Jingle Balls – Part 4

Everyone in this story is 18+

Hours later the house finally quieted down. Mom had gone to bed, Aunt Lisa was clattering around the kitchen “cleaning” for absolutely no reason other than the wine told her to. I was still sprawled on the couch pretending to care about the post-game show when the front door opened.

Tate slipped in, red shopping bag dangling from his wrist. My eyes locked on that bag like it was radioactive. Not that I gave a shit if he’d bought the candy-cane set. Just wondering. Whatever.

He looked wiped, hair messy from the wind, cheeks pink. “Mall was brutal. I’m dead. Heading up.”

He leaned into the kitchen doorway. “Night, Mom.”

Aunt Lisa, four glasses deep now, spotted the bag and gasped theatrically. “More shopping? Tate, how is Braddie supposed to fit anything in your room? You own more clothes than the entire mall.”

Tate’s grin turned wicked. “I’m sure Brad will figure out how to stuff his things into tight places. No biggie. Nightie!”

I let out the most aggressive fake yawn known to man. Yeah, bedtime. Purely practical. Easier with the same schedule, that’s all.

Told Aunt Lisa thanks for the beer and the day, then basically power-walked upstairs, always good to do some exercise. I took a deep breath, pushed the door open.

Tate had already stripped to those black briefs that should be illegal. He was scrolling on his phone, red bag dumped under his bed like a taunt.

“Hey, cous. You turning in too?”

Another fake yawn that almost dislocated my jaw. “Long day.”

He tossed the phone aside. “I usually sleep naked, but since you’re here I figured briefs are polite. That cool?”

“Yeah. Whatever. Don’t care.”

“Perfect. Brushing teeth, come if you want.”

I trailed him like a moron. We stood at the sink, shoulders almost brushing. I scooted half a step away and scrubbed my teeth like I was trying to erase evidence. He just hummed, hips swaying.

Back in the room he killed the main light, leaving only the red glow of his candy-cane string lights. He crawled under his covers, junk almost spilling out, again.

“So, you sleep in clothes?” he asked.

“Nah.” I stripped fast, praying for no traitor-dick moments. Boxers only. Thank fuck, he stayed calm. I flexed a little as I tossed my shirt. Couldn’t help it.

Tate’s eyes tracked every movement. “You look really good, Brad.”

“Really?” Played it cool. “Thanks, I guess.”

“You always did. Beast mode since forever. Not like me, I had to work for it.” He ran a hand down his abs like he was proving the point. “Your pecs, those biceps… honestly, you inspired me. Wanted to look better, feel better. My gal pals used to ask if you were single every summer.”

I snorted, secretly pleased. “Nah, it’s just genetics. Lucky, I guess.” I bounced my pecs once for emphasis. “These pop, huh?”

“Like crazy. Impressive as hell.”

Felt nice. “You’re not exactly chopped liver anymore. Glow-up’s real.”

He smiled, soft this time. “Thanks. Means a lot coming from you.” Then, quieter, “Sorry about the snap earlier. Total accident. Wrong Brad.”

“Nah, we’re good. Honest mistake. No biggie. We’re both guys.” I sat on my bed, shrugging way too hard. “I mean, it looked… fine. If you were a girl, or if I was… you know.”

Tate’s eyes sparkled. “I know what you meant.”

I almost swallowed my tongue. “So, you and Braden, you guys just… do that all the time?”

“Yeah, friends with benefits. Started as Bible study, ended with me on my knees.” He laughed low. “He’s got this thing for panties and skirts..”

I swallowed. “The one from the snap?”

“Yeah. Wanna see it on?”

“No!” Too fast. “I mean… that’d be weird.”

He settled on his side, facing me. “Look, since we’re both dudes stuck in the same room for ten days and like, no joke. If you ever wanna just jerk off, in your own bed, no talking, no weirdness, totally fine by me. Just putting it out there.”

My throat went dry. “I’m good. Like, really good. No need.”

“Suit yourself.” He rolled onto his side, facing me. “Braden drained me pretty good earlier anyway, so I’m probably set.”

Five minutes later his breathing evened out, deep and calm, like the bastard actually fell asleep that easily.

I lay there, candy cane in my boxers trying to stage a full rebellion. No way was I giving him the satisfaction.

Finally I couldn’t take it anymore. Slid out of bed, tucked the traitor straight down against my thigh so it wouldn’t slap around and scar the family for life, and crept toward the door for an emergency candy-cane crush in the bathroom.

Hand on the knob and

“Sweetie, pass me the foil?”

Aunt Lisa, sat perched on the closed toilet lid in her satin robe, wine glass in one hand, highlighting her roots at one in the morning like it was normal.

I handed her the foil and muttered something about just needing some water, then filled my toothbrush cup and fled back to my room, diving under the covers before my dignity could file a missing-persons report.

Tate made a soft, sleepy sound and rolled over. The blanket slipped just enough to show those briefs stretched to breaking point.

I glared at the ceiling, balls achingly blue, candy cane still at full salute, and swore on my life I would rather explode than jerk off with him six feet away.

Eventually I passed out, hard, frustrated, blue-balled and absolutely furious.

◆◆◆

I woke up to sunlight stabbing through the blinds like it had a personal vendetta and the immediate, horrifying realization that my dick was trying to drill a hole straight through the duvet, morning wood from actual hell, the kind that could knock pictures off walls and register on the Richter scale, and I froze solid, didn’t move, didn’t breathe, just prayed with every fiber of my straight-boy soul that Tate was still passed out and oblivious.

Of course he fucking wasn’t.

He was already sitting up in bed, blanket pooled around his waist like some slutty Christmas present, stretching with his arms overhead, back arched, those black briefs doing literally zero work containing the thick, obvious outline of his own morning hard-on that was stretching the fabric so thin the head was practically waving hello and winking at me personally. He yawned, scratched lazily down his abs, and the whole thing bounced like it was saying good morning right to my face, and I slammed my eyes shut so fast I nearly gave myself whiplash, pretending I was still dead to the world and definitely not cataloging every inch of that view for later use I would never, ever admit to.

The mattress creaked, bare feet hit the floor, and I heard him pad the six feet between our beds and stop right next to me, close enough that I could smell coconut and sleep and whatever evil pheromone he was clearly weaponizing now. “Morning, cous,” he said, voice still rough and warm, way too amused for someone who wasn’t currently dying of blue balls. “Someone’s happy to see the day.”

My eyes snapped open on pure reflex and there he was, standing over me like a smug little demon, arms crossed, bulge literally at eye level, grinning like the devil had just handed him a brand-new contract with my name on it. I yanked the duvet higher, which only trapped the traitor and made the tent situation worse, the outline now basically a fucking marquee that said WELCOME TO THE CIRCUS. “Fuck off,” I croaked, sounding like I’d swallowed gravel and regret.

Tate laughed low and evil, the sound curling straight into my gut. “Relax, happens to everyone. Look at me.” His gaze flicked down to the absolute disaster in my boxers and his eyebrows shot up, genuinely impressed. “Damn, Brad. Respect.”

Heat flooded my face so hard I probably looked like a sunburned tomato. “It’s morning. Biology. Shut up.”

“Uh-huh,” he said, completely unconvinced, and then, because apparently he’d decided today was the day I died, he turned around to grab sweats off the floor and bent over slow, briefs riding lower, waistband slipping just enough to flash the top of his crack and the little dimples above his ass like he was auditioning for a porno nobody asked for. He knew exactly what he was doing, had to, because he stayed bent a second longer than necessary, and I squeezed my eyes shut again, counted to ten in my head, tried to think about literally anything else, grandmas, taxes, Maddie puking on the turkey and still the candy cane throbbed like it was trying to start its own heartbeat.

Tate finally pulled on the sweats and somehow the loose grey fabric made the outline even more obscene, the head perfectly visible every time he moved. “Gonna shower,” he announced, all casual, like he wasn’t currently the reason my soul was leaving my body. “Unless you need the bathroom first? Looks like you’ve got a pretty urgent situation going on under there.”

“I’m fine,” I snarled into my pillow, clutching the duvet like it was the last life raft on the Titanic.

“You sure?” He tilted his head, voice dripping fake concern. “Offer from last night still stands. Lube’s in the drawer with the tissues, I genuinely don’t care. In fact I’m about to go beat one out in the shower myself, so if you wanna wait till I’m done and use the steam for cover, totally cool.”

I made a sound that was half growl, half dying animal, and he just chuckled, grabbed a towel, and sauntered out, leaving the door half open on purpose like an invitation to my own execution. Five seconds later the shower hissed on, steam already rolling out, and over the water I could hear him humming some bubbly pop song like he didn’t have a care in the world while my balls turned another shade of purple.

Tate be damned, I needed release and I needed it yesterday. My hand slid down my abs on pure muscle memory, finally some relief, tracing that happy trail from navel to waistband, fingers brushing the base of the traitor, so close, just one quick tug and I could end this nightmare…

The bedroom door flung open so hard it bounced off the wall.

Aunt Lisa stood there in a satin robe and a cloud of perfume, looking by some Christmas miracle not even slightly hungover. Frankly, it felt criminal considering how much wine she had annihilated last night.
“Good morning, Braddie!” she chirped, loud enough to wake the dead. “Oh, sorry, sweetie, I totally forgot to knock. My bad!”

Fuck!

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Remember to tell me me if you want to join the Christmas edging contest, where you can't nut until Brad does :) Haha