People Like Us
The clang of metal. The low hum of conversation. The steady rhythm of bodies pushing themselves to their limits. Adam had been lifting for years, had spent hours in this place, moving through his workouts with quiet discipline, focused, intentional, in control.
But today was different. Because today, he was listening. It started like nothing. A group of men—three, maybe four—huddled near the cable machines, talking low, laughing under their breath. Adam knew their type. They were regulars, guys who trained hard, lifted heavy, who spoke in shorthand, in a language of shared understanding that only certain men could hear.
And today—Adam was hearing it.
“…nah, man, you gotta meet Luther.”
The name caught him. Not because he knew it. But because of the way they said it. Like it meant something. Like it carried weight. Adam didn’t turn his head, didn’t let them see he was listening. But he was. Because now they were talking about something real.
The shorter one, thick arms, square jaw, always adding weight to the bar even when he didn’t need to, grinned as he wiped sweat from his forehead.
"Nah, man, listen. This guy? This guy makes things. But not just things. You know—things."
Adam’s grip tightened slightly around the bar. And the leaner one, tattoos up his forearms, dark-eyed, always watching but rarely speaking, smirked.
“He only makes them for people like us.”
Adam’s breath caught, and he didn’t know why. He didn’t know what it was about those words that landed somewhere deep in his stomach. But they did. People like us.
The bigger one, always in a cutoff hoodie, arms thick with veins, pressing plates onto the leg press like it was nothing, grinned.
"Yeah, man. The real ones. Not just guys who fuck a certain way. Not just guys who think they want it."
A pause. Then, quieter—
"The ones who hold it."
Adam’s pulse jumped. Because what the fuck did that mean? And why did it feel like it was meant for him?
The leaner one leaned against the machine, rubbing his jaw, voice going almost thoughtful now.
"You ever think about it?" he murmured. "How different we are?"
The shorter one chuckled, rolling his shoulders back.
"Yeah. I mean, it’s wild, right?"
He looked around the gym, nodding slightly toward the men grunting through their reps, checking their own reflection in the mirrors, moving through their routines like machines.
"All these guys in here, trying to be something. Trying to get bigger, trying to prove themselves. But they don’t fucking get it."
The bigger one smirked, shaking his head.
"They don’t know shit."
Adam swallowed. He wasn’t sure if they were talking about him. When he thought more about it, he realized he didn’t care as long as he could find out more about Luther. He had something that needed to be made by someone who gets it.
The leaner one exhaled, voice turning almost reverent.
"They see them out in the world, and they think they know them. Think they’re smart, strong. And they are."
A slow smirk.
"They don’t know what happens when they come home."
Adam’s stomach flipped. Because fuck. Because he did. Because he had always known. And now, he was hearing it from someone else. His grip flexed on the bar.
They weren’t talking about women. They weren’t talking about some fantasy. They were talking about something real. Something he knew. Something he had. He needed more. Because this wasn’t just curiosity now, this was recognition. And he needed to know who Luther was.
So for the first time, Adam spoke.
“Who is he?”
The conversation stopped. The men turned. And they looked at him, really looked at him. The shorter one’s smirk grew wider. The leaner one dragged his gaze over Adam, like he was sizing him up, like he had already known this was coming. And then he grinned.
"Yeah." A slow nod. "I thought you might ask."
The heat was thick in the steam room, pressing against Adam’s skin, rolling down his back in slow beads of sweat. He sat on the wooden bench, one foot flat against the floor, the other stretched out, his towel loose around his waist. He wasn’t paying attention to his body, wasn’t thinking about the usual ache of his muscles by this point in the ritual.
He was thinking about the men across from him. They were talking again. The same two he had overheard in the gym, the ones who had mentioned Luther. The ones who had said people like us like it meant something. Adam hadn’t questioned it then. But now—he needed to know.
They definitely weren’t being discreet. They sat like they belonged, sprawled out, the heat making their skin shine, their bodies loose. There was nothing cautious about them, they weren’t checking who was listening. They were at ease. And that was what got to Adam the most. Because he couldn’t remember the last time he felt that way. If he ever had.
One of them, the shorter one, thick-boned, strong hands resting easy on his thighs, dark curls damp against his forehead, grinned as he spoke.
“Some guys think it’s about control.” He rolled his neck, letting the heat work into his shoulders. “They think it’s about telling someone what to do. Being powerful.”
The other, leaner, slightly older, with a sharp mouth and a grin that felt like he already knew what you were thinking, shook his head.
“They don’t get it,” he murmured. “It’s about freedom.”
That wasn’t what Adam had expected to hear. And the shorter one, he saw that. Saw the way Adam’s body tensed, just slightly, like he was hearing something for the first time. So he leaned forward, elbows on his knees, voice dropping lower, aimed in Adam’s direction.
“You don’t control them.” A slow grin, something heavy in it. “They give themselves to you.”
Adam felt that. Not just the weight of the words, the truth of them. Because he had felt it in Noah, the way Noah leaned into his hands, his voice, into the steady certainty of him. In the way Noah thrived under it, became something more under it. And the leaner man, he must have seen it in Adam’s face. Because he laughed, slow, dark, satisfied.
“Yeah,” he said, tilting his head. “You get it.”
The shorter one wiped his brow, sweat rolling down his chest, disappearing beneath the loose fold of his towel.
“It’s amazing, isn’t it?” he said, “That we get to go home and have these boys waiting for us, dressed up, soft, stupid, doing whatever we want.” His voice dropped lower, a deep hum in his throat. “And they want it. They love it. They need it.”
Adam swallowed. Because he had seen that too. Had seen it in the way Noah’s eyes half-lidded when Adam told him to put something on, when he slipped the skirt over his hips, when he obeyed with no hesitation, just trust. The leaner man stretched, his towel shifting just slightly over his thigh.
“And we get to give that to them. We get to take care of them. Because the truth is,” he exhaled, voice thick, “we need it too.”
Adam’s stomach tightened. Because it wasn’t just about sex. It was about something bigger. Something that stretched into the rest of their lives. The shorter man smirked.
“And the best part?” His voice dropped lower. “No one else knows.”
Adam exhaled, slow, deep. Because that hit somewhere in his chest, right behind the ribs. No one else knew. The world saw them as something else. Saw them as men, as capable, as smart, as strong in the ways they needed to be. They walked through their lives successful, competent. But at home, they gave everything up. And men like Adam picked it all up.
That was just for them. Just for the two of them, in their own world. Adam felt his heavy penis twitch, thick and aching in his towel. And he wasn’t the only one. Because he could see it now. The way the other two had started breathing slower, deeper. The way their towels sat lower, just barely covering them. The way they were thinking about their own worlds, their own stupid, perfect girls waiting at home for them.
Adam was thinking about Noah. His body in Adam’s hands, the way he curled into him, the way he whispered when Adam put him in something pretty and called him baby girl. His thighs trembling, his eyes wet, his mouth slack, his voice breaking when he begged Adam to tell him what he was. Adam always told him. And now, here, in this room, with these men—
He realized he was one of them. And he always had been. The leaner man must have seen the way something shifted in Adam’s face. Because he grinned.
“Yeah,” he murmured, voice thick with satisfaction. “You already knew.”
Adam exhaled, his cock heavy, his mind spinning with the weight of it. Because maybe he had. Maybe he had just needed someone to say it first. He was sitting here, listening after all.
Adam had spent his whole life recognizing confidence in men. The way they stood. The way they moved. The way they carried themselves like their presence was enough. But this was something else. This was confidence in who they were. They weren’t whispering.
The shorter man grinned lazily, stretching his arms over his head.
“Some guys think it’s about control,” he said, rolling his shoulders, letting the heat work into them. “Like it’s about holding power over someone.”
The other shook his head.
“They don’t get it,” he murmured. “It’s about freedom.”
The shorter man wiped sweat from his forehead, then down his chest, the muscles there still flexing from the last of his lifts.
“It’s fucking mind-blowing, isn’t it?” he said, voice thicker now, rougher. “That we get to go home and have these sexy, pretty girls waiting for us, dressed up, soft, stupid, doing whatever we want.”
The leaner man sighed, rolling his head back against the wooden wall.
“And it’s just for us,” he murmured. “They get to be men in the world. But with us, they get to be exactly what they are.”
Adam felt it. And the men noticed.
Adam had a huge, fucking hard-on.
The realization hit him all at once. He hadn’t even noticed it happening. Hadn’t felt it until he saw the way the men’s eyes dragged down, the way they smirked. Adam looked down. And there it was. His big fat penis was fully hard, pressing up against his towel, thick and leaking, obvious as hell.
He had been so lost in it. So lost in the way they talked about their girls, in the way they knew this thing so deeply, in the way it had settled in his chest as something he couldn’t ignore.
The leaner man grinned, stretching slow, watching Adam like he had just confirmed something.
“Yeah,” he murmured, amusement laced through his voice. “You already knew.”
Adam exhaled, cock throbbing, heat curling deep in his stomach. Because maybe he had, he thought again, not sure why it was so hard to accept. Maybe he had just needed someone to say it first? His breath was deep, his body heavy, but not from exhaustion. From realization.
There was no doubt left. Noah was his. Noah was his girl. And Adam was exactly what Noah needed him to be. It was so obvious now that he had been sitting here, towel loose around his hips, listening to these men speak, and his cock had gone completely, painfully hard without him even noticing.
And the other men, they had noticed. They had seen him sit there, lost in thought, his massive, leaking cock pressing straight up against his towel. And instead of teasing him, instead of smirking and leaving it at that, they kept talking.
The shorter man, the thick, broad one, ran a hand through his damp curls, watching Adam’s chest rise and fall, watching the way he was gripping his own thigh, like he needed to keep himself grounded.
He smirked. “Yeah. Feels good, doesn’t it?”
It wasn’t a question. It was a fact. And Adam couldn’t argue.
The leaner one exhaled slow, his own towel barely clinging to his hips, his voice low and thick with something warm, something knowing.
“It’s the best fucking feeling in the world.”
He let his head roll back against the wooden slats of the bench, stretching lazily.
“To know you have someone like that. To know that, no matter what happens, you can go home, and there’s your good girl, waiting for you, pretty and perfect. Just for you.”
Noah in the white skirt Adam bought for him. Noah in the lace that barely covered anything. Noah on the couch in nothing but a sweatshirt and a thong, happy in his cage, filled with Adam’s sperm and sealed with a plug.
Noah wasn’t a woman. But he was Adam’s girl. And that was all that mattered.
The shorter one licked his lips, shaking his head slightly.
“And no one else fucking knows.” His voice dropped, got rougher. “They see them out in the world, right? Walking around, doing their thing, strong, successful. They see our girls and they think—damn, what a solid guy.”
He grinned.
“They have no idea what happens when they come home.”
The leaner one’s voice went softer now, his smirk fading into something almost reverent.
“No idea how sweet they get. So sweet.”
A breath, thick with something deep.
“How much they need it.”
Adam’s breath was tight now. Because he knew. He had seen it every time Noah melted against him. His body had gone hot, too hot, his cock throbbing under the towel, already leaking, already aching.
And the other men, they saw it. Saw the way he was gripping the wood of the bench now, like he needed to hold himself in place. Saw the way his chest rose and fell, harder now, deeper. Saw the way his cock twitched under the towel when they said certain words. And they fucking loved it.
The shorter one grinned.
“Fuck, man. Look at you.”
Adam didn’t answer. He knew what he looked like. A big, broad man, sitting there, sweating, thighs spread, his thick cock throbbing under the towel, pressing straight up, leaking.
The leaner one dragged his fingers through his damp hair, watching Adam like he was enjoying every second of this.
“It’s a good fucking feeling, isn’t it?”
Adam swallowed. A slow nod.
The shorter one exhaled. “Yeah,” he murmured, his own voice gone deeper, something dark and thick in it. “You’re gonna go home, aren’t you?”
Adam’s breath caught. Because fuck. Fuck, he was. He was going to go home, and Noah would be waiting, and Noah would be wearing whatever Adam told him to, and Noah would be pretty and perfect, and Adam was going to put him in his lap and fuck him until there was nothing left but this. He was going to ruin him. And Noah would love it.
The leaner one laughed, quiet and low. “Yeah. That’s it.”
Adam’s breath was deep, controlled--but barely. Because he wasn’t just hearing these men. He was feeling the truth of what they were saying sink into his skin, settle into his stomach, throb hot between his legs. And he wasn’t the only one.
The shorter man stretched lazily, arms behind his head, completely at ease, watching Adam from beneath heavy lids.
"You're gonna go home and give it to her, aren’t you?"
Adam’s cock twitched hard. A thick, aching pulse beneath the damp fabric of his towel, leaking now, slick against his own skin.
The leaner man dragged a palm down his stomach, a lazy, knowing motion, his own towel slipping slightly lower.
“Yeah,” he murmured, his voice dropping. “You're gonna go home, and she's gonna be there, waiting for you, soft and sweet, looking up at you like she already knows she belongs to you. And you’re gonna give it to her.”
Adam exhaled. Fuck.
The shorter man licked his lips, watching Adam’s reaction, the way his breath had gone shallower, the way his hips had shifted just slightly forward, not enough to be obvious, but enough that they knew.
“What’s she wearing for you tonight?” he asked.
Noah would be on the couch, laptop in his lap, legs curled up, wearing one of Adam’s big sweatshirts and a pretty little thong. And when Adam told him to get dressed, Noah would do it. He would slip into a pretty skirt. The thigh-high fishnets Adam loved. He would stand in the bedroom, waiting, pink-faced, nervous and perfect.
The leaner man watched him, his own breath coming heavier now.
“You can already see it, can’t you?”
Adam swallowed thickly. And when he nodded, slow and deliberate, something shifted in the room.
The shorter one exhaled, voice turning rougher. “Fuck, man.”
And that’s when Adam noticed. They were hard too. The realization hit him like a slow wave. The shorter one’s towel was tented, thick, heavy, the shape of his bone pressing against the damp fabric. The leaner one’s had slipped even lower, his cock straining, dark and wet at the tip, thick beads of precum smearing against his hip.
And none of them moved. None of them adjusted, none of them looked away. Because this wasn’t weird. This wasn’t a mistake. This was a recognition. A shared understanding between men like them.
The shorter man let out a breath, slow, measured, deep. He tilted his head, eyes flickering to Adam’s cock, still pressing hard against his towel.
“Feels good, doesn’t it?” he murmured.
Adam’s flexed his fingers.
“Yeah,” he said, voice low, rough.
The leaner man smiled, watching Adam’s face, the way his chest rose and fell just slightly faster now.
“You ever talk to someone about it before?”
Adam shook his head. Because no. Because who the fuck would he have told? Who would have understood what it felt like?
The shorter man grinned, exhaling slow.
“Feels fucking good to say it out loud, doesn’t it?”
Adam nodded. Because yes. Fuck, yes.
The leaner man dragged a hand up his thigh, not touching himself, not exactly, just feeling, just letting himself exist in the moment.
“You get to go home to her,” he murmured. “You get to fill her up. And no one else even fucking knows.”
Adam’s cock ached. His whole body felt tight, overheated, unbearably wired. And then, the shorter man’s voice dropped even lower, more satisfied now, more certain.
“Lucky fucking man.”
Adam’s jaw tightened.
“You know why you get to go home to her?” he asked, voice thick with something deep, something that wasn’t a question.
Adam swallowed, slow and deliberate. And waited. Because he knew they were going to tell him.
The leaner one exhaled, voice lower now, his hand dragging up his thigh.
“Because you have what most men don’t.”
Adam’s breath was slow, heavy. “Yeah?”
The shorter one licked his lips. “Yeah.”
His voice dropped lower, curling around the words like he’d said them before.
“Because most men aren’t strong enough.”
Adam felt the words settle in his chest. The leaner one smirked, eyes dragging down Adam’s chest, then back up.
“Most men wouldn’t know what to do with a girl like that.”
Because they were right. Because he had always known. Because he had seen it, how Noah would’ve wasted himself on someone weaker, on someone who wouldn’t have known how to shape him, how to hold him in place, how to take care of him in the way he needed. Noah would have never been whole with someone else. And these men, they knew.
The shorter one leaned forward slightly. “Most men are fucking scared.”
Adam’s cock twitched under his towel. Because he wasn’t. He wasn’t scared to see what Noah was, to see what Noah wanted, to take it in his hands and make it real.
And the leaner one, he saw that. Because he grinned, slow, sharp, and knew exactly what to say next.
“Most men can’t handle knowing their girl gets wet just from obeying.”
Adam inhaled, slow, deep, controlling the way his cock throbbed at that. Because fuck. Because yes. Because Noah did. Because Noah was a girl for him. And for no one else.
The shorter one grinned, watching Adam’s body react, watching the way his breath shuddered slightly at that last truth. And then—his voice dropped even lower.
“Most men don’t have the guts to say it out loud.”
Adam’s fingers flexed against the bench. Because they were right. Because this was what separated men like them from everyone else. Not just strength. Not just control. But the ability to look at their girl and say it. To say what they are. To say what they need.
And that’s why Adam got the girl.
The leaner one exhaled, watching Adam sit there, fully hard, rock solid under his towel, lost in it.
“Fuck, man,” he said, grinning. “Look at you.”
Adam’s breath came low, deep, slow. Because he knew what he looked like. And the other men, they were the same. Their towels were barely covering them now, their own cocks straining, hard from nothing but the weight of this conversation, the knowing between them of exactly what they had at home.
The shorter man wiped sweat from his jaw, his grin gone lazy now, slow.
“So what are you gonna do now?”
Adam’s jaw clenched. Because he already fucking knew. He was going to get up. He was going to walk out of this steam room. He was going to go home. And Noah would be there. And Adam was going to show him exactly what he was.
The leaner man smirked.
“Yeah,” he murmured. “That’s what I thought.”
These men were telling him something he had always known but had never put into words. Something that had been in his bones from the start. And now, they were giving it to him. The shorter man, broad-shouldered and sweat-slicked, dragged a hand over his mouth, watching Adam with an easy grin.
"You know why you get to go home to her?" he asked, voice thick with certainty, something that was not a question.
Adam said nothing. Because he wanted to hear it.
The leaner man exhaled, dragging his hand lazily down his stomach, his towel slipping slightly lower on his hips.
“Because you have what most men don’t.”
Adam’s breath caught. "Yeah?"
The shorter one licked his lips. "Yeah."
The leaner one smirked, eyes dragging down Adam’s solid chest, his thick thighs, his massive, leaking cock pressing against the towel.
“Most men wouldn’t know what to do with a girl like that.”
Adam’s cock twitched under his towel. He wasn’t scared to see what Noah was, to see what Noah wanted, to take it in his hands and make it real.
The leaner one smirked, watching the way Adam's breath shuddered slightly at that last truth. The shorter man exhaled, watching Adam sit there, fully hard, cock thick and aching under the towel, leaking for nothing but the truth in their words.
“Fuck, man,” he said, grinning. “Look at you.”
Adam didn’t have to look. He already fucking knew. Knew that he looked huge. Knew that his body was a fucking force, dripping with sweat, with arousal, with something heavier than both. Knew that his cock was pressing straight up, hard and wet against his stomach, thick enough that even the damp towel couldn’t hide it.
And the other men, they were the same. Adam was one of them.
The shorter man smirked, eyes dragging over Adam’s thick arms, the sheer bulk of him, the way his body carried power so naturally, so effortlessly.
"Shit," he muttered, eyes flicking up and down. "No wonder you get the girl."
The leaner one shook his head, still grinning, but something in his expression had shifted.
His eyes moved slow over Adam’s body, the way he sat, the way he held himself, the way he was completely fucking oblivious to how much he stood out. Adam was something else. He wasn’t just big. He wasn’t just built. He was the kind of man you looked at once and didn’t forget.
The shorter one exhaled, shaking his head, still watching Adam, still staring.
“Lucky fucking girl.”
Adam’s fingers curled against the bench. Because fuck. Because he had to go home. Had to go home right fucking now.
The shorter man wiped sweat from his jaw, his grin gone lazy now, slow.
“So what are you gonna do now?”
Adam exhaled. And stood. His towel barely hung onto his hips, his cock still hard, still thick, still obvious, still proof of every fucking thing they had just said.
And the leaner man—he watched him, eyes flickering up Adam’s body one last time. And he grinned.
“Yeah,” he murmured, voice slow, amused, completely fucking sure.
“That’s what I thought.”
Adam stood there, chest rising slow, thick drops of sweat rolling down his back, his stomach, his thighs. The towel at his waist barely hung on, barely concealed what was obvious to all of them now. His big fat penis was still thick, still hard, still wet from nothing but words.
And the men—they saw it. The shorter one let out a slow breath, rolling his shoulders back, still watching Adam, still taking him in. Then, casually, he dragged his palm down his stomach, exhaling.
"You know, if you're gonna go home to her like this, you should know how to hold it."
Adam frowned slightly. "Hold what?"
The leaner man smirked. "Your sperm."
Adam’s stomach tightened. Because fuck. Because no one had ever said that to him before. The shorter man grinned, stretching out, shifting his towel just slightly, not caring how much of himself he was showing now. The leaner one exhaled, dragging his fingers through his damp hair, his own cock still half-hard beneath his towel. The shorter one smirked.
"You ever noticed? How it makes you feel different when you don’t let it go?"
The leaner one nodded. "You hold it, you get stronger. You let it go too often, you get weak. Simple as that."
The shorter man exhaled. "You give it to her. Deep. Where it belongs."
The leaner man stretched his arms back, sighing. "That’s why you get the girl."
Then, looking Adam straight in the eye—
“Because you don’t give yourself away.”
The shorter one watched Adam, eyes dragging down his chest, his stomach, his still-hard cock pressing against his towel, slick with need. And he grinned.
"Go home, man. Give it to her."
Adam didn’t leave. Not yet. He stood there, towel loose at his waist, body slick with sweat, his massive cock still throbbing, still leaking, still aching. The shorter man smirked, watching him, watching the way he didn’t move, didn’t let himself ease the ache.
"You wanna show us, huh?" he said, voice dark with amusement. "Wanna show us how well you can hold it?"
The shorter one let out a slow breath, watching Adam’s body, watching the sheer size of him, the control in every thick, flexed muscle.
"Yeah," he murmured, licking his lips. "Fuck, man. Look at you."
He knew that his cock was still standing straight up, wet at the tip, dripping down his own stomach, straining against the weight of all that he was holding back. Knew that his whole body was coiled, holding everything in, waiting. And he wasn’t breaking. Wasn’t letting go. Wasn’t spilling a fucking drop.
The leaner one exhaled, dragging a slow, knowing gaze over Adam’s body.
"Most men can’t do that," he said.
Adam smirked, the barest curl of his lips.
"I’m not most men."
The shorter man grinned, wide, shaking his head. "You can say that again.”
The leaner guy laughed. “Fuck, man. No wonder she belongs to you."
He sighed, watching Adam like he was taking in something rare, something he didn’t get to see every day. His voice dropped, thick with something deeper now.
"She must fucking love it."
Adam breathed in slow, controlled, even as his cock pulsed hard at that. Still holding it. The shorter one leaned back, running a hand over his face, still watching Adam, still looking at him like he had never seen anything like this before.
"Damn," he muttered, shaking his head. "That girl of yours is lucky as fuck."
And the leaner man, he let out a breath, shaking his head, voice dipping into something slower, something more certain.
"You know, you don’t have to hide it.”
Adam frowned slightly. And the shorter man smirked, dragging a slow palm over his own thigh.
"Most men can’t stand it. The feeling of it, the weight of it, the way it makes them look.”
He tilted his head, watching Adam hold himself together, muscles flexed, chest tight, jaw clenched.
"But a real man—" his voice dropped lower, thick with satisfaction. "He knows how to carry it.”
The leaner one exhaled, watching Adam closely. And then, voice slow, measured,
"You wanna prove you can hold it?"
Adam’s breath came in thicker, heavier. And he nodded.
Because fuck.
Because yes.
The leaner man stretched out, shifting slightly, his towel slipping off, his boner sticking straight up.
Adam exhaled, slow. And the shorter one laughed, deep and low.
“That’s it.”
The leaner man smirked.
"You think we don’t walk around with this shit all the time?"
He exhaled, rolling his head back against the wood.
"You get hard because you’re alive. Because your body knows you have something worth holding onto. Because you have a girl at home who makes you like this just by existing."
His voice dropped, thick with certainty.
"You don’t hide that. You own that."
Adam let out a slow breath. Because he was feeling it now. The weight of it, the truth of it, the way he had been gripping himself too hard, instead of letting himself sit in it. He let his thighs spread slightly wider. And the shorter one grinned, shaking his head.
"Yeah, man."
A slow exhale.
"Now look at you."
The leaner one licked his lips, dragging his eyes over Adam’s massive, sweat-slicked body, the sheer thickness of him, the raw presence of him, the fucking dominance he carried without even trying. He shook his head, grinning.
"Most men get hard and they fucking panic. They try to tuck it away, hide it, jerk it out so they don’t have to feel it anymore."
A slow sigh.
"But not you."
The shorter one ran a hand down his face, still watching Adam.
"Jesus," he muttered. "No wonder she belongs to you."
Adam inhaled deep. Because fuck. Because they saw it now. Saw what Noah saw. Saw what made Adam different. Because he wasn’t just big. Wasn’t just strong. He was completely fucking in control. Even fully hard. Even leaking. Even pulsing with the weight of everything he was holding. And he wasn’t breaking. And they were watching.
The leaner one let out a slow breath, his own cock thick and obvious now, pressing up, fully hard just from watching Adam. The shorter one grinned, shaking his head, still watching Adam, still staring.
"Lucky fucking girl."
Adam breathed in deep, slow. Rolled his shoulders back. Let his towel drop. Didn’t hide the way his massive, rock-hard cock was still pressing up, still slick, still throbbing. Didn’t cover a fucking thing. And then he moved.
Not toward the door. Just around. Just walking through the steam room, slow, unhurried, making them see it, making them know.
The leaner one let out a slow breath, shifting on the bench, watching the way Adam’s massive body moved, the way the sheer weight of him carried something heavier, something stronger than any of them.
The shorter man exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "Jesus, man."
Adam didn’t say anything. He just walked. Letting the heat roll over his body, letting the sweat run thick down his chest, letting them see how fucking massive he was, how thick his cock still was, how fucking unshakable he was. And then the others started to move, too.
The leaner one stood up first. Just standing there, mirroring Adam, letting himself feel it, letting himself be seen. Then the shorter one. And then the others, the ones sitting farther away, the ones who had been listening but hadn’t spoken, the ones who had been quiet until now.
One by one, they started doing what Adam was doing, just holding, just standing there, hard and thick and dripping, owning it. But Adam wasn’t breaking.
The leaner one groaned first. A sharp inhale. A slow, shaking breath. A staggered step. And then he lost it. Didn’t even touch himself, didn’t even try to hold back, just came right there, thick white streaks spilling across his abs, coating his stomach, his thighs, dripping down onto the tiles below.
The shorter one was next. A sharp, gasping exhale. A low curse. And then he broke too. Shuddering, thick ropes of cum painting the bench, his own body, his own towel soaked with it, head tilting back as he gritted his teeth through it.
And then the others. One by one. Every single one of them spilling themselves, breaking right there in the steam room, unable to hold it back, unable to stop, unable to do what Adam was doing.
Adam didn’t move.
The leaner one collapsed back onto the bench, panting, his chest rising and falling, streaks of cum still dripping down his abs. The shorter one exhaled sharply, running a shaking hand over his face.
"Fuck, man," he muttered, breathless. "Fuck."
And then they looked at Adam. And saw him still standing there. Still hard. Still leaking. Still full. Still holding every last fucking drop. The leaner one shook his head, watching Adam, still catching his breath. And then he laughed. Deep, low, full of something that wasn’t just admiration.
"Holy shit."
The shorter one exhaled, shaking his head, grinning wide, staring at Adam like he had never seen anything like him before.
"Yeah," he murmured, voice gone almost reverent. "Now we fucking know."
Adam breathed in deep. And then he left. Still hard. Still dripping. Still fully fucking loaded with every drop of sperm he had been holding since the moment this conversation started.
And when he got home, Noah was going to get all of it.
