The engine of my car hummed gently as I approached the college town, the sun dipping low in the sky, painting the horizon with a warm orange glow. I was on my way to my brother Noah's dorm, ready to crash for a couple of nights during spring break while he was off gallivanting at some festival. I glanced at the GPS, the robotic voice guiding me through the unfamiliar streets, lined with blooming trees that whispered secrets to the night. It was a quiet evening, the kind that made you feel like you had the whole world to yourself.
I pulled into the parking lot of the dorm building, the headlights casting a brief spotlight on the groups of students still hanging around outside. With a sigh, I grabbed my backpack from the passenger seat and stepped out into the cool evening air. The scent of freshly cut grass and the distant sound of laughter filled my nose and ears as I locked up the car. The walk to the dorm was short but steeped in anticipation; I hadn't seen Noah's place in months and even though I knew it was just a temporary stay, there was something comforting about crashing in my brother's space.
The stairs up to the third floor felt like a climb to the top of a lighthouse, each step echoing in the empty hallway. I found Room 304 easily and knew the spare key was under the mat, a classic move that never changed despite the modern world's advances. With a smirk, I bent down and plucked it out from its hiding spot.
The key was cold to the touch, a stark contrast to the warmth that lingered in the air. I inserted it into the lock, feeling the familiar click as the bolt slid back. The door opened with a gentle creak, revealing the dimly lit space inside. "Hey Atlas, I'm here," I called out, not wanting to startle the big guy. My voice echoed slightly in the small room. I stepped inside and took in the view. It wasn't exactly a mess, but it wasn't the pristine abode I had imagined. Clothes were strewn here and there, textbooks piled up like miniature skyscrapers, and the faint scent of sweat and cologne lingered. It was clear that two guys lived here, and neither of them had a penchant for cleanliness.
The room was a familiar maze of mismatched furniture and posters, a testament to their combined tastes and lack of interior design skills. I recognized the worn couch from the last time I had visited, and the TV that seemed to be permanently mounted to the wall. At the far end, a set of beds took up most of the space, with a desk squeezed between them, the right side clearly belonging to Noah with his gaming setup, and the left to Atlas, with a stack of weights and a few well-thumbed textbooks.
"In here," came a gruff response from the bathroom, the deep soothing voice resonating through the room.
"Take your time," I called back, using the moment alone to settle in and claim my brother's side of the room as my own for the next two nights. I tossed my bag onto the bed and began to unpack, neatly folding my clothes and placing them onto his drawer. I sat down on the edge of the bed, bouncing slightly on the mattress, as if to test its limits.
The bed groaned in protest. I guess thats what happens when you let my linebacker of a brother use it. The springs squeaked and the frame creaked as I sat down, the mattress giving way slightly under my weight. I couldn't help but wonder how much abuse this poor piece of furniture had taken from Noah... I shook my head, smiling to myself. No use worrying about that.
My eyes scanned the room again, taking in the details I had missed before. The posters on the wall were a mishmash of sports teams and what looked like a few anime characters. A couple of empty beer cans sat on the floor, next to a pile of dirty laundry that had formed a mountain range over the weeks. It was the typical college room, lived in and loved by two guys who hadn't quite figured out the meaning of the word "tidy." But amidst the chaos, there was something comforting.
The sound of the shower stopped after a few moments, the sudden silence feeling deafening. Then atlas started a conversation again, his voice muffled by the bathroom door, but still carrying that deep, calming timbre. He was still in there, probably getting dressed.
"So, your brother didn't say much about why you're in town." Atlas' voice was a smooth rumble as he did his bussiness behind the bathroom door. I paused scanning the space with my eyes, as I shifted my focus to the conversation that was about to unfold.
"He didn't?" I called back, trying to keep the surprise out of my voice. "And that from a guy whos known to talk more than a parrot with a Twitter account..." I commented before I could stop myself. I hoped that my light teasing wouldn't come off as too forward, but it was hard to resist when talking about Noah's legendary gab.
"I had an appointment with some guy from the scholarship committee," I shouted over the sound of the shower, hoping the water didn't drown out my words. "They're giving me the tour tomorrow and I needed somewhere to stay and Noah said it'd be cool if I crashed here."
"Ah, so you're the scholarly type, huh?" Atlas's voice grew louder as the sound of Water stopped. He was probably toweling off now. "When did Noah tell you you could stay?"
I paused, trying to remember. "A couple of months ago," I responded, trying to keep my tone nonchalant. "He said it'd be no problem."
The bathroom door swung open, revealing the towering figure of Atlas in all his post-shower glory. He was wearing nothing but a towel, and water droplets still clung to his broad shoulders and chest, glistening in the soft light of the room. He chuckled, the sound echoing slightly off the walls. "Nah, he only asked me two days ago, acting like it was a last-minute crisis," he said, a smile playing on his lips. But it was hard to keep my eyes on his face as they kept drifting down to the way the towel sat low on his waist.
My heart skipped a beat, and I felt a sudden warmth spread through my cheeks. "I-I'm sorry, I didn't mean to impose," I stuttered, fidgeting with the hem of my shirt.
"Don't sweat it," Atlas waved his hand dismissively, the towel around his waist shifting slightly, revealing a sliver of taut abdomen. "I know how he is. Always forgetting stuff. Besides," he added with a wink, "you're cool. I really don't mind."
As he strolled over to his dresser, his muscles rippled with every movement, my eyes trailed him like a hawk eyeing its prey. The few times I had seen him before, I hadn't truly appreciated the sheer size of him. Up close, he was a sculpture of pure masculine perfection. His broad shoulders looked like they could carry the weight of the world, and his biceps bulged with a power that made me feel deliciously small. When he lifted his arms to run his hands through his wet hair, his biceps flexed, a sight that made my mouth go dry.
But it was his abs that really drew my gaze. That glorious six-pack was a work of art, each muscle clearly defined and begging to be touched. The towel was precariously low, giving me a peek of the treasure trail leading down to... well, I couldn't let my imagination run wild, not with him standing right there. I snapped my eyes back up to his face just in time to see him looking at me.
Trying to overshadow the awkwardness of the moment, I blurted out the first thing that came to mind, "So, what have you been up to during spring break, Atlas?" My voice sounded higher than usual, a clear giveaway of my embarrassment.
He turned to me, a knowing smirk playing on his lips as he pulled out a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt from his drawer. "Just the usual, working at the gym to cover the rent," he said, tossing the clothes onto his bed. "You know how it is, trying to keep the lights on and food in the fridge."
I nodded, feeling my cheeks burn even hotter. "Yeah, I get it," I mumbled, trying to refocus on the conversation. "No fancy festivals for you, then?"
"Nah, I don't have the luxury of a full scholarship like you," Atlas said, his voice a warm baritone as he turned to face me, his eyes holding a hint of good-natured envy. "But I don't mind. Working keeps me grounded, you know?"
For a short moment he looked at me, then at the clothes in his hands, and it seemed like he was seriously considering dropping the towel right there, as if my presence was as inconsequential as a fly on the wall. The idea of seeing him completely naked was both exhilarating and terrifying, sending a bolt of electricity through my body. But then, something changed in his demeanor, a flicker of awareness or perhaps a glimmer of chivalry, and he turned away.
"I'll just get changed in the bathroom," he said over his shoulder, his deep voice rumbling like distant thunder. I nodded, my throat dry, trying not to let my gaze linger on the way the towel clung to the curves of his firm ass as he disappeared back into the steamy sanctuary.
"Didn't expect a gentlemanly move like that from my brother's roommate," I teased, hoping to lighten the thick tension that had settled insie of me.
"Gentlemen, huh?" I heard him chuckle from the bathroom, the sound of his voice bouncing off the tiles. "Well, I do try to keep some manners, even when living with a slob like Noah." His laughter washed over me, and I couldn't help but smile at the sound. There was something comforting about his ease, his confidence not coming from a place of arrogance but from a deep well of self-knowledge.
Standing up, I took the opportunity to explore the room further, feigning nonchalance as I poked fun at the state of the room. "Well, as much as you act like a saint, I'm guessing you're not contributing to the chaos around here," I quipped, picking up a stray sock from the floor and tossing it at the laundry pile. It landed with a soft thud, disappearing into the mountainous fabric landscape.
The room was a testament to two guys who clearly had more important things to do than clean, and I couldn't help but feel a strange comfort in the mess. It was real, it was raw, and it was a stark contrast to the pristine environment I usually found myself in. "You know, I think the dust bunnies have started forming their own little civilization under the bed," I said, peeking over the edge of the mattress.
The bathroom door swung open and Atlas stepped out, his cheeks a bit pink from the heat. "I guess I should've warned you, I'm not exactly Mr. Clean," he said, a slightly sheepish expression crossing his handsome face. He was now dressed in a pair of loose sweatpants that hung low on his hips and a tight Tank top that hugged his muscular torso. The towel was gone, and his wet hair was slicked back, making him look like a Greek god who had just stepped out of the shower.
"Don't worry about it," I said, waving a hand to dismiss his concern. "I've seen worse. Besides, I'm crashing here for free, so I can't really complain." I offered a friendly smile, trying to put him at ease. The last thing I wanted was for him to feel uncomfortable around me.
He smiled down at me. "Yeah, I guess that's fair," he said, running a hand over his chest. "But if you're really that eager to get your hands dirty, the cleaning supplies are under the sink. Just don't expect me to join you, I've earned a break after my shift."
Atlas's brash suggestion to clean the room was clearly a joke, a playful jab at the stark difference between his gym-fueled life and my more... meticulous habits. "You wish," I replied with a laugh.
He chuckled and plopped down onto his bed, the mattress groaning under his weight. His biceps bulged as he stretched his arms above his head, and I couldn't help but admire the way the fabric of his shirt clung to his torso, leaving little to the imagination. "So, what's on the agenda for tonight?" he asked, his eyes gleaming with curiosity.
"I, uh, I didn't really plan much," I stuttered, my gaze lingering on the way his sweatpants clung to his thighs. "Just wanted to grab some dinner, maybe catch a movie or something."
"If you don't have any plans, we could grab dinner together," Atlas suggested casually, his fingers still playing with the hem of his shirt. His eyes searched mine for a hint of interest, and I felt my heart skip a beat. Dinner with him? Alone?
"Of course, only if you want to eat with me," Atlas added, his deep voice echoing in the room as he stretched his arms up, the fabric of his shirt tightening against his broad chest. I couldn't help but watch, my eyes drawn to his powerful physique like a moth to a flame. The way his biceps bulged and his abs tensed with the movement was mesmerizing. I felt a flutter in my stomach that had nothing to do with hunger.
"Yeah, that sounds great," I managed to reply, trying to sound casual as I pushed the thoughts of his naked body aside. "I'm easy, whatever you want to eat is fine with me."
"Alright, I know this place down the street, good grub, not too fancy," Atlas said, his eyes lighting up at the mention of food. He grabbed his phone from the nightstand and started scrolling through his contacts. "They deliver, so we can just chill here."
I nodded, my stomach rumbling at the thought of a decent meal. "Sounds perfect," I said, trying to keep my voice steady.
As Atlas scrolled through his phone to order dinner, I took the opportunity to slip into the bathroom to change. My heart thudded in my chest as I peeled off my jeans and shirt, feeling the cool air kiss my skin. I grabbed a pair of shorts and a fresh t-shirt from my bag, the fabric whispering against my body as I pulled them on. The shorts hugged my thighs and the shirt clung to my torso, a stark contrast to the bulky clothes I had been wearing to hide my true form. I took a deep breath, looking at myself in the mirror. In that brief moment, I felt a spark of confidence, a hint of the person I wanted to be, not just the shy, nerdy kid in the shadow of his brother and his friends.
When I emerged, Atlas was lounging on his bed. "Pizza okay with you?" he asked without looking up, his thumb poised over the screen of his phone.
"Perfect," I responded, trying to sound as casual as he was.
He looked up and smiled, the kind of smile that could melt the polar ice caps. "Great," he said, tapping the screen to confirm the order. "It'll be here in about thirty."
We settled into a comfortable silence, the kind that didn't need to be filled with constant chatter. I plopped down on the worn couch in front of the TV, scrolling through my phone to pass the time. The couch groaned under my weight, the springs protesting from years of use and abuse, but it was surprisingly cozy. The fabric was soft and familiar, a testament to countless people who have made themselves at home in this room.
On the bed, Atlas laid back with his own phone, his fingers dancing over the screen with a surprising grace for such large hands. Occasionally, he'd look up and throw out a comment about something he found online, and I'd respond with a chuckle or a nod. Our conversation was easy, the kind that comes when you've known someone for a long time, even if you've never truly talked much before.
After a while, his stomach growled, the sound echoing through the small room, and he sat up with a chuckle. "Always the same," he said, rubbing his abs. "I swear, I could eat a whole cow after a workout."
"You're not kidding," I said with a laugh, watching as he stood up. The movement was fluid, and for a moment, my gaze lingered on his crotch. There was something... different about the way his sweatpants hung. He wasn't wearing any underwear. I swallowed hard, my eyes following the clear outline of his cock as it bobbed with every step he took. It was a sizeable bulge, and the way it moved with his stride was... fascinating.
I made sure not to stare to obliviously as Atlas walked past the couch and into the kitchen, the hypnotizing sway of his sweatpants holding my gaze like a siren's call. His cock was indeed free, and it was quite the sight to behold, making an impressive imprint against the fabric with every step he took. My cheeks flushed a deeper shade of red as I tried to play it cool, pretending to be engrossed in the random videos on my phone. The kitchen was a small space, just enough for a mini fridge, a microwave, and a counter that doubled as a bar. It was clear that cooking wasn't their strong suit, judging by the lack of pots, pans, and any sign of actual food preparation.
As he rummaged through the fridge, he called over his shoulder, "You want a beer or something to drink?"
"Sure," I replied, my voice a little hoarser than usual, hoping he wouldn't notice my sudden discomfort. "Whatever you're having."
He grabbed two beers and popped the caps off with a practiced twist of his wrist, walking back to the couch and handing one to me. But he didn't sit down next to me like I expected. Instead, he chose the chair at the desk, his large frame seemingly swallowing the small piece of furniture. He swiveled it around to face me, his legs spread wide, and his arms resting on the chair's arms, showcasing his powerful chest and biceps. The way he sat was so... dominating, and I couldn't help but feel a little aroused by his casual display of sex appeal.
We talked for another moment. Then, the buzz of the doorbell sliced through the tension. Atlas's eyes flicked towards the door, his eyebrows raising slightly. "Ah, dinner," he said, standing up with a grace that defied his size.
I stood up aswell, "I got it," I said, eager to be of help. Atlas nodded but didn't dropped back down onto the chair. Instead, he remained standing, his presence seemingly taking up more space in the room than before. He watched me as I walked over to the door, the sound of his beer bottle clinking against the desk as he set it down echoing in the silence.
When I opened the door, a young deliveryman with a pimply face and a wide smile greeted me, holding three pizza boxes. "Three, huh?" I said, raising an eyebrow. "Is that a mistake?"
"No mistake," Atlas called from behind, his deep voice rumbling through the room. "Big man, big appetite," he quipped, his eyes twinkling with mischief.
"Three pizzas it is," I confirmed, taking the boxes and handing over a tip. The deliveryman took it with a nod and was out the door before I could even blink.
As I turned back into the room, Atlas was plopping down onto the couch. His right arm was stretched out over the back of the couch, fingers tapping idly against the worn fabric, while his left hand reached for the TV remote. The muscles in his forearm flexed with the movement, and I couldn't help but admire the way the light played across them.
I walked over to the couch and set the pizzas down on the coffee table with a thud, the aroma of cheese and sauce wafting through the air. Atlas's gaze followed my every move, and I couldn't help but feel a little self-conscious as I headed back to the kitchen for a bottle of water and glasses. To my suprise, every single one of them was dirty. The sight made me cringe, but I didn't want to seem like a prude. So, with a deep breath, I rolled up my sleeves and grabbed two of the glasses.
"You really don't have to," Atlas called after me, his voice carrying the same casual ease that seemed to define him. But I was already at the sink, running hot water and dish soap over the grimy glasses. The suds bubbled and danced around my hands as I scrubbed them clean, the scent of lemon filling the small space.
"I don't mind," I said over my shoulder, before drying the glasses with a towel that looked like it had seen better days, I glanced at Atlas, who was now lounging back on the couch, his massive legs sprawled out in front of him. "Better safe than sorry, right?"
"You're the guest, you shouldn't have to do that," Atlas said, his voice carrying a hint of genuine concern, but the glint in his eye told me he found the whole situation amusing.
"It's no big deal," I replied, trying to hide the blush that crept up my cheeks. "Besides, I need a some water after that long drive."
As I handed him a clean glass, our fingers brushed together, and a spark of electricity shot through me. He took the glass, his eyes lingering on our touch before he took a sip. "Thanks, Sam," he said, using my nickname for the first time, and it rolled off his tongue like a caress.
I settled down next to him on the couch, his presence so large and imposing that I couldn't help but feel small. Yet, there was a comfort in the warmth that radiated from him, a gentle heat that seemed to envelop me. He leaned back, his arm still over the back of the couch, and patted the cushion next to him. "Come on, don't be shy," he urged with a playful grin.
Obliging, I sat down, my leg brushing against his. It was a casual touch, but it sent a jolt of energy through me that was anything but casual. Atlas didn't seem to notice, his eyes already focused on the TV as he flipped through the channels. He stopped on a sitcom, the laugh track already blasting through the speakers.
"This is a classic," he said, his eyes not leaving the screen. "It never gets old."
The show was a familiar one, a sitcom from the early 2000s that I had watched a hundred times. The laugh track was obnoxious, but it was comforting in its predictability. He took his arm away from the couch back and leaned forward, grabbing a slice of pizza from the nearest box. His biceps flexed, and I couldn't help but stare. He caught me looking and winked, his teeth flashing white. "Want a piece?" he asked, holding out the carton towards me.
I took a sip of my beer, the cold liquid sliding down my throat like a lifeline, giving me something to do with my hands other than reach out and touch his bicep.
As we ate, the conversation flowed easily between us, a mix of school gossip and shared stories about Noah's antics. I found myself getting lost in the deep timbre of his voice, the way his muscles moved when he talked and laughed, the occasional crumb landing on his chest that I had to resist brushing away.
The pizza was hot and greasy, but it was hard to focus on the taste when I was so acutely aware of Atlas beside me. Each bite I took felt forced, my eyes constantly straying to his arms, the way they bulged with every movement, the veins standing out like a road map to pleasure. The tank top he wore did nothing to hide his physique, and it was a struggle not to drool as I watched him eat, his Adam's apple bobbing with each swallow.
Then, out of nowhere, he spoke up, "You know, Noah didn't mention you were into guys."
I nearly choked on my pizza, the cheese scalding the back of my throat. "Wh-what?" I sputtered, my face burning hotter than the sun.
"You heard me," Atlas said, his eyes never leaving the TV. He took another bite, the cheese stringing from his mouth to the slice. "It's pretty clear you're into guys."
My heart felt like it had skipped a beat and was now racing to catch up. "Aaahhmm," I stuttered, trying to keep my voice steady. But it was no use, the blush that had started to creep up my neck had now painted my cheeks a vibrant shade of red.
"Don't worry, I'm cool with it," Atlas said, his eyes still on the TV. He took another bite of his pizza, his teeth tearing through the cheese with a confidence that seemed to ooze from every pore of his body. "It's pretty obvious, though, the way you've been checking me out."
My face flushed so hot it could've boiled the ocean. "Sorry man, I-"
He cut me off with a chuckle, "It's cool, Sam. I've got a pretty good idea of what's going on." He took a swig of his beer, watching me over the rim of the bottle. "I think your cute too," he said casually, as if he had just commented on the weather.
The room spun around me. Did he just say that? Did Atlas, the god-like figure I had admired from afar, just admit he thought I was cute? "You... do?" I squeaked out, my voice barely above a whisper.
He nodded, his eyes finally leaving the TV to meet mine. "Yeah," he said, his voice low and gentle. "Why do you look so surprised?"
"I just didn't think you'd look at guys that way," I said, trying to recover from the shock of his admission. "I mean, you're so... straight."
The corner of Atlas's mouth quirked up into a smirk. "Oh, I'm as straight as a ruler," he said, his eyes glinting with amusement. "But that doesn't mean I can't appreciate a pretty cute guy when I see one." He took another sip of his beer, his gaze lingering on me.
My heart was racing so fast it was a wonder I didn't pass out. We sat there, the TV the only sound in the room, the laugh track bouncing off the walls like a pinball machine. The pizza grew cold in my hand, forgotten.
After a moment that felt like an eternity, Atlas finished the last slice of his second pizza. He leaned back into the couch, his muscles flexing with the movement. His arm dropped behind me, and my eyes shot to it, my breath catching in my throat. It was so close, so inviting, and the way his fingers tapped against the cushion was almost... provoking.
"You okay?" he asked, his voice rumbling through the room like a distant thunder. I nodded, my eyes snapping back to the TV, trying to ignore the heat radiating from his body. He took another swig of his beer, and the ice clinked against the glass.
"I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable, saying that," Atlas said after a moment, his voice a low rumble that seemed to resonate in my very bones. "I just figured it was better to be upfront."
His words hung in the air like a challenge, a dare. Was he testing the waters? Playing a game? I took a deep breath, trying to calm my racing heart. "It's okay," I managed to say, my voice barely above a whisper. "I just... I've never had anyone say that to me before."
He leaned back, his arm brushing against my shoulder. "Well, I'm saying it now," he said, his tone casual, as if he was just commenting on the weather. His fingers tapped a rhythm on the armrest, the sound echoing through the room like a heartbeat. "You're a good-looking guy, Sam."
I took a sip of my beer, the cold liquid doing little to quench the fire that had started to burn in my cheeks. Was he flirting with me? It was hard to tell, the way he sat there, so relaxed, so confident. His words had me questioning everything I thought I knew about him. Was he one of those guys who talked the talk but didn't walk the walk? The kind that only experimented when they were drunk or horny? Or was he just being friendly, the way straight guys sometimes were when they didn't realize the effect they had on those of us who weren't so straight?
I cleared my throat, trying to ease the tension that had coiled around us like a python. "So, uh, what movie should we watch?" I asked, desperately trying to steer the conversation away from the minefield we were tiptoeing through.
"Whatever you want," Atlas replied, his hand coming to rest on the back of the couch, dangerously close to my neck. "I'm easy."
The words hung in the air, thick with double meaning. I swallowed hard, my eyes darting to the TV as I tried to find something, anything to watch that wasn't a rom-com or a sappy drama that would only highlight the sexual tension building between us. I settled on an action movie, something explosive and fast-paced to distract us both from the elephant in the room.
The movie played out, but my attention remained glued to the side of Atlas's body, my eyes flickering over his biceps and the way the light played against the swell of his chest. His tank top was a size too small, the fabric stretching tautly across his muscular frame, leaving little to the imagination. The occasional glimpse of his nipple piercing was almost too much to bear, and I had to fight the urge to reach out and touch him, to feel the heat of his skin. His sweatpants hugged him loosely, the bulge of his cock growing more pronounced as the night went on. The fact that he was clearly not wearing underwear was a constant, tantalizing distraction that made it impossible to focus on anything else.
The action on the screen was loud and explosive, but it couldn't hold a candle to the tension brewing in the room. With every passing moment, it felt like the air grew thicker, charged with something I didn't quite understand. He knew I was staring, I could feel his eyes on me, but he never called me out on it. Instead, he'd look away, pretending not to notice, as if he were giving me permission to ogle him without judgement. It was both thrilling and infuriating, a silent dance of desire that left me feeling both emboldened and embarrassed.
I didn't know what came over me, whether it was the buzz from the beer, the palpable tension in the air, or the raw desire that had been simmering just beneath the surface all evening. But as the explosions and car chases unfolded on the screen, I found myself reaching out, my hand trembling slightly as I placed it on Atlas's knee. He looked up from the TV, his gaze meeting mine with a knowing grin, but again, he didn't say a word. He just took a deep breath, his chest rising and falling in a way that made me want to trace the path of his muscles with my fingertips.
The fabric of his sweatpants was soft and warm under my touch, and I could feel the heat of his skin through the material. His leg was solid, like a marble statue come to life, and my heart skipped a beat as I felt the muscles tense up before relaxing again. He looked up at me, his eyes locking with mine, a grin spreading across his face that was both playful and predatory.
The silence between us was deafening, the only sound the occasional explosion from the movie. My hand felt like it was burning a hole through his pants, and I could feel my cock twitching in anticipation. I didn't dare move, afraid that any sudden action would shatter the delicate balance we had found. The air was thick with tension, and I could feel it coiling around us like a tightening noose.
Slowly, deliberately, Atlas's hand came to rest on top of mine, his fingers warm and firm. He didn't push my hand away or give any sign of discomfort, and my heart started to race even faster. He looked at me, his eyes searching, and for a moment, I thought I saw a flicker of something more. Was it lust? Desire? I couldn't tell, but it was enough to make me hold my breath.
He guided my hand, moving it with a gentle pressure that was both firm and tender, as if he knew I wasn't brave enough to go further on my own. We inched closer to his groin, my eyes glued to our hands, the anticipation making my heart race. His thumb traced the veins on the back of my hand, sending a shiver down my spine, as we danced closer to the line we hadn't yet crossed. The heat from his skin seared through the fabric of his sweatpants, and my palm tingled with the promise of what lay beneath.
My hand was now resting almost on top of his thigh, the fabric of his sweatpants stretched taut over his muscular quad. I could feel the warmth of his body, the steady rise and fall of his leg as he breathed. I swallowed hard and whispered, "You have an amazing physique, Atlas. Your quads are... insane."
He chuckled low, his eyes never leaving mine. "Thanks, Sam," he said, his voice a velvet rumble. "They come in handy for more than just looking good, you know."
The ambiguity hung in the air, thick and heavy, and my heart skipped a beat. Was he hinting at something? I felt like a teenager again, trying to read the signs, to decode the hidden meanings behind every word. But the way he was looking at me, the way his hand was still on mine, told me that there was more to it than that.
With a sudden move, Atlas leaned forward, his eyes never leaving mine as he set his beer bottle on the coffee table with a clink. He stretched his arms over his head, and as he did, the fabric of his wife-beater tightened against his chest, revealing the tautness of his abs and the outline of his nipple piercings. He let out a dramatic sigh, his biceps flexing. "You know what?" he said, his voice a low growl. "This heat is killing me."
Before I could respond, he reached down and grabbed the bottom of his tank top, pulling it over his head in one swift motion. The fabric slid up, revealing his chiseled torso. My eyes widened as I took in the full expanse of his bare chest, the muscles defined and powerful, his piercings winking at me in the flickering light of the TV. He tossed the shirt onto the floor, not bothering to fold it, and leaned back into the couch.
"Better?" he asked, his grin widening as he took in my slack-jawed expression. "I hope you don't mind. This heat from the pizza is unbearable."
Mind? I couldn't think straight. The sight of his bare chest, the way his abs rippled with every breath he took, had me feeling light-headed. I tried to play it cool, taking a sip of my beer and nodded. "No, it's fine," I said, my voice barely above a murmur.
He chuckled, the sound sending another wave of heat through my body. "You're easy to read, you know that?"
I blushed, but didn't answer, because Atlas didn't give me the chance. He leaned back, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Wanna touch?" He asked, his voice so casual it was as if he was asking if I wanted more pizza.
My heart hammered in my chest, the beat echoing in my ears like a drumline. I nodded, my eyes never leaving his torso. He shrugged, flexing his biceps slightly as if to say "have at it." I swallowed hard, feeling the beer bubble in my throat, and placed my hand tentatively on his bulging muscle. It was hot, the smooth skin stretched tight over his beefy arm.
His fingers tightened on my hand, guiding it up his bicep to his shoulder. "You're not so bad at this," Atlas murmured, his eyes half-lidded with pleasure. He enjoyed my attention, that much was clear. His cock, previously hidden behind the fabric of his sweatpants, had started to swell and press against the material. I knew he noticed the way my eyes kept darting down to it, and the smug smile on his face told me he enjoyed the effect he was having on me.
With a sudden burst of courage, I leaned in closer, then with a mischievous smirk of my own, I swiftly swung one leg over Atlas's and straddled him, my heart racing faster than a Formula 1 car. He let out a surprised chuckle, his hands landing on my hips as he adjusted us to sit more comfortably in the middle of the couch. The bulge in his sweatpants was now pressing against me, and I could feel it growing with every beat of his heart.
"You're a sneaky little thing, aren't you?" he murmured, his voice thick with amusement. His hands began to roam my legs, his thumbs tracing patterns that had my skin tingling with excitement. The fabric of my shorts felt like sandpaper against my sensitive skin, and I shifted slightly, trying to get closer to him.
"What can I say?" I replied with a smirk, my voice shaky. "You're pretty irresistible."
The corner of Atlas's mouth twitched up into a smile. "Is that so?" He leaned back into the couch, his hands sliding up to my waist. I could feel the heat of his cock growing more intense through the fabric of his sweatpants. He was definitely enjoying the attention, and the way his eyes darkened told me he wasn't immune to my touch either.
Emboldened, I leaned in closer, my eyes locked on his. My hands started to roam, tracing the contours of his body like a sculptor discovering a new masterpiece. I began low, my fingertips grazing the muscular curve of his waistband, as if I was about to dip lower. I made sure to play with the fabric, teasing him with the promise of more. But instead of heading south, I surprised him by moving north, my hands gliding over the ridges of his rock-hard abs. His stomach was so flat, so defined, that the journey to his chest was like climbing a mountain of pure masculine perfection.
As my hands traveled upward, I couldn't help but steal a glance at Atlas's face, his expression was one of pure amusement, his eyes hooded as he watched me explore his body. Encouraged, I continued my journey, tracing the lines of his abs with the pads of my fingers, feeling each ridge and dip as if they were a map to his soul. When I reached his chest, I took a moment to admire the piercing that adorned his left nipple. It was a golden ring, not too large, but prominent enough to make a statement. The way it sat in the center of his muscular pec, surrounded by the swell of muscle, made my mouth water with desire.
I paused, my hand hovering over the piercing. "May I?" I asked, my voice a whisper.
"Be my guest," Atlas replied, his eyes never leaving mine. With trembling fingers, I reached out and took the ring between my thumb and forefinger, mustering the courage to touch the sensitive flesh around his piercing. The metal was cool against his skin, the ring sitting snugly in the center of his pebbled nipple. I gently tugged it, feeling the warmth of his body beneath my hand, the muscle twitching slightly in response.
He sucked in a sharp breath, his abs contracting. "Careful, Sam," he warned, his voice dropping an octave. "You're playing with fire." His words sent a thrill through me, the kind of thrill you get when you're about to do something you know you shouldn't, but you can't resist. I looked up at him, my eyes meeting his, the challenge in his gaze only fueling the fire within me.
With a smirk, I let go of the ring and placed my palm flat against his chest, feeling the heat of his skin, the steady beat of his heart beneath my hand. I began to explore his pecs, my fingertips tracing the contours of the muscles as if I was reading braille. Each ridge and dip felt like a story telling of his strength, his power, and the countless hours he spent in the gym sculpting his body into the masterpiece it was. His chest was like a map, and I was eager to explore every inch of it.
As I worked my way around his chest, I could feel his muscles tighten, his breathing become shallower. He was enjoying this, that much was clear. I felt like I had been granted a VIP pass to the hottest club in town, and all the attention was on me. I leaned in closer, my face just inches from his chest, and took a deep breath, inhaling the musky scent of his sweat and the faint hint of his cologne. It was intoxicating, a heady mix that made me feel like I was going to pass out from the sheer pleasure of it all.
"Such a tease," I murmured, my voice barely audible as I continued to explore the landscape of Atlas's chest, feeling the heat and power of his body against mine. He chuckled, a deep rumble that seemed to shake the very air around us.
Without warning, he exhaled sharply, his abs tightening into a wall of granite beneath my touch. I looked up at him, my eyes questioning, and his brows wiggled playfully. It was a silent message,and for a second, I was lost in translation. But then, as if reading my confusion, he lifted his hips slightly, and I understood. His cock was a beacon of desire, pressing against my ass, begging for attention.
My breath caught in my throat, and I leaned back to give him the space he was asking for. But instead of letting me go, Atlas's arms tightened around me, and in one fluid motion, he stood up, my legs still wrapped around his waist. The room spun around us, the TV fading into the background as the reality of the situation sunk in. He was so strong, so powerful, holding me as if I weighed no more than a feather.
He turned us around until my back hit the cushions of the couch, the force of his movement making me gasp. He hovered above me, his eyes searching mine for any sign of hesitation or fear. But all I felt was excitement, the thrill of being so close to this man that I had lusted after the whole evening.
With a gentle tug, Atlas released my legs from his iron grip, allowing them to fall open in a natural invitation. He took a step back, his eyes roaming over my body, lingering on the bulge in my shorts that was now painfully obvious. His own erection tented the front of his sweatpants, a clear sign that he was just as affected as I was.
"What do you think Noah would say if he knew his baby brother was about to get fucked by his roommate?" Atlas's voice was a teasing rumble, the question sending a shiver down my spine.
"I'm sure he'd have something to say," I replied, with a smirk that was a mix of nerves and excitement. The room was a whirlwind of sensations, the smell of pizza and sweat mingling with the electric tension that crackled between us. "But he isn't here, is he?"
"No," Atlas said, his voice low and gruff, "he isn't." His hand reached down and traced the outline of my cock, making it twitch with need. "So how about we loose these?" He tugged at the waistband of my shorts, his eyes never leaving mine.
I nodded, my cheeks burning with a mix of excitement. "But only if you do too," I replied, trying to sound as casual as possible. The banter between us was a flirty dance, each step bringing us closer to the edge of what could be changing moment.
I watched his hand move to the waistband of his sweatpants, and my heart thudded in anticipation. With a sly look, Atlas said, "Watch me," his voice a deep purr that sent a shiver down my spine. He began to tug the fabric down, the muscles in his abs clenching as he revealed inch by glorious inch of skin. His cock was already semi-erect, a hint of precum glistening in the dim light of the room. He stroked it once, twice, his big hand wrapping around the clean shaven shaft with ease.
My mouth watered at the sight, my own cock begging for release from the confines of my shorts. He noticed my reaction, a knowing smirk playing on his lips as he took a step closer to me. The scent of his arousal filled the air, mixing with the lingering aroma of pizza and sweat. It was intoxicating, a heady cocktail that made my senses reel.
"Let me help you with those," Atlas said with a smoldering smile, his eyes locked onto my shorts. He reached down, his strong hands gripping the fabric at my hips, and with one powerful pull, the shorts were down around my ankles. My underwear, caught in the momentum, went with them, leaving my ass bare to the cool air of the room.
I couldn't help but tease, "You're quite skilled at this, aren't you?" I smirked, trying to hide my own nerves with bravado.
He chuckled, the sound low and deep, sending a shiver down my spine. "Let's just say, I've had a lot of practice." His eyes never left mine, the intensity in them making my heart race even faster.
He went on, grabbing my ankles, lifting them high until my legs were draped over his broad shoulders, his hands sliding under my ass to support my weight. The position was surprisingly comfortable for me, and even tho Atlas was doing all the work, he dosn't seem to be breaking a sweat. He looked fantastic, his biceps flexing with the slightest effort, veins popping out from his neck and forehead. It was clear that he was enjoying this moment of power over me, a grin spread over his face as he watched my reactions, my eyes wide and my mouth slightly open in expectation.
But he wasn't done with the teasing. With a wicked grin, Atlas bent down, his cock brushing against my ass as he confidently asked, "Can you handle this beast without any prep, or do I need to warm you up first?"
The anticipation was killing me, my body quivering beneath his powerful frame. His legs pushed my thighs apart even wider, his knees digging into the couch cushions. I felt the heat of his skin, the soft hairs on his legs tickling my sensitive flesh. He was so close, his cock pressing against my tight hole, the warmth and weight of it making me crave more.
He reached under him and held his thick cock in his right hand, the tip glistening with his own saliva. "I'll go slow," he promised, his voice a low growl that sent a bolt of electricity straight to my core.
I nodded, my throat dry with anticipation. "I'm more than ready," I assured him, trying to sound confident despite the nerves that were doing somersaults in my stomach. He leaned in closer, his breath hot against my skin. "You're sure?"
With a smirk, I met his gaze. "I'm a big boy, Atlas," I quipped. "I can handle whatever you throw at me."
He chuckled, the sound rumbling through his chest, and leaned over me, one hand braced against the couch back, his bicep flexing as he held himself above me. The other hand wrapped around his cock, stroking it slowly as he lubricated the tip with a generous coating of his saliva. The sight was obscene and thrilling, and I couldn't tear my gaze away from the glistening shaft that grew larger and more formidable with each pass of his hand.
When he was done with his dick, Atlas took a deep breath and shifted his gaze to my hole, which was quivering with anticipation. He didn't waste any time, and in attempt to lube me up, he leaned back and spat a warm and wet blob of saliva directly on it. I felt it dribble down my crack, and the heat of his hand as he used his thumb to spread it around my tight entrance. His touch was surprisingly gentle, considering the size of his fingers, and the way he explored me had my eyes rolling back in my head. He circled my hole with the pad of his thumb, pressing down lightly and then retreating, teasing the sensitive flesh until I was begging for more.
With a slow, deliberate motion, he coated my hole with it, his eyes never leaving mine. The movement making his pecs dance and bicpes flex, and I could feel his strength as he held himself over me, his arms like steel beams, supporting his weight.
The room was a symphony of sounds: the TV playing in the background, the rustle of fabric as he moved, the wet sound of his hand working his length and my ass in alternation.
As he leaned in, his body coming closer to mine, the question hung in the air, thick with anticipation. "Ready?" he murmured, his warm breath tickling my ear, sending a shiver down my spine. His thumb hovered at my entrance, the wetness of his spit making my skin tingle. I could feel the weight of his cock against my thigh, and my entire body was coiled tightly with need.
I nodded, my mouth dry, my heart hammering in anticipation.
With a slow, deliberate motion, I felt his wet cockhead move down my thigh and graze my taint before coming to a rest at my entrance. "Great." he whispered, his breath warm against my skin.
He pressed the tip of his cock against my hole. I could feel the heat of him, the bluntness of his shaft, and the slickness of his spit. He pushed in gently, watching my face for any sign of pain or discomfort. But there was none, just the sweet, sweet pressure of him stretching me open.
I couldn't help but admire his arms as they worked, the muscles flexing and relaxing as he held my leg over his broad shouldrs, his bicep bulging with every movement. The way his chest rose and fell with every breath was mesmerizing, his pecs shifting with the effort of keeping us both in place. It was like watching a fine-tuned machine, every part working in harmony to achieve one goal.
"Breathe, Sam," he murmured, his voice soothing as he pushed in deeper. But I didn't need to be told. I was already panting, my eyes locked onto the thick vein that pulsed along the side of his cock.
"Don't talk," I said, my voice strained with need, but at the same time strong and demanding. "Just do it."
His smirk grew as he pushed in deeper, my body stretching around him. "Ahhh, fuck Atlas," I moaned, unable to contain my voice. I wanted to play it down, to keep the cool exterior I had worked so hard to maintain, but it was useless. I was a cock-hungry little slut, and he knew it.
I lifted my hands from my sides, my fingers reaching for the warm, firm flesh of his biceps on either side. His forearms found theyer way next to my head, so that he could rest his weight on them and keep his balance. I couldn't complain, His head was slightly behind my own, his body pressing into me, and his strong pecs and abs were so close I could almost taste them. And his biceps, oh those glorious biceps, were unmistakeable as soon as I tried to catch a glimps of beside me. The faint smell of his sweat from his pits wafted to my face, and it was all I could do to not lean in and take a deep breath. It was a strange mix of aromas, the sweetness of his skin and the musk of his arousal, but it was all him, and it was all I needed to keep my eyes locked on his movements.
The position was giving him full access to my now wet and eager hole. And boy did he use it, pushing in slow and deep, his cock stretching me open with a delicious burn that had me panting and whimpering with every inch. He took his sweet time, "Is it too much, little Sam?" He'd ask from above, his deep voice dripping with amusement as he'd give a little twist of his hips, sending waves of pleasure through my body. I'd shake my head, unable to form coherent words, my eyes rolling back in my head. The pressure was intense, but it wasn't pain, it was pure, unadulterated pleasure.
He'd lift his body for a second to watch my face, a wicked smile playing on his lips as he pushed in deeper still, his cock stretching me wide open. "You're so tight," he groaned, unable to keep up the unaffected façade anymore. The sound of his voice was like a physical touch, sending vibrations through my body that made my toes curl. I could feel every inch of him, the thick vein that pulsed along his shaft, the way the head of his cock hit my prostate with just the right amount of pressure.
"Is it too much?" he asked again, his voice a teasing rumble that made me want to scream. But instead, all I could manage was a desperate moan. "No," I breathed, my eyes fluttering shut as he bottomed out. The pressure was unbearable, my body stretching around his thick cock like a glove.
For a moment, he stayed like that, his entire weight pressing me into the couch. I enjoyed the feeling of being completely filled by him, my body stretched and claimed by his powerful frame.
His right arms slid down again, his biceps flexing as he supported himself once more on the couch behind my head. The left one following, engulfing my head inbetween his bicep. But as if that wasn't enough, he readjusted his knees one last time, finding that sweet spot allowing him to lean over me, his chest pressing down, his pierced nipples brushing against my cheek. His cock was now buried to the hilt, and the feeling of his warm, heavy weight on top of me was like nothing I've ever experienced before.
He began to move, his hips rocking back and forth with a rhythm that started slow, like the gentle sway of a boat in the ocean. Each thrust sent waves of pleasure through me, each retreat leaving me gasping for more. I could feel every inch of him, the way his shaft slid in and out, the way his balls slapped against my ass with each powerful stroke.
With his arms now supporting him, his chest hovered just above me, the piercing in his nipple grazing my cheek with every movement. I couldn't help but lean in and capture it in my mouth, the metal cold and unforgiving, the taste of him mixing with the salt of my own sweat. He groaned, the vibration traveling down his chest to his cock, which only made him thrust harder.
At first, his words were a stream of sweet nothings and dirty promises, his deep voice a constant presence in the room, filling every corner with the sound of his pleasure. He whispered about how good I felt, how much he enjoyed having me under him. His praise was intoxicating, my body responding to every word, my cock leaking precum onto my stomach.
But as the rhythm picked up, his words grew shorter, replaced by grunts and huffs as he found his stride. His breath grew ragged, and his movements grew more forceful, his powerful thighs flexing as he drove into me again and again. Each thrust was a declaration of his dominance, a claim on my body that I was all too eager to surrender to.
And as I laid there, my body a playground for this Adonis above me, I couldn't help but revel in the symphony of sensations. His sweat trickled down onto my chest, mixing with my own, creating a warm and intimate scent that seemed to amplify the intensity of our encounter. The feeling of his thighs slapping against my lower sides and the ongoing wet slap of our skin meeting filled the room, punctuated by our ragged breaths and the occasional moan or grunt of pleasure. The way his biceps bulged with each push, the power of his arms supporting us both as he thrust into me... It all was a testament to the sheer masculine beauty of this man and I reveled in it.
My orgasm built up, a crescendo of pleasure that seemed to come from every part of my being. His name was a chant on my lips, a prayer to the gods that had granted me this moment. "Atlaaaass..." I moaned, my voice shaking as the pleasure grew too intense to be contained. And then it hit me, a wave of ecstasy so powerful that I thought I might shatter. My body convulsed, my ass clenching around his cock as I emptied myself onto my belly, the warmth spreading across my skin. The feeling was a mix of pleasure and exhaust, of release and desperation.
It was only then when my orgasm hit that I felt Atlas's cock swell even larger inside me. His body stiffens, and I knew he was close too. His grunts grew louder, his hips moving faster, the friction between us creating a symphony of skin on skin, sweat and spit. And then when he was about to unload, he changed his rythm for the first time, giving me a few slow, very deep fucks. He didn't rush, didn't look down at me. He rode the wave of his own pleasure, his eyes closed, his teeth clenched as he took his time to spill his seed into my quivering hole.
And he did cum a lot. I could feel the warmth of it filling me up, the stickiness of it leaking out around his cock as he emptied himself into me. The sensation was overwhelming, sending aftershocks of pleasure through my body. When he was done, Atlas collapsed onto me, his beefy body pressing me into the couch with his weight. I didn't mind. If anything, it felt great. His heart hammered against my chest, the sticky warmth of our bodies melding together, a testament to the passion that had just been shared between us.
As we lay there, panting and sticky, I couldn't help but let my fingers trace the lines of his back. The muscles beneath my touch were like a roadmap of power, each ridge and valley telling a story of his strength. His breathing grew steadier, and his cock, still lodged deep inside me, grew soft. We didn't say anything for a few moments, lost in the aftermath of our encounter.
Finally, with a grin that could only be described as wicked, Atlas leaned back slightly and lifted himself up on his arms. "Great," he murmured, the single word carrying a world of satisfaction. His eyes twinkled with mischief, the sly smile on his lips hinting at the fun we'd just had.
"Yeah," I managed to agree, my voice still breathless from the intense pleasure that had just coursed through me. The weight of his body was comforting, a reminder of the intimate act we'd just shared. The room was silent except for the sound of our mingled breaths, and the TV playing softly in the background, the movie long forgotten.
We laid there, our bodies tangled together, for what felt like an eternity. The only movement was the slow retreat of Atlas's cock from my hole, when he fell onto the couch next to me.
"Damn, Sam," he said with a chuckle, "You're a fucking pro at this."
I couldn't help but beam with pride, feeling a little shy despite the intense intimacy we'd just shared. "Me? You did all the work... And I can't say you didn't do amazing up there. How do you manage to keep that stamina?" I teased.
Atlas chuckled, a warm sound that sent shivers down my spine. "It's all in the wrist, darling," he quipped, flexing his forearm playfully. "But seriously, you're a great fit. And your tight little ass didn't make it any easier to hold back."
The mood in the room lightened like someone had flipped a switch, the tension of our earlier encounter dissipating into the air. We laughed together, the sound mingling with the sticky, sweet smell of our mingled sweat. It was a moment of pure, unfiltered camaraderie that had me feeling a little light-headed with joy. "Thanks," I murmured, feeling the heat rush to my cheeks as I ducked my head.
"Man I need to hit the shower... again," Atlas said, his voice still a little breathless from our passionate encounter. "Wanna go first?" he added, with a smirk that suggested he knew exactly what I was about to say.
"Please," I quipped, feeling the stickiness between my legs and the need to clean up before it started to get uncomfortable. He chuckled and nodded, his chest rising and falling with deep, even breaths. The sight of his semi-hard cock, glistening with a mix of our juices, was almost too much to handle.
With a wink, I managed to stand up quickly, my legs still wobbly from the intensity of our encounter. The warm fluid that had filled me was now running down my thighs, creating a sticky trail on my skin. I couldn't help but feel a bit of pride at the evidence of my ability to take his massive cock. I gave a little shimmy, making sure not to spill too much as I headed for the bathroom.
