"Fuck, man." Your roommate Ollie throws himself onto the couch beside you with all the grace of a stumbling giraffe.

"Long day?" you ask.

"The longest." His hair is still damp from the showers and a thin sheen of moisture makes the skin exposed by his tank top glisten in the light. "I’m fucking wiped out and I’ve got three more units of notes to do."

"Sucks to suck," you say, as you lean away from him to do your next set of bicep curls.

Ollie punches you in the upper arm. "Fuck you," he laughs.

That sort of thing would have hurt before but you barely budge, nowadays. Ollie’s strong but his swimmer’s physique is not nearly strong enough to make up for all the mass you’ve been packing on recently.

And it’s all thanks to Coach, his training plan, and those special shakes of his. Now that you think about it, he did promise a bonus if you turned more guys onto his shakes.

You grab your shake bottle and toss it over your shoulder at Ollie. "Try that," you say. "It’s great for when you’re low energy. Helps me work out for hours, you know?"

Ollie eyes the shake bottle for a moment. You figure he’ll probably reject the offer but to your surprise, he pops the cap and takes a swig.

His day must have been worse than you expected.

Ollie sets the bottle back on the table. A minute or so later, he sits up straight, looking at his hands. "Holy shit," he says. "You weren’t kidding about that stuff."

You grin. "Coach knows his shit." It sounds corny as all hell but it’s true. And you say it with the biggest, dumbest grin, too.

Ollie jumps up from the couch and stretches. "Hell, yeah, man. Right. I’m gonna get those notes done." He makes for his room. "See you tomorrow, bro."

Ollie is hooked on the shakes. Just like you were at your first taste.

You’re not even supposed to be on the football team. And yet here you are, working out and packing on the meat.

You’re not even interested in getting on the team, really. You just want the complementary shakes. Because God knows you can’t afford the $50 a pop Coach sells them for.

You’re an accounting major—on paper, at least. You haven’t done any work related to it in ages. But the numbers don’t lie. You don’t have that kind of money.

So you’re trying to get on the team. And so is Ollie, now. Because the shakes are so good. You can’t live without them.

Just like you, Ollie used all of the extra energy for schoolwork at first. But the ability to concentrate on words and smart shit is the first thing to go the more you get hooked on the shakes.

"Fuck, bro," Ollie says, leg bouncing up and down as he watches you work out in the middle of the common room. "How do you work off all this energy? I can’t fucking focus on my schoolwork."

You grin. You motion at yourself. At your weights. "Work out, bro," you say. "It helps clear the mind."

You leave out the part where it clears out the mind so much it starts throwing out school stuff to make space.

But Ollie doesn’t need to know that. You’ve been wanting a workout buddy for a long time, anyway.

He seems skeptical, though. "Seriously, bro?" he says. "Man, the swim team’s been working me like a dog and still I feel like I’m about to burst with energy."

You scoff dismissively. "That’s not gonna cut it, bro!" you say.

"You need to lift! You need to pump iron! Here. Try it out." You grab one of your barbells. He probably can’t handle what you can so you take all but one of the plates off and toss it to him.

Ollie catches it. He does a single careful bicep curl. You catch the moment his eyes light up and you know you’ve got him.

You and Ollie are going through your shake supply so fast, now, Coach is dropping by your dorm to deliver a box every few days or so.

Ollie’s been getting a double dose to catch up to you. Until today, anyway. Coach seemed satisfied about both of your progress when he visited this morning and scaled Ollie back to single doses with every meal, now.

Not that it matters. You’re both so energetic you’re practically bouncing off the walls.

You and Ollie work out most of the day, now. Packing on more meat. Drinking more shake. Just doing your best beefcake impression for Coach because it makes him happy.

Schoolwork’s a thing of the distant past but even with all the lifting and pumping you’re both doing, you’re still overflowing with energy. Luckily, Ollie seems to have held on to a couple of brain cells and he asks Coach how you can deal with it.

He says you can fuck away the extra energy. And duh. You and Ollie both facepalm. You can’t believe you didn’t think of that.

Later that night—after a few more hours of working out and a dinner of Coach’s delicious shake—you’ve got Ollie pinned up against the wall with your tongue down his throat.

Your sweaty, muscular bodies press together. Your hard cocks, which have grown considerably along with the rest of you, and your thick, juicy balls rub against one another as you desperately make out and grind your hips.

You break the kiss before long. You flip Ollie over so his round, muscular belly and the head of his cock are pressed up against the wall.

And why should he? His cock has grown but not as much as yours. It’s clear who should be on top. And you’ve been drooling over his thick muscular ass since Coach told you sex was an option.

It doesn’t take long before you’re sliding your fat piece inside your roommate. It’s surprisingly easy. His muscular fuckhole grips you tightly, the warm, velvety heat surrounding you and squeezing your length as if it wants to milk you.

You start cautiously at first but the way Ollie’s bucking his hips against yours makes you think you might not need to be so considerate.

So you put your hand on the back of his neck and push him against the wall. You place your other one on his hip as you pull nearly all the way out before slamming back in.

The way his back arches, and from the desperate little groan that spills from his lips, you figure you’re doing good. So you do it again. And again. And again.

Each time is just a little faster and more forceful than the last. Until you’re slamming your cock into his muscle hole and making those fat ass cheeks jiggle.

You grunt and groan, sweating like a pig and rutting like a bull while you do your best to fuck Ollie in the wall. It’s so easy to lose time when it feels so good and you barely notice it’s already past midnight when your first nut comes.

And you fill the bitch up so much you can almost swear his muscle gut has swollen as a result.

For that matter, Ollie cums, too. He shoots so hard there’s a streak on the wall that reaches almost all the way up to the ceiling. And the rest of the load is so thick and voluminous it clings to the wall, slowly dripping onto the molding before pooling around both your feet.

As you pull Ollie away from the wall—still soundly impaled on your length—you examine his handiwork. There’s so much cum splattered over the boring gray paint you’re pretty sure a few more fucks is all it will take to replace the dull shade with the brand-new and much more exciting color: "beefcake cream"