Miracle Man


By Also_KnownAs

Cary was roused out of bed by an insistent knocking on his door. First day of summer vacation and he has to get this? His parents were at work, probably, and prying his eyes open to look at the clock on his nightstand told him it was all of 9 fucking 30 in the AM.

Who the hell would be knocking on his door today? This morning? If it was David he was going to kill him! Plus, plus! Plus He'd been having the hottest dream all about Steve and he wanted to find his way back into it if he could.

He'd kicked off most of the bedding and was lying twisted up in a sheet, his dick semi-hard with the usual morning wood. But he couldn't take his piss because the asshole at the door kept on knocking so, naked as the day he was born and cursed with a case of bedhead, he threw open his second story window and leaned out to yell at that asshole.

"Hey! What the hell are you…"

"Tatum! Open the fucking door!"

Cary's boner shrank from sudden shock. Because the person who'd just emerged out from under the roof of his front porch was his regular nightly entertainment. Steve was standing on the front walk in sweatpants and no shirt, his upper torso glistening with sweat, his every muscle pumped and red and bulging, a smile on his perfect and beautiful face so honest and bright that Cary could feel his heart trying to escape his ribcage. He leaned out further to see if he was seeing who he thought he was seeing. "Steve?"

"Nice dick, dude. Why don't you bring your ass on down here and let me inside?"

Cary, at first, didn't know what to do. Was this more of that dream? Was he awake? Was Steve fucking Taylor really, honestly standing at his front door awaiting admittance? "What are you doing…"

"Do you really want to talk to me like this, or would you prefer if we were sitting down in your living room so we can talk like regular people?" He tossed some gray thing over his shoulder and folded his arms across his chest. Cary could see from two stories up as the fibers of muscle gathered together and bulged outward.

"Shit," he whispered. Then, louder, "Give me a second. I'll be… I'm coming down."

Steve's smile broke into a laugh and he shook his head. The dude was crazy! Leaning out of his window butt nekkid like that, his willy hanging over the edge of the window. But damn! He had a nice looking dick. The thin ones, he thought, were always hung. He jangled his own jewels to make them happy, grabbing his equipment through his sweat and saying, "Don't worry guys. I still think we got him beat."

He sat down on the porch steps and waited. His body was still humming soundly from his heavy work out that morning. After the hot shower, he found himself more energized than ever and managed to raise the bar a couple of notches on his previous best lifts, doing better on the squats and a lot better on the bench. His chest was burning and he reach up to massage the muscles, rubbing his heavy chest and grasping the muscle.

He could hear the dude running down the stairs inside. He wondered if Tatum even bothered pulling some clothes on his slim form (and that heavy dick, mm hmm) and saw that, in fact, he had.

He thought about Cary again, and a rush of… something. Of heat, of passion, suddenly rushed through his whole body. He thought of the moment gone, of looking up and seeing the dude's pink body, his smooth skin and his large, beautiful eyes and the way his hair was all funky and his dick and flat belly and he felt good. Better than good. Something about that guy….

Cary opened the front door and let out a deep breath. Steve's back was to him and he stood there a second admiring his flaring V until the other teen's voice said, "Nice morning." Then Steve leaned back on his elbows, and Cary watched his triceps swell.

"Um, yeah." Steve tilted his head. He still had that gray thing over his shoulder. For some reason, that bothered Cary, that gray thing. "So… did you wanna come in?"

Steve practically bounced to his feet. His sweatpants were sitting low on his hips, only the round beauty of his ass seeming to hold them up. "Got anything to eat, Tatum?" He turned around, mounted the steps and passed by Cary into the house. Cary could smell something streaming behind the guy, some deep reek that managed to dig into the shorts he had thrown on and breathe a warm, wet breath across his prick. A strong masculine scent that filled the space around him and made him horny all over again.

And he remembered that he really needed to take a piss.

Steve was standing in the living room. He looked like so much fine that Cary could hardly believe he was real. His body was bulging in all the right places, and his skin gleamed and glistened like polished bronze. He stood looking relaxed but his eyes sparkled and his face looked excited about something, like his tongue needed to shove some secret out so bad that it wasn't going to wait for words. He started to open his mouth but Cary held up a hand. "Hold on, I really gotta pee."

"Leave the door open, I need to tell you something and it can't wait."

"Lemme guess. You're gay."

"I'm…." Steve had never said it out loud before. Not even to himself. He'd heard the word in his head so often that he thought it would be easy. "Well, yeah. But that's not it."

Cary whipped it out and let it fly. It was a heavy stream and it felt extremely good to let it go. "Say it."

"Say what."

"Say, `I'm gay.'"

"But you already did."

"Yeah, but you have to say it. It's like a…" He squeezed out the last drops, "a right of passage or something." He tucked up and walked out. "The first time you actually say it helps. Believe me. It's like it removes a big wall or something." He shrugged in reaction to Steve's look. "Don't know why, it just does."

"I'm gay." And, for whatever reason, it did make a difference. He was smiling when he said, "All right?"

"Whatever." Cary walked to the kitchen and asked, "So, all I know how to cook is toast or cold cereal."

"I need some protein. Got any eggs? Some meat?"

"You don't want much for a guy I just met, do you?"

"You've seen more of me than almost anyone but me, so I figure I can take some liberties. Where are the pans?" Cary pointed, then pulled out a chair at the table and sat. "But the gay thing wasn't what I wanted to tell you about. Something happened this morning… wait, something happened again this morning that… do you have any non- stick? I'm trying not to use butter."

"In the sink."

"I was working out this morning and…"

"It shows."

"Huh? Oh, thanks." He bent his arm to make the bicep bulge. The tight, hard, huge feeling of it made him feel horny again. Hornier. The muscle was buzzing and felt metallic and electric. "Yeah, I'm on a training thing. Every morning, at the gym first thing." He flexed the other arm, just to even things out. "Every afternoon, jogging. Aerobics and weight training, gotta build a better body." Then he straightened and shot Cary a double-bi, noting that the guy's dick was looking a little bigger than he thought it was.

Cary choked. "Better than the one you've got? Have you looked in the mirror lately?" Steve met Cary's eyes and smiled, wiggling his eyebrows. Cary turned red. "Sorry, I'm like, going insane or something."


"Well, uh, I mean, Steve? What are you doing here? You're standing in my kitchen cooking breakfast looking like… like that. You gotta know that I'm having a really hard time keeping control over here."

Steve grinned. "Really?"

"Uh, yeah."

He stepped over closer. "And what are you going to lose control over?"

"Steve, what is up with you?"

"I missed our dance last night." Steve's hand crawled up his pant leg. "Where were you?"

Cary's eyes were following the hand's slow climb. "I was…"

"Were you and David getting it on?" The hand lifted onto his belly, the fingertips moving along the lip of his waistband. "Were you over here last night in bed? You and him? Watching me?" His touch moved down his skin. "You and him lying naked on your bed, against each other, watching me over there?"

"David? Me and David?"

The fingers crawled under the pants, down to the first knuckle, then the second. The sweatpants were slipping off his hips. "I've seen you guys together. I figured…"

Cary felt frozen in place. He didn't know what was going on. He was scared and excited. "We're just friends, Steve. David's not my type." David was slim, like Cary was. David was Asian, and really smart, and certainly gay, but they were just friends who shared a common interest ­ namely, Steve.

"What's your type?" His hand was deep inside his pants, now. Something else was moving under there, too. Something big was growing. Jesus Christ, what the fuck was going on?

"Steve? Steve, is something wrong with you? Are you on steroids or something? Is something making you…"

"Making me want you?

"What? No! Me? You want me?" Cary's voice cracked.

Steve nodded. "Am I your type, Cary?" He stood before the other boy, his body pumped and proud, one hand down his pants, that strong sexy scent coming off him like heat. His other hand moved onto his chest, the plates of muscle mounted there, the scrub of hair sprouting between the two halves, and more dark curls around his nipples. Cary noticed now that Steve had a shadow of soft whiskers on his strong chin and high cheeks. The man trying to grow from the boy's body.

He was beautiful, and sexy, and everything Cary dreamed of. Literally.

"Steve," he said, "pull your hand off your prick and make some breakfast. You're starting to creep me out." Steve's face fell, and he pouted like a bad puppy. "But in a good way."

He grinned again and pulled his hand out, but his monster was aroused and tented his pants. Cary had seen him dance naked and knew the guy owned a major joint, but with a hard on he looked to have a prizewinner down there.

"And wash your hands, for chrissakes. I don't mind the taste of cock, but I don't like pubes in my scrambled eggs."

Steve gave him a short salute and wandered to the sink. His hips swayed with promise as he moved, making Cary immediately regret his decision. Damn, the boy had a fine ass. And as he hadn't pulled his pants back up, Cary was getting a nice shot of his crack as he soaped up his grip. "Sorry, Tatum."


"Huh?" He turned slightly, one eyebrow arched. A lock of auburn hair fell across his blue-eyed gaze, making him look even sexier if that was possible.

"You keep calling me Tatum like I'm another of your jock pals. I'm Cary. Not Tatum."

Steve shrugged. "I didn't know there were so many rules."

"You didn't get your copy of the Gay Boy Manual? I'll have to speak with the council." Steve turned around as he dried his hands, that same brow arched again. "I'm kidding."

"No shit." He took the pan out of the sink and set it on the stove before turning around. "You said scrambled?" He still had a hard on.

Cary nodded to Steve's little general and said, "I'm flattered, but you might want to keep that away from open flames. It's a gas stove."

Steve looked down and laughed. "Oh, you do care!"

"You're really weird, you know that?"

"Me?" He opened the fridge and pulled out the eggs, then some cheese. "Why?" It looked like he was deflating slowly as he gathered the things together on the counter.

"Steve. You've never said so much as a word to me in the four years we've been in school together. You've been closeted so deep you smell like mothballs. You strut around school trying to look…"

"I do not strut."

"Your ass struts. Believe me, I've watched."

"I know." He grinned, but Cary couldn't see it.

"Then you show up here this morning looking like that, acting like you want to… like you want… acting like you've been acting and, well, that's really weird." But nice, Cary had to admit. Very, very nice. And thinking about it, now that he was calm, his own dick felt a little heavier in his drawers. He adjusted himself and crossed his legs, trying to look leisurely.

"Well, you never said a word to me, either." The stove started snapping as the pilot lit. "Did it ever occur to you that I wanted you to talk to me as much as you wanted me to talk to you?"

"No. Truthfully I can report absolutely that never did I ever suspect you even knew I existed."

"Well, there ya go."

"Where, exactly, am I going?"

He turned and broke two eggs into a coffee mug. Cary's brain was spinning and screaming, `Steve fucking Taylor, the most beautiful boy on the planet, is standing in my kitchen shirtless, semi-erect, glistening with sweat and starting to whip eggs that he will shortly cook on the stove and serve to me!' Then that same young man with the shoulders out to there and the chest out to here and the arms and the legs and that huge, hard prick said, "Well, see, here's the thing. You aren't the only gay guy at school. Right?"


"And I'm not the only one hiding in a closet, either."

"A safe assumption."

"So why didn't you ever think about coming into my closet for a little while. Other guys did."

"Bullshit. Plus, that's the lamest excuse I've ever heard. The reason guys stay in the closet in the first place is because we get the shit kicked out of us if we don't, or we get the names and the labels and the laughter and so much shit nobody needs."

"But I'm a growing lad with growing needs, and I need my needs fed. You know Jim? Jimmy McDonald?"

Cary's head flashed on a high school yearbook photo he'd obsessed over a few times. Jim McDonald was another BMOC, a jock and `nice guy' who was very tall and seemed to like wearing white ribbed tank tops. He was also in the choir, attended church regularly, went out with Cindy or Mindy or some chick ending in `Y'. McDonald had a great smile, the open toothed sort of smile that begged you to come over and talk to him, be his pal, wrestle his tight little butt to the ground and suck on his dick. "I've heard of him."

Steve raised his hand and let his wrist go limp.

"You are so shitting me."

"If he's not," he said, pouring the eggs in the pan, "then he does a fucking good imitation." He shrugged, and Cary watched Steve's shoulders bunch and flex. "Either that or he's just into dick." He turned slightly, showing Cary his lecherous grin. "Or into my dick." Another shrug. "Whatever. Like you said, we never said `gay' to each other. I think I came onto him first ­ though not nearly as blatantly as I came onto you!" He was shoving the eggs around the skillet, the smell filling the little, bright kitchen. "Jesus Christ, Tatum, what the hell does a guy have to do to get your attention, anyway? Come up to you in class and suck your dick in his mouth?"

Cary laughed at the image. "That would certainly get my attention."

"I had your attention, dimwad, what I wanted was your body." Cary's head spun. This couldn't be happening. He was still in bed. That's what was happening. This was a dream! "I'm over there butt naked swinging my thing and doing everything I know how to make you come on over and say hello ­ or something ­ and you sit over here beating off you own damn cock when I could be doing that for you!"

"For the school's star pupil," Cary said, shaking his head, "you're an incredibly stupid fellow."

He turned, skillet in hand. "Huh?"

"Did it never occur to you to pick up the fucking phone and call me? Or leave a note in my locker, or just talk to me at school? Jesus, we were in the same biology class together."

"I know, and don't think I didn't find that hilarious." He scooped the eggs onto two plates, grabbed some forks and came over to the table, setting one in front of Cary and the other next two him, lifting his leg high to straddle the chair and he started eating, ravenously. "But I couldn't just start talking to you, Cary. I was…"

"Embarrassed," he said. Cary wasn't eating.

Steve stopped, hearing the tone, and met Cary's gaze. He nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, that's true. Embarrassed. Ashamed. Scared shitless."

"And now?"

Steve considered the question a long time. He was staring at Cary, his face calm (and beautiful, fuck him) and then he said, finally, "I'm gay."

Cary's eyebrows rose. "That's it?"

"What else is there?" Cary, actually, couldn't think of a thing. "Are you gonna eat that?" Cary shook his head and pushed the eggs toward him. Steve frowned, but piled the eggs onto his plate saying, "You know you'll never get buff if you don't start eating something."

"Who says I want to look like you?"

Steve smiled. "Oh, just about everything about you, Tatum. But that's where you're afraid, isn't it?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

He pointed his fork at him. "Maybe I was scared of coming out, of being myself, but you're afraid to try, afraid to actually work for something, afraid it'll be too hard or something, right?" Cary was about to object, but Steve went on. "So that's where I come in, Cary. You and me. This summer. All summer." He swallowed a huge mouthful of protein. "And I guaran-damn-tee you that by the end of it, you won't even recognize yourself in the mirror."

The fact was, the idea did appeal to him. He hated being so thin and pale and weak looking. He worshipped guys like Steve for whom it seemed effortless, the ability to put on muscle and look… like Steve looked. But he hated to admit the guy was right, and had pinned him down so easily. "I think I look okay the way I am."

Steve smiled, not looking up. "Cary, you look fucking great the way you are. You're amazing to look at. Your eyes, especially, but also your smile, your face, your body." He squinted over. "But I can make you look fucking hot, Tatum. I can make you into the biggest fucking muscle stud in town, and me along with you." He smiled. "I have a plan, see. And it starts now, today, this minute." He had finished his eggs and was approaching the fridge again. "There's this guy, see. This guy at the gym who makes me look puny. And he knows something, something special. He's got a secret. And we're going to find out what it is.

"In the meantime, what you need is fuel to feed your muscles. And what I need," he said, straightening and sniffing his pits, "is a shower."

Cary stood up and went over to the guy standing in his kitchen. Steve was standing there near the open fridge, and it seemed as if his skin, his whole body, was steaming in the cold air. He looked like he was getting bigger just standing there. "You know what," volunteered Cary, "I haven't had my shower this morning, either."

"Oh, really?" Steve's eyes seemed to flash. He had very blue eyes. His skin was ruddy, smooth, almost shiny. He did stink, he reeked of sweat and something else, something deeply masculine and heavily sexual. When Cary put his hand on Steve's arm, across the thick width of the bicep, he didn't pull away.

Cary's touch moved up Steve's arm, onto his shoulder, his neck, digging his fingers into the dirty locks of the muscled teen's hair. "Can I kiss you?" he asked. His voice was steady, but inside he was shaking harder than 9-point earthquake.

"You have to ask?" he answered. And Steve bent his lips to Cary's and kissed him tenderly, tentatively, and then his arms were wrapping Cary in a strong embrace, and the kiss became something deeper, more passionate, hungrier. He pressed himself against the slimmer boy, and Steve could feel Cary's tight muscles. He was thin, for sure, but his muscles were there. Asleep, inside him, awaiting release.

Cary couldn't believe this was happening, but there was no way he was going to stop, now. The kiss was making him hot everywhere, his whole body was flushed with warm sexual excitement. And the feeling of Steve's muscled mass against him, and a sudden awareness that Steve's dick was throbbing hotly against his groin, made him wish they were both naked right now and Steve was plowing Cary's ass on the kitchen table with that big dick.

Cary's eyes were closed as their kiss ended, and Steve gave him two soft kisses against his lips and then hugged his harder and said, softly in his ear, "Did you like that as much as I did?"

Cary nodded dumbly, unable to speak. He felt like shivering or exploding or something. He felt Steve's arms around him, then he felt Steve's hand on his ass, and he was kneading Cary's flesh, and he opened his eyes and discovered some words. "Whoa. Holy shit."

Steve's body shook against him as the other teen laughed. "You saying that because of this," he said, grabbing some more ass, "or because I reek like a jockstrap that hasn't been washed in three weeks."

Now Cary laughed. "A little of both," he admitted, pushing away. "You stink, Steve."

"Make you a deal, Cary," he said, arching an eyebrow. "I'll wash you if you wash me."

Cary looked at the muscled hunk in front of him and felt his desire returning stronger than ever. •

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