Bro Science 03

Everyone is 18+ and fully consenting.

Chapter 3: Boy Fuel

I woke up later than usual, my head still foggy from the early morning surprise blowjob Logan had woken me up to get. He was already out of bed, stretching shirtless, scrolling on his phone with his other hand. He glanced at me but didn’t say anything. The silence made the memory of his cock unloading in my mouth hit me like a wave. I swallowed hard and sat up, waiting for him to make a joke or pretend it hadn’t happened. Instead, he just said, "You missed morning push-ups, bro."

I tried to laugh. "I got a different kind of workout this morning."

He chuckled. “You know you actually get double the benefits of semen retention if you swallow a load like that. I know it sounds gay as hell, but it’s true. You’re lucky.”

I couldn’t believe he said that. He literally believed this was still a completely hetero routine we had going.

He just nodded like it was a fact and went back to stretching, his dick half hard as usual and swinging as he leaned down. He didn’t care. I laid back down, staring at the ceiling, and wondered if this was it now. No rules, no excuses, just whatever sexual fun I wanted to have with him, and he just decided it all counted as bro science.

—[]—

Later that day, after class, I came back to the dorm and he was already naked with porn loaded up. He looked at me and jerked his head toward the bed. "Get over here. We’re starting late."

I set my bag down and kicked off my shoes. It was routine at this point, but my heart was racing. It was a bit surreal to realize that even with all this crazy shit he had dragged me into, that I was the perverted one. To him, it was literally just some sort of enhanced exercise. He dropped into side-plank-dips and started stroking himself with one hand. I copied him, matching his pace, then reached over to replace his hand. The start of our goon routine. 

We moved together, sweat already building, the sound of moaning from the porn mixing with our own.

At the first rest break, he sat on the edge of his bed, spread his legs wide, and said, "Spot me."

I knew what he meant. I got between his legs, wrapped my hand around his cock, and started sniffing his balls and taint while stroking him, as he flexed his arms like he was curling invisible dumbbells. He groaned louder with every pump of my hand.

"Harder," he said, voice strained. "Like you mean it."

I squeezed tighter and sped up, while licking greedily at his sweaty man scent under his balls. When he lifted his legs, I tongued his hole and made him shiver a bit.

“Goooood boy,” he groaned, gritting his teeth, eyes locked on me, and he reached back and grabbed my cock too. The touch jolted through me. I raised my head as we stroked each other, faces inches apart, his sweat dripping onto my shoulder. The room smelled like sex and gym gear. And it was perfect.

—[]—

The next day, it escalated. Instead of just jerking me while I did push-ups, he pulled me upright and said, "Mouth." He said it like an order. I hesitated, then knelt down, opening my lips as he shoved his cock in. He groaned and flexed his arms overhead like he was showing off. I bobbed my head, working my tongue around him, trying not to choke as he fed me more.

He looked down at me and smirked. "Good form, bro. Keep that rhythm."

I gagged a little but stayed with it. He liked it messy. He held my head steady and rocked his hips while I reached my hands around to grip his meaty, lean ass. I traced the edges of his hole before slipping the tip of a finger inside him, making him amp up the face fucking. My eyes watered but I didn’t pull away. It was insane, but the longer it went, the less I cared about my own well being. I was gooned. All I wanted was to make him keep moaning like that. He stopped before he came, groaning through the aching blueballs as he yanked my head off of him.

"You literally came in my mouth yesterday," I said, my voice suddenly sharper than I meant.

He opened one eye. "Yeah."

I laughed, shaking my head.

"You’re so hard," he said, eyeing my hovering cock. “The science works."

—[]—

By the end of the week, our oral routine was more than a habit. It was the center of my day. I planned around it, skipped meals to make it back in time, blew off friends just to be there when Logan stripped down and queued up the porn. The workouts became an excuse. The real reason was obvious. I needed to drink all the pre-cum I could.

One night, after a session where he made me edge him with both hands while he flexed in the mirror, I finally said, "Do you want to suck me… for the gains?"

He laughed and slapped my shoulder. "Maybe next time. You’re better at it anyway."

"Better at what?" I asked.

"Taking it. Keeping me ready."

I stared at him, half annoyed, but the other half turned on. I had to admit that I liked the dynamic of him leading things. "You’re right."

He stretched out on his bed, cock still half hard. "It’s balance. Alpha and beta. You found your role."

I didn’t argue, because it honestly felt kind of right. The edging was awesome, and absorbing his masculine musk was the best part of my life. 

—[]—

The next morning, he woke up first and nudged me with his foot. "Rise and grind."

"I’m not grinding shit," I muttered, still half asleep.

"We’ll see," he said, yanking the blanket off me. My morning wood was on full display. He smirked and dropped his own shorts, already hard. "Looks like your body knows better."

I groaned, covering my face with my arm. "You’re insane."

"Insanely jacked," he said, flexing for no one in particular. Then he climbed onto my bed, straddled my thighs, and pressed his cock against mine. The heat of it made me gasp. We both started grinding, hips rocking together, sweat already forming. His breath was hot against my neck as he leaned forward to hump me like I was one of the girls in the porn, his lean, muscular body overpowering my smaller one. He raised an arm over my head and dropped his arm out to my face. I took a big whiff out of instinct.

"Say it," he whispered. "Say you love my boy funk."

I swallowed, pulse hammering in my chest. "Boy funk… it… raises testosterone."

He grinned wide and thrust harder. "Exactly, bro. Now don’t cum."

—[]—

I didn’t kid myself about it. In my head I admitted the truth. He flipped between two modes. Some days he was the dom alpha who set the pace and told me where to kneel. Other days he was a real friend, like a teammate, treating me like an equal and edging me with his hand in return, even licking my balls and my ass. It depended on his mood and whatever podcast he had watched that day. I learned to read it the second I walked in the door.

Another shift happened one night after a brutal exam. I was dead on my feet and he could see it. No warmup. No push-ups. He muted the porn and sat on the edge of his bed, legs open, eyes on me like he was deciding something.

“You trust me?” he asked.

“Yeah.” My voice cracked. I cleared my throat. “I do. Why?”

He nodded once. “Then don't think about it. Just get over here.”

I went to him. He took it slow, steady, testing how far I would go. He pressed me down onto my stomach on his bed. It felt relaxing. He started rubbing my body, like a massage, but very amateur. It still felt good. I was very aware of his heavy, hard dick as he shifted his weight and it started throbbing against my butt cheeks.

He climbed over me slowly. My body was tense with nerves at the intimate touching, but quickly falling into an easy feeling. He rubbed my shoulders and back first, clumsy but steady, then poked firmly along my neck. I felt his weight settle on me and then the blunt head of his girthy cock pressing lower, not forcing, just testing. My breath stopped and I opened my eyes wide.

"You good?" he asked, pausing.

I hesitated, unsure of what was happening, but maybe it was inevitable, just a part of this rabbit hole I had dove into when he first asked me to "work out" with him.

"Yeah," I whispered. My voice sounded different, smaller, but still optimistic.

He nudged against me again. The pressure was sharp at first as he pressed against my hole, my entire body tensing before it gave a little. I began to admit to myself what was happening in slow motion. He was really trying to get inside me. My heart pounded and I grabbed the sheet tight, scared but curious for more.

"Gooon," he muttered like we wasn’t even talking to me, his mind starting to slip into his horny zombie state.

"Unnnng," I vocalized, following into suit with him. 

I relaxed and tried to let him in. He spit down several times, then finally started to stretch me open. It burned, and it was a sharp sensation, but then I felt the ridge of his giant dick head start to massage the opening of my ass, going in and out. It wasn’t sudden, it was drawn out, and it felt good, even as he started to slowly press forward centimeter by centimeter. My face pressed into the pillow as I groaned. It felt unreal, overwhelming, but I didn’t tell him to stop. I just kept thinking about how good this must feel to him, and nodding and groaning to give him permission to go slightly deeper, as weird as it felt as he stretched out my insides. 

When he finally pushed past the edge, and the head of his dick was fully inside me, we both froze. He was fucking me. Not all the way, but enough that I felt filled up. The sensation made my body tingle through the burn and sharpness of it, and my cock was throbbing against the bed. I gasped, gripping the blanket tighter.

“Oh fuck,” I muttered.

“Fuckinggg... boy butt,” he said, breath rough in my ear. "Boy fuel."

We moved carefully, both of us adjusting to the new reality. I reached behind my head to hold his neck, holding onto him and letting it happen, as he pushed forward slowly until he was balls deep, letting the burn fade into a deep, heavy, hot feeling in my body.

He stayed inside me, barely moving, for over an hour. He soaked in my hole and watched the porn, muttering occasionally about the "bro bonding" and "testosterone boost" he was getting, as I adjusted to breathing with his entire body weight on me. He adjusted his head several times, when my hair was tickling his face.

When he finally pulled out, I felt like something was missing. I looked at his giant cock, wider than my wrist, and marveled that it had even fit inside me.

"I'm empty, bro," I said, slowly tugging on my shaft.

"My sperm tanks need a break," he said, poking my dick with a finger and watching it spring back up, just for his own amusement.

—[]—

The next day he snapped back to alpha. I opened the door and he pointed to the floor. “Down,” he said, but he smiled when he said it so I knew he was partially just messing with me. He had me lay on the floor, poured some greasy goop on my ass that I had never seen before, and angled his dick at my hole. I braced for another learning curve like the day before, but when he entered me, it was weirdly different. I guess all that soaking really had a lasting effect. It honestly felt kind of good, just a lot of pressure inside me. He started doing pushups over my body, keeping his dick inside me the whole time, just pulling back and forth as he went up and down. I didn't even know that was possible, but he did it. 

On his last push-up, he held up in the air. "Now you," he said. 

I took his command, and did a push-up into him, pressing his dick into me balls deep as I ascended, my back to his chest. It was an overwhelming sensation to have the burn of exercise combined with getting penetrated like that. I sank back down and wondered if my arms would even balance enough for another one, but he held his bridge pose and encouraged me.

"You got this, bro. Always push."

I went for another few reps, fucking myself on his dick as I ostenibly completed a decent set of push-ups.

He started to like being inside me more than any other part of the routine. He said it helped him hold the line. He said it taught control. He said a lot of stuff. I heard the words, but what I felt was simple. I wanted him inside me. And, he liked fucking me, for whatever reason he told himself.

—[]—

When midterms cropped up, classes and group projects kept throwing us off schedule. That made the nights more intense. If we missed a session, the next one ran long. He would lock the door and turn the porn volume really high, which somehow made the whole thing more intense. We would get on the bed and line up in whatever position. Sometimes I would lie on my back and watch his body as he drilled into me in missionary. Maybe he even liked that my dick and balls were out and facing him, even tacking him with spots of pre-cum. He would push in and stop, holding still, breathing through it like it was a plank hold. I would wrap my legs around his waist and match his breathing. Then we would stay like that. No rush. No cum. Just pressure and heat and long minutes that stretched, reset, stretched again. He called it training. I called it a sex life, which I had never had before.

Sometimes he talked me through it like a coach. “Relax your shoulders. Breathe. Drop your hips. Good boy. Good little doggy. Stay there.” He loved the discipline of it all. He loved the idea that we were building a routine together. I let him have what he needed. I liked watching him find language for what we were doing that didn’t scare him.

Other nights he was gentle from the start. He shut the laptop and left the room quiet. He lay behind me and held me first. We talked in low voices about nothing. Class, food, some guy on our floor who got written up. Then he lightly massaged the back of my neck and asked, “Is this spot bothering you?” I would usually say yes regardless of the truth, just to feel the massage. He pressed in slow and we stayed connected for a long time. The extended edging mixed with workouts basically became a tantric exercise. I felt like I was learning to be a good lover, even if this wasn't romance. He would whisper dumb bro lines into my ear just to make me laugh sometimes.

And sometimes, we started skipping workouts on purpose. He would tap his phone screen, see the time, and shake his head. “We’re late,” he said, but he didn’t move to the floor. He pulled me to him instead. The porn became background noise, just something to anchor the habit of soaking his large dick inside me. He liked to hold position. He liked the edge. He said the point was not just to get to the edge and stop, but keep yourself as close to the edge as possible at all times. I could feel how much he wanted to just use my body and get off on me, but had to restrain himself for his bro science reasons. I learned how to keep him steady with a hand at his lower back, a squeeze of my legs, and tightening my hole around his shaft as it penetrated me.

Our daily life in the dorm also developed a pretty strong dynamic. We built small rules the way you do when you live with someone. Leave a towel by the bed. Keep water and lube on the desk. Lock the door if the floor gets loud. Keep a spare set of sheets. We never wrote them down. We never said them all at once. We just did them, and they stuck. We had developed an unspoken language and a harmony that worked for us.

He still toggled between roles on a daily basis. In alpha mode he liked to talk. “Hold still,” he would say. “I need hole.”

In teammate mode he asked for my hands and put them where he wanted them. He asked me to tell him what to do sometimes. I was shy at first, then less shy. I told him when to slow down. I told him when to stop. He listened. He didn’t always stick to it. I didn’t mind.

In either mode, he would eventually get into a gooner state where the feeling in his cock was the only thing that mattered to him. He was basically hypnotized and often drooling a bit.

Outside the room, we tried to act normal. It worked until it didn’t. I started to feel like my life in the real world mattered less and less. I still made friends, went out to parties, but chasing girls had lost meaning. I was an addicted goonerbait edger with my demented roommate.

Once I caught myself zoning out in lecture, replaying how he whispered into my ear the night before. I missed lunch with friends because he texted me a dumb message. “Need some science,” he wrote. I went back to the dorm without thinking and found him under the blanket, eyes on me, phone tossed aside. He lifted the corner and I climbed in. We stayed there quiet for an hour, just holding. The weird part was he didn't even penetrate me that time, and I realized the quiet part was as intense as anything.

One Friday he came back wired from some difficult classes and couldn’t calm down. He paced. He stripped. He loaded a video, then paused it. He looked at me like he was waiting for a cue.

“Come here,” I said.

He came to me and stood there, arms at his side, as his big, hard member jutted forward. I just rolled onto my stomach. He climbed over me, grabbed the lube from the table next to my bed, and pressed in. He had more energy than I could match. He stopped himself like he always did, then started, then stopped again.

There were nights we didn’t talk at all. He set the pace with his hands on my hips. I answered by squeezing his arm or moving my legs. We knew each other’s tells. If I grabbed the headboard, he eased off. If he bit his lip, I shifted him back into that place where he could take a breath. It was simple and it was weird. It was our thing.

He held out longer and longer. He said "it" was working. He said the routine was changing his head. I could actually see it, or at least I imagined I did. He handled stress better. He slept harder. He smiled more. He also got clingy right before big lifts or exams, like he needed the reset only I could give him. He made room for me in his life every day, even outside the gooning.

He wasn’t always good at being a friend. He could be selfish when the alpha switch flipped on. I learned to pull him back without killing the mood. I would say his name in a certain tone and he would hear it. He would reset. Then he would grab firmly onto my hips or my neck and hold still until we were gooning again.

We started putting the laptop on the desk and turning it to the wall. We said it made us focus. Really, we didn’t need it. He started to keep the volume low for the habit, but his eyes were on me now. He liked to watch my face. I liked to watch him watching me.

One night I tried to take the lead fully. I pushed him onto his back and climbed on, letting my balls plop against his body as I bounced on his rod. He let me. He kept his hands by his sides and let me set the pace. I told him not to talk. He listened. After a while he grinned up at me. I knew something was about to happen.

He grabbed my hips, flipped me onto my back, and started pounding the fuck out of me. Something trigger inside me, and I thought I was going to piss myself, when suddenly I started cumming. I grabbed the base of my cock and barely registered the orgasm, as the shock hit me when a squirt of my cum landed right on my face. He looked amazed, and froze inside my hole. 

"Fuck," he muttered as he watched me unload onto myself. He pulled out but it was too late, he released a huge, edged up gooner load that squirted up onto my chest, then coated my dick and balls and dripped onto my ass. His load was watery and it had a heavy volume. 

"Fuck," I said with an exhale. The mood after cumming had become so rare that I barely knew what to do with it. We were edgers, and we weren't supposed to cum. I wondered what was going to happen until I saw his eyelids drop halfway, and remembered that he's basically a post-coital narcoleptic. He slowly fell down onto the bed and passed out, cuddling a pillow like a little boy.

I was covered in two loads, and needed a towel. As I shifted to get out of bed, his arm reached for me, as if in his sleep, and gripped my arm hard, pulling me toward him. He curled up around my body, our naked forms creating a salad of exposed male skin.

He whispered in my ear, “Science.”

I rolled my eyes and smiled, gripping his arm onto my messy chest. “Yeah. Science.”