They hit the gym, same as always. Justin cracked jokes, talked shit, threw out easy grins. Joey lifted, responded when necessary, but kept his head down. It was like he was there, but not really. Not in the way he usually was.
And now they were in the truck, parked outside the burger joint like always, eating like they hadn’t inhaled protein in days. Justin wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, watching Joey out of the corner of his eye.
He was too quiet.
Justin crumpled his wrapper, tossing it into the bag before shifting back against the seat.
“All right, dude. What the fuck is up with you?”
Joey looked up mid-chew, brows pulling together. “What?”
“You’re acting like a fucking weirdo. Spill.”
Joey exhaled through his nose, swallowing. “Nothing, man.”
Justin just stared at him.
Joey let out a long breath, like he was already tired of this conversation. He ran a hand through his hair, then, before he could talk himself out of it—
“I know you’re gay.”
Justin blinked. Then, he laughed. Not big, not dramatic. Just a quick, incredulous chuckle, like Joey had just said something so fucking stupid that he had to laugh at it.
"What the fuck are you talking about, bro?"
"I saw you at Dalton's. Then dude, I saw you in the gym. In the showers?"
“Dude,” Justin said, wiping his fingers on his shorts. “It’s not like that.”
Joey stared at him, eyes narrowing.
Justin just shrugged, reaching for his drink, taking a casual sip. Unbothered. Annoyed. Slightly amused. Like Joey was making a big deal out of nothing.
Joey exhaled sharply, shaking his head. Then, to his own surprise, he laughed. Actually laughed. Not a full-on laugh, but a strange, frustrated, disbelieving exhale of sound.
“Bro,” Joey said, shaking his head. “You suck dick. You get fucked. It’s exactly like that.”
Justin just shrugged. “It’s just messing around.”
Joey stared at him, like he could not believe what he was hearing. Then he shook his head, dropped it, and went back to finishing his food. But it was still there. Sitting between them. Sitting in his head. He wasn’t sure why it didn’t feel like the conversation was over.
The drive back to Justin’s was quiet. Joey had one hand on the wheel, the other resting on his knee, eyes fixed on the road. Justin didn’t push conversation, just leaned back against the seat, flipping through the radio until he found something that wasn’t garbage. The hum of music filled the space, easy and low.
Back at Justin’s place, the quiet didn’t last. Shots hit the counter first—Justin’s idea. Then beers followed. It was easy after that, the tension from earlier dissolving under the burn of liquor, the familiar rhythm of hanging out.
They talked shit, played dumb drinking games, argued over who was stronger, shoved at each other, laughing too hard at things that weren’t that funny. It was late—past one, maybe closer to two—and neither of them were slowing down.
Justin knocked back another shot, licking the salt off his hand. He eyed Joey, smirking. “You call Hayley?”
Joey exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. He took a slow sip of his beer, rolling the bottle between his hands. “Nah.”
Justin lifted a brow. “What, she ghost already?”
Joey let out a short laugh, tipping his head back against the couch. “Nah, man. I just didn’t see the point.”
Justin frowned, watching him. “The point of what? Getting laid?”
Joey shook his head, rubbing his jaw. “It’s not that.” He hesitated, then laughed, running a hand through his hair. “Fuck, I don’t know.”
Justin leaned in, grinning. “Oh, shit. Is this a feelings thing? Are you about to tell me you’re in love with her?”
Joey huffed a laugh, shaking his head. “Fuck off.”
Justin held up his hands, still smirking. “Hey, man, just making sure.”
Joey fell quiet for a second, then exhaled hard. He rubbed at his temple, jaw tightening like he was working something out in his head. When he spoke, it was slower, more deliberate.
“Girls don’t stick around,” he muttered. “Not one of them.”
Justin shrugged. “So? Go get another one.”
Joey shook his head. “It’s not that easy.”
Justin frowned. “Why not?”
Joey let out a breath, shifting in his seat. “Because none of them can handle me.”
Justin blinked. He leaned in slightly, studying Joey’s face. “The fuck does that mean?”
Joey took another sip of his beer, gaze flicking away like he didn’t really want to say it. But then he exhaled, rolling the bottle between his palms. “Every girl I’ve been with,” he said finally, voice low. “They tap out. They freak out. They give up.”
Justin’s smirk had faded, replaced with something closer to curiosity. He tilted his head. “Freak out about what?”
Joey glanced at him, then looked away again. He flexed his fingers against the bottle, rolling his shoulders like he was shaking something off. “I don’t wanna hurt anyone,” he admitted. “But no girl has ever been able to handle me.”
Justin was quiet for a beat. He narrowed his eyes. "Like... can’t? Or won’t?"
Joey gave him a flat look. "Dude. I’m really big. Like really."
Justin didn’t react. Just blinked once. "Okay. Go on."
Joey rubbed a hand over his jaw, frustration creeping in now. "You don’t get it, man. I’ve had girls literally cry. One chick got on top, lasted ten seconds, then climbed off and told me to just jack off on her tits instead. Another was so hyped up about it—saying how she could take anything—then, soon as I tried to go past the tip, she was pushing my hips back, telling me to slow down, breathe, try again." He sighed. "Then she just gave up."
Justin swirled his beer bottle absently. "Damn."
Joey shook his head. "This one girl, no joke, told me she was into pain, all that rough shit. But as soon as I actually tried to fuck her, she got this look on her face like she was about to die. So she just gave me head instead."
Justin smirked, lips twitching. "Alright, well, that’s not the worst trade-off."
Joey shot him a look. "Dude. I want to fuck."
Justin actually heard that. His expression shifted, something thoughtful behind his eyes.
"Okay," Justin said, nodding, like he was really processing. "So, you’re saying... the issue is that your dick is too fucking massive, and no girl alive can handle it."
Joey made a face. "Don’t say it like that."
Justin grinned. "Nah, bro. You got a real problem here. What a tragedy. A true burden."
Joey groaned, slouching deeper into the couch. "Fuck off."
Justin didn’t. He just kept looking at Joey. Something unreadable, something considering. Then, so casually, stretching his arms up over his head, he smirked and said—
"So what, dude? You wanna see if I can take it?"
Joey didn’t laugh. Didn’t crack a joke. He just froze.
Justin saw the exact moment panic hit. The way Joey’s shoulders tensed, the flicker of something sharp crossing his face. Then, too fast, too forceful—
"Dude, I’m straight."
Justin just watched him, unreadable, one brow lifting.
"Uh-huh."
Joey swallowed, shook his head, doubling down. "I only get off to girls."
Justin exhaled, slow and easy, like Joey had just said something obvious. Like he was already over it. He shrugged, smirking—not smug, not taunting, just Justin.
"Right. Sure."
He didn’t press, didn’t push, didn’t let it turn into something bigger than it was. Just knocked back another sip of his beer, let the moment sit where it landed.
Joey, stiff beside him, didn’t move. Didn’t speak. He just sat there, eyes flicking back to the TV like he was hoping that would be enough to make it all go away.
Justin let him.
Joey rubbed his face, exhaling. “I should get home.”
Justin just lifted his beer, nodding. “Yeah? You sure?”
Joey stood, stretching his shoulders. “Yeah. Gonna take a shower. Sober up a little.”
Justin didn’t argue. Just tipped his head toward the hallway. “Knock yourself out, bro.”
Joey peeled off his shirt as he walked, tossing it onto the couch. The shower was hot, steam curling thick in the air, washing away the beer haze but not really clearing his head. He braced his hands against the tile, water pounding against his back.
He kept thinking about the way Justin had looked at him. Not just tonight. At the gym. At the party. In the truck. He didn’t know what to do with it. By the time he shut off the water and grabbed a towel, his body felt warm and loose, but his mind hadn’t settled.
He stepped back into the living room, towel slung low on his hips. And then he saw Justin. Tank top. Briefs. Just like always.
They looked at each other. For a second, neither of them moved. Joey didn’t know why he did it. Maybe it was the silence. Maybe it was the beer still in his system. Maybe it was the way Justin was just there, always fucking there, watching, waiting, unreadable.
But Joey’s fingers let go. The towel hit the floor. His big soft cock flopped heavy between his legs, hanging thick and flushed from the heat of the shower.
Justin looked down. He didn’t look away. Didn’t blink. Didn’t shift. Didn’t smirk. Just watched.
Joey’s stomach tightened. His pulse spiked. What the fuck was he doing?
He snatched the towel back up, wrapping it around his waist fast. He didn’t look at Justin as he grabbed his jeans, his t-shirt, his jacket.
“Bye.”
Justin still didn’t move. Just stood there, still in his briefs, still loose, still him. Finally, he spoke.
“See ya, Reynolds.”
Joey didn’t look back. He just left.
Over the next few weeks, it started small. Then it kept happening. At first, Joey caught himself looking without realizing. Watching Justin spot him in the mirror. Watching the way his shorts rode up over his thighs. Watching his lats flare when he stretched between sets. It wasn’t a big deal. It wasn’t weird. He was just noticing things.
Then, his brain started pushing the thoughts further.
Justin was bigger than him. Joey had dated tall girls before, but never someone taller than him. That should turn him off. It did not. If anything, it made something hot coil low in his stomach. Justin’s body was built different. It was stacked, full, thick in all the places that mattered. His pecs were round, his waist tight, his ass insane. His pink nipples stuck out in a way that made Joey think about mouths, about teeth, about the things a girl’s nipples did when she got turned on.
He tried to reason with himself. Justin looked like this because of the way he trained. He lifted for the pump, Joey trained for power. It made sense their bodies were different. But Joey had never met a dude whose body did this. His pecs didn’t just sit there—they pushed forward, full, round, heavy. His ass didn’t just flex—it bounced, moved, curved.
Joey knew what he was thinking before he let himself say it in his head. Justin was built like a girl.
It wasn’t everything. But it was something. The waist, the ass, the way Justin stretched his arms up after a workout and his ribs showed, lean and cut, pulling tight like an hourglass. The way his nipples stayed hard, the way he barely seemed to sweat, the way he let people look at him, like his body wasn’t something to hide.
But Justin still had a dick. And Joey didn’t know what to do about that. It wasn’t like he had never been in a locker room before. He had never had to think about it. Never had to wonder, never had to stop himself from noticing.
But now, something had shifted. His own brain had turned on him. He had a new thing to avoid, a new thing to work around, a new thing he didn’t want to admit he had already thought about too much.
He started keeping his eyes up in the locker room. He forced himself to move through it fast, to change quick, to keep his head down at the sink. But every time he turned away too fast, his brain still asked the question.
Was Justin big? Was he bigger than Joey?
That thought made Joey’s stomach tighten, made something in his head glitch out. He forced himself to push it down, to ignore it, to not wonder about it every time Justin walked past him in a towel. And then, one day, he found out.
After a tough workout, they hit the sauna. They sat in the thick heat, bodies loose, skin slick, steam curling around them. Joey was still buzzing from the workout, the swim, the way his body felt weightless in the water before the heat wrapped around them again. His heart was still pumping strong, his limbs still running hot.
Justin sprawled out next to him, towel slung low, arms resting easy over the bench behind them. He looked perfectly comfortable, like he could sit here all night. Joey was talking. Fast, loose, venting without thinking.
“Man, this chick the other night? She was trying to go down on me, but she just—” He scoffed, shaking his head, tipping his head back against the wood. “Dude, she couldn’t even get past the fucking head. Kept gagging. It was like she was fucking drowning or something.”
Justin huffed out a laugh, rubbing a hand down his chest. “That bad, huh?”
Joey exhaled sharply through his nose, half-laughing. “I swear, man. At this point, I should just stop trying.”
His mouth kept moving, but his brain was somewhere else. Because as it was happening, he had been thinking about Justin. About Justin at the party. On his knees, his lips stretched wide around Dalton’s cock, taking him deep, easy, like it was nothing.
Joey hadn’t even realized how quiet he had gone until his eyes dropped. And there it was.
Justin’s cock. Just sitting there, right in the open. Kind of small. Not like micro, but a lot smaller than him.
He was thinking too much. There was a rush of relief. Then confusion. Then something else. He didn’t know what it was, didn’t want to know what it was. But it was there, low in his stomach, sitting too heavy to ignore.
It was a second—a full second too long. He jerked his head up too fast, back to the ceiling, to anywhere that wasn’t where his eyes had just been. His stomach flipped, his skin went too hot, and the words came out before he could stop them.
“Hey,” Joey blurted. “I hope it doesn’t make you feel bad when I talk about my dick.”
Justin paused. Then he smirked. Because he knew. He fucking knew how much Joey liked talking about his dick.
“Nah,” Justin said, lazy, easy, like nothing in the world could bother him. He stretched his arms up over his head, pecs shifting, stomach flexing. “Cuz I’m so much smaller than you?” He tipped his head back, rolling his shoulders. “Hah, no worries.”
Then, just as casual, just as natural, like he was saying he preferred blondes over brunettes—
“That’s why I like to get fucked and go down on a bro sometimes.”
Joey’s brain collapsed. His mouth opened. Then closed. He had nothing. No response. No way to compute what had just been casually, effortlessly dropped in his lap.
“How can you just say that?” Joey finally managed. “I mean, seriously, bro.”
Justin tipped his head, eyes lidded, body loose and warm from the heat.
“Dude, do what you want. It’s not hard.” He scratched at his chest, stretching his legs out even further, not a care in the world. “If you need to figure out something to make it make sense, do it, bro. But like, do it.”
Joey sat with that. And, for the first time, he realized Justin had never had to figure out anything. That was what made it so fucking easy for him.
Joey’s place. Post-gym. They were both still shirtless, still sweaty, still coming down from the workout. They’d eaten enough to need a second wind just to get up off the couch, the AC blowing cool over their skin, but Joey still felt too hot, stretched too tight, like he couldn’t quite sit still.
Justin, though, was as loose as ever, sprawled out with one leg kicked up, smirking around a chicken wing, licking barbecue sauce off his fingers like he wasn’t making it weird. Joey tried to ignore it, focused on the TV, the condensation on his beer, the way it ran down his knuckles. He had been acting weird lately, and Justin hadn’t noticed, which should have been a good thing, except now Justin was noticing.
Joey had started bitching again, talking about his dick problem, the same way he always did when he got frustrated about women.
“Man, I swear, I’m never gonna find a girl who can take me,” Joey said, stretching his arms up, faking casual.
Justin grinned, licking his thumb. “Bro, if I had a nickel for every time I heard that.”
Joey rolled his eyes, shifting against the couch. “I’m serious.”
Justin leaned back, still smirking, watching him a little too closely now. “Alright, so how big is this life-ruining monster, dude? Are we talking actual problem or just you hyping yourself up?”
Joey scoffed, shaking his head. “Nah, dude, it’s real.”
Justin’s smirk deepened as he stretched again, easy and slow, letting the moment settle before he spoke. “Okay, then prove it.”
Joey blinked. “…What?”
Justin just watched him, arms loose behind his head, like this was the most normal suggestion in the world. “Bro, if it’s such a burden, let’s see the numbers.”
Joey’s heart thudded once, sharp and deep. “You wanna measure my dick?”
Justin laughed, eyes glinting, too amused by this whole thing. “You keep talking about it. I’m just trying to get the facts.”
Joey hesitated. This was supposed to be a joke. Now, somehow, he was too deep in it.
He forced a smirk, shifting his weight like it was nothing. “Fine.”
Justin raised an eyebrow, watching him closely. “For real?”
Joey pushed himself up, stretching long, deliberately making it look casual, like this was the kind of thing they did all the time. “Yeah, dude. Go grab a tape measure.”
Justin barked out a laugh, shaking his head as he stood. “Oh, this is gonna be good.”
Justin came back with a toolbox tape measure, still grinning as he flopped onto the couch. He stretched it out between his hands, rolling his eyes like this whole thing was ridiculous. “Alright, bro. Drop ‘em.”
Joey exhaled through his nose, keeping his face blank. He hooked his thumbs under his waistband, pushed his shorts down, letting them drop to the floor.
Justin actually stopped chewing his gum. He’d seen it before for a sec, but he didn’t expect it to be that big. Even soft, Joey was bigger than him. Justin blinked, staring for half a second longer than necessary.
“Damn, bro.” Joey smirked, shifting his stance just a little.
“Told you.”
Justin squinted, pulling the tape out, lining it up like he was measuring lumber.
“Alright, hold still.” Joey felt the cool metal brush against him, felt the tape extend, his pulse low and slow in his ears.
Justin read the numbers, his lips pressing together. “Six inches soft.”
Joey nodded like this was normal, because it was. “Yup.”
Justin hesitated. A little pause, a little huh, just barely enough to register. Joey caught it.
“Alright, now let’s see it hard.”
Joey’s stomach flipped. He stalled, shifting his weight, trying to play it cool.
“Dude, I don’t just get hard on command.”
Justin scoffed, shaking his head. “Bro, it’s a dick, not a science experiment. Just think about tits or something.”
Joey groaned, dragging a hand down his face, already regretting every decision that led to this moment.
“Jesus Christ.” Justin just grinned, stretching his arms back again.
Then, like it was nothing, like it was just another joke, Justin said it.
“Or, hey—what if I wore a bra? I mean, I got big tits.”
Joey immediately got hard. The shift happened too fast, blood rushing low, filling thick and heavy before he could stop it. He went still, stomach tightening, the pulse in his ears suddenly too loud.
Justin just laughed. Shaking his head, oblivious, wiping his hands on a napkin. “Tits.”
Joey stared straight ahead, trying not to react, trying to shift his posture just enough to make it less obvious. He adjusted his legs, kept his hands on his knees, didn’t look at Justin.
Justin sat back, totally unfazed.
Joey knew exactly why he was hard. Justin did not. And that made it ten times worse.
Justin, still casual as hell, checked the numbers, adjusting the tape.
“Nine and a half inches.”
Joey swallowed thickly, his throat suddenly dry. “Yup.”
Justin shifted the tape slightly, noting the girth. “Six and a half around.”
Joey breathed through his nose, nodding once. “Yup.”
Justin sat back, nodding, totally relaxed, as if Joey’s dick hadn’t just grown half a foot in front of him.
“Alright, yeah, that’s pretty fucking big.”
Justin tossed the tape measure onto the table.
Joey stood there, still hard as hell. His boner sticking straight out. Joey finally sat down, his hands on his knees, willing himself to get soft, go down. But he was looking at Justin, his big muscle tits bouncing in his tank, staring at his boner.
Justin reaches out and presses the thick vein going up Joey’s shaft. “Dude, this is insane.”
Joey is paralyzed as Justin slides between his legs. Without thinking, Justin reaches out and cups Joey’s balls and lightly stroking the shaft up to the head with his finger tips.
“Joey, it’s really fucking huge.”
Justin laughs, looks up at Joey, who is totally lost. Justin smirks. Then, without thinking, without even hesitating, he leaned forward and pressed his thick, full pecs around Joey’s cock.
“Let’s see if this even works, bro.”
Joey’s breath caught somewhere in his throat. He felt the heat of Justin’s skin, the dense muscle squeezing around him, slick with sweat, firm but soft, moving against his shaft. His brain short-circuited, body tensing, breath locking up in his ribs.
“Dude—”
But it was already over. He was already struggling. His body had been teetering on the edge, his nerves wired too tight, his brain working too hard to keep up. Then Justin’s pecs bounced and slid around fat, veiny boner, and Joey didn’t even last a second.
The pressure, the heat, the movement—it pushed him straight over. His whole body jolted, stomach going tight, toes curling against the floor as a hard pulse ran through him.
His cock jumped, and then he was coming. Justin didn’t react. Didn’t flinch, didn’t pull away, didn’t stop, even as Joey spilled thick, hot stripes across his chest.
Joey made a strangled noise, barely biting back a groan, hands digging into his thighs as his orgasm tore through him. His whole body shook, muscles locking, abs flexing hard as his cock pulsed against Justin’s slick skin.
When it was done, he slumped back, staring at the mess—at Justin’s broad, tan chest streaked with his cum, dripping down over the ridges of his pecs. Justin finally blinked. Then he wiped a hand down his chest, looked at the mess, shrugged.
“Damn, dude. That was fast.”
Joey was still panting, still trying to figure out what the fuck just happened. His body felt hot, spent, his head still spinning, his stomach tight with something he didn’t know how to name. Justin, though, just sat back, grabbed another wing, and took a bite. Like nothing happened. Like Joey hadn’t just lost his mind and blown his load all over his chest.
Joey sat there, staring, still coming down from the high, his whole existence crumbling under him. Justin cracked open another beer.
“You want another one?” he asked, totally casual.
Joey was having an existential crisis. Justin? Completely chill.
That’s when it started. The gym was closed, parking lot mostly empty, just a few cars left under the orange glow of the streetlights. The truck smelled like sweat and heat, the AC fighting against the lingering warmth from their bodies, the weight of a long workout sitting heavy between them. Joey leaned back against the headrest, legs sprawled, chest still rising and falling from the last set they’d pushed past failure.
Justin sat in the driver’s seat, one foot propped on the dashboard, head lolling back against the window. His tank top was still damp with sweat, clinging to his wide chest, the fabric stretching over his shoulders. The scent of him—clean but musky, thick with post-workout testosterone—mixed with the stale smell of gym bags and the fast food wrappers shoved under the seats.
Joey shifted, adjusting his waistband, his whole body still running too hot. The pump, the lingering burn in his muscles, the stretch in his skin—it all made him feel too big, too full, too charged.
Justin noticed.
“Dude,” Justin said, head turning toward him, eyes dropping lazily. “Your fucking dick, bro.”
Joey followed his gaze.
His cock was out. Again.
Thick, heavy, flushed from the workout, his waistband pushed low, the hard cut of his abs leading down to where it sat, full between his thighs.
Justin didn’t look away. He grinned, slow and lazy, then reached out.
His palm wrapped around Joey’s shaft, fingers stretching, fitting snugly around the girth, his grip strong but easy. He squeezed once, a slow, deliberate pull, the slick sound of pre-cum spreading under his touch.
“Dude,” Justin murmured, voice full of something close to admiration. “This thing is fucking crazy.”
Joey exhaled hard, his breath shuddering out of him, hips bucking up into Justin’s fist before he could stop himself.
Justin stroked him slow, deep, lazy.
Long, steady pulls, his fingers tightening just enough at the head before sliding back down. His grip was confident, sure, like this was the most normal thing in the world, like jerking Joey off in the front seat of his truck was just another post-workout routine.
Joey groaned, his head falling back, hips lifting into it. The sounds filled the small space, the slick glide of Justin’s hand, the soft grunt from Joey’s throat, the wet, heavy heat of it.
It built too fast.
The blood in his veins was still running hot from the workout, his muscles loose, his mind already wrecked from how easy this was happening.
Justin’s hand moved faster, squeezing at the base, teasing at the tip, his thumb pressing up against the slit, and that was it—Joey’s body locked up, stomach going tight, breath catching.
He came hard, thick ropes spilling over Justin’s fingers, his thighs tensing, his jaw going slack as his vision fuzzed for a second.
Justin didn’t even flinch.
He just let Joey ride it out, kept his grip steady, stroked him through the aftershocks, his palm slick with heat. Then, once Joey’s hips finally dropped back onto the seat, his chest still rising and falling, Justin pulled his hand away, wiped it off on Joey’s thigh, and grinned.
“Damn, bro,” Justin said, shaking his head. “You really needed that.”
Joey stared at the ceiling.
Justin cracked open a water bottle, took a long pull, completely unfazed.
Joey’s skin was still hot, his brain still scrambled, his hands gripping his knees too hard. He didn’t answer. Because he had no fucking idea what to say.
But it kept happening. The bathroom door swung open, sending a rush of steam curling into the hallway, thick and humid. Justin stepped out, still dripping, still radiating warmth from the heat of the shower. The white towel slung low on his hips barely clung to him, the deep cut of his V disappearing into the fold of fabric.
His skin was flushed, dewy, beads of water sliding down his chest, rolling slow over the thick swell of his pecs before sinking into the ridges of his abs. His buzzed head was still damp, droplets clinging to the sharp line of his jaw, catching the light. He rubbed a hand over his stomach absently, smearing the wetness, flexing slightly like he wasn’t even thinking about it.
Joey wasn’t breathing.
Justin grinned as he dropped into a crouch in front of him, resting his forearms lazily on Joey’s knees. His hands were still wet, slick with heat. His body was close, too close, the scent of fresh soap and sweat mixing in the space between them.
“Damn, bro,” Justin said, dragging a hand through the water dripping down his chest. He smirked, tilting his head. “How do I look? Think I could get into modeling?”
Joey swallowed hard. His mouth felt dry, but his body didn’t. His thighs were still loose from the workout, his muscles warm, his skin buzzing from his own shower. But now—now all he could focus on was the way water trickled over Justin’s pecs, the way his towel sat dangerously low, how his hands kept moving over his body, rubbing at his chest, his stomach, his arms, like he was testing himself out.
Joey knew he was supposed to say something. He was supposed to laugh, shove him off, roll his eyes and talk shit.
But before he could do any of that, Justin reached for him. And suddenly, Joey’s cock was in his hands. Both hands. Slow and firm.
Joey exhaled sharp through his nose, body tensing, fingers twitching at his sides as Justin’s grip closed around him. He stroked steady, his palms still damp, still warm, slicking over the thick weight of Joey’s dick like he was appreciating it, admiring it.
“Man,” Justin muttered, smirking, giving it a slow, twisting pull. “This fucking cock is thick as hell.”
Joey’s pulse slammed hard in his throat. He barely held on, barely stayed seated, hips pushing up into the touch, his stomach going tight. The drag of Justin’s hands, the heat of his grip, the way his breath ghosted over Joey’s skin—none of it made sense. None of it should have felt this good.
But it did. It felt too fucking good. Joey groaned low, biting his lip, trying to swallow down the sound, but it didn’t matter. His cock twitched, his hips jerked, and then—he was coming, hard, thick ropes streaking over Justin’s fingers, heat pulsing low and deep in his gut.
Justin didn’t react. Didn’t pull away. Didn’t even flinch. He just let Joey spill over his hands, riding him through it, stroking out the last few pulses before casually wiping his hand off on his own thigh and pushing himself back up to stand.
Joey was still panting, still sitting there wrecked, still staring at the ceiling.
Justin stood up and walked to the kitchen to get another beer, whistling low under his breath. Like it was nothing.
The locker room was dead quiet, just the distant hum of the overhead lights and the faint drip of water from the showers. Most of the gym had emptied out, leaving only the two of them in the heavy, post-lift silence. The air was thick with the scent of sweat and soap, the heat of their workout still lingering in their skin.
Joey peeled off his damp shirt, tossing it into his bag, his body still flushed, muscles swollen from the last brutal set. He rolled his shoulders, feeling the pump stretch through his chest, his arms, the weight of exhaustion settling in.
Justin was already naked. Of course he was. Standing by his locker, bare, slick, glowing from the heat of the shower, rubbing a towel over his buzzed head like it was just another night. His pecs were pumped, his nipples pink and hard, his abs drawn deep under the glossy sheen of sweat and oil. His dick sat smooth between his legs—small, tight, completely shaved.
Joey swallowed. Looked away. Except he didn’t. Because that caught him. The shaved part. Justin had no hair at all down there. Nothing. Smooth as his chest, as his thighs, nothing hiding anything. It made Joey feel weird. He didn’t know why.
His own body was still buzzing from the lift, still running hot, still trying to cool down. His mind didn’t need that extra detail—the smoothness, the contrast, the way it made everything else about Justin’s body look even sharper, even fuller.
He exhaled hard through his nose, shoving down his shorts, his underwear, stepping out of them fast, trying to focus on nothing other than getting dressed and getting the hell out of here.
That’s when Justin spoke.
“Yo, hit my back?”
Joey froze.
Justin was already turned around, waiting, arms up, stretching, his wide lats flaring, his waist pulling in stupid tight, his ass full and high.
Joey’s stomach twisted. His fingers curled tight around the bottle of oil. Justin didn’t even look back. He was just standing there, flexing, waiting, like this was normal, like this was something they did all the time, like this wasn’t going to completely fuck Joey up.
Joey flipped the cap, poured too much into his palms. The oil was warm, slick, dripping between his fingers. He swallowed hard and pressed his hands against Justin’s back.
Heat. Muscle. Smooth fucking skin. Justin let out a low sigh, tilting his head back.
“Damn, bro,” he muttered, voice lazy, pleased. “Your hands feel good.”
Joey’s breath caught. Because his hands did feel good. Justin’s skin was insane. Dense, smooth, silky from the oil, his muscles shifting, flexing under Joey’s palms. His waist was so fucking small compared to his broad back, his ass round and high, and fuck—
Joey’s cock twitched. No. No, no, no, no. His stomach clenched. This wasn’t happening. Except it was.
Justin shifted, stretching deeper into the touch, and Joey felt his own cock press thick and heavy against his thigh. Hard. Throbbing.
Justin started to turn. Joey panicked.
Before he could pull back, before he could think, before he could do anything other than completely lose his fucking mind. Justin’s slick hand was on him. On his rock hard boner. Again. Joey sucked in a breath sharp enough to cut.
Justin’s palm wrapped around him, slow, deliberate, squeezing just enough to make Joey’s knees almost fucking buckle. Joey’s whole world narrowed. Justin was touching him. Justin was stroking him. His slick, oiled-up hand slid down, then back up.
Joey’s breath caught. Justin smirked, his grip tightening.
“Damn,” Justin muttered, admiring the length, the weight, the heat in his palm.
His voice dropped lower.
“I can’t get enough of your big dick, Joey.”
Joey fucking whimpered. His whole body locked up, stomach flexing, breath stuttering as Justin kept jerking him slow and deep, the oil making everything hot, slick, smooth, effortless. It was too much. Too easy. Too fucking good. Justin’s thumb dragged over the tip, teasing, spreading Joey’s own slickness around, and that was it.
Joey whispered to Justin.
“Put-put it in your titties…”
Justin raised a brow. Then he laughed, slow, dark, like he loved it.
“Sick idea, bro.”
He kneeled down in front of Joey’s big fat boner. Then he grabbed his pecs, squeezed them tight around Joey’s still-hard, still-sensitive cock, and squeezed. He bounced them around, slick and jiggly.
Joey’s whole body shuddered. His cock twitched, his abs clenched, and then he was shooting all over Justin’s chest.
As soon as Joey started to shoot, Justin opened his mouth. Joey barely had time to register it before white hot ropes of his sperm hit Justin’s tongue, spilling thick past his lips, splashing across his chin.
Justin just took it, swallowing, licking his lips, wiping the mess off his chin with the back of his hand. Then, like it was nothing, he grinned.
“Damn, bro.” He ran a hand through his buzzed hair, rolling his neck, looking perfectly at ease. “Thanks for the protein shot.”
Joey’s soul fucking left his body. When it returned, Justin was already getting dressed. Joey felt weird. He quickly got dressed and left.
“See ya, Reynolds.”
