Gay Athlete Fanfictions

Leggo My Ego - Josh Jackson/Frank Mason/DeVonte Graham

A/N: FIVE WHOLE YEARS. A HALF-DECADE.

But now I'm back like I never left, for, if I ever go left, there will be nothing right, whereas if I ever go right, there will be nothing left.

Being antithetical is my aesthetic.

Published January 1, 2023

Other important characters:

- Coach Bill Self (Kansas basketball coach)

- Malik Newman (Kansas basketball player)

- Miles Bridges & Cassius Winston (Michigan State basketball players)

Second threesome in a row! As well as the fourth out of the last five chapters with a pairing involving Josh Jackson. Can you tell I kind of rock with the guy? 😂

This is a non-canon continuation of the plot of my Josh/Miles chapter, The Decision. 'Continuation' as in Josh, Miles, and Cassius have gone their separate ways for college, with Josh & Miles still being together in a relationship. 'Non-canon' as in this is not a canon sequel to the other fic.

And, I may be paranoid, as this may or may not be necessary, but I feel the need/desire to clarify this. When I say "threesome", I just mean that there are 3 people that make up the relationship. I don't mean the actual, sexual engagement of threesome activity, except for in the cases where that actually does take place ;)

And now, back to your regularly-scheduled programming (that was cancelled for 5+ years but has now returned by popular - okay just Kayden's - demand)*TV screen fizzes*
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The atmosphere of this scrimmage game? As sharp and as piercing as the strong, relentless gusts of wind that permeate the air along the grounds of Kansas University on this cold, sad, late December night.

The whistle being used by makeshift Ref Self was even more so, ringing out through the sharp, tense atmosphere within Kansas Basketball's practice facility at frequencies so high, everyone's ears had to have been near accustomed to the shrill ringing by this point. The whistle, once sterling silver and glistening in the light at the beginning of the scrimmage having turned damp and cloudy by many layers of saliva from overuse. The whistle, having been abused in effort to tame the student-athletes who seem to have lost comprehension of the concept of the common foul, and then some.

That whistle is meant to restrain a wild side, like a leash to a rabid, untamed dog. With that rabid, untamed dog in mind, you would think it was a full moon with the way players were playing tonight! Werewolves killing each other for a scrap of meat!

Yet another scuffle, the seventh of the game, had started up, a tell-tale sign that this long night was far from over. There was no rhyme or reason why tonight called for all this bad blood (besides the Purge, was there ever?), but there was an obvious, common denominator there who was the bane of every fight. As he always was ever since he set foot on Kansas in the Summer.

Seven of the other players on the court, plus two or three others whom have just ran off the bench and four assistant coaches and managers, try to divide the two teammates jawing at each other. More like that one player completely mauling the other; they were clearly no longer teammates in this moment. Suffice to say, if this were a true, in-game situation.... the whole team would be ejected.

Well, almost the whole team. You'd still have a chance to win the game, slight as may be. As long as someone is there, you have a chance. And lucky you, you'd have DeVonte Graham, junior star, who was currently backing away from the floor scuffle like it was his own worst enemy. He wants no part of it. And he didn't know what to do.

The slew of whistles crackle and pop once again, voices cracking horribly from overexertion from the whole night. The soles of everyone's shoes and sneakers are heard across the floor as a result of people getting dragged down to it by the force of the heap trying to dissolve the seventh brawl. It was a nightmare. Everyone wanted nothing more than to put this game out of service and leave.

But you don't give up on your team.

One of Bill Self's most important mottos.

Never give up on your team, on your culture, on the Kansas Basketball program, on your teammates. Even if that teammate is impossible to deal with and brings hardship and much more bad than good to camaraderie, like freshman superstar Josh Jackson.

Josh rains profanities and punches down on Malik, who is trying to shield himself from the hits to the best of his abilities. He could hardly have any time to react between blows. I guess "Don't hit a man while he's down" lost its meaning?

"Yo, get off him, man!", one teammate shouts.

"Let it go!", another demands.

"What the fuck is you doin? We a team!", another yells.

"He ain't even do nothing to you, Josh!"

Josh didn't give a fuck. Frank Mason knows it too, having been scrutinizing his attitude and body language for the past, oh, two weeks or so. These outbursts of Josh's had become more frequent, he noted, fewer and fewer time in between. They didn't even have to take place during basketball practice, when it was okay to get a little pent up with energy and emotion. They would happen outside of basketball; in the classroom, just on campus, in the locker room while no one was doing remotely anything to cause him to lash out. Where these outbursts are stemming from, he wishes he knew, as they were putting the team in danger.

Frank was one of the few not trying to diffuse the tension, just looking on a few feet away from the fight in boredom, yet also a mild amount of concern as he takes his mouthpiece out of his mouth. He would be a sorry excuse of a senior leader if he didn't at least have a little concern for the state of his team. He was the team captain for a reason.

DeVonte, traumatized at the bruised camaraderie, looks over to him. "Do something", he softly pleads to his point guard, eyes wide. Frank starts to brainstorm, and, by that, I mean he was already through brainstorming about 2 minutes prior.

'Trust me. I will', he thinks to himself.

Frank's POV

After minutes of failure, Josh finally gets detached from Malik by about a dozen people. Malik is sporting a few minor gashes on his arm, a bloody lip, and he looks to be on the verge of shedding a couple tears. Everybody's speechless, jaws dropped, gasping for breath and sneering at Josh in distrust. I shake my head at this dumbass, hothead freshman.

"What. The hell, Josh!?!", Coach Self roars as Josh glares down the dozen people around him, them backing up.

"This is UNACCEPTABLE!!" "If you REALLY think I give a FUCK, then you are so dumb", he hisses at Coach. Coach glares at Josh while some players excuse themselves from the altercation. I send a glare his way to advise the kid to shut it.

" 'Lik didn't.. h-he ain't even do anything to you", DeVonte whispers. Thankfully, Josh doesn't hear him.

"I ain't even DID nothing to you!", Malik wails from behind the professional medical trainer, who is treating his trembling bottom lip while nudging him out of the gym doors and towards the hallway.

"Oh, so you totally didn't pull and yank on this weak-ass practice jersey all day, causing me to get fucking worked up? If you see that as "nothing", boy, you got another thing coming, you ass." How does he stay away from fights during the games then?

"Rook, chill", I interject, about tired of his shit that he's been putting all of us through.

"You're totally fucking imagining things!!", Malik yells again. "And YOU definitely imagining the next ass-whoopin' you gon' get. Fuck I look like, some stranded nigga in the Sahara seein' mirages? Get the fuck out my face."

Some of our teammates try to settle him down, but to no avail. He either jerks them off of him or tells them to back the fuck off. "ANYONE WANNA TOUCH ME ONE MORE TIME? WATCH WHAT HAPPENS. I'LL BUST A CAP IN ALL Y'ALL."

"JOSH!! This has gone FAR ENOUGH!", Coach booms. Josh opens his disrespectful-ass mouth to holler another remark, but then he eases it into a smirk. "You know... you're right", Josh spits at him, craning his neck out to him and intertwining his hands to make himself appear innocent.

"I was ready to get the fuck out of here since a week ago, anyway."

You know, I'm almost positive that literally makes no sense, but, I've been wrong before.

"Shit, I'm stuck on how you ain't up n' croaked, 'den", DeVonte mumbles through coughs and throat clearings.

"Josh-" "Fuck you wan' say to me now, Frank?" "Take the bass out your voice", I say calmly.

"Don't tell me what to do. You always tryna own me." "Since when", I scoff. "Since even before I frickin' got here. All y'all seniors wanna assume you can throw us around like rag dolls." As a team player, I couldn't help but feel the slightest bit offended. Not by the shallow stereotype, but by his ignorance and, quite frankly, ignance, that I've failed to rid him of as the senior leader of this team. I frown at his incompetence.

"Lil' boy, if you ASSUMIN' anything.. You know what..." I hold up my hand like it'd clean up his act. I shake my head and walk away, keeping my mouth shut, irritation rising fast. Unlike him, I can take a hint and read the room.

Things will be easier done than said.

"What happened to you? This ain't like you", DeVonte states. It comes off as genuine and pitiful, but his eyes hold hints - shit, drowned in damn spoilers - that he's flat-out sunbathing in Josh's fury. "YOU don't even know me", Josh spits nastily, turning and shoving him.

"Aye, I said cut the crap", I warn yet again.

"Dang, can't we all just get along?", DeVonte asks, holding his arms out wide into the question. Now I know he's milking it.

"Nigga, no we can't cuz that's just how it is in America, DeVonte, so you can take a hike on up to Canada or Africa or some shit if you wanna keep the peace and silence the motherfuckin' violence, clown-face ass."

The gym itself seems to tense up as we all wait to see if anyone will make another comment. I raise an eyebrow at Coach. DeVonte is clearly trying not to bust out laughing or crack a grin. "Nigga, you's the clown; swear he got jokes", he mumbles under his breath, faintly grinning. "He got the afro to look the part."

Coach Self slings his whistle across the gym. Some of the younger players and managers flinch when it makes a connection with the metal handrail lining the bleachers. I just sniff.

"This type of behavior will not be tolerated in this program. You are not setting a good example for yourself or the ones around you." "Wasn't tryin' to set no shitty example for nobody else. I'm here for me and me only", Josh retaliates. DeVonte scoffs. "Well obviously you ain't, bucko, since you had the audacity to leave your home state and yo two best friends. If I was them, I'd be ashamed-" "KEEP MICHIGAN AND THEIR NAMES OUT OF YOUR MOUTH, YOU SOLITARY BITCH!!!", Josh yells, launching at DeVonte to wrestle him down to the ground. I quickly step in front of him to defend him, seizing an arm and slamming the worthless freshman to the hardwood.

"Cut the bullshit. NOW." I know everyone's eyes have reeled in on me, my usually calm demeanor gone, but this boy has got me seeing red. He done got me fucked up now. It's my turn to settle the score.

He angrily wrestles off the "weak-ass practice jersey", stumbles back to his feet and sizes me up, getting forehead-to-forehead - well, more like nose-to-forehead - with me. He may be 6'8" and me 5'11", but that was the definition of uncivil.

"You selfish, shameless, ungrateful, little bastard. Can't take a hint when to zip your motherfucking mouth", I seethe, voice dangerous, eyes burning into his. "What are YOU gonna do about it, hm?", he asks, squinting, failing at looking and making himself sound menacing. 'Oh, just wait and see for your-damn-self', I think inside my head when DeVonte gently grasps my arm and pulls me away from this coward.

"I'm throwing you out of here, and you're not playing tomorrow. Maybe not even the next few games until you get your attitude straight." "Man, shut the fuck up and ride outta here with that shit! You always claim that shit, but do it ever happen? I think the fuck not. You fucking need me."

"Well, at least I'm throwing your ass out of here", Coach says, clenching a clipboard to have something to take his anger out on. "And don't bother coming back for the next 3 days. I'm fed up with you, and my patience is right on edge. You need to get a life and keep it before I ruin it", he threatens. The whole gym gets silent, save for when DeVonte draws out a long "ooooooooooh". Even I was little taken aback at the threat. Coach never threatens anyone, but it makes sense he'd be drawn to the brink with this kid.

"Well guess what? That ain't happenin' no time soon if you can't see that the life I have is the life I'm keeping. Not you nor no-motherfuckin-body else is gonna change me for their satisfaction. I got real people behind me. Y'all just the beggars who pleaded me to come here so y'all can reap the benefits of my ball skills. Y'all niggas don't care about me. I got 2, down-to-Earth, real-real niggas behind me who do, who none o' y'all could EVER compare to. So you just gon' have to accept the fact that this is who I am, and if y'all ain't 'bout dat, then I'm out this bitch." With that, Josh grabs his KU basketball bag and struts out of the gym, head to the sky and not once looking back.

Everyone is left looking confused and some even betrayed. Coach storms out with most of the other coaches following after him, and then half of my teammates hesitantly take their leave, conversing silently amongst themselves.

"S-so I guess practice is... over?", a freshman inquires slowly, looking to me for the answer. Inhaling deeply through my nose at the question, I nod at the amateur. He and his fellow class walk out on high alert, afraid, if they spoke, I would yell and criticize them for asking a stupid question.

I really gotta wipe that scary senior stereotype out of these freshmen's heads.

I stare with a stagnant expression at the door, not sure I can decide whether I want to not clarify or not pretend what went down that I clearly know just went down.

How anyone could cope with that kid back in Detroit for 19 years, they deserve a platinum medal, damn five 24-karat diamond trophies, and the life of a king of England... alright, let me stop being rude. It's all a learning process, as they say. But talkin' bout me being rude? He should already be well-behaved. I mean, he's 19, not 5. Or is he?... The boy's birthday is some time in February..

He shouldn't be going around cussing out anyone like that, especially Coach. And he should not be starting bad blood anytime he feels like because of his sporadic mood swings. Ain't my fault he decides to come here because of his boyfriend - although, in his defense, at-the-time unlikely-to-become boyfriend based off their rocky friendship - and then immediately regret it and be all weak at the knees missing him. He acting like a 19-year-old, hormonal, pregnant bitch.

And, if he had an operating brain cell, he would fucking know the fuck better than to talk to my boyfriend like that.

Oh..... hell no. You run a foul to him, you run a foul to me. Simple.

Oh-ho-ho yeah, he about to get handled. You don't get to make me mad and expect to get away with it.

A body presses up into me from behind and settles their lips against my ear. "Stop thinkin' so hard about yo' emotions. That's how you got all them damn permanent wrinkles." Through my stale face, I couldn't hold in my chuckle in at the professional joker; an exaggeration, I know, but he's my exaggeration.

"Ayo, I'm kinda surprised he ain't flipped the -1 in Golf during the whole thing. Not once", he chuckles in my ear. "I guess the young generation would rather say than do."

"According to that, we must be a part of the old generation, D-Tae..", I trail off, keeping my eyes glued to the exit door. I reach up behind me and cradle his head between my bicep and forearm, tenderly drifting two fingers down the side of his beautifully structured face. DeVonte nuzzles his head into the action. "Cuz I know exactly what I need to do to get across to that thick skull of his.. but I'ma need your help", I say.

"Oh my shookness. The independent, legendary, great Frank Mason III has requested for my help. The Mastermind. I truly am starstruck." He lightly kisses my neck.

"Shut up. I don't need no one's help", I correct him, rolling my eyes. I turn around to face him. "I want you to have fun with it. With me."

He pauses to process, and then he wiggles his eyebrows suggestively once he figures it out. "Ooooooooooh, I think I see where this is goiiiiiiing. And, since it's December, you could say we gon' be 'hoe-hoe-hoeing'."

He's so stupid. But I snort louder than I meant to. "You's a fool." He only smirks as he snakes his hands around my waist to pull me close.

"You know me, baby. But you know I gotta fool around with you more than anyone knows because I've been granted access to.." Swiftly jerking his head down to my height, I silence him with a wet but mature kiss, then with a small pop of the lips and a long soul-to-soul gaze, I release him. He was obviously caught off guard by the mix of actions, his lips slightly parted and irises flashing between lustfully clouded and pleasingly shocked. Honestly, I live for that look.

"Save the flirting and stupid wordplay for when we get there." DeVonte blinks, flustered, chest heaving. I ruffle his hair. "Now come on."

I leave the idiot standing there.

DeVonte's POV

With that, he just walks off... Leaves me standing here. Making me look like a dumbfounded, jack-assed, humongous, tongue-tied idiot...

Which, I am.

But thank God I got some melanin in my system because I'd be red as cranberry sauce from what he just did to me if I didn't.

I gawk stupidly at the back of his head, and then intellectually at his ass. It takes me a few feathery place steps to regain feel in my Jell-O legs, but my legs eventually catch up to my brain, and I stumble after him, feeling like I'm on walking on air. More like a cloud. Cloud Nine, to be specific.

I'm also fairly certain that my light place steps have something to do with the problem I can feel growing between my legs, which might be considered inappropriate if it weren't for what I'm sure we about to do once we get to the right place, so it's a good thing I'm getting started now.

He's had that effect on me, to make me feel drunk and high on him and his every mannerism, ever since we've been together. Oh, who am I kidding? Really ever since before we got together. Okay. Alright. Now I'm really pushing the lie. Really, ever since I stepped on campus.

Now, how did we get together? I wish I knew. That's another beast in itself. Knowing me, I might have been drunk or high when we did, I don't know. Or at least felt like it because, as I told y'all, he does that to me. All I do know is that it started with a friendship, camaraderie, a mutual understanding of who we both were and what we both came to Kansas to accomplish. It started with a r-...

It all started with a ra-...

Rap-? A, um...

A rep- no, that's not right... or maybe it is? A report?? No...

A wrapper?....

Aaaa raptor? 'No, that's a fucking dinosaur'.....

A... poltergeist?? 'No, that's a fucking ghost'......

A-um-a-a-um-a-um-uh-a-Tumblr-a-umba-Pumbaa-Zumba-Oompa Loompa-uh-ruhhhhh...

Ahhhhhhh shit. Can't think of the word.

Well, ya know what they say: when in doubt, ask the one that makes you shout.

"Frank? Hey hey, Frank", I jog up to him and tap his shoulder.

"Whaddaya call that word that means you have a close bond with someone and you can kinda telepathically sense each others movements and feelings and you unders-"

"A rapport, D. A rapport", he replies, not looking back at me as he walks on.

Slowly coming to a stop, I blink twice at the back of his head, trying to come into grips with how straightforward and on cue he told me the exact word I was searching for. And it took no time for him to think about it. Therefore, I didn't have to describe my entire thought. Therefore, he just up and interrupted me!

'Well, that was a bit rude, but...' "I appreciate you calling me 'D' ", I snort into my hand. He makes no signal that he heard me. 'Also rude.'

It's whatever. He just don't usually laugh. He's always been prone to showing no expression. He was like that when I got here, and he still is, but I'd like to believe I've gotten him a bit out of his shell.

I actually think that's a huge part of how and why we got together.

We're almost polar opposites. North and South. You would think we wouldn't get along at all. But it's not like that; never was. He's helped me define and tap into the times I need to be serious, he's helped my maturity level rise, and he's still teaching me how to become the senior team leader for my upcoming senior year. If it weren't for his genius basketball IQ and guidance, I don't know where I'd be, what kind of leader I'd be shaping up to be. And then, on the other end of the spectrum - the brighter side - he's told me before that I'm the only one that can really make him genuinely smile and laugh, even though most of my jokes are as dry as the dick of a dude who ain't never hit that good shit in his life, and, you know, I appreciate that.

We definitely balance each other out. That's always healthy in any relationship, getting you someone who makes you well-rounded.

My freshboy and softomore year, especially, we would room together during them long road trips all the time to try to obtain that backcourt rapport that is so important for a team. Getting to know each other, getting to know how the other functions, how the other communicates, wordlessly and with signals so that will translate to the ambiguity you need to exercise to win in the games - damn, I sound smart. Frank would be impressed.

Shit so important, no one thinks twice about the kind of relationship it can grow into; about the possibilities of what it can grow into because of male sports culture. I know I didn't. Never thought about it until I caught myself in a net, thinking about it all the time.

That's only for when you in deep, and you never knew until that one thing tips the scales.

Both sides of it be piling up so much that you ain't notice none of it until one person does that one, little something to make the other person feel a certain way... and then BAM! The scales suddenly become heavy under the balanced but chalky weight of emotions and feelings, and y'all are both falling, straining under the weight of everything your relationship to that point is made out of.

It wasn't my intention at all, even though everything I do is with intention, but, suddenly, one day, I had allowed myself to think about the extent of our relationship and the hard work we put into it to reach that common goal all D1 athletes strive for - that Natty - and I realized we understood each other like no one else could. Or at least that's how I felt about him at the time. I guess I gotta assume he felt that way about me too, eventually, right? Seeing as how we're together n' all.

That whole "opposites attract" thing everyone romanticizes? Honestly bologna. You don't want someone too different from you; that causes love language barriers between you cuz y'all got nothing in common. You want someone in your line of interests, and then for y'all to be opposites on top of all that so y'all can open each other's minds up goin' forward!

That's me and Frank; polar opposites, yet striving for a common goal, and meeting each other in the middle. Not to compromise, but in comprehension that we're different, we're supposed to be different, and using it to our advantage in this, ah, rapport that we built. And that's all it had to be, really. That was enough to do it.

But it went further because I thoroughly enjoyed his terrifying, stoic demeanor - crazy as that sounds to me, even still. I basked in his no-nonsense attitude toward basketball and life, in his aura that intimidates people, and could possibly intimidate natural disasters into not happening.

Shit, y'all think I wasn't scared shitless by that? I so was! Not only by him, by everything he was, by them piercing, overcast, hazel eyes that are out to kill anyone and anything in his way, but by the expectations that surrounded the two of us.

How the hell was I supposed to amount to someone like him for my team? Here I was, this goofy, 19-year-old kid, looking up to this force of nature who commands and moves entire rooms when called upon. So effortless, so nonchalant. I still don't know how I'm supposed to be expected to do that! How do you do that?

I think all it took was for me express the weight of my concerns to him, and that was the breaking point. Of that scale I was talking about.

What I thought would be too much of a hassle for him turned out to be... easy. He had no reservations taking it as his mission, trying to help put me in a better headspace, trying to help me prepare for the workload and responsibilities of carrying a team to victory. But through my morals, my life experience. He wasn't teaching me to be him, like I thought I'd somehow have to be. He was instilling in me what he'd learned and letting me integrate that in ways only I could. I could trust him to hold me up and allow me to be me while doing it. And.. there it was.

The final weight. The weight of freedom to be myself.

That's what toppled everything over, in my mind. Everything - and I mean everything - came to the surface, no more walls to hide behind. I knew we was on a level no one else could get to. He knew it too. From what I remember, not much needed to be said cuz everything else had said so much.

The scale, balanced under the crippling weight of basketball, school, expectations, shared goals, jokes and good times, long nights and bad times, insecurities, trust, and freedom cleared to a fresh slate. It cleared to a balanced, but now empty, weight-free scale, in clear understanding of how each of us feel for each other.

I hope that all makes sense. Does that... make sense to y'all? Makes sense to me.

Sorry. That was a lot. Anyways, I'ma sum this up since we almost to Josh's dorm room.

Basically, I'm DeVonte, the 6'2", not-so-tough-looking but tough-enough jokester, class clown, and smiley, half-bubbly, enjoyable junior, and this is Frank the Tank, my 5'11", tough as nails, a human-form withstander of a thousand tornadoes, fearless, unemotional but getting-better-at-showing-it, stale-faced, unselfish, heart and soul of the team and of yours truly, super-serious, senior boyfriend.

God, I'm gon' miss my baby so much next year. I ain't ready to let him go. I wouldn't trade him for the world. Cuz this world is messed up as fuck.

"So, what we gon' do, brah?", I ask as we stand outside the door leading to the hallway with Josh's room located there. Frank fumbles around with something in his black leather jacket pocket. Probably absent-mindedly. Or, quite possibly, I'm being absent-minded, but there's definitely a large bundle of shit in there.

"What we need to do is get Josh to see that I will not be toyed with. You are a part of me. He is not the type I have time to waste my shit on, but, sadly..." "Yeah, I see that, and you're flattering me to the brim right now, but what exactly are we here to conquer?", I ask, still unsure. Frank turns his face away from me to the door, so I admire his sharp, crisp-bearded jaw.

"I hate how I came up with this idea, as it is a very DeVonte-esque solution that I must admit I'm ashamed I came up with-" - I squint my eyes at him - "but I figured it could be a 3-in-1 type of deal. We come out to him, then make his boyfriend all paranoid and fired up, then..... we torture him. Make him think twice if he ever wants to waste our valuable time, or try to boost himself up."

"Oh yeah, thanks for all that back there, by the way", I smile. The corners of his lips turn up slightly in the wake of the fuzzy, warm silence.

"Wait wait. He's got a boyfriend?!", I ask, incredulously. "Yeah. What, you didn't hear?", he asks that as if it had long since gone viral. Honestly, I ain't think the boy was capable of a stable affair. Boy don't own a romantic patch of flesh in his whole body!

"Nah! Who is it?" "That bi-polar 'best friend' of his at Michigan State." "Oohhhhh shit!!! Miles Bridges?! Dang, shit just got realler!" "They ain't know no better", Frank shakes his head, probably in that superior senior way.

We hear Josh venting out frustrations to.. somebody. Sounds like to multiple people.

"Be as reckless as you want." "Yesss, I shall", I agree, twiddling my fingers like a mad scientist.

Turning our attention to the source of the talking on the other side of the wall, we trudge in.

This? Is gonna be so fun.

Josh's POV

After I come out of the shower and throw on a t-shirt and some shorts, I throw myself face-first on my bed and situate all the pillows under me as I please.

Unlocking my phone, I go straight to the FaceTime app. I need to see my two best friends again. Cassius, with his witty-ass demeanor, and Miles' beautiful-ass self. I've only called, so I haven't seen either of them in a long time, near 6 months, and, to add insult to injury, I've really only been contacting one of them.

I still somewhat harvest some guilty feelings about leaving them to go here. What's worse is that it had to result in my best friend becoming so much more to me at the end of it, and I chose to leave all because of him in the first place. My thinking process is so fucked up.

We literally cried together while having sex on the morning I was set to leave on the plane ride here. I had even let him top for the first time; let him fuck me. So surreal. I ended up being a good 20 minutes late, but anything for Miles, man. He's my fucking heart and soul, and Cassius.. My fucking brain recharger and backbone. You better believe we had the longest embrace before I left. You'd have thought we were the ones who were together, based off of how sentimental our embraces were that day.

And speaking of when I did leave, right when the plane took air, through my crying and sniffling, I had realized for the first time that I had accidentally left Cassius to fend for himself around Miles, and also be in charge of making sure he doesn't hurt anyone. Basically the 7 to 8-year-long burden I'd had was forced onto him. I had face-palmed and broke down in my seat, crying and laughing. Everyone was worried or scared as hell.

I really hope all's been going well with that. Hope he hasn't killed anyone, but words can't explain how much I miss those two.

Pressing the FaceTime request for Cassius, because I figured he'd accept it and willingly let Miles look on too, I start to twist my hair. I should really get it cut. But, nah. I like it this way. I did suggest to Miles to get a haircut, tho, but we'll see.

It only takes a couple seconds for the 'FaceTime accepted' message to pop up. The screen fades to show a solid, Michigan State-green background with encased middle and high-school trophies, framed pictures of the three of us back in high-school littering the walls, and many other souvenirs and achievements.

Back in the summer, Cassius had told me that him and Miles weren't roommates, but that them and the two other MSU freshmen, who are both their roommates, all have their own, two-room building for the four of them, so they technically are roommates. This must be Cassius' side of his room, seeing more pictures of just the two of us than any with Miles. Black and white pictures of us with lanky arms around each other, holding up the peace sign, which we thought was cool, with missing teeth and Cassius with more hair. I smile. Memories. We looked so cute, but so ugly, too. I snicker to myself.

Suddenly, Cassius bounces into the screen, wide schoolboy smile on his face like in the pics. "Ayyyye wassup, fool?!", he greets me with a giddy tone. " 'Sup, boy?!" I yell. "Nothin' much here. Just chillin'. Miles is somewhere down the hall." "Aight," I nod. He plops himself down on his bed.

"So, how you been?", he asks, making himself comfortable on his stomach. "I've been good. Could be better. I miss you." "Miles misses you more. He was so miserable for, like, the first 3 weeks we got here. And it's been occasional throughout, but especially on Thanksgiving, and Christmas is almost here." "Dang, yeah I know", I mutter, cursing myself for having left and putting Miles through so much pain.

"Hey, look, don't worry about it. All was said and understood, and you didn't exactly plan for you and Miles to end up the way y'all are, but it was obviously for the best. It's a valuable lesson for all of us. Not moving on, but moving forward. Remember, there's a difference." "Yeah, you're right."

Of course he's right.

He's always right.

He's the one who revived the dying courage in me to get with Miles, for crying the hell out loud. Recognize who we're dealing with.

"If there is a difference, then does that apply to you and the shirts you wear? I told you you needa stop wearin' them big-ass, white-girl, boyfriend tees", I laugh.

"Whaaat?! They keep me warm", he laughs, pulling at the short-sleeve that reaches down almost to his wrist. "You need to wear some looser shirts, nigga. Gon' cut off your circulation, tryna look fresh and presentable for your boyfriend." "Okay, okay", I nod good-spiritedly, rolling my eyes.

Miles finally emerges through the door off to the side of my phone screen. Well, he got the haircut, alright. It looks so much better on him. Breath hitching, my heart starts to beat 1000 miles fast as it finally grasps just how long it's been since I last saw him.

That, and he is dripping wet and only in a white towel that leaves absolutely nothing to the imagination.

"Damn", I murmur. Cassius turns to see why I made the remark, then he turns back around and scrunches up his nose at me when I lick my lips.

"Put on some clothes, man. Ain't nobody wanna see all of that", he says. Heh, speak for your-damn-self. "Nah, you can come over here naked", I say, biting my lip. Cassius covers his face, disgusted.

"You na-sty, Josh. Oh good God, who knows what y'all be sayin' to each other when y'all be deep in the moment. Glad I ain't had to witness that yet." "Oh shut up." "For that reason, I'm kinda relieved you didn't come-" "Have a seizure so your tongue can shut itself the hell up, Cassius", Miles' voice intrudes from the background right before he appears on-screen.

I stay speechless and mesmerized as he comfortably situates himself on the bed, running over every part of him I can see. 'God, it's been so long since I physically looked at him. Still snappy, still quick to bite back, still strong, and still alluring.'

"Hey, Miles", I softly, but warmly, greet him. He gives me a smile as bright as his future, but afterward doesn't say anything, just looks down at his hands. I know it's a lot to take in for both of us, seeing as how we're both more insecure in life, unlike Cassius. Not looking at each other, we sit there, in silence, however, a serene silence, as Cash would word it.

Miles then hesitantly makes and holds eye contact with me, and I'm instantly entrapped in his rush of his emotions.

He inhales shakily. "I. I-I missed you." Cassius begins to get a little misty-eyed from the atmosphere shift. I do, too.

"You have no idea how self-centered, and idiotic, and cowardly.. and sorry I am, Miles", I start to apologize. "No no, stop, it's... okay", he halts me. "No. It's not. I shouldn't have avoided calling you for a near 6 months. That's my stupidity. I was just... afraid, that, it would all go south. Afraid to break the ice and to actually have a conversation with you from so far away. Every time I thought about it, I got too remorseful and ashamed, and I am so stupid."

"No you're not", Cassius disagrees. "It's a natural human stimulus to put off this type of stuff, so we never have to go through the roller-coaster again. What we thought was going to be the best escape, in as little as a few short spins on the merry-go-ground, can rotate the matter a full 180° around the fulcrum to be one of the most hurtful decisions in the early crisis. It makes you dizzy; makes you wish you never took a trip to that park. Just makes me wish we could all start over on the kiddie carousel again, when times were simple and comprehensive. When life wasn't embracing us, but when we embraced it, with welcoming arms. We didn't know any better, but it was still pleasant. Wish we had the tickets and eligibility to visit those rides one time more. Just one more time...."

......Cassius always knows how to phrase up the worst experiences. Kid must be majoring in Drama or Literature or some shit.

"Yeah", I agree. "Uh, yeah. Whatever you said", Miles voices quietly, in agreement, wiping his sweaty hands on the pinstriped, light grey Kansas basketball jersey he's...

Wait a minute. No fucking way.

"Ayyyee, bro! You got my jersey!?" He looks down and smoothes the fancy, white #11 out. "Sure did. Hooked myself up", he says proudly. "Wow", I breathe out, jaw agape. Speechless yet again.

"I just, felt like it keeps you.. closer. Like you're still here with me." "He's gotten all the different variations of your jersey, bro. It's insane", Cassius explains with a grin. "Well, gotta let 'em know", Miles shrugs matter-of-factly.

My hand finds its way to my forehead. I truly am at a loss for words to thank him. So instead, "I love you." He blushes, the only, very first time I've ever witnessed that, and I falter entirely. "I love you, too."

"Aww, this is just too cute to process. My heart! Who woulda thunk my two best friends would be all lovey-dovey?..... Oh right. Me. I knew from the start." "Yeah, okay. Now in your best interest to cap it", Miles warns him. Cassius doesn't budge, though we both know Miles can deliver good on a threat.

In no time, soon, the 3 of us are back to talking and joking around as if nothing had even plagued us. We talk about high school vs. college, dreaded schoolwork, basketball, and they tell me about Michigan State, while I tell them about Kansas, the university, and the ways of the state.

I'm in the middle of telling them a weird story about some classmates of mine who followed and stalked me all the way to practice one day where I thought I was gonna have to square up when Cassius interrupts me, asking why I'm not there right now. He knows I would normally be there right now on this day of the week since I gave him my schedule so we can work out time to talk around those times. Kinda ruining the good mood around here, Cash, but my boys deserve to know.

"Yeah, I would still be in practice if Coach and Frank weren't so fucking overbearing. Those two asshouses kicked me out because I fought too much today. Like, what I did really ain't that big of a deal. All I did was give him a bloody lip." "Him who?", Miles asks. "Malik."

Cassius looks at me like I'd grown a second head. "All? You call that ALL? Um, yeah, it actually is a huuuge deal. Whatever makes you think you can just punch your teammate? He's your freaking teammate." "No shit, Sherlock Winston", Miles spits at him. "Ha! I like that name and I'm gonna use it now", Cassius boasts at him.

"I don't give a fuck who it is. I'ma do what I want, and not Frank, Coach, to an extent, nor nobody else finna tell me what to do. And DeVonte sure as hell ain't gon' talk trash about me in regards to y'all. Nigga need to check himself."

"You've been having mood swings, haven't you?", Cassius asks, more like states. "Man, I ain't got a clue. I don't talk much in class no more, I don't really eat as much. I mean, I'm not starving myself, I just don't wanna eat a lot. Maybe it's just.... the unevitable change in my personality", I suggest, making a rainbow motion over my head. "Maybe it's got something to do with us", Miles suggests, rubbing his tattooed arm.

"The correct word is inevitable, Josh, plus, this matter is not correspondent to the dreaded 'c word' at all. These are classified simply as just mood swings, and "maybe"? Of course this has to do with us, Miles! If we were all still together, nothing would have been altered physically, emotionally, or mentally, but, ever since you've left, you've been doing everything in your willpower to prove your unworthiness. Slacking off, talking back to, debatably, the two most important, hands-on associated people in your basketball career right now, picking fights and starting brawls, getting into probably more trouble than you've already been in-"

"Oh my freakin' God. Just shut. The. Hell. UP, Cassius. God, you so extra. All the TIME.

"Shut it, Miles", Cassius warns and shoves a hand in his face, which he flings away.

"And before your boy so negligently threw away my feelings and impeded my flow of thought, at the end of that, I was going to say that you've obliviously wasted your time and money because there is no unworthiness in you. My point is-"

"Yeah yeah, I see your point, but, it's... I'm sorry guys, but I swear, I'm so fucking pissed right now. Frank wanna try to be bigger than me, thinkin' he can intimidate me like some child. I wanna just die", I grumble loudly into the phone. Cassius crosses his arms and raises an eyebrow.

"Then do it", Miles shrugs. "I tried to kill myself many times and, as you can see, I've failed, so if you're dead, then I'll be highly, highly depressed and I can kill myself with no regrets. We can live out our life dreams together through death. Yay", Miles utters, waving his hands and providing an ENORMOUS amount of enthusiasm.

Cassius facepalms. "What the hell."

"Shit, that's how you really feelin?", I sigh.

"You don't have any sympathy for anyone", Cassius sighs after me.

"Well, what the hell did you expect? To get a sudden change in character? Fat chance. I ain't like that."

We all burst out laughing at the ironic statement. "You crazy, man", I yell, wiping a tear. "Understatement". "Oversimplification", Miles and Cassius speak at once. I think Cassius' word is truer, as it always is. Boy genius ass.

Simultaneously, the door also bursts open to reveal DeVonte and Frank. "This here door ain't the only thang that's gon' burst up in here", DeVonte banters as he walks through.

"Who the fuck that is?", Miles snaps as he rips the phone out of Cassius' hands. "Aye, bruh, sit down. And nig- give me my phone back."

I immediately order them to pack their shit and leave, but DeVonte decides to roam around my room while Frank stays planted where he is.

"Nice room you got here", DeVonte states for, like, the 5th time in 6 months. Why I ever allowed him in here, I don't know. He drifts his fingers along the walls, and I keep glaring at him when he touches furniture, and more furniture, and I'm demanding him to keep his fingers off all valuables, and Miles is lashing out profanity, after profanity, after profanity, after profanity, and DeVonte is replying snarky comments to them all, while Cassius' goal is just to get the boy to calm down. And, through all the commotion, Frank is maintaining his posture and his signature resting-bitch face and giving me the most intense of lockdown stares.

"Get the everdying fuck out of his motherfucking room, you instant bitch-ass lowlife asses!!" "Nope, I'm here now, and you ain't, nigga." "Miles, come on!"

"I oughtta fucking blow this motherfucker into your shriveled faces, you fucking trespassers!!" "You da one with the shriveled face. I put on face lotion, e'ryday, kid. It slicker than Slick Rick the Ruler." "Miles, give it up!"

"Damn-ass, clown-lookin'-ass pussy!" "Death-itself-lookin' aaaazzzzz nigga. And you know it, too." "Let it go, Miles! Dang!"

"Shit-ass, if you don't get away from Josh, I'm going out-of-my-everloving-ass-mind and shooting you." "Ha, with what? A basketball? Nigga you betta give glory to God that you already under a rock. Biiiiiiitch nigga pull down your panties." "Miles, would you just, ugh!"

I throw my phone down on my pillow to where, coincidently, Miles and Cassius get a front row seat at the table. I stand up with rage, making all silent and motionless.

"Dang, if only the World Wars could've went like this." "DeVonte, shut up and get over here", Frank finally speaks.

Cassius' POV

Woah.

Miles actually got quiet on his own.

THAT'S a first. And quite expectantly a last.

DeVonte stands next to Frank as instructed to. Josh is still standing there, but with balled fists now. I suppose he's had enough of their shit.

"Shhh, stop thinking to yourself. Your thoughts are too loud, so be quiet." I shift to Miles in disbelief, an expression of offense on my face. He gives me the 'You really gonna talk after I said to not to?' look. I give him the stink-eye.

We turn our heads back to the screen. Frank seems like he has something up his sleeve, but you couldn't tell that by his face. Cuz it hasn't changed at all. Everyone stands without any sounds being made. Then,

"You haven't been the same lately. You haven't had the positive, competitive attitude at practice like before, you've been slacking more than usual in the classroom, you've been doing everything you're not supposed to be doing. Needless to add, you haven't been yourself, so I think now would be the appropriate time and place to cut the fucking bullcrap and figure yourself out. Now", Frank delivers his monologue sedately, but powerfully. "Oohhh damn", DeVonte babbles into his chest.

Josh's countenance blends from anger to agitation. "You know what, your continuous attempts to lure me into listening to what you have to say that you think is important are really giving me a migraine. I don't care what you say or think of me, and I want to be able to enjoy my absence from all things KU basketball in peace. So that means all KU basketball players, for y'all's information."

"Go to Michigan State, then. Cuz uh ruh, we kinda all over you, all the time", DeVonte voices, for some reason trying not to look at Frank too much or turn his lips into a smug smile. I squint at him to try to look for something that isn't there, but then brush it off.

"I already warned you once, man. I'ma need to have you keeping my home state's name and any mention of Miles and Cassius out of your mouth. You saw what I did to Malik. I was about to give it to you, but then his unnecessary ass rushed in there to protect your weak ass", Josh retorts, thrusting a finger Frank's way.

Miles and I glance the senior point guard's way. Frank has not moved a single inch, it seems. Well, his face definitely hasn't moved a single centimeter. His eyes have indubitably gained a darker shade over them. He looks almost sinister, like a grim reaper. Shit, if I was there, I would've slid out the door with that "oop" face.

DeVonte slowly smirks Josh's way before smugly planting his hands in his pockets and starting to wander off out of our view. He begins whistling the tune "Take Me Out To The Ball Game" at the "for it's one, two, three strikes, you're out" segment. I get a churning feeling in my gut.

"What, cat got your tongue?", Josh asks with an artificial smile.

It was as quiet as a herd grazing on grass. No one makes a remark for a good 20 seconds.

Frank wets his lips, not averting the strong gaze from Josh's, not even blinking. From somewhere off-screen, we hear DeVonte chortle until Frank eases his overcast stare directly on him. Conscious of it, he coughs and sniffs it off, but still smirks at Josh. Josh turns his head to the side and raises his eyebrow at DeVonte. "I wanna know why the hell they're eyeballing each other", Miles whispers, irritated. Frank turns back to Josh, and fumbles with - something big - in his jacket pocket.

Relatively, Frank is the one to tear down the tense silence..

"You're acting extremely childish, Josh. I'd hate to see that backfire on you, but sometimes, things can only be taught." "The fuck you talkin' bout?", he asks, still in defensive mode. Frank slowly raises his left hand to the door knob.. the sound of a click rings through the room. Josh tenses, the tiniest bit.

"Uhhhh, why did you just lock my door?", he asks slowly, now not daring to remove his eyes from Frank as he steps around to him, still messing with something. Frank's facial expression turns from that solid staredown to a half-formed smile. DeVonte leisurely appears in the side of the screen, shaking his head while chuckling.

Now Josh looks worried, which is not a good thing. Looking at the ingredients, this has turned into a recipe for disaster.

Miles and I look at each other for a brief, and only a brief, moment because, hell. We want to see what the fuck is going down, here.

Frank stares lasers deep into Josh's fear-filled eyes, a horror movie scene unfolding right in front of us. See this is why I don't do scary movies. You watch, you start believing all this crazy shit, and they will convert to real life right in front of your eyes, and your heart won't, I repeat, WILL NOT, be able to take it. Nope. Nuh-uh. You can catch me NOT dead with that, but sleep.

Anyway.

Frank's gaze? Has not faltered. In. The. Slightest. If anything, it's only gotten more menacing, not a single muscle shifting in his body. Which is bonkers because there's got to be so much anger and irritation boiling in his veins right now - I know; I've experienced it first-hand with these two fools - yet he's so inhumanly composed and even-tempered in its wake. Adjectives I can only wish described me as a point guard.

DeVonte paces, probably mindlessly, in Josh's direction, mischief in his step. Of course, he instinctively scoots back.

"Frank..?", Josh asks timidly, focus derailing and anxiety visibly growing when DeVonte's smirk grows. His nervousness is evident and radiating all throughout his body. It's a scene directly out of a horror movie, with the suspenseful orchestra music almost blaring in my head. I did not ask for front row tickets.

Josh swallows when he doesn't receive a direct response. Miles does too.

He tries again, albeit more delayed. "...F-Frank...?"

"Take him down."

The next thing we know, DeVonte is diving onto Josh from behind and crushing all his weight unto him so he has no escape.

"Oh my-", I gasp, covering my mouth. "What the?!- Get the fuck OFF of him!", Miles yells, squeezing my phone.

It looks as if Josh was this mechanical bull that DeVonte is trying to ride as he thrashes around underneath him. "What the fuck!? Get off of- oomf!" DeVonte mashes his palm into the left side of Josh's face and slings his head down, pinning his right cheek into the pillow.

"GEDOFF UV MEEE!!", he grumbles, voice muffled by the pillow, and then successfully flips DeVonte under him, looking down upon him in rage and preventing him from going anywhere.

"I was TRYna stay away from this, but!..", DeVonte barks up at him, and then he swiftly lands a hard punch into his stomach. Once Josh is temporarily disturbed, DeVonte lands a harder punch in his groin. "Sssss, oooh", I flinch. "THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU PEOPLE?!!", Miles bellows.

Josh grabs his area and yelps in pain while DeVonte stands up and then jets his knee even harder into his groin. Both of our jaws drop to the floor as Josh's leg power gives out from under him, and he crumples forward in agony on the bed.

THEN, Frank pulls two fucking ROPES out of his pocket, giving them to DeVonte to tie Josh's ankles together and his hands behind his back with ease. "Yeeeeeeah, just roll around on the bed in pain. This ain't the end of it", DeVonte hums aloud. Miles' rage reaches the ceiling as Josh gets man-handled fully on top of the bed. Frank pulls a remote out of his other pocket. Ummm, anyone wanna tell me what the fuck he has a remote for?

"D-Tae, put the phone into the drawer", Frank orders as he pulls out shorter, thinner ropes from his left pocket. "But what if Miles and Cassius wanna watch? I bet they do", DeVonte leers. 'Oh hell to the no. I'll pass.' "No. Put the phone into the drawer and turn it off."

Josh groans miserably. Obviously, he wishes he could touch it or grope it to have something to hold onto. The pain is likely splitting him in half right now.

DeVonte kidnaps Josh's phone and smirks to himself. "Well, that's not happening", he says to no one in particular before averting that smirk that's been glued on his face down to us. "Sooooo, I was gon' let y'all get VIP seats to the movie premiere, but Frank want me to put y'all away. Well guess what? I'ma give y'all the opportunity to at least witness the sounds. You should thank me, especially you, Miles. Hope you don't get too turned on", he cackles, barely audible.

Wait... what?

"When I. Get over there. I. Am going. To kill you." "Okay, pookie. Okay", he coos. "Oh no you won't", I scold Miles.

"Oh, and for the record, don't try and report shit to the popo. Who do you think they gonna believe? A couple of scrub-ass freshmen? Nah." Miles growls like a pitbull unable to get his way.

"So with that, bitches, where there is light, there is also darkness..... Bye-bye!", he smiles, and then we're tossed into the drawer and introduced to darkness.

"That son-of-a-bitch!", Miles hisses to me, fists clenched to white. "Okay, uh, let's just see what happens. It can't be too bad, right?", I try to convince him, and more so myself. "Sure, yeah. Let's just magically see", he angrily complies, sitting on my roommate's bed with a scowl on his face. I wince, realizing the verbal mistake I made.

'They're his teammates. They can't, won't, do anything bad...

'Right?.....'

Josh's POV

'My God, this shit stings like a bitch in heat.'

I inch open my eyes because I feel myself being rolled over onto my stomach. My eyes trace up the arms and sleeves of a graphic tee with an owl perched on a branch surrounded by a purple galaxy midnight sky to DeVonte. He smiles innocently as I stare icily at him.

He then unties the rope from around my wrists, grasps them hard so I can't get my hands on him, raises them above my head, and begins rebinding together with smaller and thinner ropes. However, these seemed to be more durable than the traditional ropes, just based on how firm they feel.

An extra set of hands unbinds my ankles as soon as I get rolled over to my back again. I start kicking and flailing them around in all different directions, mainly trying to keep Frank from rebinding them. It's no fun to be held captive, after all, but DeVonte seems to think I think otherwise. He grips my crotch area, making me grimace in red hot pain. "Don't make me have to do it a third time", he warns gravely, tightening his hold slightly to prove he won't hesitate, should he have to. This was a new look for him, one I've never seen him display that has me honestly shell-shocked. I vigilantly rest my legs, giving in to Frank tying them down by the knees and ankles.

"Why the hell are y'all doing all this to me? I ain't did nothing wrong, nothing illegal!" "Ain't done nothing wrong, he says", DeVonte laughs, walking back around to Frank after he's done securing me. I jiggle my legs to try for an escape, noting that he didn't tie me down nearly tight enough. Whatever they're doing, you would think "high and mighty upperclassmen" wouldn't make be stupid enough to make a mistake like that. I smirk inside my head.

"Mmm, nothing wrong?", Frank asks. "That's a funny way to word 'destroying team chemistry and identity'." "Oh please. Spare me the senior team leader sermon bull. This team is fine. We got one loss. We ain't finna fall apart cuz of me, so don't even try to blame that shit on me, and, if we do lose, it'll be on you, as "team leader", and everyone else cuz y'all drag me down. Y'all need me." DeVonte raises his eyebrows challengingly while Frank just stares at me.

"And that's straight facts", I conclude confidently, relaxing back into my bed and puffing out my chest. I subtly moved my legs more and more at appropriate times to pass it off as a product of passion from my speech while really loosening the already loose ropes with every tug. I'll be out of here and calling the cops on them in no time. You can get away with bloodying people up while playing a contact sport, but they won't be able to get away with trespassing in another dorm and assaulting me.

DeVonte seizes up and balls his fists. "Son, we don't need yo ass for anything", he retaliates arrogantly, if I do say so myself. "We got the greatest point guard in the world, right here", he gestures to Frank, "who has consistently led us to the Elite 8 every single year he's been here. He do it all for us.. We? Don't need you." Ha... nice stretch, Elastigirl. I suppose it's Defend Your Fellow Team Captain Day. I notice Frank shift his eyes his way for a split second and a tiny smile come to his face in even less time. And it's gone before I can even really comprehend what just happened there. Frank swiftly holds a hand up to silence DeVonte, who goes without another word.

Brushing that - and whatever the hell else those two assholes insist on preaching to me that they think I should think is important - off, I continue subtly rotating my wrists, legs, and feet, successfully loosening everything to the point I can feel a probable chance of escape near. If Cassius could tell me the odds right now... He has a way of calculating weird, random odds. Something about the trajectory of the moon and the Sun, or some shit like that, every time.

With DeVonte's back turned to me, saying something to Frank, I feel it - the right time - emerge. Abandoning all subtlety I had used to get to this point - and, now that I think about it, maybe I should continue trying to be subtle. But, now that I think about it again, these niggas won't be able to catch me in time without a struggle - I make a hasty run to kick away the ropes around my ankles and slip the ropes around my wrists completely off. DeVonte spins, hearing noise, on high alert, starting to alert Frank.

They're too late. I already have one hand out and the rope slipping from around the other, as well as a foot free.

But, suddenly, my legs get fucking shot back down to the floor, hands gravitate back towards each other! From some invisible force! What the hell?!? Dumbfounded, I grit my teeth, struggling in my now-tightened ropes. They pull against me, tighter, taking away pretty much any freedom of movement I may have had left. I hiss in agony from sure marks and jerk my head up to my captors, looking for the culprit. There, Frank is holding out a remote control at me, and slowly retreating it back to his hip.

"What- what is that? What did you do?", I yell, demanding him to explain as he calmly takes a seat at my hip on my bed like it's his own.

Frank sits back on his knees and heels, lifting the remote and dangling it tauntingly close to my face. "This, Josh, is a special, rare, and expensive gadget called a remote control. Check it out, it's got buttons on it." He speaks it to me like a damn Dora the Explorer episode. I would launch at him if I could. DeVonte wheeze-laughs at me.

"I hate being played with", I grumble, looking down at my feet. "Mentally? Or physically?", DeVonte asks, wiggling his eyebrows. "Shut up."

"You really wanna know?"

Duh. Obviously it ain't no ordinary remote.

"In the ropes are magnetic wires that contain little computer chips that respond to this remote. I replaced and manufactured the buttons on this TV remote to control the strength of the pull of each rope. Very durable. With this, I control your every move." I blink in mild amazement.

"Too bad you can't control my mouth, assholes", I snarl.

"We'd rather not, bruh. You gon' see when I say, believe me", DeVonte tantalizingly grins.

"Now, away from that, we know that you're hopelessly in love with that Miles kid, but you should know how to pick your poison." "Hashtag Bell Biv and Devoe." "Again, keep him out of your mouth." "You know, your continuous attempts to lure us into listening to what you have to say that you think is important are really giving us a migraine", DeVonte pouts, mocking me.

"And what are you saying? That I just shouldn't try to start something with you? Look, I don't give a fuck who you are. If it comes down to it, then we gon' square up. Just because y'all two are the 'de facto' team captains don't mean shit. Just because I fight one of y'all don't mean I'm subduing in to the other." "It does if they got a special report." "Rapport, D." "Yeah, sure, what Vagina said."

"If you had picked the right poison, you wouldn't be in this predicament right now", Frank says, giving me that signature blunt stare of his. Like I'm supposed to know what the hell is going on in that senior mind of his.

"Still not getting the metaphor.... ohhhhhh...."

Words completely leave my brain as my two team captains engulf one another in a - what feels like should be forbidden - intimate kiss. They may have momentarily forgotten I'm here because it almost gets too steamy for me to process.

DeVonte slowly strips Frank of his heather grey Kansas t-shirt and then straddles him until Frank is on his back on my bed. He begins a slow grind into him as Frank angles DeVonte's face to deepen it. Slow and rhythmic, no rush, no worries in the world, acting like I'm not here. DeVonte clearly enjoys the lax tug of his hair from Frank's hands, if the low moan and sudden jerk of his hips was anything to go by.

I feel a hot burn spread through my cheeks and ribs. Even though I want to, I can't bring myself to venture my eyes away from their erotic make-out session.

When they do eventually pull away, agonizingly slow, they gaze so lovingly into each other's eyes that I think I might have a heart attack from how soft this all is. No forcing it, no cares in the world, just them. Frank's smile - SMILE - says it all. I can't believe I'm already starting to envy a relationship I had no idea was even a possibility 45 seconds ago.

DeVonte pecks his lips one more time, then shifts his gaze over to me. "That's what he meant by "picking the right poison"..." He pauses to crawl off of Frank's body and onto mine after he gives him a nod - of permission? - not peeling his eyes away.

"You picked the wrong "poison" to mess with. Mess with me, you mess with him, and you get the horns."

I gulp, full of tingly anxiety as he feels all over my stomach. This is not supposed to happen. I'm his teammate.

My thoughts get cut short by a hard kiss. I struggle to keep up with the rapid pace of his tongue. If you add his fingers trickling my arms and under my shirt, it makes it 5x harder.

He clutches a fistful of my hair and roughly yanks my head upward. "Oww!" I would have said it, but you can't talk when someone else's tongue plunges down your throat.

My eyebrows furrow as DeVonte gets at an angle to dive in impossibly deeper. Once, I feel the tip of his tongue dab the little dangly thing in my throat, and natural reflexes drive me to shove his face away, but my hands are welded together by the wire-laden ropes. I can't do anything.

Frank starts poking at my private area, which is still sore from before. I groan onto DeVonte's tongue as Frank then just opts for gliding his hands all around the top of my crotch area. And DeVonte's not giving me the resource to breathe! Air! How the hell is he not suffocating??

My instinctual, involuntary thoughts bring me to attempt to slide my head away from this dominant, bullying force obliterating my mouth, but he grasps the back of it like I'm some little tender-headed, nine-year-old girl getting her hair done, and secures it in place to make me suffer more. Then, my dick gets groped, and I want to scream sooo loud and long. DeVonte snorts as he moves his hand in a rough, circular motion. My toes curl and I fight to breathe.

Then, ✨ nirvana ✨ DeVonte removes his lips from mine. Violently coughing up our mixed saliva and finding the oxygen to my lungs, he smirks at me and Frank. He licks his bottom lip clear of the fused liquids and drool. Beads of sweat rest atop my forehead. I respirate heavily and gratefully.

They trade places with each other, and Frank makes a beeline for my neck. My head sinks into the pillow as he harshly attacks pretty much every sensitive skin particle of mine. Was he spying on me and Miles back home in Michigan or something? I mean, he's hitting them all, without fail. My eyes flutter open and closed, gasping sharply at every bite he gives.

He latches onto my Adam's apple and scrapes it, making me swear loudly. The shit hurts. I mean, I get Adam was the start of all sin but dang. Then DeVonte sits himself directly on top of my crotch area, sets his hands on Frank's hips for balance, and brutally rocks his hips back and forth, bringing a strong wave of pain to my stomach and bladder. "Ahhh fuck!", I yell, clenching my eyes shut. He only drives on harder and more tediously, hands shifting to Frank's shoulders to gain a stronger leverage point.

Frank then has the fucked-up idea to tell him to "stop for a moment", only to reach under in-between his legs to pull my shorts down just enough to where my thin underwear is the only fabric covering my dick, and then the fucked-up audacity to tell him "he can go now".

"D-DeVonte!", I plead, in so much discomfort, my arms and thighs starting to tremble. I restlessly swing my head all into the pillow, sweating up a storm from the oversensitivity in my area. Then, Frank has even more audacity to reach for his leather jacket and place it on top of my chest, like a damn blanket, JUST to get me insanely bothered.

I yell and scream nearly at the top of my lungs for him to stop. "Shoulda thought about that before you decided to waltz around cussing out Coach and your teammates", Frank shrugs without care. DeVonte drops his forehead to Frank's shoulder blade, moaning out a few times as he perseveres. "Gotta.. stay on that grind", DeVonte jokes, though his voice wavers, proof his actions are affecting him. "Oh my God", I huff at both of them, eyes rolling back in annoyance at his double entendre but more so from pressure overdose, breathing coming out short and choppy.

Sweat rolls off my eyebrow, dripping down my face and neck and bleeding through my thin, grey 'Detroit' shirt. Through half-lidded eyes, I watch my two captors engage in another heated kiss. I suppose they don't care if I'm dying of heat and fatigue. DeVonte's hands gingerly brush over the slight tent in Frank's black jeans and his slim abdomen while Frank's hands just linger aloft his.

Yep, they definitely don't give two fucks. Not even half of one. The tormenting is too much...

Shit. I think the familiar knot in my stomach is coming into play.

"Fuck", I gasp, sinking my head back far to the point my back arches off the bed, and I brace myself for the blow. But, then, Frank's hand unexpectedly squeezes my cock to deny the orgasm, causing me to cry out and jerk up. He rigidly pushes me down again, and the weight on my groin lifts up off of me. The front side of my boxers are a whole tint darker, a big, wet stain there from my and DeVonte's leakage.

Frank rises off my stomach to a stand, and, seconds later, I get hauled up on my knees by that stupid remote.

"Oh, I did neglect to mention the wires inside can extend and shrink", Frank gloats, spinning the remote on his fingers, like a basketball, in my face. DeVonte seems to gawk at him with actual heart eyes as he sets the remote on my bed side drawer.

With his free hand, Frank takes my chin and lurches it up to his height as DeVonte sets to work tying the ropes my wrists are trapped in around the posts at the head of my bed. I don't even have the energy to fight it. "If you actually expected me to let you be relieved of your torture, then you are so dumb", he mocks me from practice earlier. I hiss at the throbbing sensation he's throwing onto my genitals, breath coming fast and not coming in fast enough. He still hasn't let my dick go, nor the merciless grip on it.

"I told you, you do not play with me. Or him."

He squeezes tighter, bruising. "Aahhh!" "Is that clear?" I nod frantically, hot tears stinging the corners of my eyes.

He removes both hands from me, retracts his left arm back, and next thing that comes is so loud and quick to my right cheek, my brain only registers the sound at first, reminding me of a whip punishing crisp, depressing air. I feel the effects a few seconds later, the way my neck and face snapped to the left like from the g-force of a roller-coaster.. Like Cassius said, the roller-coaster of life.

He just. Slapped. Me. My senior point guard actually just slapped me.

I don't back-talk, say or murmur anything, just kind of hover between shock and regret as I loll the side of my face that doesn't sting into the pillow.

When I said I was 'bracing myself for the blow', I didn't mean a blow to the face. I've always been misunderstood, I guess, but I shouldn't complain when I know that Miles' background is much more unfortunate. He's countlessly been through hell and back, yet he's so strong.

Whoops. Speaking of, I don't think I turned off the FaceTime, so Cassius is probably traumatized for life now, and Miles'll surely take this the wrong way and kill me. He can get jealous pretty easily, from what I learned in the few months we were together before I left Michigan to come here. I turn my head to look for said phone behind me, except, then and there I realize it's no longer on the pillow.

"Aye, where's my phone?" "Not important", Frank snaps. "Uh, yeah.... it is. Miles and Ca-" "Don't make a difference. They not important", DeVonte butts in.

The junior observes my hickeyed-up neck and the rash mark on my burning cheek. "Dang, bro. Tried t' tell you", DeVonte grins, taking his shirt off and crawling up to me like a lion waiting to pounce. "Deny him, he gon' 'deny' you." Frank shakes his head at the one-liner. I hang mine low, avoiding eye contact with either of them and choosing to focus on trying to catch my breath.

"But you fucked up now", he draws on, tongue slithering up my moist neck, under my chin, and to my lips to kiss me again, this one a little more tender and favorable.

His fingers ghost up and down my biceps while his lips tango with my collarbones. He moves his hands to my rear, lightly fondling my ass through my half-mounted, grey linen shorts. My breath catches in my throat with a strange feeling pooling in my stomach. Keeping his dilated pupils fixed on mine, he gradually kisses a pathway lower and lower to my crotch area, which is currently in the process of regaining the orgasm status it was so rudely ripped out of that was so rudely brought on in the first place.

He still holds his gaze, even though I haven't been holding his the entire duration of time, once he reaches 'it'. He breathes hot air onto the fabric covering it, drawing a quiver and a shaky breath out of me. My head starts hurting.

He hooks his thumbs under the waistband. I inhale sharply, and then he draws them back out, twisting the fabric. Following that is a challenging smug look.

Teeth scrape down my abs, tongue dips into my belly button, and his Goddamn, pumpfaking, tricky hands and fingers won't stop massaging my bladder, pubic hair, inner thighs, ball-sack, v-lines, anywhere NOT my dick that's extremely close and the intentions are too intentional, and that's the worst thing in this. I hate being played with. Even with Miles. I told you.

I huff in annoyance, and DeVonte huffs in return and puts his hands on his hips in that 'Bitch I know you did not just" way.

"Hurry your shit up. I got more important hell to put myself thr-" "You know, I'm seriously 'bout to have had it with yo ass. You been salty all week to now. When you gon' stop?"

I didn't know if it was rhetorical or not, or even genuine or random by the smirk with ticked-off undertones he gives me, so, naturally, I glance to my senior captain for guidance. Frank has a fist casually covering his mouth with the other arm draped over his torso, staring down at the floor as though he's in a train of thought and not physically here in the room with me and DeVonte, but with Frank, the differences in appearance and body language of thought vs. neutral face expression are never distinguishable.

After a few lifeless seconds, he lifts his eyes up from the ground in understanding. "Ohh I get it, with the bad attitudes, and the sweat, from practice, and, right now, and the, crying, and the, precum. They're all, salt-filled... That's.. cute, D." "Aww bae. Thanks. I was kinda hoping that would draw a laugh outta ya, but eh. Wasn't my best.."

Their relationship is so cringy. And I thought mine had some holes in it.

Either way, he ignores my time concerns and takes his sweet time. He continues teasing me, giving playful, seductive stares. Clearly finding fun in this. He needs to stop.

Finally, the boxers come down all the way, giving me some relief, though that's not saying much. He raises his eyebrows, nodding in... approval?... at my... impressive?... package. I squirm a little under his scrutiny.

After some time of stroking me a little, he lowers himself down to my head, ever-so-slowly, inch by inch. He flicks his dark gaze upward to me. "This what your boyfriend does to you?" He flicks his tongue dangerously near the oozing tip, like he was contemplating whether or not he wanted to tease me or not... a whole method of teasing itself....

Which is actually exactly something Miles does.

"Is he a little vixen with you? And you're St. Nick?" Vixen?? St. Nick?? "I, uh.." I cut myself off with a loud exhale or four as he downs the whole thing, handless, in one go. Another thing..

"You were saying?", someone asks. Since when was there another person in here?

"I don't- I don't.... SHIT, MILES!"

There's a pause in action - and I begin to wonder why - then my length is hit with a breeze of cold air. Then, I start to get palmed from behind. "Yes, fuck yes! Fuck yes! Fuck yes!"

Miles' right arm wraps around my neck, constricting my windpipe with a chokehold.

"Yes baby, yes, keep going, please", I manage to whimper through frail wheezes and gasps. He tips my head back as far back onto his shoulder as it can go and feverishly sucks kisses at my neck, his abundance of hair tickling me, though I could've sworn that he had it cut.

My clamped-shut eyes sag into relaxation, a satisfying bliss washing over my body thanks to the arm loosening up its power. "Mmmmmm", I moan, biting my lip.

Regularly, if I ever began "getting soft" and whiny with my moaning, Miles would growl in anger and grab me harder, being more brutal until I would get combative and we would challenge each other. The fight fuels us during sex. I guess he's going easy on me today?

He hastily jerks me faster and faster, and I feel the surge of electric excitement rush dangerously quick to my aching manhood.

"Gahh... Ha.... Miles... Y-yeah..."

Getting completely lost in the sensation, my lips part really wide, and I call out his name, low and long.. But, literally milliseconds before anything could happen, something cold and metallic is slid around under the tip of my manhood that apparently blocks the release.

All the oncoming seed gets clogged right at the tip. And it hurt to Saturn and back.

Giving off the most piercing, excruciating scream, I'm suddenly slapped back into the present, blinding white vision settling on my senior captain sitting in a chair with his arms crossed, face blank, and then on DeVonte, right in front of me, holding up a left hand with a mixture of sweat and precum dripping from it. Through distorted vision and the heavy heaving from the indescribable mid-section pain, I quickly comprehend what I was subconsciously just doing. My blood runs cold.

"You're 1,000 miles away from being 1,000 miles away with Miles, kid", DeVonte smirks, so hard his mouth was near vertical. My head slinks downward in deep shame, embarrassment, confusion, and lust. If I was white, my face would be flushed a rich, deep blood-red color right now. Embarrassment, crying from torture, over-dehydration, sheer exhaustion all contributions.

I continue to breathe uneven, labored breaths as I also notice ropes still tied around my wrists and the bed posts. These ropes and that stupid remote are probably the only things holding me upright right now. If not for the knee ropes keeping them fastened in place, I would've fallen face-forward, because my legs are jell-o. The binds on my wrists and knees untighten slightly, and I sag down with them. I know I'm gonna have bruises on my wrists for weeks.

It's a strenuous job, but I am able to lift my head up just enough to catch Frank slide on his shirt again and then reach into his jacket and pull out a different gadget with less buttons and some microphone-looking thing. I dunno, I can't see well through my clouded vision and mind.

"I'ma admit, it did feel kinda weird to be called someone else's bae while doin' them, but it did turn me on, tho", DeVonte whispers to him. "You're always turned on", Frank responds. "Yeah, like my new Apple iPhone 7 plus. I'm well aware", he grins. "That was terrible."

A shockwave of pain shoots through my head and dick, making me shudder and whimper. I tiredly look down through stars and hazy vision to see what caused the clogging up of the flow.

An ED ring.

What. The fuck.

"If you thought this was over..", Frank trails off, shaking his head. He climbs onto the bed and firmly tugs my hypersensitive dick. My entire body moans in despair. No pleasure whatsoever.

"An ED ring is the best outlet for you, cuz you're dysfunctional", DeVonte says. "We're gon' make you even more so."

No. Please no..... I can't.

"Guys... p-please.." I was going to say more, but the words get choked on the way up my throat. I can't say or think too much of anything at one time. Everything is drained and hurting, throbbing. Focused on one thing. End the suffering.

Frank looks up from my coated length. "You influenced your own decision. Own up to it." "Don't think we were just going to let you off in ecstasy like that", DeVonte says. "That would defeat the whole purpose. We're keeping this up until yo sorry ass can't handle it no more."

"W... w.....W-why?"

"Think about it", Frank says simply as he positions his clothed pelvis on mine while his boyfriend settles in behind me.

I don't bother. I couldn't think straight. I start silently sobbing from how much misery and despair they've made me endure, and mentally even more. I won't call it abuse, because a part of me does believe I deserve punishment, but not all this, like this.

Agonizing second by agonizing second, the minutes tick by. Maybe it even reached hours, for all I know, based on just how much I slip into unconsciousness. I have to be smacked back into consciousness at times, it's too much. I sag into my teammates, the only things holding me up right now and letting me know I'm alive, as they thrust into me at their own rhythm, doing as they please. Insulting me as they please. Exposing me as they please. Showing me my reflection in a mirror in order to teach a lesson; I don't like any of it, at all.

It was all a nightmare.

At some point, Frank had handed DeVonte the other gadget because he stepped away while I felt him shove it slowly up my ass. Fully awake once again, it stings, of course, but nowhere near as severe as when a button starts it up buzzing..

A vibrator.

Immediately, I start bawling out harsh swears and moans for the whole hallway to hear, and, even though it hurts to no end to breathe, breathing is involuntary. Sometimes it's a sad thing. I clench my eyes shut, trying hard to focus my mind on anything other than the immense, unforgiving pain. I pray that Jesus may take the wheel on behalf of my erection and help me get through this because this is outrageous.

"Fuuuuuuuckkk!!! Shh-shit! God, please!!", I cry as Frank keeps accelerating the power with the remote, upping the frequency of the vibrations. "Shouldn't say his name in vain", DeVonte mocks in an old granny voice, snickering.

"Gahhh!! F-Frank!.... make it stop, make it st-op! I'm sorry!!" "Mmm-hmm. Yes you are", he disregards my pleas, upping the speed once more with a click.

"Oh my God, oh my God, ohmigod ohmigod ohmigod ohmigod", I chant when my insides clamp around the toy. I tremble violently in anguish as it hits my prostate. I become drowsier by the minute, but each time the level of vibration gets boosted, the more it puts me on edge, keeping my senses on high alert. I'm not sure if that's a good thing or a bad thing.

"A sorry, sorry, little bitch." "I won't do it again! I won't- hahh- won't hurt him! Won't.. hurt anyone! I'm... I'm so sorry!!" "Hello, So Sorry. I'm DeVonte, and you're turning me on so much that I need to use the bathroom." With that, he bolts off. I lick my lips pathetically and whimper as we hear him release a loud sigh.

"Sounds nice, don't it?", Frank cruelly smirks.

"PLEASE!! I..... I'll be... I'm s-so...." A husky grunt escapes in the middle of my apology. "Speak your mind, young blood", Frank urges not-so-urgently, crossing his thick arms.

What the hell does he think I'm TRYING to do?

I try speaking again, but nothing comes out. Trial after trial, but I can't utter a word. My mind is shutting down. Every function is honing in on my condition at hand, here. I can only conjure soft, drowsy, depressed sounds.

I can't do this. I KNOW I can't hold on for much longer. I am GOING to pass out.

"Tell me why you've been acting up", Frank asks, softening the always-soft voice. It still demanded all attention. The overwhelming force eases a notch or two. I feel my vocal chords becoming somewhat functional again. "I-I uh.." I groan a rather high-pitched groan, my reaction to buzz going up a little. He moves to stand in front of me, several yards behind the foot of the bed. "Now. I ain't got all day."

I speak in gasps, finding my voice. My true voice. "None of your business", and I know that's the wrong turn to take, but it's not his business. I shouldn't have to talk if I don't want to. He ain't my damn therapist.

As if he expected this refusal to cooperate, he pulls out another remote and gadget, which he attaches around the tip of my erection. I stare at it, wondering what else he has up his sleeve. He steps back to survey his work, and then he just stares at me. I feel the power to stare back as much as I can, trembling a little with the vibrator working in me. He repeatedly taps the small remote into his palm, shifting his tongue around the cave of his mouth a little as he studies me. If I thought DeVonte's heated, lust-filled gaze had me squirming, Frank's uninterested but heavy stare has me restless.

He looks down at the tiny remote and taps the one button. The new gadget shocks me. My hips stutter into the ugly sensation, breathing following suit and a cold sweat breaking out. All of a sudden, cricks - like pins and needles pinching my skin - in my waist come to the surface, letting me know I've been in this position for a bit too long. The electricity may have only lasted a fraction of a second, but it did not feel good at all. My throat closes up, and I bite my tongue pretty hard. Fuck.

"Answer me. Now." He presses the button again, this time holding his finger down a few seconds more. A higher amount of small wattage courses through my dick. I half-whimper, half-shriek really loudly.

"Alright! A-alright.."

I confess all of my feelings with extreme difficulty - therefore, with more shocks - nevertheless without shame about there being a negative impact on me being away from my family and friends, and how I take out my worthlessness on everybody else just so I won't feel isolated. I admit, I get self-conscious when I'm not around my people. These people don't know me.

I hope that's enough.

He nods in satisfaction and puts the shock remote out of sight, also pulling off the corresponding gadget and ED ring right as DeVonte walks out of the bathroom. Some pre-cum leaks out as the vibrator starts up again. It's not as heavy now that I know what being shocked feels like. I relax a little, or as much as I can, knowing the worst is over, now that I've confessed.

"What'd I miss?" Nothing much except me getting cock-shocked. "Nothing." "Wrong. I missed you." Frank rolls his eyes, smiling a small, close-mouthed, barely-there smile.

"O-okay, w-while shit like that is corny... but cute", I confess, hoping that getting on their good side will let me go early, "I cleared the air, s-so.... can I.....?" I motion down to my cock, swollen, head violet-red and pulsating, lacking the oxygen to speak much more than that at once. I've confessed more than I would like to today. Might as well keep it coming.

DeVonte puts his hands behind his back and stalks my way. "Fee fi fo fum, what make you think YOU get to cum?" I shiver from a particularly powerful wave of vibrations as he plants himself next to his boyfriend. "The kid's good", Frank assures. "Just a little remorseful and homesick, that's all." That's not exactly true at all, but I couldn't care less at this point to correct him to my liking. I muster as much of a broken smile of relief as my crippling pain and exhaustion will allow.

DeVonte's smile falters a little; he was obviously really enjoying himself. But bump this shit, bruh. If he was in my position, I can guarantee you he wouldn't want to keep going at all! Unless he's into that shit....

Frank turns and looks at him expectantly. DeVonte quickly catches himself, pulling him into a hug and smiling at him - in reassurance? He kisses him on the cheek a few times, whispering some things in, what seems to be, a joking manner before Frank finally lets the clear warning look in his eyes recede into something softer, yet he tries to shove him back a little. I tilt my head to the side as much as I can, trying to hear anything I can or get a better angle to read DeVonte's lips as he mumbles something between them only they can hear. A lingering kiss on the lips, initiated by him, follows, to where Frank gazes up into his eyes and gives him the remote.

These two, bruh...

DeVonte steps away from Frank and up to me. He gives me a slow once-over, spending extra time in an area down south before turning the vibrations up to a higher setting, smirking as I shiver with the overstimulation to my asshole. I want to clock him and Frank upside the head for dragging this on and making me wait, but I gotta play nice if I want to get out of here.

He chooses to keep dialogue out of it as he just opts to play around with the settings of the vibrator, deciding to let me do the "talking", I guess. Nothing really comes out more than low, tired groans, voice scratchy from being pulled in all different directions and, yet, ending up in the same place: nowhere.

But he's looking for something else from me. I know it when he strokes a slow hand up my dick and takes the toy in the other, thrusting it in and out. "Ohhhh fuuuuck", I punch out, nerve signals picking up. I relax my body as much as possible, focusing on breathing and adjusting to my new predicament. I collapse on myself, legs shaking violently and hanging my head forward, giving me a great view of my wildly leaking dick. I'm surprised there's any fluids to leak with how bone-tired I am.

DeVonte's breaths come as harsh as mine, hot on my chest, gradually moving both hands faster and faster. He fondles under my balls a little, trying to touch every place he could think of. My breathing picks up faster and faster, heart literally about to hammer out of my chest, whatever sounds making their way out of it that so pleased. Pre-cum leaks all over his hand and forearm as he strokes me wildly with wanton abandon, my body going wherever he went.

"Oh fuck. Oh fuck. Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck..."

Abruptly, he turns the vibrator off and yanks it out of my ass, the most painful pleasure I've felt today, and I'm coming all over my bed sheets and his forearm before he can pull away.

After I'm done, the wire in the ropes loosen almost completely. Gravity crashes over me as I crumble face-first into my comforter in a big heap, slurping oxygen into my lungs at this point. I know they're watching me, I know DeVonte's probably staring at my ass, but I don't care. I make an attempt to gracefully maneuver myself back to the head of my bed, but that crumbles and fails as my knees fully give out beneath me, so I just settle for sideways, head hanging off the bed.

I curl into a fragile ball, trying to force circulation to come to my body faster as my captors untie the now-shrunken ropes from the bed posts and replenish all their stuff to the way it was before. I give an exasperated glare in their direction - it only manages to reach DeVonte's shoe - as they stand next to each other, side-by-side.

"If that don't teach you, nothing will", Frank speaks up, loud enough to where I can hear over my loud breathing and the jumbled thoughts swirling in my head. The first being they are never going to set foot anywhere on Kansas University ever again in their lives.

Frank seems to read my mind, like he always can, thanks to that high basketball IQ of his. He steps in my line of sight. "Yeah, don't try and report shit to the popo. They ain't gonna believe you", he claims, shrugging on his black leather jacket and heading to the door.

Ha. I find that very hard to believe that they wouldn't. Rape is rape, and there are cameras, and probably witnesses, everywhere. I scoff. They can't threaten me with that. They'll know.

DeVonte reads that one.

"Cameras ain't gon' help you. They're in league with us; they know you's a troublemaker and cause of lot of drama for everyone all around campus. Everyone believes punishment is justified for you, and who better than yo' two captains, the peers who only want the best for you? They ain't on your side, dawg", DeVonte answers, smugness and confidence oozing out in his answer.

My heart drops inside my chest. Just when I thought I had a victory, I don't.

"Fuck you", I spit up at them, with all the aggressive strength I can muster.

Frank stops dead in his tracks and casts an ominous glare directly into my eyes. My heart stops. "I mean... that can be arranged", DeVonte warns, taking a step closer to me, confidence flowing out of every part of him.

"NO! No! Okay, okay", I resign, backing off, fear laced throughout my voice. I hate how weak it sounds.

Frank's sinister glare never once wavers until he gives a nod of finality, turns his head, and struts out. "That's what I thought", DeVonte checks, exiting after him and closing my door. "Did all that and nigga still ain't learn...", I hear him trail off as the door finally clicks closed.

I lay in the eerie silence, doing nothing. Not wanting to do anything after what I just went through, all of a sudden grateful for my indefinite suspension from the team. How do I possibly face them after this?

Cassius' POV

Miles and I sit staring at each other in complete horror at the sounds. The sounds. We just witnessed.

Everything. We heard everything.

Knowing my two best friends, they don't usually back down from a challenge. But also, knowing them, I know there's no way in Hell they would want to face the quiet, controlled, lurking wrath of Frank Mason III.

One look in Miles' eyes confirms what I already know...

That I'm always right.

A/N: Soooo this was just a bit darker than intended 😅 Yes, even with the whole rape aspect, no, I don't think I intended for it to be this dark when I started writing it in 2017. I certainly didn't originally have it ending that way.

Here's a video that I was TRYING to post up there with the display pic cover, but Wattpad is annoying 🙄 It's a press conference our 3 stars of the fic did that I based Frank & DeVonte's backstory off of. 1:30 is the reference point. Honestly low-key one of my favorite videos on the internet; the chips Frank & DeVonte are sharing together 😂 And I pulled the DeVonte clown face stuff from an article, where Frank explained the stark contrast of their everyday expressions LMAO.

But let's acknowledge the important thing...

Karrington is BACK, baby!
Karrington.. is BACK!

And it's perfect timing to get back!

My 2022 was near perfect! One of the best years of my life as a sports fan! Between
• South Carolina women's basketball (my favorite + only NCAAW team I root for because that's my school 🌴😜) winning their 2nd Natty 🐔❤️🖤🤙🏾🏆🏆
• UNC basketball (favorite NCAAM team) beating out all expectations (including my own) and closing their up-and-down year out about as strong as you possibly can, finishing runner-up in the NCAA tournament 🐏💎
• my twin and I finally, finally becoming actual, full-fledged NFL/football fans 🏈
• Team Penske IndyCar driver Will Power winning his 2nd championship 🏆🏆🇦🇺
• 2022 officially being dubbed #YearOfTheJoLo - a marketing hashtag my twin and I started up in late 2021 for my favorite NASCAR driver, Joey Logano (affectionately JoLo), who drives the Team Penske #22 car - in which we told everyone he would win it all... and then having him ACTUALLY GO OUT AND WIN THE F*CKING CHAMPIONSHIP, making him a 2x champion!?? 💛❤️🏆🏆

You CAN'T get much sweeter than THAT! I'm still on a high from his championship going into this new year of 2023. I actually really wanted to get this out before 2022 ended, to commemorate JoLo with my comeback to writing and publishing in his year. But new year, new beginnings, as they say, so I like this better. Starting 2023 off with a much-needed bang!

Besides, that just means it's #YearOfTheBubba now, so good things to come for him! (I mean, he JUST tied the knot yesterday - on his bestie's birthday, might I add 😏💘 - so that's gotta be a sign, right? 💍👀🤞🏾)

Happy New Year, and getcha selves some popcorn for next time and be intrigued! 🍿