Bro Science 02

Everyone is 18+ and fully consenting.

Chapter 2: Gooning

I got dressed, grabbed my shit and headed to the library to get some work done. That night, when I came back, Logan wasn’t there. I climbed into bed and tried to relax, but the second I woke up the next morning, I noticed him under the blanket, his chest rising and falling in his rhythmic sleep breathing, which was so deep it filled the room. My own body reminded me it was morning with a painful hard-on. For a second I considered handling it right there, but I held off. Part of me wanted to save it for later, for whatever ritual we were building together. Even if it blurred the line into gay shit, I couldn’t deny it was my favorite part of the day.

We didn’t really have a conversation about any of it. There were no rules spoken out loud, but things kept progressing anyway. The first time I had reached over and jerked him off, it wasn’t some planned move. It was just what made sense in the moment, like we had been silently pushing each other closer and closer to that line. He didn’t pull away, and I didn’t stop, which meant it must be normal?

That afternoon, I came back to the dorm around the usual time. This time I didn’t wonder if it would happen again, I hoped for it. Logan was already stripped down to his bare ass, clicking through tabs on his laptop, trying to pick which porn we’d watch. I felt myself grin before I even realized it. The anticipation of repeating what we had started hit me in the gut, and I knew I was hooked.

This time, without saying a word, he crouched behind me while I lowered into push-ups, and he wrapped his hand around my shaft. The shock of it made me stumble on my form, but I adjusted and kept going, sweat dripping onto the floor while his fist moved in steady rhythm. I counted reps in my head, trying to stay focused on the exercise even though my body was jolting from the pleasure. When I hit my last rep and pushed back up, he let go, almost like it was part of the set. Without breaking stride, he flipped onto the floor for his own push-ups. Watching him grind through them, ass clenching with every rep, I realized what he wanted. I reached down and wrapped my hand around his thick dick, testing the pace. He groaned but kept pumping out reps, his moans blending with the sound of his hands slapping the floor. I matched his tempo, stroking in time with his push-ups, keeping him from brushing the ground with the tip of his cock as he went lower. It wasn’t some random jerk-off session anymore, it was structured, like part of the workout itself.

“No cum,” he groaned, a mix between his gooner talk and a reminder about not letting him climax.

“Never cum,” I whispered back, like I was assuring him.

He did a heavy set, lots of pushups, and near the end he started to seem winded.

“Penis,” he said slowly between breaths. “Peeeeenis.”

I just nodded, and continued to slowly stroke his enormous cock, at an angle so it didn’t hit the ground when he descended.

The session stretched on, moving through different sets and breaks. We kept cycling between push-ups, sit-ups, and strokes. At one point I noticed Logan lick the clear pre-juice off his hand after sliding it across my shaft, like it was nothing at all. He didn’t comment, just stared at the laptop screen while doing it. When he finally called for a rest, he reached out and gripped the back of my head, guiding my face into his sweaty balls. The musky smell filled my nose. I hesitated only a second before licking him lightly, unsure if I was testing him or myself. He didn’t even touch his throbbing, red dick, just groaned in this deep, dumb zombie way, locked into his own ritual. Between groans he muttered, “My sperm tanks.” Hearing that out loud while I had my tongue on him made my stomach twist and my cock jump. It felt insane, but we both leaned into it like this was what the workout had been building toward all along.

On the next rest break, he shifted roles without hesitation. He moved in close, pressing his face between my legs until his nose was buried in my taint. He inhaled hard, like he was trying to memorize the smell, and then his tongue flicked out against me. The lick was quick at first, almost testing what he could get away with, but then he went back for more, slower and firmer. I tensed at the shock of it but didn’t push him away. The warmth of his breath, the damp strokes of his tongue, and the way he stayed there instead of pulling back made it clear this wasn’t just a joke or a one-time thing. He was settling into it, treating me the same way I had just treated him, and the balance of it locked us deeper into the routine.

"You're smelling my man funk," I said slowly while watching his defined jawline shift as he licked my taint.

"It raises," he groaned, pausing to sniff, "testosterone levels to smell it."

We ended the session without finishing, both of us catching our breath before heading to the showers down the hall. The place was packed with guys fresh out of practice, voices echoing off the tile. Logan glanced around and suggested we just share one stall. It wasn’t unusual for athletes, but for us it carried an extra weight. Inside, he wasn’t in full goon mode anymore. His erection had softened, hanging heavy but not raging, while I struggled to hide how hard I still was by holding a second towel over my crotch.

We bumped shoulders trying to fit under the weak spray, laughing at the implied awkwardness as we lathered up. A couple guys noticed us together and cracked jokes, poking their heads through the curtain like idiots. We played it off, shoving them back out and laughing along so it didn’t look suspicious. When things quieted down, Logan stayed close and slid his soapy hand over my dick and balls, giving them a quick wash like it was part of the routine. He leaned into my ear and whispered, "manly camaraderie," with that same dumb grin that made it all feel like his twisted version of bro science.

I nodded, but grabbed his wrist hard because I was seconds from losing my seed. I muttered "no cum" quickly under my breath, forcing myself to calm down. He nodded back like it was another rep count and turned around under the spray. I took my time washing his thick and meaty jock butt, my hands sliding across the soap and water. I reached around his waist to wash his junk too, lingering longer than I had to. At one point I pressed forward and let my hard dick slide between his cheeks, just to feel that contact. He didn’t flinch or say anything, just kept scrubbing his arms like it was part of the routine. To him this was the pinnacle of masculinity and discipline, some twisted form of self-care he believed made him stronger. To me, it was something else entirely. Every second of it blew my mind, mixing the thrill of doing something forbidden with the raw turn-on of touching another guy this way. The more I let myself stay in it, the harder it became to tell where his "rules" ended and my own perverted jollies began.

After a minute of rubbing myself on him, he shifted and turned me around. He pressed me into the wall, not rough but firm enough that I knew he was taking control. I felt the heat of his body against my back before his cock started sliding up and down the crack of my ass. He didn’t try to hide the groan that came with it. He muttered words under his breath, calling it “boy ass,” then chuckling in that stupid way he did when he thought something was clever. A second later he added, “testosterone butt,” like it was part of his bro science podcasts. I held still, letting him rut against me while my own cock twitched. The pressure, the smell of a guy on my body, and the way he didn’t hold back made it obvious he was past testing boundaries. He wanted this to be part of the routine, and he was pulling me deeper into it whether we said anything out loud or not.

He pulled off me and we both stood there, cocks still hard and throbbing, steam mixing with the cool spray.  Now we both had big boners to deal with, his a "bigger" problem than mine. He smirked a little like it was all under control, then twisted the knob to lukewarm and finally to cold. The shift made me gasp, water shocking my skin and forcing a laugh out of me. He tilted his head, watching my reaction, like he was testing how far I would go along with his rituals. The freezing spray kept pounding down, and instead of backing out I stayed there with him, my body tense but my dick refusing to soften. The cold didn’t stop the heat between us, it only made the whole thing stranger, something I knew I’d be replaying in my head later. We both stood in it for another minute, saying nothing, just breathing heavy and pretending it was part of the workout plan. When he finally turned it off, we were still hard as hell and not sure what to do about it.

After drying off, I still needed to cool down and get my head straight, so I told him I had work to do and left the dorm as he loaded up some first person shooter game with his headset on. I grabbed food at the dining center and set up my laptop, trying to focus on class notes, but all I could picture was the soap sliding over his body and the way he didn’t even react when I pressed into him, and then when he did the same to me, but with a bit of dominance maybe? I typed a few sentences, deleted them, then gave up and scrolled my phone for a while.

Eventually I headed back to the room, wondering what I was going to find inside. I half expected him to be waiting naked, ready for another round, but instead he was out cold under the blanket, chest rising and falling in deep sleep. The sight of him knocked out, muscle mound hidden under the sheets, gave me a strange sense of calm. I stood there longer than I normally would have, wondering if I should crawl in next to him, if that would align with his gay-as-hell workout routine podcasts, before finally crashing on my own bed and staring at the ceiling, too wired and horny and deprived to sleep right away.

—[]—

The next morning, I woke to the sound of him shifting above me. When I opened my eyes, his large, hard cock was hovering inches from my face. It was early, sunlight barely cutting through the blinds, and I wasn’t in the mood to join his morning routine. I closed my eyes again, trying to drift back off. A second later, he tapped the head of his dick against my cheek like it was some signal to get up and start gooning. I ignored him, but my hand moved on its own, wrapping around him. That stopped him for a moment.

I squeezed lightly, feeling the heat and weight of it. Without really deciding, I opened my mouth and let the head slide past my lips. The size of it filled my tongue instantly, and when his hips pressed forward, my lips stretched around the thickness. It was barely fitting, forcing my jaw wider than I expected, but I stayed there, letting him push in and out slowly while my hand steadied him at the base.

"Goooooon brother," he said with a groan, his voice sort of tired and sloppy. I kept my eyes closed, pretending to still be half asleep, but every nerve in my body was firing. Part of me wanted to see how far he would take it if I just let him use me, the other part wanted to push it forward myself. I reached up with one hand and tugged roughly at his balls, rolling them in my palm while his cock pressed further across my tongue. His moans deepened, and that only made me bolder. I slid my hand lower, pressing into the soft spot of his taint, and felt his whole body jolt. The reaction sent a rush through me. I pushed a little firmer, then let my finger creep higher until it was pressing against his hole. He didn’t move away. If anything, his hips pressed forward harder and his cheeks clenched around my hand, feeding me more of his cock while he groaned again, louder this time. That was all the permission I needed to keep going.

"Oh no," he muttered, but his body didn’t slow down. A second later I felt his cock swell and then unload into my mouth, each pulse hitting hard. The first spurts caught me off guard and I gagged, choking as hot fluid flooded over my tongue. I tried to swallow but there was too much. It leaked out past my lips and down my chin while he kept thrusting, groaning through it like he couldn’t stop. My eyes snapped open and I stared at the way his shaft clenched and released in my grip, veins bulging as it forced out stream after stream. I could feel his abs flexing as he pushed deeper, unloading more until I was overwhelmed and sticky. It went on longer than I thought it would, and by the time it slowed I was left gasping, spit and cum smeared across my face while he twitched against my tongue. 

So much for never cumming, I thought.

When the pulses finally slowed, I held still and let his cock rest heavy against my lips, not wanting to break the spell yet. My jaw ached but I didn’t let go until he eased back on his own. Even then his shaft didn’t soften. It stayed jutting forward, still thick and rigid, smeared with spit and cum. His chest was heaving, breaths sharp and ragged, like he had just finished a brutal set at the gym. The look on his face was blank, like he was somewhere else entirely, still lost in whatever trance the goon state put him in. The rule had been broken, as he had fully cum this time.

He collapsed back onto his bed, the way he always did when he blew past his own rules, and almost instantly his body shut down. It was like a switch flipped. His eyes closed, chest rising and falling, his cock still hard but his mind gone. Watching him like that, I couldn’t ignore how far this had gone. He had turned into a complete zombie during these gooner stretches, and the crazy part was that I had followed him there step by step.

I thought about saying something, about asking him what he thought this even was. Every day it got stranger, more intense, but also more addictive. I was looking forward to it like it was a scheduled practice, even when I knew it crossed lines. Does he really think this is just about muscle gains? Or is he hiding the same thing I am? The questions spun in my head, but I couldn’t bring myself to break the silence.

Instead I sat on my own bed, still hard as hell, and started stroking. My breath came faster until I unloaded with so much force that it splattered across my face. I wiped it off with the back of my hand while listening to his breathing drift into that slow rhythm again, like none of it even happened.