This is my first full length story, so I hope you enjoy it! Please email me ([email protected]) any feedback. Enjoy!
All characters are entirely fictional besides Byron, whom has given me his express permission to include later in the book. Please follow him on Instagram (@byronrosekelly)!
Can I Leave?
Jase's heart pounded against his ribs, his thoughts racing to process what he'd just heard, what he'd just experienced. This wasn't just about physical attraction or momentary indulgence—this was something deeper, something that challenged conventional categories of sexuality and desire, something that offered possibilities he'd never seriously considered.
"...Give me your number," he finally managed, the request emerging with unexpected authority despite his internal turmoil.
Dylan complied without question, quickly scrawling the digits onto a scrap of paper torn from a notepad on the desk. The action was performed with the same calm efficiency that characterized everything about him—no hesitation, no uncertainty, just immediate response to direction.
"Good," Jase said, shoving the paper into his pocket with more force than necessary, as though afraid it might disappear if not secured. "I'll be needing you again."
Dylan nodded, accepting this as expected rather than surprising.
Then, quietly—
"Can I leave?"
The question jolted Jase back to himself, to the reality of their situation, to the recognition that what had begun as a job inquiry had transformed into something far more complex and significant.
He let out a slow exhale, composing himself, smirking to reclaim some semblance of his usual confidence. "Yeah, mate. But before you do..."
Without warning, he reached out and delivered a firm slap to Dylan's massive, sculpted rear, the sound sharp in the quiet cabin. The muscle barely yielded to the impact, as solid and unyielding as the rest of his extraordinary physique.
Dylan didn't flinch, didn't startle, didn't react beyond the slightest shifting of his weight. The contact registered, but didn't disturb his fundamental equilibrium.
Jase grinned, feeling some measure of control returning, of normalcy reasserting itself in a situation that had spiraled far beyond ordinary experience. "Come back tomorrow. We'll talk about the groundwork."
Dylan nodded, expression serious despite the surreal nature of their interaction.
"Thanks," he said, the word simple but laden with layers of meaning. He paused, then added with careful precision: "For both the job info... and for using me this morning."
Jase watched him walk out, the door left slightly ajar behind him, sunlight spilling back into the cabin in a sudden intrusion of ordinary reality.
He leaned back against the desk, its edge digging into his palms as he gripped it for support.
Heart racing. Mind blown. Body humming with energy he couldn't immediately identify.
And completely, utterly addicted to the experience that had just unfolded.
The Next Move
Jase sat back against the desk, still buzzing with the aftereffects of Dylan's visit, his mind racing through the implications of what had just happened, what possibilities it suggested for the future.
His phone sat beside him on the desk, screen dark, waiting.
Without overthinking, operating on pure instinct, he picked it up, unlocked it, and pulled up Harry's chat thread. His fingers hovered over the keyboard for only a moment before he began typing with decisive purpose.
Jase: Oi, you never told me that Dylan was a proper head trip.
The three dots appeared almost immediately, suggesting Harry was holding his phone, waiting for contact or already engaged in conversation with someone else.
Harry: Huh?
Jase smirked, anticipation building as he composed his response.
Jase: I mean, he's a muscle monster, yeah. But he's also... weirdly into me. He kissed me, mate.
A pause.
Then—
Harry: No way!
Jase laughed under his breath, fingers tapping quickly, building the narrative with deliberate care.
Jase: Yep. Full-on kiss. Lad was all over it. Then, two seconds later, he's telling me he's straight.
Another pause, longer this time, suggesting Harry was processing this unexpected information.
Harry: Pfft. Mate. He's full of shit.
Jase raised an eyebrow, reading something in Harry's dismissal that wasn't immediately obvious. Jealousy, perhaps? Disbelief? Or simple categorical rejection of the possibility that challenged his understanding of straightforward sexual categories?
Jase: I dunno, Haz. Starting to think I've got some kind of power over straight muscle lads.
He didn't say it outright, didn't make the connection explicit. He didn't need to.
Harry would get it.
The drunken night, the oil, the worship—it was all still there, sitting beneath the surface of their friendship, unacknowledged but undeniable.
Harry's reply came with surprising speed.
Harry: Dylan's got nothing on me.
Jase grinned, the response confirming everything he'd suspected. Harry wasn't dismissing the possibility—he was asserting his superiority within it, claiming his position at the top of this new hierarchy they were establishing.
Jase: Oh yeah? Maybe I should test that theory.
A longer pause this time, loaded with potential, with consideration, with the weight of a friendship balancing on the edge of transformation.
Then, finally—
Harry: Anytime.
Jase stared at the word, his pulse quickening with the recognition of its significance. A single word that contained worlds of possibility, that suggested pathways previously unconsidered, that promised experiences beyond conventional boundaries.
He knew Harry wasn't entirely serious. Knew his best mate was throwing down a challenge, refusing to be outshone even in this unfamiliar territory, maintaining his competitive edge through reflexive posturing.
But Jase?
Jase wasn't messing around.
He flicked the phone screen off, leaned back in his chair, and smiled to himself with quiet satisfaction.
If Dylan had taught him anything today, it was this—
Some men didn't know their place in the world... until someone put them there.
And Jase?
Jase was about to do exactly that.
