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Yeah, he’d been aware of the bright eyed, optimistic little nerd. Weirdo. They went to law school together, and the kid Kevin had been known for piping up in seminar, going on and on about the “meaning of the law” like he was really gonna grow up to defend justice or something. Embarrassing and unrealistic, everyone knew that ambition had nothing to do with idealism and everything to do with money. Buddy’s dad knew it, and he made damn sure Buddy knew it too.
And sure, Kevin Avery was sharp enough, he worked hard or whatever, but the kid was stupid. An idiot where it mattered.
Okay - maybe ‘kid’ was the wrong word, they were the same age. But Buddy had always been huge and he had worked hard to get muscular, and Avery was so…soft looking. Slim build. Hair grown out nearly to his shoulders like some hippie.
One time Bucky had gone into the communal showers and there he was, brown hair all damp and sticking to his forehead and neck, wearing nothing but a towel around his waist and dweeby little flip flops.
And Buddy had gone all weird. His skin had been tingling all over his body. Hot in his chest and burning on the back of his neck. He felt a little dizzy, even. He was breathing heavy. And Avery looked up at him, still coated in fine water droplets, eyes wide and surprised.
Buddy backed away a few steps. Scrambled one arm behind him for the door. And fled.
He went straight to his girlfriend’s dorm, kissed her senseless, and fucked her senselessly, face buried in the pillow, thinking about nothing. He came so hard he was moaning and moaning. It was mortifying.
Afterwards they lay together, his girlfriend wriggling out of the clothes he had pulled aside rather than even paused to help her take off, and she said, “Wow. What’s gotten into you? Not complaining, but. Wow, Buddy.”
And he didn’t know. He liked her, a lot. He liked women.
He had taken a deep breath and fed her a line about how he was just so into her, and his heart had been pounding, and a couple weeks later he broke up with her in a fit of something that tasted of panic, and he never, ever thought about it. He never thought about it.
In the first dream, Kevin Avery was lying on Buddy’s bed, and he was naked. He was reclining on his back with one arm under his head, unabashed and comfortable, and Buddy was standing beside the bed fully dressed in a tailored navy suit and bolero set with turquoise, the jacket alone was definitely worth more than everything Avery owned put together, but he was the one who was nervous. Jittery, sweating.
“Go on, then,” said Avery, low and encouraging. Calm and confident.
Hands shaking, heart pounding, Buddy started with his shirt buttons and then changed his mind, taking off his jacket first and folding it over the back of his desk chair. And because this was a dream, he was suddenly shirtless, and before his eyes Kevin’s cock started to thicken and get stiff, from looking at him, and the sight made Buddy feel like he had been punched low in the gut.
Kevin Avery was getting turned on for him. Buddy was breathing so hard he was almost panting, he was hard already and straining the front of his slacks. Kevin reached down and stroked himself easily, and Buddy’s hands were struggling with his own buttons and fly. He took a step towards the bed -
And then because this was a dream Buddy was lying on top of Kevin. He was inside him. Propped up on his forearms, Kevin’s thighs spread wide around his hips, his breath hot against Buddy’s cheek.
Kevin’s eyes were closed in bliss. His back arched a little, and Buddy looked down at his brown, soft chest hair, undeniably masculine against Buddy’s waxed (and very defined) pecs. And beyond, his hard cock.
Buddy looked away, but not before he felt a hot stab of lust. He - he moved. He moved his hips a little, out and in, and Kevin smiled and hummed a little. He was in no pain or discomfort, he wanted it. Kevin wanted him to do it.
Buddy started helplessly fucking him, shallowly, and it felt so incredibly good, and Kevin moaned and wrapped one arm around Buddy’s neck and one arm around his back, and that meant he liked it, and that made Buddy start fucking him much faster, much faster, fucking him and fucking him and fucking him until the whole bed was smacking against the wall and Kevin was moaning, moaning and enjoying it, and he could feel Kevin’s hard cock rubbing against his stomach, and pleasure was filling up his whole body, and then he was fucking him harder and harder, and suddenly Kevin’s fingernails were digging into his back and shoulder and his whole body was arching, he was throwing his head back and making these incredible noises and then —!
Buddy froze - Kevin was coming. He could feel his cock against his own stomach spurting hot come between them, the meat throbbing hard with every release of liquid, and Buddy swallowed and gently, encouragingly fucked into Kevin’s ass over and over again, clenching and releasing his abs with every thrust, providing friction and stimulation to Kevin’s orgasm with his own body. It seemed to go on and on.
After a long time, Kevin finally went limp under him. He was still breathing fast and deep, beads of sweat cooling on his skin, hair sticking up in every direction, mouth a little open, every muscle in his body relaxed.
Buddy should have burned with suspended pleasure. But he didn’t want to move. He just looked down at the calm, handsome face, inches under his.
Then Kevin’s eyes finally opened and looked up into his own, and it felt like being slapped right in the heart. Those eyes.
Then Kevin smiled. Smiled right up at him. He knew what they had done together, and he was smiling. He was sweaty and well-fucked and gorgeous.
“Wow.” He said. “Not bad.” His voice was a little rough, like when you’ve woken up from a deep sleep.
He gave Buddy a few warm pats on the shoulder, like a prize bull who had done a good job. And that felt great, too.
Buddy put all his weight on one (exhausted) arm and, without even having to ask, gingerly carded the other hand through that soft, fluffy brown hair. It felt as good as he had always imagined. Kevin smiled again and huffed a little through his nose, like Buddy had done something funny.
“Come on.” He said, like it was nothing. “I know you want to.” And put a hand on the small of Buddy’s back, encouraging him to -
Oh, fuck. Now that he had permission, he started moving in and out of Kevin’s body, pleasure washing through him over and over. It was so overwhelming, and Kevin was looking right up at him, and Buddy was leaning his face down and Kevin was tilting his face up, and he was getting closer and closer, and their lips were almost touching -
And when Buddy finally startled awake, face buried in his own pillow, pathetically humping nothing against his mattress, what felt like his entire lower half was sticky and disgusting. Fuck. Wait. When had he come?
Then the real world started to leak into his mind. Yeah. Of course. Of course. This was the real world. None of that had happened, and he hadn’t wanted it to happen. It was just a dream. You can’t choose your dreams, everybody knows that.
Buddy rolled over blearily onto his back. He slapped around for his AcmePhone™️. It was the middle of the fucking night.
What was that? That was so weird. Gross. Not random, obviously. So what if the second he had opened that huge stack of papers and seen that name, that name after all these years, his first thought was that he was finally gonna - get him. Make him pay.
Buddy squinted against his mushy, sleepy half-formed thoughts. Make him pay? For what? For being such a smug little…
And yeah, he had kept on top of Kevin Avery’s career. So what? If you could call it that. The victory was something he dwelled on, chewed over. Enjoyed. He, Buddy Crane, was one of the most successful lawyers in the world, and Avery was a rock bottom of the barrel loser. A certified loser and a nobody.
He recalled like a car crash the way Avery’s voice had sounded in his dream, all rough and sexy. Sex related, post-sex voice. Not sexy like alluring. Nobody thought that.
Buddy had never heard his voice like that, and he never would. It had sounded so real in his imagination. So what? So what if he’s seen some porn and that’s why he knows what men look like when they’re being fucked. Nobody would ever know. He watched normal porn too.
He was just thinking too much about dominating the guy, making him his bitch in the courtroom. He was thinking about his upcoming victory.
And as he moved through his impersonally decorated, huge, luxurious, and echoing apartment, Buddy cut his thoughts off. He showered, and then changed his sheets. And he didn’t have to think about it any more.
In the second dream, after an evening of post-victory drinks that became a night of getting plain wasted that became a hangover and a little hair of the dog and a long afternoon recovery nap, Buddy was bent right over on his oval defence bench in the meeting room at Congress.
He knew he had a shirt on, because he could feel the buttons digging into his chest. The side of his face was pressed against the varnished wood, and he wasn’t wearing any pants. He wasn’t wearing any underpants. And Avery was behind him. Pressed up right behind him. In front of everybody.
The uhh niece obviously wasn’t there, he amended. And Bill, his newly bald assistant, was definitely not there. And Fog- okay, so there was nobody recognisable to him in the room, just a mass of hazy and distant dark suits and indistinct faces.
But there were people, watching. They were in public. Everyone could see. That he was bent over, like he was the bitch, offering himself up to Avery where everybody could see.
Buddy didn’t move. He could have moved. But he let his arms stay loose, hands cast up over his head, all he could see was the inside of his own elbow and the moving mass of people, some of them gasping and pointing, murmuring about him, and covering their mouths in shock.
Avery slid his cock into Buddy’s asshole with a grunt. It hurt. It really hurt, and Buddy didn’t move. Was he wearing a condom? Was he using lube? That wasn’t Buddy’s decision. He was lying there and feeling it, and he was so hard. He was fucking hard, and everybody could see him.
He realised that Avery must be fully dressed, because he could feel the polyester fibres of that horrible, busted up brown suit all up against his bare asscheeks. Against the backs of his thighs.
And then Avery was fucking him, gripping the edges of the desk so hard his knuckles were white, legs spread and stance powerful, fucking mercilessly into Buddy’s body. Pleasuring himself with the passive meat in front of him. But it wasn’t even for Kevin’s pleasure, Buddy knew that. It was a punishment.
Kevin kept fucking him from behind, so mercilessly that the table legs squeaked against the floor, and it still hurt a lot but it was also incredible, like his blood was carbonated, like he was gonna be so good and still that Kevin was gonna forgive him, and the murmuring got louder and louder.
Then Avery’s voice was snarling into his ear. The one that wasn’t pressed into the desk. “You thought I was gonna take your money? Huh? You really thought I was gonna take your filthy money?”
After a second he felt a loud slap across his ass cheek, and now a few low voices in the room were laughing at him. Then he was spanked again, and again, and even though it stung it also sent sharp little shocks of pleasure through his body.
“You thought I was going to fall for your measly little bribe? Huh?” Avery’s voice was loud enough for everyone to hear. “You idiot. Jackass. Fool. I’m better than you. I’m a better man and a better lawyer than you. Everyone can see it. Even you can see it, and that’s why you’re letting me fuck you in front of everyone. Like a whore. Like the cheap little whore you really are, right Buddy?”
And that’s when Buddy woke up. He was still sprawled out on the couch, and none of the pain had come out of the dream with him, but the arousal was all still there. He was so painfully hard that the tip was leaking. And the fear was still tight and heavy in his stomach, pricking at the back of his neck.
He sat up and shook his head, put his face in his hands. Dug his palms into his eye sockets. And when his eyes were closed he remembered being - he shuddered - slapped across the ass like a bitch in a porno. And his dick twitched so hard he fucking felt it.
He felt so sick. So miserable. What the fuck. He took deep, steady breaths. His throat felt tight. He was suddenly in danger of fucking crying. Crying!
He was just hungover, still. He was probably alcohol poisoned. Buddy swallowed. He just felt bad for the little guy.
He wasn’t buying that. He wasn’t taking it. He wasn’t coping with it.
Something was wrong with him.
The wash of weird and horrible feelings was finally subsiding, the tangle still knotted up in his chest but fading, fading until he could cover it up and push it down again. This almost never happened, but when it did it was so…so crazy. So strong.
Buddy got up, and washed his face, and called for takeout, and the shower he took this time was cold. It was good for the circulation.
It was something only real men could do, stand under the freezing water until his teeth and limbs were juddering and sex was the furthest thing from his mind.
It was a punishment.
At an early hour of the morning, Buddy drifted awake to the familiar ceiling of his private room. It was pretty small, compared to what he was used to, but he guessed some people would call it spacious for a ‘prison cell’, which it technically was.
It looked more like a cross between a hospital room and a cheap hotel room, to be quite honest. He had a tv in the top corner and some basic fitness gear. A small window let in natural sunlight. There was a real potted plant even, and the walls were painted a glossy and calming beige. Easy to clean. He should know, he was the one who kept the place pretty clean and tidy. He chose to. It calmed him, the manual work, the sense of taking care of his space.
This had been his home for quite a long time, and it would be his home for a long time yet. It was strange, you would think that such an accomplished lawyer, a guy with all his resources, would have staged a stronger case in his own defence, exploited loopholes and technicalities, or at least pursued an appeal. And, you never know. He still might.
As his consciousness floated in that in-between asleep and awake kind of space, before the routines of the facility started to kick in, Buddy ran a hand down his chest and stomach and let his eyes fall closed.
This morning, he imagined Kevin Avery again. He imagined that the door to this room opened, and the man himself came through, and closed it behind him.
This would never happen, of course. Visiting hours were strictly supervised and almost always in a large, communal room. Even if the man could be his lawyer, which he wouldn’t want to, the most privacy they would get would be one of the client confidentiality rooms so small they barely fit a desk, with big windows and cctv to boot. Not exactly much scope for the imagination there.
But here. In here, maybe Kevin would stroll across the floor in his light blue shirt and his cheap jeans, looking as delectable as he had on the news the day he escorted his client home.
Maybe he would tilt his head at Buddy, and quirk the side of his mouth, and say something like, “Well. Here we are.”
“Yeah,” Buddy murmured aloud, without either moving or opening his eyes. “Here we both are, huh.”
Dream-Kevin came over to the bed, and toed his shoes off, and climbed up onto the firm, thick mattress, and swung one leg over so he was sitting astride the much larger man, like mounting a horse.
He put one hand possessively on Buddy’s chest, leaned down, and pressed a gentle peck to Buddy’s mouth. Then another. Then a longer, slower kiss, until after a little while they were just sloppy-style making out like teenagers. Like the teenagers they had been, the first time they met.
Buddy imagined that Kevin pulled away, all flushed red in the cheeks and ears. He ducked his head a little, shy and sweet, which meant he wanted something but didn’t know how to get himself to ask. He even bit his lip, which was really something cute to look at.
Buddy nosed a little at his jawline and took pity. “Would you sit on the edge of the bed?”
Kevin nodded keenly, his hair falling into his eyes a little with the effort, and scrambled to get in place. Buddy laughed a little, not meanly, and grabbed the pillow from the bed. He dropped it on the floor between Kevin’s feet, and knelt down.
Kevin took the opportunity to take Buddy’s tilted up face in his hands, and kiss him lushly. With a lil tongue, even.
Buddy gazed up at him with open longing. “I. I…” he started, and then scrapped it.
“I would really like it if you fucked my face,” He offered instead, “like put your hand on the back of my head and really choke me on it.”
Kevin’s eyes widened, and then he grinned. “If you’re sure? Don’t need to threaten me with a good time, big guy.”
Still lying on the bed, from where he hadn’t moved, Buddy squeezed himself through his uniform pyjama pants and smiled. He was in no rush.
The kind of place he was currently staying in had a lot of facilities, not least of which was a robust and fairly intensive therapy and counselling programme. They even had a surprisingly vibrant gay-straight alliance, some kind of rainbow stuff, and maybe in a place like this a guy could make a few buddies of his own. Learn some stuff, talk things through, whatever.
And when he did get out, sooner or later, maybe his life would finally be his own, to do with what he chose. And maybe that would be okay. Sky’s the limit, even, and his new world would be up to his own vivid imagination.