Morning came too soon, sunlight slicing through the gaps in Bryn’s curtains like an accusation. I blinked awake to the unfamiliar weight of an arm slung across my ribs, Bryn’s breath warm against my shoulder. His sheets smelled like sex and cheap detergent, and for a disorienting second, I couldn’t remember where my clothes were. Then it hit me, the veranda, the desperate scramble to get naked for a good fucking, my clothes lost to the darkness beyond the railing.
Careful not to jostle the mattress, I slid out from under Bryn’s arm. He mumbled something unintelligible, his fingers twitching against the space I left behind. Naked, I padded across the creaky floorboards, wincing at every sound. Bryn’s room was a disaster, boots kicked into corners, a stack of National Agri magazines beside the bed, the lube bottle still uncapped on his nightstand. I righted it with a quiet snort.
The hallway was cooler, the linoleum rough under my bare feet. Somewhere down the hall, Bryn’s dad coughed, the sound muffled behind a closed door. I froze, my pulse hammering, but the house stayed quiet.
The screen door whined when I pushed it open, morning light washing over the veranda. My clothes were exactly where I’d left them, crumpled in the dirt beside the steps. I shook it out, grimacing at the dust, and nearly missed the low whistle from behind me.
"Leaving without breakfast?" as Bryn leaned against the doorframe, his beautiful body visible for the entire world to admire, his hair sticking up in every direction, as he looked pleased with himself, like he’d known I’d bolt at first light.
I balled the clothes in my fists. "I want to send that email, and besides, your dad’s home."
Bryn shrugged, scratching his stomach. "So?"
"So?" I gestured between us, at the bite mark just visible above his hipbone. "He doesn’t...."
Bryn grinned, stepping closer. "Mate, he’s been fucking station hands since before I was born. What else can you fuck around here? Not enough Shellas is the problem. Besides, you think he cares?"
The admission landed between us, as a matter of fact. I stared at him, at the easy way he stood in his skin, like last night hadn’t rewritten every unspoken rule between us. Bryn reached out, hooking his hand around my balls and cock, tugging me closer. "Stay," he said, quieter now. "Have a fucking coffee, at least."
Giving him a kiss a relented. "Okay, quick coffee," I replied as I sat on the veranda rocking chair, "and then, I must do the email and get the ball rolling."
The sun was just high enough to cast long shadows across the veranda, the kind of morning light that made everything look softer than it was. I sat there, legs stretched out, bare feet propped on the railing, staring at the dust motes swirling in the air like I could divine some meaning from them. Bryn’s muffled cursing drifted through the screen door as he wrestled with the coffee machine, the occasional clatter of mugs punctuating the quiet.
Then the screen door creaked open, thinking it was Bryn with our coffee. A hand settled on my shoulder, nails blunt and practical, as I realised too late.
"So," Bryn’s mom said, her voice dry as the outback wind, "I figure he’s confessed his love for you."
I nearly swallowed my tongue in shock, rushing to use my hands to cover myself.
"Don't worry, boy," she said, her voice as dry as the dust outside as she tossed a towel at my lap without even glancing down. "Seen it all before with Bryn. Though," she added with a slow once-over, "you are bigger from what I can see."
My face burned hotter than the morning sun. The towel landed half over my knees, doing nothing to hide the fact that I was still half-hard from last night's memories. Bryn chose that moment to barge through the screen door, two steaming mugs in hand, nearly dropping them when he saw his mom standing over me like a disapproving station manager inspecting livestock.
"Mom," he croaked, coffee sloshing over his wrist.
She plucked one mug from his grip, took a sip, and grimaced. "Still can't brew worth a damn," as her eyes flicked between us, taking in Bryn's nudity and sleep-mussed hair, the bite marks on his collarbone and my death grip on the towel. "Finally told him, then?"
Bryn rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly fascinated by the veranda boards. "Yeah."
The towel slipped from my fingers as Bryn's mom took another sip of coffee, her gaze lingering just below my waist with the clinical detachment of a woman who'd spent thirty years raising cattle, and one particularly adventurous son. Her lips twitched. "Definitely bigger."
Bryn choked on his own coffee, spraying droplets across the veranda boards. "Jesus, Mum."
She shrugged, unfazed. "Just an observation. You boys want eggs? If you do, at least put some undies on," and at that, she went back into the house.
I opened my mouth....to say what, I wasn't sure, but Bryn's father chose that moment to emerge from the house, his boots thudding against the wooden steps. He paused mid-stride, taking in the scene, his son naked and flushed, and me, bare-arsed on a rocking chair with a towel crumpled over my groin like a white flag.
A beat of silence. Then he grunted, stepping off the veranda and walking towards his truck, sort of shouting out, don't forget to use protection, you two and with that, he was gone.
Bryn’s mom handed me a coffee through the window, and I took a sip, trying to compose myself after the events of the last two minutes. The coffee burned my throat as I gulped it down, barely tasting it over the taste of my own humiliation as I scrambled off the veranda, my clothes bundled in my hands as I fled towards my van.
Bryn's voice carried across the yard, "See you late loverboy," as I jammed my feet into boots still damp with dew.
I made it, albeit naked and humiliated, the ute's door groaning when I yanked it open, the vinyl seat scorching my thighs and buttocks. The engine roared to life, drowning out whatever Bryn was shouting as I fishtailed down the driveway, gravel pinging against the undercarriage like gunfire as I fled the scene of... my new life and my new love.
Twenty minutes later, I stood under a cold shower in my own tin-roofed shack, enjoying my thoughts and memories. The water pressure was shit, but warm, matching my mood, but I was also thinking about the project and how to progress it with my new friend on the internet, who definitely knew more than me. Drying myself, I decided to remain naked as I viewed the laptop on the kitchen table.
With a fresh coffee, I opened it and gazed at the draft, its subject line blinking: **UNDERWEAR MEASUREMENTS—FINAL**. I had all the information he had requested. All I needed to do was communicate and go from there.
My fingers flew across the keyboard, translating yesterday's chaos into something resembling professionalism and in no time, I had supplied five sets of measurements as a rough guide for average outback men. I had even considered colours he thought could work besides white, of course. All I had to do was wait for his response as I clicked SEND.
That afternoon, I received a reply, and without really thinking, I jumped in my ute and headed towards Bryn’s pad.
The dust kicked up behind my tyres as I skidded to a stop outside Bryn’s place, the ute’s door screeching when I flung it open. There he was, bent over a rusted tractor engine, grease streaked across his forehead, wearing nothing but those ridiculous Kangaroo undies and a pair of work boots. The irony wasn’t lost on me. Here I was, about to discuss underwear manufacturing while he flexed in the very product we were trying to replace.
"Got an email reply," I called out, waving my phone like a flag. Bryn straightened, wiping his hands on his thighs, leaving dark smears on the fabric. His grin was immediate, crooked, like he’d been waiting for this.
"Supplier and design details?" he asked, swiping sweat from his brow with the back of his wrist.
"Yep, everything. Unit cost is seventy-five cents an item with a minimum order. Including shipping and taxes." I rattled it off like a prayer, watching his eyes widen. "All we need now are samples, and he said he can supply one of each colour."
Bryn whistled low, stepping closer. The sun caught the sweat on his collarbones, the way his abs flexed as he moved. "Fuck me," he muttered, shaking his head. "Less than a dollar. That means we could do multipacks, which will be cheaper than what's available now and different colours as well. Fuck, we’ll have to think about what colours."
I nodded, suddenly hyper-aware of the way his thumb hooked into the waistband of his undies, tugging absently. The fabric stretched, riding low on his hips. My throat went dry. "Yeah. So? What colours d’you reckon? Classic white? Black? Something… wild?"
Bryn’s grin turned wolfish. He reached out, snagging my wrist, dragging me toward the shade of the veranda. "Sit," he ordered, shoving a beer into my hand before I could protest. The bottle was slick with condensation, cold against my palm. Bryn flopped down beside me, his thigh pressing warm against mine. "Right. Colours." He ticked them off on his fingers. "White’s classic. Black’s practical. Also need a logo or something that stands out as different."
"Like your Kangaroos?" I deadpanned, nodding at his waistband.
Bryn barked a laugh, slapping his knee. "Exactly. But classier." He leaned in, his breath hot against my ear. "Ever seen light blue look bad on a bloke?"
I swallowed. "No."
"Good." He pulled back, smug. "Light blue, then. And?" He paused, thoughtful. "Red."
"Red?" I blinked. "Who the hell wears red undies?"
"Me," Bryn said, like it was obvious. "And you. And every other bastard who wants to feel like they’ve got something special under their work clothes," as his fingers brushed my knee, deliberate like. "Trust me."
I did. That was the problem.
The screen door slammed open, and Bryn’s mom emerged, wiping her hands on a dish towel. She took one look at us. Bryn half-naked again, and me flushed and nervous again. "Boys, if you’re gonna start an undies business, think about your target audience and what colours they might like.”
“What do you know about men’s undies, Mom?”
“I know enough to know that designing practical underwear for outback workers requires prioritising extreme durability, moisture management, and comfort to handle long hours, high temperatures, and intense physical activity. The goal, in my opinion, is to create garments that prevent chafing, regulate temperature, and last through tough, daily, and often dirty labour conditions.
“I get that,” Bryn responded. “But…”
She hadn’t finish though, interrupting Bryn's response. Make them different, too. Colours as well as boring white. I like yellow or green, and definitely orange on a man if I were going to buy them. Currently around here, I only have no choice. White, white or… white. Also, think about the look and feel."
Bryn grinned up at her, unrepentant. "Mom, really, yellow, green and orange?"
Bryn's mother levelled a look at him that could have wilted crops. "What, you think I don't know what looks good on a man? Thirty years married to your father taught me a thing or two," as she flicked the dish towel over her shoulder with a practised snap. "Yellow for summer. Green for the station hands who think camouflage extends to their undies. Orange....," she paused, her gaze sliding to me with deliberate slowness. "Orange for the ones who like to be noticed."
The beer bottle nearly slipped from my grip. Bryn coughed into his fist, shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter as she continued. "They're only samples after all, but I think if you decide to be more adventurous, you will sell them and women will buy them for their lovers, sons and husbands, especially out here where it's so fucking boring. Women need something bright to enjoy occasionally."
As she walked back into the house, I turned to Bryn. “I think she’s right, you know. We need to think more about our target audience, which is women, since they buy all the undies around here for their men.”
Bryn grunted in response, “Guess you're right,” grabbing his laptop, ready to dictate a response to the email.
Together, we drafted the email discussing what colours. Our deliberations were interesting when finally arriving at a request for our internet friend to think about the problem, which centred on the question. Practical undies for the outback need to be dark-coloured to hide red dust stains, moisture-wicking, and made from breathable, quick-dry fabrics like cotton. Perhaps avoiding white, although traditional, as red dust stains heavily and is difficult to remove.
Ready the draft for the final time, I sent the email. All we had to do was wait for a reply. “Done,” I declared, noting that Bryn was sitting with a visible boner.
"Nice view," was all I said as I gazed out over the land.
"Me or the land?" Bryn responded.
"You, you fuck," I replied.
"In that case, get your arse in the fucking barn," Bryn ordered as he stood up. I'm fucking horny with all this talk of undies and, all I keep wondering what we'll call them as a brand. Maybe watching you cum will inspire me.
I smiled as I stood up and followed Bryn. The barn smelled like dry hay and diesel, sunlight cutting through the gaps in the corrugated iron like prison bars as I allowed my shorts to drop down my legs, pulling my t-shirt off in desperation and urgency. Bryn kicked the door shut behind us, sending dust motes swirling in the golden light. He didn't speak, just shoved me backwards onto a stack of feed bags, the burlap rough against my bare thighs as he dropped to his knees between my legs.
"You fucking, beautiful man," he growled, his fingers hooking into my waistband. "Let me get to you."
The fabric tore with a satisfying rip. Bryn didn't bother removing them completely, just yanking the ripped remains down far enough to get his mouth on me, his tongue hot and wicked as it traced the length of my cock. I arched off the feed bags, gripping his shoulders hard enough to leave crescent moons in his sunburned skin.
Outside, a tractor engine coughed to life. Bryn ignored it, swallowing me down with an obscene wet noise that echoed off the tin walls. His teeth scraped lightly, a warning, when I tried to thrust up into that perfect heat. "Stay still," he muttered against my thigh. "Gotta check the fit."
I barked a laugh that turned into a groan as he took me deep again, his nose pressed to my pelvis. The absurdity of it, business partners, barn sucking, Bryn's mother probably within earshot, only made me harder. Bryn hummed in approval, the vibration shooting straight to my balls.
The tractor moved closer. Bryn pulled off with a wet pop, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "Snug and inviting," he announced, like he was discussing hem measurements.
I grabbed a handful of his hair, dragging him back up for a kiss that tasted like sweat and cheap beer. "Noted," I growled against his lips. My free hand found his cock through those ridiculous undies, rubbing roughly until Bryn broke the kiss with a sharp inhale.
The tractor idled just outside the barn door now. Bryn's eyes darted toward the sound, then back to me, dark with challenge. "Quiet," he warned, yanking my hand away to spit in his palm before stroking us both together. The slick slide of skin on skin was almost louder than the tractor's rumble.
I bit down on his shoulder to muffle the noise tearing from my throat as Bryn worked us faster, his breathing ragged in my ear. Hay prickled the backs of my thighs where they hooked over his hips. The tractor's engine revved, once, twice, then faded toward the north paddock.
Bryn came with a silent shudder, his release streaking hot across my stomach. My own climax followed seconds after, streaking shots of cum up my chest and stomach to mix with his. Bryn kissed me again as the dust-filled air between us swirled and settled on our naked bodies.
We remained cuddling in the barn for quite a while. The silence making our growing love complete. As I lay in his arms, I wondered where we and our idea would end up. One thing we knew and remained solid, we had found each other, and this was just the start of our journey.
Ten days later, we received the reply to our email in the form of a DHL parcel. The parcel was wrapped in nondescript brown paper and landed on Bryn’s veranda with a thud.
Whilst belting the bishop, my phone buzzed loudly, interrupting my personal enjoyment, but I could see it was Bryn. "Steve, get your arse over here. A parcel has arrived from China. It's the samples," Bryn's text message said.
I read the text and dropped everything to get there as soon as possible, the excitement clearly affecting my common sense as I arrived at Bryn's place wearing only a t-shirt and my dusty Kangaroo undies.
"Nice to see you made an effort to get dressed, Steve," Bryn's mother shouted through the window.
"Sorry. Bryn's text sounded urgent," I responded as I looked at the parcel in Bryn's lap.
I sat down opposite as Bryn tore into it with the enthusiasm of a kid at Christmas, scattering packing across the boards. Inside were twelve pairs of undies, neatly folded: white, black, light blue, red, yellow, green, and, God help us, orange, all with white trim on the waist and thighbands. Bryn held up the latter between two fingers as it might bite. "Christ. It’s like someone bottled a traffic cone."
I snorted, picking through the samples. The fabric was softer than expected and very different. All examples were labelled airtex which I knew from reading all about materials was a lightweight, highly breathable open-mesh fabric, ideal for hot climates such as the Australian outback.
The cut was classic but modern, like Hanes or Fruit of the Loom, roomy where it counted, snug where it mattered. Bryn’s mother emerged with a tray of iced tea, eyeing the rainbow sprawl with approval. "Told you. Orange looks good," as she plucked a green pair from the pile, rubbing the fabric between her fingers. "Excellent stitching and very reasonable mesh fabric. Better than that overpriced rubbish at the Hendersons we are forced to buy."
Bryn shoved the orange pair at me, grinning. "Try them on."
"Fuck off. Your mom's here. She'll see me."
"Excuse me, young man, I've seen you butt naked, too many times now," she declared. "Try the fucking things on for fuck's sake. I want to see what they look like," her excitement almost mirroring ours.
I snatched the undies from his hand, stood up and pushed my undies down, stepping out of them in front of Bryn and his mom. Pulling the orange undies up, I could immediately tell the fit was better than they had any right to be at the price. The fabric hugged my thighs, the waistband sitting snug but not tight. I turned to show my audience and seek critical opinions. They were... fine. Good, even. Just absurdly bright.
When I stepped back, Bryn’s jaw dropped. His mother whistled. "See? Told you," she said. "Perfect colour and the style is perfect too, and I can see they're airy as well, Perfect for this heat."
Bryn recovered fast. "Fuck me," he muttered, circling me like a predator. His fingers grazed my hip, tracing the waistband. "They suit you."
Bryn stood, pushing his own undies down, stepping into the red pair, his tanned skin offering a constrast for his mother's opinion.
I rolled my eyes. "You look like a walking warning sign, but I like them."
Bryn’s mother sighed. "Boys. Focus. You’ve got a business to launch, and I want to support you, so focus and show me the rest."
By sundown, we had modelled all the colours, and Bryn's mother had been the audience we needed. With stern and critical eyes, she had tugged the material, checked our alignment, told us to tuck our tackle to the left and eventually, she commented that the white mesh ones were almost disappointing when compared with the bright, vibrant colours.
She even suggested a brand name, Outback Undies, and in the space of thirty minutes, she knocked up a rough business plan. Bryn’s father returned from the fields, eyed the samples with grudging approval. "Better than that flimsy shite at the store," he admitted, fingering the black pair.
"We've got to call the lads over," I advised Bryn. "They need to see these, if anything, to get their opinions."
The text having gone out to the group, Jamie arrived first, predictably, his pickup kicking up dust as he skidded to a stop beside the veranda. He took one look at the rainbow of undies draped over Bryn's porch railing and froze mid-step, beer crate dangling from his fingers. "Christ alive," he muttered. "You two start a fucking circus or what?"
Neil materialised silently beside him, his expression unreadable as ever, but his fingers twitched toward the orange pair. Eli rolled in last, already halfway through a cigarette, squinting at the display. "Well," he drawled, flicking ash into the dirt. "At least we'll be able to spot Steve's arse from space now."
Bryn tossed a green pair at Jamie's chest. "Try 'em on, princess. In fact, all of you try them on. Steve and I need to know what you think."
Jamie caught them reflexively, then scowled when he realised what he was holding. "What now?
Jamie froze mid-pull, eyebrows shooting up. "Fuck me sideways," he muttered, adjusting himself with uncharacteristic delicacy. "They're... not shit."
Neil slid into the light blue pair. The colour should've clashed with his sun-bleached hair, but instead made him look like some bronzed god carved from the desert itself. He rolled his shoulders experimentally, then did something none of us expected: he smirked. "Mesh doesn't chafe," he said, like it was a revelation.
Eli choked on his cigarette. "Holy shit, Neil spoke," as he stubbed it out hastily, stepping into the black undies with the white trim as his hand ran down his stomach, fingers catching on the mesh. "Christ. It's like wearing fucking nothing."
Bryn's grin turned predatory as he circled them, snapping the waistband of Jamie's undies hard enough to leave a red mark. "Told you. Roomier pouch, proper airflow," as the house lights switched off, indicating his parents had gone to bed.
The fading sunlight was replaced by the moonlight cutting sharp silver lines across the veranda floorboards, illuminating Bryn’s bare feet as he paced. He stopped abruptly, beer bottle dangling from his fingers, and pointed it at me like a baton. "Tomorrow," he announced, voice carrying too loud in the quiet night, "we’re marching into that piss-ant shop and giving those kangaroo-stitching fossils an offer they can’t refuse."
Jamie, sprawled across the porch swing in his red undies, snorted. "With what capital, exactly? Last I checked, you two couldn’t afford a meat pie between you."
Bryn’s grin was all teeth. "We’ve got samples, a business plan, and," he gestured at the four of us in our riotously colored underwear, "walking fucking advertisements. Old man Henderson takes one look at this," he snapped the waistband of Eli’s black undies hard enough to make him yelp, "and he’ll be begging to wholesale. Besides, Mom said she has some savings to invest, and Steve also has some savings."
Neil, uncharacteristically verbose after three beers, murmured, "Or he’ll call the cops when you drop your shorts in the shop," as the white fabric glowed against his tan in the dim light, like embers under skin. "Why don't you invite Mrs Henderson to an outback fashion show, and we can all model them for her to see?"
"Fucking brilliant idea, Neil. Probably the best idea you've ever had," I told him. "I will knock up an invite and deliver it tomorrow and see what happens. In the interim, let's take the samples off and put them away."
What started as a sensible suggestion, storing the samples properly, resulted in all five of us being naked on the porch within minutes. I don't know who got a boner first, but as I folded the orange undies back into their packaging, I looked up to see four guys with stonking hard-ons that very clearly needed attention.
Bryn, ever the instigator, leaned against the veranda post with a lazy smirk. "Well," he drawled, "since we're all here and already hard from playing dress-up, let's walk to the dam. Swim. And if anyone wants a fuck..." He shrugged, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "...fuck."
No one argued. The night air was thick with the scent of dry grass and sweat as we stumbled down the dirt path, our bare feet kicking up dust. The dam glowed under the stars, the water black and still except for the occasional ripple from some night creature.
Bryn didn't hesitate; he dove in first, surfacing with a gasp, his hair plastered to his forehead. "Fuck, it's cold," he hissed, but his grin was wild, untamed. Jamie followed, yelping as the water hit his balls, and then Eli cannonballed in, splashing us all. Neil waded in slowly, like he was savouring the shock of it, his muscles tensing as the water climbed his thighs.
I was last, stepping in until the water lapped at my hips, the chill making my cock twitch. Bryn swam up to me, his hands sliding up my thighs under the water. "Still wanna fuck?" he murmured, lips brushing my ear.
Before I could answer, Jamie surfaced beside us, sputtering. "Oi. Sharing's caring," as he pulled us both into the water, dunking our heads below the surface.
Feeling refreshed, the water sluiced off my back as I climbed the bank, the night air raising goosebumps along my arms. Behind me, splashes and muffled curses marked where Bryn and Jamie were wrestling in the shallows, their silhouettes dark against the moonlit water.
Neil sat dripping water on the picnic table that stood like an altar in the clearing, under the eucalyptus trees, thirty feet from the water’s edge, its weathered timber streaked silver with dew and there, glinting beside an empty beer bottle, sat a tube of lube half-squeezed from its cap.
The dam erupted as Jamie tackled Bryn under the surface, their struggle sending waves lapping at the bank. Neil didn't react to the chaos, just popped the cap with his thumb and squeezed a dollop onto his palm. The scent of artificial coconut bloomed in the humid air as he rubbed his hands along his length. "Steve," he said, nodding toward the table. “I would love to fuck you if you’re game on.”
I could've pretended not to hear. Could've walked back into the water, could've made some joke about mosquitoes. Instead, my pulse kicked as I crossed the clearing, the coarse grass tickling my soles. The table's wood was cool and slightly rough under my palms when I braced myself, the night sounds suddenly sharp, crickets, the slap of water and Eli's indrawn breath.
Neil's touch was methodical. Two fingers slicked down my cleft, circling once before pressing in with inexorable patience. The stretch burned, then eased as he worked deeper, his other hand splayed across the small of my back. "Breathe," he murmured, and I realised I'd been holding air in my lungs.
Jamie's voice carried across the water. "Oi! That's cheating!"
"Find your own man," he said calmly, scissoring his fingers inside me. Jamie skidded to a halt, dripping onto the dirt, his chest heaving. For once, he seemed at a loss for words.
Bryn waded out more slowly, water streaming from his hips as he took in the scene. His gaze travelled from Neil's working hand to my white-knuckled grip on the table's edge. "Fuck me," he breathed, then grinned when Eli snorted. "You mean, fuck him. Obviously."
Neil withdrew his fingers with a soft pop. The sound of the lube cap flicking open seemed obscenely loud.
I was ready as I bent forward onto the wood, allowing Neil access. Then his cockhead pressed where his fingers had been, the blunt heat of him breaching me inch by relentless inch as he slid into me. My shoulders hunched, the table creaking as I pushed back against him, taking him deeper. Neil's groan was low and shattered, his hips flush against my arse as he stilled, forehead pressed between my shoulder blades.
Jamie made a wounded noise. Eli's hand was already moving on himself, his strokes slow and desperate. Bryn circled the table, his cock jutting proudly as he came to face me. "Look at you," he murmured, thumbing the head of his dick against my lips. "Taking it so…. God, you look pretty."
The first thrust knocked the words from my brain. Neil moved with the same measured precision he did everything, slow rolls that built gradually, each snap of his hips driving the breath from my lungs. Taking advantage of my situation, Bryn's cock slid into my mouth on a moan, his fingers tangling in my damp hair as he fucked my face in counterpoint to Neil's rhythm.
Jamie cursed violently and grabbed the lube, smearing his shaft, muttering something about not missing an opportunity and then moved behind Bryn, who positioned himself as an invitation for Jamie to fuck him.
Meanwhile, Neil's hips snapped forward with the precision of a metronome, each thrust driving me harder against the weathered picnic table.
Jamie fucked Bryn as I sucked Bryn's magnificent cock, his fingers dug into Bryn's hips hard enough to leave crescent-shaped bruises. Bryn's laughter echoed across the water between gasped curses, his shoulders shaking with each of Jamie's punishing thrusts. "Fuck, fuck, your technique's improved, mate," Bryn declared as his voice cracked on the last word as Jamie nailed his prostate.
And Eli, Christ, Eli just watched, knocking one out, without a worry in the world.
The first warning of an impending eruption was Neil's breathing, sharp, ragged inhales through his nose that barely escaped before his hips stuttered against mine. His fingers dug into my hips hard enough to bruise, his rhythm fracturing into uneven thrusts. "Fuck..." he gritted out, and then warmth was all I could feel as he flooded my body with his seed, pumping multiple times with each dwindling thrust.
Bryn groaned around the same time, his cock pulsing against my tongue as he spilt his load down my throat. His grip in my hair tightened almost painfully as he arched forward, his other hand braced against the picnic table for balance. I swallowed reflexively, the taste bitter-salty as Jamie's ragged cry cut through the night behind him.
Jamie's hips stuttered against Bryn's arse, his fingers leaving half-moon indents in Bryn's hips as he buried himself to the hilt. "Christ, Brynn...," as his voice cracked as he came, his release flooding Bryn in thick pulses that leaked out around their joined flesh when he finally pulled free.
For a long moment, the only sounds were our panting breaths and the distant ripple of water. Neil's weight slumped against my back briefly before he straightened with a grunt, his softening cock sliding out of me with a wet sound. Bryn, still catching his breath, swiped a thumb across my lower lip, collecting a stray drop of his release before sucking it clean with a satisfied hum.
Jamie collapsed onto the picnic bench beside us, his chest heaving. "Fucking hell," he rasped, running a hand through his sweat-damp hair. His gaze flicked to the mess dripping down my back, then to Bryn's flushed face. "That was..." Words seemed to fail him, which for Jamie was a minor miracle. “Who needs a fucking shella when we have you boys?” was all Jamie contributed while his breath heaved in and out.
Eli, who'd been conspicuously silent from his spot under the gum tree, finally spoke up. "Speak for yourself," he drawled, pushing to his feet. His own arousal was still evident, though he made no move to address it. "Some of us actually care about a proper fit."
Neil rolled his eyes, but it was Bryn who retaliated, lobbing the lube bottle at Eli's head. "Then get over here and prove it," he challenged, spreading his legs pointedly on the picnic bench.
Eli caught the bottle one-handed, his grin sharpening. "Tempting," he admitted, though his gaze slid to me instead. "But I think Steve's earned a break," as he tossed the lube back onto the table with a wet smack. "Besides," he added, nodding toward the horizon, "sun's coming up."
Jamie was first to leave, muttering something about early muster as he walked naked back to his pickup, followed by Neil, who vanished as silently as he'd arrived. Bryn, Eli, and me walked back to the house, keeping quiet so as not to wake his parents.
Eli had lingered, standing naked on the veranda with a cigarette dangling from his lips, watching me with that unreadable half-smile until Bryn threw a boot at him, saying, "Go home, mate. See you later."
With Eli gone, Bryn's bare feet padded across the worn floorboards toward the bedroom, his shadow stretching long in the predawn gloom. I followed, my limbs heavy with exhaustion and the kind of bone-deep satisfaction that made thinking difficult. The sheets were cool against my skin when I slid in beside him, the mattress dipping under our combined weight. Bryn exhaled sharply through his nose when I pressed against his back, my arm slung over his waist, but he didn't protest, just caught my wrist and dragged my hand lower to settle on his flaccid but beautiful cock.
The mattress dipped as Bryn rolled onto his back, his breathing evening out almost instantly, the bastard falling asleep while my brain buzzed with half-formed sentences for Mrs Henderson's invite. The ceiling fan wobbled above us, its rhythmic squeak marking time as I mentally drafted the invitation to the fashion show.
To get in touch with the author, send them an email.
