My roommate Taylor was finally heading out for the weekend, and I could not help but feel a little thrill ripple through me. Taylor is this outgoing gym rat type, always loud, always shirtless after his workouts, always talking about his latest hookup like it is the most normal thing in the world. Me? I am the quiet one who studies in his room with the door half closed, built like a coat hanger, skinny arms and a chest that barely fills out a T shirt. I am still too chickenshit to download Grindr without deleting it five minutes later, convinced someone from campus will recognize my blurry face pic. With Taylor going to his girlfriend’s sister's wedding, the apartment was going to be mine for three whole days. I was already picturing it. Walking around completely naked, jerking off on the couch without worrying about footsteps in the hallway, maybe finally working up the nerve to invite some guy over and actually let him stay longer than ten minutes. Freedom. Sweet, uninterrupted, horny freedom.
I was sprawled on the couch, laptop open to some half finished essay I had no intention of finishing tonight, when Taylor's phone buzzed on the kitchen counter. He answered it with that easy laugh of his.
"Yeah, bro. Pulling up soon. Long fucking drive, man. Traffic’s a nightmare.", came a voice from the other side of the phone.
I sat up a little, curious. Taylor glanced over at me through the open door.
"Who was that?" I asked.
"Cruz," he said, tossing a folded shirt into his suitcase. "He's driving all the way from home. Got a big construction foreman interview Monday in the city. Needs a crash spot till then while he looks for temp housing or whatever."
My stomach did a slow flip. "Cruz. As in your older brother Cruz?"
Taylor grinned. "Yeah, dude. The messy one. Sorry, man. You'll have to tolerate him. He's chill though. Won't bother you much."
I nodded like it was no big deal, but inside my pulse was already picking up. I had seen pictures of Cruz on Taylor's phone before, scrolling through family group chats when Taylor left it unlocked. Tall, thick everywhere, covered in ink, the kind of guy who looked like he could bench press a car and then fuck someone on the hood without breaking a sweat. The weekend I had been fantasizing about just got a lot more complicated.
A while later, the sun had dipped low, painting the living room orange through the blinds. Taylor was zipping his bag when a heavy knock rattled the front door. It opened before either of us could move.
Cruz stepped inside like the apartment had been waiting for him his whole life.
He was bigger than the pictures made him look. Dusty work boots caked in dried mud from whatever site he had left that morning. His flannel shirt was half unbuttoned, sleeves rolled to the elbows, the fabric clinging to sweaty skin. Tattoos snaked over every visible inch. Black geometric patterns wrapped his thick forearms like barbed wire, a roaring lion head roared across one massive pec, script I could not read curled under his collarbone. His shoulders were wide enough to block the doorway for a second. Low slung jeans hung just below the deep cut V of his hips, a thick trail of dark hair running down from his navel and disappearing into the waistband. Trucker tan lines cut sharp across his chest, pale where the shirt usually sat, golden brown everywhere else. Stubble shadowed his jaw, and when he grinned it was all teeth and confidence.
He dropped a heavy bag and a metal toolbox right in the middle of the living room floor with a thud that said this space was his now.
Taylor stepped forward for the dap.
"I drive all this way to visit and you're already fucking leaving?"
Taylor laughed. "Stacy's sister's big day. She's making me stay the whole weekend. Sorry bro"
Cruz shook his head, still grinning. "Brutal, man."
Taylor glanced at me. "Milo will keep you company, bro. He's chill. Doesn't talk much, but he's good with people."
Cruz turned those sharp eyes on me for the first time. Slow scan, up and down, lingering just long enough to make my face burn. His smirk deepened. "Yeah? Looks like he could use some company."
I swallowed hard and tried to smile. It came out crooked.
Taylor grabbed his bag and headed for the door. "Don't break my roommate, Cruz."
The door clicked shut. The apartment suddenly felt smaller.
Cruz did not waste time. He kicked off his boots one after the other, the heavy thuds echoing. Socks came next, peeled off and tossed toward the bag. Then the flannel. He shrugged it down his arms, revealing the full map of ink across his torso. Thick pecs flexed as he stretched, the tattoos seeming to shift with the muscle underneath. His abs were not cut like some gym model, they were thick and powerful, the kind built from real construction work, a solid eight pack under a light dusting of hair that trailed down to where his jeans sat. Broad back, lats flaring out like wings. He balled the shirt up and threw it onto the couch.
"Fucking drive was brutal man. Too fucking hot in here."
He unbuckled his belt, shoved the jeans down his thick thighs in one smooth motion. Blue boxer briefs came into view, low on his hips, the fabric stretched tight over heavy bulge and powerful legs. Tattoos continued down there too, thick bands circling his quads, more script along one calf. He stepped out of the jeans, kicked them toward the pile, then hooked his thumbs into the waistband of the boxers.
He dropped onto the couch, legs spread wide, one hand scratching lazily across his thighs. "Fuck, man. Could really use a beer. Got some?"
I scrambled to the fridge on autopilot, grabbed a cold one, walked it over. My hand shook a little when I passed it to him.
"Thanks, dude." He cracked it open, took a long pull, eyes on me the whole time. "Wanna join?"
I shook my head too fast. "Nah. Got some work to do. Maybe later."
I retreated to my room and shut the door, heart slamming against my ribs.
I tried to focus. Laptop open, essay glaring at me. Words swam. All I could think about was the shirtless man in my living room, the way his body filled the space, the casual way he stripped like clothes were optional. I shifted on the bed, cock already half hard in my shorts. I told myself to chill. He is just Taylor's older brother. Works in construction, probably straight as they come. He is staying for the weekend. That is it.
An hour passed. Maybe two. I needed water. Or air. Something.
I opened the door quietly.
The living room light was low now, TV flickering. Some dumb romantic movie played, beach scene on screen, bikini girls running through waves.
His boxer briefs lay crumpled on the floor like discarded trash.
He sat sprawled on the couch, completely naked now, legs wide, one arm draped along the backrest. His other hand was wrapped around his cock. It was fully hard, pushing eight inches at least, thick as my wrist, cut, the head flushed dark and shiny. Precum oozed steadily from the tip, a thick clear bead that his thumb caught and smeared down the shaft in slow strokes. Veins bulged along the length, pulsing with each up and down motion. His heavy balls shifted in their sac, skin tight and fuzzy, drawing up slightly every time his hand reached the base.
The sound was unmistakable. Wet, rhythmic skin on skin. Low breaths from his chest.
I froze in the doorway.
He did not cover up. Did not even flinch. Just kept stroking, slow and deliberate, eyes flicking from the TV to me.
"Don't mind me, bro. It's been a long fucking day."
My feet moved before my brain caught up. I stepped closer towards the couch, drawn like a magnet. The musk was strong, thick in the air, sweat and precum and pure man. My eyes kept drifting to his cock, watching the way his big hand glided, the way the precum made his cock shiny, the way his abs flexed every time he twisted his wrist at the head.
He turned his head fully toward me, eyes locking on mine. Still stroking. Still calm.
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