Page 2 of Built To Perform

On the one hand, I was almost certainly obligated to defend the honor of my wrestling bros. That chivalry punctured, in this specific case, by the accuracy of Clay’s suggestion.

“And you’d object to it?” I asked, instead. Coach always liked to remind us that offense could be the best defense. That didn’t have to apply solely out on the mat.

“Does it get you off, hearing about your teammates hooking up with people?”

It did. For all of us. That was kinda the point.

I was saved from answering, anyway, by the click of the lock.

“One day I’ll come home and find you actually wearing clothes,” Adam said, dumping his backpack on the desk.

“I’m modeling,” I pointed out, grinning at him.

It was a quick glance, but not a shy one. Not like the looks he’d given me when we first moved in together, strangers suddenly living in the same small dorm room. Back then he’d feared me for an asshole: all testosterone and bravado. Had even held off telling me he was gay, worried what my reaction might be.

The memory of Adam’s expression, when I admitted I’d had sex with one of my teammates, still amused me. These days he had no qualms about staring.

“Modeling. Is that what you’re calling it, now.”

“Tell him, Clay,” I protested.

“It’s for the calendar,” the artist said, not looking up from his handiwork. “So for once he has an excuse.”

“Hey!”

They both ignored my outrage.

The calendar had been Carlos’ idea, the senior suggesting it after all the college groups and teams were challenged to come up with fundraising projects. Clay drawing us in classic beefcake poses had seemed the obvious next step.

I’d wondered if he might decline, blame too much classwork to indulge the art hobby his strict Korean parents put so little stock in. Balanced against knowing just how fascinated Clay was by guys with muscles.

That I was sprawled across my bed, stripped down to briefs and a pair of white socks, addressed the question of which way he’d fall.

Adam looked over Clay’s shoulder. “You’re always so... generous.”

He probably couldn’t see Clay’s smirk, but I could.

“You know I’m not.”

There were times when I thought I’d made a huge mistake, introducing them. Sensible, in the moment: not like I had all that many friends, not outside of my team bros. I just hadn’t realized they’d bond over their common love of both muscles and working me up into a frenzy.

I watched Adam playfully cuff Clay across the ear, then walk over to the bed. Hardly a great distance, in our tiny dorm room, but something about the intensity of his stare left it feeling loaded and dangerous.

Ridiculous for my stomach to churn quite so much. When I dwarfed Adam in scale and strength; when anyone looking at the two of us would figure my roommate cowed by the jock whose free-weights took up most of our space.

I chewed my lip, hips instinctively pushing up against the weight of his hand on my crotch. Attention caught on the curve of his smile, and the way he licked his lips as he traced the half-hard length of my cock through the white cotton.

“I’m meant to be posing,” I reminded him.

“So hold still, then,” Adam softly scolded.

Clay’s snort of amusement distant, barely heard, as I watched my underwear get pulled down. The waistband cinched tight, just below my balls, and Adam wasting no time in bending to lick in one long, slow movement from the thick root of my swelling dick to the very tip.

“Dude,” I hissed, through clenched teeth. His chuckle in response was more vibration than sound.

It wasn’t a blowjob, not yet. More just Adam’s lips and tongue working along me, as though mapping the contours of my shaft for some later recollection. Each pass seeing it grow, thicken, harden, until my erection jutted eagerly out at him. Desperate, now, for his mouth to close around me with that warm, wet tightness.

“Come on.” It was a whine, needy and pathetic, but I couldn’t bring myself to care how it might make me sound.