Later that night, after the laughter died down and the shack settled into the quiet hum of sleep, Jermaine jolted awake at the sound of Deon shifting restlessly on his pallet.

“Man, you good?” Jermaine mumbled, half-asleep.

Deon groaned, his voice low and pained. “Jermaine… you ever had your balls ache after being freaky?”

Jermaine rubbed his eyes, sitting up. “Bro, did you wear a condom? You can’t be catchin’ no crabs.”

Jermaine blinked, sitting up on his elbow. The moonlight through the busted window cast sharp shadows across his face, making his grin look almost predatory. “Hell nah. What y’all do? You over there playin’ Pattie Cake or somethin’?”

Deon groaned, rubbing his face like he could scrub away the memory. “Man… it was worse than that.” He hesitated, then exhaled sharp, like he’d been holding his breath for hours. “She played me, Jermaine. Had me strung out like a damn junkie.”

Jermaine’s laugh was low, disbelieving. “Bro, you Deon. Ain’t no girl got the game to play you.”

“Shut up and listen.” Deon’s voice dropped, rough with frustration. “I get there, right? Smellin’ fresh, talkin’ my shit. She let me shower, had me feelin’ myself. Then we just… chillin’. Watchin’ some dumb movie, passin’ the blunt. And the whole time, she touchin’ me. Not like, full-on grabbin’, but just enough. Hand on my thigh, leanin’ into me, all that. I’m hard as hell the whole time, man. Like, painfully. And she knew.” He mimicked Shanice’s voice, high and teasing: “Damn, Deon, you tryna poke a hole in my bed or somethin’?”

Jermaine wheezed, slapping his knee. “So you did get some—”

“Nah, nah, listen.” Deon’s fingers dug into the mattress. “I’m sittin’ there, dick about to bust through my shorts, and she just… laughs. Then she grabs it—just for a second, like she’s jokin’—and then pulls back. Like it’s a game.” His voice cracked. “Four hours, Jermaine. Four hours of that shit. She’d touch me, then stop. Lean over so her titties in my face, then roll away. I was beggin’ with my eyes, man.”

Jermaine was full-on laughing now, tears in his eyes. “Bro, you got blue-balled by a girl?”

“Man, shut up.” Deon’s face burned. “I tried to make a move, right? Grab her hand, put it on me. Told her I ain’t playin’. And she just…” He swallowed. “She pulled my shorts down.”

Jermaine’s grin faltered. “Aight, so what’s the problem? You in.”

“Nah.” Deon’s voice was hollow. “She looked at it. Then she laughed.”

Silence.

Jermaine’s smirk slipped. “The fuck?”

Deon’s chest tightened. “She said—” He forced the words out. “Where the rest of it at?” Like it was a joke. Like I was missing something.” His hands clenched. “Then my dick just… quit. Right in front of her. Just shrank up like a damn raisin. She called it a noodle, man. A sleeping noodle.”

Jermaine’s laughter died. He stared at Deon, then burst out again, louder this time, rolling onto his back. “OH SHIT—”

“Jermaine—”

“Sleeping noodle?” Jermaine gasped, wiping his eyes. “Bro, I can’t—”

“It ain’t funny!” Deon snapped, but the fight was already leaking out of him. He flopped back onto the pallet, staring at the water-stained ceiling. “I looked like a fool. She was waitin’ for me to pull out some monster, and I—” He cut himself off, jaw tight.

Jermaine sobered up fast. He nudged Deon’s shoulder. “Ayo. You trippin’. Your dick ain’t small.”

“It ain’t yours,” Deon muttered.

“So?” Jermaine shot back. “Shit ain’t about size, it’s about game. You think Bryce got all them girls ‘cause he packin’? Nah, he just lie better’n you.” He leaned in, voice dropping. “You let her get in your head. That’s why your shit went soft.”

Deon didn’t answer. The truth of it settled in his gut like a rock.

Jermaine sighed, shaking his head. “Man… you like her.”

Deon’s breath hitched.

“That’s what this is.” Jermaine’s voice was softer now, almost serious. “You wasn’t just tryna fuck. You wanted her to want you.”

Deon’s throat burned. He had wanted that. Wanted her to look at him like he was enough. Like he was the prize.

Jermaine clapped his hands once, sharp. “Aight, new plan. You go back tomorrow.”

Deon barked a laugh. “Hell nah.”

“Nah, hear me out.” Jermaine grinned, all teeth. “You walk in there like you own the place. Don’t even mention tonight. Just be you—funny, chill, all that. Then when she least expect it? Bam. You got her.”

Deon side-eyed him. “And if it happens again?”

Jermaine shrugged. “Then you laugh with her. Make it a joke. Own that shit.” He poked Deon’s chest. “Girls don’t want a dude who’s scared of his own dick. They want a dude who don’t care what they think.”

Deon exhaled, some of the weight lifting. Maybe Jermaine was right. Maybe he had let her get to him.

Jermaine flopped back down, grinning up at the ceiling. “And if all else fails? Tell her you got a growth spurt comin’.”

Deon shoved him, but he was smiling now, just a little. “Man, fuck you my balls still hurtin’”

Jermaine wheezed, trying to keep his voice down. “Man, you got blue balls. you can’t be that hard that long and not come! You gotta let that nut out—” His grin flickered in the dark, voice dropping just enough to make it sound like less of a joke and more of a suggestion. “Pull that dick out and bust one. Right here.”

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward. Just… charged.

Deon exhaled through his nose, sitting up slower this time. His fingers twitched at his waistband, but then he shook his head, pushing himself to his feet. “Nah. I’m good.”

Jermaine didn’t press it. Just watched as Deon wobbled slightly, adjusting himself with a grimace before heading toward the living room.

“Where you goin’?” Jermaine’s voice was lazy, but his eyes tracked Deon’s movement in the dim light.

“To the couch,” Deon muttered, already halfway out the door.

Deon slipped into the living room, the floorboards groaning under his weight. The dark was thick, the only light a sliver of moon through the busted window, casting long shadows across the sagging couch. He didn’t hesitate. His fingers fumbled with his shorts, yanking them down just enough to free his dick—already half-hard, already aching. He spat into his palm, the sound wet in the silence, then lined his dick between the couch cushions, gripping the back of the sofa like it was the only thing keeping him upright. His breath came rough as he thrust, hips snapping forward, the cushions muffling the slap of skin. He bit his lip to keep from groaning, but a low hum escaped anyway, vibrating in his chest.

Her face. Shanice’s smile, the way her eyes had locked onto his like he was the only man in the world—before the laughter, before the noodle. 

Back in the main room, Jermaine rolled onto his back, his own hand already wrapped around his dick. He wasn’t quiet about it. His breath came steady, his strokes slow and deliberate, his other arm slung over his eyes like he was just trying to sleep. The rhythmic slick-slick of his fist filled the silence, mixing with the distant hum of cicadas outside. His dick was thick, dark, the foreskin shifting with each pull, his hips lifting just slightly off the mattress. Back in the living room, Deon continued to thrust hard as his orgasm was building. His stomach twisted, but his dick didn’t care. It throbbed, heavy and insistent, like it was trying to prove something. His thighs burned. His balls drew up tight. And then— he releases hitting the couch in hot, silent spurts. He yanked himself free just as the last pulse left him, cum dripping onto the fabric. His chest heaved, his skin slick with sweat. For a second, he just stood there, dizzy with relief, with shame, with the ghost of her touch.

Back in the bedroom, Kendrick mumbled something in his sleep and rolled over.

Jermaine didn’t skip a beat. Just adjusted his grip, his breath hitching once—then again—as his cum hit his stomach in thick ropes. He didn’t clean up. Just grabbed the corner of the sheet, wiped himself off half-heartedly, and tossed it aside before pulling his shorts back up.

Deon stood in the doorway, watching. Jermaine caught his eye and grinned, slow and knowing.

“Took you long enough,” he murmured, voice rough with sleep. “Feel better?”

Deon didn’t respond, just resumed his position back on the floor.

“Your secret is safe with me!” Jermaine whispered.

Deon exhaled, suddenly serious. “I love you, bro.”

Jermaine smirked in the dark. “Love you too, man.”

---

Logline

Deon confesses the embarrassing failure of his date to Jermaine, who helps him process his emotional devastation and the resulting “blue balls,” before silently joining his brother to relieve their sexual frustration in the privacy of the shared home.

Blurb

Later that night, the sexually frustrated Deon wakes Jermaine, confessing his date’s cruel humiliation and the agonizing failure of his erection. Jermaine, though initially mocking, realizes Deon’s pain stems from genuinely caring about Shanice, not just wanting sex. He tries to counsel Deon on self-confidence, but the sexual pressure is too great, resulting in intense “blue balls.” Deon finally succumbs and relieves himself with the couch cushions in the living room, while Jermaine, in the bedroom, silently relieves himself with his fist. The moment ends not with shame, but with a whispered “I love you” in the dark, cementing their brotherhood and a shared, unspoken secret.

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