The bathroom echoed with the sound of water dripping off of Tristan’s body. He’d showered three times already—the hot water had long since run out—and he was still afraid to take a breath.

The sickly sweet cloying stench of the garbage he’d taken a dive into clung to him. It felt like it had seeped into his skin—polluted him on a fundamental, indelible level.

Tristan wasn’t sure if it was even real. There was every chance he was just imagining it. He hoped it was that. He didn’t want to stink of trash all day, though he couldn’t help but think, in the back of his mind, that maybe he deserved it.

He was still hard. Not even a cold shower had allowed his erection to go down. Every breath he took reminded him of what Owynn did to him. Of what he allowed Owynn to do to him.

Tristan leaned against the shower wall, his heart racing as fast as he’d ever felt it. His cock throbbed as he thought back. Owynn had never restrained him. He could have left at any point. He could have resisted. Fought back, at least.

He didn’t even know why, but he’d allowed himself to get taken advantage of. He’d allowed himself to be degraded. His cheeks burned at the indignity of it all, especially as he could still feel the phantom sensation of the rim of the dumpster digging into the space under his ribs.

Tristan didn’t think he could ever forget what had happened. The stark contrast between the heat of Owynn’s cock inside him and the cold unfeelingness of the metal dumpster was as vivid now as it had been in the moment.

The worst part was how the memory made Tristan feel. He was conflicted about it all, but he shouldn’t have been. He’d given up his cherry to a homeless guy, lost his anal virginity while hanging halfway inside a dumpster. The whole thing was fucked.

Tristan should have been disgusted. He should have felt violated. On some level, he did feel those things, but what he remembered the most was the pleasure.

He took a deep breath and regretted it almost instantly. Just like that, and the fetid odor of the dumpster filled his lungs. It wasn’t as strong as the real thing was. In fact, he wasn’t even sure he was actually smelling it, but it was real enough to him.

Tristan coughed and sputtered. Bile rose in the back of his throat, his cock throbbing, pulsing, and dripping strands of pre-cum onto the shower floor. Beneath that revolting amalgam of malodor was the faintest hint of VNM, and that was what fanned the flames of his arousal.

He bit back a moan. It shouldn’t have felt so good. It was so unfair. He’d been straight all his life. No. No. He was straight. But thanks to VNM, every time his thoughts wandered to Owynn’s cock, his throat itched and his hole trembled.

Tristan wanted more. He was never going to admit it out loud. He hardly wanted to acknowledge the fact. He could have denied it as the day was long, but it just wasn’t possible to hide from the evidence throbbing between his legs.

He wanted Owynn to fuck him again. Maybe not in a dumpster—or at least, that was what he told himself. It was a lie. A falsehood he was trying to convince himself of to make it all just a little bit more palatable. The truth was that he would have dove into a dumpster just to relive the pleasure of it.

That was the most disturbing bit about all of this. That there was a small part of Tristan that wouldn’t just be willing but eager to wallow in filth for the pleasure of it.

Owynn might have been right about Tristan. Maybe, deep down, Tristan really was a low-life. The hero stuff could have just been the saddest game of pretend, ever.

Tristan could think of no other reason why this all turned him on. Occam’s razor. All things being equal, the most likely explanation was the simplest one. Only gutter trash would get off on being fucked in a dumpster, so maybe, just maybe, he had been garbage all along.

The harsh rap of knuckles on the door jolted Tristan out of his thoughts. He felt his whole body flush with embarrassment, the very tips of his ears growing hot as Leo called out through the door, “Hey, man! How much longer are you gonna be in there?”

Tristan swung the door to the enclosure open and snatched his towel off the hook on the wall. He toweled off quickly, his cock pulsing from the attention as he rubbed it. “I’m coming out!” He said as he hurriedly wrapped the towel around his waist.

There was no hope of Tristan hiding his massive hard-on. He could tuck it into the rolled-up bit of the towel around his waist, but it would just end up poking out. As he wrenched the door open, he just had to hope that Leo wouldn’t be paying close enough attention to notice.

Leo, who’d been standing just outside, was taken aback by the aggression. “A-are you okay, man?”

“Yeah. I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be?” said Tristan as he brushed past. His stiff cock tented out the front of his towel skirt like a flag, waving around the proof of how far he’d fallen in so short a time.

“I-if you’re sure, bro,” said Leo. His voice was softer than it usually was. Smaller. It was enough to give Tristan pause.

Tristan was tempted to linger. He wanted to ask if Leo was alright. He’d never heard their youngest sound so downright… meek.

He couldn’t risk it, though. He’d already turned his back to Leo to try to hide the evidence of his shame. If anyone else came down the hall then, he would have no way to hide what was going on between his legs.

“Yeah. I’m sure,” said Tristan, realizing only too late that the words might have come out a bit more standoffish than he meant. It didn’t matter. He couldn’t linger.

Whatever was going on with Leo, Tristan couldn’t help with it. He could barely help himself with the problems in his life. How the fuck was he supposed to find it in him to help someone else? Even if they were family, he just didn’t have the energy or the wherewithal to spare.

---

Tristan was profoundly uncomfortable as he stood behind Daniel, waiting for the landlord to open up the apartment to let them in. It wouldn’t have come to this if Ravi had picked up any of their calls, but needs must. This was probably the first time Tristan had seen Daniel blatantly abuse the power of his badge.

He was worried about Ravi—there was no question about that—but what was making him uncomfortable was his underwear. He was wearing an old jockstrap. He’d had it since high school, which was probably the last time he wore it—and the last time it was washed.

Tristan used to be on the varsity soccer team. They never had the money to send him on retreats or get him the newest equipment, but they’d made it work. Every piece of thrifted gear he used, he’d earned from doing odd jobs for neighbors and running paper routes.

He wasn’t even sure what had possessed him to root around in the back of his closet for this ratty old thing. Years of disuse hadn’t done it any favors, either. The straps were fraying. The elastic waistband had rolled. The stitching around the edges of the pouch in the front dug into his groin and itched like nothing else, but he couldn’t exactly stick a hand down the front of his pants to adjust himself.

The worst part was that Tristan had shown up to breakfast wearing just that jockstrap. It was common enough for him and his brothers to sit down to eat in just their boxers, so he hadn’t even given it much thought. It wasn’t until he felt his bare ass touch the chair that he’d realized his mistake, and by then it had been too late to get back up and change.

He had a vague idea of why he’d done it. Part of him felt like he deserved it. That just like Owynn had said, he was trash—that he was meant to be treated like trash, dress like trash.

The rasp of the deadbolt on Ravi’s door opening brought Tristan back to the present. The doorknob rattled as the landlord keyed it open, but in short order, Daniel and Tristan gained admission into the apartment.

It was Tristan’s first time. In all the time they’d been working together, he’d never visited. There was never any reason to. Now that he was here, there was only one thing on his mind—besides cock, in any case.

Ravi’s place was tiny.

Looking around, Tristan couldn’t help but think that it wouldn’t be an exaggeration to call the place a dump. A small voice in the back of his head unhelpfully commented that he’d fit right in.

Tristan had seen pictures of where Ravi used to live. That place had hardly been adequate for human habitation. This cramped apartment made the other one look like a presidential suite at a 5-star hotel or a luxury penthouse at a multi-million-dollar condo.

One thing Tristan didn’t get was the mess. Ravi, despite being somewhat lackadaisical and carefree at times, had always struck Tristan as more of an organized person. The utter state of the apartment, however, suggested otherwise.

All sorts were strewn about: dirty clothes and discarded underwear, takeout containers, plastic bags. Tristan even spotted half-smoked blunts scattered around. He didn’t think Ravi partook, but he supposed it wasn’t entirely unimaginable.

Fighting through the haze of horniness that smothered his thoughts, Tristan took a good look around. Something wasn’t quite adding up. If Ravi was a recreational user, the blunts wouldn’t have been half-smoked and haphazardly scattered around the room.

“What the fuck? This place looks like a hurricane went through!”

Tristan glanced over his shoulder. The landlord had come in after the two of them and was looking around with a frown on his face.

“Sir,” Daniel held up a hand, indicating for the landlord to stop where he was. “Please, we can take it from here. I’m pretty sure that you’re not allowed inside apartments without the express permission of the tenant.”

The landlord scowled. “Says who?” he said. “I think I’ve got every right to make sure that my property isn’t being damaged!”

“Says this badge, Sir,” said Daniel, as he held up his police badge. “Now, please? If you don’t mind, I would rather not have to escalate this,” he added as he came up to the landlord and gestured back out the still-open door.

The landlord looked at the badge, opened his mouth as if he were about to say something, and then thought the better of it. “Alright, fine,” he said. “But you tell that kid that he needs to start keeping his place cleaner, or he’s gonna need to find somewhere else to live, you got that?”

“We’ll make sure he knows,” said Daniel, his hand on the doorknob already closing the door as he gave the landlord a forced smile and a little wave. “We’ll take it from here, Sir.”

As soon as the door was shut and the deadbolt reengaged, Daniel turned to Tristan and shook his head. The forced smile on his face transformed into a frown etched with worry.

Tristan turned his attention back to the mess. He’d been on the brink of something. Oh, right. The fact the blunts were half-smoked and scattered around, it suggested that this behavior was new. Impulsive.

A faint thrill coursed through Tristan’s body as it hit him. He was willing to bet Ravi was chasing a high. He had a good idea which kind of high, at that. He felt the impulse too. It took nearly all his willpower not to seek it himself.

“He must have been more affected by everything than I thought,” said Daniel.

Tristan could have told the senior detective that. VNM was an experience like nothing else. It was impossible to forget. Impossible to ignore. He’d only ever had minor exposure compared to Ravi, and the things he’d done were disturbing enough. He could only imagine that it was a hundred times worse for Ravi.

“Are we sure this is a good idea? Maybe we shouldn’t bring him in. Clearly he’s in a vulnerable place,” said Tristan as he followed Daniel deeper into the apartment by gingerly stepping over the mess into the few remaining clear spots on the floor. “I don’t know if he’s in any condition to be going on assignment.”

Daniel hesitated. “You’re probably right,” he said, “But we have no choice. We can’t stop this whole outfit with just two people.”

“I don’t think this is going to end well,” said Tristan. He almost didn’t want it to. The idea of a world where VNM had been cleaned off the streets should have been a blessed relief, but instead, it made his stomach churn.

“It might not,” said Daniel, “but Ravi’s a good man. He’s a good cop. He’s never given us reason to doubt him, so we should have a little faith.”

Daniel gave Tristan a small smile. “Besides, all we’re gonna do is ask. It’s up to him to decide if he’s up for this. If not, that’s fine. We’ll find another way. If he is up for this, then we’ll just have to trust him; we’ll have to trust that he knows his limits.”

The closer they got to what Tristan assumed was Ravi’s room, the stronger a strange scent in the air became. At first, Tristan thought it was VNM, but he relaxed when he realized that it wasn’t. It was adjacent, though. Familiar in a way he couldn’t put a finger on.

When they were standing in front of Ravi’s door, it suddenly clicked. It’s sex. It’s the smell of sex. Musk. Sweat. Cum. It was familiar because he’d smelled it before. In his room.

Hot days and horny days were bad. Hot, horny days were the worst, and that was most days in the past little while. The smell had become so thick in the air in Tristan’s room that he’d tuned it out until now.

Tristan should have stopped Daniel from opening that door. He could have said something. He knew what Ravi was likely doing in there. He knew that it wasn’t something Daniel would want to see. He was too late, though. Or maybe he just couldn’t bring himself to do it. Some part of him wanted to walk in on Ravi in the throes of passion, to see just how deep into depravity one of the most dignified and respectful people he’d ever known had sunk.

Daniel knocked on the door. “Ravi? It’s me, Daniel. I’m coming in. I just want to talk and make sure you’re holding up alright.”

The door swung open right as Ravi was climaxing. Daniel and Tristan might as well have not been there. The younger cop tossed his head back, his heels digging into his mattress on either side of his laptop as his cock spewed rope after rope of hot cum straight into the air.

Daniel froze. At the same time, Tristan sucked in a sharp breath, his cock straining against his leg in his pants. The awkward silence that followed was punctuated only by Ravi’s groaning and occasional muttered curse as he came down from the high of his orgasm.

It wasn’t until Ravi opened his eyes again that he realized he wasn’t alone. He saw Daniel. The two locked eyes and that was the moment that broke the spell on Daniel.

The door slammed shut as the older cop pulled it closed with seemingly every ounce of strength in his body. “I-I’m so sorry!” Daniel stammered out. He backed away from the door and looked at Tristan as if he were asking for help.

Tristan had none to offer.

After a pregnant pause, Tristan and Daniel both heard the sound of faint shuffling behind the door. “W-what did you want to talk about?” Ravi called out, his voice hoarse and strained.

“O-oh. Yeah… I-it’s about the case. We… We need to stop the distribution of VNM. It’s too dangerous. We need all the help we can get, and we need to know if you’re still onboard.”

The door swung open. Ravi stood in the doorway. He was shirtless, his torso glistening with a faint sheen of sweat and streaks of cum dripping down his abs.

For his bottoms, Ravi was wearing only a pair of sweatpants. It was pretty clear he wasn’t wearing any underwear from the way his erection was tenting out the fabric. Not to mention, there was a dark and growing spot at the tip of his dick.

It must have taken a moment before Ravi registered the state he was in, because his cheeks suddenly took on a faint tinge of pink. He made no attempt to hide his predicament, though. He didn’t so much as turn his body or pull back behind the door to hide the way the heavy fabric of his sweat pants twitched on the end of his cock.

Ravi had one hand on the doorjamb. He had the other on the doorknob. Even though he was in the way, there was enough space around him for Tristan to peer into the room.

What Tristan saw on Ravi’s bed made his cock throb. There was a towel on top of the sheets, along with an open pot of what looked like lube next to the laptop. Laying across the middle of the towel, between the computer and the pillows, was a thick, hyper-realistic dildo. The fat rubber cock was glistening, covered in a thick, goopy layer of lube and—most likely—ass juices.

Turning his gaze to Ravi, Tristan couldn’t help but notice how puffy Ravi’s lips were. He supposed that dildo on the bed didn’t just ravage one of the junior detective’s holes, but rather both. He said nothing, not wanting to draw any more attention to it even though part of him itched to call it out and contribute to Ravi’s humiliation.

“Tristan?”

“S-Sorry,” said Tristan. He hadn’t even realized Daniel was talking to him. “I was lost in thought so I didn’t quite catch the question…”

Ravi looked Tristan up and down. His gaze lingered maybe a bit too long on the lump pressed up against the side of Tristan’s leg. A coy little smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth as he raised his eyes to meet Tristan’s gaze and said, “I’m in. I know, probably a bad idea. But I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I didn’t at least contribute.”

The thick, heady scent of Ravi’s musk intensified as he raised his arm to scratch the back of his head, exposing the wiry, sweat-slicked hair of his armpit. “Besides, I was just telling Daniel that I needed a distraction… I don’t usually mind my peace and quiet, but… I don’t know if I want to be alone with my thoughts right now.”

Daniel was looking at Tristan, his brow creased with worry, so he didn’t notice the way that Ravi licked his lips and briefly bit his lower lip. Daniel also missed the smoldering look in Ravi’s eyes, the nigh-feral hunger that burned behind them when he said, “I’d appreciate your company, is all I’m saying.”

“You know we wouldn’t be asking if we had any other option,” said Daniel, reaching over to clap a hand on Ravi’s shoulder. The twitch in the fabric of Ravi’s sweatpants when Daniel touched him didn’t escape Tristan’s notice.

“Alright… Then, what’s the plan?” said Ravi. “Get me up to speed.”

“We should take this to the living room,” said Tristan, his heart racing as Ravi continued to make eyes at him. Nothing was said or expressed outwardly, but he knew without a doubt that Ravi wanted to get in his pants.

The urge to give in was overwhelming. Tristan didn’t know how long he could resist. The quiet sounds of moaning from the laptop on Ravi’s bed certainly didn’t help, which was why he wanted to move things along.

Work, Tristan tried to tell himself, would distract him for long enough to get a handle on his libido. He helped Daniel and Ravi clear out some space for the three of them to sit down and started relaying what he’d learned from Owynn.

“I’ll take the university,” said Ravi. He barely even gave Tristan a chance to finish.

“I’m not sure we should split up,” said Daniel.

Tristan glanced at Ravi. He didn’t trust the look in Ravi’s eye. He felt Ravi had other reasons for jumping on the university thing, but it was the least risky of the options, so he couldn’t exactly object.

Against his better judgment, Tristan had to agree with Ravi. “Time is of the essence,” he said. “We have little enough manpower as it is. The three of us working apart will cover more ground. We just have to keep in constant contact. We don’t want any nasty surprises.”

---

Tristan ended up choosing the gay club. He’d never been, but he knew that Marcus worked there. He hadn’t looped other members of his family in just yet, but if Marcus was around, then he would have backup if he needed it.

Come to think of it, Marcus had mentioned that he was investigating something. Tristan wondered if it was VNM, too. He was willing to bet it was. VNM was widespread enough at this point that Marcus must have noticed at some point.

Tristan’s family was usually a lot better at communicating potential threats to each other, but things had been so weird at home in recent days that they’d mostly just been avoiding each other. Maybe if he hadn’t been so caught up in his own thing, he might have asked his dad and brothers for help.

Whatever the case, Tristan needed to find Marcus and touch base. The best time to cross-reference intel had passed, but the second-best time was as soon as possible.

Tristan and Marcus hadn’t been on a duo mission in a while and he didn’t imagine that it would take more than just two of them to shut down the VNM operation. He had to imagine that Marcus had some juicy intel by now. He didn’t remember when, exactly, Marcus started working at the club, but he knew that Marcus had been embedded for a while at this point.

The first thing that jumped out at Tristan as soon as he entered the club was the haze. There were different colored lights shining through, but there was just the barest tint of purple in the air that was enough to tell Tristan what was going on.

Tristan’s breath hitched in his throat. A chill ran down his spine. The VNM in the air was so thick that probably everyone in the club was low-key high on the stuff.

He remembered his first encounter with VNM, that excursion into the shady part of town near the dojo. VNM had fucked him up, then, despite the fact he’d only been there a short while. Marcus had been working at the club for days, now. If Marcus had been around all this the whole time, then…

A cold knot of dread dropped into the pit of Tristan’s stomach. He shook his head. It didn’t bear speculating. Marcus’ healing factor was better than his—orders of magnitude better. For all he knew, Marcus might have been holding up just fine.

If there was anyone in the family that could fight VNM off without a problem, it was Marcus. Trevor was more concerned about himself. He was still feeling the effects of VNM. Just being in the vicinity of the haze was enough to make his cock throb.

Tristan had to keep his head in the game. He had to focus on the mission. The problem was that his eyes were already wandering. The go-go boys dancing here and there were looking mighty appealing.

He’d barely taken a step into the club and already his cock was as stiff as a steel rod. It pulsed needily against his leg, waves of desire and arousal pumping through him in a nigh-irresistible current.

Tristan tried to think of tits—of pussies—anything to retain even the slightest shred of his heterosexuality. It didn’t work. His gaze wandered. His eyes drank in the sights. Bouncing pecs and swaying asses framed in tight jockstraps filled his vision, making his mouth water.

He staggered to the bar, feeling lightheaded in the way that he imagined a man was meant to feel, when all the blood in his body rushed to his cock. Part of it was the arousal—there was no doubt about that—but the other part was his vain attempt not to get high on VNM by breathing as little as he could.

The effort was doomed to failure, anyway. He was just starving himself of oxygen, kicking the can down the road. Once his lungs started burning, instincts would kick in and he’d end up taking a deep, deep breath that would just end up shocking his system with a big dose.

Tristan had to do it, though. He needed to remain in control. He had a mission to accomplish, and he wasn’t going to be able to do that in the throes of a VNM high.

Sweat trickled down the side of Tristan’s face. He was so focused on moderating his breathing that he barely noticed when a go-go boy sidled up next to him. He very nearly jumped when the guy said something.

“Haven’t seen you around here very often, handsome,” said the cute twink.

Gods. Cute twink? Tristan thought to himself. Fuck. He’d always been able to acknowledge when other guys were attractive or physically appealing. He’d never thought of another man as cute, before.

“You know, I’d pegged you for a straight boy when you came in… Are you looking to satisfy some deep”—the twink palmed Tristan’s ass and squeezed—“curiosity? Or are you just looking around? Because you seem lost.”

“Uh.” Fuck. Tristan felt so fucking stupid. The twink’s tight little sexy body was turning him into a caveman. His cock throbbed, wanting nothing more than to be buried in that perky bubble butt, leaving no space in his head for words. “N-no, I-I’m fine. I’m just… I’ve never been here before… I’m kind of a bit overwhelmed,” he finally managed, after a bit.

“Here’s those drinks you asked for, Skylar,” said the bartender as he came around, holding two glasses out toward the twink.

Skylar waved his hand. “Hold on to those for me for a bit, won’t you? I’ve got a lost lamb to help. Wouldn’t want to leave this cutie to the wolves.”

“T-thanks,” said Tristan as Skylar grabbed him by the wrist and dragged him off. Alarms were blaring in the back of his head but he was too taken in, gaze fixated on Skylar’s ass.

Tristan needed to stop. He needed to at least know where they were going. He should have dug his heels in and refused to go any further until he was sure that Skylar wasn’t an enemy, but he just let himself get pulled along.

He was under a spell. His eyes were riveted to Skylar’s rump. He couldn’t help but groan as he watched it bounce, the straps of the twink’s jockstrap making the thick, round cheeks even plumper. He didn’t think he’d ever seen a more fuckable and breedable ass in his life.

“My eyes are up here, man,” said Skylar with a gentle squeeze of Tristan’s wrist. “Not that I’m going to complain about a straight boy admiring my ass… But now I have to wonder… Are you really as straight as you look? No one stares that long if they’re not at least a bit interested.”

Tristan flushed and, with great reluctance, tore his gaze away from Skylar’s ass. He realized with a start that they’d gone into a quieter part of the club, which he supposed explained why he could hear Skylar without having to strain. “I’m 100% straight, man, I swear,” he said, even though he didn’t sound particularly convinced.

“Aww. That’s cute,” said Skylar with a laugh. “It’s okay, man. Everyone is at least a little bit gay. At most, you’re probably 98% straight.”

Tristan made the mistake of looking Skylar in the eye. He didn’t know what it was about that coy, innocent look, but he said, “M-maybe I’m a little bit curious,” before he could stop himself, the words tumbling uncontrollably from his lips.

He very nearly clapped a hand over his mouth, but only just managed to stop himself. There was something about Skylar that just made him spill. “I-it doesn’t mean anything. But I’ve seen things… I-I’ve felt things…”

Skylar laughed, his eyes almost seeming to twinkle in the dim light. “I figured as much. But honestly, man? It’s nothing to be worried about. There’s no harm in experimenting. You should try it on VNM. There’s nothing like it. Might even change your mind on boys entirely.”

Tristan flushed. His cock throbbed. How was it that every time someone talked about VNM, they talked about how much better sex was while on it?

The thing was, he couldn’t even disagree. He’d experienced sex on VNM. His body still tingled at the memory of it. Every fiber of his being still craved the utter ecstasy he’d experienced while Owynn fucked his ass in that dumpster.

Tristan was slipping. Despite his best efforts, he could practically feel the VNM in his veins. His cock pulsed against his thigh, needy and impossible to ignore. The outline of his erection in his pants bordered on the obscene.

His head was getting fuzzier. The temptation was getting harder to resist. The only thing that kept him going was his dedication to the mission, but even that was faltering.

Still, Tristan knew he had to power through. As sorely tempted as he was, he shook his head. “I-I’m not particularly into the VNM scene,” he said, as a voice in the back of his head called him a liar. “W-where are we going, anyway?”

“To find Marcus. That’s who you’re looking for, right?” said Skylar with a coy little smirk.

“Y-yeah… Yeah, that’s right.” Tristan’s mind was so addled by the VNM in the air that he nearly didn’t notice. “H-hang on. Wait a second… H-how did you even know I was looking for… For someone?”

The alarm bells in Tristan’s skull were ringing even harder than before. It was giving him a headache. He shook his head, rubbing his temple. Something was off. Something was wrong. He just couldn’t put his finger on it.

Skylar just shrugged and beamed at Tristan. “You had that kind of look, you know?” he said.

Tristan didn’t know why he didn’t stop or at least pull away when Skylar continued down the corridor. He followed without thinking, his feet walking him behind Skylar all without his input.

The two of them stopped before a door. “Marcus is just inside,” said Skylar with a small smile.

Tristan gave Skylar a small smile. “Thanks, man,” he said, moving fully on autopilot as the door was opened for him. No sooner had he crossed the threshold, however, than the door was closed behind him with a click.

A frown creased Tristan’s brow. There was that weird sense of wrongness again, though it was a lot more muted this time than before. He looked over his shoulder to ask Skylar if they’d gone to the right place when it struck him: he’d never told Skylar who he was looking for.

Tristan’s eyes widened when he saw what Skylar was holding in his hand: a handheld pneumatic injector. The little transparent window in the side of the tube revealed that the injector contained a glowing, bright purple liquid.

He took a step back, nearly tripping over his own feet. He was ready to run, but Skylar was faster. The last thing he saw was Skylar swinging the injector at his neck, followed by a brief flash of pain and a wave of such intense, overwhelming arousal that he blacked out.

---

Tristan stirred awake. Maybe he should have been more alarmed about the fact that he’d passed out, but he couldn’t even think about that right now.

His head was pounding. His cock was pulsing. Every limb felt like a lead weight. No matter how much he tried, he couldn’t speak, think, or so much as even move a muscle. His skull felt like it had been stuffed to the brim with cotton, his thoughts smothered under a mountain of it.

The one thing Tristan could tell was that he was face-down, sprawled on top of a solid surface. It felt like wood, though he couldn’t be sure.

He wasn’t restrained, though, which he supposed was something of a positive. On the other hand, it meant he couldn’t move because all the strength had been sapped from his limbs. That bit was far from encouraging.

Tristan shivered as he felt the cool air on his skin. He was naked. His ass was exposed. He felt both vulnerable and, deep down, in a place he wasn’t very willing to acknowledge, excited by the pose.

What little strength he had left was being wasted. Not that he had the willpower to stop himself at this point, even if he wanted to. His hips were moving on their own, rocking back and forth, grinding his stiff, leaking cock against the surface under him.

A low moan came to Tristan’s lips. He should have been freaking out more, but it felt like every square inch of his exposed skin was tingling pleasantly. His head was so stuffed he could hardly think of anything besides how good his dick felt grinding against the wooden boards.

In the back of his mind, he recognized that he’d likely been captured. He had no idea by whom or for what purpose, but he had his suspicions. More to the point, he had to wonder what was going to happen to him.

Gods, Tristan thought to himself, a groan spilling from his lips. He was so fucking horny. His cock was so fucking hard. He was ready to explode, his balls churning with another fat load.

He squeezed his eyes shut, mustering what strength had managed to return to him since he woke up to hump the floor with increasing urgency. He felt no real desire to leave—to make his escape. He just wanted to bust, to spew rope after rope of hot cum all over the space between the floor and his belly.

Tristan flinched, eyelids flying open when he felt someone touch his face. Gentle fingers cradled his cheeks, a pair of thumbs lightly brushing over his lips. He almost wanted them to press down, to wedge his jaw open.

This wasn’t the sort of thing he should have been thinking. He was a hero, for fuck’s sake. He should have been fighting, putting every ounce of effort and willpower that he could spare into getting out of the pickle he’d found himself in.

The only thing Tristan felt was anticipation. His cock pulsed between his legs. He could feel the VNM in his body, rushing through his veins like purple lightning. It was as if someone had replaced his blood with the distilled essence of lust, ratcheting his arousal far beyond what he’d thought possible.

A jolt went through his body as suddenly, fresh qi was flowing from the fingers touching his face into his body. It was little more than a trickle, but it was enough.

Tristan’s nostrils flared. He hadn’t noticed until now, but the reason he couldn’t move was that his body had been starving for internal energy. He instinctively took a deep breath as he began to circulate the infusion through his meridians.

Strength gradually returned to Tristan’s limbs. The energy was surprisingly pure, but there was something not quite right about it. It was colored with something. A thread of essence that he just couldn’t quite put a finger on.

The trickle grew to a stream, and then a roaring flood. The current coursed through his meridians, heating him up from the inside. Instinctively, he sucked down a sharp breath, a low moan escaping him as the thick VNM haze in the air filled his lungs.

Arousal slammed into him like a tidal wave. It wasn’t just from the drug. It was in the Qi being pumped into him. It wasn’t just pure internal energy. It was tinged through and through with an incredible, overwhelming, and desperate sexual _hunger.

Tristan’s cock strained harder than it ever had before. He groaned as pre-cum spurted from the tip of his dick. He was so fucking horny he went cross-eyed from just how powerfully desperate he was.

He couldn’t stop. He couldn’t think. Instinct, desire, and carnal need had taken over. He humped the platform under him, whimpering as his cock slid back and forth along the mess of pre-cum he’d made.

It wasn’t until the flow of energy stopped that he was able to get a handle on himself. Slowly, his vision cleared. The haze of lust smothering his thoughts gradually faded.

For the first time since waking up, Tristan lifted his gaze and realized with a start that he was looking up at Marcus. His brother was dressed just like the other go-go boys.

He had a harness on, strapped across his meaty chest. A baseball cap rested on top of his head—spun the wrong way around, of course. The only other thing Marcus was wearing was a jockstrap, his bulge pretty much right at Tristan’s eye level.

Tristan’s fears had come true. The VNM had gotten to Marcus, too. Marcus’ eyes were glassy and unfocused, his irises tinged with a deep purple. His mouth was open, tongue lolling out with a strand of spit dangling from the tip.

Marcus was utterly blissed out. The look on his face made Tristan’s cock throb. It shouldn’t have. This was a concern. An existential threat. If Marcus, who had the best healing factor among them, couldn’t fight VNM off, then what chance did the rest of them have?

The vacant delirium in Marcus’ expression was reminiscent of the look on Ravi’s face after he got super-dosed on VNM. It should have sent Tristan running for the hills. Instead, it made him horny.

Tristan’s gaze slid down the front of his brother’s body, his eyes raking over the thick slabs of meat on Marcus’ chest, the rock-solid washboard of Marcus’ abs. He moaned as he traced the perfect V of Marcus’ Adonis belt and the way that the waistband of Marcus’ jockstrap followed the contours of the muscle underneath.

He honed in on the bulge between Marcus’ legs. He’d never looked so closely at another man’s package, least of all one of his brothers’, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away.

Tristan saw the pouch of Marcus’ jockstrap twitch. For some reason, the sight sent a frisson of pleasure through him. Something was off, though. He’d seen what Marcus was packing. The bulge in Marcus’ jock was supposed to be bigger. Then he noticed it, the hard lines pressing up against the fabric, the faint impression of something wrapped around his brother’s cock and balls.

“Welcome back, li’l bro,” Marcus slurred out as the corners of his mouth turned up in a little grin. “Like what you see?”

Tristan couldn’t help but groan. It was the tone of Marcus’ voice. It was the salacious look in Marcus’ eyes. It was fucked up, but he couldn’t help the way that his body responded. His own adoptive brother was turning him the fuck on.

Marcus dropped forward onto all fours. One hand was braced against what Tristan realized now was a small raised platform in the middle of a larger room. His other hand was cupped lightly around the side of Tristan’s face.

Tristan saw movement behind Marcus and tensed, but there was no immediate threat. He hadn’t even registered until then that he and Marcus weren’t alone. There were other people in the room with them, and the one standing right behind Marcus had just crouched to put Marcus’ rump at eye level.

Marcus met Tristan’s gaze and grinned. He arched his back and spread his knees, pushing his ass up into the air.

The guy behind Marcus took it as an invitation. He reached up and grabbed Marcus’s ass cheeks with both hands, prying them apart before diving in. A low groan followed, and then the lewd, wet noises of loud, sloppy slurping.

Marcus’ eyes rolled up. His eyelids fluttered. A long, low moan tumbled from his lips, making Tristan’s cock throb and leak. “Fuck,” Marcus groaned under his breath, “That feels so good. Fuck, yes, Daddy. Get that tongue in there, please!”

Tristan pushed himself onto his hands and knees, and for the first time, looked around properly. He and Marcus were in a decently sized room. There was the small, circular stage in the middle where the two of them were, and then there was a large sectional couch that covered the entire back half of the room.

A bunch of men were standing around. They were in various states of undress. Some were wearing harnesses. Some were in their underwear. Others were buck naked and stroking their stiff cocks.

The audience—Tristan realized only belatedly that he and his brother were on display—ran the gamut of body types. Some looked like they would be blown over by the gentlest breeze. Others were more heavyset. Some had the aesthetic muscle of male supermodels, while others looked like they could bench-press the Himalayas for a pre-workout warmup.

Tristan’s cheeks flushed. Not all the men might have been in the buff, but their desire was naked. All the attention should have repulsed him, but instead it made him horny.

Before long, he found himself mimicking Marcus. He didn’t know why, only that it somehow felt natural. As he arched his back and pushed his ass out, he couldn’t help but moan. It felt good—like a hit of dopamine.

As he spread his knees apart, Tristan couldn’t help but feel somewhat vulnerable and exposed. He was. The cool air made his hole twitch, earning an appreciative groan from the men standing behind him. He didn’t understand why, but fuck was it hot.

Tristan knew he was making himself available, but that didn’t stop him from flinching when he felt a pair of rough, callused hands on his ass. He could have looked back. He should have looked back. Instead, he locked gazes with Marcus, his cock throbbing from the approval he saw reflected in his brother’s eyes.

A long, low moan spilled from Tristan as soon as the man that had grabbed hold of him parted his cheeks. He felt the heat of the man’s breath pulsing over his asshole. He wanted to say something. That place was dirty. Tongues weren’t supposed to go there. He wasn’t used to this. As soon as the man’s tongue touched his hole, it shut him right up.

Marcus’ grin split his face nearly in half. “That’s it, bro! Don’t fight it! Let it in!” He chewed on his lower lip, his eyes smoldering with desire. It was as if Tristan’s descent into depravity was turning him on, and it seemed he was only too eager to hasten it. “It’ll feel so much better if you just surrender, bro!”

Tristan knew, in the back of his head, that he shouldn’t listen. The words might have been said with Marcus’ voice, but it wasn’t Marcus saying them, it was the VNM. Marcus was just as fucked up on the stuff as he was—if not more.

It didn’t matter. His brain wasn’t interested in anything rational. His own mind was working against him, looking for something, anything, to use as an excuse to justify chasing for pleasure. Marcus was the perfect one.

This was his older brother. They might not have been related by blood, but they’d grown up together. He’d looked up to Marcus as a young man and he knew, deep down, that Marcus would never lead him astray. That was, of course, as long as Marcus was in his right mind—which he wasn’t—but that little detail was something that his VNM-addled brain was more than willing to gloss over.

Tristan did as he was told. He clung to his older adoptive brother’s words as an excuse to let go, to just give in to the pleasure. He couldn’t help but moan, his eyes nearly rolling back in his head. He never imagined it could feel so good to get his ass eaten, but getting his hole tongue-fucked sent thrills up his spine like nothing else.

He was reminded of how it felt when Owynn broke in his virgin hole. It had been so good. He never knew his asshole could be so sensitive. This was a different sort of pleasure, but one that he could hardly get enough of now that he had experienced it firsthand.

Tristan rolled his hips, bucking back against the guy behind him, grinding his asshole against the man’s face. One moment blurred to the next, the very concept of time escaping him as he eagerly rode the man’s tongue.

When it stopped, he couldn’t help but groan in disappointment. He wiggled his hips, hoping for more action, his mind so singularly focused on the pleasure he was getting from his asshole that he’d entirely forgotten about his mission.

Tristan’s disappointment was short-lived. His twitching, wet hole wasn’t left unattended for long. Before he knew it, there was a cock knocking at his entrance, the blunt head being kissed by his winking pucker.

He waited for the pressure, for the viselike grip pushing down on his hips as he was forced open by that thick cock, but it never came. He wiggled his hips enticingly. He bounced his ass, rubbing his hole over the head of the man’s cock. Nothing.

Tristan whined, raising his gaze at Marcus for help. He didn’t know what he was doing wrong. Why wasn’t this man holding him down and railing him against the stage?

“Take him, bro,” said Marcus with a grin. “You can do it!”

Tristan’s eyes went wide. It was one thing to be penetrated, to have a girthy dick forced into his tight hole. That way, the part of him that was still desperately holding on to his heterosexuality could at least pretend that he wasn’t into it. Fucking himself on another man’s cock… That was something else.

“I-I don’t know, Marc…” Tristan whined. This was a line in the sand. Until now, he could tell himself his body was just reacting to the pleasure, but Marcus was telling him to take matters into his own hands—or into his own hole.

“Take my fucking cock, slut! It’s not that complicated! Are you fucking stupid?” the man growled. The crack of the man’s hand smacking into Tristan’s ass was so crisp it almost sounded like a gunshot.

Tristan jolted forward from the blow, his eyes wide. He was used to taking more forceful impacts, but for some reason that one smack stung like nothing else. It hurt so bad that he had tears in his eyes and yet, for some fucking reason, the realization that he’d just been spanked made his cock so fucking hard.

Marcus reached over. He put his hand over Tristan’s and squeezed. He licked his lips, running his teeth over the corner of his lower lip as he said, “I believe in you, bro. You can do it! Don’t you want to feel good? I know you want it. I know you need it. Be a good VNM junkie and take that fat dick like the cock whore you were always meant to be, bro.”

Tristan’s breath hitched in his throat. VNM junkie. Cock whore. Marcus’ words made his whole body flush with heat and arousal and suddenly, it didn’t matter what his reservations were. Despite his misgivings, Tristan pushed back, moaning as the pressure built and his hole was slowly spread open by the blunt cock head he was taking inside him.

The burn, by this point, was familiar. He stretched around the man’s girth, groaning when the cock head finally popped inside his velvet heat. He took inch after inch, sweat beading on his brow until, a few minutes later, he’d bottomed out.

The cock felt so big inside Tristan. He could feel it pulsating inside him. He couldn’t help but clench around it, his asshole clamping tight around the base of the man’s fat dick. What he earned for his efforts was a second, this time lighter, smack to the ass.

“Such a good bitch,” the man growled as he openly groped and molested Tristan’s ass with his hands. “Such a good little cock sleeve, clamping down tight on Daddy’s big dick like the fucking whore you are.”

Tristan could only moan. He felt his insides fluttering along the length of the man’s cock. He didn’t know why it felt so good, but it did. It felt so right to be filled so full with cock.

“Hey,” said the man, after a minute or so of Tristan just luxuriating in the sensation of having a cock buried balls-deep in his asshole. “Stop being such a fucking lazy fucktoy and get a move on already. I didn’t pay for a fucking cock-warmer. I paid to get my cock milked by a tight pussy!”

Tristan’s whole body flushed. Humiliation, indignation, and arousal in equal parts rushed through him. He’d never been treated so callously, but it felt so fucking good.

Lazy. Fucktoy. Cock-warmer. Pussy. None of these were words that he would have ever associated with him, but hearing them from the mouth of the man whose cock was buried in his tight little hole, it made his cock throb.

Tristan looked up at Marcus. His brother was grinning at him. Marcus looked almost proud.

“Do it, bro!” said Marcus. “Show him how Chan men do things,” he added, in between moans. He was lurching forward from the thrusts of the man behind him, a big, burly ginger man with massive hands wrapped tight around Marcus’ waist.

Fuck, Tristan couldn’t help but think to himself. The sound of skin slapping against skin as the man railed his brother filled the air. It filled his skull.

Marcus moaned, his eyelids fluttering as the man fucking him picked up the pace. “Oh, yes, Daddy. Oh, yes!” he mewled as he rocked back and forth on his hands and knees to meet every thrust. “Pound my hot little boypussy just the way you like it, Daddy!”

Tristan’s cock strained. Fuck. He wasn’t supposed to be getting off on this, but it was so fucking hot. He could hardly believe he was watching his own adoptive brother get fucked, but the blissed-out look on Marcus’ face was nothing short of pornographic.

Without even realizing he was starting to do it himself, Tristan rocked back and forth on his knees. He felt the man’s cock scrape against his insides. It was so big. It was such a perfect fit. It felt so fucking good.

Tristan thought about what Marcus said—about showing the man he was riding how Chan men did things. It was funny. He was pretty sure the Chan men, besides Marcus, were straight and wouldn’t want a dick anywhere near their holes. But if he had to think about the way their family did anything, there was only one way to describe it: full throttle.

The cock pumping in and out of his hole as he worked his hips like a cheap whore felt so good he couldn’t even remember why he was resisting—why he ever thought he was straight. He didn’t even mind that the purple haze of VNM in the air was growing thicker.

Tristan gulped down lungful after lungful of VNM-laden air, moaning as he debased himself on the end of a stranger’s fat cock. He moaned without restraint, letting his pleasure show on his face as his mouth hung open and drool dribbled from the tip of his tongue.

Gay sex was amazing. It was the best. He never imagined anything could feel so good, but now that he’d had a cock up his ass, he wanted more. He needed more.

“Daddy! Your cock feels so good!” Tristan moaned. He was just copying Marcus, but it felt so good to say the words. It felt right. Especially after he felt the way that his top’s cock lurched in his ass.

Tristan wasn’t blind. He could see what Marcus’ desperate pleas were doing to the big ginger that was railing him. Every single time that Marcus begged for more, the top indulged him.

Envy coursed through Tristan’s veins. He wanted that, too. He wanted the man to grab him and fuck him while he rocked his hips back and fucked himself on that fat dick. He went harder, bucking his ass and riding his top’s cock with every ounce of strength that he had left.

Tristan had only ever been on the other side of this kind of thing, and only ever with a woman, but he was starting to understand why she’d made all those noises. He was pretty much riding the man reverse cowgirl, but on his hands and knees.

“Fuuuck, Daddy, your cock fills me up so good! I can feel you scraping up the walls of my pussy!” Tristan hung his head, panting as he pumped his hips. “I want you to pound me, Daddy, please! Please fuck me!”

Tristan wanted nothing more than to be railed into the stage. He needed to be flattened, his ass destroyed. It felt so fucking good to have a dick inside him and he couldn’t imagine ever going back to the way he used to be.