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It had been two months since he’d first flown home at the start of the humans’ pandemic. He realized, after the first month and a half of being the third wheel in Jackson’s home, eating cereal for nearly every meal and sitting glued in front of cable news, that some of the imprints that employed him might not survive being shuttered this way, and if they did, they’d likely not require his services in the same manner. It was anxiety-inducing to think he’d have less work when this was all over, particularly when he wasn’t in the most lucrative profession to start. He’d still not been paid for his last two invoices, and he would burn through his meager savings at this rate, particularly if he was forced to find an apartment here.
Cambric Creek seemed utterly unfazed by the events happening in the larger world, and his siblings got up and went to work every day like nothing was wrong. He was the only one halted, the only one with his entire world thrown into flux, and he was crawling out of his skin.
Which brought him to his first bone of contention, he thought peevishly. The guest suite in his brother’s home offered him privacy, insofar that it had a door that closed and he wasn’t forced to sleep outside on the sidewalk, but the fact remained — he was never going to masturbate in peace again.
He had the realization nearly three weeks into his stay, the approaching full moon making his skin feel snug, as if it had shrunk in a too-hot shower. The shower being the only place he’d been able to jerk off since his arrival — not something he particularly enjoyed, nor did it fully take the edge off the tightness in his balls. He was used to having sex a few times a week, had friends and flings and hook-up partners in place for that very purpose, and failing that, he needed to be able to drain his balls dry well enough on his own to even be able to function.
His neighbor Nikkia had been one such fuck buddy, another ex-pat, but unlike his, her visa was permanent. She’d texted him two weeks into his Cambric Creek imprisonment, reminding him of all he was going to be missing.
I miss your big cock already
He had made Tokyo his main hub of residence three years prior, meeting the sparkling-eyed lagomorph the week he moved in. She lived several doors down on the same hallway, had insisted he come over for a welcome to the neighborhood drink, casually inviting him to stay for some welcome to the neighborhood sex, setting up the parameters of their friendship from the first day.
I think I’m going to start doing cam stuff.
You know all those humans are sitting home jerking off all day
This is the time to start!
He’d thought she’d been joking when she’d sent the text. He’d laughed, tapping out his response with a smile, in between kicking a ketterling ball for his nephew to chase.
You should
It’s a prime market
They’re all sitting at home with nothing to do.
He’d laughed again a week or two later at her next message.
I can’t believe you left me to do this alone.
I’m going to be forced to start making videos with that asshole Daiyuu
and it’s going to be all your fault.
Daiyuu was another neighbor, a towering, salamander-like lizardman with a permanently dour expression. Lowell had grinned hugely, trying to imagine Daiyuu with Nikkia, finding the idea preposterous.
He’s more likely to report you for noise violations and turn you in to the censorship police
He’d not laughed when she’d sent the video file a week later, Daiyuu’s surly face contorted into an expression of extreme concentration, his hips hammering into the moaning lagomorph, two dark pink cocks filling her. He was furious, had practically combusted in jealousy, any vicarious enjoyment he might have procured from the video severely hampered by the sound of his nephew and sister-in-law just down the hall. He angrily masturbated to the video several times before deciding it wasn’t healthy, and he mourned the luxury of having someone to fill the role of reliable fuck buddy.
It was an impossibility here. Everywhere he went, people knew who he was without knowing him at all.One of those Hemming boys, one of Jack’s handsome boys, Trapp’s kid brother, you must be related to Grayson, is your brother Jackson going to run for office? I coach your kid brother’s lacrosse team, you must be the one who lives overseas.The weight of his name had chafed when he’d been in school, rasping at his skin from inside, and it had been a relief to flee it and this place.
There was no way to form a casual hook-up here, not without the entire neighborhood knowing by morning, completely impossible . . . and besides, he reminded himself — where would he take them if it was? The guest suite at his brother’s house with the paper thin walls where he couldn’t even jerk off enjoyably? Back to his parents’ house? He was trapped with no recourse, and his balls ached from the punishment. He was dizzy from the backup, his balance affected by the extra blood permanently pooled in his neglected cock. It was bad enough not having a partner, but not even being able to rub one out in a satisfactory manner was killing him.
Lowell was convinced his little nephew had a built-in detection system to identify the moment he had his cock in hand, for he would barely get a few good strokes in before little fists were scrabbling at the door, rattling the knob. The problem with being the fun uncle, when fun uncle was a live-in diversion, he had determined, was that there was never a break. Little Jack was always there. He wanted to play the instant he came home from his Montessori school, had to be persuaded to eat lunch, practice his letters, and do anything that didn’t involve being at Lowell’s side. He would be tapping on the guest suite’s door before he had his breakfast each morning, before Lowell even lifted his head from the pillow, still blurry-eyed with sleep, morning wood resting like a club against his belly.
The worst days were those when he actually rose first — when he had a chance to stretch and wake up fully on his own, check his phone messages, and let a hand wander down his body, easing his foreskin back to tap a finger against his already leaking slit, tugging his aching balls and caressing himself slowly . . . before the rattling door knob would nearly make him jump out of his skin. More than once, he’d had to open the door a crack, poking his nose out and telling the kid he needed to take a shower first, the door shielding the full mast erection he’d been stroking only moments before.
The other issue was the suite itself. It was commensurate in size to a hotel room, and Lowell was no stranger to hotel rooms. Hotel rooms were a welcome respite of silence and solitude when he was on a shoot, but beyond needing small pockets of time to himself to recharge, heneededto be around people. He desperately needed to engage and chatter, to get out of his own head and take energy from a crowd . . . but Jackson and Victoria seemed vaguely surprised every time they encountered him out of his room, surprised and slightly annoyed.
They’d both gone silent just that morning, their conversation over the kitchen island muting when Lowell came through the doorway, Jackson’s eyes narrowing and Victoria’s mouth flattening when he pulled open the refrigerator. He’d had the vague suspicion that he was about to be scolded . . . for eating their food? Leaving his room? Having the nerve to breathe their oxygen? He hadn’t been entirely sure, and he’d never found out, for the blast of a car horn, long and loud from the front of the house, had saved him. Jackson had exhaled sharply, and Victoria shook her head in annoyance.
“Grayson’s here,” she’d announced flatly, “just in case you weren’t sure.”
“Such a fucking asshole,” Jackson muttered, abandoning the glass of water he’d just poured. “Can you tell him I’ll be out in five minutes and to calm the fuck down?”
Lowell had jumped when he’d realized the directive was aimed at him, spinning to shut the refrigerator, his quest for juice momentarily forgotten as he sprinted to the door. Despite Trapp’s assurances that he would not be mad forever, Grayson seemed entirely willing to go the rest of his life without having another conversation with Lowell, which was absolutely Jackson’s fault.
