The following story is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to real people, places, or events is purely coincidental. If it feels personal… that’s between you and your conscience. Please don’t repost, reproduce, or do anything shady without permission—unless you're into cease and desist letters. Also: Save it. Like it. Comment on it. Send feedback, thoughts, corrections, compliments (especially compliments lmao). Seriously, I’ve been receiving a lot of love and it helps to motivate me! Yes, I read them.
RAIN
Liam lay on the couch, limbs heavy, eyes fixed on the ceiling. The house was silent, except for the faint hum of the AC. Still, in his head, her voice wouldn't shut up.
"You talk about him like he’s gravity."
It played on loop, every word heavier than the last.
"You talk about him like he’s gravity."
What the fuck did that even mean? Gravity? Noah wasn't some cosmic force. He was just an arrogant, unbearable ass that smirked at everyone.
Liam blinked hard.
"I’m not a faggot," he whispered. To no one. To himself.
To everyone.
His chest hurt. Dull, like something was settling deep and refusing to leave. Like wet cement around his ribs.
Does everyone think that?
He shouldn’t have messed around with Dylan. Dylan was actually gay, right? So maybe for him it wasn’t just about helping out, or having fun, or whatever he did with Noah. Maybe it meant something—to Dylan. He definitely gave the wrong impression. That much was clear.
He sat up, abruptly. Then stopped. Then stood. Then stopped again.
"What the fuck is wrong with me?"
His voice cracked. It was too loud for the room. Too loud for what he felt. But it bounced off the walls anyway.
"I’m not in love with fucking Noah."
His fingers curled into his hair, pulling slightly. Just to feel something else. Anything else.
“What the fuck, Claire.”
But then came the flashbacks, like static:
Noah’s voice, low and teasing.
The hair.
The eyes.
Liam dropped to the floor, back against the couch, legs bent, hands limp. His breath hitched.
"Fuck. What the fuck."
He tried to shake it off. Literally. He shook his head like a dog out of water, fists clenched, trying to rattle the memories loose. But they stayed.
His whole body trembled.
"Stop."
But it didn’t. His brain kept feeding him more.
The way Noah looked at him from reception.
The smell of his hoodie.
The sound of his laugh, stupid and loud.
Liam curled in tighter.
He didn’t remember falling asleep.
But eventually, the loop faded, the tension bled out, and his breath slowed. Not peace. Just pause.
*********
When Liam woke up he was face down on the couch. His back ached. His mouth was dry. There was a text from Claire on his phone, but he didn’t open it. Just stared at the screen until it went black again.
He was late. Already. He didn’t care. He moved slowly, mechanically—like he was afraid if he sped up, his brain might start working again.
By the time he got to the office, he looked… functional. That was enough.
Connor was already there.
Liam saw him as soon as he walked in: hunched over his desk, tapping his leg up and down, earbuds dangling, smiling at his screen like it was flirting back. Twitchy.
"Morning!" Connor said without looking up.
Liam grunted something. Sat at his desk.
They were alone.
Connor swiveled in his chair slowly, his fingers tapping a rhythm against his thigh. "So... it was cool, right?”
Liam didn’t answer. He didn’t look up. Just logged into his computer and tried to pretend like the words hadn’t landed like a slap.
“What went down in the bathroom?"
Liam swallowed now.
He finally looked up—and that was a mistake.
Connor was holding out two fingers. They were wet. Shiny.
There was a dot of a clear liquid just at the tip of his middle finger.
Liam's stomach flipped.
"Wanna sniff?" Connor asked, too casual.
Liam shook his head.
"Fuck off."
"Come, ooon."
Liam's jaw clenched. His eyes dropped. His pants felt tighter.
He hesitated.
A full three seconds.
Then leaned forward.
He hated himself. Already. But he inhaled anyway. Just a second. The scent hit him. Humiliation crawled down his spine. The smell was strong, not bad strong though.
He pulled back fast. Said nothing.
But his lips felt sticky.
And he was hard already.
Connor sat back smiling.
Liam stared blankly at the screen. Wanted to vanish into the pixels.
He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
The door opened.
Ian strolled in with his usual lopsided grin, holding two paper coffee cups. "Yo."
Connor didn’t look up. Still slouched at his desk, earbuds out now, twirling a pen in slow circles.
Liam jolted upright. Too fast. Way too fast.
Ian paused, his gaze lingering on Liam’s face a beat too long before offering one of the cups. “Here. Thanks for the new layout—boss loved it.”
“I bet. Esther loves everything Liam does,” Connor chimed in with a laugh, leaning back like he owned the air around him.
Liam kept his eyes on the screen.
“Wish my new boss liked me that much.”
Then he took the cup with a quiet, “Thanks.”
Ian dropped into the chair across from him, slouched like he always did, sneakers tapping idly against the floor. “You good, man? You look… flushed.”
Liam sipped the coffee, burning his tongue on purpose. “Didn’t sleep much.”
A beat. Ian looked at both of them.
“You guys doing inventory?”
Liam pressed the cup to his mouth like a shield.
“We were just… talking,” Liam muttered.
Ian shrugged. “Cool. Cool”
Liam kept his eyes forward.
Ian leaned in again, grinning. “Hey, how’s Noah?”
Liam froze.
His chest tightened, like someone had sucked the air out of the room.
Ian, of course, kept going, cheerful as ever. “Dude’s such a beast.”
Liam made a noise. A hum, maybe. Something that passed for agreement if you didn’t look too close.
Connor made a quiet little sound behind him. A soft exhale through the nose, the kind people make when they feel bad for you but don’t want to say it out loud.
Then Ian said, “Oh! Did Connor tell you about the mystery girl at your party? With Noah?”
Liam blinked.
Connor giggled, soft and breathy. “I did mention that.”
Ian snorted. “Bet she was hot, huh? Did you guys see her that day?”
Connor didn’t say anything. Just shifted in his chair.
Liam didn’t turn. He just stared at his screen, jaw tight. “I need to work.”
Ian held up his hands, smiling like he was defusing a bomb. “Yeah, yeah, totally. Sorry.”
A beat.
Connor yawned, then pushed his chair back. “Hey, Ian. Come check something with me?”
Ian stood, still holding his coffee. “Yeah, alright.”
They walked off together, Connor already pointing at something on Ian’s screen like it had been urgent all along.
Liam didn’t move until he heard the door click shut behind them.
The tightness in his chest eased a little.
A second passed.
Connor had done that on purpose.
Liam stared at his screen.
Huh.
That was… actually kind of nice of him.
*********
The gym was just as loud as any other day. Metal clanking and EDM thumping low like a pulse under Liam’s skin. He welcomed it—anything to drown out the echo of his own thoughts. He pushed himself harder than usual, moving between machines with restless focus, sweat stinging his eyes.
Dylan was there, spotting him like always. Easygoing, warm, usual Dylan. He offered encouragement, kept pace. But Liam wasn’t really listening.
Across the floor, Noah was doing his rounds—broad shoulders, backwards cap.Talking to members. Checking forms. That little clipboard in his hand looked like it actually mattered now. Liam had never seen him so busy—so thorough. Like Noah had suddenly decided to take his job seriously.
As Noah passed by the squat rack, Liam’s gaze slid over him and caught on the strip of bandage wrapped around his left knuckles. That definitely wasn’t there last week.
He blinked at it once—filed it away without thinking—and kept scanning the gym like nothing happened.
Noah wouldn't look at him anymore. Not even as background.
It was like Liam didn’t exist.
Like he was diseased or something.
“Hey,” Dylan said, catching the way Liam winced mid-set. “That’s your back again, isn’t it?”
Liam dropped the weight harder than he meant to. “Kinda. But it’s better.”
“You sure?” Dylan reached for a towel, handing it over. “I could swing by later. Help you stretch it out or something.”
His tone was light. Friendly. But there was something under it—something obvious.
Liam paused, the towel halfway to his face.
He couldn’t keep confusing Dylan like that. It wasn’t fair to him. That stuff actually meant something to him.
Liam rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly uncomfortable.
He cleared his throat. “Nah. I’m good.”
Dylan blinked, a little surprised. “Oh. Cool. No worries.”
It hung in the air, thick and awkward. The sound of weights crashing filled the space between them.
Liam turned back to the machine, trying to move like nothing had happened. Like his body wasn’t suddenly stiff and weird and aware.
Later, as they wiped down the benches, Dylan glanced over. “Hey… uh, did you enjoy the other night?”
Liam’s stomach flipped again.
“I hope you didn’t feel pressured or something.”
He didn’t know what to say.
“No…,” he muttered, looking at his own feet. “Yeah. It was fun. Yeah.”
Dylan smiled. Earnest. “Cool. Just making sure.”
No tension. No accusations. Just a simple reply, followed by a quiet stretch of silence as they finished up. A few mumbled see-you-tomorrows. No drama. Nothing.
Connor had been circling all afternoon.
Like a friendly dog that’d just discovered belly scratches and couldn’t get enough of them.
Liam had spent the day dodging. Sitting in weird places. Pretending to take calls. Going out of his way to avoid touching anything Connor touched. But somehow, every time he blinked, Connor was there. Hovering. Finding little excuses to talk to him.
“You ever think about it?” Connor asked once, voice quiet behind him in the storage room.
Liam didn’t even turn around. “About?”
The bathroom. He meant the bathroom didn’t he?
Connor laughed softly. “You know… The bathroom. Remember how you choked on it a little? That was hot right?”
Liam’s jaw clenched. “I’ve got spreadsheets to go through.”
It didn’t stop. Every couple hours, Connor would get bolder. A brush of his fingers when handing Liam a pen. A comment that started innocent and curled into something else.
Liam would laugh it off. Shrug. Change the subject.
But Connor wasn’t stupid. He could see it.
The way Liam’s face flushed a little too easily. The way his shoulders tightened. The way he’d jerk back half a second too late.
Liam noticed it too.
That was the worst part.
He had no idea why the hell his body kept reacting like that.
It was stupid.
Once or twice he’d even felt himself getting half hard.
For absolutely no reason.
Liam clenched his jaw and focused harder on the screen.
Connor scratched the side of his neck, suddenly less confident. “You did like it, right? I mean—” he added quickly, “I’m not trying to make it weird. I just didn’t want to, you know… cross a line or anything.”
Liam felt his jaw tighten.
Why was everyone so obsessed with asking him shit like that?
He rubbed his face, annoyed. “Yeah. It was fine.”
Connor nodded, relieved. “Okay. Cool.”
“I remember the way you sounded,” Connor went on, staring at the ceiling like he was reminiscing. “How your legs shook when I—”
“Ughh,” Liam snapped.
That made Connor stop.
But then, later, just before clocking out, it shifted.
They were alone again.
“Please,” he said, low. Barely more than a whisper.
Liam stiffened. “What?”
Connor moved closer. “Let me do it again.”
Liam turned, startled. Connor’s face was pink. His hands were twitching at his sides.
“Just once,” Connor said. “I think about it all the time. You bent over like that. The way your voice broke. I’ve fucked girls, okay? Once or twice. But I have no luck with them. I have no game. I know it. I just… I need to feel that again. It was so tight, Liam. You remember?”
Liam blinked. His mouth went dry.
“I know my dick’s big, super thick,” Connor continued, voice almost frantic now. “I know you felt it. The way your whole body—man, Liam, you sounded like you were gonna cry. In a good way.”
His jeans were suddenly too tight. Liam crossed his arms over himself like it might help.
He stepped closer, eyes wild. “And when I was inside, really inside? Fuck. I felt it, dude. That squeeze right on the head—like your body didn’t wanna let go. You were shaking. You remember that? 'Cause I do. I remember every second.”
Liam’s jaw clenched.
"I remember how you grabbed the sheets, how you gasped when I bottomed out," Connor went on, like he couldn't stop. His hand dropped, gesturing vaguely at the front of his pants. "I get like this every time I think about it. Every. Fucking. Time."
Liam's eyes followed the gesture before he could stop himself.
The bulge in Connor's work pants was obscene. Straining against the fabric like it had no business being there, not in the middle of a fucking office hallway.
Liam's head snapped up, gaze darting left, then right. Empty. Thank god.
He hated the way his body was reacting again. The traitor-throb behind his zipper.
Connor leaned in a little. “Let me feel that again, man. Please. I’ll be good. You won’t even have to do anything—just let me in. Please?”
He couldn’t breathe. He hated that part of him wanted it—wanted to let go, feel good, numb all the fucking stress, sink into the guilt and filth and forget everything for five stupid minutes.
But then—
A thought. A way out.
“You know what?” Liam said, suddenly too loud. “Let’s go out tonight.”
Connor blinked. “What?”
“To a bar,” Liam said. He forced a grin. “Let’s pick up some chicks. Bet you’d actually get lucky this time.”
Connor looked confused for a second, then lit up like a Christmas tree. “Wait—are you serious?”
Liam nodded, keeping the smile in place. “You’ve been saying you haven’t had much luck, right? Come on. I’ll help you. Be your wingman.”
“You’d do that for me?”
“Sure,” Liam said, already mentally counting down the minutes until the alcohol would shut off his brain. “That way you’ll stop annoying me with this shit, right?”
Connor's face lit up. Actual relief flooded his expression, like he'd been braced for rejection and got the opposite.
“Yeah, dude, of course. Totally. Wingman Liam, let’s go.”
Liam forced a chuckle.
Yeah. Get Connor drunk. Let him hook up with some girl. Remind himself what the fuck he was. Maybe even do the same. Just to prove something. To himself. To people.
To Claire.
Because if he kept letting Connor talk like that… he didn’t know what he’d do.
They met outside the building thirty minutes later, Connor already bouncing on his heels like a dog about to be let off-leash.
“You’re really doing this for me, huh?” he asked, grinning like a kid. “You’re so cool. I might actually pussy tonight!”
“More like so you’ll stop annoying me at work” Liam shrugged, hands in his pockets. “Let’s just go before I change my mind.”
The sky had gone full indigo, the kind of rich, urban night where every surface caught the light. The street hummed with people off work, dressed casual, half-buzzed already. A bar just two blocks down pulsed with music—something forgettable. Neon signage spilled pink and blue light onto the sidewalk, and Connor practically jogged to the door like he was chasing it.
Inside, it was loud but not unbearable. Booths hugged the walls, high tables crowded the center, and a couple of dartboards blinked against the back. Glasses clinked, someone laughed too hard at something, and a familiar buzz wrapped around them as they stepped in. Music thudded through Liam’s chest.
They grabbed a table near the wall—half-shielded from the crowd, good view of the bar. Connor threw his jacket onto the back of a chair, then flagged down the waitress like a man on a mission.
Two beers hit the table.
Liam took a swig immediately. Cold, bitter. Perfect.
Connor took one sip and scanned the crowd like a hawk. “Alright. Who’s first?”
“Hold up,” Liam said. “Before you crash and burn, let’s run a drill.”
Connor blinked. “A what?”
“Pretend,” Liam said, nodding toward a brunette at the bar, “that you’re hitting on her. I’ll coach you.”
The suggestion pulled something up in Liam’s mind before he could stop it.
Noah.
That day. Coaching him for his date with Claire.
Liam frowned, annoyed at himself for even thinking about it, and shoved the memory aside. “Go on,” he said impatiently. “Let’s see what you got.”
Connor leaned forward, eyes narrowed like he was training for the Olympics. “What’s my backstory?”
Liam scoffed. “Jesus. You’re not a spy, you’re trying to get laid.”
Connor nodded solemnly. “Right. No aliases.”
He straightened his posture and turned to the imaginary woman. “Hey,” he said in a weird, soft voice. “Uh, I like your hair. Did you… grow it yourself?”
Liam slammed his hand against his face. “Oh my fucking God.”
Connor started laughing immediately. “What? That was a joke!”
“You sound like a serial killer,” Liam said. “What was that voice?”
“I was being approachable!”
“You sounded like you were about to offer her a lollipop from your coat pocket.”
Connor cracked up, spilling a bit of his beer. “Okay, okay, again. I’m warmed up now.”
Liam rolled his eyes, but couldn’t help the smirk tugging at his lips.
He watched Connor fumble through another imaginary pickup line, all confidence and zero finesse, and something about it—his sheer cluelessness—was genuinely hilarious.
The funny part, though? Liam was the one giving tips. Like he had any fucking clue. Like he hadn’t spent most of his life dodging this shit. He wasn’t exactly a natural at it. Not like—
He caught the thought mid-sentence and shoved it down.
Nope.
His smirk faded.
He took a longer drink, swallowing harder than necessary.
Goddamn it.
Why did everything circle back to him?
“Alright,” Liam said, setting his beer down harder than he meant to. “Try again. This time, maybe don’t lead with a follicle joke.”
Connor saluted him. “Yes, coach.”
And Liam sighed.
They drank for a while.
At first it was just beers. Easy, casual. Then shots. Then something neon Connor insisted on trying because it “looked like liquid Skittles,” and Liam was just drunk enough to say fuck it.
Connor got louder with every round, leaning into the table like he had a crush on it. Liam watched him laugh at his own dumb jokes, cheeks flushed, eyes a little unfocused.
Liam leaned back, draped an arm over the booth behind him, and let the music bleed through his skull.
Connor was grinning at nothing when Liam clapped his shoulder. “Alright, man. Time for the real test.”
Connor blinked. “Huh?”
Liam nodded toward the bar. “Skinny chick. Long hair. On her phone. Alone. She’s cute.”
Connor followed his gaze and lit up. “Dude. She’s a total ten.”
“Then go say hi,” Liam said, sipping his drink like it didn’t matter. “Just don’t talk about her organs.”
Connor saluted and downed the rest of his glass before sliding out of the booth and swaggering toward her like he’d just discovered legs.
Liam stayed back, watching.
Body language first. Always. She looked up. Smiled politely. Tilted her head a little. Connor said something too fast. She laughed. Good. Then crossed her arms. Less good. Liam narrowed his eyes.
That’s when his phone buzzed on the table.
Claire. Again.
Her fourth text since their last talk. He still hadn’t opened any of them.
He didn’t want to. He shoved the phone screen-down and scanned the room for a distraction.
And there she was.
Not model-hot or anything, just… warm-looking. Curled hair. Bright eyes. Same booth vibe as them—drunk but not sloppy. Smiling at her drink like it told jokes.
Liam stood.
Fuck it.
He made his way over, casual, hands in pockets. She looked up as he reached her and smiled.
“Hey,” he said.
She smiled at him.
It was nice. Easy. She had a good laugh and asked questions, didn’t just talk about herself. They flirted. Nothing heavy. She said he looked like someone who didn’t take selfies but secretly had really good ones. He told her she looked like the kind of girl who bullied people into karaoke.
It was good.
But…
Not really.
The warmth felt too skin-deep. Like he was somewhere else entirely, dragging his body through the motions.
And when she touched his forearm lightly, something in him recoiled.
He glanced back.
Connor was already at their booth again, nursing another beer and watching the bar TV.
Liam turned to the girl.
“I’m sorry,” he said, forcing a smile. “I just—my friend’s not doing great. I should check on him.”
She nodded, disappointed. “Go be a good friend.”
“Yeah.” He meant it. “Thanks.”
He made his way back to the booth, slid in across from Connor.
“So?” Liam asked, raising a brow. “How’d it go?”
Connor took a long pull from his beer and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. “Went good at first. I made her laugh. Like, for real. And she touched my arm and everything.”
Liam raised a brow. “Okay…”
“But then,” Connor shrugged, “her friends showed up. Two of them. Girls. Real tight circle, y’know? She got all weird after that. Like I was suddenly this creep who teleported into her life.”
Liam snorted. “Don’t let it get to you. That kind of shit happens. Chicks are complicated.”
Connor nodded, like he was trying to believe it. Liam drained the last of his drink and stood up.
“I’m gonna hit the restroom. Be right back.”
“Cool.”
Liam pushed through the crowd and slipped into the bathroom. It smelled like cheap soap, echoing with muffled bass from the speakers overhead. One stall was out of order, taped shut with a trash bag over it. He took the other, unzipped, finally getting a second to breathe.
The outer door creaked.
And then—before Liam could process the sound—he felt it: someone shoving against the door behind him, forcing their way in.
“What the—Connor?!”
Connor slammed the stall door shut behind him and twisted the lock with an audible click. His eyes were already glassy, face flushed from the booze.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Liam hissed, trying to zip himself up and stumbling forward, bumping into the wall ahead.
Connor didn’t answer right away.
He just looked at him.
Stared like a starving dog looks at a bone it’s already tasted once.
His breath was heavy. Face flushed. Eyes wide with something between panic and craving. Like this wasn’t a choice anymore.
“C’mon, Liam,” Connor muttered, stepping closer. “I tried, man. I tried. I let you coach me and everything.”
Liam’s spine pressed against Connor. The stall was too damn narrow, too tight—his back still half-exposed, fly down, pants loose around his hips. He hadn’t even gotten the chance to finish zipping up before Connor barreled in.
He tried to turn, but the metal wall cut off his shoulder. No room. He could only twist his upper body slightly, just enough to glance back over his shoulder.
Connor was there.
Right there.
So close Liam could feel the heat off him, the weight of his stare burning into the back of his neck.
“Connor—”
“I need it,” he said, like it hurt to admit. “Please. Just once. I swear to God.”
Liam’s jaw clenched. “You’re drunk.”
“So?,” Connor shot back. “I still remember how warm you were on the inside. I remember how it felt. The way you clenched around me like you were gonna rip my fucking dick off.”
“Shut the fuck up—”
“No,” Connor said, stepping in. Too close. “You didn’t say yes that night, but you didn’t say no either. You wanted it. I felt it. You bent for it.”
“Connor—”
“Please,” he breathed, almost frantic now. “I need to feel it again. Been so long, man.”
And before Liam could stop him, Connor’s hands were already tugging at his waistband.
Liam grabbed his wrists—“Dude, stop—” but the grip was slippery, weak, his head swimming with booze and noise.
Connor yanked harder, and Liam’s pants dropped to mid-thigh with a rough tug. The air hit him like a slap. His body jolted.
“Fucking—Connor—”
He tried to push him back.
Connor didn’t budge.
His own pants were already halfway down.
Liam’s breath caught when he felt it.
The head of Connor’s cock, thick and blunt and slick, pressed right up against his asshole.
Liam froze.
His pulse thundered in his ears.
Connor leaned in, forehead nearly touching his neck.
"You're already opening up," he whispered, like it was proof. "You want it too, right?"
Liam's hand slammed against the stall wall. His other gripped Connor's arm tight, knuckles white.
This was wrong.
He should've shoved him off.
Should've punched him, yelled.
But things were spinning. His knees wouldn't move.
And Connor was still there, panting, gently grinding the tip of his throbbing cock against his asshole.
Liam breathed—sharp, uneven—and felt it. That pressure. The way his body responded without permission, the rim of muscle fluttering against the blunt head like it was trying to pull him in. It felt... good. Fuck, it felt good.
He hated himself for it.
Connor paused. His voice came out slurred, breathless. "I won't... I won't put it in unless you ask. You gotta ask me, dude. Please, please ask for it."
Liam's eyes squeezed shut. His dick was already leaking, and the shame of it crashed over him in waves. He was so hard. His body wanted this even when his mind was screaming at him to stop.
His throat worked. Once. Twice.
"...Okay."
The word came out barely louder than a breath. Ashamed. Foggy.
Connor’s hips gave a slow push, and Liam felt it—his whole body jerked forward, chest thudding into the cold metal panel in front of him as the swollen head slipped in.
Fuck.
His jaw clenched tight, hands bracing hard on the tank behind the toilet, fingers curled like claws. It hurt. The kind of pressure that made his spine go rigid but sent a spark shooting straight down his thighs. A punch of sensation. Heat and stretch punching right through the pit of his stomach.
Behind him, Connor moaned—low and broken, like he’d just been saved from drowning. “Jesus… fuck… you feel insane…”
Liam hissed through his teeth. The stall was too narrow, the air too thick. His forehead hit the wall, and he squeezed his eyes shut, trying not to let his knees buckle.
His body was betraying him. Muscles twitching. Hole tightening and twitching around Connor’s thick dick. He was half-zipped, half-bent, nowhere to go—flushed, hot, and trembling like he was gonna melt from the inside out.
Connor's hands gripped his hips, pulling him back, angling deeper, and Liam gasped—his vision flashed white for a second, sweat beading at his temple. His hole being fed more and more dick.
He couldn’t stand how good it felt.
Connor snarled against Liam’s nape as he shoved in another inch.
“God—damn—you’re so warm and smooth,” he slurred again, breath hot and sour from whatever cheap beer he’d been pounding. His hips snapped forward again, grinding deeper like he was trying to break Liam open from the inside. “Oh my god, Liam, this feels so good.”
The cold porcelain bit into his palm, grounding him. But it wasn’t enough.
“Connor—fuck, hey, wait—” But Connor pushed in more.
Liam’s teeth clenched. The pain wasn’t sharp that says stop, but a dull, burning stretch that made his whole body tighten with panic. And fuck, the sounds. The wet, obscene sounds of skin on skin, of Connor’s cock forcing him open, echoing far too loudly in the tiny stall.
The bar outside buzzed faintly—music, laughter, some girl shrieking with delight—but in here it was just them. Hot, dark, suffocating.
He thought about the door. How thin it was. How someone could knock. Or walk in. Or hear. But the thought snapped in half as Connor bottomed out with a filthy grunt, balls slapping against Liam’s ass.
Liam moaned.
“Uhmmmmmmmm—What the fuckkkkkkk”
It ripped out of him without permission—raw and shameful. His body arched into it, back bowing like it wanted this. Like it needed to be fucked dumb in a bar bathroom by the last person he should ever let touch him.
“Ohhhhhhhh, fuuuuuuuuuuuck,” Connor groaned, gripping Liam’s hips with both hands now. “See, Liam? You do like it! You’re pushing your ass on my cock.”
Liam didn’t answer.
His cock was hard—achingly hard—leaking against the front of his pants, barely halfway unzipped. Every nerve ending sparked like it was confused.
Liam whimpered into his arm.
It was—slick. Too slick. Going in and out so easy.
His brows furrowed through the fog of sensation, the sting of the stretch dulled by the wet slide.
Why was it already like this?
Had Connor cummed?
No, his cock was too hard inside. Did he pre-cum that much?
He swallowed thickly, biting down on the inside of his lip. Jesus. He hadn’t even thought Connor was hard when he came in—hadn’t looked. Hadn’t wanted to. But the way he was gliding in now, so smooth, so wet, so fucking eager—that wasn’t spit. That was him. Leaking like an animal. Like he’d been ready the second he grabbed Liam’s waist.
Liam’s breath stuttered. Something between disgust and heat twisted inside him.
Connor fucked into him again—slap, slap—balls hitting skin.
Liam’s breath hitched. He was so full.
And his thoughts—his shame, his fear, the pounding reality of being bent over in a public bathroom—melted into static.
Just rhythm now. Flesh. Heat.
“You like it, right?” Connor whispered against his ear, voice thick with alcohol and lust. “Say you like it! I wanna hear it.”
Liam shook his head, eyes shut tight. But another moan clawed its way out as Connor thrust again, harder this time. His thighs trembled. The stall rattled.
Somewhere in the haze, Liam knew he should care. Should fight. Should not be getting fucked like this.
But his body was already giving in—rocking back against Connor, breathless and broken.
Connor groaned again as Liam clenched around him again, the stall echoing with every wet, messy thrust. His pace faltered for a moment—then he did something that made Liam’s stomach twist and drop.
Connor leaned back just enough to get one hand between their bodies, fumbling down Liam’s sides, fingers rough and clumsy. Then—
“What—,” Liam gasped, eyes flying open as Connor grabbed both cheeks and spread him wide.
The new angle punched the air out of his lungs.
“Oh my God—”
Connor’s cock slid in deeper than before, nudging something inside that made Liam’s knees buckle. He nearly collapsed over the toilet, arms barely holding him up.
“Jesus—fuck, that’s it,” Connor moaned, voice ragged, forehead now resting against Liam’s sweaty spine. “Fuck, it’s so deep now. You feel that, Liam? You feel my dick messing you up inside?”
Liam's mouth dropped open. "Connor—Shit—"
He didn’t mean it to but it came out like a moan.
Connor didn't even hear it—he was gone. Drenched in sweat, grunting with every filthy, needy thrust. His hands kept Liam’s cheeks spread wide, using his weight to drive in again and again, hitting that spot so hard Liam saw white behind his eyes.
“NggghhhhHHHHHH!” Liam let out, voice cracking. “You’re—fuck—you’re—wait.”
“I know,” Connor panted, practically whimpering. “I know, I feel it. I’m so fucking deep, I can’t—fuck—I’m gonna lose my mind—There’s something kissing my cockhead deep inside you. Make it kiss harder, can you?”
He thrust again, rougher now, body slamming into Liam with wet, obscene claps.
“God, I wanna stay in you forever,” Connor moaned, biting at Liam’s shoulder through his shirt, drunk and senseless and needy.
Liam was shaking. Arms locked. Face flushed, eyes glassy.
God fucking damnit. Why did it feel so good?
And then—
CREEAAAK.
The main bathroom door opened.
Both of them froze.
Liam’s breath caught mid-gasp, Connor’s hips locked in place. The air in the stall turned to cement. Neither of them dared breathe.
Footsteps. Slow. Measured. Someone walked in. Someone was here.
Liam stared at the graffiti on the stall wall, heart hammering, mind spiraling. Connor was still balls-deep inside him, still gripping his hips, still panting hot against his back.
Fuck.
Okay. Good. He stopped.
Liam didn’t know if he could’ve held himself together another second. Not with Connor that deep, not when every slow throb of that thick monster inside Liam made him want to bite down and scream.
He whispered, barely audible, asshole stretched stupid. “Okay. That’s it. We—we stop. Right? We wait. Let the dude take a piss and go back to our table.”
Connor didn’t answer.
He just stayed there. Heavy. Sweaty. Close.
And then, slowly—so slowly—he pulled back a single inch.
Liam stiffened. “Connor—”
Another inch forward.
“Dude.” He turned his head, eyes wide. “What the fuck are you doing?”
Connor looked wrecked. Hair messy, eyes glossy behind his glasses, mouth slightly open like he couldn’t breathe without this.
“I don’t wanna stop,” he whispered, lower lip trembling just slightly. “Please. Don’t make me stop.”
Liam blinked at him. He looked like a sad puppy who’d been kicked out of bed mid-hump. Genuinely crushed.
“We can’t,” Liam hissed, barely moving his mouth. “Someone’s here—what the hell is wrong with you?”
But then Connor pushed in again. The head of his cock grinding deep at Liam’s asshole.
Liam’s jaw dropped—no sound, just a full-body jolt. The stretch hit him different now. More raw. More dangerous. It lit his nerves on fire.
“Connor—!”
Another slow thrust. Just enough to make Liam’s thighs tremble.
“Don’t,” Liam begged, voice a cracked whisper. “Don’t move.”
“I have to,” Connor murmured against his back. “I’ll die if I don’t.”
Liam’s hands gripped the stall wall like his life depended on it. He was too full. Too full to think.
The guy outside unzipped. A loud stream hit porcelain.
Liam wanted to scream.
“Please, Connor,” he said again, breath shaking. “You have to stop. I can’t not—”
His voice caught as Connor rolled his hips again.
“Fuck—moan,” he finished, barely more than a breath.
And Connor—needy, drunk, insane Connor—moved again. Slower now. Getting himself out of Liam. He was nearly gone—just the fat head still stretching his ass lips—and Liam almost breathed, almost thought, until Connor pushed back in and scrambled every neuron he had left.
Liam bit his knuckle. Eyes wide. Cheeks burning.
He was going to moan.
He was going to cum.
And there was a stranger ten feet away taking a piss.
Connor pulled almost all the way out, leaving just the head inside again—taunting, swollen, stretching Liam open. Slick as fuck—before driving back in with a slow, greedy thrust that made Liam’s eyes roll back.
The second the moan escaped his throat—
SLAP.
Connor’s hand clamped over Liam’s mouth, muffling it mid-sound.
Outside the stall, the guy was still pissing.
Liam's heart pounded like a fucking war drum, but his body didn’t care. Connor was moving now—slow but steady, grinding deep inside his inner walls, one hand tight on Liam’s hips, cock sliding through slick heat.
And Liam—Liam was moaning into Connor’s palm.
Over and over.
He couldn’t help it.
It was impossible not to. It was physiological. Not with how good it felt. Not with Connor’s cock hitting every goddamn spot like he knew Liam’s body better than Liam did.
He squirmed. Twitched. His back arched involuntarily, pressing his ass harder into Connor’s hips.
Connor was panting, lips right against Liam’s ear. “You’re so fuckin’ loud,” he whispered. “You’re a mess now. This is so fucking hot.”
Liam shook his head, breath shallow, muffled whimpers trapped under Connor’s palm.
Connor thrust again. Slow. Deep. Dangerous.
“Shit. You’re aqueezing me so good. Gonna cum, man. I swear to God you’re gonna make me cum.”
Liam’s thighs trembled.
Connor pressed his body fully against Liam’s back now, forehead to nape, hand still firm over his mouth.
“You want me to do it?” he whispered. “Inside you?”
Liam blinked hard. Eyes wide. Mind gone.
“Tell me yes, Liam,” Connor said, fucking him just barely—just enough to drive him insane. “Tell me I can shoot my jizz inside you?”
Liam tried to speak, but all that came out was a muffled, desperate moan.
So he nodded.
Hard.
Again.
And again.
Everything felt so fucking good.
“Yeah?” Connor’s voice cracked. “You want it?”
Another nod.
Liam’s eyes fluttered, cheeks burning, lips parted beneath Connor’s sweaty palm.
He nodded like he couldn’t stop. Like the word ‘yes’ was etched into his bones.
Connor groaned—deep and instinctive—hips stuttering as he slammed in fully one last time.
Outside, the faucet squeaked.
The guy was still there. Still washing his hands. Maybe listening. Maybe not.
But Liam didn’t care. Not anymore. Not when Connor was buried so deep inside, not when he could feel him throb, feel him tip over the edge.
And then—
Connor came. With a broken grunt and a final, shaky thrust. Heat flooded into Liam—raw, sticky, so fucking wrong—and Liam felt it.
Every hot pulse.
Every twitch of Connor’s cock as it unloaded his cum inside him.
How thick Connor jizz was, how much Connor had just filled him.
He could feel it.
All of it.
And it finally broke him.
Liam’s back arched. His thighs shook violently. He moaned—high and strangled—into Connor’s hand.
His cock, still trapped awkwardly between his stomach and the toilet tank, jerked.
Once.
Twice.
Then—
“Fuck—!” Liam whimpered into Connor’s palm as he came, hard, in his pants. “Ohhhh—!”
It was violent.
Shameful.
His whole body locked up as thick spurts of cum painted the floor. It was too much—way too much—but he couldn’t stop. Couldn’t breathe. He came like he was being exorcised, shaking, hips twitching, forehead pressed to the cold, piss-stained stall wall.
It oozed out of him, hot and wet, leaking down his thigh through the zipper gap as his cock throbbed helplessly. Ruined. Unused. Not even touched.
“Whoaa!” Connor groaned against his back, voice dazed. “You just fucking came.”
Liam didn’t reply.
“Like a girl!”
He was still twitching—body pulsing with aftershocks, hole clenching weakly around the cock that had just spilled in him. The air smelled like sweat and filth and sex and piss and fucking guilt. His pants were soaked. His legs barely worked.
And Connor—dumb, horny, wrecked—just kept his hand there. Over Liam’s mouth. Like he was afraid if he let go, Liam would vanish.
They stood there, pressed together, breathing like they’d just been dragged out of the ocean.
Outside, the faucet squeaked off.
The stranger dried his hands.
Still there.
Still close.
Liam whimpered into Connor’s palm one last time as Connor slowly pulled back, his softening cock slipping out with a wet sound that made Liam flinch. A warm drip followed—too real, too intimate—and Liam barely held in a groan as he felt it start to leak down the inside of his thigh.
The bathroom door creaked open… then shut again.
They were alone.
He shoved Connor’s hand off his mouth.
“Fuck.” He braced both palms on the wall, panting.
Connor was still plastered to his back, swaying slightly. “That was—” he mumbled.
“Don’t,” Liam snapped, cutting him off.
His pants were soaked. He was sore. His hair was a mess and there was cum seeping out of him like a fucking warning label.
He reached down, awkwardly yanking his zipper up without looking at Connor.
They didn’t speak as they exited the stall.
Didn’t look at each other as they washed their hands—Connor grinning like an idiot, Liam scowling at the sink.
But they had to go back.
Back to the table.
Back to the real world.
When they slid into the booth, Connor sat too close.
Liam tried to act normal. Tried not to squirm in his seat.
But every shift of his hips reminded him of it.
Of Connor.
Still inside him.
Still leaking.
He forgot Connor came this much.
Shit, he should've gotten it out before leaving.
Connor scooted closer. Too close.
Liam side-eyed him, jaw tight. “We could’ve gotten caught.”
Connor blinked. “I know,” he said softly. Then, sheepishly: “Sorry about that.”
Liam raised an eyebrow, waiting.
“But like… I couldn’t stop.”
His voice cracked on it, like he meant it. Like the fact that Liam had been bent over a bar toilet, moaning into his hand while someone pissed a few feet away, had broken him in some beautiful, terrible way.
“I tried,” Connor added quickly. “I really did. But you were just—dude, you were… fuck.”
Liam glared.
“What?”
“Don’t start with the compliments.”
“But you were—.”
“Connor.”
“Okay, okay—I'm just saying,” he laughed, holding his hands up. “You’re mad, I get it. I get it. But you literally came in your pants.”
“Jesus.” Liam went pale. “Shut the fuck up.”
He shoved his shoulder. Hard.
And tried not to think about the fact that getting railed in a bar bathroom might be his rock bottom—or worse, his new normal.
*********
The car ride to work was normal.
Nothing wrong with it.
Just a little quiet. He hadn’t even noticed he hadn’t put on music until he was already three turns from work. By then it felt weird to start it. Like it’d be too loud. Like it’d interrupt something.
Even though there wasn’t anything to interrupt.
The streets were wet but it wasn’t raining. Sky looked like it wanted to, though—gray and heavy, like it was holding something in.
The light turned red.
Liam stopped too early. A whole car length back. He didn’t fix it. Just sat there, staring at the empty space ahead of him.
Some guy crossed the street.
Black hoodie. Toned. Broad shoulders. Blonde?
Liam’s stomach pulled tight—stupid. Then the guy turned, and—no. Not even close. Wrong hair. Wrong eyebrows. Not the right kind of pissed-off.
He scoffed at himself and flicked the radio on like it meant nothing.
Like he hadn’t looked.
Like it hadn’t mattered.
By the time he parked, he already had that restless buzz under his skin again. The kind that made it hard to sit still, harder to focus. He was already halfway to his desk before he realized he hadn’t said hi to anyone. Didn’t matter.
He was staring at the spreadsheet, trying to remember how to use VLOOKUP without Googling it for the fifth time this month.
He’d already written =fuckthis() into one of the cells and forgotten to delete it.
He shifted again, uncomfortably.
It was still there.
That vague soreness from yesterday. That leftover heat. That goddamn feeling—like he hadn’t cleaned himself out well enough, like there was still a trace of Connor left inside him.
Which, let’s be honest… there probably was.
He tapped the backspace key way too many times and sighed.
And then—
“Hey,” Connor said, sliding into the chair next to him with all the subtlety of a drunk elephant. “You looked stressed.”
Liam didn’t look at him. “I’m working.”
Connor peered at the screen.
Liam closed his eyes. “Do you want something?”
Connor shrugged. “Nah. Just wanted to hang.”
He drummed his fingers on the desk. Gently at first. Then louder.
Liam twitched.
“Connor,” he said, calm but edged. “Stop.”
Connor stopped. For about seven seconds.
Then leaned in, whispering, “So. Uh…”
Liam finally looked at him. “Don’t.”
“What? I’m just—"
“I said don’t.”
Connor blinked. His expression folded into something smaller, softer.
“I just—” he started again, quieter this time.
Liam’s ears went hot. He turned back to the screen.
“I came,” Connor added, as if it was some kind of defense. “You came.”
Liam’s jaw clenched.
Connor shifted in his chair. “You didn’t even touch yourself. That was, like… crazy hot, man. You were—”
“We can’t keep doing this shit!” Liam snapped, spinning in his chair now, voice low but sharp. “You have to stop.”
Connor blinked again. “Okay. Sorry.”
Then, quieter:
“But… do you wanna do it again?”
Liam turned to look at him—like, fully turned. Disbelief written all over his face.
“Tonight,” Connor said, scratching the back of his neck. “Like… after work. Or after your gym time or whatever. I could come over. We could just—y’know. Hang out.”
“Dude.”
“No, I’m serious,” he said, rushing ahead now, words tumbling. “We don’t even have to, like, do that again—unless you want to, which, I mean, I definitely want to, but like—I just thought it was... nice. Cumming is nice”
“Nice,” Liam repeated flatly.
Connor nodded, lips pressed together. “Yeah.”
Liam stared at him for a long second. Then:
“Absolutely not.”
Connor’s face cracked a little. “What—why not?”
“I told you! We can’t just keep doing that shit.”
Liam kept his voice low, but sharp. “We were drunk. It was stupid. It doesn’t mean anything. I’m not a fag. You gotta learn how to flirt with girls that’s all.”
“But until then…You didn’t exactly seem like you hated it.” he said, almost pouting now.
“That’s not the point.”
“Then what is the point?”
Liam pushed his chair back and stood up abruptly, grabbing his empty coffee mug with more force than necessary.
“The point is,” he muttered, turning away, “I need to focus.”
He walked off toward the corridor.
Connor stayed in his chair, blinking at the space Liam had just occupied.
After a beat, he called out.
“Cool. I’ll just, y’know… follow you home later then.”
Liam paused in the doorway.
Didn’t turn around.
Didn’t say a word.
Then walked out.
Connor sat there, smiling to himself—small and dumb. Like maybe it was a joke.
Or maybe it wasn’t.
The rest of the day passed without incident.
On the outside, at least.
Liam managed to dodge Connor at every turn—ducking into side rooms, timing his breaks with surgical precision, and pretending not to hear when Connor called his name down the hallway. It was like playing hide and seek with a particularly horny ferret.
He kept his face neutral. His voice steady. Smiled when spoken to. Laughed once or twice when people made jokes.
He was fine.
Completely fine.
Totally.
By the time he walked into the gym, the tension had dulled to background noise—just another hum in the system. He scanned his fingerprint, nodded at the guy behind the desk, and stepped onto the rubber mat flooring, already looking around for Dylan.
And then he saw them.
Noah.
Ashley.
Standing near the delt machine, chatting with a fit couple Liam had seen around before. The type who probably meal-prepped together and kissed between sets.
Noah was smiling. Laughing, even. His hand grazed Ashley’s arm—absentminded, casual, normal.
Ashley leaned in and said something to him, all soft-eyed and flirty.
Noah laughed again.
Whatever.
Liam adjusted the bench and grabbed the dumbbells, trying not to overthink the weight he picked. Not too heavy. Not too light.
He wasn’t thinking about anything.
Especially not the fact that Ashley and Noah were in the building.
“Ready?” Dylan said, dropping onto the bench beside him and curling a pair of mountains like it was nothing.
Liam nodded. “Yeah.”
They worked in silence for a few sets. The clink of dumbbells hitting the ground. It was easy.
Dylan wiped his forehead on his sleeve between sets. “Did you do something yesterday?”
Liam cleared his throat. “Nah... Just tired.”
“Well, I went to the movies,” Dylan said, switching arms. “With this guy I met on Grindr. Total weirdo. Showed up in, like, open-toe sandals and a shirt that said ‘cum is cardio’.”
Liam snorted. “What the hell is Grindr?”
Dylan blinked. “Wait—you’re serious?”
“Yeah?”
“It’s like… gay Tinder. But like. If Tinder had no morals and a worse interface.”
Liam gave a single nod, like he was pretending to understand.
“Oh,” Dylan added, grinning. “And less clothes.”
Liam rolled his eyes and stood to adjust the machine. “Oh.”
Dylan laughed, watching him. “Your arms look good, by the way. What are you doing differently?”
Liam scoffed. “Shut up.”
“No, seriously.”
“You’re joking. Look at your own arms.”
“I am looking at my own arms. They’re not yours.”
Liam turned his head just enough to side-eye him, half a smile twitching onto his face. “Fuck off.”
Dylan laughed.
They kept working, banter flowing more easily now—as he moved to unload plates from the preacher curl machine.
And then—
His eyes landed on reception. Accidentely.
Ashley was walking out, her bag slung over her shoulder. She waved at someone—Noah. Still in his tank top, same backwards cap, standing behind the counter, leaning over it slightly.
She walked up to him.
Said something.
He smiled.
And then he leaned in and kissed her.
Liam’s smile died instantly.
It wasn’t a casual kiss. He’d seen those. A fucking lot of them.
No.
It was slow. Gentle. Romantic even.
The kind of kiss where someone tilts their head and lingers.
The kind of kiss people write cringe songs about.
Liam’s stomach turned.
Not flipped.
Dropped.
He had never seen Noah kiss her like that.
It was so soft.
So… real.
He looked down fast.
His hands were still holding a plate. His grip had tightened.
And then it hit him.
The memory.
Noah above him.
Skin slick, breaths ragged, cock buried deep in a way that already felt like too much.
And Liam—God, he hadn’t even thought—he’d just tilted his head up, mindlessly, trying to close the distance.
But Noah saw it coming.
Pulled back sharp.
Dylan’s voice came through the static. “Hey—you good?”
Liam looked up, startled. “Huh?”
“Your back flaring up?” Dylan asked, brow furrowed. “You just looked like you—I don’t know. Zoned out.”
Liam stared at him.
Dylan.
Fuck it.
“You wanna hang out?” Liam asked, voice casual. Like it wasn’t loaded.
Dylan blinked. “Like… tonight?”
“Yeah?”
A beat passed.
Then Dylan looked toward the windows and smiled. “Yeah. Sure. Looks like it’s about to pour soon.” He shrugged. “Might as well go to your place. You live closer.”
His phone buzzed twice in his pocket while he was still racking the plates.
Claire. Again.
He still didn’t open it. Didn’t even glance at the screen. Just shoved the phone deeper into his bag, jaw tight.
When they left the gym together, Liam was moving on autopilot. He didn’t even finish his last set. Just grabbed his bag and walked out with Dylan trailing close behind, chattering about some podcast he liked.
Liam barely heard him. His chest was still tight. His stomach, hollow. He’d caught himself glancing back at the front desk twice, like Noah and Ashley might still be there, still kissing.
By the time they got to his place, he was buzzing. Numb but restless. He tossed his keys on the counter harder than necessary and dropped onto the couch immediately.
Dylan sat next to him, casual as ever, one arm stretched lazily across the back of the couch, fingers dangling. He looked comfortable. Normal. Relaxed.
Liam wasn’t.
He kept staring at that arm. At the hollow of Dylan’s armpit, dark against the fabric of his tank top, faint sweat clinging there. His pulse hammered louder.
“Uh… what?” Dylan finally asked, catching him.
“Uhm…” Liam swallowed. His throat felt dry. “Can I…”
He didn’t finish. The word stuck.
Dylan tilted his head, waiting.
Liam forced it out. “…smell you?”
Dylan blinked. Then his lips curved into a small grin of recognition. “Right. Yeah. You like this stuff.” He shifted slightly, leaning his weight toward Liam. “Of course, man.”
That was all the permission Liam needed.
And then he felt it.
The similarity. Raw. Male. Heavy.
Not quite Noah’s.
But close enough that his brain betrayed him—flashing Noah after a run, Noah leaning in post-workout, that sharp, intoxicating musk that had undone him before.
“Fuck…” Liam moaned, muffled against Dylan’s skin.
“Jesus, dude,” Dylan muttered, half a laugh, half a moan. “You’re eager as fuck.”
Liam didn’t care. He clutched at Dylan’s side, dragging himself closer, breathing him in with frantic, hungry gasps. He wanted to drown in it. To erase everything else. To lose Noah’s face, Noah’s voice.
His chest clenched. His cock twitched. He hated how everything still led back to Noah.
Liam’s nose was still buried in Dylan’s pit when he heard it—
The faint rustle of fabric, elastic being tugged down, the slide of shorts hitting the floor.
Then the wet, heavy slap.
Liam froze. The sound landed like a punch to his gut. He didn’t even have to look—he knew.
Dylan’s cock. Thick, long, smacking against his own abs.
“Fuck…” Dylan muttered, almost under his breath, like he couldn’t help it.
Before Liam could process, Dylan’s hand found his. Large, warm, insistent. He guided it down, wrapping Liam’s fingers around the base.
Liam’s breath stuttered. The weight of it in his hand was obscene. Solid. Alive. His palm barely fit around the girth.
Dylan smiled, voice low and eager. “Go on, man. Don’t be shy. Play with my cock.”
The heat of it pulsed against Liam’s hand, and he couldn’t help but wrap his fingers around it. It barely fit. He squeezed once, experimentally, and Dylan groaned deep from his chest.
“Fuck yeah,” Dylan muttered. “You like that? Huh? Do you feel how hard you got me just from sniffing my nasty pits?”
Liam’s cock throbbed in his own shorts, precum sticking to the fabric. His mouth was still pressed into Dylan’s armpit, breathing him in—sharp musk, salty sweat, that raw male tang. Every inhale made his head swim. He could feel the sweat painting his face.
He moaned. Couldn’t help it.
Dylan’s free hand slid to the back of his head, pushing him harder into his pit. “Get in there, Liam. Breathe me in while you jerk me off.”
Liam’s whole body jolted. He started pumping Dylan’s cock, slow at first, then faster when Dylan bucked his hips up into his grip. The heavy slap of balls against his wrist only made it filthier.
Liam moaned again, muffled, desperate, drooling into Dylan’s armpit as his hand worked faster over that fat cock.
Dylan’s hand tightened on the back of Liam’s head, pressing him deeper into his pit until Liam was practically drunk on the smell, moaning into the damp heat like he couldn’t get enough.
Then Dylan tugged him back suddenly, guiding him out.
Liam blinked, dazed, face flushed and shiny with sweat that wasn’t his own.
Dylan looked at him—really looked at him. His eyes weren’t mocking or mean. Just wide, breathless, earnest.
“You wanna suck me off?” he asked, voice low but steady, like he needed to be sure.
Liam’s breath caught. His mouth opened, then closed, throat tight.
He nodded. Once. Twice. Harder the second time.
Dylan’s cock twitched in his hand. “Fuck,” he muttered. “Come here.”
Liam leaned down, lips parting, and took the swollen head into his mouth. The taste hit instantly—salty, raw, leaking pre that spread across his tongue. He gagged once, then sank lower, eager, hungry, shame twisting with heat in his gut. It was so big and swollen. Fuck.
“Shit,” Dylan groaned, hips jerking up. His hands found Liam’s chest, sliding down until his thumbs brushed Liam’s nipples through the thin fabric of his shirt.
The touch made Liam jolt. He moaned around Dylan’s cock, high-pitched and broken—too soft, too desperate, too much like a girl.
The vibration dragged another groan out of Dylan. “Yeah… fuck yeah, that’s it. You sound so wet, bro.”
Liam’s cheeks burned. He moaned again, louder this time, Dylan’s cock throbbing against his tongue as his nipples were rolled between rough fingers.
Every sound he made was filthy. Needy.
Dylan’s hand slid into Liam’s hair, tugging gently until he pulled him off his cock. Liam’s lips slipped free with a wet pop, a line of spit snapping between them. He was panting, face damp with sweat, strands of hair sticking to his forehead.
Dylan looked up at him from the couch, eyes dark, chest heaving. For a second, he didn’t move—just stared. Then he tilted his head, leaned in, and went for Liam’s mouth.
Liam’s eyes widened. His stomach lurched.
He jerked back awkwardly.
“Uh—uhm—I’m not… into dudes.”
The words fell out of him clumsy.
“Oh.” Dylan froze. Blinked. His brows shot up. “Okay… I guess.”
“Sorry, I just—I’m not,” Liam blurted, ears burning. He looked away, humiliated. “You know...”
For a second Dylan just stared, mouth opening like he might argue, then shutting again. He exhaled hard through his nose. “Alright,” he muttered. “We don’t have to get into this right now.”
Instead, his hands found Liam’s hips. Strong. Certain. He turned him around, guiding him until Liam was bent forward, bracing against the arm of the couch.
Before Liam could ask what he was doing, Dylan spread him open and buried his face between his cheeks.
Liam gasped. His knees buckled. “F-fuck!”
Dylan’s tongue dragged over his rim, slow at first, then firmer, hungrier, licking into him with obscene wet sounds. His hands squeezed Liam’s ass hard, holding him steady, pulling him back onto his mouth.
Liam’s eyes rolled back, forehead pressed against the couch arm. He was moaning already, high and broken.
“Shit—! Uhhhhmmmmmmm—”
The sounds were unbelievable. Slurps, wet smacks, Dylan groaning into him like he couldn’t get enough. Every lick was louder than the last, sloppy and raw, like Dylan didn’t care if the neighbors heard.
Liam’s ears burned. The noise alone made him shudder—it was proof, undeniable proof, of how excited Dylan was.
“Ffffffffuck—” Liam gasped, his voice breaking. “Oh my God!”
Then Dylan pulled back, chest heaving, lips shiny. He hooked his fingers into Liam’s shorts and yanked them all the way down in one smooth motion. Liam barely had time to protest before Dylan grabbed his hips and hauled him upright.
“C’mere,” Dylan muttered, voice low, thick with need. He shifted to the edge of the couch, legs spread, cock hard and glistening. He pulled Liam back, pressing him so his spine met Dylan’s chest, the blunt heat of that cock sliding against his ass.
“Sit down,” Dylan said, guiding him. “Slow. Take it.”
Liam’s whole body locked. “Wait—wait—what? I—fuck, I didn’t—” His chest heaved, panic sparking in his throat.
Dylan kissed the back of his shoulder, steady hands coaxing him lower. “Relax. I got you.”
“No, you don’t understand,” Liam blurted, heart racing. “You’re—It won’t—it’s not gonna fit.”
Dylan chuckled softly against his neck, breath hot. “You know how many times I’ve heard that? Don’t worry, Liam. You’ll take it. Just go slow.”
Dylan pressed down gently on Liam’s shoulders, guiding him lower.
“Wait—wait—” Liam gasped, bracing his hands on Dylan’s thighs. His chest was heaving.
But Dylan didn’t push. He just held him steady, cock thick and glistening against Liam’s slick ass lips, right there but not moving.
He leaned forward, lips brushing Liam’s ear. “I’m not gonna force anything, man. Chill.”
He chuckled, warm and teasing. “But my cock is right there. You feel like coming down on it?”
Liam’s throat tightened. His eyes darted down, catching sight of the sheer size pressing against him. His stomach twisted—panic, hunger, disbelief all tangled together.
Then Dylan’s hands slid away from his hips. For a second Liam thought he’d stopped—until he felt those hands slip under his arms, crossing over so Dylan’s right pressed into his own left pit and his left into his right. He rubbed hard, dragging out the sweat, the funk, the raw salt of it.
And then Dylan brought his hands up, palms cupping over Liam’s nose and mouth, smearing himself across his face.
The smell hit instantly. Reeking of testosterone
Liam moaned into Dylan’s hands, muffled and desperate, his whole body melting. His knees buckled.
And without meaning to—without even deciding—he sank down.
The blunt head stretched him, slow, unrelenting. Liam’s mouth fell open around a broken gasp, eyes squeezed shut. His thighs trembled as he sank lower.
Dylan’s head tipped back, a raw groan tearing out of his chest. “Ohhh fuck… you’re more open than I thought you were gonna be.” He smirked breathlessly, voice ragged. “You been busy, huh?”
Liam’s eyes flew open. “N-no—I—”
Before he could finish, Dylan pressed down on his hips, guiding him lower. Another inch slid in. Liam cried out, high and desperate, shaking like he might collapse.
“Fuck!” He yelped. “Too much, it’s—ahhh—fuck—”
But his asshole was quivering around the stretch, his cock straining against his stomach, while both his shorts and underwear were shoved down and twisted around his thighs, leaving him helplessly exposed and leaking.
Dylan groaned again, deep and guttural. “Jesus, Liam… You’re even slick inside. You HAVE been busy. Who was it?”
Shit. Was a connor still inside him?
“Who bred you, Liam? I can feel it slicking my cock in your insides. It’s actually helping a lot.” Dylan snorted.
Dylan’s hands stayed firm on Liam’s waist, grinding him down little by little, groaning every time another fraction slid inside. Liam’s thighs quivered, straining to hold himself up, his whole body shaking with the effort.
“No one! F-fuck, I can’t, man—” Liam panted.
“You can,” Dylan murmured, kissing the side of his neck, voice steady, coaxing. “Almost there. Don’t give up on me now.” He ground up into him gently, making Liam whimper. “You’re so fucking hot like this. So cute.”
Liam shook his head weakly, mumbling protests that melted into moans. His legs trembled harder, his ass clenching around Dylan’s thickness.
Dylan hushed him softly. “Alright. Listen to me.” His hands rubbed Liam’s back, keeping him steady. “On three, you let go. Stop using your legs to hold yourself up. Just let go. I’ll catch you.” He kissed his damp shoulder again, whispering, “It’s not gonna go in like this unless you trust me, okay? You’re bred already, it’ll be easy. And jerk off while you do it.”
Liam’s breath hitched. He nodded, dazed, eyes shut tight. Already stroking his leaking cock.
“One…” Dylan’s cock twitched deep inside him.
“Two…” Liam’s fingers dug into Dylan’s thighs.
Liam stroked faster.
“Three.”
Liam let go.
His muscles gave out, his body dropped—and Dylan caught him, arms strong around his back, guiding him down.
The entire thick, throbbing cock sank in, stretching him wider than he thought he could take, bottoming out in one dizzying, unstoppable slide.
Liam screamed, half-moan, half-sob, his whole body trembling against Dylan’s chest.
““FFFFFFFFF—FUCK, FUCK, FUUUCKK—oh my God, oh myy—ch—it’s too—wait, ohhhhhh—” His words dissolved into a long moan, high and broken.
Dylan groaned, head falling back, sweat dripping down his temple. “Fuuuck… that’s it. Took me all the way. Motherfuckeeeeer you’re so slick inside.”
Dylan ground him all the way down, hips flush, cock buried to the base. Pushed himself deeper on Liam.
Liam’s eyes went wide. His whole body seized.
“Wait—DYLAN—fuck, wait, I think I’m—I’m gonna—ohhh shit—” His words tumbled out fast, panicked, voice pitching higher. “Shit SHIT—fuck—”
His cock jerked against his stomach, jerking off still, spilling hot across his abs dropping into his shorts. He cried out, shaking, nails digging into Dylan’s skin.
Dylan felt it instantly, the way Liam clenched around his cock, the way Liam’s ass lips were squeezing his pubes, the sudden wet heat between their bodies. His eyes rolled back and he groaned deep. “Ohhh fuck, Liam—yeah, that’s it. Nut on my dick. You love dick so much—what the fuck.”
Liam sobbed out another moan, body trembling as his hand worked harder on himselff. “Fuuuuck—I can’t stop—Ngghhhhhhhhhh”
Dylan held him steady, caressing his neck, murmuring between his own groans. “Hell, yea, dude. Let it all out. Yeah, make a mess for me. You feel that? Came just from my big cock inside you.”
Liam collapsed, back against Dylan’s chest, sweaty, panting, still twitching as the aftershocks rolled through him. Dylan’s arms wrapped around him, holding him tight as he finished spilling his cum on his carpet, keeping him steady while he shook apart.
Liam stayed still, chest heaving, eyes shut, just letting the orgasm drain out of him. His body twitched now and then, aftershocks rolling through until finally—finally—his head cleared enough to register reality again.
He shifted a little in Dylan’s lap, trying to breathe.
Dylan’s hands smoothed over his waist. “You want me to pull out?” he asked gently.
Liam swallowed, nodded once. “...Yeah.”
“Alright. Don’t just stand up, though.” Dylan’s voice was steady, patient. “You gotta lift your ass slow, ‘cause I’m too hard and too deep in you right now.”
Liam braced his hands against Dylan’s thighs and pushed up carefully. The stretch made his stomach clench, a sharp, overwhelming pull. He felt like his asshole was being dragged out of him. A raw, broken moan slipped out of him—high, strange, almost girlish.
Dylan groaned, head tipping back. “Dude—what the fuck. I told you, I’m really deep inside your guts.”
The sound of his own voice embarrassed Liam instantly, but his body kept quivering as Dylan slid out inch by inch until the last one, slick and obscene between them.
Liam sat up, finally free, still breathless, blinking through the haze in his head.
He glanced over his shoulder—Dylan was leaning back on the couch, flushed, breathing heavy…
Liam froze. “Shit… did you not—”
Dylan shook his head, then smiled. “Nah. S’all good. Felt fucking amazing anyway.”
He chuckled, raking a hand through his sweaty hair. “Hearing you squirm like that on my big dick? Nutting like that? Awesome.”
Liam flushed hard, dragging his eyes away.
Dylan glanced down at him again, smirking. “You might wanna change, though. Your shorts…”
He tilted his head. “Yeah. You definitely came in them.”
“Right,” Liam muttered, already standing and tugging the ruined fabric up awkwardly. “Yeah. Okay. Be right back.”
He climbed the stairs and ducked into his room, shutting the door quick behind him.
His legs still felt weak. His brain even worse.
He shouldn’t have done that again. Not with Dylan. Not like this.
He pulled open his drawer without thinking, hand diving into the mess of mostly briefs and boxers—until his fingers hit something dry. Not cotton.
Paper.
Liam blinked, fished it out.
A crumpled little note, folded in half and smudged at the corners.
He opened it.
The handwriting hit him like a punch to the chest.
Messy. Slanted. Unmistakable.
‘Eat something, dumbass.’
His breath hitched.
He stared at it like it was cursed.
A laugh escaped him—small, dry, cracked. As he remembered.
“The asshole broke into my locker to leave this,” he muttered, barely audible.
He paused.
“...Then broke into my house to throw me a party.”
His voice faltered.
“And the whole Connor thing…”
And then it came back to him:
Noah, bleeding. The panic. The ambulance.
Liam’s hands trembled.
He clutched the note, gripping it hard, like it could anchor him to the room. To the present.
His throat felt tight enough to crush.
"Fuck," he whispered. His voice weak.
His knees gave and he sat down hard on the edge of the bed, eyes wide, breathing shaky.
“Do—”
“Do I…?”
The words slipped out before he even knew what he was asking.
He stared at the floor like it held answers, or maybe if he focused hard enough, the ground would open up and swallow him whole.
His fingers clenched around the note.
He shook his head, just once.
“No. No. That’s—”
But the thought didn’t leave.
It sat there. Gnawed at him.
Chewed right through all the bullshit and panic and noise.
“He’s a friend.”
A beat
“Was.”
He tried again. Quieter. Like whispering would make it easier.
“I don’t…”
He squeezed his eyes shut.
Noah’s voice in his ear. His hand on his wrist. That one smile to his dad.
The way Liam always felt seen—annoyingly, frustratingly seen.
His chest caved in. Same crushing drop he felt moments ago—watching them kiss.
“...Maybe… I—?” he breathed.
And then—almost like it hurt:
“Maybe I fucking do. Shit.”
He looked down at the note again.
"Shit shit shit.”
It didn’t change. It didn’t disappear.
Just sat there in his hand.
“Fuck,” he muttered.
“Fuck. What the fuck.” louder now.
Dylan’s voice came from the hallway. He opened the door “Liam?”
Liam didn’t look up. His chest was still heaving, but slower now. The crumpled note still on his fist.
“What was that?” Dylan asked, poking his head into the room. He took one look at Liam’s face and froze. “Are you okay?”
Liam swallowed.
He didn’t know what he looked like. He didn’t care.
The world was loud and quiet at the same time.
And suddenly.
For a brief moment.
Things were simple again.
“I… I gotta go,” Liam muttered.
He got up from the bed like it burned.
“Huh? Go where?” Dylan stepped into the room now, arms slightly raised, like approaching someone on a ledge. “Dude, you’re freaking me out—what’s going on?”
Liam didn’t answer. He crossed to the dresser, yanked it open. Hoodie. No shirt. Sweatpants. Whatever. His hands shook as he shoved his legs into them.
“Liam—hold up. Just stop a second, okay? It’s fucking pouring. ”
Liam pulled the hoodie over his head, the sleeves catching on his arms. He wasn’t even wearing underwear. Just fabric and skin.
He found his flip-flops by the door.
“I don’t care about that,” Liam said flatly. “I need to go.”
“But—”
“You can shower here. Leave whenever. Sorry… I—It’s fine. Just… don’t worry.”
“Liam—I'll come with you then?”
But Liam didn’t even look back.
The door slammed behind him—loud and final.
Down the hall.
Out the door.
Gone.
His feet slapped against the pavement, water soaking through the flip-flops almost instantly. Every step a splash. Every breath a curse.
What the fuck am I doing.
What the fuck am I doing.
This is crazy. This is actually insane.
He yanked the hoodie tighter over his head, but the rain was everywhere—needling his skin, sticking to his lashes, cold as hell. And it was getting worse. It came down like it had been waiting for him.
Shit.
Why didn't he get the car?
Shit.
He could barely see. Could barely think.
But his body didn’t stop.
He crossed the avenue without checking for cars. Shoved past the corner and kept going. Fast.
The note crumpled in his hand.
He didn’t care. He kept it.
“This is so stupid,” he muttered. “This is—fuck—so stupid.”
But he didn’t turn back.
He ran for minutes straight.
Down alleys, across streets, ignoring the honk of a car that swerved too close. His lungs burned, but the thought of stopping made it worse.
Almost there.
Almost—
He skidded to a stop at the top of the block. His breath caught in his throat.
Noah’s place.
His porch light was on. Warm and soft. Like always. Like his opposite.
But there were people by the door—two of them.
And one of them was him.
He was shirtless, wearing only those red/black plaid pajama pants and cheap flip-flops. Hair messy. Wet at the ends. Like he’d just stepped out of the shower or something. Like he was comfortable.
And she was there.
Ashley.
She was laughing at something. She had her hand on his neck. Her thumb brushing over his collarbone. Noah didn’t move. He just let her.
They were smiling.
And then she kissed him.
Quick and flirty, like a thousand kisses before it.
Liam froze.
The rain hit harder—like it had been holding back until now.
Needles again, against his face. Water soaked through his hoodie, clinging to his back like second skin. His legs shook.
But he didn’t move. He just stood there.
Watching.
She squealed a little when the wind shifted, and a splash of rain hit her back. She turned, still smiling, popped open her umbrella with a little laugh and stepped away from the porch.
Noah said something. She waved and kept walking.
Liam stayed hidden behind the neighbor’s hedge. His heart pounded. His whole body was soaked through.
He should leave.
But then—
He felt it.
The note in his fist.
Still completely dry.
He looked at it. Then at the door.
He waited until Ashley’s silhouette disappeared into the rain.
Noah hadn’t seen him.
Nobody had. Right?
He stepped out. Crossed the sidewalk.
His flip-flops squelched with every step.
And then—
He was at Noah’s door.
He stood there, heart thudding. Drenched. Silent.
He looked at the door. His knuckles were white around the crumpled paper.
Deep breath.
He raised his hand.
Paused.
Stared.
Closed his eyes.
Knocked.
A second passed. Then a couple more. The longest seconds of his life.
He waited—barefoot inside flip-flops, sweatpants soaked and sagging, water dripping off his elbows onto the porch.
And then—
The door creaked open.
Noah stood there.
Eyes sharp the second they land on Liam.
But not immediately.
Because for just a second, Liam sees something else flicker through them.
It was gone before he could place it.
Noah’s whole face resets. Hardens. Turns to stone.
“What the fuck are you doing here?”
Liam doesn’t answer right away. Breath misting in the cold air between them.
Noah scoffs, stepping back like Liam’s carrying radiation.
“Seriously?”
“I just wanted to talk—”
“Oh my God.” Noah throws his hands in the air like Liam’s a joke the universe won’t stop telling. “Didn’t I literally tell you to back off? Like—verbatim?”
“I know, I just—”
“You a stalker now? That it?” Noah snaps. “You don’t listen. You just show up. Do whatever the hell you want and expect people to just roll with it?”
“Noah, I’m not here to fight—”
“No, you’re here to—what? Say sorry? Tell me I was right? Cry on my porch and hope I what? Hug you?”
He laughs once—dry. Mean. Guarded.
Liam’s soaked, trembling. Tired.
“Can you shut the fuck up and let me talk for once?!”
Noah blinks like he’s just been slapped.
Doesn’t move. Arms folded. Jaw locked.
Liam drags in a breath—sharp, shaky. His chest rises, falls. He can’t look at Noah when he starts again.
“I—fuck. I don’t even know why I’m here, okay? I just… Claire said this thing, and I didn’t really get it at first. I didn’t take it seriously, I guess. But then at the gym today… you were with Ashley.”
His voice falters.
“You kissed her. But it felt different?”
A breath. His eyes flick up, then drop away again.
“And I was just—fuck, I was in the corner. Watching you kiss her. Like some creep.”
He swallows hard. Shifts his weight. Like he wants to bolt, but can’t.
“And then work’s been weird. Connor’s annoying me. Better though, we even tried going out one night. Tried talking to some girl—” He laughs, tight. Broken. “Nothing happened, of course.”
“Oh—and Dylan’s been around. Being nice. Too nice. It’s weird. But I don’t know—”
He’s unraveling now. Voice cracking, pacing in place like the words won’t come fast enough.
“I didn’t think it’d matter. That you kissed her like that. It’s your life, right? Yeah. Only… it did. It fucking did, man. I felt… off. Like—this weird cold thing.”
His fingers twitch at his side. Still holding the note in his fist.
“And then tonight, I realized—fuck—I realized you—”
Liam sighed, like finishing the sentence might kill him.
“You cared. About me. Like, before all this weird shit happened. You did, right? I know you did.”
A pause. His breath fogs the space between them.
“Even if it was in your own detached asshole way…”
Another beat. Quieter now. Fraying.
“And I realized I—”
His voice breaks once again.
“I realized I did too.”
The silence that follows feels massive.
Like the air thickened. Like even the rain’s gone quiet, just listening.
“I don’t know what any of this means, bro. Shit. This sounds so fucking gay and pathetic. And I know you don’t swing that way—” He huffs out a laugh, but it’s nervous. Shaky. Half-sob. “And I don’t either. You know that. I don't.”
“And like,”He let out a nervous scoff, too fast, too breathless. “You just—keep showing up. In my head. Like—”
He shook his head, water spraying off his hood. “I’ll be doing something stupid. Brushing my teeth. Talking. Driving to work. And then—bam—there you are.”
His voice cracked, barely holding steady.
“I’ve never had that happen before. And—” He exhaled.
“I didn’t get it before. The whole gravity thing. But now I—”
A beat.
“I’m not even sure what I’m saying. I’m still so fucking confused.”
His voice drops to a whisper.
“I just know I came here because—”
Noah stared at him, still unreadable.
“Shit, I miss you, dude.”
Liam’s eyes flicked down. Both of Noah’s fists had clenched—tight, the bandages still wrapped around one of his knuckles.
And for a long moment, the rain was the only thing between them.
Then Noah’s voice cut through it, sharp and flat.
“You’re losing your fucking mind.”
Liam flinched. Violently.
“Gravity?” Noah said, scoffing. “Are you fucking high?”
He stepped forward. “This—whatever this was—it was a fucking game, my guy. You were a distraction. Something to do. A joke.”
He gestured vaguely. “But now? Now I see what this really is.”
He leaned in slightly, voice low and sharp. “You’re just a confused little faggot who thought he could fix himself by crawling into my bed.”
Liam’s breath hitched.
“And what, you miss me?” Noah said, eyes narrowing. “You don’t even know me. I told you that. What the fuck did you think it was gonna happen?”
Noah paused. But his eyes stayed hard. “Get the fuck out of here. Go play pretend somewhere else. Fuck. Off.”
Noah’s mouth kept moving, but the words stopped making sense.
Liam blinked. His eyes didn’t sting, but they were wet.
The sound of rain was louder than anything Noah was saying.
His chest wasn’t rising as fast anymore. Everything felt… slowed down. Muted. Not in a peaceful way—more like when you’ve fallen hard and your body’s still trying to catch up with the pain.
He looked at Noah, standing there on the porch, still spitting fire, voice raw and hands clenched. Laughing at Liam. Mean. But Liam’s hearing was still cracked—like someone had unplugged the speakers.
The words didn’t land. They didn’t reach.
It felt like Liam was watching someone else get hurt. Someone else standing in the rain.
Without deciding to, he turned around.
Noah’s voice followed him. But Liam didn’t hear it anymore.
The rain soaked him again, heavier now, hitting his shoulders and chest through the thin hoodie.
But it wasn’t cold anymore
He took a step. Then another.
The porch behind him faded into the blur of water and night.
Sidewalk stretched out in front of him, lit only by pale reflections and puddle-glow.
He didn’t know where he was going.
Didn’t really care.
His feet moved like they remembered how to walk without him telling them to.
Everything else—his thoughts, his breath, his nerves—felt distant. Misaligned.
He wasn’t thinking about Noah anymore.
Wasn’t thinking at all.
He was walking.
Just walking.
And walking.
Somewhere down the street, a lamppost blinked on.
The sudden flash made him stop.
He looked up.
Yellow light hummed above him, buzzing faintly.
He stopped beneath it.
Let his arms hang by his sides. Let the water pool in his sleeves. Let the air press heavy against his neck.
His face tilted up. The rain stung his cheeks now. But he didn’t flinch anymore.
He just stared at the light.
It was so bright.
He could see the raindrops against it.
Falling.
It looked so beautiful.
He didn’t know how long he stood there.
Time didn’t seem to work right anymore. Neither did his breath. Or his thoughts. He blinked once, slow, and the light above him shimmered behind a thin sheet of water—rain or tears, he couldn’t tell. Didn’t know.
Then—
A splash.
Close.
Like someone stepping into a puddle.
Liam turned his head slowly, like something in him had been pulled by the sound. He saw the sidewalk curve, saw the hedge, the slick pavement—
And then a figure.
A blur.
Just standing there.
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