Making it Real
I woke with the faint, pleasant soreness of the night still in my body.
I stretched slowly, registering the pull in my back and shoulders, the dull, satisfying ache that came from being well fucked. Daylight edged around the blinds, brighter than I’d expected. A quick check of the time revealed why. It was already after nine.
Beside me, Amare slept soundly.
The sheets had settled lower during the night, leaving him partly bare. He lay on his back, one arm over his head, the other loose at his side, his chest rising and falling slow and steady. Even asleep, he looked powerful. Muscles sat full along his shoulders and chest, his arms heavy and defined, his body taking up space, relaxed but unmistakably formidable.
I watched him for another few minutes, pulled in by the steady rhythm of his breathing. I still hadn’t quite caught up to the fact that this was who I was waking up beside again.
My gaze drifted over him, tracing his now familiar lines. My eyes still didn’t quite know how to move across his body without slowing down. I brushed my fingers lightly along his arm, barely touching, and felt a small shudder move through me in response before I stilled again, careful not to wake him.
I told myself I should get up, that I needed coffee. And yet I didn’t move.
There was something indulgent about staying there. About letting the quiet stretch. It felt intimate in a way that went beyond sex. And that realization lingered, just enough to make me question if I was reading it right.
Then my bladder made the decision for me.
I slid out from under the sheets, the cool floor pulling me fully into the morning. I stood there for a moment, stretching, letting the pull of him fade just enough that I could function.
In the kitchen, the coffeemaker finished brewing. I poured myself a mug and leaned back against the counter, staring out the window as the neighbourhood eased into Sunday. Cars passing. A dog being walked. Everyday life.
Behind me, the bedroom stayed quiet.
We’d reached a small milestone the night before. Amare and I had hosted our first party together. A few of my friends. A few of his. People who probably wouldn’t have ended up under the same roof otherwise.
The contrast had been obvious at first. His friends were louder, more physical, comfortable talking about training, bulking, cutting, and numbers that came from lifting heavy weights. Mine were quieter, more reserved, conversations drifting toward grad school and safer, more abstract topics.
There were a few awkward beats early on. But they passed. My friends relaxed once they saw that Amare wasn’t trying to impress anyone. He was just… himself. He talked when it made sense. He let the room find its own rhythm. By the end, the laughter felt natural.
A few weeks ago, when Jeff and I split up, it had caught everyone off guard. To most of my friends, we just… worked. Common interests. Shared circles. On paper, it made sense.
No one came right out and said I was making a mistake. But I heard it in the careful tone people used when they said they were surprised. The concern that I’d walked away from an obvious fit.
Standing next to Amare last night, I knew the contrast was obvious. Jeff blended easily into my world. Amare didn’t. When he walked into a room, people noticed. I could imagine what that looked like from the outside. Something very unexpected. Maybe even a phase.
And yet, watching him move through the evening, I felt something settle in me. He asked questions. He listened. He didn’t shrink, and he didn’t crowd anyone either. We’d catch each other’s eye across the room. Those little check-ins felt right.
People responded to that. The tension I’d braced for never really took hold. The night felt lighter than I’d expected. I found myself hoping that was enough for now. Not approval. Just enough for them to see that this wasn’t careless.
I wasn’t confused about how I felt. That part was solid.
What lingered instead was something quieter. Everything between us had happened quickly. Intense from the start. Physical. One minute we were circling each other, the next we were hooking up, and now we were here, hosting a party like this was already something established. It all felt real. It had just happened fast.
And we hadn’t stopped long enough to talk about what it meant for the longer term.
The connection between us was easy. But most of what I knew about him lived in the bedroom. In the way he touched me. In the way he held my gaze. I knew how it felt to be with him.
I didn’t know what he wanted outside of that.
What he saw for himself five years from now. Whether bodybuilding was the goal or just one part of something bigger. What he worried about. What he cared about when no one was watching.
I realized there were whole parts of him I hadn’t asked about yet.
The uncertainty wasn’t about doubting him.
It was about realizing how much of him I still didn’t know.
And feeling, suddenly, like I wanted to.
~~~~~
I took a sip of coffee, exhaled slowly, and told myself I was getting ahead of things.
Then footsteps sounded behind me.
Amare entered the kitchen wearing nothing, completely unconcerned with it, or with the effect it had on me. His short dreads sat loose from sleep, some pulled back, others falling forward near his temples, giving him that just-woke-up look. His eyelids were still heavy, his face relaxed.
He was still unfairly hot.
He stretched as he crossed the room, palms bracing on the counter as his shoulders rolled forward. I watched the way his body moved. Muscles tightened, swelled, then settled again. I realized I’d been staring only when my coffee mug stopped halfway to my mouth.
His arousal was already showing, his cock brushing and then slapping lightly against his thigh as he stepped closer.
He saw me looking and grinned. “Morning,” his voice low, still rough.
“...Morning,” I replied, slower than I should have. Then I tried but failed to remember what I’d been doing before he walked in.
He came in close. His fingers brushed the small of my back, then settled briefly at my side before he stopped behind me. I felt his thumb trace once, lazily, over my shoulder, right through the fabric of my shirt.
I became very aware of how still I was standing.
“You smell good,” he murmured, close to my ear.
His quiet intimacy sent a shiver through me. His hand resting there, warm and unhurried. I swallowed and focussed on the mug in my hands, as if it might steady me.
It didn’t help.
He didn’t move away. He stayed there, close enough that the heat of him was impossible to ignore. He lingered just long enough to make it obvious he could feel it — and that he was enjoying the fact that I wasn’t very good at hiding it.
I took a quick sip of coffee.
He glanced at the mug, then at me. “I woke up and you weren’t there,” he smiled. “And now I find you out here looking a little too deep in thought.”
His eyes held mine for a beat. “Still trying to make sense of us?”
I turned my head just enough to look at him. “What?”
He didn’t tease. He just held my gaze, close and steady.
Not for the first time, he didn’t give me anywhere to hide.
I wasn’t sure I’d ever get used to that.
I broke eye contact first and set my mug down, slow and careful, buying a breath.
He stepped in and wrapped his arms around me. “Come here,” he said, voice low. “You want to talk about it?”
His chest pressed against my cheek, dense with muscle. Bare skin radiating heat. And then there was the rest of him — the unmistakable brush of him against my stomach. Not fully hard, but aroused enough that I couldn’t miss it.
I pulled back — just enough to see his face. His arms loosened, sliding up so his hands rested at my shoulders, thumbs warm against my collarbones. We were still inside each other’s space.
“No.” It came out sharper than I meant.
He lifted an eyebrow.
“I mean — yes,” I corrected, dragging a hand through my hair. “I do. Just… not with you standing there like that.”
“Like what?” He was grinning at me again.
“Like you rolled out of my bed and walked in here completely naked like that’s not going to mess with me.”
He grinned. “I like the way you react when you see me like this.”
“Don’t,” I warned, fighting a smile I didn’t want to give him.
“What?” he asked lightly, hands still resting on my shoulders.
Something in his expression flickered — amusement, yes, but also something warmer.
His grip shifted. He drew me back against him, closing the small gap I’d created. My breath hitched.
Then he bent his head and kissed me.
His mouth pressed over mine, holding there just long enough to draw a response. His hand tightened slightly at my shoulder as he angled me into him, his arousal leaving no doubt about what he wanted.
My pulse kicked hard.
He pulled back just enough to look at me, close enough that I still felt his breath on my lips.
His hands tightened at my sides, and his hips rolled forward again, slower this time. Deliberate. The pressure of him dragged across my stomach, firm and unmistakable.
“You wanna help me out with this?”
My pulse kicked harder. I wanted this too much to let him derail what I needed to say.
“Yeah… I do. I just— After…”
He studied me and took a breath, something softer sliding into his expression.
“Oh, I see. You actually want to talk.”
“Yeah.. please,” I said, stepping back.
He stood there a moment, then he nodded.
“Alright,” he said, slowly pulling away. “I’ll go put something on. “But we’re not done here.”
He walked off down the hallway, and I had to fight the urge to follow him back to bed instead of finally having the conversation I’d been thinking about all morning.
When he came back, he was wearing tight briefs and a short-sleeve button-up, the front left open, fabric pulling lightly across his shoulders.
“Better?” he asked, a faint twinkle in his eye.
I looked up and sighed. “Yeah, right.”
He came closer, fingers brushing my wrist. His touch sent a quiet jolt through me.
I steadied myself.
“Last night went well,” I said.
His mouth curved. “Yeah?”
“My friends liked you.”
“Mm.” His eyes stayed on mine. “And?”
“And they don’t know what to make of you yet,” I said honestly.
He smiled, unbothered. “They will. I’m not worried.”
I held his gaze a second longer this time, even as I remained acutely aware of him, barely dressed, standing here beside me, relaxed and sure of himself. I tried to focus on what I wanted to ask him, on the words I’d been rehearsing since I woke up, but my attention kept slipping.
~~~~~
I managed to find my composure, staying tucked against him. The side of my face rested against his warm muscles, the steady rise and fall beneath my ear doing more to settle me than I expected. His arm was firm around my back, like he wasn’t in a hurry to let me go.
I needed to focus, or I was going to lose track of what I’d wanted to say. “I’ve been meaning to ask you something,” my voice softer than I meant it to be.
He didn’t shift or loosen his hold. If anything, his hand spread a little more fully at my side, thumb brushing once, unhurried.
“Okay, shoot,” he said.
That tightened something in my chest. It would have been simpler if he’d sounded guarded.
“It’s just…” I hesitated, my fingers flexing against his stomach before I realized I was doing it. “It’s been almost a month. Which feels strange to say out loud, because it doesn’t feel like it’s been that long. And we’ve spent a lot of time together. Talked a bit about my life.”
I glanced up at him, then away again, the words lining themselves up carefully.
“But I hardly know anything about yours.”
I felt him look down at me.
“I know you,” I added quickly. “I know you here in town. I know you at home.” I gestured vaguely between us. “And now with your friends. And I know you travel a lot. Shows, events, trips… you’re always off somewhere.”
I took a breath, feeling it catch higher in my chest than I wanted.
“I don’t want to pry,” I said. “Because I like what this is.” I paused, then admitted, quieter, “But I realized this morning that I don’t really know much about your life.”
There it was. The thing I’d been circling.
His mouth curved into a slow grin, pleased in a way that made heat crawl up my neck.
“So you’re curious,” he said.
I winced. “That makes it sound lighter than it feels.”
He chuckled softly, his chest moving under my cheek.
I shifted against him, pressing my cheek more firmly into his chest. “Your life revolves around your physique. You’re a trainer. You travel. I’m sure you get into things I don’t even know about yet.”
I swallowed, the next part tightening my throat.
“But I guess I just want to know… is this a hobby… is it a job?” I hesitated, then pushed through. “I know you’re only 21, but what does the future look like for you? What will you be doing when you’re thirty… or even next year?”
I exhaled.
“I mean, your townhouse — your life — it’s all super-cool. But how do you actually support it?”
As soon as the words were out, I felt myself tense.
“Sorry,” I said quickly. “That was a lot. I don’t want to turn this into an interrogation.”
Instead of pulling back, he chuckled, more amused than offended. His arm tightened slightly at my back, the gesture reassuring me.
“I was wondering when this would come up,” he said.
I felt so relieved, my body loosening against his.
He shifted slightly, just angling his body so I was more fully against him.
“I’ve been lifting since I was fourteen,” he said. “Like seriously. Hardcore. My body responded to it, my muscles started growing. I was drawn to the discipline, and the way my effort turned into something you could actually see. It just… felt right.”
I lifted my head enough to look at him. He was just talking, comfortable, not holding anything back, like he was letting me see how it had actually unfolded for him. It caught me off guard, how open he was with me.
“I train clients,” he went on. “Mostly people who are high-profile, wealthy, used to paying for know-how and experience. They want someone who knows what they’re doing and isn’t intimidated by their accomplishments.”
I could picture it too easily. Amare bringing his natural confidence to all his clients, winning them over by just being himself.
“I compete because I like to win,” he said with a faint smirk. “And because it keeps me focussed. Keeps my name out there.” His shoulder shifted, muscle tightening and relaxing again. “I have an agent who screens the opportunities for me. He manages my exposure and keeps me on the right path, establishing a name for myself.”
He shrugged lightly, like the scale of it still surprised him.
“I do some modelling. I rep products I actually use. I just signed a big deal with True North Supplements a few months ago.” A corner of his mouth lifted. “And yeah, there are events where I’m paid to show up. Be seen. Talk to people.”
He paused, then added, more deliberately,
“From the outside, it probably looks a little all over the place. But it’s not. It’s all planned. I’m building something.”
His gaze held mine.
“I just don’t usually lead with any of that. I like knowing someone’s into me, and not just my life.”
I nodded slowly as the pieces settled, stacking into something larger and more intentional than I’d imagined.
“You’re about more than just working out,” I said slowly. “You’re building a name. A brand. A reputation.”
He smiled at that. Like he could see that I understood.
“Yeah,” he said. “I am.”
The version of him I’d been holding onto — hot, disciplined, ambitious — now felt incomplete. He was young, yes. But he was focussed in a way I hadn’t fully seen before.
I went quiet, getting pulled into it, turning it over in my head.
He noticed immediately.
His hand slid up my back, firm, anchoring. “Hey. Talk to me.”
I met his eyes. “I’m just… processing.”
He nodded calmly.
I felt it settle in — how serious he was about all of it, how far he was already pushing it. I was proud of him. And then, just as quickly, something else crept in. Could I actually keep up with him? Would I ever feel like enough standing next to someone like that?
“You’re… a big deal. Like, operating on a different level.”
He grinned at me. “I’m working on it.”
He said it like that was enough, like he didn’t need to second-guess it.
I nodded, but I could already feel myself trying to keep up.
“I’m defending my thesis next month,” I said, a little too quickly. “And then, if it goes well, I’ll probably start lecturing. Still on probation for a year.”
“Hey,” he said, his thumb tracing lightly along my side. “Don’t do that.”
I stilled slightly.
“Don’t sell yourself short,” he added, quieter now. “That’s not nothing.”
The way he said it reassured me.
I exhaled and let myself settle back against him, my hand resting where it had been all along, the solid warmth of him steady beneath my palm.
I stayed there, leaning into him, my cheek still against his chest. The silence stretched.
It was in that stillness that last night crept back in.
The talking. The laughter. The way the house had felt full in a way I wasn’t used to hosting.
“Do you think everyone had a good time?” I asked finally.
It sounded casual, but I wasn’t asking about food or music. I was replaying faces, tone, the way my friends and his had been around each other without quite knowing what to do.
Amare didn’t answer right away. His arm stayed steady around me.
“They did,” he said. Then, after a beat, “Especially your people.”
I let out a small breath. “You think?”
He nodded once, subtle but certain. “Yeah. Brian, for one.”
“My Brian?”
His mouth curved slightly. “Yeah. He came straight up to me.”
I blinked. “He did?”
“Yeah,” Amare said. “We talked for a while.”
That surprised me — not just that they’d talked, but that Brian had initiated it.
“What about?”
“He wanted to know what I’m about,” Amare said. “Just got right to it. No games.”
My chest tightened a little.
“He made it pretty clear you’ve got history.”
“We’ve known each other a long time. He’s always looked out for me.”
Amare nodded. “Yeah. I got that.”
There was no posturing in his tone.
“I liked that,” he added. “He didn’t try to make it a thing. Just asked what he wanted to ask.”
I smiled despite myself.
“I like him,” Amare said. Then adding, “We should hang out with him and Ashley sometime.”
I smiled to myself. It meant more than I expected that Brian and Amare had connected. Brian hadn’t tried to prove anything. He’d just been himself.
Still, there were other things on my mind.
I hesitated.
“It seemed easier for Brian than for some of the others,” I admitted.
Amare didn’t react right away. He just looked at me, considering it.
“He wasn’t trying to prove anything,” he said finally. “Just showed up and was himself.”
Something in my chest eased at that.
“I mean, it wasn’t really a problem, with the others,” I added quickly. “It was just, at first, it felt like everyone was sizing each other up.”
He grinned faintly. “You’re wondering if our friends are compatible.”
I shook my head immediately. “That’s not what I said,” my tone sharpening despite myself.
He didn’t argue.
I shifted against him, aware of how my words weren’t ringing entirely true. “Okay, fine,” I said, conceding. “Like your friends carry themselves a certain way. And my friends had to figure that out.”
His expression didn’t change, but something in it sharpened.
“Like your friends are used to being noticed,” I said. “They don’t second-guess it. “And my friends had to find their footing around that.”
I could almost feel him replaying the night.
“It wasn’t tension,” he said finally. “It was people getting comfortable with each other.”
I frowned slightly.
“Me and the guys I train with… we don’t really dial it down,” he said, calm and matter-of-fact. “It’s just who we are.”
His thumb traced along my arm, slow, steady.
“It’s not about anyone being better,” he said. “It’s just different. Some people walk into that and settle right away. Others hang back for a minute, figure out where they fit.”
I could see it more clearly the way he framed it.
“There’s always that first stretch,” he went on. “People watching each other, feeling it out. Some guys move through that faster than others. Once they do, it’s fine.”
I thought about the first drinks. The slightly louder conversations. The way laughter had come a little too sharp at first. And then how it evolved. People breaking into smaller groups. Conversations turning real. Shoulders loosening.
“By the time dinner was served,” I said slowly, “it felt… easier.”
I let out a slow breath.
Amare was right. It had just taken a minute for everyone to find their footing. For him, it hadn’t been confusing at all. He’d already understood what I was still working through.
I hesitated, then said, “Not everyone had a good time.”
He didn’t look surprised. “Jared.”
I blinked. “How did you—”
“He gave it away,” Amare said easily. “He talks a big game, but when it mattered, he just stood there and watched Zack move in.”
I sighed, rubbing my thumb along the rim of my mug. “He’s been trying to get Cynthia’s attention for months. He didn’t appreciate Zack making a play for her.”
Amare snorted softly. “Jared didn’t say a word. Just stood there and let it happen.”
“She went home with Zack, the first night they met.”
I stilled against him. “She did?”
“That tells you all you need to know about where Jared stands. She’s out of his league,” he added evenly. “Zack didn’t make that true. He just proved it.”
“Amare,” I said quietly.
He shrugged. “You know it’s true. Zack did nothing wrong. He was just being himself. And that’s what Cynthia chose.”
I let that sit, the clarity of it landing in a way that left me a little off balance.
Amare watched me think, then asked, “What did he say?”
“He thinks Zack was showing off,” I admitted. “The way he lifted his shirt in the kitchen. In front of Cynthia. Jared thought it was over-the-top.”
Amare lifted one eyebrow, slow and skeptical, like he couldn’t decide if that was funny or pathetic.
“Zack didn’t hold back,” he said. “He just showed up as himself, like he knew exactly what he was doing. Made it easy for her to choose. Jared didn’t have anything to match that.”
I opened my mouth to argue, then pictured it again — Zack laughing, lifting his shirt like it was nothing. Cynthia unable to tear her eyes away.
“Okay,” I conceded. “When you put it like that…”
Amare’s mouth twitched.
“There’s a difference between knowing what you bring and pretending you do,” he said evenly. “Zack doesn’t have to fake it.”
His gaze stayed on me, steady and knowing.
I sat with what he’d just said, the clean way he’d laid it out — the part of me that wanted to push back falling quiet.
And then I felt it — a pulse between my legs, sharp and immediate, catching me off guard.
I shifted faintly, exhaling.
“You’re right,” I said.
Then, quieter—
“I like it… when you show your abs.”
I hesitated. It was ridiculous to be embarrassed by it after everything, but the words still snagged on the way out.
Something warm flickered in his eyes.
“Yeah?” he said.
I nodded, settling into him. “It doesn’t feel like showing off,” I added, because I needed to explain myself. “It just feels like… you being you.”
My hand moved, resting against his stomach, thumb brushing lightly over his ridged, shredded muscles.
Amare drew a slow breath, then said, “You and Cynthia have something in common.”
Heat rose in my face, and I shifted faintly against him, aware of how obvious it was.
Amare was quiet for a moment, thinking, as if he’d already followed the thread of what I was saying and was deciding how far to pull it.
“You’re kinda circling,” he said finally. “Talking about your friends. My friends. How different they are. But that’s not what you’re actually asking.”
My stomach tightened.
“You’re still trying to figure out if we fit together,” he said. “Where this goes from here.“
His gaze held mine.
Then, more evenly, “I think you’re worried that this isn’t real. That I should be with someone more like me.”
I lifted my head slightly. “Well, I just thought…”
A faint smile touched his mouth. “No.”
Then, more seriously, “I’m not looking for a clone of me. I’m around guys like that all the time.” A quiet exhale. “I don’t want that at home.”
My heart started beating faster.
“What works for me,” he said, quieter now, “is this… Us.”
There was no hesitation in what he was saying.
“I like you, Garrett. I like who you are. And I like that you’re not trying to outdo me, or turn yourself into someone else.”
His hand stayed steady at my waist. “You look at me like you actually see what I am… and you like it.”
My throat tightened.
His gaze held mine for a beat, then dipped briefly before coming back. “And yeah,” he added quietly, “you’re easy on the eyes.”
My pulse picked up.
His mouth curved faintly. “That blond hair, those green eyes… you stand out more than you think you do.”
Heat rose in my face.
Then his expression settled again, something more serious returning to it. “But it’s more than that,” he said. “You’re a good person.”
His hand tightened slightly at my waist. “I want you in my life, Garrett.”
I hadn’t expected that.
His hand adjusted slightly at my waist, settling there more firmly.
“And yeah…” he said, a hint of something returning to his tone, “I like that you’re smaller than me.”
His grip tightened just enough to make the point. “I like the contrast. The way you lean into it.”
I hadn’t expected him to lay it out like that.
His eyes stayed on mine, steady, like he knew I was finally hearing him. “And you keep talking about this like it’s something that just… happened to you,” he said, more gently now.
My eyes stayed on Amare, waiting for what he’d say next.
“You chose too, Garrett. That night at the reunion. You could’ve walked away. You didn’t. You chose again the first time I came here. You keep choosing me.”
I knew he wasn’t wrong.
He watched me for a second longer, then his mouth curved slightly. “You know how I know?” he said, softer now.
Heat rose in my face before he even finished. “It’s your eyes. They give you away every time,” he murmured. “That look you get when you’re trying to figure me out… when you’re trying not to react.”
A faint shake of his head, almost amused. “You have no idea how obvious you are.”
His gaze held mine, steady, certain. “That’s how I know this is real,” he added quietly.
Something shifted between us. Subtle, but unmistakable. The growing pressure of his arousal against me from within his briefs.
“If you weren’t enough for me,” he said, his voice lower now, closer, “I wouldn’t be here like this.”
The way he spoke made it hit.
“Garrett,” he said, holding my gaze, “I want you.”
My pulse jumped hard at that.
I let my forehead tip toward his shoulder, my palm flattening against his broad chest.
The uncertainty was still there. But it felt different now.
It changed shape.
It was no longer about whether I measured up anymore.
It was about what it meant that he was standing here, hard against me, choosing this.
Amare kept still as my hand slid higher, the moment shifting with it. My thumb brushed the thick curve of his trap, then traced down along the open line of his shirt, over the warm skin of his chest.
His hand came up and covered mine, just holding it there with his.
“Garrett,” he said quietly.
I looked up at him.
He took a slow breath, steady and controlled. “I don’t usually let people get this close,” he said. “What I shared with you today… I haven’t shared that with anyone.”
He said it like he trusted me with it.
I smiled, a little overwhelmed by what that meant. “I’m not sure what to say.”
“You don’t have to say anything,” he replied, his gaze staying on mine. “I just wanted you to know.”
He shifted just enough to remind me how close we were, how real this felt.
“This conversation,” he added, “it matters. I’m glad you pushed for it.”
My heart kicked hard in my chest.
“I just needed to know what this is,” I said.
A faint smile touched his mouth. He just stayed there with me, close and steady, and I realized I wasn’t bracing anymore.
“Kiss me,” I said, the word rougher than I meant it to be.
He leaned down immediately, his mouth meeting mine, open and sure, like he’d been waiting for me. His hand slid to my back, firm and familiar, pulling me in as he kissed me again, deeper this time.
I opened to him, meeting him fully, feeling the heat spread through my chest as we moved together instinctively, closer with each breath, until the pressure between us sharpened and I had to pull air into my lungs.
When we finally pulled apart, it was only because we had to.
His forehead rested against mine.
I smiled, a little unsteady, and felt the pull forward settle into something undeniable.
~~~~~
My hand flattened against his chest, fingers spreading, tracing over muscle that shifted subtly. I could feel how solid he was, the movement steady and controlled with each breath.
His arm tightened around me. I felt the way his hips angled forward just enough to make the message unmistakable. He let out a low chuckle.
“You keep that up and you’re going to find yourself on your back pretty quick.”
I tipped my head back, meeting his eyes. He was enjoying this. His arousal still pressed against me.
“Is that a threat?” I smirked.
His thumb brushed my jaw, a faint smile pulling at his mouth. “More like a heads-up.”
My hand slid lower, deliberate now. Fingers sliding under the waistband of his briefs. Amare’s thick shaft filled my palm immediately. His breath hitched this time for real.
“Garrett,” he murmured, rolling his hips forward.
I closed my hand around him, stroking once, slow and sure, feeling the way he thickened under my touch. His grip on me tightened in response, and for a moment we just stayed like that, the slow pull of arousal settling deeper in me.
Then his hand slid to my wrist. He turned us toward the living room.
I let out a soft laugh as he tugged me along. I could feel it now. The hunger I’d sparked and had no interest in slowing down.
He stopped beside the couch and didn’t move, letting the silence stretch.
He grinned and watched me while he pushed his briefs down and stepped out of them, deliberately making a show of it. His cock stood hard and throbbing. His gaze remained fixed on me, clearly enjoying my attention.
I stood still, watching him, I could hear my pulse in my ears. The sight of him like that sent a jolt straight through me. The way he knew exactly what he was doing to me.
He sat back down on the sofa, spreading his legs, still watching me. One corner of his mouth lifted, slow and knowing.
“Are you ready to finish what you started?”
I swallowed, my gaze dropping despite myself, then lifting again to meet his. The look he gave me was the look of someone who already knew he wouldn’t have to wait long for me to follow through.
I stepped in close, close enough that my skin prickled, and then lowered myself between his legs.
The closeness sharpened everything. The heat of him. The way his body filled my view, his cock hard and full, already slick at the hooded tip. Anticipation hit fast and physical. I had to steady my breathing before I leaned in.
He watched me as he lifted his hand and found the back of my head, fingers sliding into my hair, guiding me forward.
A quiet sound left him as I leaned in. His chest rose more this time, his mouth parting slightly as he watched me.
My hands settled on his thighs, solid under my palms, anchoring me there.
Then I wrapped my lips around him.
My hands slid higher without thinking, settling at his hips as his stomach tightened first, a sharp contraction under my touch. His fingers tightened in my hair, steady and sure. His breath left him in a rough exhale that broke halfway through, chest rising harder on the next inhale.
“Fuck,” he muttered, but it came out uneven.
His thighs flexed under my palms. I felt the subtle tremor there, the way his muscles tightened under my hands.
I moved again, slower this time. My tongue slid along his shaft before circling higher again, I could taste him, feel him throbbing. His breathing became ragged, chest rising faster now, his hips shifting once, chasing the sensation. The way he reacted sent a quiet thrill right through me.
His head tipped back farther. The hand in my hair stayed there, firm, like he was feeling everything. His other hand braced against the cushion beside him, fingers spreading, the muscles in his arm tensing as his hips lifted a fraction.
His breathing lost its rhythm completely. In through his nose, sharp. Out through parted lips. His chest rising higher each time, his abs flexing beneath my touch with every slow pull of my mouth.
“Garrett,” he said again, lower now.
I kept going, deliberate, letting my mouth and tongue do the work, listening to his body as much as his breath. I could feel how close he already was, how quickly I’d taken him to the edge. His fingers tightened in my hair, then eased again, like he was enjoying drawing it out.
When he was ready for more, he exhaled sharply. We locked eyes, his darker now, intent in a way that made my stomach tense in anticipation.
Amare’s hands shifted. In one smooth motion, he stood up. He lifted me easily, turning me in his arms as he moved me up onto the sofa. The arm supported my back as he put me down. He took a second to study me with unhurried focus.
“This feels better,” he said.
Then he climbed over me and straddled my hips. The heat of him surrounded me. He didn’t lean in right away. He stayed just far enough back that the anticipation sharpened, his throbbing cock filling my vision, his breathing faster and heavy.
Then Amare moved forward.
His cock brushed along my cheek, close enough to make my mouth water, and I followed it without thinking, my tongue reaching for him on instinct. He shifted just enough that my tongue found nothing but warm air, the contact disappearing before I could catch it. When I looked up, he was watching me with open amusement.
He chuckled softly.
I didn’t bother pretending I wasn’t going to chase him. I leaned in again, mouth open, my intent obvious — and this time when he eased back, I followed fast enough to catch him, closing my lips around him before he could pull away again.
His mouth curved into a slow grin, satisfied. “I had to make you work for it.”
I lifted my eyes to his, breath tight, words muffled around him. “I know what I want.”
That earned me a lustful growl. He leaned in again, close enough that the tease gave way to something real, filling my mouth even more this time. He stayed there a beat, watching the way I savoured him, the way my body tipped forward without me even noticing.
Then he eased back again, unhurried, enjoying how keen I was. That’s when I felt it. A warm drop of him on my chin.
I caught it with my tongue, savouring the taste before I looked back up at him, grinning. I steadied my breathing and leaned in again, this time with more certainty than patience.
Something in his expression sharpened.
“Yeah,” he said quietly as my lips wrapped around him again. “Just like that.”
Amare repeated the motion, deeper this time, dragging across my tongue before pressing into my throat far enough to blur my vision. His thighs flexed beside my shoulders as he throbbed in my mouth.
Then he eased back again, adjusting slightly, eyes still fixed on me.
I drew a breath through my nose, shallow at first, then steadier, saliva slick at the corner of my mouth, trailing down my chin. I lifted my gaze to him, eyes watering, breath uneven.
Even as my chest was heaving, I reached for his arms, shuddering as my fingertips brushed over his corded muscles.
“Don’t stop,” I reassured him,
His grip tightened when I held his gaze, and for a few seconds everything else receded.
He advanced again, deeper, staying longer.
Long enough that my breathing faltered, that my throat tightened and then, slowly, adjusted as I grasped at his forearms.
My mouth was messy now, working around him as my focus narrowed to the sensations in my throat. Take him in. Make myself yield to the shape of him. Hold right here.
He pushed in again. I gagged harder this time, my throat spasming around him. I watched as his head dropped back as a low moan escaped him. My breath stalled for a second before he paused, hands steady on my shoulders. Waiting.
That’s when I found his quads, again, fingers curling slightly, sliding along his muscles. A quiet signal.
Stay.
He waited until my breathing steadied, then moved forward once more, slower now, deeper, holding there just long enough that my eyes watered again and my breath disappeared entirely for a few heartbeats. The intensity built heavy and focussed. His grip tightened when I didn’t move.
It was all I could think about now. Breathe when I could. Relax when I needed to. Take him in because I wanted to. Because it mattered that I could.
His breathing had changed now, heavier, uneven, control still there but clearly working. I looked up at him and took in the sheer size of him above me, the breadth of his chest, the way his muscles swelled with each thrust. He stayed close, watching me carefully, adjusting his angle and timing in response to the way I offered myself to him, the way I kept meeting his advance, wanting more.
“You’re so fucking amazing,” he murmured, low and sincere.
We gazed into each other’s eyes and stayed there.
He was deep in my throat, breathing hard now, his restraint finally thinning in a way I could feel. His body had gone taut above me, every muscle engaged, like he was holding himself right at the brink.
Then he pulled out.
The absence hit immediately. Before I could even draw a proper breath, he shifted.
My eyes widened as I realized what was about to happen. I glanced up at him, his face drawn and lustful, and by the time I looked down the first ropes were already landing on me.
His release came in powerful uneven surges that caught me off guard. I watched in a kind of stunned trance as he landed a few shots on my tongue. My breath hitched as he aimed higher and my eyes squeezed shut. A thick rope struck across the bridge of my nose, another spilled over my eyes, more catching in my hair, across my mouth, down my neck. My face was painted before I could even think to react.
It still surprised me how much he came, how he just kept shooting, without faltering. I stayed there, blinking, a little dazed. I felt absurdly proud and a little wrecked all at once. I silently blamed him for it, for turning something that should have overwhelmed me into something I now wanted to keep coming back to. The last few shots landed across my lips and onto my tongue. I stayed there, revelling in the moment.
He stayed close, hovering over me, breathing hard. His eyes were fixed on my face, taking in every detail. His cock rested against my chin, still thick, still oozing. There was no rush to move. Just the shared quiet, broken only by our breathing, the intensity still hanging thick between us.
I looked up at him and laughed, still breathless — the rush humming under my skin. My lashes were wet, my skin warm, my head buzzing.
I wiped my cheek with the back of my hand, glanced at it, feeling the state of myself, then looked back up at him with a grin I couldn’t hold back.
“You made a mess,” I said, amused, and still a little incredulous.
His mouth curved slowly as he looked me over, unhurried and clearly pleased. “You look good like that.”
I leaned back into the cushions, something deeper humming beneath the physical sensation itself.
Something eased in his expression. He leaned down and pressed a brief kiss to my forehead, his weight still braced over me like he wasn’t ready to move away yet.
I let my head sink back onto the arm of the sofa, eyes closing for a moment as the intensity folded into something quieter and just as powerful. Connection. The feeling of being exactly where I was supposed to be.
He stayed like that a moment longer, close enough that I could still feel his warmth, his breathing finally slowing to match mine.
~~~~~
Amare’s PoV
By Sunday afternoon, I could feel it.
Garrett was all in.
After the party. After the talk about my career. After two full days together. He moved like he trusted what we were building. He reached for me without hesitation. Held eye contact. Let himself be close.
I had seen it early.
I’ve always been good at reading people. I knew he was into me from the start. What changed this weekend was how comfortable he was in it. He wasn’t weighing it anymore. He wasn’t hesitating.
That did something to me.
I’m 21. I always figured I’d avoid the baggage of a serious relationship. Keep my freedom. A couple of my boys have already started chirping at me about how serious I sound when I talk about Garrett. One of them said, “Bro, you’re locked in.”
I laughed it off.
But I didn’t correct them.
Because I am into him.
Yeah, the chemistry between us is unreal. I see it the second I take my shirt off. The way his eyes track me. The way he breathes when I get close. The way he meets my energy. He wants it as much as I do, and somehow that only makes me want him more.
By Sunday afternoon we were back on the sofa, something playing on Netflix neither of us was really watching. He stretched out and rested his head in my lap like that was the most obvious place in the world to be. I ran my hand through his hair, down the back of his neck, over his shoulder. He traced the muscle in my forearm, slow and absentminded, as if he liked knowing I was there.
His weight settled into me and, when he looked up and smiled, relaxed and completely at ease, something in my chest shifted. Sitting there with him, I realized I didn’t feel like I was giving anything up.
If anything, it felt like my life was getting bigger. He fit into it easily. This wasn’t a phase.
I still didn’t know exactly what the next year was going to look like.
I just knew I wanted him there for it.
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