Chapter Text
There had been a time somewhere between late middle school and early high school when Chester had mistaken his feeling towards Parker as a sort of idol worship. Envy. Wrongly assuming that those strange feelings that his best friend stirred up inside him must merely be an indicator of his wish to be like him.
It was an understandable blunder.
Parker had been the type of boy that all the other boys in class wanted to be like. Handsome, funny, popular in the way cute laid-back nice guys are popular. He dressed well and danced well and was always one of the first kids in gym class to be claimed by a team leader. He hadn’t played on a sports team since early middle school, neither of them had, but unlike Chester, he had seemingly been born with the physique and natural grace of a trained athlete. A truly prime example of the male specimen.
Yet, as head of the debate team and a member of the AV club, he was equally as respected by the nerdy kids in school. The definition of the gifted student. The two of them had taken the same honors classes together all throughout high school but whereas Chester had worked his ass off to earn his grades, it all just seemed to breeze by for Parker. His brain was seemingly as fit as his form. Everything just came naturally and easy to him and literally everybody wanted to be Parker. Everybody. So, it only made sense to a teenage Chester that he must want to be him as well.
As time passed, however, he realized this was wrong.
There was no true envy for his best friend deep in his heart. He would look up at him appreciatively, admiring everything about him from the tips of his perfect wavy hair to the stylish shoes on his feet, and he would muse about how lucky he was to have such an amazing guy in his life. Being around him made Chester feel like he was important, as if he was worthy enough of having somebody like Parker hanging out with him, he must not be that bad. There was not a speck of jealousy inside him. Just being close to him was enough.
There was a short time where Chester had thought maybe he had been in love with Parker. Or at the very least, was harboring a repressed crush towards him. A crush in the way two teenage boys who are far too invested in each other at a vulnerable period in their lives are capable of housing crushes on one another despite an otherwise exclusive attraction to the opposite gender.
Yet that wasn’t it, either. Not exactly. Parker did stir up that same feeling of butterflies in his stomach as an attractive woman, but Chester never looked at him and thought about how he wanted to kiss him. He never jerked off to the idea of Parker on top of him or fantasized about his low voice confessing his love. Chester was straight and reserved all his sexual fantasies for the opposite gender. So why did he have those butterflies in his belly?
The fight broke out in late February of their freshman year. Chester hadn’t been there when it started, he was on his way to math class when he just stumbled upon it. By that point, Parker had already pulled the guy’s shirt over his head and was just laying into him, concentrating his punches on the guy’s side. The sound of fists on ribs sent his heart racing. Chester had no idea what the fight was about, he couldn’t even tell who his best friend was pummeling with his face hidden behind cotton, but he knew it was a bad situation. Parker seemed enraged, if nobody stopped him, he might really hurt the kid. Chester didn’t care about the kid, but he did care about Parker ending up in jail.
Not thinking, Chester jumped into the brawl, grabbing at Parker’s arm, and yelling at him to lay off the kid. It was reflex, pure reflex, but Parker lashed out. Smacking Chester so hard across the face that his nose didn’t stop bleeding for two hours. It was then, crouched on the floor against the locker, Parker stooped over him, large, looming, apologizing again and again, nearly hysterical with worry, that Chester realized he was afraid of Parker. He could taste blood in his mouth and his dick was hard.
It was that day that it dawned upon him what his true feelings towards his best friend had been all along. What had drawn him to the larger, stronger boy from the very beginning.
Fear.
He feared Parker.
He feared his best friend in the whole world on a subconscious, primal, cellular level. Because Parker was the sort of male that lesser males were genetically inclined to fear. Tall, muscular, intelligent, confident. The type of male that back in ye-olde-caveman days probably would have held a harem of girls at his disposal and lumbered around hitting other men with his club to keep them away from his mates.
It was like a bucket of ice water had been dropped over Chester’s head when he realized all of this. When he finally began to understand why he was never quite comfortable around Parker. Not completely. Even when it was just the two of them smoking pot together in the clearing out back behind Parker’s house and his smiles were easy and free, his voice drawling, it still lingered in the back of his mind. The knowledge that Parker could easily destroy him, rip him to shreds. If Parker were to grab him by the throat and pin him against the wall, Chester would be absolutely helpless. This was an utterly intoxicating emotion to a fourteen-year-old Chester. His internalized fear had made Parker extremely irresistible.
Yet he was a teenage boy and he needed more than what Parker could give him. He needed that thrill to manifest in more direct ways. He sought out that thrill in other places, other areas of his life. Following the same avenue of countless young men before him, he turned to porn. First out of curiosity, and then out of something closer to compulsion. He watched videos of women controlling skinny young men like himself, beautiful, buxom women in leather and fishnets dominating men. Beating them, whipping them, pegging them. Chester hadn’t even considered the idea that he would enjoy being fucked up the ass until the day he was first exposed to the video of a pretty brunette girl using a strap-on with her equally pretty boyfriend. Afterward, he couldn’t stop thinking about it. And how much he wanted it.
Of course, it is impossible to live out such a fantasy without a girl involved and he wasn’t about to ask some classmate out on a date and then inquire halfway through the movie if she had ever thought about dominating men as a hobby. So, at first, there were only girls online his own age. Curious girls who thought they might be into that sort of thing but just weren’t quite sure. Quickly, he began seeking out older girls, women, and he came to prefer the ones with a few more years under their belt than himself. They were less naïve, more experienced, and they knew how to cater towards those unexplored parts of his own psyche that he was just beginning to discover.
Keeping this part of himself locked away from his best friend was not necessarily difficult at first but it did prove to be isolating. Whenever they would be somewhere, scoping out girls, Parker would inevitably make some remark about wanting to see this one on her knees or that one tied up in his bed. Their tastes in girls weren’t that different, they often found themselves attracted to the same ones, yet this sort of boy’s talk always left him fumbling for words. How was he supposed to respond to such an assertion? Simply grin and casually mention to his best friend that he’d prefer to be the one in the ropes?
It’s not like there aren’t plenty of men into a little dominatrix roleplay. But adolescence is already confusing and terrifying in its own right. Boys who enjoy being dominated; they’re the sort of teenagers other teenagers make fun of. Sissy boys who like to dress in panties and lick women’s boots. Chester has never been particularly attracted to the idea of wearing panties but the bootlicking he could get behind. Does get behind, in fact, his very first night at the club.
He’s just turned seventeen. Far too young to be at such an establishment. But he’s cute and puppy-doggish and the cheap dog collar around his throat only plays up this fact. The bouncer takes one look at his fake ID, raises an eyebrow at its obvious forgery, and waves him in.
The first two women walk away when he admits that he is a virgin. A third, overhearing this confession, smiles and approaches him.
She’s twenty-four and works at some advertising firm down in the city. Weekending in Buffalo after traveling up north on a business trip. She’s elegantly dressed, curvy, and short enough that when she kisses him later on, in the middle of her hotel room, she yanks down at his leash to reach his lips.
“I’m only seventeen,” he confesses when she offers to buy him a drink.
“This is a twenty-one-only club,” she responds. “So tonight, you’re twenty-one.”
By the way she’s eyeing him, he half-thinks she is going to do it right there in the establishment, strip him naked and defile him for everyone to see, but she doesn’t. Except for leashing him in a show of ownership for the night, she doesn’t do anything explicitly sexual within the walls of the establishment. They unwind together with a drink, she buys him something pink and girly without asking, and she plays with him the entire time, touching him casually on the arm and throat and face, telling him what to do, seeing how he responds. He’s only worn his collar around his bedroom before, never out in public, and he’s never worn a leash at all, but it’s something he’s been secretly masturbating to the idea of since ninth grade. He takes to it like a fish to water.
Evidently, he passes whatever test she is putting him through, because she asks him to come to her hotel with her.
“Normally, I prefer to limit it to the club when I’m away from home,” she confesses, her fingers cold against his ribs. “But I suppose this is a special occasion.”
She walks him to her car like a prized poodle. The collar is sharp along the edges and bites into his throat, but the pain just makes his cock throb in his pants. Her boots taste like what he imagines chewing tobacco must.
He awakens to his phone dinging repeatedly in a deluge of text messages. Parker, demanding to know where he is, they were supposed to go to the gym together like they do every Saturday morning.
Sorry dude, was up early so I already got in a workout, he texts back. And it’s not a total lie. He had been up to nearly three, and every muscle in his body feels like it’s on fire. I’m going to take a shower, want to meet up for lunch after?
She ruffles his hair like he’s a child as he slips on his shoes. Less intimidating than she had been the evening prior with her hair damp, one of the hotel’s robes wrapped around her body. It’s a nice robe, it’s a nice hotel. He feels a little guilty for making such a mess of it. Some poor maid will have to gather and wash those blankets he had ejaculated into.
His insides ache. Not figuratively. His body feels as worn and strung out as a dishtowel.
“Should we exchange numbers?” Chester asks, holding up his phone hopefully as the woman tries her darndest to shove him out the door.
“Oh, sweetie, no,” she says, shaking her head in amusement. She reaches up to touch his cheek, smiling kindly yet condescendingly like he’s a grade schoolboy confessing his love towards his teacher. “I’m much too old for you to be trying to start something long-term with. Don’t worry, a face like that? You’ll find yourself a good top as soon as you’ve graduated.”
He visits the club a dozen more times before finishing high school. Never does he have to worry about going home alone, he seems to attract a certain type of older woman who has a thing for the blond-haired, blue-eyed, boy-next-door type. But he supposes one never forgets his first. He swears he sees the woman more than once, but it’s always an illusion of his eyes, until one day right before graduation when it isn’t. She’s with an older man, probably about her own age, who keeps a hand on her lower back all evening. They’re talking to another woman, one wearing a collar. When she spots Chester, she smiles knowingly at him for a split second, and then refuses to acknowledge him again.
A couple of months later, he runs into Trixie. Or rather, she sets her eyes on him as her potential prey because it really feels like he’s being hunted by some wild animal, watching her approach from across the club, her eye teeth unnervingly sharp. Like some exotic feline. She asks him how old he is, and for the first time, when he says eighteen, he’s telling the truth.
For Chester’s twenty-fourth birthday, Parker allows a woman to touch him.
Sex is something inconsistent in Chester’s life. Normally, the closest he is allowed to a regular sex life is watching Parker fuck the girls he picks up at the clubs. It isn’t an altogether unwanted arrangement. He imagines that if he was simply never allowed to get laid again, he might have called off this relationship entirely, but Parker spaces it out just enough that the agony of waiting is exquisite.
His best friend and business partner has been his dominant for nearly six years at this point, yet they almost didn’t make it to two.
That’s how long it took Parker to realize that Chester needed more than he could give him.
For the most part, Parker is perfect in every way imaginable. Strong, stern as Chester craves in a dominant, and lenient as he sometimes needs. Always considerate, always putting Chester’s needs and safety above his own enjoyment. But he is not a woman and Chester is not a woman and they are just incompatible in that.
It would be so much simpler if they were sexually attracted to each other.
He had reached his breaking point during winter vacation of their sophomore year at college. There had been a woman at the club, one that immediately started coming on to Chester, and, as usual, Parker had quickly rebuffed her advances. Frustration is all part of being a sub, suffering through denial. But there is always supposed to be an eventually. Denial with no light at the end of the tunnel just became too much and Chester cracked like a brittle piece of iron one evening when pushed just a little too far.
Chester had liked the woman. She had been very pretty and the way she had looked at him sent a shiver down his spine. A good shiver.
He doesn’t say anything at the club because to do so would be to humiliate his dom in a public setting. Instead, he waits until the next day, long after Parker’s one-night stand has left. Clean and fed, snuggled up on the couch together under the new faux sheepskin blanket that Chester’s mother had given him for Christmas, Chester finally approaches the topic at hand. Trembling. Not out of fear of Parker, he knows Parker would never truly hurt him, but out of fear of what this may do to their relationship. How does one go back from something like this? How could they ever just be normal friends again?
“I know I said it would be enough, but I was wrong. Dude, I can’t do this anymore. I need another sort of release than crying in your arms or jerking off with my own hand.”
“Alright,” Parker said simply, looking down at him. “Then let’s figure this out together.”
Parker refuses to let him go. The relief Chester feels over this is astounding. He hadn’t realized how scared he was over the idea of losing him until he was past it. Parker wipes at the tears in the corner of his eyes and promises him he’s not going anywhere.
They discuss some sort of adjustment to the tally system, but it seems wrong to bring others into their power dynamic. Chester shouldn’t be behaving because he wants enough points to get his dick wet, he should be behaving to please Parker. Instead, they agree on frequency, the remaining details at Parker’s discretion. Chester will be allowed to be with a woman of his own choice three times a year, but Parker chooses when and holds ultimate veto power over the particular partner.
Parker is also to be part of it.
Chester doesn’t even think to protest this rule. In all honestly, it would feel strange to not have his dominant there, watching over him. Yet at first, he envisions some sort of threesome scenario, the girl or Chester sandwiched between the other two. That never pans out. Parker never touches the women during it. Not in any way besides a casual skimming of fingers as they pass some toy from one to the other or shoulder nudging against shoulder.
The first time they bring one home, his best friend only observes from the side, watching as this stranger plays with his sub’s body. It’s distracting in the beginning, but he trusts Parker and it isn’t long before he’s lost himself in the act. After this experience, Parker becomes more hands-on with Chester, if not so much with the women. None of them seem particularly upset that the other man in the bedroom never shows them any attention, however. They’re doms themselves and understand they’re here to play with Chester, not Parker.
Avoiding anything overtly sexual, Parker finds little ways to work his way into the coupling, doing what he can to make the experience better for his submissive. If Chester is on his back being pegged by a busty girl with a strap-on, Parker will slide his hand around his throat, giving him that little extra thrill of oxygen deprivation. If he’s on top of her, inside her, Parker will grab at a shock of shaggy blond hair and yank, hard, eliciting a gasp of pain. Sometimes he’ll give his ass a slap for good measure.
It’s almost like having Parker make love to him, in his own, strange way, and Chester appreciates it. He’s just content to have his best friend there with him, taking care of him.
Sometimes Parker gets hard during it. Often, in fact. The women are always pretty and there is something to be said about voyeurism. Chester spots the erection in Parker’s pants, but he never says anything about it. He’s seen Parker’s dick enough times at this point that he isn’t uncomfortable with the implications of the bulge and it’s proof that Parker enjoys these occasions as much as he does.
Another couple of years pass. Graduation. Yet even before they have earned their degrees, their money begins to run thin, and how the hell Parker comes up with the idea is a testament to both his genius and his seeming insanity.
Chester helps him hang up the flyers around campus. Advertising his services as a “Campus Crossing Guard.” Chester has never even heard of such a thing and he’s pretty sure Parker came up with it on his own. The initial ads merely offer up a service for any vulnerable young woman, or the occasional young man, needing an escort for late night classes between buildings or parking structures. Then, later, once this doesn’t prove profitable enough, he updates the flyers to include “Confrontation Assistance.” This service is more outright hostile in comparison to the Crossing Guard. The two of them serve as a sort of middleman – a safe presence for anyone feeling intimidated by a toxic person in their life that they need help ridding themselves of. Their duties on this job vary from asking clueless young men to stop calling girls they barely know to standing silently aside as a woman breaks it off with a blatantly abusive boyfriend.
After one particular aggressive man takes Parker down with a well-timed punch to the face, Chester comes up with the idea to start filming the encounters. A sort of insurance in case legal action need be taken. Besides, most people behave better when they know they’re on video.
Before long, their reputation begins to spread and they’re no longer challenging just hapless, socially awkward men who meant no harm, but actual stalkers.
“I don’t know, dude,” Chester protests after the second stalker they scare off leaves Parker with a black eye. “Isn’t this something the police should deal with?”
“Police just slap a restraining order in place and leave it at that,” Parker replies, shaking his head. “They don’t actually step in and do anything. No, somebody needs to stand up for these women.”
It continues to just get weirder from there out, stalkers to creepy neighbors to escaped mental patients to cult members to maybe actual fucking demons. Parker laughs at this last suggestion and touches the collar around Chester’s throat.
“Dude, you trust me, right?’
“Yeah, bro, but-”
“I’ll never let you get hurt,” he promises, cupping him loosely around the throat directly above the collar. Chester tilts his chin up. He can feel Parker’s fingers pressing against his windpipe as he swallows. “Just stay back, keep the camera rolling, and I’ll protect you.”
What can Chester do? Parker is his dominant, he trusts him implicitly. Despite the deep, ingrained fear in his lizard brain, he soldiers on, his obedience to Parker stronger than his natural instinct to flee. Just grateful to have Parker at his side watching over him on even the most terrifying cases, sometimes laying a comforting hand on his lower back or whispering reassurance against his temple. As in all aspects of their lives, they work well together, complementing each other in skill. Before long, they find themselves driving all over the state, Parker’s name spreading out far and wide, and somehow, they’re making money doing it. Parker puts aside enough cash for a down payment on a house. Chester’s new bedroom is larger, airier than the last, but his bed continues to go deserted most nights.
On his twenty-fourth birthday, they hit up their favorite club and Parker announces, with a doting smile, that Chester is allowed to bring home a woman tonight, if he can find one who takes an interest in him.
As if that is ever a problem. There aren’t that many male submissives in Buffalo and Chester is a catch considering his youth and boyish charm. They always flock to him.
A club regular approaches him. On the taller side, taller than Chester but not as tall as Parker. He’s seen her around many times, talked to her, shared drinks. Her eyes seem to brighten when she realizes that he is unleashed tonight. Parker is still there at his side, hovering over him, his ownership clear, but Chester has been let off his tether to play. She touches his wrist as she greets them. Chester feels the hair on the back of his neck stand on edge.
“How are you two doing tonight?”
She’s a good choice. It feels almost strange, bringing home a girl they’re already semi-friendly with, and she keeps looking towards Parker almost as if asking for permission before she does anything. Maybe because she has seen him turn away so many potential suitors in the past. Mistaking Parker’s vigilance over Chester as possessiveness.
He doesn’t mind sharing Chester, really. That’s what he tells himself every time they bring one of these women home and that’s what he tells himself as he watches her kiss his best friend, raking her fingers through his mop of hair. When she leans over him, their hair entangles in a mess of fair curls. Her hair is a shade or two lighter than Chester’s but in the dim lighting of the bedroom, it seems to all blend together. Her skin seems to match his exactly except she’s hairless and lithe in a way that Chester is not.
The fact that she looks very similar to how Chester would look if he had been born female does not escape Parker’s observation. It makes the situation simultaneously more arousing yet more confusing. As if they’ve somehow managed to travel to another dimension and drag back an alternate version of his best friend. Isn’t that what they both wish had been the situation the entire time, that the other had been born female? It seems a little too on point. Exacerbating this is the fact she seems to want Parker to join in.
He declines politely, sitting to the side with a tumbler of whiskey in his hand. Observing. Trying to suppress the growing knock in his chest. It had started in his stomach, moving up further as each moment passes, heading for his throat. He swallows down another mouthful of amber liquor and wills it back down beneath his ribs.
“Does he always watch you when he’s with another dominant?”
“What?” Parker asks, startled. He had been staring into Chester’s eyes as she was securing his cuffs, subconsciously expressing his love for him on a most basic human level. Even animals can communicate through direct eye contact. It takes a second for his mind to process the question. “I, I don’t know. I mean…yes. I suppose he probably does. I never thought about it.”
“It’s sweet, how bonded you two are,” she says, smiling. She touches Chester’s cheek then, turning his head so he’s looking up at her. Those shining gray eyes of his move away from Chester’s own, breaking the link between them. “But I’m in charge tonight, so you need to be looking at me, not him.”
He can’t speak with the gag in his mouth, so he just nods.
She’s sweet with him in a way many of the other women are not. This isn’t to say she is going easy on him, she absolutely is not, but her words are loving. She doesn’t belittle or berate him as she works him over, preferring physical discipline over oral. The spanking she gives Chester is worse than anything Parker has ever given him, he tends to hold back to a degree in that regard, and by the time that part is over the young man is squirming and whining on her lap. Chester’s ass is bright pink, his face even redder, and the erection when he finally stands darker still, nearly purple. Parker presses his own legs together, ignoring the throbbing between them.
It’s not because of Chester’s hardon, he assures himself. It was the show. How Chester had writhed and sobbed on her lap, the heaving of his chest, the tears on his face. Not his cock.
As she’s readying Chester for penetration, she praises him. First, telling him how good he is doing, soldiering on through the pain, and then commenting on how tight he is. The half-empty tumbler is forgotten between Parker’s fingers as he leans forward, licking his lip to more closely observe this part. Chester’s hair looks so soft, so pullable, and the way his eyes shine…but he restrains himself from joining just yet. The preparation part always seems too intimate for him, he doesn’t want to touch Chester while that is happening. He just seems so very vulnerable.
“He’s so tight,” she muses, tweaking one of his nipples as she works two fingers inside of him. Parker is quiet, wanting to listen, but she’s going too slow for any sexual ASMR. Then she angles her fingers upwards and Chester moans behind his gag, arching his back off the bed. His arms are free, unrestricted, but he keeps them folded above his head as she had instructed under threat of further punishment. Chester is watching the woman with half-hooded eyes, oblivious to the way that Parker is watching him in turn. Then suddenly he looks up and there it is, that connection between them, and for a moment it feels like it’s just the two of them in the room. “If I had a real cock it might actually be painful to stick it in. Is he always like this? When’s the last time you fucked him?”
“Huh?” Parker asks, lost once more in Chester’s eyes. He shakes his head, breaking the invisible strand hanging in the air between them. This is unusual, having one of Chester’s girls trying to carry on a conversation with him. He’s used to being invisible. He’s used to watching without interruption. “Never. We’re not sexual.”
She raises an eyebrow at him questioningly, clearly surprised by this fact. Maybe even disbelieving. Beneath her, Chester’s chest heaves.
“Are you seriously trying to tell me you’ve never fucked your sub? How?”
“We’re platonic,” Parker explains, shrugging. He sits back, crossing one leg over the other to try to hide his hard cock. He’s still wearing his shoes and he realizes too late that there’s some dried mud on them now rubbing into the material of his pants. He rubs at the spot, ignoring her gaze. “Neither of us are into men. Haven’t you ever seen a platonic relationship in the community?”
“Oh, I have,” she says. “But none of them have looked at their sub like you do yours.”
“Like I do?” Parker asks, looking up to see if she’s smiling at him, joking. She looks dead serious.
“Like he hung the moon itself,” she explains. Parker watches her pull her fingers out, earning another muffled moan. They glisten with sticky lube. “Come on, join us.”
“I’m fine where I am,” he replies stiffly, beginning to feel a little uncomfortable. They had discussed this already, explained he would probably be hovering around, but not actively participating. Maybe he hadn’t been clear enough.
“Just sit behind him,” she urges. “Prop him up in your lap. I think he’d like that.”
“I don’t think he would,” he objects. He looks towards Chester to gauge his reaction, but he looks semi-out of it already. Maybe even already having reached subspace. He doesn’t usually reach it this early, though, could he have reacted so strongly from just one spanking? From a little fingering? Parker doesn’t think so, he looks dazed but not completely out of his mind yet.
“Won’t know until you give it a try.”
Parker’s still fully dressed from the club, the only concession to the occasion being the sleeves neatly rolled up to his elbows. Chester is straight, he doesn’t need to see another naked man walking about during his time, so all the clothes stay on. This might stain the button-down but removing his own clothes during this is strictly off-limits. Before joining them on the bed, he kicks off his shoes, leaving them half-hidden beneath the mattress.
Chester fits snugly between his spread thighs, as perfectly as if he was made to be there, yet Parker is unsure how to proceed. His arms lay at his side, hands clenched in fists. There’s a pillow behind his back but he isn’t sure if he should press back against it. Noticing the unease in his body language, the woman instructs him further.
“Pull him up against your chest. Like that, so he can rest his head on your shoulder if he wants.”
He’s warm. Only Parker’s thin shirt separating his own skin from Chester’s bare back. Damp with sweat from writhing during his earlier punishment. For a moment, he’s unsure if Chester even realizes he’s there, as dazed as he seems, until the hands grab onto his own in a vice grip. Interlocking their fingers together, Parker crosses their arms across the two of them, half-hugging his best friend, half-restraining him, the meat of his palms pressing against Chester’s shoulders. The other does nothing to resist this. Parker can hear his breathing, heavy, a little labored as the gag limits his breathing to his nasal passage.
It’s a totally different experience, observing the coupling from this angle. Watching her enter him from between Chester’s spread legs, affording him an unobstructed view of his hard, leaking erection bobbing in the air. The dildo she’s using is purple, glittery, and vaguely spiraled, tapered at the end for easy entry. Much smaller than Parker’s own dick, and quite a bit smaller than Chester’s. Yet Chester still makes muffled sounds of pain as she pushes in, not used to the sensation of being penetrated. His grip on Parker’s hands tightens.
“You’re doing so good,” Parker praises quietly, his lips against Chester’s ear, so close that the blond hair tickles his nose. He tightens his arms around him in a quick, reassuring squeeze, pressing his cheek against Chester’s temple. “So good. Just relax.”
Chester’s grip loosens. Below them is the wet sound of the woman’s hand on his cock, stroking him as she begins to shallowly thrust inside him. Distracting him from the pain by jerking him off with a slow, controlled motion. Parker watches Chester’s eyes flutter shut, his head falling back to rest on his shoulder. His bangs are as damp with sweat as the rest of his body. Reaching up, Parker pushes the hair from his eyes. Surprised, Chester blinks at him, eyelids half-closed. He looks dazed. Then he moans and shudders in his arms.
He’s beautiful.
That doesn’t make him gay, right? To recognize that his best friend is beautiful like this? Dazed and aroused and lost in his pleasure? Anybody can be described as beautiful in such a state. Plus, he’s his sub, he’s supposed to possess these sorts of strong emotions for him.
Threading his fingers through Chester’s hair, he holds him close and kisses his temple. Leaves his lips resting against his skin as he watches the woman push his legs up by his thighs. The change causes Chester to push more heavily against Parker’s chest and stomach as the blond’s hips tilt up. It seems uncomfortable to Parker, a position he can’t imagine ever wanting to be in, but his best friend seems to enjoy it by the muffled sounds he’s making.
Without asking the woman, Parker reaches up to unclasp the gag. She arches a questioning eyebrow at him as he carefully removes it, a string of saliva falling down the boy’s chin. The breathing comes out strangled, gasping.
“I want to hear him,” Parker explains, knowing it is bad decorum doing something like that without asking for her permission. He is Chester’s dominant but tonight he has given control to another, he shouldn’t be invading her territory.
A nod from the other indicates her approval. Parker watches her lean over Chester’s trembling body, her breasts pressing against his chest. He arches up into the kiss. It’s one of those kisses that doesn’t seem to stop, or maybe it’s more of a series of kissing, falling into each other like grains of rice. Her hand continues to move between Chester’s thighs in time with the thrusts as she fucks his half-folded body against Parker’s form. The familiar knot explodes inside his throat and Parker tastes bile on his tongue. At the same time, he feels his cock throb and the sticky sensation of his precum painting the inside of his own underwear.
Can Chester feel his erection against his skin? If so, Parker hopes it doesn’t bother him, this is supposed to be his night. He doesn’t want to burden him with things like the vomit in his mouth or the erection between his legs.
By the time she pulls back from the kiss, his best friend is an absolute mess. Moaning, squirming, writhing in an extremely unflattering manner as he’s pinned between a rock and hard place – namely the hand on his cock and the dildo up his ass. He has to pick which one he wants more but his mind is too far gone at this point to make any sense of the sensations. Parker moves his bangs off his face again, some of the golden locks sticking to his spit-damp lips. He’s careful to pull any stray strands from the corner of his mouth. His lips look exceptionally dark and full, bruised. Almost as dark as his penis now.
“Go ahead,” the woman’s voice seems disembodied. “It doesn’t have to change anything between you two.”
That’s a lie. Both Parker and Chester know this. There is no going back after that, but Parker doesn’t care because he doesn’t want to go back. He wants what he deserves, and he deserves so much more than these women are allowed to have. When their lips meet for the first time, it’s positively electrifying. Yet even with that instantaneous spark connecting them, he keeps it chaste for a moment, giving his sub time to object if needed. If he doesn’t want it then Parker won’t push it.
But he does want it. The way he turns his head and opens his mouth makes that painfully clear.
Parker is eternally grateful for this fact. Kissing Chester is like coming home. It’s like his mother’s homemade cooking and his grandmother’s homemade quilts and his father’s old vinyl albums all rolled into one. It’s familiar yet foreign, nostalgic in the way the 50s are nostalgic to somebody born in 1997. As bittersweet on his tongue as dark chocolate. They should have done this years ago.
Parker grabs at Chester’s hair and holds him in place, the other hand still holding interlaced with Chester’s fingers across his heart. Their fingers tighten, grip hard enough to be nearly painful in desperation. The other hand, his free hand, grabs at Parker’s head in turn and he feels Chester half-twist on his chest. Returning the kiss with just as much if not more need than Parker.
The entire experience is utterly confounding. The kiss breaks suddenly when Chester moans and his head snaps down to see what the woman is doing, something different than she had been, but Parker’s head is spinning so bad that he can’t even look down there. He can’t stomach the idea of seeing Chester’s naked body, especially not his leaking cock, so he buries his face in Chester’s hair and just burrows into the locks. Eyes closed, taking several deep breaths of his best friend’s vaguely musk-scented shampoo. On top of him, Chester continues to squirm, and Parker knows by instinct that he’s close.
Words are whispered, a distinctly feminine voice, then the familiar timbre of his best friend. It sounds like an affirmation of some point. He’s panting like an overheated dog. The fingers between his own loosen.
Then Chester seems to collapse against him. Boneless. He feels the bed dip and the rustle of blankets. When he looks up, she’s removing the strap-on. Parker stares at the space between her thighs, nearly hairless. She’s wet, extremely wet by the look of it, even the top of her thighs seem sleek. He can’t say he doesn’t get it. His sub brings up that sort of reaction in people. His own cock feels absurdly sensitive.
“No latex allergy?”
“No,” Parker answers for him. He wants to get up. This, this is going too far. That’s what his brain is telling him but even then, he isn’t sure exactly what he means. The part where he’s holding his best friend in his arms as he’s about to be mounted like a horse? Or the part where this woman is about to have legitimate intercourse with him? Why is that somehow worse than pegging him? He can’t say but he tastes the bile in the back of the throat again and he wants to, needs to, get up. But he doesn’t seem to have the resolve to push Chester off of him because he can only watch helplessly as she rolls the condom onto his dick and mounts him.
He feels like crying. He feels like sobbing like a little bitch, and he doesn’t even know why. He knows this is ridiculous, he’s seen Chester fuck plenty of women. Chester has watched him fuck plenty more. But tonight, there is something different in the air. He feels nauseous and his hands are shaking and when Chester softly moans her name, Parker grabs him by the head and kisses him again. He wants Chester to pay attention to him, to acknowledge him, not this woman, he wants Chester to feel pleasure from him.
He wants to give Chester this pleasure.
He wants to be enough for Chester.
Ripping himself from the kiss, he spits out a single word.
“Snagglepuss!”
All movement on the bed stops. Chester, his face so close that Parker can feel his breath, stares at him with wide eyes. The woman tilts her head and looks down at Parker’s face, confused.
“Snagglepuss,” Parker repeats the safe word. Full acknowledging how odd this is because there is nothing remotely painful in their current coupling, nothing extreme enough to back out of, and he is not even supposed to be an active participant in this. It should be Chester calling the shots in that regard, ending things if they’ve gone too far. Yet he knows he can’t do this. He doesn’t want to do this anymore.
The woman opens her mouth, blinks, closes it, blinks again. “You serious?”
“Yeah,” Parker says. “I’m sorry, I just…I’m not feeling well.” Chester’s head is tilted, looking at him as well; he pretends not to see the questioning pale eyes.
Well, it’s the truth, isn’t it? He isn’t feeling well. His stomach is in knots, his chest aches, his throat tastes like acrid vomit. Like old vodka. But it isn’t the stomach flu or bad food or too much alcohol. He knows exactly what this feeling is in the pit of his stomach. He knows what it is, and he’s been trying to ignore it all night and he supposes the last four years if he were to be perfectly honest with himself.
Being honest with oneself is exceedingly more difficult than being honest with others.
“I, alright,” she agrees, confusion on her pretty features. Parker watches her climb off of Chester’s slender hips and notes how she looks around in confusion for her clothes. Despite the guilt he feels over cutting this short, of wasting her time, he just wants her gone. Shifting Chester off his chest, the blond moving aside obediently if still obviously confused, Parker climbs to his feet and helps her find her clothes.
“I’m sorry,” he apologizes, setting a hand low on his belly for emphasis as she steps back into her black leather skirt. “Must have been the alcohol. I think I just need to lie down.”
“Yeah, no, don’t worry about it,” she replies, shaking her head. Then bending her head down near his and speaking quietly, so that Chester can’t hear her from the bed. “I’m sorry, this is obviously something the two of you needed to figure out on your own, it wasn’t my place to push it.”
The rush of relief in Parker’s chest is outstanding. This is so much easier than lying. He should feel grateful for this woman’s help, but just looking at her brings up the urge to shove her down the staircase.
“No,” he replies just as quietly back. “Thank you, I needed this push, or I never would have figured it out.”
Chester observes them from the middle of the bed, a pillow covering his naked crotch. Silent, lips turned down. He’s still sitting there when Parker returns from showing her to the front door.
“Dude, what was that?” Chester asks, just as bewildered as she had been initially but too conscious of his role to question Parker’s decisions in front of another person. Like a good submissive, he waited until they were alone. “You didn’t have to kick her out because you’re getting an early hangover. I liked her!”
Shooting Chester a pained expression, Parker doesn’t reply immediately. Instead, he goes to the dresser across from the bed and digs out the black ring of leather inside. Tucked away safely for the night. Chester’s eyes shift down at the collar, then he tilts his chin up to help Parker lock it in place. Parker licks his lips as his fingers brush against the soft paleness of his best friend’s throat.
“So beautiful,” he muses, running his thumb down the side, near Chester’s Adam’s apple but not touching it. The other’s eyes stare back at him. Parker moves his thumb up under the underside of his chin, then over the dip and to his lips.
His submissive is such a good, obedient boy. He doesn’t question it when Parker slips his thumb between his lips.
“Suck,” Parker instructs, watching Chester’s eyes seemingly darken at the command. Pupils dilating in interest. He doesn’t even hesitate. Parker pushes his thumb in deeper, feeling his best friend’s tongue nestled against his skin. As warm and wet as any woman.
The blond moans a little, the vibrations traveling down Parker’s arm. He reaches up to slip a couple of fingers of the other hand beneath the collar, stroking the sensitive skin there, and Chester moans again.
“Chester?” Parker asks. His submissive mumbles an indiscernible response around his finger. “You know I love you, right?” A nod. “You know you belong to me, right?” Another nod.
Licking his own lips, Parker pulls his thumb out of Chester’s mouth. His best friend’s lips are wet with spit, he continues to stare at Parker with giant, adoring eyes. Parker closes his eyes and takes a couple of deep breaths, centering himself. Building up the nerve to do this. When he opens them, Chester is still staring at him, waiting. Parker touches his cheek with his spit-damp hand.
“You know how I am about fancy things. Cars, jewelry, clothes, that sort of thing?”
“Yeah, dude,” Chester replies quietly, eagerly, like a straight-A honor’s student with hand always ready to shoot up. “You’re like a dragon, you go for anything expensive and shiny.”
“Yeah,” Parker agrees with a chuckle because it really is an accurate comparison. He smiles, feeling some of his anxiety dissipate. He slides his hand down from the side of Chester’s throat in a fluid motion, along his shoulder, down his arm, until he’s loosely holding his wrist. Smaller than his own but solid in a way a woman’s is not. He gives it a reassuring little squeeze. “I can be really possessive about my things, and I know and accept that as a character flaw of mine. And you’re one of those things, you know? You belong to me, you’re like my favorite piece of jewelry.”
Parker gives Chester’s wrist another squeeze for emphasis but doesn’t loosen it. It’s as if his hand were a manacle, tightening in one direction, holding him in place.
“Because you wear me around and show me off?” Chester suggests, nearly mumbling. He sounds vaguely drugged. Still out of it from his failed sexual encounter, Parker supposes, which truly was his fault.
“Something like that,” Parker agrees. “You’re priceless to me. I don’t want to share you anymore, dude. I can’t stand the idea of anybody else touching you.”
“But-,” Chester begins.
“I guess it’s more accurate to say you’re more like my car,” Parker interrupts, his words halting and spaced out in a way that one wouldn’t necessarily say is a normal style of speech. He closes his eyes and breathes out his nose. Opens them again. “What I mean is, I don’t want anybody else riding around inside you but me.”
Chester stares at him, frowning. By the way he’s looking at him, Parker knows that he both understands and is second-guessing Parker’s words. His hand still tight around Chester’s wrist, he tugs at it, pulling arm and boy down so that he can press Chester’s palm against the hard bulge in his pants.
“I want you to suck on that like you were sucking on my thumb,” Parker says, speaking clearly and straightforward, making it as obvious as he can that he’s being serious. “And then maybe we’ll see about you finishing afterward. Is this something you think you’d be up for giving a try?”
Chester nods slowly.