Cuck a femboy?

The hotel room was dim, the blackout curtains doing their job a little too well. Link lay buried under a fortress of white duvets, only his tousled blond hair and the tip of his small nose visible. His bright blue eyes were glassy with fever, his tan skin flushed pink along his cheekbones. A half empty glass of water sat on the nightstand beside a crumpled tissue and an open bottle of extra strength Tylenol.

You stood near the door with your jacket in hand. Allison was already dressed, adjusting a small gold earring in the mirror by the bathroom. Link shifted under the blankets, propping himself up on one elbow with visible effort.

"You guys are going, right?" he asked, his voice small and congested, almost fragile. "You have to go. I'm serious. I didn't drag myself to Vegas to have you two babysit me in a hotel room."

Allison crossed the room and pressed the back of her hand gently against his forehead. He leaned into her touch, his blue eyes fluttering closed for a moment.

"You're burning up, baby," she murmured, her voice soft and genuinely tender.

"I know," he said with a weak little smile that crinkled his nose. "That's why I need you to leave. Go be hot and fun on the strip. Drink something expensive. Flirt with bartenders." He looked past her toward you, his gaze hazy but sincere. "Seriously, take care of her for me tonight. Make sure she actually has fun and doesn't just hover over the roulette table for four hours."

Allison laughed softly, smoothing his hair back from his damp forehead.

"I don't hover," she protested.

"You hover," he murmured, sinking back into the pillows with a dramatic little sigh. "Go. Both of you. I'm going to sleep for twelve hours and wake up beautiful and healthy. Text me if you need me but like, don't need me. Okay?"

He waved them off with a limp flick of his wrist, already pulling the blankets back up to his chin. Allison leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to his temple.

"Call if you need anything," she whispered.

"Mhm," he hummed, already half gone.

And with that, you both stepped out into the hallway, the door clicking softly shut behind you.

---

The neon pulse of the Las Vegas Strip painted the world in liquid color, a relentless rhythm of pinks, greens, and electric blues bleeding through the tinted windows of the cab. Inside, the air was cool and smelled of faint air freshener, a stark contrast to the dry heat thrumming outside.

You sat in the backseat beside Allison Ngai. She was a vision, her dark silk slip dress hugging every generous curve, a delicate gold chain resting against her collarbone. Her short wavy bob was perfectly tousled, her makeup soft and smoky. She looked over at you, her almond shaped brown eyes reflecting the city's glow.

"I still feel a little bad," she said, her voice a warm melodic hum under the cab's muted engine. "His fever spiked right after we ordered room service. The poor thing looked so miserable bundled up in all those blankets." She glanced out the window, watching the crowds flow like human rivers. "But he was so insistent. 'Go, have fun, live a little for me,' he said. How could we say no to that?"

There was a layered tone in her voice, a mix of genuine concern and something else, something simmering and low. She turned her gaze back to you, letting it linger.

"Besides, it's not often we get time like this. Just us."

The cab pulled up to a sleek unmarked door nestled between a colossal hotel and a themed casino. A velvet rope and a single imposing bouncer were the only indications of what lay within. Allison handled it with effortless grace, a murmured word, a flash of a smile, and the rope was unhooked for you both.

Inside, the club was a sensory immersion. The bass was a physical thing, vibrating up through the polished concrete floor into your bones. The lighting was low and strategic, painting the dancing crowd in strokes of deep violet and amber. Allison navigated it with calm purposeful confidence, leading you to a slightly elevated booth in a corner.

A server appeared almost instantly. Allison ordered for both of you without needing to consult a menu, something clear and strong with a twist of citrus. When the drinks arrived, she clinked her glass gently against yours.

"To unexpected freedom," she said, her eyes holding yours over the rim. She took a sip, her throat working gracefully as she swallowed.

"You know," she began, leaning in closer, her voice dropping to a confidential murmur meant only for you, "I love Link. I do. He's sweet, he's beautiful, and he needs me." She swirled the liquid in her glass, watching the ice cubes tumble. "But sometimes, need can feel like a cage. A very pretty, very comfortable cage."

Her eyes lifted to yours, the warmth in them intensifying into something sharper, captivating.

"He's asleep right now," she continued, her voice dropping even lower. "Three thousand milligrams of acetaminophen, a giant bottle of water, and the blackout curtains drawn. He won't stir until noon. He won't call. He won't text." A slow, wicked smile spread across her lips. "He told us to have fun."

She let those words hang in the bass heavy air, their implication clear and thrilling. She leaned back slightly, her gaze sweeping over your face, down to your lips, then back up.

"So here we are," she murmured, her fingertips brushing the back of your hand on the table. The touch was electric. "In a city built on secrets. In a dark club where no one knows our names." Her voice dropped to barely above a whisper. "Link will never know. That's the most intoxicating part of all, isn't it? The thought that we could do anything, and the sweet beautiful boy in room 2414 would just keep sleeping, dreaming his innocent dreams, completely unaware."

She pulled her hand back, taking another slow sip of her drink, her eyes never leaving you.

"So," Allison said, her tone shifting back to that light conversational lilt, though her eyes remained dark and intent, "what should we do with our freedom?"

The apartment was transformed. Streamers in soft pastels draped across the ceiling, catching the afternoon light filtering through the living room windows. A banner reading HAPPY BIRTHDAY LINK hung above the kitchen island where a half assembled charcuterie board sat beside rows of cupcakes with little buttercream swirls. Balloons clustered in corners, tied to chair legs and doorknobs. The dining table had been pushed against the wall to make space for dancing later, covered now with gift bags and a neatly wrapped stack of presents.

Behind you, Allison Ngai stood on her tiptoes on the kitchen stool, adjusting the banner one final time. Her dark wavy bob swayed with the movement, and the oversized off shoulder sweater she wore kept slipping down one arm, revealing the smooth honey tan skin of her collarbone. She wore it with fitted leggings that hugged her full hips, her usual effortless allure even in casual mode.

The afternoon had been a blur of coordinated chaos. You had tackled the living room while she handled the kitchen, occasionally bumping into each other in the narrow hallway between the two, laughing every time. She had stood on the counter at one point reaching for a high shelf, and you had held her waist to steady her, your hands fitting against the curve of her hips like they belonged there. Neither of you mentioned how long you held on after she was steady. At another point she had handed you scissors from across the counter, her fingers brushing yours, and you both went quiet for just a second too long before pretending it meant nothing.

Now the work was done. Streamers hung. Candles placed. A playlist titled LINK BDAY JAMS was queued up on her phone, ready to blast through the bluetooth speaker on the bookshelf. The fridge was stocked with his favorite drinks. Everything was perfect.

Allison hopped down from the stool with a soft thud, stepping back with her hands on her hips to survey the room. She nodded slowly, satisfied.

"There," she said, exhaling with a relieved smile. "Okay. I think that's everything. No wait." She darted to the kitchen island and repositioned a cupcake slightly to the left, then tilted her head, then moved it back. "Okay now everything."

She pulled out her phone and checked the time. Her brow arched.

"He doesn't get off until six. It's four fifteen." She looked up at you, a slow realization settling in her expression. "We have almost two hours."

She set her phone down on the counter and exhaled, running her fingers through her hair. The apartment was quiet now, the hum of the refrigerator filling the comfortable silence left behind after hours of hanging decorations and arguing about streamer placement. Late afternoon sun slanted golden through the windows, warming the hardwood floors in long amber stripes.

"I genuinely couldn't have done this without you," she said, leaning against the kitchen island. Her tone was warm, sincere. "Link is going to lose his mind when he walks in. He has no idea."

She crossed her arms loosely, her brown eyes tracing over the room one more time before settling back on you. There was a softness in her gaze, the kind that lingered a beat too long.

"You know what I keep thinking about?" she murmured, tilting her head slightly. "Last weekend when Link fell asleep on the couch during that movie and you and I just sat there talking for like three hours."

She bit her lower lip, a faint pink rising to her cheeks.

"I couldn't stop thinking about it after," she admitted, her voice quieter now. "About how easy it felt. How natural. Like I didn't have to perform anything. I was just... there. With you."

She pushed off the island and took a few slow steps toward you, closing the casual distance between them. Her perfume drifted toward you, something warm with vanilla undertones.

"I love planning his birthday," she said softly. "I love that man. But right now, standing here in this apartment full of streamers and cupcakes, knowing he won't be home for almost two hours..." Her eyes darkened, a flush creeping down her neck. "All I can think about is how much I want to do something I really really shouldn't."

She stopped just a breath away, looking up at you through her lashes. Her voice dropped to barely above a whisper.

"We could do anything right now. Anything at all. And Link would walk through that door in two hours, see his beautiful surprise party, hug us both, and never know." Her lips curved into something dangerous. "That thought is making me absolutely crazy."

She reached out and let her fingertips trail lightly down your forearm, feather light and deliberate.

"So," Allison murmured, her brown eyes locked on yours, her breath slightly uneven, "what do you want to do with our two hours?"

The apartment complex gym was a modest affair on the ground floor, a single room with rubber flooring, a row of machines along one wall, and a wide open stretch of mat space near the mirrors. Link Fitzgerald lay on his back in the far corner, legs folded into a happy baby pose, his slim body draped in a fitted tank top and joggers that looked too big for him. His blonde hair was damp at the temples, his blue eyes closed, his breathing slow and measured.

Allison stood at the weight rack nearby, curling a moderate dumbbell with one hand, her phone propped against the mirror playing a podcast she wasn't really listening to. She wore a matching workout set, a cropped tank and high waisted leggings in a deep burgundy that clung to her curves. Sweat glistened along her collarbone and the exposed sliver of her stomach. Her dark wavy bob was pulled back loosely, stray pieces sticking to her neck.

She finished her set and set the dumbbell down, glancing over at Link. He had transitioned into some kind of twist now, one leg crossed over the other, his face scrunched in concentration. A small satisfied hum escaped his lips as his spine cracked.

"Babe," Allison called over casually, wiping her forehead with the back of her wrist, "you good down here for a bit? I want to go shower."

"Mhm," he hummed without opening his eyes. "I've got like twenty more minutes of flow left. Take your time."

She lingered for a moment, watching him settle deeper into the stretch. His body looked impossibly graceful, every line soft and unhurried. She felt the familiar tug of affection, genuine and warm, and pushed it aside in favor of the other feeling coiling lower in her stomach.

"Okay," she said lightly. "See you up there."

She grabbed her phone and towel and headed for the elevator, her sneakers squeaking softly on the rubber floor. Link didn't look up.

---

You were sitting on the couch in the apartment, scrolling through your phone with your feet on the coffee table. The TV was on low volume playing some reality show you weren't watching. Your bedroom door was open down the hall, the bed still unmade from that morning. Three mugs sat on the counter, one yours, the other two belonging to your roommates. The apartment smelled like the lavender candle Link always lit on weekends and the faint leftover trace of the breakfast burritos you had all made together hours ago.

The front door opened and Allison stepped inside.

She was breathing harder than normal. Sweat darkened the neckline of her cropped tank and traced glistening lines down her chest, disappearing beneath the burgundy fabric. Her skin was flushed a deep rose from exertion, her cheeks and throat blotchy with heat. Her hairline was damp, loose waves clinging to her temples. She looked like she had just finished something intense, and the way her body filled the workout set, every curve highlighted by the moisture clinging to the fabric, made it difficult to look away.

She closed the door behind her and leaned against it for a moment, catching her breath. Her brown eyes found you on the couch. A slow smile spread across her flushed face.

"Hey," she said, her voice a little breathless. "Link's still downstairs doing yoga. Said he needed twenty more minutes of flow or whatever."

She pushed off the door and walked toward you, pulling the towel from around her neck and tossing it onto the counter. Every step she took left a faint sheen of warmth in the air, her scent mixing sweat and vanilla body wash and something darker underneath.

She stopped at the edge of the couch, looking down at you. Her chest rose and fell with her breathing, the crop tank clinging to the swell of her bust. A bead of sweat rolled slowly down her sternum.

"You know what I was thinking the whole time I was on that treadmill?" she asked, her voice dropping lower.

She didn't wait for an answer. She swung one leg over and settled onto the couch, straddling your lap with a deliberate slowness. The heat radiating off her body was immediate and intense. Her hands rested on your shoulders. She leaned in close enough that you could feel the damp warmth of her skin, her lips hovering near your ear.

"I was thinking about you," she whispered, her hips pressing down against yours with a slow grinding pressure. "Every single step. Every single stride. Thinking about what I'd do to you the second I got up here."

She pulled back just enough to look at you, her brown eyes half lidded and burning. Sweat dripped from her jaw onto your shirt.

"He's downstairs right now," she murmured, her voice thick and dangerous. "Breathing into his little warrior pose. Completely zen. Completely clueless." She rolled her hips again, a slow deliberate drag that made her breath hitch. "And I'm up here, sitting on your lap, soaking wet from a workout and from thinking about this."

Her fingers slid up the back of your neck, tangling into your hair. She tugged gently, tilting your head back so you were forced to look at her. The sound of their shared home hummed quietly around them, the same walls that held Link's books and her plants and your posters, all of it innocent and domestic and completely unaware of what was happening on this couch.

"So," Allison breathed, her lips brushing against yours without quite kissing, her body trembling faintly with restraint and anticipation, "do you want to get sweaty with me?"

The grocery list was pinned to Allison's phone screen, a neat column of items in her handwriting that she had snapped a photo of before they left. Bananas, chicken thighs, rice, the specific brand of oat milk Link refused to compromise on, toothpaste, dish soap. Normal domestic errands of the kind that roommates do together without thinking twice.

The drive to the store was easy. Allison drove with one hand on the wheel, the other resting on the center console, her dark wavy bob tucked behind one ear. She wore a fitted white henley with the top two buttons undone, tucked loosely into high waisted jeans that hugged her full hips. Gold hoops caught the light every time she turned her head. Her honey tan skin looked warm in the afternoon sun streaming through the windshield.

"Okay so remind me," she said, flicking on the turn signal, "did Link want the organic bananas or regular? Because last time I bought organic he said they tasted the same and I was wasting money."

You answered from the passenger seat and she laughed, shaking her head.

"Of course he did. That man will eat gas station sushi without blinking but draws the line at organic fruit."

The parking lot of the grocery store was half full, a typical Saturday afternoon spread of minivans and sedans. Allison pulled in slowly, her eyes scanning the rows. Instead of heading toward the front entrance where most cars clustered, she turned down a side aisle and drove all the way to the back corner, pulling into a spot bordered by a concrete retaining wall on one side and a row of overgrown hedges on the other. The store was visible in the distance but the spot itself felt tucked away, hidden from casual view.

She put the car in park but didn't turn the engine off. The air conditioning hummed softly. She sat there for a moment, both hands on the wheel, staring straight ahead through the windshield. Her jaw worked slightly like she was chewing on something she wanted to say.

Then she turned off the engine. The sudden silence was heavy. Just the faint tick of the cooling engine and the distant sound of a shopping cart rattling across asphalt somewhere far away.

"Hey," she said quietly, turning in her seat to face you. Her brown eyes were serious, a little flushed at the edges. "Can I tell you something?"

She didn't wait for a response.

"I've been thinking about this the entire drive here. Not the groceries. Not the list." She exhaled slowly through her nose, her fingers drumming lightly against her thigh. "You. Sitting right there. Looking like that. And me stuck three feet away pretending this is normal."

She bit her lower lip and glanced toward the rearview mirror instinctively, checking for anyone walking nearby. The hedges and concrete wall shielded them almost completely. The nearest car was fifty feet away and facing the other direction.

"Link is at home right now reorganizing his vinyl collection," she murmured, her voice dropping low and conspiratorial. "He told me to take my time. Said he'd probably be at it for hours because he needs to alphabetize by genre first and then within each genre by release date." A small breathless laugh escaped her. "He's not going to text. He's not going to call. He's in his own little world with his records and his little label maker."

She unbuckled her seatbelt and shifted closer, her knee pressing against the center console. The white henley pulled taut across her chest as she leaned toward you. Her perfume mixed with something warmer, something that had been building since she first started driving past the regular parking spots.

"Look at where I parked," she whispered, gesturing vaguely at the hedges and the concrete wall. "Do you think that was an accident?"

Her hand slid across the console and found your thigh, her fingers pressing into the muscle through the fabric of your jeans. Her eyes held yours with an intensity that made the air feel thin.

"We have a backseat," she said, her voice barely above a breath now. "And we have time. And nobody in this parking lot knows who we are or who's waiting at home organizing records."

She squeezed your thigh gently, her thumb tracing a slow circle against the seam of your jeans. Her lips parted slightly, her breathing uneven.

"So," Allison murmured, her brown eyes dark and pleading and wicked all at once, her body trembling faintly with the effort of staying still when every part of her wanted to move, "do you want to get in the backseat with me?"