Page 4 of Tough Guy and the Show Off

I step into the elevator at the hotel and slip my phone out of my pocket to entertain myself for the ten seconds it’s going to take to get to my floor. I scroll my main feed, which is nothing but hockey, workout tips, and celebrity gossip. Vesper “lover boy” D’Amore is going to be an extra on some hockey show next summer, Maxim Volkov posted a picture of himself and his giant pack of huskies, some figure skater I’ve never heard of named Berlin Daly is going through a messy breakup with his Olympic snowboarder boyfriend, and, yep, Baddie Badeaux announced that there’s a new Mrs. Baddie. I think that makes her number three… or maybe she’s number four. It’s hard to keep track.

The elevator doors ding and slide open, and I shove my phone back into my pocket and step out. The whole day feels like it catches up with me all at once, and I yawn, feeling every bit of the abuse I put my body through. I bet Beau is already passed out and snoring like a hippopotamus. I chuckle to myself as I tap the key card against the sensor, then I swing the door open and step inside.

The light is off, and it takes my eyes a few seconds to adjust to the ambient city lights coming in through the window, casting a dim glow over the room. Beau isn’t sleeping, but it doesn’t click in my brain right away what he is doing. Once it does, my body freezes up and a strange, hot feeling rushes through me all at once.

Beau is on his bed, closest to the window, with his shorts pulled down around his ankles, his knees bent, and his thick, muscular thighs parted. He has one hand fisted around his cock and the other between his legs, two fingers pumping in and out of his… his… I swallow hard and try like hell to look away or to at least make a noise so he knows I’m here. I can’t do either though. I can’t do anything except stand here and watch him. He lets out a low grunt and my stomach clenches.

His skin is glistening in the moonlight, slick with sweat, and his fist shuttles faster up and down his shaft. It’s been ages since my dick has seen any action, even from my own hand, as evidenced by the fact that I now have a sympathy boner just from watching someone else get off. No, not just someone else… Beau. He moans through clenched teeth and his back arches just a little, his breaths coming in fast, hard pants like he’s sprinting a fucking marathon, and then it happens…

“Fuck,” he groans, bucking up into his fist and shoving his fingers deep into himself. Cum shoots out of his cock with an impressive amount of force, painting not just his stomach but his chest, one spurt even reaches his chin, splattering into the dark, wiry hair of his beard.

Holy fuck.

Oh, holy fuck, he just finished, he’s going to notice I’m here any second, that I was standing and watching him like some kind of perv. Shit, shit, shit. I shake myself out of whatever weird trance I was in and start to back up. I’ll open the door and close it really loudly, and he’ll think I just came in. It’s a solid plan, except I trip over his shoes before I get the chance to pull it off.

“Shit,” I gasp, windmilling my arms in search of something to grab onto as I tumble backward.

“Shit,” Beau grunts at the same time.

I land on my ass, and I hear the bed springs creak and the sound of him scrambling to get up and pull his clothes on. The lights come on and in just a few seconds Beau is standing over me, his face still flushed and sweaty, a wrinkled shirt covering his cum streaked torso, a lone, glistening drop of cum still in his beard.

“Are you okay, Trav?”

I open my mouth to tell him that I’m fine, but laughter bursts out instead.

His face gets even more red. “Shit, how much did you see? I was alone; I figured you’d be out late. Don’t try to act like you never jerk off when we’re on the road. I’ve accidentally put in your earbuds and gotten porn, so I know you do.”

I roll onto my side, still laughing and still weirdly hard. If my dick could chill before Beau notices and thinks I really was perving on him, it would be great.

“It’s fine,” I assure him in between wheezing chuckles. “We all do it, man, it’s just… you’ve got…” I gesture to my face so he gets the hint.

Beau frowns, then reaches up to pat his beard. His eyes go wide when he drags his fingers right through the glob of cum.

“I’m going to shower,” he mutters, leaving me on the floor without offering to help. That’s fine—I wasn’t about to touch his hands right now anyway.

“Don’t be embarrassed, dude,” I call after him. “I’m actually jealous. I never get myself off that hard.”

“I hate you,” he grunts before closing the bathroom door hard.

“Love you too, bro,” I shout, falling into another brief laughing fit before I finally drag myself off the floor and start getting undressed while the shower runs in the background.

I glance at Beau’s rumpled bedsheets and my skin heats unexpectedly. I laugh again and shake my head.

Like he said, it’s no big deal, we all do it. I just never thought about Beau doing it before. But whatever, it’s chill. I’m going to stop picturing it right… now.

THREE

BEAU

I slept like shit, which does not bode well for the day ahead. I glance at Trav, who’s still sound asleep, and a wave of embarrassed heat spreads through me. Neither of us acknowledged what happened last night, and I hope we can keep that trend going.

Figures the time I decide to kick things up and finger myself is when he walks in on me. With all the time we’ve spent together, I guess it was bound to happen. I just wish I wasn’t going so hard.

Ugh. I need to play it cool, act normal, and hope like hell he doesn’t mention it.

I crawl out of bed, then quietly pad to the bathroom to piss and brush my teeth. I took a shower last night, but another quick one wouldn’t hurt to wake me up. I would’ve loved to just pass out, but not after being caught with cum in my fucking beard.

Jesus.