The long weekend

by BRK   

Bill thinks he’ll have the family lake house to himself for an end-of-summer four-day weekend. Unfortunately, that’s news to his cocky and annoyingly hot big brother and his two bro-hunk friends, who turned up with their own plans to hole up in the cozy lake house digs.

Bill dropped his heavy duffel-bag right in the center of the lake house living room, kicking up a small flurry of dust from the thick, faded circular rug no one had cleaned, apparently, since he was here with his folks and his rotten big brother as a kid, fifteen years ago. He ignored the neglected interior, moving instead toward the all-glass wall and sliding door that looked out onto the glittering, slow-moving blue expanse that was Lake Wallton, its beauty framed by purple hills and ridges beyond and an intense and immaculate azure sky above. He hauled open the sliding door and was immediately accosted by a welcome burst of clean, fresh air and the healing noises of wind, water, and birds.

Impulsively he pulled off his rust-red tee shirt, tossing it aside onto a nearby armchair and fully exposing his defined, hairless chest to the warm, playful breeze as he stepped out onto the back deck of the lake house. Nature surrounded him, not sirens and horns and other people’s loud music. He moved to the wooden railing and leaned out on his elbows, letting the low-key energy of the lake thrill through him, washing away his old self and leaving something new behind.

This was what he needed. He might have been stuck in the city all summer grinding through and finally submitting the capstone thesis that let him finish his degree early, and his new marketing job was bound to start a whole new treadmill on Tuesday after the Monday holiday… but this weekend, this last four-day wallow of serenity and simplicity at the family lakeside digs, was his and his alone.

Or so he thought.

He stayed out there for a good hour, letting the house air out and enjoying the buffeting breeze and the sun-dappled lake moving quietly under the perfect sky. He was just starting to think he should go find the food he’d left in the car and see about a bit of dinner—the lemon grilled chicken and fresh peppers stir fry sounded exactly right just then—when he heard unexpected noise and voices behind him and stiffened.

“Whose car is that, anyway?” asked a baritone voice. The sound and cadence was ominously familiar, but Bill didn’t recognize it right off.

“Hey, there’s a bag here, too. What’s going on, Sammy?” another voice added. This one was a little more tenor and rang the same bells as the first one. Bill felt his gut twist.

“Aw, shit.” That one Bill knew cold, even from just two words. His jaw clenched and he turned around slowly.

On the other side of the sliding door, ensconced in the relative dimness of the house’s interior, stood the last three men Bill wanted to even think of this weekend, much less encounter. They were all of a type: handsome, effortlessly muscular, rakishly charismatic, and intolerably smug. They were usually, as now, proudly shirtless so as to increase the impact of their hotness on anyone they encountered. They were always together; reliably dirty, grimy, covered in sweat, or otherwise gross; and frequently up to something—cadging beers off of better-funded peers, talking up busty skanks in roadside bars, disassembling trucks or Harleys they didn’t have the parts to properly fix, crashing parties, and just generally behaving like the world existed purely as a backdrop for their amusement and gratification. They spoke alike and thought alike, and the differences between them were largely cosmetic. The taller, marginally dimmer, messy-haired dishwater-blond was Pete. The shorter, bearded brunet with the slightly more ripped physique and the caterpillar eyebrows giving him a perpetual scowl was called Ron. And the bronzed, hard-muscled auburn-haired god standing in front of them and glaring scornfully at Bill happened to be his brother and childhood nemesis, Sam.

“You took the words right out of my mouth,” Bill said coolly. Rage built within him, but strangely the breeze and the lake energy seemed to wrap around him, calming him. He gave his brother a long, flat look. No one spoke for a moment. Bill deeply regretted sharing a childhood with Sam and his likeminded douche-canoe clones, who’d been thick as thieves with Sam since grade school. Not only had they pushed him around and treated him like dirt, they’d blossomed into crazy-beautiful men at exactly the same moment Bill had discovered he liked men and muscles and dick. Even now as an adult the three of them together made his cock stir and his blood heat with frustrated desire.

“Dude—” Pete started to say, his blond brows furrowed as he looked over at Sam.

Sam ignored him. “What are you doing here?” the brothers burst out at the same time.

Bill wasn’t waiting for an answer. He strode defiantly back into the living room to face his brother, physically staking his claim to the house as well as the deck. Sam looked over Bill’s comparatively meager physique, obviously readying a cutting blow over him “showing off” his nothing bod, and hurried to cut him off. “I cleared this with Dad,” he said, aggressive in a way only Sam brought out in him. “I told him I would be here for the long weekend, the whole time. Alone.”

Sam sneered at him, mocking his tone. They were close to the same height, but Sam always acted like he was inches taller than Bill. “And I cleared it with Mom,” he sassed back. “And since the lake house comes from her family—”

“That’s not how it works!” Bill broke in. The feel of the lake and the air was wafting potently in through the wide-open door and filling the house around him. It seemed to slide over his skin and sink down into his pores, and Bill took a long breath, steadying himself.

“Ergo,” Sam finished, as if he’d completed a deft syllogism, “you need to vamoose, Billy-boy.” Those sexy blue eyes bore down on him with what could only be called amused contempt.

Bill fumed at the hated juvenile nickname. “Why? So the three of you can fuck each other?” he said at random, lashing out with anything he knew would make Sam bridle. Sam’s expression froze. Knowing he’d hit home, Bill kept going. “You know they’re doing it when you’re not around,” he added, jerking his head toward Pete and Ron. The skin on his bare forearms burned with his anger. “They’re so hot for each other, you wouldn’t even believe it.”

Out of the corner of his eye Bill caught Pete and Ron exchanging a brief, shocked glance, then pointedly looking away from each other. Weird, Bill thought—they actually look guilty. Shit, now I’m imagining them fucking. Ron drilling Pete—no, Pete deep-dicking Ron. That would be so hot to watch. His cock chubbed further. Third-hand gossip sketched out impressively big dicks for all three of them, but Bill could only confirm this in the case of his older brother and the very meaty sausage he’d let flop around between shower and bedroom on more than one occasion. This had probably been an attempt at intimidation directed at Bill, but the effects had been rather different.

Annoyed at his mounting arousal, he turned his glare back on his brother. Sam’s kissable mouth twisted in a half-smile. “You. Wish.”

You bet I do, Bill thought miserably. He drew another deep breath, feeling the lake behind him giving him strength, and his agitation mostly solidified into a kind of steady heat, like the flame on a gas stove. “Fine,” he said. “You three can stay—” Sam opened his mouth to object to being “allowed” to do anything, but Bill cut him off. “—if you clean the entire house and do all the cooking and chores the entire weekend.” Bill felt the rippling warmth on his skin again, but he paid it no heed. He knew Sam would object to this, and then Bill would press his brother’s discomfort until Sam threw up his hands and the three of them decamped for less stressful climes. Heck, he was here first—he would call “dibs” if he had to.

To his utter amazement, Sam lifted his chin and said, “Fine.”

Bill flicked his gaze at Pete and Ron, but they just nodded their agreement: Ron grumpily, Pete still looking inexplicably stressed at having been “discovered.”

Bill narrowed his eyes at Sam. “Naked,” he pressed. “The whole time.”

Again, Sam shocked him by scoffing. “As if we’d never spent a weekend naked,” he said with a smarmy grin. When Bill just stared at him, Sam added, “What? You think we won’t?”

Immediately he toed off his black running shoes, one at a time, revealing the lack of any socks between his smelly but stylish sneaks and his big, sexy feet. He started unbuttoning his jeans, and at a wordless look from Bill his two buddies reluctantly started following suit, kicking off their own shoes before starting in on their pants. “Demanding prick,” Ron muttered caustically under his breath as he shucked his pants down.

“Yeah, you want to know all about my demanding prick, don’t you?” Bill jeered. Ron slowly looked up at him, alarmed. Bill didn’t understand the reaction or how he’d briefly gotten the upper hand on these three, but kept up the taunting anyway. “That’s right,” he said, “you totally want to taste my big, hard, demanding—”

“Shut up!” Ron barked, looking away again, his cheeks reddening. Sam just snickered, but Pete’s eyes were wide.

The three jocks were now in their underwear, and no one seemed willing to comment on the fact that Pete and Ron were both hard in their briefs. Rumor confirmed, Bill thought, trying not to stare at the hefty meat on display. Sam was already reaching nonchalantly for the waistband of his boxer-briefs, but Ron and Pete were hesitating. “Keep going,” Bill said cheerily. “You’ll feel so much better when you’re naked.” He’d meant it to sound petty, but once they were done all three of them did look kind of relieved to be shed of their clothes, Ron and Pete’s bobbing erections notwithstanding. Bill was mostly hard himself now, but no way was he shucking the protecting obfuscation of his own jeans and briefs.

“Well,” Sam said, half mocking, half businesslike, “if we’re going to clean the place as required, we might as well start with this stuff.” He gathered up his clothes, even grabbing the tee Bill had cast aside and adding it to his pile. The others did likewise, and the three of them headed up the stairs toward the bedroom with Sam leading the way. “We can start up here,” Sam told them, as Bill watched the undulation of their tanned buttocks and all those perfect, corded soccer-star legs. His anger was banked and in its place his libido was fully engaged.

Sam was still making plans with the other two as they ascended, only it wasn’t about their usual plans involving gaming, football, babes, or beer. “There should still be cleaning supplies in the hall closet,” he was saying, “and…”

Bill gaped after them, resisting the urge to grab his dick through his jeans. Okay, he thought, feeling a little stunned, what the hell just happened?

True to their word, the three bro-hunks spent a good hour dusting, sweeping, and mopping the upper story, starting a load of laundry with the musty bedclothes and their own attire before breaking to fix dinner. They remained naked the whole time without complaint, though Pete and Ron had softened to a half-hard state by the time they came downstairs, and they made no attempt to put on clothes once they’d stopped working. It almost seemed like they’d gotten comfortable being in their birthday suits, like it was the normal way guys should hang out. If anything, Sam’s wry glance at Bill’s jeans as he trouped into the kitchen marked him as the odd man out.

Counter to his expectations, they’d brought food with them as well—real food, too, not just beer and potato chips, though they brought plenty of both of those as well. Maybe picking up on Bill’s now-constant state of arousal, Sam, after bringing all the stores in from the cars and stowing it properly, announced he was using Bill’s eggs and the chorizo they’d brought up to make sort-of sausage frittatas. Ron, who was actually a good cook, helped, beating the eggs and finding spices and a bit of cheese to perk things up, while Sam got the skillets heated and the sausage prepped.

Bill watched from the kitchen entryway, processing. Pete, who couldn’t so much as make toast reliably, leaned against a counter nearby, casting occasional glances at him. Bill was trying to make sense of what was happening. At first he’d thought Sam’s concessions were part of a scheme to annoy him, with a bit of laziness at not wanting to make other plans thrown in. But Sam would never be this… amenable about anything, even with the goal of pissing off his younger brother in sight. Bill just wasn’t that important to Sam.

No, something else was going on, he thought, as the smell of spices and sizzling sausage filled the air, mixing with the clean lake breeze still coming in from the deck. It was like his words were golden, somehow. He was making things happen. Changing things. The guys’ nudity, and Pete and Ron’s exposed boners before, seemed proof of that, even if it didn’t make any sense.

Pete was pushing a hand through his scruffy brownish-blond hair, trying to smooth it out without much success. His cock had crept back up to three-quarters hard, lolling out in front of him, but they both ignored it. “How’d you know we’d feel better naked?” Pete asked suddenly. “I was kind of wondering about that. I mean, you were right, but…”

Bill considered him shrewdly for a moment. “C’mon, you were always trying to get out of your clothes cause you kept getting taller and they never fit you,” he said cautiously, trying to sound as if he were just saying things they all knew. The skin on his arms started to warm, ironically giving him a shiver. Pete was watching him very intently, his existence seeming to Bill almost as though it were in flux, waiting. Even so he was taller already—obviously and measurably so, just going by the cupboard handle beside him that was level with his ear before and his bare, muscular shoulder now.

Somehow, Pete was taller. Bill pressed on, testing his hunch by intensifying what he was saying. “I mean,” he said, heart pounding, “by the time you hit seven foot in high school, you could barely find shirts or pants to fit… you…”

Bill trailed off as he stared up at genuinely ubertall Pete, who was nodding sagely. “I guess it wouldn’t have been hard for you to figure out, at that,” he agreed. He grabbed an apple from a bowl behind him and bit into it loudly, wiping juice from his stubbly chin.

Bill stared. Everything about Pete was bigger—mostly taller, but he was a notch beefier, too, as if he’d worked out harder to avoid looking like a beanpole. Even his cock, now fully hard and suspended straight out on front of him like he was expecting birds to land on it, looked bigger.

“That’s true,” Sam agreed unexpectedly from where he was shuffling food in his skillets, his bare back (and ass) to them. Ron was staring at Pete, too, not in shock at his sudden growth but in raw, carnal admiration, his own thick, bent, uncut cock now as hard as Pete’s, the dark skin crisscrossed with veins Bill could see even from across the room. He caught Bill looking and jerked his eyes back to the bowls he was washing up. “What a joke. Even the big and tall stores just had baggy, uncomfortable shit,” Sam was saying. “Pete was always thrilled any chance he got to haul it all off and get bare-assed.”

Wait—you remember that? Bill thought, almost saying it aloud in his astonishment. Was he—he wasn’t just changing Pete, he was changing the past.

Fuck, could he change anything? Was nothing impossible?

Pete nodded as he chomped on his apple. “What about them, though?” he asked, jerking a thumb toward Sam and Ron.

“Well, that’s just being good guy friends, getting naked together,” he said distractedly. His eyes were stuck on Sam’s outstanding glutes and the naturally awesome thighs and calves his brother had honed through years of track and leg days in the gym, crafted to aesthetic perfection and dusted with just the right amount of fine, dark hair. Just for that moment they were taking over his brain, the most compelling things in the universe.

Push it. You have to see what’s possible.

With Sam’s lower half filling his vision he said, “Besides, they’re jocktaurs. Four-legged guys hate wearing clothes.”

Sam was shaking his head as he flicked off the burners and plated the makeshift frittatas. “Damn homemade jeans,” he muttered. He looked over at Ron. “If Levi’s hadn’t finally come out with that four-legged 505-j collection I don’t know what I woulda done.”

“At least your mom could sew,” Ron complained as he dried the bowls and utensils he’d been washing. “I had to get homemade hand-me-downs from my jocktaur cousin.”

Bill’s own legs felt as though the bones had been turned to jelly. His brother had four legs. Four legs! Ron too. It was just like he’d said. Five minutes ago, a four-legged Sam had been only a fleeting, delirious fantasy. Now? Four legs were a thing. Jocktaurs were a thing, and Sam and Ron had four of their beautiful, sculpted, tanned and lightly hairy legs, with a rear ass behind the first just as nice as the original. Bill desperately wanted to drill his rock-hard erection deep, deep into both of those asses, as soon as possible.

“At least my little brother stood up for us when we got teased for being different,” Sam said, glancing over his shoulder at him with a fond smile Bill wasn’t sure he’d ever seen Sam direct his way. “Remember that older kid he punched in the nads for calling you a Shetland pony?” he added to Ron.

“He is, though, compared to you,” Bill said without thinking, only when he looked again Ron was not just a little shorter than Sam but several inches shorter—maybe a whole foot or more under than Sam’s 6’3”, though still somehow with the exact same amount of muscle mass packed into his sized-down studmuffin boytaur frame. At his remark Ron was cocking one of those menacing brows at him, arms folded over his considerable chest, and Bill realized he now remembered the incident in question. It had involved a stocky, malicious kid in the part who’d stopped to taunt a ten-year-old Sam and Ron while they tried figuring out the best way use the swing set, with Pete’s help. Eight-year-old Bill, awed by his brother and his friends, had seen red. “But that kid shouldn’t have called you that,” he added, an echo of the anger he’d experienced then flickering in his heart. Ron smiled that smile that said Bill was off the hook, though there was genuine affection in his dark eyes, too, just like he’d seen in Pete and Sam.

Sam started bringing food out to the table, Ron bring the rest and Pete grabbing beer bottles from the fridge for them all. Bill trailed after them, his mind swimming and his cock achingly hard in the jeans he was still wearing, despite having slipped into a world of nude male pulchritude. He couldn’t take his eyes off Sam and Ron’s legs, and when he did Pete’s stretched and beautiful body was just as distracting. “I’m grateful you’ve always had our backs,” Sam said, and there was just a hint of playfulness in his voice—like he meant the double entendre and knew that, in that moment, these three men’s “backs” were exactly what he needed to have.

They all ended up in a little group near the table, not ready to sit down yet. “Well,” Bill said, “you made it up to me by getting me started working out and showing me how to get strong.” That had never happened—Sam had always chased them out of their garage gym for “messing with” the weights and equipment. Only… no, that had happened. He felt the power and strength in his body even before he looked down and saw generous, well-chiseled muscles—not as godlike as Sam’s were, or as densely thick as Ron’s, or as long and prominent as Pete’s, but enough to make him as turned on by his own body as he was theirs. Maybe Sam was thinking the same way: he was raking his eyes over Bill’s half-clothed bod, and for the first time he was seeing Sam’s bug, intimidating, aircraft carrier of a cock raging hard and bending gently upwards, as if to point its dripping head directly at Bill.

“And now you’re just as sexy as the rest of us,” Pete said, tossing an arm over Bill’s newly brawny shoulder. His other arm, Bill noticed, had snaked around Sam’s back, and his eyes kept finding Ron’s meaty, crooked shaft and then glancing away.

“The other reason he wanted us naked,” Ron said wryly, but his hand had slipped onto Bill’s ass, as if he were assessing its roundness.

“And the other reason we agreed,” Sam said, and the playful heat was definitely back in his voice.

Bill frowned, even as his veins ran hot with need. “You’ve never come onto me before,” he said faintly.

Sam bent and kissed him—just a taste. Bill felt his whole body react in an agony of tantalization. “I’ve been waiting for you come to us,” he said, smirking at the extra meaning in his words. “And now that you have, I can finally tell you how badly I wish you’d suck me off.”

A dozen powerful thoughts and needs churned in Bill’s head, threatening to spin his brain off its axis. That cock—it was beautiful, but was it too big to suck? It was, wasn’t it? What about fucking? He wanted to suck Sam off, but he also wanted to fuck Sam and Ron and Pete, maybe over and over. Could he do that? Not before the eggs got cold, he thought wildly. His stomach rumbled. He would need fuel to do all the things was planning.

He glanced at Ron and Pete, who were grinning: Ron very slightly, Pete full on. They were in, and so was Sam. They were his. He could make this anything he wanted it to be. They were all close now, in this little group, their heat and scents washing over him and intoxicating him.

This was his call, he thought. He pressed an index finger into Sam’s cleavage. He still looked smug. “After dinner,” he said. Sam nodded, still smirking, like he thought he was letting Bill get away with something. He pressed on. “After dinner, I will suck each and every one of those eight fat, dripping four-inch boners you are so proud of.” Sam beamed at him, very self-satisfied. He was proud of them, and Bill found he was looking forward to that round of fellatio more than any cocksucking he’d ever done. “And then,” he added, looking significantly at Pete and Ron, then back at Sam, “I will pound every single fine ass in this room.”

Sam was grinning wide. “That was the plan!” he said, wiggling his sleek eyebrows. “Why do you think we came up here in the first place?”

Bill bridled at this. “Uh huh.” Sam seemed to mean it, though.

They moved to the table and sat down at last, Bill keeping his eyes on his big, gorgeous brother with the shit-eating grin. Clearly one-upping someone as crazy confident, impossibly impressive, and effortlessly charming as Sam was no easy feat, golden words or no; but Bill was willing to give it everything he had. This was only the beginning.

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