Sticks, Tricks, and Dicks – Part 1

Everyone in this story is 18+.

-------------Jake’s POV------------

The glow of my phone lit up my bedroom, the only sound the faint hum of the AC struggling against the Midwest late August heat. My thumb hovered over Grayson’s Instagram, his latest post a sweaty, shirtless selfie from hockey camp—his dark hair plastered to his forehead, hazel eyes glinting, abs cut sharp under the rink lights.

Fucking hell. My cock twitched in my boxers, already half-hard just from his grin. I scrolled back, my thumb betraying me, landing on a pic from London—Grayson and some older guy, arms slung around each other, captioned London with Uncle C. The guy was built, late 30s maybe, all muscle and brown eyes. Grayson was open about liking guys, casual as hell when he’d said at camp, “I’ve got someone special.” Me? I couldn’t even choke out the word gay to myself.

I shoved my boxers down, my dick springing free—seven inches, thick, curving slightly, the head flushed pink. My balls felt heavy, aching as I gripped my boner, stroking to the memory of that day at camp—steam curling around us in the showers, his veiny, huge-ass cock bobbing as he stepped into the stall, my hand brushing his hip, his fingers grazing my abs. I’d wanted to grab him, push him against the tiles, feel that thick dick against mine. But he’d pulled back, muttering about “someone,” and I’d bolted like a coward, guilt burning my chest for pushing too far.

My hand pumped my cockhead, imaging what me and Grayson would do if it hadn’t stopped in the shower that time. My breath hitched, sticky cum spilling over my fist as I groaned, the phone dropping to my chest. Grayson’s face stared back, that easy grin mocking my mess of a heart. I’d ghosted him after camp, too scared to face what I’d felt—what I still felt.

I dragged myself into the shower. The hot water hit my shoulders, steam quickly filling the cramped bathroom. As I washed my cum-splattered abs, my mind drifted to the party tonight—the goodbye with Ash, my best friend. I really needed a break, some relief before heading off to college tomorrow. I hoped tonight would give me that.

◆◆◆

The party pulsed through Ash’s basement, red Solo cups scattered like confetti, the air thick with beer, sweat, and too-loud hip-hop. My high school crew was in full chaos—guys from the football team chugging beers, girls in crop tops giggling at their dumbass jokes. I leaned against the ping-pong table, nursing my fourth beer, watching Ash hold court like he owned the fucking world. He was not as tall as me, but built from years of linebacker drills, dark hair buzzed short, that cocky grin pulling everyone into his orbit. We’d been best friends since middle school—partners in crime, he’d say, slapping my back. But for me, it was more. Always had been, no matter how hard I tried to bury it.

Ash sauntered over, slinging an arm around my shoulders, his body heat slamming into me, smelling like Axe and cheap beer. “Jake, my man! You look like you’re at a funeral. Loosen up, bro—this is our last hurrah!” He squeezed my neck, a little too hard, that alpha edge he always had, like he could command the room and me with it. His thumb brushed my collarbone, lingering, and I swallowed, my dick still stirring in my jeans. He was flirty like that sometimes—slapping my ass after a game, wrestling me to the ground laughing.

“Yeah, yeah,” I said, shoving him lightly, trying to play it cool. “Just thinking about college. Gonna miss this shitshow.”

He grinned, pulling me closer, his breath hot on my ear. “Miss me, you mean? Don’t go soft on me, Jakey.” He winked, his hand dropping to my lower back, giving a playful smack that sent a jolt straight to my groin. I laughed it off, but my head was buzzing, beer blurring the line between his bro-energy and something else.

The night spiraled—beer pong losses, vodka shots that burned, Ash dragging me into a sloppy group dance as he took his shirt off, his hips grinding against mine in a way that felt too fucking deliberate. Some cheerleader tried hitting on him, but he waved her off, yelling over the music, “Nah, I’m with my boy tonight!” His arm around me again, possessive, his bicep flexing against my shoulder. By 2 AM, the crowd was thinning.

We stumbled upstairs to his room, the house too trashed for anyone else to crash. I stripped to my boxers, flopping onto his bed like we’d done a hundred times after games. Ash followed, peeling off his shirt, his muscled chest bare, boxers tenting slightly as he slid in beside me. “You horny motherfucker,” I teased, heart pounding, the beer making me bold.

Ash was slurring about striking out. “Fucking blue balls, man. Thought I’d get my dick wet tonight, but these girls are playing hard to get.”

“You had the chance, many times.” I said.

“Yeah, I know. But this night is all about you, my best bud.”

“But like… for real. You ever think about us? I’m gonna miss this—miss us. We won’t even be at the same school anymore.”

Ash chuckled, low and rumbling, then rolled onto his side. He slung an arm around me, pulling me back against his chest, his body fitting into mine, his crotch brushing my ass.
“I’ll only be an hour away, bud. And yeah, of course I think about us. I’m gonna miss you too. You’re my partner in crime.”

His voice was warm, steady, his hand resting on my hip, fingers lazy but heavy.

My breath caught, his warmth everywhere. “For real?”

“Yeah, bro. I love you, man.” His tone was slurred, affectionate, his breath hot against my neck.

I twisted in his arms, facing him, our faces inches apart. His eyes were half-lidded, that goofy grin softened, and my drunk brain screamed he means it. I leaned in, pressing my lips to his—soft, then desperate, my hand on his chest, feeling his heartbeat.

Ash froze, then shoved me back hard, scrambling out of bed. “What the fuck, Jake?!” His voice cracked, eyes blazing with shock and fury. “Are you fucking serious? I’m not gay, dude! What’s wrong with you?”

I sat up, face burning, the room spinning. “Shit, Ash, I’m sorry. I’m drunk, I misread the room. It was stupid—”

“No, fuck that!” He yanked on his shorts, pacing, his fists clenched. “You think ‘cause I say I love you like a brother, you can just kiss me? Get out, man. Just fucking go home.”

I mumbled apologies, grabbing my clothes, the rejection slicing deeper than I could handle. Outside, the night air hit like a slap, but it didn’t sober me up. I drove home shaky, tears blurring the streetlights, Ash’s voice looping in my head. I’d fucked it up again, just like with Grayson at camp. I’m a fucking looser…

◆◆◆

Morning hit me like a sledgehammer—head pounding, mouth dry as cotton, regret choking me. Mom was in the kitchen, packing my cooler with sandwiches, her voice sharp as a blade. “College is your fresh start, Jake. Find a nice girl, settle down. None of that nonsense like your cousin.” Dad grunted from the table, eyes glued to his paper. Their casual homophobia cut deeper than last night’s hangover. Was my cousin really that bad? Ayden’s only “nonsense” was being gay—and open about it. Okay, maybe a little too open sometimes—but still. Better than my own hiding.

The four-hour train to campus was a blur. I could only think about Ash’s shove, Grayson’s camp shower haunting the edges.

Campus was chaos—freshmen hauling boxes, parents barking directions, the air buzzing with nervous energy. I found my dorm, room 312, keycard beeping as I pushed in. Empty—roommate not here yet. Two narrow beds, a shared desk, a window overlooking the quad. I unpacked slowly, stacking tees, setting up my laptop, taping a Blackhawks poster to the wall. The knot in my chest loosened a fraction. Maybe college could be a reset.

Orientation started with a meet-and-greet in the quad—booths for clubs, free water bottles, upperclassmen hyping up frats. I wandered, grabbing swag from the hockey team table, chatting with a recruiter about tryouts. My head was still foggy, Ash’s rejection a dull ache, when I caught sight of him across the crowd—Grayson, laughing with some guys, his dark hair messy, navy tee clinging to his broad shoulders, that magnetic grin lighting up the quad. Shit. My heart slammed, the camp shower flashing back—his body, his touch, my stupid exit. I turned to slip away, but he spotted me, eyes widening before breaking into pure sunshine.

“Jake? Holy shit—Midwest!” He jogged over, clapping my shoulder like we’d been texting all summer. No awkward pause, no tension—just effortless familiarity.

“Knew you’d be here, man. Ready to tear it up on the ice?”

I forced a grin, his laid-back energy dragging me in, even as panic twisted in my gut. “Yeah, totally. Even though hockey season’s still a ways off.”

“True,” he said, laughing, hazel eyes lighting up. “But fuck it—I’m already hyped.”

He hesitated then, just for a second.

“Hey, about camp… I’m not mad. I wanted it too—back in the shower. You’re fucking hot, man. But I wasn’t ready. I’ve got someone back home, and… it’s complicated.”

Relief hit hard, my shoulders loosening, his warmth cutting through the hangover haze. He didn’t hate me. He’d wanted it. “Yeah, no, I get it,” I said, voice rough. “I shouldn’t have pushed. My bad.”

“Nah, you didn’t push.” He waved it off, grin widening. “We’re cool, man. Gonna own the rink together. You pledging a frat? There’s a hockey-heavy one, Delta Chi. Could be a vibe—parties, teammates, the whole deal.”

I shook my head, instinct kicking in. “Nah, I don’t think so. Not really my thing.”

“Come on, Midwest!” He nudged me, playful but persistent, his hand lingering on my arm. “It’s a fresh start. New friends, new chaos. You’re a hockey guy—Delta Chi’s practically made for us. We’ll do it together, back each other up. What do you say?”

His energy was infectious, that grin making my chest feel lighter than it had in days. Shit, maybe this is what I need. Start fresh, get new friends. “Alright, fine,” I said, smirking despite myself. “You’re a pushy bastard, you know that?”

“Part of my charm,” he teased, clapping my back. “We’re gonna own this place.”

But as we walked toward the frat booth, signing up for rush, my mind snagged on Ash—his arm around me, his “I love you, man,” the shove that followed. Grayson was all sunshine, pulling me in, but I couldn’t let it happen again. No misreading, no falling for someone who’d never be mine. I’d pledge, play hockey, keep it chill. But as Grayson rambled about tryouts, his shoulder brushing mine, I felt that familiar pull, and a voice in my head whispered: You’re already fucked.