3. Noah

"Love you too, babe. Talk to you later."

The scoff that leaves me is intentionally obnoxious. Lane pockets his phone and glares at me. A small shiver of delight skitters up my spine, fueling my desperate desire to challenge him. My smirk alone is enough to get his hackles up, and that"s enough. For now.

"Don"t look at me like that," he growls out.

"Look at you how? Like you"re a fucking liar?"

"What would you know about it? You"re the one who hasn"t kept a girlfriend for more than a few weeks. Sounds like you"re jealous."

"Does Maci know she"s your beard?"

"Noah, for the last time. I"m. Not. Gay."

"Sure you"re not," I say, turning around to open the refrigerator. I bend over at the waist, sticking my ass in the air and pretending to look through the contents of the fridge before grabbing a soda from the top shelf. I feign innocence as I shut the fridge, pop the can open, and take a long swig.

"What is wrong with you?" Lane asks, his tone and expression laced with disdain clearly directed at me. "Put some damn clothes on. We"re going to be late."

I shrug and lean back against the counter, leisurely taking sips of my drink. Honestly, I didn't even come in here wanting one, but I know how much he hates them.

"Let me guess, you're skipping?"

Why he thinks I'm interested in doing these stupid pre-graduation meetups is beyond me. I plan to show up, get my diploma, and run out of there faster than I can score on a breakaway.

"You went to the athlete's breakfast."

"Because you weren't there. And Miah bribed me. Are you going to bribe me, Lane?"

He raises an angry, unimpressed eyebrow, knowing exactly what I"m insinuating.

"You need Jesus."

He doesn"t believe I"m actually interested in him that way. It drives me absolutely insane that he refuses to acknowledge who he is, so I like to push the envelope to get him to admit he wants my cock. Instead, he parades around here with a fake smile on his face, feigning perfection, and dragging poor Maci along with him so he can pretend he"s into her and not dudes.

It's not that I have any issues with Lane being gay. Hell, I don't really believe anyone is one hundred percent straight. I don't give a single flying fuck what he wants to do with his dick, but the way he parades around like something he's not makes my brain short circuit. Ever since that night I forced him to jerk himself, we've been locked in a game of tug-of-war. He plays along until he's so stressed that the anxiety is leaking out of his pores, and then I force him to relieve the pressure.

That night changed how Lane and I interact with each other. He lives in fear of me telling the secret that he refuses to admit to even himself. And I live to knock him down a peg. I show up when and where he least expects it, and he whips out his dick and jerks himself at my instruction. He gets weird after, but I"m pretty sure he relies on me to push him into doing it just so he can get the release without feeling guilty. I think there's a part of him that likes submitting to me. I imagine it"s a relief to have even a few minutes where you can stop pretending and just feel whatever you want to feel.

Imagine not even being able to jerk yourself off. Geesh.

Sometimes I tell him how fast or slow to stroke himself. I stare into his eyes the entire time, daring him to look away from me. He never does, though. He never looks away. He looks afraid, and ashamed, and like he hates me more than any other person on earth. Sometimes I think he looks grateful. But he never, ever looks away, no matter what. Admittedly, it's a bit of a power trip. But it's nothing he doesn't deserve, for being such a closeted, rigid prick.

"I might go for a blow job."

"Fuck off, Noah."

"Language, sir! And on a Sunday!" I clutch my imaginary pearls before reaching down and scratching an imaginary itch right above the waistband to my underwear. Lane"s eyes dart to the movement, then down, and then away before he rushes out of the house. My laughter follows him, until I hear the rev of the engine and remember that I won"t be able to go anywhere until he gets back since our parents make us share a vehicle.

Sigh.I suppose I can always call Miah.

I wait until I"m in the shower before I acknowledge my hard-on. I don"t know what it is about Lane"s nervous behavior that makes me hard. Never once have I let on or made the mistake of getting close enough for him to find out. I don"t quite understand it myself. I"m probably some kind of sadist. Or maybe I"m broken, just like Lane says I am.

My phone chimes, and I look down at a message from my best friend.

Miah: Pickup game in the park, half an hour?

Noah: Sounds like exactly what I need. Can you pick me up on the way?

Miah: NP

Miah: Is Lane not coming?

Noah: No.

I throw on some clothes, slip my feet into a pair of slides and grab the bag with my dirty cleats before bounding down the stairs to fill a bottle of water.

My dad is in the kitchen, pouring himself a cup of coffee. He looks up as I enter, giving me an odd smile.

"There he is!"

"Uh… Hey Dad," I answer, unsure why he"s so perky this morning. He's not a grouchy guy, he"s just not outwardly affectionate or cheery all the time.

"You all set for the graduation party next weekend?"

"Oh, yeah. Thanks." There"s no use reminding him that it"s just a get together, a simple bonfire at the local beach behind a friend's house. We live in a lake town, but it"s not tourist season yet, so the beach will be relatively deserted. Plus, Shanda Milton's parents are conveniently going to be out of town, so we'll have the house to ourselves.

My father and I have adopted a "don"t ask, don"t tell" policy about drinking, and I hope it stays that way so I don"t have to lie to him about the keg a few of my old rec teammates are bringing.

"Is Lane going?"

"I doubt it."

It"s not a secret that Lane and I don"t get along. We barely talk, other than clipped conversations like the one this morning, and the occasional dirty, degrading words I use when I tell him how fast to jerk his cock. Not that anyone knows about that.

"I"ve got a surprise for you," he says, his voice trailing off. I snap out of my thoughts, wondering if he"s going to make me guess what it is. With a smile, he tosses an envelope down on the table. "Mail came for you yesterday. I would have left it for you to open whenever you got in last night, but I wanted to see your face when you opened it."

I stare at the envelope. It"s thick. That"s a good sign, right?

Slowly, I pick it up and run my finger under the seal. I don"t think my dad appreciates me dragging this out, but my hands are shaking as I pull the stack of papers out and unfold them.

Dear Mr. Milner,

On behalf of the faculty and staff at Harrison University, we are happy to inform you that you have been accepted…

"I got in," I say simply, staring at the letter in disbelief.

My dad grins proudly, standing to walk over and wrap his arms around me. "I knew you would, son. Congratulations."

I lean into him to let him hug me, but keep staring at the letter.

"I… I got an athletic scholarship?" It doesn"t cover everything, but housing and most of my tuition will be covered, which are the big ones.

"You"re surprised about that, too?" My dad laughs, thumping me on the back.

I"ve been playing competitive soccer since I was five years old, and I've been part of quite a few championship teams. My high school team won the state championship last fall, and my rec team is playing in the regional championship next month. We"ve had scouts in the stands, but none for the college I really wanted to go to. My tryout wasn"t very good either. Mostly because Lane was there, getting too friendly with one of the other students trying out. It was distracting.

It might seem dumb, considering Lane is a huge guy, but he"s… impressionable. He always has been, on account of being so sheltered growing up. And as much as I enjoy tormenting and teasing him, I"m not about to let anyone else fuck with him. He has no idea how many rumors I've shut down since we've been in high school. He thinks he"s ready to move on and get away from me, yet he applied to my top choice university.

A horn beeps twice outside.

"That"s Miah, there"s a pickup game in the park," I say absently, still staring at the letter. I fold it up and slip it into the side of my duffle bag before looking up at my father, who"s still looking at me like he couldn"t be prouder. I know he"d probably be even happier if I"d gotten early acceptance and a full ride like Lane did, but for once I feel like he"s just as proud of my accomplishment.

Dad hugs me again and ruffles my hair, which he has to reach up to do. I"m taller than Lane these days, although nowhere near as wide and built. I seem scrawny by comparison, but I"m stronger than I look.

"Gotta go," I say. "Oh, and Dad?"

"Yeah, son?"

"Don"t tell Lane yet. I want to surprise him."

"Be nice," he warns, though his tone is laced with mirth.

"I"m always nice!"

"Noah, this isn"t the right place for this."

"You"re implying that there is a right place for this," I retort, crossing my arms and leaning back against the door to the pantry. I snatch a bag of chips for good measure, opening the bag and grinning at Lane while I pop one into my mouth.

"We graduated today, Noah. Don"t you think it"s time to grow up and stop playing these games?"

"I don"t know. Were you feeling like a grownup when you were trying to pretend you"re hot shit out there?"

"I kissed my girlfriend," he says exasperatedly. "She came all this way to be here for my graduation. What am I supposed to do, ignore her at a party?"

"Maybe you should tell her the truth."

He scowls like he always does. "There"s nothing to tell," he grits out between clenched teeth.

"Your fucking boner suggests otherwise."

As if to punctuate my point, I visibly see his cock twitch in his pants. Lane is still wearing the ‘church clothes' that he wore under his cap and gown, and his pleated black slacks are doing very little to hide the shape and size of his massive dick. It"s like a baby"s arm holding an apple, and I can almost see the thick veins through the fabric of his pants.

"Quit looking," Lane says, crossing his hands over the bulge.

"Why? Does that make it harder?"

"No," he lies.

"Yes," I correct with a sneer.

Silence.

"What do you want, Noah?" As if he doesn"t know. "I had to leave Maci with Miah to follow you in here so you wouldn"t make a scene."

"Does she make your cock this hard?"

He blanches, but he doesn"t have to say anything. Lane is all about abstinence and waiting until marriage. He barely kisses her, which is why seeing him make a display out there, even going so far as to put his hands on her ass, was concerning. He"s been acting strange for the past week. I'm guessing that all the upcoming changes are messing with him, and he needs me to step in and take his mind off things.

With a knowing smirk, I gesture to his pants, letting him know that I"m waiting. With a resigned sigh, Lane unbuckles his belt, unbuttons his pants, and reaches inside his slacks. Usually when I make him do this, it"s dark, or he"s hidden behind a shower curtain. In the florescent light of the pantry, I can see the outline of his fingers through his pants.

"You know," I say, feigning complete indifference, "You should be glad we"re going to college together. No one else can set you straight the way I can."

His eyes flash with indignation. "This isn"t happening when we leave for college," he insists.

"Okay, little brother. Whatever you say." His jaw ticks. He hates it when I call him that. But it"s not my fault he was born three weeks after me.

Or maybe it has something to do with the fact that he"s usually palming his cock when I say it. But really, who knows?

"You might want to move a little faster. Maci can probably only tolerate Miah for so long. She could be on her way here right now."

Surprisingly, or maybe it isn't so surprising anymore, he doesn"t protest. He wraps his fist round his thick cock and strokes, slowly at first. As his pace increases, so do his heavy breaths. His pants slouch down around his hips, and in the bright light of this little room, I stare at his cock instead of his face. He"s uncut, which I find fascinating. If it wouldn"t give him the wrong idea, I"d kind of like to play with it. Just to feel it. To know what it"s like.

"Stop. Looking," Lane grunts out between strokes.

"Why? It"s not like you have anything to be embarrassed about," I say, gesturing to his huge, veiny cock. Not that it"s a competition, but his is way bigger than mine. "Or are you trying to pretend that you"re not stroking that monster for your stepbrother?"

"I"m not doing it for you," he chokes out.

"No? So you just walk into a closet and drop trou for anyone? I didn"t peg you for a slut."

I witness every part of his reaction to my words. The way his shoulders pull forward so it looks like his chest is sunken in. The sharp intake of breath. The way his abs contract. The small whimper that he tries to cover up with a cough.

Fuck,that whimper.

"Oh, you like that, don"t you, Lane?"

"N-no," he stammers, but his hand doesn"t stop.

"Yes, you do. You like being my dirty little slut behind closed doors, don"t you?"

I laugh, probably too loudly, when he makes the sound again, and his eyes nearly roll back in his head. This is too good.

"Stop, Noah," he pants. "Let"s just get this." Grunt. "Over with." Grunt. "Please."

Lane Blakely is so desperate to be controlled that he waits for me to tell him when he can finish. Sometimes I let him off easy and get it over with in a few minutes, other times I drag it out and see how long he"ll hold back. I"ve had him almost in tears and begging for me to let him come, which is funny, considering he"s the bigger of the two of us and the only one touching his dick.

I love it.

"Well, since you asked so nicely, and neither of us wants to get caught with your pants down, I"ll let you come." He releases a breath, but I hold up a hand. "When you tell me you get hard for your big brother, and then beg me to let you come."

"Go to hell." He almost stops stroking, but he"s too far gone to walk away. He groans like he"s in pain, slowly running his fist up his shaft, twisting the head in the palm of his head, and then stroking back down, spreading pre-cum with each pass. His angry red head peeks out with each downstroke and I wet my dry lips.

As much as I want to watch what it looks like when his cock erupts, I lock my eyes on him. His steely glare is both angry and desperate, but I hold his gaze, reminding him who"s in charge here. He"ll do what I say, or I won"t do this at all. And as much as he likes to pretend he doesn"t like it, he needs this. He needs me.

"Come on, Lane. Say it and you can come."

His brow furrows, and he closes his eyes for a moment, his strokes slowing down.

"I-I—" he shakes his head like saying the words out loud might burn him.

"Come on, Lane. Who makes you hard?"

"Y-you d-do."

"Does anyone else make you as hard as me?"

"N-no," he says, shuddering.

"Say it," I command him.

"You m-make m-me hard."

"One more time."

"You make me so hard! Please!" he says again, with more conviction this time. His eyes are screwed up, his fist moving furiously. Soft fap fap fap sounds fill the space until it"s all I can hear outside of Lane"s small grunts and moans.

"You"re goddamn right I do. And do you ever come as hard as you do when I tell you to?"

"God, no." He says it like a prayer, like it"s the honest truth, even though he doesn"t want it to be. "God help me, you make me come so hard."

"Show me," I tell him, tossing him a dish towel I found folded on a rack. "And say my name when you come."

"F-f—" He stops the curse from coming out of his lips, but he can"t help but do exactly what I tell him to. "Noah!"

My name falls from his lips like a cry for mercy.

"Good boy," I say, breathlessly, as if I were the one that just came all over myself rather than the one who reclined back and watched.

Before I can do something stupid, like act on the impulse to catch every drop of cum in my hand and use it to jerk myself off because I"m harder than I think I"ve ever been in my life, I wink and escape. I keep the bag of chips, using it to shield my painfully hard erection while I search for a bathroom or somewhere private.