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)!
The Warning
The afternoon sun blazed overhead, turning the pavement into a sheet of shimmering heat that distorted the air in undulating waves. The temperature had climbed steadily throughout the day, transforming the town into a sweltering cauldron that seemed to amplify every sensation, every movement, every breath.
Harry Schett walked slowly, deliberately, towards his dad's sportswear shop, each step a controlled display of the extraordinary physicality that defined his existence. He moved with the confident grace of someone who knew, without question, that every single person he passed was studying him with varying degrees of fascination and desire. The knowledge didn't just please him—it fueled him, each admiring glance feeding something primal within his being.
And why wouldn't they look?
He wasn't wearing much.
A pair of bright red chino shorts cut with deliberate provocation hugged his massive thighs like they'd been custom-tailored to his extraordinary proportions. The low-rise waistband sat well below his carved obliques, exposing deep muscle channels that disappeared tantalizingly beneath the fabric. With each stride, the hem rode up dangerously high, revealing more of the colossal quadriceps that seemed to belong to a different species of human altogether. The material strained audibly against his development, the seams visibly stressed along the outer sweep of his thighs where months of dedicated training had created dimensions no clothing manufacturer had anticipated.
Above the waistband, a thick strip of neon-orange boxer briefs announced itself with unmistakable boldness, the elastic band straining even with the small amount of fabric visible. Harry had purposely sized down, selecting underwear that would make its presence known, that would draw eyes to the contrast between vibrant color and golden skin. Nothing about his presentation was accidental—each element calculated for maximum visual impact.
People stared.
Good.
The warm weather was always a convenient excuse to wear as little as possible, but Harry never needed justification. His body was a masterpiece—a testament to genetics, dedication, and thousands of hours of painstaking effort. It deserved to be seen, to be appreciated, to be desired. Hiding it would be like draping a tarp over Michelangelo's David.
As he strolled past The Bean & Brew, a familiar feeling washed over him—the weight of being watched. It settled across his skin like a physical caress, intensifying with each step. Harry didn't even have to turn his head to confirm it; he could feel the gaze like heat against his skin, could sense the attention focused on the dramatic sweep of his back, the impossible roundness of his glutes that strained against the red fabric with each measured stride.
Then—a shift in the atmosphere.
A man approached from the opposite direction—early fifties, average build, neatly dressed in business casual that suggested professional success without ostentation. Harry clocked him immediately, his awareness of others' attention too finely tuned to miss the intensity of this stranger's focus. The way the man's eyes dragged up and down, scanning every inch of Harry's perfect physique with the mesmerized fascination of someone witnessing a natural wonder for the first time.
Then came the moment of realization—the stranger knew he'd been caught staring. A flicker of embarrassment crossed his features, the hint of a shy smile appearing as social convention battled with fascination. But despite his apparent discomfort at being discovered, he couldn't stop looking. Couldn't tear his gaze away from the way Harry's pecs bounced effortlessly with each step, the massive slabs of muscle shifting with hypnotic rhythm beneath skin that seemed polished to perfection. The deep-cut abs rippled in the sunlight, creating a landscape of shadows and highlights that no fitness magazine could capture.
Harry smirked, recognizing the effect he was having.
He slowed down, giving the stranger more time to appreciate what he was seeing. With calculated precision, Harry rolled his shoulders just enough to send his pecs into a deep, deliberate bounce, the individual muscle fibers visibly contracting beneath golden skin. The display was deliberate, controlled, a demonstration of mastery over his extraordinary development.
The stranger's eyes widened in response, lips parting slightly as his hand twitched, shifting instinctively towards the space between his thighs before social awareness stopped the movement. The reaction was visceral, uncontrollable, biological rather than conscious.
Harry mirrored the action with subtle mockery, letting the stranger know he'd noticed everything, that nothing escaped his attention.
The man froze in place, pulse visibly racing at his throat, his entire body betraying just how much he wanted to worship the physical masterpiece in front of him. His breathing had quickened, his posture unconsciously shifting to make himself smaller in Harry's overwhelming presence.
As they passed each other, Harry felt it—the stranger's hand reaching out, grazing over the steel curve of his bicep in a touch that might have been dismissed as accidental if not for the deliberate pressure, the lingering contact that expressed both appreciation and desire.
Harry stopped.
The stranger stopped too, caught in the moment of his own daring.
Slowly, Harry turned to face him, tilting his head slightly, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips. His pecs rose and fell with steady breathing, each inhalation making the extraordinary muscle mass expand to even more impossible dimensions.
"Go on, mate," Harry murmured, voice thick with amusement and something darker, more primal. The invitation was clear, a permission granted that few would have the courage to accept.
But the stranger didn't hesitate.
His hands moved immediately, as if they'd been waiting for this opportunity, perhaps for years. He traced over Harry's chest with reverent fingers, pressing into the solid wall of pectoral muscle, exploring the unreal density, squeezing, worshipping. The contact made the muscles flex involuntarily beneath his touch, hardening further, revealing striations and separations that ordinary physiques simply didn't possess.
Then—down.
The stranger's hands moved lower with growing confidence, gripping the impossibly round, dense mass of Harry's glutes, fingers digging into the deep grooves of muscle, testing just how much power sat beneath the tight red chinos. The fabric stretched further under the pressure, revealing even more of the extraordinary development it struggled to contain.
Harry stood totally still, letting it happen. Letting himself be used, touched, appreciated in public without reservation or shame. His expression remained one of amused satisfaction, completely comfortable with being handled like an exhibit rather than a person.
A few murmurs rose from The Bean & Brew, the patrons inside noticing the unusual scene unfolding on the pavement outside. People stared openly now, some with shock, others with undisguised interest, a few with envious longing.
Harry's gaze lifted, locking eyes with several of the men inside who watched with particular intensity. Some smirked knowingly, some looked on in awe, one bit his lip in unconscious desire.
Harry nodded at them. A silent acknowledgment. An understanding without words.
And then—everything changed.
A sharp sound cut through the charged atmosphere.
Heavy boots on pavement. A door slamming upstairs. A rush of movement that carried unmistakable authority.
Harry barely had time to react before—
"OI."
A deep, authoritative voice, cutting through the thick tension in the air with the efficiency of a blade.
Troy.
Descending from his flat above The Bean & Brew with purposeful strides, still in his police uniform, the dark navy fabric clinging to his powerful frame like a second skin. His tree-trunk thighs strained against his black tactical trousers with every aggressive step forward, the material creaking in protest. Though not built to the extraordinary proportions of Harry, Troy carried himself with the unmistakable presence of someone used to commanding respect, his body honed for function rather than display.
The stranger saw him—saw the uniform—and scurried away without a word, disappearing around the corner with remarkable speed for someone his age.
Harry watched him go, still pumped from the attention, his pecs lifting with every slow breath, the rush of being admired still coursing through his system like a drug.
But Troy wasn't done.
"You little shit," Troy growled, stopping inches from Harry, using his slightly superior height in an attempt to intimidate that might have worked on someone less physically extraordinary.
Harry just grinned, crossing his huge arms across his chest, the movement causing his pecs to swell even larger, bulging against each other as they fought for space. It was a display of physical dominance that made Troy's substantial development seem almost ordinary by comparison.
Troy's eyes flicked downward, just for a second, before snapping back up, his expression darkening further. The momentary glance betrayed him—even in his anger, he couldn't help but acknowledge the physical magnificence before him.
"I should arrest you for that," Troy spat, jaw tightening with barely contained rage. "Indecent exposure. Lewd conduct."
Harry just raised an eyebrow, supremely unconcerned by the threat. "Didn't hear you complaining about that bloke," he said smoothly, his voice carrying just enough challenge to intensify the confrontation.
Troy's jaw tightened further, a muscle in his cheek visibly twitching with restraint.
Harry rolled his shoulders again, making his pecs dance beneath his skin in a deliberate provocation. The display was calculated to remind Troy exactly who held the power in this interaction, regardless of who wore the uniform.
"Go on then," he teased, mockingly holding out his wrists for restraint. "Cuff me."
Troy's nostrils flared with barely contained fury. His hands curled into fists at his sides, the knuckles whitening with pressure.
"Don't tempt me, Schett," he warned, voice dropping to a dangerous register.
Harry just laughed, the sound carrying no fear, no concern for potential consequences.
But then—Troy's tone shifted. Lower. Angrier. Personal. Something beyond professional frustration entered his voice, transforming the confrontation into something more intimate, more charged.
"This is the second time in a week I've had to deal with one of you," Troy snapped, his words carrying unexpected weight. "What the hell is wrong with you and your father?"
Harry's smirk faded slightly, genuine confusion momentarily replacing his confident amusement.
Troy watched the shift in his expression, gave a small, satisfied nod at having finally broken through the armor of Harry's arrogance, then stepped closer, voice dropping even lower.
"You know, I had to pay your old man a visit at the shop after a complaint about public indecency?"
Harry blinked, his perfect composure cracking further as the words registered.
What?
Troy narrowed his eyes, leaning in with the satisfaction of someone who finally had the upper hand.
"That's right. Someone didn't like seeing Max Schett parading around in a pair of Lycra shorts that left nothing to the imagination."
Harry's stomach flipped, a cold sensation spreading through his core despite the heat of the day.
The photos.
The masked images he'd seen online.
Had Troy seen them? Was this connected?
Troy gave a small, smug smirk at having clearly hit a nerve, then stormed off, shoving past Harry with heavy, irritated strides that carried him swiftly down the street.
Harry just stood there, watching him go, his extraordinary physique momentarily forgotten as his mind processed this new information.
He didn't care what Troy thought—the man was clearly jealous, threatened by a level of physical development he could never achieve despite his own impressive conditioning.
But…
His father?
Harry frowned slightly, thinking back to what he'd seen online. The masked photos that had appeared in his feed. The cryptic comments beneath them. The familiar shop interior in the background.
Had Troy seen that content? Was this connected to whatever was happening with his dad?
Harry's chest rose with a deep inhale, his entire body expanding from the sheer enormity of his frame, the red shorts straining further as his muscles tensed with decision.
There was only one way to find out.
Time to visit Dad.
He turned towards the sports shop, his massive legs rubbing together with every powerful step, the friction between his extraordinary quads creating a distinctive rhythm that announced his approach.
Then, with one final deliberate bounce of his pecs, a physical reset of his confidence, he walked through the door to confront whatever awaited him inside.
