Joey’s phone buzzed. He glanced down.
Hey, sorry, gonna have to rain check tonight. Work thing came up.
He exhaled slow, tapped the screen off without responding. Not heartbroken. Just annoyed. This was the pattern. Girls set something up, they flaked. He didn’t know if it was the way he looked, or the way he didn’t quite act how they expected. Maybe they wanted a dumb jock, or someone who was always chill. He was not always chill, but that was because he wasn’t dumb.
At first glance, people didn’t always notice him. But when they did, they usually kept looking. He filled out his olive khakis too well, his blue plaid button-down stretching just enough over his chest and arms. His shaggy, dirty blond hair made him look laid-back, casual, maybe even forgettable. But his body didn’t match his brain, and coworkers never knew what to do with that. Apparently, neither did the women he dated.
At work, people always assumed he was something else. A guy like him should be in sales, or project management, or something that involved shaking hands and making deals. Not behind a desk fixing their backend infrastructure.
He rubbed a hand over his jaw, let the irritation fade. It didn’t matter. The gym was waiting.
Joey spotted him across the gym, through the clank of plates and the grunt of men pushing themselves to failure. Justin Prince. Bigger than Joey remembered, his proportions insane: big chest, tight waist, huge thighs, calves thick and round. His lats flared wide, his body all lean size, not blocky, just stretched, pumped, built like he was about to burst out of his skin.
Joey racked his weights, went to fill up his water bottle. It wasn’t like he was a small guy. He played baseball since he was a kid and had that cut, built-up-top, made-to-move kind of frame. The kind that still made strangers ask if he played ball. Wide back, thick arms, chest that filled out a shirt, but his waist was tight. He knew what he was doing.
When Joey got back, Justin was mid-rep, a heavy incline press, elbows tucked tight, the bar lowering smooth, controlled. Thick arms, veins running like roots. The kind of body that didn’t happen by accident. This was years of work. Years of never skipping a day, of showing up even when he didn’t want to. Joey respected that. He understood it.
And when Justin locked out his arms, racked the bar, and sat up, he saw Joey watching. A beat passed. Justin grinned. That same cocky, lazy grin Joey remembered from college. The kind of grin that meant he was about to talk shit.
“No fucking way. Joey Reynolds?”
Joey smiled, shaking his head as Justin stood. Even standing still, the guy took up space. Thick chest, big hands, wide shoulders.
“Justin. What’s up, man?” Joey said.
Justin grabbed his hand, pulled him into a rough bro hug, hard clap on the back. Dense muscle against dense muscle. Justin smelled like sweat and salt, like a body that had been burning fuel all day. He pulled back, gave Joey a once-over.
“Still lifting, huh?” Justin does the bicep check, nods appreciatively. Joey laughs.
“Clearly not as much as you.”
Justin smirked, thighs flexing under those little gym shorts.
“Yeah, well. Some of us peak after college.”
“Fuck off.”
Justin laughed, easy. Like he knew exactly how to get under Joey’s skin.
They started lifting together. Some days were heavy, the kind that left them shaking in the knees. Other days, volume work, chasing the pump, skin pulled tight over swollen muscle.
Justin lifted because it felt good. He chased the pump like a high, chasing the stretch, the way his muscles swelled under his skin. Joey was steadier, careful, his movements precise. A man trained to move with power, to make his body work for him.
They talked between sets, chilling on the weight bench, catching their breath. Old college stories, who got fat, who got married, who dropped off the face of the earth. They talked shit about the gym, about the kid deadlifting like he wanted to snap in half, about the guy who left puddles of sweat and never wiped down the bench.
Locker room after, steam from the showers, smell of soap and sweat. Joey at the sink, running a hand through his damp hair. Justin stripping off his hoodie, sweat slick down his spine.
They usually hit the sauna after. Justin sat legs sprawled on the top bench, his towel thrown over his junk. Joey sat across from him, towel wrapped loosely, knees out, forearms resting on his thighs.Heavy silence. The kind that only came after wrecking yourself under the weight.
Sweat dripped off their bodies. Justin stretched, ran a hand down his chest, wiped the sweat from his ribs. Joey let his head drop back against the wood. They didn’t have to talk. It was good like this.
Justin stood first, stretched slow. Body long, thick, carved. He slung his towel over his shoulder, turned back. Grinning, always grinning.
“See you tomorrow, Reynolds.”
They kept hanging out. After a heavy workout and greasy burgers, Joey leaned back in the seat of his truck, a black Ford F-150 just like his daddy, feeling full, warm, and a little buzzed. He stretched, rolling his shoulders, letting out a slow breath as the beer settled in his system. The night air streamed in through the open windows, cool against his skin.
“Man, I fucking missed this.”
Justin wiped his hands on a napkin, glancing over with a smirk. “What, eating like a pig?”
Joey shook his head, staring out at the quiet parking lot. “Nah, dude. Just… all of it.”
Justin looks at him, then kind of rolls his eyes and punches Joey’s shoulder.
“You’re fucking stupid.”
They both burst out drunk laughing.
At Justin’s apartment, Joey took in the place, still a little buzzed but not enough to ignore how nice it was. Floor-to-ceiling windows, a skyline view, sleek furniture that looked expensive without feeling staged. It wasn’t flashy, but it was lived-in, the kind of space that belonged to someone who never had to worry.
“Damn Justin. What do you do? This place is lit.”
Justin tossed him a beer, flopped onto the couch, stretching out. Joey let himself sink into the seat, heavy-limbed, too comfortable. Justin cracked another beer, and took a big healthy swallow.
Joey sank into Justin’s couch, stretching his arms over the back, the beer cold against his palm. The buzz had settled in, smoothing the edges off his usual overthinking. Across from him, Justin sprawled easy, one leg hooked over the couch arm, the other planted on the floor. He looked comfortable in a way Joey never did, like he belonged wherever he landed.
Joey exhaled, rubbed his jaw, then said it before he could talk himself out of it.
“I don’t get it, man.”
Justin blinked at him, then grinned, tipping his bottle toward him. “What, how I got a place like this?”
Joey shook his head, tipping his own bottle back for a long pull. “Nah. Girls.”
Justin raised an eyebrow. “What about ‘em?”
“They don’t stick around.”
Justin raised a brow, tipping his bottle toward Joey in a lazy gesture. “So? Go get another one.”
Joey exhaled, rubbing his face. “It’s not that easy. I mean, yeah, I can get dates, but after a few weeks? They ghost, they get bored. Feels like I’m always one step off.”
Justin took another sip, unfazed. “Sounds like a ‘them’ problem.”
Joey huffed a laugh, shaking his head. “Dude, how the fuck are you so chill about this?”
Justin shrugged, stretching his arms over the back of the couch, his body relaxed, effortless. “Because it’s not a big deal. You’re hot, you’ll find someone else”
Joey let that sit between them for a second, staring at his beer.
“I should go home.”
“Dude, you’re drunk as fuck. Take a cold shower or something..”
Joey frowned. “I’m fine.”
Justin smirked. “You’re drunk. And you’re sweaty. It’ll wake you up.”
Joey stripped down fast, body still running hot from the gym, the booze, the weight of the night. His skin felt tight, his muscles full. He stepped into Justin’s massive shower, glass walls fogging up instantly, and turned the handle all the way to cold.
The water hit like a shock to the system. His spine snapped straight, breath catching in his throat. The cold ran down his chest, his thighs tensed, his hands braced against the slick tile as he exhaled, slow and sharp, letting it take him over.
By the time he stepped out, towel slung low on his hips, his body was buzzing electric. He ran a hand through his wet hair, shaking off the last of the water as the door cracked open, steam spilling into the hallway.
When Joey stepped out in the hallway, Justin was headed to the kitchen carrying beer bottles, wearing a tank top and low rise briefs. Joey gave him a look. Justin stood there like it was nothing, the soft stretch of his tank clinging to his chest, the thin fabric of his briefs hugging the deep cut of his thighs.
Justin just grinned. “What? It’s bedtime, bro. I’m in my pajamas.”
Joey shook his head, grabbed his clothes.
“Bye Prince.”
“See ya, Reynolds.”
Joey headed back to his place. On the ride home, he was trying to stay focused on the road, but something felt different.
This kind of night happened again and again. He’d finish a beer at Justin’s place, start feeling that too-heavy, too-warm buzz, and Justin would just smirk.
“You know what to do, bro."
And yeah. That cold shower worked. Every time, like a reset button, a shock to the system, burning away the weight of the day.
He stepped out, towel slung low on his hips, skin still buzzing, water dripping from his hair. And like clockwork, Justin was already sprawled out in his usual tank and briefs, looking like he’d been waiting.
“Damn, bro, you really gonna waste that pump?”
Joey frowned, rubbing the towel through his hair. “What?”
Justin sat up, smirking. “You already got the blood flowing, might as well get a few extra reps in.”
"The fuck are you talking about?"
Justin was already dropping to the floor, knocking out push-ups like it was nothing. Joey rolled his eyes, but his body was still running hot, muscles still charged. Before he could think about it, he dropped to the floor in his towel, matching Justin’s pace. It escalated fast.
Push-ups turned into a plank contest. Then a flex-off in the mirror. Then an arm-wrestling match at the kitchen table, both of them sweaty and breathless, beer bottles knocking together.
Joey lost.
Bad.
Justin smacked the table, laughing. "Bro, all that training and you still got smoked."
Joey wiped sweat off his forehead. "Fuck off."
Justin stretched, standing up like he hadn’t just done a full second workout for no reason. "Man, you need to lift heavier."
Joey shook his head, breathing deep. Then he stood up. His towel hit the floor.
His big, soft dick hung heavy between his thighs, flushed from heat and exertion. The moment stretched longer than it should have.
He grabbed the towel fast, wrapped it back around his waist, pulse spiking for a reason he couldn’t place.
Justin didn’t react. Didn’t flinch, didn’t change his expression. Joey wasn’t even sure if Justin saw it, wasn’t sure if it even mattered. Wasn’t sure why he cared so much.
After Joey left, Justin was chilling on the couch, took a slow sip, let the city lights blur a little. Cold beer. Quiet night. Brain finally slowing down. And then he thought,
Damn. Joey’s got a big-ass dick.
He exhaled, stretched his legs out, rubbed his jaw. Finished his beer. Didn’t think about it again.
