Chapter 20: Chapter 20
The week that followed was a soft, warm blur of takeout boxes, tangled sheets, and easy laughter. Jake felt like he was living inside a pleasant dream, each day folding into the next with Ethan’s scent on his skin and a constant, low hum of contentment in his chest. They’d traded favorite albums, Ethan introducing Jake to a riotous electronic duo he’d never heard of, Jake forcing Ethan to sit through a four-hour critique of a beloved fantasy series. They’d tried Ethan’s beginner yoga video on the living room rug, collapsing into a heap of giggles when Jake’s downward dog more closely resembled a sinking ship. The world outside Ethan’s apartment seemed to recede, a distant, irrelevant noise.
On Friday evening, as they lay on the couch digesting a truly heroic amount of Thai food, Ethan nudged Jake’s shoulder with his foot. “We should go out.”
Jake, nestled into the crook of Ethan’s arm, made a noncommittal sound. “We are out. We’re out of the bedroom.”
“Funny. No, I mean out out. Like, people, music, noise. A club.”
The pleasant hum in Jake’s chest stuttered. “A club? Like, a dancing, shouting, overpriced-drinks club?”
“The very same.” Ethan twisted to look at him, his green eyes sparkling. “Come on, it’ll be fun. We’ll get dressed up, have a few drinks, I’ll show you my moves.”
“You have moves?”
“Debatable moves. But they’re my debatable moves. Come on, live a little. We’ve been in a cozy bubble for a week. Let’s go pop it for a night.”
Jake’s instinct was to refuse, to burrow deeper into the couch and this new, safe reality. But he looked at Ethan’s eager face, the challenge in his smile, and remembered the man who had drawn him out of his shell simply by seeing him. “Okay,” he said, the word feeling foreign. “Okay, one drink. Maybe two.”
Ethan’s grin was triumphant. “That’s the spirit! Two drinks minimum.”
The club was called “Pulse,” and it lived up to its name. The bass was a physical thing, a thrumming pressure in the chest that vibrated up through the soles of Jake’s shoes. Strobing lights cut through a fog machine haze, illuminating swaths of sweating, moving bodies before plunging them back into neon-tinged darkness. The air was thick with the smell of perfume, spilled beer, and human heat.
Jake felt immediately, overwhelmingly out of place. He clung to the edge of their small, sticky table, nursing a vodka soda that tasted mostly of regret. Ethan, however, was in his element. He’d shed his jacket, his fitted maroon shirt catching the light, his curls bouncing as he moved to the music, watching the crowd with an open, amused expression.
“You good?” Ethan shouted over the din, leaning in so close Jake could feel his breath.
“It’s loud!” Jake shouted back, which was answer enough.
Ethan laughed and slid Jake’s glass towards him. “Drink faster! It helps!”
Jake obeyed, the sharp burn of the vodka a familiar, if unpleasant, anchor. The second drink went down easier. By the third, purchased by Ethan with a wink, the sharp edges of the room began to soften. The noise became less an assault and more a blanket of sound. His own body felt looser, less like a clumsy intrusion and more like a part of the landscape.
“See?” Ethan slurred into his ear, his arm around Jake’s waist, pulling him close. His breath smelled of gin and mint. “Not so bad!”
Jake giggled, a sound he hardly recognized as his own. He leaned into Ethan, letting the music move through him in a clumsy sway. The world was a warm, pulsing blur.
That’s when they saw them. Or rather, when she saw Ethan. A blonde girl, her sequined top glittering under the lights, stumbled into their table, catching herself on Ethan’s shoulder. “Whoops! Sorry, big guy!” She laughed, a high, tinkling sound. Her friend, a brunette with dark eyeliner smudged around her eyes, hovered behind her, giggling.
“No harm done,” Ethan said, his charm switching on seamlessly even through his own drunken haze. He steadied her. “You alright?”
“I’m Chloe!” she announced, as if presenting credentials. “This is Mia! We lost our friends!”
“Tragic,” Ethan said, playing along. “I’m Ethan. This is Jake.”
Chloe’s glassy blue eyes slid from Ethan to Jake and back again. “You two are cute. Like, really cute. Are you together?”
Jake’s drunk brain short-circuited. Ethan just smiled, squeezing Jake’s waist. “Yeah, we are.”
“That’s so hot,” Mia breathed, her words slurring. She looked them both up and down with a boldness only alcohol could provide. “Like, really hot.”
Chloe nodded vigorously, her balance precarious. “You should buy us a drink! To celebrate! Celebrating… us meeting!” She dissolved into giggles again.
Ethan looked at Jake, a question in his bleary eyes. Jake, buoyed by the alcohol and the novel feeling of being seen as part of a “hot” couple, shrugged. “Sure. Why not?”
What followed was a rapid, slurred exchange. Another round of shots materialized—tequila this time, which Jake drank with a grimace, the burn making his eyes water. Chloe and Mia pressed closer. Chloe’s hand found Ethan’s bicep, her fingers tracing the fabric of his shirt. Mia sidled up to Jake, her hip bumping his.
“You’re quiet,” she shouted near his ear. Her perfume was cloyingly sweet.
“It’s loud!” Jake shouted back, the old standby.
She laughed and pressed a fresh drink into his hand. Her fingers lingered on his. The world tilted another degree.
The conversation was meaningless—shouted phrases about music, work, the absurd price of the drinks—lost in the cavernous noise of the club. But the intent was clear. Chloe and Mia were very drunk. They were very handsy. And they were very, very interested.
Ethan caught Jake’s eye over Chloe’s glittering shoulder. His expression was complex: a mixture of drunken arousal, bewildered amusement, and a silent check-in. He raised his eyebrows. Jake, feeling a reckless, liquid courage surge through him, gave a small, almost imperceptible nod.
It seemed to decide something.
The next thing Jake knew, they were spilling out into the cool night air, the sudden quiet ringing in his ears. The four of them were a tangled, laughing unit, hailing a cab that was far too small. Ethan gave his address to the driver, his voice firm despite the slur.
In the backseat, a chaos of limbs and heat, Chloe had somehow ended up on Ethan’s lap, her mouth on his in a sloppy, open-mouthed kiss. Ethan’s hands were on her waist, holding her steady as the cab lurched. Jake, crammed against the window, felt Mia’s hand slide up his thigh, her head on his shoulder. He stared straight ahead, his heart hammering against his ribs, a confusing cocktail of nausea and raw, physical want churning in his gut. He didn’t look at Ethan. He couldn’t.
The ascent to Ethan’s apartment was a silent, heavy climb. The giggling had stopped. Now there was just the sound of four sets of footsteps on the stairs, ragged breathing, and the clumsy fumble of keys at the door. Ethan finally got it open, and they spilled into the dark living room, the ghost of their pizza-and-movie night from a week ago still hanging in the air.
Chloe didn’t hesitate. As soon as the door clicked shut, she pushed Ethan back against it, her hands diving under his shirt. Ethan groaned, his hands coming up to cup her face, his kiss becoming more intentional, more hungry.
Mia turned to Jake in the dim light filtering in from the streetlamp outside. She didn’t speak. She just stepped into him, her hands framing his face, and kissed him. Her mouth tasted of stale lip gloss and sour tequila. Jake’s brain screamed a dozen different objections, but his body, buzzed and betrayed by a deep, hidden curiosity, responded. His hands found her hips, and he kissed her back.
It was different. Softer, in a way. Less knowing. But the animal mechanics were the same. The press of bodies. The shared heat.
“Bedroom,” Ethan gasped, breaking away from Chloe’s mouth. His eyes, dark and wide, found Jake’s for a fractured second across the room. There was a wildness there Jake had never seen, a question, a frantic edge.
They stumbled down the hall, a clumsy parade. Ethan and Chloe fell onto the bed first, a tangle of limbs and urgent hands. Mia pulled Jake down beside them. The mattress dipped under the sudden weight of four bodies.
It was surreal. Disorienting. The room smelled of sex and sweat and the cloying sweetness of the girls’ perfume, undercut by the familiar scent of Ethan’s laundry detergent. Chloe had Ethan’s shirt off, her mouth on his neck, his chest. Ethan’s hands were pulling at her sequined top, the fabric ripping slightly at the side seam with a faint, desperate sound.
Mia was working on Jake’s belt, her fingers clumsy. “Help me,” she whispered, her breath hot against his neck. Jake, moving as if underwater, helped her undo the buckle, the button, the zipper. She shoved his jeans and boxers down his hips in one rough movement. Her small, cool hand wrapped around his cock, already hard from the friction and the shock and the sheer, overwhelming sensation of it all. He hissed, his head falling back.
To his left, he heard Ethan mutter, “Christ,” and the rustle of clothing, a zipper. Then Chloe’s louder gasp, and the wet, slick sound of a mouth on skin. Jake didn’t look. He couldn’t.
Mia pushed Jake onto his back and straddled him, hiking up her short black dress. She wasn’t wearing underwear. In the half-light, he could see the dark triangle of her pubic hair, the glistening wetness there. She guided him inside her with a practiced roll of her hips, sinking down onto him with a low, shuddering moan.
She was tight. Hot. Different. Jake gasped, his hands flying to her thighs. The sensation was immense, a blunt, overwhelming fullness that drove the air from his lungs. She began to move, a slow, grinding rhythm, her eyes closed, her head thrown back.
“Fuck,” Jake breathed, the word ripped from him. His eyes darted to the side. Ethan was on his back now too, and Chloe was between his legs, her head bobbing up and down in his lap. Ethan’s hand was tangled in her blonde hair, his eyes screwed shut, his mouth open in a silent groan.
Mia leaned forward, her breasts pressing against Jake’s chest, her mouth finding his ear. “Your boyfriend’s hot,” she slurred. “Is he as big as you?”
The question was so crude, so absurdly out of place, that a hysterical laugh bubbled in Jake’s throat. He swallowed it. Instead, he gripped her hips and thrust up into her, harder than he meant to. She cried out, a sharp sound of pleasure, and rode him faster.
The bed was shaking. The room was a cacophony of skin slapping against skin, ragged breaths, and choked moans. Jake felt detached, a spectator in his own body. He was fucking a stranger on the same bed where, just days ago, Ethan had held him so tenderly after making love. The cognitive dissonance was dizzying.
Ethan’s groan cut through the haze. “Chloe, wait… I’m gonna…”
Chloe didn’t stop. Her movements became more frantic, hungry. Ethan’s back arched clear off the mattress, a guttural, choked sound tearing from his throat as he came in her mouth. Jake watched, hypnotized, as Ethan’s body convulsed, then went limp, his chest heaving.
Chloe pulled off him with a wet pop, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. She looked over at Mia and Jake, her eyes glassy and dark. “Switch?” she said, her voice hoarse.
Before Jake could even process the word, Mia climbed off him, his cock slipping out with a slick, cold emptiness. Chloe crawled over Ethan’s prone form and positioned herself over Jake. She was already wet, smeared with her own arousal and Ethan’s release. She took him inside her without ceremony, sinking down in one smooth, deep motion.
She was looser than Mia, used, and she moved with a different, more aggressive undulation. Jake’s hands went to her ass, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of her cheeks. He was close, teetering on an edge made slippery by alcohol and profound confusion.
“Yeah, like that,” Chloe moaned, riding him hard. “Fuck, you’re bigger than you look.”
From the side, Ethan watched. He had propped himself up on his elbows, his cock still slick and half-hard. His eyes were locked on Jake’s face, his expression unreadable in the gloom. Jake stared back, his breath coming in short gasps. In that shared look, the noise faded. The slurred encouragement from Mia, the creak of the bed, the traffic sounds from the street below—it all fell away. There was just Ethan’s gaze, intense and searching, anchoring Jake in the storm of sensation.
Chloe’s pace became frantic, desperate. “I’m gonna come,” she whimpered, her body tightening around him.
It tipped Jake over the edge. With a choked cry that was more anguish than ecstasy, he came inside her, his hips bucking upward, his vision whiting out for a second. Pleasure, sharp and bright, sliced through the confusion, followed instantly by a cold, clenching wave of shame.
Chloe collapsed onto his chest, sweaty and breathing heavily. Mia clapped drunkenly from the foot of the bed. “Fuck yeah,” she said.
Silence descended, thick and heavy, broken only by their labored breathing. The cheap perfume and sex smell in the room was suddenly overwhelming. Jake lay there, a stranger’s weight on his chest, a stranger’s fluids cooling on his stomach, and felt the world snap back into a harsh, unforgiving focus.
He had just had sex with two women.
In Ethan’s bed.
While Ethan watched.
Slowly, Chloe rolled off him. The bed shifted as Mia stood up, unsteady on her feet. “Bathroom?” she mumbled.
she mumbled. Ethan pointed wordlessly down the hall, his voice seemingly stuck in his throat. Mia stumbled out, leaving the three of them in the heavy quiet of the rumpled bed.
Jake stared at the ceiling, feeling Chloe’s sweat drying on his chest, feeling the unfamiliar, unsettling wetness between his own legs. His mind was a screeching, blank static. Ethan shifted beside him, the mattress groaning.
“Well,” Chloe said, her voice too loud in the silence. She sat up, swinging her legs off the bed. “That was fun.” She found her sequined top on the floor and pulled it on, not bothering with the torn seam.
Ethan finally spoke, his tone flat. “There’s cheap whisky in the kitchen. Bottom cabinet.”
Chloe lit up. “Perfect. I’m parched.” She nudged Ethan’s leg. “Coming?”
Ethan looked at Jake, a complex, unreadable tension in his face. He didn’t smile. He just pushed himself up. “Yeah. Need a drink.”
Jake watched him go, Ethan’s broad, naked back disappearing into the dim hallway. A cold knot tightened in Jake’s stomach. He mechanically pulled his jeans up, his skin feeling filthy. He could still smell Mia’s perfume on his neck.
In the living room, Ethan was shirtless, pouring a generous four fingers of amber liquid into mismatched glasses. Chloe had found the bag of pretzels from earlier in the week and was loudly crunching on them. Mia returned, her eyeliner even more smudged.
“Whisky? Hell yes,” Mia said, taking a glass and downing half in one gulp. She winced, then grinned. “Smooth.”
Ethan handed Jake a glass without meeting his eyes. Their fingers brushed. Jake flinched. The whisky was harsh and smoky, burning a path down his throat that felt like punishment. He drank it fast.
“So,” Chloe said, perched on the arm of Ethan’s couch. “You guys are new. Like, boyfriends new.”
“Yeah,” Ethan said, leaning against the kitchen counter. He stared into his glass.
“Cool, cool,” Mia said, refilling her own drink from the bottle Ethan had left on the coffee table. “We should do this again sometime. Less clothes next time.” She giggled, a sharp, brittle sound.
Jake’s face burned. He poured himself more whisky. The room began to swim, the sharp edges of his shame blurring into a dull, throbbing ache. He drank.
Ethan pushed off the counter and joined them in the living room, sinking into his usual spot on the couch. Chloe immediately settled onto the floor between his knees, her back against the sofa. Her hand rested on his bare thigh. Ethan didn’t move it away. He just drank.
The bottle level dropped. The conversation became a slurry of disjointed fragments. Chloe talked about an ex-boyfriend. Mia complained about her job. Ethan offered short, gruff replies. Jake was silent, a spectator in his own life, drowning the flickering images—Chloe’s bobbing head, Mia’s grinding hips, Ethan’s watching eyes—with each new pour of whisky.
His glass was never empty. Mia saw to that, her movements becoming clumsier, her laughter louder. She spilled some on the rug. “Oopsie.”
“It’s fine,” Ethan muttered, his words starting to thicken. His gaze kept drifting to Jake, lingering, then darting away as if scalded.
Chloe tipped her head back, resting it against Ethan’s stomach. “You know what we should do?” she announced to the room. “We should play a game.”
“I’m not playing spin the bottle,” Mia snorted, then hiccupped.
“No, like… truth or dare. But, like, sexy truth or dare.”
Ethan let out a low, humorless sound. “We’re all half-naked and drunk on my floor. Isn’t that dare enough?”
Chloe pouted. “You’re no fun.” She reached up and behind her, her hand groping vaguely until it found the waistband of Ethan’s underwear. She slipped her fingers inside, over the curve of his ass. Ethan stiffened. His eyes shot to Jake, wide and alarmed.
Jake stood up abruptly. The room tilted. “Need air,” he mumbled, staggering toward the window. He fumbled with the latch, finally shoving it open. The cool night air hit him like a slap. He braced his hands on the sill, gulping it in.
Behind him, he heard Mia’s voice. “Your boyfriend’s sensitive.”
“He’s fine,” Ethan said, but his voice lacked its usual certainty. There was a rustle, a sharp intake of breath. Jake didn’t turn. He couldn’t.
The drinking didn’t stop. It became the only point of the gathering. Chloe dared Ethan to take another shot, which he did, tilting his head back, his throat working. Mia challenged Jake to match her. He did, the whisky tasting like nothing now, just heat and oblivion.
Someone put music on, low and thrumming. The pretzel bag was empty. The bottle was half gone. Ethan’s speech became a slow, careful crawl. “Jake,” he said, the name slurred. “C’mere.”
Jake turned from the window. The sight was a physical blow. Chloe was now in Ethan’s lap on the couch, her sequined top discarded again. Ethan’s hands were on her hips, his face buried in the crook of her neck. He was hard again, the outline obvious against his underwear. Mia watched them with a glazed, possessive smile, her hand absentmindedly stroking her own inner thigh.
“Jake,” Ethan repeated, lifting his head. His eyes were glistening, unfocused. “It’s… it’s still our night. Right?”
The wrongness of it all condensed into a sharp, singular pain in Jake’s chest. He walked over, his legs unsteady. He took the whisky bottle from the table. He didn’t bother with a glass. He put it to his lips and drank, long and deep, until Ethan’s blurry form wavered and the room pitched sideways.
Mia cheered. “Now that’s a dare!”
Jake sank to the floor, his back against the couch near Ethan’s feet. The world was melting. Chloe was whispering something in Ethan’s ear, and Ethan’s low groan vibrated through the furniture into Jake’s spine. Ethan’s hand left Chloe’s hip and fumbled down, his fingers finding Jake’s hair, tangling in it. The touch was clumsy, possessive, desperate.
“See?” Ethan slurred, his voice thick above him. “We’re all… together.”
Chloe giggled, a high, manic sound. She reached for the bottle in Jake’s limp hand. “My turn.”
They drank. They drank until the bottle was empty. They drank until Mia slumped sideways onto the rug, her breathing deep and snuffling. They drank until Chloe’s teasing whispers trailed off and her head lolled back against Ethan’s shoulder, her mouth open. They drank until Ethan’s grip in Jake’s hair went slack and his hand fell away, landing heavy on Jake’s shoulder before sliding off.
Silence, finally. A thick, alcoholic silence broken only by ragged, sleeping breaths. Jake blinked, his vision tunneling. He saw the empty bottle on its side. He saw Mia’s spilled drink soaking into the wool rug. He saw Ethan’s head thrown back, his mouth agape, Chloe’s dead weight pinning him to the couch.
The last thing he saw before the darkness swallowed him was the red digital numbers on the microwave in the kitchen: 4:17 AM. The flat, silent eye of the hour. Then nothing.