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)!
Departure
The international terminal bustled with activity, travelers hurrying toward gates with rolling suitcases while families exchanged tearful goodbyes. Among this constant flow of ordinary movement, five extraordinary figures created a gravitational disruption that altered the very atmosphere around them.
Byron Kelly stood at the center of this constellation of physical magnificence, his departure for Australia imminent after a weekend that had transformed his understanding of his purpose. He had chosen travel attire that emphasized rather than concealed his extraordinary development—dark blue suit trousers with a soft sheen, tailored with obsessive precision to accommodate his legendary lower body, the fabric caressing every curve and contour of his thighs with devoted attention. The matching jacket had been designed with extra allowance across his substantial shoulders, yet still strained slightly when he moved. Beneath, a simple white shirt hugged his firm chest, the top two buttons left open to reveal a tantalizing glimpse of smooth, tanned skin.
Ethan and Jase flanked him, their relatively ordinary physiques nevertheless projecting quiet authority through their commanding presence alone. They positioned themselves like trainers with a prized thoroughbred, their hands occasionally making casual contact with Byron's extraordinary development, proprietary touches that carried both appreciation and possession.
Harry and Dylan completed the group, their massive frames drawing continuous attention despite their attempts at subdued presentation. Harry's black compression shirt stretched across his colossal chest like it had been painted directly onto his skin, each breath testing the structural limits of the material. The deep V-neck plunged daringly low, exposing the central valley between his pectoral masses, offering tantalizing glimpses of golden skin with each movement. His dark jeans clung to his massive thighs with desperate determination, the fabric pulled so taut that individual muscle fibers were visible beneath the straining denim.
Dylan, standing slightly apart, created his own disturbance field of attention. His royal blue polo—deliberately ordered two sizes too small—adhered to his torso with scientific precision, mapping every extraordinary curve and swelling of his nineteen-year-old development. The sleeves had surrendered entirely to his massive biceps, riding up to expose the full sweep of muscle that bulged with even the slightest movement. His white chinos appeared spray-painted across his lower body, the material stretched to transparency over his thighs, creating a visual display that drew covert glances from passersby of all genders and orientations.
"Final boarding call for Sydney in forty minutes," Byron noted, his Australian accent more pronounced as thoughts of home began to resurface. "Suppose I should think about heading through security soon." His handsome features arranged themselves into an expression of genuine regret despite the practical necessity of his departure.
Ethan reached up—having to stretch slightly to reach Byron's shoulder—and squeezed the dense muscle beneath the suit jacket with appreciative pressure. "Not before we give you a proper goodbye," he insisted, his voice carrying that perfect blend of affection and command that had become his signature. "Something to remember us by during the long flight home."
Byron grinned, the expression transforming his already handsome features into something that seemed almost too perfect to be real. "As if I could forget," he replied, his tone warm with genuine connection. "This weekend changed everything for me. I'll never see myself the same way again."
Jase stepped closer, his hand moving to the small of Byron's back with casual familiarity. "You understand now," he observed, not a question but a confirmation of shared knowledge. "What you're really for."
Byron nodded, his magnificent chest expanding with a deep breath that tested the limits of his tailored shirt. "To be used," he acknowledged, the words emerging not with shame or reluctance but with the liberation of recognized truth. "To be displayed. To be enjoyed."
A woman passing nearby slowed her pace noticeably, her gaze locked onto Byron with unabashed appreciation. She clutched her companion's arm, whispering something that caused both of them to turn and stare. Their expressions registered immediate recognition—this wasn't just any extraordinarily built man, this was Byron Kelly, Instagram legend, the man whose posterior had launched countless imitators and inspired fitness enthusiasts worldwide.
"Oh my God, that's him," the whisper carried just far enough to reach them, though the woman clearly intended privacy. "The suit destroyer! His butt is even more impressive in person."
Byron heard—of course he heard—but maintained perfect composure, the only acknowledgment a subtle shift in his stance that presented his legendary development at a slightly more advantageous angle. The movement was so natural, so ingrained after years of being observed and admired, that it appeared entirely unconscious despite its calculated precision.
"I think someone's recognized you," Harry observed with quiet amusement, his own posture adjusting automatically to maximize his physical presentation. The competitive instinct never fully disappeared, even among those who had surrendered to shared purpose.
Byron chuckled, the sound warm and genuine. "Happens more than you'd think. Especially at airports—something about the confined space, the boredom of waiting. People notice."
Ethan's expression shifted to something more purposeful, a decision crystallizing in his eyes. "Then let's give them something worth noticing," he declared, his voice carrying that quiet authority that had proven irresistible to men of far greater physical presence than himself. "One last display before you go."
Without further explanation, he reached into his bag and withdrew what appeared to be a small bottle. "Turn around," he instructed Byron, the command delivered with such casual confidence that compliance seemed the only possible response.
Byron obeyed without hesitation, presenting his back to the group with the fluid grace of someone accustomed to being positioned for others' appreciation. The movement highlighted the extraordinary development of his glutes beneath the tailored trousers, the fabric stretched to its architectural limits across the perfect hemispheres that had made him famous worldwide.
Ethan's hands moved with deliberate purpose, fingers finding the impossible curve where Byron's back met the extraordinary projection of his glutes. The tailored fabric, already strained to its limits, was meticulously massaged with the fragrant oil, creating an enhanced sheen that highlighted the perfect roundness beneath with striking definition. The dark blue material darkened further where the oil made contact, the wetness making the fabric gleam against the harsh interior lights of the airport, accentuating every curve and contour of the muscular development beneath without revealing it.
"You're creating quite the scene," Byron murmured, his Australian accent thickening with pleasure at the attention, not just from his four companions but from the growing audience of fascinated travelers. "Security's going to intervene soon."
"Let them," Jase replied, his fingers joining Ethan's in their exploration of Byron's legendary development. "One last worship session before you go. You deserve it."
The murmurs from onlookers grew more distinct, fragments of conversation reaching them despite attempts at discretion.
"Is that really him? The Instagram model?"
"Jesus, look at that ass. No wonder suits don't fit him."
"I've followed him for years. Those muscles are even more impressive in real life."
Byron absorbed it all, his body responding to the dual stimulation of physical touch and public admiration. His breathing deepened, chest expanding beneath the white shirt with hypnotic rhythm. He made no effort to hide his enjoyment, his handsome features arranging themselves into an expression of serene pleasure that bordered on ecstatic.
"Gate 37 for Sydney, final boarding call in thirty minutes," the announcement cut through their bubble of intimate display, a practical intrusion into their moment of shared appreciation.
Ethan's hands stilled, resting on Byron's extraordinary development with reluctant finality. "Time to go," he acknowledged, genuine regret coloring his tone.
Byron turned to face them, his suit now bearing the evidence of their attention in dark patches that clung to his extraordinary physique with renewed dedication. His expression carried the perfect balance of gratitude and regret as he embraced each of them in turn, the contact lingering just long enough to communicate genuine connection without crossing into inappropriateness for the public setting.
"This isn't goodbye," he assured them, his voice carrying absolute certainty despite the geographical challenges ahead. "What we've discovered together—it's too important, too perfect to end here."
Ethan nodded, reaching up to grasp Byron's perfect jawline with proprietary confidence. "You're ours now," he confirmed, the statement so matter-of-fact that it brooked no argument despite its extraordinary implication. "Distance changes nothing."
Byron smiled, the expression transforming his handsome features with genuine warmth. "I know," he agreed, absolute certainty in his tone. "And I wouldn't have it any other way."
With final embraces exchanged and promises of continued connection secured, Byron turned toward security. His extraordinary physique commanded attention with every step, the oil-darkened patches on his suit creating a roadmap of where hands had worshipped moments before. The crowd parted before him like water around the bow of a ship, conversations pausing mid-sentence as he passed.
As he disappeared beyond the security checkpoint, Ethan turned to the others, satisfaction radiating from him despite the departure of their Australian companion.
"One goes, but our collection remains strong," he observed, his hands finding Harry and Dylan with automatic familiarity, touching, positioning, claiming with casual confidence.
Jase nodded, their gazes meeting with perfect understanding—owners discussing their prized possessions, curators admiring their exclusive exhibition, collectors with a shared appreciation for physical perfection.
"Time to head home," Ethan announced, his voice carrying that quiet authority that transformed suggestion into command. "We've got plans to make."
With a final glance toward the security checkpoint where Byron had disappeared, the four turned and walked toward the exit, their extraordinary presence continuing to disrupt the atmosphere of the terminal with every step.
