Page 15 of Stop and Seek
A hand slammed across his chest, yanking him upright. Flesh slapped against flesh, their sweat-slick bodies sticking in the heat. The stranger’s chest against his back. His cock like a brand inside him.
“Milk this dick with that hungry little hole,” the guy snarled.
That sentence?
Burned into Theo’s brain forever.
He was going to remember it on bad days. Use it on worse ones.
When that thick cock began to throb inside him—pulsing, desperate—Theo almost wished there wasn’t a condom. Walking around that ridiculous reunion with someone’s cum inside him—
Too hot.
As the stranger came, nails dug into Theo’s hips, breaking skin. He welcomed the sting. Welcomed the warm slide of blood down his thighs.
And when Theo came—he camehard. His whole body arched, legs buckling as he exploded, cum streaking across the urinal like spilled paint in a Jackson Pollock nightmare.
The stranger’s breathing slowed. Deep. Steady. He pulled out slowly, leaving Theo molded onto that disgusting-ass urinal, spent and flushed.
Bracing one trembling hand against the wall, Theo wiped the sticky mess onto his jeans—because why the fuck not. It wasn’t going on hisblackhoodie, that was for damn sure. He already smelled like sex, didn’t need tolooklike it too.
“Have a good life, baby,” the guy muttered.
Cool.
Theo had no intention of going anywhere.
He just wanted to stay here. Just for a few more seconds. Let it wash over him. Let the afterglow burn out.
At least the dude never asked him to turn around.
Theanonymity?
Made it better.
And easier to deal with later—when the high wore off, and the regret came crawling back.
Like it always did.
Theo rolled his shoulders, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his hoodie. The gym had always been shitty, but somehow, under the lights of nostalgia, it feltworse. Like stepping onto an extra set from some bad B-movie. Too fake.
Chipped green paint—slathered over what used to be white brick—peeled in curled flakes, giving the walls a diseased, scabbed-over look. It made the sterile tang in the air even more unbearable, hospital-grade disinfectant barely hiding decades of sweat and failure. The overhead lights buzzed. A constant, low hum that itched at the edges of his hearing.
Clinical.
Just like the eighth floor psych wing.
Both times.
A shiver slid down his spine. It shouldn’t have been possible to feel cold in a hoodie in July—but here he was, nerves coiled tight in his stomach.
Music blared from the ancient sound system, warbling through decades-old speakers with frayed wiring. Theo didn’t recognize the song, but it felt like something that should’ve died when the CD player went out of style.
Sneakers sticking to the floor with every step, he could’ve sworn the bottoms were coated in a tacky layer of gum and god-knows-what.
Did they fire the janitor?
Did anyoneever actuallyclean these floors?
