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No real explanation, then, for why - instead of doing that - I found myself working my fingertips around the thick stem of the plug. Groping at Donny’s hole stretched around it, his muscles twitching as I nudged the toy in my sly explorations.

He squirmed - just a little, but enough to make me freeze for a moment - as I dug my fingertip inside him. Forcing him to take both me and the toy, overcoming the twitching clench of his ass. Knowing he’d feel how I throbbed in his fist in response, despite my best efforts to hold still, to seem innocent and normal.

I looked up, across the hot tub, to find Brayden watching me intently. A knowing expression on his handsome face.

It should’ve been a warning, a sign that what Donny and I were doing was ridiculous, unwise, ill-fated. And again, that rational part of my brain knew that.

Only I couldn’t forget how it’d felt, watching the video of Brayden perform. How mesmerized I’d been, even at the tiny scale of his phone’s display; how, in among the self-consciousness and the doubt I’d felt myself, later, on that same stage, there’d been some degree of pride snaking through. A blend of surprise and ego that I was up there: dancing, stripping, showing myself to men braying to see more. Attention that, once you’d felt it, it was difficult to imagine going without again.

And maybe some of that was clear on my face, or maybe Brayden just remembered what it felt like to be the center of attention, because his spreading grin felt like he was reading my mind.

If I’d been thinking with my head, not my dick, I would’ve known that was dangerous.

“So, is lil bro a good dancer?” He turned to Carlos, eyebrow raised. “Some of us missed his short-lived career on stage.”

I bit my lip, not exactly loving the direction the conversation had taken. Not with Coach sitting right there, listening. He’d made his opinion of the strip club - and his wrestlers' presence there - abundantly clear.

“He was showing promise,” Carlos said, with a wink for me.

Brayden sucked his teeth. “Damn. You should’ve got someone to film it, lil bro.”

Jefferson cleared his throat; it was a fairly awkward sound.

“Well, I might have...”

Suddenly the big athlete was the center of attention. And for once he didn’t look entirely comfortable with it.

“Dude, you had a video all this time and you were holding out on us?” Brayden sounded outraged. “I thought we were bros.”

Jefferson scowled at him. I wasn’t sure if it was the hot water or the confession which had left him looking flushed.

“Shut up, idiot.”

Brayden cast a glance my way. “Lil bro doesn’t mind if we watch, do you?”

The words suggested question, but his intonation said statement. I risked a glance to see how Coach was handling the new discussion.

On the unofficial scale of dour to apoplectic, he seemed... stoic.

“I don’t think...” I started, only to be interrupted.

“Come on, Eoin. There’s no harm in watching, right?” Donny beamed at me, pretty damn innocent-looking for a guy with his hand on my dick and one of my fingers squeezing into his already-occupied ass. “It’s not like you’re still working there.”

“No,” Coach said, with a tone that said statement as well as order. “No, he’s not.”

“Even Coach and Luke have seen you dance,” Brayden complained. “I can’t believe you’d hold out on your boys like this.”

Coach and Luke had seen a lot more than dancing, I felt like reminding him - in fact it was only the luck of their seating that they’d not left the club bearing the results of my performance - but that didn’t seem wise. Either for Coach’s blood pressure or my own embarrassment.

“Is your phone with your towel?” Brayden demanded.

Jefferson sighed. “Come on, dude. Not now.”

“As good a time as any.”

“You sure about that?” Jefferson’s glance at Coach was pointed.

Brayden waved away the concern. “He doesn’t care. Right?”