Every Boy's Dream

The Threesome

Wasn't it always the way?

Darren slapped on a mild smile and stood when Jacob Pionski said, "Darren, dude. We haven't seen you in months except on IG. What are you doing up here?" He sounded genuinely delighted to see him.

Chris supposed, maybe, maybe it wasn't about to ruin his mood. Maybe. He didn't say a word, and really, guys this age did make him fucking sweat. It was just a lot of rough memories on his end, and one, in particular, involving a kid named Scott back in the day, who had gone out of his way to make his life a little hellish, and was probably the closest one that had ever actually been close to kicking his ass on the principle that he was poor, gay and not to his taste.

He just kept his mouth shut, couldn't help his tension at the moment, and stood to wander a bit down to escape that pressure pot just a bit more. In doing so, he actually found the DCs in twelve and a half and thirteen and just sighed in resignation.

He could hear the conversation, and Darren just said, "Yeah, well, family is all, bro. We're just up for the weekend to board. Is it just you guys up here?" Just casual as all get.

Another guy, who was probably bigger than Darren somehow, was a good-looking kid with the fresh-faced look of a man who would be a stunner when that all planed down in his twenties. He grinned at Darren, and it was the most arrogant expression Chris had ever seen, and he almost rolled his eyes when he said, "Yeah. We took the jet up. My dad got us a condo for the week."

Gag. Chris tried very hard, not to judge, but holy fuck that whole sentence. He was just the quintessential fuck boy, with his expensive ass Jordans, that shredded jean look, and Adidas hoodie, the designer label winter coat, and Chris hated that he liked any of it on this generation.

They all looked like they stepped off of magazine covers, and really the social media influence on the whole generation was so, so visible. When he had been their age, he had been lucky not to have bleach-blond tips and a damn grill with fake diamonds in it. No shit, he had known a kid like that, and no amount of name-calling or callouts would change his mind on the matter.

And Caleb had really tried to hurt that kid's feelings a few times.

Not these boys though, with all their money, and ability to buy exactly everything that was in season, popular, and articles and magazines telling them step by step how to dress and not look like a fucking idiot. Bastards.

They all looked like they were twenty-five and had personal shoppers from twelve on, and it was just a wildly unfair advantage.

The first one to talk was just equally sharp looking, very modern, in straight-legged jeans, brown leather moc's that were easily over three hundred dollars boots, with the little flipped-up roll to the cuff, a very classy looking sweater under a very, very nice white winter coat. He looked sharp as hell, had a loose Rolex on his wrist, and had his ears pierced with a slight gauge to it, and what the fuck was happening in this world?

Chris was bitter and more so when he scanned number three, who was a sandy-haired, very classically handsome, acne-less specimen of a young man, with a great tan, and very pretty dark blue eyes, with lashes eight miles long and a great jawline. He clearly worked out, was a medium build and height which meant his six feet was still taller than Christian. He was just very casual, and confident in his slightly bagged Arizona jeans, Nike Georgetowns, and jean jacket over his Nike hoodie.

They all looked like they were about to go crack open a beer, pick up chicks, and cruise in the newest model truck available to purchase, and Chris instantly wanted to karate chop every single one of them in their goddamn perfect white teeth.

It was clear, they were the same age, grouping, status, and claim to fame as Darren, and yet, Darren didn't annoy him nearly so much, despite the fact he had looked at him upon arrival and thought all the same shit.