Jingle Balls (Deeper) – Part 2 (Patreon)

Hey everyone — I’m re-uploading this. It was originally posted yesterday but got removed. I’ve also posted the next part, brand new and fresh. Link here.

Everyone in this story is 18+

The door was barely locked before Tate flopped into my bed. Braden hovered behind like a nervous shadow, still licking his lips from the hallway taste-test, eyes flicking between us like he was waiting for permission to breathe.

“What the actual fuck, Tate? Right in the entrance? My roommate could have walked in any second!”

Tate grinned, lips swollen. “What, your roomie isn’t even here?”

“No, but he could be! Thank God he’s with his girlfriend till tomorrow. You two can’t just blow me in the open like it’s a goddamn glory hole!”

He grinned up at me—wicked, utterly unrepentant. “Relax, Braddie. And even if he did walk in…” His eyes glittered. “Bonus content.”

He was enjoying the way I twitched. Way too much.

“So,” he added lightly, “is he hot?”

I groaned, “I’m not your 'Braddie'. And I don’t know, I’m not gay. He’s a fool. Now this setup—” I gestured at the two of them like they were feral animals I’d accidentally fed. “—it’s just for the weekend, right? You crash, you leave, right?”

Tate stood slow, “Nope. We’re moving here permanently actually.”

My brain blue-screened. “You two can’t live here.”

“Of course not here.” He laughed, stepping closer so his thigh brushed my still-hard cock through the half-down sweats. “Although all these hot frat boys? Twink heaven. But we’re getting an apartment in town together—scheduled to see one today. Drive us?”

I stared. “You’re serious?”

“Dead serious, cous.” He leaned in, lips brushing my ear. “Braden’s mom kicked him to the curb. We need a new start.”

My head was spinning, dick still throbbing like it hadn’t heard a word. “Fine. Whatever. Let’s go look at this magical apartment before I change my mind and kick both your asses out.”

◆◆◆

The place was way too nice.

Sleek one-bed with an office nook that could double as a second sleeping spot if you were desperate. Floor-to-ceiling windows dumping natural light everywhere, exposed brick, quartz counters, the works. Tate lost his goddamn mind the second we walked in—twirling under the windows like a deranged gay gremlin.

“Fuck yes. This lighting? Perfect for… selfies.” Braden just nodded along, still quiet, but even he cracked a tiny smile when Tate dragged him over to the nook and started measuring it with his hands like he was already planning furniture.

He turned to the realtor—and flashed that cat-got-the-cream grin. “We’ll take it. Handover in a few days, right?”

She nodded, already pulling out paperwork. “Three days till keys. Deposit’s due today.”

Tate whipped out his phone, tapped a few times, and the realtor’s device pinged. Done. Just like that.

I crossed my arms, leaning against the kitchen island. “How can you afford this?”

Tate didn’t even blink. “Just family money,” he repeated, smooth as shit, like that answered everything.

The thought crossed me. “Last I heard his Mom was only barely keeping the lights on, and his dad’s been a deadbeat ghost since forever.”

I stared at him. “You’re full of shit.”

He just winked. “Don’t worry about it, cous. We crash at yours till move-in. Easy.”

◆◆◆

Back in the truck, I gripped the wheel so hard my knuckles went white. Tate was shotgun again, Braden in the back scrolling quietly on his phone. The silence was killing me.

“Alright,” I finally said, voice tight. “You two can crash in my room tonight. Tomorrow I gotta ask Carter if you can stay a few more days. He’s gonna lose his shit, but—”

Tate’s hand landed on my thigh, sliding up slow. “Don’t worry, Braddie.”

Fingers wrapped around my cock through the sweats—already half-hard from the apartment lighting show—and started stroking lazy, confident pulls. I sucked in a breath, trying to keep the truck straight.

“Tate—what the fuck—”

“Relax,” he cooed, tugging the waistband down just enough to free me. Cool air hit my skin, then his warm palm. “Braden doesn’t mind.”

I glanced in the rearview. Braden was watching, cheeks pink, but he didn’t look away. Just bit his lip and nodded once, like this was normal. Like watching Tate jerk off someone in traffic was Tuesday.

Tate’s grip tightened, thumb swiping over the head on every upstroke, spreading the fresh pre that was already leaking like a faucet. “You’ve been tense all day,” he whispered, pace picking up. “Let me fix that.”

My hips jerked up into his fist on instinct. Fuck. The wet, slick sounds filled the cab—skin on skin, pre making everything slippery and obscene. Braden leaned forward between the seats, breath hot on my neck, watching every twist of Tate’s wrist like it was porn.

“Jesus,” I hissed, trying to focus on the road. “Not while I’m driving—”

“Shh.” Tate leaned over, lips brushing my ear while his hand flew faster. “Just feel it. You like watching Braden watch, don’t you? Little church boy getting hard in the backseat because Braddie is leaking all over my fingers.”

I groaned low, balls pulling tight already. The edge hit fast—too fast after the hallway blowjob—and I came hard, hips snapping up, thick ropes blasting over Tate’s fist and splattering the steering wheel. Surge after surge, messy as fuck, dripping down my deflating cock while Tate milked every last drop with slow, twisting pulls.

When I finally stopped shaking, he licked his palm clean—then wiped the rest on Braden’s hoodie sleeve like it was a napkin. Braden just whimpered soft, tent obvious in his jeans.

Tate settled back in his seat, skirt smoothed down like nothing happened. “See? Relaxed now.”

I stared straight ahead, cum cooling on my abs, truck swerving slightly before I corrected.

“Three days,” I rasped. “Then you’re gone.”

Tate just laughed low, bells jingling as he crossed his legs.

“Sure, Braddie. Three days.”

I don’t know if I believe anything for a fucking second.