NEON ASPHALT
Every Tuesday at 10 p.m., the city closes one street and it turns into a different world.
Neon Asphalt.
The guy in purple is one of the first to walk in. Rain sticks to his skin, sliding down his chest and abs. His shiny purple briefs hug him tight, almost glowing under all the signs. Each step he takes splashes the wet road, and his muscles move like they’re showing off on purpose. The fabric is already stretched taut over his thickening cock, a clear outline against the slick material.
Then he sees him.
The guy in blue is walking from the other end, shoulders wide, waist tight, legs thick. His electric blue briefs catch the light, and his bare skin looks warm even in the rain. A matching bag hangs off his shoulder, bouncing against his back. His own dick is a heavy, promising weight against the front of his briefs, the head pushing insistently at the waistband.
They slow down until they’re right in front of each other, just a breath apart.
“So that’s the blue everyone keeps talking about,” the guy in purple says, eyes sliding up and down, lingering on the bulge between his legs.
“And that’s the purple that leaves the locker room too fast,” the guy in blue answers, staring just as openly. “Wanted a better look.”
Music starts, low and heavy, vibrating up through the ground. More guys spill out in orange, green, red, all shiny and wet, but these two only see each other.
The guy in blue steps closer until their chests touch lightly. The contact is small but it feels huge. Warm skin. Slick from rain. His hand comes up and rests on the purple guy’s stomach, fingers spread, thumb gently moving side to side like he’s testing him. He lets his hand drift lower, his knuckles brushing against the hard ridge straining the purple fabric.
“You’re hard everywhere,” he says quietly. “Even your abs are tense.”
The purple guy lets out a small breath he didn’t know he was holding. He slides his own hand over the blue guy’s chest, feeling the curve of his pec, the little jump of his heartbeat under his palm. Then he drags that hand down, slow, over bumps of muscle, stopping right at the cut line above the briefs. His thumb plays with the waistband, just a little tug, before he cups the heavy swell of the blue guy’s dick through the fabric, feeling it pulse against his palm.
“You’re not exactly relaxed either,” he mutters, giving it a firm squeeze.
A guy in bright orange brushes past them, his arm sliding across their lower backs. “Don’t freeze up, boys,” he laughs. “Neon Asphalt likes brave guys.”
The touch makes them move even closer. The blue guy’s other hand settles on the purple guy’s hip, fingers digging in, pulling him in so their bodies line up. Chest against chest. Stomach against stomach. Hips grinding together on purpose now. The rain cools their skin, but where they touch it feels hot, their cocks rubbing against each other through the thin, wet fabric.
“Still wanna leave fast?” the blue guy whispers, his lips almost against the purple guy’s ear.
“Not tonight,” the purple guy says, his voice a low growl.
The blue guy tilts his head, noses brushing. The purple guy can feel his breath, warm and shaky. Then their lips meet. Soft at first, just a test. Wet from rain. Then the purple guy presses back harder, opening up, hands sliding over the blue guy’s back, feeling every thick line there.
The kiss gets deeper, slower, their bodies moving together, like a lazy dance. The bass thumps, lights flash on their wet skin, and they forget about everyone else. The blue guy’s hand slips from the purple guy’s hip to his ass, squeezing a cheek hard, pulling them even tighter together. The purple guy groans into his mouth, grinding his dick against the blue guy’s thigh.
When they finally pull apart, they stay close, foreheads touching, breathing heavy.
“End of the street?” the blue guy asks, thumb rubbing little circles on his hip, dipping just below the waistband of his briefs to tease the cleft of his ass.
“Yeah,” the purple guy says, stealing one more quick kiss. “But we’re walking real slow.”
They hook fingers together and start down Neon Asphalt, bodies still brushing with every step, disappearing into the neon and rain, leaving a trail of splashed water and unspoken promises on the glistening asphalt.
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