
“Of course,” Alek mumbled. His smile was audible. “You are very handsome.”
Alek’s about to try something!
Even in the darkened bedroom, fist ful of his own fatty, Griff could tel how close Alek was to crossing the line. He knew al about that kind of impossible lust. Even with the Russian hidden from view, anyone could tel that he wanted to touch Dante badly enough to blow off the filming. Any second now Alek was going to drop the camera and deep throat Dante’s beautiful curved shaft until those ful nuts had emptied into him.
Worse, Griff could tel that Dante knew too, that he was teasing the Russian on purpose, playing for attention and hoping for a bonus. It didn’t dul the horniness, and in a strange, jealous way Griff found himself hoping that Alek would do it because he was so close and it was so possible and they both wanted Dante so badly.
Dante’s boner slipped through his over-lubed fist with a crackling sound as he milked it with patient affection. One plump vein wrapped up the side and then branched midway. The head got darker with each stroke, its ridge standing in sharp relief. Every few strokes Dante cupped his hand and sort of polished it.
Griff tried to imitate the stroke and almost yelped at the sensation, tugging his foreskin forward protectively for a moment. His own cockhead was intensely sensitive. Maybe because he was uncut, that much direct friction was almost painful. His whole life he’d wished he was circumcised, but he’d never thought about the practical differences.
Looking at Dante’s perfect cut erection, he realized how differently Dante could use his shaft, how rough he could be, how much harder and longer he could fuck. Cautiously Griff started stroking again, careful to let his dick slip inside the skin. His erection loomed in front of his laptop screen and Dante’s face.
So strange.
On the other side of Griff’s boner, Dante joked toward the camera. “Maybe I could bring a buddy in some time. You know?” Griff’s hand froze. The fuck did he say? For a second, he felt like Dante was talking to his penis. That was how it looked to him anyways. His meat bobbed and leaked to one side of Dante’s bulshit grin.
On the laptop Dante plowed ahead. “I got a buddy at the station. Hel, he’s way hotter than me.” Dante’s hand twisted around the curved shaft hypnoticaly.
“For real.”
What fucking buddy? Or was this more porno bulshit?
Alek made an appreciative sound in the back of his throat. “A hot buddy? Another firefighter?” Dante kept right on lying. “Mmm. And he has a way bigger dick. Plus we’re kinda related. That’d be crazy, huh, for your members? Two HotHeads at once.”
Griff swalowed. Does he mean me?
“Brothers?” Alek jumped on the idea, bringing the camera around to one of the arms of the chair for a raised side-view that made Dante look like a steaming meal.
“Not exactly. But sort of. If it was worth it, he might.”
Behind the camera, Alek ran with the suggestion. “That would be amazing. And I know the members would be most appreciative. Perhaps we wil discuss it, after.”
Wait. This isn’t live!
Griff had forgotten. This footage had been taped before the cioppino night, over a week ago. Al of this had already happened before the night Dante had asked him to come along.
He means us. He’s talking about my thick ugly dork while he whacks off.
Griff knew it would never happen, but for a moment he gave in to the fantasy of being with his best friend like that: bunker gear around their ankles, tons of lube, sharing his foreskin between them. Taking his time and realy showing Dante what that skin was good for, letting Dante dock his shiny knob so they could bump plump cockheads until they squirted inside his wet sheath. Griff grunted and swalowed his fucking drool and tried to slow down.
“Sure.” Dante kept stroking with one hand, firmly and slowly, and his other slid down to cup his bals a moment, and then under them to press on the hard, fuzzy ridge leading back along his crack.
What is he doing under there? Griff started puling his broad boner sharply enough to burn, precum spattering onto the coppery down on his abs.
Alek zoomed in closer on Dante’s glistening meat at a low angle that emphasized his strokes and the bounce of his heavy bals.
Leaning back into the wide chair, Dante tipped his pelvis up and revealed that while he jerked, he was rubbing his asshole roughly. Not penetrating, but his left hand massaged the tight anal knot rhythmicaly, his middle three fingers petting the tiny muscle without ever fuly slipping inside his butt. The lube was everywhere as he rubbed and nudged, rubbed and nudged, slicking and puling against the few sparse hairs that framed his furrow.
“Uhh. Monte.” Alek’s faint accent was a whisper as he zoomed in on Dante’s glossy crack. “Would you like a toy?”
“Nah. I don’t think so. My butt gets realy sensitive though. I love to get it licked, ya know? When I can find someone horny enough.” A hank of hair hung over one of Dante’s eyes. He winked, chewing his wine-stain lip in concentration. “Hmmph-rrm. Uh. I could be getting close.”
“Whenever you are ready.” The accent was clotted with desire now.
“Okay. Ungh. Gimme a—” By now, Dante’s dick had darkened to a dul red while his fingers polished the round head, shiny and dark and fat as a plum. His hardness looked so long and close to his face that it almost seemed like he could just lean down and suck himself to a climax. He’d spurt into his own mouth.
That image did it. Griff’s boner knew no fear and no conscience. He reached down beside his bed for a squirt of lube and knelt up on the bed over his laptop, looking down at his best friend’s slicked torso glowing onscreen. His bals were puled up against the base of his erection like a clenched fist; his hand whipped over his foreskin, tugging it back ungently, the rosy helmet glistening.
“Ungh. Unghh. Mmmph. Fuck.” Dante’s eyes were slits and his breath labored. The knuckle of one finger pushed inside him for a moment and his eyes roled back. “Jeez!”
Griff started jerking off in earnest, wanting to shoot together, even if they weren’t together. It was just them, just them. Al he could see was Dante: his smile, his cock, his beautiful ass in this bedroom where they belonged.
“Hssss. Ahhh, yeah.” On the laptop, Dante had puled both feet up onto the chair, pushing those fingers against his hole and milking the ful length of his veiny shaft. His breath hissed in his nostrils, his eyes locked on the crown of his erection, almost close enough to taste. His mouth was open and sounds poured out of him as he strained toward climax. “Ungh. Ungghh. Aww!”
Griff was breathing heavily, sweat making his pale skin shine in the dim glow from the laptop. The smel of precum and his damp foreskin was in his nostrils.
He loved it, and he knew that he loved it.
He thought about Tommy in the aley earlier with his rough friend, imagining instead Dante holding Griff down and ramming him until he roared.
Or him holding Dante against the wal of the station showers and fucking him with those long legs wrapped around his back.
Dante with him in bed waking up after Monday Night Footbal, kissing the back of his neck and whispering to him in Italian.
A tantalizing knot formed at the base of Griff’s spine, a bal of electricity gathering there that made his muscles jerk.
His eyes stayed locked on Dante.
He’ll never know.
Dante strained forward, and for one instant the tip of his tongue traced his own knob, and that pushed him off the cliff. “Aww. Ah, fuck. Ungh. Awh. Now.
Now!”
With a below, Dante arched then curled, and his plum-dark shaft erupted in his fingers. Splat—splat—splat. The long salty strand hit him in his open, shouting mouth and slid down his cheeks and chin. One shot hit his forehead and ran into his tousled hair.
He groaned and whimpered as he rode the arc of his orgasm back down to Earth, milking every ounce of pleasure and seed out of himself. When he was spent and panting, slippery puddles across his torso, his whole body gave a shudder and he smiled and sighed; his soft eyes drifted closed. He murmured in boneless pleasure. “Awww, G….”
G?! Did he say G or jeez?
And that quiet G did it. Griff flipped over the edge. He yanked back his foreskin suddenly; the sharp burn tripped his climax. His eyes clamped, and he angled his boner down at the comforter and watched his pink helmet spit what seemed like a pint of semen while he twitched and jerked on his knees.
A chuckle from the laptop made him turn to check what had happened in the HotHead studio.
“Bravo. Ancora!” Alek brought the camera close to Dante’s skin, panning over his soaked torso.
Dante’s sweat-slick chest was rising and faling rapidly, laced with thick semen. More ran in the grooves of his abdominal muscles. “Cum gutters,” Dante caled them.
Now Griff could see why. He licked his lips at the thought. The whole studio must smel like hot, musky sperm.
I think I’m gay. And he can never know.
Alek sounded flabbergasted. “That was astonishing!”
“Whatsamatter?” Dante scraped a hand over his abs, his neck, the side of his face—colecting his jizz. He sucked his pleasure off his lower lip. “I gave myself a fuckin’ necklace.”
“How long has it been since you got off?”
Dante’s fingers played in the warm puddle at his sternum. His shaft shrank further and roled against his thigh, fading from plum to medium-rare again. “Like sixteen hours maybe. C’mon.”
“There’s so much.”
“Big fucking Sicilian bals, that’s why. I told you. I can bang three girls a day and stil need to dump a load in the shower at the station and another in the toilet at the bar.” Dante caught a thrown gym towel, wiping himself cautiously. When it rubbed his softening cockhead, he shivered. “Aggh! Sensitive!” That made Griff smile, tugging his foreskin down in sympathetic discomfort. Now you know how I feel under that skin, asshole.
“I think our members won’t know what hit them. Did you enjoy that?” Alek’s voice was tight, like any second he was going to excuse himself to the bathroom and flog the log while huffing Dante’s cum-rag.
“Sure.” Dante tossed the towel off screen.
Irrationaly, Griff wished he could catch that towel, just pluck it off the Internet and keep it for himself. Would Alek keep it or sel it to some lucky son of a bitch who happened to be a HotHead member? That was when he realized exactly how much he’d be wiling to pay for a cheap rectangle of terrycloth.
On the laptop screen, Dante stood abruptly to get his scattered clothing. His wet rod bobbed as he moved, and he didn’t want to look at the camera. As if someone had flipped a switch and turned off the light inside him. Click. Anyone who knew him could have seen he was done and felt like shit. It was clear he wanted to be dressed and gone from Alek’s questions.
Griff’s heart squeezed. I’m so sorry.
But Alek wasn’t. He didn’t seem to notice that they were finished. He kept trailing his new model around the room a little too closely. “Do you think we can convince you to come back again? Maybe bring that buddy?” Alek kept panning over Dante’s flexing legs and slippery back and the smeared streaks of jizz drying on his torso, unwiling to turn him loose.
Dante looked sharply at the camera. “Maybe. We’l see.” He scanned the floor for his stuff and stepped out of view, forcing Alek to pursue him.
“Would you like to rinse off, perhaps?”
“Nah.” Dante was al business. He picked up his bunker jacket, rubbing a hand over the tape that covered the engine and ladder numbers—his only protection.
This is why he made that cioppino. He needed me to make it okay.
Griff sat back on his haunches and his knee nudged his gooey load on the comforter. He felt like an asshole, kneeling in the dark in a puddle of cooling semen and his best friend naked on his laptop at 2 a.m. Christ. What the hel had he done?
Onscreen, Alek folowed Dante as he retrieved his turnout gear: pants, shirt, boots. “Wel, Monte. I’d like to thank you for letting off some steam with us here at HotHead.”
Dante didn’t answer. He stared into the camera, holding his gear in an awkward bundle, obviously wanting to get dressed and get the fuck out of that place.
He looked down at his sticky body and made the decision, stepping back in his clothes right where he stood.
Griff knew how often Dante showered, how particular he was. Another spike of pity went through him. Leaving like that meant Dante was on the verge of flipping out, camera or no.
Alek pretended not to notice, puling back so Dante’s damp, glowing body was visible from head to toe. “Monte? Wave goodbye to your fans.” The instruction caught Dante puling his bunker pants up. He straightened, hooking one suspender over his olive shoulder. His eyes looked trapped, but he faked a smile and raised a hand and waved. “Bye, guys.”
Bye, buddy. See you at your parents’ house.
The screen went black. The basement bedroom fel dark. Outside, a garbage truck colected trash from the neighbors.
Griff closed his laptop and stayed right where he was, kneeling on the wet spot he’d made for himself.