Impossible

(Tristan's POV)

"Tristan! Dude! I was starting to think that you weren't coming!" Ty exclaims as he grabs my hand, our shoulders connecting as I pat him on that spot in between his shoulder blades. He smells of sweat, weed and some random chick's perfume. His neck is sparkly, too sparkly for sweat though. He's gotten started on the festivities early then, the fucker. When he pulls back he notices that he's spilt some of his beer while leaning in. He raises his hand, his eyes still on me as he licks at his beer-coated fingers curled around the glass. He hums appreciatively, a deep rumble, before taking another hit of his drink. His opened shirt reveals his bare chest but he makes no move to fix it. And he shouldn't. Bro deserves to show off all of his gains. His pecs flex unconsciously as he moves to the music, his eyes roaming the dancefloor - probably looking for a quick fuck.

Can't blame him though. I've been so locked in this semester that my sex life has reverted back to me fucking fleshlights and wiping down the cum with socks I toss underneath my bed. My girl, Kayla, doesn't seem to care about how backed up I am. Fuck, I respect it but a dude has to unload himself into a hot hole. It's just fucking natural. She's studying law and sometimes we schedule study sessions at her place cause she lives alone. I always end up bored and horny and try to send her signals to try and make the study session a hell of a lot more interesting. But she never bites. Then I go back to my dorm and load up the Hub for another bate sesh.

Ty and I never had any problem finding some pussy to satiate our cravings before. I mean, I'm one of the hottest guys on campus and I'm gonna be horny as shit seeing all these babes around me. At first Kayla was able to keep up with me but recently she's been growing distant. She blames it on her work and cheerleading and other shit like that. I don't regret getting into the relationship all the time, but sometimes I wish I was like Ty. Bro never settles down. All the chicks can't seem to resist the combination of his crooked grin and dimples. The morning after he hooks up with chicks his blonde hair is always pulled in different directions but he keeps that shit soft and styled. And I can't tell you the amount of hickey's I've seen on his chest, all those hours of getting absolutely shredded in the gym have paid off for my dude.

Ty and I can barely hear each other over the music of Treasure Island's DJ, so I'm half-yelling when I speak, "After the

shit

I've been through this semester," I grab his glass from him finishing off the rest of his drink, "I deserve to get fucking hammered." You'd think that I'd know that Electrical Engineering would be fucking me in the ass when I registered for the damn course back in first year, but I'd been nineteen back then. Freshly minted with that stupidity that made you think you're invincible. Now at twenty-two I've started to tarnish but I've still got two more years of this degree sucking me dry.

"Hey!" Ty groans, punching me in the shoulder but I just laugh, "You dick!" He grabs the glass back from me but it's emptied out. "The next round is on you, dude." He's already found his way back to the bar talking to the female bartender there, his arms leaning forward on the sticky counter. The primary lighting in Treasure Island are coloured strobes but I still manage to make out an eye-roll on the chick's face. He's probably trying to fuck but this clearly isn't the first time he's tried to make moves on her.

"Bro has absolutely no rizz." I laugh to myself and gasp as the club suddenly goes dark. A pair of soft hands have folded across my eyes and the body it belongs to is pressed flat up against my broad back. Soft mounds squish against the cotton-clad muscle of my form running in firm lines. My body has always been toned, probably got to thank Pops for the genetics there. But it wasn't until middle school where I really started taking this shit serious. I joined a gym, started out with the baby weights and pushed my body as hard as I could. I went absolute beast mode, joining sports in high school and absolutely dominating. And the results have the ladies a squirting mess. The dudes check me out too with jealousy and some other zesty shit that I don't have time for. I press myself back against the pair of tits enjoying this moment of proximity and knowing that soon,

hopefully

, I'll be sucking on the nipples poking against my skin.

"Guess who?" A voice sing-songs as I reach up to pull Kayla's hands away from my eyes. I spin around and sweep her up in my arms. She's light cause she needs to be, cheerleading and shit like that. Her skirt flutters but she doesn't move to pull it down, letting her white panties flash just as the lights blink red making them look pink against her pale skin. "Babe, you're supposed to

guess~

" She pouts, her lips a deep red that I can't resist. I lean in and press my lips to hers, she moans and licks at my mouth but swats my hands away when I try to reach for her boobs.

"Y'all are gonna catch an STD fucking in here." Ty says as he nudges me in the side. I can tell that he's smiling before I look at him. I pull away from Kayla with a groan, accepting the glass that Ty brought for me.

"What? I don't get a drink?" Kayla asks, her hand on her hip.

"Shoot, soz babe, I didn't know you were here." I apologize, my lips sweetened with beer as I lean in to kiss her again but she's pushing me away now.

"I wasn't. I just came with some friends but It's cool. I'll just fend for myself." She's walking to the bar when I grab her by the wrist and place my glass in her hands. I give her an apologetic look, softening my sharp features to convey my remorse. Chicks dig when you're submissive for some reason. She seems to study me for a second, how my ink black hair is already wilder than I'd expected, curtaining my left eye. The right one, a drop of the ocean deep, searches her features for a sign that she's buying this shit. Kayla runs a manicured finger across the straight line of my jaw and I feel my stubble brush under her touch. "You're forgiven." She says after a pause. I smirk and give her a kiss on the cheek. It gets her every time.

I walk over to the bar now, resting my hands on the counter. Treasure Island is a popular off-campus club. Most students come here to get out of the city and into the stuffy corners here. You're sweaty and uncomfortable but the music hits and the drinks hit harder. I look behind the counter at the array of bottles with varying volumes of liquids of varying colours but don't notice a bartender. I click my tongue and spin on my heel, leaning my back against the marble top, my arms folded as I stare at the dancefloor. Kayla has disappeared somewhere in the throng, the DJ is playing a remix of some song I heard on TikTok, bodies are grinding against each other it looks like a fucking orgy with clothes on. And then I see Ty chatting to some girl. Wait...

That's not a girl.

At first the outfit threw me for a loop but I should have known. It's that fucking

fag

, Brandon, dressed like some fairy. I catch glimpses of him, bodies moving past in dance and blocking him like clouds. A skirt, short and leather. He's wearing garter belts, I only know what they are cause Kayla made me get her a pair once. They're heart-buckled and black, pulled taut around the circumference of toned thighs. I clench my fist as I catch another glimpse of him. He's shifting on chelsea boots, drawing up his long legs like ink, carried on by the ebony lace of thigh-high stockings. I think I'm staring too intently, too heatedly, because Brandon catches me looking at him all this way across the club. That's when the strobes stroke against his skin, glittering off his eyeshadow that makes his eyes seem like pools of gold. Eyeliner is drawn sharp and precise and his lips are that naturally annoying shade of pink that I want to punch off those plump cushions. Brandon crosses his arms over his chest as he continues talking to Ty...

Ty.

Why the

hell

is he talking to

that

?

Brandon's body is on display, as usual, like some fucking

whore

. Who the hell is he parading for? Flaunting his deep olive skin that looks dewy like he's just been dancing. The dark curls that frame his

stupid gay face

bounce as he laughs at something Ty said. Now they're making jokes? I grit my teeth. The idea of a drink the last thing on my mind as I bore holes into Brandon's side profile. I've seen the queer on campus a couple times. He was always strutting as though he owned the place, dolled up as if he belonged here amongst the other real men. He was so confident in his fucking sickness. My eyes are still probing the features of Brandon's face, slicing across the angle of his jaw when I notice him leaning closer to Ty. He whispers something in Ty's ear, his hand cupped to cover his lips. When he pulls back he's smiling and Ty nods slowly before laying his hands on Brandon's... hips...

"Hell no!" I growl as I stomp over to the two of them, shoving people out of my way in the effort. Over the heads of the throng I spot Kayla at one of the booths on the side of the club with her friends. But I can't go over there right now, not when Brandon is burying his face in Ty's neck -- no

fucking

way. I emerge from the crowd and shoot my arm out pulling Brandon's shoulder to dislodge the leech from Ty. The fairy yelps, shoving my hand back so hard it hits my chest. The twink is strong. Now that I'm up close I can see that Brandon has more muscle than I've given him credit for. Chicks usually fill out their clothes with tits and hips but Brandon pours his muscle into the softness. It's fucking wrong. It's fucking wrong how his defined abs flex beneath the hem of his black crop top. It's fucking

wrong

how the cut-out in the center of his crop top shows that he hasn't missed chest day at the gym. Firm mounds plump up the chest area and hard nipples puncture the fabric.

Is that a nipple piercing

?

The fag crosses his arms over his chest again and, yeah, that's definitely is a nipple piercing. Even in those leather boots he still has to tilt his head back slightly to glare up at me. The gaze has this edge to it, sharpened by the dark eyeliner. "Do you have a fucking problem?" He asks, narrowing his lustrous eyes at me, his lips deepened in a frown. Fuck, he pisses me the fuck off.

"Yeah, I have a fucking problem." I say, turning to face him head-on. I puff out my own chest, deepening my voice to scare this princess off. " You're taking advantage of my drunk friend."

"Whoa, whoa, Tris! That's not what's going on here, dude." Brandon says, stepping in front of me and putting his hand on my shoulder. I jerk myself away from his touch, my gaze still searing into Brandon as though I can immolate him through sight alone. "Just fucking chill, dude."

"

Chill

?" I exhale, a sound of disbelief fluttering up from my core, "You were letting this

fag

touch you." I spit, pointing a trembling finger at Brandon who seems unfazed by my outburst. Actually he seems amused. Then he starts giggling. "What's so fucking funny?"

"Nothing," he says, tilting his head, "it's just cool seeing you act like his boyfriend. Cute actually." He bites his lower lip, the softness resetting into another one of his casual smirks. I'm shaking with rage, I want to wrap my hand around his sparkly throat and squeeze. I want to fucking discipline him. Show him what a real man looks like.

"You little bitch!" I snarl and take a step forward, my fists clenched at my sides. But Brandon doesn't back down. Instead he takes a step forward as well. Two steps and then a last one until we're chest-to-chest. It's not until he's this close to me that I notice how badly I'm trembling. My blood is flowing like molten lava, the veins in my arms a dangerous blue.

"Don't tell me that I slept with your

boyfriend

?" He taunts and his eyes are alight with a challenge. He wants me to react, wants me to fight. He's so close I can feel his breath on my skin, his body heat mingling with mine and I can smell his perfume... the same one that I smelt rubbed all over Ty earlier. "He loved it. He loved it so much, actually, that we were just about to go again."

"Tris, listen to me."

"Is this fucking true?" I nearly snap my neck to look at Ty. He's staring at me with resignation in his eyes, trying to look for a way to make this sound less damning than it is - but he can't. I can't believe it, Ty. Ty, the prince pussy-slayer to my reign. The guy who had booty calls ready for his morning wood. Here. Here, covered in glitter and perfume. Pupils black holed with desire as he stared over at Brandon. I notice that Ty's lips are wet and I don't know if it's from the beer or from making out with Brandon. I lick my own instinctively, noticing how dry it's gone. How dry my throat is. There's a nausea turning in my gut like a gut and a sparking like a lighter in the fullness below my belt. The latter is a place I'm trying to ignore right now.

"It's not a big deal, okay? Tris,

Tris

, don't give me that fucking look. Hey, listen to me." My jaw clicks, I can't bear to look at him. Instead I'm staring at the spot right next to his head, watching some random fags make out against the wall. There's that sparking again. I want to punch myself in the fucking balls. "He's always fucking horny, okay? No, like seriously, he is -- and dude, dude, he

knows

how to do a lot of good fucking shit." He's patting my chest incessantly now, his other hand on my back, like he's trying to sell me on getting pizza for breakfast.

"Should I just...

go

?" Brandon takes a step back as he asks the question and Ty's eyes go wide at the idea.

"No. Brandon, wait. Tris, remember that week when we were, we were training for hockey tournaments? Coach was on my fucking ass for getting the drills correct otherwise I wouldn't be playing against Chesterton? That was the same week with all those fucking assignments." I

did

remember. I remembered Ty being absolutely stressed and resorting to unhealthy patterns to cope. He'd binge eat takeout but then workout for five hours at the gym and then come back to the dorm room to sleep until one pm. After a while though it just stopped, like the quiet that follows after a tornado passes. "Well I came here one night and I saw Brandon... and he helped me with the stress."

I can't listen to him speak anymore. I can't believe he's saying this, I can't believe he... "Dude, dude, there's a whole

fucking

campus. All the pussy you can get --"

"But they can't make me cum three fucking times in a row!" He cuts me off and I blink, swallowing hard. My heavy balls tingle like they've been teased by featherlight fingers. Ty doesn't stop there, "None of them can make me feel this good. Tris, he's,

shit dude

," he runs a frustrated hand through his hair and Brandon looks like he's biting back a laugh, "You know Slow Stroke Stacey?" I nod. She was another member of the cheerleading squad. A slut for cock who was objectively one of the better cocksuckers on the team. Even if she couldn't always handle her dick and gagged to the point of retching.

"Dude, this, this right here?" Ty points at Brandon who's eyeing me all innocently, like a doe. As though I won't push him up against the wall and pin him there like a stag's head. Ty is still talking, "This shit is one

hundred

times better. You know that we've been through most of the girls here on campus. And, fuck, they're aight. But Brandon?" Ty offers a low whistle, his cheeks flushing red and I hope it's from the fucking alcohol. There's spit on his lower lip and he swipes his tongue across before continuing. "Shit hits different, dude. And Brandon knows what the fuck is up. He takes every. Fucking. Thing. You give him."

Reluctantly I turn my head to look over at this cocksucker that god has sent to bless all men. Brandon looks as though he has better things to do --

(Brandon's POV)

And I do. I just accepted a friendly invitation from my friends to go out and send off this semester by getting wasted. I never imagined I would be on the dancefloor of Treasure Island, the concept of

me

being sold to some frat bro with protein powder for blood as though I were the latest Tesla model. Ty's lucky he's cute but he isn't anything I couldn't find with a quick search on the Grindr homepage. I've validated the dick, though. Good stuff. And it's fun pissing off Tristan, too. I notice how he scowls at me on campus like I have some contagious disease that I'm going to spring on him in a sudden ambush.

He would be so damn lucky.

But sometimes it's fun knowing that you can make people lose their minds

just

by being yourself.

The two of them do look cute together. Ty's so expressive in the bedroom and even now while he's pleading my case. His blonde hair flops with each movement, showing how strongly he believes in this, his green eyes passionate and convinced. His features are the highlights to Tristan's dark head of hair, sleek and moody like the brooding no-fun he is. The conversation is boring so I occupy my mind with fantasies. I tilt my head to the right, my forefinger and thumb closing on the bar of my nipple piercing and toying with it as I imagine.

Hmm, do you think the two of them explored each other's bodies?

Shit, I fucking hope so. They probably got bored one day and decided to measure each other's dicks to settle a bet or something. Probably to see who was packing more heat. I see it now. Them sitting on opposite ends of a sofa, a tv playing porn in the middle of them, stroking their cocks to get it hard. They're sneaking glances out of the corner of their eyes, blood gushing to their cocks at the sight of their bro fucking his hand. Then they stand, holding up their shirts, abs flexing as they press their hard cocks against each other to measure the length.

Yep, totally explored each other's bodies.

Tristan's features are hardened like a greek statue, his body is still except for his heaving chest. I can't read him. Can't tell if Ty is making leeway with him or not. If I cared enough I might have chimed in. It's fun making the guys who look like they signed up for Andrew Tate's How-To-Be-An-Alpha course lose their entire identity as they cum

over

and

over

and

over

again from the touch of another guy. It's powerful leaving them questioning so much they wake up hard in the middle of the night and the porn doesn't work unless they're looking at the guy and they imagine it's my hand touching their pathetic cock. Craving something only another man can give them. Really, it's an act of activism.

My nipples are hard and they're reminding me of that night when I'd first met Ty at Treasure Island. It had gone how it normally goes with the close-minded-but-curious-jock types.

I was sitting at the bar talking to Candice, the bartender, when a shadow blotted out the overhead dangling lamps. I looked up to my left to see a blonde haired man with a nervous smile on his face. I raised an eyebrow at him but before I could speak he raised his hand to point at me. Not in a rude way but just in an identifying way, so that I knew the question was directed to me.

"So..." Ty had started, giving me finger guns. Both of my eyebrows raised. I was really proud of the makeup look I'd done and he seemed to be taking it in, digesting it in pieces. Like someone with lactose intolerance eating a block of cheese. From the stars of white eye pencil in the inner corners of my eyes to the swipe of liquid eyeliner along the hood of my eye. I was playing with space. I never thought my hands were steady enough to try a negative space look but the blue streak was even. My outfits are constructed around the centerpiece of my makeup looks. So I complemented the blue with a white ribbed tank top and a denim mini skirt. "Are you a guy... or a chick?"

There it is.