2 fresh chapters. I appreciate you all for putting up with a slow burn as I build these characters and settings. I promise the patience will pay off.
Chapter 8
It’s been two weeks since I measured Mikey and to my relief we’ve been too busy with classes to have any more awkward incidents. Well, awkward and hot (hotkward? New word?). I’ve been waking up early to minimize bathroom crossover time, and keeping music on during our drives to school. He’s being as Mikey as ever; beaming his bright smile and effortlessly loving life. We lunch together most days on the quad and we catch up on how classes are going. Which is great. I’m loving the Works more and more every day, and Jack has proven every bit the mentor I hoped he would be.
Mikey reports his classes are going well, and he gets asked out by both women and men on a daily basis. I’ve personally witnessed this once. A confident blond junior with athletic build and tight sundress, her hair curled and face perfectly made up. Shit, she even wore false eyelashes for the occasion. Mikey listened eagerly as she spoke and then begged off in the kindest way I’ve ever seen. Explaining that he really needed to focus on school for the time being and wouldn’t be dating anyone any time soon. I smiled reflexively as she walked off, dejected.
Yeah, things were going well. I was even enjoying my required humanities and science coursework. My only issue so far has been my cafeteria bully from the first day. Turns out he’s in my geology lecture (my advisor said it was the easiest choice to fulfill the science requirement). It seems once that he clocked me as gay and vulnerable he was locked on target. Any time I’m near central campus I stumble into his path.
His name is Brett, I found out after another near incident when he catcalled me from across the science courtyard. He’s six feet of solid jackass, clearly the loudest of a group of guys most people avoid on instinct. Before meeting Mikey I would have called him big and muscular, but my definition of the term big has changed. Superhero level or not, he’s still way bigger and stronger than me. He spends every lecture snickering and elbowing his buddies before coughing “faggot” in my direction or throwing trash at me the moment the professor turns her back. Fucking juvenile, I know, but he does this thing where he gets close. And quiet. So only I can hear the vile shit he’s whispering. In my experience this kind of focus will immediately turn to violence the moment he can corner me.
So I don’t give him the opportunity. I scurry across the campus like a rat anytime I’m not with Mikey. I skipped a lecture or two when I spotted him lingering by the door. Today is one of those days, and I head back to The Works to put some time in on my first project in Pattern Making 101: a pair of sturdy and supple chinos and a button front shirt for Mikey. Once fitted and measured, these basic patterns I can adjust to make him just about anything.
“Hi Adam” Jack says, approaching my workstation and picks up a loose pattern piece with a deft, elegant hand. “This is looking promising. Big though, I assume these aren’t for you?”
“Hey. Yeah, these are for my roommate. He doesn’t have a lot of clothes that fit.” I say, showing Jack my sketches for the chinos. To my surprise he starts flipping pages, and my cheeks flush crimson as he turns page after page of Mikey-shaped garments, ranging from hip hugging pants and muscle popping shirts, to a rather revealing square-cut speedo I’ve been fantasizing over.
“Hmmm…” Jack says with a sly look in my direction, leaning his lithe body onto his elbows to meet my eye level. “Looks like you found yourself a menswear muse.”
“Heh. Yep. He’s… um… inspiring.” I say, adjusting my plumped dick in my slacks. “Actually I’m just packing up to meet him by the shawarma cart for lunch.”
“Great timing!” Jack replies with an easy smile. “I’m starving. We can talk fabric on the way.” He says, picking up his bag and slinging it over a shoulder.
“Totally,” I say. This isn’t the first time Jack expressed wanting to hang out outside The Works, and I guess he’s taking the initiative. After dodging Brett this morning I welcome the company walking across campus.
Despite his long legs Jack walks slowly, lazily kicking his feet out, hands in pockets. Orange and red leaves drift down around him as he rants about the difficulties of working with silk charmeuse. Fuck I love college. We reach the quad and I easily spot Mikey walking across the grass toward us.
“Hey hey.” Mikey says, pulling me into a tight hug that makes me blush. “This MUST be Jack.” He says, extending a hand to the stunned upperclassman. Jack’s jaw is slightly open as he looks my beefy stud of a roommate up and down. Pausing notably at his ample bulge.
Jack takes the massive hand and gulps, before regaining his signature cool composure. “Ha! Did my reputation precede me? I love when it does that. You must be Adam’s muse. You’re in for a real treat, getting a personal wardrobe from this one. He’s already set up to be the star of the freshmen class.”
“See. I knew you were a genius.” Mikey says, throwing an arm around both of us and walking toward the food carts. “I need protein. Tell me everything about my roommate’s incredible genius while we eat.”
…
45 mins later and the three of us are laughing like mad under a tree while Mikey recounts the drunken exploits of his high school teammates.
“And then he falls off the bleachers, arms windmilling wildly as he tips over backward, catching the banner as he goes. It trailed after him like a rhythmic gymnast holding one of those ribbon wand things!” Mikey finishes through bursts of laughter.
“No!” says Jack, entranced, “The same banner his girlfriend made in spirit squad?”
“Yes! It was like a cartoon. I can still see it happening in slow motion in my mind.” Mikey sighs, closing his eyes leaning back to let the dappled light dance across his face. I glance over at Jack and see his eyes lingering on Mikey’s biceps, pecs, before darting away out of prudence or politeness.
Now that more time has passed and I’ve acclimated to Mikey being around, I’ve found myself watching other people ogle him and much as I ogle him myself. And so many people do it. Men, women, non-binary people, professors, little old ladies at the grocery store, you name it; if they’re into muscle or dick or both, they’re undressing Mikey with their eyes. And I love watching people eye fuck him. It makes me feel normal.
Another thing I’ve noticed is that he’s very aware of when it’s happening. He’ll spot a lurker, and I’ll see him assess the person. People who seem aggressive or gross he’ll avoid pretty thoroughly. But if they seem shy, or sweet, or if they’re (at least what I would call) cute, he’ll get this slight smile and I swear he’ll angle his best parts toward them. Casually avoiding eye contact while he stretches or flexes. They’ll blush and look away, and then he’ll smirk to himself and adjust his monster dick in his worn jeans. It all plays out in a few blinks, but it’s the cockiest I see him, and it drives me wild.
Jack is definitely in this second category for Mikey. And I’m literally sitting in the middle soaking up the energy between them. Even with their clear attraction to one another, I’m not feeling left out or overlooked by either of them. Mikey’s knee is even touching mine every now and again, and I know it’s intentional because he shoots me a smile with each touch. I always feel safer when Mikey’s around.
“Ok. Time’s flying. I’ve got to get to Art History.” Jack says after a lull, gathering up our lunch containers and grabbing his messenger bag. “Please tell me this can be a regular thing?” He asks both of us, and we nod enthusiastically.
We watch as my lanky mentor rises to his full height, brushes off his slim legs and pert ass, and heads off toward east campus. After about 20 paces he turns and shoots us both a wink and a devilish smile.
“He’s awesome. I can see why you like him.” Mikey says, smiling down at his big hands. “Hey, did you cut Geology today? I waited outside the lecture hall for you.” He asks, still not meeting my eyes.
“Oh. Um. Yeah, I kinda did.” I admit, blushing. Shit. My turn to look down. “It’s not a big deal. I’ll make it up.”
“Oh, totally. I’m not like… I’m not trying to scold you or anything. I just thought I’d surprise you and was confused when you weren’t in class.” He assures me quickly. “Why’d you skip it?”
“Oh, I just got caught up in what I was doing at the Works.” I lie. I’m not sure why I don’t want Mikey to know about Brett harassing me. Maybe I’m just embarrassed to be dealing with bullying as an adult. Maybe I’m still a bit butt hurt from when Mikey stayed quiet when I was being bullied as a kid. Either way I know I don’t want to tell him. Even though now that I meet his gaze and he mine, I feel like he knows I’m hiding something immediately. If he really can tell I’m lying, he doesn’t let on.
“Cool cool. Just don’t fuck up your science credit making me clothes, ok?” He says, standing up and offering me a hand. I take it and enjoy the ride as he effortlessly lifts me to standing. He throws his arm around my shoulder and pulls me tight for a moment. “Where are you headed now?”
“Library. Got my first essay assignment in English.” I say, gesturing across the quad. “You’ve got Western Civ, right?”
“Ugh. Yes. So boring.” Mikey laughs.
“Ha. Yes. And useless.” I snort back, “So meet at the car at 4?”
“No need to walk alone. I’ll come find you in the Library when I’m out. About 3PM?” Mikey says with a slap on my back and a quick left toward his class, loping off quickly on long, strong legs. I swear he does that so I can’t argue. Sigh. Fine. Off to study.
Chapter 9
Two days later I walk through Mikey’s open bedroom door holding the pants I’d been working on, “Hey! You got a sec to try on these chinos?” I ask, standing in the bathroom door to Mikey’s bedroom. “Oops, sorry.” I stammer, realizing he’s in nothing but his boxer briefs. His one pair of notably nice boxer briefs. The designer-label ones with the tailored pouch which he’d somehow managed to shove himself into; the waistband pulled down by the weight of his ample genitals, the light blue material straining to contain his girth.
“No worries, Adam, come in.” He says, gesturing me into his room and holding up two very similar ratty band shirts, one in black and one in a faded red. “Your timing is perfect. I have a date tonight and need to pick an outfit.”
Did he say date? Holy shit. Someone got through Mikey’s dating deflection. I’m dying to ask who it was. Should I ask? Wouldn’t he have offered the info if he wanted me to know? Why wouldn’t he want me to know? Oops. I’ve been standing with my mouth open for way too long. He’s holding the shirts in front of himself one after the other, eyebrows raised in question.
“Oh! Um. Yeah, what kind of date? Cuz those shirts both say dive bar.” I reply, cringing slightly at the armpit holes on one. I immediately see the excitement drop out of his face and feel a pang in my heart. “Come on. Nothing impresses like a personal tailor. You can wear the chinos! And I’ve got some older shirts of my dad’s that might fit you pretty well, too. Let’s see…”
I head into the den to grab the chinos off my work table, and he follows in his undies. I hand the pants over, loving the warm caramel color in the light. “The cotton has some stretch, but I tailored them pretty tight.” I admit
“Sweet! This color is so rich.” Mikey gushes, his eyes sparkling. Swoon.
I turn to dig through my hand me down boxes looking for a shirt to match as he pulls the pants up his ripped thighs, grunting as he slowly, gently forces the fabric up around his ass. I pick out a black polo I had practiced some embroidery on (I meant the monogram to be a compass but it came out more like a little clock). I turn to offer it to Mikey and find he’s gotten the chinos on.
My heart jumps into my throat and my eager cock floods. I fought the rush of blood with every ounce of decency and sanity I could muster. For a moment I was successful, but seeing his body fill and stretch something I made for him brings me to full mast surprisingly fast. I tuck my turgid member under the waist of my jeans, hiding it as best I can as I walk up to (ahem) check the fit.
Standing shirtless and barefoot, afternoon sun streaming in through the high basement windows, he looks like a fucking calendar model. He twists to see the fit along his legs, lifting a foot and arching his abs, chiseled like a cobblestone road. His pecs are a shelf of power rising with each breath, his huge biceps pushing peaks as he moves. He must’ve been doing crunches for his date, because a vein as thick as my finger runs across his abs, down his adonis belt and under the waistband of his underwear. I watch as it pulses slightly in rhythm with my own cock. Fuck me. Kill me. Either way, do it soon.
“Come on, what’s the verdict?” His words snap me out of my reverie. Ok, now or never. Just get it over with. I step close and grab the waistband, tugging the pants up a quarter inch.
“Waist seems perfect.” I said, ignoring my erection hiding under my untucked shirt. “Turn for me.”
He spins, showing me his meaty ass, the perfect globes filling the material just to the point of tension without activating the stretch. I feel the heat radiating off his body, smell the scent of his skin fresh from the shower. I drop to my knees to check the hem.
“Turn to your left.” I say, watching the tug and drape of the cotton as he moves. “How do they feel? Any discomfort? Any pulling or restriction?”
“Nope! I mean, they’re tight, but the material is so soft it’s not restrictive anywhere. It’s like a second skin.” He says, moving more dramatically, lifting his knees high and walking in place. He turns to face me while I’m still kneeling. “Do I look ok?”
I snorted. Was he serious? I wondered for a second if it’s a trap (old conditioning dies hard) until I see the earnest appeal on his face.
“Oh! I’m sorry. I just assumed you knew that you always look hot. And yes, in those pants you look what I would call ‘ridiculously hot.’” I say, standing up and blushing. “But don’t take my word for it, mirror’s over there.”
He grabs me by my shoulders and pulls me into a hug. I melt a bit as he presses my face into his pec, the soft dusting of hair tickling my cheek. Then he surprises me and leans in to lay a kiss on my cheek. He’s close enough for me to taste his breath on my tongue. It’s minty.
“You know,” he mumbles, breaking the hug and walking to the mirror, “you always smell like cinnamon.”
“It’s a styptic agent.” I said still dizzy from the adrenaline, cock still at attention under my waistband. “Stops the bleeding when I prick myself with a straight pin.”
“That’s both adorably nerdy and impressively resourceful.” Mikey says with a smirk. He picks up the polo and pulls it on, tight across his pecs, nipples hard. It’s short on him but the chinos sit at his actual waist so the garments just barely graze each other. The perfect tease.
“Oh my god. These pants feel amazing.” He says, assessing himself in the mirror head to toe. He palmed his massive mound, reveling in the heft; slapped the outside of his thighs appreciatively; he tugged the hemline of the shirt down a half inch, only to have it rise back up as he moved.
“Fuck, I do look hot” he sighs, and then he starts flexing. Pumping his arms in and out, forcing blood into his already hot, hard flesh, swelling in the snug clothes. He sees the pump his flex has given him and I see his brain switching into workout mode. He works his way through each muscle group, forcing veins to pop up and throb across his neck and biceps, the hard peaks of flesh forcing the short sleeves to bunch around his armpits. The polo collar stretches open as his pecs inflate, getting firmer and fuller with each breath.
He’s breathing roughly now, his eyes lit up like green flames. He shakes his thighs, letting the weight of the muscle fill his pants (my pants) to the point of breaking. Even his calves stretched the cotton, bunching up and down as he bounced on the balls of his feet. He palms his crotch again, a steady stroke of his thumb from the waistband down, guiding his swelling cock into an arc over his balls as it lengthens and expands. The fat shaft pushes the brass zipper out with visible force, already huge but still flexible, still only a semi. He groans low in his throat and pulls a tight, veiny most-muscular pose, filling every inch of his torso and grunting hard with effort.
Holy fuck, how is he doing this. He’s growing bigger and harder right in front of me. No weights, just fucking force of will. I swear I can feel the room stretching around him as he radiates energy. POP. A thread snaps somewhere around his chest. POP. Another between his thighs. I actually hear the teeth of the zipper crunch slightly from the growing force of Mikey’s tremendous fuck-stick and I lose it. My own cock erupts, shooting a massive load under my shirt. I gasp as spurt after spurt of hot cream coats my stomach. My unit throbbing fast under the waistband of my jeans. His eyes meet mine as I exhale a whimper. He smirks that fucking smirk.
“Thanks, Adam. So much.” Mikey says, turning toward me. I want to tackle him. I want to run my hands all over his body and— “Jack’s not going to know what hit him!”
Did he say Jack? My Jack? That muscle bound douche nozzle was going on a date with my mentor? Fuck, wait, do I want Jack? I don’t know if I’m mad or just spun. Either way, Mikey is grabbing his keys and bounding up the stairs before I’ve even registered what’s happening.
My mind floods with imagery. I picture Mikey holding Jack like he just held me. At 6’ 2”, Jack is almost tall enough to meet his 6” 5’ gaze. I imagine them kissing and feel my stomach knot with dread, then it kinda turns to arousal. What if it goes poorly and Jack stops mentoring me? What if it goes well and they ditch me for each other? What if it goes really well and they add me as their third and we form a hot gay polycule in my dad's basement? Ok, that last one feels like a long shot. I suddenly realize I’ve still got a hands-free load cooling under my shirt and I feel utterly ridiculous.
I sigh to myself and head to the shower to rinse off, and either cry or jerk off again. Possibly both.
