Members' Exclusive: Bending Eli, Non-Canonical Chapter: The Fantasy

The Fantasy

© Broken Boundaries Gay Erotica

The second the door shut behind Mason, I sagged into the mattress like someone had pulled the plug.

God.

I was hard. Like, painfully hard. The kind of hard where even the waistband of my damn singlet felt like it might set me off if I shifted wrong.

I’d made it through drills, through locker room small talk, through Mason lounging shirtless across his bed with zero self-awareness and a towel around his neck like we lived in a protein shake commercial. And now? Now there was nothing between me and my mess of a brain.

I lay there for a second, motionless. Like if I just stayed still long enough, the heat in my body would go away on its own. But it didn’t. It pulsed. Tight and steady and way too insistent. My cock throbbed against my hip, hot and damp, leaking through the clingy fabric.

I shifted once, just to try and get comfortable, and nearly gasped.

Nope. Not gonna last long like this.

I glanced at the door. Just to be sure. No sounds in the hallway. No Mason swinging back in to grab his phone or make another dumb comment that would make my skin crawl in the worst-best way.

I peeled back the blanket, just enough to breathe. The air felt cooler on my chest, but everything else was too warm. Skin flushed, muscles still buzzing from practice, my thighs twitching with leftover tension. I shoved my singlet down just enough to free myself and hissed as my hand closed around my cock.

Fuck. Sensitive.

I let my head fall back, one arm flung over my eyes.

Just a quick one. I told myself that like it would make it easier to ignore how wired I was. How wrecked I felt. Not from practice. Not really. But from them. The way they moved around me. The way they touched me, even when it was nothing.

The way Mason slung his arm around my shoulders like we were just bros, like his body didn’t burn through the air when it pressed against mine. The way Casper’s voice dropped low when he corrected me. The way his hands lingered a second longer than they had to.

God.

My fingers started to move, slow at first, just dragging up the length, then back down, squeezing gently at the base. My hips jerked slightly into the pressure. My breath caught.

Mason showed up first.

In my head, he was already there—standing next to the bed, towel slung around his neck, hair damp from a shower, shirt still missing.

“You’re really worked up, huh?” he said, grinning, and that stupid grin looked good on him. Like it belonged there. Like I’d put it there.

He climbed onto the bed like it was nothing, one knee between my thighs, hand resting on my chest.

“Bet you’ve been thinking about this all day.”

“I—” I started, but the fantasy didn’t let me finish. He leaned in and kissed me before I could get a word out.

His mouth was hot, soft. Not rough or fast. Just… nice. Gentle. The kind of kiss you sink into without even thinking. I let my lips part, let the kiss deepen, my fingers stroking my shaft faster now as I imagined the weight of his body over mine, the warmth of his chest brushing mine.

Mason’s hand slid down, past my ribs, across my stomach, then lower. He curled his fingers around my cock, thumb swiping over the tip, slick and slow and steady.

I moaned quietly, hips lifting into the fantasy touch.

Then I felt the bed shift behind me.

Casper.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just settled in close. Like he belonged here too. His chest pressed against my back, warm and solid, one arm draping lightly around my waist. His breath brushed my neck.

“You’re sensitive,” he murmured, voice low. “You always get like this after practice?”

In my bed, I whimpered; in the fantasy, I nodded.

Casper chuckled softly, his hand sliding up my stomach, across my chest, fingertips brushing one of my nipples. My whole body jumped.

Mason kissed me again.

Casper kissed the side of my neck.

I moaned louder this time, hand moving faster now, slick sounds filling the silence of the dorm. My thighs trembled. My abs tensed. I was so close already and it was barely starting.

Their hands were everywhere.

Casper holding me from behind, thumb brushing just under the curve of my ribs. Mason stroking my cock like he was taking his time with it, like he wanted to drag it out. Their mouths moved over my skin, hot and soft and dizzying. I could smell them—that mix of sweat and clean laundry and boy. Mason’s hair brushing my forehead. Casper’s chest slick and warm against my back.

And then Mason pulled back, eyes bright.

“Can I…?” he asked, nodding toward my mouth.

I nodded fast. Too fast.

He positioned himself above my head, hands on my chin, and leaned in.

The first hot swipe of my tongue made his whole body jerk. His back arched. His cock throbbed in my mouth, and I could feel every single inch of it, the heat, the pressure, the slow suction that made him purr like a kitten.

Casper held me tighter.

“You suck good,” Mason muttered between strokes, then bottomed out in me again, deeper this time. I whimpered, gripping down on the edge of the blanket.

Casper leaned over my shoulder, watching, hand drifting lower now, trailing down my stomach, then teasing along the base of my cock. He didn’t touch it. Not really. Just let his fingers brush the skin around it, light and slow.

“Doing so good,” he whispered, lips brushing my ear. “So sweet like this.”

I gasped.

Then he kissed my neck again, lower this time, and licked the sweat off the curve of my shoulder. I shuddered.

“You taste like salt,” he murmured, voice deeper now. “Like work.”

I groaned, high, desperate, shameless.

And still… I didn’t come.

I hovered there. Right on the edge. Breath ragged, body trembling, every part of me lit up and aching.

Then Mason pulled off, grinning up at me, cheeks flushed.

“You wanna ride me?” he asked, cocky but sweet.

“Yes,” I breathed. “Please.”

Mason leaned back on the bed in my head, legs spread, cock hard, eyes soft.

“Come here,” he said, voice lower now, and it wasn’t teasing anymore. Just open. Sure.

In real life, I pushed my briefs down to my ankles, bare now, dick flushed and twitching in my hand. I spit in my palm and gripped harder, jerking slow, trying to match the rhythm in my head.

Fantasy-me climbed into Mason’s lap. My knees dug into the mattress, his fingers settled on my waist. I reached behind, lined him up, breath stuttering as the head of his cock nudged against me. I sank down slow. So slow.

It burned. Not bad, just tight. I imagined the stretch, the pressure, the way my thighs would shake trying to take him fully. And I had to really imagine it, because I’d never had a cock in my ass before.

In real life, my thighs were shaking. My back arched slightly off the bed as I squeezed around myself, moaning through clenched teeth.

In the fantasy, I started moving—slow rocks of my hips, Mason’s hands guiding me from below, his eyes wide, mouth slack.

“You feel amazing,” he murmured. I could picture the way his abs flexed every time I ground down.

Behind me, Casper sat close, one leg bent under him, his chest warm against my back. His arm wrapped around my middle, holding me steady. His lips brushed the edge of my neck.

“You’re so sensitive,” he whispered.

I whimpered, out loud. My voice cracked. My grip on my cock got tighter. I was leaking so much I could barely hold onto it.

Casper’s hand slid lower in the dream, wrapped around me. In real life, I pumped faster, trying to match it. The friction, the slick slide of my palm, the way my cock throbbed hard at every imagined thrust inside me—it was all mixing now, blurring.

My chest heaved. I was so close.

Fantasy-Mason rocked up into me, hips rising off the bed.

“Don’t stop,” he said. I could feel the tension in his thighs, the tremble in mine.

Casper kissed my shoulder. “Let go, Eli.”

I squeezed my eyes shut.

My body arched hard.

The orgasm hit fast. Way too fast. It ripped through me like a snap. I gasped, legs jerking, hips bucking off the bed. My cock spilled across my stomach in messy streaks, warm and sticky, my hand still working through it even as I choked out a soft, desperate moan.

The fantasy vanished instantly. Casper’s voice gone. Mason’s touch replaced by air.

I lay there panting, skin flushed, stomach sticky, my heart pounding like I’d just sprinted stairs.

“Fuck,” I whispered, into the empty room.

No Casper. No Mason. Just me.

And the wet mess across my chest and the ache in my thighs and the stupid, wrecked feeling still buzzing behind my eyes.

I didn’t move right away. Just flopped there, hand draped across my chest, blanket kicked off somewhere, singlet bunched around my waist.

Eventually I grabbed a towel and wiped myself off, still half hard, still not fully back in my body. My legs twitched. My chest rose and fell, breath still uneven.

I’d come harder than I had in weeks. Maybe ever.

And I’d done it thinking about the two boys I could never let know.

Mason would joke. Casper would… I didn’t really know.. kick me off the team?

I pulled the blanket over my chest and rolled to the side, one hand still curled loose against my thigh.

I wasn’t hungry anymore.

I was hungry for dinner though, and I had promised Mason I’d catch up with him at the dining hall.

I lay there a second longer, still catching my breath, then finally sat up, wiping the rest of the mess off my stomach with a towel that I tried to hide in the bottom of my laundry basket.

My thighs still ached. My chest was flushed, and my cock was soft now, but still felt kind of sensitive, like one wrong thought might bring it all back. And there were plenty of wrong thoughts waiting.

Mostly Mason. And Casper.

Jesus.

Just thinking about them again made my skin buzz.

Mason’s body had been burned into my brain since day one. All tan skin and effortless bulk. His abs popped every time he stretched, and he was always stretching. He’d peel his shirt halfway off to dry sweat from his neck, not even thinking about it, not even noticing the way his shorts hugged the curve of his ass when he leaned down to grab something off the floor. His thighs were thick. Like, stupid thick. Built from years of vaults and landings. And when he laughed, his whole chest flexed like it was doing half the work.

He had no idea what he looked like. Or maybe he did, and just didn’t care.

And then there was Casper.

Casper was different. He didn’t move casually. He moved like he’d trained his body to do exactly what he wanted. Even his stretches were controlled, all clean lines and tight angles. His waist was narrow. His chest was solid. Not huge like Mason’s, but carved. The kind of muscle that comes from repetition and precision and perfect form. His forearms were lean and veined, his skin always a little flushed from effort. And when he wiped sweat from his face with his shirt pulled halfway up, I couldn’t stop staring at the trail of skin from his abs to his waistband. Even the way he stood behind me at the bars made me feel like my whole back was overheating. He didn’t even have to touch me. Just being near him lit me up. And I wouldn’t mind another taste of that sweat.

My god, did I just think that?

And both of them—together—had just ruined my life.

Or at least my underwear.

I tossed the towel into the corner hamper, rubbed a hand through my hair, and tried to get it together. The clock said I could still make it to dinner before they started closing things down.

I grabbed a clean shirt, fresh pair of shorts, and headed to the bathroom for a quick rinse, ignoring the part of me that wanted to crawl under the covers and hide instead.

Casper was probably long gone. Mason might still be lounging with his tray half-finished, probably barefoot, probably grinning like an idiot, probably ready with some dumb joke the second he saw me.

And I’d sit down across from him, smile like everything was normal, and try not to think about how just an hour ago, I was jacking off to the thought of both of them on top of me.

Totally normal.

No big deal.

Completely fine.

I pulled my hoodie over my head, wiped the last of the steam off the bathroom mirror, and gave my reflection a look that said: Get your shit together, Eli.

And then I left.