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Brayden licked his lips. “Always prepared, dude. You know that.”

As the first, slicked finger eased into me, it was tempting to just jerk off. Knowing their eyes were on me as I played with myself: Brayden half-turned in his seat, attention rapt, while Jefferson’s gaze flickered between the highway and the mirror.

“You’re gonna need more lube than that, lil bro.”

I swallowed, knowing Brayden was right. Donny may have been pranked in the same way as I was, back when he was a freshman, but he’d clearly graduated to larger models in the time since. The thick, curved length of rubber was fairly intimidating.

Then again, there was something about my big bros watching me - waiting for me to impale myself on the ribbed black plug - which set my insides itching all over again.

The second finger slid in alongside the first; no holding back the shiver as my fingertips strummed that tight cluster of nerve-endings just inside my hole. Taunting me with how good it would feel, how incredible, to tug my dick out of the jock’s stretched pouch and stroke while I fingered myself.

“Keep going,” Brayden prompted.

It sounded like a suggestion, but I knew it was a command.

I’d just taken four fingers, teasing him. Squeezed that same number together again, pushing at my gooey hole and feeling my body’s meager resistance. A token effort, and barely seconds before my knuckles were pressed between my cheeks.

“Fuck.” I wasn’t sure if I’d said it, or Brayden.

My body clung to me, the first few strokes. Muscles still loathe to toss aside all reluctance, until the spreading lube and the growing heat of my excitement overcame that. Louder, too, in the back of the pickup: a slick, sloppy sound that left me blushing for its lewdness, even as my erection strained my precum-soaked underwear.

“Plug time, lil bro.” Brayden sounded delighted at the prospect.

I eyed the toy warily.

“A little spit will help,” he suggested, still grinning.

Glaring at him, I pushed the thick rubber tip between my lips. Jaw forced wide open by the swelling shaft: broad ridges and flares, soft enough to squeeze between my fingertips, yet hefty enough that I knew I’d feel each bump and twist once inside me.

“He’s got perfect blow job lips, don’t you think?” Brayden glanced at Jefferson, expectantly.

“Yeah,” the other senior agreed. His gaze on me in the mirror was intent; as though, with each minute that passed, we were not only closer to the campsite but to him overruling his commitment to punctuality. An emergency stop at the side of the road, so that he could push his way into the back seat with me, maybe test my lips out for himself.

Perhaps Brayden was a mind reader. Perhaps he just knew how his best friend’s brain worked.

“There’s still time to stop, bro.” His hand dropped down; out of my sight, yes, but clearly into Jefferson’s lap. “Y’know,” Brayden continued, “take a comfort break.”

“The only reason we’re stopping is so you can walk the rest of the way.” Jefferson shot him an unimpressed look. “And stop playing with my dick while I’m trying to concentrate.”

I held my breath, my own cock throbbing. There was something exquisitely thrilling about watching the two seniors touching each other. Even if I couldn’t see the actual action. Just knowing it was happening - and matching that knowledge to the mental images of them hooking up before - was enough to have me teetering on the edge of spewing hands-free.

“You’ve never complained about my hands before,” Brayden pointed out, smirk wide.

“If we crash, it’s your fault,” Jefferson fired back. His stare flickered, never leaving me for more than a moment. “Push the plug in, lil bro.”

It was impossible to resist a Jefferson order. My brain was already wired that way.

Jaw clenched, I pressed the wide rubber tip to my hole. Trying to breathe through it, to avoid the instinctive urge to tense my muscles. And then - just when I thought it was too much, too big, too ambitious - that dizzying, unbelievable stretching sensation and, an instant later, the plug sliding into me as if sucked inside. Leaving me panting and sweating, momentarily boneless on the back seat of Jefferson’s truck.

“How’s it feel?” Brayden sounded genuinely curious.

“B-big,” I managed to gasp out.

He chuckled. “And yet you took this guy.”

I could imagine the way he’d squeeze Jefferson’s crotch as he said it. Wondered, too, just how hard our team captain was right now; if the sight of me, even in these interrupted glimpses while he tried to focus on the road ahead, had been enough to turn him on completely.

“That’s different,” I told him, and it was.