The next morning, Ben woke with the city’s dull roar already vibrating through the glass. Sunlight cut sharp lines across his tangled sheets. His body ached in unfamiliar places—a deep, satisfying throb in his lower back, a faint soreness when he shifted his hips. He stretched, the muscles in his thick thighs pulling taut. The apartment smelled faintly of lube and sweat, a ghost of last night’s chaos. Leo’s hoodie still lay crumpled near the couch, a stark contrast against the floorboards. Ben’s phone buzzed—a calendar alert for his afternoon gym session. A slow smile spread across his face. He wondered if Leo would be there. Or Daniel.
Day two dawned gray and wet, rain streaking the windows of apartment 1210. Ben lingered over coffee, steam curling around his face as he stared out at the slick streets below. The gym had been empty yesterday, no clank of weights or hum of treadmills. No Leo. No Daniel. He’d checked the locker room twice, the steam room once. Nothing. Only the lingering scent of rubber and the echo of his own footsteps. He ran a hand through his messy dark curls. The silence in his apartment felt louder now.
Day three brought brittle sunshine. Ben took the stairs down to the lobby, hoping to catch someone. The polished marble floor reflected his solitary figure. He scanned the mailboxes: 1208, Leo Vance. 1403, Daniel Chen. Both slots were empty. He lingered near the elevators, pretending to check his phone. The doors slid open twice – an elderly woman with a poodle, a harried man in a suit. Neither blonde, nor wiry and sharp-eyed. He jogged the perimeter of the building later, thick thighs burning, gaze sweeping the courtyard. Empty benches. The city pulsed around him, indifferent.
Day four dawned humid, the air thick and still. Ben skipped the gym, opting for push-ups on his living room floor. Sweat pooled in the hollow of his throat as he lowered his broad chest. The silence pressed in. He replayed the scene – Daniel’s smirk, Leo’s dripping trail on the floorboards, the weight of Leo’s cock in his mouth. He showered, the water sluicing over his powerful shoulders. Dressing took effort. He pulled on grey sweatpants, no shirt, and stood at his window. Below, the street teemed with anonymous figures. None turned their tousled blonde heads. None moved with Daniel’s wiry, contained energy.
Day five brought a sharp autumn chill. Ben grabbed Leo’s forgotten hoodie from the floor. He buried his nose in the fabric. It smelled faintly of detergent, gym sweat, and the ghost of sex. He pulled it on, the sleeves ending just past his wrists. It was snug across his broad shoulders. He took the elevator down, hoping the scent might conjure them. The lobby was empty. He lingered by the mailboxes again, fingers tracing the cold metal of 1208 and 1403. Both slots remained stubbornly vacant. He left and bought coffee, the barista’s smile too bright.
He pushed through the heavy glass doors of his building, the coffee cup warm in his hands. The familiar lobby scent—polished marble and stale air—washed over him. He took a step toward the elevators, shoulders hunched slightly against the lingering chill trapped in the hoodie’s fleece lining that hugged his bare chest.
A sharp, deliberate cough echoed behind him. Ben froze. Then came the voice, rich with amusement: "Oh? You’re wearing my hoodie now? I was expecting that back."
Ben turned slowly. Leo Vance leaned against the lobby’s entrance, arms crossed over his bare chest. He wore only low-slung, short and tight gym shorts and white crew socks, his lean runner’s body a study in casual arrogance. Sunlight from the high windows caught the tousled gold of his hair and the sharp angle of his hip bones. Clearly back from a run, the thin layer of sweat on his bare chest and abs steamed in the light while his chest rose and fell with exertion. His piercing blue eyes raked over Ben, lingering on the stretched fabric straining across Ben’s broad shoulders. "Looks better on you, I’ll admit," Leo added, a slow smile spreading. "But it’s still mine."
Ben flushed, the heat climbing his neck. He tugged at the hoodie’s hem, suddenly hyper-aware of his bare chest beneath it. "Found it on my floor," he muttered, defensive. "After you left your shit everywhere last time." He gestured vaguely toward the elevators, as if Leo’s abandoned clothes might materialize. "Didn’t think you’d miss it."
Leo pushed off the wall, closing the distance in a few easy strides. His scent—fresh sweat, clean cotton, and something uniquely Leo—hit Ben hard. He stopped inches away, his blue eyes dancing with mischief. "Know what’s weird?" Leo murmured, his gaze dropping pointedly to Ben’s lips. "I’ve literally been inside you, Ben." He paused, letting the words hang in the cool lobby air. "Yet I just found out today," he tapped the mailbox label beside them, Wright, Apt. 1210, "that your last name is Wright. Seems kinda backwards, don’t you think?"
Ben’s flush deepened, spreading across his cheekbones. He bristled, shoulders tensing beneath Leo’s hoodie. "Inside me?" he snapped, voice low and tight. "You’ve never fucked me, Leo. Daniel did."
Leo threw his head back and laughed, the sound rich and echoing in the marble lobby. "Sucking my dick counts too, Ben," he countered, his blue eyes crinkling at the corners. He took another step closer, invading Ben’s space. The scent of exertion and warm skin intensified. "And you’ve been inside me, I recall you moaning, leaking, and coming down my throat. That’s pretty damn inside." He leaned in, his breath ghosting over Ben’s ear. "Or did you forget how deep you shoved it?"
Ben jerked backward, putting a foot of space between them. His fists clenched at his sides, knuckles white against the grey fleece of Leo’s hoodie. "We had sex, dude," he hissed, voice low and strained. "And then you disappeared off the face of the planet for a week. What the fuck, bro? Not a note. Nothing." His deep brown eyes burned with a mix of anger and confusion.
Leo’s lazy smile didn’t waver, but his gaze became strained. He shifted his weight, the tight gym shorts riding higher on his lean hips. "Ben," he said, his tone infuriatingly reasonable. "Come on. We’re not seeing each other. I don’t even know if you’d call this friendship." He gestured loosely between them, encompassing the lobby, the mailboxes, the entire building. "We live next door. We fucked. It was hot." He shrugged, muscles rippling in his bare shoulders. "Doesn’t mean I owe you my schedule."
Ben’s throat tightened. The anger simmered, but beneath it, something raw and unexpected clawed its way up. "I thought we were friends," he blurted, the words rough and too loud in the echoing space. He instantly regretted it, heat flooding his face. He stared hard at the marble floor, avoiding Leo’s piercing blue eyes. The admission hung there, heavy and awkward, puncturing the casual arrogance Leo wore like armor.
Leo’s easy smile vanished. He blinked, his head tilting slightly as if he’d misheard. The confident posture faltered, replaced by genuine surprise. His gaze, sharp and suddenly searching, locked onto Ben’s averted face. "Friends?" he repeated slowly, the word sounding foreign on his tongue. His brow furrowed, a faint crease appearing between his eyebrows. He took a half-step back, creating even more space that felt charged. "Ben... do you actually want to be friends?" The question was quiet, stripped of its usual teasing edge, replaced by a bewildered intensity. He studied Ben’s flushed face, the tension in his broad shoulders beneath the borrowed hoodie, the way his fists were still clenched.
Ben’s jaw tightened. He kept his eyes fixed on the gleaming marble floor, tracing the veins of grey in the white stone. The admission felt like a crack in his armor, exposing something vulnerable he hadn’t intended. He shifted his weight, the worn soles of his sneakers squeaking faintly on the polished surface. "Doesn’t matter," he muttered gruffly, his voice thick. "Just... forget I said it." He crossed his arms defensively over his chest, pulling the hoodie tighter around himself, a shield against Leo’s piercing scrutiny. The silence stretched, thick and uncomfortable.
Leo didn’t move. He studied Ben’s averted profile – the stubborn set of his jaw, the flush creeping up his neck, the way his powerful shoulders hunched inward. The usual glint of teasing amusement had vanished completely from his blue eyes, replaced by a thoughtful, almost perplexed intensity. He rubbed a hand over his mouth, the sound rough against the lobby’s quiet hum. "No," Leo said finally, the word decisive. His voice was lower, stripped of its usual lazy confidence. "Let’s try it. We should be friends." He paused, letting the unexpected offer hang in the air between them. "I’ll spot you later. At the gym. Today. 6 PM.”
He pushed off the wall, the movement abrupt. Without waiting for Ben’s answer, Leo turned and strode toward the elevators, his feet silent on the marble. The tight gym shorts clung to the lean muscles of his ass as he walked, the white fabric stark against his tanned skin. Ben watched, frozen, the echo of "friends" and "6 PM" colliding in his head. Leo jabbed the elevator button with a sharp knuckle, then leaned against the brushed steel wall, arms crossed again. He didn’t look back. The elevator doors slid open with a soft chime, bathing Leo in sterile light. He stepped inside, his reflection sharp and fleeting in the mirrored walls. Just before the doors sealed, his blue eyes flicked to Ben’s. Then he was gone, leaving only the faint scent of sweat and the imprint of his challenge hanging in the cool, empty air.
At precisely 6 PM, Ben walked into the gym’s weight room. Leo was already there, perched on the edge of a bench press, idly spinning his keys in one hand. He wore loose black shorts and a thin, sleeveless compression shirt that clung to his runner’s build, the fabric darkening with sweat across his defined shoulders and sharp collarbones. "About time," Leo called, his voice echoing slightly off the racks. They didn’t speak much. Leo spotted Ben as he pushed heavy reps on the bench, his hands hovering close, knuckles brushing Ben’s thick chest as the bar dipped. When Ben switched to squats, Leo mirrored him on the adjacent rack, their movements synchronized—the powerful drive of Ben’s thick thighs meeting the ground, the controlled descent of Leo’s leaner legs. Sweat slicked their skin, the air thick with the clank of iron and their measured breaths. Only once, as Ben racked the bar after a brutal set, Leo grinned, wiping his brow. "Form’s solid, Wright." Ben just nodded, a flicker of something unfamiliar warming his chest.
The next afternoon, Ben knocked on Leo’s door. Apartment 1208 was a mirror image of his own floor plan but transformed—vibrant woven rugs layered the floor, a deep emerald couch dominated the living area, and shelves overflowed with quirky trinkets: a miniature disco ball, a carved wooden bird, stacks of vinyl records. Leo sprawled on the rug in faded jeans and no shirt, sunlight catching the sweat sheen on his abs as he sorted through a crate of old concert tees. "Beer?" Leo offered, nodding towards the fridge. Ben took one, the cold bottle sweating in his hand. They sat in comfortable silence, the city’s distant hum filtering through the window. Leo pointed to a framed photo on the wall – him crossing a marathon finish line, face contorted in effort. "Chicago, last fall," he said, a flicker of pride in his eyes.
The following evening, cardboard containers of spicy Pad Thai and sticky mango rice littered Ben’s coffee table. Controllers in hand, they battled on-screen warriors, the pixelated clash echoing in the dim apartment. Leo paused the game mid-fight, gesturing at the couch where Daniel had sat a week or two before. "Last time we did this," he smirked, his blue eyes glinting, "I ended up with your cock shoved down my throat." Ben choked on a laugh, nearly dropping his controller. "Fuck off," he managed, shaking his head, but the memory warmed his face. Leo unpaused the game, his character landing a brutal finishing move. "Just saying," he added, grin widening. "Best rematch ever."
The next morning sunlight beat down on the riverside path. They ran shirtless, the crisp air clinging to their skin. Ben’s powerful build churned forward, thick thighs pumping, sweat tracing the deep grooves between his pecs and the defined ridges of his abs. Beside him, Leo moved with a lean, efficient grace, his runner’s stride eating up the pavement, sharp hip bones cutting angles above the waistband of his shorts, sweat plastering his blonde hair to his temples. Their breaths came in ragged sync, muscles flexing and glistening under the relentless sun – Ben’s broad shoulders rolling, Leo’s long legs driving hard. They pushed the final stretch, lungs burning, sweat dripping freely onto the asphalt.
Rounding the corner near the apartment complex’s entrance, they almost collided with Daniel Chen. He stood with a sleek black duffel bag slung over one shoulder, looking sharp in dark jeans and a fitted grey henley that hugged his wiry swimmer’s frame. His jet-black hair was neatly styled, a stark contrast to their disheveled state. "Whoa!" Daniel grinned, stepping back, his dark brown eyes sweeping over their sweat-soaked, bare-chested forms with appreciative amusement. "Nice pace, guys. You look wrecked."
Ben leaned forward, hands on his knees, catching his breath. Leo wiped sweat from his brow with the back of his hand, smirking. "Where’ve you been, kid?" Leo asked, his tone light but edged with curiosity. "Vanished after the main event." Daniel’s smile tightened slightly. "Got tapped for an emergency project in Seattle," he explained, adjusting the duffel strap. "Tech startup chaos. Barely had time to pack." He shrugged, the movement fluid. "Just flew back an hour ago."
Leo straightened, crossing his arms over his damp chest. "Seattle, huh? Should’ve left a note." Ben nodded, still breathing heavily. "Seriously, man. We thought you ghosted us." Daniel’s expression softened, a flicker of apology in his dark eyes. "Didn’t mean to bail. It was… abrupt." He shifted his weight, the duffel bag sliding down his arm. "Next time, I’ll text. Promise."
Ben nudged Leo’s shoulder. "Dinner later?" Leo grinned, raking a hand through his sweat-damp hair. "Yeah. Italian? Daniel’s treat of course." Daniel’s smile returned. "Sounds fair to me." They walked back to the building, shoulders bumping in the cramped elevator. The air hummed with the scent of exertion and unspoken tension, Daniel’s lean frame a quiet counterpoint to their half-naked exhaustion.
They gathered later, crammed into a dim booth under twinkling fairy lights. Leo ordered spicy rigatoni, Ben a mountain of lasagna, Daniel a seafood risotto. The conversation flowed easier with each glass of wine—Daniel dissected Seattle’s tech scene, Leo recounted a disastrous run in the rain, Ben described a grueling project at his architecture firm. Laughter echoed, sharp and bright.
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