Chapter 2
brETT
Fuck that guy.
No seriously. Fuck Miles, and his quiet little smirk, and the way he moved around that table like he’d already seen the future.
Like I was already beaten before I even chalked my cue.
I’d been playing pool for years. I held the house record at Token & Slice.
There was a laminated certificate on the wall with my name on it and everything, which, yes, I knew how that sounded, but the point was I didn’t lose.
Except tonight, I lost.
To Miles.
Miles, who wore the same three hoodies on rotation.
Miles, who once spent ten minutes in the dining hall explaining to nobody in particular why the chairs were structurally inefficient.
Miles, who I’ve maybe, possibly, called “Kilometers” for two years because it was funny.
He just took it, and smiled that weird, calm smile, and apparently has been keeping it a secret for who-knows-how-long that he’s a genius at pool.
I walked back to my dorm, still trying to fully process what had just happened. Dane kept texting me the whole way:
what did he say to you?
bro you were SO red
i’ve never seen you lose before
is everything okay?
I left all of it on read.
Miles held all the power now. And tomorrow morning at 8 AM I was supposed to walk into his dorm room and let him put some cage on my dick.
Tonight was my last free night for the next week.
I turned that over in my head for a while. My last night to take a long shower without thinking about it. My last night to wake up tomorrow morning without steel between my legs. My last night of being fully, uncomplicatedly myself, with no one else holding any kind of claim over any part of me.
I didn’t love how significant that felt.
I was going to his place tomorrow because I said I would.
I didn’t back down from things. I’d put the cage on because that was the deal.
I didn’t back out of deals. That wasn’t who I was.
But here was what Miles didn’t know about me: there had never been a situation I couldn’t get out of. Not once. Not ever.
Sophomore year, I’d talked my way out of a failing grade, a parking ticket, and a very bad situation involving my roommate’s girlfriend, all in the same week.
I had a gift. People wanted to give me things.
People wanted to make me happy. I didn’t know why it worked, it just did, something about the way I looked at people, or talked to them, or whatever.
Miles would be the same. I’d show up, be agreeable, let him have his little moment, and then figure out the angle. Maybe the thing wouldn’t fit right. Maybe I’d just charm him into calling it off by Sunday. He was a person. Persons had weak spots. I was very good at finding weak spots.
I sat on the edge of my bed and stared at the ceiling. It was just me, alone with the quiet, and the full uninterrupted use of my own body for one last night.
Another secret was gnawing at my subconscious...
When Miles put his mouth next to my ear and whispered the terms, I didn’t hate it.
I didn’t like it either.
I didn’t know what I did with it. Something in my chest went strange and tight. I filed it immediately under the category of surprise, which was a normal reaction to a surprising thing, and that was where it was staying.
He smelled so clean up close, with a trace of something sweet, too. Had he been wearing cologne for me? I didn’t know why I’d noticed that, but he smelled really good.
I stared at the ceiling, thinking about Miles saying my name, flat and certain, like he’d already won before I opened my mouth.
Fine, I thought.
Let him think he had me.
One last night.
I closed my eyes, but sleep wouldn’t come. My dick was straining under the sheets, hard and heavy, pulsing with the memory of Miles’ mouth against my ear, and the way his voice sounded when he laid down the terms.
Fuck it.
One last night.
I reached down and shoved my hand into my shorts, wrapping my fingers around my cock. It throbbed hot and familiar in my grip as I started stroking.
In my head, it was Miles watching me. Those calm dark eyes locked on my face while I jerked my thick jock cock for him, pre-cum already slicking my palm. I imagined the way he’d look at me tomorrow when I was locked up and desperate, that quiet little smirk, while I begged.
My strokes got faster, rougher, my heavy balls drawing up tight as heat spread in my gut.
Then something twisted in my chest. A sharp, guilty stab that made no fucking sense. This already felt like cheating. Like I was touching something that didn’t belong to me anymore.
I’d lost the bet fair and square. The cage wasn’t even on yet, but the thought of blowing my load tonight suddenly felt wrong. Like I was stealing one last orgasm behind his back.
I grunted in frustration, cock still rock-hard and leaking in my fist. Miles’ face flashed behind my eyes again, that steady, knowing look, and the guilt only got worse. I yanked my hand out of my shorts like I’d been burned, breathing hard, chest tight.
“Fuck,” I muttered into the dark.
I rolled over, punched the pillow, and forced my eyes shut. My dick stayed stubbornly hard, aching against my stomach, but I didn’t touch it again.
One last night, and I couldn’t even enjoy it.
Tomorrow morning at 8 AM, I was walking into his room and putting that cage on like I’d promised.
I hated how much that thought made my cock twitch with anticipation.