So gooood. Alex is trembling and anxious but Greg reminds him that they've done nothing wrong. Filler episode but still well-written. And now, we're again edging for the next action hehe. Can't wait for the next one!!!
EP 8: Shadow Between Notes
The morning ended on the couch.
Greg and I sat there like we were just two guys, sipping coffee, watching baseball. The game was nothing special…some middle-of-the-season slog where the crowd’s cheers rose and fell in lazy rhythm. But I couldn’t focus. Not when Greg’s bare skin was right there, the morning light catching the ridges of his chest. Not when his boxers rode up higher on his thighs every time he shifted.
And then there was the way his legs spread, wider and wider, like he was letting me see more, like he knew where my eyes kept drifting.
The curve of his bulge pressed soft against the fabric. His quads, dusted with dark hair, stretched and flexed when he adjusted. He didn’t look at me when he did it. Just sipped his coffee, eyes on the TV, like it was all unintentional.
But it wasn’t. I knew it wasn’t.
I sipped my coffee slower, stealing glances I shouldn’t, my stomach a knot of nerves and heat.
The game ended. We sat there until the commentators wrapped up, and then life crept back in.
The day slipped by in fragments.
A quick grocery run where I pushed a cart half full of basics, my head buzzing with thoughts of him shirtless on the couch. A lunch with an old friend where I barely listened to half of what she said, nodding at the right times but thinking about Greg’s voice rough in my ear last night, his cum spilling down my throat.
When I came home, the apartment felt different. Like it had absorbed him into the walls, into the cushions. His coffee mug was still sitting on the table. His office shoes by the door. His presence everywhere.
By evening, the light outside had shifted warm and orange. Greg was out at the gym, and I drifted into the spare room; the one I’d turned into a half-practice music studio, cluttered with sheet music and the old upright piano against the wall - the same one Greg was living in.
I sat on the bench and let my fingers wander the keys, the familiar rhythm grounding me. Slow, lazy chords melted into something more fluid, soft. It felt like an evening for music - an evening where I could let my thoughts stretch out without suffocating me.
I lost myself in the sound.
Which was why I didn’t hear the door open. Didn’t hear the footsteps until a voice cut through, low and rough, just above my shoulder.
“You’re good.”
I jumped slightly, fingers stumbling against the keys before stilling.
Greg was standing there. Fresh from the gym, sweat clinging to his shirt so it stuck to his chest, outlining the bulk of him. His shorts hung low, fabric darkened where it had absorbed the sweat along his quads. His hair was damp, his breathing still a little heavy like he’d just come up the stairs.
For a second, I couldn’t move. Just sat there, staring at him in the doorway, trying not to notice how the smell of him… clean sweat, deodorant, something raw drifted in with him.
“You didn’t hear me come in.” He smirked, towel draped around his neck.
“No,” I admitted, laughing softly, nerves tightening in my stomach. “I, uh… got lost in it.”
He nodded, eyes lingering on the keys, then on me. Slowly, he crossed the room and dropped onto the bed, towel hanging loose over his shoulder.
The bench creaked when I shifted, the piano still humming with the last note. I turned slightly, hands resting in my lap.
“You always play?” he asked, leaning back on his palms.
“Not as much as I should.” I swallowed, heart racing at how close he was, at how casual he looked sitting on my bed, still catching his breath from a workout.
“It helps clear my head. Makes me feel… free, I guess.”, I added.
He nodded slowly, eyes flicking to the piano again. “Yeah. I get that. For me, it’s the gym. Hitting the weights, zoning out… it’s the only place I don’t feel like I’m in my own head all the time.”
Something about the way he said it made me tilt my head, curious. “So is that why you went to the gym on a Sunday? You doing okay Mr.Lawson?”
Greg let out a breath, his hand tugging at the towel looped around his neck. He pulled it free and dropped it onto the bed beside him, like the weight of it was too much.
I shifted on the bench, turning fully toward him now. The piano hummed faintly with the last chord I’d played, but the air between us had changed.
He hesitated at first, his jaw working, then pushed himself off the bed and crossed the room. Slowly, deliberately, he sat down at the edge of the bed right in front of me. Close enough that the space between us felt charged, but not yet dangerous.
“Yeah… so…” He rubbed the back of his neck, searching for the words. “I don’t usually talk about this stuff.”
I stayed quiet, giving him room. My fingers brushed nervously against each other in my lap.
“My wife,” he started, the word catching on his tongue. Then he corrected himself quietly. “Ex-wife, technically. Things started breaking long before we signed papers. Little cracks at first. Shit you don’t notice until it’s too late.”
His eyes dropped to his knees, thumbs fidgeting against his thighs.
“She… she wasn’t into things I was into. Sexually. Intimacy, all of it. At first, I thought, fine, you compromise, you let it slide. But then years go by, and the bed goes cold, and suddenly you’re two people living in the same house, avoiding each other in the kitchen.”
He laughed, but it was dry, bitter.
My eyes lingered. I couldn’t help it.
The way his chest rose under his sweat-damp shirt, the outline of his pecs pressing through the thin fabric. The ridges of his abs, still visible even beneath the cling of cotton. His thighs spread wider on the mattress, the shorts straining across them, pulling just enough that I could see the heft of him resting heavy against the fabric. And then, worse…his lips. Soft, full, slightly wet when he dragged his tongue over the bottom one before speaking again.
I shifted on the piano stool, pulse thudding in my throat.
Greg’s voice dropped. “So… when last night… what happened between us…” He paused, eyes locking on mine. “It felt good Alex. Like… in a long time.”
The words hit me like heat.
I became shy, my mouth twitching toward a smile I tried to swallow down. My hands gripped my knees tighter.
“I—uh… Greg,” I managed, my throat dry. “I’m sorry you had to go through all that. I just… I helped in any way I could.”
His mouth curved, but it wasn’t cruel. Just knowing. “Yeah, man. You did. Thing is… it’s difficult, you know? For a man like me. Who just wanted to fuck his wife.”
He looked at me then. Held me in it.
“Like, c’mon. Us guys? We’re horndogs. That’s who we are. But months without sex?” He shook his head slowly, tongue clicking against his teeth. “That’s just cruel.”
I laughed nervously, too sharp, then it died on my lips. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to laugh—”
Greg broke the tension himself, a rough chuckle rumbling out. “No, no. Don’t worry. I’m not afraid to admit it. I am a horndog. Always been one.” He leaned back on the bed, propping himself up on his palms, his chest stretching wide, legs spreading further. “Hell, I’ve been horny all damn day. Even this morning. Watching baseball, sitting there next to you.”
His eyes glinted, the corner of his mouth tugging.
My stomach dropped, heat flushing through me.
I swallowed, voice smaller. “…Yeah. I noticed.”
────୨ৎ────
Coming Up Next: Are You Still Curious?
[Chapters are already posted on Patreon early before they drop here]
The morning ended on the couch.
Greg and I sat there like we were just two guys, sipping coffee, watching baseball. The game was nothing special…some middle-of-the-season slog where the crowd’s cheers rose and fell in lazy rhythm. But I couldn’t focus. Not when Greg’s bare skin was right there, the morning light catching the ridges of his chest. Not when his boxers rode up higher on his thighs every time he shifted.
And then there was the way his legs spread, wider and wider, like he was letting me see more, like he knew where my eyes kept drifting.
The curve of his bulge pressed soft against the fabric. His quads, dusted with dark hair, stretched and flexed when he adjusted. He didn’t look at me when he did it. Just sipped his coffee, eyes on the TV, like it was all unintentional.
But it wasn’t. I knew it wasn’t.
I sipped my coffee slower, stealing glances I shouldn’t, my stomach a knot of nerves and heat.
The game ended. We sat there until the commentators wrapped up, and then life crept back in.
The day slipped by in fragments.
A quick grocery run where I pushed a cart half full of basics, my head buzzing with thoughts of him shirtless on the couch. A lunch with an old friend where I barely listened to half of what she said, nodding at the right times but thinking about Greg’s voice rough in my ear last night, his cum spilling down my throat.
When I came home, the apartment felt different. Like it had absorbed him into the walls, into the cushions. His coffee mug was still sitting on the table. His office shoes by the door. His presence everywhere.
By evening, the light outside had shifted warm and orange. Greg was out at the gym, and I drifted into the spare room; the one I’d turned into a half-practice music studio, cluttered with sheet music and the old upright piano against the wall - the same one Greg was living in.
I sat on the bench and let my fingers wander the keys, the familiar rhythm grounding me. Slow, lazy chords melted into something more fluid, soft. It felt like an evening for music - an evening where I could let my thoughts stretch out without suffocating me.
I lost myself in the sound.
Which was why I didn’t hear the door open. Didn’t hear the footsteps until a voice cut through, low and rough, just above my shoulder.
“You’re good.”
I jumped slightly, fingers stumbling against the keys before stilling.
Greg was standing there. Fresh from the gym, sweat clinging to his shirt so it stuck to his chest, outlining the bulk of him. His shorts hung low, fabric darkened where it had absorbed the sweat along his quads. His hair was damp, his breathing still a little heavy like he’d just come up the stairs.
For a second, I couldn’t move. Just sat there, staring at him in the doorway, trying not to notice how the smell of him… clean sweat, deodorant, something raw drifted in with him.
“You didn’t hear me come in.” He smirked, towel draped around his neck.
“No,” I admitted, laughing softly, nerves tightening in my stomach. “I, uh… got lost in it.”
He nodded, eyes lingering on the keys, then on me. Slowly, he crossed the room and dropped onto the bed, towel hanging loose over his shoulder.
The bench creaked when I shifted, the piano still humming with the last note. I turned slightly, hands resting in my lap.
“You always play?” he asked, leaning back on his palms.
“Not as much as I should.” I swallowed, heart racing at how close he was, at how casual he looked sitting on my bed, still catching his breath from a workout.
“It helps clear my head. Makes me feel… free, I guess.”, I added.
He nodded slowly, eyes flicking to the piano again. “Yeah. I get that. For me, it’s the gym. Hitting the weights, zoning out… it’s the only place I don’t feel like I’m in my own head all the time.”
Something about the way he said it made me tilt my head, curious. “So is that why you went to the gym on a Sunday? You doing okay Mr.Lawson?”
Greg let out a breath, his hand tugging at the towel looped around his neck. He pulled it free and dropped it onto the bed beside him, like the weight of it was too much.
I shifted on the bench, turning fully toward him now. The piano hummed faintly with the last chord I’d played, but the air between us had changed.
He hesitated at first, his jaw working, then pushed himself off the bed and crossed the room. Slowly, deliberately, he sat down at the edge of the bed right in front of me. Close enough that the space between us felt charged, but not yet dangerous.
“Yeah… so…” He rubbed the back of his neck, searching for the words. “I don’t usually talk about this stuff.”
I stayed quiet, giving him room. My fingers brushed nervously against each other in my lap.
“My wife,” he started, the word catching on his tongue. Then he corrected himself quietly. “Ex-wife, technically. Things started breaking long before we signed papers. Little cracks at first. Shit you don’t notice until it’s too late.”
His eyes dropped to his knees, thumbs fidgeting against his thighs.
“She… she wasn’t into things I was into. Sexually. Intimacy, all of it. At first, I thought, fine, you compromise, you let it slide. But then years go by, and the bed goes cold, and suddenly you’re two people living in the same house, avoiding each other in the kitchen.”
He laughed, but it was dry, bitter.
My eyes lingered. I couldn’t help it.
The way his chest rose under his sweat-damp shirt, the outline of his pecs pressing through the thin fabric. The ridges of his abs, still visible even beneath the cling of cotton. His thighs spread wider on the mattress, the shorts straining across them, pulling just enough that I could see the heft of him resting heavy against the fabric. And then, worse…his lips. Soft, full, slightly wet when he dragged his tongue over the bottom one before speaking again.
I shifted on the piano stool, pulse thudding in my throat.
Greg’s voice dropped. “So… when last night… what happened between us…” He paused, eyes locking on mine. “It felt good Alex. Like… in a long time.”
The words hit me like heat.
I became shy, my mouth twitching toward a smile I tried to swallow down. My hands gripped my knees tighter.
“I—uh… Greg,” I managed, my throat dry. “I’m sorry you had to go through all that. I just… I helped in any way I could.”
His mouth curved, but it wasn’t cruel. Just knowing. “Yeah, man. You did. Thing is… it’s difficult, you know? For a man like me. Who just wanted to fuck his wife.”
He looked at me then. Held me in it.
“Like, c’mon. Us guys? We’re horndogs. That’s who we are. But months without sex?” He shook his head slowly, tongue clicking against his teeth. “That’s just cruel.”
I laughed nervously, too sharp, then it died on my lips. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to laugh—”
Greg broke the tension himself, a rough chuckle rumbling out. “No, no. Don’t worry. I’m not afraid to admit it. I am a horndog. Always been one.” He leaned back on the bed, propping himself up on his palms, his chest stretching wide, legs spreading further. “Hell, I’ve been horny all damn day. Even this morning. Watching baseball, sitting there next to you.”
His eyes glinted, the corner of his mouth tugging.
My stomach dropped, heat flushing through me.
I swallowed, voice smaller. “…Yeah. I noticed.”
────୨ৎ────
Coming Up Next: Are You Still Curious?
[Chapters are already posted on Patreon early before they drop here]
Me too, Greg, me too! Please do not edge us for too long DanXWrites! Bless us with the next wank-worthy episode!
- Acpy,
Alex better get his arse lubed up, Greg is gonna give it to him hard and rough.
