All Characters Are 18+
Brad was halfway through his third set of incline bench press when he noticed the skinny guy across the college gym struggling with an overhead press. His elbows flared out, the weights shaking with every rep, and Brad instinctively winced. That was the kind of form that led to injuries.
He waited until the guy set the dumbbells down, panting. Then he stood, wiped his hands on a towel, and walked over.
“Hey, mind if I give you a quick tip?” Brad asked, keeping his tone casual.
The guy looked up, a little embarrassed but open. “Uh, sure.”
“You’re close, but your elbows are drifting too far out. Makes your shoulders do all the work. Here, watch.” Brad picked up a lighter set and demonstrated the motion slowly. “Keep everything tighter. Elbows under the weight, core tight.”
The guy mirrored him, adjusting his stance. The difference was immediate.
“Way better,” Brad said. “I’m Brad, by the way.”
“Oliver,” the guy replied, offering a small smile. “Appreciate the help. I’m still figuring all this out.”
“No worries. Everyone starts somewhere.” Brad gave him a friendly nod. “You come here often?”
Oliver chuckled softly. “Just started a few weeks ago.”
“Well, lucky you. You just found your gym buddy.”
They both went back to their own work outs and an hour later, ended up finishing at the same time. They walked in the locker room together and found that they had picked lockers right next to eachother.
The room was quieter now than when Brad had first got there, only a couple guys toweling off or changing. He dropped onto the bench and twisted open his locker, grabbing his water bottle.
Beside him, Oliver swung his locker door open. Among the folded clothes and a pair of sneakers sat a small vial with a blue cap. Clearly reading Testosterone Enanthate on the label.
Brad leaned over to get a better look. “Whoa. Only a few weeks in and already hitting the hard stuff? Careful with that, bro. Make sure you cycle it if you’re serious about this. Too much and you’ll shrink your balls” he said with a boisterous laugh.
Oliver froze for a second, then quickly shut the locker door with a clink of metal. “Uh…yeah. I know. I’m careful.” His tone was casual enough, but his ears were a little red.
Brad grinned and shook his head, not pushing it further. He figured Oliver was just shy about juicing. Not his business. Still, it made him curious. The guy didn’t exactly strike him as the steroid type.
He shrugged it off, figuring it was just one of those gym mysteries he’d eventually figure out.
That was how it started.
Over the next few weeks, Brad and Oliver found themselves syncing up more and more. They hit the gym almost daily, always cracking jokes between sets and talking about everything from classes to protein powders to which fast food was the least destructive post-workout. After one especially long session, they grabbed burritos and ended up back at Brad’s apartment, sitting cross-legged on the floor with food wrappers around them.
Brad had a way of talking nonstop when he got going. He went on about a girl in his psych class who he thought was into him, how he’d messed it up at the party last weekend, and how, if he was being honest, he hadn’t had sex in a while and was starting to feel it.
Oliver mostly listened, offering the occasional grin or dry one-liner. He never talked much about his own dating life, though. One night while hanging out, Brad finally pointed it out.
“You never say anything about girls. Or guys, I guess, if that’s your thing. What’s the deal?”
Oliver shrugged and took a sip from his water bottle. “Not much to say.”
Brad didn’t press. He figured maybe the guy had been through something rough or was just private. Either way, it didn’t change anything. Oliver was chill, and it was nice having someone who didn’t turn everything into a competition.
That Friday, they were finishing up a chest and arms day when Brad noticed something different. Oliver had taken off his hoodie and was wearing only a thin tank top. When he reached for the barbell, the fabric stretched just enough for Brad to catch a glimpse of faint, thin scars beneath his nipples. They were almost symmetrical, barely visible. In that moment, he realized he’d never seen Oliver without a shirt on. All the times changing in the locker room or hanging out, he kept his shirt on or would change in a stall.
Brad pondered this and realized he was staring, so he looked away quickly. He didn’t want to make it awkward.
Later, when they were back at his place, Brad casually asked, “Hey, I saw some scars when you took your hoodie off earlier. Did you have some kind of accident or surgery or something?”
Oliver quickly glanced down at his chest, then pulled the hoodie back on. “Yeah. Had to get some stuff removed a while back. It’s not a big deal.”
Brad nodded and changed the subject. He assumed it was from gynecomastia or something like that. No biggie.
The next day, they decided to go to the beach. Oliver showed up at Brad’s place looking a little unsure, a backpack slung over his shoulder.
“You bring trunks?” Brad asked as he rummaged through his drawers.
“Umm…no…,” Oliver said. “I didn’t think we’d be swimming.”
“No worries. I’ve got like four pairs.” Brad tossed him a pair of navy board shorts. “These should fit.”
Without thinking, Brad stripped down to changed in the middle of his room. Years of sports and locker rooms had erased any sense of modesty. Plus, he was a shower not a grower, so he knew he had nothing to be ashamed about. Fully flaccid, Brad’s cock draped over his balls about 5.5”. Lengthening only a couple more inches when hard.
He glanced up and saw Oliver standing there, still holding the shorts.
“You can change in here. I don’t care what your dick looks like.”
Oliver gave a tight smile and ducked into the bathroom instead.
Brad furrowed his brow for a second. Shy, maybe. Or self-conscious. He shrugged it off.
The beach was warm and breezy. Oliver finally had his shirt off for the first time in front of Brad. Brad quickly glanced at the scars again, but they quickly became unnoticeable to him.
They tossed a frisbee around, waded into the surf, and grabbed hot dogs from a stand nearby. Everything felt normal until they were walking back to their spot and passed a middle-aged couple on the boardwalk. The man slowed his steps as he looked at Oliver, his expression twisting into something ugly.
“You should be ashamed of yourself,” the man muttered, loud enough for both of them to hear.
Brad stopped in his tracks. “What did you just say to him?”
“Brad, don’t,” Oliver said quickly, grabbing his arm. “It’s fine. Let it go.”
Brad watched the couple walk off, stunned. “What the fuck was that about?”
“Nothing,” Oliver said. His voice was flat. “Forget it.”
They didn’t stay much longer after that.
Back at Brad’s place, the sun was starting to set and they were both still damp from the ocean. Brad changed in his room again, towel slung around his neck, not thinking twice about it. Oliver went into the bathroom to change, just like he had the last time.
Then Brad heard the crash.
A loud thud, followed by the unmistakable sound of a body hitting tile.
“Oliver?”
No answer.
Brad ran to the door and pushed it open.
Oliver was on the floor, his head resting against the base of the tub. The swim trunks he’d been holding were crumpled near his feet. He wasn’t moving.
Brad dropped to his knees beside him, panic rising in his throat. “Hey. Hey, Ollie, come on, man.” He reached out, gently shaking his shoulder. “Wake up.”
That’s when he saw it.
The towel had fallen aside. Oliver’s lower half was exposed, and in that split second, everything clicked. The scars. The testosterone. The way he changed in private. The moment at the beach. The quiet deflections.
Oliver was trans.
Brad’s heart pounded, not out of shock but out of concern. He moved quickly, grabbing the towel and covering Oliver’s body with care. Then he gently lifted his head, checking his breathing. It was steady, thank God. Just a fall. Just unconscious.
“You’re okay,” Brad murmured, as much for himself as for Oliver. “You’re okay.”
He stayed right there on the bathroom floor, one hand holding Oliver’s shoulder, the other resting protectively over the towel to keep it in place.
Nothing about how he felt changed. If anything, he felt the weight of how much Oliver must have been holding in. And suddenly, he didn’t care about the confusion or the questions. All he knew was that his friend needed him.
A couple of minutes passed before Oliver’s eyes fluttered open with a soft groan, blinking against the bathroom light. He looked confused, dazed, trying to sit up.
“Easy,” Brad said, leaning in. “You fell. Hit your head pretty hard. Knocked yourself out for a second.”
Oliver squinted at him, then at the towel draped across his body. When he glanced down and saw the swim trunks bunched at his feet, his entire face shifted.
“No, no, no” He tried to push himself up. “Shit. Brad, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for…”
“Hey. Stop.” Brad put a hand on his shoulder. “You don’t need to apologize.”
“I didn’t mean for you to see. I didn’t want you to find out like that,” Oliver said, panic rising in his voice. He looked like he might bolt if his body would let him.
“Everything’s fine,” Brad said, calm but firm. “You hit your head. That’s what matters right now.”
Oliver didn’t respond, but his breathing slowed a little. He leaned back against the wall, clearly still dizzy.
“Come on,” Brad said. “Let’s get you dressed and out of here.”
He crouched beside him and helped guide Oliver’s legs into his boxers first, giving him time and space to adjust them himself. When it was clear Oliver still didn’t have full balance, Brad helped steady him and eased his shorts up over his hips.
Once he was stable on his feet, Brad guided him to the bedroom. Oliver sat down heavily on the edge of the bed, blinking hard.
“Lie down,” Brad said, “but don’t fall asleep just yet. Head injuries can be tricky.”
Oliver muttered something that might’ve been agreement and leaned back onto the pillow. Brad pulled the desk chair over and sat, watching him.
To fill the silence, Brad started talking about whatever came to mind like how bad the sand had gotten into his sneakers, the guy at the beach with the terrible back tattoo, the fact that they hadn’t even gotten ice cream. Oliver smiled weakly at that last one.
After a few minutes, he shifted on the bed and looked at Brad. His voice was quieter this time, a little raw.
“You can ask me anything. Now that you know.”
Brad met his eyes. “You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to.”
Oliver paused. “Still. You probably have questions.”
“I do,” Brad admitted. “But only if you want to answer them. I meant what I said. It doesn’t matter to me.”
Oliver stared up at the ceiling for a long moment. Then he said, “Okay.” And that was it.
They let the silence settle again, the air finally feeling less heavy. Oliver sat up a little straighter, rubbing the back of his head.
“I think I’m good,” he said. “Feel like I got steamrolled, but my brain’s working again.”
“You hungry?” Brad asked.
“Starving.”
They drove to a diner just off campus and grabbed a booth near the window. The place was busy, but the lighting was low and the noise mostly muffled. Brad was halfway through his burger when a curvy waitress walked by, and his gaze lingered a little too long.
“She’s hot,” he said under his breath, then added, “I’d do unspeakable things to her,” before realizing what he’d just said.
He stopped mid-bite and looked at Oliver. “Sorry. I don’t know how to…talk about this stuff now. Like, what’s okay to say. I’m not trying to be weird.”
Oliver smiled. “It’s fine. I’m used to it.”
“No, but seriously,” Brad said, leaning forward. “Are you into guys? Or girls? Or like…what’s the deal?”
“I’m bi,” Oliver said, taking a sip of his drink. “Before transitioning, I’d been with a few guys. I liked it. After surgery, I’ve been with both. Still liked it. So…yeah. I figured I’m bi.”
Brad nodded. “Cool.”
Oliver looked up. “That’s it?”
“What else is there?” Brad said. “You like who you like. Doesn’t change anything.”
There was something about the way he said it so straightforward, no hesitation, that seemed to ease something in Oliver’s posture.
After dinner, they ended up at a low-key bar near campus. Neither of them was in the mood for anything too loud or crowded, but they had a few drinks and tried to let the weight of the day settle behind them. By the time they called an Uber back to Brad’s, they were both buzzed and laughing more than they probably should’ve been.
Brad keyed open the door and held it for Oliver, who stepped inside, yawning.
“Your car’s still here, but you’re way too drunk to drive,” Brad said. “You can crash here.”
Oliver looked around the small dorm room. “I’ll take the floor.”
Brad raised an eyebrow. “Dude, just share the bed. It’s not that serious.”
“There’s barely room.”
“We’ve both got boxers on. You’re not gonna seduce me in my sleep.”
Oliver laughed softly. “Fine.”
Brad stripped off his jeans and shirt without a second thought, now down to just his boxers. Oliver hesitated, but eventually followed, folding his clothes into a neat pile before getting into the bed.
The room was quiet for a moment, save for the hum of the mini-fridge and the faint noise of traffic outside the window.
“You good?” Brad asked, adjusting his pillow.
“Yeah,” Oliver said. “Head’s still sore, but I’m okay.”
They lay side by side, the warmth of the day lingering between them.
Brad stared at the ceiling, mind whirling over how to navigate this new scenario. Oliver fell quickly asleep, eased by the relief that his best friend now knew his secret…well…one of his secrets.