Mall Rules

Chapter 2: Derek's family house

A week had passed since the mall. The memory of Marcus's hands on us, his cock inside me, the taste of his cum on my tongue, still sat fresh in my mind. But life had moved on. Jared, Leo and I had gone back to training, to class, to the usual rhythm of things. We hadn't talked much about what happened, not directly anyway. Jared would sometimes catch my eye across the gym and grin, and I'd feel that ache in my hole, the memory of being used, and I'd grin back.

Now we were at my house.

Oliver, my father, had insisted on a dinner. A celebration, he'd called it. Of what, he didn't say. But I had a pretty good feeling it had something to do with the mall, with the video that had gone live, with the way his voice had sounded warm and approving through the phone.

The living room was warm. A fire crackled in the stone fireplace, casting orange light across the couches. The big oak table in the middle of the room was pushed slightly to the side, covered with the remains of dinner: empty plates, wine glasses, a bowl of olives.

My father sat in one of the armchairs, legs crossed, a glass of red wine in his hand. Nathan, my brother, was sprawled on the couch next to him, wearing a loose athletic shirt and shorts, still damp from the shower he'd taken after his run. His feet were up on the coffee table.

Jared sat on the other couch, wearing a thin tank top and running shorts. Leo was beside him, in his usual neon-blue shorts, legs spread wide, body relaxed. I was on the floor, leaning against the couch leg, a beer in my hand.

"So," my father said, taking a sip of wine, "tell me again about the food court. I want to hear it from all of you."

Jared grinned. "It was a good day, sir. Marcus knew exactly what he was doing. He had me bend over, took out my plug, and then he ate my ass in front of everyone."

"Did he now." Oliver's voice was calm, appraising. "And how did that feel?"

"Amazing, sir." Jared shifted on the couch, adjusting himself. "I've been working on loosening up for a while. Getting ready for a bigger plug. He said I was doing well."

"He said that, huh?" Nathan leaned forward, his eyes bright. "What else did he say?"

"Told me I was a good hole. That I should be proud of what I can take."

My father nodded slowly, a small smile curling at the corner of his mouth. "And you, Leo. You joined in."

Leo shrugged, easy and relaxed. "Jared and I have been friends for years. I'd always wondered what he felt like. Marcus made it easy. I just slid right in." He turned to Jared. "You felt incredible, by the way."

Jared laughed. "You weren't so bad yourself."

There was a knock at the door.

Three knocks. Solid. Deliberate.

I looked up, frowning. We weren't expecting anyone. My father glanced at the door, then at Nathan. "Who's that?"

Nathan unfolded himself from the couch. "I'll get it."

He padded to the front door, barefoot, and pulled it open.

My breath caught in my throat.

Marcus.

He stood in the doorway, hands in the pockets of his torn jeans, a plain white t-shirt stretched across his stocky chest. His brown hair was a little tousled, his blue eyes taking in the room behind Nathan with casual interest.

"Oh," he said, a smile spreading across his face. "Looks like I'm interrupting a party."

Nathan froze. His body went still, his eyes fixed on Marcus's face, on his chest, on his hands. He stood there, the door half-open, and I could see the way his throat moved as he swallowed.

"Marcus," he breathed.

"That's me." Marcus's smile widened. "I'm your new neighbor. Just moved in next door. Thought I should come over and introduce myself."

Nathan stepped back, letting the door swing open. Then, without a word, he dropped to his knees on the welcome mat.

"Hi," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. He reached out and touched Marcus's jeans, his fingers brushing the rough denim. "Hi. Hi."

Marcus looked down at him, amused. "You like what you see?"

Nathan leaned in and pressed his face against Marcus's crotch. He inhaled deeply through his nose, his whole body shuddering. "Oh my God," he said. "You smell so good. I've been dreaming about this since I saw you on the feed. Derek told me. He told me how you taste."

I felt my cheeks heat. "Nathan."

He ignored me. He pressed his nose against the outline of Marcus's cock through the jeans, rubbing his face against it like a cat. "Oh, that's a heavy one. You've got a big one, don't you, Marcus? Derek said you split him open. Said he screamed on your cock."

Marcus reached down and ran his hand through Nathan's hair, a casual, possessive gesture. "Your brother talks a lot about me, huh?"

"Yeah," Nathan said, looking up at him with shining eyes. "He said you spat in his mouth. He said he swallowed it. He said you taste like salt and sweat and something else, something he couldn't name. He said he wanted more."

I stared at the floor, my face burning.

My father laughed, a low rumble. "That's my sons. Fine taste in men."

Marcus looked past Nathan at my father, and something passed between them. A recognition. A shared understanding.

"I'm Oliver," my father said, raising his wine glass. "That's my son Nathan you've got there on the ground. And my other son, Derek, you've already met."

Marcus nodded slowly. "We've met." His eyes found mine, and I felt a jolt, a pull, like a string hooked into my spine. "He was very compliant."

"He knows how to behave," my father said.

Nathan was still pressed against Marcus's jeans, his hands moving up to cup his crotch. "Can I taste you?" he asked. "Just through the fabric? I just want a little taste, Marcus. Please."

Marcus looked down at him, considering. "Not yet," he said. "Get them all in the living room first. Let me get acquainted. There's time for that."

Nathan gave a small, disappointed whine, but he stood up. He backed away, his eyes never leaving Marcus's face, and gestured him inside.

Marcus stepped over the threshold. He walked past Nathan, into the living room, taking in the couches, the fireplace, the half-eaten dinner. He stopped in front of my father's chair.

Oliver looked up at him. "Quite a first impression you're making on my household."

"Just being neighborly," Marcus said.

Oliver set his wine glass down. He rose from the chair, and they stood facing each other for a long moment. Then Marcus stepped forward, took Oliver's jaw in one hand, and kissed him.

It was not a small kiss. Marcus's hand tilted my father's head, and his mouth pressed against Oliver's, open and wet. I watched them, my father's broad hand coming up to rest on Marcus's hip, the two of them locked together in a slow, deliberate exchange. Marcus's tongue slid into my father's mouth, and I saw Oliver's eyes flutter half-closed.

Nathan stood behind them, watching with his mouth slightly open. "Holy shit," he whispered.

When they broke apart, there was a faint flush on Oliver's cheeks. "Well," he said. "That's one way to make a neighborly impression."

"I like to be thorough," Marcus said. He turned and surveyed the room. Jared and Leo were sitting up straight now, watching with attentive eyes. I was still on the floor, my beer forgotten, my heart hammering.

"Here's what I think," Marcus said, walking to the center of the room. "You all seem like a nice group. I'm new in the neighborhood, and I like to get to know people. I like to play games." He turned and picked up an empty wine bottle from the table, holding it up. "How about spin the bottle?"

Nathan laughed, a bright, eager sound. "We're not kids, Marcus."

"No, you're not." Marcus's smile was slow. "But the rules can be adjusted. Here's how it works: I spin the bottle. If it points at one of you, that person does whatever I ask. If it points at me, then all of you do whatever I ask."

The room went quiet.

My father was the first to move. He sat back down in his armchair and crossed his legs, a fresh smile on his face. "I like those rules."

Leo leaned forward. "What kind of requests are we talking about?"

Marcus shrugged. "Simple things. A kiss. A show. A little obedience." He looked at Leo, his eyes hooded. "Nothing you can't handle."

Jared grinned. "I'm in."

"Me too," Nathan said, dropping onto the couch.

Leo nodded. "Sure."

Marcus's eyes found mine. "Derek?"

I swallowed. My mouth was dry. But I thought of my father's voice on the phone, of those calm, approving words. Stay compliant, son. Stay available.

"Yes, sir," I said. "I'm in."

Marcus smiled. He stepped to the table, set the bottle in the middle, and gave it a spin.

The green glass spun, whirring, a blur of light. We all watched it, the room silent except for the crackle of the fire.

It slowed. Wobbled. Came to a stop, pointing directly at Jared.

Marcus didn't even need to look. He was already moving toward Jared, his eyes fixed on the athlete's tank-topped chest. Jared sat up, breath quickening.

"Simple one to start," Marcus said, stopping in front of him. "Show me your dick."

Jared's grin was easy. "That's it?"

"That's it. First one's always easy."

Jared reached down and pulled his shorts down just enough to free his cock. It was already half-hard, thick, standing out against his tanned stomach. He held it in one hand, offering it.

Marcus looked at it for a long moment. Then he reached down and wrapped his hand around the shaft, and Jared's breath caught.

"That's a nice one," Marcus said. "You take care of it?"

"Every day, sir."

"Good boy." Marcus squeezed, then let go. "Pull your shorts back up. Safe for now."

Jared tucked himself away, a visible disappointment flickering across his face.

"Next spin," Marcus said, returning to the table.

He spun the bottle again. It whirred, circled, and stopped.

This time it pointed at me.

My stomach dropped. Marcus followed the bottle's line, and his smile widened.

"Hello, Derek," he said.

I opened my mouth, but my father spoke first. "He remembers you," Oliver said, a note of pride in his voice. "He hasn't stopped talking about you since the mall. It keeps him up at night, thinking about how you used him."

"Dad," I said, my voice a warning. "I never said any of that."

"Didn't you?" Nathan leaned forward, grinning. "You told me his cum tasted good. I remember that. You said, and I quote, 'if every man tasted that good, I'd be on my knees every day of my life.'"

"I never said that," I said, my face burning. "You made that up, motherfucker."

My father laughed. "He's always been like this. Shy about his appetites."

Marcus walked toward me. He stopped directly in front of me, looking down, and I felt small. I was on the floor, sitting with my back against the couch, and he stood over me, hands in his pockets.

"Derek," he said. "On your knees."

I swallowed, but I moved. I shifted onto my knees, looking up at him.

"That's better." He reached down and ran his thumb along my jawline, the same way he had a week ago. I shivered at his touch. "Here's what I want. I want you to tell your father and brother, right now, everything you felt when I was inside you. Everything you felt when I came on your face. Everything you felt when I spat in your mouth. Tell them every detail.

I looked up at him. The firelight caught his face, half in shadow.

"Go on," he said. "Talk."

I looked at my father. Then at Nathan. Marcus's hand was still on my jaw, his thumb resting against my cheek, waiting.

"The first thing he did," I said, "was grab my hair. He pulled my head back so hard my phone hit the floor. My screen cracked. I didn't even care about the screen."

Marcus made a small sound of approval above me.

"He spat in my face. It landed on my cheek and slid down. I just sat there and let it. And then I asked him for another one."

Nathan leaned forward on the couch, elbows on his knees. "You asked?"

"I asked." My face was hot, but my voice stayed steady, which surprised me. "I turned back to him and said, may I have another, sir. And he spat straight into my open mouth. It sat on my tongue for a second. Thick. Salty. Warm from his mouth. And I swallowed it, and I said thank you, and I meant it. It was the best thing I'd tasted in a long time."

"There it is," Nathan said softly, grinning. "There's the quote."

"Shut up, Nathan." I kept my eyes on my father. "It's true, though. I've thought about that spit every day since. At the gym. In class. In the shower. I'd press my tongue to the roof of my mouth where it landed and try to get it back."

Oliver took a slow sip of wine. "Go on, son."

"When he fucked Leo, I watched. I was still kneeling there with Leo's cock softening inside me and I watched Marcus drive into him dry and I wanted it. I was jealous of Leo. That's what I felt. Not horror. Not disgust. Jealousy." I swallowed. "And then Marcus walked past me and I thought, finally. I actually thought that word. Finally."

The fire popped. Marcus's thumb stroked my jaw once.

"He grabbed my hair the same way. Yanked me back. And when he shoved into me, no lube, nothing, just his cock and his will, it felt like being torn in half. I screamed. The whole food court heard me scream. And halfway through the scream it stopped being pain." I paused, because the next part was the part I'd never said out loud. "It started being mine. Like my body had been waiting for someone to come collect it."

My father set his glass down on the arm of the chair. "And that feeling. The one after the pain."

"Yes, sir. Full. Stretched open. Owned. Every thrust pushed the air out of me and I made sounds I didn't know I could make. High, stupid sounds. And I didn't want him to stop. I wanted the whole mall to hear what he was doing to me."

Nathan shifted on the couch. I didn't look, but I heard the soft drag of fabric, and I knew without looking that his hand had found itself.

"The whole time I was inside Leo, Marcus was inside me, and it made a chain. Every time he slammed forward, I slammed into Leo. I was the middle of something and I liked being the middle of it. When he finished with me, when he pulled out, I felt empty in a way that scared me. Like he'd taken something out and hadn't put it back."

"And when he came on your face," my father said. His voice had dropped lower. "Tell us that part."

I looked up at Marcus. He nodded once, permission.

"He knelt us in a circle. Three of us, mouths open, chins up, thirty people filming. He stroked himself over us like he was watering plants. The first shot went in my mouth. Hot and thick and bitter and perfect. I got the second one across my cheek. I kept my eyes closed and just let him paint me. I could feel it dripping. Could feel everyone watching me be marked." My breath came a little shorter. "And I was proud, Dad. That's the confession. I knelt there covered in a stranger's cum in front of a crowd and my own family on a phone screen, and I was proud."

"You swallowed his spit," Oliver said. "Not his load."

"He gave the load to all three of us. But the spit was mine. Both of them were mine." I licked my lips. "When he spat in my mouth the second time, at the end, I swallowed it without being told. I didn't even think. My body just did it, like breathing."

Marcus finally took his hand off my jaw. He crouched down in front of me, forearms on his knees, close enough that I could smell him, that same salt-and-sweat smell Nathan had pressed his whole face into at the door.

"Look at me," he said.

I looked.

"Did you touch yourself that night?"

"Yes, sir."

"In your bed? In this house?"

"In my bed. I lay there with his cum dried on my face, because I didn't wash it off. I didn't want to wash it off. I jerked off with his spit still on my tongue and I came so hard I saw spots. Then I licked my hand clean because I was hoping it would taste like him." I heard Nathan let out a low groan. "It didn't. Nothing tastes like him."

"Nathan," Marcus said, without looking away from me. "Is that true? What you told him earlier. The quote."

Nathan's voice came out rough. "Word for word. If every man tasted that good, I'd be on my knees every day of my life."

"I never said I'd be on my knees every day," I said. "I said something like it."

"You said every day of my life," Nathan said.

"Boys," my father said, and they both stopped. Oliver leaned forward, and his eyes moved over me kneeling there, then up to Marcus. "My son has always had an appetite he was embarrassed by. I'm glad someone finally made him eat."

Marcus smiled. He stood, and I stayed on my knees, unsure whether I was allowed to move.

"Good confession," Marcus said. "Honest. Detailed. You didn't skip the ugly parts, which tells me there weren't any ugly parts for you." He turned to the room. "You see what I mean about this game? Look what one spin bought. Two minutes ago he was hiding behind his beer."

"Sir," I said. "Can I ask for something?"

"Ask."

"Since it pointed at me. Can I have a taste? Nathan got to smell you at the door. I've been thinking about it for a week."

Marcus looked down at me for a long moment. Then he unbuttoned his jeans and pulled the zipper down, slow, letting the sound fill the quiet room.

"You've earned a taste," he said. "Not the cock. The cock is for the game. You can have what's on the fabric."

I leaned forward before he finished the sentence. His underwear was white cotton, damp in a stripe down the center, and I pressed my open mouth against it. The taste flooded in immediately. Salt. Sweat. A dark, sour undertone of a man who'd been walking around all day in torn jeans. I breathed in through my mouth, dragging the fabric against my tongue, and a moan came out of me that I didn't plan.

"That's it," Marcus said, his hand settling on the back of my head. "Get it wet. Soak it."

I licked a long stripe up the cotton. My eyes watered. It was almost too much, the smell of him filling my skull, and I ground my face against him like a dog, shameless, because I'd already confessed worse in front of my father.

"Good boy," Marcus said. "That's enough."

I pulled back, gasping, my lips wet, the fabric of his underwear dark where my mouth had been. I sat back on my heels and wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, then stopped, and licked my palm instead. Nathan made another sound behind me.

"See," Marcus said to the room, straightening his jeans. "That's what I'm talking about. Everybody's hiding something. This game finds it." He stepped back to the table. "Spin."

My father stood up from his armchair. "Let me."

"By all means."

Oliver walked to the table, wine glass abandoned, and put two fingers on the bottle's neck. He looked around at the room, his three guests and his two sons, and smiled the smile he used before handing down a decision.

"My house," he said. "My spin."

He flicked the bottle. It whirred across the oak, green glass catching the firelight, slower and slower, wobbling between Nathan and Leo, then grinding to a stop.

Pointing at Marcus.

The room went completely still. Jared was the first to speak, his voice half a laugh.

"Oh, fuck."

Marcus looked down at the bottle's neck, aimed at his own crotch, then up at the five of us. He rolled his shoulders like a man about to lift something heavy.

"That's the rule you all agreed to," he said. "If it points at me, all of you do what I ask. All of you. No exceptions." His eyes moved slowly around the room, and when they reached my father, they stayed there. "So, Oliver. Are you a man of your word, or do we need to change the rules before we play for real?"

My father didn't answer right away. He picked his wine glass back up, took a sip, and set it down with a small, deliberate click.

"I've never changed the rules of a game in my life," Oliver said. "What do you want, neighbor?"

Marcus smiled. He walked back to the center of the room and stood there, hands in his pockets, five pairs of eyes on him.

"Everyone on the floor," he said. "Kneel in a line, oldest to youngest. My father's generation taught me this one. It's called the welcome line." He looked at each of us in turn. "Oliver first. Then Nathan. Then Jared. Then Leo. Then Derek last, because he's earned the front row view of what happens to the man at the head of the line."

Nobody moved for a second. Then Jared slid off the couch onto his knees, and Nathan followed, and Leo dropped down with an easy grace, and my father, my broad-shouldered, wine-drinking father, walked to the head of the line and knelt on his own living room floor with his back straight and his hands on his thighs.

Marcus walked the line slowly, footsteps quiet on the rug, and I watched from the end, on my knees, my heart pounding.

"First order of business," Marcus said, stopping in front of my father. "Since I'm the prize tonight, the whole line gets a turn, but the head of the line goes first." He reached down and took Oliver's chin in his hand, tilting my father's face up. "So, Oliver. Since the bottle chose me, I choose this. You're going to take off your shirt. You're going to stay kneeling. And you're going to hold still while your sons and their friends watch me do exactly what I did to your boy at the food court." His thumb dragged across Oliver's lower lip. "Starting with the spit. Unless you'd like to ask for it."

The firelight moved across my father's face. His jaw worked once under Marcus's hand.

"I'd like to ask for it," Oliver said.

Marcus looked down at my father, a slow curve spreading across his mouth. He worked up a thick glob of spit and let it fall. It landed square on Oliver's cheek, a wet smear in the firelight.

My father didn't flinch. He held still, letting it slide down his jaw, then turned his head back to Marcus.

"Thank you, sir."

Marcus nodded. "You earned that. Swallowing my saliva's a woman's trick for boys who need permission. You asked for it like a man. So you get the next thing your son got." His hand went to his fly. "Same thing I did to Derek. Pants off. Mouth open. Measured. Not long. I'm not going to finish in you. This is a favor, not a reward. You understand the difference."

"I understand, sir."

Marcus unbuttoned his jeans and pushed them down over his hips. His cock swung free, thick and flushed, already half-hard. My father's breath came a little shorter. He opened his mouth and tilted his head up, hands still on his thighs.

"Good." Marcus stepped forward and took Oliver's jaw in one hand. He pressed the head of his cock against my father's lower lip, dragged it once across the wet skin, then pushed in.

My father made a low sound. His lips stretched around Marcus's girth, his jaw working to take the length. Marcus held him there, one hand gripping Oliver's short dark hair, and began to move with slow, measured thrusts. Each push went deeper. My father's throat worked, taking him, and I saw his hands clench on his thighs once before relaxing.

"You feel that?" Marcus said, voice calm. "That's what your boy had in his mouth. That's what he begged for." He pushed in to the base and held. My father's eyes closed. "Take it. That's it."

He pulled out with the same deliberateness, let the head rest on Oliver's tongue for a moment, then withdrew entirely. My father's mouth stayed open, a string of spit and pre-cum connecting them before breaking.

"Thank you, sir," Oliver said, voice rougher. "I'm honored."

Marcus pulled his jeans up, not bothering to button them, and moved down the line to Nathan. Nathan was kneeling with his back straight, his hands gripping his own thighs hard, his eyes wide and hungry.

"Now you," Marcus said. "Your father deserved my favor. He swallowed my spit and took my cock in his mouth like he'd been waiting his whole life, which he probably had. So he got it. That's the bar." He tilted his head. "You want the same, little neighbor. You have to earn it. Pick your way. I don't care what you choose. Just pick."

Nathan's voice came out breathless. "Anything. I'll do anything, Marcus. Just tell me."

"I'm not telling you. That's the game. Choose."

Nathan looked up at him. For a second he didn't move. Then he reached out and grabbed the waistband of Marcus's jeans, pulled them down around his hips. His hands came up and closed around Marcus's bare cock.

Nathan let out a sound that was almost a laugh. "There it is. God, there it is." He ran his thumb over the ridge of the head, spreading the slick pre-cum, then pushed his hand down along the shaft to the base. The foreskin rolled back over his palm. "Derek said you split him open. He said you were thick as his wrist."

"Your brother's got a mouth he can't control."

"He's got good taste," Nathan said. He leaned forward and dragged his tongue up the underside of Marcus's shaft, slow, from base to tip, then sealed his lips around the head and sucked.

Marcus planted his feet, watching Nathan work. Nathan didn't rush. He took his time, mouthing the foreskin back, lapping at the slit, swallowing him inch by inch until his nose touched Marcus's groin. He held there, throat open, then pulled back with a wet sound.

"Earned," Nathan said. "Please. Let me have it."

"Ask me right."

"Please, sir. Please put it in my mouth. I'll take it however you give it."

"Open."

Nathan opened. Marcus took his uncut cock in one hand and pushed into Nathan's mouth in one smooth stroke. Nathan's eyes watered, his jaw stretching wide, but he held still and let Marcus move. The same measured rhythm, steady and deliberate. Marcus's hands found Nathan's short damp hair and held him in place while he fed his cock down the boy's throat.

"That's your test," Marcus said. "Take it like your father did. Like your brother did. Like you were made for it."

Nathan made a muffled noise. His hands came up and gripped Marcus's thighs, nails pressing half-moons into the skin. Marcus fucked his mouth for a long minute, not finishing, just using, the sound of it wet and obscene in the quiet room.

Then he pulled out. Nathan's lips were red and swollen, spit running down his chin. He swallowed and looked up, eyes shining.

"Thank you, sir."

"Good boy." Marcus ruffled his hair. "You chose well. Your brother's got the mouth, but you've got the instinct."

He moved to Jared. Jared was on his knees, tank top still on, running shorts riding up his bare thighs. He looked up at Marcus with that easy grin, but his breath was already quick.

"Your turn, athlete. Same bar. Your choice."

Jared didn't hesitate. "I'll take whatever you give me, sir."

"That's not a choice. That's a non-answer. Pick."

Jared thought for a second. Then he looked at Marcus's cock, still slick from Nathan's mouth, and made a decision.

"I want to show you what my hole feels like," he said. "One finger. You can feel how loose I've kept it for you."

Marcus's eyebrows rose. "Interesting. Flip over."

Jared dropped onto his stomach on the rug, pushed his shorts down his thighs, and arched his back. His ass rose, two muscular cheeks split to show the dark center. Marcus crouched, spread him with one hand, and pressed a thick finger into him without warning. Jared's whole body jolted, a sharp gasp escaping him.

"There it is," Marcus said, working the finger deeper. "Yeah. You've been stretching yourself. That's a good hole, athlete. Soft." He crooked the finger. Jared moaned into the rug. "You did this for me?"

"Yes, sir. Every night. Imagining it was you."

"Good boy." Marcus withdrew his finger, wiped it on Jared's tank top, and stood. "Earned. Get up. You'll get your reward later, when I decide you deserve it."

Jared pushed himself up, breathing hard, his cock straining against his shorts. "Thank you, sir."

Marcus moved to Leo. Leo was kneeling at the end of the line, calm and patient, his neon-blue shorts the only bright spot in the firelit room. He looked up at Marcus without anxiety.

"Your choice, Leo."

Leo considered. "You fucked me dry at the mall," he said. "I screamed. You didn't stop. I thanked you for it." He shifted his weight. "I want to taste the thing that did that to me. Let me have a real taste this time. The whole thing. Deep."

Marcus smiled. "You've got a spine. I like that." He stepped forward. "Open."

Leo opened his mouth and took Marcus's cock like a professional. His jaw relaxed immediately, his throat opening, and he swallowed Marcus down to the base without gagging. Marcus's hand settled on the back of Leo's skull, and Leo looked up at him with calm eyes and swallowed around him.

"Jesus," Marcus breathed. "Where'd you learn that, kid?"

"I paid attention," Leo said, pulling back just enough to speak. Then he went back down, his tongue curling along the shaft, his throat contracting in a rhythm that made Marcus's hips twitch.

"Enough," Marcus said, pulling out. "Enough, you're going to make me break my own rule. Earned." He stepped back, his cock slick and dark, and let out a slow breath. "You're a natural. I'll be using that mouth later."

Leo wiped his lip on the back of his hand. "Anytime, sir."

Marcus turned to me. I was still at the end of the line, on my knees, my heart hammering, his taste still on my tongue from my turn at the fabric.

"Derek," he said. "You already got your taste. But you did your brother's work for him. You told the truth in front of your father. That's worth something." He looked at me for a long moment. "Come here."

I crawled forward. The rug scraped my knees. I stopped in front of him and looked up.

"Open."

I opened. He didn't grab me like the others. He just pressed the head of his cock to my lips and pushed in slow, letting me take him at my own pace. I closed my eyes and let him. I measured him with my tongue, the weight, the taste, the heat. I took him to the base and held.

"Good boy," he said. "That's the respect you showed me at the mall. That's the honesty you showed your family. That's the line you walk. You don't need to earn anything tonight, Derek. You already proved yourself a week ago." He pulled out and cupped my jaw once. "Sit back down. Watch the rest of the game with your father. You've done enough."

I sat back on my heels. My mouth was wet with him and I didn't wipe it.

Marcus buttoned his jeans and walked back to the table. He picked up the bottle and held it out to my father.

"Your spin. Your house."

My father took it. His face was still flushed, but his hand was steady. He set the bottle in the middle of the table and gave it a hard spin. The green glass whirred, catching the firelight, slowing, wobbling.

It stopped. Pointing at Nathan.

Nathan grinned. "What do you want, sir?"

Marcus looked at him for a moment. Then he walked to the couch and sat down, spread his legs, and unbuttoned his jeans.

"You've been patient," he said. "You got your smell at the door. You got your taste on the line. Now earn the real thing. Come here and bring your mouth. Show me what a trained athlete can do when he actually wants it."

Nathan rose from his knees with a smile and walked over.

Nathan didn't walk. He sauntered, that swimmer's ease in his hips, and dropped to his knees in front of the couch like he'd been waiting his whole life for the permission. Marcus watched him with hooded eyes, legs spread, jeans already open.

"Take them off," Marcus said. "All the way. I want nothing between you and my hole."

Nathan's hands moved fast. He hooked his thumbs in Marcus's jeans and dragged them down his thighs, then his calves, then off. The white cotton underwear followed, peeled down in one motion. Marcus lifted his hips just enough to let them clear, then settled back with his legs up on the couch arms, his ass bare.

"God," Nathan breathed. "Look at you."

He leaned in and pressed his nose to the crease, inhaling deep. The groan that came out of him was loud, almost pained. He dragged his face along the skin, mouth open, nose sliding through the crack.

"That's it," Marcus said. "Breathe me in. Get it in your lungs."

"My phone," I said. I pulled it out and unlocked it, thumbing to the camera. "Family archive, Dad?"

Oliver nodded, a glass of wine in his hand again. "Archive it."

I lowered the phone and framed the shot. Nathan's head between Marcus's spread thighs, the firelight orange on his shoulders. Nathan pushed his tongue flat against Marcus's opening and dragged it up, a long, wet stripe.

"You like that?" Marcus asked. "Put your mouth on it."

Nathan answered with a whine. He sealed his lips around Marcus's hole and sucked, making a loud, obscene sound, and Marcus's hips twitched under him. Nathan pulled back, panted once, then dove in again. His tongue pressed inside. Marcus made a low sound and his hand came down to hold the back of Nathan's skull.

"Make him feel good," I said from behind the phone.

Nath looked up at the camera, eyes wet, lips slick. "I'm trying," he said.

"Try harder," Marcus said.

Nathan's face went back in with fresh greed. He ate like he'd been starving. His tongue worked in circles around the rim, then lapped the whole crack from balls to tailbone, then plunged back into Marcus's opening as far as it could reach. His moans vibrated into Marcus's hole, and Marcus let his head fall back.

Leo whistled low from the floor. "That's some enthusiasm, kid."

"He's a natural," Oliver said.

Nathan pulled back just long enough to speak. "I can smell you on my face. I can smell everything on your skin. You've been wearing those jeans all day, haven't you, sir."

"I have," Marcus said. "Ghost hunt started early. I was out in the field."

"I can taste it," Nathan said, almost reverent. He licked a long stripe up the crack again. "I can taste your whole day. The salt. The sweat. It's perfect. It's the best thing I've ever had in my mouth."

"Then get back to work," Marcus said.

Nathan went back. He licked and sucked and pressed his tongue inside, and Marcus's breathing deepened. I zoomed in, catching the glisten on Nathan's chin, the way his jaw worked.

Jared leaned over the arm of the couch, both hands gripping the fabric, watching Nate work with his lips parted. "That's so hot," he said.

"Get in there," I said. "Aid him."

Marcus grunted. "No. He earned it alone. But you can watch."

Nathan kept going until his jaw must have ached, until he pulled back gasping, slick from chin to nose, eyes wild.

"Thank you," he said. "Thank you, sir."

Marcus reached down and ruffled his hair. "You're a keeper, neighbor. Get back on the couch."

Nathan rose, breathing hard, his own cock straining against his shorts, and fell onto the couch, chest heaving.

Marcus buttoned his jeans, ignoring the obvious wet spot on the front of them, and walked back to the table. He picked up the bottle, spun it without ceremony. It whirred across the oak and stopped, pointing at Leo.

"My hole, then my face," Marcus said. "You've already had both. So this one's about what you haven't had. Holes. You like holes, don't you, Leo."

"I respect a good hole, sir."

"Good. Then kiss Jared's ass. On the mouth. Not a peck. A real kiss, tongue and all." He looked at Jared. "Get on the couch, athlete. Pull your shorts down."

Jared was on the couch before Marcus finished the sentence, stretching out on his front, shorts pushed to his knees, his muscular ass raised. Leo rose from the floor and walked over, unhurried. He crouched behind Jared, took a handful of each cheek, and spread him.

"You ready?" Leo asked.

"Make it count," Jared said.

Leo leaned in and pressed his mouth to Jared's asshole. The kiss was soft at first, teasing, then Leo's tongue came out and dragged across it. He kissed again, harder, lips sealing around the hole, and Jared let out a groan that turned into a laugh in the middle.

"That tickle?" Leo asked.

"Fucking no," Jared said. "It's weird and good and I want more."

Leo gave him more. He kissed the hole like he meant it, tongue working, and Jared's laugh turned into a sigh. Nathan let out a loud "Go, Leo, go!" from the couch, and Oliver laughed.

"That's the most romantic thing I've seen in years," Nathan said.

"Romance is dead," I said, "and Leo just kissed its ass."

"Shut up, Derek," Leo said.

"You shut up. You're the one eating ass."

Leo pulled back. "The old man said tongue and all." He wiped his chin and went back in. The kiss deepened. Leo's tongue pushed inside, and Jared's hips rolled against the couch cushions.

"This is a torture," Jared said, muffled.

"You're enjoying it."

"I know. That's what makes it torture."

Marcus let it go on a full minute more, then said, "Enough. Next."

Leo pulled off, grinning. He fell onto the far end of the couch, and Jared tucked himself back into his shorts, cheeks flushed.

Marcus spun the bottle again. It stopped on Nathan.

"You've had your mouth full," Marcus said. "So has your hole, but not yet. Jared's got a trained empty hole you could park a car in. Derek here prefers to watch." He nodded at me. "Your brother wants to know what you got at the food court. Show him, without a word."

I put the phone down. "On the floor, Nathan. On your hands and knees. Mouth open, eyes closed. You don't get to say anything. You just get to take."

Nathan slid off the couch and onto the floor. He braced himself on his palms, lowered his shoulders, and opened his mouth.

I pulled my shirt off and knelt in front of him. He couldn't see me. I could feel the heat of his breath on my cock as I worked myself half-hard, stroking fast.

"I'm going to use your mouth like Marcus used mine," I said. "And you're going to thank me after I finish. That's the rule."

Nathan's jaw relaxed. I stepped forward and pushed into his mouth in one smooth stroke. He took me to the base without a gag, his throat working around me, and I heard the sound he made, a humming vibration that traveled up my shaft. I planted my hands on the back of his head and started to move, slow at first, then harder. He didn't touch me. He just took it.

"I can hear you crying," I said. "Open your eyes."

He did, and they were wet, and I watched them while I fucked his mouth, watched him watch me, this thing between us that had never been spoken until now.

"Good boy," I said. "That's the taste. That's what Marcus got."

I pulled out and stroked myself twice, three times, and came across his lips and chin. Nathan held his mouth open and let the last drops land on his tongue. I knelt and wiped the rest smear off his cheek with my thumb and pushed it between his lips.

"Swallow," I said.

He swallowed.

"Thank you," he said, against my thumb.

"Don't thank me. Thank Marcus. He set this up."

"Thank you, Marcus."

Marcus waved a hand. "Family business. I just provide the discipline." He picked up the bottle and looked at my father.

Oliver set his wine glass down.

The bottle spun, slowed, and pointed at me.

"Last one," Marcus said. "You've been a good narrator tonight, Derek. You gave your father a confession, you gave your brother his first real lesson in gratitude, and you filmed it all for the archive." He stepped closer. "So here's the final request from the bottle. When it points at me, it's everyone's request. But this is yours alone. It's a farewell to the evening."

"What do you want, sir?"

"I want you to go to the mantelpiece, take your family's photo album, bring it here, and show us one picture. One picture of you as a boy. And while we look at it, I want you to tell your father and brother what you're thinking now, looking at that picture, knowing what that boy grew up to kneel for in a food court, and what he did tonight in this living room."

The room went quiet.

I stood up, walked to the mantel, and took down the thick brown album. I flipped through the pages, past birthdays and holidays, until I found it. A photo of me at nine, gap-toothed, holding a fish I'd caught with my father on the pier.

I brought it back to the couch and held it out.

"I'm thinking," I said, "that boy didn't know how lucky he was. And I'm thinking that this house has always been a house where men learn to take what's given. And I'm thinking," I looked at my father, then at Marcus, "that I'm glad I grew up here, in this family, in this world, and I'm not ashamed of what I've become."

Marcus took the album gently and set it aside. Then he took my jaw in his hand again, tilted my head back, and kissed me on the mouth.

It was not a small kiss. It was slow and deliberate, his tongue sliding against mine, his hand steady on my jaw, and when he pulled back, my mouth was wet with him.

"Good line," he said. "You earned the bottle's mercy tonight."

"Thank you, sir."

"Now get my neighbor's bottle refilled," Marcus said, nodding to the wine. "It's a long night, and we're just getting comfortable."

Nathan got up to refill my father's glass, and Marcus waited until he had poured and sat back down. Then he put his hand flat on the bottle and sent it spinning across the oak.

The green glass whirred. The firelight slid along it in a bright line, faster, then slower, then wobbling down to nothing.

It stopped pointing at Leo.

Marcus walked around the table. Leo sat at the end of the couch with his knees apart, calm as ever, that thin silver chain swinging against his bare chest.

"Stand up," Marcus said.

Leo stood. He was taller than Marcus by half a head and he didn't use it. He let his arms hang and waited.

"You've had an easy night," Marcus said. "You kissed an ass, you ate my hole at the mall, you swallowed my cock on the line. All mouth work. All foreplay." He stepped closer, looking up at him. "I've seen every one of you taste me tonight. What I haven't seen is one of you actually get used where it counts. So here's your request, and you don't get to choose it."

"I wouldn't dream of it, sir."

"You told me at the food court that you wanted to be split open. You screamed it at me in front of thirty people." Marcus looked over at the couch. "Jared. Get off your ass."

Jared was up before Marcus finished the name. His shorts were already loose on him, and I could see the shape of him in them, thick and half-hard.

"You want me to fuck him?" Jared asked.

"I want you to use him. He's a trained hole, he says so himself. Let's find out what the training was for." Marcus stepped back and sat on the arm of the couch nearest my father. "On the rug. Both of you. Leo, you take it on your knees and you thank him at the end like you thanked me. Jared, you don't rush. You get him open first. His hole's had nothing but my fingers and my spit since the mall, so be a gentleman about it."

"Yes, sir," Jared said.

Leo was already moving. He pulled his cropped tank over his head and dropped it, then hooked his thumbs in the waistband of those bright blue shorts and pushed them down. His cock came free, long and pale and stiff, and he stepped out of the shorts and folded himself down onto the rug without being told twice.

"Get your chest on the floor," Marcus said. "Ass up. Let him see what he's working with."

Leo flattened out and arched, and the firelight found the whole length of him, from the slope of his shoulders to the two hard muscles of his ass. His hole was small and dark and tight-looking. It clenched once on nothing.

"God," Nathan said softly, from the couch.

Jared knelt behind him and got his hands on both cheeks. He spread him wide, thumbed the skin, and just looked for a while.

"Do you want it slow?" Jared asked.

"Start slow," Leo said into the rug. "Then don't."

Jared spat. Twice, three times, letting it land and run. Then he bent down and put his mouth on him.

Leo made a sound like the air going out of a tire. His hips lifted into it, then dropped. Jared's tongue worked the hole in slow circles, then pressed, and Leo's hands clawed at the carpet.

"That's it," Marcus said. "Wet him up."

Jared came up with his chin shining, worked two fingers into him, and twisted. Leo's back went rigid. His thighs shook. He pushed back against the fingers and moaned, long and low, no shame in it at all.

"More," Leo said.

Jared gave him more. Three fingers, spreading, and a third of his fist curled into Leo's hole, and Leo's mouth fell open against the rug.

"Don't," Leo said, breathing hard. "Don't put your whole hand in me, I'm not, fuck. Not that. Just. Get on with it."

Jared laughed and pulled his fingers out. He wiped them on his own thigh, took himself in his hand, and lined up.

"Where do you want me, sir?" Leo asked, and it took me a second to realize he was talking to Marcus, not to Jared.

Marcus leaned back on the arm of the couch. "Where you are. Face down. Take it in the position I put you in."

"Yes, sir."

Jared pushed in.

Leo's whole body locked. His knuckles went white on the carpet. The head of Jared's cock went in, then the shaft, slow and steady, until Jared's hips were flat against his ass. Leo let out a sound I could feel in my teeth.

"Jesus Christ," Leo said. "Fuck. You're bigger than I thought."

"Everybody says that," Jared said, and started to move.

He found a rhythm fast. Long pulls almost all the way out, then a shove back to the root. Leo took every inch and gave a grunt on each one. The slap of skin on skin filled the living room.

Marcus nodded along with it. "Harder," he said. "Don't break him, but don't be polite either. That's not what he's for."

Jared went harder. The sound of it changed. Leo's face was turned sideways on the rug and I could see his mouth open, his eyes half shut, his cheek dragging against the wool with every thrust.

"He's taking it well," my father said. He had his wine in his hand again. "Better than most."

"He's a natural," Marcus said. "I said it at the mall and I'll say it again." He looked at me. "Derek. Get that on the phone."

I already had it up. I framed the shot: Jared's back arched, Leo's shoulders flat, the firelight orange on both of them.

"Arch your back for the camera," Jared said, and Leo laughed into the rug.

"Fuck off."

"Say it properly."

"Fuck off, sir."

Marcus laughed, a low easy sound. "He's got a mouth on him. Teach him some respect, athlete. I want to hear him thank you."

Jared pulled out to the head and drove back in, and Leo yelled. Properly yelled, a raw noise that bounced off the ceiling. Then again, harder, and Leo's voice broke in the middle of it.

"Thank you," Leo gasped. "Thank you, Jared. Fuck. Thank you."

"Again."

"Thank you, sir. Thank you for using my hole. Thank you, thank you, thank you."

Jared kept him at it for a long time. My father sat with his glass resting on his knee, watching, and Nathan had his cock out on the couch and was stroking it slow, unembarrassed. I heard Leo's breath start to go high and short.

"I'm close," Jared said. "Sir, may I finish in him?"

Marcus considered it. He actually took a second, like a man weighing a business decision.

"You may," he said. "Through the end, not partway. And he thanks you once you've pulled out."

"Yes, sir."

Jared drove in hard and stayed there, hips pressed flat, and I watched the muscles in his back go stiff. He came with a low grunt and his fingers dug into Leo's hips hard enough to leave marks. Leo's whole body pulled taut around him and he let out a helpless sound.

When Jared finally pulled out, his cock slid free shining wet, and a thin line of cum followed it down Leo's thigh. Leo's hole gaped, dark and open, then closed up slowly.

"Thank you," Leo said, voice wrecked and steady. "Thank you for that. I'll feel it tomorrow."

"You're welcome," Jared said, and slapped his ass once, easy.

"Clear the floor," Marcus said. "Both of you can sit down and catch your breath."

They got up. Leo was unsteady. He sat down on the rug with his back against the couch and pulled his knees up, and Jared dropped heavily next to him, and neither said anything for a moment.

Marcus walked back to the table and picked up the bottle. He held it up so the firelight took it.

"Whose turn is next?" Nathan asked.

"The bottle decides," Marcus said, and spun.

I let the air out of my lungs before I even saw where it stopped. The green glass whirred, slowed, wobbled past Jared, past the fireplace, and ground to a halt.

Pointing straight at Marcus.

The room went still. Nathan stopped mid-stroke, his hand frozen on his cock. Leo didn't move, his back still against the couch, breath coming steady. Jared was the one who broke it.

"Oh, you've got to be kidding me."

Marcus stared down at the bottle. The firelight flickered across his face, and something shifted behind his eyes. Not surprise. It was like he'd been waiting for this all night, like every spin had been building to this one.

He let out a slow breath. "Well."

"The rules," my father said, setting his wine down. "You set them yourself."

"I did." Marcus looked around the room, at the five of us scattered on the floor and the couch, still catching our breath from the last round. "And I'm a man who lives by his own rules."

"What do you want?" I asked.

He didn't answer right away. He walked to the center of the room, stood in front of the fireplace, and turned to face all of us. His hands went to his belt and he unbuckled it, pulling the leather through the loops slow, deliberate.

"The rule's simple," he said. "If the bottle points at me, everyone satisfies my wish. Not one of you gets to sit this one out." He dropped the belt on the couch. "I've been giving you all little tastes tonight. A mouth here, a hole there, a line of gratitude. But we're in my new neighbor's house, and I haven't been properly welcomed yet."

"Properly," Nathan repeated, sitting up.

"Properly." Marcus pulled his shirt off over his head and tossed it aside. His chest was solid, a mat of dark hair spreading across it. He pointed at the rug in front of the fireplace. "The five of you. On your knees, in a row, facing me. You've all had your mouths on me tonight in one way or another. All except my host, and I intend to rectify that."

My father stood. He walked to the rug like he was walking to his own bed, calm, deliberate, and knelt at the head of the line. The rest of us followed. I took my place at the end, my knees finding the same spot I'd worn into the wool earlier.

Chapter excerpt truncated at the edge.