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CHAPTER 7

LOTS OF BUTTS

TOMMY

Tommy climbed into his car late on Thursday afternoon, his body aching in places he’d never been sore before. He wasn’t a slacker; he was an ex-college athlete who still liked to move and work out. He didn’t mind having a tight body that people in the gym stopped to look at, either.

But being sore on the backs of his knees? The tops of his feet? That was fucking new, and even after spending half of his lunch break on the foam roller while he scarfed down a sandwich, his muscles were still smarting.

Chuck was a good teacher. It was hard for Tommy to let go of the fact that he was so embarrassingly bad at something, but if there were any of his friends who he trusted to not be a dick about his struggles in the pool, it was Chuck.

Sometimes, it felt like Chuck was too good for this world. Too kind, too thoughtful, too giving.

It still blew Tommy’s mind that a man like Chuck was single. Hell, if he were into dudes, Chuck would be exactly the kind of man he’d want in his life.

Tommy guzzled the last of his water as he drove on autopilot toward Chuck’s house. He had a grocery bag full of sweet potatoes and spices and a container of his famous white chocolate macadamia nut cookies. It was his mom’s recipe, but she was all the way up in Minnesota and he was the one baking them, so he’d take the credit.

Making cookies was one of those things he’d done when he was married, another habit he hadn’t been able to turn off after his divorce. He’d had years to build patterns with someone else: he was the one who deep cleaned the bathrooms and made sure there were cookies in the jar, while she’d been the one to sweep the kitchen and wash their sheets.

Too bad he’d been putting his effort into all of the wrong things: booking Courtney a weekend at a spa when what she’d really wanted was a weekend with him. Taking her to Paris for a week when all that his ex-wife had wanted was for him to slow down and ask about her day.

It still hurt to think of how badly he’d missed the mark in his marriage.

But now, rather than craving Courtney specifically, he just craved having somebody . He missed having someone to direct all of his energy and care towards.

At least work was crazy, which didn’t leave much time for pacing his empty apartment or thinking. Rick had been on a tear for the past week after their region had dropped in sales numbers. He had Tommy and the rest of the area managers scrambling to get more cars on rent, like there was anything they could actually do to convince people to rent more cars. But Tommy did what was asked of him. He dropped off fliers and discount cards at local hotels, visited the auto body shops that sent them business, and called the local companies that rented their cars for employees.

As Rick kept reminding him, there was a promotion on the line, and every day, every call, every meeting, mattered.

It was a relief to pull up to Chuck’s house. Golden light filtered through the blue curtains, and it looked like a home. A real home.

“Honey, I’m home!” Tommy shouted as he stashed his shoes and jacket and pulled off his tie.

He carried the bag of groceries and box of cookies into the kitchen, finding Chuck sitting at his long, wooden dining room table with his laptop in front of him.

“Hey,” Chuck said, not looking up from the screen.

“What’re you working on?” Tommy grabbed a beer from the fridge, turned on the oven to preheat, and got out a cutting board and knife to slice the sweet potatoes. He took a long swig from the beer bottle and then got to work chopping.

“Work. I’ve got a few recruiting trips coming up to check out some of the bigger high school meets. Trying to get my flights locked in.”

Tommy finished prepping the potatoes, sprinkling them with his favorite spicy Cajun seasoning and spreading them out on a baking sheet. Sliding them into the hot oven, he went over and plopped down next to Chuck.

“Want me to get the grill going?”

Chuck cursed under his breath. “Shit. Sorry. If you could, that'd be amazing.”

Tommy looked at him, at how tired his blue eyes looked. He reached out on instinct, giving Chuck’s freckled arm a squeeze. Chuck’s eyes darted down to where Tommy touched him, before looking back up, a question in his gaze.

“I got you. Do what you need to do and then chill. I’ll do dinner.”

“You sure?”

Tommy squeezed one more time, registering the warmth of Chuck’s skin under his palm before letting go and pushing up to stand. “Like I said, man. I got you.”

Flipping burgers on the grill in Chuck’s backyard was exactly what Tommy needed. He stashed his phone in his pocket and let himself slowly relax in the quiet of the evening. Crickets and cicadas were loud at that time of year. The tall trees blocked most of the light from the street, and it felt a little bit like Chuck’s yard was someplace removed from the rest of the world.

A rustling sound pulled his attention from the grill. Tommy’s gaze shot to the shrubs on the edge of the patio. Grabbing his phone from his back pocket, he turned on the flashlight and shone it toward the bushes.

There . There it was.

Glittering dark eyes. A pointed pink nose at the tip of a white snout, and little gray ears.

“Ah, fuck,” he muttered, watching as the creature scuttled away from the light, disappearing under the deck. He shuddered as the long, hairless tail slithered out of view.

Turns out Leonard, as Chuck had named the creature living under his house, wasn’t a raccoon. He was a fucking possum.

“Dude,” Tommy said as he carried their plates into the living room. Chuck was already sprawled out on the couch with his pale forearm flung over his face. One of his long legs was stretched out on the floor while the other rested on top of the couch. “I saw Leonard.”

Chuck lifted his head. “Seriously?”

“Yep. And he’s not a raccoon.”

“What?” Chuck pushed himself into an upright position, his hair sticking up in the back where he’d been laying on the couch. Tommy had to admit that he liked it like that. “Then what the fuck is he?”

“A possum.” Tommy set their plates down on the table and took the empty side of the couch.

“You mean an opossum ?”

Tommy shrugged. “What’s the difference?”

“ Possums are native to Australia and opossums are the ones we have here in North America.”

“Why the fuck do you know that?”

“A research project back in middle school.”

“Well,” Tommy said, popping a fry into his mouth. “I don’t care what’s correct, because I’ve never, in my whole life, heard anyone call that animal an opossum .”

“Fine. We can call Leonard a possum if it makes you happy. Either way, he’s a problem for future Chuck,” he mumbled, grabbing a fry and dipping it in ketchup before popping it into his mouth. “Thanks for cooking.”

Tommy shrugged as he grabbed his plate. “It’s nothing. I like doing shit like this, you know.”

Chuck nodded. “I know.” He pointed one of his toes toward the TV. “ Spartacus ?”

“Let’s do it.”

* * *

“Hey T?”

“Hm?”

Tommy’s eyelids were getting heavy, but he couldn’t imagine moving. He was too comfortable.

“Do you mind if I paint my nails while we watch?”

Tommy looked over at him. “Why would I mind?”

Chuck shrugged, his gaze cast down.

“Dude, go for it. Honestly, I want to see how you do it.”

Chuck’s expression shifted to one of amusement. “I’ll be right back.”

He came back a moment later with a little wicker basket. He settled back onto the couch, grabbing what Tommy recognized as a nail file. Splaying one of his hands on his thigh, Chuck started to work on his nails.

Tommy only had one eye on the show, most of his attention on Chuck’s long, thin fingers. Once he’d shaped his short nails, he briefly buffed them, before picking out a rich, royal blue color. His movements were slow and meticulous, each pass with the brush leaving a perfect stripe of color.

“You’re really good at that,” Tommy mused as Chuck finished. When Chuck went to screw the cap back on, Tommy reached over, taking over the task. “I got it,” he said to Chuck. “You don’t want to mess them up before they dry.”

Chuck blinked, looking at Tommy with a deep furrow between his brows.

Tommy didn’t know what he’d done, but figured moving on was the best bet. He put the bottle in the basket and then turned back to the TV. “So who’s the hottest?”

Chuck made an amused noise as he waved his splayed hands in the air. “I mean, all of their bodies are ridiculous. But Gannicus,” he tilted his head to the side. “He’s hot. And obviously Spartacus. And the Doctore. He’s beautiful.”

Tommy frowned at the screen, watching the training sequence playing out. The gladiators were barely covered by loin cloths and their muscles gleamed and flexed with every movement. “I can see it,” he said, nodding.

They went quiet, and the scene changed. As soon as Tommy saw the torchlight and heard the change in the music, he knew they were in for a sex scene. One of the scenes where the rich Romans and their gladiators and slaves got down in a way that was undeniably fucked up but also hot.

Very fucking hot.

He shifted in his seat as he felt a throb between his legs.

He watched as clothes were dropped, and bare asses and naked tits were revealed. Shit. His dick was getting hard .

Crossing his legs worked. Sort of. At least his boner wasn’t there on display.

He glanced over at Chuck, and his lungs froze when he saw Chuck biting down on his lower lip, his eyes fixed on the scene playing out on the screen.

Swallowing, Tommy turned back to the screen. “So,” he said, needing to say something, to break whatever was causing his breath to feel stuck in his throat. “What makes an ass hot?”

What the fuck was that?

Tommy tried to backtrack. “I mean, there are a lot of asses up there. You know. On the screen. Butts of all sizes and colors. Lots of butts.”

Men were thrusting into men and women were on women’s laps, mouths on tits and mouths on mouths and fuck me, Tommy was hard, but all he could do was stare at the screen while he waited for Chuck to say something, the slapping bodies and moans amplified on the surround sound.

Jesus Christ. Come on, Chuck. Please say something.

“Uh.” Chuck’s voice sounded breathless. “A lot of things. Shape, muscle tone, that kind of shit. Probably the same stuff you look for in a woman’s ass.”

Tommy nodded. “Sure, I guess. But I like a big, wide and soft ass on a woman. I want it to have a mind of its own, ya know?”

Chuck made a high-pitched sound Tommy thought might be a laugh. “Definitely haven’t seen a dude with an ass like that,” he said. “I guess I like an ass that’s strong. Tight when flexed, but, um, has a little bit of bounce when it’s relaxed.”

“Huh.” Tommy looked back at the screen. “Interesting.”

Again, Chuck let out a quiet laugh. “Is it interesting?”

Tommy glanced over at his friend. Fuck, was he making him uncomfortable? “Sorry. Am I being weird?”

Chuck shook his head and shrugged, a small smile on his face. “It’s a little bit weird. I just don’t know why you care.”

“I,” Tommy started, but then he actually thought about it and stopped. Why the fuck did he care? Did he ask his other friends about what they liked in women? Sure. But he didn’t go around asking his straight friends what kind of vaginas they were into. He cringed.

All of the lights were off, so when he shifted to face Chuck, his friend’s freckled face was illuminated by the sliding flashes of light from the TV screen. But Tommy ignored that, directing all of his attention on the man beside him.

“Hey, I’m sorry,” he started. “Really, I think that I just…I want to understand you and all of this, because even though David is your best friend, you’re mine.” Chuck’s mouth twitched. “All this time I thought I knew what it meant to be your friend, but now I know there’s a whole other part of you I don’t know yet.”

Chuck rolled his head to the side, looking over at Tommy with a soft look on his face. “You’re already a good friend, Tommy.”

The light in the room shifted as the screen went dark, the music shifting as the dimmer light of the credits started to scroll.

“Another?” Tommy said, reluctant to leave.

“Nah, it’s getting late.”

Tommy glanced at his phone and frowned. “It’s only nine, man.”

Chuck scrubbed his hands over his face, and Tommy noticed his cheeks were flushed. “I’m pretty tired.”

“Well, let’s at least start another one, and if you pass out, I’ll get everything locked up and put a blanket over you before I head out.” It was no big deal. He’d done it for Chuck before.

Chuck let out a loud sigh. “Tommy.”

“What?”

“Go home.”

Hurt flared in his gut, followed immediately by panic. “What? Did I do something?”

“Dude,” Chuck said again, drawing the word out like Tommy was missing something obvious. “I need you to get the fuck out of my house because I’m horny from watching this shit and need to jack off.”

Oh. Oh .

Tommy jumped to his feet. “Right. My bad. I’m out, then. See you for the game this weekend?”

Chuck didn’t look at him as he nodded.

Tommy made quick work of grabbing his things, barely pausing to shout a “Later” before he was out the door and climbing into his car. He tossed his things into the back seat and started the ignition.

He could ignore his hard dick.

* * *

Tommy made it about half a block before his brain circled back to the fact that Chuck had kicked him out of the house so he could masturbate.

Chuck. Masturbating.

Tommy swallowed. Cleared his throat, self-conscious, like there was someone else inside his head watching how he couldn’t let go of that image.

Was Chuck the kind of guy who went after it quick and dirty, like he was trying to get it over with? Or would he draw out his pleasure, working himself to the edge and then easing off, again and again until he lost it?

Tommy went to unbutton his shirt but the first three buttons were already undone. Instead he adjusted the vents, sending a blast of cold air onto his flushed face.

Fuck, he was hot all over, and he wasn’t dumb enough to believe it was because of anything other than the fact that he knew his best friend was getting off.

He was sweating and his dick throbbed because Chuck McCormac was probably working his own dick with one of his long-fingered hands tipped with blue nail polish. He probably had that long neck thrown back against the couch cushions, maybe his mouth was all soft and pouty, and maybe?—

“Fuck,” Tommy muttered.

He didn’t know what to do with this. What was he supposed to do with his body going fucking rogue? All he knew was he was suddenly hard up and hurting for how bad he needed to come.

When he saw an empty parking lot up ahead Tommy reacted, pulling in and heading straight for the far corner, where the last spot was tucked under the shadow of a large tree and surrounded on two sides by pruned shrubs.

The second his car was in park, Tommy was unfastening his pants, shoving his boxers down and freeing his hard dick.

Fuckkkk , it felt good when he wrapped his hand around his erection. It wasn’t what he craved, but he wasn’t even sure he knew how to articulate what it was his body screamed for. He gripped himself, squeezing the flared head and sliding his thumb across the slit, grabbing the bead of moisture there and spreading it down his shaft.

He began to stroke, his body burning like he was a horny teenager again. He was close already, too close, but how was he supposed to stop when he needed it this bad?

His ass flexed as he thrust into his tight fist like he was fucking someone, fucking a body that was hard and lean and freckled and?—

Tommy’s choked groan was too loud in the silence of his car, but the sharp pleasure wiped every give-a-fuck from his head as he came so hard everything got a little too bright and painful.

He was still catching his breath a few moments later as he did his best to clean himself with a tissue from the box he kept in the back seat.

Okay. So. That just happened.

His mind grew crowded with questions and what the fuck just happened ’s. It was too much to process in the corner of an abandoned parking lot.

He didn’t know what to think.

One thing he did know: the thought of his best friend jacking off had lit him up from the inside out. It had turned him on so much that he hadn’t been able to make it home before getting himself off.

Another thing he knew? He was already imagining doing it again.