The Athenian heat was a beast, gluing Chris’s white jockstrap to his sweaty ass and package. Across the small kitchen, Leo leaned against the counter, his own damp strap a stark frame for his thighs and that... modest bulge. Chris shoveled in yogurt, eyes drifting. Leo’s cock-n-balls were a relaxed mound, seemingly small in the tight cotton.

But then, a twitch. A subtle pulse. Chris’s spoon paused mid-air. Was he imagining it? Leo’s bulge wasn’t so tiny now. It was *filling out*, the damp fabric tenting slightly, outlining a thickening shaft. The head, a soft plum shape, began to press against the white cloth. Chris could see the exact moment Leo’s dick started to fatten up, the fabric straining over what was now a definite semi.

Leo didn’t move, just sipped his water, but his breathing seemed deeper. Chris’s own junk stirred in response, his softie getting heavy in his pouch. He watched, mesmerized, as Leo’s cock grew to a full, thick hard-on. The jockstrap’s front pouch was now a taut canvas, the outline of Leo’s rigid meat clear—the thick vein running along the underside, the pronounced helmet pushing the fabric into a wet spot of pre-cum.

The sound of Leo’s low, steady breath filled the quiet kitchen. Chris could almost feel the heat radiating from that trapped boner. He shifted on his chair, his own dick now a solid length, making his strap tight. He didn’t speak, just let his gaze eat up the sight: the way Leo’s heavy balls were pulled up tight, the sweat