My Best Friend’s Brother Dylan Was Supposed to Be Straight

[StoriesByTroy]

Part 1: I Shouldn’t Be Looking at Dylan Like That​

I've never been great at looking people in the eye when i like them.

It’s stupid, I know. But when I feel too much, my body does this thing where it’s like....nope, you’re good, let’s just admire from the side and pretend none of this is happening. So if you’re wondering how this all started, how a perfectly normal year ended up getting very not normal, I guess it starts with a glance. A long one. At the wrong person.

Well. Not wrong. Just… not meant for me.

It was Jake’s fault, really.

He was the one who talked me into spending the weekend at his parents’ place. “We’ll chill, hit that wings place you like, rewatch The Prestige, destroy each other on FIFA....just like old times.”

And it did feel like old times. Which was maybe the problem.

Jake and I had been friends since high school, tight in the way that comes from late-night study cramming, shared cafeteria trauma, and one too many “is this outfit okay?” mirror checks before parties. Somewhere between sophomore gym class and graduation, I told him I was gay. He took it in stride, like I’d just told him I liked blueberry Pop-Tarts. That was Jake. Easy with everything.

He was also the only one who knew.

We were both 19 now.

So when we rolled up to his place for the weekend and I saw Dylan’s truck in the driveway, I didn’t think much of it.

Just figured he was visiting. Passing through.

But then we walked inside, and there he was.

Like he’d never left.....but somehow looked nothing like how I remembered.

Dylan had been gone for three years. Moved out right after college to do some post-grad certification thing in health and fitness. Built a client base, trained influencers, launched an online program. Jake said he was doing well. He was 23 now.

I didn’t realize how well until I saw him again.

Dylan used to be fit. The kind of lean, athletic that came from high school football and cocky energy. But now?

He looked like he’d been sculpted out of pure gym obsession. Broad shoulders. Thick arms that tested the seams of his cutoff. A chest so solid it made his shirt hang off him like it was afraid. Abs like a catalog photo, only real. And his thighs—Jesus—pushed out from his gray shorts like they were fighting for space. Veins ran down his forearms. His jawline was sharper, a little scruffier, and his voice had dropped just enough to make it feel… dangerous.

He walked past me with that massive water jug in one hand that typical gym bros carry, gave a lazy “yo,” and kept going downstairs.

I swallowed hard. Pretended it was just dry air or something.

Jake and I followed him down to the basement, same as old times. Beat-up couch, ancient PlayStation, random half-deflated yoga ball in the corner with a treadmill on the side. Jake tossed me a controller. I flopped onto the rug. We queued up FIFA.

A few minutes in, Dylan joined us. Didn’t sit....just leaned against the treadmill like it was part of his throne.

“Damn, you guys still suck,” he said casually.

Jake didn’t look up. “Says the guy who rage quit during Mario Kart.”

“That was lag and you know it,” Dylan said, then shot a smirk my way. “What’s up, Twig?”

His old nickname for me. Classic Dylan.

I rolled my eyes. “Still calling yourself an athlete when all you do is flex for Instagram?”

He grinned wider. “Still built like a wet spaghetti noodle, Troy.”

Jake laughed. I frowned.

Same old Dylan.

Except… not.

He shifted slightly, stretching his shoulder, and his tank rode up, flashing the hard cut of his abs. I pretended not to see. But I saw. And I hated myself for how hard it landed. For how sharp the ache was.

We stayed like that for a while Jake and me trash-talking on the floor, Dylan occasionally chiming in with a snarky comment, cracking open a shaker bottle, stretching like his muscles had something to prove.

He wasn’t even trying. That was the worst part. He didn’t have to.

Later that night, Jake headed out to grab snacks. Said he forgot the spicy pretzels I liked. I stayed behind, scrolling on my phone and pretending I wasn’t thinking about Dylan at all.

By then, Dylan had already gone upstairs to his room. I heard his door close a while ago.

After a few minutes, I got up to use the bathroom. The hall was quiet. Lights low.

I walked past Dylan’s room and paused.

His door was open. Just a crack.

I don’t know why I looked. Maybe I already knew I would.

Inside, Dylan stood shirtless in front of the mirror. Just a towel around his waist. His back to me. But the mirror gave me everything.

He was flexing. Slow. Casual. Admiring his shoulder, his chest. Running a hand down his abs. Then he tilted his head slightly, adjusted the lighting, and flexed again—this time his arms, both curled in front of him. Veins popped. His body looked like it’d been hand-carved by thirst itself.

And then....he smiled.

Not at himself.

At the mirror.

My heart stopped.

Had he seen me?

Was I standing in the reflection?

I froze. Every inch of my body went still.

For a second, I swore he was looking at me.

But then he turned away, casually reached for another tank top, and my breath returned. I stepped back, barely breathing, trying not to make a sound.

I forced myself to keep walking. Down the hall. Toward the bathroom.

But I’d barely passed his door when....

“Yo Troy,” Dylan’s voice said behind me, low and close.

I stopped.

Slowly turned.

He was leaning in the doorway, now fully dressed in his slutty tank top and lounging gym shorts.

He was looking right at me.

Expression unreadable.

And then he said it.

“Bro. Were you…?”

And I swear to god, my heart just stopped.

Was he about to ask if I was looking at him?

________________________________________________________

I hope you enjoy Part 1 to this series. This is a 12 part story and I'll be posting the next part on here very soon.

In case you want access to all the parts immediately, they are available on my My Page.

 

[StoriesByTroy]

Part 2: Dylan Was Right Behind Me

I froze in the doorway.

His voice stopped me cold, low and rough behind me like a half-caught thought.

“Yo, Troy. Were you…”

Every molecule in my body held its breath.

Was I what? Looking? Staring? Getting hard at the sight of his flexed back in the mirror while he adjusted his waistband, abs catching the light like something sculpted?

My throat dried out in real time. I turned around, heart punching my ribs.

Dylan stood half-shadowed by the hallway light, arms crossed against his chest. His biceps looked stupid big in the short sleeves of that faded tee. He gave me a look that was hard to read....serious, maybe. Or amused. Or maybe I was just projecting everything I didn’t want to admit onto the curves of his mouth.

He blinked. “Were you… pissed earlier?”

I stared.

“Like, when I called you spaghetti noodle or whatever. You dipped a little after that, and I was like....shit, maybe I pushed too hard. I’m just messing, bro. You know that, right?”

I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding.
“Yeah,” I said quickly. “No, it’s fine. I wasn’t pissed. I just needed to pee.”

Dylan scratched his neck. “Cool. Just checkin’. You seemed quiet, and Jake mentioned you’ve been going through some stuff with school and shit, so…” His voice softened just a notch. “Didn’t wanna be a dick.”

It was probably the most earnest thing I’d ever heard him say. It almost made me feel worse.
Because it meant he had no clue.

I smiled a little, kept it safe. “Thanks.”

He nodded once, then stepped back into his room. The door clicked shut behind him.

And I stood in the hallway like a complete idiot, warm all over, trying not to relive the exact moment when I’d watched him in the mirror; shirtless, posing without realizing it, muscles flexing casually like he was born in a Nike ad. I hadn’t meant to look. I just… hadn’t stopped myself. And when he tilted his head slightly, almost like he saw me in the reflection....

God. I couldn’t stop thinking about it.

Later that night, Jake and I were already halfway through The Prestige, lights low, the glow of the TV flickering over us while we lounged on the big floor mat he kept rolled up in the basement. It was this old camping thing....soft enough to be comfy, but thin enough to feel every shift of the other person’s body.

Jake had tossed a blanket over us both and was halfway into a bag of kettle corn.

“I swear this is Nolan’s best movie,” he said, mouth half-full. “Bale’s insane in this.”

“I’m just here for Bowie as Tesla,” I muttered, already lowkey distracted.

And then I heard footsteps.

Dylan.

He came down the stairs in a loose tank top clung to his chest, low at the sides so his ribs and the cut of his torso were on full display., just wearing those soft gym shorts, the waistband slung low. The kind of shirt that looked like he’d just rolled out of bed in it. Soft. Faded. Comfortable in the way only Dylan could pull off.

His gym shorts hung low on his hips, and he scratched absently at his stomach as he yawned, casual as ever.

“You guys still up?”
Then, with a little grunt, he padded over in his low-slung gym shorts and a loose tank top, the kind that gapped wide at the sides and clung in all the right places.

“Scooch over, spaghetti noodle. This is the best part.”

He didn’t wait for a response. Just dropped down beside me on the mat, barely any space between us. Then he tugged at the blanket like he owned it and slid under without asking.

I stiffened. Like.....everywhere.

His thigh brushed mine. His scent hit me like a sucker punch...clean, warm, something vaguely woodsy, like cedar and sweat and body wash. He laid on his side facing the screen, muscle pressed to muscle, easy like this was normal. Like we did this all the time.

We watched in silence for a few minutes, the movie playing out in flickers of light across our faces. A scene came on, some tense moment between the magicians, one of them bleeding and dramatic and Dylan muttered under his breath, “Dude needs a spotter. That’s why I don’t train solo.”

I huffed a laugh, trying not to react too much. “Yeah, that’s what you took from that scene.”

“What? Lifting safely is important,” he said, voice low and lazy.

More time passed. I couldn’t focus on the film. I was too aware of how close we were, how his arm shifted every so often, brushing my back like an accident. How under the blanket, our legs kept touching, not enough to be obvious, but too much to ignore.

About thirty minutes in, I felt Jake start to nod off beside me.
It always happened around this point. Every time we rewatched The Prestige, he conked out somewhere in act two. Like muscle memory. First came the head droop, then the occasional twitch, and then the deep, unconscious breathing.

First came the head droop, then the occasional twitch, and then the deep, unconscious breathing.

On my right, Jake was out cold, mouth slightly open, one arm still draped over the popcorn bag like it was a teddy bear.

And when I looked to my left, where Dylan was curled under the blanket with me, I saw him asleep too. On his side. Very close to me. His breathing was slow, lips slightly parted, the rise and fall of his chest steady and warm. He looked peaceful. Too peaceful to be real.

I swallowed and reached for the remote, killing the screen with a soft click. The room went dim, all the leftover light pooling around the edges.

And I was just… lying there, like fuck.

He was so close.
I couldn’t face him. I didn’t trust myself not to stare, not to memorize every little thing about the way his jaw looked in the dark, the curve of his mouth, the way his lashes touched his cheekbone.

So I turned my head toward the right, away from him.
I shifted onto my side; my usual sleeping position, small spoon style, knees tucked up slightly, hands folded near my chest. It was the only way I ever got comfortable.

And the wild part?

Dylan was in the same position.

Mirroring mine. But just a few inches behind me.

I didn’t move. I couldn’t. If I did, I’d wake him. Or worse....I’d lean back, just enough to close the gap, and feel too much.

So I stayed still, breathing shallow, heart stuttering like it didn’t know what body it belonged to.

I tried to sleep.
Tried not to think.
Tried not to feel the heat behind me.
Tried not to wonder what would happen if I pushed back just a little.

But I couldn't stop wondering.

But a few minutes in, Dylan shifted behind me...slow, heavy, like the kind of movement people make when they’re deep in sleep. He stretched a little, adjusted, and then… settled back in.

Closer this time.

His thigh slid forward, the blanket rustling softly as his body aligned with mine. I felt his chest warm against my shoulders, his breath slow and steady against the back of my neck.

And then.......

His hips rolled forward.

His entire front pressed to my back, solid and warm. His muscular thigh tucked behind mine. And right between us, firm and thick and unmistakable, his crotch rested against the curve of my ass.

I froze. My breath caught.

Was he asleep?
Did he mean to do that?
I couldn’t tell. He didn’t say anything. Didn’t move again. He just… stayed there. Curled behind me like it was natural, like this was what we always did.

Every part of me was trembling.

I knew I should stay still. That Jake was just a few feet away, passed out, his arm still draped over the empty popcorn bag. That this could all be some kind of accidental sleep-tangle.

But I couldn’t help it.
I pressed back...just a little. Just enough to feel more of him. The heat. The shape. The weight.

God.

I backed my ass into him, slow and careful, like I could pretend it was unintentional. Like I wasn’t desperate to feel more.

He was hard.
There was no mistaking it.

My whole body buzzed. My breath came shallow. My dick ached against the inside of my shorts.

Still, he didn’t move.

And just when I started to think he really was asleep; that maybe I was imagining it all......
I felt it.
The softest breath, right at the base of my neck. Warm. Intentional.
Then, in a low, husky whisper that slid down my spine like smoke:

“…Troy.”

I went still.

His hips shifted again; just the faintest press. Enough to make my skin burn.

“…You awake right now?”

My throat went dry. I couldn’t speak.

Another pause. His breath deep, steady.

Then.......

“ I saw you looking at me earlier tonight. In my room. When I was flexing in the mirror.”

----------------------

Subscribe to my Patreon to get early access to all parts all at once., bonus scenes, extended stories, fan requests and much more. StoriesByTroy

P.S: I will be posting all parts one by one on here as well.

 

[Bicuriusman]

Love it

 

[Usacawk]

fuck my heart is pounding dammit lol

 

[StoriesByTroy]

Love it

Thanks buddy <3

fuck my heart is pounding dammit lol

i hope your dick is twitching a little too

 

[Usacawk]

Thanks buddy <3



i hope your dick is twitching a little too

 

[Poepepoe]

View attachment 173756481Part 2: Dylan Was Right Behind Me

I froze in the doorway.

His voice stopped me cold, low and rough behind me like a half-caught thought.

“Yo, Troy. Were you…”

Every molecule in my body held its breath.

Was I what? Looking? Staring? Getting hard at the sight of his flexed back in the mirror while he adjusted his waistband, abs catching the light like something sculpted?

My throat dried out in real time. I turned around, heart punching my ribs.

Dylan stood half-shadowed by the hallway light, arms crossed against his chest. His biceps looked stupid big in the short sleeves of that faded tee. He gave me a look that was hard to read....serious, maybe. Or amused. Or maybe I was just projecting everything I didn’t want to admit onto the curves of his mouth.

He blinked. “Were you… pissed earlier?”

I stared.

“Like, when I called you spaghetti noodle or whatever. You dipped a little after that, and I was like....shit, maybe I pushed too hard. I’m just messing, bro. You know that, right?”

I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding.
“Yeah,” I said quickly. “No, it’s fine. I wasn’t pissed. I just needed to pee.”

Dylan scratched his neck. “Cool. Just checkin’. You seemed quiet, and Jake mentioned you’ve been going through some stuff with school and shit, so…” His voice softened just a notch. “Didn’t wanna be a dick.”

It was probably the most earnest thing I’d ever heard him say. It almost made me feel worse.
Because it meant he had no clue.

I smiled a little, kept it safe. “Thanks.”

He nodded once, then stepped back into his room. The door clicked shut behind him.

And I stood in the hallway like a complete idiot, warm all over, trying not to relive the exact moment when I’d watched him in the mirror; shirtless, posing without realizing it, muscles flexing casually like he was born in a Nike ad. I hadn’t meant to look. I just… hadn’t stopped myself. And when he tilted his head slightly, almost like he saw me in the reflection....

God. I couldn’t stop thinking about it.

Later that night, Jake and I were already halfway through The Prestige, lights low, the glow of the TV flickering over us while we lounged on the big floor mat he kept rolled up in the basement. It was this old camping thing....soft enough to be comfy, but thin enough to feel every shift of the other person’s body.

Jake had tossed a blanket over us both and was halfway into a bag of kettle corn.

“I swear this is Nolan’s best movie,” he said, mouth half-full. “Bale’s insane in this.”

“I’m just here for Bowie as Tesla,” I muttered, already lowkey distracted.

And then I heard footsteps.

Dylan.

He came down the stairs in a loose tank top clung to his chest, low at the sides so his ribs and the cut of his torso were on full display., just wearing those soft gym shorts, the waistband slung low. The kind of shirt that looked like he’d just rolled out of bed in it. Soft. Faded. Comfortable in the way only Dylan could pull off.

His gym shorts hung low on his hips, and he scratched absently at his stomach as he yawned, casual as ever.

“You guys still up?”
Then, with a little grunt, he padded over in his low-slung gym shorts and a loose tank top, the kind that gapped wide at the sides and clung in all the right places.

“Scooch over, spaghetti noodle. This is the best part.”

He didn’t wait for a response. Just dropped down beside me on the mat, barely any space between us. Then he tugged at the blanket like he owned it and slid under without asking.

I stiffened. Like.....everywhere.

His thigh brushed mine. His scent hit me like a sucker punch...clean, warm, something vaguely woodsy, like cedar and sweat and body wash. He laid on his side facing the screen, muscle pressed to muscle, easy like this was normal. Like we did this all the time.

We watched in silence for a few minutes, the movie playing out in flickers of light across our faces. A scene came on, some tense moment between the magicians, one of them bleeding and dramatic and Dylan muttered under his breath, “Dude needs a spotter. That’s why I don’t train solo.”

I huffed a laugh, trying not to react too much. “Yeah, that’s what you took from that scene.”

“What? Lifting safely is important,” he said, voice low and lazy.

More time passed. I couldn’t focus on the film. I was too aware of how close we were, how his arm shifted every so often, brushing my back like an accident. How under the blanket, our legs kept touching, not enough to be obvious, but too much to ignore.

About thirty minutes in, I felt Jake start to nod off beside me.
It always happened around this point. Every time we rewatched The Prestige, he conked out somewhere in act two. Like muscle memory. First came the head droop, then the occasional twitch, and then the deep, unconscious breathing.

First came the head droop, then the occasional twitch, and then the deep, unconscious breathing.

On my right, Jake was out cold, mouth slightly open, one arm still draped over the popcorn bag like it was a teddy bear.

And when I looked to my left, where Dylan was curled under the blanket with me, I saw him asleep too. On his side. Very close to me. His breathing was slow, lips slightly parted, the rise and fall of his chest steady and warm. He looked peaceful. Too peaceful to be real.

I swallowed and reached for the remote, killing the screen with a soft click. The room went dim, all the leftover light pooling around the edges.

And I was just… lying there, like fuck.

He was so close.
I couldn’t face him. I didn’t trust myself not to stare, not to memorize every little thing about the way his jaw looked in the dark, the curve of his mouth, the way his lashes touched his cheekbone.

So I turned my head toward the right, away from him.
I shifted onto my side; my usual sleeping position, small spoon style, knees tucked up slightly, hands folded near my chest. It was the only way I ever got comfortable.

And the wild part?

Dylan was in the same position.

Mirroring mine. But just a few inches behind me.

I didn’t move. I couldn’t. If I did, I’d wake him. Or worse....I’d lean back, just enough to close the gap, and feel too much.

So I stayed still, breathing shallow, heart stuttering like it didn’t know what body it belonged to.

I tried to sleep.
Tried not to think.
Tried not to feel the heat behind me.
Tried not to wonder what would happen if I pushed back just a little.

But I couldn't stop wondering.

But a few minutes in, Dylan shifted behind me...slow, heavy, like the kind of movement people make when they’re deep in sleep. He stretched a little, adjusted, and then… settled back in.

Closer this time.

His thigh slid forward, the blanket rustling softly as his body aligned with mine. I felt his chest warm against my shoulders, his breath slow and steady against the back of my neck.

And then.......

His hips rolled forward.

His entire front pressed to my back, solid and warm. His muscular thigh tucked behind mine. And right between us, firm and thick and unmistakable, his crotch rested against the curve of my ass.

I froze. My breath caught.

Was he asleep?
Did he mean to do that?
I couldn’t tell. He didn’t say anything. Didn’t move again. He just… stayed there. Curled behind me like it was natural, like this was what we always did.

Every part of me was trembling.

I knew I should stay still. That Jake was just a few feet away, passed out, his arm still draped over the empty popcorn bag. That this could all be some kind of accidental sleep-tangle.

But I couldn’t help it.
I pressed back...just a little. Just enough to feel more of him. The heat. The shape. The weight.

God.

I backed my ass into him, slow and careful, like I could pretend it was unintentional. Like I wasn’t desperate to feel more.

He was hard.
There was no mistaking it.

My whole body buzzed. My breath came shallow. My dick ached against the inside of my shorts.

Still, he didn’t move.

And just when I started to think he really was asleep; that maybe I was imagining it all......
I felt it.
The softest breath, right at the base of my neck. Warm. Intentional.
Then, in a low, husky whisper that slid down my spine like smoke:

“…Troy.”

I went still.

His hips shifted again; just the faintest press. Enough to make my skin burn.

“…You awake right now?”

My throat went dry. I couldn’t speak.

Another pause. His breath deep, steady.

Then.......

“ I saw you looking at me earlier tonight. In my room. When I was flexing in the mirror.”

----------------------

Subscribe to my Patreon to get early access to all parts all at once., bonus scenes, extended stories, fan requests and much more. StoriesByTroy

P.S: I will be posting all parts one by one on here as well.

Interesting

 

[asherling]

View attachment 173756481Part 2: Dylan Was Right Behind Me

I froze in the doorway.

His voice stopped me cold, low and rough behind me like a half-caught thought.

“Yo, Troy. Were you…”

Every molecule in my body held its breath.

Was I what? Looking? Staring? Getting hard at the sight of his flexed back in the mirror while he adjusted his waistband, abs catching the light like something sculpted?

My throat dried out in real time. I turned around, heart punching my ribs.

Dylan stood half-shadowed by the hallway light, arms crossed against his chest. His biceps looked stupid big in the short sleeves of that faded tee. He gave me a look that was hard to read....serious, maybe. Or amused. Or maybe I was just projecting everything I didn’t want to admit onto the curves of his mouth.

He blinked. “Were you… pissed earlier?”

I stared.

“Like, when I called you spaghetti noodle or whatever. You dipped a little after that, and I was like....shit, maybe I pushed too hard. I’m just messing, bro. You know that, right?”

I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding.
“Yeah,” I said quickly. “No, it’s fine. I wasn’t pissed. I just needed to pee.”

Dylan scratched his neck. “Cool. Just checkin’. You seemed quiet, and Jake mentioned you’ve been going through some stuff with school and shit, so…” His voice softened just a notch. “Didn’t wanna be a dick.”

It was probably the most earnest thing I’d ever heard him say. It almost made me feel worse.
Because it meant he had no clue.

I smiled a little, kept it safe. “Thanks.”

He nodded once, then stepped back into his room. The door clicked shut behind him.

And I stood in the hallway like a complete idiot, warm all over, trying not to relive the exact moment when I’d watched him in the mirror; shirtless, posing without realizing it, muscles flexing casually like he was born in a Nike ad. I hadn’t meant to look. I just… hadn’t stopped myself. And when he tilted his head slightly, almost like he saw me in the reflection....

God. I couldn’t stop thinking about it.

Later that night, Jake and I were already halfway through The Prestige, lights low, the glow of the TV flickering over us while we lounged on the big floor mat he kept rolled up in the basement. It was this old camping thing....soft enough to be comfy, but thin enough to feel every shift of the other person’s body.

Jake had tossed a blanket over us both and was halfway into a bag of kettle corn.

“I swear this is Nolan’s best movie,” he said, mouth half-full. “Bale’s insane in this.”

“I’m just here for Bowie as Tesla,” I muttered, already lowkey distracted.

And then I heard footsteps.

Dylan.

He came down the stairs in a loose tank top clung to his chest, low at the sides so his ribs and the cut of his torso were on full display., just wearing those soft gym shorts, the waistband slung low. The kind of shirt that looked like he’d just rolled out of bed in it. Soft. Faded. Comfortable in the way only Dylan could pull off.

His gym shorts hung low on his hips, and he scratched absently at his stomach as he yawned, casual as ever.

“You guys still up?”
Then, with a little grunt, he padded over in his low-slung gym shorts and a loose tank top, the kind that gapped wide at the sides and clung in all the right places.

“Scooch over, spaghetti noodle. This is the best part.”

He didn’t wait for a response. Just dropped down beside me on the mat, barely any space between us. Then he tugged at the blanket like he owned it and slid under without asking.

I stiffened. Like.....everywhere.

His thigh brushed mine. His scent hit me like a sucker punch...clean, warm, something vaguely woodsy, like cedar and sweat and body wash. He laid on his side facing the screen, muscle pressed to muscle, easy like this was normal. Like we did this all the time.

We watched in silence for a few minutes, the movie playing out in flickers of light across our faces. A scene came on, some tense moment between the magicians, one of them bleeding and dramatic and Dylan muttered under his breath, “Dude needs a spotter. That’s why I don’t train solo.”

I huffed a laugh, trying not to react too much. “Yeah, that’s what you took from that scene.”

“What? Lifting safely is important,” he said, voice low and lazy.

More time passed. I couldn’t focus on the film. I was too aware of how close we were, how his arm shifted every so often, brushing my back like an accident. How under the blanket, our legs kept touching, not enough to be obvious, but too much to ignore.

About thirty minutes in, I felt Jake start to nod off beside me.
It always happened around this point. Every time we rewatched The Prestige, he conked out somewhere in act two. Like muscle memory. First came the head droop, then the occasional twitch, and then the deep, unconscious breathing.

First came the head droop, then the occasional twitch, and then the deep, unconscious breathing.

On my right, Jake was out cold, mouth slightly open, one arm still draped over the popcorn bag like it was a teddy bear.

And when I looked to my left, where Dylan was curled under the blanket with me, I saw him asleep too. On his side. Very close to me. His breathing was slow, lips slightly parted, the rise and fall of his chest steady and warm. He looked peaceful. Too peaceful to be real.

I swallowed and reached for the remote, killing the screen with a soft click. The room went dim, all the leftover light pooling around the edges.

And I was just… lying there, like fuck.

He was so close.
I couldn’t face him. I didn’t trust myself not to stare, not to memorize every little thing about the way his jaw looked in the dark, the curve of his mouth, the way his lashes touched his cheekbone.

So I turned my head toward the right, away from him.
I shifted onto my side; my usual sleeping position, small spoon style, knees tucked up slightly, hands folded near my chest. It was the only way I ever got comfortable.

And the wild part?

Dylan was in the same position.

Mirroring mine. But just a few inches behind me.

I didn’t move. I couldn’t. If I did, I’d wake him. Or worse....I’d lean back, just enough to close the gap, and feel too much.

So I stayed still, breathing shallow, heart stuttering like it didn’t know what body it belonged to.

I tried to sleep.
Tried not to think.
Tried not to feel the heat behind me.
Tried not to wonder what would happen if I pushed back just a little.

But I couldn't stop wondering.

But a few minutes in, Dylan shifted behind me...slow, heavy, like the kind of movement people make when they’re deep in sleep. He stretched a little, adjusted, and then… settled back in.

Closer this time.

His thigh slid forward, the blanket rustling softly as his body aligned with mine. I felt his chest warm against my shoulders, his breath slow and steady against the back of my neck.

And then.......

His hips rolled forward.

His entire front pressed to my back, solid and warm. His muscular thigh tucked behind mine. And right between us, firm and thick and unmistakable, his crotch rested against the curve of my ass.

I froze. My breath caught.

Was he asleep?
Did he mean to do that?
I couldn’t tell. He didn’t say anything. Didn’t move again. He just… stayed there. Curled behind me like it was natural, like this was what we always did.

Every part of me was trembling.

I knew I should stay still. That Jake was just a few feet away, passed out, his arm still draped over the empty popcorn bag. That this could all be some kind of accidental sleep-tangle.

But I couldn’t help it.
I pressed back...just a little. Just enough to feel more of him. The heat. The shape. The weight.

God.

I backed my ass into him, slow and careful, like I could pretend it was unintentional. Like I wasn’t desperate to feel more.

He was hard.
There was no mistaking it.

My whole body buzzed. My breath came shallow. My dick ached against the inside of my shorts.

Still, he didn’t move.

And just when I started to think he really was asleep; that maybe I was imagining it all......
I felt it.
The softest breath, right at the base of my neck. Warm. Intentional.
Then, in a low, husky whisper that slid down my spine like smoke:

“…Troy.”

I went still.

His hips shifted again; just the faintest press. Enough to make my skin burn.

“…You awake right now?”

My throat went dry. I couldn’t speak.

Another pause. His breath deep, steady.

Then.......

“ I saw you looking at me earlier tonight. In my room. When I was flexing in the mirror.”

----------------------

Subscribe to my Patreon to get early access to all parts all at once., bonus scenes, extended stories, fan requests and much more. StoriesByTroy

P.S: I will be posting all parts one by one on here as well.

Next part, I beg.

 

[Yummy11]

Dayum is getting hot

View attachment 173756481Part 2: Dylan Was Right Behind Me

I froze in the doorway.

His voice stopped me cold, low and rough behind me like a half-caught thought.

“Yo, Troy. Were you…”

Every molecule in my body held its breath.

Was I what? Looking? Staring? Getting hard at the sight of his flexed back in the mirror while he adjusted his waistband, abs catching the light like something sculpted?

My throat dried out in real time. I turned around, heart punching my ribs.

Dylan stood half-shadowed by the hallway light, arms crossed against his chest. His biceps looked stupid big in the short sleeves of that faded tee. He gave me a look that was hard to read....serious, maybe. Or amused. Or maybe I was just projecting everything I didn’t want to admit onto the curves of his mouth.

He blinked. “Were you… pissed earlier?”

I stared.

“Like, when I called you spaghetti noodle or whatever. You dipped a little after that, and I was like....shit, maybe I pushed too hard. I’m just messing, bro. You know that, right?”

I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding.
“Yeah,” I said quickly. “No, it’s fine. I wasn’t pissed. I just needed to pee.”

Dylan scratched his neck. “Cool. Just checkin’. You seemed quiet, and Jake mentioned you’ve been going through some stuff with school and shit, so…” His voice softened just a notch. “Didn’t wanna be a dick.”

It was probably the most earnest thing I’d ever heard him say. It almost made me feel worse.
Because it meant he had no clue.

I smiled a little, kept it safe. “Thanks.”

He nodded once, then stepped back into his room. The door clicked shut behind him.

And I stood in the hallway like a complete idiot, warm all over, trying not to relive the exact moment when I’d watched him in the mirror; shirtless, posing without realizing it, muscles flexing casually like he was born in a Nike ad. I hadn’t meant to look. I just… hadn’t stopped myself. And when he tilted his head slightly, almost like he saw me in the reflection....

God. I couldn’t stop thinking about it.

Later that night, Jake and I were already halfway through The Prestige, lights low, the glow of the TV flickering over us while we lounged on the big floor mat he kept rolled up in the basement. It was this old camping thing....soft enough to be comfy, but thin enough to feel every shift of the other person’s body.

Jake had tossed a blanket over us both and was halfway into a bag of kettle corn.

“I swear this is Nolan’s best movie,” he said, mouth half-full. “Bale’s insane in this.”

“I’m just here for Bowie as Tesla,” I muttered, already lowkey distracted.

And then I heard footsteps.

Dylan.

He came down the stairs in a loose tank top clung to his chest, low at the sides so his ribs and the cut of his torso were on full display., just wearing those soft gym shorts, the waistband slung low. The kind of shirt that looked like he’d just rolled out of bed in it. Soft. Faded. Comfortable in the way only Dylan could pull off.

His gym shorts hung low on his hips, and he scratched absently at his stomach as he yawned, casual as ever.

“You guys still up?”
Then, with a little grunt, he padded over in his low-slung gym shorts and a loose tank top, the kind that gapped wide at the sides and clung in all the right places.

“Scooch over, spaghetti noodle. This is the best part.”

He didn’t wait for a response. Just dropped down beside me on the mat, barely any space between us. Then he tugged at the blanket like he owned it and slid under without asking.

I stiffened. Like.....everywhere.

His thigh brushed mine. His scent hit me like a sucker punch...clean, warm, something vaguely woodsy, like cedar and sweat and body wash. He laid on his side facing the screen, muscle pressed to muscle, easy like this was normal. Like we did this all the time.

We watched in silence for a few minutes, the movie playing out in flickers of light across our faces. A scene came on, some tense moment between the magicians, one of them bleeding and dramatic and Dylan muttered under his breath, “Dude needs a spotter. That’s why I don’t train solo.”

I huffed a laugh, trying not to react too much. “Yeah, that’s what you took from that scene.”

“What? Lifting safely is important,” he said, voice low and lazy.

More time passed. I couldn’t focus on the film. I was too aware of how close we were, how his arm shifted every so often, brushing my back like an accident. How under the blanket, our legs kept touching, not enough to be obvious, but too much to ignore.

About thirty minutes in, I felt Jake start to nod off beside me.
It always happened around this point. Every time we rewatched The Prestige, he conked out somewhere in act two. Like muscle memory. First came the head droop, then the occasional twitch, and then the deep, unconscious breathing.

First came the head droop, then the occasional twitch, and then the deep, unconscious breathing.

On my right, Jake was out cold, mouth slightly open, one arm still draped over the popcorn bag like it was a teddy bear.

And when I looked to my left, where Dylan was curled under the blanket with me, I saw him asleep too. On his side. Very close to me. His breathing was slow, lips slightly parted, the rise and fall of his chest steady and warm. He looked peaceful. Too peaceful to be real.

I swallowed and reached for the remote, killing the screen with a soft click. The room went dim, all the leftover light pooling around the edges.

And I was just… lying there, like fuck.

He was so close.
I couldn’t face him. I didn’t trust myself not to stare, not to memorize every little thing about the way his jaw looked in the dark, the curve of his mouth, the way his lashes touched his cheekbone.

So I turned my head toward the right, away from him.
I shifted onto my side; my usual sleeping position, small spoon style, knees tucked up slightly, hands folded near my chest. It was the only way I ever got comfortable.

And the wild part?

Dylan was in the same position.

Mirroring mine. But just a few inches behind me.

I didn’t move. I couldn’t. If I did, I’d wake him. Or worse....I’d lean back, just enough to close the gap, and feel too much.

So I stayed still, breathing shallow, heart stuttering like it didn’t know what body it belonged to.

I tried to sleep.
Tried not to think.
Tried not to feel the heat behind me.
Tried not to wonder what would happen if I pushed back just a little.

But I couldn't stop wondering.

But a few minutes in, Dylan shifted behind me...slow, heavy, like the kind of movement people make when they’re deep in sleep. He stretched a little, adjusted, and then… settled back in.

Closer this time.

His thigh slid forward, the blanket rustling softly as his body aligned with mine. I felt his chest warm against my shoulders, his breath slow and steady against the back of my neck.

And then.......

His hips rolled forward.

His entire front pressed to my back, solid and warm. His muscular thigh tucked behind mine. And right between us, firm and thick and unmistakable, his crotch rested against the curve of my ass.

I froze. My breath caught.

Was he asleep?
Did he mean to do that?
I couldn’t tell. He didn’t say anything. Didn’t move again. He just… stayed there. Curled behind me like it was natural, like this was what we always did.

Every part of me was trembling.

I knew I should stay still. That Jake was just a few feet away, passed out, his arm still draped over the empty popcorn bag. That this could all be some kind of accidental sleep-tangle.

But I couldn’t help it.
I pressed back...just a little. Just enough to feel more of him. The heat. The shape. The weight.

God.

I backed my ass into him, slow and careful, like I could pretend it was unintentional. Like I wasn’t desperate to feel more.

He was hard.
There was no mistaking it.

My whole body buzzed. My breath came shallow. My dick ached against the inside of my shorts.

Still, he didn’t move.

And just when I started to think he really was asleep; that maybe I was imagining it all......
I felt it.
The softest breath, right at the base of my neck. Warm. Intentional.
Then, in a low, husky whisper that slid down my spine like smoke:

“…Troy.”

I went still.

His hips shifted again; just the faintest press. Enough to make my skin burn.

“…You awake right now?”

My throat went dry. I couldn’t speak.

Another pause. His breath deep, steady.

Then.......

“ I saw you looking at me earlier tonight. In my room. When I was flexing in the mirror.”

----------------------

Subscribe to my Patreon to get early access to all parts all at once., bonus scenes, extended stories, fan requests and much more. StoriesByTroy

P.S: I will be posting all parts one by one on here as well.

 

[StoriesByTroy]

Interesting

Thanks <3

Next part, I beg.

Thanks <3 Just dropping soon.

Dayum is getting hot

Thanks <3. Things are only going to get more intense.

 

[StoriesByTroy]

Part 3: Dylan Pressed Right Into Me

“I saw you,” Dylan whispered.

My body tensed.
Saw me?

“In my room earlier. When I was flexing.”

My breath caught. I didn’t answer.
“You were staring,” he added. “You think I didn’t notice?”
“No, man… I...” I tried to deny it, but it came out too fast, too weak.

Dylan let out a soft laugh behind me, right into my neck. “It’s okay,” he said. “I didn’t mind.”

I swallowed, frozen under the blanket. Jake was still sleeping inches away. I could hear his steady breath, slow and unaware. And yet....my entire body was lit up, wired, hyper-aware of Dylan right behind me, pressed too close.

“I know you backed into me on purpose,” Dylan murmured, voice low and dangerous.
“What? Really?” I muttered, barely above a whisper.
His hand slid to my waist. “You’re such a little liar.”

I didn’t move.

Couldn’t.
Because the second he pulled me back into him again, I felt it...thick, hard, pressing against my ass through his shorts. I froze, breath sharp, but I didn’t pull away.

Not even close.

My hips moved before I could stop them....just a tiny shift, slow and deliberate. Just enough to let me rub back against him, to take the shape of it. All of it.

Dylan exhaled, slow and shaky.

“You’re seriously doing this while your best friend’s asleep?” he whispered. “That’s filthy, Troy.”

I didn’t say anything. My whole body was flushed, heart pounding so loud I was sure Jake would wake up and catch me with his brother’s cock grinding into me like this.

But I wasn’t pulling away.

I did the opposite.

I rolled my hips just a little...slow, testing...and felt him twitch through the fabric. God, he was thick. I moved again, gentle, a soft shake of my ass to tease it. To feel the shape of it press against me.

Dylan groaned under his breath.

“My cock is throbbing,” he muttered. “Your ass feels so good, Troy.”

His voice, God...he sounded so strained, like he was trying not to lose it.

“You’ve been wanting this, haven’t you?” he asked, grinding into me again, slower this time. “Always backing into me. Stealing glances. Getting hard whenever I walk around shirtless.”

I whimpered. “Dylan…”

“Yeah?” His voice was cocky now. In control. “You like how I feel?”

“Yeah.”

“I know you do.”

His hips rolled again, firmer this time. His cock dragged up the curve of my ass, thick and warm and hot through both our shorts. I arched into it without meaning to. It was like my body was doing the begging for me.

He rutted again, slow and steady. It wasn’t some wild dry-hump. It was tight, controlled, mean. Like he wanted me to feel every inch.

“Fuck,” I breathed.

“Shh,” he whispered, his hand tightening on my hip. “You’re gonna get us caught.”

“I can’t help it,” I hissed through my teeth.

“You don’t need to,” he said. “Just feel me.”

We kept moving like that, tiny, slow, silent rocks against each other. My cock was hard and leaking in my briefs, throbbing with every drag of friction. Every time he rolled into me, I swore I could feel him pulse through the fabric.

There was a moment...brief, insane, where I thought I was going to come just from that. Just from grinding against him in the dark while Jake snored behind us like nothing was happening.

Dylan's mouth brushed my jaw.

“You’re such a tease,” he whispered. “Acting shy, but you’re rubbing your ass on me like a fucking spaghetti noodle.”

I laughed, quiet and breathless. “What does that even mean?”

“Loose. Slippery. Ready to get picked up with a fork.”

“Jesus Christ,” I muttered, laughing into the blanket.

He chuckled low in my ear. “You like when I talk like that?”

I didn’t answer. I just pushed my hips back again, one long, slow grind and felt his cock twitch against me in reward.

Then he leaned in close, so close I felt every word as his breath hit my skin.

“You’re here for the entire weekend, Troy,” Dylan whispered, voice low and warm. “Don’t worry.”

Then.......smack.

His palm landed on my ass, firm and deliberate.
“I’ll take good care of you,” he murmured, with a lazy smirk I could feel even without seeing it.

And just like that; he rolled over, pulling the blanket with him.

Back to sleep. Like nothing happened.

Like he hadn’t just left me hard and aching and completely undone in the dark.

_____________________________


Subscribe to my Patreon to get early access to all parts all at once., bonus scenes, extended stories, fan requests and much more. StoriesByTroy (Remaining 9 parts are available)

P.S: I will be posting all parts one by one on here as well.

 

[laptoper]

Great stuff. I`ll be waiting for this one with baited breath!

 

[StoriesByTroy]

Great stuff. I`ll be waiting for this one with baited breath!

Hehe thank you so much <3

Things are only going to get more playful between Dylan and Troy.

Dylan left him hanging. Troy is not the one to let that go. He's going to have his revenge.

Part 4 : Troy's Revenge