For Your Time

Chapter 1

Simon

The night air is cool. I welcome it because I know before too long I’ll be inside the crowded club with too many sweaty bodies to count. I’m only in jeans and a t-shirt, despite the chilly January air. At least we’re not in the north. Going out in the winter would be such a chore.

Declan’s fingers lace with mine and I glance his way. Damon’s already behind me, his chest pressed to my back, chin on my shoulder.

“You sure you don’t mind?” Declan asks. “We can go to Sinners instead.”

I look up at the club’s sign. Every letter of Stripes is a different color of the rainbow, declaring for all to see what the place is—a gay club. Smirking, I shake my head. “You’ve been bitching for two days that you need a hookup.”

“It’s not like I won’t be able to find one at Sinners,” Declan says.

Damon snorts his agreement. They aren’t wrong. Every time we go to Sinners for me to find a hookup, they do as well. Or maybe instead. I don’t always go through with a hookup. It’s more than a mood thing for me. Sometimes, I’m just not into it. And my body is kind of a bitch about hookups.

“Nah. I’m good.”

I feel the twins frown. Damon and Declan are identical at six feet even. Their hair is on the darker brown side, longer on top so that the messy strands reach their cheekbones and short in the back. They have pouty lips, something that I’ve heard men comment on so many times that I can’t help but notice and agree with. It’s their eyes that I appreciate the most, though. A unique green-gray with flecks of brown near their pupils.

They are also shameless about their bodies, loving every contour. And will take every opportunity to show it off. Right now, they are both wearing jock straps—which I know because their pants are low on their narrow hips—and button-down shirts, unbuttoned and open for the world to see their lean figures.

At least they don’t dress alike unless their parents make them for some family picture, which still happens despite them being twenty-two. Parents will be parents, and all that. The thought makes my chest tight, and I shove the thought away.

They’re still frowning at me, though. “When’s the last time you hooked up?” Damon asks.

I sigh. “You’re needier than I am,” I tell them. “You’ve been going on about needing a dick in your mouth for days. I’m nearly tempted to give you mine to shut you up.”

Declan’s hand squeezes mine, and I flash him a grin. Our friendship is what the world deems inappropriate for anyone outside of a romantic and physical relationship. Very touchy. Very close. Including in public.

It’s just how we’ve always been since we were kids, though. Affection was high on our priority list and we never thought about it. That mentality carried on as we grew up. Since we weren’t hurting anyone, we didn’t give a shit what others said or thought about it.

However, there were lines. Boundaries. Even if they look like we passed them long ago.

The line moves forward a few feet and we follow.

“Seriously, Simon. When was your last girlfriend?”

I sigh, giving Declan a deadpan look. “I’m good. Stop prying into my sex life and worry about your own.”

“Your lack of one,” Damon says.

“By choice,” I say emphatically. “If I want sex, I’ll get it.”

They huff in unison, and I smirk. I’ve known them for so long and so well that I don’t need to see them to know who speaks. Who’s touching me. Which sound of frustration comes from which man. The world sees them as identical, but to me, they’re very individual.

“So, what’s your goal tonight?” I ask, trying to drive the conversation back to where I’d rather it be.

“Big fat cock,” Declan says, grinning. He looks ahead as the line moves another few people nearer to the door. “I want to choke.”

Damon nods.

I chuckle. It’s always the same with them; they like to be used. Yet, I also know they’re tops. They don’t hold details back.

Damon’s hands move to my hips, one slipping into my front pocket. I know what he’s doing and try to swallow my frown. I hate when they stick money in my pockets. In my jacket. In my backpack. I know they don’t do it for any other reason than to take care of me, but I’m to the point where it’s my only true stressor.

I hate taking their money. I hate living off them and their family. Despite needing to make a change, I just don’t know how.

We finally make it to the front and the bouncer, Micah, smiles recognizing us immediately. “Whitakers,” he says, flashing his startling white teeth. “Everett,” he says to me, winking.

Everyone knows I’m the straight man that comes to the gay club with his gay best friends. We’d call it a wingman thing, but they don’t need wingmen. While I’ve never thought to really take inventory of what men look like, I’m aware of what makes men attractive and desirable. I happen to fall into that category easily enough, fortunately. I’ve never had an issue getting a girlfriend or a hookup.

Neither have Declan and Damon. So, yeah, the twins don’t need a wingman. And if they did, they’d be better wingmen for each other than I would be.

Micah does his job and checks our IDs, which is unnecessary at this point, since he knows our names. But he never lets anyone slip by that shouldn’t. He stamps our hands as over twenty-one and then allows us to enter.

We could have already guessed that it would be crowded based on how long we’d had to wait in line. Which, while longer than usual, wasn’t more than fifteen minutes.

“Look at all the options,” Declan says, his hand squeezing mine once more. “So many cocks.”

I laugh, shaking my head.

He goes on to describe exactly what he wants tonight. How it will weigh on his tongue and leak for him. How they’ll have to force it down his throat because it’s going to be too big. I glance back at Damon, his eyes already dark with lust as we listen to his brother.

Shaking my head, I let them lead me to the dance floor. They immediately sandwich me between them. It isn’t a group dance. It is a true sandwich. Declan is still in front, one of his hands wrapped around me to cup my ass as he grinds against me, pressing his half hard cock to my thigh. His other hand roams over my stomach and chest.

Damon is no different except he has one hand low on my stomach, the other in my hair as he tilts my head so he can bite at my neck.

Closing my eyes, I let them do what they want, listening to the too loud music pulse through my blood like alcohol. I’ve always thought that because I have no physical reaction to them and their hands all over me that I was undoubtedly straight. I mean, when I do find someone attractive enough to want to hookup with, it’s always been a girl.

We move on the floor for three songs before they turn me around in their arms so that they switch positions. Declan pulls my hand up and I tangle my fingers in his hair. He grunts, his hands on my hips as he presses his pelvis to my ass, rubbing his hard length against me.

A smirk covers my mouth in amusement.

Three more songs and we’re sweaty. I can feel their hearts pounding in their chests where they’re pressed hard to me. Sometimes I think they use me to get their engines running so they don’t have to work so hard for a hookup. They’re basically roaring to go. I am the appetizer, so they can dive right into the main course.

We’re halfway through another song when Declan pulls away. He tips my head back, laying a sloppy kiss to my lips before turning away and getting lost in the crowd. I barely meet Damon’s eyes before he does the same.

Then I’m left on the dance floor with dozens of bodies gyrating around me. If I stay there long enough, someone will come over. I know. I’ve been lost in thought on the dance floor before and have found another body pressed against me, trying to coax me into a dance.

I’ve found that gay guys are nicer than straight men. No one has had any problem backing away when I tell them I’m not interested. I can’t say the same for some of the things I’ve seen at Sinners.

As I turn to leave, I find myself thinking about their hookups. Choking on a dick. Honestly, if they weren’t so fond of the actual act of sex, I'm pretty sure that they’d only focus on sucking cock. It's their thing.

Over the years, I’ve heard enough about sucking dick that I'm pretty sure I know what to do based on more than knowing what I like about having my own sucked. I glance around, curiosity making me think that perhaps I can try. Just to see if maybe that makes me feel anything.

Does that make me less straight than I claim? But isn’t college for experimentation?

Before I can truly decide what I want, a body presses to my back. He’s not as insistent and at home as one of the twins, so I know right away that it’s a stranger. Which is fine. If I want to play at sucking a dick, it can’t be with the twins. I'm sure that isn’t just a line but a cement wall that shouldn’t be leapt over in our friendship.

Like most times that someone has approached me here, there’s a question in their light touch. Asking me if I want to dance without screaming the words over the music.

I nod and lean back into the firm chest, which gives him enough of an invitation to place his hands on me and press against me a little more intently. I can feel that he’s getting hard as he moves against me. His breath hovers over my neck.

For a minute, I consider whether all guys who grind like this are supposed to be hard. Is that a rite of passage? Is the stimulation all that’s needed to start the engine?

Pushing that thought away, I realize I need to decide whether I actually want to try sucking dick or not. My sex life has always been a little boring. I’ve just never been into it. I don’t get excited, like the twins or the rest of the world. It’s not mind-blowing and honestly, I could take it or leave it. Most of the time, I leave it.

Maybe this will be different.

I look around as my dance partner runs a hand up my stomach and chest. The other stays stationary on my hip, using it to guide me how he wants to dance. His mouth doesn’t ever touch my skin, but it skims just a breath away. Teasing. Leaving gooseflesh.

I try to figure out how to tell him what I want. Should I also say I’ve never done it before? That I just want to try it and I might not like it?

“Do you want me to leave you alone?” the man asks, his lips at the shell of my ear.

I shake my head, shifting so I can glance back at him. He’s got long blond hair that’s heavy with sweat. It sits shaggily around his face. “No,” I tell him. “Just looking for an available dark corner.” Was that too forward?

He stills and I wonder whether I’ve read the situation wrong. Do people go to clubs with an intent other than hooking up? Before my anxiety can take hold, he grabs my wrist and pulls me off the dance floor.

When he shoves me gently into a darkened alcove that blessedly is a little quieter, I sigh a breath of relief that I hadn’t made the wrong assumptions. I don’t want to think about this too hard, though, so I immediately drop to my knees and look up at him.

There’s no mistaking the hunger in his eyes. They’re light blue, which is impressive in the shadows of the alcove. The only light in this little cubby is what colored strobes reach us from the dance floor and the dim light from the bar itself.

He’s tall. Based on how he fit behind me, probably a little taller than my five-foot-eleven frame. Maybe taller than the twins, but I wasn’t paying that close attention. There’s day-old scruff along his jaw, framing his thin, light lips. He wears a plaid shirt, the first four buttons undone, letting me see a hint of his smooth chest.

His hand runs through my hair, and my eyes flutter when his fingers dig into my scalp. If I have one weakness, it is that. I love more than anything to have hands in my hair. Massaging my head. If I were a cat, this would make me purr.

I reach up, sliding my hands up his thighs awkwardly until I find the buttons to his pants. I undo them without ceremony and pull them down to his thighs. He moves his shirt out of the way, and I’m left staring at the cock framed in his boxer briefs. He’s not small. At all.

Glancing up at him, I find he’s not proportionate. I am fairly certain this dick belongs on a really big guy. I swallow, reconsidering what I’m doing here. Maybe the twins should have found this man. This is the cock they’re looking for.

But it’s here in front of me.

Looking up at him again, he’s giving me a half smile that I swear I’ve seen before. I study his face for a second, trying to decide why I know him. Probably because we’re at Stripes at least three times a week. He wouldn’t be the first face that’s become familiar.

Swallowing, I reach for the elastic and pull it away from his body, unwrapping him as if he might be a bomb and explode if I move too quickly. I bring his underwear down, shoving them to his thighs so his cock is left bare for me. There’s already a bead of pre-cum at the tip and I stare at it for a heartbeat.

Deciding that I need him to take the lead and do this, I drop my hands to my thighs and look up, opening my mouth for him.

“Jesus,” he says, his voice a growl.

His hand tightens in my hair, but the other grabs the base of his dick and points the monstrosity to my face. It looks even bigger like this. I swallow and lick my lips.

He brushes the tip of his dick across the seam of my mouth, rubbing in his pre-cum like ChapStick. I shiver and look up at him again. The hungry look that met me before is replaced with lust so intense, I can almost feel it radiate off him.

“Open that pretty mouth,” he says.

I do.