Hard to Handle
© Broken Boundaries Gay Erotica
The gym was quieter than usual when I got there, just a couple guys at the far end, the usual soft thud of mats, the faint smell of men and effort in the air. My shoulders still ached from yesterday, and I was already questioning my life choices.
I was trying to focus — like, really focus — on stretching out, warming up, doing the responsible athlete thing. But my brain kept drifting.
To Mason’s laugh across the room last night, when he tugged his shirt off without a second thought, abs flexing like it was nothing. Just bro things.
To Casper’s hands, his voice. The way he’d murmured, “Relax, Eli,” as he adjusted me on the bars yesterday, fingers firm at my lower back, breath a little too close to my ear. His body had been so near I could smell the clean sweat on his skin, sharp and warm, and Jesus, I was not supposed to notice shit like that.
I scrubbed a hand through my hair, letting out a shaky breath. Get it together, man. Focus.
Then, of course, Casper’s voice cut through the air, smooth as anything.
“Yo, track star.”
My stomach flipped. I looked up fast.
Casper was striding across the gym toward me, towel slung over one shoulder, black sleeveless tee clinging to his chest just enough to make it hard not to look. Blond hair slightly damp, a tiny smirk at the corner of his mouth. He moved like he knew his body, like he was built to be watched.
“Early start?” he asked, voice low, amused.
I coughed out a laugh. “Figured I’d warm up before you, uh… killed me again.”
Casper smirked. “Smart. But you know you can overdo it right?”
“Yeah,” I muttered, already flushing. “I’m starting to figure that out.”
“Good.” He clapped a hand lightly to my shoulder, just a second, just a squeeze, and it was stupid how fast heat shot through me. “Let’s go, Eli. Time to loosen you up.”
I swallowed hard and followed, heart pounding for reasons I didn’t even want to unpack.
We went through stretches, drills, more of the basics. Casper’s hands were everywhere, guiding, adjusting, correcting. Nothing weird. But God, did I feel every brush of skin, every low word near my ear.
“Shoulders down,” he murmured, fingers pressing just below my neck. “Breathe. You’re locking up.”
I let out a shaky breath, trying to pretend my whole body wasn’t on fire.
Across the gym, Mason hopped down from the pommel horse, landing with a thud. “Yo, Eli!” he called, wide grin plastered across his face as he peeled his shirt off, sweat-slicked and glowing. “You dying yet, bro?”
I gave him a weak thumbs-up, breathless. “Oh yeah. Totally fine.”
Mason barked a laugh, walking over shirtless like it was nothing, arm slinging casually around my shoulders. “Man, your face is bright red. Casper’s working you, huh?”
I tried to laugh along, but yeah, my face was red — and not just from the workout.
Casper shot him a half-smile. “You’re not helping, Mason.”
“Hey, just giving the rookie shit,” Mason grinned, clapping me on the back hard enough to nearly knock me forward. “You’re holding up, dude. You’ll be kicking our asses soon.”
I managed a tight smile, cheeks burning. “Yeah… sure.”
Casper stepped back in, voice low, smooth. “Alright, let’s finish up before Eli burns out on us.” His eyes flicked to me, faint smirk playing on his mouth. “Unless you’re trying to impress someone, Eli?”
My heart nearly exploded in my chest. I gave a fast laugh, shaking my head. “No, no, just… trying not to die.”
Casper’s smirk deepened slightly. “Good. Focus up, track star.”
I followed him back toward the bars, mind spinning like a goddamn hamster wheel, trying to pretend my pulse wasn’t thudding in my ears.
As we moved through the drills, I tried to focus — I really did — but my brain had other plans.
Every time Mason jogged past, chest bare, abs flexing under sweat-slick skin, shoulders rolling effortlessly, I caught myself glancing. His body was casual, loose, the way a guy moves when he’s been strong his whole life and doesn’t even think about it. His thighs filled out his shorts just enough to make me gulp, and his arms — yeah, okay, his arms were ridiculous. Years of gymnastics carved into him, even though he acted like a goof most of the time.
And then Casper. God.
Casper was a different kind of intimidating. More compact, maybe, but dense. His back was cut sharp, the lines of his shoulders and waist tight, his calves flexing with every step as he circled the equipment. His shirt clung to his chest, damp with sweat, and when he peeled it off halfway through practice, revealing a smooth, defined torso, veined forearms, tight abs, that narrow waist, I felt my stomach flip so hard I nearly missed a grip on the bars.
I shook my head fast, trying to chase the thoughts away.
You’re here to train, Eli. Not ogle. Not spiral.
But it was hard not to notice how their bodies moved — how they worked, how they flexed and pulled and coiled like muscle made for this, for strength, for control. I felt small next to them. Less developed. Less cut. Like I was still chasing something they’d already mastered.
I clenched my jaw, dragging in a breath. Focus up, track star. Focus.
By the time I dragged myself back to the dorm, my body was toast.
Mason was already there, flopped on his bed, earbuds in, scrolling through his phone. He gave me a lazy grin as I dumped my bag by the door. “Dude, you looked like you were about to keel over in there.”
I smirked faintly, peeling off my hoodie. “Felt like it.”
He stretched one arm over his head, his shirt riding up just enough to flash the hard line of his abs, and I looked away quickly, heat flickering under my skin. I tried to busy myself, water bottle, towel, checking messages, but my brain was a mess.
Mason was just… Mason. Relaxed, cocky, shirt always half-off, big hands draped over his face when he yawned, arms roped with muscle from years of swinging off bars like it was nothing. And Casper — Jesus, Casper — his voice, his touch, the way he moved like a live wire under skin, sharp and efficient and… yeah, okay, I was spiraling again.
I climbed into bed as casually as I could, pulling the blanket up, mumbling a quick, “Night, man,” across the room. Mason shot me a thumbs-up without looking.
Sometime after the lights went out and I fell asleep, the images in my head sharpened.
Casper’s hands on my waist, adjusting my hips. Mason’s arm slung heavy around my shoulders, laughing softly into my ear. Their bodies close, the heat of them pressing in, my own pulse loud and hot in my chest.
In the dream, it all blurred together, Casper’s voice low at my neck, Mason’s breath warm at my skin, their hands guiding, testing, holding. My body tightened, hips shifting, soft moans slipping from my mouth as I melted into the feeling. I couldn’t tell who was where, only that I was wrapped up, surrounded, desperate for more.
Mason’s laugh rumbled near my ear, playful, teasing, his fingers squeezing lightly at my hip as he murmured something I couldn’t quite make out. His hand was big, warm, sliding up under my shirt, fingertips grazing the edge of my ribs, thumb brushing lazily along my side like he was feeling me out, enjoying how easily I twitched under his touch.
Casper’s voice came from behind me, smooth and low, a quiet “Good, Eli… just like that,” as his hands pressed firm at my lower back, guiding the slow roll of my hips. His body was close, solid, the faint rasp of his breath brushing along the back of my neck. His fingers slid down, finding the waistband of my shorts, tugging gently, and I whimpered softly, hips pushing back on instinct, desperate to chase the heat, the pressure, the feeling.
Mason chuckled softly, his palm sliding across my chest now, thumb brushing just under the edge of my nipple, making me gasp. “Didn’t know you were this easy, man,” he muttered, voice low and cocky, but his touch was light, careful, dragging sparks across my skin.
Casper’s breath hitched faintly as his hands tightened on my hips, pulling me back against him, I could feel the hard press of his cock against my ass, the slow, deliberate grind that made my knees weak even in the dream. His voice was right at my ear now, a dark, satisfied “You’re ours, Eli. Remember that.”
I let out a shaky moan, heat pouring through me, hips rocking between them — Mason in front of me, Casper behind — my body caught, bracketed, surrounded, the pressure, the weight, the tease.
Mason’s fingers brushed down, curling under my chin, tilting my face up just enough for him to murmur, “Bet you’ve been thinking about this, huh? About both of us. Bet you’ve been dying for it.” His grin flashed sharp and wicked, but his thumb stroked soft at the corner of my mouth, catching the faint, needy sound I made.
Casper’s hips rolled again, slow and firm, the hard line of him pressing tighter, making me shudder, making my cock throb helplessly in my shorts. I whimpered, squirmed, my whole body wired and desperate, caught between the two of them — Mason’s teasing, cocky grin; Casper’s cool, commanding presence — and fuck, I wanted it, wanted them, wanted everything.
The pressure built and built, heat curling sharp and tight in my belly —
I jolted awake, breath sharp, skin damp, heart thudding like a drum in my chest.
For a second, I had no idea where I was — still half caught in the dream, the heat of Casper behind me, Mason’s fingers on my skin, the weight of them pressing in — until the room came back into focus: dorm walls, soft morning light, the faint rustle of sheets.
And Mason.
Already awake, propped up on one elbow across the room, grinning.
“Dude,” he drawled, shaking his head, “you were really going at it in your sleep.”
My stomach flipped. “Wh-what?” I croaked, throat dry as hell.
He smirked wider, stretching lazily, muscles shifting under bare skin. “You were mumbling, bro. Like… full-on please, do me! vibes or something.” His grin turned wolfish. “Didn’t peg you for the desperate type.”
My face went nuclear. I yanked the blanket up higher over my lap, praying the obvious tent wasn’t as obvious as it felt. “Shut up,” I muttered, forcing a laugh. “It was… a dream about this girl from high school. Old crush. Whatever.”
Mason snorted. “Sure, sure. Whatever you say, man.” He flopped back onto his bed, hands laced behind his head, still grinning at the ceiling. “It’s alright if you were crushing on a hot teacher that you wanted to treat you like a naughty boy.” Mason laughed at himself.
“Who was it? Ms. math teacher? Ms. English teacher?” Mason paused for a moment.
“Mr. gym coach?” he asked, half teasing, half serious.
I groaned into my pillow, wishing I could sink straight into the mattress. “Seriously, Mason, can we not?”
He chuckled softly. “Relax, dude. I’m just messing with you.” There was a pause, then, more lightly, “But hey — if you need a minute before breakfast, I’ll, uh, give you some privacy.”
I made a strangled noise, burying my face deeper in the pillow.
“Bro, I’m joking,” Mason laughed. “Chill.”
I peeked out from under the blanket, glaring. “You’re the worst, you know that?”
I threw the pillow at him.
I slumped back onto the bed, dragging the blanket tighter over my lap, hoping Mason wouldn’t notice just how hard I still was.
Of course, that was impossible.
He was right there, pulling on a shirt, the fabric sticking a little to his damp skin, abs flexing as he tugged it down. His hair was a mess, bed-flattened in a way that somehow made him look even hotter, and when he stretched his arms over his head with a lazy yawn, the bottom of his shirt rode up just enough to flash the sharp cut of his waist.
Fuck.
My cock throbbed painfully under the blanket, refusing to settle, and I shifted awkwardly, squeezing my thighs together, willing it to just go down already. But Mason kept moving around the room, all easy confidence, teasing grins, big hands raking through his hair — the boy had no idea what he was doing to me.
Not that he was doing anything. Not on purpose, anyway. Mason was just Mason. Hot, casual, straight, completely comfortable in his body. And that was exactly the problem.
He flashed me another grin as he grabbed his keys off the desk. “Alright, man. Get dressed. Big day ahead. Don’t leave me hanging at breakfast.”
I forced a weak smile. “Yeah… yeah, I’ll be there.”
“Cool.” He winked, teasing. “Try not to wear yourself out thinking about, uh, old crushes.”
I groaned into the pillow as he laughed his way out the door, the sound of his easy footsteps fading down the hall.
And finally — finally — I was alone.
I let out a shaky breath, flopping onto my back, heart still hammering, lower body still aching. My brain was a mess, still fogged up from the dream, still replaying the way Mason had moved around the room like it was no big deal, like his bare skin and lazy grins weren’t wrecking me.
And if Mason was doing this to me, without even trying, how the hell was I supposed to deal with Casper?
Casper, with his sharp eyes, his calm voice, his firm hands and easy dominance. Casper, who’d be at the gym later, ready to push me harder, stand too close, adjust my body like he owned it. Casper, who already had me half-undone just from a few innocent corrections.
I buried my face in my hands, groaning softly.
Mason’s hot. Casper’s hot. I’m losing my damn mind.
I let out a long, shaky breath, chest tight, skin still warm, body still not cooperating.
Yeah.
This year was going to kill me.
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Broken Boundaries Gay Erotica
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