Chapter 4: The Needy Texts
Ethan returns the energy, acting like they're just bros joking, not dreaming of what could actually be. He asks him if he'd really do that for his bro if needed it. If he got needy, aching to be filled up or comforted. Ethan admits he already feel fucked up by hormones, all needy and clingy, the mama aching for daddy to make her feel better, let her and his little swimmers know daddy's here. Describe in detail how they text, half-joking, teasing etc. Lucas sends pics of his body to Ethan to help him feel better, laughing at him for being such a needy bitch for him. Ethan admits he feels like a total slut, just wanting anyone or anything to fill him up, fuck the ache away. Lucas turns genuinely possesive after that, considering coming over and remind his bro why he's so happy to be Lucas' bitch best friend. He also claims that Ethan's insides have already molded to his best bro's dick and nothing else can reach the right spot inside him.
The phone screen glowed like a live coal in the dark of Ethan’s room, casting a pale blue wash over his sweat-damp face. The ache inside him was a low, persistent thrum, a hollow pulse that seemed to sync with the quick beat of his heart. It wasn’t just in his ass, that ghostly fullness he kept clenching around; it had spread, a heat in his gut, a weird tenderness in his lower belly. He felt fucked up. Truly. Like his body chemistry had been rewritten in a single, slick hour.
He wiped his palm on the oil-stained sheet and picked up his phone, thumbs hovering. He had to play it cool. It was just bros. Just messing around. That’s what it was, right?
He typed, deleting and retyping the first line three times before sending. ‘Haha, you’re actually crazy, man. But like… for real though. If your bro did get all… needy. Aching to be filled up or some shit. You’d actually help a guy out? No homo.’
The three dots appeared instantly. Lucas was waiting.
‘For my best bro? Obviously. What are friends for.’
Ethan bit his lip, a shaky breath escaping him. The permission in those words, even joking, sent a fresh tremor through him. He pushed further, hiding behind the veil of their lifelong banter.
‘Okay but seriously I feel messed up. Like… hormone messed up. All needy and clingy. It’s weird.’ He paused, the next part burning to be sent, a truth disguised as a punchline. ‘Like a mama aching for daddy to make her feel better. To let me… and your little swimmers… know you’re here.’ He hit send and immediately threw the phone down on the bed as if it had scorched him, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes. He’d said it. He’d actually typed it out.
The phone buzzed. Not a text. An image.
Ethan snatched it up. It was Lucas, shirtless, lounging back on his own rumpled bed. The picture was taken from a low angle, emphasizing the cut of his abs, the defined V of his hips disappearing into the waistband of his thin grey soccer shorts. The familiar dusting of dirty blond hair trailed down his navel. He looked like a god, relaxed and cocky. The caption beneath read: ‘Look at what your daddy’s working with. Might help with the ache. Lol.’
Another buzz. A second message. ‘You’re such a needy bitch for me. Pathetic. Cute.’
Ethan’s mouth went dry. He stared at the photo, at the possessive tease of the words. A violent, confusing mix of shame and desire coiled tight in his stomach. The joke wasn’t funny anymore. It was a mirror held up to a craving he couldn’t name. He brought a hand to his own flat, soft stomach, imagining the heat from that photo radiating into him.
His reply was a raw, unfiltered spill of truth, masquerading as more bro-talk. ‘Dude, I feel like a total slut right now. I’m not even joking. I’d let anyone or anything fill me up, just to fuck this ache away. It’s so stupid.’
The three dots appeared. They lingered. And lingered. A full minute passed, silent and heavy. The playful energy from Lucas’s side vanished, replaced by a palpable, waiting intensity through the screen.
When the reply came, the tone had shifted entirely. The ‘lol’ was gone. The teasing was edged with something hard, metallic.
‘Anyone?’
Just that one word. Ethan’s blood went cold.
The dots moved again, slower, more deliberate. ‘Fuck that. No. Your insides have already molded to my dick, E. You think that deep, soft spot I found kisses just anything? Nothing else is shaped right. Nothing else can reach it.’
Ethan could barely breathe. He could see Lucas’s face, the easy grin fallen away, replaced by that focused, possessive look he got on the field when someone threatened his goal.
The final message lit up the screen, each word a command. ‘I should come over right now. Remind you why you’re so happy to be my bitch best friend. Keep you full all night. Until you can’t even remember wanting anything else.’
The chapter ends with Ethan staring at those words, the phantom ache inside him twisting into a sharp, desperate pull, his finger hovering over the keypad—poised between an apology, a joke to defuse it all, or a single, surrendering word: ‘Please.’