Page 31 of Manhattan Tormentor

Why must I have two parents who are cool with me being gay? Swear to god, mom made me invite every boy I liked in middle school over for dinner. I’m down with them being fine with my sexuality, but I’m sure there’s a thing as beingtoosupportive.

“Relax, dad,” I say tonelessly over my shoulder, “before you sprint off to shoot your mouth off to mom, he’s only a friend.”

Damn, am I stretching that.

“Okay, cub. Making sure thefriendyou were sucking face with outside is the same one you’re driving home.”

Jesus.

Noah Fierro doesn’t miss a damn thing.

“Spying is for punks, Dad.” I tell him at the top of the stairs and he grins. “Guess I’m a punk. Take the boy a towel. He looked soaked too. Don’t be out late.”

Sometimes it’s hard living in a house where everyone is always up in someone else’s business. I love my family; I do. We’re normal as families go, but there’s a fine line between caring and nosy. They definitely cross far, far over into nosy-ville. I can only imagine the grilling I’ll get later.

When I change, grab a towel and a dry t-shirt of mine, he’s where I left him and I toss both to him when I slide in the driver’s seat.

“It’s freezing.” His teeth are rattling, so I turn on the engine so I can get the heat going.

“You have an electric car?” He asks when he notices that the engine is soundless.

“Yeah, better for the environment.”

I recycle and upcycle, so I don’t waste money. When I was asked what car I wanted for my birthday, I didn’t go for a gas guzzler like Theo and Lachie did.

I expect Finn to say something condescending and taunt me, but he yanks off the sopping wet t-shirt instead, tossing it into the back seat.

My mouth dries up seeing the ink on his upper torso and down his left rib cage.

He’s a work of bronzed art.

Bumps and valleys. Lean muscles for days.

I’m hard in seconds. And while I try to will it away, he scrubs his torso with the towel then takes it over his messy hair. Finger combing it back into shape before he pulls the plain black t-shirt over his head.

It’s a twisted pleasure to see him in my clothes.

“Where am I taking you?”

“Home,” he rasps.

“I need an address.”

Before he rattles it off, he gives me a look as if to say shouldn’t I know it already. Lachie and mom are the hackers in our family. The closest I’ve gotten to online stalking is looking through Finn’s social media accounts. Until jealousy bit me.

It’s a relatively quiet journey. But I am wholly aware of his nearness.

My throbbing dick is more aware than anything.

I need to get him out of my car, go home and jerk off until I climax him out of my system. Because I must be insane to think I can be with a straight guy.

A straight guy who hates me most of the time. When his tongue isn’t down my throat.

His street is dark, apart from the spotlight above his townhouse door. I pull up and wait for him to spring out of the car, turning my head to look at him.

“We’re here.”

Smelling his clean cologne spirals desire straight down to my balls, and I need him out of my car.

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