Chapter 6: Morning Devotion
The city morning was a pale, bleary-eyed thing. Jamie walked, the chill seeping through his thin jacket. Each step was a soft punctuation in the quiet of the pre-dawn streets. His body felt like a battlefield—tender, used, aching in places he’d forgotten he had. The evidence of the night had been scrubbed away in Nathaniel’s shower, but the ghost of it lingered in the slow, satisfied burn between his legs, the faint sting on his hips from grasping fingers. He should have felt full. Sated.
The hollow space yawned.
He found himself on a park bench overlooking the river, the water a dark, oily ribbon under the sodium lights. He pulled out his phone. The screen was a cruel sun in the dimness. Grindr bloomed open automatically, a digital phantom limb. The grid refreshed. New profiles, new faces, new torsos. The messages from last night were already buried under a fresh layer of ‘hey’ and ‘wyd’.
A photo from ‘LatinJock23’ – Mateo, he realized – popped up. It was a bathroom selfie from just minutes ago, steam still on the mirror. He was smirking, a towel slung low on his hips. The caption: ‘Missed you already. Roommate’s asking when you’re coming back.’
A jolt, sharp and electric, went through Jamie. It wasn’t pleasure. It was recognition. The hunt was over before it began. The prey was beckoning him back to the den.
He didn’t reply. He stared at the photo until the screen went dark, his reflection a pale, tired ghost superimposed over Mateo’s smirk. The thought of going back, of picking up where they left off, of being that conduit again… it should have repelled him. It should have scared him.
It sounded like peace.
He stood up, his joints stiff. He didn’t head for the subway home. He turned and walked back the way he came, his footsteps quicker now, a purpose in them that had nothing to do with desire and everything to do with need.
The penthouse door was unlocked. Jamie pushed it open and stepped back into the warm, silent dark. The scent of sex and chlorine still hung in the air, layered now with the smell of fresh coffee. He toed off his shoes.
Nathaniel was standing in the kitchen, his back to the room, pouring coffee into a mug. He was naked save for a pair of tight black briefs. The early morning light filtering through the east-facing windows cut across the muscles of his back and shoulders. He didn’t turn around.
“Knew you’d come back,” he said, his voice a low rumble. He took a sip of coffee. “Door doesn’t lock automatically. Left it open for you.”
Jamie said nothing. He leaned against the wall, watching.
“Mateo’s in the shower,” Nathaniel continued, finally glancing over his shoulder. His eyes were calm, knowing. “He bet me twenty bucks you’d be gone for good. I told him you weren’t done.”
“And what am I not done with?” Jamie asked, his own voice sounding thin.
Nathaniel turned fully. He leaned against the quartz countertop, coffee mug dangling from his fingers. “Filling the hole.” He said it simply, without judgment. “You think you’re the first guy I’ve seen who’s trying to fuck a void? You’re just the prettiest. And the hungriest.”
The accuracy of it was a slap. Jamie flinched. He looked away, toward the sliding glass doors leading to the balcony. The sky was shifting from indigo to a soft peach.
“Go on out,” Nathaniel said, nodding towards the balcony. “Get some air. I’ll be there in a minute.”
Jamie walked through the living room, past the couch that still held the indentation of their bodies. He slid the door open and stepped onto the balcony. The air was cool and clean up here, thirty stories above the city’s grumble. It was a long, narrow space of sleek concrete and frosted glass panels. A shallow, rectangular soaking tub, built into the deck, steamed gently. The city skyline spread out in a jagged tapestry of grays and golds.
He heard the shower stop inside. A few minutes later, Mateo joined him, barefoot, wearing only low-slung gray sweatpants. His hair was damp, his skin glowing. He smelled of Nathaniel’s expensive soap.
“Told him you were a flight risk,” Mateo said, leaning on the railing beside Jamie. He didn’t look at him. He watched the city waking up. “You looked like a rabbit caught in headlights when you left.”
“I came back, didn’t I?”
“Yeah. You did.” Mateo finally turned, his dark eyes appraising. “Why?”
Jamie didn’t have an answer. Or he had too many. He shrugged.
The sliding door opened again. Nathaniel stepped out, carrying two more mugs of coffee. He’d put on the black briefs, nothing else. The morning light spilled over him, catching the steam rising from the mugs and the finer steam curling from the tub. He handed a mug to Mateo, then offered one to Jamie. Their fingers brushed. Jamie’s hand wasn’t steady.
“So,” Nathaniel said, after a long sip. He looked from Jamie to Mateo and back again. “We have a problem.”
Jamie stared into his coffee. “What’s that?”
“We both want you,” Nathaniel said, his tone conversational, as if discussing a shared interest in a TV show. “And you want… whatever it is you want. But there’s only one of you.”
Mateo grinned, a flash of white teeth. “And we’re not great at sharing.”
A strange, fluttery feeling rose in Jamie’s chest. It wasn’t fear. It was a dark, curling excitement. He was being discussed like a contested object. It should have felt degrading. It felt like focus.
“What’s the solution?” Jamie asked, his voice barely a whisper.
Nathaniel set his mug down on the wide railing. He walked to the sunken tub and tested the water with his fingers. “We flip a coin,” he said. “Winner gets you first. The other watches. Then we switch.” He looked up, his gaze holding Jamie’s. “Unless you have a better idea.”
Jamie’s mouth was dry. He took a gulp of hot coffee, barely tasting it. The heat spread through his chest, doing nothing to melt the cold knot in his gut. The hollowness was a vibrating string. “No,” he said. “That works.”
Nathaniel pulled a quarter from the pocket of his briefs. “Heads or tails, Matty?”
“Heads,” Mateo said, not taking his eyes off Jamie.
The coin spun in the bright morning air, a flash of silver. Nathaniel caught it, slapped it onto the back of his hand. He peeked. A slow smile spread across his face. “Tails. I win.”
Mateo snorted, but he was smiling too. He shoved off from the railing. “Fine. I get the better view anyway.”
Nathaniel stepped into the tub, the hot water lapping at his ankles, then his calves. He sank down until he was seated, the water rising to his waist. He looked like some decadent Roman emperor in his sunken bath. He beckoned Jamie with a curl of his finger.
Jamie put his mug down. His hands trembled. He peeled off his jacket, then his t-shirt, letting them fall to the cool concrete. He stepped out of his jeans and briefs, the morning air raising goosebumps on his skin. He was hard already, a traitorous, eager response to the sheer audacity of the situation. He walked to the tub and stepped in.
The water was scalding, a shock that made him gasp. It immediately loosened something in his muscles, the residual ache from the night softening in the heat. He stood over Nathaniel, the water at his thighs.
Nathaniel’s hands settled on his hips, pulling him closer. “Kneel,” he instructed, his voice soft.
Jamie lowered himself, the water sloshing around them. He knelt between Nathaniel’s spread legs, the hard tile of the tub floor pressing into his knees. Nathaniel was already hard, his cock a thick, heavy weight against his stomach.
From his vantage point, Jamie saw Mateo settle into a cushioned patio chair a few feet away. He had his coffee mug in one hand, the other already working lazily under the waistband of his sweatpants. His expression was one of detached, amused interest.
Nathaniel guided Jamie’s head down. “Start with him,” he murmured, nodding toward Mateo. “Since he lost.”
Jamie understood. He shifted, turning on his knees in the tight space. Mateo spread his legs, giving him room. Jamie leaned forward, the hot water lapping at his chest, and took Mateo into his mouth.
Mateo let out a long, satisfied sigh. His hand came to rest on the back of Jamie’s head, not forcing, just present. “Yeah,” he whispered. “Just like that.”
Jamie worked him slowly, taking his time, his own arousal a sharp, painful throb between his legs. He could feel Nathaniel behind him, a wall of heat and intention. He heard the sound of a bottle opening, the slick sound of lube.
Nathaniel’s fingers, slick and warm from the water and the lube, found him. They pressed against him, one sliding in easily, a reminder of the night’s work. Jamie moaned around Mateo, the vibration earning a sharp intake of breath from above.
“You hear that?” Nathaniel said, his voice close to Jamie’s ear. His other hand stroked Jamie’s back, a parody of comfort. “He’s ready. You gonna be a good boy and take us both again?”
Jamie pulled off Mateo with a wet pop. He turned his head, water dripping from his chin. “Yes.”
Nathaniel’s finger curled inside him, a precise, devastating pressure. “Good.”
He removed his finger. Jamie felt the blunt, broad pressure of him nudging against his entrance. Nathaniel’s hands gripped his hips, holding him in place. He didn’t push in. Not yet.
“Mateo,” Nathaniel said, his voice taking on a harder edge. “You want your turn in this sweet ass?”
“Obviously,” Mateo said, his voice strained. He was watching, his hand moving faster now.
“Then you’ll have to wait your turn. But you can have his mouth. For now.” Nathaniel looked down at Jamie. His gaze was possessive, hungry. “You understand? You’re mine first. Then you’re his. You’re the thing we’re sharing today.”
The words should have felt cheap. They felt like a script, a role he was born to play. Jamie nodded, his cheek resting against Mateo’s thigh. He opened his mouth and took Mateo back in, deeper this time, letting his throat relax.
As he did, Nathaniel pushed forward.
The stretch was even more intense in the hot water, a shocking, full burn. Jamie cried out, the sound muffled around Mateo. He sank back, taking Nathaniel deeper, the water swirling around them. Nathaniel moved with a slow, inexorable power, each thrust measured and deep, setting a rhythm that pushed Jamie forward onto Mateo, then pulled him back.
It was a different kind of being used. Slower. More deliberate. In the bright morning light, there was no hiding, no shadowy pretense of passion. This was a transaction, and he was the currency. The hollowness didn’t just quiet; it celebrated, singing a shrill note of perfect, temporary fulfillment.
Nathaniel picked up the pace, his breathing becoming ragged. His hands were tight on Jamie’s hips, guiding him, using him. “Gonna come in you again,” he grunted. “Mark you twice before breakfast.”
Mateo’s hand tightened in Jamie’s hair, his hips pushing up, fucking his mouth in short, sharp jabs. “Swallow it,” he commanded, his voice tight. “Swallow every drop.”
Jamie did. He took it all, the push and the pull, the claim and the demand. He was the link between them, a vessel being filled from both ends. The world narrowed to the burning stretch, the ache in his jaw, the slap of water against the sides of the tub, the low groans of the man behind him and the one in his mouth.
Nathaniel came first, with a shuddering groan, pressing Jamie down as he emptied into him. The hot pulse inside him tipped Jamie over his own edge, a silent, convulsive release that left him trembling in the water.
Nathaniel held him there, spent, for a long moment before slowly pulling out. The aftermath was a warm, liquid trickle down Jamie’s thigh.
“Your turn,” Nathaniel said, his voice thick with satisfaction. He slapped Jamie’s ass lightly. “He’s all yours, Matty. Wreck him.”
Nathaniel hauled himself out of the tub, water streaming off his body. He grabbed a towel and sank into the chair Mateo had vacated, watching with a lazy, possessive grin.
Mateo was out of his seat instantly. He didn’t get in the tub. He pulled Jamie up by the arms, turning him roughly, pressing his back against the cool, frosted glass of the balcony railing. The city was a dizzying blur behind him.
“My turn,” Mateo breathed, his eyes blazing. He wasn’t gentle. He hooked Jamie’s legs over his arms, lifted him with an easy strength, and pushed inside him in one fierce, driving motion.
Jamie’s head snapped back against the glass with a thud. The air left his lungs in a rush. This was different from Nathaniel’s overpowering fullness. This was sharper, more aggressive, a claiming of his own. Mateo fucked him against the railing with a frenetic, selfish energy, chasing his own pleasure with single-minded focus.
Jamie clung to him, his fingers digging into Mateo’s shoulders, his world reduced to the percussive impact of their bodies, the panoramic view of the awakening city at his back, and the empty, grinning face of Nathaniel watching from his chair.
Mateo’s rhythm broke, his thrusts becoming ragged, erratic. He came with a sharp cry, burying his face in Jamie’s neck.
He held Jamie there for a minute, both of them breathing hard, slick with sweat and bath water. Then he lowered him, his feet finding the ground. Jamie’s legs almost buckled.
Mateo stepped back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He looked at Nathaniel. “Twenty bucks,” he said, and walked back inside, leaving the balcony door open.
Jamie slumped against the railing, his body trembling with exhaustion and oversensitivity. The morning sun was properly up now, painting everything in a hard, honest light. He looked down at himself. He was a mess of water and spend and bruises beginning to bloom.
Nathaniel stood up from his chair. He walked over, cupping Jamie’s face. His thumb brushed Jamie’s swollen lower lip. “Coffee’s getting cold,” he said, his voice gentle again. “Come on. Let’s get you cleaned up.”
Jamie let himself be led inside, a hollow vessel once more, waiting for the next fill.
Jamie let himself be led inside, a hollow vessel once more, waiting for the next fill. The next few hours were a blur of soft towels, strong coffee, and a strange, quiet domesticity that felt more alien than any fuck. Nathaniel made omelets. Mateo scrolled on his phone, his foot occasionally nudging Jamie’s under the table. They talked about the weather, a missed delivery, a film neither of them had seen. They did not talk about the balcony, the tub, the shared use of the body sitting between them picking at his food.
It was this normalcy that finally drove Jamie out. The kindness was a cage. The easy silence was a judgment. He made an excuse about a forgotten shift, his voice sounding brittle in his own ears. Nathaniel just nodded, his eyes knowing. Mateo didn’t look up from his screen. “See you around, rabbit,” he muttered, and the nickname felt like a brand.
Days bled into one another, a monotonous scroll of routine. The phantom aches faded from his body, replaced by the old, familiar restless itch. The hollow space had not been filled; it had been stretched wider, shown new dimensions of emptiness. Nathaniel and Mateo had texted, a few times. Casual, open-ended invitations. He deleted them. Going back would be an admission. It would make the hollow thing real.
He found himself on his own couch one rain-spattered evening, the blue glow of his phone the only light. Grindr was a compulsive geography under his thumb. Profiles blurred: torsos in gym mirrors, blank headshots, smiley faces over faces. He wasn’t looking for conversation. He was looking for an erasure.
A new profile, close, flashed up. ‘K1NG’. No face, just a picture of a toned, black torso, abs sharp, a chain with a heavy medallion resting in the V of his hips. The stats were intimidating: 6’3”, 220 lbs. The description was a single line: Very aggressive. Know what you’re here for.
His thumb hovered. The hollowness gave a resonant thrum.
He tapped. The message window opened. He typed, deleted, typed again. Hey.
The reply was instantaneous. Address. Now.
Jamie sent it. A pin dropped. 15 min. Door’s open. Don’t be late.
The apartment was in a squat, brick building in a neighborhood that whispered neglect. The hallway smelled of stale grease and artificial pine. The door to 3B was indeed slightly ajar. Jamie pushed it open, his heart a frantic bird against his ribs.
The apartment was dark, blinds drawn. A single floor lamp in the corner illuminated a bare, worn sofa and a large, shirtless man standing in the center of the room. He was bigger than his picture, muscles coiled under smooth, dark skin. He wore only low-slung basketball shorts. His eyes tracked Jamie, flat and assessing.
“You Jamie.” It wasn’t a question. His voice was a low rumble, devoid of Nathaniel’s playful tone or Mateo’s casual malice.
“Yeah.”
“Shut the door.”
Jamie did, the click of the latch final. The man—K1NG—closed the distance in two silent strides. He smelled of cocoa butter and something sharper, like gun oil. He cupped Jamie’s jaw, his hand enveloping it, forcing his head up. His grip wasn’t gentle. “Look at you. Skinny little white boy. You that desperate for a real dick?”
The words were coarse, gravel in Jamie’s ear. A hot shiver, unmistakable and welcome, shot down his spine. “Yeah,” Jamie breathed, the admission leaving him in a rush.
“Talk clear.”
“I’m desperate for it.”
A smirk touched the man’s lips. It held no warmth. “Figured. Your profile screams it. All tight clothes and no substance. You’re just a hole looking for a fill, right? A pretty little fuck-toy.”
Each degrading word was a strike that landed not as pain, but as permission. Jamie’s body responded, tightening with a need that was pure and simple. “Right.”
“Strip. Naked. Let me see what I’m working with.”
Jamie’s fingers fumbled with his buttons, his zipper. The air in the apartment was cool on his skin as his clothes pooled at his feet. He stood there, exposed, under that impassive gaze.
K1NG’s eyes raked over him. He didn’t touch. He just pushed his own shorts down. His cock sprang free, thick and heavy and impossibly long, a startling, dark weight against his thigh. Jamie’s mouth went dry. The claimed it was twenty inches was not an exaggeration.
“See that?” K1NG said, wrapping a fist around himself, giving it two slow, terrifying pulls. “That’s what you asked for. You’re gonna take all of it. You’re gonna thank me for it.”
He produced a bottle of lube from the couch cushion, slicking himself with a rough, squelching sound that was obscenely loud in the quiet room. He didn’t prep Jamie. He just pointed to the worn arm of the sofa. “Bend over. Ass in the air. Now, you little slut.”
Jamie moved, his limbs compliant. The coarse fabric of the sofa scratched his chest. He heard the step behind him, felt the blunt, slick head nudge against him. There was no careful breach, no slow descent. K1NG just pushed, a steady, brutal pressure that tore a ragged cry from Jamie’s throat.
It was a white-hot spear of pure stretch, a violation so complete it bordered on transcendence. He was filled, impossibly filled, every inch a burning conquest. K1NG didn’t pause. He gripped Jamie’s arms just above the elbows, his hold vise-tight, and used them as leverage.
He pulled Jamie back onto him with every forward thrust of his hips.
The rhythm was mechanical, powerful, devastating. Each slam drove the air from Jamie’s lungs in a punched-out grunt. The slap of skin was a brutal metronome. K1NG leaned over him, his breath hot on Jamie’s neck.
“That’s it, take it, you dumb bitch,” he growled, his voice a harsh beat accompanying the pounding. “This what you needed? You needed a real man to tear that ass up? To use you like the disposable piece you are?”
“Yes!” Jamie gasped, the word mangled.
A sharp, stinging crack landed on his ass cheek. The pain bloomed, mixing with the overwhelming fullness. “Louder.”
“YES!”
“You’re nothing but a warm, tight hole for my dick. You know that?” He punctuated each sentence with a deeper, harder thrust, his grip on Jamie’s arms the only thing anchoring him to the world.
“I know!” Jamie screamed, the confession torn from him. It was true. It was all he was. The hollow space was screaming too, not in protest, but in a chorus of awful, perfect alignment.
K1NG’s rhythm fractured, his thrusts becoming shorter, sharper, more urgent. His words dissolved into a gritty, grunting chant. “Take this load, you whore. Take every fucking drop. You better feel it.”
He slammed home, buried to the hilt, and held. A deep, guttural roar echoed in the room. Jamie felt it—a huge, explosive pulsing heat flooding into him, wave after wave, a claiming that was biological, absolute.
He stayed there, impaled, for a long moment. Then K1NG pulled out, the departure leaving Jamie feeling gutted and gaping. Cool air hit the wet mess between his thighs.
K1NG stepped back, tucking himself away. He looked down at Jamie, still crumpled over the sofa, breathing in ragged hitches. “Bathroom’s down the hall if you wanna clean up,” he said, his voice now flat, emptied of its aggressive charge. It was just a statement of fact.
He picked up his phone and sank onto the other end of the sofa, already scrolling, as if Jamie were no longer there.