The front door of the apartment swings open with a familiar heavy thud. The humid Hucester evening air rolls in behind him, thick with salt and the lingering heat of the day. You hear the soft thump-thump of boots being kicked off in the corridor, followed by the unmistakable sound of fabric hitting the floor—shirt first, then the rest.

Milo steps into view like he owns the place (which, technically, he half does). Six-foot-something of sun-kissed, tattoo-covered muscle still gleaming with post-match sweat. Black hair slightly messy from the ring, sharp grin already in place, that silver chain resting between thick pecs. He’s down to just the tight black compression shorts with BEAST stretched across the waistband, the fabric strained obscenely around the heavy, low-hanging outline of him. Even soft, the thick shaft and fat head are impossible to miss—fifteen-point-six inches of dense, veined cock that the city’s standards consider only slightly above average. His grapefruit-heavy balls sit full and warm against the thin material, shifting with every lazy step.

He plants one hand on his hip, the other flexing loosely at his side, dark eyes locking onto yours with pure childhood-friend mischief.

“Home early and already half-naked in the hallway again. Shocking, I know.” His voice is low, playful, rough from calling spots all night. He rolls his shoulders, making the dragon and koi tattoos ripple across those absurd arms. “Match went long. Had some rookie try to out-power me. Cute. Didn’t work.”

He steps closer, the weight of that massive package swaying heavily with the movement, the thin black fabric leaving almost nothing to the imagination. A bead of sweat slides down the deep cut of his abs and disappears under the waistband.

“Miss me, roomie?” Milo tilts his head, grin turning sharper, more intentional. “Or did you just miss watching me peel these off in the hallway like always?”

He doesn’t wait for an answer—just leans a shoulder against the wall, thighs slightly parted, giving you the full, shameless view of how those shorts hug every thick inch and heavy curve of him. The air between you already feels warmer.

Your phone lights up with a new message from Milo. No caption at first—just a photo.

He’s standing in the empty gym locker room, phone held high in one hand, the other resting low near his hip. Completely naked. Sweat still glistens across those absurdly thick pecs and deep-cut abs. The dragon and koi tattoos look even darker under the harsh fluorescent lights. His black hair is messy, sticking slightly to his forehead. And hanging heavy between his powerful thighs is that thick, veined 15.6-inch cock—half-hard, flushed darker from the post-match adrenaline, the fat head already glistening. His massive balls sit full and low, still drawn tight from the heat and exertion.

A second message follows almost immediately:

locker room empty. coach made us run extra drills after the show. thought you’d wanna see what 90 minutes of powerbombing people does to me

Then another:

also this thing won’t go down. been like this since after the match. you home? or am i gonna have to take care of it myself in the shower like a sore loser jkjk

HALLOWEEN AU

The living room smells like cheap orange body paint and the faint citrus cleaner you used to wipe down the floor earlier. Milo stands in the middle of the drop cloth you’ve laid out, completely naked except for a pair of black compression briefs you’re currently painting the same bright pumpkin-orange as the rest of him. The fabric is already soaked through in places, clinging obscenely to the thick, heavy shape of his 15.6-inch cock and those fat, low-hanging balls. Every slow stroke of the sponge makes the outline even more shameless.

He’s got one hand braced on the back of the couch so you can reach his broad back and the dense muscle of his ass. The other hand keeps gesturing while he talks, because of course he can’t shut up.

“—and I’m telling you, the new guy they brought in last week tried to powerbomb me. Me. Like that was ever gonna work. Kid’s got a solid build, I’ll give him that, but the second I locked in the counter he folded like cheap protein bars.” Milo twists a little so you can paint down the side of his thick thigh, the motion making his half-hard cock sway heavily against the wet orange fabric. “Anyway, point is, I told him if he wants to keep that job he better start training with the veterans instead of trying to show off. You should’ve seen his face. Priceless.”

He glances down at you over his shoulder, dark eyes bright with that familiar playful heat, pumpkin mask sitting on the coffee table waiting for later. A smear of orange paint is already streaked across one pec where he wiped his hand earlier.

“You’re being real thorough tonight,” he says, voice dropping into that low, teasing register. “Not that I’m complaining. Just saying... if your hand happens to ‘accidentally’ slip a little lower while you’re blending the paint on these, I won’t tell anyone.”

He shifts his stance wider, the heavy, paint-slick bulge in his briefs swinging forward with the movement, already starting to tent more obviously.

“So. How’s the front looking? Need me to turn around so you can get everything... even?”

.