The anime credits rolled, bathing the dim apartment in shifting colors. Brody stretched, his massive arms brushing the ceiling, muscles flexing. He yawned, wide and unselfconscious. "Bed?" he mumbled, scratching his stomach. Not a word about my mouth, my tongue, the taste of him. Perfect. Exactly how I wanted it—casual, unremarkable, like grabbing a coffee. Just... better. Because it was *him*.
I grinned, stretching lazily beside him. "Yeah," I agreed, my voice thick with manufactured fatigue. "Bit tired myself. Marathon's over." I pushed myself off the couch, the worn springs groaning. My legs felt pleasantly shaky. "Gotta brush." I walked towards my backpack slumped by the door, digging past spare clothes for my toothbrush and paste.
Brody lumbered towards his bedroom door. "I'll get your bed stuff," he offered, voice still a little rough. He disappeared inside. I headed into the small bathroom, flicking on the harsh fluorescent light. The mirror reflected flushed cheeks. I ran the tap cold, splashing water on my face. The scent of him—musky, clean sweat—still clung faintly to my skin. I squeezed toothpaste onto the brush, the mint sharp and bracing.
"Got your pillow!" Brody's voice boomed from the living room. I heard the rustle of blankets, the thump of him tossing cushions onto the sofa. "Sheets are fresh!" he added proudly. I pictured him wrestling with the fitted sheet, that simple, earnest focus he applied to everything.
I spat into the sink, rinsing my mouth. Mint obliterated the lingering salt. "Thanks, Brody," I called back, leaning against the doorframe. He was bent over the sofa, arranging my makeshift bed with intense focus. The grey sweats hung low on his hips, exposing the powerful V of his pelvis and the flexing muscles of his lower back as he smoothed the blanket. His bare shoulders gleamed under the warm light—broad, sculpted deltoids shifting with each movement. A primal ache stirred low in my groin.
*Damn.* Still hard as granite beneath those sweats, and now shirtless? Pure torture. Sadness flickered—a sharp, hollow pang beneath the lingering buzz. I hadn'tt come. Didn't even get touched. But watching him move, raw and oblivious… the trade-off felt almost worth it. Almost. My own need throbbed, insistent. *Tomorrow,* I promised myself firmly. Tonight, exhaustion weighed heavy on my bones, a pleasant lethargy from the effort spent. Another round was unthinkable now.
He straightened, turning. "All set." His smile was easy, unburdened. He gestured at the sofa like presenting a trophy. The cushions were shoved aside haphazardly, the pillow slightly lumpy, the blanket thin. Utterly basic. Utterly Brody. And utterly perfect because *he'd* done it. My gaze traced the thick line of his collarbone. "Looks great," I murmured, stepping closer. The scent of his skin—clean sweat and soap—was sharper now, mingling with the faint musk still clinging to the air. "Comfier than my bed at home."
He chuckled, a low rumble. "Doubt that." He stretched again, arms reaching high, pecs tightening, abs rippling. The motion pulled the sweats even lower. My breath hitched. He dropped his arms, oblivious.
I sank onto the makeshift bed, the thin blanket scratchy. "Gonna brush?" I asked casually, nodding towards the bathroom door I had left open. Light spilled out.
"Yeah," he grunted, padding towards it. He leaned over the sink, broad back flexing as he squeezed toothpaste onto his brush. He started brushing vigorously, the sound loud in the quiet apartment.
I watched him from the couch, propped up on an elbow. "So," I ventured, keeping my tone light, conversational. "How often you, uh... take care of yourself? When you're alone?" The question hung in the air, charged but casual.
He spat into the sink, rinsing. "Huh?" He turned, toothbrush sticking out of his mouth, foam at the corner of his lips. He wiped it away with the back of his hand. "Oh. Jerkin' off?" He shrugged, massive shoulders lifting. "Usually... every day? Sometimes twice." A simple admission. He leaned against the doorframe, facing me fully. "But..." He paused, a faint blush creeping up his neck. "I held off for two days before tonight." His grin was sheepish, proud. "Knew you were comin'. Wanted it... bigger. For you." He tapped his temple. "Strategy."
My own pulse quickened. *Strategy.* For me. He pushed off the doorframe, stepping back into the living room. He stood near the couch, radiating restless energy. "Still feel kinda... wired," he admitted, shifting his weight. His gaze dropped pointedly to his lap, where the thick outline beneath the grey sweats was unmistakable, semi-hard again already. "Could probably go another round right now." He looked at me, earnest, hopeful. "But... I don't wanna push you." He added quickly, "If you're tired. Or sore."
I smiled slowly, warmth spreading through me. If I weren't utterly drained, if my jaw didn't ache with the phantom memory of his girth... I'd already be on my knees again. The thought sent a jolt of frustrated desire through me. "Tempting," I murmured, my voice husky. "But yeah. Wrecked." I patted the couch cushion beside me. "Come here."
He shuffled closer instantly, stopping right beside the sofa bed. My hand shot out, fingers curling around the thick muscle of his thigh through the soft sweats. I felt him tense slightly, then relax. My hand slid higher, tracing the powerful line of his quadriceps, then cupped the heavy swell of his balls through the fabric. He inhaled sharply, a low groan escaping him as I gave a gentle, possessive squeeze. His cock thickened noticeably against my wrist.
"Mmm," he hummed, eyes fluttering shut for a second. He swayed slightly towards my touch. "Feels good." His hand hovered near my shoulder, as if wanting to reciprocate but unsure.
I held him for another moment, feeling the heat and weight, the sheer *presence* of him. Then, reluctantly, I let my hand slide away. "Go on," I said, nodding towards his bedroom door. "Get some sleep."
He blinked, arousal warring with obedience. "Yeah," he breathed, sounding dazed. He took a step back, then another, his gaze lingering on me. "Night, Mika." He turned, the thick muscles of his back shifting as he walked towards his bedroom. The door clicked shut softly behind him, leaving me alone in the dim light, the scent of him, and the aching echo of his warmth against my palm.
***
Sunlight stabbed through the thin curtains, hitting my face like a warm slap. I groaned, burying my head deeper into the scratchy sofa pillow. *Late.* Way later than usual. Yesterday must have really drained me. I stretched languidly, limbs protesting, a deep yawn cracking my jaw. Finally blinking my eyes fully open, the brightness confirmed it – definitely noon territory. The haze of sleep evaporated quickly, replaced by a rhythmic, grunting sound coming from the corner of the room.
I pushed myself up onto my elbows, squinting against the glare. There he was. Brody. Already deep into his workout, or finishing it, judging by the sheen of sweat coating his broad back. My phone confirmed it: 12:07 PM. A normal time for him, I guess. But the thought vanished instantly, replaced by pure, unfiltered admiration. He was facing slightly away, focused, massive arms pumped and straining as he lowered heavy dumbbells with controlled effort. His biceps were like sculpted hills, veins snaking across the thick muscle under damp skin. He wore only loose gym shorts, riding low on his hips, the powerful sweep of his lats and the deep groove of his spine mesmerizing as he moved.
As he turned slightly to grab his water bottle, his eyes flickered towards the couch. They met mine. He froze mid-reach, bottle hovering in the air. A slow, slightly sheepish grin spread across his flushed face. "Mornin'," he rumbled, his voice thick with exertion. He took a long swig, his throat working, Adam's apple bobbing. "Didn't mean to wake you." He set the bottle down, his gaze lingering on me, warm and uncomplicated.
I pushed the thin blanket off, sitting fully upright. My own sleep-tousled hair felt ridiculous compared to his glistening perfection. "You didn't. Sun did." My voice was still thick with sleep. "How long you been at it?"
"One hour," he shrugged, flexing one massive arm unconsciously. A bead of sweat traced a path down the hard curve of his bicep, disappearing into the waistband of his shorts. The sight was hypnotic. "Feel good. Strong." He grinned wider, pure pride radiating off him. "Wanna feel?" He extended his arm towards me, the muscle bulging invitingly.
I couldn't resist. I swung my legs off the sofa bed and padded barefoot across the cool floor. Closing the distance, I placed my hand on his forearm. The skin was hot, slick, the muscle beneath impossibly dense and hard, humming with residual energy. My fingers traced the ridge of his vein. "Solid," I murmured, genuinely impressed. My thumb brushed over the peak of his bicep. "Like granite."
He chuckled, a low, pleased rumble in his chest. "Told ya." He didn't pull away. Instead, he subtly flexed again under my touch, letting me feel the sheer power coiled there. His scent – sweat, exertion, and that underlying masculine musk – filled the small space between us. His eyes, bright and focused solely on me, held a quiet contentment. He liked showing off. He liked me seeing it. And right now, standing half-naked in the midday sun, letting me explore the landscape of his strength, he seemed utterly at peace. Simple. Mine. The ache from last night was forgotten, replaced by a warm, possessive satisfaction curling low in my belly.
His gaze drifted downwards, past my own chest, settling pointedly on the tent pushing against the thin fabric of my underwear. A slow, knowing grin spread across his face, replacing the prideful contentment. "Someone else woke up strong too," he observed, his voice dropping into a deeper register. He tilted his head, genuinely curious. "Still?"
Heat flooded my cheeks. I usually played it cooler, kept the frantic edge hidden. But lying here, sleep-rumpled and caught staring at him like he was breakfast, the facade felt pointless. He’d seen me swallow him whole last night. Why hide a hard-on? "Yeah," I admitted, my voice rough. I didn't look away. "Hard not to be, seeing you like that. All pumped and slick." I gestured vaguely at his gleaming torso. "You look... primal. Makes me horny." I shrugged, trying for casual but landing somewhere between confession and complaint. "Didn't exactly get my turn last night, remember? Body's still kinda... pent up. Ready to burst." It was more than I usually said, laying it bare. The frustration, the desire, the sheer unfairness of watching him shudder apart twice while I stayed wound tight.
Brody blinked. His grin faded slightly, replaced by a look of intense, almost comical concentration. His brow furrowed, lips pursed. He was thinking. *Really* thinking. It was a visible effort, like watching gears grind slowly into motion. He stayed crouched beside the sofa bed, the dumbbell forgotten on the floorboards. Then, the furrow smoothed out. Understanding dawned, simple and direct. "Oh," he breathed. He straightened up in one powerful, fluid motion, towering over me where I stood. Sweat still glistened on his pecs, catching the sunlight. His expression shifted – the thoughtful look melting into something hotter, more instinctive. A predatory gleam lit his eyes, mixed with pure, uncomplicated hunger. It wasn't initiative born of cunning; it was the brute, physical need surfacing, raw and undeniable. He planted his hands on his hips, muscles flexing. "Well," he rumbled, his voice thick with exertion and fresh arousal. "I *am* pumped. Always get super horny after lifting heavy." His gaze dropped to my lap again, then locked onto mine. "So... wanna?" He tilted his head towards his bedroom door. "Morning fun?"
I smiled. Simple. Direct. Exactly what he understood. "Sure," I said, keeping it light. I turned and padded back to the rumpled sofa, sinking down onto the cushions. Brody watched me, his head slightly cocked, like a giant dog trying to puzzle out a command. His eyes scanned me, lingering on the tent in my underwear. Then, he frowned slightly. "Ain'tcha gonna lose the clothes?" he asked, genuinely perplexed. "Gotta get naked for fun, right?"
My heart hammered against my ribs. *Here goes.* I pushed the blanket off completely. Sitting upright, I met his gaze. A flicker of doubt – *would he like what he saw?* – vanished under a surge of reckless confidence. *Show him.* Slowly, deliberately, I pulled my shirt over my head, tossing it aside. My skin prickled in the cool air. Brody seemed unfazed, but at least not disgusted. Then, hooking my thumbs into the waistband of my underwear, I slid them down my legs, kicking them free. I stretched languidly, arching my back slightly, letting him see the lean lines of my torso, the curve of my hip. Trying for sensual, maybe a little teasing.
Brody watched, his expression shifting from confusion to amusement. A low chuckle escaped him, half-laughing, half-serious, shaking his head slowly. "Damn, Mika," he rumbled, a wide grin spreading. "Never really thought 'bout it before... but yeah. You look good naked." The compliment was blunt, genuine, utterly Brody. He didn't hesitate. Hooking his thumbs into his own shorts, he shoved them down his thick thighs in one efficient motion, kicking them aside. His cock, already thickening, swung heavily between his legs. "See?" he added, pointing vaguely at himself, then at me. "Told ya I liked seeing it."
The simplicity was disarming. No awkwardness, just primal appreciation. *Don't let him overthink.* I shifted sideways on the couch, stretching out fully along its length, until I laid completly flat on it. My own erection stood rigid against my belly. Brody tilted his head, brow furrowed. "Whatcha doing?" he asked, stepping closer.
"Come here," I said, my voice steady. I patted the cushion beside my hip. "Kneel over me. Straddle my chest." My eyes stayed locked on his cock—already fully hard, thick and flushed, swaying slightly as he moved. His balls hung heavy and low beneath it, a perfect contrast to the shaved planes of his pelvis and the hard ridges of his abs. Pre-cum beaded at my own tip, slick and hot. The sight alone made my breath hitch.
Brody didn't hesitate. He stepped forward eagerly, his movements quick and purposeful. The muscles in his thighs bunched as he climbed onto the couch, knees sinking into the cushions on either side of my ribs. He loomed over me, blotting out the sunlight, radiating heat and the sharp scent of sweat and musk. His erection bobbed inches from my face, thick veins pulsing along its length. I licked my lips, tasting salt in the air.
"What now?" he asked, voice rough. His hands hovered near my shoulders, unsure where to settle.
"Slow," I murmured, reaching down to wrap my fingers around my own aching cock. A soft groan escaped me as I began to stroke myself behind his back, slow and deliberate. "Just... explore. Whatever feels good." My eyes stayed locked on his thick shaft hovering above my face. "Use my mouth. My lips. Whatever you want." I tilted my chin up slightly, parting my lips. "Just don't push deep. Angle's wrong."
Brody stared down, his brow furrowed in intense concentration. Slowly, hesitantly, he wrapped his huge hand around his own cock. He gave it a tentative stroke, his knuckles brushing my chin. Then, guided by instinct, he angled the flushed, swollen head towards my waiting lips. It bumped gently against them, slick with pre-cum. I flicked my tongue out, catching the salty bead. A low groan rumbled from Brody's chest.
"Like that?" he breathed, his voice thick. He rubbed the broad tip against my lips again, smearing them wet. When I hummed approval, sucking lightly just on the crown, his hips jerked forward instinctively. "Oh... fuck," he gasped, his grip tightening on his shaft. He began a slow, rhythmic rocking motion, dragging his cockhead across my lips, over my tongue, letting me taste the clean sweat and musk clinging to his skin. His other hand drifted down, fingers tangling gently in my hair, not forcing, just holding.
"You're..." he started, his thrusts becoming more confident, smoother, "you're so fuckin' easy, Mika." His cockhead nudged past my lips again, and I sucked lightly. He groaned louder. "Like... you just... *do* this stuff." A bead of sweat dripped from his jaw onto my chest. "Never had anyone... wanna taste me after lifting." He sounded awed. "Or... just... be like this." His hips pushed forward a fraction more, the thick ridge of his crown pressing firmly against my tongue.
I hummed encouragement, my own hand working steadily behind his thick thigh. The angle was awkward, my neck straining slightly against the flat couch cushion. *Need leverage.* Slowly, I pushed myself upwards, wriggling back until my shoulders hit the firm armrest. Instantly, Brody froze. His cock slipped from my lips. "Whoa!" he exclaimed, jerking back slightly, his face clouded with sudden confusion. "Sorry! Did I... hurt ya? What's wrong?"
"Nothing's wrong," I reassured him quickly, settling against the padded armrest. The new position tilted my head back slightly, giving him a clearer angle. "Just needed to prop up. Better now."
He stared down at me, brow furrowed deeply. His gaze flickered to his own groin, then back to my face. "Oh," he mumbled, a flush creeping up his neck. "Okay." Slowly, cautiously, he leaned forward again, settling his knees firmly on either side of me. His thick thighs pressed warmly against my sides. He gripped his cock once more, the thick shaft filling his meaty fist. This time, he didn't immediately bring it to my lips. Instead, he began stroking himself slowly, deliberately, right above my chest.
My breath caught. The view was mesmerizing. His lower abs flexed with each pull, tight ridges leading down to the thick base of his cock. His thighs, powerful and dusted with light hair, framed the scene perfectly as he knelt over me. Pre-cum welled at his tip, glistening. A thick drop fell, landing warm and wet on my smooth, hairless chest, just below my collarbone. I instinctively licked my lips, the salty tang still lingering.
Brody noticed. A slow, almost shy grin spread across his face. He dipped his thumb into the slick bead pooling at his slit, then reached down. With surprising gentleness, he smeared the warm fluid across my bottom lip. "Like that?" he rumbled, his voice thick. When I parted my lips slightly, he pressed the pad of his thumb against them. I sucked it clean, swirling my tongue. He groaned, low and deep, his hips jerking forward instinctively. "Fuck, Mika," he breathed. "You're... really good at this."
"Good boy," I murmured, the praise slipping out naturally. His eyes widened slightly, then softened with unmistakable pleasure. He liked it. A lot.
He resumed stroking himself, slower now, more rhythmic, hovering just above me. The thick head of his cock glistened inches from my lips. "Wanna taste?" he asked, voice rough with need. "Just... lick it? Like before?" His thumb brushed my bottom lip again, slick with fresh pre-cum.
"Anything," I breathed, tilting my chin up. "Just... go slow."
Brody nodded, his brow furrowed in concentration. He guided the swollen tip towards my mouth. I opened willingly, letting the broad, salty crown press against my lips. My tongue flicked out, tracing the slit, lapping up the slickness. A shudder ran through him, his thighs tightening against my sides. "Oh... yeah," he groaned, his hips rocking forward gently, feeding me another inch. It was thick, stretching my lips, filling my mouth with his heat and musk. I hollowed my cheeks, sucking lightly, swirling my tongue around the sensitive ridge. His breathing hitched, ragged and loud above me. His hand tightened in my hair, not pulling, just holding. "Fuck... Mika," he gasped, his thrusts becoming shallow, instinctive pulses. "So... warm..."
My own hand was frantic beneath him, stroking my aching cock in tight, urgent pulls. The pressure built fast, a white-hot coil tightening low in my belly. I hadn't come in days, pent-up and desperate. Watching Brody lose himself above me, feeling his cock pulse against my tongue, hearing those deep groans – it was too much. "Brody," I gasped, pulling my mouth off him with a wet pop.
He froze, blinking down at me, eyes wide and hazy with lust. "Huh?"
"I'm gonna—" My warning was cut off by a ragged groan as my hips bucked up off the cushion. My orgasm slammed into me, violent and sudden. Thick ropes of cum splattered hot against Brody's lower back, streaking across the hard muscles just above his ass. My body shuddered, moans ripped from my throat, loud and uncontrolled.
Brody didn't flinch. He just watched, fascinated, a slow grin spreading across his flushed face. His eyes tracked the mess I'd made on his skin, pure satisfaction gleaming in them. "Damn," he breathed, voice thick. "You came *hard*."
Panting, I collapsed back against the armrest, spent. My hand fell away from my softening cock. Brody didn't hesitate. Still kneeling over me, he wrapped his huge hand around his own thick shaft. He started jerking himself with rough, powerful strokes, his gaze locked on my face. Pre-cum slicked his fist, the sound wet and urgent. His hips pumped into his grip, his breathing ragged. Then, deliberately, he angled the flushed, swollen head towards my still-parted lips, smearinng it wetly against them, as if to ask permission.
I smiled up at him, exhausted but pleased. My tongue flicked out instinctively, catching the salty bead welling at his tip. Encouraged, Brody pushed forward, feeding the thick crown back into my mouth. I sucked gently, swirling my tongue around the sensitive ridge. A deep groan rumbled from his chest, his thrusts becoming shallow pulses against my lips. He seemed utterly absorbed, lost in the sensation, his eyes half-closed, brow furrowed in concentration. He liked the heat, the wetness, the simple friction of my tongue working him. He stayed like that, rocking gently, letting me taste him while he chased his own peak, taking his time, drawing it out with slow, deliberate strokes of his fist around the base.
My own climax had been quick, almost frantic. Brody’s was different – a slow, building pressure. Minutes stretched. Spit dripped from his jaw onto my chest. His thighs trembled against my sides with the effort of holding himself back.
Then, it happened. A low, guttural groan tore from his throat, primal and raw. His entire body locked rigid above me. Every muscle in his torso, shoulders, and arms corded into sharp relief, veins bulging under sweat-slicked skin. His balls drew up tight against his thick shaft, pulsing visibly. The first spurt wasn't a trickle; it was a thick, forceful rope. It arced high, landing hot and wet across my forehead, plastering strands of my hair flat against my skin. The sharp scent of salt filled the air.
I kept my eyes wide open, mesmerized. More followed, powerful jets propelled by the sheer force of his release. One hit my cheekbone, warm and slick. Another splattered across my collarbone. The next shot sailed past my head, hitting the couch cushion behind me with a wet slap. Then, a thick stream caught me directly between the eyes. Instinctively, I squeezed them shut, laughing breathlessly as the warmth spread over my brows and eyelids.
Brody shuddered violently above me, gasping. His hips jerked in short, uncontrolled thrusts into the air. Finally, spent, he slumped forward slightly, panting heavily. His softening cock dripped lazily onto my chest, mingling with the mess already there.
I blinked my eyes open, wiping sticky strands from my lashes. Brody stared down at me, his expression dazed, then sheepish. "Whoa," he breathed, his voice rough. "Sorry 'bout the... uh... gunshot." He gestured vaguely at the streaks decorating my face and hair.
I grinned, genuinely amused. "No harm done." I ran a finger through the thick pool cooling on my face, lifting it to show him. "Damn, Brody. That was a *load*. Like, seriously thrusting out."
A proud, almost goofy smile spread across his flushed face. He straightened up, flexing his arms unconsciously. "Told ya," he rumbled, utterly sincere. "Super horny after lifting." He glanced down at the mess coating my torso and the couch cushion behind my head. "Uh... towels?"
"Yeah," I managed, still catching my breath. Brody climbed off me with surprising grace for a man his size, his softening cock swinging. He padded naked across the small apartment, muscles shifting under sweat-slicked skin. I watched him go, admiring the powerful lines of his back, the curve of his ass. He returned moments later, clutching two mismatched towels.
We cleaned up rather fast, and as I wiped down the couch cushion behind me, the fabric damp and cooling. "Gotta shower," Brody announced, tossing his towel aside. "Still sweaty from the workout. And, well... the after-fun." He gestured vaguely at his own sticky skin.
"Hurry up," I told him, already feeling the stickiness on my own skin. "I need one too." He nodded and vanished into the bathroom, the door clicking shut.
Alone, I quickly wiped the stray spurts Brody had left on the floorboards near the couch. With the immediate tension gone, my stomach rumbled loudly. Breakfast? More like lunch. "Hey Brody!" I called through the door. The shower hissed to life. "You want food after this? Lunch?"
"Yeah!" his voice boomed over the water. "Sounds good!" A pause, then I asked, "Hey, while you're in there... you want me to lay some clothes out for you? Since I'm just waiting anyway." The shower stopped for a second. Silence. Then, a confused, "Huh? Lay out clothes?" Another pause, longer this time. "Uh.. I mean im not 6 anymore but... yeah, sure? Why not? That'd be... kinda nice, actually." He sounded genuinely baffled but agreeable.
*Okay, then.* I pushed off the couch, the damp towel still in my hand. I tossed it towards the laundry basket as I walked into his small bedroom. The wardrobe stood open, as usual. Inside, it wasn't chaos, but it wasn't neat either – stacks of clean t-shirts and sweats mingled with jeans and a few nicer shirts shoved to the back. *Functional, not fussy.* My eyes scanned the options. It was warm today, sunny outside his window. He'd look incredible in something that showed off that pumped physique, those arms still thick with the morning's effort. *Something tight.*
I pushed past baggy tees and loose tanks. *There.* I pulled out a white muscle shirt – thin cotton, sleeveless, cut high under the arms to showcase shoulders and biceps. It was clean, folded near the top. *Perfect.* For pants, I grabbed a pair of dark blue jeans, worn soft but still sturdy. They'd hug his thick thighs nicely. Now, underwear. I rummaged through the drawer. Socks were easy – plain white athletic ones for his sneakers. The boxers... I grinned. Buried near the back, I found them: bright red cotton boxer briefs. Clean, barely worn. *Definitely hot for whatever might come later.* I gathered the white shirt, blue jeans, red boxers, and white socks into a neat pile on the foot of his unmade bed. The contrast of the crisp white and bold red against the dark denim looked deliberate, appealing.
The shower shut off. I heard the curtain scrape open. Moments later, Brody emerged, a towel slung low and loose around his hips, barely clinging. Water droplets traced paths down his broad chest and ridged abs. He padded towards the bedroom, the towel slipping precariously. "Hey," I called out, nodding towards the towel. "Lose it. I've seen everything already, haven't I?" He paused, a slow, stupidly proud grin spreading across his face. For a split second, he looked like he might actually *think* about it, but then he just chuckled, a low rumble, and let go. The damp terrycloth dropped in a heap at his feet. He stepped out of it, completely naked, and walked confidently towards the bedroom, giving me a full, unobstructed view of his powerful back, the flex of his glutes, the heavy hang of his balls. It was casual, unselfconscious, utterly Brody.
I grabbed the fresh clothes I’d laid out for myself – simple jeans and a tee – from my bag. "Alright, my turn," I announced, heading for the steamy bathroom. "Wash off quick, then we hit lunch. Hungry." Brody, already rummaging through the pile I’d set out, grunted in agreement. "Sure." He held up the bright red boxer briefs, squinting at them. "Huh. Forgot I had these." He sounded faintly pleased. I closed the bathroom door, leaving him standing there, naked and examining the clothes, a simple satisfaction settling over the apartment
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