My stomach twisted, and my can crinkled slightly in my hand. If the two of them were here, then all of them were. But I couldn’t disappear this time.

My own specters were back to haunt me.

7

Jason

Encased in tinted glass, with the engine rumbling beneath me and bass pumping through my speakers, I felt untouchable. My mind was calm, focused, settled into meditational clarity. My constant racing thoughts and twitching fingers were calmed by the engine’s steady drone.

That, and by Vincent’s lips wrapped around my cock, gliding his tongue along my shaft.

I slid my fingers through his hair and gripped it, twisting the long brown locks in my fist. He preferred my hands tied, either tight behind my back or raised above my head with me stretched onto my toes. But it was my turn to be in charge.

I needed my hands free to force his head down, fucking into the back of his throat until he choked.

I didn’t want to come, not yet. Watching him take me all the way down and feeling his throat clench nearly threw me over the edge into rapture. But I forced myself to wait, hanging dangerously at the precipice of bliss.

I gasped, my entire back going rigid as Vincent hummed and his throat squeezed around me.

“Oh, fuck —” My mind went blank for one precious split second. One moment of pure brain-numbing pleasure, but I surfaced, gasping for air.

“Holy shit…” I went limp against the seat as Vincent slowly lifted his head, giving me a Cheshire cat’s wide grin.

“Did you like that?” His voice was husky as he reached across the seat and cupped my face.

“I fucking loved it,” I said, chuckling as I came back down to earth. He turned my head toward him for a kiss, my tired body still reacting to that obscenely skilled tongue of his.

I was thankful for the tinted windows and the privacy they gave us. Crowds made me nervous — you could never know who among them would turn on you in a heartbeat. Say the wrong thing, look the wrong way, or kiss the wrong person and you were fucked.

When people saw something that ran contrary to what they held up as right and good, things could get violent quickly. My mother had never hit me until I told her I wasn’t religious. My father had never even raised his voice until a “concerned neighbor” outed me to him, with the damning evidence of having seen Vincent and I fucking around in his Subaru. Words like “bisexual” meant nothing when a father was convinced his son was going down a life of sin.

But fuck all that. I’d embrace sin and launch myself straight into hell if it meant not having to live under someone else’s arbitrary rules for my life. I tucked myself away, adjusting my sweatpants back into place.

Yeah, sweatpants at a party. I really couldn’t be bothered trying to impress people with my looks. I was 5’7” with a messy head of blue hair that barely hid the ears I’d been told my whole life were too big. That shit used to eat me up inside, knowing I’d never be one of those six-foot-something chiseled guys with a perfect amount of facial hair and body mass. It didn’t matter to me anymore.