Jingle Balls – Part 2

Hey everyone, I hope you're all well! I just wanted to share a little info about how the rest of this month will be. Jingle Balls, this story is going to be the main story this month, meaning most of my ongoing stories will take a little break, but don't worry, they will be back at New Year's.

I'm also going to take a little break this Christmas, from December 22nd to December 29th, but I will of course pop in to wish you all a happy Christmas, and I might schedule some posts as well, depending on how much time I get to write beforehand.

I was also wondering which stories you guys want a Christmas special for. It can be any story, just let me know in the comments. I could make a poll, but I have so many stories it would take some time to make one, haha!

Wishing you all a happy pre-Christmas/Holidays time, and one more thing, for this story I have a little challenge. If you manage to not cum until Brad does in this story from this part and onwards, I will have a little treat for one of you. This will be a gentleman's challenge, so I expect honesty, and it's of course voluntary to participate. Let me know if you want to sign up for the contest, I'll make a list and everything. lol

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Everyone in this story is 18+

The Uber crunched to a stop in front of Aunt Lisa’s snow-dusted house. Mom paid the guy while I hauled our bags out of the trunk. Christmas lights blinked way merrier than I felt. I was freezing my nuts off and already dreading the next days.

Mom barely got two steps up the walkway before the front door flew open.

“Diana! Brad! Get in here before you turn into popsicles!” Aunt Lisa yanked us both inside, hugging like she hadn’t seen us in decades instead of a month. She smelled like vanilla candles and red wine.

“Sorry, Tate isn’t here, he promised he’d come down to say hi,” she said, kicking the door shut. “He’s upstairs with his little buddy. Braden, such a sweetie, reminds me of my first BF. Anyway, first real guy friend he’s ever had. Usually it’s just girls. They’ve been locked up there for hours. Probably playing Fortnite or, get this, praying. They met at Tate’s new Bible study thing.”

Mom looked politely confused. “I never knew Tate was interested in the bible?”

“News to me too,” Aunt Lisa laughed, pouring herself another splash of wine. “He definitely didn’t get it from my side of the family. I do like that Jesus guy, though, water into wine? Legend. Tate only started going after Braden invited him.”

I snorted so hard it echoed. Thinking; Yeah, I’m sure Tate’s on his knees up there, but it sure as hell isn’t for Jesus.

Aunt Lisa turned to me, eyes sparkling with mischief. “Speaking of significant others, where’s that firecracker—Maddie? The one who gave my sister’s turkey a full makeover? That girl’s got gall.”

Mom’s mouth pinched. “More gall than I care to deal with.”

“She’s fine,” I muttered, shooting Mom the death glare. “Just bummed she couldn’t come.”

Aunt Lisa raised both hands. “Hey, I told your mom it was her call. I stay out of it. More wine for me.” She topped off her glass. “Anyway, Tate’s dying to see you, Brad. You two are sharing his room. We even bought a extra bed for you. I also made him clean out half the closet; I swear that boy owns more clothes than Nordstrom.”

My stomach dropped. Share a room with Tate? Fuck my life.

“I could just take the couch?” I tried.

Mom gave me the look, that look that still works at twenty-one apparently. “Nonsense. Your Aunt Lisa and Tate went out of their way. Go upstairs like a polite young man and say hello.”

I sighed so loud it rattled the garland, grabbed my duffel, and trudged toward the stairs. Every step sounded like a countdown to whatever weird gay shit was waiting for me up there.

I dragged my feet up the stairs, hearing some faint music, then I headed down the long hallway like a death-row inmate. The house was all fresh paint and weird angles, but Tate’s door at the very end screamed for attention: stupid rhinestones spelling TATE THE GREAT across a black poster. I rolled my eyes so hard I nearly saw my own brain.

Music leaked out, some breathy pop crap turned low. Then, clear as a gunshot through the beat: glok glok glok glok Followed by two moans, one deep and shaky, one soft and greedy.

Oh hell no.

I spun straight back toward the stairs. Halfway down, Aunt Lisa was showing Mom her new wine fridge. Mom’s Mom-radar pinged; she looked up the staircase and speared me with a single glare that said DON’T YOU DARE COME DOWN HERE.

I mouthed, “But Mom!” She just pointed upward like God himself had hired her as bouncer.

Fine. Bathroom detour first. Shared bathroom, of course. Plaid towels, girly soaps, some weird body butter. I washed my hands slower than humanly possible, praying they’d hear the water and at least pull pants on.

I headed back towards Tate’s room, I heard nothing but music still playing, louder this time. I Guess the party was over.

I crept back, ear to the door. Just bass now. Safe, probably. I knocked once.

No answer.

I Knocked harder.

Still nothing.

Screw it!

I pushed the door open and…

Tate. On his knees. Shirtless. Tiny pink satin panties and nothing else. Smooth, stupidly cut abs glistening. Some dude standing in front of him, jeans around his thighs, bare ass flexing while Tate licked what could only be cum off two fingers like it was frosting.

Our eyes locked.

I slammed the door so hard the frame shook.

I just stood there. Blinking. Brain literally buffering.

Tate the Overweight had abs. Actual abs. And pecs. And a jawline. Covered in someone else’s load, sure, but still. What the fuck kind of puberty wizardry was this? Puberty doesn’t hit like steroids and a vengeance pact. Tate, the chubby little fuck with the bowl cut and braces, looked… decent. Maybe even ho…

The door swung open.

“Hey, cous.” Tate leaned against the frame in a silk robe he definitely hadn’t been wearing two seconds ago, robe open just enough to flash that smooth chest and the waistband of those pink panties. “Sorry, Brad here was just leaving.”

Brad Number Two (taller, broader, face red as the Christmas bows) was yanking his belt tight. “Hey, um. I’m Braden, but you can call me Brad.”

My mouth was still on the floor.

Tate grinned like a cat who’d swallowed the whole damn canary. “Don’t worry, Braden, Brad’s cool. He won’t tell anyone.”

Braden looked ready to cry. “You won’t, right? It didn’t mean anything. We were just… Mom and the church group would get the wrong idea.”

I managed to croak, “I won’t tell.”

Tate’s smile sharpened. “See? No harm done. I’ll see you at church tomorrow, Braden. Looking forward to even deeper studies.”

Both me and Church-Brad croaked, then I watched Church-Brad bolt down the hallway like his ass was on fire.

Door clicked shut. Tate turned, dropped the robe a little more, and walked straight at me. Before I could move he threw his arms around my neck like we were kids again and this was totally normal.

Hug lasted too long, and two things happened, first, I realized Tate smelled like coconut, sex, and victory, secondly, and even more pressing. My dick decided right then to go full candy-cane in my sweats.

Tate felt it. Of course he did, with his gay senses. Smug little smirk against my shoulder before he let go.

I stumbled backward, dropped my heaviest duffel on my lap like a shield, and tried to sound normal. My voice cracked like I was thirteen.

“Tate. Uh. Nice to see you again.”

He just tilted his head, eyes glittering, tongue touching the corner of his mouth where a tiny streak of Braden still glistened.

“Welcome cous.”