Page 25 of Down My Chimney

I stroked myself faster. It had been two days since the last time we’d video-chatted, and the prospect of being stuck in the mountains for a week with no way to reach him, no way to get release, had me even more keyed up.

“I just wish you were here right now,” I said, feeling heat build inside me. “I’m in my car. All the other guys are in this truckstop place with these weird metal sculptures of chickens and dinosaurs, and there are a bunch of llamas out back, and you’d probably love it, but if you were actually here, you’d be in this car with me, and I’d be fucking your brains out.”

I pulled my hand off to spit in it again. “I’m jerking off, but if you were here, I’d haul you into the backseat, shove your pants down to your knees, and fuck you right there on top of Dev’s cleats and my old shinguards.”

I breathed hard, just imagining it. “It’d be just like in the last picture. Your legs up in the air, your ass exposed, my dick pounding you while you moaned. I wouldn’t care if anyone found us, if anyone walked out and saw me balls deep in my best friend.”

I was so close. “Knowing we could get caught would just make it hotter. I’d make you scream my name. Make the car shake. And when I came inside you, I wouldn’t lick it out this time. I’d make you clench your hole shut for the rest of the ride. You’d have to hold it in, sitting next to my friends, ass full of my cum until we got to the mountains and I ate it out of you that night.”

The thought of that—Henry up against the wall of a cabin, legs spread as I tongued my own cum out of his ass—was enough to push me over the edge. I came in a rush, catching most of it in my hand. The rest spurted down onto the mat at my feet, and I scuffed it into the pad with my foot, hoping no one would notice.

“Fuck, Henry,” I panted, feeling exposed and incredulous. “I am going to miss you so much this week. I mean, I miss you all the time, but God, you donothave anything to worry about. I’m not going to be tempted by anyone else, but you can bet I’m going to be looking at those pictures all the time.”

I stuck the phone between my cheek and my shoulder so I could open the center console and grab an old napkin to wipe my hand with. I ran my other hand through my hair. I was still breathing hard, Henry’s face—and other parts of his body—fresh in my mind.

“Listen, I have to go, but as soon as I get back home, I’ll figure out the next time I can come to LA. I miss you so much, okay? I lo—” I cut myself off, then cleared my throat. “I’ll see you soon.”

I ended the call.

I love you. That was the phrase on the tip of my tongue. But that wasn’t right. Henry and I had only been together for a few months. I couldn’t love him yet, could I?

Henry was everything good in my life. He made me smile, pulled me out of myself and all the stress around me. Around him, I didn’t feel like I was drowning. He was like dawn breaking in my heart, every damn second we were together.

But it couldn’t be love, because if it was love—

Because if it’s love, what the hell are you doing, hiding this from everyone? If it’s love, why are you treating him like you’re ashamed of him?

I shook my head. I wasn’t ashamed of him. And Henry knew why I didn’t want to come out yet. He got it. Everything was fine. I just…needed a little more time.

I ignored the twisting feeling in my gut and got out of the car. Dev would be wondering where I was. Making sure I was fully tucked away and rebuttoned, I locked the car and headed for the diner.

I was halfway across the lot when something caught my eye. There were a bunch of vintage signs propped up against the front of the building, everything from an old Victrola ad to one that saidLive, Laugh, Lobotomywith a picture of a laughing woman holding a giant glass of wine as an electric current zapped her brain. But just next to the door was the sign that made me pause.

It was a large rectangle, about the size of a speed limit sign on the highway, with a painting of a ripped, muscular Santa Claus holding a long, rectangular box with a bow right in front of his crotch. Across the top, it saidWho’s Been Naughty?in swirly script.

I burst out laughing. Henry needed to see this. It was too perfect.

I jogged the rest of the way to the sign and crouched down next to it, snapping a picture of myself next to Santa. I wasn’t going to be able to use Instagram for the next week either, so I might as well make this picture do double-duty. I uploaded it, tagged Renegade Rick’s, and added the caption:Anyone up for a little Christmas in April? I’d be more than happy to come down your chimney...

I hitpost, then pulled up my messages and texted Henry.

BLAKE: I have to get inside or Dev’s gonna kill me, so no time for nudes, but if you check my Insta, please replace ‘anyone’ with ‘Henry Waterstone’ and know that I am very much looking forward to doing exactly that as soon as I get back

I added three heart emojis and hit send.

* * *

Spring break was brutal.

Our team had a decent record last fall, but we’d only finished third in our conference, and Coach was determined for us to be first next year. His method of getting us there? Relentless practice. Not even practice, really, but conditioning.

Sure, we ran drills, even played some scrimmages, but Coach was convinced that our biggest weakness was getting tired out too quickly. If we could build an indefatigable base of cardiovascular fitness and basic strength, everything else would be easy.

Supposedly.

But that required us surviving the week. We were staying in the fanciest resort I’d ever seen, but any ideas we might have had about relaxing disappeared the day after we arrived. Coach set us punishing early morning runs, hours in the weight room, precisely timed ice baths and recovery periods, sprints, wall-sits, burpees—he honestly seemed to have picked the exercises I hated the most and designed a week of torture just for me.

I was a midfielder, which meant pretty much constant running, and I’d thought I was in decent shape already. But I was wrong. It wasn’t just the altitude. It wasn’t just the distances. It was the relentlessness of it, and the way Coach was never satisfied.

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