In the last chapter, Anton discovered just how difficult it could be to keep Brandon at arm's length, when his little sister's boyfriend is determined to get him alone. It's hard to resist, though, and Brandon just won't give up...

If you're still looking for something to read, I just released a new book, called "Boxed Up": it's about what happens when the hot moving guys you hire discover a closet full of sex toys. http://alexpendragon.com/boxed-up/ If you enjoyed this story, Nifty needs your support to keep providing great reading material! You can donate at https://donate.nifty.org/

Happy reading!

-Alex

p.s. People on my free mailing list already read this chapter, since subscribers get early access - plus you get a free story for signing up! https://alexpendragon.com/mailinglist

My Sister's Boyfriend Needed A Ride (Ch. 5)

I'd stomped, with a forced sort of grumpiness, through the kitchen the next morning. Dressed in gym clothes; water bottle conspicuous. Thankful for the whine of the blender, staring at the whirling protein shake and doing my level best to ignore my mom, my sister, and my sister's cheating boyfriend sat behind me.

They were sharing knowing looks - "you know what Anton can be like first thing" - when I turned and raked my gaze across them.

"I'm working out," I said, tersely, then started to leave.

"Can I come, too?"

Brandon's voice was eager, hopeful even. All too easy to think back, to that same tone when he'd asked if he could spend the night in my room. In my bed.

"You're not a member," I snapped, glaring at his look of wide-eyed enthusiasm.

I was preoccupied by what we'd done, yes, but they weren't wrong about my not being much of a morning person, either.

"You get to take a guest in, don't you, honey?" My mom's smile was a little hopeful, too; I had the horrible feeling that hers was from some godawful ambition of making her daughter's boyfriend and older brother be better pals.

If only she fucking knew.

"Yes, but..." My brain scrabbled for another excuse. "He doesn't have the right clothes."

My mom chuckled. "We have a whole closet full of your old things." She turned to Brandon, with a wink. Like she was sharing some juicy family secret. "He wasn't always this big, you know."

It was an excuse for him to look me up and down. My skin prickled at the intensity of his stare; suddenly, I wished I'd put on something other than a black compression shirt and gray sweatpants.

"That'd be great, thank you!" Brandon sounded like the perfect little future son-in-law.

I swallowed down the bile that was suddenly rising in my throat. "Fine. But be fast."

He and my mom exited, Brandon apparently a happy audience for her chatter about how I'd shot up in height, and width, and weight.

Grudgingly, I sat down on one of the vacant stools.

"Do you actually mind, or is this just the usual Anton-hating-his-routine-being-changed?" My sister smiled over her teacup.

I grunted, noncommittally.

We got on, that was the problem. Part of it, anyway. Kirsten could be bitchy, but always with a punchline, which I felt went a long way to making it acceptable. She'd been independent enough that I never resented some kid hanging around with me, and we had little enough in common that sibling rivalry had never really come up.

Our "something in common" now, though, was about the worst thing it could've been. I chewed back the guilty wince, trying to cover it with a gulp of my protein shake.

"He just likes to dick around," I said, after I'd swallowed.

Kirsten chuckled. "And how dare someone not take the church of free weights seriously, right?"

I rolled my eyes, but I couldn't quite squash the smile, too. "It's serious stuff. And if you don't remember that, you can get hurt."

She took a bite of her toast, then gestured at me with the half-eaten slice. "You'll be there to make sure he doesn't take on more than he can handle, though, right?"

My frown wasn't just down to the forced proximity; the knowledge that my usual workout was going to be all screwed up was tedious, too. "If he doesn't know his own limits..."

"Oh, sure, like that's the issue," Kirsten interrupted, laughing. "And not the fact that he's desperate to impress you."

There was that bile again, bitterness competing with the vanilla protein powder.

"I don't know what you mean," I said, dryly.

"You're a meathead, big brother." It was her old nickname for me, when I'd started to really focus on putting on muscle. These days, it felt more affectionate than anything else. "But I didn't think you were absolutely blind."

I pulled a face. "I hadn't noticed."

She laughed again.

"So." It was a dangerous topic, but I couldn't help myself. "How are things? Between you two, I mean."

A smile, and a shrug. "Fine."

It felt like all I was doing was frowning. "Just fine?"

Kirsten took another sip. "He's fun. We're having fun." She realized I was staring at her, and glanced away. "What am I meant to say?"

I was saved having to think of an answer by Brandon clearing his throat in the doorway.

I recognized the shirt - an old Under Armour one, dark blue and sleeveless, the white logo almost washed clean away - from a few years back. I'd quickly outgrown it, but it fit Brandon well. The white shorts were clearly my cast-offs, too.

When I glanced back up, to meet his stare, there was a hopeful expression on his face. Like he wanted my approval.

I pushed myself off the stool instead, and tossed him a bottle of water from the counter. "Let's go, then. We're already late."

Kirsten's amused snort followed us down the hallway.

He was quiet in the car, though his nerves were loud. Leg bouncing, shuffling in his seat as though the radio was playing.

"How much coffee have you had?" I asked, finally. When the twitching had become too much for me to ignore.

"Just one cup," Brandon admitted.

I frowned, hitting the turn signal for the junction ahead. "Well, save your energy. I don't know what you had in mind, but if you think I'm gonna waste a workout session bullshitting around, you're wrong."

I watched him nod out of the corner of my eye.

"What are we actually..." Brandon started.

"It's leg day," I interrupted. "Take it or leave it."

His silence was, I assumed, intended as acquiescence.

The traffic ahead pulled away, and I followed. The gym was close, less than a ten minute drive, and it could get pretty hectic at the peak times. Another reason why I liked to get there early.

"Your stuff fit me pretty well," Brandon said.

I glanced over at him, sitting low in the seat. His legs splayed out, casually. Hips slightly twisted, as if to make sure I had the perfect view.

"Yeah," I said, noncommittal.

"I hope you don't mind, I borrowed some of your underwear, too," he added. "Though they were still pretty wet in places."

It was a good thing that the lights were red, because I probably wouldn't have been able to stop myself from turning to look at him even if the car was moving. Brandon's expression sly, a grin that said he'd made a joke he was pleased with, and was now just waiting for me to catch up.

"You went in my room?" It wasn't the first question in my brain, but then again asking whether someone had stolen your cumrag briefs and was now wearing them seemed difficult to say out loud.

"Just quickly," Brandon protested, still smirking. "They were on the floor where you'd left them. Y'know, after you..."

After I'd pulled them out of his lying mouth, having used them as a gag while I brutally raw-fucked him.

"Pervert."

He shrugged, looking undimmed by the insult. Then gestured ahead. "It's green."

I grit my jaw, and tried to ignore the ominous tightness in my chest.

For a while, it seemed like my paranoias were all unfounded.

Brandon wasn't especially strong - not weak, just lean - but he was determined. I wasn't sure if that was down to some natural competitiveness, or from a desire to impress me like my sister had said, but either way he seemed happy to focus on the weights rather than flirting with me. Following instructions, listening carefully when I corrected his form. I almost found myself enjoying it.

There were glimmers, mind, of the Brandon I knew. Not least when we switched places, I loaded up the weights, and it was his turn to watch me.

"Dude, your thighs are incredible," he murmured, staring at me with untempered fascination.

I grunted, finishing my set before I gradually let the weights back down. Careful not to crash them together; that always felt needlessly rude.

"It's just time, and commitment," I explained.

He licked his lips. "It's paying off."

Shaking my head, I moved the pin down a notch and then set up for my next set. "You're meant to be learning from my form, idiot."

Nothing inconspicuous about Brandon's gaze, tracking down to my feet and then up again. "I promise you, dude, I'm definitely paying attention to your form."

I hid my snort of amusement with a cough, and then started lifting.

Usually, I put on headphones and zoned out. Tried to pretend that I was the only person in the gym, at the center of a little bubble all of my own. If other people glanced over at me, whether to see if I was done with the machine or for any other reason, I wasn't paying attention.

Brandon, stood right in front of me, was harder to ignore.

An innocent explanation would be that he was doing his absolute best to track - and understand - what exactly I was doing. Problem was, I couldn't quite bring myself to assume innocence in anything Brandon did, now.

Sure enough, when I was done, his eyes were practically gleaming with mischief.

"You know how your dick looks in those sweats, right?" He looked down, pointedly, as if I might've misconstrued what he was referring to.

I frowned at him. "Why aren't you focusing?"

"Why is your dick bulge so fat and distracting?" he countered, licking his lips. "Are you even wearing underwear?"

"Take this shit seriously, or you can go sit in the car and wait." There was no way I was going to tell him that no, I wasn't wearing underwear. I'd brought a fresh pair in my bag, to get changed into; there hadn't seemed much point putting on something under my sweatpants, considering they were only going to get sweaty.

"I try to be good," Brandon whined, "but then you do something hot, and distract me. I can see the fucking head of your cock when you bend your legs."

The galling thing - well, one of them - was that I hadn't even thought about what might be visible. They were basic gray sweats, and that made them ideal gym-wear: I wasn't even considering which parts of my body might be showing through them. Definitely not in the sort of anatomical detail that Brandon claimed to be able to see.

I didn't want to dwell on it, but there was something weirdly exciting about him checking me out, while I was lifting. My body never really felt better than when I was straining against weights: I'd looked at enough dudes in the gym to know there was something just plain sexy about seeing them tense up, their muscles bulging, expressions twisted with focus. Now, my cock was twitching at the possibility that I could be viewed in that way. Even if it was by my little sister's annoying asshole of a boyfriend.

I moved the pin then gestured him to the machine, feeling frustrated. "Less being a pervert, more sets."

He laughed, moving into place, then frowned as he pressed his shoulders against the bars. "Did you forget to change the weights, or something?"

I shook my head, crossing my arms. "If you have energy to waste on checking me out, you have energy to lift more."

The amusement had fled from his expression, replaced with a glare as he strained to extend his legs. With a grunt, he managed it.

"Again."

The glare persisted for the second rep, and the third. By the fourth, Brandon looked like he was focusing more on how his legs were holding up. Come the fifth, and then the sixth, he was visibly sweating from the strain.

"Dude, please... you're killing me."

I leaned in, my face close to his grimace. "Finish the set, asshole, or you're walking home."

Number seven, and I could see him shaking. Jaw clenched, nostrils flaring.

"A-Anton..."

His face was flushed, a bright score of red across each cheekbone. Shorts sticking to his skin. I could imagine how his legs would be burning, his calves howling; thighs suffused with a primeval sort of ache. When he looked up, the desperation was clear.

I pushed my hands into my pockets, then pulled them back slightly. Enough to pull the sweatpants taut around my crotch. I didn't need to check to see what was left visible, now: Brandon's wide-eyed expression made it abundantly clear.

"Finish the set," I told him again, softly.

I wasn't sure if horniness would motivate him or distract him. Whether the sight of my cock - arching thickly down and lewdly outlined by the soft, clinging fabric - would propel him on to rep eight, and nine, and ten, or simply encourage him to give up. Stumble down on shaking legs and try to flirt with me some more.

"Fuck," he grunted, and pushed again.

Not graceful, or fast, but he made it. Even managed to avoid an almighty clang as he lowered the weights down on his final set. Sweat soaking his borrowed shirt, hair a lank tangle. Brandon stumbled as he stepped down.

I caught him, around the waist. The movement instinctive, my brain only starting to question its wisdom when I was already pulling him in against my side.

He looked up at me, blinking through the droplets running into his eyes. "I hate you."

"Good," I told him.

Brandon snorted.

I felt him test his legs, begin to straighten. Moved away from him, though close enough that I could catch him again if I needed to. Physical contact seemed like something I should avoid, but then so did having to explain to my sister why I'd let her boyfriend collapse in front of me.

"Let's call it a day, okay?"

He didn't respond, but I saw the flicker of relief pass across his face.

Brandon sniffed under his arm as we headed into the locker room. "I stink, don't I."

It was too good a setup to ignore. "Always," I agreed.

"Anton!"

I chuckled, at his whine, as I pulled open the locker. He'd stuffed his bag in there with mine. "Showers are over there," I told him, with a nod.

"Aren't you showering too?"

I paused, then turned to look at him. I got the feeling Brandon was trying out his personal interpretation of an innocent expression.

Usually, I did shower after a workout. Even if I'd cut the session short, it wasn't like I'd not sweated through my shirt as well. Today, though, things felt more fraught.

"Behave," I warned him. Wondering if I was naive for thinking that would be enough.

He nodded, and started pulling off his shirt.

I could feel his eyes on me, as I walked naked to the showers with a towel slung over my shoulder. Telling myself that there was nothing strange about it, nothing atypical. Guys got naked and walked around the locker room all the time. It wasn't even a cruising sort of gym, though that didn't mean I hadn't heard the occasional story of hookups in the sauna or steam rooms. Getting caught was a "lose your membership" level disaster, however, and I valued my workouts more than the idea of getting off.

The shower wasn't open-plan, but there weren't closed off cubicles, either. Little half-partitions of frosted glass between each shower head, and a row of dispensers for shampoo and body wash screwed to the wall. I hung up my towel and twisted the faucet, hearing Brandon do the same alongside me.

For a while, I simply let the hot water flood down over me. Soaking my hair, and spilling heavily onto my shoulders. Eyes closed, inhaling the steam; the sound of conversations and the even fainter clatter of weights made nebulous by the splashing across my ears. Life felt less complicated, somehow, under the water.

Finally, I leaned back, filling my palm with soap.

"How long, do you think?"

Brandon's voice almost a surprise, his presence in the shower next to me nearly forgotten. I rubbed my hands together, building up the suds, then scrubbed under my arms and across my chest. "How long for what?"

A pause. "I mean, how long before I could start looking like you?"

I glanced over, past the slice of glass, to where he was standing under the hissing water. Hair matted down, frowning as he watched me.

"Depends how much you commit," I said. "How many cheat days you allow yourself."

I chewed the inside of my cheek, ruing my choice of words.

"How many days do you come here?"

Punching more soap from the dispenser, I bent to wash my crotch and down my legs. "Three, four times a week, usually. After a while, it gets to be a habit. Something you look forward to."

Brandon grimaced. "My legs feel like shit right now."

It was a bad idea, I knew that, but that also felt like an invitation. Mentally kicking myself all the same, I looked over at the aching legs in question.

The flooding water only emphasized his lean build, left him looking sleeker. Brandon was very nearly soft, cock hanging a little out from his body. I wasn't sure if it was the preoccupation of our conversation which I could credit for that, or a general fear of being spotted with an erection in such a public place. Coy didn't really suit him, as a concept, but then again everyone had limits.

"That's normal," I told him, standing up again. "It's not always like that, though. Hence, the committing part."

He grunted. "Do you think I'd look better, with muscles?"

If before had been dangerous territory, now I was basically in the minefield.

"You look fine now. Build muscle if you want muscle."

It'd been a naive hope, that that'd be enough to settle things.

"But do you think I'd be sexier?"

Frustrated - with him, for the questions, but more with myself for even beginning to entertain them - I twisted off the faucet and grabbed my towel.

"Ask your girlfriend, Brandon," I snapped at him, as I headed back to the lockers.

I wasn't sure if he'd follow, if he'd be dissuaded from asking more by my angry reaction. When I finally glanced back, though, I could see him still standing under the spray. His back to me, water coursing from his smooth shoulders, down the taper of his torso, to Brandon's narrow waist. Ass two perfect curves below that.

There was my problem. I thought he was plenty sexy right now.

Sexy enough that the idea of reaching over, grabbing his wet bicep, and pulling him into the shower with me had wriggled its way into my brain and refused to leave. Sexy, as in "invite him into the sauna, and test just how frequently they check for misbehavior." The sharp memory of Brandon's expression, as he'd strained against the weights and stared with unmistakable hunger at the outline of my cock. How he'd felt, hot and lithe against my side, as I'd caught him in his stumble. How easy it would've been, then, for my hand to slip down and grab his perfect ass.

"Who's the new twink?"

I jerked, a rude shove from my reverie, at the question. Turning - feeling like I'd been caught doing something monstrous - to see my gym buddy Ally grinning back at me.

"He's eighteen and he's my little sister's boyfriend," I explained, trying to keep my voice level. "Keep your hands to yourself."

Ally had a reputation. No, that was an understatement: Ally cultivated a reputation, and I had a sneaking suspicion that he was involved in at least half of the tall tales about risky gym hookups that I'd heard whispered reports of.

"Hey, I didn't do anything." He winked. "No rule against looking."

"Yeah, but how often do you stop at just looking?"

He laughed, then glanced over at Brandon again. He had excellent timing, too, presuming Ally was interested in watching an eighteen-year-old rubbing soap across their butt.

"For that cute ass," he mused, "I'd break some rules. Think your sister minds sharing?"

"I'll ask her for you," I deadpanned.

Ally nudged me in the shoulder. "Ask her for yourself, more like."

"Dude, what the hell?" This was not a conversation I wanted to have, in the gym, with nothing but a towel around my waist. Actually, it was not a conversation I wanted to have, period.

Not that he was going to be easily dissuaded. "Either you didn't see the way he's been staring at you all morning, in which case you're blind, or you did and don't care, in which case you're a fucking idiot. Unless, of course, you already tapped that?"

I marshaled my face into something I hoped channeled blithe indifference. "Aren't you meant to be showering, or something?"

He pointedly looked over Brandon. Considering he'd turned in the shower's spray, standing almost side-on now, I was struggling not to stare myself.

"Hey," Ally mused, "nobody could blame you."

"For nailing my sister's boyfriend? I'm pretty sure they would."

"Oh please," he scoffed, sounding entertained. "At eighteen? It's all just making out and friction. They only call it 'puppy love' because they're like dogs in heat."

"You're such a romantic."

He tapped the bulge of my cock with the back of his hand. A jovial thing, not a flirtatious one; Ally and I had hooked up, once, not long after I'd started going to the gym. He was in his mid-twenties then, and I'd thought he was achingly hot. Somehow, by mutual assent, we'd agreed that a friendship was better than a series of increasingly awkward sexual encounters.

"Dude, did you give a fuck about romance at that age?" His voice was teasing. "Do you even now? Maybe it's time your sister upgrades to a jock, and you get to play with the sloppy seconds. Emphasis on sloppy."

I sighed. "Remind me why we're friends again?"

"Because I cut through your weird, puritanical bullshit, and tell you to do the shit you actually want to do?" His grin suggested there was little point in my protesting. "And you can tell me you don't want to do that, but you'd be a liar and we both know it."

The "that" in question had walked up to us - towel slung low around his hips, only emphasizing Brandon's long, lean torso - while Ally was mocking me. He glanced between us.

"Uh, hi?"

Suddenly, I very much wanted to get Brandon on his own.

"Ally, Brandon. Brandon, my friend Ally. He's a fixture here."

Ally nudged my arm. "We call ourselves 'personal trainers' now."

I could think of a few ways he'd like to train Brandon, too. I flashed him as close to a glare as I could manage without it looking too obvious.

"Fine, fine." Ally chuckled. "I know twinks are your thing, really, and I'd hate to muscle in."

Actually, my glare could be a little more obvious, I decided. "Well, it was good to see you," I lied, through clenched teeth. "Let's grab a drink sometime?"

For all he was blunt, and eager to shock, Ally wasn't entirely blind to subtlety. Though from his wink, you'd assume otherwise.

"Sure, sure. Nice to meet you, uh, Brandon. Make this knucklehead bring you more often: we could do with fresh meat, here."

No way to hide my wince, but Brandon was too busy shaking hands. A process which seemed to linger a little longer than I thought necessary.

"He seems friendly," Brandon said, as we watched Ally walk away.

I pulled the towel from around my waist, and started to dry my legs. "He wanted to fuck you."

"The two things can't be true?" He laughed. "Did you tell him I was already taken?"

"I said you were dating my sister."

"That's not what I meant."

Silence, for a moment. When I looked up, it was to find Brandon had unwrapped his towel, too. Was holding it, a damp tangle, in front of his crotch with one hand. Like I'd just walked in on him in the bathroom, and that scant covering somehow even sexier than him being completely bare might be.

"I don't need to know what you meant," I said, hearing the thickness in my throat and knowing he would as well.

He tossed the towel away, onto the bench beside us. Making no attempt to cover himself up, nor to hide the hunger as his eyes raked across my own nakedness.

"What do I have to say, to get you to eat my ass again?"

I glanced around us, panicking at who might've overheard him. Discovering we'd managed to get the locker room to ourselves for a moment, though I could hear the hiss of showers in use just around the corner.

"You need to shut up, okay?" I warned him.

He took a step forward. Fingers reaching, first for my chest, but then settling for a careful graze down my arm. "Alternative idea," Brandon suggested, "you shut me up by fucking my throat, while you fold me in half and tongue my hole."

I wanted to stopper the words in his mouth, prevent them from escaping. Not just worried about who might hear him, who could inadvertently tune into our conversation, now, but by the effect those words were having on my body. Cock stiffening, excusable for the moment but I had little doubt that Brandon wouldn't be satisfied until I was fully rigid.

"It was a mistake, bringing you here," I snapped, angry now.

"It was a mistake not letting me sleep in your room, so I could wake you up with a blowjob," he said, mildly. As blithe as if he was reporting the weather forecast.

"My sister..."

"Is almost certainly getting bored of me," he interrupted. "Don't think of yourself as a consolation prize, though. I don't."

I glared at him. "You're a cocky little fuck."

Brandon winked. "So teach me a lesson."

I opened my mouth, to say something sharp, something furious, then closed it. Suddenly remembering what he'd told me, as I'd roughly fingered him on my bed the night before. His confession: that he intentionally provoked me, because he knew I was more likely to fuck him when I lost my temper.

"No," I said, forcing my voice to stay level.

"No, what?"

"No, you're not going to goad me into hate-fucking you." I turned to the locker, even though not watching him intently felt about as sensible a strategy as not watching a snake on the path ahead. Leaning over, I pulled up a clean pair of briefs. They didn't exactly hide the fact that I was half-hard, now, but it felt a little less like public indecency.

"Am I bad in bed?"

I snorted. "Stop fishing for compliments." Then jerked back, as Brandon slammed the locker door in front of me.

"This isn't fair!"

He looked furious - face red, hands clenched into fists at his sides - as he stared at me.

I glanced, pointedly, at the locker, and then back at him. Careful to keep my expression neutral. "Who said anything about 'fair'? Is cheating on my sister fair?"

Brandon grunted in frustration. "I already told you..."

"That she's bored of you, yeah. I heard that." I tilted my head. "And yet you're still going out with her, so..."

The unspoken question, the challenge, hung between us.

"Face it, asshole," I said, finally, breaking the tense silence. "You got greedy. You wanted your cake, and to eat it, too. You don't get to have a tantrum, just because not everyone is willing to go along with that."

Brandon looked like he was about to cry, though I knew I couldn't let that sway me. Couldn't get dragged back into something it was clear I needed to resist, be the adult in the room over. No matter how uncomfortable it was, seeing him upset.

I pulled open the locker again, digging for a clean shirt.

"If I broke up with her, I wouldn't get to see you," he said, softly.

I shook my head, as I pushed my arms into the t-shirt. "No, probably not. Because I don't hang out with cheats and liars." It was easier to say when I wasn't looking at his face.

He grabbed my bicep. "Why do you have to be so..."

I twisted, shoving him back against the lockers. My forearm against his chest, just under his throat: pinning him in place, though from the look of shock on Brandon's face, he was too surprised to even think about escape.

"No. You don't get to say that shit to me," I told him, in a low growl.

His throat flexed, as he swallowed slowly.

"You're hard, and I'm hard, and I think you want this as much as I do." There was a shake to his voice, but he didn't look away. Guided my other arm down, instead, by the wrist. Behind his body, until my fingers were wrapped around his bare cheek. "Your friend said I was your type."

I wanted to point out that the world - hell, this gym - wasn't exactly short on twinks, or indeed horny ones. Only it was hard to focus on rejecting him, when I could feel Brandon's erection pressing against me, and my own so unmistakable in my briefs. With the softness of his ass in my palm, and the knowledge that all it would take was easing my hand a little further around to feel his hole.

He wouldn't stop me, either. I could tell Brandon to get down on his knees and let me face-fuck him, sandwiched between my body and the lockers, and he'd probably do it. There was something dizzying about that, appealing even without fury to crank the fires of my arousal.

"This is a terrible idea," I told him, softly. Or, perhaps, told myself. "You're a terrible idea."

"Just one last time, dude," Brandon whispered.

It was a lie, I knew that. He'd say anything, if he thought it would mean getting his own way.

The problem, with resisting, is that it's so much less fun compared to giving in.

He smiled, when I slid my fingers between his cheeks. Only for his eyes to widen - a gasp escaping through that grin - as I kept pushing. His ass still wet from the shower, muscle resisting for a moment before I dug my forefinger into him. The tightness of his hole gripping me intently, twitching and squeezing.

His leg lifted, sliding up against my own until it was hooked around my hip. Brandon spreading himself, even as I pressed him harder against the wooden door of the lock, pumping my finger into him. Squirming, as I forced a second in alongside the first.

"I guess, if it's the last time," I mused, lips close to his face, "I should really make the most of it, right? Properly test your limits."

His eyes widened, as I splayed my fingers inside him. Feeling him stretch around me.

"Anton..."

I heard the wet footsteps behind us; figured Brandon could hear them too. His stare darting from my face to over my shoulder and back again.

A whimper, quickly chewed down on, as I muscled a third finger into his hole. His sweat helping ease the way, but barely, as I felt his cock twitch where it was jammed into me.

"Anton, someone... someone's coming..."

The steps louder; I could picture someone ambling toward us from their shower or the steam room further down the hall.

"Anton!"

Pulling away from him at the last minute, Brandon gasping as I yanked my fingers from his tender insides. My sidestep leaving him exposed, his cock jutting, thick and dripping, from his crotch; he spun around, with a squeak of surprise, to face the locker.

I cast a casual glance over my shoulder, recognizing the guy walking through the locker room. Nodded in wordless greeting.

Brandon was practically vibrating next to me; I could imagine the adrenaline coursing through him, and the way his ass must feel after I'd pawed so roughly at it.

I reached into the locker and pulled out the cum-soaked briefs he'd stolen. Tossed them to him; Brandon caught them against his chest.

"Time to go, fuckboy."

He trailed behind me in a sort of daze, out across the gym floor and through reception. Probably didn't even notice Ally grinning at us from behind the counter, or the way his smirk spread wider still at my wink.

Brandon finally looked up at me over the roof of the car. Clearly wondering why I hadn't unlocked it yet.

"Strip," I told him.

He blinked, glancing around us. There were a couple of other people in the lot, though nobody up close. Still, I could imagine the cogs of his brain whirring.

"But..."

"Down to briefs," I clarified, speaking over him. "Since you liked them so much as to steal them."

Brandon opened his mouth, as if to argue, then - either from the expression on my face, or the fear I might change my mind - shut it again. With another nervous look around, he pulled off his t-shirt. Disappeared from my view, as he bent to push down the jeans I'd watched him put on just minutes before.

He stood, shaking his head to restore the mop of hair to its usual sweep, albeit a damper version. A mixture of defiance and curiosity in his eyes.

Still, he didn't wait around when I finally unlocked the car. Quickly ducking inside, his clothes clutched to his chest.

I reached over, and pulled them out of his arms. Tossed them - and his bag - into the back.

"Seatbelt," I reminded him.

Brandon pulled it on. Somehow, it made him look even more exposed.

I put the car in gear, and pulled out of the lot.

Traffic was getting heavier, and I could see Brandon looking around us nervously. Clearly wondering if other motorists could tell he was undressed. A look down, though, at the fat swell of his erection straining against the briefs, suggested the idea of being watched wasn't entirely an unpleasant one to him.

"Do you actually have feelings for my sister any more?"

He jerked his head around, as though I'd surprised him from a daze. "What?"

"Kirsten. My sister. The girl you're cheating on." I side-eyed him, eyebrow raised. "Are you still with her out of habit, or because you enjoy stringing people along, or..."

Brandon frowned. "I still like her. But it's not as if..."

I waited, until it was clear he had no intention of finishing that sentence. "As if, what?"

A shrug, smooth chest flexing. "As if it was ever going to be serious, or something lasting."

"Because you're actually into guys?" I suggested.

He laughed, as if I'd said something ridiculously naive. "People can be into more than one gender these days, grandpa."

Still watching the road ahead, I reached down and grabbed his crotch. Squeezed the hand-filling bulge, firmly at first, and then tighter still, until Brandon was squirming and gripping at the seat.

"Let me make one thing absolutely, entirely clear, fuckboy," I told him, my voice level. "Whether you're dating my little sister or not, you're a hole. You get to take loads, not make jokes. Understand?"

A jerky nod.

I squeezed harder. "I asked you if you understand?"

"Yes!" It was pretty much a squeak.

"And what are you?"

"A... a hole!"

I gripped him one final time, then released. He'd only got harder the more I crushed him.

"Good fuckboy. Now put your feet up on the dashboard and get your ass ready."

Brandon's eyes were wide. "W-what?"

I hit the turn signal, pulling around the corner then accelerating. Glanced back at him, and his confused expression. "Feet up. On the dashboard. Get yourself opened up. Understand me?"

"I can't..."

"Or I pull over, and you get out of the car right here. That what you want, fuckboy?"

He shook his head, the movement frantic.

"Then do as you're fucking told." I smacked his bare leg, with the back of my hand. "And take your damn shoes off. Don't get dirt on my car."

Grudgingly, he kicked off his Converse. Watching me, as he lifted his legs to plant his feet flat on the dash, as though he still expected me to laugh at any moment. Tell him it'd all been a joke.

I watched the road ahead, traffic clearing. "Listen. When I stop this car next, you're getting fucked over the hood. So, you can take your damn time now, if you want to. But if I were you, I'd be doing everything possible to open myself up, because you already know how I'm gonna do you."

He learned pretty fast, at least. Fingers of one hand in his mouth, as he tugged the underwear away from his cheeks with the other. Reaching between his spread thighs, and then a barely-muffled hiss.

"How many fingers?"

Brandon grunted. "One."

I laughed. "I had three in you, in the locker room. Catch up, cheat."

He wriggled in the seat, hips tilting. The muscles in his splayed legs tense. I wondered if they were aching, or if all memory of what we'd done on the machines had been wiped out by what had happened since.

"T-three," he gasped.

"Better," I told him. "Gimme your other hand."

He reached over, obediently. I grabbed his wrist, and pushed his hand down to my crotch. Brandon needed no further encouragement to wrap his fingers around my erection, squeezing me through my sweats.

"Have you and my sister had sex?"

He shook his head. Then, when I glanced across with a pointed look, shook it again more vigorously. "No!"

I nodded, slowly. Enjoying the feeling of him groping at me, Brandon's fingers tracing the fat flare of my swollen tip.

"How many guys have you been with?"

He was blushing, now. "Just... just one. One other, I mean."

I felt a flash of something, which I decided it was safer to call curiosity.

"Who fucked who?"

Brandon winced. "Neither. I just... blew him."

"Were you with my sister when you did it?"

Another head shake.

"So, a cocksucker and a cheat, just not at the same time," I mused. "Got it."

The logical conclusion occurred to me.

"That night, in the park. After you kissed me. That was your first time with a man?"

I tried to think back, to remember how I'd treated him. What Brandon had done, how he'd acted as I manhandled him and nailed him. The noises he'd made; the expression on his face, as I'd folded him in half to better plow him, and then demanded he eat his own load.

"Y-yeah," he admitted.

I chuckled, in surprise. I'd clearly been an early starter, with men at least, though - given some of the shit we'd done over the past few days - Brandon was apparently trying to catch up.

"Fourth finger, asshole," I told him, and heard the breathless gasp as he obeyed.

I could hear him working himself over, the increasingly squishy, sloppy sound of his body loosening. Occasionally pausing to spit again, then back to rocking in the seat, thighs straining as he levered his hips against his digging hand. Still pawing at my cock as he did it; I didn't complain when he pushed past the waistband of my sweats, and I felt his fingers wrap around my shaft and slowly jerk me.

I flexed in his fist as I pulled into the parking lot. I could remember coming to the arcade when I was a little kid, my parents holding me up so I could waste their quarters in the machines. It'd closed a couple of years back, though; the space behind it was a wasteland of dumped tires and old, abandoned mattresses.

Grabbing his wrist, I yanked it out of my pants. Held it up, examining the sheen of precum across Brandon's fingers. He gasped, when I licked across them, tongue delving between each digit as my own flavor flooded my mouth.

His thumb pulled out from between my lips with an audible pop.

"Right," I told him, sternly. "I hope, for your sake, you did a good enough job."

He'd opened his door and unsnapped the seatbelt by the time I made it to his side of the car, but was still glancing around nervously. Checking to see if we really were alone, I figured, though I'd run out of patience for that.

Leaning down, I scooped him out of the seat. Manhandled him to the front of the car - mindful of asphalt you'd probably need a tetanus shot after walking bare-footed on - and then dumped his nearly-naked body on the hood.

Brandon braced himself on his outstretched arms, staring down at me between the splay of his legs. Wide eyed and already panting.

"Like I said, since it's our last time," I told him, grabbing his hips and tugging him closer, "gotta make it memorable, right?"

His arms skidded out from under him, back hitting the metal with a hollow thud. Legs flailing as I dragged the briefs down; leaving them dangling from one foot, as I spread him wide like a wishbone.

For all he seemed nervous, clearly one part of Brandon was eager.

I reached down, to give his erection a few experimental strokes. Less than a half-dozen, and my fist was already slimy with cock-drool.

"So, my little sister never got to feel this in her, did she?" I pulled his dick back, palm flat against the swollen tip. I could tell from the way he was staring at me, from how his breathing had sped up, that it turned him on to hear me talk about this shit. Precum was already dribbling down his shaft and onto the tight clench of his balls.

Brandon hissed as I stretched him even further, hips tilting to try to alleviate the pressure. Not for the first time, I wondered how far he'd let me go, before he actually tried to stop me.

"Then again," I mused, shoving the front of my sweats down, "cheating holes don't get to fuck good girls like my sister, do they?" I looked up at him, at his swollen pupils and open mouth, then sharply pinched his tip.

I waited, until he'd finished writhing and gasping.

"I asked, do they?" I repeated.

"N-no!" Brandon was still breathless.

His cock slapped wetly against his abdomen when I released it; I used the slickness he'd left across my hand to stroke myself. Not that I particularly needed his teen-slop contribution: if I pumped out any more pre, there was a solid risk I was gonna end up dehydrated.

I felt pretty sure that the car hadn't been designed with bringing a twink ass to pretty much the perfect level for my dick, but I made a mental note to remember that for the next 'customer satisfaction' survey I got in the mail. When I pushed Brandon's leg back, his hole already looked red and puffy.

I spat on it, watching the thick glob slowly inch its way between his spread cheeks. Caught it, at the last moment, with the head of my cock.

He was leaning into me, or trying to. Lacking the leverage to push properly; forced to wait, impatient, as his ass dimpled against my tip.

"What are you?"

"A... a hole." His voice was already shaking.

"And what do holes do?"

"T-take dick."

I glanced up, at his flushed face. He was cute, but headed toward handsome; the sort of guy who causes mayhem around girls in his twenties. Well, unless they get distracted by something else along the way.

"And what don't holes do," I asked him, "if they still wanna get dicked?"

He squirmed as I pressed harder. Brandon might've wanted it, but there was only so far spit and precum could take you. If you wanted it easy, anyway.

"Ugh... fuck, oh fuck... tap out!" It was a yelp. "They don't tap out!"

"Good hole," I told him, and jerked my hips forward.

Don't forget to let me know what you thought! You can email me at alexp336@gmail.com