Buddy Lift

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My, they grew their men big down here in Georgia.

Travis watched as the two workers from the moving company he’d hired wrangled his grandmother’s armoire through the narrow doorway into his new apartment. One of them set his end down and wiped a hand across his forehead. Atlanta in August was hot. Not that Travis hadn’t been expecting Atlanta in August to be hot, but it was even hotter than that. Which was why both of the moving men had wet splotches under their arms and down the fronts of their t-shirts. Travis was a little damp himself.

“Were do you want this?” the guy who’d been wiping his forehead asked. His name was Buster, which it said in scrolled script on the pocket of his t-shirt, and he was about as big as the armoire.

“In the bedroom, please.”

The bedroom was at the far end of the apartment, but Buster and his co-worker, Hank, easily hefted the bulky piece of solid oak down the hall and into the reasonably sized room, which right now wasn’t much more than a pile of boxes. Once Buster and Hank had wedged the armoire into the corner next to the closet, Buster ripped his t-shirt off over his head.

“Hotter ’n blazes out there,” he said as he used it to mop across the back of his neck.

“But you get used to it, right?”

Buster snorted. “Ain’t got used to it yet. How about you, Hank?”

“Hot is hot,” Hank opined sagely. “Gets hot in New York too, though,” he observed.

“In the summer,” Travis agreed. “The city can be a furnace with all that concrete. I didn’t have to move things, though.”

“I reckon not,” Buster said, as if he couldn’t imagine Travis moving so much as a paperclip.

Travis wasn’t such a lightweight as all that, but compared to Buster and Hank? Yeah, he was pretty light. He’d been trying not to gawk as they took their slow, steady time unloading the truck, but now that Buster had his shirt off, it was hard not to.

Buster had a broad chest thoroughly covered in dark hair, glistening from the way he’d been sweating. Travis wanted to lick him dry. Which was maybe not technically possible, but he would sure like to try. Buster was exactly the kind of guy Travis sometimes watched fuck twinky little dudes like himself on Pornhub. Hank was too. In fact, Travis had occasionally watched a pair of men exactly like Buster and Hank buddy fuck a twinky dude exactly like himself.

Buster dropped his shirt on top of the armoire and headed out of the room. Travis gave the light blue scrunch of cotton a quick glance, wondering if he could smuggle it into a drawer and pretend he didn’t know where it’d gone to when Buster looked for it later. He wanted to stick his nose into the shirt, basically smother himself with it while he got himself off, but instead he followed Buster and Hank down the two flights of stairs to the ground floor.

He had to hold the front door open for them because he’d balked when they’d tried to prop it open. He was from New York City. Even the fact that his apartment door was unlocked two flights above him made him nervous. Back home, stuff would be moving out of his apartment faster than Buster and Hank could move it in.

Buster and Hank grabbed Travis’s couch, which was a sleeper sofa, so it was plenty heavy. Hank backed up toward Travis with his end, and when they were both through the outer door, Travis let it swing shut behind him, making sure he heard the click of the lock engaging before he turned to follow the men up the stairs. He almost swallowed his tongue at the sight of Buster’s back muscles straining and popping as he hefted the sofa. And then there were Hank’s biceps, which bulged like he’d had boulders surgically implanted under the skin of his upper arms.

Travis had to follow Buster’s muscular ass, flexing in work pants that dipped low enough to showcase a hint of crack, all the way up two flights of stairs. Painfully, one step at a time, as the men grunted and heaved. By the time they’d made it back to his apartment, he was as hot as they were. Thankfully, the A/C was cranking away. He shut the door to give it a better shot at cooling the space.

“Anyone need a drink?” he asked as Buster and Hank settled the sofa against the long wall of his living room. “I haven’t been to the store yet, so I’m afraid I only have water.”

“Water would be good.” Hank peeled his shirt off as he came into the kitchen where Travis was rooting through a box, trying to find his glasses. And oh fuck, Hank was somehow even better built than Buster. Not as wide, but seriously stacked. They were both nicely bronze too, suggesting they did a fair amount of their moving shirtless.

Hank tossed his shirt carelessly on Travis’s kitchen table. Travis’s gaze flickered from it back over to Hank’s chest and then to Buster’s chest, which was really close to him for some reason. All three of them were crowded into his kitchen, which had been called an eat-in kitchen on Craigslist but wasn’t actually big enough for three men and a table.

Travis swallowed, not sure whether he was turned on or intimidated.

“You said water?” Buster asked.

Oh, right. They weren’t crowding him because they were about to beat him up. They just wanted what he’d offered. He pulled three glasses out of the box, gave them a quick rinse under the tap, then filled them with ice and water from the refrigerator door. Nice feature. He liked it. He also liked the way Buster’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he downed the entire glass in three hefty swallows.

“Let me get you some more of that,” Travis said, as if Buster couldn’t operate the controls on the refrigerator door himself. Travis had only taken a small sip from his own glass because his heat issue was more internal than external, but if he didn’t stop drooling, that beating might happen after all. He needed to remember he wasn’t in New York anymore.

He refilled both their glasses, then took a few more sips from his own, glancing around the apartment as he did to figure out what was left to carry up. All the big stuff was done except his bed.

“Just the bed then, right?”

“Can’t leave the man without a bed.” Buster set his glass down on the counter. “He might have a hot date.”

“You figure?” Hank asked doubtfully.

“Might be a regular lady’s man,” Buster said.

Hank snorted. Travis went cold. They’d figured out he was gay, hadn’t they? Had he been too obvious in his ogling? Or was it the furniture? Too many colors, not enough leather. All his rainbows were packed away, buried inside boxes where they might just stay. This was Georgia, after all. He was no longer among his people.

“If we could finish up,” he said, trying to force a confident tone into his voice. He was the customer here.

“Sure, boss man,” Buster said. “Let’s get you finished up.” He thwacked Hank on the shoulder, and the two of them made for the door. Travis followed them down the stairs, keeping his eyes to himself this time. Maybe propping the outer door open hadn’t been such a bad idea. It would’ve kept him out of Buster and Hank’s way.

They made quick work of hauling his box spring and mattress up the stairs, then made a final trip for the headboard.

“Guess that’s it,” Travis said when all the pieces had been leaned against the wall in his bedroom. He’d already paid the moving company, but probably a tip was in order. He was reaching for his wallet when Buster said, “Nah, we’re not done yet.”

“You’re not?” He’d seen the empty interior of the moving van himself. Nothing in there but dust bunnies.

“Gotta get the bed set up for you.” Buster grabbed hold of the bedframe and started laying it out in the center of the room.

“I can manage that.”

“We run a full service operation. Don’t want you complaining you didn’t get the full service, do we, Hank?”

Travis stood back, confused, as Buster and Hank attached his headboard to the frame. As far as he knew, moving didn’t include assembling. He’d paid for three hours, which weren’t quite up yet, but he hadn’t been about to demand a refund for the remaining time. Were they afraid he wouldn’t tip them?

They spoke to each other in man code as they worked, not much more than grunts and the occasional verb. Neither man had put his shirt on, and their pants dipped dangerously low as they bent over the bed until it’d taken full form with both the box spring and mattress in place.

“Just need the sheets,” Buster said as he stepped back to survey the assembled bed approvingly.

“You provide maid service too?” Travis asked doubtfully.

“Nah, you can do the sheets.” Buster folded his arms across his broad, naked chest with its appealing mat of hair. Hank folded his over his own smoother, more sculpted chest. Their biceps bulged, and their abdomens went way too low before their pants took over. Travis almost couldn’t look in their direction.

He needed them to leave so he could—firstly—breathe a sigh of relief that he hadn’t gotten gay-bashed by two bulging homophobes, and then—secondly—jerk off two or three times to stored-up images of said bulging homophobes. So if making the bed would get them to leave, he would make the bed. It would be handy to have it made up for that jerk-off session anyway.

He found the box marked linens and pulled out a set of sheets. He moved around the bed, fitting the bottom sheet to it, aware that Hank and Buster were watching him the way he’d watched them. Well, maybe not quite the same way.

“It’s wrinkled,” Buster said.


“There’s a wrinkle. A man can’t sleep with the sheets all wrinkly beneath him, can he, Hank?”

Hank shook his head solemnly. “Shit’s gotta be smooth.”

Travis leaned over the bed and ran his hands over everything he could reach to smooth it out.

“Higher up,” Buster prompted.

Travis leaned over farther, stretching for the center of the bed and patting it into order. “I think it’s fine, guys.” He turned over his shoulder to catch Hank and Buster staring at his ass.

“It’s fine, all right,” Buster said. “You just stay right there and keep being fine.”



He arched his back a bit, making his ass stick out, and Buster sucked in his breath.

Mighty fine, ain’t it, Hank?”

“Sheets could be smoother,” Hank said doubtfully. “Ya oughta keep smoothing ’em.” He dropped a hand to his crotch and gave himself an obvious squeeze.

Instead of pretending to iron sheets that didn’t need ironing, Travis turned around and sat his ass down on the bed to face the two men. They seemed even bigger standing over him than they had carrying his furniture, and with his eyes at about groin height, he could see they were both rocking solid bulges. Hank’s bulge was so big it looked like he’d stuffed a boulder down his pants to match the ones in his upper arms.

“Guys?” He wanted to be really sure what was happening before he made any terrible mistakes.

“Like I told you,” Buster said. “We’re a full service organization. Aiming to make you feel right at home in your new location, and I don’t know any better way to make a hot ass like yours feel at home than by giving it a good pounding. If that’s a service you’d care to have us provide,” he added respectfully. “How about it, Travis? Would you like us to handle all your relocation needs? Because we’d like to relocate your intestines right on up to your ears.”

Travis said something sounded like “eep.”

“Was that a yep?” Hank asked.

“Not sure.” Buster stepped forward until his bulge was in Travis’s face. Travis leaned back and Buster followed him down, leaving over until he had Travis nearly pinned to the bed. “Was that a yep?”

This time, Travis managed something closer to yep.

“Whoop.” Buster popped back up to his feet with a holler. He hauled Travis up after him and stripped Travis’s top half while Hank went to work on his bottom half. Between the two of them, they had him naked so fast he wasn’t sure where his clothes had gone, but who the fuck cared? He had one hard man pressed against his chest, an even harder one pressed against his back, and his own hard cock raring to go right in the middle.

Hank picked him up and threw him onto the bed. Before Travis could even consider how to arrange his limbs, which had flailed in an ungainly sprawl over his freshly made bed, Hank was doing it for him, flipping him onto his stomach and then pulling his hips back until he was on his knees with his ass hanging off the bed.

Hank got down on the ground behind him, said “mine” with unbridled enthusiasm, and dove in—lips and tongue going straight for Travis’s hole without any attempt at coyness. Travis was definitely in for a full-featured servicing.

“To execute a proper buddy lift,” Buster said, “you gotta approach the target from both ends.” He climbed onto the bed, still dressed in his low slung work pants. Travis only had a moment to be grateful he’d at least taken off his shoes before he had his zipper down and his cock in Travis’s face.

“I’m going to need you to swallow that.”

Travis didn’t bother nodding. He just opened his mouth so Buster’s cock could nudge its way inside, past his lip-covered teeth, over his tongue, and right down his throat, filling him to the point of choking before receding again. Travis let Buster control the rhythm, keeping his throat lax so he could take as much as possible of the cock that was far more than a mouthful while Hank got his insides loose and wet.

This double assault was something he’d only ever dreamed of, and the whole setup was so obviously the plot from a porno that it made the situation even hotter. Here he was, the twink about to be railed by two muscle tops, taking one from each end and moaning like a wanton cock slut. His own audacity turned him on all the harder. On Monday, he would be starting his new job as a junior CPA for a tax prep firm, but today he was a porn star.

“Where’d you stash the supplies?” Hank asked.

Travis wasn’t sure he had any supplies, but Buster answered the question for him. “Nightstand.”

Hank went over to Travis’s nightstand. He opened the little drawer at the center and surprise, surprise. Inside, there was a whole bottle of lube and a strip of condoms, which Travis knew for a fact hadn’t been there when the nightstand had left his apartment in New York City.

Travis managed to spit out Buster’s cock. “You guys brought supplies?”

“Told you we’re full service,” Buster said. “Now open back up. I haven’t finished with that mouth.”

Travis dutifully opened up, vaguely registering that Hank was putting on a condom as he concentrated on sucking Buster down even further. Buster rewarded him with a hand cupped under his chin.

“That’s a good little cocksucker. Such a pretty mouth. Been waiting to get in that mouth all morning.”

“What about this ass though?” Hank said as he came around to stand behind Travis again. “Ain’t you been wanting to get in this ass?”

“You know it,” Buster agreed. “Boy looks like he knows how to shake it.”

“Uh huh.” Hank’s fingers breached Travis’s sphincter, which was already relaxed from all that tonguing.

Travis pushed back to meet him, shaking his ass like Buster had predicted he would. This wasn’t really him. He lusted after guys like Buster and Hank. He didn’t have sex with them. And he got fucked, but only by one guy at a time and without so much dirty talk. Usually at night. Often with the lights out. Now he was ass-up in the broad daylight of high noon with a cock down his throat and another tapping his ass.

“Now, don’t go biting Buster’s cock in half,” Hank said as he started to press in.

“Thanks for the warning, dude.” Buster withdrew his cock a bit, giving Travis some air as he got filled from the other end.

He hadn’t gotten much of a look at Hank’s cock yet, having had Buster’s very much in his face, but he could feel it well enough. It bullied its way into his ass, fat and hard. Travis was grateful for all the prep Hank had given him, because holy shit—that was a lot of cock to take.

He moaned, vibrating around the head of Buster’s cock, as he braced himself until Hank finally stopped sliding. Buster leaned forward, and he and Hank high-fived right over his body.

“See-saw or battering ram?” Buster asked.

Travis hoped Buster wasn’t asking him because he didn’t know what that meant and, also, he couldn’t talk at the moment.

“See-saw to warm him up, battering ram to finish him off,” Hank said.

“You start,” Buster said.

Hank withdrew, then came back in as Buster withdrew. The two tops went back and forth like that, see-sawing so that Travis was always filled from one end or the other, rocking him between them like a ball they were tossing back and forth. Travis’s cock bobbled under his body, untouched but extremely interested, and whenever he managed to open his eyes, he got an up-close view of a set of hard abs.

Mostly he kept his eyes closed, though, imagining what the camera would see. One slim, naked body doubly pierced by two hefty ones still wearing pants. Hell, Hank hadn’t even taken off his shoes, just unzipped and got to fucking, as if Travis were no more than a hole in the wall.

Travis moaned again, caught up in this fantasy he was somehow playing the starring role in. Travis McGee, accountant, five and a half feet of nothing special, was really, truly getting spit roasted by two men stacked enough to be stunt doubles.

“I think we’ve got him good and warm now,” Buster said, easing back for a moment. Travis took a shaky breath. His eyes were damp from gagging, and his whole body felt hot and wet and alive. “You ready to finish this puppy off?”

Hank must have nodded, because Buster said, “On my count. One, two, three,” and then oh my God. Travis got it. The battering ram.

Two cocks slammed into him—one down his throat, one up his ass—so deep they must surely be meeting in the middle. The force almost knocked him unconscious, but it wasn’t over yet. Buster and Hank pulled out and came in again, the vacuum they’d left when they vacated his body immediately and brutally filled. Where before Travis had been flung back and forth between them, now he was compressed into the middle. Stuffed with cock. Literally crammed tight.

His head swam, and his vision went dark. He gave up on trying to see or think or imagine. His moans turned into squeals, which he bleated out each time Buster withdrew long enough for him to take a raggedy breath before being gagged again. He’d never come untouched before, but he was being touched in so many places his cock didn’t realize it wasn’t one of them. It spurted, suffusing him with pleasure and turning his squeals into a wet gurgle. Hank and Buster executed another high five without breaking rhythm, and then Travis got a voluminous dose of come down his throat even as Hank filled the condom inside him.

Suddenly there was stillness where before there’d been a hell of a lot of motion. Buster took his cock out of Travis’s mouth, and Travis gasped in a full breath of air. His chest and belly heaved. That’d been more exercise than he was accustomed to getting, and now his throat was sore and his sadly empty ass ached softly. He was scrunched up on his knees, his chest rising and falling against the mattress and his cock resting in the puddle it’d made.

What happened next?

“Buddy lift,” Buster said, and two sets of hands lifted him and rotated him until he was stretched out on the bed with Buster on one side and Hank on the other.

Hank still had his work boots on, but Travis let that go with a contented sigh. He appreciated the two warm men shielding his sweaty, naked body from the chill of the air conditioning. They talked over him—about their afternoon job and where they should have lunch—almost as if he weren’t there, but they petted him as they talked, running their big callused hands over his shoulders and flanks, and Travis found himself drifting off to sleep. He hadn’t slept well last night because he’d been too wound up about the move and the new job and not knowing anyone in Atlanta, but he slept now, cradled warmly in his new home.

“Gotta be moseying along,” Buster said finally, bringing him back to consciousness. “All that work makes a man hungry for more than just ass.”

Hank snorted. “You didn’t even eat any ass.”

“Next time,” Buster agreed. “Gotta flip ends.”

The two men got to their feet. Buster put on his shoes, and they both found the shirts they’d abandoned earlier. Travis stayed on the bed, still naked and starting to feel self-conscious about it. Should he tip? It felt… awkward, and he didn’t know where his pants had gotten to. He sat up into a cross-legged position with his limp dick dangling down to the sheets.

Buster thrust a clipboard at him. “Sign here.” He pointed at a spot on the form. “Then here,” he said, flipping a page. “And your initials at the bottom. Says nothing got damaged. Not damaged, are you, Travis?”

Travis shook his head and initialed the page.

“Now, this here’s my business card.” Buster pulled a card from his back pocket and handed it over. “You call anytime you need something rearranged. Convenient hours, friendly workers.” He winked.

“Really?” Travis glanced up. “You’d, um…”

“Any time, right, Hank? A hot ass like yours will always be welcome here in Atlanta.”

Buster touched his forehead like it was a salute, and then he and Hank left the apartment before Travis could figure out the answer to that tipping question. He felt bad because he would’ve tipped. For the moving, of course, not the sex. Although the sex had been seriously tip-worthy. But maybe Buster and Hank didn’t see him as a client. Maybe they saw him as a friend. Or a date. Or a hot piece of ass.

Imagine that. Travis McGee—accountant, Georgian, hot piece of ass.

The End

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