*Bidding war*
Reiner drives home in a daze, barely aware of Historia and Ymir chattering away across the car. He can't remember the last time he felt like this: dazed, his head spinning, unable to focus. And yet, at the same time, the light from the street lamps seems to be sharper than normal; Historia's perfume lingers in the back of his nose, flowery and delicate; the sound of Ymir shifting and rustling in the backseat sends minute vibrations through the car. Distantly, Reiner realizes that he's hungry.
"Reiner?"
"Hmmm?" They're at a light, and he turns to look at Historia, blinking a few times and trying to clear his head.
"I asked if you were okay." Historia's perfectly shaped brows are drawn down in concern. "You're not mad, are you?"
"What? No, I'm not mad." He's a lot of things right now-confused, aching, weirdly aware of everything around him-but Reiner isn't mad. How can he be, when the image of Jaws' flexible hips and flashing hazel eyes is seared into his mind?
"You're so quiet..."
"He's storing up materials in the spank bank!" Ymir leans her arms over the back of the front seat, grinning out of the side of her mouth at Reiner. "Aren't you? That was a feisty little number you chose!"
Historia pokes her head around Ymir, a look of vague hope writ across her face. "He was really cute, Reiner, did you like him?"
He smiles then, how can he not, and nods. "Yes. I liked him."
Ymir whoops obnoxiously, and slaps the back of Reiner's shoulder. "See, I told you! A lap dance is for what ails you!"
"Should I buy you one the next time you're feeling under the weather?" Reiner asks sweetly, and drives the rest of the way to their apartment building unmolested while the two ladies bicker with each other about the ethics of lap dances while in a relationship. Ymir is surprisingly prudish about this concept, much to Reiner's delight, while Historia takes a more pragmatic approach.
"But it's all an act. It's not like it's anything real," she says as Reiner pulls into his marked, private parking spot. It's one of the nicer buildings in downtown Trost, with underground parking, and while Historia and Ymir have a car, it's usually Reiner who ends up driving. "You can't call it cheating if there's nothing behind it!"
"I just don't like it, okay!" Ymir climbs out of the backseat, and rolls her eyes at Reiner. Look what you've got me into, and Reiner shrugs unapologetically. Better to have this discussion now instead of later, he figures.
He walks the ladies to the elevator, and rides with them to the fourteenth floor. When the door chimes politely and opens for them, Historia pauses long enough to turn around and put her arms up for a hug. Reiner obliges, remembering too late that he's still sporting a pretty hefty erection, and doesn't twist away soon enough. It presses, ever so briefly, against Historia's hip, and her eyes are wide when they draw apart.
"Oh," she says, and chews at her lower lip for a moment. "I... goodness, no wonder we didn't work out!"
Reiner can't help it; he laughs into his hand, ducking his head so she can't see his smile. "Sorry. If it's any consolation, it's not for you."
"I know it's not, just... wow." Historia laughs too, a little breathily, a pretty flush rising to her cheeks. "Is that... that's big, right? Bigger than normal?"
"NO!" Ymir wraps both her arms around Historia and starts dragging her off down the hall. "I don't want to know! No hug for me, big guy, you keep that thing to yourself! Bye!"
"Goodbye." Reiner waves at them as the elevator door closes and it starts rising towards his floor.
His apartment is just two doors down from the elevator, and his hallway is quiet and pleasantly lit when the elevator doors whisper open. Reiner strides to his door and lets himself in.
His apartment stretches out before him, sterile, cool, and tastefully decorated. He'd hired an interior decorator when he took this place, and she'd done the apartment in muted, neutral tones, mostly grays and blues. It's masculine, but not overly so, and all clean lines, everything with a place and everything in place. Reiner sets his keys in the little dish he keeps in the foyer for just such a job, toes off his shoes, and closes the door behind him.
The lights come on, alerted by his entrance that they're needed, but they're also on a timer, and don't get too bright. Reiner's glad for that; he doesn't want to be under harsh, glaring lights right now. Everything still feels fragile, and he doesn't want this vividness to fade away. He can already feel the apartment starting to lull him back to the real world, and he finds, to his surprise, that he doesn't want to go.
Not yet, at least.
Reiner settles into his spot on the couch-technically, the whole couch is his spot, but he finds he always sits in the same place-and puts his feet up on the ottoman. He thinks about turning on the TV to catch the end of the match, but no. For once, sports hold no appeal. Instead, he snags his laptop off the coffee table and props it across his knees.
It's his personal laptop, an old brick that's a hold-over from university, one of the few things in the apartment that doesn't fit the modern, coolly understated theme. His work laptop is a smooth, high-powered MacBook Pro, but what he's looking for tonight is nothing he wants to show up in his work browser. Reiner waits as the laptop boots up, humming quietly to itself, and as it does, he idly brushes the sides of his fingers along his erection. He's had it for quite some time now; it starts to go down, and then he remembers, the scenes flashing behind his eyes like an old slideshow. The way Jaws' mouth quirked up at one side when he grinned; the soft, downy fuzz nestled between Jaws' chest muscles; the way Jaws hadn't been afraid to get a little rough with him, pulling and tugging Reiner along to the room, and then slinging his legs up onto his shoulders; the way a tuft of Jaws' hair had fallen out from the rest of it, dangling across his forehead by the end of the dance; but, more than anything, the way it had felt for that split moment at the end, when Jaws was practically in Reiner's lap, his arms around Reiner's neck and his mouth almost close enough to kiss, his breath panting over Reiner's cheeks and his thighs pressed in around Reiner's hips. Reiner thinks he's doing better, that he's going back to normal, and then one of those moments flashes past him again, and he's lost.
With a sigh, he starts clicking through files on his laptop until he reaches the buried one entitled History Channel. He opens it, and starts perusing what's inside.
It only takes a few minutes before Reiner realizes this is never going to work. None of the actors in his carefully curated porn collection look right. They're either willowy and lean, with shaggy dark blond hair and devil-may-care grins, or dark-skinned and broad shouldered with black hair and deep, guarded eyes. There's shockingly little diversity, and he wants something different today; he wants someone shorter, a little more compact than normal, with reddish-gold hair.
And he might as well change his clothes.
Reiner sets the old laptop aside-if he's going to be using the internet for this, he can use his work one-and shleps off to the bedroom. One quick change into sweatpants and a t-shirt later, and he's sprawled on his bed, opening a private browser window and trying to remember which porn websites are the good ones.
It turns out, after much fruitless searching, that there isn't a lot of demand for squared-off, strawberry blond porn stars, and that's extremely unfortunate, because Reiner's dick is demanding nothing less. It's being a vile little dictator tonight, refusing to get engaged for anyone who doesn't look close enough to Jaws, and no one looks close enough to Jaws. It's just Reiner's luck: he goes for months without being interested in porn or jerking off, months of being an emotional eunuch, and then when things suddenly swing back towards sexiness, his dick decides it wants to be picky.
This was a lot easier when he could just find porn of guys who looked like...
Reiner shuts down that line of thought immediately, and, in desperation, types Jaws stripper male into Google.
He expects nothing, and is surprised when an ad for a cam show pops up almost immediately. It's someone named Jaws, at least, a man, and currently ongoing. Reiner almost doesn't click through, aware that he's on his work computer, but he can't help himself. Surely it's a different Jaws, that name can't be that unique, and he'll just take a quick peek and then log out and go to bed. It's getting late, and while he doesn't have work tomorrow, he also has a weekend schedule to keep.
Reiner taps his way through opening an account on the cam show site, and enters his credit card information. What can it hurt? It won't be Jaws, it'll be some other guy, and then he'll just unsubscribe from the site's mailing list in the morning. He waits, slightly impatient, touching his cock through the soft fabric of his sweatpants again, as the website processes his credit card information and his new username, and when it finally refreshes and congratulates him on his new adventure, Reiner hurriedly clicks through to Jaws' live cam show.
He's so expecting to see someone else that when Jaws' face fills the screen-his Jaws, reddish hair and all, that little cowlick falling over his forehead again-Reiner is so surprised that he almost fumbles and drops the computer.
"Hey," Jaws says, speaking directly to the camera, wherever he is, "I see we've got a new member! Hi, titan23, welcome to the show."
Reiner blinks, and feels himself stupidly flushing across his cheeks. He knows Jaws can't see him, doesn't know who he is, but he still checks the little light at the top of the computer's screen, making sure the camera isn't turned on. It's not, and when he looks back at the screen, Jaws has turned his attention to something else. Reiner sees a little box on the side of the screen, filled with names and constant, crawling text. It's the other people watching the show, he realizes, and he sees a little box where he can type out his own stuff. Tentatively, he tries it.
titan23: hi
Jaws sees it, and laughs brightly, making Reiner wince. That was a little too loud, a little too forced, to be entirely natural. He would know. He's the master of the faked laugh at work.
"Hi, titan23." Jaws drops a wink at the screen. "I hope you like what you're seeing, and that you'll stick around for awhile."
What's the protocol here, the etiquette? Should Reiner acknowledge that Jaws just spoke directly to him? Does he need to? He runs a hand through his hair, setting it up in spike, before he notices a button that says Tip Jar on his screen. He taps it, and then is prompted to choose an amount. He selects five dollars, and sends it.
"Thank you, titan," Jaws says almost immediately, and Reiner feels a little thrill run up his spine. They're interacting, communicating through the screen, and it's almost like being back in the champagne room. It's almost like having their own little intimate space again. There's something vaguely distasteful about it blatantly being for money, but it's not like the lap dance wasn't. Reiner isn't so deluded to think they had any kind of connection. It's just infatuation. That's it. It'll go away after he watches this cam show and jerks off.
marlsrules: take ur shorts off
iamayam: want dik
Reiner frowns; the other men watching the show are apparently less interested in bonding and more interested in debauchery. He's struck by a sudden, almost gentlemanly urge to protect Jaws from all of it, to sweep him away somewhere, somewhere far from their unwanted attentions, somewhere it can just be the two of them and he can treat Jaws right.
Jaws must not have that same urge, because he laughs again and just encourages what's scrolling down the side of his screen. "What, you want me to take these off?" He stands up and turns around, and Reiner swallows; Jaws had mostly been facing him during his lap dance, and that had been a grave oversight, because he is packing a tight, toned ass with a delicious curve to it, even hidden under the same black briefs he'd been wearing earlier. When Jaws rolls down the top of his briefs, exposing a tantalizing glimpse of ass crack, Reiner is mesmerized; he's always been an ass man, and he finds himself silently rooting for Jaws to drop those briefs just a little more, a little further...
Which he doesn't. Jaws pulls them back up, to what Reiner is sure must be a collective groan from everyone watching, and sits back down. "Let's see, I think I'll need, mmmmm... one hundred and fifty dollars to take those off." He looks pointedly down into the corner of the screen, and Reiner follows his gaze, noticing a running tally of how much people are donating to the show. It's currently sitting at around fifty five dollars, but it's climbing, as the other men watching start pitching in.
Reiner taps his fingers along the outside of his thigh, considering, before he adds his own contribution to the pot: twenty five dollars, something that once sounded like a great sum to him but now barely registers. He watches as Jaws' eyebrows shoot up, and Jaws grins at the camera.
"You're thirsty tonight, huh, titan?" he asks, and Reiner gulps as Jaws runs one hand down his chest, slowly tracing one pectoral muscle before running down his abs and then playing with the hem of his shorts. He pushes the hem down about a half inch, and that line of rusty hair glints in the light of wherever he's filming, and Reiner knows that he's a lost man.
The next couple of hours pass in a blur; Reiner is aware that he's losing money, positively obscene amounts of money for what he's getting, but he doesn't care. He just keeps clicking, keeps contributing to Jaws' running total, and when the rewards are as good as they are, he doesn't even feel the sting of those dollars flying out of his bank account. It turns out that Jaws has an entire briefcase of sex toys, laid out on black velvet like a traveling salesman's, and he'll do all sorts of things with those toys for the right amount of money. Reiner loses track of how many times he jerks off; enough times to leave a crumpled army of tissues scattered on his sheets around him, enough times to leave a dull ache pulsing at the base of his cock; enough times to have nothing left to wipe up. It's like he's making up for all the months where he hadn't the slightest interest in his cock, and getting it all out of the way at once. He only had a couple of drinks at the club, and that hours ago, but Reiner feels drunk.
Finally, Jaws-naked, sweating, and still bearing the marks on his chest of a pair of nipple clamps-brushes back the hair that escaped from its moorings and grins tiredly at the camera. "That's about all I've got time for tonight, everyone. You've been great," and they have, Jaws' running tally has climbed into the thousands, and Reiner realizes with a start that quite a bit of that came from him, "but I've got to leave you wanting more." A grin, a wink, and Jaws brushes one hand over the top of his toy case again. "And for one lucky guy, I will give you more."
Reiner sits up straighter. Yes, go on. He's pretty certain he's got nothing left in the reserves, but he will soldier on somehow. He'll cum bone marrow if he has to, but he is here for this.
"Now, long time viewers like iamayam know how this works, but we've got some very generous newcomers like titan23 tonight, so let me explain." Jaws settles himself on his chair, as composed and poised as someone can be while naked and disheveled, his hands folded over one knee, and if Reiner wasn't paying attention, he wouldn't notice how tightly Jaws is holding his leg, or how the skin of his knuckles has bleached white. "I like to end these sessions with a private show. Now this is for one viewer and one viewer only, and he can ask me..." A pause, and Jaws' eyes flicker towards his toy case, still yawning open. "To do anything."
Reiner realizes then that, while Jaws has teased and sucked on various things and touched himself tonight, he hasn't put anything in himself, and Reiner's cock is suddenly very, very interested. The spirit is willing, and so is the flesh.
"I'm going to start a bidding war, and it'll go on for two minutes." Jaws leans forward and types something, and a timer set for two minutes appears at the bottom of the screen. "Winner takes all." Another wink, and the timer suddenly starts scrolling down as Jaws sits back and puts his hands behind his head. "Good luck, y'all."
That single word, that faint Southern drawl creeping into Jaws' voice, is enough to distract and charm Reiner for a solid fifteen seconds, and in that time, the bidding war climbs to over sixty dollars. iamayam is leading, and Reiner only has to think about it for a few seconds before adding his own bid in, raising the amount to seventy five dollars. A few seconds later, iamayam tops him, and the race is on.
Reiner is not normally a gambling man, but before too much more time passes, he and iamayam are neck in neck, trying to outbid each other by a few dollars at a time, and not letting the other one get too far ahead. Reiner can feel a trickle of sweat run down his temple as he keeps raising his bid by five dollars at a time; the other men in the chat have dropped out, and are watching in stunned silence. Even Jaws is quiet, watching with raised eyebrows as the numbers scroll higher.
It's stupid; Reiner knows it's stupid. This is the epitome of a waste of money, and he can hear his mother's voice, faint in the back of his mind, asking where all his money has gone, and how is he supposed to make anything of himself when he's so careless with his spending? Still he bids higher, gritting his teeth together unconsciously as iamayam refuses to drop out.
With thirty seconds to go, the other men in the chat start chiming in, rooting for one or the other of them, and Reiner is vaguely aware that most of them are cheering him on; they don't want to see iamayam win either. Jaws just watches, cool and impassive, but when Reiner glances at his face on the screen, he wants to believe Jaws is rooting for him too, that Jaws wants him to win and not this other guy. What kind of name is that anyway, iamayam?
When the clock hits ten seconds left, Reiner is in the lead, and suddenly iamayam goes quiet. Reiner barely even glances at the amount he's committed to this-fifteen hundred dollars, once a princely sum and now something he can easily brush off-his fingers hovering over the keyboard, ready to slam in another bid just in case. Iamayam does nothing, though, and Reiner lets himself glance at the toy chest behind Jaws' shoulder, still hanging open, and his gaze lingers just a second too long on a thick, teal blue dildo, ridged at the base and with a lovingly crafted head.
He turns his eyes back to the clock just in time to see it click down to one, and for iamayam's bid to increase by five dollars. Reiner slams his hand down, trying frantically to top him, but it's too late; the clock hits zero before his bid registers, and it's over.
"SHIT!" Reiner slams both hands down on the mattress, making his computer joggle across his thighs, then slaps his palms to his face. So close, so fucking close... and why did this matter so much to him? Why is he suddenly so ready to throw money around on this particular stripper/cam boy? Why does Jaws suddenly matter so much to him?
As if summoned by Reiner's thoughts, there's low, bemused chuckling coming from the speakers of the computer, and then the sound of a single man clapping. "That was the best thing I've seen in ages," Jaws says, and Reiner drops one hand to see his face. Jaws is smiling, but it looks tight, like he didn't want iamayam to win, and he drops another wink at the screen. "Looks like I've got a date, guys, but thanks, iamayam and titan23, for all your interest in a private show. I'll have to do another one of these soon. Goodnight, all, and remember... when you watch Jaws, you're going to need a bigger load."
A flicker of the screen, and he's gone.
Some of the other men in the chat are messaging Reiner, being surprisingly consoling about the whole thing, but Reiner isn't having it. He viciously closes the laptop and tosses it aside, where it bounces harmlessly off one of his pillows and settles on the bed. Reiner scrubs his hands down his face; what's wrong with him? How did Jaws manage to get under his skin like this?
"It's been too long," he mutters, and drags himself under the covers, reaching up to switch off the bedroom light. "It's just been awhile, that's all. It's been awhile, and I got excited. That's it."
But it's still a long, long time before Reiner falls asleep.
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Hi everyone 👋
Jezzz ang hot naman dito whoo!
Anyway vote naman plsssss or mag leave ng comment para ganahan mag UD 🙇