Morning starts the same as always: me and Ethan at the gym, side by side, throwing plates on the bar like we’re still in football camp. He’s benching today, chest swelling up and down, sweat making his skin shine under the lights. Every rep makes the veins on his arms pop, thick cords running down into his forearms. I’m supposed to be spotting him, but mostly I just watch the bar bounce off his chest and think how solid he looks.
“Rack it, bro,” I say, grabbing the bar with him and sliding it onto the hooks.
He sits up, chest heaving, shirt plastered to him. “What’s that, like… two-fifty?”
“Two-seventy,” I smirk, handing him his water. “Try and keep up.”
He chugs, water running down his jaw, dripping onto his chest before he wipes it with the back of his wrist. Just another Tuesday.
We finish the session with squats, shirts peeled off, shorts riding high. The whole locker room smells like sweat and iron, and Ethan struts around in nothing but a towel like it’s no big deal. I’ve seen him naked a thousand times before, but now I notice the curve of his back, the way the towel hangs low on his hips. I tell myself it’s just observation, the way athletes size each other up.
Back at the apartment, the routine rolls on: protein shakes dumped into blender bottles, leftover pizza inhaled straight from the box. We sprawl on the couch, half-watching highlights on ESPN, half-arguing over which rookie’s a bust.
Ethan leans back with his feet on the table, abs tightening when he stretches, his shorts riding low enough to show that sharp line cutting down from his waist. He doesn’t even notice, too busy trash-talking me about my fantasy team.
“Bro, you’re toast this season,” he says, grinning.
“Yeah? We’ll see,” I shoot back, tossing a cushion at him.
It’s the same easy rhythm we’ve always had—work out, eat, talk shit, crash. Just two bros killing time in the city. Except now, every laugh, every flex, every stretch of muscle feels… sharper somehow. Like the air’s thicker, charged.
We’re sunk deep into the couch, ESPN droning in the background, half a bag of chips between us. My legs are stretched out, his are too, and they keep brushing, but neither of us moves. Just normal roommate shit.
Ethan crunches down another chip, wipes his fingers on his shorts, then glances at me with that sideways grin. “So… about last night.”
I nearly choke on my drink. “What about it?”
“You know,” he says, voice casual but eyes locked on me. “Our training session.”
I smirk, playing dumb. “Oh, that? What, you wanna rematch? Think you can outlast me this time?”
He laughs, deep and easy. “Nah, man. Just thinking we left a lot on the table. Like—we didn’t even use lube. Weak form.”
That makes my chest go tight. He says it like he’s critiquing our bench press, but I can feel my cock stirring.
“Lube?” I scoff, shaking my head. “What, you taking notes now? Next you’ll be drawing up plays.”
“Hey,” he says, jabbing me in the ribs. “You don’t slack on drills, why slack on this? It’s all about efficiency. Maximizing output.”
I bark a laugh, but my pulse is pounding. He’s serious, in that laid-back Ethan way. And the thing is… he’s right. Last night was messy, unplanned. Still blew my mind. So what happens if we actually plan it?
Ethan leans back, arms spread across the couch, his shirt riding high enough to show a strip of abs. He looks smug, waiting.
I roll my eyes, toss another chip into my mouth, and say, “Fine. But if we’re doing this, I’m still taking the W. Don’t start crying when I edge you out again.”
His grin widens, cocky as hell. “Bro, I’m about to run the scoreboard up on you.”
We lock eyes for a beat too long, the room suddenly hot, charged. Then he grabs the lube from the coffee table like he already knew where this was heading.
And just like that, it’s game time.
Ethan tosses the lube bottle onto the couch between us with a smirk. I grab it first, squeeze a fat glob into my palm. The stuff’s cold, slick, and I can feel my pulse in my hand as I spread it over my cock. My shaft glistens under the lamp light, veins standing out, head flushed deep red.
Ethan’s eyes flick down, then back up, grin never fading. He takes the bottle, coats himself too, long strokes making obscene wet sounds that mix with our breathing. His cock looks huge like this—thick, shiny, already leaking.
“Alright, bro,” he says, voice low, “line ‘em up.”
We shift closer until our thighs are touching. Then, with one slow push of my hips, our cocks press together—slippery heat on slippery heat. The lube makes them glide so smooth I swear my eyes roll back.
“Fuck,” I mutter, gripping his hip for balance.
“Yeah, that’s what I’m talking about,” he groans, wrapping his hand around both of us at once. His fist slides up, squeezing our shafts together, and suddenly we’re one throbbing, messy rod, veins grinding against veins.
The couch squeaks under us as we start rocking in sync. My abs tighten, muscles straining, every nerve buzzing with the slick friction of cock against cock. His breath is hot on my neck, his shoulder brushing mine, and the sound—wet strokes, skin slapping, our low grunts—fills the room.
“Jesus, dude,” I pant, hips jerking faster. “This feels… fuck…”
Ethan chuckles breathlessly, still jacking us both with that strong grip. “Told you—efficiency. Max output, bro.”
We’re moving harder now, balls smacking, precum mixing with lube, dripping down our shafts and onto my thighs. I can feel every twitch of his cock against mine, every pulse like it’s synced with my own heartbeat.
My body’s trembling, legs spread wide for leverage, chest heaving. Ethan leans his forehead against mine for a second, both of us slick with sweat, grinding like animals.
I’m right there. That perfect edge where everything in my body is about to snap.
“Bro—” I gasp, hips bucking helplessly. “I’m—fuck—I’m about to—”
And then the world narrows down to just the heat between us, two cocks straining together, ready to explode—
“Bro—” I gasp, every muscle locking. “I’m—fuck—I’m about to—”
Ethan’s grip tightens, his strokes rough and fast, and then it hits. My cock erupts, hot spurts blasting up between us, splattering across our abs and chests. The release rips a shout from my throat, body jerking helplessly against his.
He groans like a beast, hips slamming forward. His cock throbs against mine and then he’s shooting too, thick ropes of cum mixing with mine, pouring over his fist, dripping down onto our thighs. The sound of him losing it—raw, guttural—only makes my orgasm surge harder.
We keep grinding through it, messy and frantic, until every last spasm wrings out of us. The couch is a wreck, our bodies slick with lube and cum, the air hot and heavy with the smell of sex.
I collapse back into the cushions, chest heaving, cock still twitching against his. For a second, the room is silent except for our ragged breathing.
Ethan laughs first, low and breathless. “Dude… we just broke a fucking record.”
I wipe my hand across my abs, strings of cum stretching between my fingers, and bark a laugh too. “Yeah, man. That was… fuck. That was next-level.”
He sits up a little, grinning at the mess between us. “Told you lube was the play. Max output.”
“Yeah, yeah,” I say, rolling my eyes even as my cock gives a lazy twitch. “Still not letting you call this a win.”
“Bro, I just soaked you. That’s a win.”
I snort, grab a towel off the back of the couch, and toss it at him. He wipes his chest halfheartedly, then chucks it back. We’re still sticky, still a mess, but neither of us cares.
After a long pause, both of us staring at the ceiling with stupid grins, I lift my hand. “Teamwork,” I say.
Ethan grins back, raises his fist, and we knock knuckles—cum-slick, sweaty, victorious.
Just two bros, breaking records.
We flop back onto the couch, still sticky, still buzzing, chests heaving. I run a hand over my abs, cum and lube cooling on my skin, and glance at Ethan. His hair is damp, his shoulders glisten, and his cock—well, it’s finally softening but still thick, heavy.
“Damn, bro,” I mutter, voice low, “that was insane.”
Ethan laughs, the kind of laugh that’s half exhaustion, half pure satisfaction. “Yeah, man… cock-to-cock? Never thought I’d get into it, but… fuck. That felt unreal.”
I nod, smirking. “Same here. All that friction, every pulse… holy shit. Makes me wonder how we even survived without lube last time.”
He grins. “Right? That lube? Game-changer. Made everything so… smooth. Could keep going forever.”
“Forever?” I tease, nudging him with my knee. “You saying you want a rematch already?”
“Hell yeah,” he says, voice low and rough. “But this time… we take it up a notch.”
I raise an eyebrow, interested. “Like what?”
Ethan licks his lips, thinking. “Edging. Make each other beg. See who can push the other hardest before letting go. Control… domination, in a fun-ass bro way.”
I can feel my cock twitch at the idea, even soft. “Oh… bro. That’s evil. I love it.”
He laughs, shaking his head. “Yeah, I’m evil like that. But come on—think about it. We’ve already broken records. Now we see who can really make the other lose it.”
I grin, chest still pulsing from the last round. “Alright then. Next session? Edging challenge. Hands, cocks, maybe some grinding… see who’s boss.”
He smirks, leaning back, looking like he’s already plotting. “You’re on, bro. Just don’t cry when you’re begging me.”
I snort, bumping his shoulder with mine. “Please. You’re mine every round, bro.”
We sit there a while longer, silent but comfortable, watching the TV flicker. Sticky, exhausted, grinning. The heat hasn’t gone away, but the tension is delicious, simmering under the surface.
Finally, I raise my fist, slick with a mix of cum and lube, and he does the same. Fist bump.
“Next time,” I say.
“Next time,” he echoes.
And just like that, the plan is set. Two bros, just insane fun, and a challenge that’s only going to get hotter.
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