The following Tuesday evening found Ben sprawled across his unmade bed in apartment 1210. He wore only a pair of worn, dark grey cotton briefs, the fabric stretched taut over the solid swell of his thighs and the thick curve of his ass. The elastic waistband sat low on his hips, digging slightly into the soft skin just above his hip bones. One powerful leg was bent at the knee, the other stretched out long, the defined muscles of his calf flexing as he absently flexed his foot. His broad chest rose and fell with slow, deep breaths, the dark curls scattered across his pecs catching the low light from the bedside lamp. Deep brown eyes stared unfocused at the ceiling fan turning lazily overhead, its rhythmic *whirr* the only sound in the quiet room. His arms were folded behind his head, biceps bulging slightly, the pose emphasizing the solid width of his shoulders and the hard plane of his stomach. A faint sheen of sweat glistened on his skin, leftover from his earlier, solitary workout – a workout he’d cut short, distracted.
He shifted, the mattress springs groaning softly under his weight. The grey briefs clung to his body, revealing the heavy outline of his cock resting against his thigh, thick and soft but noticeably filling the pouch. His free hand drifted down, fingers tracing the seam of the briefs where they met the crease of his groin, a restless, absent motion. His gaze drifted from the fan blades to the shared wall separating his bedroom from Leo’s apartment. Silence. No sounds tonight. Just the quiet hum of the city filtering through the window. He swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. The image flashed unbidden: Leo’s lean body clad only in Ben’s jockstrap, white socks, and untied sneakers, standing tall and aroused before him. The possessive thrill of it, the raw intimacy, filled his mind. His fingers stilled on the briefs’ elastic.
Slowly, deliberately, Ben hooked a thumb under the taut grey waistband. He pushed the fabric down just an inch on his right hip, the elastic rolling over the sharp ridge of his hip bone. The movement was tentative, almost cautious, but deliberate. He paused, breathing shallowly, the cool air of the room hitting the newly exposed skin. Then, with a slight arch of his back and a subtle shift of his hips, he allowed the thick weight of his cock to slide free. It slipped out the side of the briefs, heavy and uncut, the flushed head nestling against the crease of his groin, fully exposed against the dark sheets. The sensation was immediate – the cool air on sensitive skin, the vulnerable freedom of it. He let his hand fall away, resting palm-up on the bed beside him, leaving himself exposed.
He stared at the ceiling again, but his focus was entirely inward, centered on the naked weight resting against his thigh. His cock stirred, thickening slowly, inevitably. The dark head emerged further from its hood, glistening faintly. He flexed his thigh muscle, a powerful contraction that made his cock twitch visibly against his skin. His breath hitched. He didn’t touch himself, just lay there, letting the slow, steady pulse of arousal build. The memory intensified: Leo’s low groan as Ben took him deep, the possessive grip on his ass, the taste, the overwhelming heat. His own cock hardened further, the shaft thickening, lifting slightly off his skin as it filled with blood, a heavy, insistent presence against his hip.
His hand finally moved, fingers curling around the thick base. He gave a slow, exploratory stroke, the skin hot and silken under his palm. His abs clenched instinctively, the defined ridges tightening into sharp relief across his lower belly as he arched his hips slightly off the mattress, seeking friction. A low groan escaped his lips, rough and unrestrained in the quiet room. He began stroking in earnest, his grip firm and sure, the motion pulling the foreskin back and forth over the swollen head. His other hand slid down from behind his head, tracing the hard lines of his own abs as they flexed with each stroke, the muscles jumping under his touch. His powerful thighs tensed, the thick muscles bunching and relaxing rhythmically, pushing his hips up into his fist.
Lost in the sensation and the vivid memory, his strokes became faster, more urgent. Sweat beaded on his temples and slicked the hard planes of his chest. His abs were a rigid landscape, trembling with the effort of his thrusts into his own grip. His thighs were pillars of tense muscle, spread wide on the bed, the thick cords straining as he drove his cock through the tight tunnel of his fist. He bit his lower lip, stifling another groan. He was close, teetering on the edge. His thighs trembled violently. His abs were locked tight, a rigid board flexing with each desperate thrust.
A sudden knocking shook the studio apartment door. *Boom. Boom. Boom.* Three sharp, heavy impacts that rattled the frame in its hinges. Ben froze mid-stroke, his entire body locking rigid. His cock pulsed violently in his fist, untouched. His eyes flew wide open, staring at the door.
"Hey!" The voice was muffled but clear. It came from the hallway outside. "I know you're in there. I can hear you moving around." A pause. "Heard you breathing heavy too. Everything okay?" Ben held his breath, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. He didn't dare move a muscle, his fist still clenched around the base of his aching, neglected cock. Sweat trickled down his temple. The silence stretched, thick and suffocating. Then, the voice again, closer, as if the speaker had leaned against the door. "Seriously, man. I know you’re in there." Ben squeezed his eyes shut, praying for the man to leave, his exposed body burning with panic.
He moved with frantic, jerky motions. Yanking his thick cock back into the confines of his dark grey briefs was an awkward struggle; it resisted, heavy and stiff, the head catching painfully on the elastic before finally being stuffed inside. The bulge was obscene, a thick ridge stretching the worn cotton diagonally up and to the left, impossible to hide. He padded barefoot to the door, his powerful thighs trembling with residual tension and adrenaline. He cracked the door open just enough to poke his head out, his body shielded behind the solid wood. Daniel stood there, leaning casually against the opposite wall. He wore low-slung sweatpants and a thin white tank top that clung to his lean swimmer’s frame, showcasing sharp collarbones and the flat plane of his stomach. He held a sleek black phone loosely in one hand. His dark eyes flickered over Ben’s flushed face and the sliver of exposed, broad chest. "What’s up?" Ben managed, his voice rough, strained.
Daniel pushed off the wall. "Hey, Ben. Just… haven’t seen you around the building or the gym in a week." His gaze was direct. "Wanted to check that you’re okay. Make sure I didn’t… make things weird last time?" He gestured vaguely towards Ben, his expression open but probing. "Felt a bit pushy, maybe. Didn't mean to freak you out."
Ben swallowed hard. "No, no," he said, forcing a smile. "You didn't. I'm fine." He shifted his weight, acutely aware of the dampness trapped in his briefs. "Just work. Been slammed. Late nights." He paused. "So I’ve just been using the gym at my office. It’s easier."
Daniel nodded, his expression relaxing into a genuine smile. "Good. That's a relief." He ran a hand through his spiky hair. "Honestly? I meant what I said about wanting friends here. New building, and all my friends left the city after graduating... it's weirdly lonely."
Before Ben could formulate a reply, Daniel leaned forward slightly, his hand landing flat on the door beside Ben’s head. With a gentle but firm push, the door swung inward. Ben stumbled back a step, his bare feet scuffing against the hardwood floor. Daniel walked in without waiting for an invitation, his gaze sweeping across Ben’s small studio apartment. "Nice place, dude," he commented casually, his eyes taking in the minimalist furniture – the low-slung sofa, the industrial-style coffee table, the messy bed Ben had just vacated. "I like the furniture. Clean lines." "Wanna hang? I have a ton of games at my apartment. Fighting, racing, RPGs... whatever you're into."
Daniel turned, his easy smile fading as his gaze finally landed fully on Ben. He froze. His dark eyes widened slightly, taking in the sheer physicality of the man before him. Ben stood rigid, framed by the doorway, utterly exposed. Only the thin, dark grey cotton briefs, stretched obscenely thin over his thick, straining erection, provided any modesty. The fabric clung like a second skin, the heavy outline of his cock tucked up and to the left was unmistakable – thick, uncut, the flushed head visibly tenting the cotton at an upward angle. His broad shoulders seemed to fill the narrow space between the doorframes, the solid swell of his chest rising and falling rapidly.
A flush crept up Daniel’s neck, spreading across his sharp cheekbones. His eyes darted from the impossible bulge in Ben’s briefs, up the sweat-slicked planes of his powerful chest and abs, to Ben’s deep brown eyes. Understanding dawned, sharp and immediate. "Fuck," Daniel breathed, the word low and rough. He took a half-step back, running a hand through his spiky hair. "Man... I’m sorry." His gaze flickered back down, then snapped up to meet Ben’s, his expression shifting from casual ease to genuine, flustered embarrassment. "Were you... were you jerking off?" His voice dropped to a near-whisper, thick with awkward realization. "Shit, I totally interrupted you."
Ben stood frozen, the heat in his face intensifying until it felt like a sunburn. He couldn’t speak, couldn’t move. His cock throbbed painfully against the constricting cotton, a persistent, humiliating reminder. He managed a jerky nod, his throat impossibly tight. Every instinct screamed to hide, but there was nowhere to go in the small studio. Instead, he just stood there, exposed and mute, his powerful frame radiating tension like a coiled spring.
Daniel let out a low, awkward laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. "Don't be embarrassed, man, it’s no big deal," he said, his voice deliberately casual, though his own cheeks were still flushed. He gestured vaguely toward the door. "It’s not like you didn’t literally see me buck naked last week in the locker room." He shrugged, a loose, easy movement that seemed to dismiss the entire situation. "We’re both guys. Bodies do stuff. It happens. Not like it’s some scandal."
To punctuate his point, Danie sat down on the edge of the low, modern couch. He leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, reached down and grabbed the hem of his thin white tank top. In one smooth, unhurried motion, he pulled it up and over his head, tossing it casually onto the coffee table beside him. He sat there now, bare-chested, his lean swimmer’s build fully on display – sharp collarbones, the flat, defined plane of his abs, the subtle ripple of his pecs. "See?" he said, his voice calm, almost challenging. "No big deal."
Ben stared, his mouth dry. The sheer nonchalance was disarming. "Dude," he finally managed, the word rough. "What are you *doing*?"
Daniel tilted his head, his dark eyes steady on Ben's flushed face. "Just making a point. Relaxing." He leaned back slightly, stretching his arms along the back of the couch, emphasizing the lean lines of his torso. "Look, it's obvious. You're gay, right? Or bi? I'm bi myself, but honestly? Mainly been with men." His gaze dropped pointedly to Ben's still-prominent bulge, then snapped back up, a faint, knowing smirk playing on his lips. "It's cool with me."
Ben swallowed hard, his knuckles white where he gripped the doorframe. "No... yes. Kinda," he stammered, the words thick in his throat. He shifted his weight, trying to subtly angle his hips away. "I'm... still figuring it out. Closeted I guess." The admission felt like tearing off a bandage, raw and exposing.
Daniel chuckled softly, a low, warm sound that filled the small space. He leaned forward again, resting his elbows on his knees, his dark eyes glinting with amusement. "Okay, fair enough," he said, his tone light but pointed. "But pro-tip? If you wanna stay closeted, maybe don't have sex in public locker rooms." He raised an eyebrow, the smirk returning. "Walls are thin. Doors aren't soundproof. People always tend to walk in."
Ben flinched, the memory of the locker room flashing vividly. He looked away, heat flooding his neck again.
Daniel’s smirk softened into something more inviting. "Look," he said, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial murmur. "If you're figuring things out... why not let me help? We can just chill. Right here. Keep it simple." He gestured around the small studio. "No pressure. Just two guys hanging out in their underwear. See how it feels." He leaned back, stretching his bare torso against the couch cushions, his gaze steady and challenging. "You game?"
Ben hesitated, his knuckles still white on the doorframe. The ache in his briefs was a persistent throb, and Daniel’s casual confidence was disarming. "Yeah," he managed, his voice rough. "Okay. I guess... I'm cool with that." He pushed away from the door, padding barefoot across the cool hardwood towards the couch. He kept his movements stiff, deliberately avoiding looking down at his own obvious bulge.
Daniel’s smile widened, sharp and pleased. "Good." He stood up smoothly from the couch. Without preamble, he hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his low-slung grey sweatpants. He pushed them down his lean hips in one fluid motion, letting them pool around his ankles. He stepped out, kicking them aside. Then he bent, peeling off his white athletic socks, tossing them onto the discarded sweatpants. He straightened up, standing in front of Ben's couch.
He wore a deep emerald green swimmer’s jockstrap. The thin, stretchy fabric consisted of a narrow waistband that sat low on his lean hipbones and a minimal pouch in front. The pouch was just enough to contain his thick, flaccid cock, the dark head peeking through where the mesh fabric of the pouch met skin. The back was nothing but two thin straps that framed the firm, tight curves of his ass. The vibrant green fabric contrasted starkly against his smooth, tan skin, highlighting the sharp lines of his hip bones, the flat plane of his abs, and the wiry muscle definition of his thighs and calves. He stood utterly still for a moment, letting Ben absorb the sight.
Daniel settled back onto the couch, sinking into the cushions. He reached for the sleek black controller resting on the coffee table. "Street Fighter?" he asked, his voice casual, though his gaze flickered to Ben’s still-tented grey briefs. "You got it?" Ben nodded, mute, his own arousal a heavy, insistent pressure against the thin cotton. He grabbed a second controller, his fingers brushing Daniel’s as he handed it over. They selected characters and the game’s pulsing electronic theme music immediately filled the small studio, loud and aggressive, punctuated by sharp sound effects. The flashing lights from the screen cast flickering shadows across their bare skin.
Ben shifted on the couch, trying to find a comfortable position that didn’t emphasize the thick ridge straining against his briefs. The worn leather creaked softly. His powerful thigh, thick and solid, pressed firmly against Daniel’s leaner leg. Skin met skin, warm and startlingly intimate. Daniel didn’t pull away. Instead, he leaned forward slightly, elbows on his knees, eyes fixed on the screen as his character launched a flurry of punches. Ben could feel the subtle tension in Daniel’s thigh muscle, the slight shift as he adjusted his own weight. They both pretended not to notice the contact, focusing intently on the flashing sprites battling on the television.
Daniel’s character landed a brutal combo, the sound effects sharp and jarring in the quiet room. "Gotcha!" Daniel murmured, a satisfied smirk playing on his lips. He shifted slightly, the thin emerald green straps of his jock digging into the firm swell of his ass. The movement made his bare hip slide against Ben’s. Ben’s breath hitched. He could feel the heat radiating from Daniel’s skin, smell the faint, clean scent of soap mixed with something uniquely masculine. His own cock pulsed heavily, trapped and demanding attention. He fumbled the controller, his character stumbling backward under Daniel’s relentless assault.
*Boom. Boom. Boom.* Three sharp, heavy knocks echoed through the apartment door, startlingly loud. Daniel paused the game instantly, the sudden silence thick and heavy. "Expecting someone?" he asked, his voice low, preparing to rise. Ben shook his head frantically, panic flaring. "No! Don't—" But Daniel was already unfolding himself from the couch. He stood up smoothly, the emerald green jockstrap leaving nothing to the imagination – the thick outline of his cock resting heavy in the minimal pouch, the tight curves of his bare, firm ass fully exposed as he walked towards the door. Ben hissed, "Daniel, stop! Put something on!" Daniel just glanced back over his shoulder, a flash of challenge in his dark eyes, and kept walking, his lean, wiry frame moving with a swimmer’s grace.
Ben scrambled, grabbing a large pillow from the couch and pressing it hard against his lap, trying to hide the bulge tenting his grey briefs. He watched in frozen horror as Daniel reached the door. Without hesitation, Daniel gripped the handle and pulled the door open wide, standing fully framed in the doorway. Leo Vance stood in the hallway, dressed in loose basketball shorts and a sleeveless hoodie, his piercing blue eyes wide with shock as they swept over Daniel’s near-nakedness – the vibrant green jockstrap stark against his skin, the defined abs, the sharp hipbones. Leo’s gaze flicked past Daniel, landing on Ben sitting rigid on the couch, clutching the pillow to his groin, his powerful chest bare and flushed.
"Damn, dude," Leo said, his voice tight with disbelief. He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, his gaze shifting between them. "I haven’t seen you in a week. Finally heard you hanging in your room and figured we could game together." A smirk spread across his face as his eyes lingered on Daniel’s jockstrap, then snapped back to Ben’s panicked expression. "But it looks like you already have company. And... interesting choice of gaming attire."
Daniel stepped back smoothly, gesturing Leo inside with an easy grin. "Hey, man. I’m Daniel Chen. Apartment 1403. We haven’t officially met, but I heard you guys in the locker room last week." He leaned against the wall, one hand resting casually on his hip just above the emerald strap. "Ben and I were just chilling. Playing Street Fighter." He tilted his head toward the paused screen, the characters frozen mid-battle. "You should join us. Three-player mode’s way more fun."
Leo’s piercing blue eyes lit up. "Fuck yeah! I love that game." He strode past Daniel, his broad shoulders filling the narrow entryway. With a firm shove, he closed the door behind him, the lock clicking loudly in the sudden quiet. Without missing a beat, Leo leaned down and snatched the cushion from Ben’s lap. "I need this," he declared, ignoring Ben’s sharp inhale and the blatant tenting of his grey briefs now fully exposed. "Floor’s murder on my back." He dropped onto the hardwood, settling his back firmly against the couch directly below Ben. The pillow wedged between his spine and the sofa’s edge.
Daniel reclaimed his spot on the couch, a slow, intrigued smile spreading across his face as Leo grabbed the third controller from the coffee table. Leo’s lean runner’s build was evident even in his loose shorts and hoodie, the fabric draping over a wide chest and long legs folded beneath him. He powered on his controller, the small LED blinking to life. "Alright, Chen," Leo said, glancing up at Daniel with a competitive glint in his eyes. "Prepare to get wrecked. I’m the undisputed champ of this game." His gaze flickered sideways, as Daniel sat back down next to Ben, taking in Ben’s rigid posture and flushed chest. "You good, man? You look like you’re about to spontaneously combust."
Ben shifted on the couch, his thick thigh pressing harder against Daniel’s bare leg. The cushion was gone, leaving his straining bulge in the grey briefs fully visible. He cleared his throat, rough and unconvincing. "Yeah, fine," he muttered, gripping his own controller too tightly. "Just... warm in here." Daniel chuckled softly beside him, stretching his arms languidly along the back of the couch, the emerald green jockstrap pulling taut against his hard cock.
Daniel didn’t start the game, however. He turned, one leg tucked beneath him, and fixed Leo with a steady, challenging look. "Hold up," he said, crossing his arms over his bare chest. "There’s a dress code. You’re not meeting it." He gestured vaguely at Leo’s loose basketball shorts and hoodie, then pointedly at his own minimal green jockstrap and Ben’s tented grey briefs. "This is underwear gaming hour. You’re overdressed."
Leo let out a low, incredulous laugh. "Seriously?" He shook his head, blonde hair tousling. "Fine. But fair warning, man," he added as he rose smoothly to his feet. "I’m free balling." He yanked the sleeveless hoodie over his head, revealing the sharp lines of his abs and the powerful cut of his shoulders. Then he bent, peeling off his crew socks one by one and tossing them aside. Finally, he hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his basketball shorts. With deliberate slowness, he pushed them down his lean hips, letting them drop to the floor. He stepped out, kicking them aside. He stood there, utterly naked, his cut cock thick and heavy against his thigh. As Ben and Daniel watched, Leo’s cock stirred, swelling rapidly under their combined gaze, hardening to match their own obvious erections – thick, flushed, and fully erect. "Better?" Leo asked, his voice playful.
"Actually," Ben blurted out, his voice rough. "Can you… put the socks back on? Just the socks?" Daniel threw his head back and laughed, a rich, genuine sound. "Yeah," he said, agreeing with Ben, stretching his arms along the back of the couch again. "Everyone needs one article of clothing right now. Keeps it grounded." Leo grinned, a flash of understanding in his piercing blue eyes. "Shit, Ben, I almost forgot that’s your thing." He bent, scooping up the discarded white crew socks. He pulled them back on, one after the other, the cotton stretching snugly over his feet and ankles. "There. Uniform compliance."
Leo settled back onto the floor, leaning his back firmly against the couch cushions directly between Ben’s spread legs. He grabbed his controller, shifting slightly to get comfortable. The back of his head, crowned by tousled blonde hair, pressed firmly against the thin grey cotton of Ben’s briefs. Only that flimsy fabric separated Leo’s skull from the thick, heavy heat of Ben’s straining erection. Ben sucked in a sharp breath, his powerful thighs tensing instinctively on either side of Leo’s shoulders. He could feel the subtle movement of Leo’s head as he adjusted his position, the pressure direct and undeniable against his cock. Daniel, watching from beside Ben, smirked, his hand hovering over the controller’s start button.
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