Page 7

Not shock, not really, at what he’d done, what he’d been doing. Of all my teammates, Brayden always the most daring.

But shocked by my own reaction, yes. The intensity of my arousal now; the vividness of the picture in my mind’s eye, Brayden’s lil bro picturing himself on his knees on that stage. Waiting in the splay of the senior’s muscled thighs, desperate for a reward to rain down on his upturned face.

Instinct, then, to reach out. To trace the hard length of his cock through the sweatpants which disguised so little of it. Paw at him, even as I groped at myself.

The way Brayden levered his crotch against my hand told me I didn’t need to ask permission. Then again, I never did. We were teammates, a brotherhood, after all.

“All worked up, dude?” Amusement in his tone.

“Fuck you,” I muttered, even as I was bending down.

His heat noticeable even with fabric between us, and his musk, and the sweet spice I’d come to associate with him. Could recognize, now, even if I was blindfolded, I was sure of it. Just like I could recognize Jefferson by his scent, and Carlos, and Donny, and the others. The older men who’d welcomed me into their world, embraced me in every possible sense. Never passing on the opportunity to uplift me, and encourage me, and goad me on to more, better. Whether that was out on the mat, or straining on a weights bench, or on my hands and knees as they reamed my ass wide open.

No underwear beneath his sweats, as he tugged them down. Just the fat heft of his dick, rigid against my lips, my nose, my cheeks as I nuzzled at him. Ground my face against Brayden’s most sensitive parts, like I was hoping to mark myself with his musk. Ownership, to him as much as to the team. His lil bro, hungry and raw and malleable, desperate for these bigger, stronger guys to show him his true purpose in life.

“Suck my dick, lil bro.”

He’d feel my groan, I knew; the rumble of satisfaction, passed straight from my chest down his cock as it stretched my lips. Fat tip already drooling, Brayden’s precum smeared across my tongue and flooding me with his familiar, addicting taste.

I hummed with pleasure, with intent, as I felt that tip brush the entrance to my throat.

He’d moved the phone down, I realized, when I finally opened my eyes. Screen right in front of me, even as I slobbered on him: the performing Brayden seeming to match with his strokes my mouth’s sloppy bobbing. Both of us working his jock inches, as the bass thumped in tandem with my heartbeat.

His hand trailed down, following the crease of my spine. Casual, but with a purpose both of us knew. Satisfying, then, to feel his palm cradle my ass through my jeans.

All of my bros loved my butt, but sometimes I wondered if Brayden loved it most of all. It was probably the sort of suggestion which would start an argument between them.

Part of me wanted to reach down, unbutton my jeans. Shuck the clinging denim, wriggle my legs out - cursing my thick thighs, the wrestlers’ build which made finding clothes such a pain, now - and then my underwear, too. Press my bare skin back against Brayden’s hand, knowing what little encouragement it’d take to have him work his long, devious fingers into my hole. And from there to his lap, my mouth reluctantly giving up its plaything for the greater good, just as long as my muscled teammate agreed to pound me until speech was beyond me.

The video, though. The damn video, a magnet to my eyes.

I squeezed my dick one-handed through my jeans as I watched Brayden meet his strokes with thrusts of his hips. Like he was fucking his own fist, an arm coiled over the backrest of the chair to support himself. Dripping sweat now, his face a mask of focus, of concentration. Locked into the important task of getting off; just like the thought of sitting up myself, of relinquishing the heavy cock that filled my mouth so exquisitely, was anathema.

The pressure of Brayden’s fingers between my cheeks, pushing at my hole through my jeans, told me he wouldn’t be too unhappy at my commitment.

Not when I could feel him thickening in my throat, hear the muffled grunts from above me. The jerks and twitches of his body, as I worked him with my mouth and stared with wide-eyed fascination at the matching movements of the man on his cellphone screen. Magnified and exaggerated for an audience, yes, but still as if I was helping him race to that climax. My licking, and sucking, and teasing all responsible for propelling him past that point of no return.

The explosion was bright white, sharp in the red lights. A cascade of cum, fountaining into the front row of the audience even as the first blast here in his living room erupted in my throat and set me choking and spluttering. Pulling back, just enough that Brayden’s second splash filled my mouth. Slick and gooey, as I worked him with my lips and heard him gasp at the torrent of sensations.

On-screen, Brayden flopped back on the chair. Feigning exhaustion, only I could tell from the crisp outline of his muscles, the sharp ridges of his abs still countable, that he was just as aware of how he looked as when he’d been dancing.

He lifted his head, grin self-satisfied, and pointedly brought his hand to his mouth. Long tongue lapping along his fingers, through the glaze of cum that sheened them.

On his couch, on my hands and knees and with his still-hard dick between my lips, I whimpered as I creamed my jeans.

A freeze-frame, the video ending on his phone and my own body similarly frozen. Lost, in that moment, to the magnitude of what I’d been feeling. Senses overcome; as if my brain had drifted away like a weather balloon, and must now be reeled back in to reoccupy my skull.

Brayden brushed a thumb across my cheek. Traced where my lips were stretched around him.

“I think you need a shower, lil bro.”

#

I’d thought he’d shower with me; hungered for it even. Not like seeing my teammates naked and wet was unusual now, and yet it still mesmerized me. Hard-earned muscles, and with it the equally hard-earned permission for me to stare at them. To watch as soapy hands slid under arms and between legs. Glided across broad chests and around firm asses. They watched me in return, I knew they did, but I couldn’t help but feel like I had the better half of the deal.

Brayden didn’t join me, though. Leaned on the edge of the sink, as I tugged off my shirt and then - grimacing a little - peeled down my jeans. My underwear a sodden mess, black trunks soaked through with cum. Clinging as I tried to extract each leg.

No doubting his attention, his gaze, as I stepped under the spray. Unapologetic, as I tipped my head back and allowed the water to flood down my face.