Rob Gives in to Tyler
The week leading up to Thanksgiving followed all the traditional American things that Rob Hawthorne knew by heart. His mother would call every evening, her voice bright with expectation, listing the relatives who'd confirmed, the pies she'd already baked, the precise seating arrangement she was agonizing over. He'd grunt and nod in all the right places, his eyes fixed on his phone, thumb hovering over Charlie’s contact.
He still couldn’t believe what had happened the night before and how much he had craved it. He hadn't meant for it to happen. None of it. The shower after practice had been an impulse, a sudden, overwhelming need to touch Charlie that had short-circuited every rational thought in his head. And then the flip, with Charlie pounding him. Giving something he didn’t know he wanted 4 months ago.
The bus to northern Virginia left early Wednesday morning. Rob sat by the window, watching the campus recede, his breath fogging the glass. He’d texted Charlie a dozen times that morning, each message deleted before sending. What was there to say? I miss the way you feel inside me? I can't stop thinking about your hands on my hips?
His mother was waiting at the curb, her arms wide, her perfume cloying and familiar. The house in Alexandria was exactly as he'd left it: immaculate, staged, a perfect tableau of upper-middle-class comfort.
His father was in the kitchen, already nursing a scotch, offering a gruff handshake that was more performance than affection. The pictures on the mantel showed a younger Rob, a high school soccer star, grinning with trophies and girlfriends who had been a constant presence in high school; seeing them he felt guilty. Had he been lying to them?
Wednesday night was the reunion at a bar in Old Town that accepted fake IDs. Rob found himself surrounded by the same faces he'd grown up with—guys who had been his teammates, girls who'd been his dates. The beer was cold, the laughter loud, but Rob felt like he was watching himself from a great distance. When someone asked about UVA, about girls, about the season, he gave practiced answers while his mind drifted to dark hair and brown eyes, to the sound of Charlie’s breath hitching in the dark.
He found himself checking out the ass of John Morton whose too tight khakis framed a big ass he’d never noticed before. He could make out David Campbell’s dick in this too tight jeans.
"Robbie, you're being weird," said Mark, his best friend from middle school, slinging an arm around his shoulder. "You haven’t been this quiet since you got your wisdom teeth out."
Spooked, Rob tried to concentrate “Long week," Rob said, forcing a smile. “Just tired."
But he wasn't tired. He was restless, a coiled spring of frustration and longing. He spent the night watching the door, half-expecting Charlie to walk through it, even though he knew Charlie was a hundred miles away in Richmond, probably at his own reunion.
Thanksgiving itself was a blur of turkey and cranberry sauce, of relatives asking about his classes and his love life. His grandmother pinched his cheeks and told him he was growing into a handsome young man. His aunt asked if he'd met any nice girls. His father made a toast to family, to tradition, to everything Rob was supposed to want. Dad carved the turkey with practiced precision, a domestic ritual that felt like a prison sentence.
"Everything okay, sweetheart?" his mother asked, her hand on his arm, her eyes searching his face.
“Fine," he said, for what felt like the hundredth time. "Just ready to get back to school."
He could feel the lie sitting heavy in his stomach, mixing with the gravy and mashed potatoes. He wasn't ready to get back for classes, or for practice, or for the team. He was ready to get back for Charlie. He was ready to feel the weight of Charlie's body against his, to breathe in the scent of his skin, to lose himself in the anonymity of their shared secret.
Friday was football on the television — UVA lost to Virginia Tech again, the annual game between cousins in the backyard, the leftover turkey sandwiches his mother insisted on making. Rob went through the motions, his body present but his mind elsewhere. He caught himself scrolling Instagram for hot guys - especially athletes in lycra, speedos, wrestling tights. He thought of Charlie in the shower in the speedo. He looked staring at the string of unsent messages that lived in his drafts. “I want to feel you again.” ‘Did you think about me during dinner?” “I think I'm falling for you.” None of them felt adequate. None of them captured the enormity of what he was feeling—the terror and the thrill, the shame and the want.
He'd always been the guy who could have anyone, the one who never had to work for affection. Charlie had changed all that.
Saturday morning, he packed his bag before the sun was fully up. His mother stood in the doorway, her bathrobe wrapped tight, her expression a mixture of hurt and confusion.
“You're leaving so early?" she asked. "You just got here."
“I have practice," he lied. "Coach wants everyone back by noon.
“She nodded slowly, her eyes searching his face for something he couldn't give her.
He hugged her goodbye, feeling a pang of guilt for the son he used to be—the one who confided in her, who told her everything. That version of Rob was gone, replaced by someone she wouldn't recognize. Someone who apparently liked cock.
The ride back to Charlottesville was three hours of highway and introspection. He listened to music but didn't hear it. He thought about Charlie, about the way Charlie had looked at him in the shower, about the way Charlie had surrendered to him in the dorm room. He thought about what they were—friends, teammates, something else entirely. The uncertainty was maddening.
The campus was nearly empty when he arrived. Most students wouldn’t return until Sunday evening. He walked through the quiet halls of his dorm, his footsteps echoing off the walls. He unlocked his door, stepped inside, and stopped. The room was exactly as he'd left it. Clothes on the floor, sheets tangled, a half-empty water bottle on the desk.
But it felt different somehow—smaller, emptier, charged with a loneliness he hadn't noticed before. He dropped his bag, flopped onto his bed, and stared at the ceiling. He was horny as fuck. He hadn’t been able to rub one out at home.
Before he solved that problem, needed to do something physical. Get out of his head. The best way to do that was to go to the gym.
Rob pulled on some tight white compression shorts, a tight orange Under Armour body shirt and some form fitting Lululemon gray training pants, grabbed his key card and headed to the athletes’ fitness center.
It was open but empty. “Perfect.”
Rob started with some cardio on the treadmill. Fifteen minutes in, a light sheen was breaking out and his brain was emptying out all the turmoil. He was just the same old athlete, pushing his body and leaving everything behind. The treadmill hummed beneath him, a steady rhythm that matched the pulse in his ears.
Rob's legs pumped mechanically, his breathing falling into a familiar cadence as the miles ticked by on the digital display. Sweat really began to flow, soaking into the collar of his compression shirt and around his ass. He pushed harder, increasing the incline, letting the burn in his quadriceps crowd out everything else—the unanswered questions that had followed him home and back again. He was lost in the exertion, in the simple pleasure of moving his body until it hurt.
Tyler got back early too and also decided he need a workout. Thanksgiving had been messy - recently divorced parents, an older brother with a drug problem. A closeted gay son who was also horny as fuck ... Tyler was considerably more experienced than Rob (or Charlie) and more self-confident. But he was a D1 athlete and didn’t think his teammates would be receptive to the idea that he was on Grindr.
The first thing he saw when he opened the door to the gym was Rob. Rob was different from his other teammates. For one, he pushed all of Tyler’s buttons: a lean athlete, smart, preppy like a Vineyard Vines model. He could be the straight boy poster child for a New England prep school. And he found out that under those preppy clothes was a surprisingly hairy body. Rob was someone he could corrupt.
And, for whatever reason - call it gaydar - he sensed from early on that Rob might be receptive to some less-than-straight action. Then, he noticed Rob hanging around with Charlie - another hot athlete. He caught Charlie staring at Rob’s costume at the Halloween party. Hell, everyone was staring at Rob’s costume.
During the course of the semester, Tyler became determined to see what he could get out of Rob.
And, now, opportunity was knocking. He quickly took off his baggy lax shorts and stuck them in his bag. He was just left wearing a shirt and skin tight lycra shorts. He knew what he looked like in them. The test was how Rob would react.
For Rob, the gym was about to turn from a cathedral of solitude to cauldron of tension. He didn't notice the door open. He didn't notice the figure that slipped inside. Ten more minutes. He'd do ten more minutes, then hit the weights. His mind drifted to the spring season, to the conditioning drills coach had promised would be brutal. He needed to be faster, stronger, more explosive. He needed to be the player everyone expected him to be.
The mirror in front of him reflected the gym back at him, and that's when he saw him. Tyler Worth was standing near the free weights, his arms crossed over his chest, his head tilted in quiet observation. He wasn't working out. He wasn't stretching. He was just standing there, watching Rob with an intensity that made Rob's stomach flip.
How long had he been there? How long had those brown eyes been tracking his every movement?
Rob nearly stumbled on the treadmill. He grabbed the handles, his heart hammering for reasons that had nothing to do with cardio. Tyler was wearing a pair of tight Lycra shorts that were practically obscene. His cock, thick even in its flaccid state, ran up the right side of his hip in a distinct, curved bulge that was impossible to ignore. The shorts clung to his ass like a second skin, showcasing the sculpted curves that Rob had not noticed before. Above that, a tight white tank top stretched across his broad chest, the fabric so thin Rob could see the dark circles of his nipples through it.
Rob looked away, his face flushing hot. He focused on the treadmill display, on the numbers, on anything that wasn't the sight of Tyler Worth standing there like a goddamn Greek statue. But his eyes betrayed him. They kept flicking back to the reflection, taking in the way Tyler's arms were crossed, the way his pecs strained against the fabric of the tank top, the way his gaze was fixed on Rob with an almost predatory stillness. The way his dick was on display.
He turned off the treadmill, the belt slowing to a stop beneath his feet. He grabbed his towel, wiping his face, trying to compose himself.
"Didn't know anyone else was back yet," Rob said, his voice coming out rougher than he intended.
Tyler didn't move. "Just got in. Saw the lights on, figured I'd get a head start on the off-season."
His voice was low, smooth, with an edge that made Rob's skin prickle. He finally turned to face Tyler fully, and the direct eye contact was almost too much. Those brown eyes were fixed on him, unwavering, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips. Rob’s eyes involuntarily flicked down to look at Tyler’s dick.
Tyler noticed and grew more confident.
"Spring season's going to be brutal," Tyler continued, taking a step closer. The distance between them shrank, and Rob could smell him now—something clean and masculine, like soap and fresh sweat.
"Coach is already talking about doubling the conditioning work. Wants us ready to run teams into the ground."
"Yeah, I heard," Rob managed.
He was acutely aware of his own body, of the sweat stains on his compression shirt, of the way his own sweats clung to his thighs. His dick was getting hard. He felt exposed, watched.
"Figured I'd get a jump on it."
"That's smart." Tyler's eyes traveled down Rob’s body, a slow, deliberate sweep that lingered on his chest, his waist, his legs. “You’re looking good, Hawthorne. Put on some muscle this fall. “The compliment made Rob's face burn.
"Uh, thanks. You too."
He was flustered, and he hated himself for it. He'd charmed girls, charmed coaches, charmed his way through life without breaking a sweat. But Tyler was looking at him like he was a piece of meat, and some part of Rob—some dark, hungry part he didn't want to acknowledge—liked it.
"Want to spot me?" Tyler asked, gesturing toward the bench press. "Could use an extra set of eyes. I mean hands.”
Rob swallowed hard. "Yeah, sure."
He followed Tyler to the weight bench, his eyes betraying him. They dropped to Tyler's ass, to the way the Lycra shorts hugged those curves; the shorts fucking rode up his crack. The sight sent a jolt straight to Rob's own groin, his dick stirring in his shorts.
Tyler lay back on the bench, his body stretching out to its full length. The tank top rode up slightly, exposing a strip of taut abs, the trail of hair disappearing into the waistband of his shorts. He gripped the bar, his hands positioned wide, and began to press.
"Spot me," he grunted, and Rob stepped forward, his hands hovering near the bar. He watched Tyler's arms flex, the muscles straining with each rep. The bar moved smoothly, controlled, and Rob found himself staring at the way Tyler's chest rose and fell, the way the tank top clung to his pecs with each press. He was beautiful in a way that made Rob's mouth go dry.
Fifteen reps.
Tyler racked the bar and sat up, his face flushed with exertion. He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, his eyes finding Rob again.
"Your turn," he said, sliding off the bench. “I’ll spot you."
Rob hesitated for only a moment before lying down.
The bench was still warm from Tyler's body, and the thought sent a shiver through him. He gripped the bar, feeling the cold metal against his palms, and began to press. The weight was heavier than he expected, and he was grateful for Tyler’s hands hovering near the bar, ready to catch it.
“Form's good," Tyler said, his voice low. “You’ve been lifting."
Rob nodded, focusing on the reps. But he could feel Tyler’s presence beside him, could feel those eyes on his body, studying him. He racked the bar after ten reps, his arms trembling.
"Getting tired?" Tyler asked, a hint of amusement in his voice.
"Just warming up," Rob said, sitting up.”
“I’ve been wanting to get to know you better, Rob. Seems like we could have a lot in common,” Tyler whispered.
“Yeah? Well, we ARE teammates after all,” Rob said trying to lighten the atmosphere.
“I mean more than that. Let’s keep going,” Tyler parried.
The guys continued a workout with Tyler taking every opportunity to lay a hand on Rob’s arm, lower back, even his thigh. Rob even found himself needlessly guiding Tyler’s hips as he did squats. Rob was trying to will his dick down to limited success. Eventually, they decided they’d had enough and sat to rest.
“How about I stretch you out?” said Tyler.
“Sure,” Rob replied.
“Let’s see if that training room is open,” Tyler said.
It was.
“Lay on the mats over there. Why don’t you take those sweats off?”
Rob was getting a sense of where this was headed and stripped down to his compression shorts. He saw Tyler openly looking at his dick. He had a bout of conscience - thinking of Charlie. Were they boyfriends? Were they exclusive? He remembered the conversation with Charlie on Tuesday night after they’d drilled each other - basically giving him permission to get with Tyler.
To be frank, at this point his cock and asshole were doing most of the thinking as nervous as he was. So, he pushed those thoughts out of his head.
Rob's heart hammered against his ribs as he then crossed the small space to the pile of blue wrestling mats stacked in the corner of the gym. He could feel Tyler's gaze on him, tracking his every step, and the weight of that attention made his skin prickle with a heat that had nothing to do with the workout they'd just finished.
He laid himself down on the thick foam, the surface cool against his back through his sweat-soaked shirt. Tyler stood over him for a moment, a silhouette against the fluorescent lights, before lowering himself to kneel beside Rob's hips.
"Let's start with your legs," Tyler said, his voice casual, almost clinical. "You've been running your quads into the ground. They're probably tight as hell."
His hands found Rob's thigh, fingers wrapping around the meat of the muscle with a firm, practiced grip. The touch was electric, sending a jolt through Rob that he tried to suppress. He couldn't suppress the involuntary twitch of his leg.
"Sorry," Rob muttered, embarrassed.
"Don't be," Tyler said, his fingers beginning to knead the muscle in slow, circular motions. "That's the point. You're tight. I can feel it."
He worked his way up Rob's thigh with deliberate patience, his thumbs digging into the fibers with just enough pressure to make Rob's breath catch. The sensation was equal parts pain and pleasure, a deep, aching release that made Rob's eyes flutter closed.
"Your hamstrings are next," Tyler said, and then his hands were on the back of Rob's leg, lifting it, bending it toward his chest.
Rob's eyes snapped open as Tyler pushed his knee toward his shoulder, the stretch immediate and intense. Tyler held it there, his palms flat against the back of Rob's thigh, his face inches from Rob's groin. Rob could feel Tyler’s dick pressing against the back of his thigh.
"Breathe," Tyler instructed, his voice low, almost a whisper. "Let it go."
Rob exhaled, forcing his muscles to relax, and the stretch deepened. He could feel the burn in his hamstring, the pull that traveled all the way up into his hip. But more than that, he could feel the warmth of Tyler's breath through the thin fabric of his shorts, could see the way Tyler's eyes were fixed on the outline of his cock.
"Good," Tyler murmured. "You're loosening up."
He lowered Rob's leg, then reached for the other one, repeating the process with the same intimate intensity. When he pushed Rob's second knee toward his chest, his fingers lingered on the back of Rob's thigh, trailing upward until they brushed against the curve of his ass.
Rob's breath hitched, and he saw Tyler's lips curl into a knowing smile.
"Glutes are next," Tyler said, his hands sliding beneath Rob's hips to grip the firm globes of his ass through his shorts. "You hold a lot of tension here."
His fingers dug into the muscle, kneading with a pressure that made Rob's hips rise involuntarily. The sensation was obscene—Tyler's hands groping his ass like a lover would, but with the pretense of athletic recovery. Rob was fully hard now, his cock pressing insistently against the Lycra of his shorts.
"Turn over," Tyler said, his voice carrying a new edge. "Let me get your lower back."
Rob complied, rolling onto his stomach. It was worse this way. His erection was trapped beneath him, pressing into the mat, the pressure both painful and thrilling. He buried his face in his folded arms, trying to steady his breathing.
Tyler's hands found his lower back, thumbs pressing into the muscle along his spine. Then they moved lower, sliding over his ass, kneading the fleshy curves with increasing boldness. Rob felt Tyler's fingers trace the seam of his shorts, following the crease where his ass met his thighs.
"These are the tightest muscles in your body," Tyler said, his voice a low rumble. "Men carry all their stress here. That's why I like stretching you out."
"Is that right?" Rob managed, his voice muffled.
"Mmhmm." Tyler's hands spread Rob's cheeks slightly, his thumbs pressing into the sensitive flesh. "You're really tight here, Hawthorne. Like, really tight."
The emphasis on the word was unmistakable. Rob's breath caught as he felt Tyler's thumb press against his hole through the fabric of his shorts, a light, almost casual pressure that made his entire body tremble.
"Let me get a better angle," Tyler said, and then his hands were hooking the waistband of Rob's shorts, pulling them down just enough to expose the upper curve of his ass.
The air was cool against Rob's exposed skin, and he shivered. He should say something. He should tell Tyler to stop. But the words wouldn't come, and Tyler's hands were already back on him, now skin against skin, thumbs digging into the meat of his cheeks with an ownership that made Rob's head spin.
"Honestly, I've always wondered about you," Tyler said, his voice conversational, as if they were just two guys chatting. "The way you move, the way you carry yourself. There's something different about you."
"I don't know what you mean," Rob said, hating how breathless he sounded.
"Sure you do." Tyler's hands spread his cheeks wider, his thumbs pressing against the pucker of his hole. "Guys like me, we can always tell. You've got that energy. That hunger."
Rob's face burned. He couldn't deny it. Not with Tyler's hands on him, not with his cock throbbing against the mat, not with the way his body was arching into every touch, begging for more.
"Let's try a deeper stretch," Tyler said, and then he was pulling Rob's shorts down further, baring his ass completely. “Damn. You’ve got some hair down there.”
Rob thought he also heard Tyler say, “Hot.” But his mind was reeling. The cool air rushed over his skin, and Rob gasped, but he didn't resist. He couldn't. He was frozen, suspended in a moment of pure anticipation.
"Good boy," Tyler breathed, and then his hands were on Rob's bare skin, fingers sliding between his cheeks, thumbs spreading him open.
The touch was electric. Rob's hips bucked instinctively, pushing back against Tyler's hands. He could feel Tyler's rough thumbs circling his hole, and the sensation made him want to beg.
Tyler knew he had him.
"Let's get you to really open up," Tyler said. "You're going to thank me for this later."
"I'm already grateful," Rob whispered, his voice ragged, and Tyler laughed, a low, knowing sound that made Rob's cock twitch.
"You ever had sex with a guy before?” Rob whispered.
“No!” Rob quickly blurted out.
“What about Charlie?”
Rob flinched. "How do you know about Charlie?"
"I told you. I've been watching you for a while. I see the way you look at him. The way he looks at you."
Tyler's hand reached Rob's waistband, fingers hooking into the elastic.
"You two are together, aren't you? Or whatever it is you call it."
"It's complicated." The words were a croak. “Complicated."
Tyler laughed, low and dark. “I bet it is. But here's the thing, Hawthorne. You're not built for complicated. You're built for this."
He ran his hands went lower and grabbed Rob’s dick.
Tyler's hand closed around Rob's cock, and the world narrowed to that single point of contact. The grip was firm, possessive, knowing—a stark contrast to the uncertainty that had characterized Rob's fumbling encounters with Charlie. Tyler didn't hesitate. Tyler understood exactly what he wanted and how to take it.
Rob's breath exploded from his lungs in a ragged gasp. He was on his stomach, his shorts bunched around his thighs, his ass bare to the cool gym air. Tyler's fingers were wrapped around his length, stroking him with slow, deliberate pressure through the fabric of his compression shorts, which had somehow become impossibly tight.
"Christ," Rob managed, his voice strangled. "Tyler, we—"
"We what?" Tyler's voice was low, amused. "We shouldn't? We're just two teammates helping each other out. Stretching. Recovery."
His thumb traced the ridge of Rob's cock through the thin Lycra, and Rob's hips bucked involuntarily. His face was buried in his folded arms, his entire body trembling with a mixture of shame and desperate want.
"Besides," Tyler continued, his voice dropping to a near-whisper, "I saw the way you looked at me when I walked in. The way your eyes kept dropping to my shorts. You've been thinking about this, haven't you? About what it would be like to have a guy's hands on you."
Rob couldn't deny it. He couldn't form words at all. The only sound he could manage was a strangled moan as Tyler's hand slid beneath the waistband of his shorts, fingers wrapping around his bare, aching cock.
"There he is," Tyler breathed. "There's the real Rob Hawthorne."
The first stroke was slow, almost lazy. Tyler's hand moved from base to tip with deliberate, teasing pressure, and Rob's entire body shuddered. He was already slick with pre-cum, his cock throbbing so hard it hurt.
"You're so hard for me," Tyler observed, his voice filled with dark satisfaction. "This is what you needed, isn't it? Someone who knows how to take charge. Charlie fumbling around, not knowing what he's doing—" He squeezed Rob's shaft, and Rob whimpered. "I bet he didn't make you feel like this."
"Don't," Rob gasped. "Don't talk about him."
"Why not? He's not here. I am." Tyler's thumb circled the head of Rob's cock, spreading the moisture that had gathered there. "And I'm the one making you feel good right now."
He was right. God, he was so right. Charlie's hands had been hesitant, exploratory, both of them learning together in the dark. Tyler's hands were confident, experienced, knowing exactly where to touch and how hard to press. The difference was like night and day.
Rob's hips were moving now, thrusting into Tyler's grip with an urgency he couldn't control. The shame was still there, burning in his chest, but it was being drowned out by a wave of pleasure that was building with terrifying speed.
"That's it," Tyler encouraged. "Let go. Let me take care of you."
His other hand slid down Rob's back, fingers tracing the dip of his spine, then lower, over the curve of his ass. Rob's entire body tensed as he felt Tyler's fingers brush against his hole.
"Spread your legs," Tyler commanded.
"No, I—"
"Do it."
There was no room for argument in that voice. Rob's knees slid apart on the mat, his hips tilting up in an instinctive submission. Tyler made a sound of approval, his fingers tracing the sensitive rim of Rob's hole with feather-light touches.
"Look at your hairy asshole. That’s a man’s hole. You have no idea how long I've been wanting this," Tyler murmured. "Watching you at practice, watching the way you move. The way your ass looks in those tight shorts. I've jerked off thinking about this exact moment."
The confession made Rob's head spin. Tyler Worth had been thinking about him. Tyler Worth, with his perfect body and his predatory confidence, had been fantasizing about Rob. The thought was obscene and thrilling and terrifying all at once.
Tyler shifted, moving so he was crouched between Rob's spread legs. His hands were still on Rob's cock, still stroking, but now Rob could feel Tyler's breath on his exposed ass, hot and intimate.
"I'm going to taste you," Tyler said, and it wasn't a question.
Before Rob could respond, Tyler's mouth was on him. But not on his cock. Tyler's tongue pressed flat against Rob's hole, and Rob's entire world shattered.
"Jesus fuck!" The words tore from Rob's throat as his hips bucked wildly.
No one had ever... he hadn't even known that was a thing. But Tyler's tongue was there, lapping at him with long, deliberate strokes, circling his rim with an expertise that made Rob's toes curl.
“You taste incredible," Tyler said, his voice rough. His tongue plunged into Rob's hole, and Rob cried out, his hands fisting in the mat beneath him.
The sensation was overwhelming. Tyler's tongue was inside him, fucking him in a rhythm that was slow and deep and utterly possessive. Rob could feel his own body opening, could feel his hole yielding to the pressure. The pleasure was intense, almost unbearable—a deep, primal burning that traveled all the way up his spine and fried every nerve in his body.
"But I'm not done with you yet," Tyler said, pulling back just enough to speak. "I want to see that beautiful cock of yours. Turn over."
Rob was beyond resistance now. He rolled onto his back, his body aching with need. Tyler straddled his chest, and Rob's eyes fixed immediately on the bulge in Tyler's shorts. It was huge. Rob had seen it earlier; the outline was unmistakable. But now it was achingly hard, straining against the Lycra in a way that made Rob's mouth water and his stomach flip with nervous anticipation.
"You want to see it?" Tyler asked, a knowing smile playing at his lips. "Go ahead."
He peeled his shorts down, and Rob's breath caught in his throat. Tyler's cock was massive—easily nine inches, thick and curved and beautiful. It was flushed a dark red, already leaking pre-cum, and Rob felt a sudden, overwhelming need to taste it.
"Suck it," Tyler commanded, and Rob rose up, his mouth closing over Tyler's cock.
The taste was salty and masculine and utterly intoxicating. He took Tyler's cock deep into his mouth, his tongue working along the shaft in a rhythm that felt instinctive.
"Fuck, yes," Tyler groaned, his hand finding the back of Rob's head. "Just like that. Use your tongue."
Rob obeyed. He was clumsy at first, gagging as Tyler's cock hit the back of his throat. But Tyler was patient, his hand gentle against Rob's skull, his voice a constant stream of encouragement.
"That's it. Breathe through your nose. Relax your throat. You're taking me so well, Rob. You were made for this."
The words made Rob's cock throb. He was leaking onto his own stomach, his hips canting up as he worked Tyler's cock with his mouth. He couldn't believe he was doing this—couldn't believe how much he wanted it.
When Tyler finally pulled back, Rob was breathing hard, his lips swollen and wet. Tyler smiled down at him, and then he was moving, shifting down Rob's body, his mouth trailing along Rob's stomach, his stubbled jaw leaving a trail of fire.
"I need to taste you again," Tyler said, his voice raw with want. "And then I need to be inside you."
His mouth closed over Rob's cock first, taking him deep with one smooth motion. Rob's head fell back, a strangled cry tearing from his throat. Tyler's throat was impossibly hot and tight, his tongue working along Rob's shaft in a rhythm that was pure, precise pleasure.
Rob was going to lose his mind. He was going to lie there on that gym mat and come apart at the seams while Tyler Worth sucked his cock with the same casual expertise he did absolutely everything else. The hand that wasn't gripping the mat came up to tangle in Tyler's hair, and Rob heard himself moaning, "Tyler, oh God, Tyler, please, I'm going to cum—"
But Tyler pulled off just before Rob's release peaked, leaving him teetering on the edge with a sob of frustration saturating his voice, curling at the edges with the rawest need. "Oh God, please, please let me cum—"
"Not yet," Tyler said, his voice gravelly with want. "Not until I've been inside you."
Tyler found lube from somewhere and coated his cock and started fingering Rob’s hole. Rob’s hairy ass lips were resistant at first. Tyler leaned down and kissed him deeply - inserting his tongue into Rob’s mouth at the same time his finger entered him. Rob moaned.
Tyler felt incredibly dominant and just took charge of Rob’s mouth and hole.
He eventually shifted, positioning himself between Rob's spread legs. Rob watched, transfixed, as Tyler lined up his big, curved cock head against Rob's exposed, wet entrance.
"Holy shit," Rob breathed, and Tyler met his eyes, a dark smile curving his lips and sending a dangerous thrill straight to Rob's core.
"Just relax," Tyler instructed. "Breathe with me. I'm going to take care of you, Rob. I'm going to make you feel so fucking good."
Tyler could tell that Rob had been fucked before – and recently. So, he felt confident pushing his thick cock head against Rob's tight hole. Rob tensed, a flicker of panic rising in his chest, but Tyler was already there, his hands smoothing along Rob's thighs in soothing circles, his voice low and steady.
"Look at me. Look into my eyes. Keep breathing for me. You're doing amazing. Let me in. Just like you let Charlie in"
Rob locked his gaze on Tyler's, fighting to breathe through the sensation of being stretched impossibly wide. The pain was sharp and burning, but beneath it was something else—a deep, primal pressure that felt like the most intimate violation and the most profound pleasure.
"You're so fucking tight," Tyler grunted. "God, you feel incredible. Squeezing my cock like you were made for it."
Bit by excruciating inch, he pushed deeper. Rob's fingers clawed the mat, his back arching, a keening sound escaping his throat. Tyler was bigger than Charlie. and he was buried to the root inside him, so deep that Rob could feel him in his stomach, in his throat, in the back of his skull.
"Fuck," Rob gasped. "Fuck, Tyler, you're so big—"
"I know, baby. Take a moment. Breathe." Tyler held himself still, letting Rob's body adjust. His hands were stroking Rob's hips, his thighs, his stomach. "I'm going to make you cum so hard you forget your own name. You're never going to want anyone else after this."
Then he began to thrust.
The first stroke was slow, almost languid. Tyler pulled back until just the head of his cock remained, then pushed forward with a smooth, rolling motion that made Rob's entire body shudder. The second stroke was deeper, harder, and Rob's hands flew to Tyler's shoulders, clinging to him as he was impaled again.
"Look at you," Tyler breathed, his voice thick with savage admiration. "Taking my cock so beautifully. You were aching for this, weren't you? You needed a man who could see beyond those J Crew chinos. You needed a man to dominate this perfect, beautiful body of yours. To fuck you right."
Rob couldn't answer. He could only moan, his head thrown back, his eyes rolling as Tyler fucked him with increasing intensity. The rhythm was building now—a steady, punishing pace that had Rob gasping for air, his cock bouncing against his stomach, leaking a constant stream of pre-cum. Sweat was pouring off of both men.
"Yes, yes, yes," Rob chanted, his voice ragged. "Don't stop, Tyler, please, please don't stop—"
"I'm not going to stop," Tyler growled. "I'm going to fuck you until you can't walk. Until you can't think. Until you can't remember a time when you didn't want my cock inside you."
He could feel Tyler’s heavy balls slapping against the crack of his ass with every thrust. He could feel the springy hair at Tyler's base rubbing against his rim. He could feel everything. Tyler’s chest, slicked with sweat, rubbed against Rob's nipples as he grunted with each percussive drive of his cock, making his balls tighten.
"Come on, Rob," Tyler urged, his voice a low growl. "Let go. Cum for me. I want to feel you paint that stomach of yours."
Rob tried to hold on, tried to make it last, but the combination of Tyler's cock buried inside him, Tyler's controlling hand on his flesh, and Tyler's voice in his ear was too much. His orgasm crested, a tidal wave of blinding pleasure that ripped through his body, and he came with a cry that echoed off the gym walls.
Tyler watched him cum, his eyes dark with hunger, and then he was slamming into Rob with renewed urgency, chasing his own release. The sound of their bodies slapping together filled the empty gym, a primal rhythm that seemed to pulse. Rob was still trembling from his own orgasm, hypersensitive and raw, as Tyler fucked him harder, faster, and deeper.
"I'm going to fill you up," Tyler grunted, his voice ragged. "I'm going to cum so deep inside you, you'll feel me for days. You're going to feel me every time you sit down, every time you walk, every time you think about this moment."
His body tensed, and with a final, crushing thrust, he buried himself to the hilt and let go. Rob felt it—a hot flood of cum filling him, Tyler roaring his release into the empty space of the gym as his balls emptied.
Tyler collapsed on top of him, both of them breathing hard, the gym air pungent with sweat and sex. Rob could feel Tyler's cock still twitching inside him, could feel the cum leaking out of his stretched hole. He felt destroyed in the most beautiful way, wrecked by dominance and want and something that felt dangerously close to adoration.
"Well, that was a hot fuck," Tyler murmured against his neck, his voice still thick with release. "Maybe we'll do it again sometime."
He squeezed back into his lycra shorts and top and headed out.
Rob listened in a bit of disbelief, which was amplified when Tyler left without saying goodbye. Did he just get used?
