The Gay Gh0stwriter - Thirst Trap Season 2 - Chapter 10

All characters engaged in sexual activity are 18 or older.

Jude

I couldn't sleep.

The bed was way more comfortable than anything I'd ever slept on, but my brain wouldn't shut the fuck up. Too much had happened in the last forty-eight hours. Too much was still happening.

I stared at the ceiling in the dark. The city glow came through the window, casting everything in pale blue light. My room. My ceiling. My life now.

Two days ago I was in Houston. Packing boxes in that shitty apartment, trying not to think about how scared I was. Now I was here. In Seattle. In Quinn's guest room that was now my room. With a MacBook and a content studio and a card that said welcome home.

I should have been happy. I was happy. But I was also... confused.

The conversation from earlier kept replaying in my head. Quinn telling me I could rearrange furniture. Telling me I could have friends over. Telling me I could bring a girl home.

Why the fuck did he say that?

I didn't want to bring a girl home. The thought hadn't even crossed my mind. And he'd said it like he was giving me permission, like he was being generous. It made something twist in my stomach.

Was that what he thought I wanted? Some random girl in my bed while he was in the next room?

The idea made me feel sick. Not because there was anything wrong with it. Because it was wrong for me. Because the only person I wanted in my bed was...

I cut the thought off before it could finish.

My hand had drifted down to my stomach without me noticing. Just resting there, fingers tracing idle patterns on my skin. I did this sometimes when I couldn't sleep. Not even sexual, just... soothing. Something to do with my hands while my brain spiraled.

I thought about Quinn. About how I could make him happy.

He'd done so much for me. The plane ticket. The room. The setup. The groceries, the card, and the way he looked at me like I was special. Nobody had ever done anything like that for me. Nobody had ever looked at me the way he did.

I wanted to give him something back. Wanted to make him happy. Wanted to...

The airport.

The memory hit me out of nowhere. Running toward him in baggage claim. Crashing into his arms. The way he'd caught me, solid and warm, like he'd been waiting his whole life to hold me.

I'd been shaking. I remembered that. Shaking against his chest while he murmured I've got you into my hair. His hands on my back, pulling me closer. The smell of him... warm and soft, that Santal 33 cologne I'd recognize anywhere.

And then I'd kissed his cheek.

I hadn't planned it. Hadn't thought about it. I'd just turned my head and pressed my lips to his skin because I couldn't not do it. Because he was there and I'd missed him so fucking much.

My hand slipped lower. Under the waistband of my boxers.

My fingers brushed through the coarse hair at the base of my dick, the patch I'd never bothered to trim. I used to try with scissors until I cut myself. I couldn't afford a trimmer so I gave up. It didn't matter. Nobody was seeing it anyway.

Except.

Except Quinn had seen it. Maybe. When I'd asked him to hand me my phone while I was in the shower last visit. He might have caught a glimpse.

I was hard now.

When had that happened?

My fingers wrapped around my dick and I sucked in a breath. I was already leaking. My head was slick with precum. I spread it down my shaft with my thumb, slow, not rushing. Letting myself enjoy it.

Seven inches. Cut. Thinner than some guys but I was a shower. My softie was easily six inches. Long enough that it made an obvious outline through sweatpants or the thin pajama pants that I always wore. That was half the appeal of my thirst traps. My dick print flopping around behind the fabric when I wasn't wearing underwear. Comments always went crazy. You both did great.

I was stroking it. And I was thinking about Quinn.

The spooning. The last night of my visit, when we'd filmed that video and he'd pulled me against his chest. I'd felt him hard behind me. His dick was thick, pressing against my ass through the thin pajama pants I was wearing. Neither of us had said anything. Neither of us had moved away.

I stroked myself faster. My hips lifted off the bed.

His thumb had traced a circle on my stomach. Just below my belly button, in my happy trail. It was light and careful, like he was testing whether I'd let him. I'd let him. I would have let him do anything.

And the lap dance.

I'd straddled him. Ground down on him while the camera recorded. It was supposed to be for content. It was supposed to be funny, playful, thirst trap shit for the algorithm. But then I'd looked into his eyes and it wasn't playful anymore. His hand had landed on my hip and suddenly I couldn't breathe.

My dick throbbed in my hand. I squeezed, groaned into the dark.

I was close. Already. Way faster than usual, more intense. My abs tensed, the V-cut lines at my hips going rigid as I arched off the mattress. Sweat prickled along my chest. My free hand gripped the sheets.

Quinn's face. Quinn's hands. Quinn's voice saying I've got you.

I came. Hard.

The first shot hit my cheek. The next hit my chest, landing just below my collarbone. The shots kept coming, streaking across my stomach. I kept stroking, emptying my balls until my cock was twitching and oversensitive and I finally had to let go.

I lay there, breathing hard. Cum cooling on my skin. Heart pounding. Brain trying to catch up with what my body had just done.

I'd jerked off thinking about Quinn.

Not some vague fantasy. Not a faceless guy. Quinn. His arms around me. His breath in my hair. His voice, his hands, his dick pressing against my ass while I pretended to sleep.

"What the actual fuck?"

I didn't have an answer.

I grabbed the t-shirt I'd thrown on the floor earlier and wiped myself off. Balled it up and tossed it into the hamper.

My heart was still racing.

I couldn't pretend this away. Couldn't explain it with I'm just secure in my sexuality or it's different when it's for content. This was me, alone in the dark, getting off to the thought of a guy holding me.

Not just any guy. Quinn.

The guy sleeping on the other side of the wall.

I pulled my boxers back up and rolled onto my side, facing away from the door. Like if I couldn't see it, Quinn couldn't sense what I'd just done from across the hall.

What the fuck was happening to me?

A month ago I was straight. Or I thought I was. I'd had a girlfriend. I'd hooked up with girls at parties. I'd never looked at a guy and thought I want that.

But I'd never felt about any girl the way I felt about Quinn.

I'd never missed anyone the way I'd missed him during that month apart. Never thought about anyone's hands on me and felt my whole body light up. Never jerked off thinking about someone holding me and came so hard I saw stars.

Maybe I wasn't straight.

The thought made my skin tingle.

Maybe I'd never been straight.

I thought about the guy at my gym back in Houston. The one I'd told myself I was just admiring. His shoulders, his arms, the way he looked when he was lifting. I'd watched him more than I admitted. Thought about him more than I admitted. Told myself it was because I wanted to look like him. That's all.

Fuck.

I pressed my face into the pillow.

Okay. Okay. So maybe I was... something else. Not straight. Bi, maybe? Or whatever. Did it matter what the word was?

It mattered because Quinn was in the next room.

It mattered because he'd offered to let me bring a girl home, which meant he thought I was straight, which meant he probably wasn't thinking about me the way I was apparently thinking about him.

Except.

Except he'd kissed me at the airport. A month ago. Right before I got on the plane. I'd kissed him first, and then he'd kissed me back, and it had felt like... fuck.

It had felt like everything.

And tonight, when I'd posted that comment, not official yet, I'd known he'd see it. I'd wanted him to see it. I'd wanted him to know that the door was open, that I wasn't closing it.

But he'd told me to bring a girl home.

So maybe I was reading this all wrong. Maybe he was just being a good friend, a good roommate, giving me space. Maybe the kisses and the spooning and the lap dances were just... content. Just the weird shit we did for TikTok.

Maybe I was alone in this.

The thought made my chest hurt.

I pulled the covers up to my chin and closed my eyes. Tried to make my brain shut up. Tried to stop thinking about Quinn's hands and Quinn's voice and the way he'd said I've got you.

Fuck.