One hot summer

By BRK  Patreon Contact Page Twitter
9 parts
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• Latest update: 21 March. Next update: 4 April. (Submissions welcome.)

• Latest post: Saturday Flashback: March 2013.

• Latest from BRK: “Customer satisfaction”“Remodel”; “Threefer”, Part 3.

Part 1: Eddie

I think the thing I loved most about working at The Pizza Joint was the way Brandon Andros moved. He was so put together, with his chestnut hair styled and shaped just so, and that short, well-groomed beard of his always perfectly trimmed and somehow a complement those dark impeccable eyebrows above bright, ocean-blue eyes. And that smooth, faintly olive skin that was so flawless it could only be the product of routine diligence. His clothes were faultless as well. The forest green shop polo we all had to wear was unfailing tucked neatly into his new jeans, and even his chocolate-brown boots seemed immune to scuffs and scrapes. With all that attention to grooming I was sure he had a personality to match, full of attention to himself and his appearance and no doubt tragically born without the ability to unbend; which was a shame, as I saw it, because he was darn cute in an airbrushed, magazine-perfect kind of way. If I was going to be working next to someone three out of my four scheduled nights a week behind the counter, it seemed like a keen-eyed, fit-bodied square in well-pressed jeans was probably going to be a potential waste of good eye candy and good conversation.

Then I saw him swaying his hips to a beat for the first time, and it was over, done, locked up and put away. I was completely hooked.

We always had music on at the Joint. A few pizza places near here had local rock radio on or something like that, but our funky young boss, Mike, kept us going with a procession of homemade Spotify lists. Prince and Prince-inspired songs one day, Bruno Mars and Adele the next, that kind of thing, pitched just loud enough to add to the feel of the place without getting in the way of conversation.

It was about three weeks after Brandon started. I remember I came in from the back one Saturday afternoon with a new tub of mozzarella and I just stopped in the doorway, mouth slightly open and still as a statue, nothing else in my sight but him.

There was a Sam Smith song on, and as he was methodically spreading some fresh dough out into a large-sized circle Brandon was moving his hips in a slow circle I’d never seen him do or even imagined he was capable of. Every sinuous shift of those hips moved his narrow waist and long lower back in the same sexy way, and his firm, strong legs seemed interested in upping the ante and really starting to move. My attention, though, was caught on the center of it all: that sweet, rolling ass. My blunt tool swelled automatically in my jeans at the sight of those perfectly round, denim-hugged cheeks casually sashaying to the warm, liquid voice and easy beat currently filling the room, and my hands wanted to let go of the bin of shedded goodness I was carrying and grab hold around his hips on either side, with me coming up behind him and joining his slinky, sensual groove. I was hot all over under my clothes, and it had nothing to do with the pizza ovens I was standing next to.

I’m a pretty reactive guy. And for some reason, in that moment, I had to let him know what he was doing to me. Without thinking I slapped down the tub on the nearest counter and let out a long, low wolf whistle. Brandon turned sharply and saw me standing there grinning at him, arms folded over my chest, and even under his dusky Mediterranean complexion I could tell he was blushing.

“Eddie,” he said over the soft music. “I didn’t see you there.”

“Clearly. But don’t stop on my account.”

He frowned slightly and started spiraling tomato sauce over his dough. “Don’t make fun,” he said.

“I’m not. I meant it. You should dance all the time.”

“I’ll second that,” laughed one of our regulars, a platinum blond football hunk who’d been stopping by a lot lately. Neither of us had noticed him suddenly materialize there on the other side of the counter, but when we looked guiltily over at him he was grinning toothily. “Keep dancing like that and I’ll get dinner here more often. And tell my friends.”

Brandon was definitely blushing now. I patted him on the shoulder. “Customer’s always right,” I said cheerily as I moved past him to the counter. “What can I get you today, Jay?” I asked our still-grinning regular. “Apart from Brandon’s ass, that is.”

“Geez,” Brandon muttered. But a few minutes later he’d seemingly forgotten about us as he worked on his pie, and sure enough that ass was groovin’ all over again.

Brandon was the main reason I was bummed about summer. That, and how relaxing it was working at the Joint in the general. College made me nervous. My future was like this brooding storm on the horizon, bearing down on me, and after three semesters of anxiety still don’t even know for sure what my major should be, much less my career. Some days it felt like the only thing I was good at was making pizza. It was a comforting rhythm. Those hours working dough and jockeying slices, and having fun talking with the people that came in looking for food and a friendly face, those were the best parts of my week for almost the whole time I was at college. Longer, actually, ‘cause my senior year part-time job at my uncle’s place back home was what got me the gig at the Joint the week I showed up at uni. Then Brandon came along, and I started looking forward to going to work for a whole new reason.

Summer was coming, though, and we were getting kicked out of the dorms. Without housing hereabouts that pretty much meant I’d be trudging back to Vermont and my four obnoxious younger brothers.

“Are they that bad?” Brandon asked with a half smile. It was late on a Friday, about twelve weeks after Brandon had started back at the beginning of spring semester. The shop was closed and we were in the back cleaning up; I was wiping counters and putting stuff away, and Brandon was up to his wrists in suds washing the trays and bins, his work subtly calling attention to the shifting muscles of his long, sinewy forearms. He wasn’t built by any means, but there was no waste on him, either. Everything you looked at, like now with the cable-like flexor muscles of his slightly hairy forearms, seemed to have been precision engineered to provide the maximum in strength, flexibility, and aesthetic appeal all at once.

It was getting so that Brandon was becoming a walking distraction for me, and I wasn’t sure whether to fight or go with it. Brandon was no help—he seemed completely clueless to my problem, despite the fact that my problem was him.

I willed myself not to stare and made eye contact instead. It didn’t help—his eyes were pretty distracting, too. With an effort I remembered the subject of our conversation—I was explaining about my annoying brothers. “They are absolutely that bad,” I assured him. “Every single one of them is eight years old.” At his confused look I explained, “Oh, they’re all teenagers now. Evenly spaced two years apart, like Mom pumped them out on an assembly line. But somehow they all ended up with the maturity of a toddler played by Jim Carrey.”

Brandon laughed. “I hear you,” he said, rinsing off one of the metal trays and setting aside. “I’m not keen on going home either,” he admitted. He took on another dirty tray. “My mother has this new boyfriend, and…” He shuddered.

“Say no more,” I said. “No one needs that.” I could empathize. Watching my brothers making out with their girlfriends queased me out just as bad. My oldest younger brother, Matt, opens his jaw so wide when he’s kissing it looks like he’s trying to swallow the poor girl’s face. I mean, who does that?

I sighed as I sealed up the big flour bin. “Man, the dorms closing sucks all around. I’d totally rather stay here for the summer.”

“Why don’t you?” said Mike. We whipped around, and Mike was there in the doorway, noodling on the iPad he used for keeping track of sales and finances. He wasn’t looking at either of us, but he must have heard at least some of our conversation.

“Can’t,” Brandon said. “Dorms are closed.”

Mike looked up at us. “I’ve got rooms at my house,” he said slowly, as if bunking at Mike’s house was the obvious solution and we were a bit behind not having already thought of it. When we gaped at him he went on, “It’s a win-win, right? I’ve got a big place standing practically empty. You both get to stay in town, I get to keep my favorite employees, and you make some bank on top of it. What do you say?”

The thing about Mike was, he was kind of impossible to say no to. He was just so nice and laid back, especially since he discovered pot a year or so back. He was already pretty chill when I first started working for him, but evidently he had a crazy brother in Colorado who bred all sorts of special strains of high-quality weed; and once Thad (I think his name was Thad) started turning him on to his best shit Mike got even nicer and even more chill. He didn’t smoke at work that I’d seen, but it was mixed into his smell like it was a part of him—baked in, so to speak. His demeanor was mellow enough, Brandon and I joked you could get a tiny contact high just off his smile. Even his voice was relaxing. It was low and smooth, like he could do voice-overs if he wanted, or hypnosis tapes for self-help addicts.

His body kind of intrigued me, too. Mike was seriously tall—taller than Brandon, and a lot taller than me, and he was naturally lanky. His body was just barely defined in terms of his physique, but the way he was proportioned you could tell by looking at him that if he just worked out a bit and put some effort in he would bloom with muscle. He’d be like a hot tennis star, or a taller version of one of those World Cup guys that are nice enough to look at that even Americans will watch soccer if they’re at all into guys. Brawn potential—that was Mike. Even without muscles he looked pretty good in that dark green Pizza Joint polo and the navy cargo pants he always wore. He kept his hair buzzed short and a bit of scruff, which made an interesting contrast from the coiffed and just-so Brandon. The two men in my life, I thought fondly, not that I’d so much as touched either of them outside of my dreams.

It did sound ideal. Work would be lower key during the summer, though seeing as how we had a good rep outside the school as well as in we’d still have plenty of business from townies and summer schoolers, so I’d still have the rhythm and the bullshitting with customers I liked. As a refuge from the unfocused stress of college, the Joint had been an oasis in my life: it was the one place I was the most at peace. Keeping that and ditching my stupid, smelly brothers to spend the summer with Brandon and Mike sounded like a dream.

Though I hadn’t been in it I’d seen Mike’s house just out of town, too, and it was big—bigger for sure than the cookie-cutter suburban ranch my family somehow crammed two parents and five boys into for the last twelve years. Just thinking about that sealed it for me. “I’m in,” I told Mike without hesitation. I turned a pleading gaze on my colleague. “Brandon?”

Brandon hesitated, looking between us. “What about rent?” he hedged.

Mike was back to fingering away on his tablet, probably finalizing the day’s take. “I’ll charge you a token amount,” he said as he moved his pixels around. “How does a couple hundred a month sound?”

Brandon snorted. “That depends,” he joked. “Can I live there forever?”

Mike looked up and aimed a wink at us. “Absolutely,” he said with a disarming grin, before turning around and heading back into the restaurant.

Part 2: Brandon

We went over to Mike’s house the next day before work, and the three of us went ahead and agreed that Eddie and I might as well move ourselves in on our next day off, just after finals, even though we still had another two weeks in the dorms before they closed. Wouldn’t you? I mean, his house was killer. It was this rambling two-story farmhouse with wrap-around porch on two sides and a sun-room added on and a deck looking out on a good acre or so of idyllic, lightly wooded property. Did Mike’s family rake it in this well from five decades of the best pizza in town, or was there more to it than that? I didn’t know.

The place was a blast inside as well as out. The kitchen was immense and mostly up to date, and the wiring had all been redone, too, so I could have my tablet, laptop, phone, and mp3 player all plugged in at once without worrying about torching the place to the ground. There was so much unused space upstairs Eddie and I had ended up with two rooms each, all pre-equipped with thick rugs and mismatched, leftover old furniture that still looked sound and durable—armoires, tallboys, wide walnut desks, stuff like that—and with a shared dual-access bathroom easily twice as big as the one I’d grown up in, complete with a cedar closet and a clawfoot tub big enough for President Taft. All the rooms needed were the beds, which Mike promised he was having delivered the day before we were set to move in.

After four semesters of loud music, louder assholes, and regular, truly heinous encounters with foul-smelling jock-vomit, I was ready.

It wasn’t quite that simple, of course, not for someone with my kind of messed up gray matter. I could totally hear my mother’s voice—she’d be thrilled to know how well I’d managed to internalize that strident, board-room bark of hers—warning me about how this man was someone I hardly knew, and how living in his home at a provocatively low rent put me at his mercy, yada yada yada. I’d secretly hoped dating this Wally character would distract her and tone her bitchiness down a notch, but if anything having a decade-younger climbing-instructor boy toy had given my mother an extra dose of obnoxious confidence.

It didn’t matter. I was already used to boxing up everything that voice said to me (about the corporate-finance career I was supposed to be building—I was, as she’d reminded me a hundred times, her only heir; about the courses I was supposed to be excelling at; and so on) and shoving that shit up on a high shelf in my brain to deal with later. This wasn’t much different. I considered myself a good judge of character, and Mike was solid. Plus Eddie had worked for him for years, and I could tell he would vouch for Mike without any reservations. Mike, I wasn’t worried about.

If I was going to be honest with myself, my only real qualms about the deal had to do with Eddie himself. The thing with Eddie was, I could tell he was into me. He was always teasing me about the nervous butt-dancing thing I do. I have all this extra energy, and where some guys fidget or tap their fingers or whatever I just can’t keep my butt still. If it wasn’t snark about my dancing, he’d be giving me that hungry look with the big smile. Or egging on that gay football hottie, Jay Johanssen, and his cute-nerd boyfriend whenever they came into the shop pretending they were only there to ogle my behind. Eddie was like that sometimes, up to 11 and no filter, like a yellow lab that couldn’t get enough of you.

It’s not like I minded, really. Honestly, I couldn’t avoid noticing I kind of had a thing for Eddie myself. He was shorter than I was and a little stockier—not muscled but not fat either, and like me not very hairy but just, like, a hundred percent guy, all made up of strong bones and hard thews and tough skin. He smelled masculine, too, not that I could explain what I meant by that. He had this jumbly pile of strawberry blond hair that I so wanted to push my fingers through sometimes. Especially if I had flour on my hands, or even a little tomato sauce. I kind of want to mess him up a little.

True, he was tidy enough when it came to his appearance, though he clearly drew the line at any kind of product. He tucked in his work polo, I think because I did and he didn’t want me to think he was a slob, but… well, was he a slob? At work he cleaned diligently and put stuff away whenever he was done using it, which was a good sign; but I had a sneaking suspicion he was secretly a tee-shirt-thrown-over-the-lampshade type whenever he was in his own space. Though I do admit, I kind of wanted to see what he looked like under there, once that pesky tee had been tossed aside. His shoulders were naturally broad but his waist was pretty trim, and I’d found myself lying in my bed in the dorm some nights wondering about things like treasure trails, and the places they might lead to. Whenever I was alone my mind tended to drift in his direction, even on the nights I hadn’t just spent eight hours shoulder to shoulder with him. I thought about his smile, his eyes, his body… and I’d be hard before you could say “pizza boy”. Which only made it worse, of course, because then I’d inevitably be imagining his secret tool all stiff and red and ready for anything I’d give him. I was pretty certain what he looked like down there, all thick and fat where I was long and slightly bent. Uncut, too, I was willing to bet. Probably with a hefty foreskin that you just couldn’t ignore. My mouth watered just thinking about it, and my nuts ached like I was deliberately screwing myself over by not making a move on him, or even flirting back. I was screwing myself over, and not in a good way.

And therein lay in the problem, because—truth, here—I’d never done anything with a guy. Or a girl, either, but lately it’d been guys filling up my head and swelling my wang and roiling my very impatient balls. In fact for the last couple of months it had been this one guy—this eager, smiling, irrepressible fireplug who’d be more than willing do give my tight sack the tongue-lathing it’d been craving if only I said the word.

Mike was an honorable mention, a guest star in the two-man show I had going in my head. He snuck in there sometimes, into the agonized sex fantasies I was too nervous to do anything about. Well, sure, why wouldn’t he. He was this relaxed-hot, like it was just a part of him. Maybe eight years older than us, but he looked younger, with a good head for problem-solving apparently inherited from his dad along with the Joint. He was what you call rangy. Taller even than I am, and not ripped at all but very trim, like he was constitutionally incapable of not being supremely fit. The stoner thing was mixed in, too, as a sort of undercurrent. You could smell the pot on him like it was all seeped under his skin, but it worked for him, sort of the way its calming, centering effects seemed to complement his personality. His strong physical presence usually set me at ease, and at the same time it turned me on as well. I had this feeling he’d be very… bendy, and the contemplation of that was something yet more persecution for my poor, lick-deprived ‘nads. And now I’d just agreed to move into his house and actually live with the guy, which would definitely up the ante—especially as I’d have laid good money Mike wasn’t too fussed about wearing clothes when he wasn’t out in public.

As I lay in my bed that night, one of my last nights in the dorms, I thought about all of this. The inevitable result followed, and with I sigh I reached down and began jerking my long, crooked cock with what could only be described as aroused trepidation.

By this point Eddie and I had the same schedule. Mike liked how we worked together and had put us on the busiest days three to ten. The Joint got a lot of its traffic doling out slices between afternoon classes, then the dinner rush was a steady mix of slices and whole pies, with late-evening pizza cravings at the dorms and the greeks rounding out the night. Larissa and some guy named guy named Marco I’d barely met covered the nights we weren’t on, and Mike himself and an older part-timer from Mike’s dad’s day, Sal, covered lunches. We had delivery guys too for the second shifts. Mike was there pretty much every day, and I was invested enough in him after a whole semester working there I would’ve been worried about him putting in so many hours, if stress didn’t just slide off him like eggs off a perfectly greased pan.

So we moved in together late one evening on our next day off, our meager possessions stuffed in the back of Eddie’s hand-me-down Toyota, and got in with the keys Mike had already had made for us. We were both wearing tee shirts and shorts (me in army-style cargos, him in cutoffs), and I was trying not to think about the fact that Eddie’s sturdy, slightly hairy legs were kinda nicer than I’d imagined they’d be.

We slowed our step in the wide foyer, taking in the feel of the place. The first thing I noticed was that the house had this reassuring quiet and open feel with just us there, like it was this new realm to explore. The second thing I noticed was, not too surprisingly, the lightly pervasive background scent of weed. It was subtle rather than acrid, unlike more than a few dorm rooms I’d been in, but it was also everywhere, insinuating into the house as it had the man.

“I shoulda guessed,” Eddie laughed from behind a stack of milk crates full of desk junk and electronics.

“It’s totally Mike,” I agreed, repositioning my grip on the heavy duffels that contained pretty much all my clothes as we started moving again.

“I like it, though,” Eddie said. “It’s kinda making me horny,” he added, still sounding amused. I noticed he was falling behind me as we approached the stairs. The little fucker never missed a chance to scope my ass.

“Imagine,” I drawled. I was kind of glad he said it, though, because the truth was that my dick was loosening and chubbing a bit in my shorts just from being inside the place and breathing in its cannabis-tinted air. Something about this place was turning me on, and it wasn’t Eddie’s heated stare burning a hole in my cargos. Well, not only that.

We got our stuff moved in in short order—meager possessions, remember—and we were soon squared away except, as it turned out, for one small problem. I was in our shared bathroom, arranging my hair and skin products on what I’d decided to claim as my side of the ridiculously wide marble-topped vanity, when Eddie appeared at my side with an adorable crease between his brows. My dick flexed just at the proximity combined with the knowledge that we were alone, so I deliberately went back to unpacking my bottles and tubes and aligning them by size and function, and tried not to feel his body heat warming my forearms from barely an inch away.

“Dude,” he said, “have you seen my bed?”

“Nope,” I said, frowning at the tall bottle of mousse that had lost its cap and dribbled a little on itself in transit. I rinsed it off in the sink and teased, “Why, is it awesome? A thing of beauty?”

Eddie huffed. “No, I mean, have you seen it? Because I can’t find it.”

I frowned at him. How did you lose a bed?

“It’s not there?” I asked him. He shook his head. I followed him to his side of the floor, feeling slightly uneasy. The living room on his side was furnished with a worn but solid-looking desk, a chest of drawers, a wall-mounted TV a few years out of date, and big old plaid sofa and matching love-seat that looked very comfortable and only slightly used, with a dark, blocky coffee table positioned directly in front of the sofa that was just crying out for heaps of sodas and snacks. Eddie’s other room, which was at the back of the house with big windows like mine overlooking the sprawling back yard, was obviously meant to be the bedroom: there was a huge armoire and dresser, lots of heavy woven rugs, a small night stand with a nondescript lamp… and a big, empty spot where a bed should have been.

We crossed back through the bathroom to my side. My rooms were pretty much the same, though the furniture was different because none of the stuff up here matched. Plus there was a vintage stereo system (complete with a phonograph!) instead of the TV. The main difference, though, was that I had a bed. A king, in fact. Mike had said something about ordering a couple of fulls, which had seemed generous but reasonable at the time, and I’d bought a basic set of full-size sheets under that expectation. I now saw that a neat stack of linens clearly consisting of two new-looking sets of sheets, one navy and one rust-red and both no doubt sized for a king mattress, was sitting pertly on my heavy cherrywood dresser. Next to these was what appeared to be a thin, sky-blue comforter that looked perfect for the cool spring night ahead.

We stood there staring at my bed, which was the only bed we had between us. As we did so I suddenly had this uncanny sense of déjà-vu come over me, though it was a good minute before I could put my finger on what it was. Then I realized. This was exactly like one of those scenes from a frothy romantic comedy where the couple that isn’t supposed to be into each other is traveling somewhere and they go to a hotel and order a double room; only when they get up to the room they see that instead of two regular beds there’s one big one, and of course that’s the only room left. I snorted a laugh. Was Mike trying to do a “now kiss!” with us? Because that was pretty funny. And kind of sweet. A little scary for my virgin ass, but sweet.

“You… could always sleep on your couch,” I offered, still amused, though I could hear my heart thumping hard in my chest and wondered if Eddie could, too. “Until the other bed comes in, that is,” I added. In my head, the phrase “other bed” already had air quotes around it. To an outsider it might seem like Mike had had a stoner mind-slip; but I was becoming pretty sure Mike had never meant to order more than one bed.

“No way,” Eddie objected. “I’ve had bad experiences with sleeping on sofas. And I am not going to spend the summer with my back trying to kill me.”

I nodded. Sounded like, if he was already talking about the whole summer, at some level Eddie might also be cognizant of the not-so-innocent nature of Mike’s mistake.

I decided to mentally slide this up on that high shelf for the time being. Without another word I just turned and went back to setting up my toiletries.

Before long we were as moved in as we could get, so we retired to Eddie’s side to watch TV. We even ordered a couple of pizzas from the Joint. (Two pizzas? Sure. C’mon, leftover pizza is killer. Plus Eddie liked olives on his—yecch!) Mike delivered the order himself, something he usually didn’t do, just to say hi and check in with us. He was kitted out in the company windbreaker and everything. We got out our cash and tried to pay him, but he wasn’t taking our money.

Once the pizzas were unsleeved onto the hall table and he’d folded up the hot-pack he hovered a moment by the door. “So, you liking the place?” he asked, watching us curiously.

“Absolutely,” I said honestly. “It’s great. Say, Mike, when do you think the other bed’s coming in?”

I tried to ask it innocently, but he was on to me, and I swear I saw a glint in his eye. Eddie said, “Yeah, there’s a whole Persian rug where my bed ought to be! And I’m not sleeping on that, either,” he added to me, as if I’d suggested it.

Mike licked his lips and smiled; and the smile honestly seemed genuine, like he was thinking about how great this was turning out for all of us. “I’ll call them about it tomorrow,” he told us, still smiling. “Meanwhile, I better let you enjoy these,” he added, patting the pizza boxes. “Larissa’s are almost as good as yours, Brandon!” Then he turned, went out the door, and was trotting down the steps before Eddie had a chance to say “Hey!”

“Yours are good too, Eddie!” Mike called back without turning around. I laughed as I closed the door. Then we went upstairs and ate pizza and watched movies on Eddie’s couch and didn’t think about the bed situation until we were too tired to care. We stripped to our skivvies, made the bed together, and climbed under the sheets. There wasn’t even time for any awkward to brew between us before we happily conked out—me before him, as it turned out, which was kind of a shame as I was very curious to find out if Eddie snored as loudly as I suspected he did.

Part 3: Eddie

We slept in the next morning. I sleep in all the time; it’s why I work nights, and why I have only afternoon classes. But I was a little surprised to find Brandon was still asleep when I finally clawed my way up to consciousness. Brandon’s open and airy bedroom was already basking in the canary-yellow brightness of the high late-morning sun (we’d forgotten to draw the curtains the night before, evidently); but the real shocker wasn’t that Mr. Neat and Tidy was still slovenly snoozing at this late hour—it was the way my reserved, everything-just-so coworker and impromptu housemate was snuggling right up on me like I was one of those darn full-body cuddle pillows. I was flabbergasted and very, very happy at this development. My only explanation was that the calming and somehow liberating vibe of this place had done a number of him like it had me.

Seriously, he had his arms and his legs wrapped around me, his lips were resting against the side of my neck, and his full-blown erection was nestling casually against my butt, nearly in my crack. Only two layers of thin cotton kept the damp, warm tip of his hard tool from sliding right in between my cheeks.

I lay there in the middle of the big bed trying to drink in what I was feeling and store it away, in case Brandon retracted into himself again after he woke up and realized what had happened in the night, and made sure it never happened again. His arms felt limber and strong around me. His legs too. I bet he ran, just for fun. The way he was taller than me made it feel like I was securely enveloped inside his own personal space. He was warm, too, radiating a low, persistent heat, and my body was happy to take in everything he was putting out. And speaking of his cock! I loved the way it pressed easily against me, all hot and hard as iron. It felt big, too, and… not quite straight? That made me smile. Just like its owner, I thought.

I hadn’t fathomed how much I’d been truly craving this. The feel of him against me, his arousal from being with me. Not until this moment. For all the flirting I’d done I’d never actually made a move on him, and he’d given me only the merest hint that he was doing anything more that tolerating my affections. I’d been almost aggressively attracted to him, and I knew he knew it, but he was the opposite, not aggressive at all. If I’d jumped him he might have just gone with it, and that wouldn’t have been good for either of us. I had to know it was mutual. I had to know he wanted it, too; and with our situation this morning, with me folded up in every limb he had and his mouth nuzzling my sensitive nape and his power-stiffie rubbing close enough to my ass to make my hole twitch, I was hopeful I had my first solid clue.

Classes were over, but it was a Friday, which meant we had be at work for our regular three o’clock shift that afternoon. We silently, if red-facedly, pretended to ignore our respective boners as we climbed out of bed, then took turns in the shower (I had to whizz with a hard-on, which isn’t always fun) and got dressed in our separate rooms. By the time we managed to stumble downstairs was saw that Mike had already left for the Joint. He had, however, left a note for us in the kitchen—and a big plate of thick, delicious-smelling, obviously homemade chocolate-chip cookies, sitting there on the island like a present we’d gotten just for existing. They were still slightly warm—Mike must have only baked them that morning, while we were still unknowingly playing sleepy cuddlemonsters.

“Morning, roomies!” the note said. Mike’s handwriting pretty much looked like he wrote with his feet, but I was used to it after all this time and I didn’t have much trouble deciphering the note’s contents. “There’s plenty of food in the fridge and the cupboards, so make yourself at home, ha ha. Meanwhile, here’s a housewarming gift fro me. Does it count as ‘housewarming’ if it comes from your landlord, who already lives in the house and has been warming it already? Yes. I’ll say yes. Anyway, enjoy these, and I’ll see you at work. Mike.” He drew a little smiley face next to his name with its tongue sticking out, like he always did.

I turned from the note to grin up at Brandon. “What do you think? Cookies for breakfast?” I was hungry as fuck, like pretty much always, and right then I was dying to know if Brandon was a big-breakfast guy or an “I’ll have two egg whites and a tiny wedge of cantaloupe” guy. I was pretty sure he wasn’t a “What the hell, let’s have cookies for breakfast” guy, though.

Sure enough, Brandon just cocked an eyebrow at me before heading around to the big steel refrigerator and perusing its contents thoughtfully. After a lightning inventory of the cupboards and pantry, he started collecting various containers and packages and set about making us flapjacks with blueberry compote and bacon on the side. I sat at one of the stools on the far side of the island from where he was working and watched. What seemed like mere moments later he slapped a loaded plate down in front of me, and as I contentedly drew in the smells I fell for him just that little bit harder.

The cookies were not forgotten, though. We brought them upstairs with us with a couple glasses of milk, and after I finished hooking up my gaming system we scarfed them down ravenously like we hadn’t both just eaten a child’s weight in pancakes while having a blast shooting down hordes of slavering ogres and super-serumed orcs. We laughed uproariously as we finished wiping up the battlefield, partly because that last orc had collapsed and died in this really funny way and partly because we each leaned forward and reached for the plate at the same time, only for us both to realize it was empty. We’d actually managed to bolt down every last cookie from the huge stash of Toll House goodness Mike had left for us.

“You took the last one!” we both said in mock outrage, more or less in unison. Then we both laughed even harder. Brandon climbed nimbly on top of me—the couch was so deep I was almost horizontal—and started trying to tickle me. “I’ll get you for that!” he said. He looked a little wild, and not just in the eyes. He’d done his hair like usual after his shower, but now it looked weirdly mussed and tousled, like it was stretching to escape its product-imposed confines. He’d trimmed his beard, too—I’d heard the trimmer—but now he looked like he hadn’t. There was something funny about his torso, too. The raspberry-red tee shirt he was wearing seemed to be straining very slightly at his delts and it kind of looked like he had a hint of traps budding across the breadth of his shoulders. Speaking of straining, my dick was huge and rock hard—maybe it had been before—and despite his cargos and my cutoffs I could feel his was too as he moved his crotch against mine. I was incredibly turned on, not least from the deft fingers reaching up under my shirt and relentlessly exploring my obliques and intercostals, trying to find my tickle points.

Two could play at that game—I didn’t have four brothers for nothing. I reached up under that raspberry tee and found his vulnerable spots in seconds. He shrieked and laughingly grabbed my arms, hauling us around so I was on top of him, both of us longways now on the big sofa. It was a strange move on his part—or maybe not, because I instantly forgot all about how I had him at my mercy once I was on top of him.

My entire being was now suffused in a level of arousal I didn’t think I, or any human, could possible have yet experienced. Brandon was right there with me, too—I could tell from the burning lust in his fiery eyes as he stared up at me. My dick felt massive, like a barely controlled animal, and it was taking all I had not to rut savagely against the equally feral beast pressed unbearably against mine, through layers of clothing that so absolutely did not belong there their existence was like an affront against our equally lust-drenched dicks.

I stared hard into his eyes. “Bran,” I panted, bridling wildly at my own self-constraints.

“Yeah?” he rasped up at me, his eyes never leaving mine, either. I’d never called him “Bran” before, but he answered to it immediately, like it had been my secret name for him all along.

I gritted my teeth. I felt so flooded with horniness I thought I was literally in danger of drowning, unless I, we, did something about it, and five fucking minutes ago. “You better kiss me in the next ten seconds,” I warned him roughly, “or you won’t have the—”

Before I could finish he grabbed the back of my neck and pulled my mouth onto his, and we sank into the fiercest, most necessary kiss in all of creation. My body pressed hard onto his, our dicks writhing together, and it was so hot, so thrilling, that our tongues hadn’t been sliding against each other for five minutes before a climax welled up in me like a tidal wave and I spent a giant load of hot, messy seed right there in my cutoffs, loving the way it felt like I was mashing my jizz straight into his raging erection. He bust his nut almost the instant he felt me cumming, and the squeezes of his shooting cock as it shoved against mine nearly drove me to another damn climax piled right on top of the first one. Our mouths never disengaged during the whole ordeal, the two of us snatching breaths desperately through our nostrils as we tried to kiss each other as deeply and as completely as we possibly could. We broke free at last, gasping and wide-eyed.

“Bed,” Bran huffed. “Naked. Now.” His pupils were so expanded the dark blue of his irises were almost completely lost. I nodded. We clambered out of the couch in mirrored motions and shucked our shirts and soiled shorts, casting them aside instantly forgotten as if they were vanished into the nothingness of nonexistence. I was unable to rip my eyes away from his body, and Bran was the same, staring hard at me like he had to have me. We were both still impossibly hard, completely unslaked by the primal orgasm we’d just had, despite the evidence of gobs of cum slathered over our dicks, our sacks, and beyond. In fact my balls, far from aching and calling up for me to take it easy as they should have been after such a release, were surging with what felt like bottomless reserves of cum and demanding I take action to ensure an even more colossal eruption at the earliest possible juncture.

Happy to oblige, I took Bran’s hand and pulled him into his bedroom; but once we got to the big bed he gripped my wrists and essentially threw me onto the mattress, climbing up after me and looming over me like a smiling panther about to devour its prey. It was all wonderfully unconnected to the reality we’d lost all consciousness of. It felt like we were floating, the bed was barely there; we were in the sky, and it was just us, and the moment we’d both always needed to happen had finally arrived.

“Please,” I begged him. “Fuck me. You gotta fuck me with that big tool of yours, Bran. I mean it.”

He looked down at his jumbo cock. It was long and cut, thick and slightly bent like I’d thought, a truly big and mighty dick. I might have had him beat in the girth department, especially the way my raging hard-on seemed to be straining at my very skin like it was trying to get bigger, but his was the largest cock I’d ever seen and I wanted it in me. I raked my gaze back up his surprisingly nicely muscled body and dwelled on his handsome, bearded face. His expression seemed slightly confused, like he didn’t quite recognize his own tool, but the second he lifted his gaze and met mine again the thought seemed to fall away and drop into the abyss.

“I’ve never done this before,” he admitted, his breathing still a little ragged. Funny, his dick seemed to know the way—it was rubbing at the base of mine like a stallion champing at the bit. “We… we need lube, right?” he said doggedly, like he was having trouble working through his usual process of planning, assessing possible outcomes, and executing only when sure. Yeah, dude, forget that, it’s out the window when you’ve got a boner that hard.

I grinned. I had enough brain cells working to remember there was a fresh tube in my dresser drawer, but no way was I going to even suggest moving from where we were at right now. I’d go get it between sessions so we’d have it in here for next time, which I suspected would be be very, very shortly after this time. As in immediately. It would be simultaneously if that were physically possible.

“Use our cum, dude,” I said. “There’s enough if it, and you look like you won’t last any longer inside my tight ass than I will with you giving it to me.”

Bran groaned, like I’d gotten him close again just by mentioning my hole to him. “Don’t say things like—” he started to say. I cut him off with a kiss, more sensual this time. While we made out he used one hand to gather up the cum from our crotches, but instead of using it on his own cock he slathered it on mine instead.

I cried out into the kiss, then broke free. “Stop,” I said, and he halted in mid-stroke, gazing down at me like someone consumed with need. “You’re going to make be cum, and I want you in me when I blow.”

A smile spread across his kiss-swollen lips, like I’d surprised him with a compliment. “C’mon, Bran,” I said over the thundering on me heart, my dick trapped in his squeezing hand. “You know I’ve wanted you for ages.”

“I thought you just wanted my ass,” he said, his smile widening.

“Next time,” I gasped, and I could tell the idea excited him. “Now get it in me!”

He nodded, accepting the task. “I—I have to prep you, right? With my fingers?”

Damn it, more delays. I almost said no, but… that was one extra-huge dick he was about to shove into me. I nodded. “Make it fast,” I urged him.

He let go of my dick, much to its annoyance, and I spread my legs for him, feeling like I was pushing aside warm wisps of cloud with my feet. He found my hole and gingerly pushed a finger in. “Go,” I growled. He pushed in deeper, and I moaned. Fuck, I was ready for him. Maybe I hadn’t needed the prep—my ass was made for him. I barely contained myself as I felt two fingers, then three. “Enough,” I said. “Do it!” I stared into his eyes and, making my face utterly serious, I commanded him huskily: “Dance for me!”

Bran barked out a laugh before diving down and kissing me with urgency and passion. Then… then, as he pulled his face away, I felt his tip, pushing in rudely past my tight ring like it couldn’t hold itself back. He was looming over me balancing on one hand, the other resting low at my side; and strangely the fact that he was touching me on my bare hip unaccountably made me feel giddily naked, as if he weren’t pressing his prick against my hole. He was watching me, nervous and fervid all at once. Then head nudged a little further in, as cautious as its master, and my need to feel its full, hard length took up all of my attention.”Yes!” I told it in a low, growly voice, and him. “Yes!” It was all the reassurance he needed. That jumbo cock of his slid into me long, slow, and steady, like a freight train that was just starting up and would soon be rising to a dangerous speed and momentum. He pushed all the way in, down to the hilt, and… my god, that bend in his long, fat, very hard dick right nosed that head of his right up against my prostate.

I seized his heated cheeks in both hands like a spasm. I was having trouble finding words, or thoughts, but there was something I needed to tell him. “I’m not going to last,” I managed to get out, staring up into his sex-darkened eyes.

He nodded, a short jerk. “Me neither,” he whispered. He slowly drew back, then shoved in hard and deep. We both cried out. “Stroke yourself,” he demanded, pulling back for another go. I fisted my uncut dick and stroked myself hard in tandem with his thrust, and we yelled again in pleasure. If I’d been at all cognizant of the world in that moment I’d have expressed gratitude for the distance Mike’s house stood from the neighbors on either side—a far cry from trying to fuck in the crowded dorms—but my brain was toast. We were the world in that moment, me and my hands and my girthy hardon and Bran with his deliciously humpy body and his handsome face and hairy chest and his wonderfully crooked jumbo-sized cock. That was everything… that, and the universe-obliterating orgasm were were both building toward at light speed.

We didn’t last more than two more thrusts. I had both hands around my dick but I was barely stroking—I was so close to the edge I wasn’t sure I could stick out for Bran, but once again he was right there with me, cresting just as I was. Then with a final thrust we both cried out again and released monumental loads, the longed-for sensation of his hot jizz pulsing against my insides making me cum even harder in a euphoric full-body explosion of unending cum. I almost blacked out, and I definitely sort of lost focus for a while because the next thing I knew Bran was collapsed onto me, my sweaty arms wrapped tight and fast around his long, equally sweaty torso. He was still inside me, both of us still spurting the last dregs of our indomitable climax. We lay there for a while listening to each other’s heaving breaths until we were both spent, soaring on the edges of our shared release, alone together. It was like being incandescent and made of happy, all at once.

After a while Bran started to chuckle. “What the fuck happened to us?” he rasped into my neck. “I’m still hard for you.”

“Me too,” I said. Somehow, us moving in together had turned our bodies into sex machines and cranked our libidos up a notch or five. I held Bran close, and as my still-rigid erection flexed against his cummy abs, and his responded with an answering twitch where it lay still buried in my hot, tight ass, I realized with certainty that if this was to be my new reality I did not mind at all.

Part 4: Mike

The boys were a few minutes late for work the day after they moved in, and that sped my pulse up a notch. Jerry, the cute, skinny TA with the glasses who unfailingly came in at 3:05 every day and ordered two slices of white before his late afternoon labs, was already here, and no sign of the boys. Nice.

The music was on, low but present as always. It was a White Stripes kind of day, and I hoped I’d get a chance to see how Brandon moved to a backing track of that sort now that things had started to change—if they had. Jerry was watching me from the other side of the counter as I slid his slices into the oven and shut the door. “What’s got you smiling?” he asked conversationally.

“Just a little project I’m working on,” I told him. “You want your Coke Zero with that?”

He nodded, and as I went over the refrigerated case he asked, “What kind of project?”

As if in answer, the boys suddenly stumbled in together at that very moment, having rushed in through the back. They looked flushed and slightly winded, almost like they’d run here, though I knew they’d probably taken Eddie’s beater Toyota. They gave me comically identical apologetic looks. “Sorry, Mike,” they said, and Brandon added, “We got—” (and here they both gave each other an aside glance, which caused them both to grin while reddening a bit further) “—caught up.”

I had to laugh. “No apology needed,” I told them, while giving them both a quick, critical once-over. They were just a bit disheveled, a condition that was especially noticeable on Brandon: not only were their store polos rumpled and untucked, but Brandon’s rich chestnut hair was a messy nest, like he’d combed it with his hands instead of a brush and hadn’t bothered with product after he’d gotten out of the shower. Their mussed states made my insides tingle a tad. It might have been the rush to get here after all the playtime they’d had, but then again… there might have been more to it than that. Certainly the other intended effects of the two special strains of weed I’d tried out on the boys were patently starting to manifest.

Though a stranger might not have noticed I could tell that their shirts were both nicely snug across their perceptibly swollen shoulders and around their firm, minutely rounded upper arms, and their gently improved pecs were starting to show a little where the soft green fabric draped over them. Their hair was not only tousled but seemed a scoche longer and looser, like a well-kept garden was turning wild by slow degrees; and Brandon’s always meticulously groomed beard looked like it hadn’t been trimmed in a couple days. A bit of dark, new chest hair was sprouting in the vee of Brandon’s polo, too, and there were even a few lighter hairs in evidence on the sliver of Eddie’s paler chest where his shirt made it visible as well. The usual sense I had of being well taller than Brandon, not to mention Eddie, seemed subtly muted, like things wouldn’t be that way for long.

Most telling of all, though, was their behavior. They were just a little stoned, I was pretty sure, but it was more than that. Both of my boys had low-level but persistent anxieties: Eddie’s was about at school, Brandon’s with his family, and most obviously they had been not-so-subtly sharing a mutual hesitation about each other. Now, though, my gut was telling me that their preoccupations were receding and their inhibitions were aggressively eroding away. From the way they were sneaking glances at each other, and the leveled-up bulges in their pants—were they both chubbed for each other? Or just bigger? Maybe both?—I knew one thing for certain: if these two weren’t standing here, right now, waiting me for me to get them started on the day’s work, they would be home fucking each other’s brains out.

I decided to needle them a little first. “You guys look great today,” I said. “You been working out?”

They blushed again and exchanged another grinning glance. They’d been working out, all right, but not at the gym.

I wanted to giggle. I was pretty sure that the reason Thad had been breeding these special strains of weed lately, with all these calculated interactions from various mixtures that he kept detailing in the notes and instructions he sent with all his packages, was that he wanted me to be a big mountain of a man like him… but this was way more fun. I’d stick with the regular, unenhanced stuff for my own tokes, thank you kindly; but the boys were another kettle of pot altogether.

“Jerry’s whites should be ready,” I told Eddie, letting him off the hook, and he tore his eyes away from his new housemate long enough to turn his grin on me a second before going about his work. I had Brandon check the prep containers and open up a new sack of mozzarella before starting in on a delivery order we’d just gotten. He shared his grin with me as well, then started getting busy. I moved back to a corner where I could watch them both while retrieving my tablet and pretending to work on invoices. Both of them were moving around the place in utter contentment, like having hot butt sex and working in a pizza place was all a young guy could possibly need.

I was kind of turned on just seeing them like this… and imagining the summer ahead. I was, in that moment, pretty contented myself.

“You guys do look good,” Jerry observed as Eddie handed him his slices on a tray with the bottle of soda I’d been interrupted from getting.

“Thanks,” Eddie said with another blush and a smile, taking his money—and a larger than usual tip. It was nice to watch from behind. From where I stood Eddie’s back looked broad and tapered—he was going to have lats. Brandon was staring too, but when he noticed me looking at him he ducked his head, keeping a secret smile for himself. I had to giggle again, and my dick shifted as I made a note on my tablet to buy some larger-sized uniform shirts. My guys were going to need them.

Part 5: Eddie

Man, this summer’s shaping up to be a dream. Everywhere I look there’s things I can’t get enough of. Sunshine so pure you want to bottle it and keep it in a cupboard for gloomy doomy days. This big, rambling, quirky house with unexpected rooms and odd surprises where I have space of my own for the first time since the fucking womb. Free time with no studying, no exams, and no papers was so great I was ready to postpone the end of summer into infinity and beyond. Pizza, of course—the best pizza. I thought I knew pizza before I started working at the Joint, but this is pizza where you taste that slightly soft crust and think, fuck, this would be good all by itself, and then you’ve got the beautiful melty cheese and the fresh-delicious slow-made sauce and everything to make it ambrosia-nectar-mannatastic. Best of all we always get two pizzas, which means I can get my own pie and slather it with olives if I want. My four olive-hating brothers became like a half-forgotten life on another planet I wasn’t going back to anytime soon if I could help it. Bran? Bran just wrinkles his nose at it and grins.

And speaking of things I can’t get enough of—Bran’s adorable face. And his butt, too, and his body, and his feet, and his long, thick, extra-hard dick, but—man. Every expression he makes. His enjoy-your-yucky-olives-you-sexy-weirdo face is definitely one of my favorites, but honestly every time he looks at me it gets me going something fierce. That total-focus, Mr. Intense face he makes sometimes when we’re gaming and it’s going fast and thick. The cute, bashful blush when he catches me leering at his perfect, mobile, waggly butt. The smirk when he’s about to pick up speed on our morning runs to see if stubby-legged me can keep up. The glint in his eye when he offers me the last Mike-brownie and then yoinks it back and snarfs it down himself, laughing right at me while he chewed like he’d tricked me out of the secret nuclear codes or something. Bran all powered down and perfectly content in the hammock outside, or nestling his head onto my chest as I hold him close at night while the two of us slide placidly into sleep in Brandon’s big, cozy bed. That’s the best. It’s so good it makes my heart hurt a little and my dick start to swell even if we’ve just gotten off twice and sleep was dragging us down like the Titanic. He’s growing out his beard a little, or at least he isn’t trimming it as religiously—heck, I’m much into the whole shaving thing this summer either—and that chestnut-dark beard of his was all soft and kinda perfect rubbling into my dirty-blond chest hairs as we spin slowly down into sleep, with his sweet face all simple contentment.

So, yeah. I like Bran’s face. I want to see his fuck-me-harder face—I want that pretty bad. I won’t have long to wait, either.

Bran hadn’t done the guys and cocks thing before, not until we kinda fell into bed together at Mike’s place. Actually he hadn’t done the girls and vaginas thing either, but the bottom line was he wasn’t used to dicks that weren’t his own yet. Me, I had four clothing-indifferent brothers in a small house and I’d been going out for football, baseball, and ice hockey since grade school, all of which I loved even without the covert locker-room scoping. So I’d’ve been copacetic being around dick in quantity by then even if I hadn’t realized I was into guys that time Tim Mathiason pushed me up against the wooden fence behind the bleachers after fifth-grade little league practice and asked me if I’d let him kiss me. The answer was fuck yes, by the way.

Not that Bran’s put off by my dick—not at all. He’s kind of fascinated by it, actually. When we’re in bed he likes to to fondle it, soft or hard, and if it’s hard—and it mostly is lately—you can bet his hand will be wrapped tight around it, feeling its heat and stiffness like its bonerness feeds him bits of extra arousal right through his skin. Or stroking me slow and careful, like he wants to make sure I get all the pleasure out of it I possibly can. Me being uncut was a novelty. He was astonished by the idea that the mobility of my foreskin and all the crazy amount of pre I generate means I can get off without needing any lube, a truth he’s been keen to prove for the last couple of weeks we’ve been living at Mike’s, night after night as he fucks me, and morning after morning as we stroke off while making out like we’re hungry for each other, which we totally are.

So he’s fascinated by my tool, like I said, but he’s also a bit intimidated. I can’t say as I blame him. My dick is a girthy fucker. It’s always been a literal handful, fat like a torpedo but wider, so it’s, like, almost oblong from above—kinda the shape of a watermelon, not the round kind but the wide kind. Thick, oblong, girthy—that’s my dick. Around Bran, though, it’s like gotten extra hard and extra huge, like I’m so into Bran—and fuck, I so am—that it’s actually stretched my dick bigger and fatter. My whole body’s that way. My brain is blissed with endorphins all the time I can’t think of anything but him, and my bod’s all tight and hot and thick all over. Even my chest hair is sprouting and curling, I’m so hot for this guy. Old anxieties fell away forgotten like shed skin just from being with him, in this house and this job, and having our summer together that’s just that and nothing else. Fucking bliss. I feel strong and beautiful and made for fucking, twenty-four/seven. It’s such a rush just being around him and finally getting to be with him after all the long, slow, crazy-making build-up of lust since he started working at the Joint. My dick, though, man, all that goes extra for my dick. And when Bran’s got that strong hand of his and those long fingers wrapped tight around my dork, man, I can almost feel it wanting to pump bigger and thicker and harder with every single pulse.

So I developed a plan for Bran and my dick. It’s a very simple plan. It goes like this: hand; mouth; ass.

I told you it was a simple plan.

There was a side plan, which was to remain constantly shirtless when not at work so that Bran was confronted by my manliness at all times. This part of the plan backfired on me, because Bran quickly instituted the same policy for himself. Not only did he make me incredibly hard just looking at him, I was so acutely aware of his tight, lightly hairy, hard-muscled and totally shirtless torso, whether combined with board shirts, or clingy gray boxer-briefs, or total post-shower nudity, that it tended to swallow up anywhere between most and all of my attention, even when Bran wasn’t in the room.

I was on safer ground with hand; mouth; ass.

“Hand” was a go from the beginning. I think his paw slipped around my spent but still half-chubbed dick that first night while he was asleep, and it never left. If I’m naked, it’s there. Step one: check.

Step two is tonight. He doesn’t know it yet, but tonight, after our shift, Brandon Andros is going to suck my juicy, girthy, uncut dick, and he’s going to love it. I cannot fucking wait.

Part 6: Brandon

“Woof, man. You been working out?”

I was handing Jay, our resident platinum-blond football god, his three large slices of white (one each for him and his guy—they liked to share the third one), but my mind, and my eyes, were on other things. Specifically, they were on Eddie, who was even randier than usual today. Right now he was completely, wildly boned in his extra-snug black work trousers, just like he’d been for hours. He was turned away from me at the moment, but it didn’t matter. There he was, five feet away spreading mozz over a fresh pie, so hard in his pants for me I was pretty sure I could smell it even over the tomato sauce and the garlic and all the rising dough.

I remembered Jay and turned back to him with a guilty smile. “Huh? No, not really,” I told him, finally making eye contact. I gave him a crooked smile. “Morning runs, that’s all.”

He grazed his eyes up and down my torso like he was groping me with his eyes. I shifted my shoulders against my thin, too-tight work polo. I was kind of used to no shirts at all by now thanks to our duelling shirtlessness game at home. Anyway mine must have shrunk in the wash, because the thin, slightly stretchy cotton blend was feeling really tight across my chest and shoulders. Eddie’s too for that matter. Eddie’s was so plastered on him you could see the cuts in his abs. When he put it on that afternoon before work I thought his damned nips were going to drill holes right through the straining fabric.

“Tha-a-at’s not from going for a run,” Jay said slowly, his pale blue eyes full of appreciation. “That is some serious workout muscle.”

“And he should know,” chimed in his boyfriend Zac, a fit but non-jock biracial dude who was clearly Jay’s biggest fan. “C’mon, babe, make a muscle,” he teased.

“I’m not gonna make a muscle,” Jay said dismissively, though he brought up his right arm and did a bicep flex anyway literally just for a second, briefly stretching the short sleeve of his blue compression tee. Zac wolf-whistled happily and started shaking red pepper over their slices.

Jay wasn’t done, though. He nodded toward my own weirdly shirt-straining upper body. “You’re the one that should make a muscle, bro,” he said.

I ducked my head a little, abashed, and tried to turn it back around on him. “Come on,” I said playfully, jerking my chin toward Zac, who’d finished doctoring the slices and was now pulling a couple of sodas out of the cooler. “What’s your boyfriend going to think? He’s standing right there.”

Zac grinned and, slapping the sodas down on their tray, slipped an arm around Jay’s narrow waist. “Are you kidding? Scoping out you guys is our favorite activity as a couple.”

“In spades,” Jay confirmed with a wide, toothy smile. “You think we come here for the pizza?”

I gasped and grabbed my chest in mock offense. Jay, however, was not to be sidetracked. “Do it,” he pressed, smiling even wider. “Let’s see a little double-bi action. The customer’s always right,” he added in a sing-song. He wiggled his eyebrows, which were a couple shades darker than his spiky white-blond hair.

“Yeah, do it,” Zac begged, and his smile was even wider than his boyfriend’s. “Do it! Do it!” he chanted, and Jay joined in.

Then I heard it from behind me, too. “Do it! Do it! Do it!” Eddie urged, taking up the chant, his voice all low and excited. I turned to look at him. He’d finished his pie and stuck in in the oven already, and now was leaning back against the counter, grinning like Jay and Zac teaming up on me was the best show ever. Yep, he was still hard. Fuck. I was half-hard or more just from being around him. I’d probably be completely boned if I hadn’t proactively tucked my long, thick, and now-aching dick under my balls in my boxer briefs the moment it had gotten soft enough for me to get dressed before work, and it was starting to escape anyway. It’d be free to get all hard any time now, all thanks to Eddie.

I just stared for a second while he egged me on. The way he had the backs of his palms on the marble countertop behind him made his shoulders all wide and square and bulging thick with strength and masculine hotness, and fuck, he was the one that should be showing off for Jay, not me. Eddie’d always been kinda built—I was more the swimmer’s build type, especially as I was the taller one, though I admit my shirt and trousers shrinking in the laundry like this did kind of make me look like I spent all my time doing crazy reps at the gym. Eddie, though—he was muscle-hunky for real. These guys were just razzing me ‘cause I blushed easy, I decided.

That’s when I noticed Mike leaning against the doorway to the back room. His arms were folded over his chest and he was watching the whole scene with vast amusement. I met his eyes and he gave a little shrug that was like, “Well?”

I rolled my eyes and turned back to Jay and Zac, only to see that the handful of other customers in the store were watching as well, interested. Two women near the door had joined the chant, which was getting pretty loud and insistent. “Fine,” I said, doing my best to sound exasperated, and the chant turned to cheers and chaps. I raised both my arms and did a double-bi so quick it was almost subliminal. Even for that brief second, though, I could tell the hems on my polo sleeves were so taut around my upper arms I actually had to exert some effort to fully flex against them. The words “flexing out of clothes” suddenly surfaced in my muddy brain. I’d seen videos like that—Eddie had shown me a couple the other day, actually, and suddenly I was thinking a bizarre and unexpected thought: I could do that.

My super-quick flex, meanwhile, did not impress my audience. “Awww,” Jay moaned, disappointed but laughing. He handed me a twenty for the slices and drinks. Zac booed, and so did Eddie and couple of the other customers.

I put the twenty away in the register and started pulling change. “Buy a whole pie next time and you get the full gun show,” I said dryly.

Jay slapped the counter. “Sold!”

I shook my head slightly and offered him the change, but he waved it off and turned away with his tray, heading for one of the tables. I shrugged and dropped the change into the tip jar, then turned to find Eddie smirking at me. “The gun show,” he repeated.

“Shut up,” I said, but when he snorted a laugh I had to grin, too.

“Nice upsell,” Mike said, obviously intent on teasing me as mercilessly as Eddie.

“Thanks,” I drawled.

He winked and nodded behind him toward his office. “For that, you get a cookie,” he said. If I hadn’t known about his baking fetish I wouldn’t have known he was serious. Instead I perked up—one of his special homemade chocolate-chip cookies sounded pretty awesome just then. He turned and headed back, and I immediately followed.

“Aw,” Eddie protested, trailing after us. “I want one too.”

“You too, Eddie,” Mike said. “There’s a whole baggie.”

“Woo-hoo!” Eddie exulted, crowding into the little office behind us.

Mike pulled the gallon-size Ziploc out of a drawer and handed it to me, eyes glinting. Eddie’s face lit up—Mike had made the cookies big this time, a good four inches across, and the surfaces were thickly dotted with chocolate chips and mini M&Ms. I could tell just looking at them that they were firm but soft to bite into and totally, heartbreakingly delicious like always. I opened the bag and retrieved one of the jumbo treasures, drawing in a good whiff of the captivating scent as I did so. “By the way,” Mike was saying from somewhere next to me and yet weirdly far away, “your new polos will be in tomorrow.”

“Thank god,” Eddie said, snatching the bag out of my hand after I’d barely managed to pull my cookie out. “My shirt’s hugging me so tight Bran’s starting to get jealous,” he joked as he got his out—the cookie, I mean. Then our eyes met and I kind of fell into those warm, pale green pools for a while, almost like they were actual tropical pools and I was just going to laze and swim and float under the sun in both of them all day and all forever.

I was totally hard now, hugely rock-hard in my work trous, maybe I had been for a while, I dunno, and I was totally sure I could sense Eddie’s hardness too thrumming through me even from a foot away. Suddenly the cookies we were both holding in our hands were kinda forgotten, and it was all I could do not to bend Eddie over the office desk and make sweaty, passionate, shirt-ripping love to him right then and there, and our extra-tall boss could either go somewhere and keep busy for a while or stay and watch, either way.

Mike chuckled. “Keep ‘em in your pants at work, boys, if you can,” he said in mock remonstration as we stared hard at each other, in multiple senses of the word. “Health codes are a bitch.” He passed out of the room at some point, maybe right then, but I barely noticed, and we both slowly ate our cookies staring at each other and giggling, like our being into each other was the best thing any two guys could possibly share. Though the cookies, I had to admit, came close. Okay, yes, the fucking, and the making out, and the cuddling and all that. But the cookies too.

Part 7: Eddie

I was in the tiny bathroom behind the back room, trying to piss with a granite-hard boner—seriously, I loved being this horny, but every guy has that moment when he wishes there was this, like, ten-second off switch, and it’s usually when you’re trying to take a whizz while you’re boned up like the fucking Washington Monument—anyway, I was just managing to get it all in the bowl by sitting down and pushing down hard on the thing so it didn’t spray all over the tile wall in front of me when there was a rap-rap-rap on the bathroom door.

“Yeah? Kinda busy in here,” I said. I’d managed a system, but it was still taking a while this way.

“I bet,” Bran said, like he could guess my predicament. It’d be tougher for him, I realized, getting it all in the bowl, on account of he’s got a few inches on me. Though mine was looking and feeling way huge today. “Listen, there’s some guys here for you.”

I blinked at the door. “‘Some guys’?” I repeated. “What ‘guys’?” I tried to think who I might have pissed off enough to show up at my job and rough me up, but all I could think about was Bran’s naked ass. Okay, the plan, I coached myself. Hand–mouth–ass. Stick to the plan.

“I dunno, Edds,” Bran said through the door. He’d been calling me that the last couple days. My own pet name. I loved it. “They’re these skinny, strawberry blond, grinning fireplugs that look a whole lot like you,” he went on. “And each other.” He sounded amused.

Part of my world crumbled a little as realization hit me. “Fuu-u-uck,” I moaned. Either they were here early or I totally spaced on the date. I forgot what I was doing for a second and briefly let up my downward pressure, long enough for a brief burst of piss to spray past the seat and spatter a bit of the tile opposite me in the minuscule room. “Fuck,” I said again, more sharply this time, as I pushed my dick down hard and tried forcing out the rest of my whizz. “I’ll be right out,” I called.

“No rush,” Bran said. He was definitely laughing it up at me out there, though he was hiding it well. “I plied ‘em with anchovy slices and shots of whisky.”

“Funny,” I said. I gritted my teeth as I squeezed out the last of my piss through my fat, protesting boner. If that was really my brothers out there, hand–mouth–ass was totally fucked.

“The moment we heard Eddie’d landed this big old house for the summer, we told Mom and Dad we were heading down here for a week and there was nothing they could do about it,” Jimmy was explaining to Bran, as Jase bit into the last slice. We were tucked away in the big booth, Bran, my middle brothers, and me. It was past closing and we had the place to ourselves. I’d already locked up at midnight. Mike did the lunch and dinner rushes and went home at eight, so he left the keys with me to close up.

Jase was nodding fervently. He struggled to swallow and said, “The house is pandemonium. Way too many people. Matt came home from State last week—and Uncle Carl and Aunt Flo are staying over,” he added to me. “And their kids.”

“Uncle Carl says the fishing is better at Lake Junicoga by us,” Jimmy put in, “but Mom says she just wants to get away from his mother-in-law.”

“She has the attic apartment in their house,” I explained to Bran. He nodded.

“Plus Kevin and Joey are over all the time, mooching off Dad’s cooking,” Jase went on.

Bran looked back at me. “Neighbors,” I supplied. “Their mom’s a shitty, shitty cook.”

“Totally,” Jase agreed. Bran nodded again, lips curving, though he took a swig of Sprint to try to hide it. I think he was entertained by our chaos. It was kind of funny, once you escaped it. I could see how he’d pegged them as my brothers: apart from the dark-framed glasses they both wore they looked like me pretty much, to an outside observer anyway. More than they looked like Matt and Hobie—those two were both darker and looked more like Mom. There’d been more than one occasion the three of us, Jimmy, Jase, and me, were out together and we’d been taken for trips, especially when we were kids. They were definitely built like me, maybe an inch taller, with the same light green eyes and kinda pale skin that tanned rather than burned, thank god. The same shaggy hair, too, though actually theirs was a little closer to regular blond than mine—Mom always joked they’d spilled some cherry Kool-Aid on my head as a baby and never quite gotten it all out.

They definitely seemed narrower in the shoulder than me, though. In a direct contrast to us and our too-tight polos, their kitch tee shirts—Mr. Bubble on brick red for Jimmy, Curious George on brown for Jase—were a size too large and sort of hung off them, even though I knew they were more than decently buff underneath.

“So,” Jimmy said, “we reckon: we’re 18, we got a car, we got a couple weeks before our summer jobs start at Woody Hole—”

Bran spit out some of his soda, and we all laughed. “It’s the local ritzy summer camp,” I clarified, chuckling as I wiped his beard with a napkin.

“It’s been called that for a century,” Jase said, still laughing around the last bite of crust. He dusted his hands together to brush off any remaining crumbs. “What a joke. We’re just lowly counselors, but the pay’s great.”

“And in the meantime,” Jimmy continued doggedly, “we figured we can get some peace and quiet, crash with our big bro in his big empty house.”

“Not so empty now,” I muttered. Bran was looking at me questioningly. “They emailed me a couple days ago about checking out the college again and maybe staying a week or so and looking around, since they’ll be here in the fall,” I said. “Mike said it was okay, I forgot.”

Bran smiled. “You forgot,” he repeated, and there was a little sauciness in his voice, like maybe he knew what had had me so distracted.

“Yeah, fuck you,” I said. And the fucker wiggled his eyebrows at me. Shit, was he—? No, he can’t be ready yet. Hand–mouth–ass. That was the plan. Stick. To. The plan.

“Uh oh,” the twins said, leaning forward looking gleefully back and forth between us. “Looks like we intruded on Eddie’s little love nest,” Jimmy added.

“I can’t wait to tell Matt and Hobie about this,” Jase taunted.

A bad thought occurred to me. “Please tell me Hobie’s not sitting out there in the Toyota,” I pleaded. Hobie always fell asleep in the car.

“Nope,” Jimmy said. “Soccer camp. Days only, though, so he’s still home and underfoot the rest of the time.”

Jase mimed his smart phone, waggling the pretend device provocatively. “And only a text away!”

Ugh. Brothers are the worst. Fortunately, mine are easily bribed, and they had a sweet tooth. Which meant that I had a secret weapon. “I got something to shut you up,” I told them. I glanced at Bran and nodded toward the office. “Babe, could you—?”

He was already getting up, still hugely entertained by the brotherly madness. “Way ahead of you,” he said. Actually, it was a miracle the baggie was still there for me to fob off on Jimmy and Jase, but as it turned out a squall of customers had come in right while we were still eating those first cookies we’d grabbed and staring at each other like Ariel and Eric, the upshot being that Mike had called us out to toss pizzas around and be our usual charming selves—otherwise we probably would have gobbled up the whole bag. Instead we’d sealed it up to grab later and take home with us. Now, our trove was serving a more useful and strategic purpose.

I watched Bran’s ass longingly as he headed for the back—fuck, I was totally hard again. I’d gone down to half mast while I was dealing with Frick and Frack, but around Bran these days I was never not boned for long, especially if Bran’s butt was anywhere in sight.

When I looked back at my siblings they were sporting matching shit-eating grins. “What?” I said.

“‘Babe’,” Jimmy repeated. Jase made kissy-smoochy noises.

Ugh. Brothers. “Shut up,” I said, glowering, but they both just snickered at me.

Part 8: Brandon

Instead of loitering any longer at the Joint we handed off the cookies to Eddie’s brothers with the promise of milk back at the house. Happily appeased, for the moment anyway, Jimmy and Jase followed us back to Mike’s stately home. We knew from previous nights that there wasn’t much risk of Mike being disturbed at his end of the place with our shenanigans, but as we headed up the walk, leaving the twins’ bags in their car for the morning, we still warned the brothers to keep it down. It struck me a little funny, as the crickets and other nights sounds out here away from town were a lot louder than any of us.

“Impressive,” Jimmy said, as he took in the moonlit estate. “Our whole family could actually fit in here.” Eddie snorted.

“It is pretty big,” Jase agreed, keeping his voice low. “Speaking of which, is there, like, an Olympic gym in the basement or something, bro?”

“Yeah, ‘cause you have to admit, you’re looking like a real beast,” Jimmy said. Eddie and I were flanking the twins as we made for the front door from where we’d parked on the street (the garage only had room for Mike’s drop-top Nissan), and they were both looking him over curiously.

“It’s these work polos,” I put in. “Shrank in the wash.”

“Uh huh,” Jase said doubtfully.

I ended up being the one to unlock the front door and led the way in. Once inside I pocketed my keys while Eddie shut the door and flicked the locks. Then, following an already ingrained habit, we both grabbed our shirts behind the collar and sloughed them off in one swift move, like we were trained in synchronized stripping. I froze, shirt in hand, and turned to see the twins gaping at us. Eddie looked a little chagrined—as well he should be, since he’d started the shirtless thing in the first place.

“Uh—feel free to get comfortable too,” I said lamely.

“No thanks, we’re good,” Jimmy said. It was at that point I realized that their jaws were dropped less from the fact that we’d pulled our shirts off—in unison, which really should have been their gig—so much as at what we looked like underneath.

“Yeah, we’re not quite as… ripped as you guys,” Jase added, sizing us up like a pimp who’d just lucked into a couple of rainmakers.

“For Pete’s sake,” Eddie scoffed. “I never see you guys wearing shirts in the summer. Or pants.”

“Yeah, on account of no one in our house looks like a friggin’ superhero,” Jase said, laughing nervously. There were still goggling at us, and with the air conditioning on in the house, and both of us being boned up (which, thanks to our dark work trousers and the low lighting in the foyer, the brothers seemed to have missed so far), I was acutely aware of the fact my nips were very firm and hard at the moment—Eddie’s too.

“Except with chest hair,” Jimmy noted, taking in the creamy strawberry-tinged blond hair hugging the muscles on Eddie’s lightly tanned torso and the darker scruff on mine. “So, are you a personal trainer or something?” he asked me. “‘Cause I’d have said Eddie couldn’t’ve have gotten this swole if he gene-spliced himself with Dwayne Johnson.”

I blinked at him. “I make pizzas,” I said. What was he going on about? How had he not noticed how muscled his big brother was?

“All right, we’re not going to be the only ones, and you guys are being hypocrites,” Eddie said grumpily. “If we were home your shirts would be gone by now, so stop wasting time and pull ‘em off.”

“Uh…” Jimmy said.

Eddie cut him off, gesturing to the baggie of cookie goodness Jimmy was carrying. “Shirts off or no milk,” Eddie said sternly.

The twins looked rebellious for a moment, then caved. “Fine,” they said, like Eddie bossing them around was nothing new. “Here, hold this,” Jimmy added, passing him the cookies. Then the two of them pulled off their tee shirts, and, though they did it from the waist and up instead of from behind the head like we did, they still managed to make it more or less a single, fluid motion in stereo. Their bods were nothing to be ashamed of after all that, by the way: they were built short and a little stocky like Eddie, but their gently tanned torsos were actually very pleasingly muscled and cut hard and tight like a swimmer’s, with thick, square, mostly hairless pecs and impressive six packs.

“Not bad,” I said judiciously. “As a newly confirmed connoisseur of male pulchritude, I can attest that you are both certified hunks.”

They snorted, and Eddie gave me a wry look. He handed back the cookies, and they tried to give him their tee shirts in exchange. “Keep yer stinky shirts,” Eddie said, turning away from them. “Kitchen’s this way.”

In the end we stayed up another hour or so, I’m actually not sure how long, talking and laughing around the polished-walnut dining table in the big breakfast nook off the kitchen. Jimmy and Jase commandeered the cookies, reminding us of the bribe they’d accepted, but it turned out okay because Mike had left us something new on the kitchen island: a cold plate stacked with big mint-frosted fudge brownies. Eddie and I downed almost the whole batch, though I’m certain Jimmy and Jase managed to sneak a few of those, too. Compared to the chocolate chip cookies the brownies seemed extra-intense, like they were packed with concentrated flavor, and between the four of us we went through a whole gallon of one-percent to wash it all down.

I got to hear about the two remaining brothers, Matt, the oldest behind Eddie, and Hobie, the youngest at 16. The twins told embarrassing stories about Eddie’s antics as a toddler, which Eddie more than made up for. I don’t know when I’d laughed so much talking about family. No one in my brood would have ever even thought to demonstrate how to make the letter P by pulling out his weenie and actually peeing the shape of the letter on the kitchen floor, as Eddie apparently did at age 3, thinking it was a hysterically funny joke to do so; and even if they had, the tale would certainly never be spoken aloud under any circumstances, ever. Jimmy and Jase barely got the story out and could not stop laughing for at least five minutes, while Eddie just grinned and shook his head, waiting to get his due. It was great. I understood Eddie and the twins wanting to get away from the madhouse, but a bit of me wanted to go back with them and graft myself onto the family tree.

You’d think Eddie and I would have relaxed, arousal-wise, during all this, but the truth was we were getting more and more horny as we sat there talking and laughing and scarfing down Mike’s baked goods, and our minds were getting more and more clouded with the awareness of our need for each other and how bad we wanted it. We fought it and kept the conversation going because we didn’t want Jimmy and Jase to think we were sex-starved animals, but, fuck, we felt like sex-starved animals. Eddie, ever the instigator, was brazenly rubbing his leg against mine from the moment we sat down, and it got to the point that he was resting his hand on my thigh under the table, then rubbing my leg, then slowly drawing his hand back toward my throbbing cock—all while they wer trading stories of untimely barfs and toddler public nudity.

When he finally got to his prize it was like an egg timer went off in my brain—ding! “Okay, time for bed,” I said, straightening up in more ways than one. We all got to our feet, feeling a little woozy and weirdly stoned from all the sugar, I guess, and very, very, stratospherically horny. The twins wanted to shake hands with me and say it was nice to meet me, but shaking hands just seemed complicated and formal, so we just hugged really tight, Jimmy first and then Jase, all of us giggling because we were all really majorly boned and our dicks were digging into each other as we hugged. There was even some kissing when Jase hugged me, which seemed perfectly normal at the time, except Jimmy complained he hadn’t gotten to kiss me, so Jimmy and I hugged again but with kissing this time.

Then Eddie complained that he was supposed to be the one doing the kissing, so Jase hugged him and they kissed a little until Eddie was like, “No, wrong kisser.” So Jimmy pulled off of me and hugged Eddie instead and they kissed a bit, and Eddie was even more confused. I was trying not to laugh my ass off. Finally I just grabbed my lover-guy by the hand and we stumbled upstairs and into my bed, Eddie falling on his back and me collapsing on top of him.

“You’re still wearing pants,” I teased.

Eddie nodded, then said solemnly, “Mouth.”

I didn’t understand. Eddie giggled.

“Hey guys?” I looked up, and saw that the twins were standing in our doorway. My doorway, I guess. But Eddie is always in here, and he doesn’t have a bed, which means this has to be his bedroom too. So, our doorway. They were shirtless and blond and buff and still wearing their glasses, which now struck me as funny, like they were stuck between Clark Kent and Superman. Only, twin Super Clarks. And blond. So now Eddie and I were both giggling.

The twins were grinning, too, but serious, too, and kind of hanging on each other, like they needed to collapse the way we had. That’d be funny, I thought, if they collapsed exactly the way Eddie and I had, with their boners pushing into each other and everything. “So,” Jimmy said, “are we sleeping—where?”

I giggled a little more. “Whut?” I said, because—was that a question? I didn’t think that was a question.

“There’s no beds,” Jase clarified. “Are we sleeping in here? With you guys?”

That sounded like the simplest solution to me, but Eddie said, “Naw. You guys have to sleep in the closet.”

I remembered what he was talking about and snickered. “Yeah,” I confirmed. “You gotta sleep in the closet.”

The twins both glanced at the door to the walk-in closet opposite the big bed, then looked back at us with comically identical frowny faces. We giggled harder. “Two doors down on the right,” I said helpfully when I could, nodding with my chin toward the hallway behind them. They didn’t move. I tried to be encouraging, though I was still snickering. “The closet. You’ll see.”

I blinked, and they were gone, so I guessed it worked. I turned back to Eddie and my eyes got caught and I just had to drink him in for a minute. We kissed a while. His tongue seemed adventurous and kinda long, which was super hot. Not to mention his stubble, which was more than stubble now, like he’d decided to grow a soft, cozy little beard and just went ahead and did it. That was almost as hot as the tongue, or the way he seemed so fucking strong under me, my thick-muscled fireplug lover. Or the way our huge hard dicks were grinding against each other while we made out like animals.

Finally I got my thoughts together somehow and pulled back enough to say, “We were talking about pants.”

Eddie nodded solemnly. He was panting a little. “And mouth.”

I grinned. “Good,” I said, “because I—”

Suddenly from down the hall we heard the sound of something metal unfolding, followed by the twins loudly going “Ooooh!!” in unison, which meant they’d found the Murphy bed we’d discovered in one of the spare bedrooms on our side of the house a few days after moving in. We immediately dissolved into helpless giggles, and it was a good few minutes before my desperate horniness shouldered aside my mirth and reasserted itself. Instead of trying again to say what I wanted to say, though, I just wiggled down the bed until Eddie’s crotch with its enormous bulge clinging to his practically fist-wide dick like he was smuggling sausage out of the Joint… which he kind of was! Okay, don’t laugh, I coached myself. I gave the rigid, thick bulge a big kiss through the heavy fabric of his work trous, then snaked myself the rest of the way down the bed so I could remove said trous—and then I tumbled right off the end of the bed and landed in a heap on the floor.

I was disoriented for a second, until I heard a new burst of giggles from up on the bed. Then I was laughing, too. “I’m okay!” I called up to him, because that’s what people did when they had a funny accident offscreen with thumps and clangs and crashes and all the sound effects. Like in It’s a Wonderful Life. Hey, whatever happened to him, that uncle guy? Fuck, I was hard. I was going to cum in my pants if I didn’t get this on track.

“Hey, you okay?” Eddie called down to me.

“I’m okay!” I told him again. I said that before, right? Maybe not. I clambered up the end of the bed and decided it was a good thing I’d fallen off because I was confronted with Eddie’s shoes, and I needed to get those off before I could get the trousers off. And then get Eddie off. Heh. I was sniggering again. I tried unlacing Eddie’s white sneakers, then gave up and just pulled them off and tossed them aside. Then I started tugging hard on the cuffs of his trousers.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Eddie said laughing, and I looked up and saw his hands doing something at his waist, unbuttoning and unzipping I guess, but it was a long way away, all the way down his sexy, muscly legs with the thick thighs and the bulging calves and the hairy thighs and hairy calves, and he had hair on his feet too, nice big feet, and I wanted to see that. So the socks came off, and I started nuzzling his big feet and mouthing the arches.

“Uuuuunnhhh, dude,” Eddie groaned. He had lifted his ass and shucked his trousers down past them, and instead of giggling he was looking at me over the swells of his massive, hairy pecs with this heated, smoldering, fire-making gaze, like he was actually beaming sex into my brain with sex-phasers. “Dude,” he said, nodding toward the dick mountain in his tighty whities. There were two more round geological features just below that dick mountain, and they looked like they needed attention, too. And his nipples. Eddie was pointing at his fat, rigid dick, though. “Dude, mouth goes up here,” he begged.

I grinned ferally at Eddie. I was on fire with lust. “Mouth goes everywhere,” I countered. Fuck yeah. That sounded like a plan. A life plan. Definitely that.

Eddie gulped. “Yeah, okay,” he said, “but up here first. I need it, Bran, I need your mouth on me so fucking bad.”

I needed that too. And Eddie knew it so there was no need to say it. Instead I climbed up the bed toward him, kissing my way up those powerful, bulky, legs, nuzzling the hair as I did so. Finally I was kissing across his white Jockeys toward that massive, too-wide erection. It was jumping against the fabric, just mine was inside the tight trousers I was still wearing, and the sight of it filled my vision. It looked so massive, bigger than I’d ever seen it, just like the rest of him, so wide and thick and fucking girthy like no cock I’d ever seen or imagined, and I probably imagined a lot more cock than Eddie thought I had. Eddie’s, though, it was a gift, a fantasy. It was broad at the base, even broader in the middle, all the way up until it tapered suddenly at the head, though the head was wide and decent sized all on its own. The cotton fabric of his undershorts was soaked up there from all the pre he was pumping out. I hovered over it, breathing out on it, breathing in its heady sex straight into my brain, and my balls.

“Duuuuude,” Eddie complained. I turned my head and grinned at him, and he must have realized I hadn’t forgotten, I was just tormenting him. “Fuck, just do it,” Eddie pleaded. “I’ll give you anything if you just do it.”

I grinned extra-wide at him. I could extort what I wanted from him, except I had what I wanted. In spades, as the football guy said. Jay. So I just turned back to my lover-guy’s crotch and got dove in and claimed my “anything”.

I started by pulling down at the elastic with my teeth, though it didn’t quite work getting his shorts off at first. But Eddie helped with his thumbs and lifting his butt up again just enough that I could pull the undershorts all the way down onto his hard thighs. And then—whoa.

I wanted to stare at it, this thing I’d freed, but I was already close to cumming just from seeing it. A wave of heat flashed up my spine. This here, this massive, hard dick, Eddie’s wide, fat, monster dick, was the most amazing, the most beautiful, the most necessary thing I’d ever seen. Without another thought I wrapped my mouth around it like it belonged there, and… fuck, yeah, it did belong there. His cock in my mouth, utter perfection.

I sank down on it, and heaven washed through me, or into me, or me into it. Pure heaven. Heaven-bliss-ecstasy. It was so huge it felt like it shouldn’t fit, but maybe my not thinking about that let it fit, or something. I didn’t know. I just drove down onto that cock-mountain until my nose was in his pubes and the head was jammed against my throat. Eddie was making these… sounds. They were driving me wild, so I started with my tongue, which I guess was long enough I could do some crazy things all up and down his hot, super-rigid shaft, and Eddie let out this quiet, strangled scream. Shit, we were both close, I could feel it.

I did everything. I mouthed the base with my lips. I swallowed against his head, not taking it into my throat—fuck, I would’ve choked—but almost, teasing the tip in a way I could tell was giving him more pleasure than he could handle. I sucked hard, tasting him and reveling in his hot and way-too-wide adamantine hardness in my devoted, grateful mouth. My tongue licked and stroked every damn inch it could reach. My hands weren’t in on the action, they were stroking his thighs and his abs. Eddie said “mouth” was what he wanted, so “mouth” was what he was going to fucking get.

“Oh… oh god…” Eddie said suddenly, his voice high and tight, even as his cock got even more rigid inside my mouth. “Oh god, dude, I’m going to blow,” he said. “I’m going to burst like the fucking Hoover Dam, I’m going to—I’m—I’m—!”

If he thought I was pulling off he was insane. The thought of him cumming down my throat threw me over the edge, and I was blasting in my pants even before the first hot gusher started filling my already full mouth. I tried swallowing it all, I really did, but there was so much of it it really was like a dam bursting. I was gonna choke for real, so I pulled off quick, still bent over him, hands on either side of his torso and still cumming hard, soaring as jet after jet let loose in my trous, and I watched in utter fascination as he sprayed hot spunk all over his granite-hard six-pack. His abs looked so good that once I’d finally swallowed what was in my mouth I bent and licked his abs clean, and Eddie laughed and gasped at the same time while he finished cumming, spurts of jizz landing in my beard as I cleaned his abs with my tongue. Then I crawled up him some more, getting in a couple of quick licks at his hard, pointy nips (bookmarking the spot in my sex-brain for later) until I got to his face and started kissing him as messily as I could.

Whe couldn’t kiss long, though, we were both gasping, so I give him one more quick smooch and fell onto my back beside him. “What’d you think?” he asked.

“I think I want to never stop doing that,” I murmured. I was feeling sleep grabbing at me, and I was ready, though the hard-muscled hunk next to me with the amazing fat dick was keeping me turned on at a low simmer like it was a permanent state for us now. “Get used to my mouth on your dick twenty-four/seven.”

“Aw,” Eddie said. He sounded… disappointed?

I looked over at him, frowning. “Wasn’t it good?” I asked. I was sure it was good. I could feel how good it was for him, so I was way confused rather than hurt.

Eddie took my hand, looking me right in the eyes. “Babe,” he said, “that was, literally, the best sex I have ever had.” I grinned, inordinately proud of myself. It was, too. It was the best sex ever, though only because the sex we were going to have in the future that was even better hadn’t happened yet.

“But,” Eddie added helplessly, “there was a plan, okay? Hand, mouth, ass?”

Ass? I tried to marshal what few brain cells I had after cumming so spectacularly. Well, I’d already had his ass, so that couldn’t be the plan. “You want… my ass?” I guessed.

He went dead serious. “So much,” he said. It was kind of funny how intent he was about it, so I chuckled, and he did too.

I bit my lip. “Now?” I asked. I wasn’t sure I could move, but my dick was still mostly hard and was paying very close attention to our conversation. And, maybe for the first time, I was aware of my anus as a sexy place, and it was telling me yes… yes… be careful, lots of lube with that beautiful monster, but yes… yes… yes…!

He considered, giving me that look he gave me where I could tell he was seeing me for all the sexiness that he couldn’t get nearly enough of. “Give me a couple minutes,” he said at last, lips quirking as he said it.

We stared at each other for a minute, then we both burst out in quiet laughter again. Sometime after that we fell asleep, just like that, shoulder to shoulder in the bed and holding hands with our clothes half on, though by morning we’d somehow gotten ourselves naked and snuggling under the covers like always. The “ass” plan was thus involuntarily postponed… but not for long.

Part 9: Jason

I awoke the next morning in a strange bed, but a familiar face was smiling down at me.

“Morning, handsome,” Jimmy said, insufferable tool that he was.

I smirked back up at him. “Morning, little bro,” I teased back in the same droll tone.

I felt surprisingly clear-headed, considering how out of it we’d ended up feeling the night before. There had to be something in those brownies, and maybe the cookies, too. You would have thought Eddie’d have warned us, but I had a suspicion they didn’t know. They kept going on about their great boss/landlord, Mike, an obvious stoner if the smell of the house was anything to go by; and the cookies and brownies were explained by how Mike was really into baking and was always leaving them treats. Anyway, Eddie and this guy Bran were so totally drunk in lust with each other they probably wouldn’t notice if the place was filled with laughing gas.

Now that we were awake and feeling a bit sharper, I was aware of several things. I was naked and totally hard, and not because I had to piss—my blood was hot and I was almost as turned on as the night before. Jimmy was naked under the covers with me and just as warm and hard, and he had the same look in his eyes that I probably had in mine—like there was a stellar orgasm in my immediate future.

I licked my kiss-bruised lips. “So, that’s something we haven’t done in a while,” I said.

Jimmy shrugged. Our getting frisky with each other when we were in our early teens seemed to weird everyone out, and there was never any privacy in that house, so we just sort of stopped, except for a couple of libido emergencies spaced a couple years apart between then and now. Last night, though… last night had been different. There’d been no question, and no problem. We were away from home, it was summer, we were graduated, horny, and buzzed. Jimmy wanted me, and I wanted him, and that was all there was to it. Nothing simpler.

I looked up into Jimmy’s face, taking in his wry smile and obvious interest. His pale green eyes were full of the kind of mischief people usually expected from me.

Was it any less simple now? Maybe not, I decided.

After we’d stared at each other for a few minutes, his smile went crooked. “Well?” he asked. “Are you going to look… or are you going to taste?”

Two orgasms, a lot of kissing, and a couple of showers later, the third overlapping extensively with the second, we stumped downstairs in just our jeans. No shirts seemed to be the default setting around here, judging by the polo-doffing routine we’d witness on arrival, and anyway our bags were in the car and our shirts from last night were still in the breakfast nook where we’d left them. We encountered Eddie and Bran in the kitchen, attired similarly to us. Bran was brooding intently over a large old-fashioned waffle iron, waiting the pounce as soon as the light turned. Eddie was at the stove, whistling while he shuffled scrambled eggs and crackling bacon around inn a couple of pans. Juice, milk, syrup, butter, and the like were already set out on the table, along with four place settings. There was no sign of our host, though Eddie had already said they didn’t see much of him at the house and wasn’t often home.

Eddir looked up at us and gave us a welcoming grin. “Morning, guys,” he said cheerily.

Jimmy and I froze, not quite sure what we were seeing. Last night, we’d both been pretty sure Eddie had put on a good twenty pounds of hard, solid muscle since we’d last seen him at Christmas. This morning, though, we were experiencing something that did not make sense… because Eddie looked like he had put on five or ten pounds more since last night. His shoulders, chest, arms—they all looked like they’d been goosed in the muscle mass department overnight. Bran looked huger, too. Incrementally, but obviously huger.

They both had this kind of shaggy vibe, too, like their hair had grown out some since yesterday to match their mild but noticeable brawn expansion. Bran’s loose, messy chestnut hair was brushing his bulging shoulders, and I was pretty sure that was not the case when I met him.

“Eddie has a beard,” Jimmy muttered to me out of the corner of his mouth. “How does he have a beard?”

I looked at our big brother and frowned. Jimmy was right. Between meeting up at the pizza place last night and this morning, Eddie had sprouted a short, pale, two-day beard. It was actually almost longer than Bran’s, since although he had actually had a beard yesterday it looked like he’d given it a rare trimming, most likely out of deference to having company.

We were still puzzling over this when the waffle iron dinged, and Bran quickly tossed it open and liberated the waffles within. When he turned to slip them on a plate he had warming in the oven, Eddie happily stepping aside to let him do so, I let out a gasp. Bran’s club of a cock was not only completely hard, it was so big and long it was actually shoving up out of the waistband of his jeans. Now, we’d noticed their boners the night before, of course, even back at the pizza shop, and we’d almost teased them about it. But we’d definitely taken note of how big Bran was, intending to compliment Eddie on his luck later. And Bran today was sized up, cockwise, from XXL yesterday to XXXL today. Then Bran went back to the waffle iron and poured another round of batter, so we looked over at Eddie, and… shit, him too. We hadn’t seen Eddie hard very much over the years and we were pretty impressed by what we saw last night, but it was very obvious that Eddie and Bran both were one step bigger and thicker this morning compared to last night, and not just in the pecs, shoulders, lats, arms, thighs, and ass.

Jimmy and I exchanged a look, and I knew what he was thinking. When we’d sucked each other this morning, we’d noticed and not said anything, but we were both a little bigger in the boner department than we were used to. It’s easy to tell when you’re sucking a dick exactly how big it is; and, as it turns out, it’s a cinch to tell if it’s gotten bigger. We both had. And it wasn’t just size. Jimmy going down on me had felt wildly amazing, like the extra mass in my dick and balls had come with all new sensory capabilities, all part of the upgrade package. And if that weren’t enough, I was feeling like there was a serious bit of pump in Jimmy’s pecs, and a touch of extra breadth in his shoulders. I thought I’d imagined it, but…

“C’mon, guys,” Eddie called over to us as he spatulaed a deluge of eggs into a bowl, his expression all pleasure and inclusion. “Dive in!”

I looked back at Jimmy. I was aware that we were holding hands, like they’d slipped together automatically now that we were in this new place with new rules. It felt right. All of this felt right. We wanted to know what was going on, but we also wanted to be a part of it.

Jimmy’s eyes were lit up. Why did everyone think I was the troublemaker?

He lifted his eyebrows, and I nodded. Woody Hole would have to find a new pair of counselors, because Jimmy and I weren’t going home anytime soon.

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