Page 6 of Built To Perform

He grinned up at the ceiling. “Yeah, lil bro. Present condition notwithstanding.” A gesture to his leg.

“B-but...”

I had questions, so many questions, only it was hard to pin them down. Line them up in some sort of order, the order required for my mouth to deliver them. Not with the video still playing, and the Brayden on-screen dragging a chair into the middle of the stage and - his back to the camera - grinding on it. Bubble butt flexing in white briefs; them and his sneakers the only thing he was wearing.

“I dunno if you’ve noticed, lil bro,” he drawled, “but classes all day and practice all evening doesn’t exactly leave much time for a side-hustle.”

I made a face. Yeah, that wasn’t much of a revelation to me.

“So this...”

“Once or twice a week, maybe. Depending on when I can fit it in. If I’m lucky, practice is done by the time the heavy rollers are showing up.” He smirked. “That’s when you make the big tips, dude.”

The Brayden in the video was walking the front of the stage, now. Chest sheened with sweat, muscles popping. Underwear already bristling with folded bills, and more shadowed men standing to add to the haul.

I looked up, to find the real man - the flesh and blood version - watching me intently.

“Disappointed in me, lil bro?”

It was such a ridiculous concept, I couldn’t help but laugh.

“I didn’t realize you could dance,” I told him.

Brayden’s lip quirked. He reached for the phone, thumb dragging across the controls. “I don’t think those are the talents they’re most interested in, Eoin.”

The money was gone, but the briefs were no less full. The hard length of Brayden’s cock clear through the straining white cotton: obvious, even if he hadn’t been sitting splay-legged on the chair, his hands shaping the fabric around his erection. Staring down the muscled expanse of his perfect jock torso, as if as enthralled by the sight of his dick as the rest of the room.

Difficult to drag my gaze away, to lock eyes with the real man sat next to me on the couch. Wondering, too, if he could see the shock currently simmering in me; knew the way my stomach was churning.

“Nothing you’ve not already seen, lil bro.”

He was right, and yet it was different. I’d seen Brayden stripped down in the locker room; watched him wrestle in a singlet so skin-tight, nothing was left to the imagination. Had knelt in front of him, in the shower, and felt that fat prick slap against my lips. Waited - knowing for my stud teammate that the anticipation was half of the thrill - for him to feed his thick inches into my throat. To plug me, choke me on dick, safe in the knowledge that even with drool down my chin and my eyes watering, I’d always go back for more.

Yes, I’d seen him hard, but not like this.

Not with an audience of strangers. Not performing. The Brayden I’d hooked up with, the Brayden I knew now as my big bro, never needed to perform when we fucked. Everything about those moments honest, and authentic: a pure distillation of his desire for me, and my own desperate hunger for him. Feelings that still overwhelmed me if I dared dwell on them too closely.

“H-how far do you go?”

He’d hear the shake in my voice, I knew. It was as inevitable as my question was.

“You could just watch.” The answer teasing.

“Tell me.”

He swiped at the screen again, the action accelerating. Jerky, as the Brayden in the video pulled out his cock, stroked himself with movements I figured - in real-time, at least - must’ve been slow, and languid, and teasing.

My hand found my crotch on autopilot. Kneading my erection through the soft denim; not even sure when I’d got hard myself. Whether it was from the version of my teammate on-screen, his throbbing dick hanging over the waistband of those crisp, white briefs, or the smirking, all-too-real man slouched on the sofa next to me. Dressed down, in old gray sweatpants and a t-shirt with the sleeves torn away, but no less alluring for it.

“You really wanna hear about how I stroked my dick in front of a room full of strangers, lil bro?”

The grunt escaped me, no greater hope of holding it inside than stopping my lungs from breathing, my heart from beating. All too aware of both of those things, too: that rasp and the throb in my chest, each faster now. Whole body feeling hot, as Brayden’s story dug claws into my brain.

“You... did you cum, in front of them?”

A chuckle. He shifted slightly, little more than a tilt in the angle of his hips, but it was enough to see that the Brayden in the room with me was just as hard as the preening man on-stage. The fat swell of it clear through the soft fabric.

“Have I shocked you, lil bro?” A question for my question, setting my brain spinning.