: Chapter 11

redhot32: I want u both to WRECK me while I worship u from ur head to ur toes.

GoldieCucks: Tie me up like granny’s knitted blanket

Three-grand.

I made three thousand fucking dollars from that one video Frankie recorded, of the lamest, most idiotic threesome ever. And let me remind you, that’s three-grand for each of us… Meaning that disastrous excuse for content actually made almost ten thousand dollars.

I’ve been stopping to laugh about it on occasion over the past week since it happened. I just find it all so completely absurd. And also, kind of fascinating. At the rate I’m going, I’ll have my tuition and housing paid for in no time. But if we’re being honest, I’m barely even thinking about that anymore.

I absolutely hate to admit it, but this whole thing has me on the hook. For as much as I love to bash social media-based consumerism—it’s my thing; fuck the man, capitalism, the evil one-percent, all that shit—the ability to make this kind of money, so fast, and by doing something so simple, has me fully mesmerized. I can totally see how people become addicted to this…

Money is very much the root of all evils. Because it’s power. Money, sex, fame, power… Control. They’re like drugs. Preying on the weakest parts of your condition.

And I’m no better. Because I’ve been falling right into its trap, reading the comments and the DMs from fans with an almost salivating captivation.

I feel like such an attention whore. They like me! They really, really like me!

Bleh. Since when do I even care??

Apparently, I do, without reason or remorse.

I ended up sharing the video Frankie made on my own OnlyFans account, and now I’m looking at hundreds of subscribers, tons of whom are messaging me on the daily asking for more.

To be specific, more of me and Kyran. Or the hot grouchy blonde, as they tend to call him.

It’s Saturday evening, and I’ve taken a break from smoking and sketching to check my phone, only to find hundreds more comments on the teaser I shared on Twitter, and dozens more DMs in my OF inbox.

Charlie421: Any plans to ditch the girl?? I would pay good money to watch just the two of you…

SBA2234: I need more of you and that dude alone! *Six fire emojis*

WillytheKid: The tension I stg. Pleaseee a collab just you n the guy??!?

ItsJavier33: Muy caliente mi guapo! So sexy you boys together *heart on fire emoji*

And that’s just the tip of the iceberg. I have dudes offering to pay hundreds for private videos, detailing all kinds of crazy things they want me to do… with my stepbrother. It’s fucking insane.

Of course, they don’t know that he’s my stepbrother… A fact that would probably have them offering even more money. I get a sense these homies are down with the forbidden.

But unfortunately for them, it’s a lost cause, and that thought has me sort of wallowing in a bizarre, angst-fueled depression. I haven’t posted more than a few measly pics since I uploaded the threesome video, and the lack of buzz for them has switched on my insecurities full blast.

Not only do I now feel like a failure if I don’t produce for my fans, but I’m stressing about losing the high of their attention, which also makes me feel like a huge loser.

I don’t know these people, and I don’t owe them shit. I could close this account and be totally fine… Just chalk it up to a stupid college experiment that happened to make me a few thousand bucks.

But I don’t want to do that. Like I said, the money and the newfound fame, for lack of a better word, have given me a sense of purpose. I know it’s stupid, and I despise relying on other people for my own inner gratification, but I can’t help it. I want that adoration aimed at me.

But now that Superstar Harbor has been introduced to the fold, it’s all they seem to be clamoring for. Yes, they want both of us, not just him, but still. It’s annoying.

And pointless, because there’s literally no way Kyran would ever even consider going gay-for-pay. Especially not with me. It’s not going to happen, and it’s a major bummer because I’m not ready to give it up. The fans.

On top of it all, I can’t get the memory of how that imbecilic threesome went down out of my head. It’s been just chilling in there, woven into the fibers of my memories so I can’t help but keep harping on it.

How close we were, and how the proximity seemed to flutter like a featherlight sensation in the pit of my stomach. The anger and tension and frustration burning around us…

His leg sloped over mine.

It’s the last thing I want to be thinking about, but I can’t stop. And I especially can’t stop remembering the fact that I think something about what happened turned him on enough to make him come in his pants.

It was Frankie. It had to have been her. Fingering Frankie into orgasm must have been too exciting for him to bear, and that was why he freaked out and stormed off. I’m positive it had absolutely nothing to do with his dumb leg over mine or the panting breaths we shared that I’ve been fighting out of my brain for the last week.

Dropping my phone onto my desk and shoving it away from me, I reach into my drawer for a Twizzler, my favorite candy and one of my many, many comfort foods. Chomping off bites, I chew while staring at the sketch I’ve been working on. It’s my version of The Last Supper with all Batman characters. Obviously, Batman is Jesus, Robin is Peter… I’ve got Commissioner Gordon in there, Poison Ivy, Mr. Freeze, Bane, and the Scarecrow. And of course, the Joker as Judas.

It’s just for fun, like a play on the idea that the disciples were actually Jesus’s enemies, in a sense. In mine, they’re not so much sharing a meal as they are all consumed with their own bullshit. It’s been taking my mind off things well enough, but now that I checked my phone, my motivation to keep working on it has all but dried up.

My eyes slink back to said phone and without even noticing it, I’m chewing furiously on my lower lip. There’s this tiny voice in the back of my head insisting that I need to tell Kyran about all of this hype from my fans…

I know, I know. It’s the most moronic of ideas. Knowing him, he’ll get pissed off, call me a queer, and threaten to beat my ass. It’s his standard response, especially where the idea of us touching is concerned.

But then a part of me wonders if maybe he could use the attention too. Maybe he’d be flattered by the comments the same way I am…

And I know he needs more money. Three grand is nowhere near enough to cover housing at BC. Even with a few grants thrown in, we’re looking at almost twenty-grand a year, not to mention if we want to feed ourselves and you know… do anything other than breathe on this campus.

We both need more money coming in. And with that serving as one pathetic, measly excuse, I grab my phone and pull up a text to my grumpy bitch of a stepbrother.

Me: Hey

Five minutes go by before he even reads the message, and even so, he doesn’t respond. So I keep going…

Me: I need to talk to you about something important. Could you come over to my dorm?

This time, he responds almost instantly.

Kyran: That’s gonna be a non-negotiable no.

What a fucking asshole. I can’t.

Me: Kyran… I think you’ll want to hear what I have to say.

Nothing. For five more minutes on read.

Me: Please just come over. Give me five fucking minutes of your time. You owe me that.

Kyran: I don’t owe you shit.

I roll my eyes to the heavens.

Me: Fine, you don’t. But like I said, this is serious.

Kyran: I don’t care. Anything you need to say you can just text. I have no desire to see your face.

Me: God you’re obnoxious. Look it’s a sensitive subject. I don’t want to text it…

His typing bubbles pop up, then disappear. Then pop up, then disappear again. I’m impatiently tapping my foot for several more minutes by the time he finally replies.

Kyran: Still no. I’m not coming over to your fucking dorm Avi

Me: Fine, I’ll come to yours… But I don’t think you want me bringing this stuff up in front of your roommate…

Kyran: You will not set foot in my dorm.

Kyran: And what makes your roommate so chill??

Me: I don’t have a roommate. I’m by myself in TMA 446.

He reads the message, but doesn’t respond, and I’m just staring at the screen when there’s a knock on my door.

My brows zip together in confusion. Standing up slowly, I meander out of the bedroom, creeping over to the door while my chest tightens in suspense. There’s no way…

Opening it a crack, I peek through, letting out a breath as my stomach drops in disappointment that confuses the fuck out of me.

“Hello, gorgeous,” Frankie says with a smile, pushing her way inside. She holds up a bag from Shake Shack. “I brought you a gift.”

I’m about to shut the door, but Bea slinks inside behind her before I can.

“You both invited yourselves over?” I grin at them, closing the door while they wander around, making themselves at home. “How sweet.”

“Actually, I came by to talk to you and bring you burgers.” Frankie tosses the bag onto the living room table. “I have no idea what she’s doing here. I found her rustling around in the bushes downstairs.”

Chuckling, I glance at Bea, who’s holding her coat shut around her chest, looking awfully suspicious. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Avi… I need your help.” Bea aims her wide eyes at me. I swear to God, she’s all eyes, lips, and boobs, this one. “Don’t freak out.”

My forehead lines while I watch her clutching her coat. “Freak out about what…?”

She bites her lip, slowly opening up said coat to reveal a tiny black kitten slumped in her arms.

“You were hiding that thing inside your coat the whole time??” Frankie croaks through bites of French fries.

Bea pouts, petting the thing’s small head over and over, cradling it to her chest. “I just found him outside! He’s lost, I didn’t know what to do!”

My mouth is just hanging open while I stare at her, and the little cat who seems content to just sit in her arms. Stepping over slowly, I can’t help but gravitate toward it. He’s so freaking cute… And cards on the table, I’m a total cat lover.

I used to feed all the neighborhood strays back in Brooklyn, and I always play with our neighbor, Mrs. Adelman’s, cats in Somerville. But I haven’t had my own since my orange tiger, Bates, passed away when I was twelve. The second great tragedy of my childhood… Call it not wanting to get hurt again, but I just couldn’t find it in myself to replace him.

But this thing… He’s just so tiny and soft.

And yes, I’m already petting him and giving his head tons of kisses.

“He was outside all alone in the cold,” Bea whines. “I couldn’t just leave him there!”

“He probably belongs to someone…” I mumble, taking the cat in my arms and looking him over.

He’s a little dirty and definitely in need of some food. He’s just so little… Can’t be more than a year old.

“Why are you calling it a him?” Frankie aims a fry at the cat. “Did you check?”

I look to Bea, who shakes her head. Lifting the cat, I check for any sign of balls, but I don’t see them.

“I think it’s a girl,” I hum, swooning like a big ol’ baby over her rampant purring. “Should I… call the shelter?”

“You could…” Bea pets the tiny ball of fur. “Or you could keep her here…”

My eyes flit to hers. “No pets allowed in the dorms, you know that.”

“Yea, but you have this place to yourself!” she squeals. “Who would know?”

Oh my God, someone give me an excuse not to keep this thing… I’m falling in love already.

“That’s probably some poor little kid’s cat you’re stealing,” Frankie says pointedly, being the voice of reason I hate right now.

“I’ll check for signs in the area.” Bea smiles. “But you can keep her until we find her home… right?”

She aims those sparkling eyes at me, and I huff out a laugh, shaking my head. “You knew I’d be your best bet, didn’t you? Temptress…”

Bea shrugs, unashamed, and Frankie scoffs.

“We could always bring her to your place,” Bea says to Frankie, popping her hip.

Frankie’s head swivels sternly. “Nope. Not happening. I’m allergic.”

“No, you’re not. You just have no desire to care for anything that isn’t you.” I laugh.

“Good point.” She smirks.

“Come on, we should get her cleaned up,” I say to Bea. “And I have no cat food. Frankie, can you go grab some?” Frankie sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Please,” I whine, pinning her with a look. “You owe me.”

Her brow arches. “Oh yea? And what do I owe you for exactly?” She folds her arms over her chest.

I peek at Bea, then back at Frankie, choosing not to go into the whole spiel about her getting me roped into a threesome with my stepbrother which ultimately turned my OnlyFans subscribers rabid for gay sex videos.

Narrowing my gaze at her, I mumble, “Just please run to the store and grab some cat food. And a litter box. And kitty litter.”

She huffs out a sound of displeasure, but I ignore it, taking the cat and Bea into the bathroom.

“She needs a name,” Bea says, scratching the adorable little thing on the head.

My lips curl. “I’m gonna call her Robin.”

It’s almost midnight by the time Frankie and Bea leave. And it looks like I finally have a roommate again.

We gave Robin a bath and tons of food, then I set up a litter box for her in the hall closet. And now she’s happy as can be, sitting on my lap on the couch, purring away while I cuddle her and revel in the joy and comfort that only pets can provide. I know if any of the housing admins find out she’s here, I’ll have to get rid of her. The same goes for if we find out who she belongs to, so I’m trying not to get too attached. But it’s difficult when she’s just so stinkin’ cute.

“So Frankie says I’m an idiot if I don’t at least consider doing another collab video…” I mumble to my furry friend while Seinfeld plays on Netflix in the background. “But the fans want it to be with Kyran, which isn’t gonna happen. He doesn’t even like to talk to me, let alone—”

A knock on the door cuts off my words, bringing with it a wave of nerves.

“Oh, crap…” I whisper, shifting Robin off of my lap and onto the couch.

Standing up quick, I grab a nearby fleece blanket and cover her with it.

“Shh… You just stay there,” I tell the cat before rushing toward the door. “Don’t move.”

Unlocking the door, I suck in a calming breath before opening it a crack, expecting to see someone from campus security, here to tear my new baby from her home.

Instead, I’m met with sandy hair, hazel eyes, and a familiar scowl.

“Uh…” My mouth hangs open while I stare at him blankly, purely baffled by the fact that he’s actually here. Unexpectedly. “What are you doing here?”

His eyebrow cocks. “You invited me, remember? Jesus, how much weed do you smoke??” My confused blinking goes on while he rolls his eyes. “You said it was important and serious, or some shit—Can I fucking come in?? Or are you gonna make me stand out here in the hallway like a moron?”

I’m still beyond surprised, but now I’m also annoyed, because while I did ask him to come over, I’m already regretting the decision to have this arrogant jerk-wad in my home, messing up my chi.

Stepping aside, I motion for him to come in. “By all means… Show up in the middle of the night, unannounced, acting like I’m the unreasonable one.”

Kyran stomps inside. “Again, you begged me to come over. “

“Okay… begged is a bit of an exaggeration…” I mumble, and he spins to face me, lifting that damn eyebrow again.

“Want me to show you the text?” He folds his arms over his chest.

“I have the text. I wrote it, dumbass,” I murmur, then hold my hand up before he can argue any more. “Anyway, whatever. You never responded, so forgive me for not expecting you to show up at midnight.” He sways in place, tipping his chin all around the room. My brows knit. “And drunk, apparently…”

“I’m not drunk,” he grunts, resuming his walking, checking the place out, poking at stuff. “I left a party early to come see what you could possibly need that’s so important you can’t text it…” His voice trails, then his face snaps in my direction. “This is your dorm room??”

“No, I’m just hanging out in here,” I rumble sarcastically, to which he rolls his eyes. “Yes, it’s my fucking dorm room.”

He scoffs out loud and shakes his head. “Figures you’d just stumble into a place like this…”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” My gaze narrows.

“You know what it means,” he says pointedly. “These apartments are reserved for the dean’s kids and full-ride MBAs, not stoners with a two-point-five GPA. Seriously, I think half the professors actually live in this building…”

“Hey, my GPA is a three!” I retort, then mutter, “Almost…” He huffs, still shaking his head, that constant holier-than-thou attitude really starting to piss me off. “Look, I didn’t ask you to come over to argue and insult me.”

“Okay, so spill it.” He spins, waltzing toward the living room. “What do you want, Avi?”

My frustrations with him are replaced swiftly by nerves. Sure, I invited him over to tell him the truth, about my OnlyFans and all the requests… But now that he’s actually here, dressed in his expensive preppy clothes, being his usual douchey self, I’m sort of fumbling for the courage to speak the words. I just know he’s going to freak out. He might even punch me in the face… Not that I did anything that would warrant such a reaction. But he’s not exactly known for his understanding.

“Alright, well… Here it goes.” I pull in a breath. “I have—”

“Uh, Avi…” he interrupts me, and I exhale, rolling my eyes. Jesus, he can’t even let me speak for one second… “I don’t want to alarm you, but I think you might have a rat…”

My forehead lines. “A what??”

He nods toward the couch. “That blanket is… moving.”

Following his line of vision, I see the lump where Robin is covered by the blanket moving around. Kyran is backing away slowly toward the kitchen, and I have to laugh. He grabs a frying pan from the counter, then tiptoes back to the living room with his arm cocked like he’s about to strike.

“Kyran, wait!” I jump in front of him before he can smash my poor kitten to death. “It’s not a rat!”

His eyes shift to mine. “Then what the fuck is it??”

“Okay, let’s just take that away from you…” I remove the frying pan from his grip, setting it down and turning to whip the blanket back, revealing my little Burmese fluff ball.

He stares at the cat, then at me, then at the cat, before shaking his head. “I have no words.”

I’m sure he’s insulting me, but it doesn’t even faze me anymore. Plopping down on the couch next to Robin, I pick her up and nuzzle her head. “Her name is Robin. We just found her today—”

“Avi, this isn’t a social call,” he sighs. “Just get to the point… Why am I here?”

Placing Robin back down, I glance up at him. “I made an OnlyFans.”

His eyes widen for a second, as if maybe he was trying to bury the memory of Frankie’s party, and me bringing up OnlyFans just resurfaced it.

“I started it a few weeks back, after we found out the money was gone,” I go on. “I’ve only been doing solo stuff, but then Frankie suggested I share the video we made with my subscribers to make some extra cash…”

Kyran slumps down into the nearest seat; a chair to my right. Shifting to face him, I watch as his fingers dig into his thighs, the tension in his extremities building visibly.

“Okay… and what does that have to do with me?” he mutters.

Alright, I guess we’re going the denial route, then. “Well, after my fans saw it, they started sort of… suggesting…” I pause and swallow. “Or begging, really…”

“Spit it out, Avi,” he grumbles.

“They want more,” I rush the words out. “More… content like that. Only… minus the vagina.”

Kyran’s face is still as he stares at me, eyes slightly narrowed, frozen for a few generous seconds, during which I’m just blinking at him, bracing myself like it’s that last part of “Pop Goes The Weasel” before the clown jumps out at you. The only sound in the room is the muffled voice of Jerry Seinfeld saying, “These pretzels are making me thirsty.” Until eventually, Kyran’s lips twitch.

And then he bursts out laughing.

He laughs for longer than I’m finding socially acceptable. Then it dies off, and he sighs through his chuckles. “You’re an idiot.” He shakes his head, leaning back in the chair. “I’ll give it to you… you almost had me for a second there.”

My eyebrows jump and my head slants. “I’m not kidding.”

“Uh, yes you are,” he huffs. “You’re fucking with me.”

“Uh, no. I’m not. I’m being fully serious.” Pulling my phone out of my pocket, I bring up my OnlyFans account, holding it up to show him the screen.

He only peeks at it for a split second before his eyes are back on me, all traces of amusement in his expression having vanished. I witness the mound of his throat dip in a swallow as his back straightens.

“Dude, are you certifiable or something??” he snaps. “Why are you telling me this? We agreed that was a one-time thing, never to be mentioned again. And it was a fucking dumbass idea to begin with. The whole thing was just so…”

“Yea, yea. I get it,” I mutter. “It was fucking ridiculous. But something about it worked, and I don’t need to tell you that. You’re thousands of dollars richer because of it, too. So you can stop acting like we forced you into something you didn’t benefit from.”

He aims one of his seething glares at me. “Fine. The money was helpful, but that’s the beginning and end of it. I don’t see why you needed to call me over here just to tell me that a bunch of creeps got off watching us…”

His words dissolve, and he shifts uncomfortably in his seat.

“I just thought you might want to know…” I murmur, then pause to figure out how to phrase this in a way that won’t have him attacking me. “They were really into you. I mean, us… together. More than with Frankie.”

“So fucking what??” he barks, clinging to his hostility like a life-raft in the middle of the sea. “We didn’t even do anything! It’s not like we…” His voice cuts out, and he swallows again.

Inching in closer, I tap on my phone, pulling up my inbox of DMs, which is full of even more guys pleading for content I’m sure Kyran is fully opposed to providing. And I show it to him.

“Look at all these messages…” I hand my phone to him.

He continues to glare at me for a moment before snatching it, eyes dropping to the screen. He’s scrolling for minutes, the aggressive lines of his face softening just the slightest bit.

“All of those people are willing to pay a shitload of money for more videos like that one. But just… us.” I’m trying to keep my tone as calm as possible, to make sure he doesn’t accuse me of trying to lure him into something.

I’m just stating facts here. I don’t like it any more than he does, but I’m willing to accept that this is the only immediate option for making the money we need.

“Us hooking up.” His gaze flits to mine. “Stop beating around the bush, Avi. You’re saying we would need to make gay porn to satisfy these fans of yours…”

“Okay, well, gay porn is a little extravagant…” I mumble.

“It’s really not, though.” He tosses my phone at me. “That’s what it boils down to. You’ll make triple what you’re bringing in from your little jerk-off videos if I come on camera with you, and I’m telling you right fucking now, that’s not gonna happen.”

My brow furrows. “How do you know I’m jerking off in the videos…?”

“You just handed it to me,” he hisses.

I can’t help but smirk. “Why did you look at the videos? I was only showing you the DMs…”

“That’s not the point.” He stands up fast like he’s about to storm out, so I stand up too. “The way I see it, you owe me some cash, Vega. Frankie split her profits with us, but you didn’t.” He purses his lips. “You’re a greedy little bitch.”

My jaw clenches. “Fine, whatever. I’ll share it with you…” He rolls his eyes. “But you know how much more money we could make doing this. Swallow your fucking ego for two seconds and think about this rationally. You’re about to lose everything you’ve been working for… The fucking championship.” He’s vibrating, eyes scorching, neck tight in his rage. But it’s because he knows I’m right, and I can see that realization on his reddening face. “This is the only way we both get to stay here. The only way you get to keep being the superstar Eagles quarterback.”

He goes quiet again, fuming with swirls of green and gold fury shining at me. “That’s a great idea in theory, bro, but there’s a hole in your genius plan.” My head tilts. “I’m not fucking gay. I have no desire to hook up with dudes, especially not my dumbass stepbrother.”

I shrug. “I don’t want to hook up with you either. But for that kind of money, I could pretend you’re not the most obnoxious asshole I’ve ever met. I did it at Frankie’s party…”

“Yea, well… you enjoyed that a little too much.” He rakes his fingers exasperatedly through his hair.

My mouth curves into a wicked smirk as I lean in. “So did you.”

His eyes snap to mine. “I assure you, I didn’t.”

Choosing not to keep calling him out, I shrug again. “I just wanted to let you see for yourself how much these fuckers are fiending for this shit.” Easing around him, I go to the kitchen and grab my bottle of Fireball. “There’s a way, Kyran… a way for us to stay in school and not have to slink back to Somerville with our tails between our legs. You just have to have the balls to do it…”

Opening the bottle, I take a sip, wincing at the sugary cinnamon burn. He stays planted in the living room, staring at nothing for long enough that I rip two more shots from the bottle, waiting for him to process what I’m saying.

I don’t exactly have high hopes for him agreeing to this… And I’m still not even sure I want him to agree. It’s not like I’m as excited over the idea of us fooling as my fans are… But it’s the only thing I can think to keep their attention. Otherwise, it’s back to the drawing board.

And yes, maybe I could find someone else to hook up with… Another guy to bring into the fold, to satisfy the demand for dude-on-dude content. But that seems like a lot of work. Kyran is already involved. Plus, he’s just as desperate for cash as I am, so there’s no way he’d ever tell anyone…

And then there’s the tension. The hate that flows between us like a magnetic force. Apparently, it’s the key ingredient, and I just don’t think I’ll find that with anyone else.

Finally, Kyran moves, but it’s not the movement I was hoping for. He stomps over to the door, reaching for the handle while I sigh out of disappointment and shake my head. But then he stops, his shoulders slumping as he lets out a long breath of audible frustration.

Slanting his face in my direction, his eyes fall to the bottle I’m holding. I say nothing, simply hold it out to him. And he slinks over slowly, grabbing it from me and taking an awfully large swig.

Grumbling, he rubs his eyes. “No bullshit, Avi… I want a concrete answer.” I blink at him as his gaze lifts to mine. “How many videos would it take to make enough for housing for the next two years?”

God, that’s a complicated fucking question. Thinking about it for a second, I murmur, “It depends on the content… At least a few. But we could start with one and see how they respond to it. And the more we market it, the more it’ll work. We might even be able to just record a bunch at once, then spread that shit out over the course of—”

“Fuck…” He cuts me off with a groan of despair, chugging from the bottle again. “This is so fucked. I can’t believe I’m letting you talk me into this…”

My brow arches. “Maybe you should slow down… And excuse you. Talk you into it?? I’m not coaxing you, Kyran, this is a fucking means to an end.” He gulps from the bottle again, and I grab it from him. “Okay, that’s enough for now.”

“I need to get completely blasted if this is gonna work…” He grips the back of his neck, staggering around the kitchen.

“Wait a second…” I follow him anxiously. “You want to do it now??”

“I don’t want to do anything.” He shoots me with a hazy glare. “But I’m fucking here, so we might as well just get it over with.”

Jesus fuck… My heart is jumping so aggressively it might actually manage to pop up my throat. I was not at all prepared for this…

“Okay… uh, sure. I guess we could…” My thoughts are swirling and twirling like a carnival ride as I take a big sip from the bottle myself, hoping to steady the trembling in my limbs.

And why are my hands suddenly so sweaty??

“We need to make some terms.” Kyran shuffles over to the couch and drops down.

He seems defeated, like a broken man in a way, but he’s still the one moving forward with this, at a much more rapid pace than I expected. I mean, shit… I expected him to punch me in the face and storm off. Now he’s sitting on the couch, talking about terms??

He must be really drunk…

“Terms…” I repeat the word, ambling over and taking a hesitant seat next to him on the couch, making sure to leave a few feet between us. Still, he scoots away from me, but I grab his arm to stop him. “Don’t crush my cat.”

His face slopes to where Robin is taking up and entire couch cushion, licking herself.

“First off, we split everything fifty-fifty,” he says, watching her for a moment, before peering at me. “No greedy bitch skimming off the top.”

I roll my eyes. “Fine, but you need to help with the marketing. I’m not gonna do all the heavy lifting while you sit back and reap the benefits.”

He scoffs. “Trust me, this won’t be fucking easy.” His eyes scan me for a split second.

I squint at him. “Why are you acting like you’re doing me some huge favor by even considering this??”

“Uh, because I am,” he grunts.

“No, we’ll both be doing something we don’t want to do, and we’ll both be making bank doing it. Even fucking playing field, asshole.”

“Fine, whatever.” He leans back, covering his face with his hands.

“Which brings me us to our next term,” I go on. “No arguing. We can’t spend this whole experience bickering at each other, or it’ll never work. It’s a business, that’s what Frankie told me, and she’s right. If we just look at it like a job, and stay professional, it’ll be a little easier to get through it.”

His hands slip away, and he peeks at me, giving me a look as if he agrees, but he doesn’t want to give me the satisfaction. He just nods and mumbles, “Next term… No one ever finds out about this. That’s the most important one.”

“Agreed.”

“No, I’m serious, Avi.” His tone has taken on an almost desperate, pleading lilt as he faces me. “If this got out, the money doesn’t fucking matter anymore. I’d be kicked off the football team. Not to mention, if my dad ever found out…”

His words fade into him shaking his head and he stares down at his hands. Suddenly, he’s all nervous and fidgety, and I can’t help but watch him, wondering once more why he’s so uptight.

I know his relationship with his father isn’t a good one… Tom doesn’t seem to give much of a fuck about Kyran outside of his grades and football, which is a huge bummer. I can’t even imagine having that kind of shitty relationship with my mom. She’s my number one supporter, no matter what kinds of dumb shit I do.

If she found out about the OnlyFans, I know she’d be pissed, but she wouldn’t freak out or disown me. She might even laugh about it, though she’d pretend it wasn’t funny.

But Kyran is different. He’s wound so tightly, always worrying about how his father sees him, how everyone sees him. I wonder where it stems from…

He flips his hands over, staring at his palms in silence. It’s an odd thing to do, but maybe he’s just drunk.

“No one will find out,” I say quietly, and his eyes jump to mine. “I swear. This is just about the money, that’s it. We’ll make sure it stays a secret.”

He nods, clearing his throat as all vulnerability vanishes. In one eye-blink, he’s back to scowling and hostile, glaring at me as he says, “Final term… No touching.”

I laugh out loud, and his eyes narrow. “Okay, you don’t seem to understand how this works. These dudes are not gonna pay all this money for us to just sit side by side.”

“I don’t fucking care. That’s what they’re gonna get,” he grunts stubbornly.

“You’re being unreasonable,” I scoff, and he straightens.

“I’m not fucking gay, Avi.”

“Yea, I think we already established that.” I pinch the bridge of my nose. “But we have to at least act like we’re into it, or this will all be for nothing… We don’t have a choice. We have to sell it. For the fans.”

Puffing out an unamused chuckle, he shakes his head, grabbing the bottle from me. He takes a long pull, gurgling over the disgustingly sweet cinnamon flavor. “I don’t know if I can…”

“You won’t know if you don’t try.” I shrug.

He peers at me. “Well, what do you suggest? What do these fans of yours even want?”

My mind sifts through the insane filth they’ve been messaging me all week. “I think we’d need to start small…”

“I’m not putting my mouth anywhere near your dick,” he growls.

And for some bizarre reason, my eyes fall to said mouth. Swallowing, I stand up, avoiding everything that just started swimming around inside me from that one look while I rush into my bedroom, grabbing the tripod and my laptop.

As soon as I step back into the room, his face drops. “Oh, man… I already don’t like this.”

“Stop being such a whiny bitch.” I set the tripod up opposite the couch. Then I place my laptop on the coffee table, opening it and bringing up PornHub. “Find something on there you like. Whatever you would watch when you’re alone.”

He gives me an angry-deer-in-headlights look, to which I roll my eyes yet again. I swear to God, they’re going to fall out of my head at the rate he’s going with this nonsense.

“Just do it, Kyran,” I breathe, switching off the TV, then setting up my phone to record.

It still takes him a second, but eventually, he leans forward, scrolling through the available porn. I stay standing, giving him space as he settles on a video. It’s girl-on-girl, and I try to keep my scoffing in check.

Someone’s really invested in proving how straight he is right now.

He presses play and the video begins, volume down low as the people on the screen start doing their thing. And I press record on our video, hoping like hell this will work out.

I don’t want to admit that I’m nervous, but I am. Mostly because I have a lot at stake here. If we can’t make this work, then I’m not sure what I’ll do.

Kyran’s eyes are stuck on the laptop screen, almost intentionally, as if he’s afraid to look anywhere else. Slowly, I ease back over to the couch and sit down, again making sure there’s enough space between us. I can see and feel how rigid he is, just like the night at Frankie’s house. His hands are resting firmly on his thighs, muscles all bunched.

Clearly, it’ll be up to me to get this thing moving. So I unbutton my pants, opening them just enough to reach inside and adjust my dick.

Kyran’s eyes fling over to me, and he grows even stiffer. “What are you doing?”

“I’m gonna jerk off, Kyran,” I mumble, annoyed. “We have to do something. They won’t pay to watch us watching porn.”

His jaw ticks, but I can see him conceding to it as he reclines a bit, watching the girls fooling around on the screen. I’m not necessarily invested in this particular video, but I pretend I am, fisting my cock inside my pants and giving it a few leisurely tugs, hoping it’ll inspire him to do the same. But he’s just parked like a statue next to me.

Puffing out an impatient breath, I reach over to undo his pants for him.

He flinches away. “Back up, homo.”

“Dude… seriously. Loosen the fuck up, Jesus…” I go back to stroking myself. “You picked this dumbass video.”

“Would you rather it be two guys?” He snorts accusingly, to which I shrug.

“I don’t know… whatever. Doesn’t seem like your dick likes this one that much either…”

He glares at me, teeth visibly clenched as he reaches inside his pants. “I think it’s hot.”

“Really?” My head cocks tauntingly. He nods. “Well then, put up or shut up. Let’s see it.”

“No.”

“For fuck’s sake.” I yank my pants down, exposing a few inches of my dick.

It’s not fully hard yet, because his stubborn idiocy has me struggling to get wood. But when his eyes land on it and I witness him swallow, there’s a thump in my balls that pumps a little more rushing blood.

“You can just watch me if you want…” I hum in amusement, giving it some slow tugs.

He shakes his head and turns away, aiming his glare back on the screen as his hand moves gradually inside his pants.

The air around us is awkward as fuck, an uncomfortable sort of heat surrounding our stiff bodies on the couch. We’re both just watching the video and leisurely jerking ourselves off, though it seems obvious that neither of us is paying as much attention to the porn as we are to the strained mood we’re sharing.

The video ends and Kyran reaches forward, pressing play on the next thing that pops up. At first, it seems like just another video of two girls making out and rubbing each other’s pussies. But then a guy steps into the screen, presenting a large, erect dick for them both to suck on gleefully.

My eyes subtly slink to Kyran, watching as he loses available room inside his pants. He peeks at me for a second, cheeks flushing all pink while he squirms.

“You’re gonna have to take it out eventually.” I recline on the couch, jerking myself slowly.

His eyes drop to my dick briefly before coming up to mine. “Why? Because you’re desperate to get a peek?”

“No, but they are…” I nod toward the camera.

“Fuck you…” he breathes.

“Think of the money, Kyran…” I tug even more of my cock out.

He can’t seem to stop himself from looking at my dick, which is spreading a tight burn from my stomach up my chest.

“Don’t be boring,” I goad, humping up to my hand.

He bites his lip, checking the laptop again before he finally gives up and pulls his dick out, unrushed, like it’s supposed to be some big reveal.

To be honest, it kind of is. I really don’t want to give him the satisfaction at all, but even with only a few inches exposed, I can tell his dick is generous in size. His hand moves up and down on the shaft, skin sliding at the tip to expose a pink head.

My eyes widen. “You’re uncut?”

His face springs in my direction, blushed heat decorating him as he grumbles, “Yea. So?”

I shake my head to dampen my surprise. “Nothing, it’s just… I’ve never seen…”

My voice trails, and my eyes drop to the fascinating appendage, observing it.

Wow… Interesting.

“You look at a lot of dicks?” He calls me out, almost aggressively.

My gaze returns to his as mild embarrassment warms my cheeks. “No.”

His throat dips. Then he shoves his pants down another inch, revealing more of his cock. Oh… kay. That is quite long… and thick.

“I heard it’s more, like… sensitive,” I rasp, ignoring the fact that my own cock is growing harder and harder in my hand. “Is that true?”

“How would I know?” His words come out breathy. “I have no frame of reference…”

“Right…” I chuckle awkwardly, swallowing a mouthful of saliva.

I’m trying to focus on the video, but it’s nowhere near as captivating as what’s happening a couple feet away, and I hate it, but I can’t deny that watching his strong hand and shapely fingers sloping up and down is sort of hypnotizing me. The way the skin pulls back every time it goes down, exposing the shiny pink tip, is like…

Why am I so intrigued by his dick? I didn’t think I liked dick at all, especially not one attached to my jock asshole of a stepbrother.

But it isn’t until the video on the screen ends that I realize Kyran isn’t watching it either. He’s looking at my dick the same way I’m looking at his, and it’s as confusing as it is electrifying.

I’m as hard as stone now, pumping into my fist at a steadier pace that I think he’s trying to match. We’re both struggling to keep our breaths in check, but it’s the only sound in the room and it starts to echo as they grow louder.

I don’t know how it happened, but the space between us has shrunk. I think I might be leaning in closer to him, and I don’t want to be, because if he notices, he’ll probably stop to yell at me.

Kyran’s head tips back on the couch, eyes closing as he works his cock in his hand. And I’m so busy gawking that I also don’t realize he’s leaning in closer… Until I feel his arm on mine.

“Just do it…” he whispers.

“Do what?” My voice comes out equally soft and throaty.

“We both know this is where it’s headed, so just…” He stops to swallow. “Just do it.”

His chest moves with unsteady flutters as he suddenly lets go of his cock, leaving it resting on his abs, waiting for attention.

I bite my lip. I’m sure the fans would love to see me…

I shake my head. “Only if you do it, too.”

His eyes snap open, and he peers at me. “Fuck that.”

“Then no dice.” I shrug, releasing my cock too. “This isn’t one-sided, superstar. All or nothing.”

His eyes are hooded, the gleam in them more furious than anything. But still, I think I see a tiny twinge of curiosity, as confirmed when he glances down at my dick.

Sucking in a breath, he mumbles, “This is just for the fans… right?” His eyes come back to mine, and I nod.

“For the fans.”

Reaching over hesitantly, he curls his fingers around my dick. And the sensation of contact, of his calloused hand on my sensitive flesh, prompts a tiny sound from within my throat.

“Don’t make that noise,” he growls, gripping my cock in a chokehold. He should know that it actually feels awesome, but I’m really trying to downplay it.

“I can’t… help it,” I croak. “Your hands are rough.”

“Shut up and let’s get this over with,” he hisses, moving his hand slowly up my shaft, then back down.

Oh God, fuck me, it feels really fucking good. I don’t understand why… It’s just a hand. A rough one, without any lube. In theory, it shouldn’t feel good. But it does. It feels awesome.

Sliding my left hand beneath his arm, I grab his dick, and this time, he makes a noise.

“See?” I stroke slowly. “It feels—”

“No, it doesn’t.” His voice shivers through the words. “It’s just because your hands are soft… Like a girl’s.”

“Whatever you say.” I give his dick some gentle tugs, stuffing my fingers down into his pants to get it all.

Turns out only about half of it is exposed, which means it’s even bigger than I thought it was. I’m not jealous, though… His is pretty much the same length as mine, except for his foreskin advantage.

The mutual jerking continues at a leisurely pace, and as much as I’m trying to fight it, his hand pulling uncoordinatedly on me feels exceptionally good. We’re both leaned back, side-by-side, his eyes closed and jaw straining while I can’t keep my wide gaze off what my hand is doing.

This is insane. I’ve never touched a dick that wasn’t my own before. I can’t believe I’m doing this, and what’s more, I can’t believe that I think just doing it is tightening up my balls even more than the feeling of him stroking me.

“Kyran…” I whisper, my eyes gliding up to his face where it rests, inches from mine.

“What?” He gasps, lips quivering when he speaks. His eyes are screwed shut, like he’s desperately trying to imagine he’s anywhere else.

“Does this feel good?” I hum, using my index and middle fingers to circle his tip and push the skin down.

“N-no…” he whimpers, then bites his lip.

My mouth is overflowing with saliva, pulse pounding in my skull while I blink at his face. “Do you want me to stop…?”

His hips lift ever-so-slightly, seeking out my hand as mine angle toward him, our thighs pressing together.

“Uhh… um…” He fumbles for words, the sounds of his panting lulling me into a trance.

“I won’t…” I tell him, hoarsely, surrendering to the sensation of his timid strokes while I play with his cock in a way that he obviously likes but refuses to admit it.

“Stop… t-talking, Avi…” he groans.

The way my name rolls off his tongue sounds different right now than any other time he’s said it. It’s softer, breathier, yes, but also with a gasp of lust. Like his tone is giving away more than his words ever would.

Something about it sparks a wild need inside me; a need to chase and capture it. To prove to him that he likes this, despite how much he’s fighting it.

“Harder,” I demand on a breath. And to my surprise, he obeys, stroking my dick harder, pulling it in his direction with my hips slanted toward him. Riding the high of him doing what I say, I rumble, “Move your pants down more.”

And he does. He uses his left hand to shove the waist down farther, wiggling himself free. Now both of our dicks are fully out, and I guess the curiosity is too much for him to ignore because his eyes creep open, his head tilting to peer down and watch his hand pump my cock.

When his lidded gaze slides back up to my face, it seems to accentuate how we are. And I can’t even help it. Like magnets, my eyes drop to his mouth, for just a split second. They pop back up quick, locking on darkened gold and green before falling once more to his moist and shivering lips.

Subtlety has apparently flown right out the window.

“Don’t…” he growls.

“Don’t what?” I swipe my thumb over some slick wetness at the tip of his cock.

His chest shudders, and he groans, “Don’t even fucking think about it.”

I can taste the cinnamon from his breath, we’re so close. “What am I thinking about…?”

His face inches in closer, until our noses almost bump. “Do not fucking kiss me…”

It sounds like a threat, but the way his words are trembling, the way his entire body feels tense and coiled… it seems almost like a dare.

Like he wants me to defy him, in the way that only I do.

“Why would I kiss you?” My chest is heaving, eyes struggling to stay open from the confounding pleasure of him working my cock rough and fast in his fist.

“Just… d-dont,” he stutters on a breath. And then he whispers, so low I barely even hear it. “Please.”

It winds me the fuck up. I have no idea why… I don’t understand it, but something about his soft, rumbly little plea has my balls drawn so taut, I’m ready to erupt. My hand matches the tempo of his, and his mine. Even going lefty, I’m somehow just lost in this drive, pumping him up and down while both of our hips chase the friction in tandem.

I’m dizzy, a fog of desire swallowing me up and controlling my movements as my right hand crosses over, sliding up his chest. He snarls in protest, but it turns into a needy hum as my fingers graze his throat, then his jaw.

And I hold his face still before mine, whispering over his hot mouth, “I don’t have to.”

For all the anger, resentment, and animosity he’s been pushing forth up until now, I can feel him sloping into me, defying himself on purpose, and it drives me fucking crazy. My balls are throbbing, aching with the need to come, the burn of him jerking me wild, pulling me right up to the edge.

Kyran’s fingers on his right hand graze my nuts, tickling them each time he goes down as his left hand flies to my shirt, gripping it in his fist. I can’t tell if he’s trying to push me away or pull me closer. I’m not even sure he knows, but the point is that we’re practically on top of each other now, warring with the speed of voraciously beating each other off into a frenzy.

“You gonna come for me?” I gasp over his mouth, my fingers sliding aggressively into his hair.

He nods fast, but doesn’t speak, biting back whimpers by chewing on his lower lip.

“Tell me…” I rasp, holding off my own orgasm because I don’t want this to stop yet.

“Fuck off…” he breathes, then groans, lashes fluttering.

My hand slows. “Maybe I should stop then…”

“No, don’t,” he pleads. “I’m… I’m gonna…”

“Gonna what?” My fingers thread into his soft hair.

I’m fucking gone right now… Abandoned all rationale and everything I thought I knew before this moment. I’m seconds from coming apart in his rough hand, rocking into his heat and his stubborn need.

“I’m gonna… come,” he croaks, hauling me closer by my shirt until I’m hovering over him, our hands bumping together in the furious chase. The swollen tips of our cocks brush and a shuddering cry brings hoarse words from his lips. “Fuck… Fuck you, Avi… fuck you, I’m gonna fucking come for you.”

“God, I’m gonna fucking come,” I rumble, pressing my hips down so that our cocks are together and we’re fucking writhing and grinding them frantically. “Come with me.”

“I’m coming with you…” he whispers, then whines.

Then gasps. Then groans out the sexiest fucking noise my ears have ever heard as hot cum starts spilling out of him, all over me.

My hand, his hand, his dick, my dick. It’s shooting everywhere, soaking us and drawing out my own.

Head whirling off my body, my stomach clenches, and I lurch forward, biting down on his lower lip while my dick throbs and pulses cum all over us.

Our hips don’t stop moving, rippling into one another while we ride it out, coming fucking everywhere, our dicks slipping and sliding together. My fierce chewing on his lip turns to a sweet suction, foreheads together, heavy panting echoing off every surface of the room.

It’s completely fucking insane. The craziest, hottest, most unexpected thing that’s ever happened in the history of anything.

But it fizzles out quick, as it tends to.

As soon as the orgasm high has worn off, we’re not lost in the moment anymore. Reality whacks us both like a blunt object, and we realize what we’re doing. How far of a stretch this is from where we started only a few minutes earlier.

“Fuck…” Kyran grunts, releasing his grip on my shirt, and my dick, tumbling back on the couch to get away from me.

I clear my throat and back up too, shaking my head. Shaking off the daze.

Get up. Get up and shut off the camera.

Holy fuck, the camera.

Stumbling to my feet, I rush to turn it off before it records him freaking out and I have to edit him attacking me out of the video. Once it’s off, I let out a breath, yanking my pants up. There’s cum all over me. I would have no idea whose it even is.

That was… What the fuck??

That’s what it was. It was what the fuck.

“Um… You can,” I start, stopping to clear my throat because I’m way too raspy. “The bathroom is uh… there.” I somehow manage to point in its direction.

Kyran’s eyes are awfully wide for someone who just came in explosive fashion. But to my surprise, he doesn’t freak the fuck out, scream, or lunge at me. He simply nods and slinks off the couch, hauling his pants up as he staggers toward the bathroom.

He’s in there for a long time. More than fifteen minutes, while I’m cleaning up, making sure there’s no cum on the couch, which there definitely is. Just a little, and I manage to get to it with dish soap fast enough that hopefully it won’t leave an obvious stain.

By the time he eventually comes out, I’m sitting on the couch, with Seinfeld back on like nothing happened. Trying to pretend everything is normal… Like it’s just business, which is what we agreed.

Even though my stomach is flipping and flopping in a way that feels very unprofessional.

Across the room, Kyran is hovering, and when my eyes subtly peer in his direction, he looks completely put back together. No longer rumpled, hair brushed back into place.

“So I’m…” he starts, but his words get caught in his throat, and he gives up, stomping toward the door.

“I’ll text you about the…” But he’s gone before I can even sigh out the word, “Money.”

My face falls into my hands and I rub my eyes hard. “What the fuck, man??”

Glancing left, I find Robin, still curled up on the couch in the same spot. She’s been sitting there the whole damn time, which brings a laugh bubbling from within my throat.

“He’s my stepbrother, you know…” I tell her, and she blinks at me, unenthused.

My face slants toward the door, and I shake my head.

My fucking stepbrother… with whom I now share a very confusing, very complicated little secret.