Pent Up

by Damon Suede

  “You boys wanna dance?”

  Together. Ruben held his face steady, eyes on his boss.

  A smile floated on Andy’s thin lips. “Do we?” He looked to Ruben. “Well, I always wanna dance. And maybe Rube’s too shy to ask.”

  She tipped her head at a wide run of stairs that ran up to the mezzanine. Blue neon cursive spelled out “Champagne.”

  Even though it was her job, it felt nice to have a hot lady flirting with him. Ruben was no pretty boy. Never had been. A lot of Hispanic guys had the slick caramel skin and soft eyes that stirred up all kinds of pussy pudding, but not him. He never admitted it out loud, but it made him an easy mark. Luckily he had no gold to dig.

  “Nah. Here’s fine.” He looked at Ruben. “We don’t wanna move, do we?”

  The fuck? Ruben straightened. With an audience? His stomach clenched with rollercoaster jitters. Did Andy want him to watch him get off? Did he want to watch Ruben? Out here? Maybe this was just more bullshit show, part of the “buddies” ruse.

  Trish huffed and rolled her eyes. “Bauer, you got some kinda nerve.” She looked between them. “I swear.”

  Ruben started to shake his head.

  Andy sold her with the dimple. “Please.”

  Trish gave in the same second Ruben did. Both of them there on Andy’s dime. Andy Bauer had no fucking idea what it took to survive in the real world without parents who could bail you out of jail at a distance. Andy had never wanted something he couldn’t afford. Never needed anything he didn’t get. Never gone hungry in his life.

  Tough shit, Oso.

  Andy nudged Ruben, breathing Scotch in his face. “We’d both like a dance, if you’re game.”

  “Game? I’m Monopoly, baby.” She winked. “Roll those big dice.”

  Ruben shook his head. “No, I’m good.” Again the sense he was being hauled up a long slow slope before the tracks plunged.

  “Don’t believe him.” Andy laughed and she winked. He jerked a thumb at Ruben. “Bad to the boner, he is.”

  Rollercoaster was right. He couldn’t stop it but he could buckle up and keep his hands inside the car.

  Andy looked at her, but his flirty words were for Ruben. “We know how to share.”

  Ruben ground his teeth on his lust, guilt, and sarcasm. Irrational anger got mixed in there somehow. The muscle at his jawline flexed.

  Whoomp crack. Whoomp ca-crack. The DJ bent the rhythm toward something funky and slower. Heavy bass boomed at the walls and floor. “I know this song,” he muttered to no one.

  Trish flipped her wavy hair back, and Andy spread his legs to give her room to work, pressing his hard thigh against Ruben’s.

  “Nobody loves you like me….” Bass shook the walls from a funky cover of the old Etta James song. Turned it into a raunchy R&B groove with a throbbing baseline under a woman spitting and growling out impossible promises in four-four time. “Nobody, no-no-no.”

  Trish got right into that mess, straddling his right and Andy’s left leg and sandwiching both limbs between her slick thighs. Her body twisted and flicked like a flag.

  Whoomp-a crack. Whoomp ca-crack.

  Trish undulated against them, grinding her pubic bone against their pressed thighs.

  Andy gasped next to him, and Ruben tried to ignore the sound and the hard length of that muscle pressed against his. In his forty-one years, he’d never had a three-way. He’d always fantasized about two chicks, but for the first time he could see the appeal of sharing someone hungry with a buddy, the dirty camaraderie like drunken touch football in the mud.

  Ruben’s cock had risen into juicy iron. He felt manipulated and honest at the same time.

  His tattered breathing flapped in his lungs and throat. His arms gripped the back of the banquette and he kept them locked there. Her grinding trapped the blunt, smeary head of his cock against his hairy belly in his fancy new suit. He was about three squeezes from dumping his sauce sitting next to his white-bread boss.

  “No. Body. Loves. You.”

  Maybe erections were contagious as yawns. Once you saw someone else’s yours followed suit.

  He ignored the pressure of her implants against his chest, because they creeped him out, but she smelled nice, and he hadn’t boned up over a woman or gotten laid in long enough that he’d started to worry about himself. And he wasn’t about to think about the dreams he’d been having or about Andy sitting next to him.

  Not even the girl. She was hot, but to be honest the thing that pulled his trigger was Andy forced to watch him be a stud. Ruben didn’t need to pay for it because he looked like the kinda guy this girl wanted to keep around: big, rough, scary. His tongue darted over his lip like a cautious animal.

  “Like I do. Nobody-no-no.”

  A hand squeezed his upper leg with sharp, ticklish pressure all of two inches from his trapped rod. Andy’s hand must have slipped off the arm of the chair and clamped on the first solid object, in this case Ruben’s quadriceps. If he so much as slipped he’d grab a handful of leaky sausage.

  Ruben coughed and turned his head to mutter, “Uh, boss.”

  “Yeah.” Andy grimaced and released his grip. “Sorry.”

  Nuh-no. No. No-body.

  Across the table Elliot was whooping it up and egging Trish on with raunchy glee. The clients had returned. Christy had a leg thrown over her husband’s and was whispering at him while they watched.

  All a show… a rollercoaster Andy wanted them to ride together in front of the Lamptons for whatever reason. The gun was a prop. If Andy Bauer wanted him to play up the good time they were having, it was the least he could do.

  Ruben tried to focus on the girl-the girl-the girl, but Andy’s side pressed against his right. His arm tensed and relaxed behind Ruben’s neck in a slow pulse. One of them was a drowning man and the other would pull them both under.

  He might not be into her, but obviously Andy & Co. loved the show he was putting on, so he played it up. Dragging his stubble over her skin and groaning at the sweet filth she lick-whispered into his ear.

  “But if you don’t choose / It’s me you’re gonna lose.”

  Even with his lap full of her ass, Ruben kept noticing the hard press of Andy’s leg against his and the dull warmth of that loose arm behind his neck. Almost like college buddies or teammates. Locker room slap-n-tickle. For a moment, he pretended they were two financial whiz kids out on the town sharing sushi and bodyshots. Partners at the same firm. Brothers in the same frat. Colombia and Columbia, right? Looker, leaper.

  His cock flexed on the edge, involuntary spasms that made Ruben hold his breath. He fought to keep his hips still and let Trish do the work.

  A few inches to his right, Andy made a soft, strangled sound. His leg shook, knee bouncing as he rolled his head back to let the girl get closer, baring his throat and the underside of his square jaw. The hair at his temples soaked dark and cheeks flushed pink. He looked ready to blow too.

  No-body’s gonna love you. Not like me. Nobody’s gonna want you. Not like me.

  Andy whiteknuckled the back of the booth. The arm around Ruben’s shoulder flexed hard, and Andy made a low strangled grunting sound in the back of his throat that he obviously couldn’t control.

  At that, Ruben stopped fighting and fell over the hot, slippery edge and blasted inside his shorts. Thick semen surge-surge-surged onto his belly in a scalding puddle so hot it felt like a severed artery.

  Nobody loves you, baby.

  He ground his molars hard and tried not to wheeze as cum slid back down to the base of his cock. His impatient load kept coming and coming, almost comical in its volume. Because it was hands-free, the contractions of the hard ridge behind his sack seemed slow and endless, keeping brutal time to the dubstep bassline as his balls turned themselves inside out with Andy beside him.

  Not. Like. Me.

  Ruben exhaled slowly, absurdly pleased with himself at cutting loose after so long. He wasn’t an old man. If a guy couldn’t blow a wad in a strip club he might a
s well go get himself buried.

  But when his eyes could focus again and he turned to look, Andy’s were closed, and he was chuckling low and stupidly nine inches away. Christy Lampton stood with a cocktail, grinning at him lazily, and Elliot had lipstick on his neck. He nodded drunkenly.

  In their laps, Trish giggled and hiccupped, covering her mouth. The sound made Ruben smile, but his stomach knotted.

  Either Andy was trying to get his homo fuck on or that had been some kind of performance for the Lamptons’ benefit. Ruben couldn’t tell which.

  Fake badassery with Ruben costarring as a fake badass. Nothing to guard and no danger. Had Andy used him to entertain these clients? An imaginary slug crawled over his dick. Had Andy pimped him out so the Lamptons could feel powerful and perverse in the big bad city?

  Andy whistled. “How do you do that?”

  “Every man on earth wants a good girl who’ll be bad just for him.” Trish straightened and ran her hands down her lush body. She stroked Ruben’s cheek. “And every woman wants a bad boy who’ll be good just for her, huh?” With a flick of her weave, she was gone, peachy ass and all.

  Andy’s thigh flexed against his. “Well, that was neighborly.”

  Christy Lampton swayed and giggled. “Mmh.”

  “Nice woman.” Ruben’s voice came out rougher than expected.

  Andy grinned. “She pays her taxes.”

  Elliot watched her cross the club, his eyes hot. “Pretty too.”

  “She loves couples. If you two don’t have to be up in the morning.”

  “We certainly do not. Thanks, buddy.” Elliot shook their hands and Christy bussed their cheeks before haring off in pursuit of Trish on the mezzanine. Lampton’s gun was gone, at least.

  Ruben tried to read Andy’s face. “We good?”

  “We’ve gotta table at Marquee if we want it. Hope booked us for bottle service.” He glanced at Ruben. “Electro DJ. If you feel like dancing. We could pick up some company.”

  Ruben shifted in his seat and swallowed, superconscious of the starchy wad staining his pants. Unable to help himself, he clocked the matching load on Andy’s inseam. “Usually, yeah. Hard to secure a space that big.”

  “Maybe not tonight.” Andy didn’t look down at Ruben’s lap, which was as obvious as pointing and snickering.

  Did Andy want to party with him? “Maybe.”

  As they stood, Andy gripped his shoulder hard, sending an electric pang down his right side and standing his hair on end. Ruben stared back, refusing to blink or react. Fuck you. He fought the urge to twist free or jerk the hand up into a half nelson or knee his dumb boss in the gut.

  Just as suddenly, Andy let go and that side of his body went warm and soft as blood rushed to the muscles. Must be some kind of ninja pressure point. Mamadou appeared with the bill so Andy could scrawl on it and mutter something thankful.

  Ruben rolled that shoulder. The tingle stayed.

  They moved slowly, cautiously.

  All the way back to the door, Andy passed out the twenties again like a greenback footpath that granted them passage. As subtly as he could, Ruben flexed the fingers on that hand, trying to get rid of the foamy tingle Andy left there. He tried to focus on the positive. Free dinner, nut busted, and he got to go home and sleep in a ten-thousand dollar bed he never had to make.

  Andy blinked slowly. He’d gotten himself plastered again. He wasn’t a drunk, but he definitely used alcohol inappropriately now and again.

  Just because he drank didn’t make him an alcoholic like Ruben. For some people, liquor made things easier. Not Ruben. As they stepped outside, he could hear Peach’s menthol rasp: You and me, we’re drunks, kiddo. Instant assholes, just add booze.

  Not drinking sucked.

  ON SIXTIETH, they waited awkwardly in the muggy night air for the limo to make the block and then climbed aboard in strained silence.

  The wet spot in Ruben’s pants had started to dry, leaving a patch of his pubes glued uncomfortably to his abdomen. The pungent smell of cum filled the backseat, starchy and sour, but that was probably paranoia. Of course if it wasn’t his crazy load, it might be Andy’s.

  Gross. Or at least, he tried to think of it as gross, but his stomach refused to turn over, and the musky perfume turned him on a little.

  His brother woulda joked about it and called it natural. Marisa woulda made him take a shower instantly. For his part, the relief was so strong he couldn’t feel anything but grateful for the salty, soupy pong.

  When they turned onto Park, Andy finally said, “Dude, this whole damn car smells like jism.” He took a deep breath. “Or we do.” He sniffed and laughed as he exhaled.

  Ruben choke-laughed and nodded. The honesty felt like relief.

  “Qué paja.” Andy rested his conspiratorial gaze on Ruben again. “Jesus, was I backed up. Been too long by half.”

  Ruben looked away. “Yeah.” Tell me about it.

  The car stopped, and their driver hopped out to pop the door for them.

  Ruben straightened and climbed out onto the sidewalk.

  Andy did too. “You’re a fucking wild man.” He made it sound like a joke. “Not so straitlaced when we get you revved, huh?”

  “Good thing I’m sober.” Ruben led the way through the lobby.

  “No doubt. Hunnerd percent.” Andy giggled and closed his eyes, then snorted in wistful agreement. “You musta been wild when you boozed around.” He punched the button for the penthouse.

  “Not pretty, that’s for sure.”

  Andy looked up. “Not like that, Ruben. I didn’t—I meant you’re fun is all. Not that you should get drunk. Fuck, that’s not what I mean.”

  A long, uncomfortable silence puddled around them as the elevator climbed. Inside his head, Peach scolded him with slogans and urged him to make his exit like she was Jewish Jiminy Cricket.

  When the door opened, Ruben turned toward his room.

  “Don’ have to go to bed.”

  “It’s late. You’re plastered. Probably a quart of Scotch.”

  “Sorry. Sorry. I’m sorry, man.” Andy patted and shushed him. “Sober up. I gotta shower.”

  “Good idea.”

  Ruben didn’t offer to help. That was something. And he did walk a few paces to the hall door. That was something else. But before he could escape, Andy shucked his suit right there. Balls naked, every smooth inch of him heavy with the same untanned Ken-doll muscle that Ruben had no business wanting. No shame or awkwardness. The plump, beige dangle of his dick drew Ruben’s eyes and held them till he blinked to look away. “Whoa-kay, yeah. I’m gonna go to bed.”

  “Two secs. Two secs.” Andy nodded at nothing and went into the bathroom. Something fell.

  Ruben sat down on the perfect bed. He toed off his hot loafers and wiggled his toes. The quiet whisper of the shower jets pelting granite with water.

  A yelp from the bathroom and a wet tumble.

  Without thinking, Ruben stood. “Andy?”

  A low mumble. “Fell. Fine.”

  Ruben’s feet moved on autopilot.

  Sure enough, Andy was on the shower floor, trying to raise himself. Wet and naked. His cock bounced half-hard against his thigh.

  Be normal. Act normal.

  Ignoring the spray on his suit, Ruben stepped into the shower and crouched to lift his boss. “C’mon.”

  “Idiot. Sorry,” Andy whispered and let Ruben maneuver him out of the shower. “I’m getting you wet.”

  “Business expense.” At least he wasn’t wearing his shoes.

  Andy stared at the floor. “M’okay.” A cough.

  “You need to rinse.”

  Nod.

  “You manage on your own?”

  Pause. “Mm-mmh.” Headshake.

  Ruben took off his wet jacket. His shirt was plastered against his skin. He was already sweating in the steamy room, but things were gonna get nuts if he wasn’t careful. “I dunno.”

  “You know plenty.” Shiver. “I shouldn’t drink like this
around you.”

  Ruben’s front was already soaked, so he just put an arm around Andy’s back and steered him into the shower, leaving the door open. “Stand.” As if showering his naked boss was standard operating procedure.

  Andy pressed his hands against the granite. The muscles of his back bunched and softened. A drop of water followed his spine to the impossible glossy curve of his high, square ass onto his hamstring, side of the knee, calf, ankle. Andy’s legs flexed as his weight shifted. At the base of his spine, those insane dimples shifted.

  Ruben swallowed. Fast. Just go fast. He took the shower head and tested the water with his hand. Twenty seconds tops. He directed the pelting spray at soapy skin, keeping his hands to himself. Whatever soap didn’t come off could stay there tonight.

  “Ungh.” Andy grunted and rolled his head forward. “Good.”

  “You’re drunk, boss.” Almost there.

  Andy nodded. “M’sorry.” His mouth was open and water sheeted off his lips onto the floor.

  Ruben’s trousers were soaked and warm water skimmed down his legs underneath.

  “So fucking good.” Andy twisted to let the spray pound him.

  Ruben was working toward a boner but couldn’t stop himself. The combo of the Sears-dad face and moans of guttural pleasure did something funny to his insides. All kinds of wrong. “Let’s get the shampoo out and we’re done. Close your eyes.”

  Andy turned to face Ruben with his lids shut, his mouth loose, and his head tipped forward. Trust. His dick was half-stiff, which might have meant anything.

  Ruben passed the spray over Andy’s skull, and suds clopped to the stone floor. His hair splashed dark and flattened against his brow.

  The hot water bounced between them, and Andy’s balance was none too steady. Ruben didn’t dare look down for fear he’d learn something irrevocable.

  “Keep ’em closed.” Ruben’s wet pants did little to hide his thick erection, right under Andy’s unseeing eyes. “Almost there. Almost.”

  Without thinking, Ruben reached down and scrubbed Andy’s scalp, working the lather out of the thick, glossy hair. He felt the warp of the cowlick and smiled. He chased his fingers with the hot water, not caring when it sheeted off Andy’s jaw onto his own trousers.