The twink from the seventh floor

[boycut92]

Chapter 1

The fluorescent lights flickered like a dying pulse above me, casting uneven shadows across the elevator walls. I shifted my weight, the muscles in my calves tightening as I stared at the descending floor numbers—12, 11, 10—when the elevator jerked to a halt at 7.

The doors slid open with a soft ding, and there he was again. Tall enough that I had to tilt my head just slightly to meet his eyes—green, sharp, with a hint of something unreadable. His fingers tapped against the side of his thigh, restless, as he stepped inside. The faint scent of bergamot and cedar curled into the cramped space between us.

We stood in our usual silence, the elevator humming as it descended. I could feel the heat of his gaze flickering over my profile—not tentative, not shy, but deliberate. Like he was memorizing the slope of my nose or the way my pulse jumped under my skin whenever he did this. I kept my eyes fixed on the floor indicator, pretending I didn’t notice, pretending my stomach wasn’t doing something stupid and hopeful.

Today, though, something felt different. His sneaker scuffed against the floor, an aborted movement, like he’d almost stepped closer before thinking better of it. The air between us crackled with something unspoken, thick enough to taste—like ozone before a storm. I swallowed hard, my throat suddenly dry.

Then, just as the elevator hit the fifth floor, he cleared his throat. “I always see you here,” he said, voice low and rougher than I’d imagined. “But I never asked your name.” His fingers stilled against his thigh. The admission hung there, simple, but it sent a jolt through me. He’d noticed me noticing him. My lips curled before I could stop them.

“Matt,” he added, finally looking at me fully—no sidelong glances, no pretense. His mouth quirked at the corner, revealing a dimple I hadn’t spotted before. “You?”

“Dan,” I said, and my name sounded foreign in my own voice, like I was hearing it for the first time. The elevator dinged—third floor—but neither of us moved. His gaze dropped to my mouth for half a second, and I felt it like a physical touch, warm and deliberate.

Matt’s smirk deepened. “Now that I’ve got the name,” he said, his voice dipping lower, “all that’s left is the number.” He pulled his phone from his back pocket, thumb hovering over the screen, and raised an eyebrow.

I barked out a laugh—couldn’t help it. “Wow,” I said, shaking my head. The sheer audacity of it, the unapologetic way he just went for it—no preamble, no bullshit. “Does that line usually work for you?”

His grin turned wolfish. “Depends.” He shifted his weight, letting his shoulder brush against mine—casual, calculated. “You tell me.” The elevator dinged again, second floor, but he didn’t move an inch. The air between us thickened, charged with something reckless.

I exhaled, running a hand through my hair. “How old are you, Matt?” His brow furrowed like the question surprised him. “Nineteen,” he said, shrugging like it was nothing. I shook my head, laughing under my breath. “I’m twenty-eight.”

For a heartbeat, he just stared at me—green eyes wide, lips parted—before his expression cleared into something amused, almost defiant. “Okay?” he said, dragging the word out like I’d told him the sky was blue. Like it didn’t change a damn thing. His thumb still hovered over his phone screen, unwavering.

The doors slid open on the lobby, but neither of us stepped out. Matt tilted his head, challenge written in every line of his body. “So,” he murmured, leaning in just enough that his breath ghosted over my ear, “you gonna give me that number, or are we doing this again tomorrow?”

I snorted, grabbing his phone from his loose grip—his fingers twitched like he hadn’t expected me to move so fast. “Alright, 19-year-old Matt,” I said, punching in my digits with exaggerated deliberation. His laugh was low, warm, curling around me like the scent of his cologne. The elevator doors started to close again, but he caught them with one long arm, holding them open without breaking eye contact.

“I’ll text you, 28-year-old Dan,” he said, stepping backward into the lobby, that smirk still playing on his lips. The words hung between us—a promise, a dare—before he turned on his heel and sauntered away, the swing of his hips deliberately unhurried. I watched him go, the sharp lines of his shoulders cutting through the crowd until he disappeared around the corner.

Hours later, sprawled on my couch, I flipped through streaming services—hovering over thumbnails I’d seen a hundred times—when my phone buzzed. The screen lit up, casting a blue glow across my thighs.

**Unknown Number:** *is this the hot guy from the 12th floor? Just checking if I was given the right number.*

I snorted, shaking my head as my thumbs flew over the screen. *that depends—do you open all conversations like that?* The reply came instantly, lighting up my phone before I could set it down again.

**Matt:** *only the important ones.*

I huffed a laugh against my palm, then typed back before I could second-guess myself. *and what are you doing up so late, important one?* The dots danced for a few seconds—long enough that I caught myself gnawing at my bottom lip—before my screen lit up with his reply: a selfie. Matt sprawled against rumpled sheets, shirtless, one arm bent behind his head like some half-assed pinup pose. The angle caught the jut of his hipbone, the trail of dark hair vanishing beneath the waistband of his sweatpants, and—Christ—the unshaven hollow of his armpit, shadowed and intimate. His face was a masterpiece of mock boredom, lips pursed, one eyebrow arched. Beneath it, the text: *nothing. can’t sleep. bored as fuck.*

I swallowed hard, my pulse thudding in my throat. The casualness of it, the sheer *audacity*, sent heat crawling up my neck. My thumb hovered over the keyboard, torn between playing it cool and leaning into the game he’d started.

*doing nothing too. wanna come over?* I sent before I could chicken out. The dots appeared instantly—no hesitation—and my stomach lurched. The reply was a single line, bold and brash: *right now?*

I grinned, biting the inside of my cheek. *yeah. how much time do you need to put a shirt on?* A pause. Then his reply, punctuated with an eye-roll emoji: *be there in five.*

Three minutes later, a sharp knock rattled my door. "Jesus Christ," I muttered, shaking my head as I crossed the apartment—did he sprint up five flights? When I swung the door open, there he was, chest rising and falling just slightly too fast, his curls damp at the temples like he'd taken the stairs two at a time. The white tank top clung to his ribs, thin enough that I could see the faint shadow of his nipples beneath the fabric. His sweatpants hung low on his hips, the same ones from the photo, the waistband barely clinging to the sharp jut of his pelvis. That smirk was already in place, like he knew exactly what I was staring at.

"That was fast," I said, leaning against the doorframe just to watch his eyes flicker down my body—taking in my bare feet, the loose drawstring of my pajama pants, the way my thumb hooked in the pocket of my hoodie. His grin widened as he shouldered past me, close enough that the heat of him seared through my sleeve. "Yeah, well," he murmured, his breath warm against my ear as he passed, "was afraid you'd change your mind." The words curled around me, teasing and rough, and I caught the scent of him—sharp sweat beneath the cedar, something warm and distinctly male—before he strode into my apartment like he owned it.

I shut the door harder than necessary. "Why would I change my mind?"

Matt turned, tipping his head back against the window, the city lights framing him in gold and shadow. He shrugged, fingers playing with the hem of his tank. "Dunno," he said, voice dropping into something quieter, almost vulnerable beneath the bravado. "You seemed hung up on the age thing." His thumb traced the fabric of his shirt, dragging it slightly upward—just enough to reveal a sliver of taut skin above his waistband. A silent challenge.

I exhaled sharply, rubbing the back of my neck. "Just not used to a 19-year-old being so... forward," I admitted, watching his reaction. His grin returned instantly, sharp and bright, like I'd handed him a victory. Without hesitation, he sank onto my couch, sprawling with an ease that made my pulse jump. His legs spread wide, one arm slung over the back cushions—claiming space, demanding attention. "You'll get used to it," he said, voice thick with amusement, green eyes glinting under the dim lamp light.

I crossed my arms, leaning against the kitchen counter. "Do you always send shirtless pics to guys you barely know?" The question escaped before I could filter it, half genuine curiosity, half playful accusation. Matt's smirk deepened, fingers drumming lazily against his thigh. "Barely know?" He scoffed, tilting his head. "I know you, Dan." The way he said my name—low, teasing—sent a pleasant shiver down my spine.

I rolled my eyes, though my lips twitched. "Oh yeah? From the elevator?" The words came out lighter than I intended, almost fond. Matt stretched, the hem of his tank riding up further, revealing a strip of toned stomach.

"Uh-huh." His grin was all teeth now, unabashed. "So... did you like the pic?" His fingers drummed against his thigh—a casual rhythm that didn't match the intensity of his gaze.

I snorted, shaking my head. "Not exactly a Pulitzer-winning composition." The flush creeping up his neck told me he'd caught the way my eyes lingered on the dip of his waistband, the shadowed hollow of his armpit in the photo.

He leaned forward suddenly, elbows on his knees. "Bullshit," he murmured, voice rough. "You didn't answer the real question." His thumb traced his lower lip—slow, deliberate—before dropping to tap against his exposed hipbone. "Did you like *what* was in the pic?"

The air between us crackled. I exhaled sharply and moved my arms to my sides, putting my hands on the countertop. "You're an attractive man, Matt," I said, staring deep into his green eyes. "So yeah, I liked what I saw. Satisfied?"

His smirk didn't fade—if anything, it grew wider. He tilted his head slightly and let his gaze drift down my torso before returning to my face. "Is that why you invited me over?" he murmured, fingers twitching against the couch cushion.

"I invited you because you said you were bored," I said, then pushed off the counter and took slow steps toward him, watching the way his breath hitched just slightly as I closed the distance. The scent of his cologne mixed with something warmer—something raw—as I stopped just short of the couch, close enough that my knees nearly brushed against his spread thighs. "How can I entertain you?"

Matt's smirk flickered—just for a second—before he surged up from the couch in one smooth motion, his body crowding into mine before I could react. His hands found my hips, fingers digging in possessively, and then his mouth was on mine, hot and insistent. The kiss was anything but tentative; his tongue swiped against my lower lip like he'd been thinking about it for weeks, and the groan that escaped him vibrated against my skin. I barely had time to reciprocate before he pulled back just enough to murmur, "Think you can keep up?" against the corner of my mouth, his breath ragged.

I caught his wrist before he could retreat further, twisting us until his back hit the countertop with a soft thud. His pupils were blown wide, lips slick from the kiss, and when I leaned in this time, I made sure to drag my teeth over his bottom lip just to hear the hitch in his breath. "Try me," I muttered, and the way his hips jerked against mine told me he didn't need convincing. His fingers tangled in the fabric of my hoodie, tugging me closer still, until there was no space left between us—just heat, and the sharp, frantic rhythm of our breathing.

Outside, the city hummed—cars honking, distant laughter from the street below—but in my apartment, the only sound that mattered was the wet slide of Matt's mouth against mine, the occasional gasp when my hands found bare skin beneath his shirt. His pulse jumped under my fingertips where they curled around his throat, not squeezing, just holding, and the moan he let out at the contact was filthy, unrestrained. "Fuck," he panted against my lips, hips rolling forward in a slow, deliberate grind. "Told you—" Another kiss, deeper this time. "—you'd get used to it."

His fingers tightened in the fabric of my hoodie, wrenching it upward with impatient tugs until I lifted my arms to let him peel it off, tossing it somewhere behind us without breaking contact. His palms skated over my bare chest, thumbs catching on my nipples just to watch my breath stutter—then his own shirt was gone, discarded in one fluid motion, revealing the lean planes of his torso, the faint dusting of hair trailing from his navel downward. He arched into my touch when I traced the ridges of his abs, his skin scorching under my fingertips, and I grinned at the way his breath hitched, sharp and wanting.

Matt's hands grasped my wrists suddenly, pinning them to the counter on either side of his hips. His tongue licked into my mouth, wet and demanding, and the way he ground against me—relentless, shameless—made my vision blur at the edges. He broke the kiss only to mouth along my jaw, teeth scraping just shy of pain over my pulse point. "Still think I'm too young for you?" he murmured, breath hot against my ear, hips rolling in a slow, filthy circle that had me biting back a groan.

The bastard smirked when I didn't answer immediately, fingers tightening around my wrists like he could feel my pulse rabbiting under his grip. Before I could retaliate, he shoved me backward onto the couch, following instantly to straddle my thighs, his bare chest flushed and heaving. "Good," he rasped, leaning down to nip at my collarbone. "Because I'm not stopping." His hand slid between us, palming me through my sweats, and the choked noise I made only spurred him on, his laugh low and triumphant against my skin.

Then my own hand was moving—half-instinct, half-challenge—curving around the bulge in his sweatpants and squeezing hard. The gasp that punched out of him was worth it, but the sheer *heat* of him, the impossible thickness straining against fabric, had me blurting out a rough, "Damn," before I could stop myself. Matt froze above me, pupils blown wide, lips parted on a shuddering breath.

With a single fluid motion, he stood, hooked his thumbs into the waistband of those damn sweatpants, and yanked them down—his cock sprang free with an obscene slap against his stomach, thick and flushed pink at the tip. My breath caught; it was bigger than I'd guessed, curving slightly upward with veins running along the shaft. Matt's smirk returned as he watched my gaze drag over him, his fingers combing through the dark curls at the base.

I swallowed hard before wrapping my fingers around the base, relishing the hot weight of him against my palm, the way his cock twitched at the contact. His breath hitched, but his grin never faltered. "You'll get used to this too," he said, voice rough, hips rolling forward into my grip.

I ignored him, pressing my lips to the flushed head with deliberate softness—just a whisper of contact—before sliding lower, nudging my nose against the tight heat of his balls. The scent was musky, thick with sweat and a hint of soap, and I inhaled sharply before pressing another kiss there, this one lingering. His thighs tensed under my hands, a ragged exhale escaping him.

Matt's fingers tangled in my hair—not pulling, just holding—as I mouthed at him, tracing the crease where thigh met groin with my tongue. His cock jerked against my cheek, smearing a slick line across my skin. "Fucking—Christ, Dan," he gasped, hips stuttering forward like he couldn't help it.

I smirked up at him, catching his gaze as I dragged my lips back up his shaft, slow and wet. His pupils were blown wide, lips parted around panting breaths, and the way his fingers tightened in my hair sent a bolt of heat straight to my gut. "Still bored?" I murmured against his skin, feeling the shudder that wracked him at the words. His answering laugh was breathless, wrecked already. "Not even close."

 

[boycut92]

Chapter 1 - cont

Then I opened my mouth and took him in, pressing my tongue flat against the underside of his cock as I sank down. The groan that tore from him was ragged, raw—like I'd punched it out of him. His hips jerked forward instinctively, but I caught his thighs with both hands, pinning him in place as I sucked him deeper. The taste of him—salt and musk and something faintly bitter—flooded my senses, and I moaned around him just to feel the way his stomach muscles clenched at the vibration.

Matt's fingers twisted tighter in my hair, not guiding, just holding on for dear life as I worked him over with my mouth. His thighs trembled under my palms, every breath hitching as I pulled back to swirl my tongue around the head before swallowing him down again. "Fuck—fuck, Dan," he gasped, voice cracking on my name. His hips twitched against my grip, desperate for more friction, more heat, but I held firm, keeping the pace slow, torturous.

When I finally hollowed my cheeks and sucked hard, his knees buckled. One hand flew to the wall behind him for balance as he cursed through gritted teeth, his cock jerking against my tongue.

I pulled off with a wet pop, dragging my teeth lightly along his shaft just to watch his abs clench. "Don't even think about cumming," I murmured, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. His green eyes were glazed, lips parted around ragged breaths, and the way his fingers flexed against my scalp told me he was barely holding on. "I'm not even close to done entertaining you."

Matt groaned, tilting his head back against the wall as I trailed my lips down the inside of his thigh, biting lightly at the sensitive skin there. His hips jerked when I licked a stripe back up, nudging my nose against his balls again—this time with deliberate pressure. "Jesus fuck," he gasped, thighs trembling where they bracketed my shoulders. "You're trying to kill me."

I grinned against his skin, pressing one last kiss to the crease of his thigh before surging up to capture his mouth again. The taste of him lingered on my tongue, and the way he moaned into the kiss—like he could taste himself on me—sent heat coiling low in my gut. His hands fumbled at my waistband, fingers hooking in the fabric with desperate urgency as he ground against me. "Your turn," he panted against my lips, and the raw hunger in his voice made my cock throb.

Matt dropped to his knees between my spread thighs with a fluid grace that shouldn't have been possible given how wrecked he looked moments ago. His fingers curled around the waistband of my sweats and boxers in one smooth motion, tugging them down just enough to free my cock. The first brush of his calloused palm against my flushed skin had me biting back a groan—but it was nothing compared to the wet heat of his mouth closing around me without warning. My hips jerked instinctively, and his fingers dug into my thighs in warning as he took me deeper, hollowing his cheeks around the head with obscene precision.

His green eyes flicked up to meet mine through dark lashes—challenging, amused—as he dragged his tongue along the underside in one slow, filthy stroke. The sight alone was nearly enough to undo me: Matt on his knees, lips stretched around my cock, his curls tousled from my fingers and his own sweat gleaming in the hollow of his throat. He pulled off with a wet pop, grinning at the wrecked noise I made, before diving back in with renewed enthusiasm. His fingers found my balls, rolling them gently as he swallowed me down to the root, his throat working around me in a way that had my vision whiting out at the edges.

"Fuck, Matt—" I gasped, my hands flying to his hair as he set a relentless pace, bobbing his head with desperation that belied his earlier cockiness. His nose pressed against my stomach with each deep take, breath hot against my skin, and when he moaned around me—vibrating through every nerve—my vision became blurry.

Suddenly, his mouth was gone. Before I could protest, Matt hooked his hands under my knees and shoved my legs up and back, exposing me completely. The sudden cool air against my hole made me shudder, but the look in his eyes—dark green and hungry—was what really stole my breath. His grin was pure mischief as he licked his lips and leaned in.

The first wet swipe of his tongue against my furl was electric, and I arched off the couch with a strangled cry. He didn’t ease me into it—just buried his face between my cheeks and fucked me open with his tongue, rough and messy. The sounds alone were obscene—wet, sloppy, punctuated by my ragged gasps—and when his fingers dug into my thighs to spread me wider, I could feel his pleased hum vibrate through my skin.

His tongue circled me lazily before spearing deep again, and I choked on my own moan, thighs trembling as he worked me open with ruthless precision. "Matt—fuck, keep—" I managed, twisting a hand in his hair to hold him right where I needed him. He chuckled against me, the hot puff of breath making me clench around nothing, before diving back in like a man starved.

The first press of his fingertip against my rim was slick with spit, easing in alongside his tongue with barely any resistance. The stretch burned just enough to be delicious, and when he crooked that finger inside me—hitting that spot—my back arched clear off the couch. He didn't let up, swallowing my cock back down as he worked a second finger in alongside the first, scissoring me open with rough, impatient strokes that had me seeing stars.

Pulling off my cock with a filthy slurp, he blew cool air across my leaking tip just to watch me writhe. "Still feeling hung up on the age thing?" he taunted, voice wrecked, before sealing his lips around my balls and sucking hard. The dual sensation of his fingers dragging over my prostate and the wet heat of his mouth had me sobbing his name, my thighs clamping around his head like a vice.

Then his fingers were gone—too soon—leaving me clenching around nothing as he wiped his glistening digits on my thigh. Before he could smirk up at me, I stood in one fluid motion, wrapping my fist around the base of his cock like a leash. The choked sound he made when I tugged—hard—sent a bolt of possessive heat through me. "Bedroom," I growled, watching his pupils blow wide as I backed toward the hall, his erection bobbing obscenely with each step. His hands fluttered uselessly at his sides before settling on my waist, fingers digging into my hips like he needed proof this was real.

Matt stumbled after me, hissing when I tightened my grip just enough to make his cock twitch against my palm. The hallway seemed impossibly long with his breath hot on my neck, his fingers kneading at my hips like he couldn’t decide whether to push me forward or pull me back. I could feel the wetness from his mouth still clinging to the crease of my thigh, and the realization that he’d left marks there—that I smelled like him—made my pulse spike.

When we hit the bedroom, I shoved him toward the bed hard enough to make him laugh, that cocky, breathless sound that had been unraveling me since the elevator. He caught himself on the mattress, knees sinking into the duvet as I yanked open the bedside drawer, fumbling for the half-empty bottle of lube buried under loose change and crumpled receipts. Tossing it at his chest, I watched his fingers close around it instinctively, his grin widening as I dropped onto the bed and spread my legs wide—a challenge, an invitation.

Matt didn’t hesitate. He slicked himself up with rough, hurried strokes, the plastic bottle crackling in his grip, and the sight of his cock glistening in the dim light made my mouth water. But then his free hand was on my thigh, pushing my legs up and apart with a possessiveness that sent heat skittering down my spine. His slicked fingers circled my hole—once, twice—before pressing in without preamble, the burn giving way to a delicious stretch as he worked me open with impatient thrusts.

"Fuck, Dan," he growled, dragging his fingers out only to replace them with the thick head of his cock, nudging against my entrance with a pressure that bordered on painful. His other hand gripped my hip hard enough to bruise as he leaned over me, green eyes blazing.

I gasped as he pushed in inch by agonizing inch, my body stretching around him, burning with the exquisite friction of it. His breath came in ragged bursts against my neck, his thighs trembling against mine as he fought to go slow, to give me time to adjust. "Jesus—you're tight," he gritted out, his fingers digging into my flesh.

"And you're huge," I managed, half-strangled—not just a throwaway compliment, but a genuine realization as he bottomed out inside me, hips flush against mine. The stretch bordered on unbearable, but the second he rocked forward experimentally, dragging his cock along my prostate, any discomfort dissolved into blinding pleasure.

Matt groaned, low and broken, as he pulled back almost entirely before thrusting in again, deeper this time. His rhythm was uneven, unpracticed—like he couldn't decide between fucking me senseless or savoring every second. His hand slid up my chest, thumb brushing over my nipple just to feel me clench around him. "Fuck—just like that," he panted, his voice wrecked beyond recognition.

When he finally found his stride, it was relentless—deep, punishing strokes that had me clawing at his shoulders, my thighs locking around his waist to pull him even closer. The slap of skin against skin, the wet sounds of him driving into me, the way his breath hitched every time I tightened around him—it was filthy, perfect, and I never wanted it to end.

Matt’s rhythm turned feral, like he was trying to carve himself inside me permanently, and my moans climbed higher with each thrust, breathless and broken. His hands gripped my hips hard enough to leave bruises, fingers digging in as he fucked me into the mattress, the bedframe slamming against the wall with a steady, frantic rhythm. The heat pooling low in my gut coiled tighter with every snap of his hips, every ragged groan he let slip against my throat.

“Fuck—Dan, I can’t—” he choked out, his voice raw, hips stuttering as he bottomed out inside me again, his cock pulsing. His forehead pressed against mine, sweat-slick and trembling, green eyes wild with need. “Need you to—ah, Christ—” His fingers tangled in my hair, tugging just shy of pain, and I knew what he wanted without words.

I arched up, sealing my lips over his in a messy, desperate kiss as he came undone inside me, his hips jerking erratically as he spilled with a broken moan. The sensation of him throbbing deep, the hot rush of him filling me, was enough to tip me over the edge—I came untouched, my orgasm ripping through me with a force that left me gasping, my body clamping down on him in waves. He shuddered through it, his breath hot against my lips, fingers tightening possessively in my hair as we rode it out together—panting, wrecked, and utterly spent.

Matt collapsed beside me with a groan, his sweat-slick skin sticking to mine as we both stared up at the ceiling, our breathing ragged and uneven. The air smelled like sex and exertion, the sheets tangled around our legs, and for a long moment, the only sound was the frantic hammering of our heartbeats slowing to something steadier. I turned my head to look at him, taking in the flushed curve of his cheek, the way his lashes fluttered against his skin as he caught his breath. "Still bored?" I asked, my voice rough with amusement.

Matt huffed a laugh, reaching over to lazily slap my thigh—not hard enough to sting, just enough to make his point. He smiled—small, genuine, almost shy—before rolling onto his side to face me fully. His green eyes held mine, bright and unguarded, but for once, he didn’t have an answer.

His fingers traced idle circles on my chest, sticky with sweat, hesitant—like he wasn’t sure whether to pull me closer or push away. The silence stretched between us, thick with something unspoken, until Matt finally broke it with a quiet, “This was… really fun.” His voice was rough, softer than I’d ever heard it, his usual bravado stripped away.

I smiled, watching him prop himself up on one elbow—a fleeting expression flickering across his face, something between satisfaction and uncertainty. “It really was,” I agreed, my own voice raspy with exhaustion and amusement. Matt swung his legs over the edge of the bed, running a hand through his curls—now hopelessly tangled—before standing with a groan.

He stretched—long, languid—his spine popping audibly, muscles flexing under skin still flushed from exertion. “I have to… uh…” He gestured vaguely toward the door, avoiding my gaze as he scooped his discarded sweatpants off the floor. “My folks think I’m still… in bed.” The admission was sheepish, almost boyish, and I couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Want to shower first?” I offered, leaning against the doorway with my arms crossed, watching him struggle into his shirt inside-out. Matt froze mid-motion, fabric tangled around his elbows, and for the first time since he’d barged into my apartment, he looked unsure. “Thanks, but I… can do it at home,” he muttered, finally yanking the shirt down over his torso, the hem riding up just enough to reveal the fading red marks my teeth had left on his hips.

I followed him down the hall, lingering in the dim light as he bent to retrieve his keys from the coffee table. The city’s ambient glow through the windows outlined his silhouette—broad shoulders, narrow waist, the curve of his ass as he tugged his sweats up over his thighs. He turned suddenly, catching me staring, and the smirk that crept back onto his lips was familiar. “Good night,” he said, holding my gaze as he backed toward the door.

I leaned against the wall, arms crossed, and smiled. “Good night, Matt.” His fingers hesitated on the doorknob—just for a second—before he pulled it open and stepped into the hallway. The door clicked shut behind him, the sound too final somehow.

Locking it, I exhaled a laugh, shaking my head as I ran a hand through my hair. My apartment smelled like sex and sweat and something faintly citrus—his shampoo, maybe. The silence prickled against my skin, sharp with absence.

 

[boycut92]

CHAPTER 2

Fifteen hours later, the elevator doors slid open on the seventh floor, and there he was—Matt, mid-yawn, his curls still damp from a shower, one earbud dangling loose. His eyes snapped to mine, recognition flashing, and his mouth opened—then closed. His fingers twitched toward his phone like he might check it, but he didn’t.

"Hey, big boy," I said, leaning against the elevator wall like I hadn’t spent half the night replaying the way his back arched under my hands. His lips parted, then twisted into that shy smirk I hadn’t realized was rare until now—the one that softened his sharp edges. He stepped in, shoulders brushing mine as the doors hissed shut behind him.

"So… this is not awkward," he lied, attempting a look at my face.

I snorted. "It would be if yesterday hadn't been as good as it was." My tongue darted out to catch the phantom taste of him still lingering in my memory—salt and musk and that sharp, almost citrusy aftershave he'd worn. The elevator hummed between us, suspended between floors like our unfinished conversation.

Matt chuckled, low and rough. “Well then, I’m glad I brought my A-game.”

I smiled. “You didn’t exactly hold back.”

The elevator chimed softly as we hit the ground floor, the doors sliding open. Matt hesitated, shifting his weight like he might follow me out. Instead, he hooked his thumbs into his pockets.

“Text me if you’re bored again,” I said, already stepping backward into the lobby. I caught his grin before turning away and walking out.

Three days later, my phone buzzed face-up on the kitchen counter. The preview was just enough—a sliver of tanned skin, the shadow of flexed muscle—before the screen went dark again. I swiped it open with my thumb, and there he was: Matt’s torso framed in a bathroom mirror, one arm raised to showcase the curve of his bicep, the dark trail of hair leading down from his navel disappearing just below the shot’s edge. His armpit was a mess of damp curls, the kind of detail that shouldn’t have been hot but was. The caption read, “bored again. You free?”

I tapped out a reply before I could second-guess it: “Depends. You bringing that attitude or just the abs?” The typing bubbles appeared instantly, then vanished. Reappeared. My thumb hovered over the screen, waiting.

His response was a voice note. I pressed play, and his laugh crackled through the speaker—low, unguarded. “Both. And I’ll even wear the sweats you like.” The recording ended with the muffled sound of fabric rustling, like he was already tugging them on. I inhaled sharply, imagining the waistband snapping against his hips. "Come on over," I typed. "Don't rush or you'll trip on the stairs."

Matt appeared on my door five minutes later—hair damp and smelling like shampoo and soap, and his sweats hanging low enough to reveal the waistband of his briefs. "You showered this time," I teased, leaning against the doorframe. "Progress." His grin was lazy as he stepped into my space without waiting for an invitation.

"Didn't hear you complaining about my smell last time," he shot back, tossing himself onto the couch with the same reckless confidence that made my pulse spike. His sprawl was deliberate—one arm draped over the back cushions, legs spread wide—as if daring me to look.

I snorted, crossing my arms. "Fair. You clean up well." The scent of citrus and something woodsy clung to him now, sharp and clean. His grin turned smug as he stretched, the hem of his tank top riding up to reveal a sliver of toned stomach.

"Seriously, though," I said, nodding at his phone where it lay abandoned on the coffee table. "Why do you always have your arm up in your pics? Like, every damn time." I mimicked the pose exaggeratedly, flexing my bicep like an overzealous gym bro. Matt rolled his eyes but didn't deny it, his fingers drumming against his thigh.

He shrugged, lifting his arm again—casual, effortless. "Dunno. Shows off the arms, I guess. It's just… a good pose." His grin was cocky, but there was a flicker of something else there—genuine curiosity, like he'd never considered it before.

My gaze lingered on the dark curls under his raised arm. "Well," I murmured, stepping closer, "it works. Your armpits look…" I trailed off, catching the way his breath hitched when I brushed my fingers along the sensitive skin there—warm and undeniably erotic. His laugh was breathless as I leaned in, inhaling deeply. "Yeah. Like that."

Matt's grin turned wicked as he lifted his other arm, flexing deliberately. "Want to inspect this one too?" His voice was rough with amusement, but his pupils dilated when I dragged my nails lightly down his ribs.

I ducked my head, pressing my nose against the warmth of his underarm—his pulse jumped beneath my lips as I inhaled. His scent was sharper here, edged with sweat and that stupid bodywash he'd clearly splashed on moments ago. "You do smell good," I muttered against his skin before biting the tender flesh where arm met torso, just hard enough to make his hips jerk.

Matt's laugh was breathless as he twisted away, shoving my shoulder playfully. "You're weird," he said, but his grin was too wide, his pupils blown black with want. Then his fingers were in my hair, dragging me up into a kiss that tasted like mint toothpaste and the coffee he'd swiped from my counter last time. His tongue slid against mine, hot and demanding, and I groaned when his free hand fumbled between us, palming me roughly through my jeans.

I broke the kiss just long enough to yank his tank top over his head, the fabric catching on his curls before he wrestled it off with an impatient grunt. His chest was flushed, the dusting of hair between his pecs damp with sweat already, and when I leaned down to lick a stripe up his sternum, his hips bucked under me. "Fuck—your turn," he growled, fingers hooking in the hem of my shirt. I arched up to help him peel it off, our skin sliding together in a hot, sticky mess that made us both hiss.

His hands mapped my back like he was memorizing the contours—calloused fingertips skating over my spine, digging into my shoulder blades when I rolled my hips against his. The rough friction of our bare chests pressed together was electric, every brush of nipples sending sparks down to my cock, already straining against my zipper. Matt broke the kiss to mouth at my throat, his teeth scraping just under my jaw in a way that had me gripping his curls for balance.

The couch creaked dangerously beneath us as Matt suddenly flipped us, pinning me beneath him with a strength that shouldn't have been surprising but still stole my breath. His knee slid between my thighs, pressing up deliberately, and the pressure against my erection made me curse. "Missed this," he murmured against my lips, his hand sliding down to pop the button of my jeans—slow, teasing, like he knew exactly how to unravel me.

He didn't bother with the zipper—just yanked everything down in one rough motion, my underwear catching on my cock before snapping free. The sudden rush of cool air against my flushed skin made me shudder, but then his mouth was on me—hot, wet, perfect—and I arched off the couch with a choked groan. His tongue swirled around the head, teasing the slit before swallowing me down to the base in one smooth motion, his throat flexing around me obscenely.

The sight of him—lips stretched around my cock, curls falling into his eyes, fingers digging into my hips like he was afraid I'd disappear—was almost too much. His nose pressed against my stomach with every bob of his head, his breath hot against my skin, and when he pulled off just long enough to drag his teeth lightly along the underside, I nearly came right there. "Fuck—Matt," I gasped, my fingers tightening in his hair, torn between pushing him deeper and yanking him away before it was over too soon.

He smirked around me, the vibration of his hum making my toes curl, before redoubling his efforts—sucking harder, faster, his free hand reaching up to pinch my nipple roughly. The dual sensation—his mouth on my cock, his fingers torturing my chest—had me seeing stars, my hips jerking uncontrollably as pleasure coiled tighter and tighter in my gut.

Then suddenly, he pulled off with a wet pop. “Flip over,” he demanded, voice rough, already dragging me onto my knees before I could process the command. His grip on my hips was iron-tight, steering me facedown over the arm of the couch, my ass high in the air. He spread my cheeks without preamble, his breath hot against my exposed hole—fingers digging in hard enough to leave marks. “Fuck, you look good like this,” he growled, before leaning in and licking a broad stripe up my crack.

The first touch of his tongue against my rim was electric—wet, insistent, circling my entrance before pressing in without hesitation. He moaned against me like he was the one getting pleasured, his grip tightening as he buried his face deeper, tongue fucking into me with shameless enthusiasm. Every flick sent jolts of pleasure up my spine, my cock leaking onto the couch cushions below, and when he sucked lightly at my rim, I swore my vision whited out for a second.

Then suddenly—the warmth of his mouth vanished. Before I could protest, the weight of his cock slapped against my asshole, thick and hot from his own arousal. "Don’t fucking move," he growled, giving my hip a sharp squeeze for emphasis. I heard the rustle of fabric as he yanked his sweats down fully, followed by the sound of his bare feet padding across the hardwood floor toward the bedroom.

The cold air against my exposed skin made me shiver, but the sticky wetness left by his tongue kept me achingly aware of how open I was. My fingers dug into the cushions as I fought the urge to touch myself—his command ringing in my ears, the phantom pressure of his cock still lingering against my skin.

A drawer slammed shut in the bedroom. Matt’s footsteps returned, quicker this time, and then the familiar click of a lube cap snapping open. My pulse spiked when his fingers traced my spine—slow, deliberate—before gripping my hips again. "Good boy," he murmured, slick fingers circling my hole, still stretched from his tongue. I barely had time to brace before he pressed in with two fingers at once, crooking them instantly to brush my prostate. The groan that tore out of me was embarrassingly loud.

Matt chuckled darkly above me, his breath hot against my shoulder blades. "Look at you," he taunted, scissoring his fingers mercilessly, "so eager." His free hand slid under my stomach to palm my dripping erection, his thumb smearing precome across the head. The dual stimulation made my thighs tremble, my cock jerking in his grip as he worked me open with rough precision.

"Don't worry," he murmured against my spine, pressing a wet kiss between my shoulder blades as his fingers crooked deeper. His voice dropped to a growl—almost reverent—as he added, "Gonna fill you up soon." The promise sent a fresh wave of heat through me, my hole clenching around his fingers like it could already feel the stretch of him.

His palm slapped against my ass—sharp, possessive—before withdrawing completely. The sudden emptiness made me whine, but then the blunt pressure of his cockhead replaced his fingers, nudging against my rim with teasing insistence. He exhaled shakily, one hand gripping my hip hard enough to bruise, the other guiding himself. "Breathe," he ordered—a ragged plea disguised as a command.

I obeyed, exhaling sharply as he pushed in—slow, agonizing, the burn of the stretch edged with pleasure as my body yielded to him. His groan was guttural, forehead pressed between my shoulder blades as he bottomed out, hips flush against my ass. "Fuck," he panted, fingers digging into my skin, "you take me so fucking good."

Then he pulled back—just halfway—before slamming in deeper with a sharp snap of his hips, the angle hitting my prostate dead-on. My gasp fractured into a moan as my legs trembled violently, toes curling against the hardwood. Matt's chuckle was dark, breathless against my ear. "Yeah," he murmured, dragging his teeth along my pulse point, "just like that." His next thrust was harder, deeper, the wet slap of skin echoing off the walls as he fucked into me with brutal precision.

The rhythm was merciless—each withdrawal a tease, each penetration a claim—until my thighs shook with the effort of holding myself up. Matt's hand slid under my chest, hauling me upright against him, my back flush to his sweat-slick torso.

His other hand circled my throat—not crushing, just *there*—his fingers tightening enough to send sparks skittering down my spine before loosening again in a silent question. I groaned, tilting my head back onto his shoulder in answer, letting him feel the jump of my pulse beneath his fingertips. His breath hitched—hot against my temple—as his grip firmed, pressing just shy of discomfort, and suddenly the thrusts went deeper, sharper, his cock dragging against my prostate with every snap of his hips.

Matt bit my earlobe, sharp enough to make me hiss, before dragging my chin around for a messy, open-mouthed kiss. His tongue plunged in without preamble while his hips stilled completely, buried to the hilt inside me as if refusing to let me forget how deep he could reach.

Then—slow and torturous—he began moving again, each roll of his hips deliberate, his grip on my waist steering my body back against him in perfect counterpoint. The drag of his cock along my prostate sent sparks up my spine, muffled against the wet heat of his mouth still claiming mine.

His fingers dug bruises into my hips as he adjusted the angle slightly—just enough to make my thighs jerk when he snapped forward again—and suddenly every shallow thrust sent electric shocks down to my toes.

Matt groaned against my neck, his grip tightening—then in one fluid movement, he lifted me effortlessly and flipped us, lowering me onto the couch cushions with surprising gentleness before withdrawing completely, leaving me achingly empty. The sudden loss made me whimper, but Matt just smirked, sprawling back against the couch with his legs spread wide—cock glistening between his thighs—and jerked his chin toward me in silent command.

I knew exactly what he wanted. Rising up on shaky legs, I straddled his lap—slowly, deliberately—feeling the blunt press of his cock against my hole before sinking down inch by torturous inch. Matt’s groan was raw, his hands gripping my waist to guide me deeper, watching my face twist with pleasure-pain as I took him completely.

His hips jerked up sharply, seating himself to the hilt with a breathless curse, and suddenly we were moving—my thighs flexing as I rode him hard, his cock hitting that spot inside me with every downward stroke while his fingers dug into my hips hard enough to leave marks. "Fuck—" Matt gasped, head thudding back against the cushions, his eyes locked on where our bodies joined—his cock disappearing into me again and again, slick and obscene.

I clenched around him deliberately, groaning at the way his fingers spasmed against my skin, his hips bucking up uncontrollably—his rhythm faltering as pleasure overtook him. "Yeah—like that," I panted, grinding down harder, letting him feel every inch of me—tight and desperate—before rising up again, dragging him to the edge with every torturous drop of my hips.

Matt's fingers encircled my cock suddenly—rough, possessive—his thumb smearing precome across the head before stroking me in perfect sync with my movements. His grip was tight enough to burn, his calloused palm dragging along my shaft in counterpoint to the deep, aching thrusts inside me—each stroke timed to my downward grind, amplifying every sensation until I saw stars.

"Fuck—Matt—" I gasped, my rhythm stuttering as pleasure coiled tighter, my thighs trembling with the effort of maintaining control. His answering growl vibrated against my throat where he'd buried his teeth—sharp, claiming—just as his thumb pressed firmly against my slit, twisting on the upstroke in a way that had me hurtling toward the edge.

I came with a ragged shout—pulse pounding in my ears—as Matt swallowed the sound with a bruising kiss, his strokes turning ruthless, milking every last drop from me while his hips pistoned up into me relentlessly. His own release followed seconds later—a choked groan against my lips—as he spilled deep inside me, his grip on my cock tightening convulsively before going slack.

When the aftershocks faded, I slumped against him, panting, my forehead resting against his collarbone. His chest was sticky with my cum, streaks of white stark against his flushed skin. "Sorry for the mess," I murmured, tracing a lazy finger through one glistening trail. Matt huffed a laugh, his fingers carding lazily through my sweat-damp hair. "That's partly my fault," he admitted, voice rough with exertion.

"Definitely is," I agreed, pressing a kiss to his sternum before reluctantly pulling away. The air was thick with the scent of sex, our skin tacky where we'd been pressed together. I nudged his knee with my foot. "C'mon. Shower's calling."

Matt groaned but didn't protest, letting me haul him upright with a grunt—his limbs loose and pliant in that post-orgasm haze. He swayed into me as we stumbled toward the bathroom, his laugh warm against my shoulder when I nearly tripped over our discarded clothes. "Steady, old man," he teased, nipping at my earlobe. I rolled my eyes but didn't let go of his wrist—his pulse still racing under my fingertips—as I pushed the bathroom door open with my hip.

The shower was cramped—typical for a city apartment—but Matt made it worse by immediately hogging the spray, tilting his head back under the water like some kind of shampoo commercial reject. "Dude, move," I grumbled, shoving at his shoulder. He cracked one eye open to smirk at me, deliberately flexing his biceps as he reached for the soap. "What, scared of a little competition?" he taunted, sudsing up his arms with exaggerated slowness. I scoffed and snatched the bar from him, lathering my own chest while he fake-pouted—but I caught the way his gaze lingered on my hands.

"Nice try," I muttered, flicking soap at his face. He yelped and ducked, slipping on the wet tiles before catching himself against my chest—his wet skin sliding against mine in a way that made us both freeze for half a second. Then he grinned, shaking his head like a dog and spraying water everywhere. "Asshole," I laughed, shoving him back under the spray—but my fingers lingered a beat too long on his waist, tracing the fading marks I'd left there earlier.

We toweled off in comfortable silence, the steam fogging up the mirror between us. Matt threw his damp towel at my head before I could use it, his grin sharp when I retaliated by snapping the waistband of his borrowed sweatpants. "Still got energy, huh?" he taunted, backing toward the bedroom—but the way his voice hitched when I crowded him against the doorframe betrayed him. I smirked, leaning in close enough to smell my own soap on his skin. "Nope," I lied, pressing a kiss to his pulse point that was more teeth than lips. "But you clearly do."

I rummaged through my dresser for shorts—settling on a loose pair that hung low on my hips—while Matt flopped onto my bed, shamelessly shirtless, his damp curls leaving dark spots on my pillowcase. He stretched like a cat, the muscles in his abdomen flexing beneath smudged fingerprints left from earlier.

"You want ice cream?" I asked, nodding toward the kitchen. His head snapped up—eyes bright—before he scrambled off the bed with the enthusiasm of a golden retriever spotting a tennis ball. "Duh," he said, already padding barefoot ahead of me, his borrowed sweats sliding dangerously low on his hips.

 

[boycut92]

CHAPTER 2 - cont

I caught him halfway down the hallway, fingers hooking in the waistband from behind and yanking hard—just enough to expose the dimples above his ass before the elastic snapped back. Matt yelped, twisting around with a startled laugh, one hand clutching his pants while the other shoved at my shoulder. "Dick," he gasped, cheeks flushing pink even as his shoulders shook with suppressed laughter. "Rude."

The freezer door whined as I pulled it open, revealing three half-empty tubs of Ben & Jerry's wedged between frozen peas and a frostbitten bag of shrimp. "Options are limited," I admitted, nudging them toward him—Chocolate Fudge Brownie, Cherry Garcia, and the lone survivor of my last midnight binge, Caramel Swirl. Matt's eyes lit up instantly, fingers tapping against the countertop like a kid at a candy store. "Caramel," he declared, as if there'd ever been another choice.

I grabbed two spoons from the drawer and tossed it onto the island between us. Matt caught it mid-air with a flick of his wrist, already peeling the lid off the pint with his teeth. The caramel ribbon glistened under the kitchen lights, swirls of gold bleeding into vanilla as he dug in without hesitation.

"Is this what being 28 and having your own apartment looks like?" Matt teased, swirling his spoon lazily. "A freezer full of ice cream options?" His grin was sharp, playful—the same one he'd worn earlier with my cock in his mouth—but his toes curled against the tile like he was trying to ground himself.

"That's one of the perks," I admitted, nudging my knee against his under the counter. "Having a hot and hung guy who comes over to fuck me every now and then is another." The ice cream was cold on my tongue, but the way Matt's breath hitched—just slightly—was warmer than the shower had been.

He recovered fast, licking caramel off his spoon with deliberate slowness. "Every now and then?" he echoed, arching one brow. His foot slid up my calf, deliberate. "This is the second time."

I shrugged, scraping the last swirl from the carton. "Something tells me you'll keep coming." I paused to watch his smirk falter—just for a second—before he schooled his expression into something cockier.

"And you'd be welcome to," I added, nudging his knee with mine, "if you can fit me in your calendar of fuck buddies." The words tasted bitter, which was stupid—we'd never pretended this was anything else.

Matt froze mid-bite, spoon halfway to his mouth, caramel dripping onto the countertop. His blush spread from his cheeks down to his collarbones—pink and patchy—before he ducked his head with a muttered, "I don't have other... fuck buddies."

The admission hung between us, fragile as the thin ice forming on the abandoned ice cream carton. His shoulders were hunched slightly—defensive—but his thumb traced nervous circles on the countertop like he was waiting for a punchline that never came.

I nudged his foot under the counter, watching his green eyes flick up to meet mine. "Seriously though," I said, tapping my spoon against his, "you look... experienced." The word came out softer than I meant it to—less teasing, more genuinely curious.

Matt's grin returned, cocky but softer at the edges now, as he leaned across the island toward me.

“Yeah, well—there was this one guy,” he said, dragging a spoonful of half-melted caramel through the puddling ice cream. “Lasted almost a year, then... didn’t.” His thumbnail picked at the label on the carton, peeling it back in tiny shreds. “After that? Only hook-up apps.”

I smirked, nudging his wrist with my spoon. “And elevators.”

Matt laughed—a short, bright sound—his curls bouncing as he shook his head. “Yeah, well, I couldn’t find you on Grindr,” he admitted, licking caramel off his thumb. “Had to improvise.” His grin turned sly, fingers drumming against the countertop.

I nudged his foot again under the island. “Im glad you did,” I said, swirling my spoon in the melting remains of the ice cream, “I noticed you checking me out in the elevator.” The admission felt stupid now, with Matt’s bare knee pressing into mine. “But figured a guy like you had better, younger options.”

Matt snorted, flicking a chunk of caramel at my chest—it landed with a cold splat against my skin. “There you go with the age shit again,” he said, rolling his eyes as he leaned across to wipe it off with his thumb. His fingers lingered, warm against my sternum. “You’re hot, okay? A guy of any age can notice that.”

I watched as Matt finished scooping the ice cream from my chest using his finger. “Noted,” I said, grinning when he sucked the ice cream off his finger. “But seriously—I couldn’t make a move, even after noticing you eyeing me. What if I’d been wrong? Would have been creepy as hell.”

Matt’s laugh came sharp and sudden, his free hand slapping the countertop. “Would’ve been hilarious, though,” he shot back, eyes crinkling. He took another scoop of ice cream before adding, “And for the record? I'm sure you'd come up with an opening line better than mine.”

I snorted. “Doubtful.” The spoon clinked against the glass countertop when I set it down. “I might be cute, but I'm terrible at flirting.”

Matt grinned—sharp, mocking—as he leaned forward to snatch the last spoonful of caramel. “Look at you,” he murmured between bites, “admitting you're cute. Progress.” His knee bumped mine under the counter, deliberate.

I rolled my eyes and stole the spoon from his fingers, licking it clean with exaggerated slowness. “I never said I wasn't cute.” My smirk widened as I dropped the spoon into the sink with a clatter. “I *know* I'm hot as hell.”

Matt groaned, tipping his head back with a laugh that bounced off the kitchen tiles. “Oh fuck,” he wheezed, wiping his eyes with his knuckles. “I created a monster.”

I grinned, reaching over to flick a stray drop of melted caramel off his collarbone. “Well,” I said, licking the caramel off my finger. “Being fucked by a hung twink does wonders for one's self esteem.”

Matt shrugged with a grin, stretching his arms above his head until his ribs strained against his skin. “You’re welcome,” he said—like he hadn’t just wrecked my ability to walk straight—and dropped his spoon inside the empty ice cream carton.

I flicked the carton into the trash with practiced ease, watching it land perfectly atop a crumpled takeout bag. The spoons clattered against my porcelain sink as Matt tossed himself on my couch lazily.

He sprawled out—one arm draped over the back cushions, the other tucked behind his head—flexing his biceps subtly as he glanced at me through unfairly long lashes. His sweatpants rode low enough to expose the sharp V of his hips—still flushed pink from earlier—and I smirked, settling into the armchair opposite him. "That pose casual," I asked, nodding toward his arm, "or are you trying to seduce me again?"

Matt's grin widened—slow and knowing—as he deliberately stretched higher, the hem of his sweats dipping another dangerous inch. "Would it work?" he countered, dragging his tongue across his bottom lip. His toes curled against the coffee table edge—cocky, but his pulse jumped visibly in his throat.

I scoffed, kicking his foot off the furniture. "You're incorrigible." The word rolled off my tongue before I could stop it—old-fashioned and ridiculous—and Matt's eyebrows shot up.

"Incor—what?" He wrinkled his nose, twisting sideways to face me fully. "Is that like... sexy librarian talk for 'hung twink'?" His fingers plucked at his waistband absentmindedly, dragging the fabric lower. "Because—" he leaned forward, elbows on his knees, "—you calling me that? Fuck. Almost made me drag you back to bed."

I laughed—couldn't help it—and reached over to tug his sweatpants down in one sharp yank, exposing him completely. His cock lay heavy against his thigh, already half-hard again, balls resting plush against the couch cushions. "Well," I said, fishing my phone from the coffee table, "you *are* a hung twink." Matt yelped but didn't cover himself, sprawling back with exaggerated nonchalance, one arm crooked behind his head.

I snapped a picture of his nakedness and flipped the screen toward him. "See?" I tapped the image where his cock curved lazily over his thigh, tip glistening. "Textbook hung twink behavior."

Matt snatched my phone with surprising speed, pinching the screen to zoom in absurdly close—like he was inspecting forensic evidence. His brow furrowed in mock concentration before he tossed it back. "Yeah," he deadpanned, spreading his legs wider, "turns out I *am* a hung twink after all." His smirk was pure arrogance, but the tips of his ears burned pink.

I snatched my phone midair before it could land on his naked lap. "Glad we settled that," I muttered, dropping my phone on the coffee table.

Matt's smirk grew wider—his green eyes darkening—as I sank to my knees between his sprawled thighs. The couch cushion shifted under my kneecaps, the faded fabric rough against my skin. Matt exhaled sharply when I leaned forward—slow, deliberate—and pressed my lips to the crease of his thigh, tasting salt and soap from the shower.

His cock twitched against my chin before I kissed downward—first the base, then the taut skin of his balls—breathing him in as his scent flooded my senses. Matt's breath hitched above me, his fingers twining into my damp hair—not pulling, just anchoring—as I watched his cock swell in real time: the veins standing proud, the flushed head glistening where pre-come beaded at the slit. I licked my lips—slow, deliberate—and Matt groaned, hips jerking upward in reflex, his thighs tensing beneath my palms.

I grinned against his inner thigh—feeling the muscle twitch under my mouth—when his cock finally reached full hardness, bobbing inches from my lips. Matt's grip tightened in my hair, his breathing ragged. "Fuck," he exhaled, the word cracking halfway—half plea, half prayer—as I hovered just close enough for him to feel my breath against his skin.

Then I swallowed him down—no teasing, no preamble—straight to the hilt, my nose pressing into his pelvis with a wet, muffled sound. Matt jerked beneath me, thighs tensing as he gasped something incoherent, his fingers tightening reflexively in my hair. I stayed there, throat working around him until my eyes watered—until I felt his pulse throb against my tongue—before pulling back just enough to breathe.

Matt groaned—long and broken—before suddenly pushing my head back down with surprising force. The abrupt pressure made my eyes water, the head of his cock hitting deep enough that my vision blurred—but I relaxed instinctively, throat opening around him as he held me there, breathing ragged. "Jesus—" he choked out, hips twitching upward—testing—before easing his grip just enough for me to pull back slightly, my lips dragging wetly along his shaft.

Then he shoved me down again—harder this time—his cock sinking effortlessly into my throat, stretching it obscenely. Saliva dripped from my chin onto his balls, my fingers digging bruises into his thighs as I let him use me—savoring every choked gasp and shuddering curse above me—until his thrusts grew sloppy, his control unraveling.

Matt finally pulled out with a wet pop, his cock glistening with spit, his chest heaving. He didn’t let me catch my breath—just hauled me up by the wrists and shoved me onto the couch, flipping me onto my back with rough hands. My legs barely hit the cushions before he yanked them over his shoulders, his breath hot against my hole before he buried his face between my cheeks without hesitation.

His tongue was relentless—broad, wet strokes circling my rim before spearing inside, fucking me open with shameless hunger. I arched off the couch, gripping the cushions, my cock twitching against my stomach as he moaned into me like I was his last meal—his hands digging into my thighs hard enough to leave marks. "Fuck—" I gasped when he flattened his tongue, dragging it upward in a slow, filthy lick that had me shaking.

Matt pulled back just enough to smirk up at me, his lips slick with spit. "Still taste like me," he murmured, voice wrecked, before diving back in—this time nipping at my rim before sucking it between his lips, his tongue probing deeper with every desperate thrust.

Then suddenly he was gone—the loss of his mouth almost painful—and I barely had time to register the shift before I felt the blunt press of his cockhead against my entrance. The slide was obscenely smooth—his shaft glistening with my spit and precome—as he pushed in with brutal precision, the first inch stretching me deliciously wide. I arched off the couch, gasping at the slick heat of him sinking deeper, my hole clenching instinctively around the intrusion.

His groan vibrated through me as he bottomed out—hips flush against my ass—his cock throbbing inside me with every ragged breath. "Fuck—" he gritted out, fingers digging into my thighs as he adjusted to the tightness, his stomach muscles flexing visibly. "You take me so fucking well." The words came out choked, reverent—like I was something holy he couldn't believe was his to ruin.

Matt shifted slightly—just enough to grind deeper—and the sudden drag against my prostate had me crying out, my cock twitching against my stomach. His grin turned feral as he leaned forward, gripping my hip with one hand while the other traced my leaking slit. "Yeah," he breathed, thumb swirling the wetness there, "you like that?" His hips rolled in answer—slow, torturous—before pulling almost all the way out and slamming back in hard enough to shake the couch.

I gasped, my fingers scrabbling at the cushions, but Matt caught my wrists and pinned them beside my head, his grip unrelenting as he withdrew again—slow, cruel—pausing just long enough to see my hole flutter around nothing before thrusting back in with brutal force. "Say it," he growled, his breath hot against my throat as he punctuated each word with another punishing snap of his hips. "Tell me you fucking love this—that you want it—"

The rest of his demand dissolved into a groan as I arched beneath him, my cock leaking untouched between us, my hole clenching around him in desperate pulses. He didn’t relent—just drove into me harder, each thrust landing with precision—until my thighs trembled and my throat ached from the sounds wrenched out of me. "Matt—" I choked out, my vision blurring at the edges, his name dissolving into a moan as he hit that sweet spot again, relentless.

My fingers dug into the meat of his ass, pulling him deeper with every snap of his hips—no finesse now, just raw, animal need. The wet slap of skin filled the room, his cock dragging against my walls until my thighs shook with the effort of holding onto him, my toes curled against his back. He fucked me like he wanted to ruin me—like he wanted me to remember every inch of him long after he’d pulled out—his breath hot against my neck, his groan vibrating through me when I clenched down hard.

The pleasure coiled tight in my gut, building with every brutal thrust until my body seized—cock untouched but spurting between us in thick, sudden stripes. Matt cursed, his rhythm faltering as he watched me come undone beneath him, his hips stuttering before he bottomed out with a groan, burying himself to the hilt as his own climax ripped through him. I felt him pulse inside me—hot and insistent—his fingers bruising my hips as he ground deeper, milking every last drop.

He collapsed atop me, his breath ragged against my throat, his cock still twitching inside me as we both trembled through the aftershocks. "Fuck," he muttered, voice wrecked, his lips brushing my jaw like an afterthought—like he couldn’t help it. I tightened around him instinctively, earning a punched-out groan before he finally slipped free, both of us sticky and spent beneath the weight of what we hadn’t said.

Half an hour later, I was still splayed on the couch, the leather cool against my overheated skin, my hole wet with his come and my thighs tacky with dried streaks of mine. Matt emerged from the bathroom with his heavy softie dangling wirh each step, his damp curls clinging to his forehead as he scrubbed a towel through his hair. Water droplets slid down his chest, tracing the same path my tongue had taken earlier.

"Shit," he muttered, digging through his discarded jeans for his phone before grimacing at the screen. "I gotta head out." His voice was casual—too casual—as he tugged his shirt on inside-out, the tag jutting near his collarbone. He hesitated, fingers flexing at his sides before he grabbed his jacket with forced nonchalance.

I hummed, stretching lazily—letting him look his fill—before curling my toes against the armrest. "Text me," I said, more command than request. "Even if you're not bored." I watched his Adam’s apple bob as he nodded. He lingered in the doorway, one hand on the frame, his breath hitching like he wanted to say something else—something stupid—before he swallowed hard and turned away.

The door clicked shut behind him, leaving silence and the scent of sex in his wake.

I rolled onto my side with a groan, stretching for my phone on the coffee table—only to freeze mid-reach. Staring back at me from the lock screen was Matt in all his sprawled, naked glory: one arm crooked behind his head, sweatpants tugged halfway down his thighs, cock resting heavy against his stomach with that cocky smirk plastered across his face. The dim lighting caught the sweat-slick curve of his collarbones, the faint blush still dusting his cheeks. My laugh barked out before I could stop it, sharp and startled in the empty apartment.

"Little shit," I muttered, swiping my thumb across his smug face to unlock it—only to find the same goddamn photo set as the home screen wallpaper too, zoomed in even closer. His abs filled the screen, the caramel I'd flicked at him earlier still glistening on his skin like some ridiculous edible art project. I pinched the bridge of my nose, torn between annoyance and something dangerously close to fondness.

My thumbs hovered over the keyboard before I typed: *Hey Samsung support, weird bug—my wallpaper keeps defaulting to pics of a half-naked twink?* I attached the screenshot, biting my lip when I noticed the barely-visible hickey I'd left near his hipbone earlier.

Matt's reply came instantly: *That's not an error, it's actually a feature of the system.* Followed by a string of emojis—sunglasses, eggplant, peach—that made me roll my eyes. Then another text popped up: *Premium users get unlimited cock wallpapers. Subscribe now for dick pics delivered hourly.*

I snorted, flipping my phone facedown on my chest—only for it to vibrate again immediately. The preview showed another photo: Matt posing ridiculously in front of what was clearly my bathroom mirror, one hand gripping his semi while the other held my toothpaste tube like a microphone. *Sponsored content,* read the caption. *Colgate® presents: The Morning After™.*

A third notification lit up the screen—this time a video thumbnail showing Matt biting his lip—but I tossed my phone onto the coffee table before I could open it. The little shit was enjoying this way too much. I rubbed my palms over my face, exhaling through my fingers, but couldn't suppress the grin tugging at my mouth. Fuck. He was cute when he was insufferable.

My wallpaper glowed up at me as I grabbed the phone again—Matt's smirk immortalized in pixels, his cock taking up more screen real estate than the fucking time display. My thumb hovered over the settings icon. One tap and I could restore my generic cityscape wallpaper—erase this ridiculous power move—but...I tilted the screen, watching his abs flex under the artificial backlight. I didn't change a damn thing.

 

[michaelnola]

Excellent story and awesome writing and characters Hot as fuck.

 

[boycut92]

Excellent story and awesome writing and characters Hot as fuck.

Thank you! I'm already working on the next chapter

 

[Birott]

First post - simply to say this is so so good! Great writing, characterisation, and sexy!

 

[wysiwyg69]

Congrats to an excellent story. You wrote it much to the point. A great starter and good, quick development of the story.

 

[Calida]

Again, beautifully constructed and very sexy story. Yes you got me hard... again

 

[Sandymat]

CHAPTER 2 - cont

I caught him halfway down the hallway, fingers hooking in the waistband from behind and yanking hard—just enough to expose the dimples above his ass before the elastic snapped back. Matt yelped, twisting around with a startled laugh, one hand clutching his pants while the other shoved at my shoulder. "Dick," he gasped, cheeks flushing pink even as his shoulders shook with suppressed laughter. "Rude."

The freezer door whined as I pulled it open, revealing three half-empty tubs of Ben & Jerry's wedged between frozen peas and a frostbitten bag of shrimp. "Options are limited," I admitted, nudging them toward him—Chocolate Fudge Brownie, Cherry Garcia, and the lone survivor of my last midnight binge, Caramel Swirl. Matt's eyes lit up instantly, fingers tapping against the countertop like a kid at a candy store. "Caramel," he declared, as if there'd ever been another choice.

I grabbed two spoons from the drawer and tossed it onto the island between us. Matt caught it mid-air with a flick of his wrist, already peeling the lid off the pint with his teeth. The caramel ribbon glistened under the kitchen lights, swirls of gold bleeding into vanilla as he dug in without hesitation.

"Is this what being 28 and having your own apartment looks like?" Matt teased, swirling his spoon lazily. "A freezer full of ice cream options?" His grin was sharp, playful—the same one he'd worn earlier with my cock in his mouth—but his toes curled against the tile like he was trying to ground himself.

"That's one of the perks," I admitted, nudging my knee against his under the counter. "Having a hot and hung guy who comes over to fuck me every now and then is another." The ice cream was cold on my tongue, but the way Matt's breath hitched—just slightly—was warmer than the shower had been.

He recovered fast, licking caramel off his spoon with deliberate slowness. "Every now and then?" he echoed, arching one brow. His foot slid up my calf, deliberate. "This is the second time."

I shrugged, scraping the last swirl from the carton. "Something tells me you'll keep coming." I paused to watch his smirk falter—just for a second—before he schooled his expression into something cockier.

"And you'd be welcome to," I added, nudging his knee with mine, "if you can fit me in your calendar of fuck buddies." The words tasted bitter, which was stupid—we'd never pretended this was anything else.

Matt froze mid-bite, spoon halfway to his mouth, caramel dripping onto the countertop. His blush spread from his cheeks down to his collarbones—pink and patchy—before he ducked his head with a muttered, "I don't have other... fuck buddies."

The admission hung between us, fragile as the thin ice forming on the abandoned ice cream carton. His shoulders were hunched slightly—defensive—but his thumb traced nervous circles on the countertop like he was waiting for a punchline that never came.

I nudged his foot under the counter, watching his green eyes flick up to meet mine. "Seriously though," I said, tapping my spoon against his, "you look... experienced." The word came out softer than I meant it to—less teasing, more genuinely curious.

Matt's grin returned, cocky but softer at the edges now, as he leaned across the island toward me.

“Yeah, well—there was this one guy,” he said, dragging a spoonful of half-melted caramel through the puddling ice cream. “Lasted almost a year, then... didn’t.” His thumbnail picked at the label on the carton, peeling it back in tiny shreds. “After that? Only hook-up apps.”

I smirked, nudging his wrist with my spoon. “And elevators.”

Matt laughed—a short, bright sound—his curls bouncing as he shook his head. “Yeah, well, I couldn’t find you on Grindr,” he admitted, licking caramel off his thumb. “Had to improvise.” His grin turned sly, fingers drumming against the countertop.

I nudged his foot again under the island. “Im glad you did,” I said, swirling my spoon in the melting remains of the ice cream, “I noticed you checking me out in the elevator.” The admission felt stupid now, with Matt’s bare knee pressing into mine. “But figured a guy like you had better, younger options.”

Matt snorted, flicking a chunk of caramel at my chest—it landed with a cold splat against my skin. “There you go with the age shit again,” he said, rolling his eyes as he leaned across to wipe it off with his thumb. His fingers lingered, warm against my sternum. “You’re hot, okay? A guy of any age can notice that.”

I watched as Matt finished scooping the ice cream from my chest using his finger. “Noted,” I said, grinning when he sucked the ice cream off his finger. “But seriously—I couldn’t make a move, even after noticing you eyeing me. What if I’d been wrong? Would have been creepy as hell.”

Matt’s laugh came sharp and sudden, his free hand slapping the countertop. “Would’ve been hilarious, though,” he shot back, eyes crinkling. He took another scoop of ice cream before adding, “And for the record? I'm sure you'd come up with an opening line better than mine.”

I snorted. “Doubtful.” The spoon clinked against the glass countertop when I set it down. “I might be cute, but I'm terrible at flirting.”

Matt grinned—sharp, mocking—as he leaned forward to snatch the last spoonful of caramel. “Look at you,” he murmured between bites, “admitting you're cute. Progress.” His knee bumped mine under the counter, deliberate.

I rolled my eyes and stole the spoon from his fingers, licking it clean with exaggerated slowness. “I never said I wasn't cute.” My smirk widened as I dropped the spoon into the sink with a clatter. “I *know* I'm hot as hell.”

Matt groaned, tipping his head back with a laugh that bounced off the kitchen tiles. “Oh fuck,” he wheezed, wiping his eyes with his knuckles. “I created a monster.”

I grinned, reaching over to flick a stray drop of melted caramel off his collarbone. “Well,” I said, licking the caramel off my finger. “Being fucked by a hung twink does wonders for one's self esteem.”

Matt shrugged with a grin, stretching his arms above his head until his ribs strained against his skin. “You’re welcome,” he said—like he hadn’t just wrecked my ability to walk straight—and dropped his spoon inside the empty ice cream carton.

I flicked the carton into the trash with practiced ease, watching it land perfectly atop a crumpled takeout bag. The spoons clattered against my porcelain sink as Matt tossed himself on my couch lazily.

He sprawled out—one arm draped over the back cushions, the other tucked behind his head—flexing his biceps subtly as he glanced at me through unfairly long lashes. His sweatpants rode low enough to expose the sharp V of his hips—still flushed pink from earlier—and I smirked, settling into the armchair opposite him. "That pose casual," I asked, nodding toward his arm, "or are you trying to seduce me again?"

Matt's grin widened—slow and knowing—as he deliberately stretched higher, the hem of his sweats dipping another dangerous inch. "Would it work?" he countered, dragging his tongue across his bottom lip. His toes curled against the coffee table edge—cocky, but his pulse jumped visibly in his throat.

I scoffed, kicking his foot off the furniture. "You're incorrigible." The word rolled off my tongue before I could stop it—old-fashioned and ridiculous—and Matt's eyebrows shot up.

"Incor—what?" He wrinkled his nose, twisting sideways to face me fully. "Is that like... sexy librarian talk for 'hung twink'?" His fingers plucked at his waistband absentmindedly, dragging the fabric lower. "Because—" he leaned forward, elbows on his knees, "—you calling me that? Fuck. Almost made me drag you back to bed."

I laughed—couldn't help it—and reached over to tug his sweatpants down in one sharp yank, exposing him completely. His cock lay heavy against his thigh, already half-hard again, balls resting plush against the couch cushions. "Well," I said, fishing my phone from the coffee table, "you *are* a hung twink." Matt yelped but didn't cover himself, sprawling back with exaggerated nonchalance, one arm crooked behind his head.

I snapped a picture of his nakedness and flipped the screen toward him. "See?" I tapped the image where his cock curved lazily over his thigh, tip glistening. "Textbook hung twink behavior."

Matt snatched my phone with surprising speed, pinching the screen to zoom in absurdly close—like he was inspecting forensic evidence. His brow furrowed in mock concentration before he tossed it back. "Yeah," he deadpanned, spreading his legs wider, "turns out I *am* a hung twink after all." His smirk was pure arrogance, but the tips of his ears burned pink.

I snatched my phone midair before it could land on his naked lap. "Glad we settled that," I muttered, dropping my phone on the coffee table.

Matt's smirk grew wider—his green eyes darkening—as I sank to my knees between his sprawled thighs. The couch cushion shifted under my kneecaps, the faded fabric rough against my skin. Matt exhaled sharply when I leaned forward—slow, deliberate—and pressed my lips to the crease of his thigh, tasting salt and soap from the shower.

His cock twitched against my chin before I kissed downward—first the base, then the taut skin of his balls—breathing him in as his scent flooded my senses. Matt's breath hitched above me, his fingers twining into my damp hair—not pulling, just anchoring—as I watched his cock swell in real time: the veins standing proud, the flushed head glistening where pre-come beaded at the slit. I licked my lips—slow, deliberate—and Matt groaned, hips jerking upward in reflex, his thighs tensing beneath my palms.

I grinned against his inner thigh—feeling the muscle twitch under my mouth—when his cock finally reached full hardness, bobbing inches from my lips. Matt's grip tightened in my hair, his breathing ragged. "Fuck," he exhaled, the word cracking halfway—half plea, half prayer—as I hovered just close enough for him to feel my breath against his skin.

Then I swallowed him down—no teasing, no preamble—straight to the hilt, my nose pressing into his pelvis with a wet, muffled sound. Matt jerked beneath me, thighs tensing as he gasped something incoherent, his fingers tightening reflexively in my hair. I stayed there, throat working around him until my eyes watered—until I felt his pulse throb against my tongue—before pulling back just enough to breathe.

Matt groaned—long and broken—before suddenly pushing my head back down with surprising force. The abrupt pressure made my eyes water, the head of his cock hitting deep enough that my vision blurred—but I relaxed instinctively, throat opening around him as he held me there, breathing ragged. "Jesus—" he choked out, hips twitching upward—testing—before easing his grip just enough for me to pull back slightly, my lips dragging wetly along his shaft.

Then he shoved me down again—harder this time—his cock sinking effortlessly into my throat, stretching it obscenely. Saliva dripped from my chin onto his balls, my fingers digging bruises into his thighs as I let him use me—savoring every choked gasp and shuddering curse above me—until his thrusts grew sloppy, his control unraveling.

Matt finally pulled out with a wet pop, his cock glistening with spit, his chest heaving. He didn’t let me catch my breath—just hauled me up by the wrists and shoved me onto the couch, flipping me onto my back with rough hands. My legs barely hit the cushions before he yanked them over his shoulders, his breath hot against my hole before he buried his face between my cheeks without hesitation.

His tongue was relentless—broad, wet strokes circling my rim before spearing inside, fucking me open with shameless hunger. I arched off the couch, gripping the cushions, my cock twitching against my stomach as he moaned into me like I was his last meal—his hands digging into my thighs hard enough to leave marks. "Fuck—" I gasped when he flattened his tongue, dragging it upward in a slow, filthy lick that had me shaking.

Matt pulled back just enough to smirk up at me, his lips slick with spit. "Still taste like me," he murmured, voice wrecked, before diving back in—this time nipping at my rim before sucking it between his lips, his tongue probing deeper with every desperate thrust.

Then suddenly he was gone—the loss of his mouth almost painful—and I barely had time to register the shift before I felt the blunt press of his cockhead against my entrance. The slide was obscenely smooth—his shaft glistening with my spit and precome—as he pushed in with brutal precision, the first inch stretching me deliciously wide. I arched off the couch, gasping at the slick heat of him sinking deeper, my hole clenching instinctively around the intrusion.

His groan vibrated through me as he bottomed out—hips flush against my ass—his cock throbbing inside me with every ragged breath. "Fuck—" he gritted out, fingers digging into my thighs as he adjusted to the tightness, his stomach muscles flexing visibly. "You take me so fucking well." The words came out choked, reverent—like I was something holy he couldn't believe was his to ruin.

Matt shifted slightly—just enough to grind deeper—and the sudden drag against my prostate had me crying out, my cock twitching against my stomach. His grin turned feral as he leaned forward, gripping my hip with one hand while the other traced my leaking slit. "Yeah," he breathed, thumb swirling the wetness there, "you like that?" His hips rolled in answer—slow, torturous—before pulling almost all the way out and slamming back in hard enough to shake the couch.

I gasped, my fingers scrabbling at the cushions, but Matt caught my wrists and pinned them beside my head, his grip unrelenting as he withdrew again—slow, cruel—pausing just long enough to see my hole flutter around nothing before thrusting back in with brutal force. "Say it," he growled, his breath hot against my throat as he punctuated each word with another punishing snap of his hips. "Tell me you fucking love this—that you want it—"

The rest of his demand dissolved into a groan as I arched beneath him, my cock leaking untouched between us, my hole clenching around him in desperate pulses. He didn’t relent—just drove into me harder, each thrust landing with precision—until my thighs trembled and my throat ached from the sounds wrenched out of me. "Matt—" I choked out, my vision blurring at the edges, his name dissolving into a moan as he hit that sweet spot again, relentless.

My fingers dug into the meat of his ass, pulling him deeper with every snap of his hips—no finesse now, just raw, animal need. The wet slap of skin filled the room, his cock dragging against my walls until my thighs shook with the effort of holding onto him, my toes curled against his back. He fucked me like he wanted to ruin me—like he wanted me to remember every inch of him long after he’d pulled out—his breath hot against my neck, his groan vibrating through me when I clenched down hard.

The pleasure coiled tight in my gut, building with every brutal thrust until my body seized—cock untouched but spurting between us in thick, sudden stripes. Matt cursed, his rhythm faltering as he watched me come undone beneath him, his hips stuttering before he bottomed out with a groan, burying himself to the hilt as his own climax ripped through him. I felt him pulse inside me—hot and insistent—his fingers bruising my hips as he ground deeper, milking every last drop.

He collapsed atop me, his breath ragged against my throat, his cock still twitching inside me as we both trembled through the aftershocks. "Fuck," he muttered, voice wrecked, his lips brushing my jaw like an afterthought—like he couldn’t help it. I tightened around him instinctively, earning a punched-out groan before he finally slipped free, both of us sticky and spent beneath the weight of what we hadn’t said.

Half an hour later, I was still splayed on the couch, the leather cool against my overheated skin, my hole wet with his come and my thighs tacky with dried streaks of mine. Matt emerged from the bathroom with his heavy softie dangling wirh each step, his damp curls clinging to his forehead as he scrubbed a towel through his hair. Water droplets slid down his chest, tracing the same path my tongue had taken earlier.

"Shit," he muttered, digging through his discarded jeans for his phone before grimacing at the screen. "I gotta head out." His voice was casual—too casual—as he tugged his shirt on inside-out, the tag jutting near his collarbone. He hesitated, fingers flexing at his sides before he grabbed his jacket with forced nonchalance.

I hummed, stretching lazily—letting him look his fill—before curling my toes against the armrest. "Text me," I said, more command than request. "Even if you're not bored." I watched his Adam’s apple bob as he nodded. He lingered in the doorway, one hand on the frame, his breath hitching like he wanted to say something else—something stupid—before he swallowed hard and turned away.

The door clicked shut behind him, leaving silence and the scent of sex in his wake.

I rolled onto my side with a groan, stretching for my phone on the coffee table—only to freeze mid-reach. Staring back at me from the lock screen was Matt in all his sprawled, naked glory: one arm crooked behind his head, sweatpants tugged halfway down his thighs, cock resting heavy against his stomach with that cocky smirk plastered across his face. The dim lighting caught the sweat-slick curve of his collarbones, the faint blush still dusting his cheeks. My laugh barked out before I could stop it, sharp and startled in the empty apartment.

"Little shit," I muttered, swiping my thumb across his smug face to unlock it—only to find the same goddamn photo set as the home screen wallpaper too, zoomed in even closer. His abs filled the screen, the caramel I'd flicked at him earlier still glistening on his skin like some ridiculous edible art project. I pinched the bridge of my nose, torn between annoyance and something dangerously close to fondness.

My thumbs hovered over the keyboard before I typed: *Hey Samsung support, weird bug—my wallpaper keeps defaulting to pics of a half-naked twink?* I attached the screenshot, biting my lip when I noticed the barely-visible hickey I'd left near his hipbone earlier.

Matt's reply came instantly: *That's not an error, it's actually a feature of the system.* Followed by a string of emojis—sunglasses, eggplant, peach—that made me roll my eyes. Then another text popped up: *Premium users get unlimited cock wallpapers. Subscribe now for dick pics delivered hourly.*

I snorted, flipping my phone facedown on my chest—only for it to vibrate again immediately. The preview showed another photo: Matt posing ridiculously in front of what was clearly my bathroom mirror, one hand gripping his semi while the other held my toothpaste tube like a microphone. *Sponsored content,* read the caption. *Colgate® presents: The Morning After™.*

A third notification lit up the screen—this time a video thumbnail showing Matt biting his lip—but I tossed my phone onto the coffee table before I could open it. The little shit was enjoying this way too much. I rubbed my palms over my face, exhaling through my fingers, but couldn't suppress the grin tugging at my mouth. Fuck. He was cute when he was insufferable.

My wallpaper glowed up at me as I grabbed the phone again—Matt's smirk immortalized in pixels, his cock taking up more screen real estate than the fucking time display. My thumb hovered over the settings icon. One tap and I could restore my generic cityscape wallpaper—erase this ridiculous power move—but...I tilted the screen, watching his abs flex under the artificial backlight. I didn't change a damn thing.

Great writing ..really hot

 

[highflyer99]

Thank you! I'm already working on the next chapter

Looking forward to that! I love how you write: well paced, nicely drawn characters, and such hot graphic sex scenes.

 

[Allintoday]

Your writing is excellent. I love the banter and your description of the sex between Matt & Dan is hot as he'll. I look forward to the next chapter.

 

[WillieWestewind]

Wow! Brilliantly expressive. Brought up some fond memories of a similar engagement. Thank you.