Read Games Boys Play for Free Online Page B

spare key from the counter, or to just leave and pretend he never saw this. Dylan could have turned a page in the paper, flicked a column of ash off the end of his cigarette, and said, “Nope.”
    Brian shifted his leg. The crease in the sheet skimmed more than his thigh as he pictured his wrists locked to the bottom of the closet door, imagined shaking drips of water out of his hair, banging his shoulders against the door in an attempt to jostle the key ring loose. While Dylan flipped another page and flicked another column of ash onto the tiles.
    “ Fuck ,” Brian whispered in his bedroom.
    He needed to take care of this.
    He didn’t know how all of this was going to go down tonight, but he knew he didn’t want to humiliate himself with a raging hard-on. Or worse.
    He gripped the ridge of his cock through the sheet.
    He wanted to be tied up. Powerless. Helpless. He wanted to find out, finally, what it was like to have someone else calling the shots. Not the playing he’d done with a girlfriend here and there, the ropes that took just a turn of the wrist to slip out of, the big, half-loose knots he could reach with his teeth. The feeling that the two of them were enacting a watered-down scene from a watered-down erotica story that neither of them belonged in. Or maybe she might have fit in there, but he knew he didn’t.
    He wanted to be tied up.
    Helpless.
    Trapped.
    Worry me a little . His eyes slipped closed as his thumb drew teasing circles over the dampness that had leaked into the sheet. Take my fucking breath away with panic for a minute.
    Dylan, he knew, would be matter-of-fact. Methodical. Conscientious . The way he was with any job he took on, whether it was working on that Cutlass or working out how their gear would fit into a trailer, a van, a bus cargo hold.
    He imagined being packed into a bus cargo hold: his wrists bound behind him, being forced to step into a road case, forced to his knees in the case. A hand pushing him forward till the top of his skull pressed against the wall of the case, and then the lid coming down, darkness rushing in to fill all the empty space around him, the lid pressing hard against the top of his back.
    He pushed the sheets lower and grasped his cock, running his thumb through the slick of precum. Listening to the latches being fastened in his imagination.
    Keeping his grip, he rolled over, stretching his other arm off the side of the mattress to hook a container of Vaseline between two fingers and draw it up from under the bed.
    On his back again, he closed his eyes and replayed the sound of the latches snapping shut as he slid two Vaseline-slick fingers from the bass of his shaft all the way up to the head. It would be warm in the road case, the air close and heavy with the humidity of his breath. He’d push his shoulder blades against the underside of the lid, but the latches and hinges wouldn’t even strain.
    He’d feel the case start to move as they prepared to load it into the belly of the bus.
    In his mind, he tried to move in the case, exploring the available space, but there wasn’t much. His elbows were pinned between two of the walls, the crown of his head and the balls of his feet against the other two, the lid pushing down on his upper arms even when he hunched over as much as he could.
    His thighs shifted apart as his fist worked his cock. He slid his other hand lower to capture his balls and pull them against his body.
    The case tilted as it went up, his weight slumping toward the bottom end, taking a little pressure off the top of his skull. As it slid onto the floor of the cargo hold, it leveled again. He had to shift and squirm to even his weight back out across the case’s length. His skull met the wall, but at least it took some of the pressure off his feet.
    The bare heel of one foot dug into the mattress.
    At the imagined sound of the cargo doors being slid closed and locked shut, his muscles twitched. He dragged his lip under his teeth.
    The bus’s