The Sight of Him
(HANK)
Log Entry. 2003-06-23 Day 1,290.
The weather has been calm. Too calm. We’re overdue.
Roustabout is fitting in just fine now, after his initial scuffle with Dex. Jonesy has stepped in between the two, giving the kid some insight. He’s keen. Learns fast. Neat. Respectful. Maybe I’ll put him through the ringer today for this morning’s shift. See what he’s really made of.
Water looks too flat. Storm’s coming.
My feet carried me to the accommodations module before my brain caught up. Stopped outside his door. Room 23C. My knuckles rapped on the metal twice. Hard. Normal.
No answer. Maybe I was wrong and he didn’t sleep in. I figured he’d be here in his room since I didn’t seem him on deck. For the past two days I’ve always seen him first thing. Day three and nowhere to be seen. Maybe he was sick. Or finally the exhaustion was getting to him. Now that I’m standing here, I’m not sure why I wanted to check on him. I don’t normally do this for anyone.
I was about to turn away, a strange twist of something in my gut, when the door hissed open. And the world tilted for a brief moment.
He was standing there, blinking sleep out of his eyes, his hair a mess of dark waves.
My eyes flicked all over him. Up and down. Head to toe. There he was: in just a pair of black boxer briefs. That was all.
My brain short-circuited and I froze. He confirmed he was a former gymnast, but seeing him naked, except for the underwear that fit him so well, literally took my breath away in a way I didn’t think I still possessed.
He wasn’t like these other burly men, all slightly overweight and hairy. He was fuckin’ perfection.
Like Jim.
I’d seen him as compact and strong for his size. But I was wrong. What I was looking at wasn't just strong. It was a work of art. Even more impressive than Jim’s body. He had the kind of body carved from a lifetime of discipline into a masterpiece of marble. Not a brute’s body like mine, all mass and power from manual labour. His was all definition and lines, from the gym and routines and a dedication to perfection. He had roped muscle across his shoulders that flexed taut with even the slightest of movements. His chest was hard, as if carved from stone. His stomach was flat, with lines you could count and trace with your fingers. Or tongue. His body was smooth, practically hairless, slightly tanned-looking with few freckles, built for grace and explosive power. This was the kind of body you see in a magazine and think isn’t real. The kind of body you would get all worked up about in secret. When you’re alone in your bunk. When you can let out a big sigh and revel in the fact that a man’s body turns you on and your hand is your best friend while your mind paints pictures about all the things you want to do to it. This is the kind of body I could explode over, or better yet, bust inside.
But this wasn’t any fantasy my mind needed to create from pictures I’d seen. This was real. And it was three feet away from me.
My eyes got stuck on the line of his hip, the v that was there, sneaking down into the waistband of his underwear. The way the fabric of those black briefs stretched tight around his big quads, concealing a rather impressive looking package for a guy his size. My mouth went dry as dust. And all those feelings I had repressed for the past fifteen years came swirling deep inside me, threatening me to lose control as my own loins sprang to life.
He seemed to realize his state a second later. His eyes widened, and a flush spread from his neck all the way up to his cheeks. He crossed his arms over his chest, a futile, self-conscious gesture. "Uh, Richardson…I’m—sorry, what time is it? Did I sleep in? Shit! I was just—"
The sound of his voice, rough with sleep, snapped me out of it. A hot wave of shame and panic washed over me. I’d been staring at him like a hungry fucking animal and he was just a piece of meat. I took a sharp step back, my boots loud on the grating.
My face hardened into a scowl, the easiest mask I owned. My voice came out like a canon, too loud, and too rough. "Shift started ten minutes ago, Evans. You planning on sleeping through it?"
The hurt and confusion in his eyes was a physical blow. He straightened up, dropping his arms, his own embarrassment turning into a defensive stiffness as he spun around to take in his surroundings and plan his hurried movements as I stood there taking in the back of him. "No! No, Sir. I'm…uh… coming now."
"See that you do," I grunted, and I turned on my heel and walked away. I didn't look back, even though I wanted to look again so badly. Instead, I tugged at my bulge discreetly as I stormed off, threatening to give my wicked thoughts away.
I marched straight to the drill floor, my heart hammering against my ribs like it was trying to escape the swell in my crotch. The image was burned onto the back of my eyelids. The sweep of his back. The flat rippled muscles of his stomach. His messy hair. The sleep-soft look in his eyes. I was going to come back to those details later.
I looked at my watch. I had lied. The shift had just started, not ten minutes ago. Not sure why I said that. I tried to fall into the rhythm of the floor. Checking pressures. Reading the mud logs. But my mind was a skipping record. Especially when he appeared, hard hat covering his bed head. Clothes shielding my eyes from the perfection I now knew was hidden underneath. His gaze avoided mine just as much. Embarrassed at sleeping in, when in reality, I was the one that noticed he wasn’t there early.
By the end of my shift, I couldn’t take it. I went straight to my cabin and grabbed the Pump Maintenance book and flung it open to the last entry and began to hastily scrawl.
June 23rd, 2003
What the hell is wrong with you?
He’s a man. A roustabout. A subordinate. And he’s the most beautiful goddamn thing you’ve ever seen since Jim. And he’s scared of you. He looked soft in the morning, almost boyish with the sleepy look in his eyes and the tousled hair. He reminds me so much of Jim it hurts.
I gripped the pen and stopped; my dick was rock hard in my pants. I shouldn’t be writing this down but I had to get it out of my head.
I tugged at my cock through my pants and underwear, feeling just how thick I was. What was he doing to me? I closed my eyes and thought about him, how small he was compared to me, how I could pick him up and just…
What Richardson? Fuck him silly?
But him in his underwear, standing there looking up at me, made me squeeze my dick. I was throbbing for him. Without another thought, I unzipped and whipped out my cock, the smell of my frustration filling my nostrils. I was more than turned on, I was becoming obsessed, wondering if he would be into me, another man, practically twice his size.
“Fuck.” I breathed out to myself as I stared down at my tool, giving it long strokes, watching my finger and thumb barely touch as I wrapped my fist around it. I wondered what his smaller hand would look like around my meat, and what those beautiful lips would feel around it, or even better, pressed against my own thick lips….
I let my head fall back and started to stroke a bit harder. “Jesus Hank.” I mumbled in anger to myself, gritting my teeth and spreading my legs out, digging my nuts out from their confines. I was working myself hard, my heart picking up the speed as my gut tensed.
I wanted to kiss him. I wanted to feed him my dick. And I wanted to fuck that sweet hard looking ass deep and bust myself inside him. Fuck the feel of condoms. That’s what I wanted. To feel the insides of a man, properly. Since I’ve never felt it. Not even with Jim.
“Fuck!” I grunted, and as I imagined Evans’ tinier body under me, taking it, telling him I was going to cum as if he was here with me right now.
I growled as I watched my cum shoot out from my one-eyed monster, right across the side of the bed, making me let out a “SHIT!” as I watched another rope follow the same path. I shuddered, trying to stop myself from unloading more but to no avail as another couple spurts went flying and my body convulsed like never before.
My fist was covered in my own dribbles, the bed a pool of white liquid in spots, as I noticed a plastered wet line dripping down the side of my small desk.
What a fucking mess, I thought to myself, and I wasn’t sure if I meant my room, or the situation with this new roustabout.
I slammed the book closed and tossed it aside with my clean hand as I reached for something to wipe myself up with. In a fury, more annoyed with myself for my lack of control, I cleaned up the mess hastily before I stormed out of my room, the clang of the door locking behind me as I moved forward down the rig. At the end of the plank, I grabbed a handrail until the steel creaked. This was a problem. A big one. The kind that could get you killed out here if you’re distracted. The kind that could break a crew.
The kind that could break a man.
Because I was distracted. All fucking day long. For the first time in fifteen years, I was beyond distracted. I was out of fucking control over this new roustabout.
I spent the whole shift avoiding looking at him. But I was aware of every move he made. Every time he bent over. Every time he wiped sweat from his brow. Every time he had a grease mark on his cheek. The image of his near-naked body followed me, a taunting, beautiful reminder of what I once had. Of what I still wanted.
The question isn't what I saw. The real question is what the hell am I going to do about it?
Log Note: Evans was late. Addressed it. Shouldn’t happen again.
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(NOAH)
“Hey.” I heard from my right, startling me out of my thoughts. I was already naked, ready to go into the shower, unaware anyone else had come in. I turned to the voice and recognized the big blonde bearded guy that had given me the eye, just before I sucked off Dex.
“Hey.” I said back before I remembered where I was. This wasn’t some flirting cruising area in a spa. This was work, my third day on an oil rig, miles from shore, hours away from my old life.
He was naked now, having peeled away his towel and standing at the next stall to mine. Up close, he was even more alluring than I cared to admit, with a fine furry coating of blonde hair over his chest and stomach. He wasn’t all washboard abs like me, but his slightly round gut suited him, as did the big muscles of his arms and shoulders, making him look like a beefy dad, and this was some gay spa. His pecs were two bubbles of muscle, hanging there begging to be sucked. And legs that looked powerful and mighty I noted as I let my eyes go downward, past the hanging thick cock and blonde bush surrounding the base.
“Heard you’re making quite the impression.” He held out a hand, which seemed awkward to me, as we stood there naked. I was used to changerooms with other gymnasts, but we never focused on anyone other than our own routines and taping and stretching and focusing. I reached over and took it, his hand big and warm, calloused and rough, and his eyes were a deep blue and staring wide at me. “Mike Sullivan. Mike. There’s a few Mikes around here so the guys call me Sully.”
“Noah Evans.” I went to let go but he held my hand firm. “Guys call me all sorts of things.” I muttered, half to myself.
He gave a little bit of a laugh, and cocked an eyebrow up. “You a hockey player Evans? Built like that?” He still gripped my hand and his smile grew a bit.
I shook my head. “No, former gymnast.” I felt like I should have that tattooed on my forehead.
Both his eyebrows raised now. “No shit? Like in the Olympics and that kind of stuff?”
I smiled back, avoiding looking down as he finally released my hand. “Yup.” I reached into my stall to turn the water on and he stepped directly beside me, putting a hand on his cock.
He gave a once over look around us and leaned in to me as he went to step into his own shower. “Well, you must be pretty talented then.” He gave me a smile, and tugged some more on his cock, looking down, making me look down in an automatic response. He was harder now, thicker, and his hand moved around it to show me in his grip.
I swallowed, feeling very hungry and aroused myself. “I am.” I said quietly.
“Yeah. Heard you were.” He said quietly, giving me a wink when I looked up at his handsome face. He was better looking than Dex, and when he moved the curtain aside wider and took one step into his shower, he wagged his cock at me. “Well. I’m right in here if you wanna show me.” He stepped in, leaving the curtain a bit open, giving me a slim view of him turning around under the water, his plump round ass a nice looking one on top of his big thighs before he turned around to see if I was watching.
I was.
He smiled, and gripped his cock to show me how hard he was now and gave me a nod, as if he was saying YES, COME ON IN.
Like a magnet, and in a trance, I stepped into his stall, pulling the curtain closed behind me as he straightened up against the wall, now openly stroking his dick to a complete erection. I saw him breathe in deeply, as if he was surprised that I accepted his invite, spreading his feet wider a bit and giving me a wicked grin as he leaned back against the wall.
I stepped closer to him, given the size of the stall was only one step in and saw the water flattening his chest hairs and the beard against him. One hand came right to my shoulder and I felt the familiar shove downward rather than me get to close to those thick lips of his.
I slowly knelt down in front of him, feeling my heart beating, my own cock standing out in its own ignored erection as I looked at his rounded gut to the flattening bush around his thick tool, his hand still working slowly up and down his shaft. I reached out and took it from him, his hand careful to extract itself so as to not touch mine. Here he was, just another straight guy, like Dex, horny for a blow job, but nothing more it seemed.
And me, horny for a cock, and wanting nothing more from this guy but to satisfy my own need. Day three and here I was again already. I closed my eyes and fed him into my mouth, suddenly thinking about the Mountain, of Hank the Tank, and wishing it was HIS cock I was now swallowing, as I felt the hand on the back of my head shove me into it further.
I gagged at the sudden forcefulness, and put a hand on his wide leg to steady myself, gripping and twisting the base of his cock. This wasn’t going to take long at the way he sucked in air, so I did my job. Like with the coach. Like with Dex.
But then he pulled me off suddenly and put his hands under my arms and hoisted me up so fast I didn’t know what was happening. And then his mouth was on mine, his hands on my ass, and his tongue was in my mouth, kissing me in a breathless manner.
I held back a stifled moan, as I felt his lips, his tongue swirl with mine. A soft groan came from his throat as he exhaled through his nose and kept kissing me.
Holy fuck, I thought in my head, feeling his dick pressing against mine. His hand moved between us and he grabbed my cock, and then his in the same hand and started working them together. I broke our kiss to look down, feeling his forehead leaning on mine as we watched our two dicks in his hand, rubbing together, our bodies closer now and gyrating.
“Fuck you are hot.” He whispered out, making me look back up again, our eyes looking at each other’s lips. He thought for a moment, rubbing our dicks within his hand, before he went for my mouth again and I sucked back his tongue again. Our bodies crashed together, and all these pent-up feelings I had, all those promises I made about not giving in to another man again disappeared in a heartbeat at the feel of this man’s wet naked body.
And then I was spun around and pressed up against the wall. My face was turned sideways, seeing him spitting into his hand and lining himself up behind me. My hands were splayed on the wall beside me, and I instinctively arched, pushing back against him.
“It’s been a while since I’ve been with someone like you. But FUCK I want to be inside you.” He whispered against my back, his mouth at my ear as he fished his cock around my ass.
“No…I…” I started to say, but moaned at the pressure I felt as he moved his cock up and down my ass. I closed my eyes, preparing myself for the feeling I so missed.
And he found my warmth, painfully trying to push himself into me, his breath ragged in my ear and against my neck, his fist around his cock at my ass.
“Holy fuck you’re tight.” He moaned as he poked at my hole. His hand found my waist and held me still as he kept trying, pushing himself into that warm spot, his cock sliding every which way but inside me.
I shifted, moving my legs, pushing back against him, but my ass just wasn’t letting him in.
And then he sliced into me and I gasped. My body trembled, having to adjust too quickly, feeling the shock of pain, and I pulled myself forward, hearing the “Fuck” from his mouth behind me as he grabbed my waist again and pulled me back to his dick.
“Wait….” I said again as I grimaced, feeling the cock head breach my hole again. He punched his way into my tunnel with one sharp thrust, and again I moved myself forward from the overwhelming pain of his aggressive entry.
“Jesus!” He gritted, holding his dick as I glanced over my shoulder. To stop the attack, I dropped to my knees again and grabbed it, shoving my mouth over it, ignoring the burn in my ass and focused on sucking him off. He moaned, and grabbed the back of my head and fucked my face as if he was fucking my ass. Fast. Hard. Quick. His breath came out faster, and he was grunting quietly now above me.
“I’m gonna shoot.” He whispered, a mere two minutes into it. His hand gripped my head hard and held me still as he let me take over and stopped humping my throat. The water splashed off us as I kept my sounds quiet.
He erupted inside me, hitting the back of my throat, me swallowing down the salty liquid fast and hungrily. Then he steadied himself, making sure he was done, surprised perhaps by the sudden explosion in my mouth as he looked down at me in this small shower.
“Sorry, I couldn’t help it.” He whispered, holding himself still, me wincing from the feeling of his cum spreading through my stomach.
I just nodded, and tried to stand up a bit, letting his cock go. I turned my face away from him and stood directly under the stream. I felt him step up behind me, his hands sliding around my waist and both hands moved to my hard cock. He started to jerk me as he pressed his body against my back.
“Do it. Jerk yourself for me.” He whispered, taking my hand in his and guiding it to my own dick as he hugged me from behind, kissing my neck as water poured over us both now. I stood directly in front of him, pushing my backside against his bigger body, enjoying the feeling of another man’s skin on mine. He surprised me again and took my chin, turning it to his sideways, and kissed me as I jerked. “Cum for me.” He whispered into my mouth as I kept on jerking.
I started to shudder, and pulled off his lips with a loud smack and softly grunted, staring down at my own cock. I felt his chin on my shoulder as I stared at his feet, watching the water pool around them as I shot my load straight out. Gobs of my cum landed around his feet, his perfect looking toes, his wide soles, water swirling around as stream after stream came out of me until there was nothing left.
“Fuck that was hot.” He said quietly, leaning his head back to take in some water in his open mouth before spitting it out over me. “But next time I get in here and fuck you good.” He grabbed my ass and squeezed.
Then he spun me around, and kissed me properly, deeply, slowly, and quietly before he pulled back and my eyes opened to see his wide and searching mine.
“But this stays between us, got it?” He slapped my ass, and I heard the curtains being pulled back, loudly, just like they did when Dex left. The sound startled me, making me want to flee suddenly even though that’s exactly what Sully wanted me to do, standing there, looking at the pulled back curtain as if he was loudly saying “now get the fuck out of here.”
But something else made me want to leave. Maybe it was the guilt over thinking about the giant Richardson, or the shame at the memory of performing for Dex like I always did for Coach Roberts. Or maybe it was obvious lack of control whenever a man took over and used me.
Or maybe it was simply that I was afraid of getting caught. By Richardson.
With a quick look out to make sure the coast was clear, I stepped out of his shower and right into my own empty one I had claimed a few minutes before and just put my hands on the wall and let the water pound over my skull until I calmed down and tried not to cry.
I waited a long time, didn’t move, just stayed there letting the water wash me clean. I was hungry, and lonely, and desperate, and just did something so fucking stupid again already I knew I was going to get it sooner or later from someone else now. I snapped out of it when I heard the slide of the curtain beside me and knew that Sully was done, and would be heading out soon.
I waited until I knew he was gone before I soaped up and tried to wash away my own guilt and shame before I stepped back out into reality.
My skin was still steaming from the long shower, the hot water a feeble attempt to wash away the lingering humiliation of this morning with Richardson, forgetting about the uncomfortable yearning with Sullivan and all the desire he brought back with his quick ejaculation. I’d replayed the scene with Richardson a hundred times during my shift and the shower didn’t help it go away. The way he’d looked at me—not with anger, but with something raw and startled that had frozen me in place. And then the brutal shift to that gruff, dismissive tone. You planning on sleeping through it?
It stung. More than it should have. By the time I got there, it wasn’t as late as I thought it was. It was like time went backwards. How late was I really?
I pushed the heavy door to the shower area open, glad to be rid of the row of stalls and Sullivan, a towel slung over my shoulder as I headed to the locker, my mind a thousand miles away again on Richardson and the grey of his eyes as he took in my nearly naked body this morning.
And I rounded the lockers and walked straight into a wall.
A warm, solid, unexpectedly damp wall of flesh and muscle much larger than me.
I stumbled back, my bare feet slipping on the wet floor. Two large, steadying hands shot out and gripped my bare shoulders, catching me before I could fall. The grip was firm, almost bruising. But warm.
My head snapped up.
It was Hank.
And he was mostly naked. And dripping wet. A fresh towel was wrapped low around his thick waist, clinging to the solid curve under his slightly round belly and the powerful V of his hips. My gaze took in the sight of his hard stomach, rounded over the pair of massively muscled thighs, and then my eyes traveled upward, over a landscape of sheer, staggering muscle. His chest was massive, broad and covered in a dusting of dark hair, his shoulders so wide they blocked the hallway light. Water droplets clung to the coarse hair on his chest and tracked down over the dense, rugged terrain of his stomach. He was a giant, made of solid, thick flesh, still flushed with the heat of the shower. His hands, huge and still holding me extended up those powerful forearms I had seen, to two enormous mounds of biceps that were flexed as he held me. The veins in his neck popped as his stern face looked down at me.
My breath caught in my throat. My heart did a flip-flop that had nothing to do with almost falling. He was much better to look at than the blonde Mike Sullivan. And better in the flesh, without any clothes, than I had imagined in my head.
This was different from the controlled power I saw in the gym. This was raw, untamed, and utterly male. A primal, visceral heat flared low in my gut, a sensation so sharp and unexpected it was almost a pain. It was the first real stirring of full-on lustful attraction I’d felt since Liam. And it was a thousand times more potent.
His hands were still on my shoulders, his skin searing against mine. His eyes were wide, startled, just as they had been this morning. He was looking at me, really looking, his gaze dropping from my face, down my own bare chest, and for a single, heart-stopping second, it felt like the air had been sucked out of the corridor.
There was no disgust in his look. No anger. There was only a heavy, stunned silence.
I saw his throat work as he swallowed.
"Evans," he said, his voice a rough scrape but it wasn't a growl. It sounded strangled. “Twice in one day.”
The sound of my name, in that tone, referencing his seeing me half naked just this morning, sent another jolt through me. I could feel the strength in his hands, a strength that could easily break me, holding me with an unnerving gentleness, that threatened to give me away as my dick began to swell hanging freely between my legs.
"Sorry, I—I didn't see you," I managed, my own voice embarrassingly breathy, looking down to stare at his big smooth feet as I suddenly covered myself at my crotch to hide my growth. Even his feet were big and perfect, long, wide with the proper curve from his heel to his toes, which gripped the wet floor just as powerfully as you would expect. I suddenly wondered if he knew, if he saw me slip into Sully’s shower, and was waiting to confront me. But then I looked up into his eyes, and he seemed to be thinking something else.
He seemed to realize he was still holding me. He released my shoulders suddenly in embarrassment so quickly I nearly toppled. His hands dropped to his sides, flexing into fists, as his eyes shot back upwards from where they glanced fast at my feeble attempt to hide my dick with my own hand.
"Watch where you're going," he muttered, but the usual command was gone. It sounded forced, and almost playful. He sidestepped me, his movements uncharacteristically abrupt, and strode down the hall, out of the locker area and back into the corridors to take him back to his room, in just his towel, without a backward glance, leaving wet footprints on the steel floor.
I stood there, rooted to the spot, my skin tingling where his hands had been. The scent of his soap—plain, industrial, unmistakably him—hung in the air.
The humiliation from this morning evaporated, replaced by a dizzying, terrifying hope. Because that look in his eyes wasn’t disgust. He was just as taken aback as I was. There was recognition there.
I felt a blush in my cheeks as I lowered my head and turned around to head to my locker, trying my hardest to ignore the image of Hank The Tank Richardson in just a towel.
But I knew that wasn’t going to happen anytime soon.
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