The following story is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to real people, places, or events is purely coincidental. If it feels personal… that’s between you and your conscience. Please don’t repost, reproduce, or do anything shady without permission—unless you're into cease and desist letters. Also: Save it. Like it. Comment on it. Send feedback, thoughts, corrections, compliments (especially compliments lmao). Seriously, I’ve been receiving a lot of love and it helps to motivate me! Yes, I read them.
GRAVITY
A cheap, sugary scent clung to the air—the kind that didn’t belong anywhere near a gym. He never got why some girls doused themselves before working out.
Liam walked in like he always did—hoodie on, earbuds in. Just… slower. He kept his eyes forward. Like he wasn’t scanning. Like he wasn’t hoping to catch a smirk from the front desk—
A voice calling him a dumbass.
But Noah wasn’t there.
Fine. People take time off. Maybe he swapped shifts for the day. Maybe he just didn’t want to see Liam.
That’s fine.
Totally fine.
It’s happened before.
Except last time there’d been a reason. Right? This time, he hadn’t even done anything.
He hadn’t asked to know about George. He didn’t go digging. It just happened. Fell on his lap.
And yeah, maybe he should’ve told him he knew. But come on. Did they really need a round two of this bullshit? This wasn’t that deep.
The leg press machine was too easy. He added weight. Still easy. He added more. His knees shook.
He felt like a balloon with too much air inside—he turned the volume up louder.
“Hey, stranger.”
Liam looked up. Dylan stood there, bottle in hand, hair wet from his workout, shirt clinging in ways that felt… intentional.
“Didn’t see you yesterday,” Dylan added casually.
Liam shrugged. “Busy.”
Dylan smiled. “Missed your angry grunts by the squat rack.”
It was friendly. Chill. Even playful. Liam gave a polite smile and looked down, like he hadn’t noticed. He just didn’t feel like talking. That was all.
Dylan noticed. That soft, unreadable twitch of his brow. “Hey. I was kidding.”
“I know,” Liam said, maybe too quickly. “I just—rough morning.”
Dylan nodded slowly. Like he could tell it wasn’t just a rough morning.
“Alright,” Dylan said. “Well. You know where to find me if you wanna vent about life or just rage at the punching bag.”
And then he walked off. Just like that. No lingering. No nudging. No teasing smirk over his shoulder.
Liam stared after him.
He didn’t sit around long. Just finished his sets, showered quick, and got out—too aware of the empty space behind reception on his way out.
The office was better. Colder. A neutral scent. Paper, coffee, monitor glare.
Liam exhaled through his nose. He liked this part of the day. Work gave him shape. Structure. Something his thoughts couldn’t claw into. He could answer emails. Adjust layouts. Track progress. Even if the rest of him felt fuzzy and slow, this—this made sense.
He sat at his desk and opened the latest report. The numbers blinked back at him. He adjusted his chair and clicked around like he had energy.
His fingers hovered above the keyboard, but his eyes drifted. Past the spreadsheet. Past the task bar.
The door clicked.
Glass shifted in its frame.
Connor. Walking past the office. Fast. Too fast.
They didn’t lock eyes. Not even for a second.
And still, Liam’s shoulders tightened before they dropped.
Liam sat back slightly in his chair.
He hadn’t realized he was bracing. Still.
The relief that followed was instant.
Good. Connor was still behaving.
The screen dimmed a little. He reached forward, jiggled the mouse, pulled the project back into view.
Work.
Just work.
It had been a week.
Same gym. Same shift. Same faces.
Dylan was always around—hovering just enough to be noticeable. He smiled when he passed, sometimes waved, sometimes dropped a dumb joke about triceps that made Liam exhale through his nose and shake his head.
Once, he nudged Liam’s arm during rest and said, “Damn, you trying to get me lightheaded? Can’t spot you with arms like that.”
Liam had just rolled his eyes. But he’d smiled.
It was low-key. Polite. Mindful. Flirtation with a safety net. And Liam appreciated it more than he’d admit. Not the flirting, the company. It made him feel less alone.
He kept his head down, showed up to work on time, even brought his own snacks instead of buying the overpriced stuff from the vending machine. Everything stayed… steady. Enough.
But by Friday, the cracks were showing.
Noah still hadn’t come back.
Liam still hadn’t asked. Hadn’t texted.
He kept checking the front desk a little too fast each morning. Just enough to make him hope that someone would mention Noah casually, like, “Oh yeah, he swapped shifts,” or “He’s sick,” or anything that made it not weird that he was still gone. Just so he could explain himself.
No one said anything though.
Liam just kept showing up.
And the spreadsheets kept staring back at him.
The shitty LED panels made everything look grey—Liam sat at his usual desk in the back, trying to drown out the anxious hum behind his eyes with work.
And then Connor walked in.
Liam glanced up instinctively—and regretted it immediately.
Connor smiled tentatively the second their eyes met.
“Umm… hey…” Connor said, voice carrying a little too loud across the room. He looked ashamed.
Liam ignored him.
“Random question, but—did Noah unfollow you?” his voice was gentle. Tentative. “I thought maybe… y’know, if you were okay.
Liam blinked.
What?
“…What?”
Connor’s eyes dropped to the pen he’d been flipping—slowing now, like even that motion felt too loud.
“Shit. You didn’t know…”
He tried to laugh, but it broke halfway out.
“Sorry. Yeah. Insta…”
He wasn’t grinning like it was funny. More like he didn’t know what else to do with his face.
Liam froze. Didn’t answer.
Because he didn’t know.
Because he hadn’t checked.
Because that was never even a possibility.
Connor watched him quietly. Tilted his head, concern softening the edge in his voice.
“So… Did you have a fight?”
Liam didn’t say anything. He was still in shock.
And for a second, Connor looked like he might say more. Might try to ask. But then he stopped himself.
His shoulders dropped just slightly, like something settled.
“Right. Okay,” he said gently. “Didn’t mean to pile on.”
He tucked the pen into his pocket, a small frown lingering as he stepped back—like he wanted to fix it, but knew he couldn’t.
He gave Liam space instead.
Liam wanted to grab his phone. Wanted to check right then. Noah couldn’t be that petty. But Connor might still be watching—and Liam didn’t trust that his crazy was fully out of the system.
So he stayed still.
Staring at the same line of numbers on his monitor until they stopped meaning anything at all.
At home, Liam sat on the edge of his bed and opened Instagram.
His hands felt wrong.
He typed in Noah’s name anyway.
Clicked. Scrolled. Checked his own followers list. Then checked again.
Noah wasn’t there.
Not even in following.
He hadn’t just unfollowed—
He’d removed him!
He stared at the screen like it would undo itself.
“What the fuck, man,” he whispered.
Not even in anger at first. Disbelief. Sadness, maybe.
He hadn’t done anything wrong for fucks’s sake! He hadn’t meant to overhear it. Shit, he wished he hadn’t.
But now he did. And apparently, that was enough for Noah to cut him out like dead weight?
Seriously?
Immature. That’s what this shit was. Liam sat back against the wall, arms crossed, the light from his phone still glowing in his lap. It was stupid. It was childish. Cutting someone out without even talking to them first.
His jaw was tight. His heart too. He was angry now.
A fucking unfollow? What are they? Fifteen?
Liam scoffed under his breath. This was so Noah. Anything but a fucking conversation.
Cool.
Liam should’ve been pissed days ago.
He should’ve texted. Called. Shown up and demanded to be heard. But no—he gave him time. Like a fucking idiot.
You know what? Fuck this. Liam didn’t need this half-assed friendship.
And on top of everything there was Connor! What? Now he felt free to do whatever the fuck he wanted again?
Great.
Just what Liam needed.
Jesus Christ.
He raked a hand through his hair, trying not to let it get under his skin. But it was already under. Pressed in. Tight.
He kicked his shoes off, sank into bed, and stared at the ceiling. Maybe if he got off, he’d relax, get out of his head. He slipped a hand under the waistband of his sweatpants, slow, unsure. But even as he touched himself, it felt wrong. Off. Like his body didn’t want it. Like he didn’t want it. Not really.
He let out a low, frustrated breath, pulled his hand away, and turned to face the wall.
The weekend was shit and it was Monday again.
Liam sat down at his desk, the one tucked furthest into the corner like some afterthought, and pulled his hoodie over his head. He opened the same document he’d closed Friday, stared at the blinking cursor, and reminded himself he didn’t care anymore. Not about Noah. Not about what he said or didn’t say. Not about the fucking Instagram thing. Not about being cut off like garbage someone forgot to take out.
He was past it.
His fingers hovered over the keyboard, eyes scanning cells that blurred together, when he felt it—that tingle in his spine.
Connor.
He didn’t have to look.
“Hii. Morning, Liam,” Connor said, sliding into the desk across from him like this was just any other day. His voice wavered, like he was forcing casual.
Liam didn’t answer again.
Connor leaned forward, elbows braced, eyes flicking down to the desk instead of at Liam. “Liam…”
Liam exhaled slowly through his nose. “Busy.”
“Please,” Connor said, rubbing the back of his neck. His voice was rough around the edges, like he hadn’t spoken in hours.
“I don’t know how to say this without sounding like a coward, but… I fucked up. Bad.”
He took a breath. Shaky.
“What I did—it was wrong. I know that. I… wasn’t thinking.
He glanced up. “I mean that. I promise.”
Liam didn’t say anything. Just raised his eyebrows, arms crossed.
Connor’s words stumbled out faster, clumsier.
“I’m not a bad guy, I swear. I just— I got caught up. The whole uner the sheets thing… it messed with my head.”
He stopped, winced.
“That’s not an excuse. I’m just saying… I wasn’t trying to hurt you. I know I did, but I wasn’t trying to.”
Liam finally looked at him. Really looked at him.
This was the guy who used to hand Liam extra fries at lunch just to see him smile. The guy who stuck around after lunch to help him pick up his shit, who covered for him.
Where was that Connor? How did he get replaced by that twitchy, shadow version?
But Connor wasn’t defensive. Or dodging or brushing it off.
He just looked small.
Embarrassed.
Wrecked by his own guilt.
Liam sighed.
He wanted to be angry, to keep the wall up. But the whole thing just felt… sad. Like watching someone break their own bones on accident.
“What the hell happened to you?” He asked quietly.
There was no accusation in it—just… disappointment. And maybe, underneath, a little grief.
“You’re not like this.”
Connor swallowed hard.
“I don’t know.”
A beat passed.
Then, softer:
“I got punished for it, though.”
Liam said nothing.
Connor glanced up, cheeks burning. “You were there.”
And yeah—Liam had been.
He remembered. The way Connor’s voice had cracked. The way he couldn’t stand up after.
Connor looked down, staring at his hands like they were dirty.
“When it started… it hurt. Like, really hurt. I wanted to tell him to stop. I thought I would.”
He swallowed.
“But then—I don’t know. Something happened. Stuff got weird inside… my body stopped fighting it.”
His voice went lower. Quieter. Like he was trying not to hear himself say it.
“It was like everything I was feeling got scrambled. I couldn’t tell if I hated it or—”
He blinked, lost in it. “Once he started moving, it was like… like something broke open in me. Like my whole body… needed it.”
He exhaled sharply, bitter.
“I kept asking for… more. Saying shit I didn’t even believe. Saying I liked it. That it felt good. And it did, somehow. That’s the worst part.”
His voice caught. “It felt like I couldn’t breathe unless he kept going.”
A humorless laugh slipped out.
“I hate thinking about it now. Makes me feel sick. But at the time? It was like my whole brain melted. Like there was nothing else but him and what he was doing to me.”
Liam felt something cold slide down his spine. Yeah. He didn’t know what Noah did to himself either.
Connor looked down, voice catching like it embarrassed him to even say it out loud.
“And you were watching.”
His voice dropped.
His gaze flicked up—raw, desperate.
“Doesn’t that count for something?”
Liam hesitated.
His mouth opened. Closed. Then finally:
“I don’t know,” he said quietly. “I need to think about it.”
He turned before Connor could reply, the chair scraping behind him.
And walked out.
He’d get through the day. Then he’d hit the gym. He was going to train, stay strong, and pretend like none of it mattered.
Because it didn’t.
That was the new plan. And he was sticking to it.
So work passed in a blur. Liam barely remembered what he did, but no one yelled, not even the new boss, and his inbox was clean, so whatever. It was a win.
Connor hadn’t come near him again.
See?
Liam didn’t need backup. Didn’t need anyone stepping in. He could handle his own shit.
And he had.
That thought settled like armor as he grabbed his bag and headed out. He was fine. He was strong. And he was done being a fucking pushover.
The soft beep barely registered.
He stepped in the gym, eyes set on the floor ahead, every nerve steeled.
But then he saw him.
Noah.
He was leaning on the counter, scrolling something on the desk monitor—shoulders relaxed, backwards cap, hoodie pushed halfway up his arms.
Liam barely let his eyes linger. Just long enough to confirm it, like checking for a scar. Yup. Still there.
But he didn’t stop.
He didn’t wave, didn’t speak, didn’t look again. He ignored the pull in his chest and walked right past like he’d trained for it. Head up. Back straight. Like he didn’t care.
But fuck, he did.
He hated that he cared.
Inside, he was still pissed. Righteous about it even. He hadn’t done shit. He was the one being punished for overhearing something he didn’t ask to hear. He was the one who got told to stay away—and listened.
Whatever.
He dropped his gym bag near the machines with a practiced thud, headphones in—no music playing yet—and pulled off his hoodie in one motion. He forced a smile, mostly for himself, and squared his shoulders like it was game day.
You’re fine.
“Liaam,” Dylan’s voice popped into the silence beside him like it’d been summoned by rage.
Liam startled slightly, then smoothed his face before turning. “Hey.”
“You’re looking… weirdly cheerful.” Dylan grinned, clearly sweaty already, towel draped around his neck.
Liam snorted. “Something like that.”
“What happened?” Dylan’s eyes scanned him for a second too long.
“Nothing!” Liam gave a dry smile. “I always look like this.”
That got a laugh. Dylan fell into stride next to him as they headed to the benches.
“Legs again?” Dylan asked.
“Yeah.”
“Damn. What did your legs do to you?”
Liam huffed. “They’re attached to me.”
Dylan laughed harder at that, slapping Liam’s shoulder. “Bro, mood.”
They settled into a rhythm—machines, reps, light banter—and for a while, it actually worked. Liam laughed. Genuinely. He didn’t fake it. Dylan was getting easy to be around. He didn’t ask too many questions, didn’t stare too long. And Liam was quietly grateful that Dylan’s flirting had mellowed into something mostly platonic—just teasing, not serious.
But every now and then—like a tide that couldn’t help but return—Liam’s eyes flicked back toward the front desk.
Noah hadn’t moved much. Still there. Still not looking his way.
He wasn’t laughing with anyone. He wasn’t goofing off with the kids from the earlier class. He wasn’t loud or smug or performatively ignoring Liam like he’d done after the cabin fight.
He was just… there.
Working.
It was that stillness that bothered Liam most.
This clean-cut detachment?
It felt… heavy.
Liam loaded more weight than he should. Legs trembling. Chest tight.
He pushed through the set anyway—stubborn, breath held, muscles screaming. By the last rep, his vision fuzzed out at the edges.
As the bar clanked back into place, he swayed.
Dylan noticed.
“Dude. You okay?”
“I’m fine,” Liam said too fast.
“Uh-huh,” Dylan said, unconvinced. “Want to take five?”
“I’m good,” Liam said, standing up. “Seriously.”
Liam gave him a nod of appreciation. Then grabbed water. Sat.
And as he looked up.
Noah was watching him.
Like he’d been staring without realizing it. Like Liam wasn’t what he was really looking at.
Just for a second.
Then he looked away.
Liam exhaled, slow.
Turned the music up.
The breakroom wasn’t even a room. Just a chipped table by the water cooler and two chairs that nobody sat in unless they had to. Liam usually didn’t. But today his legs felt like bricks, so he did.
His container clicked open. Chicken and rice. Again.
Connor showed up two minutes later, carrying a sandwich. “Hey…”
Liam didn’t look up.
Connor sat anyway, unwrapped the sandwich, and chewed a bite before glancing up. “So, uh… you okay?”
Liam blinked once. “Huh?”
“I said, are you okay?” Connor repeated, quieter this time. “You just look… tired. Like, not just tired-tired.”
“I’m fine.”
Connor nodded quickly, looking down at his food. “Yeah. Sure. Fine…”
Liam poked at his chicken.
“I thought about it.”
Connor looked up, cautious.
“I think I can forgive you,” Liam said, voice even. “If you do the budget for the next six months.”
Connor blinked. “Jesus—six months?”
Liam nodded, still chewing. “Yep. And my client reimbursements"
Connor stared for a second, then huffed out a breath and smiled, like he couldn’t believe it.
“Alright. Six months.”
Liam looked up at him, finally meeting his gaze. “Good.”
“Also…” Connor shifted in his chair, restless. “I know it’s not my place to say anything, but… if you two had a fight—doesn’t mean it’s over or anything.”
Liam set his fork down. “Why are you saying this?”
Connor’s eyes dropped to his sandwich. “I dunno. You looked like you needed someone to say it.”
Liam laughed once. “Yeah. You’re a real beacon of emotional clarity.”
Connor scratched the back of his neck. “I’m serious. Like… if you want, I could talk to him? To Noah. Just, I dunno, tell him to stop being a dick or something.”
Liam blinked. “You’d talk to Noah.”
“I mean… I’d try,” Connor muttered, suddenly looking very interested in his plate. “Assuming he doesn’t rip my spine out through my throat.”
Liam almost smiled. Almost.
He exhaled, slow and quiet. “No. That’s okay.”
A pause.
“Fuck Noah.”
“Fair.” He paused, chewing the inside of his cheek. “Can I—ask you something?”
Liam nodded.
His voice gentle. “Did you… even a little… like what happened? Not saying it wasn’t messed up. Just—it kinda looked like maybe part of you didn’t hate it.”
Liam’s heart jumped.
Connor saw it immediately and held up both hands, backpedaling. “Sorry. That was dumb. Forget it. Sorry.”
Liam shoved another bite of sandwich in his mouth like he could bury himself in bread.
But his brain was already betraying him.
The memory didn’t come as images. It came as sensation. Pressure. Thickness. That stretch—slow, unavoidable. The way his body had gone tense and loose at the same time. It did feel good.
Too good.
He swallowed, jaw tightening.
Jesus.
His cock was already hard. Not half. Not maybe. Fully, embarrassingly hard, pressing against his jeans like it had been waiting for permission. Like it remembered too.
Connor was saying something.
“…Liam?”
He hadn’t heard a word.
Liam stood so fast his chair scraped loudly against the floor. “Bathroom,” he muttered, already moving.One hand tugged at the hem of his hoodie, trying to pull it lower.
Connor blinked. “Uh—okay.”
The bathroom was empty. Fluorescent lights buzzing. Too bright. Too quiet.
He locked himself into a stall, stood there for a second, breathing hard, hand braced against the metal wall. He unzipped, tried to piss.
Nothing.
Of course.
His cock twitched instead, drooling and angry in his hand.
“Fuck,” he whispered.
It had been weeks. Weeks of stress, of sleeping like shit, of everything piling up. Of not letting himself think about—everything. Not cumming.
He leaned back against the stall door, dragged his hand down his dick once.
That was all it took.
His hips jerked forward, breath catching. He closed his eyes, bit down on his lip, and let himself go. Just a quick one. Just so he could focus again. He finally felt like he wanted it.
His strokes sped up, quiet but frantic, chasing relief, chasing silence.
“Just get it out,” he muttered. “Just—fuck—”
And the door creaked open.
He froze.
Fuck me.
It was Connor wasn’t it?
Footsteps.
Liam leaned back against the stall wall, panting quietly, hand still wrapped around himself. Tense. Everything was burning up inside him. He was so close, just needed a bit more—
“Liam?” Connor’s voice echoed across the tiled room. Closer. “Do you need help? You feeling sick?”
Damn it!
Liam hurried to shove himself back into his underwear, zipper half-stuck as he yanked his jeans up with shaking hands. He opened the stall door fast, heart slamming in his chest.
“I’m fine,” he said, a little too quickly. “Just needed a minute.”
But Connor wasn’t looking at his face.
His gaze dropped low. And Liam followed it.
Liam’s pants were strained, the bulge so obvious now that Connor noticed.
“Uh…you were jerking off in there?!”
Liam’s face burned.
“I—no,” he said, too fast. Too loud.
Connor didn’t answer right away.
He just smiled.
Almost shy, like he’d been handed a gift he hadn’t expected. His eyes flicked once more to the bulge straining Liam’s jeans, then back up to his face.
“It’s okay…,” he said softly.
And then—casually, like it was the most natural thing in the world—he turned, stepped into the stall across from Liam, door open.
“What are you—” he started.
But Connor didn’t answer.
His fingers moved to his belt. A clink. A pull. The metal teeth of a zipper rasping down.
Liam watched, stunned, as Connor leaned back against the stall wall, shoved his pants halfway down, and wrapped a hand around his already half-hard cock. Pink.Thick as fuck.
He didn’t say anything.
He just started stroking.
His eyes flicked up, met Liam’s, searching. Gauging.
“I swear I’m not trying to push you or anything,” Connor said quickly, cheeks flushed. “If you wanna leave, that’s okay. I just… I feel hot too.”
His feet didn’t move. Couldn’t. His eyes dropped before he could stop them, zeroing in on the movement of Connor’s hand, the way his thumb swept over the giant head and smeared precum down the shaft.
“Connor,” Liam rasped. “What the fuck.”
Connor smiled, light and breathy.
He glanced down at himself, gave a slightly faster stroke. “You started it!”
He shifted his hips forward slightly, letting the light catch him in all the worst and best ways. Liam could see everything—his flushed cock, he could see it throb, the way his abs tensed, his damp inner thighs, all of it open and there.
“You don’t have to do anything,” Connor said quickly. “I mean it. You can just… watch. If that helps.”
Liam yanked his hand back like he’d touched a burner. “Someone could walk in.”
Connor didn’t even slow down. “Nooo, it’s fine.”
“What do you mean no—”
“I put the ‘out of order’ sign on the door,” Connor said, earnest. “Thought you were throwing up. Wanted to give you space.”
Liam blinked at him, brain short-circuiting.
“Do you wanna touch it?” Connor said, hopeful. “You don’t have to, though!
Liam didn’t move. His throat was dry, and his cock—hard. Way too hard. What the fuck was happening? This wasn’t real arousal. Couldn’t be. Not from Connor. It had to be stress. Confusion. Leftover adrenaline. But his body wasn’t listening. It just reacted.
Liam turned his head. “No! Shut up.”
“Like… just a little?”
There was a beat.
Then something broke.
Liam shoved the stall door and grabbed Connor by the collar, forcing him back with a thud, his own breath wild in his chest.
“Fuck you,” he hissed.
Then:
“Don’t fucking talk.”
Connor didn’t.
Liam dropped to his knees like it wasn’t even a choice. Like anger did it for him.
His hands were shaking. His mind was racing. This was a mistake. This was fucked. At work? He knew it—he knew it. But his mouth was already parting, and Connor’s cock was right there, thick and wet and throbbing like it had been waiting for him.
Liam hated the way his lips trembled when they got close. Hated the way his breath caught when he felt the heat of it against his face. Hated the way his own cock pulsed, aching in his pants, betraying him.
Connor’s cock was already glistening, already dripping, the air thick with the sharp, musky stink of it. Humid. It hit Liam in the face like a wall, and for a second, he froze.
God. The smell matched the cock, Liam thought. It was strong. Intense. Warm.
Different than Noah’s though.
He exhaled through his nose, tried to swallow the shame—tried—but it choked him.
Then he opened his mouth again.
The first taste was salt. Pungent. Liam grimaced—but he didn’t stop. His lips wrapped around the head, and Connor let out this low, fucking breath, barely a moan.
“Yes!” Connor murmured. “Oh, shit!”
Liam’s eyes snapped up, fury sharp beneath the haze.
He didn’t like that.
He hated that.
He pulled off with a wet pop, strings of spit clinging from his lips to Connor’s cockhead.
“I said don’t talk,” Liam growled, voice low and frayed, like it had been scraped raw.
Connor blinked—surprised—but nodded fast, breath catching. “Okay.”
Liam didn’t wait for more.
He shoved him back against the stall and dove down again, rougher this time, like punishment. Like silence was the fucking price for being this disgusting.
Connor grunted but stayed quiet.
He gagged.
Spit dribbled out the corner of his mouth, dripping down his chin. Connor’s cock stretched his lips wide, thick and heavy, the vein running underneath pulsing like it was alive. Deeper each time. How the fuck did someone that skinny have this much cock? Liam’s throat spasmed around it, raw and tight, and the taste—fuck, the taste was everywhere. Funky and slick and coated in pre, thick enough that it clung behind his teeth.
He pulled back, coughing once, strings of spit hanging from his mouth to the tip. His jaw ached. His eyes burned.
But his cock was leaking in his pants, and his thighs were tensed.
His hands dug into Connor’s hips. His nails might’ve left marks. He didn’t care.
He sucked harder. Deeper. Violent. Like he could punish Connor with it. Like he could erase the humiliation by owning it.
But Connor just moaned low again. “Ohhhhhhhhh—Fuckkkkkk.”
Liam groaned around him. Hating how true it felt. He was getting off on sucking Connor. Shit. Even forcing his dick deep felt good.
Every motion now was sloppy. Filthy. His chin was wet. His throat was raw. His knees hurt from the floor. And Connor was twitching, getting closer, breathing heavier, fucking loving it.
“Dude, wait, wait, wait! Can we go slow?” Connor gasped, grabbing a fistful of Liam’s hair and tugging back, his cock slipping wetly out of Liam’s mouth with a messy strand of spit still clinging between them. “Please, nghhhhhhh—slow down!”
Liam blinked, panting. His mouth was red, chin soaked, lips puffed and shining. He stared up, eyes glassy and pissed.
“What the fuck,” he snapped. “Don’t you wanna cum?”
Connor groaned, half-laughing through it, hand still in Liam’s hair. “Yeah, obviously—just not in thirty seconds!”
“You said you wanted this.”
“I do!”
“Then shut the fuck up and let me do it!”
Connor’s hips twitched forward instinctively. He looked down at Liam, chest heaving, his own dick flushed and deep-pink, still throbbing, drooling pre onto Liam’s cheek like it missed his mouth already.
“…Okay,” Connor said, eyes low. “Okay, but—slow. Let me watch. Let me… feel it.”
Liam rolled his eyes, but something about that made his stomach flip. He gave a mocking little nod, wiping his chin with the back of his hand like a boxer before the final round.
“Just don’t fucking talk.” he muttered.
Then he wrapped one hand around the base, steady, tight. And he looked up as he sank back down—slow this time, torturously slow, letting Connor feel every inch of it, all heat and spit and tight, angry suction.
Connor’s breath hitched. His hands dropped to the sides of the stall, gripping like he was bracing for impact.
And then—voice rough, low, like it broke right out of his chest—he said it:
“…Thanks.”
Liam paused.
Ugh.
He glanced up, still stroking the base slowly, his lips shiny, brow furrowed in confused disbelief.
Connor was flushed and breathless, eyes heavy-lidded, jaw slack like he didn’t even mean to say it out loud.
He panted. “Fuck. It feels so good like—ohhhhhhhhhhhh— like that. This is so amazing—”
Liam stared at him for a second like he wanted to punch him. Or laugh at him. Or maybe both.
Then he shoved his mouth back down, harder, meaner, like he was erasing that moment.
Connor groaned—loud this time, fingers curling against the stall walls.
And Liam? Liam took his time now. Drew it out. Flattened his tongue under his cock, teased the underside of the head with tiny flicks, let his lips drag up the tip until Connor was shaking.
It was almost a power play now.
Connor was quiet now—shockingly quiet—his chest rising and falling in uneven little gulps. Every so often, he let out these tiny gasps, like the pleasure kept sneaking up on him. Like he couldn’t believe it felt that good.
Liam didn’t stop.
The way Connor looked down at him—not smug, not arrogant—but wide-eyed and almost soft.
Like Liam was doing him a favor.
Like this was intimate.
“Jesus,” Connor whispered, “you’re really fucking good at this.”
Liam groaned around him. Not from arousal—pure annoyance.
He pulled off for a second, spit clinging to his lips again. “Dude, can you not?”
Connor blinked, confused. “What?”
Liam raised a brow.
Connor laughed nervously. “I mean, I’ve only gotten head once before, but like—it wasn’t like this. You’re just—fuck. I feel like I should be paying you or something.”
Liam rolled his eyes and went back down, mumbling, “Again, just shut the fuck up, man.”
But Connor was buzzing now. Happy. Like his whole body was lighting up from the inside, and every stroke of Liam’s mouth made him melt a little more.
Liam hated how warm he sounded. How earnest.
And then—
“Oh fuck, fuck, fuck—” Connor gasped, hand clamping against the stall wall again. “I’m close. Fuck. Liam—please—can you… will you swallow?”
Liam stilled.
Connor looked down at him, eyes pleading, hair falling over his forehead, face flushed and honest and so not the villain he was that day.
“Please,” he said again, softer. “I just… I want it. Nobody ever did.”
Liam blinked once.
Then he grabbed the base of Connor’s cock, locked eyes with him—and shoved it deep again. Gagged on it.
And Connor whimpered.
His breath hitched—one sharp inhale—and then he groaned, loud, guttural, head tipping back against the stall wall.
“Fuuuuuck, I’m—ok—I’m gonna—”
Liam didn’t pull off.
Didn’t flinch.
“I’m cumming I’m—I’m cumm—”
He just held him there. Mouth stretched, throat tight, tongue dragging under the shaft like he wanted to swallow the soul out of him. Let’s fucking get this over with.
And he felt Connor cum.
Hard.
It hit the back of Liam’s throat like a shot—hot, thick, a lot. He could feel the jizz oozing inside of him.
More than he expected.
Way more.
Liam felt Connor’s cock pulsate hard with each shot, barely managing to keep it down. The first, then came the second. Then a third. Each one thick as fucking glue, spilling fast, flooding his mouth until it felt like he was trying to swallow fucking paint.
Connor grunted through it, fingers curling tight on the stall walls, legs trembling.
“Shit—dude—fuck, that’s… that’s a lot, huh?”
Liam glared up at him with watery eyes, cheeks puffed slightly, clearly struggling.
Connor laughed with his eyes closed—apologetically, even—“Sorry, man, I always nut big. Thick too. Ohhhhhhhh—feels so good.”
Liam pulled off finally with a desperate gasp, coughing once, a line of cum sticking to his lip, trailing down his chin. He wiped it with the back of his hand, furious.
“But… damn. You took it,” Connor said, breathless, still catching his wind. “You really fucking took it. That was… Jesus. That was awesome.”
Liam’s jaw was tight. Then—without thinking—his tongue swiped the corner of his lip, catching a stray drop.
He froze.
He tasted it.
And immediately wanted to rip his own tongue out.
“Yeah,” he muttered darkly, scrubbing his mouth with the back of his wrist, “just fuck off now, okay?”
Connor blinked, but didn’t seem offended. If anything, he looked… delighted.
“Yeah. Okay,” he said, still smiling like a guy who just won a raffle. “I’ll, uh… see you out there?”
Liam didn’t answer.
Connor lingered one second too long, then gave a small, awkward thumbs up—“Thanks again, dude. For real.”—and ducked out the door, the sound of his footsteps fading down the hallway.
The door clicked shut.
Silence.
Liam sat down hard on the toilet seat, elbows on his knees, hands rubbing over his face like he could delete what just happened from his memory.
His mouth was still sticky. His throat still raw. Dick still hard.
And now there was this weird weight in his chest—because yeah, he still wanted to cum. Bad. Even more now. But the taste in his mouth was still Connor.
And that was enough.
Enough to make him reconsider. Enough to make his hand freeze halfway down.
He let out a breath, half-disgusted, and yanked his pants back up.
He pulled the door closed with shaking fingers, locked it, and leaned back against it like the air itself was too heavy to stand in.
It wasn’t about Connor. It wasn’t about him.
He was just pent up. That was it.
He hadn’t cum in ages. His brain was fried. His body was touch-starved, stressed out, desperate for anything to take the edge off.
That’s all it was.
Noah had been back a few days
Liam wasn’t watching him—he wasn’t—but he noticed.
Noah looked different. Same face, same body, but the energy was still wrong. Muted. Tight. He wasn’t joking with the front desk guy. Wasn’t roasting clients. Wasn’t flashing that cocky half-smile he used to wear like armor.
He was distant with everyone.
But then Ashley showed up.
And Noah changed.
His shoulders loosened. His voice rose—casual, even light. Noah’s hand was on her back. Casual. Easy. She nudged his side, and he smiled—actually smiled—like it came organically.
Liam’s eyes fixed on the mirror.
He’d never seen them like that.
He didn’t think he had at least.
Then he caught himself.
It didn’t matter. It didn’t fucking matter. Noah could do whatever he wanted.
He just didn’t get it though.
He sat on the bench, gripping the edge with both hands, jaw clenched. His reflection in the mirror looked angrier than he expected.
He wasn’t affected.
He was fine.
He had every right to feel like this.
Liam was still gripping the bench, when Dylan appeared at his side.
“Damn,” Dylan said, grinning. “You started without me?”
Liam forced a smirk. “What, you want me to sit here twiddling my thumbs waiting for your ass?”
Dylan chuckled, shaking his head. “Fair enough.” He dropped his bag, started setting up on the machine next to him. Easy, relaxed, like he always was.
They worked in silence at first. The rhythm helped—counting reps, moving weight, sweat pooling at Liam’s collar. But his eyes kept drifting. Over Dylan’s shoulder. Across the floor.
To them.
Ashley laughing, leaning close. Noah saying something quiet, his fingers brushing her arm.
Dylan followed Liam’s line of sight, brow quirking. “They’re close now, huh?”
“Yeah, what the fuck is up with that?” Liam blinked, scoffed. “…not that I care or anything, it’s just… weird, you know?”
A beat.
“Yeah… “ Dylan kept his voice low.
He paused.
“Hey… uhh, did you and Shorty have a falling out?”
Liam stiffened.
“I asked him why he hadn’t been hanging with you.” Dylan adjusted the weights casually, like he wasn’t poking at something sharp. “He told me to fuck off.”
Liam scoffed mid-rep, shaking his head. “Yeah. Sounds right. He’s a child.”
Dylan leaned against the machine, voice casual. “Thought maybe something was up. I haven’t seen him much lately either—since I got my own place around here, we haven’t really talked.”
Liam looked over, surprised. “Wait, you got a place here?”
“Yeah.” Dylan grinned, stretching his arms over his head. “Got a job at Ground Zero Strategies.”
Liam blinked. “Seriously? Ground Zero? That’s huge.”
“Right?! Figured you’d know it—since you’re in consulting too. And wasn’t planned or anything, I came here for a workshop but hey—now I’m staying. At least for the time being.”
Liam shook his head, smiling despite himself. “Congrats, man. That’s… actually impressive.”
Dylan shrugged, proud but playing it cool. “Guess I’m a corporate bigshot now.”
Liam let out a quiet laugh, but it didn’t stick.
His eyes wandered—again.
Back across the gym.
Ashley still hadn’t left. She was brushing something off Noah’s shirt now…
And they looked… good together.
God, they looked good together.
Cut, pretty, golden. A matching set.
Of course they made sense.
Of course they did.
Liam’s face tightened. He sat back against the machine, adjusted the handles like he wasn’t staring.
He gripped the bars.
Pulled.
And then—
A jolt of pain. Sharp. Sudden.
“Shit—” Liam winced, teeth gritted.
“Hey, hey—” Dylan was already at his side, hand on his arm, steadying him.
Liam kept his eyes down, heat crawling his neck. Angry. Not at Dylan. Not at the pain.
Fuck.
Dylan squeezed gently, voice softer now. “You alright? Need a breather?”
Liam didn’t answer. His throat was too tight. So instead, he forced himself back into position on the machine. He tried one rep—slow, shaky, his back screaming.
“Oww,” he hissed, jerking upright. He knew it was pointless.
He leaned back, wiping sweat off his brow with the edge of his shirt. “Yeah… I’m done. Gotta rest it.”
Dylan stood, towel around his neck. “I’ll walk with you.”
Liam shook his head quickly. “No. I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine.” Dylan’s tone was calm, but firm. “You tweaked something, I can see it. Come on. You don’t need to make it worse.”
“I said I’m fine—”
“And I’m saying I’m walking with you,” Dylan cut in. “End of discussion.”
Liam stared at him, jaw tight, ready to argue—but the pain in his back was still biting, and the stubborn heat in Dylan’s eyes wouldn’t budge.
“Okay,” he muttered finally.
Dylan just gave a small nod, easy smile flickering. “Good. Let’s go.”
Liam stood, shouldered his bag. He didn’t look back across the room.
By the time they reached Liam’s place, his back was worse. He was almost grateful Dylan had insisted on coming along.
Dylan slung Liam’s arm over his shoulder and helped him up the stairs, into his room, and finally onto the bed. Liam groaned as he sank into the mattress, pressing a hand into the small of his back.
“Yeah,” he muttered. “Definitely worse now that the muscles are cooling down. Fuck.”
“You should ice it later,” Dylan said. He hovered for a second, then scratched the back of his neck. “Uh—mind if I shower here? I’m already sweaty as hell, and I can keep an eye on you in case it gets bad.”
Liam hesitated, then shrugged. “Yeah. Sure. Bathroom’s down the hall.”
Dylan gave him a grateful nod and disappeared into the hallway. A moment later, Liam heard fabric sliding. When he leaned just enough, he saw it—Dylan curving out of sight, already naked, leaving his gym clothes piled in a small heap on the floor just inside Liam’s room.
Shirt. Shorts. Socks. Underwear.
The sound of running water filled the silence.
Liam stared at it.
He shouldn’t. He shouldn’t.
But his body ached in more ways than one. He still hadn’t gotten off, and the whole Connor thing had left him wanting—no matter how hard he tried to deny it. He was desperate now, heat pulsing through his crotch. It wasn’t gonna hurt anyone. It’s harmless.
“Damn,” he muttered, easing himself off the bed, wincing as his back protested.
He grabbed the pile of Dylan’s clothes and shuffled back to the mattress, lowering himself carefully. Sitting again, breath uneven, he set them in his lap.
For a long second, he just stared. His hands trembled slightly as he lifted the shirt, brought it tentatively to his face, and inhaled.
His eyes widened.
That scent. Sharp. Musky. Heavy with sweat and hormones. His stomach flipped—because he recognized it. Immediately.
It was Noah!
Or… damn close.
His cock twitched.
“What the fuck,” he whispered, taking another pull.
He groaned, low and guttural, the heat spreading through him, shame already biting at the edges. Genetics. It had to be genetics. Dylan was his cousin, right? That was the only explanation.
He grabbed the underwear. Thin, damp at the front. He pressed it to his nose, shaky, and inhaled again. Stronger. Richer. Even closer to Noah.
His head tipped back, mouth falling open. “Fuuuuck.”
His cock was straining now, hard and angry in his pants once more.
He took another hit, louder this time, moaning softly into the fabric, eyes fluttering shut.
And then—
“Hey man, is it—”
Liam froze.
Dylan stood at the doorway, naked, sweaty hair clinging to his forehead, his lower half hidden behind the wall. He held up one of Liam’s towels, expression caught halfway between intrigued and curious.
“…okay to use this…?” Dylan’s words came out light, but his face betrayed him—a flicker of surprise he couldn’t mask fast enough.
Dylan’s underwear was still pressed against his nose, his eyes wide, his cock straining against his shorts. He lowered it slowly, like peeling off a bandage, but the damage was done. His face burned.
“I—” His voice cracked. He coughed, tried again. “It’s not—it’s nothing—”
Dylan’s gaze lingered, sweat droplets running down his chest. His lips parted like he might say something—but then he didn’t. Instead, he tilted his head, eyes narrowing, curious rather than cruel.
“…Is everything okay?”
The softness of it made Liam’s stomach knot. He wanted Dylan to laugh, to call him a freak, to do something. Anything but this patient silence.
“I was—fuck—I was just—” Liam dropped the underwear onto the bed like it had burned him. His hands flexed uselessly against his thighs. “Forget it.”
Dylan stepped a bit further into the room, still naked, his lower body hidden by the wall. He hooked the towel tighter around his shoulder. “I mean… I can leave, if you want.”
“No,” Liam said too fast. He clenched his jaw. “Just—shower. Forget what you saw.”
Dylan shifted his weight, eyes still fixed on Liam. The towel slid a little further down his shoulder.
“To be honest…It’ll be hard to shower like this,” he said quietly.
Liam blinked. “Huh?”
And then Dylan stepped fully into the room.
His whole body was bare. Damp. Ripped. And his cock.
Liam’s mouth went dry.
What. The fuck.
Bigger. Thicker. Heavier than Noah’s. A monster, hanging there casual and obscene, and Liam’s brain stuttered. Even his balls were big. What genetics were these?
Noah had been unfair already. But Dylan? Dylan was something else.
And it wasn’t just that. It was the resemblance. The way his shoulders sloped, the line of his jaw, the shade of his hair.
Liam’s stomach flipped. For a second, he couldn’t breathe. It was like staring at Noah again.
He realized he was staring. He swallowed hard, shifting back on the bed, hands curling into the sheets. “I—I—”
Dylan stepped forward slowly, cautious, like he was approaching a wounded animal. He stopped just short of the bed, voice low and even. Monster cock hanging hard but low with each step. Balls too.
“Look, man. I don’t wanna push you into anything. That’s not me.”
His gaze flicked to the underwear still near Liam’s thigh, then back to his face.
“But if that’s your thing?” Dylan’s mouth quirked, not mocking, just honest. “You should know… it’s much worse where it came from.”
Liam’s chest was heaving, heat crawling up his neck. He couldn’t stop staring at Dylan’s cock, at the sheer size of it, the unfairness of the whole fucking family tree. The words slipped out before he could stop them.
“Does—does anyone have a giant cock but me?”
Silence. Then—Dylan laughed. A low, easy laugh that made Liam’s ears burn.
“You talking about Shorty, right?” Dylan said, grinning. “I knew it, I knew it! I saw you guys at the party. That nipple thing? Not very subtle. You liked that, huh?”
Liam looked down.
But Dylan was already moving. He reached down, gripped the hem of Liam’s shirt, and peeled it off in one smooth motion. No question. No hesitation. Just gone.
“Can I?” Dylan asked, voice even, like he already knew the answer.
Liam paused.
“Man… I don’t know…” Liam breathed out, the word leaving him before his brain caught up.
Dylan’s fingers were on him immediately, brushing over his chest, circling a nipple, then pinching lightly. Liam gasped, back arching against the sheets. His whole body lit up, sharp heat firing down his spine. His back pain? Forgotten for a second.
“Yeah,” Dylan murmured, watching him carefully. “I know Shorty’s hung too. We used to mess around when we were younger.”
Liam’s eyes flew open. God, it had been so long since he felt this.
Dylan’s fingers twisted his nipple a little harder, making Liam groan despite himself. His voice stayed calm.
“Mine’s bigger though,” he said, almost conversational. “Think it’s ten inches. Thicker, too. He hates it”
Liam’s hands clenched at the sheets, his head fall.
“Ngggggggghhhhhhhhhh—Hmmmmmmmmm”
Liam’s eyes snapped wide, breath sharp as Dylan rolled both his nipples between two fingers. A jolt shot through his chest straight down to his cock.
Dylan chuckled low, eyes fixed on him. “Wow… you really, really like nipple play thing. That’s hot. I love doing it.”
Liam let out a broken sound. He couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe. His chest was tight, his cock rock-hard, and Dylan’s calm voice made it worse.
Then Dylan shifted closer. Slow. His hand never left Liam’s chest, fingers still teasing his nipples—but now the weight of his cock dragged across Liam’s neck, hot and heavy, smearing dampness along his skin.
Liam’s breath caught as Dylan rubbed it higher, along his jaw, the blunt head brushing his cheek. He could smell it now. Fuck it smelled good.
Dylan leaned closer, voice dropping. “Let me ask you one more thing, though… at the party, when you came down from Shorty’s room and stood near the table…” His fingers twisted Liam’s nipple a little intensely, pulling another gasp from him. “Did you have his cum in your mouth?”
Liam’s whole body jolted. His eyes flew open, face burning red. He tried to look away, but Dylan’s fingers held him, kept him there, steady, relentless.
“'Cause I know him,” Dylan went on, voice calm, weirdly gentle—like this wasn’t a grenade he’d just dropped in Liam’s lap.
Liam swallowed hard, his body trembling under Dylan’s touch. “Y-yeah…” he gasped finally, heat flooding his face.
Dylan’s lips curled, not cruel—just knowing. Like he’d already had the answer before he asked. “Classic,” he said softly. His thumb flicked Liam’s nipple again, dragging a groan out of him. “Could see it on your face. Could smell it in your breath too.”
Liam’s chest rose and fell in quick bursts, the confession still ringing in the air. He wanted to hide, wanted to disappear—but Dylan’s hand stayed, steady, grounding. God this was good. He could feel his own dick leaking a river of pre cum.
Dylan’s cock dragged slow across Liam’s cheek, leaving a damp smear that made his skin prickle. His voice stayed level, almost gentle.
“You like the smell on my clothes,” Dylan said, eyes steady on him. “So why don’t you try the real thing? See if it’s better up close.”
Liam’s breath hitched. His pride screamed, but his body… his body leaned forward before he could stop it.
Dylan didn’t guide him. Didn’t push.
Still, Liam’s nose pressed into the head of Dylan’s absurd cock. The scent hit him instantly—raw, musky, overwhelming. Stronger than the shirt, stronger than the underwear. Again, a lot of Noah in there. Pure testosterone. His own cock throbbed.
He inhaled, deep, helpless, and the heat shot through his skull like a drug.
“Fuuuck,” he moaned against Dylan’s skin, the sound muffled, shame and pleasure tangled tight.
“See?” Dylan’s cock twitched against his cheek, heavy, pulsing, and Dylan’s calm voice hummed above him. “Hits better when it’s straight from me.”
Liam’s hand trembled slightly as he reached up, on instinct, fingers curling around Dylan’s cock. He peeled back the foreskin—slowly—exposing the slick head beneath.
The smell hit him instantly.
Stronger there. Saltier. Sharper. Faintly bitter, like sweat and skin.
His dick throbbed.
Then he leaned in.
Liam’s face burned as he shifted slightly, nose brushing along the thick shaft, catching the sharper scent of sweat and pre fuck smeared there. He moaned again, louder, his hips jerking up against nothing.
The musk flooded Liam’s head, drowning out thought. His nose was buried in Dylan’s pubes, the heat of him pressing against his cheek, the weight making his chest tight.
And before he could think of anything else, his mouth parted—instinct, impulse—and he wrapped his lips around the swollen tip.
Warm. Slick. The taste was instant.
He groaned, low, involuntary, the sound vibrating around Dylan’s swollen cock head.
Dylan exhaled through his nose, still playing with Liam’s pink nipples.
“Damn,” he murmured, voice low, even. “Feels so good, Liam.”
Liam shut his eyes, heat crawling his skin as his tongue traced the slit, gathering more of that taste he swore he hated—yet couldn’t stop from chasing.
The thickness stretched his lips, heavier than Noah, weightier, and yet the resemblance was brutal. His cock twitched in his shorts, desperate, humiliated.
Then Dylan’s voice cut through, calm and gentle.
“Why don’t you take your pants off,” he said. “Slow. Don’t wanna wreck your back worse.” His thumb flicked Liam’s nipple again, soothing the words into his skin. “And while you’ve got me in your mouth? Stroke yourself. I wanna see you feel good too.”
Liam’s eyes snapped open, a muffled sound breaking around Dylan’s tip. His whole body flushed, shame and heat tangling in his chest.
But his hands moved anyway.
Shaky, clumsy, he fumbled with his waistband, easing it down inch by inch so the pull wouldn’t bite his back. His cock sprang free, flushed and leaking already.
“Yeah,” Dylan whispered, watching him. “That’s it. Nice and easy. Don’t push too hard.”
Liam’s fist closed around himself, trembling as he stroked once—twice—while Dylan’s cock filled his mouth, weight stretching his lips, taste flooding his tongue.
His moan was pure instinct, lost in Dylan’s sweaty fleshy cock and his hands own his chest.
“Mm—mmmmmhhhfuckkk—”
And Dylan’s hand stayed gentle on his hair. His voice was steady, almost affectionate.
“Dude! Liam, you’ve got a nice cock.”
Liam froze. The words didn’t compute. His eyes flicked up, wide, confused. What?
Noah would’ve laughed again. Called it names. Small. Mocked him for leaking before being touched. That was what Liam knew. That was what he expected.
But Dylan’s gaze held his, calm, steady, unwavering.
“I mean it,” Dylan said, softer this time. “It’s a good cock. Hot. Like you. Looks fucking perfect in your hand.”
Heat exploded in Liam’s cheeks. His chest stuttered. He wanted to scoff, to deny it—but his fist squeezed around himself involuntarily, and his cock pulsed like it believed Dylan before his brain did.
His chest squeezed, and for a moment—just a moment—he wasn’t humiliated or confused or angry.
Liam worked his mouth over Dylan’s cock, slow at first, then deeper, wetter, his tongue dragging along the underside, gathering every drop of pre and heat he could find. The pre-cum was raw—sharp and thicker than Noah’s, like it had teeth. Dylan had warned him, and he was right. It flooded his tongue, stung the back of his throat. His fist pumped his own cock in a ragged rhythm.
Dylan stroked his hair, voice low, steady, coaxing. “That’s it. Duuuude, you’re amazing. Lips stretched, cheeks hollowed—hot as hell, Liam. Suck it.”
Liam groaned, the sound vibrating down Dylan’s shaft, making Dylan hiss through his teeth.
“Yeah,” Dylan whispered. “Moan on me. Love feeling you like that. You’re unreal, man. Are you enjoying this? Feel good too?”
The words slammed into Liam… Again, Noah would never ask that.
But Dylan did.
He looked up, lips stretched around Dylan’s cock, spit glistening on his chin, eyes glassy. Their gazes locked.
And slowly, helplessly, Liam nodded.
Dylan’s breath caught. Then he smiled down at him—earnest, warm, real. No mockery. No sharp edges. Just a soft, devastating smile.
“Good,” Dylan murmured, brushing his thumbs on his nipples again. “That’s all I wanted to know.”
A muffled moan broke out of him, loud against Dylan’s cockhead, his hand jerking himself frantically. His thighs tensed, stomach twisting—he was right there.
And then he stopped.
Pulled back just enough, spit trailing from his lips to Dylan’s tip, chest heaving. His fist froze at the base of his cock, the air thick with need and shame.
Dylan’s eyes softened. His hand stayed on Liam’s hair, thumb brushing gently against his temple.
“Why’d you stop?” he asked, quiet, steady.
Liam pulled off, chest heaving, spit stringing from his lips to Dylan’s cock. His hand was still tight around himself, trembling. “I was—fuck—I was about to cum. Sorry.”
Dylan blinked, eyebrows tugging together. “Sorry?” he echoed, like the word didn’t compute.
He reached down, brushing Liam’s damp hair back from his forehead.
His voice stayed calm, but there was a little frown in it now. “Why the hell would you be sorry for that?”
Liam opened his mouth, but nothing came out.
Dylan’s thumb grazed his temple, grounding. “You think I’d be pissed? That you liked it too much?”
Then softer, more certain: “I want you to like it, Liam. That’s kind of the point.”
“Do it. Cum, man.”
Liam blinked up at him, flustered. “But… you didn’t yet.”
Dylan chuckled low, shaking his head. “I’ll survive. This is fun regardless. Besides—” he gave Liam’s shoulder a light squeeze, “—you hurt your back. Wouldn’t want you moving too much for me.”
The unexpected gentleness broke something in Liam. His fist started working on him again, faster, slick, his cock pulsing hard against his palm. Every nerve screamed, strung tight as wire.
Dylan’s cock was still in his mouth, massive, heavy on his tongue. The sheer weight of it stretched his jaw, the thick head leaking into him with every pulse, salty slickness smearing across his taste buds. The smell was everywhere — musky, raw, pure male heat filling his nose, drowning him.
He groaned around it, the sound buzzing through Dylan’s shaft, and Dylan’s fingers twisted his nipple again, sending another hot jolt straight to his cock.
Liam looked up, lips stretched, mouth full—and saw him.
Dylan. Towering over him.
This tall, jacked man, broad and flushed and looking down at him like he owned the moment. Like Liam was exactly where he was supposed to be.
“Yeah,” Dylan murmured above him, voice steady, grounding. “Just like that. Enjoying my sweaty cock, right?”
Liam’s chest heaved. His hips jerked up helplessly into his fist, pre smearing across his abs. The combined sensations — the musk clogging his head, the taste coating his tongue, his own hand pumping frantically — it was too much.
“You’re right there, aren’t you?”
He was. Shit. He was so close. About to feel good. About to finally cum. Oh my god.
His throat spasmed around Dylan’s cock as the first pulse hit. He ripped off with a gasp, and his own orgasm slammed through him.
“NghhHHHHHHHHh—Mmhhhhhhhhhhhh”
“Fuuuck—” he said muffled, doubling forward, as hot ropes of cum shot over his fist and stomach, streaking his chest. Each spasm wrung another cry from him, raw and desperate. His whole body trembled, thighs jerking, chest tight, hand still milking his cock until he was dizzy.
Dylan’s dick was still in his mouth, throbbing. The taste lingered at the back of his throat, addicting.
And he just stayed there—cock still hard, slick with spit, hanging heavy in the air between them—smiling down at him with steady calm.
“Heh,” Dylan murmured. “Did that feel good?”
Liam’s chest was still heaving, his skin flushed and sticky. He swallowed hard, throat raw, but the answer came out before he could stop it. “Yeah… it did.”
His body sagged back against the pillows, boneless, drained. Dylan moved with quiet efficiency—stood, grabbed the bottle of water from the desk, twisted the cap, and pressed it into Liam’s shaky hand.
“Here. Drink. Then rest that back.”
Liam took a long gulp, the water cooling his throat, grounding him. He stared at Dylan—at the huge, still-hard cock hanging between his legs, at the calm in his face. It didn’t make sense.
“You’re… really okay with not cumming?” Liam asked, voice small, almost disbelieving.
Dylan gave a little shrug, the faintest smile curling at his mouth. “Yeah. I’m good. This was about you.”
The words hit Liam harder than the orgasm had. The resemblance to Noah was brutal—the broad shoulders, the face, the structure, the cock even the fucking smell. But the man standing there wasn’t Noah. Not even close.
Dylan was something else entirely. He was kind. Gentle.
He gave him that steady look for a moment longer, then reached for the towel he’d left draped over the chair. “Alright,” he said, voice even. “I’m gonna shower now.”
Liam nodded, still catching his breath, throat working around words he couldn’t quite find. “…Yeah. Okay.”
Dylan gave a small nod back, almost like thanks, and padded out toward the bathroom, leaving Liam sprawled on the bed—sticky, confused, and staring at the ceiling, wondering what the hell had just happened.
Liam woke to silence. Too much of it.
He shoved the feeling down before it had a name.
He sat up slow, stretching until the muscle in his lower back complained. His mind flickered back to Dylan—the way he’d handled himself, the way he’d smiled, warm and calm. Too nice.
Liam rubbed at his face.
It felt weird. Probably just guilt about Dylan. A gay guy. The wrong kind of intimacy, with the wrong person. The wrong reaction afterward.
And yet his chest felt tight in the quiet, his stomach twisting like he’d lost something he couldn’t name, let alone admit.
Liam shoved the covers back, muttering, “Whatever. I’m fine.”
By the time he got to work, the morning haze still clung to him. He was sore, restless, trying not to think too much.
Connor was the first to cross his path. He held out a coffee, the kind Liam usually bought for himself, like an awkward offering.
He took the cup, grateful for the gesture. At least Connor wasn’t spinning out, wasn’t manic and dangerous anymore. This version—quiet, almost sheepish—made more sense. That whole bravado Liam had seen before hadn’t really been him.
At the gym, Liam kept his movements measured. Only the machines that wouldn’t bite at his back, nothing reckless. Prudent, careful.
Noah was there too. Of course he was. He worked there. Leaned casually by the free weights, close to Ashley, their shoulders brushing when they laughed. Claire stood with them, a step back, not quite part of the circle but orbiting it.
Liam caught it in the mirror, rolled his eyes, and scoffed under his breath. He bent into his next set, willing himself not to care.
Minutes ticked by in the rhythm of reps, the buzz of conversation, the sound of metal clinking. He kept his focus forward.
But when he racked the weights and lifted his head, Claire’s eyes were on him.
He looked away immediately, didn’t feel like talking, but it was too late. She was already moving toward him.
“Hey.”
Liam flinched at the sound before he even looked. Claire was standing a step away, her gym bag strap hooked in one hand, hair pulled back, eyes soft but knowing in that way only she could manage.
He forced a little smile. “Oh. Hey.”
“You don’t look happy to see me,” she teased.
“I am!” he said quickly, adjusting the bar above him.
Claire tilted her head. “Mm. That sounded convincing.”
He huffed through his nose, refocusing on the machine. “Seriously, I am. Just hurt my back, that’s all.” He pushed through another set of shoulder presses, wincing slightly, trying to mask it.
Claire leaned against the next machine, arms folded, watching him with quiet patience. She didn’t speak until he finished the set, racking the weights with a dull clink.
“I was gonna say hi anyway,” she said lightly. “But also… Noah and Ashley? Being around them lately just feels weird. Like, I don’t know—too close? It makes me feel off.”
Liam’s head snapped toward her before he could stop himself. His voice came out louder than he meant: “Right???” His eyes were wide, almost relieved. “Like what the fuck is that? Noah was never like that. And now suddenly he’s all—” he gestured vaguely, frustrated—“so warm and loving and whatever the fuck? With her? Since when?”
Claire smiled softly, the corner of her mouth tipping up like she’d been waiting for that exact explosion. “I knew there was something wrong.”
Liam realized a second too late what she’d done. He looked down at the floor, muttering, “That was a trap.”
Claire didn’t argue. She just stepped closer, sat down on the bench across from him, her eyes steady on his face. After a beat, she said quietly, “What happened, Liam?”
He swallowed, throat dry. “Nothing. It’s not—”
“Come on,” she said gently. “It’s me. You can tell me.”
“Seriously, I’m—”
He stopped.
God. How many times had he said that lately?
I’m fine.
He let out a long breath and sank onto the bench beside her, shoulders slumping. He stared at his hands for a long moment, words fighting to stay inside. Then, finally:
“He cut me off.”
Claire frowned, waiting.
Liam’s jaw worked. “Because I told him I knew about his dad.” His voice cracked on the last word, anger and hurt tangled up in it. “You were right… he didn’t even let me explain. Just—shut me out. Like I’d crossed some line I didn’t even know was there.”
The silence between them stretched, heavy, but not uncomfortable. Claire let it sit, her presence steady beside him.
Liam scrubbed a hand over his face. “And now he’s out there, laughing with Ashley like nothing happened. Which is whatever, who cares, right? It’s his life. But I feel like this is some weird alternate reality.”
Claire placed a hand lightly on his arm, squeezing once. “You’re not crazy.”
Liam glanced at her, eyes sharp, then away again. “Feels like it.”
The words caught in his throat after that. He shifted forward on the bench, elbows on his knees, staring down at the floor. His mouth opened, closed, opened again. Finally, the dam cracked.
“Fuck, Claire… I miss him.” His voice was low, almost strangled. “Just… his friendship. We got close. Closer than I’ve ever been with anyone. I never had a friend like that before, and then he just—” He gestured vaguely, frustrated.
Claire stayed quiet, listening, her expression soft, steady.
“I mean…” Liam rubbed his hands over his face. “We talked about shit. Real shit. He got me in a way most people don’t.”
Not even at home had that ever felt safe.
His mom treated silence like scripture, like keeping quiet was some kind of sacred offering. And his dad—well, he followed his own gospel. Not her verses or explanations, just a set of rules no one spoke out loud. Especially when it came to feelings.
“And now it’s just gone. Like it never mattered.”
Claire tilted her head, her voice gentle but certain. “Of course it mattered. That’s why it hurts.”
Liam huffed, shaking his head, bitterness edging back in. “He even unfollowed me.” He let out a harsh laugh. “Like—what a fucking child.”
Claire’s lips quirked, not mocking, but sad.
Liam leaned back, chest tight, trying to swallow down the mess of anger, hurt.
Claire let the silence stretch, then asked softly, “Have you tried talking to him?”
Liam scoffed, rubbing the heel of his hand against his eye. “I don’t even know if I want to anymore. After all this shit, after what he said…” His throat tightened, the words cutting deeper than he meant them to. “He told me to ‘stay the fuck away’ or whatever.”
Claire’s brows drew together, her mouth parting like she wanted to say something. This time she didn’t hold back.
“Noah’s an insensitive asshole,” she said flatly.
Liam let out a sharp breath, almost a laugh, but it came out cracked. “Yeah. He is.”
Claire just watched him, steady, her silence filling in the rest.
Liam shifted. He hated how dramatic it sounded out loud. Over the top. Like it meant more than it should. It was just a friendship. He had lost friends before. Everyone had.
The edge in his voice cracked as it left him, and he leaned back, chest tight, trying to swallow down the mess of anger, hurt.
“Like… I know who he is,” Liam said quietly. “He’s not… nice. He’s not chill. He’s not kind.”
He let out a bitter breath. “He’s… chaos, intense. He makes everything harder.”
He shook his head, eyes low.
“Whatever,” he muttered, shaking his head like he could clear it. “Doesn’t matter.”
They let it drop there. Claire stayed beside him a moment longer, then stood, stretching out her shoulders like the conversation had never happened. Liam followed, wordless.
Back at the machines, he kept his sets light, careful with his back. Between reps, though, his eyes strayed across the room—to where Noah and Ashley were still side by side, too close, too warm.
He scoffed under his breath again and went back to his presses. Claire pretended not to notice, giving him the space to stew in it without calling him out. But he caught her watching anyway.
She didn’t say anything. Not then. But the air between them shifted, faintly off, like she was holding something back. Even as they finished their sets, grabbed their bags, walked side by side to the door, Liam felt it.
Outside, the air was cool, the street buzzing faintly with traffic. At the corner, their paths split.
“See you,” Liam muttered, adjusting the strap on his shoulder. “Thanks for listening…”
“Yeah,” Claire said.
She took a few steps away.
Then stopped.
Turned.
“Hey…Liam?”
He turned as well.
She was looking at him with that same expression she’d had all afternoon.
And finally:
“Have you ever… been in love?”
The question landed… weird.
Out of nowhere.
Liam blinked. “Mm?”
He gave a short, awkward laugh.
“No…I—uh, I don’t think so.”
Claire’s face softened.
She paused.
Her eyes stayed on his
“…I think you have…”
The words slipped under his skin before he could deflect. He froze, a sharp twist in his gut leaving him caught between denial and recognition. His mouth opened, closed. Nothing came out.
And then he understood.
Noah…
She meant Noah.
Right?
What the fuck was she saying?
Carnivorous butterflies churned in his stomach, nausea rising with every twist. It burned cold, panic clawing icy tracks through his chest.
Claire’s gaze stayed on him, kind but unflinching. When she spoke again, her voice had dropped—softer still, almost reverent.
“You talk about him like he’s gravity…”
Liam’s breath stuttered.
His body went completely still.
His eyes widened, unblinking.
He had no answer.
Of course he had no answer. That wasn’t true—He wasn’t—
Claire gave him a small, knowing smile. Nothing more. Then she turned, bag swinging lightly at her side, and walked away down the street.
Liam stood rooted in place, the strap cutting into his shoulder, his whole body strung tight and unsettled.
He told himself to move.
But his body wouldn’t listen.
His throat locked, his tongue thick.
He wanted her to turn back—so he could deny it, so she could explain, so he wouldn’t be left choking on it.
But he couldn’t voice it.
So he just stood there.
Silent.
A bus roared past and sent a gust through his hoodie. He didn’t feel it.
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