Gym Boys (3 page)

“‘Sup,” the gym god said, a man of few words.

“Cody McClain, this is Nick, our newest member.”

Cody's sapphire gemstone eyes drilled into Nick's. “Hey.”

Nick boldly offered his hand. Cody hesitated. His eyes scanned Nick's outstretched fingers before committing, then accepted the gesture. Pressure clamped down on Nick's hand. With little effort, he imagined the other young man snapping his bones. From the periphery, he recorded the line of fur cutting Cody McClain down the middle of his abdomen and circling around his navel, hairy legs and big jock feet. Heavenly distraction.

The shake ended, and Cody turned back to his locker.

“If you come this way, I'll show you the rest,” Nick's guide said.

Nick followed, but tipped a glance behind him in time to see Cody unhook the towel. The towel dropped and puddled around those big feet, exposing the most perfect ass Cody had ever seen—firm, high, the kind of definition that transforms ass muscles from roundness to a squarer geometry. A thin Mohawk of dark blond fur dissected the two halves down the middle. The gym god reached into his locker for something, and the perfect halves parted enough for Nick to steal a glance at the meaty balls dangling beneath, visible one instant, gone the next.

Cody
, Nick thought. Then he choked down a swallow and discovered his mouth had gone completely dry, his throat baked to desert like on that long-ago day when he was forced to climb the rope.

He pushed himself, harder and faster, on the treadmill and the stationary bike. The weight machines and aerobic classes tested him at first but grew easier and more enjoyable as the month progressed. The aches of those first weeks subsided; muscle began to emerge. With it came a boldness beaten out of him in the gyms of his past, where the ropes mocked him.

Sweat coated Nick's flesh. He peeled off his shirt, unlaced his sneakers, and removed socks and then workout shorts. The last stitch—his nut-soaked jockstrap, black—came off his body reluctantly. Nick glanced around the men's locker room once more to be sure he was alone before raising the damp cotton to his nose. The rich odor of a man's scent filled his next deep breath.

“Cody…fuck,”
Nick whispered.

In his imagination, the stink belonged to the other young man. The sound of the big door whooshing open and a scuffle of footsteps on the tiled floor alerted Nick to the presence of approaching eyes. He stuffed the jock into the locker with the rest of his workout gear and wrapped a towel around his waist.

A guilty glance to his right, and Cody McClain jumped out of Nick's mind and into real time.

“Dude,” Cody said.

A shiver tripped down Nick's spine, one curiously hotter than chilly. “Hey, man.”

That was it, their exchange a paltry handful of words. From the cut of his eye, Nick watched Cody fiddle with his phone and then strip down from T-shirt and jeans, all the while pretending to be busy with the things inside his open locker. Cody's shirt came off, baring spine. Belt unbuckled, zipper unzipped, Cody's jeans fell to his ankles, showing the gray boxer-briefs spray-painted over that incredible ass, which Nick had fantasized over nonstop for weeks.

Cody stepped out of his kicks. Pants came off, shorts went on. A different shirt for working out—a navy-blue tank that accentuated Cody's amazing sapphire gaze while showing off the nests of dark fur under his armpits.

Nick's next breath jammed halfway down his throat. For a tense moment, all he could think about was burying his nose in all that hair, inhaling until he got high. Cody's pits first, and then working his way down to the dude's toes, sniffing the sweaty cotton of his socks. Back up, but only as far as the gym god's nut sac. The final prize was the dude's ass. Oh, to shove his face between those firm, square halves, to lick and keep on licking until—

Cody turned around and faced Nick. Nick froze under the intense scrutiny of the young man's gaze. He'd been caught staring,
lusting
, Nick was sure. Adding to his misery was the realization that he'd gotten hard from sniffing Imaginary Cody's potent ball-stink and from ogling Real-Time Cody with his glances.

“I want to ask you something,” said the true version.

Nick found his voice. “Sure,” he managed, though he expected to look down and see his dick had poked its way through the gap in his towel, condemning him fully.

Cody's mouth softened into the closest thing to a smile Nick had seen since joining Fit Physique. “I heard you're a big-league concert promoter.”

Nick snorted a laugh. “Not exactly—I work in ticket sales.”

Cody fumbled the meaty fullness at the front of his shorts. “Really, dude. Think you can do me a solid?”

“Maybe. What do you need?”

“Hook me up with tickets to Blindman's Bluff. I hear they're coming to town for the Blinders tour.”

“Yeah, they're playing at the Atlantic Commons. I'll see what I can do,” Nick said.

Cody marched over and extended his fist, knuckles aimed at Nick for a knock. “Fucking sweet, dude.”

Real cool, Nick punched knuckles with the gym god, his cock at its hardest concealed by his towel.

“You finished?” Cody asked.

“Yeah, just wrapped up—gonna grab a shower before I bounce.”

“Maybe next time we can meet up and workout together. Buddy up. If you want.”

If Nick wanted? A hundred images flashed through the forefront of his mind's eye, rapid-fire. Before he could respond, Cody about-faced, leaving Nick standing with a boner barely under cover.

Facing the wall, he lathered up. Nick was the only man in the showers, though he doubted the situation would differ much had the place been full of dudes. His cock jutted out from the soapy curls. His nuts drooped halfway to the floor tiles, filled with seed and in desperate need of release. Eyes half-shut but ears open for the footsteps of intruders to his private time beneath the nozzle, Nick reached down, tickled his balls and then pumped his thickness. The space before his eyes lit with explosions only he could see. He gasped Cody's name and daydreamed.

Nick's lips met the other man's in the jerk-off fantasy, tentatively at first, a brushing kiss. Just enough to taste the mint on the gym god's breath. Hands scrambled, and clothes came off. Hard dicks ground together, first in sweaty jockstraps until those dissolved, vanishing in Nick's thoughts. Nick stole one final kiss before going to his knees on the cool locker room floor. He stole a deep whiff of Cody's scent—musky balls and dick, and all that hair wreathed around them made funky from lifting weights, pushing muscles. Cody's erection pulsed, demanding to be sucked. It would get its needs fulfilled.

Nick envisioned its weight on his tongue, filling his mouth. Cody's balls gonged off his chin on each forward thrust. Their funky stink and Cody's grunts combined together, weaving a spell that made Nick powerless.

“Yank on my hairy nuts,” Cody ordered, his voice the spell's final component.

“Yes,” Nick sighed.

Doing as commanded, he reached up and groped the sweaty pair, rolling them in their loose sac, tugging them down, up, over his chin. Dream Cody liked that. He even gave Nick permission to spit out his dick long enough to tongue behind his balls. And, wonder of wonders, to lick his asshole.

Dream Nick shifted position and was about to savor that part of the other young man's anatomy when the explosions returned, this time more intense. The world in front of Real Nick's eyes erupted in a blinding wash of light. Electricity pulsed over his flesh. Nick squirted into the soap and spray.

The timing was, mercifully, perfect. Right as he came to from the thrill, the scrape of approaching slides registered from somewhere close by. Nick huddled under the shower and rinsed the dregs of his load down the drain. He willed his guilt to follow.

Blindman's Bluff was an up-and-coming trio whose front man, Davis Lancaster, had lost his sight in an accident only to regain it through cutting edge surgery. The dude was tall, handsome and sported a scruffster's facial hair and attitude.

“I like that,” said Cody. “The dude's story. The fucking nuts of it. You know, he goes blind but doesn't let it destroy him. Now, he's got his sight back and makes important music after what could have been the end.”

Nick listened to the gym god's voice, hypnotized by the words. It was the most Cody had said during their first workout together, and Nick realized that not only his mind was falling into the trance. He blinked, glanced at the upside-down image of Cody's handsome face above the workout bench, golden with a sheen of perspiration, and willed his mind to focus. With very little more, Nick's cock threatened to thicken. Cody was close enough to smell, to kiss, to suck off. Breaking focus with Cody's face for his torso didn't help, any more than the meaty bulge in his shorts, or his legs—so hairy and magnificent. Or those big feet in white short socks and expensive kicks planted firmly on either side of the bench.

“Dude,” Cody said. His voice snapped Nick out of the spell and back to the moment.

“I was thinking about what you said,” Nick fibbed. “It wasn't the same, but when I was a kid…you know how they used to make you climb the ropes in gym class?”

Cody's arms pumped. He pressed the weights up—130 pounds of solid metal ruled by 170 pounds of male muscle. “Yeah,” he exhaled.

His breath stirred the heady smell of a man's athletic sweat. Nick's mind again wandered. How would it be between Cody's legs? Hot and damp from the rewards of their intense workout. His asshole, right now, too. Nick dreamed of his tongue licking behind Cody's hairy nuts, seeking the fur-ringed bullet hole at the center of his butt halves. Nick's next sip of air came with difficulty.

“What about them?” Cody pressed. “The ropes?”

“Like Davis Lancaster, I guess. The ropes were my version of an obstacle to overcome.”

Cody lifted the weights. “I get it. So now it's your turn to face your enemy and lift, dude.”

They switched positions, with Nick on the bench gazing up instead of down at Cody's handsome face.

“You can do it,” the gym god urged.

Nick pushed with his arm muscles, aware of the pressure to perform, the temptation to glance at the prominent bulge hanging down the front of Cody's shorts.

“Don't worry about it, dude,” said Cody. “We all have blind spots. We all got our fucking ropes.”

Their eyes connected. For a startling instant, Nick fell into the sapphire gravity overhead, convinced that he could read Cody's secret thoughts. He understood the look of desire staring back, and the way Cody's throat knotted under the influence of a heavy swallow. Nick's cock pulsed. If he dared look, he expected Cody's would be hard and leaking, too, close enough to kiss.

Then Cody blinked, and the hard edge returned to his expression.

“Come on, nut up, dude,” Cody growled. “Lift those fucking weights!”

* * *

Nick secured a pair of tickets, as requested, third row center. Excellent seats, at his company discount. He handed Cody the envelope with the printouts.

Cody handed back cash. “Thanks, bro.”

“No problem. Anything for my workout buddy,” Nick said.

Cody closed the gym locker. “Anything?”

The long word instantly dialed up the temperature. Cody's twin sapphire eyes locked on to his. Nick attempted to answer, but opening his mouth took the greatest effort.

“S-sure,” he stammered.

Cody opened the envelope. “Good, then come with me to Blindman's Bluff.”

The gym god extended one of the tickets. Nick reached a trembling hand out and accepted.

Would he do anything for Cody McClain?

Nick closed his eyes, reached down and found his cock stiff in his underwear. “Fuck,” he sighed.

After a few rough fumbles, he pulled his fingers off the prize and focused on the day's most pressing business. Blindman's Bluff had capitalized on the popular scruffster's look, a laidback, casual image, the modern-day version of grunge. He chose decent jeans and sneakers and a black short-sleeved T-shirt, which he'd wear over a long-sleeved, white. The ensemble looked fresh in his imagination, especially given the toned appearance of his body after months of working out.

Nick felt excited about the night, but also anxious. His thoughts returned to Cody. His right hand skipped back down his chest and settled on familiar territory. He'd look amazing in those clothes, sure. But all he could focus on was Cody, sans his. Beating off was not only inevitable, it was necessary. Cody had offered to drive them into the city for the concert. Nick would never make it through the night without some strategic relief. He tipped a glance at the clock on his phone—still plenty of time to rub one out before the arrival of the star of his fantasies.

A knock sounded on the apartment's front door. Nick groaned and swore beneath his breath, contemplated ignoring his surprise visitor but then reached for the jeans. He pulled them on en route to the front door and suffered his erection's complaints while stuffing it under cover.

Nick opened the door. Fresh, warm air spilled into the apartment, along with a cascade of golden afternoon sunlight. Somewhere in that effulgence stood a form, impressive in height and physique. Nick blinked, and a gym god stepped out of the sunshine.

“Dude,” said Cody.

Nick flashed a wide, nervous smile. “Hey, you're not due for—”

“I know,” said Cody.

Confusion challenged Nick's happiness. For a terrible instant, he worried some problem had arisen, that the concert at the Atlantic Commons was off.

“Is something wrong?”

Cody's eyes narrowed. “No, not really. Yeah, dude. I don't fucking know.”

Nick drank in the vision before him: a scruffster clad in jeans, T-shirt, and old boots that loved his body. Cody also wore a baseball cap, its bill aimed forward. A young man with a much older man's sapphire gemstone eyes shifted from one foot to the other, his body language impossible to misread.