12. Jagger
Jagger
" D o we have teams for this thing, or do we just swing our pillows at random?" Bennet asks as he smacks a fist into one of the official combat pillows I bought us all off the website, which are beefier than you'd expect.
I'm not saying they'll do real damage or anything, but they're not your basic slumber material.
"How can we have teams when there are five of us?" I point out.
"I'm still good to just film," Cam says from where he's setting his phone on its little tripod thingy.
"The way those shorts look on you?" I put him in a pair of shorts I got from my most recent shipment, and since his torso is a little thicker than mine, they ride slightly higher on the waist but fall perfectly over his round ass. Not that I'm looking. "Hell, no. You gotta be in front of the camera so we can get you an NIL deal of your own."
"Get Bennet a deal. He's more interested in going pro than I am."
"I don't need an NIL deal to do that," Bennet says. "Besides, if I got one, I'd want it to be for shoes."
"Bet," I hold out my fist and bump Bennet's knuckles, since we all know what a sneakerhead he is. Seriously, the guy must have over twenty pairs in every color imaginable.
"For real, though. How does this work?" Bennet asks again.
"I figure we draw numbers and fight the person who has your same number," I answer.
"That doesn't solve the five-person problem, so I'll just film. Or ref," Cam says, which deflates my mood a little.
Cam has a habit of shrinking into the background, and while he likes to pretend that isn't my fault, we both know it is. The fucked-up thing is, that's the last place I want him to be, but since people seem to gravitate toward me before him, he plays into the whole wallflower thing.
It's total bullshit. Yes, I'm a little louder and more obnoxious—he's the conscience to my rebel, and rebels tend to draw more attention since we're slightly bat shit—but other than that there's really no difference between us. Unless you count the physical stuff. But Cam's fucking gorgeous. I've always thought so, even before the whole hand job thing.
Maybe I think that because he's the exact opposite of me. He has light hair while mine's dark. He has brown eyes and mine are green. But I resemble my father like a mirror, so it would make sense that I'm attracted to everything my father isn't, seeing as I wish the fucker would take a dirt nap.
The point is, other people would see Cam's appeal too, if he stepped out of my shadow, but for some reason he likes it there. Always has. And no matter what I suggest to bring him out of it, he rarely budges.
"We could make you the guy to beat. Winner of our round robin has to face you." I bite my lip and give him a mischievous smile, taunting Cam to do what I want. As usual, it works, since he can't seem to say no when I turn on the charm.
"Fine, I'll face off against the winner," he mutters, as if I've twisted his arm. He goes back to fiddling with the phone so it's ready to film, though we both get distracted by our roommates bickering as they join us.
"Why can't I wear shorts instead of boxers?" Liam grumbles to Cruz.
"Because you're my boyfriend and I'm wearing boxers," Cruz says.
"Yes, but these are your boxers in your size." Liam plucks at the fabric with his thumb and forefinger.
"So?"
"So, they sort of hang off me and make it look like I have a micropenis." Liam gestures to his crotch then Cruz's.
"I know what you're packing," I say, and get promptly smacked in the chest by the back of Cam's hand.
"Why would you bring that up?" Cam scolds.
"So he doesn't feel self-conscious about his dick. It's not small, it only looks that way if he isn't wearing shit that fits," I answer.
"Easy fix." Cruz sticks his hand down the front of Liam's underwear, gives him a little rub, and backs away to reveal his handiwork. The boxers are still big, but less so with the slight bulge Liam's now sporting.
Liam frowns. "You want me to pillow fight with a hard on? What if someone hits me in the dick?"
"I can give you a pair that holds a cup so you can wear protection," Cruz offers.
"What if I just do the filming part and you football people do the pillow fights?" Liam asks.
"I thought you wanted to pillow fight?" Cruz cups the back of Liam's head and gently plays with his hair.
"I do, but it doesn't have to be on camera while wearing shit that doesn't fit me."
"Why is everyone suddenly camera shy?" I throw my arms up, exasperated.
"Because most of us aren't trying to come up with random content for a sponsor," Cam says. "Besides, the whole drawing a number thing is flawed. Those two won't really fight each other if their numbers come up," he points to Cruz and Liam, "and you can't have me jump in at the end like I'm defending my title when I've never had a match."
"We can fight each other," Cruz insists.
"The rules say you hit with full force. Are you really gonna hit him as hard as you can?" Cam challenges.
"He fucks me with full force, so yeah." Liam winks at his boyfriend.
"TMI," Cam says. "Also, rough sex is totally different than hard hits to the head. Just saying."
"What should we do then?" I rest my hands on my hips as I look at my lame roommates.
"Do a battle between boxers and briefs." Bennet's brow wrinkles as his words register. "Or boxers and shorts."
"Battle of the Bottoms," Liam says, snorting a laugh when his head catches up to his mouth. "Ow," he snaps when Cruz hits him with a pillow.
"That actually hurt?" Cruz asks.
"No, I was just expecting it to feel more like a pillow." He rubs his arm, which is a little red where the pillow hit.
"Well, as catchy as Battle of the Bottoms is," I chuckle, "it's not all that accurate considering I've never bottomed."
"Battle of the Beefcakes," Bennet suggests.
"Ugh, jeez." I wince. "You guys are horrible at this. Let's just stick with Battle Royale." I pick up a pillow and turn to the rest of the group. "Since you're all wussing out, Cruz and I will do it. If you aren't fighting, get out of the ring."
"Where's the ring?" Liam asks.
"The living room." I draw an imaginary line around the room we're standing in, which has all the furniture pushed back so there's an open square in the middle. Everyone retreats to the far side nearest the front door, giving me and Cruz plenty of space to move.
"Bennet, play ref," I tell him as Cruz and I face off.
He recites a few rules, though I don't have any idea what they are since I'm planning my first strike. Speed will be my advantage since I'm a little more nimble than Cruz, and landing a solid first hit might give me time to get in a few more before he recovers.
Bennet steps away and whistles—without having to put his fingers in his mouth, by the way, which I've always thought is cool as fuck—and I lunge with a strike to the side of Cruz's head.
"Fuck." He stumbles back before I can get in another hit. "Those are actually harder than they look."
Shaking off the daze, he regroups and angles the left side of his body toward mine, so he'll have full power when he strikes with his right hand.
We circle each other for a minute, each of us looking for an opening, then he lunges. I block with my left arm, so he still gets a point, but I swing with my right and connect again, scoring a second time amid shouts from my roommates.
"That's full power?" I taunt him. "I barely even felt it."
Cruz swings low, going for my legs, and I hop just in the nick of time, running to the couch where I jump on the cushions to gain an extra couple feet in height.
"He's out of the ring." Cruz points.
"Eh, debatable," Bennet says. "Behind the couch is out. On top of it… I'll let it slide."
Cruz comes at me, but at the last second, I run down the length of the couch, hop over the arm and drop into a crouch like a tiger ready to pounce on his enemies or prey.
I am stealthy.
I am fast.
I am the best pillow fighter the world has ever seen.
The mantra runs on a loop inside my head as Cruz jumps on the couch to follow, I pop up and huck my pillow at him, hitting him square in the chest.
"Hey, it's not dart wars," Cruz objects. "Pillows have to stay in the hand or there's no point."
As Bennet's agreeing with him and taking away my point, I grab one of the unused pillows, leap over the arm of the couch, and hit him in the calf, rolling out of reach before he can get down to the floor and retaliate. He does, however, manage to weasel a finger where it doesn't belong.
It hooks around the hem of my shorts, and between the death grip that digit has one me, my propulsion, and speed, it nearly takes my pantaloons off mid-roll.
I'm helpless. Nearly pantless. And that camera? It gets an eyeful, leaving nothing to the imagination.
Luckily, Cam can edit out my bare ass if needed.
"Jesus, he's like a spider monkey or something." Cruz shakes his head and comes for me again.
He goes in for another attack. The target? My torso, which I block with my arm as I swing at his head. It's a solid connection, the whoosh of air and the impact combining to make his almost too long to be considered short hair stand up several inches.
"Use both handles!" Liam scolds from the sidelines before clapping like a coach, "You got this babe."
Cruz grips the pillow in both hands and swings at me like he's hitting a baseball. I take a step back and mimic him, our pillows smacking together with enough force that we both stumble.
"If the NFL doesn't pan out, you'd make a good pillow fighter." I blow him an air kiss as he charges again, connecting with my thigh as I get him on the back.
Over the course of the next five minutes, he manages to get several solid hits to my torso—and yeah, these fucking pillows do pack more of a punch than you'd expect—but since I'm already up by several points even if I give one up on a block I can stay in the lead if I hit back.
As time expires, Bennet whistles again, and we both stand to our full height, panting heavily.
"I'm breathing harder than I expected to," says Cruz as he drops his pillow and laces his fingers behind his head.
"My skin is actually red where you hit me." I point to the arm I used to block his shots.
Bennet steps between us and takes a wrist in each hand. "With a score of ten to eight, the winner is, boxers!" He lifts Cruz's arm.
"What?" I say. "I was leading the whole time."
"You lost points for throwing the pillow."
"How many points?" I demand.
"Three," Bennet says decisively.
"Three? How does throwing the pillow cost me three whole points?"
"Two for throwing and one for picking up a pillow that wasn't yours." He shrugs indifferently. "Cheating costs you."
"I needed a pillow."
"Shouldn't have tossed yours then." Bennet winks at me as he gives my cheek a playful little smack.
"Whatever." I pull back the waistband of his shorts and let it slap back against his hip, which won't really sting since the shorts I loaned him are soft as fuck, but it's the principle.
"We got next." Bennet points at Liam, and the two of them start a battle while Cruz acts as ref. It's a conflict of interest if you ask me, but at least they're having fun.
"Get some good video Cam?" I step next to my best friend and look at the footage he got over his shoulder.
"I'll have to blur out your ass." He points to the part where Cruz almost pulls my shorts off as I roll. "But yeah. It was more entertaining than I expected it to be. Want to film an intro?"
"Nah, I think we just post it and say something like this is how we figure out whose turn it is to do the dishes with some hashtags. Keep it simple."
"Should I zoom in on the waistbands to get the logos?"
"That's too much like an advertisement." I shake my head. "It's supposed to be more like lifestyle content than product ad, so just the hashtags should be enough."
As Cam uploads the video—he's got full access to all my socials since he's better at this shit than I am—I watch Liam and Bennet go at it. They're similarly matched to me and Cruz, with Liam being a bit lighter and more squirely than his opponent. Though his blows barely give Bennet pause, while his fair skin is pretty red from the ones he's received. That's not meant as a slight against Liam, just an unfortunate side effect of having more sensitive skin. Cruz, to his credit, is calling a fair match and not freaking out about the damage his boyfriend is taking.
At the end of their round, Liam is up a point, having got in a pretty sneaky hit to the leg that Bennet couldn't get away from. In my mind, that means us nimble guys are better at this game, since I only lost on a technicality.
Next Cam and Cruz step into the ring, and while Cruz probably has at least fifteen pounds of muscle on Cam, they're roughly the same height and agility level, so this promises to be a good matchup.
Yes, I'm as bad as the damn announcers who commentate on the pillow fights on TV. That doesn't mean I think it's a valid sport, I'm just getting into our version.
Liam refs while Bennet and I cheer them on, which gives me way too much opportunity to really study my best friend.
He's lighter on his feet than his size would suggest—not that he's huge—just solid. Abs coiled tight, he circles Cruz, eyes narrowed in concentration as he looks for an opening. When Cruz leaps forward Cam twists and dodges, and those muscles ripple as they work to help him keep his balance. That's fucking hot.
As he evades Cruz, he manages a backhanded swing that connects with Cruz's ass, hard. The smack echoes throughout the room hard, like the crack of a whip, and the three spectators wince as Cruz yelps.
"Fuck, that's as bad as getting smacked with a wet towel," he says as he rubs the sting away.
"If you'd ever been hit by Cam's towel, you'd know how wrong you are. I once couldn't sit for three days after he got me," I tell him. Cam's a friggin' ninja with those things, and I highly doubt these pillows, as unforgiving as they are, could compare.
"Oh my God, you had to bring one of those little butt donuts to school to sit in your chair." Cam bursts into laughter as he recalls the damage he did to my poor innocent, virgin ass, and the sound instantly brings a smile to my face.
Cam has the best laugh in the world. It comes from deep in his belly and shakes his whole body, making it impossible not to join in. That's the laugh of someone carefree, who doesn't question if people see him as just a pretty face or worry about turning into his asshole father. I laugh all the time, but my version isn't nearly as infectious as Cam's, and I never get tired of hearing it.
Our little trip down memory lane is cut off when Cruz smacks him in the head with a pillow, and he's forced to pull his attention back to the fight.
Prowling like a cat, Cam circles Cruz, tracking every step so he's ready to dodge or strike. Just as it does on the field, his posture gives him a commanding air, implying that you can't beat him or take him by surprise. It makes watching him a thrill, only today, there's an element of sex appeal to that thrill I've previously never noticed before.
It's possible between the prostate rabbit hole and the hand job incident of a few hours ago, my previously defined orientation isn't so defined. Also, I may be developing a slight sexual attraction to my best friend.
Well, it did cross my mind earlier that we did a pretty good job adding dicks to the mix without making things weird, so… maybe since he turns me on, we can do it again?
Realizing I have the makings of a semi, I cut off that train of thought to focus on the fight.
Cruz fakes left, but Cam doesn't take the bait. Instead of dodging right into the strike he hangs back to let Cruz commit right, and goes in for a hit of his own, connecting without having to sacrifice a point by making a block.
They trade blows back and forth for another few minutes, and as much as I try to focus on the action, my mind keeps drifting to how hot Cam looks as his muscles tense with the effort of staying primed to pounce.
I shake my head to clear the thought, not because I don't like it but because I really don't want to pop a boner right now. I'd never hear the end of it, and worse, I'd have to explain why it's there. While I can acknowledge to myself that I'm going through something, a phase or evolution or some shit, I'd rather not share that with anyone else until I get through it and understand what it means.
Liam counts down the final seconds as Cruz and Cam both try in vain to get in a last point. Bennet and Liam compare notes, both coming up with the same result. Cam wins by two points.
I rush him and jump up, just like I do on the field, knowing he'll catch me. He wraps his arm around my waist as I lock my legs around his back, and find his free arm, lifting it over his head in victory. "Winner!" I shout.
"It's a pillow fight, not a championship game." Cruz shakes his head at our antics.
"Jesus you two are ridiculous," Bennet mutters.
"A win's a win." I gloat as Cam drops me back to the floor and swats my ass, which he's done at least a hundred times over the years, though this time I feel it everywhere , not just where his hand hit.
And I don't think it's from the memory of what we did so much as the anticipation that we'll do it again.