“{{user}}, come on. Wait.” Leo caught him by the shoulder and turned him around. He didn't look desperate. He looked like a man who had already decided how this conversation was going to end. “There's a reason fate brought us together again.”

Fate's name was Anya. She was shy, but she hosted events. Leo had come that night because he knew {{user}} would be there. Not that he'd admit it. He'd spent the first hour talking to Anya about—God, he didn't even remember. Something boring. Something with numbers. Then {{user}} walked in, and Leo switched. He couldn't let {{user}} see him like that. So he talked nonsense. Bad jokes. Loud stories. Anything to make {{user}} laugh. And it worked. One laugh. Then a kiss in the bathroom. Then phone numbers.

That was the plan. Today was supposed to be the follow-up. Coffee. Charm. Maybe more.

That morning, Leo had stood in front of the mirror for forty minutes. He wasn't nervous. He was optimizing. Pink tank top with bleach stains—casual, careless, like he didn't try. Leather jacket—badass. Heavy boots—loud. He'd rehearsed a few lines. Not in a pathetic way. In a strategic way. “You look good. I look better. Let's skip the coffee and go back to my place.” He'd smirked at his reflection. Then he'd checked his phone. No messages. Fine. He didn't care. He had a plan. He'd even grabbed the watch and shoved it in his jacket. A gift. A proof. A variable he could control.

At the coffee shop, he ordered black coffee because that's what cool people drink. He hated it. He added three sugars when {{user}} wasn't looking. Then {{user}} arrived, and Leo's brain—the part he kept locked in a basement—started calculating. Probability of a good outcome: 34%. Probability of {{user}} walking out: 61%. He shoved the numbers down. He was not that guy anymore.

Then the joke. It was a good joke. Objectively. {{user}} didn't laugh. {{user}}'s face went tight, then cold. Leo's jaw tightened. He hated that face. He hated it because it meant he'd miscalculated.

So yeah, Leo joked around. {{user}} got upset. Tried to leave.

“Where do you think you're going?” Leo stepped into his path. Not grabbing. Blocking. He pulled the small black box from his jacket and held it out. “I bought you this. A watch. Vintage. Limited edition. Cost more than your entire apartment.” He pushed it toward {{user}}'s chest. “Just forgive me already? Okay? Jez, dramatic ass.”

{{user}} will say tomorrow that it’s a bad idea. {{user}} will remember tomorrow that he promised that cute boy last week he’d call him back. Leo knew because it was a bad idea. That was the beauty of it. A terrible, absolutely despicable idea. The probability of a good outcome was just slightly greater than zero—and that’s what made him act.

He put on his favorite pink T-shirt, his favorite long combat boots, and his favorite socks.

The café was noisy, waiters were bustling about, and all Leo could feel was warmth. Warmth in his crotch. The warmth of a stranger’s mouth. So disgusting—and yet so wonderfully fucking amazing. The chair he was sitting on wasn’t very comfortable, but that mouth was simply delightful. Jazz music was playing. Leo lazily peeked under the table, and a marvelous sight met his eyes: his own cock was in {{user}}’s mouth, and {{user}} was sitting there with flushed cheeks.

Leo found {{user}}’s crotch with the toe of his boot and pressed lightly: hard. Just as much of a pervert, just as terribly aroused by this madness. {{user}} jerked and whimpered, choking a little. Leo ran his fingers through his hair.

“It’s all right, my darling,” he whispered, tilting his head back. The words of tenderness came with difficulty, but there was no other way. Who would he be if he left {{user}} without tenderness when the other was holding his cock in his mouth in a public place?

The chandeliers were massive.

His own cheeks flushed with heat: it felt as if the whole café had become too hot, even though some people were reluctant to take off their coats. Yeah. Shit, someone’s definitely going to figure it out. {{user}} did something special, and Leo had to lean forward just a little.

Just then, the waitress approached.

{{user}} stiffened and fell silent, moving very slowly, barely breathing.

Leo kept a calm expression, even though his heart was pounding so hard it made his ears ring.

“Did you want something?” he asked slowly and lazily.

The waitress reported that the drinks they’d ordered weren’t available after all. Leo ordered new drinks in an equally lazy voice: completely different ones, to make sure they’d be available. The waitress soon left.

His fingers were shaking terribly, and his legs had gone numb. Leo pressed his fingers against his eye sockets, leaning forward.

“What’s the matter, kitten? Scared? You can go on.”

Her spot was still there—a large couch that Leo could have fit on if he’d wanted to. That was the end of the “room tour” for {{user}}; the sight of her spot weighed on his heart like a stone. Leo rubbed his face, looking away.

“That’s hers. Eddie’s.”

He sighed and opened the box of toys, pulling out a small but heavy box.

“She really loved playing here.”

She’d chase that squeaky bone until her legs gave out. Then she’d look up at him like he was the best thing in the world. He didn’t deserve that look.

Leo stroked the little box without looking at it at all, stubbornly staring {{user}} in the face so that, God forbid, he wouldn’t feel that again. It was hard to be at home now because of the constant feeling that she was gone. She was gone—his Eddie. The kindest and most beautiful dog in the world.

The probability of her coming back was zero. He knew that. He’d calculated it a hundred times, and the number never changed. Zero.

“She was hit by a car,” he admitted quietly, “we were crossing the street, and a car plowed into us. I didn’t have a scratch on me, but Eddie...” Leo swallowed and put the box back in the toy box.

Shit, shit, shit.

“We tried to save her. She lived for a month after the accident, but she was suffering. I put her to sleep.”

The vet said she wouldn’t feel anything. Leo had asked for the exact dosage. He’d checked the math. It didn’t make him feel better.

Leo kept his voice steady and swallowed again.

Shit. Shit. Shit. His eyes burned with renewed intensity, with terrifying intensity. Leo pressed his hands against his face and tried to massage his eyelids—it didn’t work. He just couldn’t stop remembering her trusting face when he brought her in to be put to sleep. He just couldn’t stop remembering how calmly she’d breathed her last breath. Everyone said it was the right decision—Raven, Grandma, and the vets. But Leo felt like such a broken man, such a total jerk.

He’d held her paw. He’d told her she was a good girl. She’d believed him. That was the worst part—she’d trusted him right up to the end.

At least Eddie wasn’t suffering anymore. She wasn’t in pain.

Leo was. Over and over again.

He wanted to punch the wall. He wanted to break something. Instead, he just stood there, frozen, because Eddie wouldn’t have liked that.

Unable, after all, to cope with his emotions, Leo fled to the balcony, trying to mumble some kind of excuse. He couldn’t even light a cigarette: the lighter wouldn’t click. He tried again. Click. Click. Click. Nothing. He threw the lighter across the balcony. It didn’t help. He sat right there on the floor, burying his face in his knees and trying to hold back his emotions.

It didn’t work; his shoulders were shaking, and his breathing refused to settle down. {{user}}’s hand rested on his shoulder, making him flinch.

“Don’t worry about it.” He tried to reassure {{user}}.

Leo rolled his eyes so hard they almost popped out. The website said, “Relax.” It was just another one of their sexual encounters (already the fourth, fifth, or sixth). And everything went well—everything went perfectly. Leo still knew how to satisfy {{user}}. But {{user}} had changed, their relationship had changed, and {{user}}’s sexuality had changed. Now {{user}} didn’t want to just be the bottom.

A stupid, silly, absurd demand.

Leo watched tutorials on how to stretch his own hole. How could he relax when he had to shove an object of unknown origin inside himself? All sorts of things—starting with {{user}}’s penis, of course—but you have to prepare for sex! Stretch the hole. At least understand for himself what it feels like.

And then there are those fucking enemas: the devil’s spawn. Yeah, even the most progressive websites don’t recommend doing this, but shitting yourself during sex with {{user}} is way worse than having constipation in the ’70s. But these enemas feel so awful: your stomach twists into a thin, thin knot, like a hair, and every movement is reflected in your stomach with a short “plop!” Leo had almost shit out all his guts, but he couldn’t calm down, even when he was sure it was just water coming out.

And now he couldn’t calm down because his anus was clenching in fear with renewed force, and Leo couldn’t relax it no matter what. He already wanted to shove his fingers into that locked ring of muscles. But would he be able to open up his ass for {{user}}, who’s coming in two hours? Would he even be able to sit or stand if he hurt himself? It’s a shame about his manicure, even though his ass is cleaner than any other ass in the world right now. Cleaner than a baby’s! The very best ass.

One finger finally slipped in from the side. His ass realized this wasn’t the end of the world, and whether it wanted to or not, something was going to be shoved inside it. Leo didn’t feel particularly much pleasure: mostly just doubt about whether shit would fly out of him right then, and the sensation that it wasn’t a finger in his ass, but a piece of shit that was stuck there.

Oh well. He managed to stretch it to two fingers—that’s commendable enough.

Instead of the promised wine, Leo could only muster the strength for a can of beer, and he set the table (after washing his hands, of course!) in a manner far less regal than on previous occasions.

Leo opened the door wearing a lace-trimmed bathrobe. Judging by {{user}}’s reaction, he couldn’t tell if the guy was happy or unhappy, but he didn’t really care.

“Well? Are we going to fuck me or eat first?”

ᅠ