The air was thick, suffocating—the kind of humidity that clung to skin like a second layer. Terrence’s eyes snapped open before dawn, his body already tense, muscles coiled from years of being the first to wake, the first to act. The shared mattress beneath him was damp with sweat, the mildewed blanket tangled around his legs. He blinked into the dim, gray light filtering through the cracks in the cinderblock walls, the scent of stale air, mildew, and the faint metallic tang of the swamp outside pressing in.

Then he saw it.

Jermaine, sprawled on his back, naked as the day he was born, one arm flung over his face, the other resting on his stomach. His chest rose and fell in slow, deep breaths, the faintest sheen of sweat glistening on his dark, ashy skin. His thick, uncut penis lay 8 inches and half-hard across his thigh, the foreskin slightly retracted, the dark head peeking out. Terrence’s jaw tightened. Morning wood. Again.

Jermaine playfully grabbed his semi erect penis played with his precum then grabbed his balls feeling how full they are. Then give his dick a slow rub while Terrence watched and his brothers were asleep. his thumb brushing against the base of his erection almost absentmindedly. His breath hitched—just slightly—but Terrence saw it. He knew that look. Knew where it led.

“Put some damn shorts on,” Terrence muttered, his voice rough with sleep and irritation. He nudged Jermaine’s leg with his foot, hard.

Jermaine groaned, his back arching slightly as his penis twitched again, bouncing up and down. “Damn, man. It’s hot as hell,” he mumbled, his voice thick with sleep. He didn’t move to cover himself. Instead, his hand drifted lower, fingers wrapping around his shaft.

Terrence’s stomach twisted. “Jermaine. Now.“

Jermaine’s breath hitched, his hips lifting slightly as his strokes quickened. Terrence didn’t wait. He stormed toward the door. “I’m not dealing with this shit,” he muttered, slamming the door behind him.

The room was quiet for a moment—just the sound of Jermaine’s ragged breaths, the slick slide of his fist, the creak of the mattress. Then his back arched, a low groan tearing from his throat as his 10.5 inches dick pulsed in his grip, thick ropes of cum splattering across his chest and stomach. He didn’t stop stroking until the last weak spurt dribbled onto his fingers, his body shuddering as the pleasure ebbed.

Jermaine lay there for a second, breathing hard, his skin slick with sweat and cum. He didn’t clean up. He never did.

Then—

A crack of thunder split the air, so loud it rattled the thin walls of the shack. Jermaine’s eyes flew open just as the first fat drops of rain hit the roof. Then more. Then a deluge.

The roof leaked.

Water poured through the gaps in the corrugated metal, the tarps shifting under the sudden onslaught. A steady stream splashed onto the mattress, right where Jermaine was laying.

“Shit!” He bolted upright, wiping his hand on the sheet as the downpour turned the room into chaos. Jermaine pulls up his shorts and  yells, “Yo, Lamar! Kendrick! Move the mattress!”

Deon, who had been sleeping on the floor near the door, groaned and rolled over, pulling his hoodie over his head. “Nah, man. Y’all got this,” he muttered, already curling back into a ball. “I’m good right here.”

Terrence was already moving, his mind sharp, his body reacting before he could think. He grabbed the nearest bucket—a rusted, dented thing they used for everything from bathing to collecting rainwater—and shoved it under the worst of the leaks. The water hit the metal with a loud, rhythmic ping ping ping, the sound drowning out the thunder outside.

“Lamar! Kendrick! Move the mattress!” Terrence barked, his voice cutting through the noise. Lamar was already up, his thin frame darting toward the far corner of the room, where the leaks were less severe. He didn’t say a word, just grabbed one end of the mattress and tugged, his movements quick and efficient.

Kendrick, who had been sleeping on the floor near Deon, was already on his feet, slipping into action without complaint. He grabbed the other end of the mattress, his bare feet slapping against the wet concrete. “Damn, it’s coming down!” he yelled, but his voice was steady, focused. “Terrence, grab that barrel! Jermaine, get the tarp!”

Bryce groaned from his spot on the mattress, clutching his stolen designer clothes to his chest. “Man, why me?” he muttered, not lifting a finger. “Y’all got this. I’m just gonna—”  He adjusted his tee’s collar, making sure the logo stayed visible, and stepped farther back, his Jordans untouched by the rising water.

Terrence’s patience snapped like a dry branch. “Bryce, move your ass and help!” His voice was a whip crack, his muscles coiled.

Bryce smirked. “Nah, I’m good. Y’all got this.” He eyed Jermaine, still dripping with rain and cum, then sneered. “Ain’t no way I’m ruining my shit for this.”

“Man, shut up and help,” Jermaine laughed, too hyped on storm energy to care.

“At least I got clothes worth keeping dry,” Bryce shot back, “unlike y’all nasty asses.”

Terrence lunged. In one motion, he ripped the designer tee from Bryce’s hands—then shoved him hard in the chest. Bryce stumbled back, his sneakers skidding on the wet concrete, but he caught himself and shoved Terrence right back, their chests slamming together. “Fuck you, Terrence!” Bryce snarled. “I ain’t your damn slave!”

For a second, it was just them—the storm, the rain, the heat of two bodies about to throw hands. Terrence’s fists clenched, his breath coming fast.

Then Jermaine jumped between them, still grinning like this was all a game. “Chill, man!” He wedged himself in, palms on their chests. “We ain’t got time for this shit.” He turned to Bryce, voice firm. “Grab the mattress. We’ll get you outta here after.”

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Bryce’s nostrils flared, but he grabbed the mattress, shooting Terrence a look that said this ain’t over.

As they dragged the mattress toward the drier corner Lamar had pointed out, something clattered to the wet concrete: a burner phone, its screen cracked but functional. It skidded near Terrence’s feet.

Terrence froze. His eyes locked onto it. Lamar’s. He’d never seen it before. His stomach twisted. What the hell was Lamar into?

“Yo, what’s that?” Kendrick reached for it, but Lamar was faster. He lunged, snatching the phone and shoving it into his pocket, his face pale. “Nothing,” he mumbled. “Just… nothing.”

Terrence opened his mouth to press, but Jermaine pushed his shoulder, steering him toward the mattress. “Come on, man. Roof’s gonna cave in.”

Terrence hesitated, his gaze lingering on Lamar. But the storm wasn’t letting up, and the roof still needed securing. He’d circle back. For now, he had bigger problems—like Bryce, who was done.

As soon as the mattress was in place, Bryce grabbed his gym bag and stormed toward the door. “Y’all can handle this shit yourselves,” he snapped. “I need to wash these anyway—ain’t no way I’m letting them stay damp.” He didn’t wait for a response, already planning his escape to Ghost’s.

Jermaine, still grinning, water spraying everywhere. “Don’t worry, pretty boy! Tell Ghost I said hi!”

Bryce flipped him off without looking back. The door slammed behind him, swallowed by the storm.

Deon saw Bryce leave and used this as an opportunity to dart out the door right after him.

After the mattress is in place, Lamar, Kendrick, and Terrence, their faces damp with rain and frustration. Jermaine, didn’t hesitate. He climbed onto the rickety chair by the door, then hoisted himself up onto the roof, the metal groaning under his weight. Then, because he could, because he was Jermaine and the world was his stage, he grabbed the tarp and yanked it over the worst of the holes. He didn’t bother with precision, just laughed as the rain pounded against his back, his ass, his thighs. “Ayo, Lamar! Throw me that other tarp!”

Lamar didn’t hesitate. He tossed it up and Jermaine caught it. “Got to go to the swamp and get another bucket.” Lamar said and he turned and walked down the swamp path.

“Man, you crazy!” Kendrick shouted, as he wiped water from his face, grinning as he watched Jermaine’s antics.

Terrence, however, wasn’t amused. His jaw was tight, his eyes flicking from the tarp to Jermaine’s back, still glistening with rain and the remnants of his earlier release. “Jermaine, fix the damn roof, don’t play in the rain!”

Jermaine laughed, catching the tarp one-handed. “Ain’t playin’, I’m workin’!” He didn’t bother with precision, just yanked the tarp over the worst of the holes, his movements loose and unconcerned. The rain pounded against his back, his ass, his thighs, but he didn’t flinch. Instead, he turned it into a show, pulling his dick out and twirling like he was on a stage, his flaccid dick swinging as he moved.

“Man, you nasty!” Kendrick called up, but he was already laughing harder.

“Nah, I’m good!” Jermaine shot back, still grinning. “Y’all just mad ‘cause I’m havin’ fun!” He adjusted the tarp with one hand, his other arm still outstretched like he was balancing on a tightrope. “See? Fixed it!”

Terrence muttered something under his breath, but even he couldn’t stay mad at Jermaine’s reckless energy. The storm was chaos, but Jermaine made it look like freedom.

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