The next day Bruno knocked on my door at after arriving from work.
“Up. We’re going to the gym.”
I stared at him from under the covers, I was taking a little nap. He was already dressed in black shorts and a faded grey tank top that clung to his chest, gym bag hanging from one shoulder, green eyes bright and way too energetic for someone who spent his day working.
“I don’t do gym,” I mumbled.
“You do today.” He stepped into the room, grabbed the edge of the duvet and yanked it off me in one clean pull. “You’ve been sitting on your ass studying for weeks. Time to move. Come on, I’ll show you the basics. No one’s gonna care if you’re a beginner.”
I sat up, still half-hard from the night before, and watched him lean against the doorframe. He looked unfairly good for someone who had face-fucked his little brother less than twelve hours ago and then ordered pizza like nothing happened. There was no weird tension in his face. Just that same easy, slightly teasing energy he always had when he decided something was going to happen.
“Fine,” I muttered. “But if I die, it’s your fault.”
He grinned. “Deal.”
The gym was already half full when we got there. Bruno scanned us in, tossed me a bottle of water, and led the way to the free weights like he owned the place. A couple of guys nodded at him. One of the trainers raised a hand in greeting. Bruno was clearly a regular.
“Okay,” he said, stopping in front of a bench. “We’re starting light. You’re skinny as fuck, so we’re not going heavy. I’ll spot you.”
He showed me how to lie down, where to put my hands, how to breathe. Every time he leaned over to correct my form his tank top brushed my arm or my shoulder. The scent of him , clean deodorant mixed with the first traces of fresh sweat, kept drifting down. I tried to focus on the bar. It was almost impossible.
After the bench press we moved to shoulder presses. Bruno stood behind me, close enough that I could feel the heat of his body every time I lowered the dumbbells. On the third set he stepped in even closer to adjust my elbows.
“Keep them here,” he said, voice right next to my ear. His chest pressed lightly against my back for a second. I felt it immediately, the thick, half-hard shape of him through his shorts, resting against the curve of my ass.
My breath caught.
Bruno didn’t move away right away. He just stayed there, steadying my arms, completely casual, like the contact was nothing. A single drop of sweat rolled from his temple and landed on the back of my neck.
“You’re shaking,” he said, amused. “Too heavy?”
“No,” I managed. “Just… concentrating.”
“Uh-huh.” He finally stepped back, but the smirk on his face said he knew exactly what he’d just done.
We kept going.
Every exercise somehow required him to stand behind me or lean over me. Squats. Rows. Even the cable work. By the time we reached the last set of lunges I was a mess, face flushed, cock half-hard in my shorts from all the teasing, hyper-aware of every time his body brushed mine. Bruno was fully sweaty now. The grey tank top was dark under the arms and down the middle of his chest. When he lifted his arms to demonstrate something I got a clear view of the damp ginger hair in his armpits and the way the fabric stuck to his abs.
He caught me staring and just laughed under his breath.
“You’re allowed to look, you know. We’re brothers. It’s not weird unless you make it weird.”
I didn’t answer. I just tried to finish the set without completely losing it.
When we finally racked the last weight Bruno clapped me on the shoulder, hard enough to make me stumble.
“Not bad for a first time. You’re stronger than you look.” He grabbed his towel and wiped his face and neck. “Shower. Then protein shake. Then movies and dinner out, my treat.”
The locker room was quieter than the main floor. A couple of guys were changing near the entrance, but the back area near the showers was empty. Bruno dropped his bag on a bench, pulled his tank top off in one motion, and tossed it aside. His chest and shoulders were shiny. Sweat still ran down the center of his abs in thin lines.
I tried not to look. Failed immediately.
He noticed, of course.
“You keep staring like that and people are gonna talk,” he said lightly, pushing his shorts and underwear down in one go. His cock, thick, soft for the moment, hanging heavy, came into view. He didn’t cover up. He just grabbed his towel and walked toward the open showers like it was nothing.
I followed, heart hammering.
The showers were a row of stalls with only partitions. Bruno turned one on, stepped under the spray, and tilted his head back. Water ran over his face, down his chest, through the trimmed hair on his stomach. I was paralyzed watching. I picked the stall next to him and tried to focus on getting my own clothes off without making it obvious how hard I already was.
We lasted maybe two minutes of actual washing.
Bruno entered my stall without an invitation.
“You okay over there?”
“Yeah.”
“You don’t look okay.” He stepped closer, until only the low partition separated us. Water dripped from his hair onto my shoulder.
“You’ve been hard since the lunges.”
I opened my mouth to deny it. Nothing came out.
Bruno wrapped one wet hand around the back of my neck, and pulled me toward him. The kiss was nothing like the night before, slower, deeper, almost curious. His tongue pushed into my mouth like he had all the time in the world. When he pulled back he was smiling that same easy, slightly wicked smile.
“Come here.”
The second I was under the water with him his hands were on my waist, pulling me flush against his body. His cock, fully hard now, pressed against my stomach. Mine was trapped between us. He kissed me again, deeper this time, while one hand slid down and squeezed my ass.
“Turn around,” he murmured against my mouth.
I did.
Bruno pressed up behind me, chest to my back, and reached around to stroke me slowly under the water. His cock slid between my cheeks, thick and hot, rubbing against my hole with every small movement of his hips. He wasn’t pushing in yet. Just letting me feel him. Letting the tension build.
“You sure?” he asked, voice lower now, right against my ear. “Because once I start I’m not stopping halfway.”
“I’m sure.”
He spat into his hand, rubbed it over the head of his cock, and pushed in slowly. The stretch made me drop my forehead against the tiled wall. Bruno’s hands settled on my hips, steadying me, while he worked himself deeper one careful inch at a time until he was buried all the way.
“Fuck,” he breathed.
He started moving, long, deep strokes that filled me completely every time. The water made everything slicker. His chest was hot and wet against my back. Every time he thrust in I felt the solid muscle of his stomach and the heavy weight of him. One of his hands stayed on my hip; the other reached around and stroked me in the same rhythm.
It felt different from the night before. Less frantic. More deliberate. Like he was actually paying attention to every sound I made.
“That’s it,” he murmured, voice warm and rough at the same time. “Just take it. I’ve got you.”
He fucked me deeper, angling his hips until he found the spot that made my knees weak. I moaned against the tiles. Bruno’s breathing grew heavier behind me. His thrusts stayed controlled but harder, the wet slap of skin on skin echoing softly in the open shower.
I was so focused on the feeling of him that I almost didn’t hear the footsteps.
Almost.
A voice cut through the steam from the entrance of the shower area.
“Bruno? You still in here, man? I need the—”
The personal trainer, tall, mid-thirties, clipboard still in hand, stopped dead when he saw us.
Bruno froze mid-thrust, buried to the hilt inside me, one hand still wrapped around my cock. Water continued to pour over both of us. For a long second nobody moved.
The trainer’s eyes went wide.
Bruno’s fingers tightened on my hip.
And that was the exact moment I felt him swell even thicker inside me, right on the edge of coming, while the man stood there staring at his friend’s cock buried in his little brother’s ass.
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