….He just flopped onto the bed and started taking off his shirt.

I froze. Hand still wrapped around my dick under the blanket, heart thudding in my chest like I’d been caught stealing.

Mason didn’t look at me right away. He pulled his shirt off in one smooth motion, then stretched out like he owned the room, sweat still glistening on his stomach. He grabbed his water bottle, took a long sip, and groaned like he’d just finished a marathon.

“You good?” he asked, casual.

“Yeah,” I said. “Fine.”

It came out rough. I tried to make it sound normal, but I was pretty sure I failed.

Mason rolled to one side and grabbed his phone. He didn’t seem to think anything was weird. He didn’t even glance my way after that. Maybe he hadn’t seen. Maybe he had and just didn’t care. I had no way to know.

“Casper went full psycho today,” he said. “Legs still feel like Jello.”

I nodded and didn’t say anything. My dick had gone soft, but it still felt heavy under the blanket. The sweat hadn’t dried. The shame hadn’t either.

Mason let out a breath and tossed his phone on the nightstand.

“Practice get you all worked up or something?”

My whole face went hot.

“I guess,” I muttered.

I waited a full minute after he stopped talking, just to be sure he wasn’t looking, then muttered something about needing a shower and peeled myself out of bed.

The blanket stuck to my thighs in one spot. I didn’t look down. Just grabbed my towel, shoved it under my arm, and booked it into the hallway before I could think too hard about anything else.

The shower didn’t help as much as I’d hoped.

The water was hot, the pressure decent, but the embarrassment clung tighter than sweat ever could. I stood under the spray for longer than I needed to, letting it beat down on my face as if that would rinse away the last ten minutes of my life.

God..

Eventually, I lathered up, rinsed off, and towel-dried like a human being who hadn’t just been caught mid-stroke by his gorgeous roommate.

When I got back to the room, Mason was still lying on his bed, one knee up, scrolling aimlessly on his phone.

“You alive in there?” he asked without looking up.

“Barely,” I muttered, heading for my dresser. I pulled on a fresh pair of briefs and gym shorts under the towel before dropping it. Didn’t matter. Mason wasn’t looking.

“Dude,” he said after a minute. “You ever talk to that blonde girl from the welcome party? The one with the green top?”

I blinked. “What?”

“You know, the one with the killer jeans and scary eyeliner. She kept asking if we were roommates. Thought we looked like opposites in a hot way.”

I snorted. “Opposites how?”

He shrugged, still looking at his phone. “She said I looked like I’d ruin her GPA and you looked like you’d quietly tutor her back to a 3.0.”

I shook my head. “What does that even mean?”

“I think it meant she wanted us both,” He set the phone down, grinning a little, “at once.” His grin spread further. “Anyway, I got her Snap. We’ve been chatting.”

He stretched lazily, arms over his head, ribs lifting with the motion. “Might hang out this weekend if she doesn’t ghost.”

“Nice,” I said.

“She’s got that whole chill-but-hot vibe. Like Emma Chamberlain and Sabrina Carpenter all in one package.”

I raised an eyebrow. “That’s a selling point?”

“It’s more fun than dating someone who’s predictable,” he said. “Less safe. More stories.”

He looked over at me then — just for a second — and smirked. “You should get out there more, man. It’s college. Somebody out there’s probably into whatever mysterious vibe you’ve got going on.”

I didn’t answer.

I just toweled off my hair and tried not to think too hard about why I didn’t want that kind of attention from anyone like her.

The next week passed in a blur of orientation crap, early morning stretches, and trying not to die in the weight room.

I went to practice. I went to class. I met more of the team, mostly first and second-years who gave off the same exhausted, protein-fueled energy as Mason. Everyone was friendly enough.

Casper barely spoke to me outside of drills.

He’d nod once, sometimes correct my form, but nothing like those first days. No lingering touches. No teasing comments. Just solid, focused coaching.

Part of me was relieved.

The other part of me kept scanning the gym every time I walked in, hoping for something I didn’t know how to name.

I forced myself to get out more. Hit a few of the welcome events, stayed out late once with a group from our floor who dragged me to a glow-stick-infested mixer in the student center basement. It smelled like warm vodka and Axe body spray. I stayed exactly forty minutes before pretending I had an early workout.

I didn’t.

But I didn’t belong there either.

It wasn’t that I didn’t want to talk to people.

Or flirt.

Or hook up.

I just didn’t know how to make it happen, the hookup part in particular. It just… hadn’t happened. Ever. Not in high school. Not at summer camp. Not even on one of those awkward park bench dates after pride club meetings.

I’d kissed a guy once at a New Year’s party in eleventh grade. He was a friend of a friend and we were both buzzed off two sips of champagne. It lasted maybe eight seconds and ended with both of us laughing and wiping our mouths like it didn’t count.

It hadn’t.

I’d never had sex. Never even been touched that way.

At first it was just about timing. I was busy. I was closeted. I had track. Then it became a thing, the longer it hadn’t happened, the bigger it felt. Like it was this huge milestone I was supposed to reach but hadn’t. I didn’t feel embarrassed about it. Just… afraid. Like I was stuck watching from the sidelines while everyone else sprinted ahead.

And now there was this new feeling. This slow, tight heat in my stomach that hadn’t gone away since I met Casper. Like something had been lit and was still smoldering under the surface, even when everything seemed normal on top.

I didn’t know what to do with that.

So I kept going to practice. Kept moving. Kept trying to catch up to my own body.

I was halfway to the gym when Mason caught up with me outside the athletic center, hoodie slung low over his head and a smoothie in one hand.

“Yo,” he said, falling into step beside me. “Casper was asking about you earlier.”

That stopped me cold. “What?”

Mason shrugged like it wasn’t a big deal. “Dunno. He was just looking around during warm-up and said, ‘Where’s Eli?’ Thought maybe you ghosted.”

“I had a lab,” I said automatically, even though he hadn’t asked.

Mason nodded. “Cool. Just figured I’d pass it on. He didn’t seem mad or anything. Just… noticed.”

He peeled off toward the vending machines after that, straw between his lips, already focused on whatever snack he was hunting. Like he hadn’t just lobbed a live grenade into my nervous system.

I stood there for a second too long, heart ticking up.

Casper noticed I wasn’t there?

He’d been ignoring me all week. Barely glanced at me unless I screwed up a landing or held a position too long. But now he was looking?

I shook it off and headed inside, trying not to overthink it. Or read into it. Or let the heat crawling up the back of my neck settle into something worse.

Still. My palms were already sweating by the time I pushed through the locker room doors.

The gym was mostly empty when I walked in.

Afternoon light slanted in through the high windows, catching dust in the air. A couple second-years were finishing rings in the far corner, but otherwise it was just mats, equipment, and the faint echo of rubber soles against polished floor.

Casper was by the parallel bars, spotting someone I didn’t recognize — probably a senior. His shirt was already clinging to his back, sweat darkening the fabric in a wide V. He wasn’t looking at me.

I kept my eyes down and headed to the stretch area, pretending like I wasn’t already on edge. My body felt hot and uncoordinated, as though I hadn’t been inside this place a dozen times already. I sat, pulled one leg in, reached for the stretch, and tried to keep my breathing even.

I was halfway through warm-up when his voice cut through the air.

“Track star.”

I looked up fast.

Casper was walking toward me, towel slung over his shoulder, a faint smirk playing at the corner of his mouth.

“Thought you skipped town,” he said.

“Nope,” I said, too quickly. “Just had a lab.”

He stopped in front of me, arms crossed over his chest. His biceps flexed slightly under the fabric. “You’re late.”

“I didn’t know I was expected.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You’re always expected.”

I didn’t know what to say to that. My mouth went a little dry.

Casper nodded at the pommel horse. “Come on. Let’s run form.”

I got up, legs a little shaky. He didn’t wait for me, just turned and walked. I followed, pulse ticking upward.

At the horse, he stood close. His hand brushed the small of my back as I stepped into position. Not an adjustment. Just… contact.

“Mount,” he said.

I did.

I held the position. Breathe in, breathe out.

His hand landed lightly on my hip.

“You’re off-centre,” he murmured, stepping in behind me.

The words hit my skin like heat. His fingers pressed firmly, guiding me back a couple inches.

“That’s better.”

I held still, muscles tight. I could feel the warmth of his chest close behind me, not touching, but close enough that I could smell the sharp tang of sweat and fabric softener and something distinctly him.

“Hold,” he said, voice lower now. “Breathe.”

I did.

Then his hand slid. Not up — not in a way that could be explained as coaching — but down. A slow trace from my waist to the top of my thigh, featherlight. His fingers lingered for one second too long, then lifted.

“Relax,” he said, stepping back. “You’re locking your knees again.”

I dropped the hold, legs trembling.

Casper circled in front of me, eyes scanning my body like he was reading it. His mouth didn’t move, but something about the way he looked at me, quiet, sharp, deliberate, made it hard to meet his gaze.

“Take five,” he said. “Then we’ll work on some verticals.”

And just like that, he turned and walked off, like nothing had happened.

But it had for me.

I could still feel the imprint of his fingers through my shorts. I could still smell him in my the back of my senses. My hands were shaking as I grabbed my water bottle.

Five minutes never felt so long.

Five minutes wasn’t enough.

I’d barely gotten my heart rate down when Casper called me over to the wall mats. His singlet was plastered to his chest now, damp with sweat, and he barely looked at me when he spoke.

“Let’s see your handstand hold.”

I nodded. My mouth was dry.

He stood behind me as I lined up, close enough that I could feel the heat from his body. I lowered my hands to the mat and kicked up. Wobbled. His hands caught my waist, steadying me, sliding slightly as he adjusted my hips.

“Lock it,” he said.

I tightened everything—core, arms, legs. Held the position.

Then I felt him step closer.

Way closer.

His chest touched my lower back. His stomach brushed mine. And then his crotch settled right against my ass.

I froze.

It wasn’t subtle. I could feel the shape of it—thick, heavy, real. It pressed up between my cheeks through the thin fabric of my singlet. No way to mistake it for anything else. No way he didn’t know exactly where he was standing.

I stayed upside down, hands planted, every muscle screaming.

“Good,” he said. His hands stayed firm at my waist. “Hold.”

My dick started to stir.

No. Not now.

But it was happening anyway. I was hard. Getting harder by the second, the blood rushing south as my face flushed hot. My dick pressed against the front of my singlet, bent awkwardly toward my chest. It throbbed with every heartbeat.

I shifted, trying to come down.

Casper didn’t let me. His grip tightened just slightly. “Don’t drop.”

“I’m—” My arms shook.

“You’re not tired,” he said. “You’re distracted.”

I didn’t answer. Couldn’t.

There was no way he didn’t see my hardon from where he was standing. I was sweating profusely now and it wasn’t just from the exertion.

His voice dropped a little lower. “You always tense up like this when I’m training you?”

I offered no response, I just struggled to retain what little composure I had left, and what little, if any, decency.

My eyes squeezed shut. My dick pulsed harder. I tried again to lower, but his hands held me in place.

“Ten more seconds,” he said. “Show me you can focus.”

I couldn’t even breathe right. I held the position anyway, shaking.

Then, finally, his hands lifted.

“Down slow,” he said.

I came down too fast. Landed on all fours, panting, the front of my singlet tented and obvious.

Casper stepped around me slowly, grabbing his water bottle from the mat.

“You’ve got the strength,” he said, like none of what just happened had happened. “It’s just focus.”

I stayed down, still catching my breath.

“Don’t let your head get in the way of your form,” he added, like it was just a normal correction.

Then, as he passed behind me again, he gave my ass a quick, light slap.

“Nice effort,” he said. “Keep working that line.”

And just like that, he walked off.

I stayed crouched for a second after he walked off. My arms were shaking. My heart wouldn’t slow down. And my dick—yeah, still hard.

I shifted to my knees, tried to fix myself, but the singlet wasn’t exactly built for hiding anything. I was pointing straight up like some kind of freak.

That slap.

It wasn’t even rough or weird. Just a little coach-pat. “Nice effort.” Totally normal. Probably. Guys do that all the time, right?

Still, my legs were shaking. My face felt like it was on fire.

And I couldn’t stop thinking about how long he’d stayed behind me. How close he was. The way it felt: his whole body lined up behind mine. I wasn’t imagining that. I don’t think.

Maybe it was just how the drills work. Maybe that’s just how close you have to be to adjust someone’s form.

But still. The way it pressed against me. And then he wouldn’t let me come down. Made me hold it. He said I was “distracted.”

No shit I was distracted.

I stood up slow. Still hard. Still trying to breathe.

Whatever that was… I couldn’t explain it. And I didn’t know what it meant. All I knew was I was losing my mind, and he barely seemed to notice.

I sat there for a long time after he left. Just breathing. Letting the silence settle back in. The echo of footsteps through the gym. The sound of the fans whirring overhead. My cock still hard. My skin still flushed. My brain wrecked in ways I didn’t have language for. I didn’t know if this was a game, a test, or just who Casper was. All I knew was that I couldn’t stop shaking. And I didn’t want him to stop.

© Broken Boundaries Gay Erotica