For the fans, p.13
For The Fans, page 13
“What do you mean, fast cash?” I ask with bewilderment taking over my tone. “What kind of money would be involved in having a threesome with you and my idiot stepbrother??”
“Um, fuck you very much,” Avi grunts.
“Well, I’d be recording the video for my OnlyFans,” Frankie explains calmly. “Selling it to viewers at a price… So naturally, I’d split the profits with my collaborators.” She slopes her head.
My eyes shift to Avi once more. “Is that why you were going along with this? For the money?”
He nods, losing a bit of the animosity as his chin drops and he stares at the floor. “I need to come up with like ten grand to stay in school.”
The mood quickly shifts to one much more serious, the weight of Avi’s and my situation clearly sitting heavily on both of our shoulders.
But still, I have to scoff. I have to. “There is no way in hell I would—”
“Yea.” Avi cuts me off, squinting at my face. “We heard you the first time.”
“Hey.” Frankie grabs Avi’s hand and squeezes it. Then she shoots me a sympathetic smile. “Don’t worry about it. It was just a stupid idea. Forget I said anything.”
Shaking my head, I turn toward the door, ready to leave the dumb-as-fuck proposal in this room and never look back. But something stops me.
I’m not sure if it’s just because I’m cruising down the pretty-drunk expressway, or the insecurities from my loss yesterday, or if I’m really just that fucking terrified of losing everything I’ve been working towards and being forced to move back home…
But as I stand, paused in front of the door, my mouth can’t stop from asking quietly, “How much do you think we would make…?” Peeking at Frankie over my shoulder, I add, “Hypothetically, of course.”
Her lips twitch. “Hypothetically…? Probably at least two grand each, maybe more.”
My lashes flutter in a rapid blinking that must not be disguising the dollar signs in my eyes, because she steps over to me and places her hand on my shoulder. “And that’s just the beginning.”
I turn around slowly, my hesitations being slowly swallowed up as I visualize that glorious much-needed money.
“What does that mean?” I ask Frankie, forcing myself not to look at Avi. I refuse to see whatever way he’s reacting to the fact that a teeny, weeny sliver of me is actually considering this.
“The more I promote it, the more people pay for it.” Frankie shrugs.
I shake my head in protest. “I really don’t even see how I could…”
My eyes find Avi, even though I don’t want to. He’s just standing there, looking particularly shocked at how this conversation is progressing.
“I’m not into dudes,” I growl at him, and he huffs.
“Yea, asshole, neither am I.” He folds his arms over his chest. “Especially not ones like you.”
I step closer to him. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean??”
“Alright, alright, Jesus!” Frankie steps between us again. “Seriously, I’m loving the tension here, but you two know you can have a threesome without actually hooking up with each other, right?”
“This is too fucking weird.” I shake my head, backing off while I fist my hair. “He’s my fucking stepbrother. I just don’t see how it could work…”
“Well, no one’s forcing you, superstar,” Avi hums. “It’s fine. Just go back to your boring old sex life with cookie cutter cheerleaders, and we’ll find someone who’s adventurous enough to help us make bank.”
My jaw ticks, anger and frustration burning in my gut like the liquor I’ve been downing since I got here. “You have no idea what you’re talking about. You don’t know shit about my sex life.”
Avi simply smirks at me, like he does, and whispers, “Then what are you so afraid of?” He inches in closer. “Worried you might see my dick and feel compelled to—”
“Fuck off, Avi,” I snarl. “Or I’ll record my own video of me beating you into the ground and sell it to World Star.”
As usual, he doesn’t back down, and it has me raging like a goddamn hurricane inside.
“Just think about all that money you’re giving up because you’re too scared to throw down with me in the room…” His grin widens.
“I’m not scared of shit,” I hiss. “I just don’t want you trying to touch me like the creepy little pervert you are.”
“This is already so hot,” Frankie whispers. “Do you mind if I record the build-up for bonus content?”
I shoot a seething glare in her direction. My mind is telling me to run out of this room as fast as possible. Get the fuck away from this situation and find some other way to make the money I need.
But when I take a breath and actually think about it… I know that shy of selling drugs or theft, there’s no immediate way to get this kind of cash this fast that doesn’t require doing something sexual you might not want to do.
So with my mind on the money and the money on my mind, I grit my teeth and sigh, “I’m gonna go get shit-faced. We’ll meet back here when I’m so drunk I can barely process what the fuck I’m doing.”
And then I storm out of the room, on a mission to locate enough booze to get me through this nightmare.
Anyone know where I can find an Olympic-size pool filled with SoCo?
BalsamicVin23: foot pics? Will pay.
TaintedLove: Fill me like a Twinkie Daddy
Your_Dirty_Kitty: I need your naked bodies more than I need oxygen rn
On the edge. I’m standing, balancing, on a ledge of rampant nerves, preparing to step off and plummet into holy fuck, what am I doing?!
I’m usually a pretty chill dude. I mean, I certainly smoke enough weed to consider myself a card-carrying member of the Bob Marley, don’t worry, be happy club. Sure, I get stressed and anxious—who doesn’t? But that’s what the weed is for. Outside of that, awkwardness, especially as it pertains to giving a shit what people think of me, or worrying about how they’re going to react to the things I do, just isn’t something I give much thought to.
However, this… This is a very different situation.
This is a threesome with my best friend and my uptight stepbrother who hates me. So forgive me for losing my cool just the tiniest bit. I’m sure if I wasn’t six shots and three joints deep, I’d be freaking the fuck out. Instead, I’m just kind of… unnerved.
After Kyran left the room, having alerted us that he would, in fact, return for us to commence this ill-conceived gambit to make money, Frankie and I smoked a little more in her room, discussing how ludicrous it was that he said yes. Then we rejoined the rest of the party, ripped a few more shots with Micah and Zeb, and purposely stayed as far away from Kyran as possible.
Naturally, no one else knows what we’re about to do. The point of this whole thing is to keep it hush-hush, so Frankie agreed not to even tell Bea, the only one out of our group who knows about the whole OnlyFans thing.
It’s been a couple of hours, and while I’m trying my hardest not to even glance in Kyran’s direction, I can’t help but notice him any time he resurfaces. He’s been drinking heavily, though you’d never know it because apparently the dude can camouflage like no one’s business, which I suppose is a good thing, as it pertains to our secret endeavor. I’ve always assumed he’s good at bottling things up, being that he spends ninety-nine percent of the interactions I’ve had with him brooding. He just seems like the kind of guy no one really knows… Who would never dare let the outside world in on what’s really happening beneath his surface.
It has me briefly wondering what he could be hiding… But then I shut it down, and remember that we’re not pals, and I don’t care what kinds of secrets he has, as long as he stays good at keeping them.
I have no intention of telling him about my OnlyFans, because he already judges me enough as it is. It’s bad enough I’m going to be doing this with him, of all people…
He certainly wasn’t my first choice, not by a long shot.
Inviting Kyran to the party had nothing to do with the threesome. I was just genuinely feeling bad for him, seeing how mopey he was after losing the game. I know I must be an idiot, because I always find myself in situations where I’m the one reaching out, trying to keep the peace with him, and he continually wants no part of it. But I can’t seem to help myself. He’s my stepbrother, and even though he appears to be Mr. Popularity, I can’t help but feel like it is all an act, and in reality, he’s actually very lonely.
I’d never say that to him, though, because he’d just freak out and threaten to kick my ass again. So I extended an invite to the party as yet another olive branch, mainly because I really didn’t expect him to show up.
But when he did, Frankie presented me with her brilliant idea, which is more like the worst idea in the history of threesomes. Naturally, I was more than a little skeptical. Still am. Because despite the fact that he somehow, against all logic, actually agreed to this, I’m nowhere near foolish enough to think it’ll go off without a hitch.
It’s common knowledge that Kyran hates my guts. Not that I’m his biggest fan either, but he actively wants to choke me to death half the time, and I still haven’t pinpointed exactly why.
Well, I’m sure after tonight, there will be one more reason to add to his list.
When I decide I just can’t drink and wait anymore, I follow Frankie into her bedroom to question my sanity in private. I’m wearing a hole in the fuzzy pink rug in the middle of her bedroom as she pulls a small vial out of her panties.
Dumping a tiny bump of something onto her hand, she snorts it back before holding it up to me. “Want some?”
My brows lift. “Molly?” She nods. “No thanks. I don’t think it will help…”
“Trust me, it will,” she sighs.
“No. It won’t.” I shake my head, continuing my pacing. “He fucking despises me, Frankie. I need to keep a clear head in case he tries to kick my ass.”
“You really need to relax.” She plops down on her bed, then flops onto her back. “He’s uptight enough for the three of us. I can’t have you tensing up too. It’ll ruin the whole vibe.”
“Vibe?? Kyran doesn’t vibe with me…” I mutter, stopping to glare at her. “Unless your idea of vibing is threatening to murder someone all the livelong day.”
She shrugs. “Whatever. At this point, I feel like my fans will pay extra just to watch you guys arguing. The tension between you is insane… When he’s glaring at you, nostrils all flaring, muscles flexing… I’m on pins and needles, just itching for him to kiss you.”
She bursts into a fit of giggles while my face scrunches at her like she’s more than a few screws loose.
“He doesn’t want to kiss me, he wants to kill me,” I grunt, brushing strands of hair away from my face.
“Okay, well, the line between those two desires is pretty freaking thin, loverboy.”
Blinking at her for a moment, I scoff, then shake my head. She doesn’t know what she’s talking about. Kyran is as straight as they come, and I’m positive the endless frustration I seem to spurn in him is based solely on the fact that he thinks he’s better than me. Kissing has nothing to do with it.
Pushing these thoughts away, I stagger over to the bed and kneel down next to Frankie. I need to focus on the task at hand; making this video as believable as possible for the fans, so we can make as much money as possible without having to worry about doing it again. Because I’m certain, especially where Kyran is concerned, this will be the first, last, and only time this happens.
Leaning over Frankie, I grasp her by the jaw and lower my lips to hers, pressing a gentle yet thorough kiss on her mouth. Just to see how it feels, set the mood, and I guess distract myself from the other party, who will soon be showing up and making everything a million times more stressful.
I go to pull back, but Frankie threads her fingers through my hair, keeping my lips on hers as she kisses me back, slipping her tongue into my mouth. She tastes fruity, and her tongue is warm and slippery as it brushes mine. Easing into it, we sort of fall into making out, and while it definitely feels good, I’m vaguely aware that she’s my best friend, and this needs to be strictly professional, so as not to ruin what we have together.
A throat clears, distracting us from sucking face, and we both pull apart, breathless and aiming hooded gazes at the doorway.
“Starting without me?” Kyran grumbles, closing and locking the door behind him.
He stands firmly planted in front of it, crossing his arms over his chest, eyes dark and intense. Not a single shadow of anticipation on his face, which just proves my point.
This is going to be just awful.
I sit back on the bed while Frankie slithers off, making her way over to the tripod.
“Okay, ground rules. First off, this is about money, not feelings,” she announces. “Just think about all the yummy cash we’ll be making, and it’ll help your cause, I promise. Second, you need to sell it.” She sets up her video camera, peeking at Kyran. “Do you think pornstars actually like each other? No. They’re acting. We’re all aware that you two aren’t besties. Get over it.”
My eyes flit to Kyran, and his meet mine. His jaw is visibly tight, and I lift my brows at him, to which he rolls his eyes.
Yea, motherfucker. Calm down. This is just business.
“I’ll be blurring faces, so don’t worry about that,” Frankie goes on. “And as far as what we can do… nothing is off limits for me. I’m good with everything.”
Kyran and I continue to hold one another’s eyes, both refusing to back down, which is how it seems to always go with us.
Finally, he murmurs, to me, “Just don’t touch me if you want to keep breathing.”
“Aww, but how will I restrain myself??” I croon sarcastically while he seethes.
“Okay, then. And lastly…” Frankie ignores our boundless bickering as she double-checks the position of the camera before turning to us and smiling. “Let’s have fun!” She motions to the bed. “The view will be from there to there, so try not to leave the area. Avi, will you get the lights, please?”
Exhaling out my remaining hesitations, I get up and switch on the overhead lights, using the dimmer to get it low enough to set the mood, but also bright enough that the quality will work. Then I switch off the bedside lamp as Frankie turns on the ring light.
The whole time we’re messing with the lighting and Frankie is setting up to record, Kyran is just standing by the door, awkwardly shifting his weight like he hasn’t the slightest clue what to do with his body. Just seeing how tense he is reinforces how insufferable he’s most definitely going to be this entire time.
I wish he would do some drugs. Damn, he clearly needs it.
Getting things started, I kick off my shoes, then remove my jacket and tie.
“Kyran,” Frankie says his name, and his face jumps in her direction, as if she startled him out of some troublesome overthinking. She flicks her hand toward the bed. “Come now. We don’t have all night.”
He breathes roughly, tiptoeing closer. “This is fucked…”
“Get over it, superstar.” I unbutton my shirt. “It’s happening. Channel your horrendous attitude into at least acting like you’re fun.”
“I am fun.” He scowls, removing his headband and tossing it onto the floor. “But I honestly think taking my clothes off in front of you sounds like a waking nightmare.”
“Hm. Interesting.” I shrug out of my dress shirt.
His eyes do a very quick drop over my shirtless torso before coming back up to mine. Then he tugs his shirt over his head.
I’m not going to look at his body, because I already know it’s immaculately chiseled into exactly what you’d expect from a football player who spends exorbitant amounts of time working out. But I’m highly satisfied with the tiny glint of surprise I catch in his eyes when he sees how defined I am.
Maybe it’s a generally accepted stereotype that artsy emo nerds like myself don’t have six-packs and carefully sculpted pectorals… and that’s exactly why I enjoy working out as much as I do.
I like proving people wrong, and we all know how much I adore being different. So when the haters expect me to whip off my shirt and reveal a scrawny torso scattered with careless ink, but they instead find me ripped as hell, draped in intricate, artistic tattoos… I can’t help but feel smug.
That’s right, Number Nine. My body is bangin’ too.
“Scared yet?” I smirk at Kyran, to which he hits me with his signature scowl.
“If you keep running your mouth, there’s no way I’ll be able to get hard.”
Unbuckling my belt, I open my pants and leave them that way, tilting my head at him. “There’s nothing to be ashamed of, Ky. A lot of men suffer from erectile dysfunction. I mean, not men your age, but—”
“Shut the fuck up, Avi,” he growls, inching in closer to my face.
Frankie steps over to the bed, grinning. “Yes, this is great. Build the hostility… Fuel that hatred.”
Kyran’s eyes slink over to her, then back to me, and I witness him swallow. I can tell he doesn’t really know how we’re supposed to start this, and truthfully, neither do I. So I move away from him, putting Frankie in between us like a buffer. She takes the lead, running her hands up his chest, slowly, reaching for his face.
He’s visibly stiff, clearly nervous and trying to act like he’s not. But he allows Frankie to yank his mouth to hers, and they start kissing.
Alright… So I guess we’re off to the races.
Frankie shoves Kyran into a seated position on the bed, then straddles his lap, kissing him while slightly turning so the camera can capture as much as possible. Moving behind her, I kiss her neck and run my hands down her sides to her ass. Unfortunately, Kyran must have had the same idea, because his hands are already there, and I end up covering his with mine.
We both flinch, and I jerk my hands away fast while he rumbles into Frankie’s mouth, obviously wanting to complain about me touching him by accident. Thankfully, she doesn’t give him any leeway to do so, and I appreciate her for it.
