13. Noah

I"m in a shit mood by the time I make it back to the dorms, ignoring everyone and everything in a blind rage just to get to my room. I don't bother acknowledging anyone"s presence as I stomp through the dorm lobby towards the stairs. Too many people use the elevator, and I don"t want to talk to anyone. Usually I smile, wave, and chat up anyone I come across, but I ignore the several people calling out my name in favor of getting upstairs as quickly as possible.

All I want is to rage at my asshole stepbrother and sleep off this bullshit day. If I didn"t have class and a match tomorrow, I"d probably pull out the bottle of vodka I keep buried at the bottom of my closet. On an empty stomach, it"d only take a few swigs to help blur this entire bullshit day.

A hand grabs my bicep and pulls me back before I can push the button for the elevator. "Noah!"

"What?!" I bark, whipping around to face Miah.

He raises an eyebrow and throws his hands up in front of him in surrender.

"Sorry, dude. I was calling your name, but you couldn"t hear me through your rage haze. You nearly mowed over Peters. What"s your deal?"

"Nothing," I snap, but immediately feel bad.

It"s not Miah"s fault I"ve had a shitty couple of days, and he wasn"t even on the field when I face-planted in the mud in front of our entire team. I'm not mad at him, or Peters. I will, however, wipe the smirk off Danny Hastings' face if he looks over here one more time.

I peek around Miah"s shoulder at Peters, who is scowling over at me with his bare feet pulled up on the couch. I cringe down at my own feet. It was too rainy to wear my slides, and I didn"t even consider that I"ve been stomping around in my cleats. Not only did I almost hurt one of our forwards, I tracked mud and clumps of grass through the lobby. I quickly toe out of my shoes, and try to send Peters an apologetic grin, but he pointedly looks away from me, engrossed in conversation once again.

Huffing out a long breath, I look back at my best friend.

"I"m sorry. I"m fine. I just had a shitty day, and I want to get upstairs before my asshole stepbrother gets back."

Chances are, he"s already been home to shower and left for dinner. Normally I"d walk down with him, but I"m not in the mood to deal with him or anyone else tonight. I"d prefer to avoid everyone after my embarrassing display at the scrimmage today. I don't think I would have been as upset if Danny hadn't been hooting and hollering, making a big deal out of it. And Lane laughed, which makes me think he did it on purpose.

"Look man, that sucked serious shit. I only laughed a little."

I narrow my eyes at him. "Some best friend you are."

He laughs and pats my shoulder. "Go get some rest. And take this. I think you could use it." Miah puts something in my hand, and I look down at a Snickers bar.

"Really?" I deadpan, but I can"t hide my laughter. "You think you"re clever?"

"Yes," he retorts. "But really, I just got it from the vending machine."

"Cute," I say, getting ready to toss the candy bar back to him.

"Nah, you keep it," he says before turning around towards the rest of our friends and teammates that are congregating in the common area. "You need it more than I do!" he calls over his shoulder. "Try not to be such a bitch tomorrow!"

"Ah, fuck off!" I call back as the elevator doors close, even though he's helped me feel marginally better. My shoulders are a little less tense, and it takes me until I get to our door to remember why I was so pissy in the first place.

Sigh.

Fucking Lane.

I thought we could be something like friends; I was trying to help him out. But I make one little joke, and he has to act like a giant man baby about it. Why the fuck does he have to be so damn sensitive?

My hands clench into tight fists. I feel so out of control. Every little thing he does burrows under my skin and makes me second guess myself, or worry about things I normally wouldn"t. I"m starting to wonder if it would have been better to take one of my other school offers. I got an offer for Princeton. Lane might have gotten better grades than me, but my playing stats are better, and my SAT scores were higher. He"s not the only smart one in the family. I might be smart, but I wasn"t smart enough to separate myself from him. Something about him just makes me feel like I need to stay close by.

I guess I like to torture myself as much as I used to enjoy torturing him.

Slamming the door, I stomp to my room, realizing too late that the lights are on, which means Lane is home. Movement catches my eye, and I turn around to look into the open doorway of Lane"s room.

He"s standing there like a deer in the headlights, completely naked, frantically trying to tie a towel around his waist. His face flushes that delicious shade of red that gets my dick hard, and I know without a doubt what he was doing—or was about to do—when I walked in. His big, hard cock tents the towel, trying its best to escape though the gap where the ends of the towel are precariously tucked around his waist.

Lane lunges for the door, but my anger and arousal come rushing at me all at once, and I make it through the door first, slamming it shut behind me. I take several steps forward, and Lane backs up, until his legs hit the bed behind him.

"Wh-what are you doing here?"

Fuck, I love it when he gets flustered and stutters.

His blatant fear should turn me off. It should make me back off and leave him alone.

But it doesn"t.

It does the opposite.

I stalk forward and crowd him until he falls back on the bed, his towel falling open when he bounces down on the mattress, exposing his erect cock. It springs free and smacks against his abs. Immediately, he moves to cover himself up, but I lurch over him and grab his wrists, growling in his face. Lane struggles against my hold. Despite being larger than me, he can"t get enough leverage to move me from my position without touching me with his pelvis. My head cocks to the side, and it occurs to me that maybe he"s not trying very hard. His cock, hardening by the moment, presses against the inside of my thigh. His mouth drops open when I roll my hips against his, his wide, shocked eyes fluttering.

This.This is what I need. His fear and confusion. His arousal. His shame that echoes my own self-hatred.

I"m a bad, bad person, because fucking with him makes me feel good.

"N-Noah..."

"You didn"t have to stop," I say, forcing my voice to sound casual, even though I know he can feel my cock hardening against his. It pulses with each frantic beat of my heart. For the first time, I can"t hide it, given our position. But I"m feeling reckless, and I want to ruin him to appease my own needs.

"I wasn"t doing anything."

"Liar," I say, rolling against him again. He sucks in a breath between clenched teeth, hissing at the contact.

"I—"

His words are cut short when I release my hold and pull one of his hands towards my mouth. He gasps when I spit in his palm.

"Fuck your fist, Lane," I command, sitting back against his thighs. He knows better than to fight me. He knows I see through his golden boy facade.

He knows I know the truth, even if he can't admit it to himself.

Lane wraps his big hand around the thick shaft of his cock and strokes, slow and tentative at first. Within the first minute, his movements quicken. His strokes are smoother, more confident. He spreads drops of pre-cum over his crown and down his shaft to lube his furious strokes, but it"s not enough. Pushing back, I lean over his thighs and open my mouth, letting some of the saliva that"s pooling fall from my lips, dripping it on his cock as his hand pumps even faster, driving him closer to completion. His gaze zeroes in on my mouth, his pupils dilating, and he whimpers.

Fucking whimpers.

The sound does something to me.

I"ve watched him enough times now to know he"s close, but now I can feel it in the way his thighs tense below me. My cock throbs painfully.

Fuck it.

Before he can react, I"m looming over him. Holding myself up with one arm propped next to his head, I push my pants down enough to free my aching cock. I"ve barely taken myself in my hand and started pumping in time with Lane"s thrusts into his own fist, when he lets out a choked groan. Spurts of cum erupt and shoot directly onto my cock and balls, coating me in his slick release.

He sucks in a shaky breath, eyes widening in fear at what I might do next. But I"m overcome with the strongest wave of arousal I"ve ever felt in my life. I sweep my hand through the mess and use it as lube to stroke myself, harder and faster, until my climax washes over me and I shoot cum all over Lane"s taut abs, chest, and neck.

Lane watches me with a mixture of abject horror, shock, and intense heat. His chest heaves against mine with each heavy breath, the sweet scent of his breath floating up and making my post-orgasm brain heavier.

"D-don"t," he whispers. It"s a soft plea, and way too close for comfort.

I open my eyes and realize that I"m hovering mere inches above him, my mouth close enough to taste the cool mint flavor of his gum. I breathe it in for a few moments before hardening my features into a careless sneer. Mask back in place, I flick my gaze up to his and smirk indifferently.

"Your mouth opened so prettily for me when I took my cock out, I thought you might want a taste."

Lane's face flushes with indignation, and he bucks me off him. I tumble off the bed, my hip hitting the ground hard enough to bruise. Despite the jolt of pain, I"m laughing. He stands up and makes a beeline for the door, dragging his towel with him. My cock twitches at the sight of his round, muscular, bare ass. It short circuits my brain for a moment, cutting my maniacal laughter off abruptly. I"ve never seen so much of his body, and although I was expecting him to look like he was carved from marble, seeing it in the flesh is a different matter entirely.

Lane has some cake on him, and I'll be damned if I don't want to take a bite out of it.

I"m still gaping at the empty space near his door when the bathroom door slams, jarring me back to reality. A chill runs through me, a metaphorical splash of cold water jolting me from the trance Lane's ass put me on. The levity of my emotions crashes to the floor with me, aching as much as my bruised hip.

What the fuck just happened? What am I doing?

How did I go from tormenting Lane Blakely to thinking about his ass?

He wanted it. Not only did he put up no fight at all, but the look of pure hunger on his face when my mouth lowered near his junk was palpable.

What would he have done if I"d put it in my mouth? If I"d run my tongue from root to tip, tasted the liquid beading from his slit. I can just imagine the way he would have reacted if I"d pulled his foreskin down and sucked on his angry, red tip...

And now I"m fucking hard again.

I can only imagine that Lane is sitting on the floor of the shower, rocking himself and crying because he got off in the most glorious fashion. But I"m not much better off, sitting in the middle of his floor with my pants pulled down, rocking a massive boner because I can"t stop thinking of all the ways I want to wreck my stepbrother.

Is it because I"m coming to terms with a part of myself that I haven't given much thought to? Or am I just that fucked in the brain?

Is it the idea of sucking a dick that is getting me hard, or the idea of just how tortured Lane would be? Could it be both? I try to flip places in my imagination and consider Lane down on his knees for me, taking my cock deep in his throat, tears streaming down his face. My cock twitches visibly, and I just stare at it for a while, until I shake the cobwebs from my brain and look around at my surroundings.

He"s been gone for a while. Maybe I should leave.

I"ve never been in Lane"s room for more than a brief second, and certainly never alone. His room is similar to mine, minus the window and with a lot more books. His bed, with our matching comforters, was neatly made before I pushed him down and messed up the sheets. That makes me grin. I like messing up Lane"s neat and orderly life. I still move his shoes and put the dishes away incorrectly just to fuck with him. He stopped leaving his toothbrush in the bathroom within a couple days of moving in. I think he was afraid I was doing something gross to it, which I wouldn"t actually do, but I did like wetting it with water and laying it on its side so he'd thinkI"d done something to it. I didn't realize until just now that I've stopped all of that since the last time I got my rocks off telling him how to get his rocks off.

I stand and tuck my dick back into my pants, looking around the room but not touching anything. I"d like to say I have boundaries, but I suppose I fumbled my way right through those when I barged into his room.

There are very few personal effects in Lane"s room. There are no pictures of friends or family, no posters of sports teams like there are on my walls. It"s nothing but books and school supplies, aside from the hooks with his sports bag that, like mine, has his name and number embroidered on the side. It's sparsely decorated; a few shelves filled with books. There's a mixture of classics and historical biographies, plus some different scientific theory books that look like they have interesting stuff in them but would be boring as hell to read. Those are the books that Cliff"s Notes were made for. Does he actually enjoy these books, or are they for studying? What even is his major? I"m probably an even bigger piece of shit for not knowing.

Another shelf has what looks like multiple different versions of the Bible, and some other religious texts. The bibles don"t surprise me too much, but the other religious books are interesting. When I really think about it, it's actually pretty impressive how he's been able to overcome much of the indoctrination of his childhood, simply through reading and learning.

Lane"s phone chimes, and it directs my gaze back to the bed and his end table. Just like mine, it has a single drawer with a shelf beneath it. Mine is stacked with sports magazines—mostly swimsuit editions, because, hello, I"m a nineteen-year-old red-blooded dude. Lane has a record player and a handful of actual vinyl records.

All the records are Beatles albums. I have no idea if any of these are rare, but considering they all look pretty brand new and aren"t framed or anything, I"m assuming they wouldn"t be. I don"t touch anything, only stoop down to read the spines, but when Lane charges back into the room, I startle so hard I fall back on my ass again.