Page 32 of Puck Your Feelings
"Yeah. Kane is the guy who gives robotic press conferences. Jayden is the guy who brings me ice packs and color-codes his protein powders like a psychopath."
I actually laugh. "Go to sleep, Becker."
"It's Riley."
"I know."
***
2 AM, AND sleep is a foreign concept.
I've been staring at the wooden slats of Becker's bunk for the past hour, my father's voice playing on loop in my head like the world's worst podcast.
You need to prove yourself with this team, Jayden. Show them you're not just riding on my name. I didn't raise you to be mediocre.
The call had come right after dinner. Twenty minutes of thinly veiled criticism disguised as "constructive feedback." Twenty minutes of being reminded that nothing I do will ever bequite good enough, that every mistake is a reflection on him, that my entire career exists in his shadow whether I want it to or not.
The frustration sits in my chest like a weight, pressing down until I can barely breathe.
I need to take the edge off. Get the stress our of my system.
Above me, Becker's breathing is deep and even. Asleep. Has been for at least an hour based on the rhythm.
This is wildly inappropriate.
I know it's inappropriate.
Jerking off three feet away from your roommate violates approximately seventeen different codes of decent human behavior.
But I'm wound so tight I might actually snap, and this is the only release available to me in this godforsaken cabin in the middle of nowhere.
I listen carefully to Becker's breathing. Still even. Still steady.
Fuck it.
My hand slides beneath my waistband slowly, carefully. My cock is already half-hard from sheer tension, and the first touch sends relief flooding through me.
I keep my movements controlled. Minimal. Just enough friction to chase the release I desperately need. I'm not thinking about anything specific, just the mechanics of it.
My cock hardens fully in my grip, and I work it with practiced efficiency. Quick, quiet strokes. Focusing on the physical sensation, the building pressure, the promise of relief from the constant noise in my head.
A soft gasp escapes before I can stop it.
I freeze completely, hand stilling on my cock, listening intently for any change in Becker's breathing.
Nothing. Still even. Still asleep.
I wait another thirty seconds to be sure, then continue. Slower this time. More careful.
But it's been days since I've had real privacy. Days of constant tension, and new environment. And Becker.
My hips shift slightly, seeking more friction. Another quiet sound catches in my throat and I bite it back hard.
The pleasure builds faster than expected. My breathing gets heavier despite my efforts to control it. The hand not on my cock fists in the sheets.
A few more strokes and it’ll all be over.
Then, I can sleep.
