Dylan’s heart thudded in his chest as he crouched near the base of James’s pillow, the vast expanse of the mattress stretching out like a battlefield. “Made it,” he whispered again, a mix of relief and adrenaline coursing through him. The climb from the nightstand to the bed had been grueling, but he was here—closer to James than ever.
Then, another creak snapped his attention across the room. James shifted in his chair, the wood groaning under his weight. Dylan froze, his tiny form hidden in the shadow of the pillow. But something else caught his ear—a voice, low and warm, coming from the doorway. “Hey, babe, you still working on that project?”
Dylan’s stomach lurched. *Babe?* He peeked out, eyes widening. A new figure stood in the doorway, lean and broad-shouldered, with tousled dark hair and a casual grin. James’s boyfriend—Dylan hadn’t known he existed. The guy’s name, he’d learn soon enough, was Liam, but for now, Dylan was reeling. “Boyfriend?” he muttered to himself, voice barely audible.
James chuckled, spinning his chair to face Liam. “Yeah, babe, just wrapping up. You know how it is—deadlines.” His tone was easy, affectionate, a side of James Dylan hadn’t seen before.
Liam sauntered into the room, dropping his jacket on a chair. “You work too hard. How about a break?” He leaned against the desk, smirking. “Or do I have to drag you away?”
Dylan, still crouched on the bed, “Okay, Dylan, just… stay calm. You’re still invisible to them. Just figure out what’s next.”
But before he could process further, a sharp *thud* echoed—the door closing. Dylan’s head whipped toward the sound. James had stood, pulling Liam closer, their lips meeting in a hungry kiss. Liam laughed softly, tugging at James’s chest. “Impatient, huh?”
“Been thinking about you all day,” James murmured, voice low, as they stumbled toward the bed.
Dylan’s eyes widened in panic as the two figures loomed closer, their shadows swallowing the mattress. “Oh, crap, crap, crap,” he hissed, scrambling backward. Liam’s clothes hit the floor—shirt, then jeans—followed by James’s, a flurry of fabric raining down. The bed creaked as they climbed onto it, their naked forms towering above Dylan like giants, oblivious to his presence.
He dove for cover behind the pillow, heart pounding so loud he swore they’d hear it. “This is *not* how I saw this going,” he muttered, peeking out. The two shadows moved together, inches above him, the air thick with heat and tension. They were about to—right on top of him.
View Portfolio
Visit Notebook
Send Gift Points
Awards
Badges
Send Email
Community Newsfeed
General Discussion
Sponsored Items
Book of Trinkets
Static Items
Books
Groups
Interactive Stories
Audio
Campfire Creatives
Community Notes
Crossword Puzzles
Documents
Folders
Images
In & Outs
Madlibs
Photo Albums
Polls
Product Reviews
Quizzes
Survey Forms
Web Pages
Word Searches
More by this author
