Jingle Balls (Deeper) – Part 3 (Patreon)

Everyone in this story is 18+

-------------Braden’s POV------------ (Braden is Tate's friend, not to be confused with Brad.)

Tate’s arm was slung heavy over my waist, his chest pressed warm against my back, breath steady and hot on my neck like he was already half-asleep in Brad’s shitty dorm bed. The room smelled like stale pizza and that Axe crap Brad drowned himself in, but underneath it was Tate’s vanilla lotion cutting through, making everything feel a little less like a frat disaster. I shifted, trying to get comfortable on the lumpy mattress, but my mind wouldn’t shut off—kept looping back to Mom’s face when she found that vid, the way she screamed I was damned before slamming the door on my ass.

“You good?” Tate whispered in my neck, voice low and rough from the day, his hand sliding up my shirt to rub slow circles on my stomach. Not horny, just… there. Like he actually gave a shit.

I swallowed, staring at the dark wall. “Yeah. Just… thinking about home. Or what used to be home.” My gut twisted defensive, like if I admitted it hurt too much I’d sound weak, but fuck, it did hurt. “It was my idea, you know. The whole getting kicked out thing. I left that vid on my laptop open on purpose. Figured it was time to rip the Band-Aid off—Bible study bullshit wasn’t cutting it anymore, and I couldn’t keep pretending.”

Tate’s hand stilled, then squeezed my side gentle. “Shit, Braden. You didn’t tell me that part. Ballsy as hell. Proud of you, church boy.” He nuzzled closer, chin hooking over my shoulder. “But yeah, I get it. Sucks now, but better than rotting in that closet forever. We’ll make it work here.”

I huffed a laugh, weak but real. “Do you think he might do it? I mean, our content might pay rent. But getting a straight-coded jock to collab with us, that would be a goldmine.”

Tate chuckled low, the sound vibrating through my back. “Honestly, I’m not sure. Brad is stubborn as fuck, but I think I wore him out this Christmas. He is definitely more open now. I mean, before Christmas he would have beat us for showing up on his door, now he let us blow him and even got him to drive us, and let us stay here while he’s in classes, that’s growth.”

“True,” I said, turning my head enough to catch his grin in the dim light from the window. “And I think you’ve had some growth too. I thought you were seducing Brad to get back at him for being a shit to you before, and now look at you catching feels much?”

Tate’s eyes narrowed playful, but I saw the flicker—defensive, quick. “Shut up. I’m not… I mean. Okay, it’s more complicated than I first thought.”

I laughed, elbowing him light in the ribs. “You totally like him, you lil slut.”

“Shut up, church boy.” He shoved me back, but it was all friend-banter, no bite, his hand staying on my hip like an anchor.

“But yeah,” he added quieter, voice dropping that cocky edge for once. “There is something about him, a bit rough around the edges sure, but aren’t we all? And that kinda masc vibe, shit. That’s hot AF.”

“Yeah,” I agreed, my own thoughts drifting to Brad’s thick earlier, that hard jock-dick leaking pre all over my tongue. “That’s why we don’t really work, beyond collabs. I mean best friends, but I agree I also need that masc edge in a BF, and us two? Well, we’re more twinks who do skincare and drink frappes and talk boys.”

Tate squeezed my crotch sudden, fingers wrapping my half-hard dick through my briefs, giving it a teasing tug. “True that. Now speaking about work, are you ready to shoot some content?”

I groaned soft, hips pushing into his grip on instinct. “Yeah, we need money for rent now. Should we start undressed or dressed this time?”

“Just briefs,” he said, rolling away to grab the tripod from his bag, setting it up quick on the desk with his phone clamped in, angle aimed at the bed. “Curious twinks exploring—keeps ’em hooked longer. Lights on low, candy-cane vibe for the holidays hangover crowd.”

We stripped down to briefs first—mine black and snug, his red lace that barely held his bulge—then pulled on loose tees and sweats like we were just chilling. Tate hit record, the little red light blinking, and we crawled back onto the bed facing each other, knees brushing, playing it innocent at first.

“So,” Tate said to the camera, voice all wide-eyed and breathy like we were total virgins, “we’ve been roommates forever, but lately… I dunno, I keep catching you staring at my ass.” He shifted, ass popping out a little under the sweats, and I laughed for real—had to bite my lip to stop.

“Cut that laugh later,” I laughed, then leaned in closer, hand sliding tentative up his thigh. “Yeah, well, you keep bending over in those tight pants. What’d you expect?”

We dragged it out slow—foreplay torture, just like the subs loved. Hands roaming over clothes first, my fingers tracing the outline of his hardening dick through the fabric, feeling it thicken and twitch under my palm while he cupped my balls gentle, rolling them slow until pre soaked through my briefs. He tugged my briefs down inch by inch, exposing the wet spot, then leaned in to mouth at it—hot breath through cotton, tongue pressing flat against the head until I bucked needy. “Fuck, Tate—tease much?” I hissed, half for the cam, half real, my tool straining rock-hard now.

He laughed low, popping the waistband free so my dick slapped up against my stomach, tip glossy and leaking. “Patience, church boy.” Then he grabbed the lube from under the pillow, slicked two fingers, and worked them under my briefs to circle my hole—slow, pressing just the tip in at first, stretching the ring gentle while his other hand stroked my length lazy, thumb smearing pre down the underside.

I returned the favor, yanking his lace down to free his cock—hard and curved up, nuts heavy below—and jerked him slow, twisting at the head on every upstroke until he leaked steady, clear strings dripping onto the sheets. We flipped positions for angles—him on his back with legs spread, me kneeling between to finger him deeper now, two digits sliding in knuckle-deep, curling to hit that spot that made his hips jerk and his breath hitch slutty. “Right there—fuck, yeah,” he moaned, eyes fluttering for the cam, but I knew it was half real, his ass walls clenching warm around my fingers.

We grabbed the dildos next—his red candy-cane striped one, mine plain black—from the bag, slicking them heavy. I went first, bending over on all fours while he teased the tip against my hole, dragging it slow along the cleft before pushing in gradual—stretch burning good at first, then easing into that full heat as he worked it deeper, twisting on the in-thrusts until my ass gripped the base. “Look at that hole taking it,” he purred for the lens, free hand spreading my cheeks wider so the cam caught every inch sliding in and out. I rocked back onto it needy, dick leaking fresh pre onto the bed while he pumped the toy faster, wet slaps echoing soft.

Switched—him on his stomach, ass up, me behind working the striped dildo into his tight ring, feeling the give as it stretched him open, his moans turning high and breathy like always. “Deeper—fuck, Braden, give it to me,” he gasped, pushing back greedy, hole fluttering around the length as I rammed it home. We jerked each other off mid-thrust—my hand on his cock pumping messy, his reaching back to tug mine rough until pre flooded my balls.

Blew him next for the close-up—kneeling low, mouth wrapping his tip, tongue swirling the head while I bobbed shallow at first, taking more with every suck until spit dripped down his sack and he bucked into my throat. Laughed when I gagged once—“Edit that,” I mumbled around him—then dove back in, cheeks hollowing hard.

The buildup dragged forever—edging each other ruthless, pulling off right at the brink, dildos buried deep while we stroked just enough to keep the ache screaming. My balls felt bruised-heavy, dick throbbing purple-hard, every nerve raw from the tease. Finally couldn’t hold—flipped him onto his back, dildo still in his ass as I jerked us both together, fists flying slick and fast.

“Gonna cum—fuck, Tate—” I choked, vision spotting as my balls emptied endless, thick blasts surging out in heavy floods, splattering his chest and abs in messy streaks that pooled in his navel and dripped down his sides. Legs shook, couldn’t stop pumping, wave after wave flooding until everything went white-hot.

Door banged open.

Carter, Brad’s roomie froze in the doorway, keys still in hand, eyes wide as saucers on the bed—us tangled, cum-streaked, dildos gleaming slick under the light. His shorts tented instant, bulge jumping obvious like his dick had a mind of its own.

Fuck.