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Brandon looked at the clock. He must be really tired because he couldn’t focus his eyes to read the time. But he knew it was late by the stillness of the world outside the hotel room window. Brandon sighed and flopped onto his back.
“Can’t sleep?”
Startled, Brandon turned back onto his side to look across the room at the other bed. He hadn’t realized Tré was awake too. “No. Still wound up from the show.”
“Me too. I just want to sleep. Or get off and then sleep.”
Brandon heard Tré shifting under the covers, then a soft groan.
“Sorry. It’s been a while for me.”
“Same here.” His heart in his throat, Brandon made an outrageous offer. “Maybe we can help each other out. If you want.”
It was silent for several seconds before Tré answered. “Yeah, okay.”
Brandon threw his covers off. Tré did the same as Brandon rose and took the two steps that separated their beds. Tré sat there with his legs spread wide, and Brandon dropped to his knees between them. Reaching out, he tugged Tré’s boxer briefs down, freeing his erection. He wished he could see it, but everything was oddly shadowy and blurry. Still, he bent his head and took Tré’s cock into his mouth.
Tré groaned. “Ah, suck me.”
Tré slid his hands into Brandon’s hair, gently guiding him up and down on the entire length of his cock. Brandon shoved his free hand into his own briefs, gripping his shaft to stroke himself at the same pace that he pleasured Tré.
“Don’t make yourself come before I get a chance to return the favor.”
Brandon moaned at that, and Tré cursed and gripped Brandon’s hair tighter in response. Closing his eyes, Brandon tried to do as Tré said, to wait before he came. But he couldn’t. Tré’s hot, pulsing cock against his tongue made his own arousal throb in reaction. And Tré’s hand in his hair, pushing him to suck more and faster... It was too much. Brandon moaned desperately around Tré’s length and then he was coming...
Brandon woke up with a gasp. His balls were tight, cock aching where it rested hot and heavy pressed against him. Panicked, Brandon realized he was on the verge of orgasm. Flinging the covers off, he jumped out of bed and stumbled into the bathroom. After closing the door, he smacked on the fan and quickly wrenched on the water to drown out any telltale noises. Then he shoved his briefs down, took himself in hand, and stroked.
With a vision in his head of him on his knees and Tré’s cock in his mouth, it didn’t take long. The orgasm rushed up his shaft and burst from the head of his cock to splash his torso. Brandon bit his lip to stop the moan in his throat from making itself heard while his cock pulsed against his sweaty palm.
“Fuck,” he softly cursed. Bracing himself on the counter with his free hand, Brandon stared at his reflection. His cheeks were red, but he’d be hard pressed to guess if it was from arousal or embarrassment. He would never have lived it down if Tré had been awakened by the sound of him having a wet dream about his partner. Brandon grabbed a towel off the bar and wet it under the still running faucet, rinsing his hand clean at the same time. The water was cold, and he flinched when the icy towel touched his hot skin. A couple of quick swipes cleaned the cum off his chest and abs. Brandon dropped the towel on the floor as a signal not to use the stained washcloth in the morning.
Pulling in a deep, shuddering breath, Brandon came to a conclusion. He couldn’t do this much longer. It was either tell Tré how he felt or leave FPW. Brandon grasped the door handle, but paused before pulling the door open.
There was a third option, a middle ground to feel Tré out. Brandon could test the waters, and if it seemed like there was hope, he would stay. However, if he didn’t get a sign that Tré might feel the same as he did, the Pittsburgh Power Machine would have to come to an end.
***
Tré yawned and leaned back against the headboard. Another week, another city. It was near the end of a new loop and his tired brain couldn’t be bothered to remember exactly where he was. He knew he was somewhere in Texas and that was about it.
The sound of gunfire and the rapid clicking of buttons filled the hotel room he was lounging in. A few of the roster were hanging in Mateo and Pollux’s room, playing the latest Call of Duty. Tré was shit at this game so he was only there to watch Brandon play. His partner sat cross-legged on the floor, hunched over his controller. After a few minutes of intense gaming, the screen flashed red when Brandon took a hit. He cursed, making his player swing around to scope out where the shots were coming from. An ominous, throbbing heartbeat sounded from the game as Brandon’s player ran for cover. Unfortunately, he didn’t make it before he was hit again, red filling the screen as he died.
“Fuck, I’m done.” Brandon tossed his controller to Devin, who scooted over and took his spot in front of the TV.
Tré watched as Brandon got up and left the room without saying anything else. His behavior was odd. In fact, he’d been acting strange for the past couple of weeks. Unusual silences, starting conversations without finishing them, and now leaving without speaking to anyone. After deliberating for a few seconds, Tré rolled off the bed and followed him. It was time to find out what was on his partner’s mind.
“See y’all in the morning,” he told the group as he walked out. He let the door close on his friends’ goodbyes and went down the hall looking for Brandon. Tré found him in the little sitting nook across from the elevator bank. He stood between two armchairs, staring out the floor-to-ceiling window to the parking lot below.
“What’s up, man? You all right?”
Brandon answered without moving. “My contract is up in a few weeks.”
Tré frowned. “Alex hasn’t offered you a new one yet?”
“Yeah, he has. But I haven’t signed it.” He rapped his knuckles against the glass. “I’m thinking about not signing...and going to Grand Wrestling Syndicate. They approached me a few months back and offered me a contract.”
Tré’s eyebrows shot up and he took a step forward. “What?” That was the last thing he’d expected his partner to say.
Brandon shrugged as he finally turned around. “You know I’m a rolling stone. Maybe it’s time for me to move on.”
“Your ass rolls from town to town with FPW. Why the hell do you need to jump ship to GWS?”
“I don’t know, man. Might be time for something new.”
“Something new,” Tré said the words slowly, as though he didn’t understand what they meant. “So you’ll break up our tag team because the grass might be greener over there?”
“It’s not about the grass being greener.” Brandon crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back onto the thick glass behind him. “Do you really care if I go?”
“What is that supposed to mean? Of course, I care. I want you to stay with FPW.”
“Why do you want me to stay?”
Tré looked at his friend in confusion. “What do you mean, why? You’re my tag partner.”
Brandon laughed and dropped his head back against the window. He spoke to the ceiling. “Well, that answers that question.”
Tré was lost. “What question?”
“Forget it,” Brandon said as he stood back up straight. “I gotta go. It’s time.”
Completely blindsided by Brandon’s unexpected desire to leave FPW and confused at the odd undercurrent to the conversation that he couldn’t decipher, Tré didn’t have much of a comeback. “Fine.”
They stared at each other for a moment before Brandon pushed away from the window and silently left the alcove.
Tré stood there in disbelief, watching him walk away. Brandon’s announcement floored him. They’d been tag partners for three years, won the tag team championships twice, and were always over with the crowd. Their merch sales were good, and they got along better than damn near everybody on the roster. He didn’t understand why Brandon would want to give that up and leave for another company at the height of their popularity. He’d thought things were good between them. Apparently, he’d thought wrong.
***
The drive to the arena the next morning was awkward and uncomfortable. Tré was understandably mad at him for deciding to move to Grand Wrestling Syndicate. Brandon would almost rather have dealt with the embarrassment of being caught getting off in his sleep while dreaming about sucking his partner’s dick than suffer through the angry silence Tré was giving him today. But what was he supposed to do? He’d tried to see if Tré would have any regrets over his leaving that didn’t have to do with their tag team. Unfortunately, he hadn’t. And that left Brandon no choice.
He couldn’t stay with Tré, sleeping in the same room as him four nights a week, sharing the intimacy of hours in a car alone with him, growing closer and closer all while knowing if he confessed the way he felt about his partner, Tré would reject him. Or maybe feel sorry for him and give him some pity sex.
Brandon stared ahead through the windshield, zoning out on the stretch of highway in front of him as he thought. He didn’t know if pity sex would be worse than rejection. He just knew he didn’t want it.
“You’re about to miss the exit.”
“Shit.” Brandon quickly looked to his right to make sure the way was clear then flipped on his blinker and got over. Once he drove down the exit ramp, he kept his full attention on the road. A necessity when navigating the tight Austin streets with their heavy pedestrian and bicycle traffic. A few minutes later, Brandon pulled into the rear parking lot of the center. They got their luggage from the trunk and made their way across to the doors. Tré didn’t say another word to him, merely nodding when Brandon told him he had to go talk to Alex.
After splitting off from Tré, Brandon searched out Alex’s temporary office in the Austin arena. His last-ditch effort last night hadn’t worked, so now it was time to do what needed to be done. Following the posted signs, he knocked on the door when he reached the office. Chance’s voice called out for him to go in. Brandon went inside and closed the door behind him. Alex was seated behind a cheap pre-fab desk, Chance across from him in a chair that was nearly too small for his big frame.
“Hey, boss. Got a minute?”
Alex set aside the papers he was going over with their booker. “Of course. What’s up?”
His heart pounding, Brandon sat in the other chair in front of the desk. “I’ve been thinking about the new contract you offered. It’s a pretty sweet deal.” He took a deep breath, hoping it would settle his nerves. It didn’t, but he plowed ahead anyway. “I’m sorry to say, I’m turning it down.”
Alex leaned back in the desk chair, his gray eyes wide behind black-rimmed glasses. “You’re not re-signing?”
“No. And I’m going to be straight up with you both. GWS offered me a contract, and I’m going to take it.”
Alex’s face went from surprised to furious in an instant. “GWS,” he bit out.
Brandon expected that reaction. They were in competition with the larger wrestling promotion. GWS had poached their booker not too long ago, and it was suspected that the other company had a spy here who was selling them FPW’s insider information. “Yes. And before you ask, it’s not an issue of money. I’m ready to try something new.”
Chance spoke up. “If that’s the case, maybe we can work something out. We can get Tré in here, come up with a heel turn and a new feud for your tag team or have you guys split and go your own way.”
Brandon shook his head. “Thanks, but no. I need more than that right now. I need to get away on my own.”
“And there’s nothing we can offer you to change your mind?” Chance asked.
Brandon shook his head again.
An uncomfortable silence hit the room as Alex and Chance digested his news.
Alex took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I won’t lie and say I’m not disappointed. I’m sorry to see you go and not only because you’re going to our competitor. We’re your family, Brandon.” He paused, lips pressed together in a hurt yet sincere smile. “The door is always open if you want to come back.” He held his hand out.
Brandon’s throat grew tight with sadness and regret as he reached across the desk top to accept his boss’s handshake. “Thanks, Alex. I appreciate that.” He shook Chance’s hand as well, then got up to leave.
As he walked out of the office, he wondered if he’d made the right decision. FPW had been his home for three years, longer than he’d been anywhere else since he left Colorado and started wrestling. Maybe he should stay and speak up to tell Tré how he felt. But if he did and Tré didn’t feel the same way, he’d be locked into another three-year FPW contract and more than likely stuck working a big portion of it with the man who’d rejected him. It was a risk he wasn’t willing to take. He might throw caution to the wind in the ring, but in real life, he simply wasn’t that brave.
***
Tré sat by himself in catering, a half empty bottle of Powerade in his hand, and an uneaten plate of grilled beef and vegetables in front of him. Usually Brandon would be across from him, but they’d gone their separate ways once they’d arrived at the arena, and Tré hadn’t seen him since. The bad mood he likely wore all over his face probably kept anyone else from joining him.
Chance walked into the room and headed his way. Tré sighed. Well...almost everybody. He took one look at his friend and immediately knew why he was approaching. “I guess Brandon came and talked to you and Alex,” he said once Chance reached his table.
Chance pulled a chair out and sat down. “Yep. He wants to leave and go to GWS.”
Tré tipped up the bottle he held and finished off the drink before answering. “That’s what I hear.”
“You’re good with his decision?”
“No, I’m not. But there’s nothing I can do about it. It’s his decision to make.”
“Bullshit,” Chance said as he leaned forward and braced his forearms on the table. “You can talk to him and tell him how you feel. That might change his mind.”
“Yeah?” Tré’s face warmed slightly in frustrated anger. “And what am I supposed to say, Chance? Hey, are you gay? If so, I’d really like to get with you. That shit can get a guy punched in the jaw. At the very least, it might cause me to lose a good friend.”
“C’mon. You know better than that. If Brandon was that kind of person, you wouldn’t get along with him so well.”
“It doesn’t matter. He’s already made his decision and he’s leaving.”
Chance’s jaw tightened with frustration. “You’re not going to try and stop him. You’ll let your best friend, tag partner, and the person we both know you have feelings for walk out?”
Tré tossed the empty sports drink bottle across the room, sinking it dead center into the trash can. “Let it go, Chance. We can’t all have things work out as perfect as they did for you and Devin, all right?”
“You could if you really wanted it to.”
“Look. I know you don’t want to lose a popular guy on the roster. But me saying something to him isn’t the way to stop it from happening. If he wanted to stay with me, he would never have considered changing promotions. So, fucking let it go.” The two of them stared at each other for several tense seconds before Chance relented and leaned back.
“Fine. I’ll come up with a reason to split you guys up and write him off TV.”
“Sounds good.” Tré got up from the table. “I gotta go get stretched out. See you later.”
***
Brandon wasn’t having the best night. Whereas normally he and Tré worked together in the ring like a well-oiled machine, tonight they grinded against each other like rusty gears. Their timing was off in nearly everything they did. Years of practice helped them hide their mistakes, but the match felt heavy and awkward. Thankfully the crowd didn’t seem to pick up on it too much. They were loud and involved as Brandon wrestled the sloppiest match he’d had in recent memory.
They were working The Black River Boys again. Brandon held Payne in a wrist lock with one hand, while with the other he reached out for a tag. But he wasn’t close enough to the corner and Tré missed his hand when he went to slap it. They looked at each other in surprise before Brandon leaned in closer. Tré tried again and this time they connected. Then they bumped into each other as Brandon was exiting and Tré was entering the ring. They both stumbled back a step before recovering. Brandon swore under his breath, but kept the frustration off his face. They might not be on camera tonight, but the people in the arena didn’t need to see he and Tré were a mess.
On the apron, Brandon leaned his elbows on the top turnbuckle and propped his boot up on the bottom rope to watch Tré work Payne over. It was hard to think too much with people cheering behind him, the ring bouncing under his foot, and paying attention so he didn’t miss his cues. But as he watched Tré move around the ring, it hit him how much he would miss this. Tré was more than just his tag team partner and working with him meant more to Brandon than anything else in his life. Yet Brandon had made the decision to leave Tré behind. Because leaving was what Brandon did best.
Tré and Payne battled their way back to his corner and Brandon snapped to attention. When Payne knocked Tré into the turnbuckle, Brandon slapped his partner’s shoulder for the tag. Tré rallied to drive Payne back with a head butt, giving him room to get back on the offensive. The ref started counting down from ten for him to get out of the ring since the tag had been made, so Tré quickly grabbed Payne by the waist and tossed him up in the air in preparation for their power bomb-frog splash combination. But when he slammed Payne to the mat back first, he landed nearly out of Brandon’s range, and facing the wrong way.
Brandon cursed to himself again and climbed to the top rope. Fuck it. This match was already shit. He was going for the splash anyway, and hopefully it wouldn’t look too bad.
He leaped off, tucked his knees to his chest, then thrust his legs out as he made an awkward mid-air turn. Brandon managed to land the move right on the edge of Payne’s chest. He went for the pin, but Gnash ran into the ring and grabbed Brandon’s hair, pulling him off his partner. The crowd booed at the cheating, and the ref jumped up and berated Gnash all the way back to his corner.
Their pathetic amateur-hour match continued until finally Tré had Gnash up on his shoulders for the Power Tower. Brandon got back up on the top turnbuckle, ready to jump and drop kick Gnash off. But his foot slipped on the rope and he had to reset himself. Tré didn’t notice his hesitation and was already throwing Gnash backward. Trying to rush and catch up, Brandon jumped. He barely managed to connect his boots to Gnash’s chest before they both crashed to the mat. Inwardly shaking his head at their mistakes, Brandon rushed over and got the pin on Gnash. Once the bell rang, he got to his feet so the ref could rais their hands, announcing them as the winners. Tré and Brandon gave each other a desultory high five then climbed out of the ring.
In the locker room, Brandon tried to talk to Tré about the match. “That was a little rough.”
“Shit happens,” Tré said as he grabbed his shower gel from his bag. He kept his head down as he spoke. “Every match won’t be five stars at the Tokyo Dome worthy.”
“Yeah, I know. But I...”
“What?” Tré snapped.
“I hate for us to go out as anything less than the best.”
Tré finally raised his head. “But you do want us to go out.”
Brandon nearly stopped breathing at the look on his partner’s face. On the surface, he seemed angry, but beneath that he was clearly hurt. Brandon could see it in the way his lips turned down just enough for him to notice. And the dark eyes that normally sparkled with friendly laughter now revealed Tré’s sadness that their tag team was ending. Brandon didn’t want to hurt this man ever, but he couldn’t stay by his side pretending any longer. After a few seconds of his silence, Tré huffed a dry laugh. The vulnerable expression disappeared, hidden behind a look of cold anger.
“Don’t worry, I’m not going to screw over Pittsburg Power Machine’s legacy because you’re leaving. I might be mad, but I’m not petty. I’ll keep it kayfabe out there.”
Brandon wanted to say that wasn’t what he meant. That he cared about the way they went out because he cared about them. Not that he thought Tré would try to sabotage them out of spite. But a sudden and unexpected tangle of nerves in his stomach rose up his throat and wrapped around his tongue, forcing him to stay silent.
Tré turned away from him and went off to the showers, leaving Brandon standing there by himself. He clenched his fists in frustration. For three years, Tré had been the one person he’d felt free to talk to. Now, he couldn’t even open his mouth to clear up a simple misunderstanding. He’d fucked up their relationship, and he had no one to blame but himself.
After the loop ended, Brandon flew to Charleston, South Carolina, then made the forty-minute drive out to Isle of Palms. His house there was nice. He didn’t feel particularly attached to it, especially since he was so rarely in it. When he’d purchased this house, he’d ended up across the country from his adopted family. The distance wasn’t intentional He’d simply wanted to live on the beach but was unwilling to pay West Coast beachfront property prices.
Brandon tossed his bag in the laundry room and went back out to the kitchen. He was hungry; the laundry could wait until tomorrow. Deciding to eat his lunch out on the back deck, he grabbed the takeout he’d brought home along with the manila envelope waiting for him on the counter and went outside.
He sat there in the late afternoon sunshine, watching and listening to the waves as the water rushed toward the shore as he ate his burger and fries. Both were good, the burger juicy and thick, the fries greasy and hot. Once he finished, he wiped his fingers clean and looked down at the envelope on the end table next to him. He stared at it for a long moment before picking it up to take out the neatly clipped papers inside.
His Grand Wrestling Syndicate contract. It was a good one, with a significant increase in pay from FPW. There’d only been one issue with it, the non-compete clause they’d wanted to include. He’d been against it. If he’d agreed to the clause, it could affect where he worked after his time with GWS was up. Brandon didn’t like having that restriction placed on him. It had taken a little convincing, but eventually they’d removed it.
Now all he had to do was sign. Sign and move on to something new. Which was what he liked. Trying new things. Moving around as much as possible. He thought back to his years growing up in Colorado. How miserable he’d been sitting at a desk every day, listening to teachers lecture about subjects he didn’t care about. And how, by the time he’d hit high school, he’d started sneaking out of his adoptive parents’ house night after night to explore the town.
He’d thought for sure they’d get mad and kick him out. But to his surprise, they hadn’t. Instead, they’d bought him a cell phone so he could always get ahold of them, and told him, if he wasn’t home by one a.m., he could expect them to come and search him out.
As long as he stayed out of trouble and maintained passing grades, his adoptive parents hadn’t tried to restrict him. Mr. and Mrs. Wilkes had understood his need to roam. And they’d understood when he’d decided to skip college. Rather than pressuring him into getting an education he didn’t want, they’d given him a used car and a thousand dollars as a graduation gift, facilitating his need to get out and see the country. With their blessing, he’d hit the road, working odd jobs to keep himself fed, clothed, and sheltered while traveling.
Two months after his twentieth birthday, he’d been working the grounds of a large carnival and flea market in west Texas. A small indie wrestling promotion had rolled in for a weekend of shows. On his break, he’d sat in the risers and watched. On the clock, he’d talked to a couple of the wrestlers behind the scenes as he’d helped set up. He’d been fascinated with their lifestyle. They traveled all over, working in a different town and with different people nearly every night. They’d admitted that their free time on the road was limited, but they still got to experience different cultures and sight-see.
Listening to their stories of traveling across the globe, Brandon had been intrigued. He’d watched wrestling as a kid, but never thought it was something he could do. He hadn’t even known how to become a wrestler. One of the guys he’d talked to had given him the address and information for a wrestling school. Determined to give it a shot, he’d stayed and worked the fairgrounds long enough to save up money for the training. It turned out to be the best decision he’d ever made. Professional wrestling was the perfect life for him.
It was rough going the first few years. The pain of slamming his body to the thinly covered plywood ring again and again had nearly caused him to quit in his first week. He’d stuck it out, but fame and fortune didn’t immediately beat down his door. There’d been a period where he’d lived out of the back of his car in order to survive off the slim pay for a rookie indie wrestler and the infrequent part-time jobs he’d managed to get.
Now that he’d made it to the big leagues, he was paid to travel and roam the world. There was a little repetition to his job in the move set he performed with Tré and the limited stable of guys they tagged against, but he was thankful not to be stuck behind a desk. The money he made and admiration of the fans was great, although neither were high on his priority list. He cared about having the freedom to try new things, meet new people, and go where he wanted. And he’d become too complacent at FPW.
He looked down at his GWS contract again. That was why he needed to switch companies. To get out there and see new faces. It had nothing to do with Tré.
And if he said it enough times, maybe he would convince himself it was true.
