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“She’s a beauty. Right, bro?”
Craig stands mere inches behind me, so close I can feel his breath on the back of my neck. When we were in school, I may have protested at the closeness, fearing that he’d see through my friendliness to the unrequited crush that lurked underneath. He wasn’t nearly as handsome back then, not nearly as built or as well-aged. Now it’s all I can do to will my growing erection back down.
Cool it, Pete.
“Peter?” Craig asks. He touches my shoulder, and fuck if I know why I keep doing this to myself. There’s no way someone as macho as him will ever want to bother with me, a veritable twig.
“Sorry,” I croak. My voice is hoarse, and I pray he doesn’t notice. “I was thinking about asking to use it.”
We stand in front of the newest addition to his home gym: the Lift Master 2000—a strange machine that hearkens back to the Inquisition. It has a black leather pad dividing into thirds to lift different parts of the body, I guess to work different muscles, and a metal bar resting on two rungs. 45 pounds of steel, Craig informed me over coffee, and that’s without the weights.
What have I gotten myself into?
Craig bounces to it, excited at the prospect of us working out together, and starts giving me the spiel.
“She can hold five 45-pounders on either side. That’s almost 500 pounds of pure bench press capability.”
I come in at a cool 150 pounds, and the prospect of pushing that much weight off of my chest causes my knees to shake.
“I’ve been meaning to build some muscle,” I tell him. It’s true, but the idea hadn’t popped into my head until we bumped into each other a few weeks ago. Craig was so fit, jogging with a damn baby strapped to him, and my good sense abandoned me at the sight of sweat running down his brow. “Want to spot me?”
“Sure, dude!” Craig is beaming. He’s so cute when he smiles. “How much do you bench?”
“Um….” I stare at my worn-out sneakers. The hair on my legs stands on end in the cool basement of his house, and self-conscious, I yank down the edges of my shorts. “I don’t know.”
“Hey, no need to look so down. We’ll get you built in no time.” Craig waves me over to him and pats the cushioned seat. “Let’s start easy. You can do the bar, I’m sure.”
He’s so accepting of me where I am, and my heart flutters at the sparkle in his eyes. I love being the one to make him this happy. Ashley never seemed to make him overjoyed, but then again, I was clouded by jealousy when they started going out. Knowing he’s divorced…. Well, I know better than to hope Craig likes me in any sort of way beyond best bros. That’s all we are. Old friends.
I sit on the edge of the bench and stare up at him, waiting for instruction.
“You have to lie down, bro. Leg on either side of the bench.” I copy his instructions and lie back. Lord in Heaven, I know I’m supposed to be looking at the ceiling, but instead I’m staring at the bulge in Craig’s running shorts. Licking my lips, I shift my gaze to meet his brown eyes, tilting my head expectantly.
Craig’s own gaze, however, isn’t on my face. There is a pink tinge to his cheeks, and his focus is on….
On my hips.
Oh my God.
His blush grows redder, and he coughs into his fist.
“Sorry, dude. I was thinking about the girls’ softball game next week.”
Yeah. Uh huh. Sure.
“That’s fine,” I tell him, trying to convince myself I’m making it up, that he wasn’t just blatantly staring at my crotch. My hands shake as I grip the bar above me, and I force myself to focus on squeezing it tight. The last thing I need is to crush my lungs in my friend’s basement.
“So you want to plant your feet firmly on the ground. No sneaker slippage.”
I do.
“Then just push up and down towards your chest. Arms at 90-degree angles, you lift up, back down, then put it back in the cradle.”
It sounds easy.
I copy his directions, my arms thankfully only trembling a little, and sit up, grinning at Craig like an idiot.
“How’d I do?”
“Great! Ready for more?”
His big brown eyes land on me, expectant, and I can’t bring myself to say no. Craig is so cute when he’s enthused.
“Sure,” I say with no small amount of trepidation. He jumps over to the stack of weights lying by the side and lifts two 10-pound ones up. His breathing doesn’t even change, he’s that strong, and he slides them onto the bar for me while I get back into lifting position.
I repeat the motions, and it’s not that much more difficult. A little pumped from figuring out that I have more than noodle arms, I nod for him to add more. Craig does, and I watch his muscles flex as he slides on twenty more pounds. This time, it’s more of a struggle, but I manage to press the bar to my chest three times before setting it back.
“Wow,” I exclaim, breathless. “I didn’t think I could do that.”
“You did great.” Craig holds out his hand. I grab it, and he helps me to my feet—mostly by lifting me straight off the bench. His grip lingers for a moment longer than necessary, but if he means anything by it, he doesn’t say. Instead, he keeps smiling. “Spot me?”
“I don’t know if I could lift the bar off you if it fell.”
“I won’t do too much,” he promises, but he’s already taking off my weights and putting two 45-pounds ones on either side.
I blink. Wow.
Wow.
Craig is so strong. He settles onto the bench, calms his breathing, and readies his hands on the steel. When he exhales, he pushes the bar up and brings it down to his chest. He pumps it with little strain, form perfect, large muscles bulging. After four reps, he puts it back and grins.
“I love that feeling, you know? Getting pumped.” Craig wipes the sweat from his brow with a nearby cloth. I’m a little breathless, from the sight, and it takes me a moment to respond..
“You look good, man. Really great.”
Craig flushes.
“Thanks.” He rubs the back of his neck. “It’s not like it was when we were in college. I have more to care about. Like you.”
…
“I’m not sure what to say to that,” I admit. “I didn’t think—”
“Yeah. Yeah,” he sounds so defeated, “I knew it was a long shot. Sorry, bro. I don’t want things to be weird between us.”
Words have never been easy. Not for me, not for Craig. We’re men of action, and I know that if I don’t act, I’m going to regret this for the rest of my life.
I close the distance between us and place my palms on his broad shoulders.
“Peter?” Craig’s voice cracks. There is confusion all over his face, and it deepens when I lean in. Neither of us shut our eyes as our lips meet, more than a little awkwardly. His are wide and fearful, and I suppose mine must be, too. Honestly, I expect a shove or a punch or something violent. I had never thought of Craig as a man’s man, not in that sense, but then his hand cups the back of my neck.
His eyes close.
His mouth starts moving against mine, and we fall into the kiss naturally, responding to each other in the way only friends can. We’ve known each other so long, and I care for him so deeply, and his hands on my hips are unreal when he drags me into his lap. I straddle his thighs and wrap my arms around his neck as our tongues play against one another, softly exploring the depths we should have years before.
My arousal just from looking at him has grown full, and Craig wastes no time in crossing that unspoken line of friendship and cupping my erection with his hand. He squeezes me through my shorts until I moan, then begins to stroke me, his own length pressed firmly against my legs.
It takes a lot of effort for me to pull away from our kiss, but I manage. We have to talk at least a little.
“Craig?”
“Is this— Do you not want this?”
“I do,” I assure him. “But… What are we doing here? Together? Are we together?”
“I’d like to be.”
The conversation is over. He lifts me off his lap without a hint of discomfort and sets me back down on the bench, spreading my knees and settling between them. I’m not sure what is happening until he wedges his hands under my ass, grabs my shorts, and pulls them down around my ankles. The cold air of his basement hits my cock, and it twitches visibly.
Craig licks his lips, obviously memorizing the sight. Without thinking, I begin to stroke myself, one hand covering my mouth to quiet my moans. I thrust into my fist and trail my thumb along the head. God, it feels so good, and the pleasure burns hot when our eyes meet once again, Craig’s smile as handsome as ever. It’s strange, showing off for my best friend like this, but in a way, it feels right. Like we were always going to end up here.
Well, not here, exactly. Not a room in his basement converted into a gym, not in shorts, not with a mirror covering the opposite wall.
I flush red as I catch our reflection. Craig kneeling in front of me, watching me touch myself.
It’s a little overwhelming. My stomach clenches in warning, and I lean back, gasping for breath.
Not that I find any. The moment my hand is out of the way, Craig goes to work. He wraps his fingers around my cock to hold it still and bend it toward his mouth, then he runs his tongue against the slit.
I mewl. Like a baby kitten or an underpaid porn star, I mewl at the sensation of Craig licking me. We haven’t talked about this, not ever, but if I’m Craig’s first, he’s a prodigy. He manages to take half my length into his mouth before bobbing back up again, and every time he comes down, he fits more of me into him until the head of my cock hits his throat.
He gags a little but doesn’t stop to breathe. I tangle my fingers in his sweaty hair, not to control, but to feel his presence. I’ve never been the dominant type, and I’m more than happy to let Craig do whatever he wants to my body while I watch, eyes half-open, in the mirror. He’s so perfect like this, like he was meant to suck cock. My cock.
Oh my God, Craig Cahn is sucking my cock and it’s possibly the best blow job I’ve had in my life.
“Craig. Craig, um, are you? Should we?” Even as I try to find some excuse to back out, I’m still fucking Craig’s mouth. It’s so warm and wet and it feels so good. It’s Craig, my best bro, and my heart skips a beat at the idea that he actually likes me.
Craig stops lavishing me.
“Do you want to stop?” Again, he sounds so sad. Like he was expecting this. Like me not letting him do this is the same as giving a kid a Christmas present only to smash it with a hammer minutes after.
It doesn’t make sense that Craig thinks I’m sexy. I can’t believe it.
“No, God no. I love this, but don’t you want something?”
There’s a flash of mischief in his eyes.
“What kind of something?”
I flush and shake my head.
“Whatever you want to do.”
“Whatever I want?”
There it is. There’s the college Craig, ready to take on a challenge and warp it out of proportion.
It’s strange being the challenge.
“Yeah,” I agree. I should know better than to trust Kegstand Craig, but most of my blood has left my brain.
“Then how about you let me rim your ass?”
“What?”
“You know,” Craig’s smile widens, “bend over my new bench and let me lick your ass.”
Is his goal to make me cream myself without being touched? That kind of language—it’s so Craig before he had kids, back when we were inseparable. I groan and push myself up, kicking out of my shorts. He peels off his shirt at the same time, and I’m stunned by the beauty of his chest and abs. They’re practically sculpted out of marble. Craig has the kind of body a Renaissance man would put into art. A painting, a sculpture…
Even my thoughts are repeating themselves.
He runs his fingers through his hair before giving me a wink.
“Want more?”
“Was this your plan?” I ask. My hand goes back to my cock, and I stroke myself to the sight of him. None of this feels real. It’s like Craig has popped out of my dreams, my many dreams as a young man, and into reality. “Get me here and seduce me?”
“Nope. I really thought we’d be training.” He sounds honest enough. I’m not paying as much attention to his words as I should because now he’s sliding his shorts down, exposing his large, uncut cock. His shorts drop to the ground. Craig steps out of them, and now he’s naked. I fumble out of my shirt.
We’re both naked.
Together.
“What should I do?”
Craig grabs my face and kisses me. Our tongues tangle, his hand on the back of my neck. He crushes our lips together, and I can’t focus enough to breathe when he’s so wonderfully close. He tastes like cinnamon chai coffee. We had it at lunch, and now I think it might be my favorite flavor.
“Bend over.”
I do as he tells me, though I have to kneel on the floor to properly use the bench as a table. I rest on my elbows, my thighs spread, and peek over my shoulder to look at him.
“Is this what you want?”
“Yes, holy fuck, yes.” Craig comes up behind me. I expect some sort of foreplay, some kind of loosening up, but Craig has always been a man of action. His hand lands on my ass, once, firm and strong. I gasp at the shock of pain, then moan as he massages the red mark. Once the pain has settled, Craig spreads my cheeks.
He runs his tongue along the seam of my ass.
“Craig—” My voice cracks. I drop my head to the leather cushion of the bench and stick my hips back, trying to force him to do more. Craig complies with a hum, spreading me wider and delving into me as if I were an oasis in the desert. His tongue is everything in that moment. I tremble with pleasure. Absolute, terrible pleasure. Once again I am at the edge, so close to orgasm as Craig drives his tongue into me.
He breaks away.
“I’m going to fuck you,” he tells me. Without waiting for me to respond, he lines his cock up with my entrance. The press of it burns, and I sigh gratefully. It's not like I don't fuck myself at home--Amanda would be ashamed by my collection of silicone cocks--but taking Craig raw hurts. I should know better than to do this without even his fingers stretching me, I know we should have more, but I find the plead falling from my lips without thought to my well being. Future Peter can suffer. Right now, all I want is him.
“Please fuck me, Craig. I want you.”
“I want you to, Pete. I want to fill you up. I want to fuck you raw.”
Craig plunges forward. My spine burns, my whole body a surge of energy as Craig pushes into me. His thrusts are shallow at first, letting me grow used to his size before he pushes all the way into me. The bench shakes beneath us as he picks up speed. My cheeks are hot as Craig fucks me, and I know I’m saying all manner of degrading things about myself, him, our situation, but I don’t care. All that matters is the coil of pleasure in me that threatens to unwind at each grind of his cock against my inner walls.
Our bodies stick together as we grow sweatier. The slap of skin-on-skin fills the basement, and when I look over, I see us in the mirror. Me, bent over the bench, him behind me, pumping his hips back and forth at a steady rhythm. One hand grips my shoulder, the other rests on his hip, guiding him into me.
“Touch yourself,” he tells me. I don’t dare disobey. Hand shaking, I grab my cock and stroke it firmly.
It’s too much. The stimulation throws me into a fit. I scream into my arm, muffling my orgasm as it spills onto the carpet under us. Craig grabs my hips and throws his head back, nearly bellowing as he finds his release inside me. We pant and sigh and attempt to catch our breaths as the sexual high dissipates, leaving me and Craig helpless.
“Thank you,” I mumble into my skin. “Craig, I never thought—”
“I know,” he whispers. Craig runs his hand down my back and smacks my ass one last time before shifting into a sitting position. I crawl next to him, exhausted. He slings an arm around my shoulder and pulls me into his chest, kissing me on the temple. “I’ve been trying to figure out how to tell you this for years. Then Smashley and I got together, you met your husband… The chance to go to California came up, and I thought maybe I could leave my crush in the past.”
I grow a shade more red.
“You had a crush on me?”
“Yeah, bro. Still do.”
We set our heads together and laugh. It’s a little weird, but I like it. Craig and I have always been a little weird.
“So…” I trail off. “What does this mean? For us?”
“I’d like it to mean something,” he begins, a little unsure of himself. His cheeks are a dusky pink. “Do you want to go out with me?”
“Yeah. Yeah, man, I’d really like that.”
Craig kisses me softly, sighing against my mouth.
“Pete?”
“Hm?”
“This was the best workout I’ve ever had. Let’s do it again tomorrow.”
“Nothing would make me happier.”