The Telemachus Story Archive

Reality Check
By Hooder
Email: hooder@ntlworld.com



Reality Check

Kwel fought back the momentary nausea of the surge, and looked around. Where had the Game put him this time?

He knew the city well, but this was a part he didn’t recognise – the buildings were less ruined than in most of the other districts. Must be on the south side, somewhere down by the docks, for a guess. He could hear music coming from over to his right. He checked his weapon - it was a good idea to be alert: even in VR, getting shot with a laser gun hurt. Kwel wasn’t the least bit interested in shooting people; he wasn’t here for the fighting, he was here for the sex.

Rough boys. Of all the games he’d ever played, this one had the best rough boys – and those were precisely the kind he liked best.

VR had come on by leaps and bounds in the last ten years. He’d still got his old headset – it was rapidly becoming an antique and it might be worth something on Ebay - but he’d never part with it. No headsets now; not since the wonderful people at Juno had developed the Jscanner. Just lie back with your VR-enabled mobile somewhere near your head, and immerse yourself in whatever goodies you had on it. One little app had changed the civilised world’s social habits almost overnight – or at least it had since the more interesting games had come out. People didn’t didn’t go out anything like as much now: why sit around with other people when you could be doing almost anything you wanted in VR?

Holding his El-gun ready, Kwel crossed the broken road and melted into the shadows. The music seemed to be coming from a bar a bit further down. With his senses alert, he padded slowly forward.

His lithe, sexy body moved silently, his shaggy blond hair a loose fringe over deep blue eyes. He’d spent a long time designing this avatar and he was proud of it – he knew he looked fucking hot.

Suddenly a shape materialised a his side and a muscular arm blocked his progress. “Wanna play?”

Kwel’s El-gun was already pressed into the ample stomach, but the guy didn’t flinch. Kwel looked him up and down. Bald head, tattoos, thick beard. “Nah, not my type, but thanks.”

The guy nodded. “Fair enough,” he grunted. In a moment he was gone.

Holding his weapon down, he made his way to the door of the bar and looked in. Like most bars in the Game the decoration was post-apocolypse grey: stained grey steel floor; grey steel bar; grey steel tables and chairs. But they’d made an effort with the walls – instead of the usual grey steel plating, they were an assortment of grey steel meshes. It was difficult to see what the clientel was like as what little lighting there was, was red.

His boots clanked on the steel floor as he went in and got himself a beer. There was a space by the far wall so he took it over there and stood surveying the scene.

The trouble with post-apocolypse bars was that for some reason the few guys who didn’t look like escaped convicts, looked like escaped psychopaths. There was rough, and then there was rough, Kwel thought. He scanned the crowd – and his eyes stopped on a punk boy to the right of the bar. Now that was more like it. He pushed himself off the wall and made his way slowly across the room, threading a path between the heaving bodies on the dance floor.

He stopped a few feet away and looked the boy up and down. Torn denim cut-off with a stained white teeshirt under it, tight faded jeans, combat boots, and enough belts, studs and chains to sink a battleship. Kwel felt stirrings down below: this boy was sexy.

The punk had been staring vacantly into the middle distance, clearly lost in thought, but then he became aware that he was being observed. “What you looking at?” He said, in a voice that was trying to be both very masculine and threatening – and failing.

“Your jeans.”

The boy looked down in case there was something there that shouldn’t be. “What about ‘em?”

“I was thinking that they’d look a lot better with spunk stains on them.”

The boy blinked. “What? Spunk stains? Whose?”

“Yours. And mine.”

“You tryin’ to pick me up?”

Kwel nodded, stroking his fingers alowly over his increasingly hard cock-bulge.

The punk had no idea what to say, so Kwel took the beer out of the boy’s hand, put it – along with his own – on the bar, and steered him out of the bar.

A good thing about post-apocolypse settings is that there is usually no shortage of dark corners, mostly with a good supply of oil drums. Kwel found such a place around the back of the bar. He pulled the punk close and crushed the boy’s lips with his own. His hands ran over the tight denim arse, thighs and crotch, and he was pleased to feel a rapidly-growing erection under the faded jeans. Still kissing, he found the first belt buckle and unfastened it. It took him a while to get them all.

Pulling his mouth away from the punk’s, he pushed the boy over a convenient oil drum and lubed his cock with spit. Then he pulled the back of the lad’s jeans down just far enough so that he could fuck him. When he was in, his hand went around the boy’s waist to his cock, gripped it through the denim and began to wank him off while fucking him hard.

They both came quickly. Kwel wiped his cock on the back of the boy’s jeans and slapped him on the shoulder. “Thanks mate.” He left the punk looking confused, but with a satisfied smile on his face.

* * *

Another good thing about VR was that it didn’t take you long to recover from an orgasm. By the time he’d got another twenty yards down the road Kwel was ready again.

He didn’t see them until it was too late and they were surrounding him. Four soldier-types – combats, cammos, lots of belts with things in little pockets, and large mean-looking laser rifles over their shoulders. They all wore black balaclavas.

“What we got here then?” Drawled the leader, stroking a finger down the front of Kwel’s leather jacket.

“It’s a boy, sarge,” said one of the others, helpfully.

“So it is. What’s a cute boy like you doing in a nasty place like this? There are dangerous people about – a boy could get hurt. Or worse...”

The others laughed. Their hands reached out and toyed with Kwel.

“Could be one of Kango’s spies. I reckon we should interrogate him.”

The sergeant nodded. “You could be right. Bring him.”

His hands were tied behind his back with plastic ties, and he was marched off.

The ‘interrogation’ was more or less what Kwel had expected: no questions at all, but he was soundly fucked by all four soldiers. They were more gentle with him than he’d thought they would be, but even so his arse was sore by the time they’d done. It was no use struggling, so he just let them get on with it. He came twice himself – the sergeant and one of the others was actually quite good…

They left him in a litter-filled warehouse. He waited until they’d gone before getting up and dusting himself off.

A pile of litter to his left moved. “They did me last week,” said a large carboard box. The box opened itself, revealing a boy.

“Oh! Hi,” said Kwel. “What are you doing in there?”

The boy straightened up and took a sniff of something that smelt like glue. “I’m keeping my head down. The Dolphins are after me for some reason. Dunno why – I’ve done nothing to them.”

“Ah.” Kwel hadn’t heard of the Dolphins, but they were probably one of the gangs. Best to steer clear of the gangs. “You got room in that box for another?”

The boy smiled, and pushed a cardboard flap further open. “Oh yes,” he said.

It was cramped, and smelled vaguely of cats, but that didn’t worry either of them. The boy gave Kwel a slow and comprehensive blow job, while Kwel was doing exactly the same to him.

* * *

Kwel made his way south, towards the docks – docks were usually good for rough boys. After half an hour or so he came to a wharf. He’d seen very few people since he’d left the warehouse, but at the end of the wharf there was activity. A few guys were sitting on barrels, smoking and drinking. There must be a bar here somewhere. Gripping his El-gun but keeping it out of sight, he wandered down the wooden planking.

A freighter was tied at the end of the wharf, and guys were loading boxes onto it. He ambled towards it, trying to look like he knew where he was going. He hadn’t been on a ship for ages.

Nobody stopped him or even seemed to notice him as he walked up the gangplank and onto the ship. It smelled of Diesel. There was vibration from a generator somwhere in the bowels of the vessel, and orange lights lit the decks and the passageways as he ducked through a doorway in one of the bulkheads. Dark-stained wooden doors led off a corridor which turned a corner further on. Kwel cautiously opened the first door he came to. The small cabin was empty. So was the next one – but the third door opened to reveal a teenage boy lying on the bunk, with his jeans round his ankles, holding a magazine with one hand and wanking himself senseless with the other. He jumped when the door opened. Kwel stepped inside and closed it behind him.

“What the f…?”

Kwel pressed his hand over the boy’s mouth and enclosed the hard cock with his hand. He began to work on it, much more slowly than the boy had been doing.

The boy relaxed, and Kwel removed his gagging hand. “Just lie back and enjoy it...” He brought his newly-freed hand to the boy’s balls and teased them. The lad closed his eyes and groaned.

Kwel knew that this boy wasn’t a player – that he was an NPC, a character generated by the Game – but he was still cute, and his cock still worked. Very slowly Kwel’s fingers stroked over the silky skin.

“Mmm… I want to cum,” said the boy.

“I know you do...” He lay down on the bunk next to the boy in a 69-position. Without being told, the boy immediately started to feel Kwel’s bulging cock through his tight jeans. That felt so good. “Mmm. Make me cum. Just like that.”

The boy’s fingers gripped Kwel’s cock bulge and wanked it. Half a minute later Kwel closed his eyes and groaned as he came in his jeans. His hand slowed even more on the teenager’s cock. “Again,” he said.

Two more orgasms later Kwel’s jeans were wet with spunk, but he still hadn’t made the boy cum. Now, though, he gripped slightly harder and milked the naked cock. The teenager’s hand was still working on his, sliding over the spunk-soaked denim, and as Kwel made the boy cum in a shuddering orgasm on the bunk, he came again himself – for the fourth time.

He disengaged himself and stood up. He looked at the boy – he was very cute – leaned down and planted a kiss on his lips. “Slower is better,” he smiled.

* * *

Back on the wharf, Kwel found the bar, but there was nobody there he fancied, so he started walking back into the city, heading eastwards this time for a change. He was fairly sure that he’d really cum at least once so far – that is, that the real he, sitting in his apartment in Oxfordshire, had cum – it was difficult to know sometimes. He considered logging out of the Game, but then thought that he’d have one more boy first.

The road he was walking along was in bad shape: broken shards of concrete stuck up at odd angles, with weeds growing between them, and some of the buildings on either side were total ruins. Brown and rusted metal girders thrust towards the orange sky like the ribs in the carcass of some gigantic prehistoric beast.

There was movement in the shadows beneath a twisted office block. Kwel gripped his El-gun and carefully moved across to the side of the road. Suddenly the air was split by an intense shaft of red light and the litter bin by his side exploded. Shit, a fighter. Keeping low, he ran further into the dark ruins. He hoped whoever it was would lose interest in him.

Another shot came, this time completing the destruction of an already bent and ravaged lamp-post a few feet away. He ducked down further and shuffled silently away from the still-glowing steel post.

He waited, but there were no more shots. He waited some more.

Finally, satisfied that the guy had lost him or had moved on, he stood up slowly. This clearly wasn’t a good neighbourhood to be in. He began to walk silently back the way he’d come.

A sudden sharp pain in his side announced the presence of a gun-barrel pressing into him. He froze.

“Slowly,” whispered a voice by his ear, “give me your gun.”

Kwel obeyed.

“Now kneel down, hands behind your back.”

He knelt on the concrete, and felt his wrists being cuffed. A figure moved to stand in front of him. Kwel looked up slowly. Combat boots with white socks rolled over the tops... worn and scuffed black leather jeans – tight black leather jeans… a bulge that made Kwel’s eyes water… studded leather belt… leather biker jacket over a tight black teeshirt… and... oh fuck – the guy was gorgeous. Black spiky hair over brown eyes, a dark two-day stubble, and a handsome face with lips that were made for kissing. Or cock-sucking.

The leather boy looked down at him. “You’re not much good, are you?”

Kwel smiled and shrugged. “I’m not a fighter.”

“So why you here then?”

“Sex.”

The guy was silent for a while, sucking his teeth.

“Stand up.”

The guy gripped Kwel’s bicep and walked him into the building. They made their way through the ruins of a reception, up a concrete stairwell to the second floor and into a room that had once been an office. A camp bed was to one side, along with a lantern, a pair of expensive-looking binoculars, packs of food and water, and a pile of guns and ammunition. The guy pulled an old wooden chair over and tied Kwel to it. He put Kwel’s gun down, then he sat on the edge of a desk and lit a cigarette, looking at the boy.

After a while, he offered the smoke to Kwel.

“No thanks, I don’t.”

“So, you find many chicks around here to fuck?”

Kwel shook his head. “I’m gay.”

The guy blew out a stream of smoke and nodded slowly.

“Figures. Well I’m straight.” He took a drag on his cigarette. “And I don’t like faggots.”

“That’s a shame. You don’t know what you’re missing.”

The guy grunted. He stood up, directly in front of the boy, and stretched slowly. Kwel’s cock began to get erect looking at him – he had muscles under that black leather.

The guy was watching him. He sneered. “You fancy me then, faggot?”

“Ooooh yes.”

The leather boy nodded slowly. “What would a faggot like to do to me then?”

Kwel considered the possibilities, many of which appealed greatly. But looking at the guy, those leather jeans were so unnecessarily tight and bulging that it was obvious he wore them to show his body off. And it was also pretty clear that he was perfectly aware of the effect they had. Kwel felt an irresistible urge to cover them with spunk – his own or the guy’s, he didn’t care. “Kiss you, lick your leathers all over. Make you cum in those sexy fucking jeans.”

“Well you ain’t gonna fucking kiss me.” The guy looked down at his jeans. “You like guys in leather then?”

A sound that was a cross between a purr and a groan of pure lust came from Kwel.

The guy was silent for a while, then he said, “Well, I don’t think any faggot is gonna make me cum in my jeans. But tell you what, boy, if you can, I’ll let you live.”

“Deal.”

The guy untied Kwel from the chair, and removed his cuffs. He lay down on the camp bed and looked up, smiling slightly. “Try.”

Kwel didn’t need asking twice. He knelt at the guy’s side and licked his jeans. Oh fuck, they felt amazing. The leather was tough, but very well-worn and extremely flexible. He ran his hands over them, found the guy’s cock and began teasing it.

There was no response at all – it didn’t even begin to get hard.

Kwel thought. This guy was straight. It could be that seeing another boy working on him was not helpful. He put his hand over the guy’s eyes and allowed his fingers to tease more slowly and lightly over the leather cock bulge.

Five minutes later the cock began to respond – slowly, but there was hope. The leather was so flexible he could feel its ridges through it. At least the guy had got nothing on under his jeans. He experimented on different parts of it, and found that teasing the head got the best reactions, so he concentrated on that.

Gradually the cock began to grow beneath his fingers. After a few minutes it was fully erect. Kwel gripped it gently and slid his fingers up and down, moving the leather over it with each stroke.

The guy mumbled something, quietly.

“What?”

“Tits,” he repeated.

Kwel took his hand from the guy’s eyes and worked it under the leather jacket. He found a nipple and began to squeeze it.

The guy moaned quietly. “Ooooh yeah...” His eyes were closed.

He wasn’t sure if it was a good idea, but looking at the gorgeous guy lying there, he couldn’t resist: working just on the head of the cock, he leaned down and brushed his lips against the leather boy’s. At first there was no response, but then the guy parted his lips and began to return the kiss. It quickly got deeper and more intense. Kwel gripped and worked on the cock head through the leather, squeezed and twisted the nipple, and thrust his tongue into the guy’s mouth.

With a powerful groan, the guy came. Kwel could feel his cock bucking inside the jeans under his fingers. He milked it until the guy’s balls were empty.

The leather boy’s head dropped back onto the pillow and he opened his eyes. He smiled, lopsidedly. “Hm. For a faggot, you’re not bad. C’m here.” He extended an arm and Kwel lay down beside him. The leather boy pulled him close.

They lay together for a while, then the guy gently pushed him away and got up. He took a rag, turned away, unzipped his jeans and cleaned himself up.

“Right. Better get you back to safety. Follow me.” He handed Kwel his gun back, grabbed a rifle and led the boy down to ground level again. “Stay close.”

They threaded their way through the rubbish and general carnage of the street. Eventually they came to a stop and the guy turned to him. “If you carry on down there and turn right before you come to the docks you’ll be in a safer part of town. But this is fighter territory so watch out until you get out of here.”

Kwel smiled. “Thank you. What’s your name?”

The guy looked at him. “You don’t need to know that.” He pulled the boy close and kissed him hard. “Look after yourself, faggot.” He smiled, winked, then he was gone. Kwel set off carefully back the way he’d come.

Twenty seconds later a huge guy with tattoos appeared from behind a large rusted iron tank in the middle of the road. There was a blinding laser shot.

“Fuck!” Kwel’s knees buckled as searing pain shot through him.

Kwel died.

* * *

“Bollocks.” Kwel sat up in his chair, still smarting from the laser hit. That leather guy had been gorgeous. For a moment he thought of logging back in and trying to find him again, but it would probably be on a different world of the Game, and that leather boy would not be in it. And even if it were the same one, you never knew where the Game was going to put you, and he wasn’t sure he’d be able to find that same road again. He’d probably get shot again anyway, and he would like to avoid that if at all possible.

His shorts were wet and sticky. He got up, threw them in the laundry basket and went for a shower.

In the kitchen, with just a towel around his waist, Kwel made a cup of coffee and opened the fridge for the milk. “Shit.” He jiggled the empty container and threw it in the wastebin. For a moment he considered forgetting the coffee and going back into the Game – it was so fucking compulsive – but then, with a sigh, he decided he really should go to the shop; it wouldn’t take him long. He didn’t have anything in to eat anyway. He’d grab a ready meal or something while he was there.

He padded into the bedroom, rooted though his clothes and pulled on what he called his ‘sex jeans’. They were skintight, very faded, very stretchy, and showed off what he’d got to the best possible effect – not that there would be anyone to see him, but he loved the feel of them - they made him feel horny, and they did wonderful things to his cock when he walked. Bike boots, a white teeshirt and his leather jacket, and he was ready to go.

The air was cold. The pavement glistened from last night’s rain as he walked down the deserted street. In some ways, he thought to himself, the real city was becoming much like the one in the Game: a bit less destruction, possibly, but just as few people.

It was a small convenience store, but it had most of the things he ever needed, and it was a lot less effort than going all the way into town. He wondered how the shops around here survived with so few customers. Shaun behind the counter looked up from his paper and smiled. “Hi Kwel. Still on the game?”

It was an old joke, but one the guy never tired of. “Hi Shaun. Yep, still on the Game.” He wandered down the central aisle to the chiller and took a large bottle of green-topped milk out. The door to another cabinet opened to his left and he looked round. A nice-looking guy in a grey tracksuit was getting a pizza. The guy smiled. “Hello.”

“Hi.”

“Are these pizzas any good?” The guy asked.

“They’re ok. Not the best, but ok.”

“Right. Thank you.” He put the pizza in his basket.

“It’s unusual to see anybody in here these days.”

Kwel nodded. “Yeah. They’re all playing the Game.”

“Still need to eat.” He paused, looking Kwel up and down. “Can I ask you a strange question?”

Kwel smiled. “Go for it.”

“Can I buy you a coffee? You’d be doing me a favour – I feel a desperate need for company. You’re the first human being I’ve seen for a week. Apart from Shaun over there.” He lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, “and between you and me I’m not sure he’s real.”

Kwel laughed. He really wanted to get back to the Game, but for some reason the novelty of the idea appealed to him. And the guy was quite sexy. He thought for a moment. “Yeah, why not? That would be great. Thanks.”

They paid for their groceries and walked the short distance to a coffee shop. It was closed.

“Shit. Look, I live just down the road. And I have real coffee. I’m Steve, by the way.”

Kwel chuckled. “Kwel. Pleased to meet you.”

“Kwel? That’s an unusual name. Though there’s some strange ones about these days.”

Kwel smiled. “Yeah. My dad used to like a science-fiction series on TV and that was the name of one of the characters. I suppose he just liked it.” He raised his arm. Lead on, Steve.”

Steve’s living room had a small kitchen attached. The first thing Kwel noticed that there was no Game chair. Almost everyone bought one good chair for the Game – they spent most of their waking life in it, after all. “You don’t go on the Game?”

Steve was fighting a complicated-looking coffee machine. It was gurgling and making angry noises. He shook his head. “I did for a while but it didn’t do a lot for me, to be honest.”

Having beaten the machine into submission he brought two large coffees over and sat down on the sofa next to Kwel.

Kwel was getting withdrawal symptoms – he needed to get back to the Game – but Steve was lovely, and he was dead sexy too. Actually, make that fucking sexy, he thought, as the guy pulled the zip of his trackie top halfay down, exposing a beautiful pair of pecs. Kewl felt the first stirrings of interest from his crotch.

“How do you spend your time without the Game?”

Steve smiled. “I read books, listen to music, work out, I go for long walks in the countryside, or in the city – I love the deserted streets.”

“And what about sex?”

Steve chuckled and held up his right hand.

Kwel so wanted to get back to the Game. He very nearly finished his coffee, thanked Steve and ran home – but something stopped him. Instead, he stretched his legs out, making the bulge in his skintight jeans as obvious as possible.

Steve didn’t move for a moment but then, tentatively, he reached out and ran a fingertip over the boy’s bulging cock. It jerked under the faded denim. “You are very cute, and very sexy,” he said.

Kwel smiled. “Come here.” He pulled him close and kissed him. Within seconds their hands were exploring each other’s bodies.

It had been well over a year since Kwel had actually touched another human being sexually, and he’d forgotten what it was like. For a long time his expectations and reactions had been conditioned by the Game, and here with Steve, although his usual bravado and cockiness were still there, he was also experiencing an unsettling lack of confidence. He felt like a total beginner, no longer sure quite what to do or how his actions would be received. But then he realised that Steve must be in a very similar situation.

Steve got up, pulled Kwel to his feet and led him to the bedroom. He paused with his hand on the knob. “Don’t get the wrong idea,” said Steve, pushing the door open, “I’m not a narcissist – but when there’s only you it’s good to be inventive...”

Kwel stared. It wasn’t so much a bedroom as a sex laboratory. It was black, and two of the walls – and the ceiling - were completely mirrored. Complicated devices at whose function Kwel could only guess stood around, and on the far wall was a long rail. Hanging from the rail were jackets, jeans, harnesses, shorts, and trackies – every one of which, as far as Kwel could make out, were shiny leather, PVC, or rubber.

“Does this shock you?” Asked Steve as he watched the boy scanning the room, his mouth open.

Kwel shook his head. “No. No, it doesn’t shock me. It interests me. A lot!”

“Oh thank fuck for that,” sighed Steve in relief. “You know, you’re the first person I’ve ever shown this to.”

Kwel had walked over to the rail and was examining the gear. He was sliding the leather of a pair of jeans between his fingers. He turned to Steve. “I bet you look fucking good in this.”

Steve smiled. “Wanna find out?”

Kwel chuckled. “You bet!”

Steve stepped out from behind a screen he’d erected at the end of the room to get changed behind, and Kwel stared.

He was looking at a close approximation to that beautiful leather boy in the Game: combat boots; tight, shiny black leather jeans, black teeshirt and leather biker jacket. No, Steve wasn’t as picture-perfect gorgeous as the one on the Game had been; he didn’t quite have the muscles; his hair was mousey brown and his eyes were an ordinary blue – but he was still fucking sexy – and he was real. Kwel stroked his hands over the leather, licked it. He didn’t resist when Steve grabbed his wrists and held them behind his back with one leather-gloved hand, pushing them against his bulging crotch, while clamping his other hand over the boy’s mouth. “I may not be very good to start with,” he whispered into Kwel’s ear, “this is going to be a learning experience for both of us, I think. But I am going to strap you down, and work on you until you beg me to let you cum. Then I’m going to fuck the arse off you, and then I’m going to make you shoot your spunk all over my black leather jeans...”

It was like the first time for Kwel. He couldn’t believe how indescribably horny everything was – the feel of being actually helpless, of pulling at the restraints and knowing that he really couldn’t get out of them, couldn’t just log out to escape; the touch of Steve’s fingers on his legs, thighs, balls and hard, precum-oozing cock through the thin, stretchy skintight denim of his jeans; The feel of leather gloves on his naked cock after Steve had pulled his jeans down; the amazing satisfaction of the guy’s cock sliding up his arse, filling him; the desperate need to cum – but the total inability to bring himself off or to make Steve do so; the feel of black leather pressing against him – the boots against his ankles, the jacket against his back, the leather-gloved hands on his arms, and those sexy fucking leather jeans moving and sliding over his thighs and legs as the guy fucked him – slowly and carefully at first, but then with mounting, punishing passion as Steve got closer to cumming. Despite Steve’s caution that he might not be good, he was unbelievable. When he eventually made Kwel cum for the first time – by lying on top of him, gripping the boy’s cock tightly between his thighs and milking it with the leather jeans Kwel clearly had such a fetish for, the boy’s orgasm was so intense he almost passed out. He had completely forgotten how immediate, how acute - how inexpressably carnal - sex with a real person could be. That orgasm had been a real orgasm. He realised exactly how plastic, shallow and meaningless, sex in the Game was compared to this.

They lay together on the black bed, pools of drying spunk all over them. “If you ever want to find out, I can show you what some of those devices are designed for. I made them for solo use, but I can use them very well on you...”

“Oh fuck yes - I want to try every one of them. But I’m going to need time to recover.” Kwel smiled. “Five minutes should do.”

As he lay there, staring at the two of them in the mirrored ceiling, the leather boy – his own, real leather boy next to him on the bed, he was thinking. Would Steve want to see him again? He’d make fucking sure he did - he wanted to see the guy every single day. Shit, he wanted to move in with him.

There wasn’t a lot of room here…

… but he could always sell his Game chair – he wouldn’t be needing it any more.