So, has it started yet?” Pop asked breezily, fifteen minutes into a Skype call that so far had covered nothing more Earth-shattering than the latest addition to Pop’s sports car menagerie and Aunt Ernesta’s third divorce.
Vince ducked his head, then looked up at the image of his Pop filling his laptop screen with a crooked half-smile. “I think so,” he admitted, a little chagrined. It was weird talking about it. It felt like talking about puberty, like telling his dad he’d noticed his first under-arm hairs or that his sweat was starting to stink. Maybe it was a little like that.
For over a thousand years something unexplained and uncanny had come upon the men in the Ossani family. Like puberty it snuck up on them quietly at a certain stage in their lives, in this case somewhere in their mid-twenties, and like puberty it triggered both a rite of passage and a succession of secret, sometimes awkward physical manifestations that no one really talked about, though unlike a boy’s advent of manhood the Ossani gift didn’t only affect the young men who experienced it.
Vince half lifted his eyes to his Pop’s, who was watching him though the video connection with patient interest, ready to help. He should talk to him. It helped a little that Pop looked more like a slightly older brother than his dad, his tanned, Mediterranean face veering more toward “cute” than “handsome” even at 46. Vince could confess things to this pretend-bro more easily than he could the family patriarch, especially with Vince at home in Seattle and the face on the screen with the attentive maple-brown eyes and gentle smile a world away in Milan.
When he didn’t elaborate, his Pop raised a dark eyebrow, and Vince sighed. “It’s nothing major,” he said guardedly. “So far. It’s just—we had a game tonight, you know?” Pop nodded indulgently. Vince knew he talked a lot about the amateur rugby matches he’d gotten increasingly into, but for a bartender who mostly stayed in one place during work hours it felt so good to get out onto a field and be physical, to feel the rush of blood pumping through muscle and to share that with a bunch of other guys. It was a loosely organized local league and everybody played for fun, so there was no pressure, just a lot of guys having fun and playing hard. He’d needed it this week, what with his ex, Paul, breaking the news on Facebook that after a year of doing the long-distance relationship thing he was moving to Chicago to marry his stockbroker boyfriend and live happily ever after. “I was really distracted tonight, I guess, and I missed a couple of goals, and the guys were still razzing me about it when we went for pizza after. And my buddy Tony was setting next to me in the booth, with his arm over my shoulder and ribbing me about the missed goals and everything, and he was telling the guys that what I needed was a hot guy to make out with.”
Pop’s eyes twinkled and his lips quirked, and Vince felt his cheeks heat a little. He had a feeling he might have mentioned Tony to his Pop more and more lately, and how he was fun to be around and how he was surprisingly young and fit for a master electrician, if not anywhere close to as built as Vince. Once again, Vince stalled, and Pop had to prompt him. “And?” he prodded.
“And,” Vince said, “when I looked over at him to tell him to stop fucking around, he’d gotten… you know.” He knew that wouldn’t be enough, and before Pop could grin and ask for more he added, “Hotter. You know, like what he said I needed.”
Pop’s eyes were still twinkling, but Vince could hear an edge of concern in his voice as he asked, “A lot hotter?”
Vince shook his head, wanting to make his dad knew he didn’t have to worry. “No, nothing like that,” he said reassuringly. “Just—Tony was pretty handsome already? He got kind of an upgrade, that’s all. Cheekbones a little higher, that kind of thing. Jawline a little firmer. Maybe his eyes seemed brighter, I don’t know. His hair was thicker, too, I think, all dark and wavy and brushing his shoulders.” Vince considered. “Maybe his shoulders got a bump too, I guess. It was still Tony, still my buddy, you know? Just—a bit hotter.”
Pop seemed to know Vince was holding back. “And?” he said again, those honey-maple eyes glinting even across the video connection.
“And… his lips,” Vince owned up. “Fuck, Pop, it wasn’t—it’s not like they got, like super-thick, or anything weird like that. It was subtle. Super subtle. But—I could see it. His lips, they became, like, perfect kissing lips. A little fuller, and inviting, like you’d taste something amazing on them. And when he smiled… Fuck, it was like this wicked grin that just tugged on you. Made you want to do something about those lips.”
“So what did you do?” Pop asked, his smile knowing.
Vince sighed and shrugged, as if to communicate that there could have been no other outcome to a scenario like that. “So I kissed him,” Vince confessed. “I told him it was just to shut him up, but he started crowing to the guys about how I was obviously already a hundred percent more relaxed and ready to start winning, and what I needed was a steady supply of Tony make-out sessions and I’d be unstoppable on the pitch.”
Pop laughed. “Sounds like an offer I’d have a hard time turning down,” he said, the fatherly pride obvious in his warm amusement.
“Yeah, well,” Vince said, embarrassed again. He’d succumbed to temptation and given Tony another lingering kiss in the parking lot outside the pizza joint, before they’d all dispersed to their cars… but he wasn’t going to tell his Pop about that, or anything about how contented it had made him feel—and Tony too, if that satisfied grin he’d sported as he’d walked backward away from Vince before turning for his car with a wave. He could still taste that kiss, and he knew that that taste had woven itself into him. Suddenly, casually making out with Tony was a thing in his life, and he’d sort of made it happen with his family gift without even knowing he was doing it. “I still feel weird about all this, Pop,” he muttered.
“Don’t,” Pop admonished him. “As long as you’re not trying to do it, all you need to do is just go with the flow and accept it when the world shifts around you.”
Vince had heard this before, when he and his older brothers had brought up the gift, a little anxiously, at the dinner table or when they’d gathered together at family events. His big brothers had all seemed to take Pop’s advice to heart, sooner or later, and, well, they seemed pretty happy.
It felt different now that it was his turn. “But what if it’s not always, you know, subtle like that?” Vince asked.
“It will be,” Pop insisted. “It’s mostly about attitude. If you’re calm and happy, then guys won’t feel like there’s something you need them to be, right? And so there’s nothing for them to become to meet that need.”
“Calm and happy, huh? Like you, Pop?” Vince asked, unable to keep his crooked smile from resurfacing. His dad was one of the chilliest people he knew, and he and his brothers never got tired of razzing him for it.
Pop, of course, didn’t mind at all. “Exactly like me,” Pop agreed cheerfully. “Enjoy your life, polpetto, and your gift will just be a wave in your ocean.”
That night’s game had involved more than a few routine tackles, not to mention the bruises he’d incurred on a failed try near the opponents’ goal—the one where he’d dove for the try only to be felled by a tackle and ended up plowing into the ground. The grass and dirt of Loggia Field in the recreational park where they were playing under the nominal banner of Smitty’s Tavern, Vince’s employer, against the genial toughs of Anderson Movers and Storage, was not very forgiving, and that Colin Anderson was a fucking hulk, like a Viking berserker resurrected and rampaging on the rugby pitch like it was a field of war—though he was sweet enough after the game with a few beers and slices in him. Vince stood under the shower feeling the muscles he’d spent so much of his adult life building and sculpting to perfection groaning and complaining about their recent brutal treatment. Then he climbed into bed, exhausted and aching, and dreading the morning to come.
He’d known he’d be sore as fuck in the morning, but when he opened a bleary eye to the first rays of sunlight coursing though the glass sliding door that led onto his little balcony, his phone alarm inveigling him into consciousness with crescendoing glissandos, he discovered he hadn’t known the half of it. He was just levering himself out of bed and contemplating the heresy of maybe skipping his morning run for the first time since that storm where all the rain was coming down sideways when he heard an insistent knocking at his door.
He stumbled to the door and opened it. He stared at amazement as Tony grinned at him, dressed in a red compression running shirt, black shorts, and black trainers, looking for all the world like Vince’s own personal track and field coach, there to drive him all the way to Olympic glory. If he produced a stopwatch and a whistle, Vince was going to shove both of them up Tony’s tight, hairy ass.
“Hey, Vee,” Tony said genially, cocking his head slightly in a way that let his newly thick and lustrous midnight hair brush along his nicely rounded traps. “Ready for your run?”
Vince blinked at him, then, with a look down at his own attire—which at the moment was charcoal gray boxer-briefs and nothing else—Vince met Tony’s ocean-blue eyes and growled, “Do I look ready?”
Tony’s eyes had followed Vince’s in taking in his mostly exposed, well-muscled and slightly hairy body, before jumping back up in time to match Vince’s gaze. Before Tony could come up with an answer, Vince turned and headed back toward his bedroom, aware he was offering Tony a chance to scope his ass. He heard Tony close the door and then follow him, and he wondered if Tony was indeed checking out his butt. He wasn’t sure how into him Tony was, and whether that had changed from last week to this, or if the changes to Tony were just physical. It was a little strange, this slight shift in his world. There were definite behavioral changes, even if the torch Tony carried had been there before. Like the running. He and Tony had gone running together on occasion, but sporadically, whenever one of them suggested it. This felt like it was more of a thing, like the kissing, and Tony crushing on him more overtly, whether he’d felt that way before or not.
Vince remembered his Pop’s advice and abruptly decided it was a little shift he could roll with. “Grab some water or something,” Vince said without looking behind him, not wanting to test how sore his neck was. He let his hand drift to his left shoulder and start rubbing at the sore muscles there. “I’ll be out of the shower in a sec.”
“You hurting, Vee?” Tony said, sounding closer behind him than he’d expected. “Geez, you got some bruises on your sides, too,” he added, his tone gently admonishing, like he’d recklessly damaged something nice that was worth protecting.
“That’s rugby for you,” Vince said philosophically, grabbing harder at his traps with his right hand. It wasn’t helping much. Then suddenly Tony’s strong hands were on his shoulders, pushing Vince’s hand out of the way. Vince stopped dead in the middle of the bedroom, halfway to the master bath, as the tingling pleasure of Tony’s hands kneading his aching muscles spread through him like colored dye diffusing through clear water.
“How’s that?” Tony asked, and Vince hummed appreciatively. Tony took that as an invitation to initiate a proper massage. “Here,” he said, guiding Vince to the bed, and Vince went along with it with little reluctance, climbing up on the bed and lying face-down across the duvet. “That’s right,” Tony said soothingly. He began working Vince’s shoulders in earnest, his movements betraying an unexpected level of skill, and Vince couldn’t suppress a low, soft moan. What Tony was doing felt really, really good.
Tony chuckled. “I knew I’d figure out how to soften you up,” he said, his voice as warm and strong as his hands.
“Soft is not the direction I’m headed in,” Vince admitted, half-hoping his being partly muffled by the duvet his check was pressing into meant Tony couldn’t make out what he was saying.
“Is that so,” Tony said, sounding amused. Instead of following this up, though, Tony said instead, “You want me to try to work your flanks where you’re bruised? I think it might help if I go slow and gentle down there.”
“Sure,” Vince murmured. He was almost dizzy with the fog-thick pleasure roiling through his mind and body. “Just don’t stop what you’re doing.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Tony said easily. There was a moment’s pause as Tony lifted his hands off of Vince’s powerful shoulders for a moment, and at first he thought Tony was transferring his hands down to Vince’s sides. Then a moment later the hands returned to Vince’s shoulders, now slick with lotion, and Vince understood that Tony had availed himself of the hand lotion Vince kept on the night stand (which Vince used for its intended purpose, though more often on his feet than his hands—the lube was safely tucked away in the drawer). Vince allowed an actual groan of pleasure to escape, and Tony offered a smug, “That’s it” as he dug his fingers into the loosening muscle.
Soon Tony was at work on the sore muscles of Vince’s sides as well, and Vince felt like he was going to devolve into muscle jelly. The pleasure wasn’t as intense as sexual release, he knew, but it was akin to it, a constant low rhythm of ecstasy like a sustained, low-powered orgasm. His cock had been hard almost since Tony had started kneading him, before he’d even gotten into the bed, and the heat from Tony’s hands and from the press of Tony’s legs around his ass told him that Tony was aroused, too. There was more, too. Tony wasn’t just aroused, he was also thrumming with a sense of euphoric gratitude at discovering what he could do for Vince.
As Tony worked his muscles, he felt their breathing begin to synchronize, and then their heartbeats, loud and strong and just a little fast. Their minds seemed to brush together, or maybe it was their perceptions of this moment they were sharing. Vince and Tony were both achingly aware of the simple pleasure they were sharing, as Tony rubbed Vince’s shoulders while, at the same time, he also worked the muscles of Vince’s side. It was thrilling to be have come this far, and Vince knew they were both hard and thick at the feel of Vince’s thick, corded muscles being moved and pressed and caressed by hands that were just as strong, the arousal washing through both of them in escalating waves. They were both acutely conscious of the next set of muscles, right there, waiting, begging for Tony’s touch.
Vince heard Tony swallow and then say in a slightly husky voice, “Ass too?” Vince, not trusting his own voice, only nodded into the duvet. There was something dangerous about all this, Vince knew, but he was too docile now, too under the spell of the comfort Tony was providing to care. He felt Tony skootch back a bit onto his thighs. Then, with a shimmer of uncanny pleasure that his body seemed to catch and hold onto, refusing to let go, Vince felt the palms of Tony’s hands slide along Vince’s cheeks through the boxer briefs, while the hands kneading his shoulders and the hands massaging his sides slowed as if in reverent appreciation of this moment of sweet, giddy escalation. Then all the hands stilled and Tony said, “Lift up.”
Hardly daring to let himself think about what was happening, Vince arched his hips up, feeling Tony’s thighs press more firmly into his own. Gently, his hands still on Vince’s shoulders and side, Tony slipped his fingers under Vince’s waistband and gently eased Vince’s briefs over the round mounds of Vince’s glutes until the pale muscle was completely exposed. “Relax,” Tony instructed, voice still rough with want, and Vince settled back into the bed as slow, lotion-slicked motion resumed over the heavy muscles of Vince’s traps and delts and along the long, bruised muscles of Vince’s flanks. With these a new sensation joined the sparking, incredulous torrent of joy erupting unceasingly through Vince’s soul: more lotion-slicked hands firmly manipulating the untender muscle of Vince’s backside.
“Fuck, Tony,” Vince said weakly. “That feels…” He paused, gathering his senses to make sure everything agreed with what he was feeling, and he sensed Tony waiting, just a little anxiously for his verdict. “That feels so amazing,” he finished, and he heard Tony let out a little huff of air as his hands increased their squeeze and tempo.
“Yeah, Vee,” Tony agreed softly. Vince thought there was a little awe in his voice. “Fuck, yeah.”
They drifted like that for a long, endless moment, sailing closer and closer to the perilous edge, until finally Vince couldn’t hold back any longer. “Tony?” he said, hearing the tension, the want in his voice. “Buddy?”
“Yeah?” came the response, the hands slowing but not quite stilled, Tony just as tense as he was.
Vince tried to swallow, but couldn’t. “I’m… going to roll over, okay?”
The slightest of pauses, then: “Yeah.” Vince thought he heard the “please” that lay under that assent. And when he did roll over, he saw it in Tony’s ocean-blue eyes—a need and yearning as powerful as what he was feeling himself. At some point Tony must have pulled off not only that red compression shirt but the shorts and shoes as well, because the extra-hot master electrician with the cascading black hair and the arousal-dark eyes was gloriously naked and—not just hot, but electrically beautiful, radiant with fuckability, so that Vince’s fat cock sang with desire and every cord within him begged for Tony to snatch him up and hold him close and never let go.
He felt a grin spread across his face, and a matching once bloomed on Tony’s very handsome visage. “Are you going to kiss me, or not?” Vince teased. Tony wasted no time answering, and not with words. As Tony’s mouth covered his, Vince responded eagerly, and the kiss deepened rapidly as Tony wrapped his arms tightly around Vince’s torso, their proud cocks rutting together. Vince shivered at the press of Tony’s hard shaft against his own. He’d never seen Tony’s dick and didn’t know if anything had changed about it, but he thought he could guess. Right now Vince needed to be made love to, deep and hard with a large, fat cock, and that was certainly exactly the kind of tool, tailor made for Vince’s hungry ass, that Tony was presently sporting.
They kissed hungrily and unrelentingly as they held each other close, even as Tony found the flexibility to open Vince up with lubed fingers and then, almost before Vince was ready, to push his wide, slickened, monster dick slowly, relentlessly, unstoppably deep inside Vince. Vince cried out in unimaginable pleasure, but it was into Tony’s mouth as they continued their insatiable kisses even as Tony held Vince tightly to him in his powerful arms like bands of iron, Vince’s thick pecs pressed against Tony’s defined and hairy chest, Vince’s torpedo cock stabbing and sliding between their brick-hard and precum-slick abs.
Tony pushed into him, not just pistoning but seeming to push himself inside Vince, pulling back and then pushing himself in again, and Vince couldn’t help but feel that some part of Tony was being left deep inside him, protected, preserved for safekeeping. Vince was soaring, tossed by tsunami-waves the size of planets, and each thrust of Tony’s godly cock was casting him further and further up the vertiginous heights toward ecstatic release. Vince and Tony began kissing anew, as if for the first time, their mouths and lips and tongues egging them both on, teasing them even higher, as Tony held them tightly together—and then, without warning, orgasm smashed across Vince and he was releasing, gout after gout of hot spend shooting into the slick space between them, and then Tony was there too, freezing and then shuddering with wild release right there with him, and for a long time they just soared and floated together as their spasms and shudders slowly relented.
A while later Vince seemed to come to, or at least to focus more clearly on the world around him. Tony was leaning over him, hands pressed into the bed on either side of Vince’s head holding up Tony’s weight as Tony smiled down at him, gently caressing Vince’s cheek, and his neck, and his chest, and his abs. Their eyes met, and Tony’s smile widened. “We made a mess,” he said playfully, dragging his fingers though the gloppy layer of spend on Vince’s hard abs.
Vince reached up and stroked a well-defined upper arm, gazing into Tony’s eyes and, to his amazed relief, seeing no sign of distress or doubt. He kept his tone light. “You can use it for massage lotion,” he said with a grin. “You’ll have guys lined up around the block.”
Tony cocked his head and smiled indulgently down at Vince. “I think I’ll stick with the client I have,” he said. He bent down for a sweet, gentle kiss that Vince deepened enough for them both to lose track of how long it had gone on.
Eventually they broke the kiss, but Tony kept his face close. “I didn’t realize how much I needed to be touched by you,” Vince said, the admission feeling like the final bond between them.
“I’m glad,” Tony said. “Because I … didn’t know just how much I needed to touch you.”
Vince groaned aloud, though he was secretly very moved. “That’s it,” he said. “You get a penalty for that one.”
“A penalty!” Tony exclaimed, eyes glinting. “For what?”
Vince pronounced the offense as if it were the worst one on the books. “Unwarranted corniness.”
Tony laughed and sat up, looming over Vince. “Don’t you mean horniness?” he said. “I think one of us,” he added, kissing Vince’s neck, “needs to hit the showers. Because one of us is smelly and sticky.”
“Is that right?” Vince echoed. He took up a glob of cum from his abdomen and maliciously smeared it into Tony’s chest hair.
“Hey!” Tony exclaimed, erupting off of the bed in pretend dismay. “Now that’s just mean.”
Vince climbed off the bed and stood right up into Tony’s space, and Tony automatically folded his arms all around him. Vince shivered at the perfection of Tony’s embrace and leaned his head on Tony’s shoulder as he hugged him tightly in return. He breathed in deeply and let it out, and Tony did the same.
“This… wasn’t what I was expecting,” Tony said quietly in his ear.
Vince’s gut twisted a little. He said, “Yeah?”
Tony placed a kiss on Vince’s cheek and another on his jaw, his hands slowly stroking everywhere up and down Vince’s broad back as they held each other tight, their strong, sweat- and cum-slicked bodies fitting together like puzzle pieces. “Yeah,” Tony said. “I thought I’d never get you.” He added, in a sardonically wistful tone, “I thought I would just pine for you forever.”
“What did I say about corniness?” Vince admonished, his voice soft and without heat. He laid his own kiss on Tony’s neck, almost quaking with the relief he seemed to be sharing with Tony at having somehow gotten to this point without either of them expecting it. He wasn’t even sure how much of this had to do with his gift, and he really and honestly did not care.
“Let’s go shower, muscle boy,” Tony said affectionately.
“After you, hotness,” Vince agreed, and they made their way into the shower hand in hand and from there into a world that was gently shifted from the one they’d known before, in a way that left them both happier, in that moment, than they would have ever imagined.
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