It’s not like I’m all that good-looking. I’m pretty okay, face-wise. My cheekbones are good, I guess. It’s not like having green eyes makes you automatically a sex god like it does in romance novels, and half the time you can’t see them anyway. I don’t even know why I get my hair cut, because the next thing I know it’s this long, dirty blond mess again. I’m constantly shoving it out of my face with my fingers, like my hand exists mostly to be a big comb or something. My body’s not all buff like I’d like it to be, either, just tall and stringy. All the muscles are there, but none of the bulges or curves. I could do a thousand push-ups, and I’d stand in front of the mirror all sweaty and ready to bust out and my muscles would just be looking back at me like, “What are you trying to do exactly?”
Despite all that, it’s hard not to notice that I have an… effect on guys I find really hot. It’s hard to put into words, but basically any guy I start to get wound up about suddenly starts paying a lot of attention to me. He gets all happy when I show up and sitting close and generally drawing us into this kind of intimate space together. Even when there’s twenty other people in the room, it becomes us interacting with them. Not long after that his hands start finding their way onto my shoulders, my arms, my waist—all like that’s just one of the ways guys connect with each other. And I find myself doing the same, because, fuck, this guy I’m into is right there in my personal space, relaxed and smiling like it calms him for me to be this close.
It’s all mundane, everyday stuff for him, us touching and caressing and holding each other, even while I’m having exploding hormones every moment I’m with him. Within hours of that first spark it gets so me touching him, or looking into his eyes, or eating with our chairs pulled next to each other and our legs pressing under the table just becomes our baseline normal.
And that’s… pretty much where it stays, because not once had it gone any further than that. It was the same torment over and over again. I notice a hot guy, he notices me, we get comfortable touching and caressing each other like that’s what guys do, and then my dick falls off, metaphorically speaking, because I’m hard all the time from being all up against this happy, cute, deliciously built guy who doesn’t seem to know my junk is even there. So the guy starts to lose his luster, my attraction falls away, and the weird effect I have on him drops away. The fade-out, I call it. Just like that, one day it’s like he never so much as caressed my triceps while telling me about this funny thing that happened in chem lab, or sat next to me with our shoulders brushing at lunch, and I’m left feeling this infuriating sense of loss over something that was, at the time, really hot but also deeply frustrating, like somebody changed the timeline and I’m the only one who remembers.
Frustrating wasn’t even the word. High school was three years of rabid hormones made five times worse by crazy annoying hugs, touches, and brilliant smiles from guys I wanted and couldn’t have, even though they were literally right there in my arms. I had just decided to swear off even looking at guys when I suddenly noticed, at exactly the wrong moment, just how impossibly sexy my big brother is.
Kellen was a year ahead of me at State U., and since that was also where I was going, my family all held a secret Skype meeting while I was at school and decided, totally without me, that for the first semester at least I’d be bunking with him in his new apartment to save on the housing bill. This was, I should note, over my very impassioned attempt at a veto. I had a pretty good idea what living with him would be like away from my parents’ oversight, and I did not want to spend the next few semesters picking up his smelly sweat-socks and cleaning his pubic hair out of the shower drain.
And that wasn’t even taking into account him not knowing about me being gay. Mom and dad knew—they’re the kind of parents who check browser histories, a fact I cottoned onto just that much too late. They were uneasy with it but came around, and that set off alarms about Kellen. I made them promise not to tell my bro-tastic brother. I had no idea how he’d react, and it seemed easier not to have to find out.
But as junior member of the familial unit I had the smallest say, and so, come late afternoon on Freshman Move-In Day, I found myself on the doorstep of smart-looking three-story brownstone townhouse a short two blocks from campus, gripping hard on the heavy suitcases in each hand. I was unsure about rooming with Kellen, about whether I’d do well in college-level classes, about the half-dozen boxes of clothes and supplies our tall, bald dad was currently unloading from the SUV and if they would be too much or not enough… Basically I was a mess, and probably radiating all kinds of frazzled vibes.
I belatedly realized I’d need to set down one of the suitcases so I could ring the bell for the third-floor apartment, but before I even started to move the door flew open and Kellen was right there in front of me—wearing jeans and nothing else.
I stared. Kellen… Kellen looked damn good.
He’d always been a bit of a jock, but his main focus in high school was track. All of his physical training had gone into speed and stamina. Upstairs he hadn’t looked that different from me, as I recalled it, apart from being hairier across the chest and down the abs, and overall looking more compact thanks to topping out a couple inches shy of my lanky six-foot-three. Not that I’d paid a lot of attention to him, frankly—he was a social animal and wasn’t home much, always out with friends and teammates when he wasn’t training, and I was consumed with grades, drama club, and the private bliss/agony of my strange gift.
But a year at college had totally transformed my brother. He had a “freshman fifteen” all right, and, from the looks of it, it was all solid, hard muscle. His traps were round, his delts were thick, his arms were perfectly sculpted, and his finely-haired pecs swelled out from his chest like a fitness model’s, from an alternate universe where fitness models are allowed to have chest hair. Best of all, below that was my own personal wet dream: eight brick-cut abs carved deep in a flat, zero-fat abdomen, with a dark line of hair descending right down between them straight into the loose waistband of his old, battered jeans.
I jumped my eyes up to his face before they got into real trouble. I was already aware of how my blood and skin were heating at the sight of him, and I hoped his mug wouldn’t make it any worse, but I was shit out of luck there, too. His features had subtly matured in concert with his new workout regimen, leaving his unshaven jawline firmer and sharper than I remembered and his face more handsome in general. His lips, already curving in a smile, were full and dark red against his slightly olive skin, and some dark and secret corner of my brain started obsessively cataloguing from that moment all the dirty things I wanted those stubble-ringed lips to do to me. His near-black hair was jarringly short now, mercilessly cropped back from the shoulder length cascade he’d cultivated in high school to maybe a couple inches at most, and at the moment it was damp and toussled, like he’d just gotten out of the shower. He looked tan and fresh and full of energy.
Our eyes met, and… fuck. Fuuuuuck. My pulse sped up as we locked gazes and raw arousal washed through me. My stupid dick, always too ready to go hard at a moment’s notice, twitched and started thickening up like it was determined to make a fool of me. Even my balls tightened, like they were soldiers readying for action. This is not happening, I thought feverishly. This is my bro-tastic jock brother… who is also my fucking roommate. This is so… not… happening…
Kellen’s eyes. Kellen’s eyes were… so, okay, they were this rich light brown, almost copper in color, and I’d always though they were sort of fascinating. I’d joked once when I was a little kid that someone must’ve shoved pennies in his eyes and they’d gotten stuck there, and he’d smirked back that someone had poured lime Kool-Aid in mine, and the idea had stuck with us, with me calling him Penny or Abraham Lincoln or Honest Abe or whatever and him calling me lime-aid, or mojito, or anything bright green that came to mind pretty much from then on. Kiwi was a favorite, often shortened to just the first syllable, Key.
Those eyes, though. I knew them, or thought I did, and they’d always been beautiful. But right now, they were… it was like they were terra incognita to me. Right now, those coppery eyes were filled with… they were filled with…
My stomach sank as I understood what I was seeing. They were filled with that way simple, easy delight at the sight of me I’d seen a dozen times before. Not brotherly disdain, not condescending toleration. No, those eyes were kindled. They were alight. Damn it, those pull-you-in coppery eyes were sparking with whatever the fuck it was I did to hot, delicious guys that I wanted to fuck around with and would never be able to.
My dumb, treacherous dick was almost completely hard now, and I had no way to do a thing about it thanks to my hands being completely occupied the two thousand-pound suitcases I was gripping. My skin was heating up, and my heart was pounding so hard I was sure he would be able to hear it. The only things I had going for me were that my jeans were thick and black and they’d probably hide my boner for a while, and Kellen was too busy staring into my eyes, like that was something we did, for him to take in my full-body reaction to him.
Then he smiled, and it was so wide and brilliant I nearly shot a load in my shorts just from how beautiful it was, and the gift of it being meant especially for me. He slid his strong, nicely developed arms around my torso and gave me hard squeeze. “Damn, Kool-Aid,” he said in my ear, “it is awesome to see you. You look great!”
“Thanks, Pen,” I said, feeling incredibly awkward and conflicted. I let him hug me for a long moment, glad to have to excuse of the suitcases not to have to worry about reciprocating and hoping he couldn’t feel my hard-on trying to stab him in the hip. He slapped my back and pulled back, keeping hold of my flanks as he grinned at me. I decided to try for banter. “So,” I said, “do they not have shirts in this town, or what?”
“Nope!” Kellen said happily. “City ordinance. Very strictly enforced. Need some help with that, Pop?” he asked abruptly, looking over my shoulder without letting go of me—no doubt our do-everything dad was struggling up the porch steps with half the boxes I’d brought with me.
“Just point me toward the stairs,” came dad’s jaunty voice. I turned to see and, sure enough, he was completely hidden behind the three boxes he was carrying. Kellen finally let go of me and snatched the top two boxes off the stack. “Hey!” dad objected.
“Leave it for the young and spry, Pop,” Kellen said, turning and heading nimbly up the stairs. I followed, noting the door to the ground-floor apartment and wondering if they were students too—probably, given how convenient the location was to campus—and started up the stairs, my ponderous bags starting me wondering why I’d brought anything at all with me. Dad hmphed and trailed behind.
Soon all my stuff was piled in the corner of my new room, ready to be unpacked. The room itself was pretty sparse—white walls, hardwood floors, a bare queen-sized bed, a dresser and a desk; but I was fine with that, it was like a blank slate for me to create my own new life out of. The rest of the apartment was similar, actually: a simple kitchen; a decent sized living room with a deep, comfy couch, a low coffee table, and a big TV mounted on the exposed brick wall opposite; a narrow but clean and usable bathroom; and Kellen’s room, which looked remarkably clean—no stinky sweatsocks in sight, though I did spot a pair of dumbbells and a curl bar by the wall under the window.
Kellen invited dad to share in the pizza he’d ordered just before we’d arrived, but he demurred and said he’d better be getting back—mom was due in from her latest extended business trip and (he said with a wink) they had “plans”. Kellen laughed and I shuddered. I was kind of hoping this would blunt my dick’s current enthusiasm; but my ungovernable cock was all about Kellen at the moment, and my racing pulse hadn’t slowed down either.
We walked him down, fortuitously meeting the pizza guy just coming up the front steps, and I grabbed the pie and accompanying two-liter while Kellen paid. Kellen hugged dad goodbye. I just smiled, glad to have an excuse not to hug, and we headed upstairs. The whole way up I felt like I was entering into the unknown, and I was more than a little conflicted about what might come next. The best I could hope was that I was just having a reaction to seeing Kellen after he’d been away for a year. I’d been keyed up about going off to college, and seeing how hunky Kellen had gotten had totally put my hormones on overload. A good night’s sleep and I’d be back to seeing him as my jerk brother, and the whole touchy-feely thing would never even be a thing between us.
Yeah, that didn’t quite happen. I can be a bit delusional sometimes. The moment we were back in the apartment Kellen draped his left arm over my shoulder, and my whole body tingled with how good it felt. He used that arm to steer me toward the coffee table where I set down my burdens, and then he pulled be back onto the deep, cozy couch with him. “You’re gonna love this pizza, Kev,” he said, settling in against me with his arm still around my shoulders. He gestured toward the box with his other hand. “It’s definitely the best on campus. I can’t get enough,” he added with a wicked grin that went straight to my nuts. The fingertips of his left hand was gently stroking my shoulder. I doubted if he even knew he was doing it, but I sure did.
“You can’t be eating too much of it,” I couldn’t help saying, nodding down at his tight, perfect, slightly fuzzy stomach. “I wish I had abs like that.” I was having trouble keeping my eyes off those racks of mesmerizing muscle—especially the way those carved delineations were softened by his demure but serious treasure trail. It was getting dark, and the standing lamp by the couch, the main illumination in the room now, was casting a soft, warm light on Kellen’s lightly tanned olive skin, making it even more irresistible to me.
“C’mon, yours are pretty tight,” Kellen said. To my surprise he reached over with his other hand and rubbed my abs. Not through the shirt—no, he dove his hand under my baggy tee shirt and gave my belly a quick fondle, smiling the whole time. Then, while I was still gaping at him, he pulled his hand out, grabbed my left wrist, and splayed my hand right onto his exposed eight-pack. “See?” he said. “Feel.”
I tried to pull my hand back, but he still had it by the wrist. Just humor him, I told myself. This will all to the fade out thing by tomorrow. Of course just humoring him meant caressing the sweetest abs I’d ever been this close to, and given my history that was saying something, so I didn’t have to try hard to convince myself to go with it just for tonight while normality went about slowly reasserting itself in the background.
Reality version one reinstall now downloading, I told myself. ETA: the cold light of dawn.
I moved my hand slowly along his abs, first up, then down, then up again. He let go of my wrist and beamed at me. “Right? Not so different,” he said, squeezing my shoulder with his other hand. Then, as if to belie his own statement, he crunched his abs slightly, firming them up under my caress. A cool shiver slid down my spine.
“Don’t flex like a douche,” I grumbled, stilling my hand, and he relaxed.
“Keep going, that feels nice,” he said, and my dick tried to get harder at his casual intimacy. After a moment’s hesitation I resumed my gentle ministrations, very slowly sliding my hand up and down his stomach, letting the fingertips catch in the carved divides between his ab muscles. Honestly, these things should be in a museum. One of those touch museums where you can truly appreciate their awesomeness—except, no, I wasn’t keen on anyone but me getting to do what I was doing in that moment. “So you like them all relaxed, huh?” he asked after a moment, his tone slightly teasing.
“I just don’t like douche-canoe muscle heads who spend all day eye-fucking themselves in the mirror,” I said. It was a peeve now. I hadn’t really cared one way or another until I’d accidentally netted one of those tools with my touchy-feely gift, and let’s say the luster on my end had sure worn off fast with that one. He had a great body, with square, stacked pecs bigger than Kellen’s rounder ones and abs almost as nice, but working out and shaping the results were literally all he cared about. Plus he shaved his chest, which—okay, I get wanting the smooth look for pictures and posing to show definition, but the guy was a born lumberjack type and it just looked weird on him.
It suddenly occurred to me that any more talk about muscle guys and my preferences appertaining thereto might just start clueing Kellen in on my inclinations re: gals versus dudes, and I wasn’t there yet, not with literally everything else new and unsure in my life. Ignoring my rebellious boner I patted his stomach and sat forward. “Pizza’s gonna get cold,” I said, tossing open the box and drawing in a long, happy whiff of its cheesy goodness. I pulled a little stack of paper plates and a couple of cheap plastic cups from the bag that had come with the delivery. “Be a shame if it’s as good as you say,” I went on. I opened the two-liter Dr. Pepper with a snap and poured us each a cup.
Kellen grunted amenably. He bent forward too, checking the now-empty paper bag and then looking around the coffee table, while I recapped the soda and started for the pizza. “Looks like they forgot to send napkins,” he said. “It’s a little greasy—you’d better pull off your shirt.”
“What, you don’t have any—hey!” Before I could finish my incredulous calling out of his not possessing a roll of paper towels even, he’d grabbed my loose, thin tee shirt and started hauling it over my head. He got it free easily enough and tossed it negligently aside to the other end of the couch, like it might vanish there the moment it was forgotten. I automatically made to push back my hair, which the tee-shirt removal had messed up, but Kellen beat me to it, carding his hand through my thick, messy, dirty blond locks and shoving the mass of hair away from my face. I was looking at him with wide eyes, and when our gazes met again it was like that fucking spark happened all over again. He stared into my eyes, smiling, for several seconds before I cleared my throat. “Pizza, dude,” I said.
He blinked and nodded. “Yeah, I’m starved. Pull us some slices, Key. You want to watch anything?” He grabbed the remote off the arm of the sofa and flipped on the TV while I went back to slipping a couple of very cheesy slices each from the large pie onto two little stacks of flimsy paper plates. Kellen was scrolling through the index channel. “Ooo, Die Hard is on.” He immediately switched over to it.
I laughed as I handed him his slices. “Kellen, man, could you be any more of a bro?” I asked. He grinned as he took the plate from me. “Seriously, how many times have you seen this?”
“C’mon, you love this movie,” he said knowingly, subsiding back into the couch. Once again he pulled me back with him, his muscled arm again ensconced around my now-bare shoulders like it belonged there, and I let him with a sigh. He was right—I did love this movie, just as much as he did. The couch was really deep and very nice to lean back into. In our half-supine state we laid our slices on our bellies, which, given the greasy, cheesy nature of the stuff felt like a positive insult both to my flat belly and his fine, cold-brewed eight-pack. We settled comfortably against each other and immersed ourselves in John McClane’s very bad day. I wasn’t really paying much attention to how were almost cuddling, though every once in a while my unrelenting erection jumped in my pants, and as often in the past I felt a little guilty toward my not-so-little guy. It was like I was leading it on, letting it expect hot action with a guy of true, fireman-calendar-level hotness, only to get stuck on yet another date with Rosie Palms like always.
We got through the pizza and then lay back and just watched the movie together. I was actually half-dozing, my head on Kellen’s meaty shoulder, so I didn’t really remember seeing the last quarter or so of the movie (not that I needed to—needling aside, the truth was I’d seen it almost as many times as he had). I definitely didn’t notice him setting aside our empty, greasy pizza plates and contentedly moving my hand back onto his eight-pack like it belonged there. I surfaced from half-sleep as the credits rolled with my head on high up on his very comfortable chest, my hand stroking his just-hairy-enough washboard abs, and my dick was so hard I thought I might blow a fuse from how turned on I was.
All at once the TV was off and Kellen’s eyes were closed, a happy smile on his face, the remote hanging loose in the hand that wasn’t curled around me. Honestly, we were both so comfortable, apart from my towering arousal, that we could have just stayed there and spent the night like that on Kellen’s deep, comfy couch.
I should have stopped caressing his abs, but… I was already feeling kind of addicted to the feel of them and the illicit, forbidden permission to touch them. Hey, if he’s letting me, why not? I thought muzzily, forgetting how my gift/curse seemed to alter what the guys I was into thought they wanted. I kept stroking though, slow and languid, and Kellen was almost purring. There was heat coming from his groin, too, and even a bit of movement, and—nope, nope, I was not going there. Abs were enough, way enough. I drew the line at his waistband. That’s how this thing worked, especially in the other direction. Or at least, that’s how it had always worked before.
Don’t think about cocks. This will all be forgotten in the morning. I started preparing myself mentally to disentangle from Kellen in a few minutes. In a few minutes, I would get up, walk into my bedroom, get into bed for a good night’s sleep, and…
“Unh,” I murmured into Kellen’s chest, remembering my naked, unmade bed. “I don’t even know where my sheets are.”
“Leave it for tomorrow,” Kellen mumbled without opening his eyes. He gripped my shoulder in what was becoming his signature move and got us to our feet. I stumbled with him around the coffee table and across the room, until I realized where we were headed. Faint alarm bells started clanging somewhere in my head. Maybe not a good idea. Right? Cuddling on the couch was one thing, but… if I was counting on all this blowing over by morning, that was a lot more likely to happen if we didn’t spend tonight sleeping curled up in the same bed together.
“You know what, it’s okay,” I said, stopping short. “I think my sheets are actually in that first box.”
“Dude, c’mon,” Kellen begged, still sounding half-asleep. “We haven’t hung together in, like, a year. Lots of lost time to make up!” He tugged at me with the arm he had around my shoulder.
“We never really ‘hung’,” I objected weakly.
Kellen turned a little to faced me, still with his arm around my shoulder. He was very close, his pecs brushing against my less impressive ones, and he was acting like that was absolutely, totally normal for us. Then he cupped my cheek, and I almost swooned, because right at that very moment I felt his hardon bump casually against mine. He seemed not to notice, or if he did, it was like bumping elbows with me accidentally. Totally just us dudes. “C’mon, Key, just for tonight,” Kellen said with a big, sleepy smile.
I don’t think I had a working brain cell left to even simulate self-will at that point. I just nodded, and he hauled me under his arm right into his room.
Neither of us bothered with the light, since we’d managed to leave the light on in the living room and enough of that was spilling in here to work with. I was still marveling at how neat and clean it was when Kellen disengaged from me long enough to shuck his old jeans in one smooth motion, catch them up in his hands, fold them twice, and set them in a neat, perfect square on top of the dresser, ready to wear tomorrow if he chose. I was so taken aback by this behavior, which evidently reflected the new, adult and independent Kellen, that it took me a moment to register that he was now naked and massively, unselfconsciously boned, his fat, uncut cock following the line of his hip to the left like it wanted to stick its head out like a thumb and hitch a ride somewhere.
He pulled back the covers on one side of the bed and dropped into it, lying there expectantly with his hairy ankles crossed and his hands behind his head.
“Uhhhh…” I said, my brain completely stalled and inoperable. Then, while I was chewing on Kellen’s cavalierly turgid nudity, it was at this moment that I realized that he hadn’t been wearing underwear this whole time. Literally the only thing happening in my skull over the next few seconds was my eyeballs staring at Kellen’s fat, very hard dick and my ears listening to my long, heavy breaths, like I’d prank-called myself.
He was grinning up at me, completely mistaking what I was frozen up over. “Gotta sleep raw in college,” he said, totally as if his massive erection wasn’t going to be sharing the bed with us. “Them’s the rules.”
“Uh huh,” I said dubiously. But I was already divested of my shirt, I had no peejays, and… fuck, I wasn’t going to sleep in my underwear, not if Kellen was looking for proof of wussiness.
Without ceremony I pulled off my own clothes, glad we hadn’t turned on the light, and, studiously ignoring my own longer, slightly thinner, hair-trigger erection, I climbed into bed on the other side and pulled up the covers over us. He immediately rolled onto his side, throwing a heavy leg over mine and a thick, powerful arm over my chest. He sighed and immediately relaxed. “Dude, you’re totally sleeping in here from now on,” he decided. “Sleeping ‘lone sucks.” He snuggled closer, and I tried not to notice the wet tip of his dick sliding against the side of my butt, or the way my own rigid, frenzied cock now seemed likely to be flailing against my belly like a gasping fish for the entirety of my existence. His fingers started absently caressing my skin where his hand was firmly planted on my chest, even as his own breathing slowed and evened. Apparently cuddling with me was all you needed to be perfectly, serenely content.
“Can’t wait to show you ‘round campus tomorrow,” he mumbled sleepily. “Guyzer gonna love you. Like me.” And then he was gone, snoring softly against my shoulder, leaving me to ponder whether tomorrow might just get even weirder than today. I was tired too, though, and drifted off into dreams that were not that different from what I’d just been experiencing half-asleep, except in my dreams our bed was in the middle of the campus quad, and the sun was out and all the hot guys on campus were paying us no mind, just walking past singly or in little groups, or hanging out on the benches talking, or playing frisbee on the lawn. I missed at first how they were naked and hugely boned, too, like us, but they didn’t seem to notice, not even when they started making out and started cumming. After all, we were cumming too…
I woke with a start, heart pounding hard and skin flushed, and I realized I had actually cum all over my lower abs. Kellen’s hand was exactly where it had been, and his leg too, so the climax was pure pleasure overload from how incredibly hot it was sharing touches with Kellen. I lay there for a second, willing myself to die of embarrassment, before Kellen, sounding 90% asleep muttered, “Tissues ‘r on th’ nightstan’.” Stunned, I reached for the tissues and mopped myself up, feeling dizzy.
The touch thing had always seemed to work on precedent—that first touch became a “touching is what we do” thing, and it was all normal. Well, if that was how it worked, we’d already dropped precedents for touching, cuddling, being naked and hard together, and blowing your load while we’re all bundled together. My lizard brain was dancing in pure happiness, loving every second, while the rest of my brain was left to wonder about where these ripples would take me. If we were starting with sleeping together and blowing loads with each other like it was no big deal where would we go from here?
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