Close the Loop

The summer of 1982.

The air in Jax’s basement was heavy, thick with the scent of stale chlorine from the pool outside and the cloying sweetness of stolen beer. It was the summer of 1982, and senior year boredom was a suffocating blanket for two eighteen-year-olds with nothing left to prove and everything to explore.

Jax and Brock were sprawled on the threadbare carpet, bottles of Mickey’s Big Mouths sweating condensation onto their shirts. They’d been best friends since kindergarten, sharing toys, secrets, and now, a growing, uncomfortable tension that neither knew how to articulate. The house was empty—Jax’s parents were at a barbecue, and Brock’s dad was passed out in front of the TV in the living room above.

Jax set his bottle down with a hollow clink. He looked at Brock, whose eyes were glued to a rerun of Happy Days on a fuzzy screen. Jax shifted, his thigh pressing against Brock’s. Brock didn't pull away.

"Hey," Jax said, his voice dropping an octave, rough from the cheap alcohol. "You ever wonder what it’d be like?"

Brock glanced sideways, a smirk playing on his lips. "Wonder what about?"

Jax leaned in, invading Brock’s personal space. He smelled the faint trace of soap and, underneath, the musk of growing man. "You know. Between us."

Brock laughed, a short, nervous burst. "You're drunk, Jax."

"I'm nineteen. I'm supposed to be drunk." Jax didn't wait for an argument. He reached out, his hand sliding into Brock’s hair, his fingers tangling in the short, dark strands. "Just do it, Brock. Or I will."

Brock didn't say no. He leaned into the touch, tilting his head back to expose his throat. Jax kissed him, hard and messy, tasting the beer on Brock’s tongue. Then, he slid his hand down, gripping the front of Brock’s jeans. Brock groaned, a deep, rumbling sound that vibrated against Jax’s chest.

"You're serious," Brock breathed, his eyes dark and dilated.

"Dead serious." Jax unfastened the button of Brock’s jeans. The zipper hissed, a sharp sound in the quiet room. He pushed the denim down past Brock’s hips, the fabric pooling around his thighs. Brock kicked his shoes off, lifting his hips to help Jax strip him completely.

Jax looked at Brock’s cock, standing proud and red, a bead of pre-cum glistening at the tip. It was a sight that took his breath away. He wrapped his hand around the base, stroking him once, twice. Brock gasped, his head falling back against the carpet.

"Jesus, Jax." Brock’s voice was tight.

Jax leaned forward, his tongue darting out to lick the bead of pre-cum. It tasted salty, electric. He wrapped his lips around the head, sucking gently, experimenting. Brock hissed, his fingers instinctively tangling in Jax’s hair.

Jax took him deeper. He bobbed his head, his tongue working the shaft, swirling around the sensitive underside. He could feel Brock’s cock swell in his mouth, the heat intensifying. Brock was breathing hard, his hips bucking slightly, his hands gripping Jax’s shoulders.

Jax looked up at Brock, his eyes meeting his friend’s. He wanted to make him feel good. He wanted to take everything Brock gave him. He took him all the way in, down to the base, his nose brushing against Brock’s pubic hair. He gagged slightly, the taste overwhelming, but he didn't pull back. He swallowed around him, the muscles in his throat contracting.

Brock cried out, his body seizing up. "Oh, fuck, Jax. Yeah, that's it."

Jax pulled back a little, sucking hard on the head, then taking him in again. He was a machine, focused and determined. He wanted to see Brock fall apart.

Brock’s hands tightened in Jax’s hair, pulling him closer. "Don't stop," he pleaded, his voice breaking. "Don't you fucking stop."

Jax went faster, his head bobbing up and down. He could hear the wet, obscene sounds of his own mouth on Brock’s cock, the smack of lips, the slurping of saliva. It was loud in the quiet basement, a primal, animalistic rhythm.

Brock was close. Jax could feel it, the tension in his thighs, the way his cock throbbed in Jax’s mouth. He wanted to taste him. He wanted Brock to come in his mouth.

"Jax, I'm gonna—" Brock choked out.

Jax didn't let up. He sucked harder, his tongue flicking against the frenulum. Brock’s hips bucked off the floor, his toes curling. He shouted, his body arching, and then he came. Jet after jet of hot, salty cum shot down Jax’s throat. Jax swallowed it all, groaning at the taste, the sheer volume of it.

Brock collapsed back on the carpet, his chest heaving, his eyes wide and unfocused. He looked like he’d just run a marathon. Jax pulled back, licking his lips, a smug smile playing on his face. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Fuck," Brock breathed, his hand shaking as he reached for his bottle. "That was..."

"Intense," Jax finished for him, a grin spreading across his face. He looked at Brock’s spent cock, then back at his friend. "You ready to return the favor?"

Brock stared at him, his mind racing. "What?"

"You heard me." Jax sat up, unbuttoning his own jeans. "I got you off. Now you gotta close the circle."

Brock watched as Jax stripped, his cock springing free. It was already hard, thick and veiny, a promise of what was to come. Brock swallowed hard. He’d never done this before. He’d never even thought about doing this with another guy, let alone his best friend. But the taste of Brock’s cum still lingered on his tongue, a potent aphrodisiac. The alcohol buzzed in his veins, lowering his inhibitions. And he was curious. He was eighteen and horny and willing to try anything.

He shifted closer to Jax, his hand reaching out. He wrapped his fingers around Jax’s cock, surprised by its size. It felt heavy and hot, pulsing in his grip.

"Easy," Jax murmured, his head falling back against the carpet. "Just like you did it to me."

Brock nodded, taking a deep breath. He leaned forward, his tongue darting out to taste the precum. It was different from Brock’s—sweeter, sharper. He wrapped his lips around the head, sucking gently. Jax hissed, his hips lifting off the floor.

Brock took him deeper, his eyes watering. He bobbed his head, his tongue working the shaft. He wanted to make Jax feel good. He wanted to see Jax fall apart like he had. He took him all the way in, down to the base, his nose brushing against Jax’s pubic hair. He gagged slightly, the taste overpowering, but he didn't pull back. He swallowed around him, the muscles in his throat contracting.

Jax groaned, his fingers tangling in Brock’s hair. "Yeah, just like that."

Brock went faster, his head bobbing up and down. He could hear the wet, obscene sounds of his own mouth on Jax’s cock, the smack of lips, the slurping of saliva. It was loud in the quiet basement, the rhythm of their breaths mixing with the sounds of their mouths moving.

Jax was close. Brock could feel it, the tension in his thighs, the way his cock throbbed in his mouth. He wanted to make Jax come. He wanted to see his best friend lose control.

"Jax, I'm gonna—" Jax choked out.

Brock didn't let up. He sucked harder, his tongue flicking against the frenulum. Jax’s hips bucked off the floor, his toes curling. He shouted, his body arching, and then he came. Jet after jet of hot, salty cum shot down Brock’s throat. Brock swallowed it all, groaning at the taste, the sheer volume of it.

Jax collapsed back, his chest heaving, his eyes wide and unfocused. He looked like he’d just run a marathon. Brock pulled back, licking his lips, a smug smile playing on his face. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Close the circle," Brock said, his voice breathless. He looked at Jax, his eyes dark and intense. "We got each other off. Now, we gotta do it again."

Jax pulled back, licking his lips one last time as Brock’s softening cock slipped from his mouth. He sat up, wiping the sweat from his forehead, his chest heaving. Brock was a mess too, hair plastered to his scalp, eyes glazed over and half-lidded.

"That," Brock breathed, his voice rough, "was the best damn thing I've ever had."

"It was just the start, man," Jax said, a predatory grin spreading across his face. He reached for his jeans, not bothering to button them as he leaned back against the sofa. "We did it to each other. It was a circle, sure, but it was just you and me. It's too small."

Brock sat up, rubbing his jaw. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying next summer," Jax said, holding up a finger. "We add another guy. The stakes go up. We put in a hundred bucks each. Whoever's standing at the end—the one who finishes their turn last—takes the whole pot. If you miss, you're out for the year."

Brock’s eyes lit up with a mix of fear and excitement. "A hundred bucks? That’s serious money. And you want to add a stranger to this?"

"Not a stranger," Jax corrected. "Someone we trust. Someone cool. But the chain has to change. I go first. I suck you. Then you suck the new guy. Then the new guy has to suck me. That closes the circle. That’s the game. And if you miss the date? You lose your shot at the jackpot."

Brock stared at him, processing the insanity of it. Then he laughed, a deep, belly-shaking sound. "You're a sick bastard, Jax. I love it. Let's do it."

"Let's do it," Jax agreed.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a crumpled hundred-dollar bill, handing it to Brock. "That’s my seed money. We both put in a hundred for next year. Whoever wins, gets it all. And next year? We’re going to need three guys in this circle."

the summer of 1983

It was the summer of 1983, and the air in the cramped rental house was thick enough to chew. The air conditioning had died two days ago, and now the heat was just another layer of skin, pressing in on the three of them. Jax and Brock sat on the floor, the green shag carpet biting into their backs, while Ryder paced nervously in the center of the room.

In front of them sat the pot: three hundred dollars. Two crisp hundred-dollar bills from Jax, one from Brock, and the seed money from the year before, all sitting in a neat pile.

"Alright," Brock said, his voice gravelly from the night before. "Rules are simple. We put in a hundred each. The pot is three hundred. Whoever’s left standing at the end—the one who finishes their turn last— takes the whole thing. If you miss, you’re out. You don't get to finish. You don't get to win."

Ryder stopped pacing. He looked at the money, then at Jax, then at Brock. He was twenty, a lifeguard with a swimmer's build and a look that said he could take a hit. "I'm in," he said. "But who starts?"

"We draw straws," Jax said, pulling a handful of paper from his pocket. He held them up, a smirk playing on his lips. "But let's be real. We know who has the stamina for this." He looked at Ryder. "You go last. That’s the handicap for the rookie."

Ryder laughed, though he looked a little uneasy. "Yeah, right. Handicap."

Jax handed the straws to Brock. Brock picked one, unfolded it, and handed it to Ryder. Ryder unfolded it. It was the longest straw.

"Good," Brock grinned. "I go first. Jax goes second. And you get the pleasure of closing the loop with me."

The deal was sealed. They stripped, the clothes piling up on the floor like discarded armor. The air in the room smelled of testosterone and anticipation.

Brock didn't wait. He knelt between Jax’s legs, his hands gripping Jax’s thighs. "Your wish is my command," he said, his voice low and reverent.

Jax leaned back, spreading his legs, giving Brock full access. He looked down at his best friend, a strange thrill shooting through him. It was a role reversal, a power play he hadn't expected but loved.

Brock took Jax’s cock into his mouth, his lips sealing around the head. He sucked gently at first, his tongue swirling, testing the taste. Then he took him deeper, swallowing him whole. Jax groaned, his head falling back against the carpet. He watched Brock’s head bob up and down, the sight of his friend’s mouth wrapped around his dick sending waves of pleasure through his body.

Brock pulled back, taking a breath, then went back down. Jax was close. He could feel the pressure building in his balls, the familiar tightness. He reached down, grabbing Brock’s hair, forcing him deeper.

"Take it all, Brock," Jax commanded.

Brock didn't argue. He took Jax all the way in, down to the base, swallowing him whole. Jax groaned, his body seizing up. He grabbed Brock’s hair, holding him in place, and then he came. Jet after jet of hot, salty cum shot down Brock’s throat. Brock swallowed it all, groaning at the intensity of the explosion, his throat milking Jax’s cock dry.

Jax collapsed back, his chest heaving, his eyes wide and unfocused. He looked down at Brock, who was pulling back, licking his lips.

"Good," Jax said, his voice breathless. "Your turn."

Jax sat up, his legs shaking slightly from the intensity. He looked at Ryder. The lifeguard was watching them, his cock already hard, a bead of precum glistening at the tip. Jax stood up, crossing the room to him.

Ryder gasped as Jax knelt between his thighs. He was bigger than Brock, thicker. Jax wrapped his hand around the base, stroking him once, twice. He leaned forward, his tongue darting out to taste the salty bead, then took him into his mouth.

Ryder gasped, his hands flying to Jax’s hair. "Oh, fuck," he groaned. "Yeah, just like that."

Jax bobbed his head, his mouth working the shaft, his tongue swirling. He could feel Ryder getting bigger, harder, the veins pulsing against his lips. Ryder was close. He was thrusting his hips forward, fucking Jax’s mouth, his breathing getting ragged.

"Ryder, I'm gonna—" Ryder choked out.

Jax didn't let up. He wanted to make him explode. He sucked harder, his throat swallowing him whole, taking everything he had to give.

Ryder’s body seized up, his back arching off the floor. He shouted, his cock pulsing violently as he came. Jet after jet of hot, thick cum shot down Jax’s throat, flooding his mouth. Jax choked, the sheer volume overwhelming him, but he didn't pull back. He swallowed it all, groaning at the taste, the intensity of the explosion. Ryder collapsed back, his hands shaking as they fell to the floor.

Jax pulled back, licking his lips, a smear of white cum glistening on his chin. He looked at Ryder, who was grinning, a wide, triumphant grin.

"Your turn," Jax said, his voice breathless. "You gotta close the loop. You gotta finish Brock."

Ryder sat up, wiping his mouth. He looked at Brock, who was sitting against the wall, his legs spread, his cock semi-hard. Ryder crawled over to him, grabbing his cock with a firm grip. He leaned forward, taking Brock into his mouth.

Brock groaned, his head falling back against the wall. "Yeah," he hissed. "Just like that."

Ryder was a natural. He knew exactly what to do, his tongue flicking against the sensitive head, his throat relaxing to take him deep. Brock’s eyes rolled back, his hips bucking off the floor. He was getting hard again, the memory of the night fueling him.

Ryder looked up at Brock, his eyes dark and intense. He wanted to finish him. He wanted to win.

Brock grabbed Ryder by the back of the head, forcing him deeper. "Take it all," he growled.

Ryder didn't argue. He took Brock all the way in, down to the base, swallowing him whole. Brock groaned, his body seizing up. He grabbed Ryder’s hair, holding him in place, and then he came. Jet after jet of hot, salty cum shot down Ryder’s throat. Ryder swallowed it all, groaning at the intensity of the explosion, his throat milking Brock’s cock dry.

Brock collapsed back, his chest heaving, his eyes wide and unfocused. He looked down at Ryder, who was pulling back, licking his lips.

They had just finished the loop.

Brock was the first to break the silence, his chest heaving against the green shag carpet. He looked over at Ryder, who was sitting back on his heels, a satisfied smirk on his face, his lips glistening. "You closed it," Brock wheezed, his voice rough.

Ryder gave a confident nod, wiping his mouth. "That's right. I closed the loop."

Jax sat up, the adrenaline fading into a warm, buzzing high. He looked at the pile of cash sitting on the coffee table, a testament to their madness. He reached out, his fingers gripping the thick stack of bills. He started counting them out, his eyes narrowing as he tallied the winnings.

"Five hundred dollars," Jax said, his voice triumphant. "Two hundred from last year, three hundred from this year. And I didn't even break a sweat."

Ryder shook his head, his eyes still dark with lust, a hint of a challenge in his gaze. "Next year," he said, his voice dropping an octave. "I'm adding a fourth. I'm taking your spot."

Jax looked at him, a smirk playing on his lips as he folded the money and tucked it into his pocket. "Bring it on, rookie."

The summer of 1983 was just beginning, and the circle was expanding. The stakes were rising, and the competition was only getting hotter.