GunsNGloryhole: Stuff me like taxidermy and mount me against your wall.
MagicNotMike: I know two ways to make seven inches disappear…
Shyfan995: I’m so thirsty, can you give me a cup of milk?..Orr two would be much nicer
It’s a big night.
First game of the playoffs. And against Virginia Tech, no less.
They’re undefeated so far this season. Their offense is apparently not to be trifled with, and out of all the teams in the NCAA, they’re the Eagles’s biggest rivals. Mainly because we lost to them in the playoffs last year, which swept the championship rug out from under my superstar stepbrother.
All season, Kyran’s been stressing about taking on the Hokies—dumb team name, but whatever. He’s beat teams with better defense, stronger QBs, and all-around fantastic records; teams who have won way more championships than Virginia Tech ever has. But because of that loss last season… This is the one that’s been clicking his normally uptight perfectionist levels up to full blast.
Tonight, we have the home field advantage, which is always a good thing. It also means that I get to be at the game, and as much as I love doing the Charleston in my eagle costume just to see how much I can annoy my stepbrother, I’ll try my hardest not to mess with him too much tonight. If it means helping him win this game so he can finally calm the hell down a little, I’ll be on my best behavior.
I mean, I’m still me. My best behavior is probably pretty appalling to most. But I’ll do what I can.
I’ve just taken the field as Baldwin the Eagle, with the cheerleaders, who are scampering around, scantily dressed in their maroon and gold outfits and an exorbitant amount of glitter. I’m doing my normal shuffle routine while they shimmy and shake their butts, and their pom-poms, to the music of Applause by Lady Gaga. Not the song I would have chosen, but it works to get the crowd all riled up.
Having fifty-thousand eyes on you is pretty overwhelming, but it helps that my head is covered. I’m just here to bring the good vibes, and make people laugh. I think it’s important to remember that at the end of the day, this is still a game.
I’m sure Kyran wouldn’t see it that way, but whatever. He’s no fun, we all know that.
The girls are finishing up their dance, and I’m prancing to and fro when everyone turns to cheer and whoop as the players jog out onto the field. Kyran is first in line, as usual, and I’m kind of glad his face is covered too, by his helmet.
I’m used to his undying seriousness harshing my mellow. But right now, for some reason, all I feel when I see him is a relentless bunch of nerves in my gut.
It could be because I’m anxious for him, knowing how important this game is and all. Or maybe it’s because of how we left things the other day…
You know, after we fingered each other and he came all over the place in a bewildering display of sexiness.
I was a little shocked when he didn’t leave a Kyran-shaped hole in the wall after what happened. Watching him jaunt onto the field and prepare for the coin toss, I remember him pulling on his pants…
“It doesn’t mean anything…” he grunted, cheeks still flushed from the shock of an unexpected prostate milking.
I bit my lip to contain my grin, handing him a washcloth so he could wipe the cum off his abs and chest. “Oh, it definitely means something.” He paused to stare at me, hazel eyes all wide, like a confused baby lamb. I chuckled. “Ky… you came in less than a minute. Nothing touching your dick… Just from my fingers. The jig is officially up. You’re a bottom.”
“No, I’m not,” he growled, holding on to his defenses like a shield in medieval battle. “It’s made to feel good. That’s what that… thing does.”
“Your prostate?” I folded my arms over my chest, and he scowled.
“It would feel good for anyone,” he huffed while wiping himself down. “It doesn’t mean I want to get fucked.”
“Okay… except that you do.” My face slanted, and he shook his head. “Boy, if other people worked as hard as you at denying themselves good things, we’d be living in a world without corndogs.” He scoffed, giving me a one of his looks while I stepped over to him slowly. “Are you a masochist or something? ’Cause I’ll edge you… if that’s what you want.”
“Fuck. Off.” He glared at me, practically vibrating in his state of seethe.
I chuckled softly, reaching out to touch his arm. Of course, he yanked it away. “I’m just saying… We hit the jackpot here. And by jackpot, I mean your hands-free orgasm ability. The fans will go nuts for this.”
Finishing cleaning himself off, his movements slowed as he bit his lip. “So you’re saying it’s like… a skill?”
His eyes slid up to meet mine, and I nodded enthusiastically, mostly placating him. I didn’t want him to be embarrassed over coming so quick, the first time anything ever breached his ass. For someone as straight—quote, unquote—as Kyran, getting off this way had the potential to jack up his fear and insecurities, and have him heading for the hills.
And I couldn’t have that. Mainly because I knew the kind of money we could make on OnlyFans with videos of us fucking. But also, because even though I hated to admit it, I really wanted to get him into bed.
After seeing him fall apart, and knowing how easily I could make it happen… it was the hottest experience of my life, and I wanted more.
I’m just as bad as the fans at this point. I’m chomping at the goddamn bit.
The kissing in the bathroom at Theo’s party was just the beginning. As much as I know craving action with Kyran is bad, because he’s my straight stepbrother who hates my guts, I can’t help the way I’m secretly desperate for more alone time with him.
I’ve decided to chalk it up to my newfound desire to mess around with dudes… Kyran just so happens to be the one showing up.
“And you didn’t… feel it?” he asked me, blinking curiously. “From my finger?”
I definitely did. His fingering felt delicious, and if it had gone on for more than a minute, I probably could have gotten off myself. Which reminded me of the ache in my balls from not coming…
“I felt it a little,” I told him truthfully, reaching down to adjust my erection in my sweats.
His eyes fell, then sprung back up to mine. And he frowned. “But you didn’t get to come… Because I came first.”
“I’m fine with it.” I shrugged casually, then arched a brow. “Unless you wanna help me out with this…” I slowly palmed my cock over my pants. “You know, practice.”
Witnessing him swallow as he scowled had me picturing all the things I wanted to do to him. On camera, of course. My skin was burning, balls tingling at the images my head was drumming up.
“Not interested. I’m not even agreeing to anything at all…” His voice trailed as he held out the dirty washcloth. “But if we were to do it, I’d want to watch the video before you upload it. To make sure it doesn’t look humiliating.”
I nodded, because it made sense. Neither of us has had sex with men before, so we don’t really know what to expect. I’ve been watching my fair share of gay porn over the last few months, while wrapping my head around the updated parameters of my sexuality. But I know Kyran isn’t well-versed in such activities.
As far as I know, he’s only ever done this stuff with me…
“You mean like how you football players watch the game tapes to improve your form?” I smirked, taking the cloth and tossing it in the direction of my hamper.
He rolled his eyes at me while he finished dressing. “You’re fucking annoying.”
And then he left.
No date was set for our next rendezvous, which doesn’t surprise me. It seems like we’re sort of stumbling through this whole thing with no real idea of what the hell we’re doing.
But each time he shows up at my dorm, we take a step in a new direction, only for him to ultimately regress back into his stubbornly set ways of denial. It’s frustrating for me, but I also can’t help but look forward to it. After all, the business is only growing.
And my appetite for sexual escapades with my stepbrother is turning into its own slightly inconvenient beast of burden.
The Eagles win the coin toss, an upper hand for sure. And the game kicks off with me on the sidelines, watching Kyran and jittering inside my eagle suit.
They progress fast, taking advantage of the gaps in Virginia Tech’s defense and sinking pass after pass down the field, scoring our first touchdown in less than two minutes.
Then, of course, the opposing team does the same, matching our energy while getting a few more blocks here and there. And before I know it, it’s seven-seven and Kyran is running back onto the field.
I was made to expect nothing less after reading up on the Hokies. This game is already shaping up to be as intense as everyone knew it would be. And I’m just trying to flap my arms and stay out of my stepbrother’s way as much as possible.
The first half goes rushing by like a whirlwind, and with the two-minute warning to halftime, Kyran stomps off the field, frazzled, to the sounds of Coach Matthews barking things at our defense.
He plops down on the bench, yanking off his helmet to have some water. I find myself kind of fluttering to his right, wanting to go over and talk to him, but also not wanting to get my head chewed off.
But to my surprise, he turns to me and says, “That asshole is mocking me.”
I assume he means me at first. But then I realize he’s talking to me, not about me, and I trot over, tilting my bird head at him.
“Johannes… Their quarterback.” He pours more water into his mouth, the sight of which wiggles my fingers. “He’s purposely going toe-to-toe, trying to run the exact plays we’re running.” He blinks up at me. “He wants to wear me out. Me and Guty…”
“Then don’t let him,” I mumble.
He scoffs and shakes his head, eyes going back onto the field, to the Hokies’s QB, Mike Johannes, who’s launching the ball to his wide receiver for a first-down.
I inch even closer to his side. “I’m serious, Kyran. If there’s one thing I know about you, it’s that you don’t quit. You’re stubborn as fuck. Use that. The defense will trip them up. As long as you don’t stop hammering those balls down the field, you’re golden.”
He stares at me for a second, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Hammering balls.” He huffs a tiny chuckle. “You’re funny.”
I’m literally frozen. I can’t even comprehend the fact that he’s smiling at me, on purpose, and paying me this endearing little compliment. It’s so out of the ordinary, for a second, I think I might be hallucinating.
Did I accidentally mix up my edibles with the mushroom ones again??
A boom of cheers tugs us both out of it, and our faces fling back to the field. Kyran leaps to his feet.
Johannes got sacked and the ball is loose.
Guys are diving all over it, and Kyran’s chin is jerking left and right to try to make out who has it. When the ref pulls everyone off, Kyran hollers, “Fuck yea!”
We recovered the ball.
“Bitches fumbling!” I grab him by the shoulders, shaking him around while he laughs.
He shoots me a quick, elated grin before stuffing his helmet back on and jogging over to his guys.
I’m abnormally warm inside… my chest thumping with an excitement that seems new and shiny. And flustering, because of how much it relies on the person I despise. Rhyming is fun.
Biting my lip, I watch Kyran take the field, shouting things to his players.
He looks good… Is he supposed to look this good?
Am I supposed to notice how good he looks??
Shaking it off, I plop onto the bench and remind myself not to swoon.
Don’t be swayed by timid smiles and the way his butt looks in those tight pants. He’s still just your dickhead stepbrother.
Your secret business partner…
Nothing more.
My heart is officially lodged in my throat, which is pretty insane, considering how little I cared about football up until this point.
Sure, I get the appeal. I used to watch games on occasion, like that time the Patriots lost to the Giants in the Super Bowl and everyone in New York was acting like Eli Manning was a god all of a sudden for beating Tom Brady.
But sports have never really been my thing… Until right now.
Now that my school’s team is barely clenching their lead against this goddamn force of an obnoxiously named team… Forty-five to thirty-eight, with two minutes left in the game.
Virginia Tech has the ball, and they’re insufferable, first-downing it down the field, demanding a touchdown to tie the game. Kyran is sitting on the bench, his knee bouncing rapidly. His eyes refuse to leave Johannes. Every move the guy makes, Kyran is watching it. I can almost see the wheels turning in his mind, his obsessive raging thoughts screaming at him louder than all the noise in the stadium.
Nothing, not even my routine of pratfalls and Michael Jackson crotch-grabs, could get him to look away right now. He’s zoned in.
And I don’t want to admit it, but I’m nervous. Our defense is exhausted. Our offense is exhausted. This game is bordering on psychotic. At this point, I think we’d need a miracle to keep them from tying the game.
And unfortunately, miracles don’t exist. Because with a minute left on the clock, the Hokies score a touchdown… And then they pull a motherfuckin’ two-point conversion out of their asses, putting them in the lead.
Forty-six to forty-five.
Kyran’s head is in his hands. I can all but feel the sting of him ripping his own hair out, and I have to do something. I don’t know where the need to fix this comes from… I’ve never been one to feel compelled by empathy, but I just can’t watch him crumble like this. If he loses his confidence, then this thing is really over.
“Ky…” I stomp up to him as he’s standing, shoulders slumped in defeat. “Ky, it’s not over until it’s over, okay??”
“Shut up, Avi…” he breathes, slamming his helmet back down over his head.
“No. I won’t,” I growl, and his eyes meet mine from inside his helmet. I can only make him out through the stupid eyeholes of this eagle costume, but I make sure to lock my gaze with his anyway. For effect. “You’ve got this in the bag. Their defense is fucked right now, you hear me?”
He gives me a look, the desperation slowly fading into visible determination as Coach Matthews shouts at him.
“You don’t go down without a fight… Trust me, I know.” I smirk even though he can’t see it.
His lips curve into a grin, but he crushes it and covers it with his usual scowl. “Fuck you.”
“Yes! Perfect.” I clap. “Use that anger and go kick some Hokie ass!”
Diving away from him, I jump up and down, facing the crowd. Lifting my hands over and over to signal make some noise, which they do. The crowd is screaming and hollering, the stands shaking with thundering noise and stomps to match the fading music of “We Will Rock You.”
I’m doing everything in my power to keep them going, rallying the hype in hopes that it’ll light a fire under the players’ asses. All we need is a field goal to win this thing…
When Kyran gets back on the field, his movements are sharp. He is definitely not going down without a fight. Four solid plays in a row, we gain first-downs. And Guty makes each one of them, breaking free from Virginia Tech’s frazzled defense, getting us down the field fast.
We’re on the five-yard line with ten seconds left on the clock, trying for a touchdown. If we don’t make this, it’s on Theo for the field goal. He hasn’t missed all season, but still. That’s a lot of pressure.
But Kyran Harbor clearly likes pressure. A lot.
The final snap happens, and Kyran steps back, looking around for his men. They’re all covered. It’s fucked.
So he runs.
He fucking runs, juking through the bodies, diving into the end zone him fucking self to score the winning touchdown.
I’ve never heard anything like what happens when the ref throws his arms in the air. It sounds like fucking war, or the apocalypse or something. People are screaming their damn lungs out, and to be honest, I might be one of them.
We’re all jumping around like psychos, cheering and dancing, because we won the wildest game ever. And our own all-star quarterback brought it home.
He fucking crushed it. There’s no other way to say it… I’m proud of him.
Don’t tell him I said that.
The rest of the team practically carries Kyran off the field after this monumental playoff win. He whips his helmet off, and his face is beaming. Pink cheeks and watering eyes. It’s pretty dope to see.
Removing the head of my costume, I rush up to him, grinning.
“I knew you could do it.” I pat him on the back, and he smiles, breathing heavily from all the adrenaline.
“Yea… thanks,” he replies softly, eyes flicking around to all the people shouting his name.
“Running and throwing? I guess you’re the whole package.” I brush my hair back from my sweaty forehead.
He grimaces at me, but it’s not really working to wipe away his permanent ecstatic grin. “It was only five yards…”
“Right.” I squint at him, and he chuckles. “Well, you did good. Big celebratory plans with the team, then?”
His smile fades a little, and he blinks at me. His lips part like he’s going to say something, but before he can, Guty and Theo gallop over, hanging all over him.
Guty slings an arm around Kyran’s shoulder. “Nueve! You are fucking unstoppable, kid!”
“What do you say we go get you some refreshments?” Theo grins at him.
Kyran peeks at me, for only a split second before turning back to them and smirking. “Sounds good.”
“It’s party time, baby!” Guty hollers, pointing to a few of the nearby cheerleaders. “I expect to see you ladies taking care of my man tonight!” He aims a knowing grin at Kyran and winks. “Only the best favors for All-star Harbor.”
Pursing my lips, I hold in my sarcastic remarks as best I can, shifting my weight to keep from feeling invisible in front of all these people who barely notice that I exist.
Theo shoots me a teasing look. “You coming to the party, Baldwin?”
I’m about to politely decline, when Kyran says, “It’s not really his scene. This party is team only.” I cock an insulted brow at him, but he’s already turning away with his friends. “Maybe next time, Eagle boy!”
Wow… really?? He just fucking snubbed me.
I scoff and roll my eyes to myself, playing it off like I don’t care. Because I don’t…
But swallowing feels sort of difficult right now. For some reason, my stomach is heavy and my chest is tight. I need to get the fuck out of this stupid costume.
I didn’t want to go to his dumb party anyway. I’d rather drink Flavor-Aid in Jonestown.
But he didn’t need to act like a dick about it…
Leaving the field, I make my way to the locker room. I usually get changed in a private bathroom in the back—because God forbid I go anywhere near the players. With every clomp of my giant bird feet, I’m grumbling to myself. I can’t believe I actually rooted for him. He’s such an asshole…
Seriously, all he cares about is winning so he can show off to his jock friends and the swarms of blonde bimbos who hang all over his broody ass.
His voice from the other night pops into my head… When he was telling me he couldn’t get hard with Lexi.
It should make me feel better, but it doesn’t. Still, I force myself to smirk at his misfortune, pulling a carefree grin and telling myself it doesn’t matter. Because it doesn’t.
He’s not my friend. He’s not even my brother… We’re just coworkers. Tolerating one another for the sake of making money.
That’s what I need to remember throughout whatever comes next. That’s the truth.
Creeping into the locker room, I hear clamorous voices, showers running. I roll my eyes, rushing along the outer edge of the room as quickly as I can toward the bathroom. I’m not even paying attention, just trying to get through there without anyone spotting me.
Unfortunately, I come crashing right into a solid wall of damp muscle. And it doesn’t take much assessing to realize that it’s douchebag Number Nine. Wet from the shower, with only a towel wrapped around his waist.
“What the fuck…” he grunts, narrowing his hazel gaze. “Are you fucking following me??”
Shaking my head, I scoff at his audacity. “Could you be more conceited?? I’m going to change… Not everything is about you, Kyran.”
“Whatever,” he mumbles, jaw set visibly.
I go to move around him, but he moves in the same direction. I shift the other way, and he does the same. We literally can’t get away from each other and it’s really starting to piss me off.
“God, move,” he huffs. “You and your stupid bird suit! Get out of my way!”
“You get out of my way,” I grumble, giving his chest a hard shove in my mitts.
He barely budges, but still… I don’t think he likes what I did.
His eyes harden, those stupid full lips sloped in a displeased line as he shoves me back. “Don’t fucking touch me, Avi.”
The weight of my giant costume causes me to stumble. And when I regain my footing, I’m seeing red.
Lunging forward, I grab his shoulders, pushing him backward. He staggers, his back hitting a wall of lockers with a grunt from his throat.
But I’m not done.
Crowding him is easy, what with the size of my costume. I get him wedged between me and the lockers, my chest heaving from within the suit. My skin is burning up, a bead of sweat trickling down my back while I quake with rage.
“You’re such a fucking prick, you know that?” I growl.
He lifts his hands and tries to push me away. But I pin them at his sides, and he whimpers. The sound shocks us both.
Kyran’s pupils dilate. The muscled wall of his chest is thumping with strong breaths, his pink lips parted and shivering as we both register how close we are, and how the fuming testosterone has somehow slipped into a confusing lust.
This always seems to happen to us. It’s like something about our molecules in close proximity melts hate into desire, and I just don’t get it. It makes no sense, but it feels good. And I hate that it does, because he’s such a raving jerk.
“Avi… let me go,” he rumbles, breathlessly.
“No,” I grunt. “Someone really needs to bring you down a peg.”
His eyes shift. There are voices coming from just the other side of these lockers. We’re tucked away in a corner, but his teammates are nearby. And for some unknown reason, it sends a thrill up my spine.
I’m baking inside my suit, our bodies sealed together with only this bird costume between us, and it’s driving me crazy, because I just know if our bare chests were together, I could feel his heart racing against me.
“G-get off me,” he stutters, lips trembling as my mouth inches over them.
I can’t help but notice the fight has seemingly left his words. And his actions.
He’s not pushing me away.
“Why do you have to be such an asshole…” I whisper, rhetorically, of course.
Because the next thing I know, my mouth is crashing into his.
Kyran mewls when my lips capture his, and I attack him with forceful kisses, immediately writhing myself into his sturdy frame. He’s resistant at first, head shaking as if to say no…
But his mouth is opening for me. His tongue is creeping up to graze mine in a timid swipe that sends a buzz of electric need between my legs.
I groan, as quietly as I can because there are people so close. The entire football team is in the showers, laughing and chatting on the other side of the room, fully unaware that their quarterback is kissing the mascot a few feet away. But the reality of the situation does nothing to dampen the mood. In fact, my dick is rock hard, trapped inside this ridiculous costume.
And as much as he seems terrified, his movements jittery and nervous, I think Kyran might be experiencing similar sensations. Panting and moaning softly into my mouth with our lips brushing and sucking, tongues lapping in a dangerous, forbidden rush.
Pressing my hips into his, he gasps as I grind my bird suit against his cock, writhing into him, desperate to feel him through the thick layers of fleece and polyester.
I think I can… Just barely. I feel the ghost of his shape on mine and I’m fucking throbbing for more.
Quickly whipping the mitts off my hands, I lift my fingers to his face, gripping his jaw and holding him in place to bruise his mouth with kisses, tugging his bottom lip between my teeth until he purrs. Oh, baby… Feed me that sound…
“Avi…” he breathes, so softly I can barely hear him. “Stop…”
“Shut up,” I groan, dizzy from the adrenaline and illicit yearn.
No one knows…
He’s mine, and no one knows it.
Clenching fistfuls of my costume at my sides, he dips his face away from the starved force of my lips. “This isn’t… p-part of the deal.” My cheek brushes his while I breathe in deep, reacquainting myself with reality. “Business only,” he stammers. “For the fans, remember?”
“Stop acting like you don’t want it,” I hum, watching his swollen lips quiver.
“I don’t,” he growls. But he’s still not shoving me away. Or punching me.
It surges me with triumphant confidence.
My eyes drift between us, finding that his towel has completely fallen off and is pooled around his feet. I slowly slip a hand down to his dick, fingers tracing its thick rigidity as he shudders.
“You’re a bad liar,” I murmur. “We both know this doesn’t want cheerleaders…”
“Ffuck off, Avi…” he whines.
Inching my lips up to his ear, I whisper, “I know your secret. You wanna be bent over and fucked by the mascot.”
Kyran shoves me off of him, bending and picking up his towel just as footsteps and voices are echoing closer. Stepping back, I give him a satisfied smirk while he fumbles to cinch the towel around his waist and cover his obvious erection. I chuckle, biting my lip, and he scowls.
“No amount of money in the world would make me want you,” he snarls, having snapped his wrath and denial back into place.
My head slants. “Right. We’ll see about that.”
“No, we won’t,” he hisses. “You’re just a dumbass in an eagle suit.”
“Hey, you just made out with this eagle.” I grin, and he growls.
He steps forward, face flushed. “You attacked me.”
“Oh, please.” I chuckle. “You could have pushed me away. But you didn’t…” I lean in closer to him. “Because you liked it. Just like you liked—”
“Alright, enough!” he barks as a few of his teammates are rounding the corner. Kyran glances at them, jumping back to put distance between us. “Fly away, loser. Back to your nest.”
He smirks at me like he’s proud of himself, and if I was a vindictive person, I would totally point out how desperate he was for this loser’s tongue in his mouth a minute ago.
But I won’t, because I don’t care enough. If Kyran wants to keep his hidden desires a secret, fine. If he feels like he needs to keep treating me like shit in front of his friends to make himself feel better, great.
As long as he keeps sneaking his straight ass over to my place so we can keep making money, what do I care?
I don’t. I don’t care.
Turning away from their laughter and mocking, I go into the bathroom to change out of this stupid costume. But when I’m all alone, with the echoes of sneers and hurtful words pulsing in my brain, convincing myself becomes just a little bit harder.
