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)!
Hugo and Declan
Declan Kavanagh grunted as he completed his final rep, the hefty dumbbell feeling like an extension of his arm rather than the sixty-pound weight it actually was. At forty-two, his body defied conventional expectations of aging—instead of diminishing, his extraordinary development had only intensified with each passing year. The compact powerhouse stood just 5'7", but what he lacked in height, he made up for in sheer mass and proportion.
"That's it for today," he announced, his voice carrying the satisfied exhaustion of a workout well executed.
The Oakfield Fire Station gym was empty save for him, the late afternoon sunlight streaming through high windows and casting dramatic shadows across equipment that had seen better days. Most of his colleagues had already finished their shifts, leaving Dec to enjoy the solitude he preferred for his training sessions. These stolen moments in the station's modest facility were precious—time when he could focus entirely on refining the physique that had become his signature, away from the watchful eyes of his personal training clients.
As he wiped down the bench, Dec caught his reflection in the mirrored wall. The black department-issued tank top clung desperately to his torso, stretched to its absolute limits across pecs so massive they created their own landscape beneath the straining fabric. The deep central divide between them was visible even through the material, a canyon so pronounced it caught shadows despite the bright overhead lighting. His shoulders stretched the garment's seams to their breaking point, the stitching engaged in a constant battle against the extraordinary width they attempted to contain.
Sixteen years of dedicated training since meeting Hugo had transformed what was once merely an impressive physique into something that seemed engineered rather than grown. The timing wasn't coincidental—Hugo's arrival in Oakfield had ignited a competitive streak in Declan that pushed him to previously unimagined levels of size and definition.
He smiled at the memory of their first meeting. Hugo, older brother to Max, had just moved to town to be with David, Declan's childhood friend who had met the elder Schett brother at a Rockwood Comicon event the previous year. Both Dec and Hugo had been fit then—impressive by ordinary standards—but nothing like the physical anomalies they had since become. Their shared passion for bodybuilding had forged an immediate bond, creating a friendship that had only strengthened over the years.
Dec's smile widened slightly as he collected his gym bag, remembering some of his encounters with Hugo and David. The threesomes had started innocently enough—at least, as innocently as such arrangements ever begin. David had always been fascinated by muscular men, despite having no interest in building himself up. His average frame had provided the perfect contrast during those nights when the three of them explored the boundaries of their relationship. Dec had discovered his dominant side then, directing the action, orchestrating scenarios where David worshipped Hugo Schett's extraordinary development while Dec controlled them both. Hugo, who was Max's senior by eighteen months, had always possessed the same genetic gifts for muscle building that ran in the Schett family.
One night, where David had dressed Hugo in a Green Lantern costume, had been particularly memorable. The bright green Lycra stretched across Hugo's massive frame, highlighting every striation, every vein, every impossibly developed curve. The memory still had the power to send heat coursing through Dec's substantial frame, igniting a fetish for ridiculously tight clothing that had remained with him ever since.
But things had changed when David left town. The threesomes stopped, naturally, but Dec and Hugo had continued their friendship, though the dynamic shifted into something less defined. Their muscle comparison sessions had become a regular ritual—competitive yet intimate, charged with unspoken tension that neither man fully acknowledged.
As Dec shouldered his gym bag and headed for the station's exit, his phone buzzed with an incoming message. Hugo's name flashed on the screen: Still on for tonight? Garage is all set up.
Dec's thumbs moved quickly across the glass: Wouldn't miss it. Be there in 30.
The drive to Hugo's modest bungalow on the outskirts of Oakfield took Dec through familiar streets. The small town had been his home fall his life, its rhythms and patterns as familiar as his own heartbeat. Unlike Rockwood, where Max and Harry lived, with its busier pace and larger population, Oakfield offered a quieter existence that suited Dec perfectly, allowing him to balance his part-time firefighting duties with his growing personal training business.
Thoughts of the Schetts' hometown inevitably led to memories of Max. Dec had first met Hugo's younger brother during one of the Comicon trips he and David would make to Rockwood. While David and Dec attended the convention, Hugo typically spent time with Max. They would all meet up in the evenings, which was how Dec had first encountered the younger Schett brother, though these meetings were infrequent enough that he had never really gotten to know him well. The physical resemblance between the brothers was striking—both possessing the same extraordinary genetic potential, the same platinum blonde hair, the same tendency toward physical perfection.
The traffic incident three years ago surfaced in Dec's mind as he turned onto Hugo's street. He'd been attending another Comicon event with David, but had grown bored of the endless panels and merchandise stalls. When he learned Hugo was visiting Max, Dec had joined them for drinks. A couple of hours later, when Hugo returned to David, Declan stayed out with Max for what became had a night of increasingly heavy drinking. Since Max hadn't initially intended to consume alcohol he had taken his car, but after deciding he would indulge after all, had driven them back to his place from where they would walk to The Chapel. However, en route they had got pulled over for speeding, earning himself a ticket from a particularly moody police officer.
Dec cringed remembering his behavior with the uniformed cop—the alcohol had loosened his tongue and respect for authority. But, after dropping the car at Max's home, they had continued drinking at The Chapel well into the early morning hours. Dec had a vague, uncertain memory of possibly touching Max's ass that night—a recollection so hazy he had convinced himself he'd either imagined it or Max had been too drunk to notice or remember.
Since then, their communication had been minimal—occasional texts, nothing more. Dec respected Max's heterosexuality too much to pursue anything, regardless of how attracted he was to the man. Besides, the distance between Oakfield and Rockwood made anything more than occasional contact impractical.
Hugo's garage came into view as Dec parked his truck in the driveway. The detached structure had been converted into a fully equipped home gym years ago, creating the perfect space for their private training sessions. Unlike the public gym where Dec worked with clients, or the station's utilitarian facility, Hugo's garage offered a sanctuary where they could train without interruption or observation.
"About time," Hugo called as Dec pushed open the side door, gym bag slung over one massive shoulder. "Thought you might have gotten lost."
Dec grinned, taking in the familiar sight of his friend. At 44, Hugo Schett was a living testament to what the human body could achieve through genetic blessing and relentless dedication. Standing 6'0", his frame supported muscle mass that seemed to belong to a different species entirely. His white tank top appeared painted onto his torso, the fabric stretched so completely across his chest that individual muscle fibers were visible beneath the straining material.
"Some of us have actual jobs, you know," Dec retorted good-naturedly, dropping his bag by the door. "Not all of us can live off our investments."
Hugo laughed, the sound rumbling through his massive chest. His successful tech investments had allowed him to retire early, focusing entirely on his physical development without the distractions of employment. "You love both your jobs, and we both know it. Stop complaining and get changed."
The garage was immaculately organized, every piece of equipment positioned for optimal use, weights racked with mathematical precision. The space reflected Hugo's methodical approach to everything in life, including his physique. A floor-to-ceiling mirror covered one wall, installed specifically for their muscle comparison sessions.
Dec changed quickly, stripping down to the compression shorts he'd worn beneath his regular clothes. The bright blue fabric clung to his lower body like a second skin, mapping every extraordinary curve and contour of development that defied conventional understanding of human anatomy. His glutes, in particular, projected from his frame with such perfect roundness they seemed designed rather than developed—a feature made all the more striking by his compact height.
"Ready when you are," he announced, moving to stand beside Hugo before the mirror.
For the next hour, they cycled through poses, comparing their development with the critical eyes of men who had dedicated their lives to physical perfection. Despite their different builds—Hugo's taller, wider frame contrasting with Dec's compact, dense musculature—both displayed physiques that would have dominated any bodybuilding stage.
"Your shoulders have definitely improved," Hugo observed, reaching out to grip Dec's deltoid with appreciative pressure. His fingers dug into the dense muscle, feeling its extraordinary hardness beneath paper-thin skin. "What have you changed in your routine?"
Dec flexed under the touch, the muscle hardening further beneath Hugo's exploring fingers. "Added those behind-the-neck presses you suggested. Made all the difference." He returned the contact, his hand moving to squeeze Hugo's massive pec, feeling the unyielding density beneath his palm. "Still can't compete with this chest though. Genetics are a gift."
Hugo grinned, bouncing his pecs with deliberate control, making them dance beneath Dec's touch. "Schett family special," he quipped, referencing the extraordinary chest development that seemed to run in his family line. "Max and Harry got the same blessing."
The mention of the other Schett men created a momentary shift in the atmosphere, a subtle charge that neither acknowledged directly. Instead, they continued their comparisons, hands moving over extraordinary development with confident familiarity, measuring progress, acknowledging improvements, offering critiques with the honesty of long-established trust.
"Turn around," Hugo instructed, shifting to examine their posterior development. "Let's see if those Romanian deadlifts have done anything for your back."
Dec complied, presenting his extraordinarily developed back for inspection. The muscles formed a mountain range of peaks and valleys, each fiber visible beneath skin that seemed stretched to its limits by the sheer volume of mass it contained. Hugo's hands moved across this display with appreciative precision, fingers tracing the deep cuts between muscle groups, testing the rock-hard density, acknowledging progress.
"Impressive," Hugo murmured, his touch lingering slightly longer than necessary. "But I think I've still got you beat on lat spread."
Dec laughed, turning back to face the mirror. "Keep dreaming, big man. My symmetry is better and we both know it."
Hugo's eyes dropped to Dec's lower body, to the blue compression shorts stretched across thighs so massively developed they forced his stance naturally wide. His hands moved to grip Dec's quads, fingers pressing into the dense muscle that barely yielded under the pressure. "These are coming along nicely," he observed, feeling the separate heads of muscle tensing beneath his touch. "Those hack squats are working."
Dec flexed them on cue, the muscle groups bulging beneath the thin fabric, creating deep valleys and ridges that seemed to defy anatomical possibility. "Years of heavy lifting," he explained unnecessarily, both of them well aware of the effort required to build such development.
"I still maintain you've got the best glutes in Oakfield though," Dec commented, eyes moving to Hugo's lower half. "Possibly the state."
Hugo smirked, turning to display the feature in question. The white gym shorts clung to his perfectly rounded posterior like they had been vacuum-sealed to his skin, the fabric strained to its structural limits. "Though yours give mine a run for their money," Hugo added, glancing at Dec's reflection in the mirror.
Their banter continued as they worked through more comparisons, each compliment carrying a subtle undercurrent of something deeper, something neither man directly addressed. This had been their pattern since David's departure—appreciation that bordered on worship, competition that verged on flirtation, all contained within the safe parameters of their established friendship.
Eventually, Hugo glanced at his watch. "Protein time," he announced, reaching for a towel to wipe the light sheen of sweat from his extraordinary development. "Kitchen's stocked."
Dec nodded, grabbing his phone from the bench before following Hugo into the main house. The kitchen was as meticulously organized as the garage gym, everything in its place, surfaces gleaming under recessed lighting. Hugo moved with surprising grace for someone of his massive proportions, collecting ingredients for their post-comparison shakes with practiced efficiency.
While Hugo prepared the drinks, Dec settled against the counter, opening his Facebook app to scroll through updates. The familiar blue interface filled his screen, populated with the usual fitness-related content, occasional fire department announcements, and updates from friends.
Then he saw it.
His thumb froze mid-scroll, breath catching in his throat as the image registered in his consciousness. The photo showed what appeared to be a human furniture arrangement in a bar setting. Most striking was a figure on all fours, wearing neon green compression shorts that strained obscenely against glutes of extraordinary development. The fabric appeared moments from surrender, stretched so completely across twin hemispheres of muscle that it revealed more than it concealed.
But it was the caption that truly captured his attention:
"Best night of my fucking life! Which item of furniture would you like to see this straight guy used as next? Answers to Ethan Thomas."
The post had been shared by Harry Schett.
"Hugo," Dec called, his voice tighter than intended. "Take a look at this."
Hugo paused his shake preparation, wiping his hands on a nearby towel before accepting the phone. His brow furrowed as he studied the image, tilting his head slightly as if the changed angle might provide better clarity.
"Is that Max?" Dec began.
"Max? It can't be, I mean what would Max be doing— ," Hugo finished, zooming in on the partially visible figure. "Fucking hell Dec, I think it is. Woah!" His expression registered surprise more than judgment, his eyebrows lifting toward his hairline. "Definitely looks like his build. And those shorts—he does love his bright colors."
Dec nodded, his mind racing with implications. "Max," he repeated, the name emerging with unintended reverence. "Fucking hell, he looks hot like that."
The observation escaped before he could filter it, hanging in the air between them. Dec quickly added, "I mean, if it is him."
Hugo raised an eyebrow, returning the phone with deliberate casualness. "Not sure if I should feel sick or complimented, given how often people mistake us for twins."
Dec grinned, recovering his composure with the ease of long practice. He delivered a playful but firm smack to Hugo's ass, the perfect muscle barely contained by the white gym shorts. "Oh definitely a compliment, big man," he assured him. "I have two words for you: Green Lantern."
Hugo laughed, the sound genuine despite the strangeness of the situation. He took the comment as it was intended—good-humored banter between friends, a compliment wrapped in casual delivery.
"We should go visit," Dec suggested suddenly, the idea forming even as he spoke it. "Max and Harry. It's been ages since we've been to Rockwood."
Hugo raised his eyebrow again, returning to the protein shakes. "They're both straight, Dec. Don't get any ideas, I know you too well."
"That's not why," Dec protested, though he couldn't entirely deny the attraction he felt toward the younger Schett men. "I genuinely like those guys. Besides, it would be good to get out of Oakfield for a bit. Change of scenery."
Hugo considered this as he finished preparing their drinks, handing one to Dec with a thoughtful expression. "Why not?" he finally agreed, reaching for his phone. "I'll text Max, see if next weekend works. Been too long since I've seen my little brother anyway."
As Hugo composed the message, Dec took another look at the photo, zooming in on the figure in the neon green compression shorts. If it really was Max, something significant had changed in the usually reserved, straight-laced gym owner's life. The position, the context, the public display—it all suggested a transformation Dec wouldn't have thought possible.
His mind raced with possibilities as he sipped his protein shake, watching Hugo complete the text to his brother. Whatever was happening in Rockwood, Dec suddenly felt an urgent need to witness it firsthand. The anticipation of seeing Max again after so long—especially this apparently new version of Max—sent a pleasant shiver racing through his substantial frame, directly to the rather substantial package that was becoming more pronounced with every mention of the Rockwood Schetts.
For both Hugo Schett and Declan Kavanagh, next weekend couldn't come soon enough, but perhaps for different reasons.
