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Part 1 “And that’s why I love enjoying a big juicy carrot, at least once a week!” said the young man, putting down the juicer on his spotless kitchen worktop and finishing with a big wink to the camera. “Check out my next video in a few days’ time, and don’t forget to subscribe to my channel, my Instagram and my Twitter feed. Remember, whoever you are, you can get a super-fit body if you really want – and I know you want it.” There was a long pause, and then the whole studio set dissolved into bustle and noise as runners moved in to disassemble it. “That’s a wrap, Tom,” said the man behind the camera, stepping forward to shake him by the hand. “Another month of online content locked down and ready to upload.” Tom Daley, British Olympian and all-round nice guy, beamed and shook the older man’s hand with all the freshness of a man who had just finished recording half an hour of material, not the eight hours they had just achieved. “Thanks, Chris,” he said. “It’s always a pleasure shooting with you.” You’re telling me, Chris Jones thought. “You can go and get dressed if want to, now, Tom.” He tried not to sound remorseful at the prospect. How much pleasure he had had today, just staring at the 23-year-old athlete in his diving trunks, the trim physique, ripped abs and hard little pecs that begged to be touched. Not to mention the material clinging to his cute little bulge. All in the name of work. “Good-oh,” said Tom. “I’d forgotten I was in the altogether – just feels so flipping natural to be wearing this.” “Believe me, if I looked like you, I’d never put my shirt on,” said Chris, laughing to disguise the honesty of his remark. “That’s so sweet of you,” said Tom, with a shy smile. “You’re no stranger to the gym, though, mister.” “You noticed?” Chris folded his muscled arms shyly over his barrel chest. “I guess it’s somewhere to go and let off stress, but I’m not serious about it.” “Really? I have to say, I sometimes wish my body was more like yours,” said the young man unexpectedly. “You know – the blooming size of you. I mean, obviously, I need to be pretty lithe to compete, but I feel pretty flipping… weedy. Sometimes.” Chris shook his head. “You’re in incredible shape, Tom. You know that.” “But sometimes I wonder what it’s like to be big. Really big. I mean – can I feel your bicep a minute?” said Tom, reaching out. Chris took a step backwards. “What, here?” “I’m not saying you get your shirt off or anything,” said the young man, idly rubbing his jaw, eyes averted. “Unless you want to.” “Well, it’s just… if someone should mention to Dustin about it –” Tom put his hands on his hips and laughed. “Come on, my career is built around my body. My hubby totally understands if I – focus on it, sometimes. With professionals.” Chris wondered about that. There had been rumours since January of Tom’s Snapchat conversations with hot gay fans. Nothing had actually surfaced, no matter how much Chris Googled. Dustin and Tom had laughed it all off in the papers, but nobody really knew what went on in their relationship – and then they had gotten married, as according to the plan, and everything had gone quiet. Some people had even accused Tom of leaking the sex videos himself to boost his brand. Whichever way the story was read, everybody had sussed now that the butter-wouldn’t-melt star of British Olympic diving was far from as innocent as he appeared. And Chris had sometimes wondered if there was some special reason Tom had selected him to make the Don’t Quit Till You’re Fit videos for his YouTube channel. Was it coincidence that Chris was gay, unattached and – according to his Grindr profile – a ‘hungdaddy4u’. “Well, let’s go back to your dressing room,” he said, hoping his big hard-on wasn’t too much on display. “We can firm up our next shooting dates.” Tom shrugged as if they were talking about nothing but that. Perhaps they were. When they got into the confined space of his dressing room, though, he looked rather more serious, and he took care to lock the door after them. “Come on, then,” he said. “Down to your briefs. What’s good for the chicken is good for the daddy, or flipping something like that.” He watched while Chris stripped, slowly, down to his Calvin’s. It was hard to read his expression but he looked appreciative. He bit his lower lip as Chris threw his Levi’s into the corner. “How flipping old are you again? Because you look incredible.” “I’m only forty-eight, young man,” said Chris, with a laugh. “You don’t need to patronise me.” “Of course not,” said Tom, looking away shyly. “Come on, then. Let’s compare.” “Well, I’m a foot taller than you for a start.” “Pull a ‘most muscular’ though,” said Tom. “We’ll compare triceps first.” “Like this?” said Chris. “Whoa. Your shoulders are… flipping giant. Check me out.” Chris looked him over. “Cute, little bro.” “Yeah, I get it. Mate, your arms look three times the size of mine. The forearms, everything.” “Let’s compare biceps, then. Front Double Biceps, pose.” “Like that?” Tom struck a pose and his little biceps popped up. “Sort of. More at ninety degrees, with then turn your hands inward, like this…” Chris had done this a million times in the gym mirror after a workout. He wished he was as pumped now as he was then. Only his dick was as engorged as he wanted it to be. He noticed Tom was practically salivating as he stepped closer and compared his solid little muscles with Chris’s less ripped but mountainous peaks. “Oh, I really am pretty little, aren’t I…” “Well, you probably need that when you’re competing, like you say,” said Chris. He took a gamble and reached out, resting a big brotherly hand on the younger man’s shoulder. Tom’s eyeline raised and they looked at one another with quiet, naked honesty. Or semi-naked, at any rate. “My diving career is nearly done,” said Tom. “It’s everything around it that I need to build up now. And the gymnasts are coming up behind me with proper blooming muscular physiques.” Chris couldn’t deny that he was an ardent follower of Max Witlock’s Instagram and his somewhat stronger physique next to Tom’s. Even some of Tom’s fellow divers, like Chris Mears, were more top-shelf material, and weren’t burdened by Tom’s nice-guy persona. “You can get big pretty quick,” he said. “It just takes a little time and maybe a little help.” “That’s what I thought,” said Tom. “That’s why I have this.” He went to his kitbag and pulled out a jiffy bag, and from it, a small plastic jar. “It’s from the States,” he says. “Jack Zefron put me onto it. Totally herbal and for the time being, legal.” The label on the jar simply read, ‘SWELL!’ Chris scanned the ingredients list, screwed the lid off and gave it a sniff. It smelled of sandalwood and leather. For some reason, Chris’s dick hardened at the scent. “Steroids, Tom?” “Nothing like that,” said the young man, wide-eyed. “It’s totally legitimate, just gives you a boost.” “You’re sure you need a boost?” “That’s why I brought you back here, Chris. To show you how much I need it.” Chris sighed. “I see,” he said. “And so that I don’t ask any difficult questions when we film next month, I suppose.” “Well,” said Tom, coyly, “I suppose there was one other reason I got you in here.” “Oh? What’s that?” “I need someone to apply it,” said the young athlete. With that, he double checked the door, stuck his thumbs in his shorts, and hauled them down in one smooth move. The stuff in the jar was the consistency of olive oil. Chris had to be careful. He dribbled a little into his right palm, then started massaging it right away into Tom’s arms. Tom looked at him warily the whole time, as if wondering what would transpire. The stuff warmed as he worked it, and he could feel his skin tingling as he massaged it into the young man’s forearms, underarms, shoulders, neck and throat. With a playful gesture he finished on Tom’s chin. “Feels nice!” said Tom, unsmiling. “I bet,” said Chris. “You want it on your pecs?” “Flipping heck, yeah,” said Tom, putting his hands on his hips again and welcoming the older man’s oiled caress. The muscle was firm beneath his touch, the nipples soft yet hard at the same time. He swept down the young man’s abs to his hips, till the whole of the athlete’s torso glistened. “Anywhere else?” he said. “Everywhere,” said Tom. Chris raised his eyebrows. Tom’s gaze was unwavering and serious. “To be sure of it working,” he said. “That’s what Jack told me.” Chris massaged the oils between his own palms before continuing. Two firm sweeps down Tom’s back, down to his arse cheeks, oiling them up too, and then the thighs, lightly furred with young dark hairs. He worked his thumb up briefly into Tom’s arse-crack and felt the musculature shudder with pleasure. When Tom turned around, his small but perfectly-formed dick stood hard out in front of him. Chris made sure to massage plenty of oil into that, but didn’t linger on it overlong. There was a businesslike tone to the whole operation. When he was done, the young diver gleamed as if he had not long been out of the water, except for his dry hair. Chris’s big chunky cock was forcing its way out of the leg-hole of his Calvin’s and dribbling precum down his thigh, but the pair of them ignored it. “Cheers,” said Tom, stepping away from the older man to show that their business together was over and done. “I dunno if it’ll even work for me. I guess we’ll find out at next month’s shoot.” “Right,” said Chris, his mind reeling. “Okay. Looking forward to it.” He adjusted his hard-on and looked for his clothes. What just happened here? “Don’t tell a soul,” said Tom. “Or my career, if not yours, will be over.” Chris smiled, as he stepped back into his jeans and buckled them around his waist. “Whatever you say, young man,” he said. It’ll be a miracle, he thought, if that magic baby lotion does anything more than moisture that beautiful tanned body of his. But Chris was wrong, as he was to find out – wronger, sooner, and more enjoyably than he could ever have imagined. TO BE CONTINUED