Chapter 1

Dean

"I'm pretty sure everyone is supposed to be completely sober when they do BDSM shit." Glancing over Tate's shoulder, I couldn't resist peeking at Joel who was stretched out on the couch giggling to himself.

My grandmother had a higher tolerance for alcohol than he did.

"Who said that?" Tate scoffed, pouring another screwdriver.

He only drank "girly" drinks, but he was the only one of the three of us who'd have a chance of out-drinking Grandma.

Who had said that?

I shrugged. "The internet?"

He snorted. "They also think that we need to invade Area 52 and that Elvis is still alive."

"One." What was Joel giggling about?

"Huh? This is like my third." Tate shrugged, looking at the bottles on the counter. "Maybe fourth? Do you remember?"

"No, it's Area 51." And when he couldn't remember what drink he was on, we were done with booze.

"That's what I said." He rolled his eyes like I was being ridiculous. "How much have you had to drink?"

"Less than you, moron." Sticking the orange juice back in the fridge, I took a second to put the rest of the bottles away to make it harder to get more booze. We weren't lushes, but once everyone let their hair down things, had a tendency to get out of control.

Wait. If we didn't have long hair, could we let it down?

Was that just for girls?

"You always have less than me." Shaking his head and still surprisingly steady, Tate wandered over to the couch and sat down like he was sober as a church mouse instead of three sheets to the wind.

Possibly four sheets depending on how sheet math worked.

"Because someone has to make good decisions." And once I went beyond fuzzy-brained, I didn't like alcohol.

Besides, I could make bad decisions sober, so I didn't need any help in that department.

"Bad decisions are always the best ideas." Joel finally stopped giggling long enough to be thoughtful. "The weird guy downstairs said so."

Great.

"We're not using any of them as the standard for what to do." The whole building was insane. "We're smarter than that."

Most of the time.

"You've got to be kidding?" Tate was looking at me like I was an idiot. "We're just as stupid as they are. We were just stupidly uninformed too."

No more booze for him.

"I don't know how they were raised, but I had kiddie limits on all my devices until I was a freshman in college, and my parents' talk on the birds and the bees didn't include BDSM." Thankfully, they'd never been surprised that I liked guys, so the birds portion of that lecture had been very short.

"Wait." Joel frowned. "Why are the birds the girls?"

"Um, because bees have stingers?" Tate grabbed his generously sized stinger through his sweatpants.

Why he needed the hand gesture to get his point across I wasn't sure.

"Oh." Joel looked down at Tate's lap and frowned even harder. "Are stingers that small proportionally? I always thought of them as big."

"What the fuck, man?" Tate's eyes got wider than his dick. "My stinger is fucking huge."

And he proved that by taking it out of his pants.

He needed to wear underwear more often.

"See?" Wrapping his hand around his growing dick and giving it a few rough jerks, Tate glared at Joel. "I'm almost nine fucking inches when I'm sober hard. Don't be an asshole."

He'd measured his dick while sober and drunk?

Were we supposed to do that?

I'd only given my sober number…should I have been giving a range?

How much was he rounding to get almost nine inches?

Joel blinked a few times before sticking his hand close to Tate's erection and measuring it with his fingers. "I meant bees' actual stingers. It seems like half their bodies are stingers and that would be like a three-foot dick on a human. But are you sure you're almost nine inches?"

I was way too sober to deal with this ridiculousness.

"I said sober hard I was almost nine inches." Rolling his eyes, Tate continued to jerk himself off as Joel's finger got closer and closer. "Whiskey dick is a real thing. Don't get drunk if you're going to top."

Having no idea what to say to that or the way Joel seemed to be petting one finger along Tate's stinger, I just flopped down on the floor in front of the couch. Not for the view of course. I was tired. Yep, just tired.

"I have no desire to top and I'm not sure your dick would comfortably fit in anyone's ass if it got any bigger." Still studying the cock in question, Joel kept petting it. "You've got a great stinger, though. Don't worry about size."

They were insane.

How had I forgotten how weird they got when they were drunk?

"I don't think size is supposed to matter in most BDSM stuff either." Inching closer, Joel spread his fingers to measure the tip to base length of Tate's cock. "I found a few websites that talk about how to humiliate a sub if you want to tease him about having a small dick, though. But they were pretty clear that everyone was supposed to be on the same page with that. Like, no messing with a guy's head without it being on that ingredient list. You know?"

"Limits list." It was not a BDSM ingredient list. "It's a limits list."

And we really should've gone over those again before letting Joel drink anything.

"Was that on your list? Should that be on your list? I can't remember." Tate didn't seem to have any issue with Joel petting his cock but he gave it a squeeze to make it look better. "I don't want to pretend to be small, but we could put you in a cock cage and pretend you were cute and tiny."

Thankfully, Joel didn't seem to think Tate was actually saying he had a small dick, so we didn't have to sort through the drama that might come with that. He was drunk as a skunk but took the question seriously. "I don't know. It looked kind of cool. The cage would make it small enough to fuck with my head."

So he wanted us to fuck with his head?

When he'd first started making random comments about all the weird shit people were doing in the building, it hadn't sounded like he'd wanted to try anything specific. I was starting to think that was because he just hadn't found the right parts of the internet yet.

"Then we can do that, man." Tate reached his free arm over his body and ruffled Joel's hair. "I'd love to cage you and tell you what a cute little dick you have. I bet it'd be adorable."

"It would be." Joel had just enough alcohol to think pushing the front of his track shorts down was a great idea. "See? The internet said it's well sculpted and perfectly proportional."

Huh?

"It is. It's like one you'd see for parts modeling." Tate was taking the ridiculous conversation way too seriously and released his own dick long enough to pat Joel's. "It would look really good small, though. You're right."

"Let's go back a second." Before they wandered off again or I forgot what to worry about. "You know you're not supposed to put pictures of your dick on the internet, right? We talked about no sending dick pics when that asshole senior wanted pictures of your cock."

Thankfully, I'd been a smarter freshman than Joel had been and I'd put a stop to that shit right away. My parents hadn't known to include BDSM stuff in their lecture, but they'd added the no dick pics part very clearly.

Joel rolled his eyes, though.

Shit.

"It's not sending a dick pic to put it in an educational forum to get feedback." He was so sure of that he just kept rambling as he caressed Tate's dick. "I needed to know if mine looked right."

Goddamn it.

Flopping back on the floor, I looked up at the ceiling and wondered if it'd be blasphemous to pray for help for stupid sex-related shit. I wasn't that religious, and though I kind of wanted the help, I wasn't sure if that would be rude or not.

But while I was having an existential crisis, Tate took over to handle the problem.

"Alright, I'm glad you found a way to get confidence in your dick, but I think Dean is kind of the possessive type. So if we're going to explore this shit, you can't go putting your dick out for other people to admire. He's just not cool with that." Tate used his now only half-full cup to gesture toward me. "That's probably going to be on his ingredient list."

"Limits list. And yes. That's going on there." Joel's dick did not need to be all over the internet no matter what his logic was. "We are the only ones who get to see his dick, either in person or online, while we are…exploring."

I wasn't sure that was the right word for trying to figure out why all the neighbors were into BDSM, but I couldn't think of a better one, so I didn't argue about it.

Joel made a soft thinking sound but eventually nodded. "Okay, I think that's fair and I got the information I wanted, so I don't need to get any more opinions."

Thank God.

"Good." Tate seemed pleased with the decision and reached back over to wiggle our drunk-as-a-skunk friend's dick since Joel was still petting his. "Just because it's parts modeling pretty doesn't mean you get to show it off to strangers without our permission."

What?

Joel perked up…probably because of the way Tate was stroking his pretty cock. "But I get to show it off to you guys? Dean always makes us keep underwear on at the very least."

He shook his head when I tried to say it was reasonable. "You can't keep that rule in place if you want to play with my penis. It's really pretty."

Clearly, I was the only one whose family had the you need to have fucking clothes on rule. "It's not unreasonable to have people keep covered if you're not sleeping with them."

"Well, we're going to be doing something close to that at the very least, so I think we can say the rule doesn't apply anymore." Tate was entirely too excited to be able to say that…but he'd always been a bit of an exhibitionist, so it probably shouldn't have surprised me. "I mean, we're going to need other rules, but that one isn't fair."

"I guess I can't argue with that." Part of me thought I probably should have just because those two went overboard on everything where there weren't rules involved, but I wasn't sober enough to figure out what I should've said. "We're going to figure out limits, though."

Deciding that worked for the time being, I sat up and stopped pretending not to stare at the way they were casually playing with each other. "We…we need to figure out what the rules are going to be, though, so…so you know, everyone doesn't get pissed or confused."

Tate chuckled and took another sip of his drink. "You like rules but I can't decide which side of the rules you want to be on."

As I groaned, Joel made a happy sound from all the attention he was getting and wiggled closer to Tate. "What's that mean? It was about sex, right?"

Flopping back on the floor, I put my hands over my eyes and groaned again. "Yes."

Tate snickered but was helpful again and answered. "Yep, I was teasing him and wondering if he was going to be the sub in our explorations or if he thought he was the Dom."

"Oh." Making another happy sound, Joel was finally close enough to rest his head on Tate's shoulder. "Both. He's the one who flip-flops. Um, the switch. Yes, that's the word. Like a light switch. Up and down."

Really?

How much research had he been doing?

"I heard one of the weird guys talking to another one of the weird guys in the parking lot, so I looked it up." Looking ridiculously relaxed and at home when he was nearly on Tate's lap, Joel kept up his excited explanation. "Dean likes going up and down or back and forth. But when he's uncomfortable, he'll be the sub. Like now."

Great.

How was he seeing things so clearly?

I was entirely too sober for the fucking situation.

"I can't wait until he gets confident and wants to do things to me, though." Joel giggled but I couldn't see what Tate had done when I finally sat up again.

"You're not going to Dom one of us?" Tate seemed to think my question was just as hilarious as Joel did as all he could do was shake his head. "You'd be a cute Dom."

When Joel stopped laughing, he sat straighter like it was a very serious question and frowned. "No. Nothing I read online said I was a Dom. I even took quizzes."

Since I couldn't argue with him, I focused on the bits I was comfortable talking about. "There's no right or wrong. If it takes a while to figure out what side of things you like that's fine."

Joel giggled again and reached over to grab Tate's drink, giving him wide flirty eyes as he stole a sip. "No, I don't want to be in charge."

He wanted to flirt, though.

Tate smirked, thoroughly enjoying the attention. "You're going to be a naughty little flirt, aren't you?"

Nodding, Joel wiggled excitedly and I realized that at some point Tate had actually started jerking him off. "Yes, it takes me so long to warm to people that most of the time I never get to flirt."

Pouting, he went back to snuggling against Tate. "Guys I date just say I'm rude or a cold fish and leave before I can get to know them. Most don't even get to see how well sculpted my dick is."

Good grief.

But on the more logical side, I was pretty sure that was because he was a demi guy dating the wrong people.

"You can flirt all you want with us, and if you're naughty, we'll find a way to punish you." Tate's ridiculous response was delivered with a wicked grin. "I think I'm going to like that part."

Was that supposed to be erotic or scary?

I couldn't figure that out and I wasn't sure if it was because I was too sober or not sober enough.