My Best Friend’s Brother Dylan | S2 E13: The Fitness Ad Campaign (Patreon)

All characters depicted in this story are fictional and 18 years of age or older. Everything portrayed is safe, sane, and consensual. Earli

All characters depicted in this story are fictional and 18 years of age or older. Everything portrayed is safe, sane, and consensual.

Earlier today, Dylan had texted me. He was inviting me to his fitness shoot; some campaign with a protein brand that apparently needed a hot personal trainer to sell tubs of vanilla-flavored muscle dust.

I stared at the message for maybe two minutes. Tops.

Then I replied:

Sure. I’ll be there.

I didn’t overthink it. I didn’t even let myself think. Because if I had, I might’ve remembered how Elliot kissed me last night. How he held me after. How he called me mon amour and meant it.

But I didn’t think about any of that.

I just showered, got dressed, and took a train to the studio Dylan had pinned on Google Maps. It was tucked away in a side street off Canal Saint-Martin, one of those hidden industrial buildings turned creative spaces. High ceilings, poured concrete floors, white walls, and filtered light that made everything and everyone look more expensive than they were.

I walked in, trying to look casual, but the air conditioning hit immediately; crisp, clean, and laced with the scent of eucalyptus and espresso. The kind of place where models came and went like wind.

The studio was cool and sharp, all clean lines and soft light, the kind of place that made everything feel expensive. White walls, concrete floors, and massive windows spilling natural light across the minimalist setup. There were tubs of protein powder stacked like they were art, a few sleek dumbbells near the shoot area, and a ring light humming quietly beside a stool.

And Dylan?

He was across the room talking to someone who looked like the producer...confident, animated, charming in the way only Dylan could be when he wasn’t trying. He wore black compression shorts that clung to his quads like second skin, and a matching black compression tshirt stretched tight across his chest and shoulders. His body looked carved, like it had been designed specifically to sell whatever this product was.

I was so lost in watching him...how he smiled with half his mouth, how he adjusted the position of a protein tub like it was instinct that I didn’t even realize he’d noticed me.

“Spaghetti Noodle,” he called out. Then blinked, as if catching himself. “Troy. Troy here.”

I walked in, trying not to let the heat crawl up my neck.

“Hey,” I said, casual as I could manage. “How’s the shoot going?”

He shrugged, then flexed his arm dramatically. “Protein brand. They wanted a real trainer. Not just some model with abs.”

I grinned. “So… you.”

“Exactly.” He looked down at his own outfit. “How do I look?”

I gave him a mock glare. “You already know how you look. Don’t make me say it.”

He smirked. “Fair.”

I looked around. “Photographer’s not here yet?”

He shook his head. “Any minute now. You can chill over there if you want. Grab a drink. Watch me be hot.”

I found a seat off to the side, near one of the equipment tables. It was quiet, dimmer over here. I pulled out my phone, but I wasn’t really looking at it. I was thinking about last night. About Dylan. About Elliot. The way I’d let both of them take something from me. One soft, slow, and careful. The other rough, teasing, and undeniably addictive.

I’d barely sat down when the door swung open.

“Hey hey,” came a voice I knew before I even saw him.

I turned just in time to see Elliot walk in, black slacks and a white linen shirt rolled to his elbows, camera strap across his chest. His curls were artfully disheveled, and his grin was already in place.

He walked straight up to Dylan and offered a hand. “You must be the model.”

Dylan chuckled, shaking his hand. “And you must be the photographer.”

“Elliot,” he said smoothly.

Then, lifting his camera, he fake-snapped a shot at Dylan. “Let’s hope you’re photogenic.”

Dylan grinned. “Guess we’ll find out.”

Elliot turned to unload his gear when his eyes landed on me.

And his whole face lit up. “Oh my god, hey, mon amour! What are you doing here?”

My heart dropped through my ass.

I swallowed. “I, uh...I’m just tagging along with Dylan.”

Elliot tilted his head. “You two know each other?”

“Yeah,” I said too fast. “He’s my friend Jake’s brother.”

I glanced toward Dylan, who was flipping through a shot list with the producer, face unreadable.

Elliot stepped closer, eyes still on me. “I’m so glad you’re here. You finally get to see me in my natural habitat. Didn’t I tell you I looked sexy behind the lens?”

I gave a tight smile. “You did mention that.”

“Stay close,” he winked. “It gets better.”He went back to the setup. I sat down again, a pit forming in my stomach. Two of them. Same room. Both oblivious to the full truth. I didn’t know who I was more afraid of; Elliot, with his sweetness and his camera… or Dylan, with his silence and his knowing eyes.

The shoot began. Dylan stood in front of the lights, holding the tub, smiling like it was effortless. Elliot gave soft directions, clicking away, adjusting angles, checking lighting. The whole thing was strangely… normal. Professional. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think they’d just met.

Every few minutes, Dylan would glance over at me.

And I’d pretend not to notice.

“Let’s get some shirtless ones,” Elliot said, lowering the camera after a while. “Something a little more powerful. You in?”

Dylan didn’t hesitate. “I thought you'd never ask.”

He reached for the hem of his shirt and started tugging it off. But it clung to him; tight with sweat. It caught at his pecs and biceps and he laughed, struggling a little.

“This thing’s basically glued on to my body.”

Elliot adjusted the lighting rig, then looked over his shoulder.

“Troy, my love, do you mind helping this gentleman with his shirt? I’ve got this framing perfect and I don’t want to mess the set up”

My pulse spiked.

Dylan’s arms were raised, shirt halfway off. His torso gleamed with sweat, muscles flexed and waiting. His eyes slid toward me, unreadable. I stood slowly, legs stiff, mouth dry.

I walked towards him.

And the room went still.My Best Friend’s Brother Dylan | S2 E14: Sweat, Lights, Tension