Ari and Derek

I'm trying to write a few chapters and using AI to punch it up. Thoughts? The Runyon Ritual: Ari and Derek’s Exhibition Sunday morning in Hollywood didn't truly begin until the "System" decided it did. At exactly 10:00 AM, the heavy, blackout shields of the eighth-floor apartment retracted with a synchronized whir, revealing the twenty-foot expanse of glass that defined Ari and Derek’s world. The brutalist concrete walls, cold and grey in the dawn, were suddenly washed in the aggressive, golden clarity of a California forenoon. In the lofted master suite, Ari stirred first. He stretched, his arm muscles roping and knotting as he reached toward the high ceiling, the thick veins of his biceps traversing the length of his arm like a roadmap of virility. Beside him, Derek was a sprawl of lean muscle and tanned skin. Over the last year, their Sunday "Runyon Ritual" had shifted from a chore they dreaded to a theater they prepared for with the precision of stage actors—or perhaps, porn stars preparing for a scene. “System: Transparency to eighty percent,” Ari croaked, his voice thick with sleep and testosterone. The windows shifted from a milky blur to a sharp view of the Hollywood Hills. “And play the 'Canyon Prep' playlist.” A deep, rhythmic bass began to thrum through the floorboards. Ari sat up, the sheet falling away to reveal a torso that had become a masterpiece of twelve months of consistent heavy lifting. His pecs were heavy slabs of meat, swollen with morning blood flow, resting atop a corrugated midsection. He looked over at Derek, who was now propped up on one elbow, admiring the way the morning light caught the serratus muscles along Ari’s ribs. “Ten o’clock,” Derek murmured, his voice a low vibration, his eyes glued to the bounce of Ari’s chest as he shifted. “The 'Show' starts in an hour. We’re already behind.” The "Show" was Runyon Canyon on a Sunday—a vertical catwalk where the fit and the famous gathered to see and be seen. For Ari and Derek, who were still marveling at their own "newly athletic" status, it was the ultimate weekly validation. But the real show began before they even left the house. Ari threw the covers off completely. He was naked, and his morning wood was a violent, throbbing entity, slapping against his thigh. “Time to get pumped, babe. Let’s hit the closet.” The walk-in closet was a space of glass and steel that felt like a high-end boutique, lined with mirrors that multiplied their physiques into infinity. This was their sanctuary of narcissism. This was where the real debate began, and where their shared fetish for high-performance, skin-tight gear took center stage. “The charcoal compression shorts? Or the deep olive?” Ari asked, holding up two pairs of spandex that looked impossibly small, like they were made for a child, not a man of his mass. Derek leaned against the doorframe, naked, his cock semi-hard and swaying as he walked. He ran his hands over his own abs, tracing the deep cuts. “The charcoal. The fabric is thinner. Remember last time? You could see the head of your dick every time a breeze hit you.” Ari grinned, a predatory glint in his eye. He stepped into the charcoal shorts. The process was a struggle; the lycra fought him, resisting the circumference of his massive quads. He had to jump and shimmy to pull them up, the sound of the fabric snapping against his skin filling the silent room. When he finally hauled them over his glutes, the result was obscene. The shorts didn't just fit; they fused to him. The fabric strained dangerously across his groin, outlining the thick root of his cock and the heavy hang of his balls. “Fuck,” Derek breathed, stepping closer and dropping to his knees. He didn't touch Ari, just stared at the bulge. “That looks painful. It looks… delicious.” “It feels tight,” Ari growled, flexing his quads so the teardrop muscles popped out, stretching the fabric to its translucent limit. “Like a second skin. You think it’s too much?” “It’s never too much,” Derek whispered. He stood up and grabbed a pair of white, high-sheen compression leggings. He pulled them on slowly, turning so Ari could watch. The white fabric was unforgiving. It hugged his high, tight ass, separating the cheeks with a ruthless precision. In the front, it created a stark, undeniable pouch that cradled his genitals like a trophy case. “Turn around,” Ari commanded. Derek obeyed, flexing his glutes. The white spandex became transparent as it stretched, offering a ghostly hint of the skin beneath. Ari stepped forward, pressing his heavy, charcoal-clad crotch against Derek’s ass. The friction of the two synthetic fabrics rubbing together sent a jolt of electricity through both of them. “I should wear the racerback,” Derek said, his breath hitching as he felt Ari’s hard-on grinding against his tailbone. “The one with the deep cuts. Shows off the lats.” “Do it,” Ari said, reaching around to grope Derek’s chest. He tweaked Derek’s nipples hard through the imaginary shirt. “But you’re not wearing underwear with those white leggings. I want everyone on that mountain to wonder if they’re seeing skin.” “I wasn't planning on it,” Derek moaned, leaning back into Ari. “God, Ari, your cock feels like a rock against me. Maybe we should just… relieve the pressure before we go? Just a quick jack-off?” Ari pulled back, though it clearly pained him to do so. He spun Derek around, grabbing him by the throat, not choking, just holding him there. “No. That’s the rule. We hold it. We take this hard-on up the mountain. I want you suffering while those tourists stare at your bulge. I want you to feel every step rubbing against that sensitive tip. You’re going to be a walking wet dream for every closet case in Los Angeles, and you’re not allowed to cum until we get back.” Derek whimpered, his eyes glazing over with lust. “You’re cruel. You’re a cruel, muscle-worshipping bastard.” “And you love it.” Ari grabbed a sleeveless compression top—one size too small, naturally. He pulled it on. It strangled his upper body, the armholes cutting deep to reveal the massive swell of his lats and the thick, vein-covered pecs that looked like they were trying to escape the shirt. “Look at us. We look like porn stars on a break.” “Is it working?” Derek asked, turning to catch his reflection in the floor-to-ceiling mirrors one last time. He flexed slightly, his back widening into a sharp V-taper, the white leggings glowing in the closet lights. “Infuriatingly well,” Ari admitted. He stood next to Derek, the contrast of the dark charcoal and the bright white creating a visual feast. “We’re going to own that hill.” The drive to the Fuller Avenue entrance was short, but the energy in the car was thick with unspent sexual tension. As they stepped out of the Rover, the heat of the canyon hit them—a mix of dry earth, expensive sunblock, and the collective pheromones of hundreds of bodies. They didn't start with a walk; they hit the first incline at a power-trot, their dicks bouncing heavily in their compression gear with every stride. “Don't get distracted by the influencers, babe,” Ari teased, his breath already becoming more rhythmic, his chest heaving against the tight shirt. “I saw you checking out that guy’s calves.” “I was checking his lack of definition,” Derek countered, his own pace increasing to match Ari’s. “He’s got nothing on you. Look at these people, Ari. They’re all hiding.” It was true. Most of the hikers were wearing baggy shorts or loose tees. Ari and Derek moved through the crowd like apex predators. The grey and white compression gear made them look like futuristic soldiers or superheroes. They caught stares constantly. Men in loose basketball shorts would glance at Ari’s massive, pumping quads and then look down at their own legs in shame. Women whispered as Derek passed, his ass moving like two perfectly machined pistons in those white leggings. “Heated Rivalry energy?” Ari panted, referring to their favorite show. “We’re hotter than them,” Derek replied, his face flushed with a healthy, athletic glow. “And we’re harder.” As they ascended the spine of the canyon, the trail narrowed. This was the "Catwalk." Here, they slowed their pace just enough to maximize the visual impact. Ari pumped his pecs rhythmically—left, right, together—making the fabric of his shirt dance. He saw a group of college guys watching him, their eyes wide. Ari winked, and gave his chest a massive squeeze, the cleavage deepening into a canyon of its own. The college guys looked away, flushed and embarrassed by their own arousal. “Check your six,” Ari whispered to Derek. Approaching them from a side trail was the only real competition they’d seen all day. A pair of Asian bodybuilders, absolutely massive, were descending. They were dressed to kill: matching white compression tights that were even sheerer than Derek’s, with high-cut thongs clearly visible underneath. Their upper bodies were shirtless, revealing polished, hairless slabs of muscle that glistened with sweat. Derek slowed down, his eyes locked on the approaching pair. The guys were huge, their thighs rubbing together with a friction that must have been maddening. As they passed, the lead guy—a tank with traps that touched his ears—locked eyes with Ari. It was a moment of mutual recognition. *I see you showing off. I see your hard-on.* Ari let his gaze drop shamelessly to the guy’s crotch. The white tights left nothing to the imagination; a thick, heavy outline of a cock was pressed to the side. The Asian guy smirked, flexing his pecs hard enough to make them jump, and nodded. “Jesus,” Derek whispered as they passed, craning his neck to look at their asses. The thongs cut deep into their glutes, the white tights stretching for dear life. “Did you see that? That was… bold.” “Amateurs,” Ari scoffed, though he adjusted his own shorts to hide the fact that his boner had just throbbed violently. “They’re trying too hard. We make it look effortless.” “You’re just jealous because his bulge was almost as big as yours,” Derek teased, reaching back to slap Ari’s ass. The sound of palm on lycra was loud, a sharp *thwack* that made a woman walking her dog jump. “Keep walking, slut,” Ari growled, pushing Derek forward. “Quad drive. Push through it. Make them look at your ass.” The final stretch to the second peak was a brutal, stair-like ascent. The heat was intense now, ninety degrees of California sun baking the lust into their skin. They were both drenched, the compression gear darkened by sweat. Ari’s charcoal shorts were now black with moisture, clinging to his balls so tightly that the texture of his scrotum was visible to anyone with keen eyes. Derek’s white leggings had turned translucent in patches, flashing hints of tan skin. “I’m… right… there,” Derek managed, his heart hammering against his ribs. The friction of the wet fabric against his sensitive head was agonizingly good. Every step was a micro-job, a tease that brought him to the edge and pulled him back. When they finally crested the ridge of the second peak, the world opened up. They were alone for a moment, the main crowd stuck on the lower trails. They came to a halt, hands on their knees, gasping for air. Then, Ari stood tall, his chest heaving, his nipples erect and poking sharply through his shirt. He reached out, his arm heavy and warm, and pulled Derek into a crushing embrace. It was romantic, yes, but it was also carnal. Ari pressed his groin firmly into Derek’s hip, letting him feel the full, rock-hard reality of his arousal. “We made it,” Ari whispered, biting Derek’s ear. “And look at you. You’re throbbing.” “You didn't let me cum,” Derek whined, grinding back against him. “I’m leaking pre-cum in these white tights, Ari. Everyone can see the wet spot.” “Good. Let them see. That’s a badge of honor.” They separated as a hiker crested the hill. It was a guy, maybe thirty, fit but in a "weekend warrior" kind of way—wearing generic gym shorts and a loose t-shirt. He stopped, catching his breath, and his eyes immediately went to Ari’s chest, then down to Derek’s legs. He couldn't help it. The sight of two Greek gods, sweating and bulging in fetish-wear, was overwhelming. Ari saw the look. He loved the look. He decided to play. “Hey man,” Ari called out, his voice booming and confident. He puffed his chest out, his lats flaring like a cobra. “Mind taking a pic for us? Our arms are too pumped for a selfie.” The guy blinked, startled, then smiled nervously. “Uh, yeah. Sure. No problem.” He took Ari’s phone. Ari pulled Derek in close. They didn't smile like tourists; they posed like bodybuilders. Ari flexed his outside arm, the bicep peaking into a hard ball. Derek turned slightly to the side to showcase the sweep of his quad and the tightness of his ass. “Great light,” the guy mumbled, snapping a few photos. He lowered the phone, his eyes lingering on Ari’s abs, which were clearly visible through the wet shirt. “You guys are… really in shape. Do you compete?” Ari laughed, a deep, arrogant sound. He stepped closer to the guy to retrieve the phone, invading his personal space just enough to be intimidating. “Nah. We just like to look good. We like to make sure people have something to look at up here. You work out?” The guy blushed, looking down at his own average frame. “I mean, I try. Nothing like you guys, though. Your… uh… pecs are insane.” Ari glanced down at his own chest, then gave the left pec a slow, deliberate bounce. Then the right. The guy’s eyes followed the movement like a hypnotized subject. “Thanks, bro,” Ari said, his voice dropping an octave. “Maybe you need a spotter sometime. My buddy Derek here gives great motivation. He knows how to handle heavy weights.” Derek smirked, crossing his arms to push his biceps up. “Yeah. We could help you fill out those shorts a bit better.” The straight guy was bright red now. He was clearly flustered, perhaps questioning a few things about himself in the presence of such overwhelming masculinity. “I… uh… maybe. Thanks for the offer. Great view up here.” “ The best,” Ari said, looking the guy up and down one last time before dismissing him. “Have a good hike, man.” The guy practically ran down the trail, looking back once over his shoulder. Ari and Derek burst into laughter, the sound echoing off the canyon walls. “You are terrible,” Derek said, leaning his head on Ari’s shoulder. “I’m just generous,” Ari corrected, wrapping his massive arm around Derek’s waist again. “I gave him a story to tell.” They turned to look at the view. From this vantage point, the entirety of Los Angeles was laid out beneath them—a sprawling, hazy grid. But they weren't looking at the city. They were looking at their reflection in the screen of Ari’s phone, admiring the photos the stranger had taken. Two beasts, encased in tight fabric, swollen with power and lust, ruling the world one rep at a time. “Let’s go home,” Ari whispered, his hand sliding down to squeeze Derek’s ass hard. “I think you’ve earned that release now. But you’re keeping the tights on while I fuck you.” “Yes, Sir,” Derek breathed.