Oh fuck me, how much longer until I can leave? Justin wondered. The thought of spanking his favorite boy - hell, his only boy at the moment - was making him antsier and randier than ever.
"You're such a macho dude, though. I was always kind of surprised that you and Andy were such good friends," Jayson continued.
Justin's hands shook as he continued to pretend to play a game on his phone. Would this dipshit just SHUT. THE. FUCK. UP.
"You, know," Jayson said conspiratorially, "I always kind of wondered if Andy was . . ." Jayson looked sidelong at Justin, and let his voice trail off.
Justin swallowed hard, and forced himself to look the bartender in the eye.
"Was what?" He tried to make his voice sound nonchalant, but there was an undeniable edge to the sound. And he was speaking far too loudly; the handsome dude at the end of the bar was looking up again.
"Ah, nothing, man." Jayson lowered his gaze and retreated to another customer. The jock had always intimidated him a little. He still couldn't quite understand how his kid brother had ever become friends with this guy.
Justin was now too angry to pretend to play with his phone. He looked around the room moodily, and glared at Mark, who was staring at him. Fuck! Stare at someone else you fuckin' perv. He turned back to his drink. Coming here had been a mistake. It had been a safe haven so many nights before over the last two years . . . a refuge in which to drown his sorrows, someplace no one from his real life would ever have found him. And sure, a place to drink underage, abetted by the half-brother of his former cocksucker.
Justin kicked himself mentally. Fuck man, do you have to be so crass about it? Andy was a great little guy. And anyway, you know it's your fault . . .
No it's not, came the immediate mental response. You've been over this hundreds of times. Andy killed himself because he didn't want to be gay. He had psychological issues you were completely unaware of. You had nothing to do with it. He had a shitty relationship with his stepdad. You befriended him, but you had no idea how much emotional stuff he was repressing. He never told you. It's not your fault.
The jock squeezed his eyes shut, trying to blot out the past.
What a fucking downer this evening is already, Justin thought. And I have to get a happy face on before I go over and see Chris at 9 . . . at that thought, Justin's large uncut cock stirred. He knew Chris would be very, very pleased to see him. And Justin would finally get some relief.
It had been much harder than the jock had anticipated to find time to visit Chris this fall. Now that he lived in the fraternity, he found it harder to move freely without having to answer any questions. There were plenty of obligations, too, and it was poor form to be absent for too many parties, not to mention pledge events. He sensed that both Newton and Woodard were happy to cover for him at the latter; perhaps they intuited that after Chris' abrupt dismissal from pledge status the previous semester, Justin might find the whole process uncomfortable. The three of them were very careful, though, neither to be specific about the source of Justin's discomfort, nor ever to reference Chris by name. They had an unspoken understanding, and Justin appreciated that they appeared to have his back, but he resented their inquisitiveness about what, exactly, he was doing if not hanging out at the house.
Not so Reynolds. That shithead always seemed to find a way to allude to the pledge who had been cut last year - as a warning to the new pledge class, as a way of bonding with his new brothers, or as a way of trying to edge Justin out as the most popular guy in SAE. Reynolds had been a pledge with Chris, and was well-remembered for having the largest dick of that group; he was also rich, handsome, and pretentious even by SAE's standards. It clearly pissed him off that Justin's popularity with the brothers was so effortless. That didn't stop him from trying to surpass it, though. Unfortunately, Reynolds' way of building himself up was to cut others down, especially the one boy who was no longer there to defend himself; and even more unfortunately, most of the sophomores and even some of the upperclassmen seemed to enjoy hearing insulting stories about the former pledge with the tiny cock.
Fuck it. Don't think about those assholes, Justin said to himself. He checked his phone: only 7:50. Man. He wanted to see Chris now, make all this other shit go away in an evening of hot sex, but he knew the boy didn't get off work until 8:30, and wouldn't be home until 9. It was also important not to appear too eager. The boy was already needy enough, Justin had to be very careful not to give the impression that they were dating.
And that was really the crux of what had been so tough about this semester. Justin wanted Chris, needed him, his mouth, the tight hole that only he had ever penetrated, and the boy's dedicated service and attention. But Justin took his elevated status very, very seriously, so there could be no romance, no crush, no semblance of anything more than a hot Alpha and his devoted sex toy. It was a hard and exhausting line to maintain. Justin was having a tough time concentrating on his classes, and felt constantly under siege. The one thing that hadn't suffered was his exercise - that kept him sane. Burning off steam, whether at the gym or lifting in the room, helped keep him out of his head, which was the last place he wanted to be.
The jock looked up again, warily, trying to avoid Jayson's eye. Instead, he found himself looking straight at the handsome executive at the other end of the bar.
Jesus Christ! Still?! How long has that fucker been looking at me?? He looked the well-dressed man over more carefully, and thought: I bet he's a cocksucker too. A smirk crossed his face, and Mark smiled back confidently.
Justin scowled, and Mark's grin broadened.
That meathead is so fucking full of himself, Mark thought. I would dearly love to take him down a peg. He reminds me of that skinny asshole who assaulted Chris at the sex club. I wonder what this stud would look like strung up on Leo's cross, a cat falling across those broad shoulders . . . slowly at first, then harder, welts springing up . . . Mark kept staring at Justin, letting his cock continue to grow in his pants, almost daring the younger man to look.
Justin fell into the trap, his eyes dropping to Mark's crotch; aware of his mistake, he quickly glanced back at his phone. Is that dude getting hard looking at me? he thought.
Justin took a large swig of his Knob Creek. He was used to being the predator, not the prey. Fuck, how much longer did he have to wait before he could drive up to his boy? Maybe it was safer to talk to Jayson after all. He willed himself not to look back at Mark, and stood up, casually realigning his stool to make eye contact with the older man more difficult.
Mark continued to stare, sipping his Manhattan, heartily amused. He had not imagined when he walked into this bar on a whim that he would be making a young stud so deliciously uncomfortable. This could be fun. He adjusted his cock so that it now stretched more easily down his leg, making no effort to hide what he was doing. The meathead would look back, he was sure of it.
Justin thumped his glass down on the bar loudly. Jayson hurried over.
"Want another?" he asked. Justin nodded.
"That was quick, man," Jayson smiled awkwardly.
Justin silently cursed himself for coming down here tonight. This was bad on so many levels.
"Aw, ya know. School sucks," Justin said affably.
"Yeah, man. I guess. Never went," Jayson replied.
Oh, FUCK ME, thought Justin. I didn't know that. Now in addition to being uptight and a drunk, I'm also a snob. He raised his eyes to shoot a sympathetic glance with an implied mea culpa at the bartender, but Jayson was moving distractedly down the bar toward the well-groomed ad man.
Mark murmured in Jayson's ear; the bartender nodded, and grabbed the bottle of Knob Creek and a fresh glass.
"Here you go," he said in an embarrassed tone to Justin. "Courtesy of the gentleman over there." He indicated Mark with his head.
Justin contemplated the drink on the bar, nonplussed. He half wanted to pour it slowly onto the floor to show his contempt for the come-on and its author, but he decided instead to follow form. He raised it in the air, made the barest of glances in its buyer's direction, and sipped.
Mark's dick swelled anew at the frat boy's discomfiture. He manspread shamelessly, sipped his own cocktail, and waited for the jock to look again. Meanwhile, his fantasies had moved beyond having the boy trussed up at the foot of his bed, begging and drooling; they had progressed to imagining the jock on his knees, a spider gag in his mouth, widening it enough to take Mark's enormous meat . . . because the skull-fuck he had imagined earlier would probably have resulted in a lot of teeth. The gag'll get 'em out of the way. He ran his hand over his clothed erection absently while picturing Justin choking on it as he plunged it in the boy's mouth to the hilt while twisting the cocky bitch's nipples. It would be hot to see which got to the jockboy first - the pain in his nips or the inability to breathe.
