Breathless
© Broken Boundaries Gay Erotica
The walk to class helped. A little. The air outside was sharp with early fall, cool enough to cut through the sweat still clinging to the back of my neck. My thighs ached from drills, my shoulders burned from Casper’s corrections, and still, somehow, my dick hadn’t gone down for half the walk.
I blamed the tight underwear. The way they held everything firm, like they were working against me. But that wasn’t it. I knew what it was.
It was the way Casper had pressed in close, his voice low, his fingers warm at the base of my spine, just above the waistband of my shorts. It was the way his sweat had clung to his body, the smell of him so thick and real I could practically taste it when he leaned in. The worst part was how calm he’d been — like it was nothing. Like I was just equipment. Something to position. Adjust.
I shifted in my seat as the lecture dragged on, arms crossed tight, trying not to squirm. My pants didn’t help. They rubbed in all the wrong ways. Everything felt too tight, too present, ugh, too horny. The TA was talking about cell metabolism, something about energy transfer and heat regulation, and all I could think about was the heat in my pants — the way it rose every time Casper touched me.
The classroom was full, but I barely noticed anyone else. My notebook stayed mostly blank. I kept catching myself staring into the middle distance, imagining things I shouldn’t. Casper in his sleeveless tee. Casper shirtless, stretching. Casper’s hand on my lower back. Casper's voice in my ear.
By the time class ended, I was a mess of nerves and frustration, barely able to stand without adjusting myself first. I headed back to the dorm, heart pounding like I’d just run a sprint.
Please don’t be there, I thought as I climbed the stairs.
But Mason was there.
Of course he was.
He was stretched across his bed, headphones in, one leg up, scrolling something on his phone with a lazy thumb. Shirtless again. His shorts rode low on his hips, waistband dipped just enough to show the start of that deep V-line. His skin still held the glow of a post-practice rinse, damp curls at his neck where he hadn’t dried off properly.
He looked up as I came in, tugging one side of his headphones off.
“Yo. You good?” he asked, voice easy. “You left in a rush after practice.”
I blinked. “Oh. Yeah. Just… class.”
Mason nodded like that explained everything, then kicked his heel against the edge of the bed. “You do anything fun?”
“Just my brain short-circuiting.” I dropped my bag by the desk, trying to keep my eyes from drifting. “Lecture was brutal.”
“Sounds about right,” he grinned. “You hungry? I was gonna hit the dining hall in a bit.”
“I might go later,” I mumbled, not sure I could handle company just yet.
He shrugged and slipped his headphones back on. “Suit yourself.”
I turned toward my side of the room, muscles still tight, skin buzzing. All I wanted was ten minutes. Just a moment alone. I could lock the door, put on music, get it out of my system. Just enough to take the edge off. Then maybe I’d feel normal again.
But with Mason there — shirtless, stretched out, body casual and loose — that wasn’t happening.
I sat on my bed, staring at the wall, willing my body to calm down. But Mason shifted on the other side of the room, and I caught the movement out of the corner of my eye, the way his abs flexed as he adjusted, the lazy curve of his arm as he reached for a water bottle.
Nope. No chance.
I flopped back onto the bed, arm over my face, and let out a long, quiet breath.
Tomorrow. I’d deal with it tomorrow.
If I could make it that long.
And off to dinner I trudged.
The gym was already warm when I stepped inside the next morning. Chalk hung thick in the air, and the mats had that faint give underfoot that told you they hadn’t been re-rolled yet. Mason was across the room laughing with another guy, doing some casual ring holds like it was a rest day. I didn’t join them.
Casper was by the vault. Sleeveless again. Blond hair damp at the temples. His arms looked more pumped than usual, like he’d already run through a full set of drills before any of us even got here. He didn’t look up when I dropped my bag, but he had that awareness about him, like he always knew where everyone was. Like he could sense me.
I went through some quick stretches, trying to keep my focus locked in. I hadn’t jacked off the night before. Stilllll hadn’t. I thought maybe sleep would take the edge off, or that a class and a cold morning walk would reset me. Nope. My body was still tight, stomach tense, cock twitchy in my shorts from a single glance at Casper’s back.
“Eli.” His voice came sudden, direct. He was standing closer than I’d realized. “We’re working ring supports today. You ready?”
I nodded and followed him to the setup. He moved like he always did—clean, deliberate. Casual, elegant, dreamy.
There I went again.
He adjusted the straps as I stepped into place.
“Up,” he said.
I pushed up into a shaky hold. My arms were already straining a little.
“Too much tension in your core,” he said behind me. “You’re locking up again. Breathe.”
I let out a breath, trying to soften. It helped. A little.
Then I felt his hand at my lower back. Firm, flat, confident. His body edged closer behind mine, enough that I could feel the warmth of him without turning my head. His palm shifted, fingers pressing at my hips, adjusting the angle. Then lower, just above my waistband.
“Here. Loosen this,” he said, voice close to my ear.
I tried. But then I felt it. The problem. My shorts were already tented, the pressure of him behind me, the weight of his hand, the closeness, it was too much.
I clenched my teeth, trying to will it away. But it was obvious.
Casper didn’t move.
His hand stilled.
Then—
“You’re gonna have trouble keeping tension in your core if you’re, uh… dealing with that much pressure elsewhere.”
My stomach dropped. My face flushed crimson. I lowered fast, dropping to the mat with too much force. My arms shook.
Casper stepped back, but only a little. “It’s normal,” he said, tone easy. “Happens to guys sometimes. Blood flow. Nerves. Gym shorts. Maybe you a little more than most.”
He met my eyes then. His weren’t mocking. Just sharp. Knowing. His smirk was faint, like he was letting me off the hook—barely.
I didn’t say anything. Couldn’t. My throat had gone dry.
Casper gave a small shrug and turned back to the rings. “We’ll stretch it out. Come on.”
My legs didn’t want to move. Not because I was tired, but because I could still feel his hand where it had been. That exact heat. That precise weight.
And worse, the arousal wasn’t going away.
I made it through the rest of practice by sheer force of will. I kept my eyes forward, my face neutral, my thoughts buried. Even when Casper touched me again—lighter this time, more professional—I stayed quiet. He didn’t bring it up again. But I could feel it between us. A shift. A new weight in the air.
My body still hummed with tension as I made my way to the locker room. Most of the guys had cleared out already, heading to classes or lunch. Mason was chatting near the exit, damp curls pushed back, towel slung around his neck. He gave me a thumbs-up as he left.
I turned and went to change.
The locker room was quiet when I walked in. The fluorescent lights hummed above, casting everything in that flat, too-exposed kind of brightness. Most of the team had already cleared out. The air still held the scent of soap, sweat, and damp tile.
I turned toward the row with my locker, toweling off my hair and trying not to think. Not about the way Casper’s fingers had lingered. Not about how hard I’d gotten. Not about how he’d said it: calm, easy, like he’d seen it all before but maybe also liked seeing it on me.
I stepped into my row.
And froze.
Casper was there.
Just emerging from the showers, hair wet, a white towel wrapped low around his waist. Steam clung to his chest, beading along the lines of his torso. He wasn’t even trying to look good. He just did. Every part of him was lean and sharp, defined without effort. His abs flexed slightly as he adjusted the towel, hips shifting with the movement.
I looked. Longer than I should have.
He noticed.
His gaze met mine as he passed the corner of the bench, slow and even. There was no smirk this time, no teasing glint. Just a steady look. Like he was taking measure of something.
I looked away fast, heat rushing to my face, and turned to my locker, heart punching harder than it should.
When I glanced back, Casper was gone.
My stomach flipped. I hadn’t heard the door. Hadn’t seen which direction he’d gone. Just gone.
I pulled on my shirt with trembling fingers, still half-wet, trying to calm myself. Maybe he went to grab something. Maybe it didn’t mean anything. But the silence made it worse. I couldn’t tell if I was being paranoid or if I’d just crossed some invisible line.
Then he reappeared.
Not where his locker was.
Casper stepped into the row again, this time holding the towel in one hand. He moved casually to the bench just a few feet from mine, dropped the towel over his shoulder, and began drying his hair.
Naked.
Not rushed. Not hesitant.
His body was fully on display.
My body was in full heat.
His wet skin glimmered under the lights, cock relaxed but impressive between his thighs, water still trickling down the curve of his lower back. He didn’t look at me at first. Just focused on drying his hair, slow circles with the towel, muscles in his arms shifting with each pass.
Then, without changing his tone, he spoke.
“Your form was better today.”
I didn’t answer.
“Still need to loosen up,” he added, finally glancing my way. “Especially through the hips.”
My throat was too dry to speak. I couldn’t move, couldn’t look away, couldn’t do anything but absorb every exposed inch of him.
Casper didn’t flinch under my stare. He stood there like he didn’t care, or like he knew I couldn’t help it. Water tracked down the slope of his chest, cutting through the definition of his abs. One drop slid all the way to his thigh, trailing slow along the inside before falling to the tile.
Then his eyes met mine again.
“You good?” he asked, like it was just small talk. Like I wasn’t sitting there frozen, half-dressed, hard as hell, mouth slightly open.
I blinked too fast. “Yeah. Just—uh. Still catching my breath.”
Casper tilted his head a little, eyes scanning my face with that calm, unreadable focus he always had when correcting my form. He didn’t smile. Didn’t look away.
“You sure?” he said. “You look kinda... keyed up.”
I gave a tight laugh, too sharp. “Long morning.”
“Right,” he said, voice quieter now. “Those rings’ll get you.”
He stepped a little closer. Just a foot, maybe less. Not close enough to touch, but close enough that I could smell the mix of his body wash, still fresh from the shower. He was drying his hair slowly, muscles flexing with each pass of the towel, water catching in the ridges of his abs and running down his legs.
“You’ve got to pace yourself better,” he said. “That kind of tension’s not sustainable.”
I nodded, not trusting my voice.
Casper's eyes dropped. Not obviously. Just a flicker. But I saw it.
He looked right at my crotch.
At the tightness in my shorts.
Then his mouth quirked. Just slightly. Not a smile, not quite. More like the corner of something unspoken curling up.
“Still carrying that tension from the rings, huh?”
The air between us pulled tight.
He didn’t wait for an answer. Just turned, towel slung over his shoulder, bare feet silent against the tile.
I watched him walk away.
His back flexed with each step, muscles shifting under damp skin. His ass was unreal—tight, high, perfect. The kind of body you usually only got glimpses of in locker room mirrors or late-night porn tabs. But this was real. Inches away. Moving slow, deliberate, like he knew I was looking and didn’t care.
My cock throbbed so hard I had to sit down again.
Every part of me was buzzing. Too hot. Too aware. My fingers clenched around the edge of the bench, but it didn’t help. The pressure just stayed there, tight and impossible to ignore.
I bent forward, elbows to knees, trying to breathe through it.
But all I could see was the shape of him, seared into the backs of my eyelids.
I didn’t remember much of the walk back.
Doors, stairs, hallways—all a blur. My shirt stuck to my back, and I couldn’t get the heat out of my face.
The room was empty. Finally, I thought, I had the room to myself.
I kicked off my shoes and sat on the edge of the bed, staring down at the bulge in my shorts. Still hard. Still aching. Still completely out of control.
My chest felt tight.
I leaned back, legs spread, hand over my crotch just to ease the pressure. It didn’t help. Every time I blinked, I saw him again. Casper. Naked. Turning. That stupid line he threw over his shoulder.
Still carrying that tension.
Fuck.
I hesitated.
Just a second.
Then pulled my gym shorts down.
My dick sprang up, flushed and wet at the tip. My stomach tensed as I wrapped my hand around it. The first stroke was all I needed to know there was no way I could hold off any longer. I was too hard, too desperate, too wired.
I jerked off in silence, biting my lip, breathing hard through my nose. My legs shifted, hips flexing just a little. My thumb circled the head, spreading the pre. I thought about Casper’s voice. The way he looked at me. The way he didn’t look away.
Then—
The door opened.
“Yo—”
I yanked the blanket over my lap, heart slamming against my ribs.
Mason froze halfway through the door.
His brows went up. Not shocked. Just... surprised.
I scrambled to sit upright, my dick still leaking under the blanket, my hand half-trapped against my thigh.
Mason blinked once, then tossed his bag onto his bed without saying anything else.
He didn't leave.
He just flopped onto the bed on his back and started to take off his shirt…
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Broken Boundaries Gay Erotica
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