Page 25 of Built To Perform

It felt ridiculous to be frustrated at Jefferson for not wanting to have sex. Or, more accurately, to be frustrated at him for clearly wanting that, but opting for restraint instead. The giveaway of his desire was ample enough at the best of times, never mind when you were straddling his lap and groping at it through the gap of your own thighs.

Parts of me - intimate parts, sensitive parts; parts that at one point had thought sex with the handsome, hung senior might be physically unwise if not outright impossible - itched at the memory of that. Of his hands on my ass, his grip casually possessive. Scant inches between his fingertips and the crease between my cheeks. And no question that I would’ve gone along with it; done, pretty much, whatever Jefferson pleased.

Adam wouldn’t have begrudged me bringing him back to our room. In fact Adam would’ve explicitly encouraged it, I was sure: would’ve sat on his bed, stroking as he watched Jefferson plow me. No, the headache would’ve been getting the senior into that room in the first place: he was neither small, nor subtle, and the dorm whisper network was swift and incessant. There’d been enough chatter after Carlos had helped rescue a drunken Clay from his stupor on my bed. The idea of somehow smuggling Jefferson in without anyone noticing was ridiculous.

Ridiculous, but potentially very rewarding.

No way not to think of his body, dominating my bed. Cramped just for my scale, never mind a wrestler several weight classes up. Jefferson forced to sit across it, perhaps, rather than lay down in it; a repeat of the scene in his truck, only this time I’d be naked when I was stretched across him. His cock not squeezed into jeans, but into my hole.

The snick of the bathroom door opening jerked me from my fantasy. A nervous glance down confirmed my dick had come along for the ride: jutting out, not quite fully hard but definitely not soft, either.

“Hey.” A raised voice, intended to compete over the sound of rushing water.

I swallowed. “H-hey.”

“Oh, it’s you, Eoin. I didn’t recognize the towel.”

“Hey, Asher.”

The towel had been a gift - a joke one - from Clay. Covered with the faces of lots of TV wrestlers; it was in the laundry, so I’d stolen Adam’s towel instead.

I knew the other guys on our corridor, though I’d not really spent time with them. College was turning out to be a repeat of high school, at least when it came to my lackluster social life: by the time I was done with classes, and assignments, and practice, there was vanishingly little left over to spend with anyone else. The big difference was, at college I had my bros on the team to make it feel less lonely.

It was hard to imagine life without that, now. Some things, once you’ve experienced them, you just can’t go back.

“Did you just get in from practice?”

Asher couldn’t see my frown, thanks to the shower curtain, but I still felt a wave of guilt run through me. Not like I could just explain that no, I’d actually been dancing on a stage in some sleazy club.

“Just a late night,” I said, vaguely.

I heard him chuckle. “I figured every last minute of your time was devoted to working out. To look like that, I mean.”

It wasn’t an unfamiliar refrain; I’d grown used to hearing words to the same effect. What varied was the motivation behind it: what some guys saw as aspirational, others seemed to take as a personal challenge.

I shut off the faucet and pulled open the curtain, reaching for my towel. Asher was stood at the sink, in a t-shirt and boxer-briefs, piping toothpaste onto his brush.

He was trying not to stare, I knew. Not to spend too long looking my way in the mirror’s reflection. Some blend of caution, and shame, and reluctant fascination.

“I have to be careful, actually,” I said, as I scrubbed the towel across my chest. “If I put on any more weight, I could end up slipping into the class above.”

Asher nodded, slowly. Like I’d said something terribly insightful.

“I guess they must be pretty strict with you.”

I thought back to Coach’s last bellowing session. Grinned to myself at the memory, even though it hadn’t been so pleasant in the crosshairs at the time.

“Hard but fair, I guess,” I hedged.

Because you had to be, I knew that. Had to be determined, had to have high expectations. Couldn’t afford to slack off, or do things half-heartedly, or really anything where letting the team down was the slightest possibility. That was the thing about belonging: it came with responsibilities.

“I was wondering if, well...” Asher frowned, cutting his eyes away from me. Toothbrush seemingly forgotten for the moment. “No, doesn’t matter.”

“What?”

He shrugged. “I mean, I know I’m not ever gonna look like you, but...”

“But you’d like some workout tips, maybe?” I guessed.