Members' Exclusive - Bending Eli, Bonus Chapter: Hard Workouts - Hard Dreams

Hard Workouts – Hard Dreams

© Broken Boundaries Gay Erotica

The dorm was finally quiet. Mason’s playlists had faded into steady breathing, and the corridor lights clicked to half-power. I lay on my back, eyes on the dark ceiling, letting each slow breath peel me away from the day. Sweat dried at my collarbone; the faint scent of chalk lingered on my fingertips. Tomorrow would be another 5:30 a.m. text. But just for a second, I tried to imagine something different.

My eyelids fluttered. The ceiling dissolved. The sheets cooled. And I was somewhere else.

The gym lights buzzed overhead, fluorescent and unkind, just like always. The mats reeked faintly of sweat and rubber. I was naked again, flat on my back, jerking myself with one hand while Casper stood over me, peeled halfway out of his singlet. His balls hung heavy, slick with sweat, inches from my mouth.

"Go on," he said. "If you want to."

Of course I wanted to. My tongue darted out before my brain could catch up. I tasted salt, heat, the sharpness of skin still damp from our last set. I licked softly at first, tracing the curve of each ball, feeling them shift beneath the weight of my mouth. My hand stroked faster. My hips twitched. I didn’t even try to hold back.

I hesitated, just for a beat, but he didn’t say anything. Didn’t move. I could feel his weight balanced over my chest, steady and expectant. When I licked, his whole body tensed. He made a sound, half grunt, half moan, and braced himself on one arm.

That was when it shifted.

He didn’t stay cold. Didn’t bark out the next drill. Instead, he moved lower, settled over me more fully. His chest hovered above mine, and he kissed me. Not on the forehead. Not on the cheek. On the mouth.

It was tentative, slow, like he wasn’t sure if I’d let him.

When I kissed back, he let out another sound. This one was softer. He lowered himself further, cock, softer now, pressing to my stomach as he propped his arms on either side of my head.

"You’ve wanted this for a while," he murmured.

I nodded.

"Not just the licking."

"No."

He dipped down again and kissed me deeper this time. His sweat dripped onto my collarbone, but I didn’t care. My tongue slid against his, my hands reaching for his sides, his back, anything I could hold.

This wasn’t real. I knew that somewhere. But I didn’t want to wake up yet.

Casper kissed me again, then drew back slightly to look at my face. His fingers brushed the hair off my forehead. They lingered there for a moment before sliding down the side of my face, then across my chest.

He took his time, tracing the lines of my body like he wanted to memorize them. When his hand moved lower and curled around my cock, I let out a sound I’d never made before, raw, quaky, overwhelmed.

“You're shaking,” he said.

“I know.”

His grip was light at first, more holding than stroking. I lay there, exposed under the gym lights, still half convinced it would all dissolve if I said too much or moved too fast. But Casper didn’t rush. He kept his hand steady and kept looking at me, like he was searching for something on my face.

“I didn’t think you’d ever…” I started, then stopped.

He leaned in again and kissed the corner of my mouth. “I know.”

My heart thudded hard against his chest as he pressed into me, slowly grinding our bodies together. His cock slid along mine, slick from sweat and spit. The contact made me gasp. I clutched at his hips, fingers digging into the curve of his ass, pulling him down harder.

He reached between us and stroked both our cocks together, his knuckles brushing mine where I’d gripped myself moments ago. We were hot, sticky, tangled. It wasn’t rough. It wasn’t hurried.

Then he pulled back slightly and looked down between us.

“You want me to…?” he asked, voice low, almost uncertain.

I nodded again. I couldn’t form words. My chest rose and fell too fast. I wanted him inside me. I wanted it badly—his weight, his heat, the part of him I’d only ever imagined feeling.

Casper rested his forehead against mine for a second, catching his breath. Then he pulled back just enough to look down at himself. He was half-hard, slick but softening slightly from the drawn-out pace. He gave me a small, almost shy smile.

“You’ll need to get me hard again,” he said, barely above a whisper. “And wet.”

The words hit me like a surge of heat. I understood what he meant. I nodded and shifted underneath him, easing onto my side as he rose to his knees. I licked my lips, tasted sweat and skin, and moved in.

His cock rested against his thigh, still damp from where it had been pressed between us. I kissed the head first, soft and slow, then ran my tongue along the underside, tracing the vein. He let out a low sigh.

It felt surreal—having this in my mouth, the thing I’d thought about almost every night since I joined the team. I took him deeper, letting my lips stretch around the growing thickness as he hardened again. My hand steadied the base, my fingers slipping in sweat, my jaw aching slightly as I adjusted.

Casper’s hand found my hair. He didn’t push, just held me there. I bobbed slowly, sucking him in with a rhythm I hoped felt good. I let myself enjoy it too, his taste, the weight of him on my tongue, the way his hips moved slightly when I hit the right spot.

“You’re good at that,” he said, his voice cracked and breathless.

I pulled off for a second and looked up. “I’ve imagined it a lot.”

That made him smile. He brushed his thumb along my cheek, then leaned down and kissed me again, deeper this time.

Casper’s hand stayed light in my hair, more a tether than a command. I took him deeper, cheeks hollowing around him, my tongue pressed flat beneath the weight of his cock. He was firm now, the softness gone, and I felt every ridge, every twitch against the roof of my mouth.

This was what I’d wanted. What I’d dreamed about in silence. My lips around him, my jaw aching, his breath catching above me.

I let my eyes drift closed and tried to memorize the feeling. The way he tasted: clean and sweat-salted. The way the skin shifted under my tongue. The heat of him. He smelled like he always did after morning practice, like deodorant, sweat and testosterone. Only now it was for me.

I felt pride, somehow. Not just lust. Like I was being given something precious and forbidden and real. I was touching the part of him no one else on the team got to see. I had him like this. In my mouth. Trusting me with his body.

He groaned above me, a low sound that made my own cock pulse where it lay untouched against my thigh. I worked him with more confidence now, finding a rhythm that matched his breath. My hands slid along his thighs, gripping hard enough to leave marks. I didn’t want him to pull away. Not yet.

When he twitched at the back of my throat, I pulled back just slightly and kissed the tip again, licking the slit, savoring the slickness that clung to it.

Casper looked down at me, eyes soft now. Not cold. Not detached. Just... full.

“Lie back,” he said softly.

Casper knelt beside me and kissed the inside of my knee, then guided my legs open. He spat lightly into his palm, worked the moisture around his cock, and slicked a few fingers before sliding one against me. The stretch startled, then warmed. He waited until I relaxed, added a second finger, moving in slow circles, letting me breathe through the sting until it melted into heat.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Yeah. I want it,” I said, voice shaky but sure.

He positioned himself, the head of his cock pressing gently against me. He eased forward a fraction, paused, then a little more. Each inch felt huge, electric. I gripped his forearms, eyes locked on his. He kept still, giving me time to adjust, whispering small reassurances I barely caught over the rush in my ears.

The moment the widest part slipped past the ring of muscle, my body unlocked. A low groan escaped me, half pain, mostly wonder. Casper bent to kiss me, his tongue soft and distracting, and in that kiss he slid the rest of the way in, filling me completely. We stayed like that, breaths mingling, until the dull burn turned into an ache I wanted to chase.

“Move,” I whispered.

He pulled back slowly, pushed in again, each stroke measured. My hips found a rhythm, meeting him, asking for more. He obliged. His pace built, steady and deep, the sound of skin meeting skin echoing through the empty gym. Sweat beaded down his temples and dropped onto my chest. He reached between us and wrapped his hand around my cock, stroking in time with his thrusts.

Each slide of his fist matched the roll of his hips, long and even. He leaned back a little, changing the angle, letting me feel every inch as he moved. The new depth made my vision blur. I dug my heels into the mat for leverage, meeting him stroke for stroke.

Casper watched my face. Whenever I winced, he slowed; when I moaned, he picked up speed. His free hand caressed my thigh, then my stomach, fingers tracing the lines of muscle slick with sweat. Small sounds slipped from him, quiet groans that vibrated through his chest and into mine. The connection felt endless, a loop of heat and breath.

He shifted again, lifting one of my legs higher onto his shoulder. The stretch opened me wider, letting him drive deeper. I gasped, knuckles whitening on the mat. Every thrust sent a jolt straight to the base of my spine, and his strokes on my cock grew firmer, gathering slick with each pass. I clenched around him, felt him pulse, and he answered with a sharp thrust that made my toes curl.

The rhythm built slowly. He rocked forward, paused to grind, then pulled back, letting me feel the slide of skin, the flare of the head. His hand kept perfect time, squeezing lightly on the upstroke, twisting just a little on the way down. It was steady and generous, neither rushed nor teasing. Sweat dripped from his neck onto my chest, cooling on impact before warming again under friction.

I reached up and cupped his jaw. He leaned into the touch, eyes soft, mouth parted. For a few seconds we just looked at each other, thrusts still rolling, hand still pumping, breaths tangled. It felt impossibly intimate, like we had stepped out of the gym and into someplace only we could see.

Pressure gathered inside me, rising in slow deliberate waves. Casper felt it too; his rhythm tightened, hips pitching forward with more intent. His thumb pressed into my dick as his hand stroked faster, coaxing. My entire body trembled, thighs shaking, vision narrowing to the place where we met.

His movements lost their perfect cadence, turning urgent. He angled his hips and thrust harder, breath hitching with every push. My moans broke apart into short cries. The slick pulse of his cock inside me synced with the glide of his fist. I rose toward the edge, holding his gaze, heat spiraling tight.

When the climax came, it felt like stepping off a cliff. I groaned his name, muscles locking, orgasm spilling across his fist and my stomach in hot surges. A heartbeat later he followed, deep inside, body shuddering. Our release nearly aligned, the sort of timing that only seems to happen in fantasies, but I welcomed the illusion and clutched him close.

He stayed pressed to me, hips twitching with aftershocks, fingers loosening their grip. His forehead found mine, sweat slick between us, and for a long moment we just breathed—two chests rising and falling in the same slow cadence.

Casper didn’t pull out right away. He stayed inside me, softening gradually, hands braced on either side of my head. His eyes had a different look now: gentler, less guarded. He dipped down and kissed me again, slow and warm, like we had time. I kissed him back with everything I had, hoping he’d feel how much I wanted this to be real.

He whispered something I didn’t catch. Maybe my name. Maybe nothing at all. But I closed my eyes and let it sink in.

His hand brushed my cheek, thumb gliding across my lips before tracing the line of my jaw. Then another kiss. And another. Softer each time, until his mouth hovered near mine, breath mingling, his body heavy and safe on top of me.

I felt full in every sense: used, held, wanted. I felt like I could fall asleep like that, wrapped in his sweat and skin, memorizing the weight of him, the smell, the sound of his breathing in my ear. In that moment, I knew I’d give anything to live this version of us.

But the dream was already blurring.

Light crept in around the edges, and Casper’s warmth began to fade.

I stirred.

My sheets were twisted, my thighs damp, cock painfully hard against my boxers. I blinked up at the ceiling, heart pounding, body rigid.

What the hell had I been dreaming?

I couldn’t remember it—not really. Just the feeling. Just the vague, overwhelming sense of heat and closeness and him. All I knew was I’d woken up hard, throbbing, and hungry for something I didn’t understand.