A photo of Noah’s cock, semi hard, taken right there in a locker room mirror up the coast in Seattle. No caption, just the cock staring right at Piper.
Joan, how are we going to respond to his cock? Shit, there is only one way to reply. Say something hot and then send a dick pic, right?
Piper’s thumb hovered.
He started typing.When can he enter me again?He hit send.
Another message came in. Not Noah this time, but Vivienne.
Jayson’s assistant, Patty, sent me an amended section from the contract. He thinks you are up to something. We need to determine if this contract is still worth it. He mentioned the original morality clause. Call me.
Piper set the phone down. Ten million a year. Sponsor obligations, league appearances, a very public image that couldn’t afford cracks. One leaked photo or screenshot of text messages and the morality clause would torch the whole deal.
The silence was broken only by the distant hum of the HVAC system. He stared at the dark phone, and opened the photo of Noah’s cock again.
He closed Noah’s thread and his thumb moved before he could stop it. He shifted on the bench, glanced once toward the empty row of lockers, and reached down to pull his compression pants down just enough to get the job done. The cool air hit his cock. He angled the phone low, thumb hovering over the shutter. He was semi hard at that point and growing.
He suddenly heard footsteps behind him.
Tank’s voice cut through the quiet from the far end of the row of lockers. “Forgot my fucking keys, what are you still doing here?”
Piper froze, cock out, phone angled down, heart slamming against his ribs. For one sick second he pictured the headline, the fine print of the morality clause, the ten million vanishing and his entire career with it. He yanked his pants back up in one rough motion and set the phone down on the bench as if nothing had happened.
“Oh shit, Piper, what the fuck are you doing?” Tank laughed.
“Needed a new dick pic. You know how it is.” Piper struggled to generate a fake laugh.
Tank paused for a second, then chuckled low. “Jesus fucking Christ, Piper. Lock the door next time. Hope the dick pic gets you what you need.” He let out a laugh as he headed for the exit.
The door clicked shut.
Piper sat there, pulse still racing, the almost-dick-pic burning in his chest like a live wire. He didn’t take the photo. He didn’t send anything. He just gazed at the lockers opposite for a moment.
He finished packing his things, laced his shoes, and walked out of the building into the late afternoon.
He got into the car.
Wouldn’t It Be Niceby the Beach Boys came over the speakers. His parents had loved this song.
Piper suddenly felt the meaning of the lyrics in a new way. The promise of something that you wanted at the moment but the circumstances were constrained.
He drove home the short route, windows up, the familiar melody sitting heavy in his chest. The drive gave him too much time to think about the contract, the new morality clause. One wrong move, one leaked screenshot, and everything he had built would burn. He gripped the wheel tighter until his knuckles turned white.
By the time he pulled into his driveway, the feeling remained. He killed the engine and sat there in the sudden quiet, staring at the dark phone on the passenger seat.
Joan, we have a dick pic to reshoot.
***
Piper took ten dick pics before he found the perfect angle and lighting, which was in his walk in closet. He hit send at eleven-ten PM.
At eleven-eleven, it was Noah.FaceTime.
Piper answered from bed.
Noah’s face filled the screen. That beautiful smile. Already half-hard in a pair of gray sweats, no shirt, phone propped against something off-screen.
“Pull that cock back out for me.”
