He’s standing over my desk, looking down. And he has my journal in his hands.
3
Niko
Niko, filming a video 1 month ago, 3:46pm
Username: Dragonfly
I slide on my mask, turn on the camera and start filming.
If I don’t, I feel like I’ll die.
Is it possible to feel like your life is effectively over before it’s even begun?
Callum went psycho again today, punched a wall.
All because I asked if his photographer “friend” from Milan was ever going to come do a photoshoot with me. It doesn’t work like that, he told me. You’re low on the priority list, Niko.
Callum left, drove off somewhere in his Porsche, and now I’m here at his lifeless fucking mansion alone.
So I put on my mask.
I grip my cock ‘til I’m hard.
And I give myself to all of my followers, instead of the empty life that’s surrounding me.
“Very interesting, Oliver,”I say as he finally lunges over toward me and grabs the journal.
“Reading my private thoughts like they’re fucking entertainment?”
I hum. “You watch my private videos like you’re a voyeur.”
“I don’t post my journal entries on CamboyChaos, Niko.”
I like him like this.
Caught off guard, just like I was earlier. I can’t tell why he’s embarrassed, but there’s something about it that’s making my cock hard.
Or maybe it’s what I saw in the journal… which included a lot of thoughts about sex.
“That was an interesting page I flipped it open to,” I tell him. “What was that list of bullet points?Ways to break the secret: hand job, blow job, giving, receiving?”
I watch as Oliver’s cheeks get red. “Quit talking about my journal and tell me why you walked away from me.”
“It’s cute that you enjoy listing out your favorite things, even if you won’t tell me what the secret is.”
He walks over and stuffs his journal into the top drawer of his dresser.
I used to be able to provoke Oliver out on the ice, but I’ve never seen him flustered quite like this. He walks over to the window beside his balcony door, pacing around like he doesn’t know where to go in his own room.
He’s hotter when he’s flustered.
Reminds me of how he always used to act around me.
There’s a little string of Christmas lights hanging in the window, and slowly, the colors dance along the string from red to green to blue and orange. I feel like I’ve stumbled into Oliver’s cozy little cave, with fuzzy throw blankets tossedon his desk chair, the end of his bed, and another one on top of a small bean bag on the ground.
“I like your room,” I tell him.