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The Good-Kid Has Abs
by gpl

Zeke and Andrew

No one really expects things like this to happen; especially when you realize that the good kid in class was going to be part of it all.
Standing at six feet and two inches, with his button-down, sleeve-folded, ironed shirt, he entered the classroom. Definitely an eye-candy to all the girls in the classroom. The grey shade of his recently shaved beard and the looks on his face didn’t quite fit with his short pants witnesses of some growth spurt occurring just days before the school year began. He looks funny. Funny enough to begin some chitchat around the room.
“Morning,” he says and all the place turns silent.

Later, I realized the boy’s name was Ezekiel, and he turned out to be the teacher’s pet and servant. No one spoke to him, and he always got some good grades. His handsome face turned into a joke for all the girls. The only thing that caught my attention about that boy was his arms. His smoking hot veins never hid, and the last ones that I could see before the sleeve cut off my vision were the veins making a V on the front side of his elbow. So, I decided to join him every day at lunch in the cafeteria hoping that one day I could be able to also see if his abs were as hard as mine.
Finally, the opportunity came. Chemistry class. Group report. Pairs.
I made sure the teacher chose me to choose my partner first, and it happened.
“Andrew,” he said. “Choose your couple.”
I stared at all the room trying to be subtle at choosing him.
“Umm,” I said squinting a little, “I guess I’ll choose Zeke,” I said. At the mention of his name, he lifted his head from a book and stared at me. A round of murmurs followed. I wanted to be with him! Hell! He’s so lucky!
“So,” the teacher said lifting her hand to stop all the chitchat. “Andrew-Ezekiel.”

“Hey there,” Ezekiel said from behind me. His backpack dangling on his I-Guessed-Muscular right shoulder. “Umm,” he said. “So, when are we going to make the report?”
“Your home or my home?”
“My parents,” he said twitching his mouth to the side. “They’re too close-minded you know, and they won’t like having me in a house with a complete stranger, they’d said. Not when he always uses tight shirts trying to make all his muscles as noticeable as possible,” he laughed. The first time I think I saw him smile like that. A long dimple extended through all his cheek.
I pursed my lips clapping his arms. “Seems that I’m not the only one, Zeke,” I said pressing his unflexed bicep on my right hand. Someone was getting turned on... Sometime near it was going to happen. It was going to happen.
“I think this thingies need more space,” he said. I really wanted to see him flex, but he didn’t. Such a shame.
“So, when and where?”
“Tomorrow; your home.”
“What a rebel you are, Zeke. What will your parents say?”
“Fuck ‘em off!”
I laughed. Laughed because it didn’t sound quite right coming from the mouth of the good kid. Then, I slapped his back. Broad back. I couldn’t wait anymore to see his shirtless. Sometime. Sometime soon.

“You know. Humble home I have.”
“Yeah,” Zeke said stepping inside the door. “What a humble home you have. I guess you didn’t want to be so cocky as to bath it in gold.”
Well, actually he was right. Two-stories high. House taken from a magazine.
“So, umm, just leave your backpack somewhere, and the sooner we finish this the better.”
“Okay,” he said folding the sleeves of his button-down shirt elbow-high. There he was again.
The work, as expected, was all done by him while I wondered to myself when was it going to happen.
“So,” he said waking me from all of my filthy thoughts. “It’s done. Did you understand?”
“Explain it to me.”
“Umm,” I said staring at the report we had just made. “Umm, we’re explaining something about chemical reactions. Umm, how, umm, one substance joins with other to make a compound?”
“Kind of. But fair enough, I guess. If they ask us something, just keep your mouth shut, unless you know something.”
“So, I’ll keep my mouth shut all the while.”
He laughed.
“So, Zeke,” I said.
“When did you begin to call me like that?” he said putting his elbow on the table making his shirt tight on his bicep.
“Yesterday? SEE!” I said pointing at his hot bicep. “That was what I was talking about! It’s not just me. You use those type of shirts only to make your arms to look hot, right?”
At the comment, he flushed and pursed his lips staring at the nothingness before the burst of laughter appeared.
“Yeah,” he said sighing. “I guess you discovered my secret!”
“It seems that you’re not the good-kid everyone thinks you are, right?”
“Seriously?” he said raising his brow. “Just because I want my arms to look hot? Making it clear, I’m phrasing you: you said my arms looked hot,” and he laughed.
“Yeah! Just because of that! Because it means you work out, and not only care about good grades. Want some chicks, do you?”
“I guess. But wearing this things is so uncomfortable. They’re not too comfy, you know.”
“I could give you one if you’d like to,” I said. “Obviously, just for right now.”
“Yeah. That’d be fine. Anyway, I think we’re the same size.”
“K, Zeke.”

I returned with an undershirt. THANKS GOD FOR THE SUMMER. That way, he was going to use one of my tight shirts. It was going to happen.
“Here!” I said throwing the shirt at his face.
“Where can I dress?”
“C’mon! There are no admirers over here,” I said trying to sound nonchalant about it. “We’re both dudes, forgot it?”
He hesitated for a moment staring at me lost in thought. “What?” I told him.
“Nothing,” he said and unbuttoned his shirt. I quickly got turned on, just before I saw anything. Then, I saw it. The good boy had a six pack, or better said, an eight pack. Very well-defined, and he saw that I was staring at him and flushed.
“What?” I told him.
“I’ll continue if you take your shirt, too,” he said covering his abs with the undershirt. His shirt covering his arms and nipples, but not covering his Goddamn hot V-cut of his abs.
I laughed, “How frequently do you take your shirt off in front of someone?”
“Never,” he said flushing again passing his hand on his hair and combing it with his fingers.
“Then,” I said cleaning the cuticle from my nails trying to sound casual. “I dare you to take your shirt off with me looking.” Then, I laughed.
He laughed, too, and quickly took his shirt off throwing it at me. The smell of his cologne filling my nose. I smiled, and he extended his arms showing me every inch of muscle in his torso. “I did it!” he said and as he laughed, he flexed his abs even more. “My turn. You take off your shirt.”
“Okay!” I said and took my t-shirt by the hem and took it off. “What d’you think of it?” I said flexing my abs feeling his eyes scanning all my body.
“Still, I think my bod is much better than yours,” Zeke said walking to me no longer caring of being shirtless, or maybe fighting the idea that he was, indeed, shirtless. He is breathing heavily, as I can see on his well-defined chest.
“So,” I said giving a step to him fiddling with my shirt on my hands. “This is the Zeke no one knew? The good-kid is no longer, I guess.”
“Okay,” he said taking the undershirt I gave him and was beginning to wear it when something troubled me inside. Actually, I think I was very lucky in hiding the boner I was having at that moment, but it hadn’t been enough. Something else had to happen.
“Wait,” I said. “I thought we were playing I Dare You or something like that!” He furrowed his brows at me and froze without making any movement. “My turn right?”
And he nodded; a smile appeared on his mouth. It happened as if he had been trapped inside many home norms, and that he was finally free here.
“So,” I said thinking on the correct way of saying it. “You’ll flex those abs of yours…”
“And?” he said already with a rogue expression on his face.
“You seem pretty interested in it,” I told Zeke. My heart almost escaping my chest; a heat running from my heart to my ears. “I’ll test ‘em. Flex and punch.”
He blinked; a long blink and then said, “You’ll take all the air out of my lungs, don’t you think.”
By then, I was close enough to poke his abs, and I did it. Feeling his abdominal strength stopping my finger to go any further. “See,” I said. “There you have your answer. Your abs are hard enough.”
He raised his hands back of his neck and crouched a little to flex his goddamn hot abs. I poked them first and he smiled. Then, I put my hand on his back for some support and let my fist crash with the muscular wall on his abs. I smiled as some pain grew on my fist. It was hard. It was getting me hard.
“I dare you to do the same,” he said “But until you cry for mercy, and you’ll do it on the floor,” he said and I saw that rogue smile of his. No longer the dimply smile, but this time, it was a smile that let me know he was going to destroy me, and the most important of all, it was a dare.
I lay on the floor with my hands supporting the weight on my butt. He sat over me and first slapped my abs; soft, gentle. I knew he was doing it just to feel their strength. To know that I also had abs.
“So, tell me,” I told him. “Why do you hide your muscles?” The first punch came, but my incredibly hot abs stopped his fist from going any further. He smiled and pressed his palm against the squares on my belly.
“This things you mean?” he said and for the first time, flexed his bicep. SHIT! Definitely bigger than mine. I got extremely turned on at it, and I think he felt it because he stood up again. Now, the vein on his bicep was clearly noticeable and his loud, excited heartbeat was seen on his chest.
He stepped on my abs, and I hardened them the more I could. He smiled to me and then crouched again poking every square on his way down and sitting over me again. I relished the pain, and I loved the sight of the red mark on his abs. The mark I left, but I knew it hadn’t been enough. He hit me repeatedly without stopping. I closed my eyes and hoped for some strength to come out of nowhere.
He laughed punching my abs. His hair dancing to and fro with each punch; the dimple on his face sinking deeper. At that point, I groaned. And he seemed to be liking that.
My abs were hard, and he loved that. He let me rest for some seconds as he passed his hands over my well-definied abs. One hand over my abs and the other–maybe by mere coincidence–on my bicep.
“I haven’t cried for mercy,” I said and he punched once more. Repeteadly. The sound of his relentless fist on my abs turning him on. The sweat was falling from his neck to his pecs. His perfect pecs. He was no longer the good-kid, and this was going to be a secret among us.
I couldn’t flex too much, and the red mark on my abs was aching like hell. I wanted to tell him to stop, but I wanted to let him know that my abs are hard. Hard enough for muscles like his. He was sweating, and once in a while he soaked the sweat from his forehead with his button-down shirt.
“Stop!” I told him at last and rubbed my aching abs. My heart about to escape my chest. He smiled and rubbed his own abs.
“I dare you to show me your bicep once more,” I told him. And he smiled and lay at my side. His sweaty body spreading some heat on the floor. Then, he stood up again.
“Which one?” he said.
“Right, then left.”
He did so. A gigantic muscle he had; big enough for a seventeen year old like him. He flexed so hard, his arms was shivering. Then, he did it with his left arm. It wasn’t as big as his right one, but as good-looking as the other one.
“I dare you to weaken my abs,” he said and smiled.
I hugged him feeling his skin against mine, something I had always daydreamed about, and wrapped my left arm around all his torso, making his arms stick together with his ribs, and I punched his abs once more. Hard and hot as hell. I slapped them, and rubbed them, feeling the eight pack on my hand. I applied a claw on him; he wouldn’t have to breathe or my fingers would finish with his gut.
Then, with my left hand, I punched the part of his abs inside the claw; it was getting red; his face sweating, and he was liking it by the look on his pants. Punch, Punch.
“Ough,” he said. “Uff!” Then, I put my hand on his abs, feeling his heartbeat.
“Ough!” he said with the punch to his abs. I pressed him against the wall and punched his abs repeteadly; his face crying for mercy, but I didn’t stop. I elbowed him, knee-shots, my head against his abs. And he groaned, cried.
Then, I had the idea. I walked inside the room again to find him rubbing his red raw abs, and I was walking with a stick inside.
I lifted my hand and hit him with the broomstick right on his abs. He screamed. The big deal screamed and crouched holding his abs on his hands. I loved it. The broomstick was broken.
He groaned and fell on the floor. I turned him around staring at the red line on his abs.
“You broke the broomstick,” I told him massaging his weakened abs, “You did it well,” I told him massaging his pecs.
“I dare you to flex your abs and receive ten punches from my fists,” I told him, and he did it. Soft flexing; the squares were there, but not as before. His red raw abs not allowing him to flex more than ten seconds before breaking in groaning.
“One,” I said and slapped his abs. Slapped it hard enough to make him groan and take his abs between his hands. “Nine more to go.”
“Two,” I said getting a claw on his abs. He screamed and stopped flexing. “Eight more.
“Three” Punch. Four. Harder punch. I could feel how my fist sank into his once great abs, now sweaty and soft. They were hot, literally hot, with sweat and redness.
Four was more than he could bear. He drooled a little and coughed, but he didn’t ask me to stop. His face was red, the veins on his neck about to burst. I put my hand on his abs; he didn’t flex anymore, he wasn’t laughing, he wasn’t flexing his abs.
Five found a little resistance. The last hope that his abs were still there, strong, hot, and sexually arousing. He was powerless.
“Do you give up?” I asked him. He nodded and I lay by his side breathing in and out making my heart slow its pace. But he did like my abs. He slowly turned around and slapped my abs softly, and I let him. I let him feel each and every muscle I had on my torso. Definitely, he was stronger than I am. That’s Zeke. Not a good-boy.