Page 10 of Built To Perform

I shrugged, tongue-tied. A clever freshman wrestler would’ve checked with Brayden whether all his teammates knew about his extra-curricular hustle. Once again I was discovering that I apparently wasn’t a clever freshman wrestler.

“Uh, yeah... for, um...” I racked my brain, for some piece of Coach’s painfully clinical feedback that could be repurposed for mild misdirection. “For, uh, better balance.”

Carlos’ eyebrow arched. He crossed his arms, which was a problem because that just made his biceps swell, and the veins in his forearms stand out more clearly, and it was hard for me to concentrate - never mind concentrate on deception - when that was happening right in front of me.

“For balance. And just because I am Brazilian, I must surely be an amazing dancer?”

I boggled at him, brain floundering. I’d expected him to challenge my hastily-prepared story - it was flimsy, I knew it was - but even the most pessimistic part of my brain hadn’t foreseen my plan falling apart because of ethnic stereotyping.

“Oh... oh, no, I didn’t... I mean, I wouldn’t...”

His expression cracked into an entertained grin, all white teeth and fuck-me-right-here-on-the-front-step charm.

“I’m messing with you, lil bro. Of course I can dance.”

I wasn’t sure whether to let out a sigh of relief or cuss him out. That I still needed his tutoring suggested the latter was a poor option.

“Right, right.” I could feel my cheeks burning. “So, you can... help?”

He tilted his head. “Certainly. When you tell me the truth, I mean.”

For a moment I considered brazening it out. Insisting that I really was just trying an off-beat answer to our Coach’s latest laundry list of weaknesses to be corrected. Attempting whatever mix of flattery, cajoling, and feigned innocence might be sufficient to trick Carlos into believing me.

Then wilted in the face of his quizzical stare. Not judgmental, not even hard. Just curious: a curiosity rooted in the handsome senior being interested in me, and my life, and the decisions and choices I made. You couldn’t lie to that sort of interest, not if you ever wanted to sleep soundly again.

“It’s... Brayden. To help him, I mean.”

“A dance, to distract him while his foot recovers?”

Clear, from Carlos’ tone, that such a theory would not be believable.

“Well, no,” I mumbled, no longer able to hold his eye. “He kinda has this... part-time job, that I said I’d... y’know... help with. While he’s out of action, I mean.”

Silence, for a few, excruciating moments.

My big bros had secrets, I knew they did. Things that weren’t discussed, that maybe they preferred not to talk about. Brayden’s troubles with his parents had been one, and I knew Carlos’ big family back home in Belo Horizonte had expectations of him that didn’t match up with his own preferences for men. We were a team, and a brotherhood, and we chose when and what to reveal about ourselves. The important part was not judging based on whatever you heard, and in turn believing you’d be granted the same.

“I know about Brayden’s dancing, lil bro.”

I looked up, in surprise. “You do? So why did you...”

“Let you stumble through your terrible half-truths and stories?” Carlos chuckled. “Oh, because I am a cruel big bro, of course, who enjoys to see you squirm.”

I made a face, feeling grumpy. “I prefer the other ways you make me squirm.”

His grin told me I need only say the word and his face would be between my cheeks while my breathless whimpering filled his bedroom. Assuming, that was, that we even made it to his apartment first. Carlos was strong enough - and my love of him eating my ass sufficiently persuasive - that he could pin me down on the stairs and go to work, and I’d barely protest.

The way he licked his lips suggested he was now thinking along similar lines.

“I told him I’d help him. Fill in, so he doesn’t lose his spot,” I explained. Rushing the words out, needing to get things back on track before my transparently obvious attraction to the handsome Latino got the better of me. Brayden would probably enjoy hearing the story of that, but it wouldn’t help pay his rent. “But I can’t dance, because... well, I just can’t, and he can’t really teach me right now, and...”

“And so I’m second-best?”

If the universe was anything close to fair, then the look I flashed him would be withering. Despite my being flustered, and blushing still, not to mention turned on by the memory of how Carlos took it as a personal challenge to get me to cum just from tongue-fucking my hole.

“You know that’s not true,” I told him.

Sighing - like I was predictable, but at least cute, and that he could work with - he reached out, to drag me into the building by my arm.