This is not a story. Not even scene, really. It's a beginning, inspired by this picture. It may or may not one day become a full story, but for sure, it enters the Idea File.
Wes swayed slightly. God, he was drunk and he knew it. Funny how drinking in the pool never seemed to show until he got out. He plopped onto the high stone wall around the house from the rest of the crowd. It had been a mistake to come. Whatever was going on with Dailey—and he had no idea why the guy did this to him—it was fucking him up.
“You okay?” Daily’s voice caught Wes off guard and sent a shiver down his spine.
“Cold?” Dailey came closer and the shiver intensified.
Dailey chuckled. “Drunk?”
A hiccup escaped and Wes’s cheeks flushed with a soft spread of warmth. Great. Now he was going to walk around red-faced, drunk and horny. “Yep.”
“Here.” A soft swath of terry cloth slid over Wes’s shoulders and he closed his eyes. “Better?”
Wes nodded, found his chin contacting something solid, warm, and his breath huffed out.
“There you go,” Daily whispered, and the words washed over Wes’s face, heated breath, shadowed sound. He parted his lips. Fingers cupped the side of his face and a thumb brushed his mouth.
“Nice,” Dailey whispered. His other arm snuck over Wes’s shoulders. “Come here.”
Wes leaned closer to the other man, opened his eyes and gazed up. Dailey was too close to see, really, but his mouth. It was right there. Dailey lifted his chin, blinked, trying to catch Dailey’s eye, to make sure this was the right thing to be happening.
“You’re very drunk,” Dailey said softly. He planted a gentle press of lips to the bridge of Wes’s nose. “Come inside. I’ll make sure you find a safe place to crash.
“Uh-huh.” He let Dailey take his hand and lead him into the house, through the kitchen, past the living room where a couple of bodies writhed on the couch—no, more than a couple. Wes stopped and backed up a few steps. Three guys?
“Come on.” Dailey recaptured his hand. “That’s not for you, pet. Come with me.”
“Pet?” He squinted at Dailey.
Dailey only grinned back. “Don’t worry. I won’t let anything happen to you. Not anything you don’t want to happen, anyway, and definitely not while you’re drunk. Come sleep it off.”
Wes nodded, complacent as long as Dailey was touching him. He followed down a muted hallway to the end and into a small bedroom. There wasn’t much in it. Just a chest of drawers and a bed.
Dailey led him inside. “You’ll have to lose the wet trunks.”
“Oh.” Wes hooked his thumbs into the waistband, remembered he wasn’t alone, and glanced over his shoulder.
“You’re okay,” Dailey assured him with an encouraging smile.
Wes shucked the shorts, letting them plop wetly to the floor. Dailey scooped them up, tossed them over the edge of a basket beside the dresser and closed the space behind Wes with his body and the towel. He rubbed Wes down, sweeping the cloth up his legs, over his ass, and finally, perfunctorily, over and around Wes’s junk.
Predictably, his cock noticed the nearness, the touch, even clinical as it was, and insulated by the towel, but Dailey ignored his burgeoning erection.
“Into bed,” he ordered, giving Wes a sharp clap on his butt. “I’ll close the door and make sure no one comes back here. You’ll be perfectly safe.”
“Should I be worried?” Wes crawled into the bed and gazed up at his friend.
“I don’t think Myron would invite anyone over for this kind of party if he thought they might take advantage, but there are a few newer faces. I’m not taking any chances.” He caressed Wes’s cheek. “Not with you. If he says I can keep you, no one gets to touch you but me.”
Wes blinked at him, trying to figure that sentence out. “I don-t—”
“Don’t worry about it,” Dailey said, “Just rest. I’ll watch over you.”
With another soft kiss to his cheek and a smile, Dailey left the room, closing the door with a quiet click behind him. Wes stared at the spinning celling for all of about a minute before he passed out.