The bass thumped through the floor, a relentless heartbeat for the swirling mass of costumed bodies. Danny’s own heart, however, was hammering for a different reason. Across the room, cutting through the sea of superheroes and cartoon characters, was a flash of scarlet. A familiar, loose robe. A pristine white mask. His costume. Porcelain.
Sammy stood there, holding a red plastic cup, his masked head tilted in that infuriatingly smug way Danny knew all too well. For as long as Danny could remember, Sammy had been his shadow, his rival, his constant adversary. It had started the day they were born, their mothers, identical twins, giving birth on the very same day. The family had made it into a joke, a game of “who’s the cuter baby?” Danny had never cared much for the competition, but Sammy seemed to thrive on it. Being better than Danny wasn’t just a goal for Sammy; it was an obsession.
Everything became a battleground. The grandparents’ attention, their praise and affection, was a prize to be won. Board game nights at Uncle B.’s place turned into ruthless contests where Sammy would gloat over every victory. The stupid spelling championship in fifth grade had been a war, with Sammy studying obsessively just to beat Danny by one word. As they grew older, the rivalry only deepened. In high school, Sammy took every class Danny did, sat in the front row with his hand always raised, and ran for class president not because he wanted it, but because Danny had.
And now, here he was, wearing the same damn costume, the loose scarlet robes and pristine white mask of Porcelain, the iconic gay slasher from the movie that had taken the gay community by storm. It told the story of a ancient, cosmic being, that took the form of a very attractive, insatiable bottom to lure his victims. Porcelaing would take them to bed, and the sex scenes were mouldering hot, sinful, bordering the heretic, and when the top reachead his orgasm, Porcelain would open his mouth through the mask and suck the his vital energy, killing him at the spot. That tiny, vicious hole in the mask’s mouth seemed to mock Danny. Sammy didn’t even like horror movies! He probably just googled “hottest gay Halloween costume” and copied Danny’s idea like he always did. The thought made Danny’s fingers tighten around his own cup, his jaw clenching as he fought the urge to march over and rip the mask off Sammy’s smug face.
A thick, warm arm slid around Danny's waist like a linebacker tackling from behind, "Hey, you good?" Jason's voice hit him. "Looked like you were about to tackle that Michael Myers douche over there."Danny sagged into his boyfriend's tank of a body, twisting to nuzzle into the salty V of Jason's neck, breathing in that raw, soapy cologne that sliced through the party's haze of BO and Natty Light. "It's fucking Sammy. That prick's stole my costume."Jason barked out a laugh, the kind that boomed from his barrel chest like a victory roar after a game-winning fumble recovery. "Fuck him. He looks like a Dollar Store reject. You're the real deal, baby." His massive paw cupped Danny's jaw, thumb rough from gripping pigskins all season, tilting it up to lock eyes, piercing blues, narrowed with that cocky jock smirk. Jason's "uniform" clung to him like a second skin: the jersey cropped high to flash abs carved from deadlift, shoulder pads, shorts hiked scandalously short, hugging thighs like tree trunks and leaving zero to the imagination, doing nothing to hide the thick, heavy bulge of his massive cock straining the front like it was begging to be free. “My badass, sweet Porcelain." He crashed down, claiming Danny's mouth in a kiss that was all hunger and heat.
The bass thumped through the crowded basement like a heartbeat on steroids, strobe lights slicing the haze of fog machine smoke and red Solo cups. Jason pulled back from the kiss just enough to grin down at Danny, his thumb tracing that jawline like he owned it... which, fuck yeah, he did. "C'mon, Porcelain." He laced their fingers and towed Danny into the fray, the sea of costumed bodies parting like they knew better than to block the star quarterback's path .They hit the makeshift dance floor, a sticky patch of plywood over the concrete, where zombies and sexy nurses ground against each other in a sweaty blur. Jason spun Danny around with a whoop, yanking him back against his chest, hips syncing up like they were running a two-minute drill. Danny laughed, breathless, as Jason's massive hands clamped onto his hips, guiding him in a rhythm that was half-dance, half-dry-hump. Around them, catcalls and whistles erupted from their crew clustered by the keg. Mike in his dumbass pirate getup hollered, "Get a room, Jase!" while Lena, the sorority queen dressed as a vampire, smirked. "Y'all are gross," she yelled, but her eyes sparkled, tossing back a shot as the group devolved into chaos: high-fives, spilled beer, someone yelling about a Jell-O wrestling pit in the garage .Danny leaned into it all, the knot in his chest from Sammy long dissolved in the buzz of Jason's orbit. They broke apart only when Mike slapped Jason's shoulder, jerking a thumb at the beer pong table in the corner, a battered folding setup ringed by frat bros in togas and witches chanting trash talk. "Your turn, big man. Team's down, save our asses." Jason's eyes lit up with the challegne. He released Danny with a quick, possessive squeeze to the ass, "Stay close, babe", and sauntered over. They won. Of course they won. There’s was nothing that Jason wasn’t the best.
But as the party raged on, a different unease began to prickle at Danny’s skin. The room started to tilt on a gentle, nauseating axis. I’ve only had two drinks, he thought, his brain feeling fuzzy, disconnected from his body. This isn’t right. A cold sweat broke out on his forehead. “Jason?” he mumbled, but his boyfriend was nowhere to be seen.
Panic, cold and sharp, began to cut through the fog. Danny’s heart raced, each beat echoing like a drum in his aching skull. His vision blurred at the edges, the room tilting dangerously as if the floor were made of shifting sand. He needed air. He needed Jason. The thought of his boyfriend, his anchor in this chaotic sea of grotesque masks and deafening laughter, was the only thing keeping him from collapsing.
He stumbled forward, his legs heavy and uncooperative, like they were carved from lead. The crowd seemed to close in on him, their distorted faces of clowns, vampires and creatures from some twisted nightmare leering and laughing as he pushed past them. Hands brushed against him, and he flinched, the contact sending jolts of unease through his drug-addled nerves. Why is it so loud? Why is it so hot? The air was thick with the stench of sweat, spilled beer, and cheap perfume, making it harder to breathe, harder to think.
He scanned the room, his eyes darting frantically, but Jason was nowhere to be seen. The last he remembered, he was there, dancing with some girls, his golden hair glowing under the blacklights, his broad shoulders moving through the crowd like a beacon. Now, he was gone, and Danny felt untethered, adrift in a sea of strangers. Where did he go? He wouldn’t just leave me.
His chest tightened, panic clawing at his throat. He needed to get out, to make this dizzying nightmare stop. But every step felt like wading through thick mud, his body betraying him with each faltering movement. The music thumped louder, the beat vibrating through his bones, each note a hammer against his fragile state. He clutched at the wall for support, his fingers scraping against the rough surface, trying to ground himself.
And then, like a cruel twist of fate, he caught a glimpse of scarlet out of the corner of his eye. His heart stuttered. Sammy. His cousin’s masked face turned toward him, that damn Porcelain mask with its mocking hole taunting him even now. Sammy’s head tilted slightly, as if he were studying Danny’s unraveling state, and for a fleeting moment, their eyes locked, or at least Danny thought they did. It was hard to tell behind the mask.
Danny tore his gaze away, his breath coming in shallow gasps. He couldn’t deal with Sammy right now. He couldn’t deal with anything but getting out of this suffocating room. Pushing off the wall, he stumbled forward again, his feet dragging as if the floor itself were pulling him down. Just keep moving. Just get out.
“Whoa there, Danny boy.” A hand clamped onto his arm, steadying him. It was Connor, Sammy’s buddy. His smile was all teeth. “You don’t look so good. Let’s get you somewhere quiet.”
Danny wanted to pull away, but his limbs were heavy, uncooperative. Connor’s grip was firm, leading him away from the main drag of the party, down a hallway, into a dim bedroom. The noise faded to a dull throb.
“In here, man. Just lie down for a sec,” Connor said, his voice oddly cheerful. He wasn’t guiding him to the bed. He was opening a closet door.
“Wha… why the closet?” Danny slurred, confusion warring with the overwhelming need to just close his eyes.
“It’s darker. Quieter.” Connor said, and before Danny could protest, he was shoved inside. The door clicked shut, plunging him into absolute blackness. The last thing he felt was the rough texture of carpet against his cheek before the world dissolved into nothing.
Consciousness returned in a sickening lurch. His head pounded, a dull, rhythmic ache that matched the distant music from the party. He was still in the closet. The thin line of light under the door was his only orientation. He pushed weakly at the door. It didn’t budge.
And then he heard it.
A low, guttural moan. A sharp intake of breath. The rustle of sheets.
What?
Danny pressed his eye to the narrow gap where the door met the frame. The angle was cruel, offering a sliver of the room, a fragmented view of the bed.
He saw a leg, muscular and tense, the foot arched, toes curling desperately into the comforter. He knew that leg. He saw a hand, white-knuckled, gripping a handful of red fabric. He knew that hand. And he knews those robes. Those silky, scarlet robes.
A icy dread flooded his veins, colder than any drug.
He shifted, his own breath catching in his throat, and the view widened.
Jason lay sprawled across the bed, his body a masterpiece of athletic perfection. His golden skin gleamed under the dim light, a testament to hours spent under the sun on the football field. His broad chest, rose and fell with each ragged breath, the muscles tensing and relaxing in a rhythm that spoke of barely contained ecstasy. Sweat dotted his skin, glistening like morning dew on a summer meadow, tracing the contours of his hard stomach and the deep V that led downward. His arms, thick and powerful from years of rigorous routine at the gym, were splayed out above his head, his fingers now gripping the bed wooden frame. Every inch of him was taut, vibrating with the kind of pleasure that bordered on pain.
Between Jason’s powerfully spread thighs knelt a figure in identical scarlet robes, the fabric pooling around them like a sinful halo. The mask, that fucking Porcelain mask, obscured the face, but the mop of brown hair, so much like his own, and the unmistakable posture betrayed Sammy’s identity. His head bobbed in Jason’s lap with practiced ease, the motion smooth and relentless, a dance of pure, unadulterated lust. The faint sound of wet, sucking noises filled the room, punctuated by Jason’s desperate moans, each one sending a jolt of pain through Danny’s frozen body.
Jason’s cock, all 9 inches of it, disappeared into the dark O of the mask’s mouth hole with each downward stroke. It was a sight that burned itself into Danny’s brain, both beautiful and grotesque. Sammy took it all with no hesitation, no struggle, as if he’d been born to do this. His tongue flicked and swirled around the swollen head before plunging back down, his lips sealing tight around the shaft, creating a suction that had Jason arching off the bed, his abs flexing like steel cables. One of Sammy’s hands cupped Jason’s heavy, furry balls, massaging them with a possessive firmness, while the other reached up to pinch and twist a hardened nipple on Jason’s chest, eliciting a guttural groan that sent shivers down Danny’s spine.
“Fuck, baby…” Jason moaned, his voice raw and broken, dripping with a mix of awe and desperation. His words were a dagger to Danny’s heart, each syllable a cruel reminder of the betrayal unfolding before his eyes. How could Jason do that to him? Not only cheating, but with Sammy? With fucking Sammy? Jason’s hips bucked involuntarily, seeking more of that heavenly heat, more of that skill.
Sammy didn’t answer. Instead, he redoubled his efforts, his movements turning almost feral, an insistence so palpable it pressed Jason deeper into madness. The sound he made was neither human nor animal. It came from a place deep within him , somewhere hidden, neglected. A release. A cleansing. He gave himself over to it completely; letting it flood his body, contort his expression and pour out of his chest in a bitter cacophony of groans, cries, and screams. The mask hid Sammy’s expression, but Danny could imagine the smug, triumphant grin beneath it, the one that said Sammy had finally won.
Danny’s own body betrayed him, and, to his horror, heat was gathering as he watched the scene unfold. Soon his cock throbbed painful, the involuntary reaction only adding to his shame. He hated what he was seeing, but the eroticism of the display was undeniable. The way Jason writhed in pleasure, the way Sammy devoured him with such skill and hunger, it was both devastating and hypnotic. Danny couldn’t look away even if he wanted to.
“Fuck, Danny… baby…” Jason moaned, his voice a ragged, broken thing. “Where did you learn to do that?”
The sound of his own name on Jason’s lips, directed at the monster devouring him, was a physical blow. Danny’s stomach clenched, a vise of ice and fire twisting until he thought he'd puke right there on the closet. Jason thought it was Danny, so he gave himself to violation with the same easiness he'd given himself to Danny. Sammy's mouth never wavered, mocking, as he hollowed his cheeks harder, drawing out another shattered gasp from Jason, who bucked up blind and blissful, cock throbbing swollen and slick, veins standing out like ropes under the assault. Horror crashed over Danny in waves, hot and suffocating. This wasn't cheating; it was theft, a perversion of everything they'd shared, Jason's body deceived by the the creep who'd always lurked in the shadows of his boyfrien’s spotlight. Sammy was stealing pieces of them: Jason's cock, his moans, the way he shattered only for Danny, and wearing it like another stolen costume. Danny's knees buckled, a choked whimper escaping before he could clamp it down, but Jason didn't hear, lost in the lie. “Danny… fuck, don't stop... God, yes… just like that… how are you so good? Been practicing for me?”
The heat coiled low on Danny’s belly was filthy, traituros. His cock was responding to the raw, obscene display of skill and Jason’s unfiltered pleasure, rock-hard against his will, leaking on his underwear. What the hell is wrong with me? He hated this. He hated Sammy. He hated him. But the sight… the sounds… Jason’s pleasure… it was the most erotic, devastating thing he had ever witnessed. He was trapped. Paralyzed by the drugs, by shock, by a perverse, voyeuristic fascination. He could only watch as his cousin used his mouth to bring the man he loved closer and closer to the edge, all while Jason cried out Danny’s name in blissful, unknowing praise. Somehow, that was even worse, taking praise for something he wasn’t doing, something he could never do. He never sucked Jason like that. He never saw his boyfriend squirm like that, moan like that, beg like that.
He didn't mean to touch himself. God, no, his mind screamed stop, run, fight, a whirlwind of revulsion at the violation unfolding like a gutted playbook. Jason, splayed and surrendered, his cock disappearing inch by throbbing inch into the maw of their shared enemy. It was sacrilege. Wrong. So fucking wrong. But his palm pressed flat against the front of his costume anyway, right over the growing ache straining the thin barrier, fingers curling instinctive and hungry. A soft, involuntary whimper escaped him. What the hell am I doing? Danny's vision blurred with hot, stinging tears, but his hips rocked forward into his own touch, shallow and shameful, the silk rasping like accusations against his hard cock. It felt like cracking open a forbidden door, the taboo rush of it slamming through him, electric and vile, making his knees jelly. He was getting off on this? On watching Sammy steal what was his, on Jason's blissed-out deception? The thought curdled in his throat, bile and lust churning until he gagged on it. But he couldn't stop. His arm moved like it belonged to someone else, a puppet jerked by invisible strings, rubbing firmer now, circling the tip through the fabric with a pressure that mirrored the phantom pull of Jason's moans.
Jason's hips stuttered, that relentless rhythm fracturing into something primal, uncontrolled—chasing the edge with a desperation Danny had only glimpsed in the rawest, post-game frenzies. “Danny, fuck, baby, I’m...” The words choked off into a guttural roar, a lion’s thunder ripping from his throat, shaking the walls and Danny’s bones alike. It wasn’t the deep, satisfied grunts Danny knew from their tangled sheets, the ones that rumbled like victory bells after a hard-won touch down. This was feral, apocalyptic, a bellow that arched Jason’s back off the mattress, every vein in his neck bulging, eyes flying open to stare at nothing but stars behind his lids. Cum erupted in thick, endless ropes, Jason’s cock pulsing like a live wire in Sammy’s unrelenting mouth, flooding him with heat that Danny could almost taste from across the room, bitter and stolen. Sammy didn’t flinch, didn’t spill a drop, swallowing with greedy, deliberate gulps, throat working around the girth like he’d been starving. His hands roamed up Jason’s thighs, nails digging into the meaty quads, holding him steady as the last shudders wracked his frame. When it was over, Sammy pulled off with a slick pop, lips glistening, but he wasn’t done. Tongue darting out like a serpent’s, he licked a slow, possessive trail up Jason’s softening length, lapping away the stray beads of spend with reverent swipes. Up the veined shaft, over the heavy sac, then higher, trailing saliva and salt across his abs, dipping into the hollows where sweat pooled, cleaning every inch like he was marking territory with worship. Jason twitched under the attention, oversensitive and spent, a low whine escaping him that twisted Danny’s gut further. Collapsed now, Jason was a defeated colossos, chest rising and falling in ragged drags, limbs splayed heavy as sandbags. Sweat matted his short-cropped hair, one arm flung over his eyes, the other limp at his side, fingers curling loosely into the sheets. But even in the wreckage, he mustered it: a small, loving smile, lazy and dazed, tilting his head just enough to beam it down at the figure between his legs. “Fuck… that was the best blowjob I ever had,” Jason murmured, voice a wrecked slur,, thumb brushing absently over Sammy’s jaw in a gesture meant for Danny, tender and trusting. “You’re… I love you so much, baby.” His eyelids fluttered, the smile softening to something sleepy, adoring, before sleep claimed him, snoring softly within seconds, body going boneless. Sammy rose then, silent as a shadow, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, that knockoff costume, Danny’s costume, rumpled and reeking of victory. He didn’t spare Jason another glance, just straightened his robes with casual arrogance, stepping off the bed on cat feet. The door was halfway to his hand when he paused, head cocking like a predator scenting blood. His eyes, dark, fathomless, snapped straight to the closet door across the room. Through the slats, Danny met that gaze, and it burned: an evil, demonic gleam, pupils blown wide with unholy glee, lips curling in a smirk that said mine now without a whisper. Sammy won. Clean sweep. No gloat, no taunt. Just the weight of it, crushing. Then he was gone, door clicking shut behind him like a coffin lid. Jason slumbered on, sprawled like a lion in the sun, his cock hung heavy against his thighs, slowly softening from its rigid glory but still huge, a lax beast still glistening faintly from Sammy’s thorough ministrations. Peaceful, oblivious, as if the world hadn’t just fractured around him.
Danny huddled in the closet’s stifling dark, knees to his chest amid mothballed coats and dust bunnies, the slats framing his boyfriend’s vulnerable sprawl like bars on a cage. His pulse thundered in his ears, a traitor’s drumbeat, chest so tight he could barely draw air. Scream? Shatter the illusion, drag Jason from that drugged slumber and force the truth down his throat? Or slink out now, vanish into the night, let the lie fester until it poisoned them both? Tears carved hot tracks down his cheeks, silent and scalding, fists clenched until nails bit palms bloody. He didn’t know what to do. He couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t unhear the roar that wasn’t for him, couldn’t unsee the smile that sealed the theft. The party’s distant bass pulsed like a mocking heartbeat through the walls, but here, in this tomb of defeat, Danny was adrift, frozen in the ruins of them.
