I go to the same coffee shop every morning. Like clockwork. Not because it has the best coffee in town - though the cappuccino is reliably strong and smooth - but because of the ritual. The comfort of the familiar. The rhythm of a life well-worn into place. The barista knows me by now. Cappuccino, two sugars. No need to speak more than a greeting unless I want to. Which I do anyway, most days.
Some days I linger. Not long - just enough to nod at the old man with the miniature schnauzer always tucked under his arm like a handbag. The teenage boy awkwardly sharing a pastry with his mum, both of them scrolling their phones in silence. The gym bro who clearly doesn’t belong here, hunched over his HP laptop like he’s solving a crisis no one else can understand. But I look at him too. I look at all of them. Because in reality, there is only one person that I’m looking for.
Bryn.
He usually arrives just before eight. Sometimes with a stroller, sometimes with just the diaper bag slung over one massive shoulder. Always dressed like he came from - or is going to - the gym. Compression shorts. Tight white tees that leave absolutely nothing to the imagination. His legs are thick and dusted in just the right amount of hair. His ass - God help me - is a sculpture. Every inch of him looks like it was carved by someone with a wicked sense of humour and a deep appreciation for sin. And those nipples. Tiny, taut peaks that somehow always make themselves known under cotton so tight it might as well be painted on.
He talks a lot. Too much maybe, for someone I’ve never actually properly met. But somehow, we’ve settled into a rhythm of our own. A friendly “Hey there,” as I walk in. A nod. Sometimes a raised eyebrow if he’s already seated and pretending to scroll his phone. I always pretend not to notice the way he straightens his back when he spots me. The way he tugs his shirt just a little tighter across his chest, his pecs flexing like he’s showing off without even trying.
It’s probably nothing.
He’s married. I saw the ring once. Sleek platinum. Fitted snugly on a finger that looked more suited to gripping weights or throats. The kind of ring that suggests loyalty, commitment, domestic bliss. And then there’s the baby. A little girl with chubby cheeks and a giggle like wind chimes. He dotes on her. Carries her on one arm like a weightless prize. Kisses her forehead with a tenderness that melts something inside me every time. It should have been enough to make me stop looking. Stop wanting. But it didn’t.
Because sometimes, just sometimes, I catch him looking too.
At first, I thought I was imagining it. That I wanted to imagine it. The little flick of his eyes when I walked in. The quick smile that followed. Like I’d completed a piece of his morning that didn’t quite start until I arrived. And then there were the longer glances. The way his gaze would drop from my face to my chest, to my hands, to my thighs. Slowly. Thoughtfully. Like he was memorizing something he didn’t know how to ask for.
It could all be innocent. He’s friendly like that - with everyone. But the mind is a greedy thing. It chews on scraps and turns them into feasts.
I started dressing differently. Subtly at first - slightly tighter jeans, a t-shirt that hugged my arms. I even switched up my cologne. Something spicier, darker, just in case he walked past close enough to catch a whiff. Some mornings, I was sure I saw his nostrils flare ever so slightly.
Today, I arrived earlier than usual. The café door creaked open, and I scanned the room before even stepping inside.
He was there. Sitting at the far end, a baby bottle resting on the table beside his cappuccino. No stroller today. Just him and her. And when our eyes met - before I’d even made it past the threshold - he smiled.
Not the usual smile. This one was slower. Wider. It curled at the corners, just a little wicked, like we were sharing a secret no one else could hear.
I ordered my drink - cappuccino, two sugars. Routine. But something in my stomach shifted when I turned around with the paper cup in hand. He was still looking. Still smiling. And then, casually, he lifted his hand and gestured to the empty chair across from him.
My brain stalled. My feet moved.
I sat.
The chair felt colder than it should have, or maybe that was just my skin, still tingling from memory. Just this morning, not more than an hour ago, I’d been lying in bed, one hand buried in my sheets, the other wrapped tightly around my cock. Eyes closed, teeth clenched. Thinking about him. About Bryn.
He’d been shirtless in my mind - always was. His white t-shirt discarded and forgotten on the floor, chest rising and falling fast as he straddled me. That body, all lean muscle and tight definition, like a gymnast built for sin. His compression shorts barely made it into the fantasy; I’d torn them off in seconds. Underneath, he was as perfect as I’d imagined. Firm ass, round and muscled, gliding up and down as he rode me hard. That ass - God - it clenched around me like it was made to fit. Every bounce drove me deeper, and he moaned like he needed it more than air.
He was loud in my head. Desperate. Eyes locked on mine as he begged me not to stop. Sweat ran down his chest, dripping onto mine, our bodies slick and fused together. I could feel his thighs tremble as he fucked himself on me, chasing his high, his cock twitching between us. I reached for it, stroked him in time with every thrust.
“Yeah,” he groaned in my mind, breathless. “Fuck, right there. Give it to me - fill me up…”
That was all it took. My hand worked faster as my hips jerked upward, chasing the release he coaxed from me so easily, even if only in my imagination. I came hard, gritting his name into the pillow, breath ragged, body heaving. It had been too good. Too real.
And now I was here. Sitting across from him.
Still flushed. Still aching.
And he had no idea.
Or maybe he did.
Because when I looked up, he was watching me - quietly, knowingly - and that same smirk was back on his face.
Like he could feel every dirty thought I’d ever had about him.
“Didn’t think I’d see you this early,” he said, voice smooth, quiet, just for me.
“Couldn’t sleep,” I replied, trying to sound casual, knowing full well I hadn’t slept because I’d been fantasising about him for weeks. About those thighs. That mouth. That voice. About what it might feel like if he ever really looked at me the way I dreamed he would.
His daughter cooed softly from her car seat on the ground. He smiled down at her and then turned back to me.
“She loves mornings here. The sound, the people. The energy.”
“She’s gorgeous,” I said.
“Yeah,” he murmured. “Her mother says she gets that from me.”
I laughed, but something flickered in his eyes - humour, yes, but something else too. Something that felt like the opening of a door.
He leaned back, stretching his arms behind his head, and his shirt rose with him. The edge of his waistband peeked out, revealing that sharp V of his hip bones and the promise of skin just below.
“I’ve seen you looking,” he said quietly, eyes locked on mine.
I froze. The café disappeared. The sounds melted away. Only his words remained.
“I enjoy it. Look forward to it..”
The words hung between us, deceptively light, but something behind them curled like smoke, slow and thick. My heart thudded in my chest - and lower, my cock stirred, stretching slightly against the inside of my jeans, slow and hungry. I was grateful for the table. Grateful he couldn’t see the heat that had already pooled between my legs at just seven words from his lips.
I forced a sip of coffee, buying time to regulate my breathing, but it was no use. My body had already betrayed me.
He smiled like he knew exactly what he was doing. Like he’d dropped a match on purpose and was waiting to see if I’d catch fire.
“So,” he said casually, taking another sip from his own cup. “You here early for a reason? Or just hoping for a lucky seat?”
I chuckled, trying to sound breezy while my cock pressed insistently against my zipper. “Can’t help it,” I said. “Yours is always the friendliest face around. Hard not to gravitate toward it.”
He leaned back again, shoulders rolling, chest pushing against the tight fabric of his shirt, nipples clearly outlined. “Friendliest,” he repeated, biting back a grin. “That’s one way to put it.”
The baby gurgled quietly beside us, as if the universe was throwing ice water on the rising heat. Still, the current between us didn’t break. If anything, it intensified when his fingers brushed mine as he reached for his cup. Just a graze. Innocent. But not.
It was like electricity, sharp and brief - but real. I saw it in his eyes too. A flicker. A spark. Something not quite hidden anymore.
But just like that, reality reclaimed its hold. He glanced at the time on his watch and sighed. “Duty calls,” he said, voice low and almost reluctant. “Naptime waits for no man.”
I nodded, doing everything I could not to shift in my seat as my cock throbbed softly beneath the table.
He stood and turned to pick up his daughter in her car seat - but instead of squatting, he bent at the waist, giving me a full, unfiltered view of his ass. Those compression shorts stretched gloriously across both perfect, muscled cheeks, and I swear he wiggled. Just a little. Just enough to leave me stunned.
He scooped up the baby with an ease born of practice, hung her car seat on one muscled arm, and turned back to me. Was it my imagination or was he chubbing up too?
“See you around,” he said with a wink.
And then he was gone.
Leaving me with a hard-on, a cappuccino gone cold, and a mind spinning with possibilities.
I wanted to go home and jerk off again.
The memory of Bryn’s fingers brushing mine, the wiggle of his ass in those tight compression shorts, that half-chub he had going on - it was all still sizzling under my skin. My cock had been stiff the entire walk back to my car, pulsing in my jeans like it had something to prove. But instead of giving in to the need, I made myself sit down at my desk and get some work done. I stared at my screen for twenty minutes before realising I hadn’t typed a single coherent sentence. Everything I looked at warped into images of him - his mouth, his legs, that perfect ass.
The whole day he was on my mind. Every errand was tinged with the ache of wanting. Every moment, I caught myself wondering what he was doing - if he remembered how his ass had been on display for me, if he knew just how long I stared at the way it flexed when he lifted his daughter. If he’d winked at anyone else that day.
By bedtime, I was restless. I lay in bed, eyes closed, willing myself not to spiral back into fantasy. But it didn’t matter. Sleep came quietly, and with it, a vivid, fevered dream.
We were in the coffee shop, we just had the electric touch.
Instead of scooping up the baby and walking away, Bryn locked eyes with me, lips curling into something darker than a smirk. He stepped closer, leaned in like he was going to whisper something, then brushed his mouth against mine - quick, hungry, electric. The coffee shop around us faded. No customers. No sound. Just our breathing, fast and shallow, and the heat between us building like fire under glass.
I shoved him back against the table, our drinks toppling, cappuccino soaking into the wood as I grabbed fistfuls of his shirt and yanked it up and over his head. His chest was everything I’d imagined - smooth, tight, a pair of perky nipples already hardened. He moaned when I kissed down his sternum, nipped at the curve of his ribs, and by the time I sank to my knees and ripped his shorts off, his cock was a heavy, throbbing weight in my hand, already leaking.
We didn’t speak.
He pulled my shirt off, pushed my shorts down, and for a moment we just stared - two men on fire in the middle of a coffee shop that no longer mattered. I pulled him closer to the edge of the table, his ass almost hanging off it, our naked bodies hot against the wood still sticky with sugar sachets and spilled milk foam.
Bryn lay back, legs spread, knees pressed to his chest, arms behind his head. His cock stood hard and flushed, but it was his ass that took my breath away - round, firm, his pucker twitching in anticipation. Winking. Inviting. I reached out and spread him, and he bit his lip, eyes locked on mine, pleading without words.
And just as I pressed the head of my cock against him – a low growl escaped from his lips. “Do it,” he commanded, looking me straight in the eye with a hunger like I’ve never seen.
“Fuck me.”
I pushed in.
Hard.
“Harder!”
He cried out, his voice echoing across the walls, but he didn’t resist. He pushed back against me, needy, greedy. My hands gripped him - one wrapped around his thick cock, the other bruising his hip, pulling him back onto every thrust. The table creaked beneath us, legs shaking under the force of our rhythm.
He was moaning nonstop, his cock drooling as I jerked him, his muscles taut and flexing with each slam of my hips. His orgasm hit him like a storm. He shouted as he shot across the table - ropes of thick white cum spilling up to his chest, some on my hand, his whole body quivering.
I didn’t stop.
I kept fucking him until I was close, until the pressure turned molten. With a final, guttural grunt, I slammed into him and came, hot and deep, so much that it overflowed. It spilled from his stretched hole, pooled between his legs, and ran in thick rivulets down the table’s edge, dripping onto the floor.
And somehow, none of the other customers seemed to care. They sipped their drinks, typed on laptops, chatted with one another as though two men weren’t having raw, animalistic sex a metre away.
I woke up gasping.
My sheets were damp with sweat, and my cock throbbed with unsatisfied need. I almost reached for it again - but something in me snapped. No. I needed to do something. I needed to move.
Before the sun even crested the horizon, I was lacing up my running shoes. The air outside was cool and thick with the scent of dew and pine, the morning air already warm. Today was going to a hot, dry day. The trail behind the neighbourhood cut through a small stretch of forest, a quiet escape where I often cleared my head.
As I jogged up the hill that marked the start of the trail, my breath caught - not from exertion, but from what I saw parked under the tall cypress trees at the edge of the lot.
His car. And yes, I’ve memorised his number plate.
That unmistakable pure white Mercedes SUV, the baby seat in the back just visible through the tinted window. Bryn’s.
My heart started pounding harder than the run warranted. What was he doing here this early? Was he walking the baby? Out for a jog? Or…
Or was he alone?
The possibilities flooded my mind before I could stop them. Maybe he’d had a restless night too. Maybe he’d had dreams that left him shaking and hard. Maybe he couldn’t sleep, and something had drawn him here - some unspoken instinct to move, to escape, to be found.
I stood there, catching my breath, the morning air biting at my cheeks, my body hot and flushed under my clothes.
I started a slow jog. Not just to move, not just to burn off the frustration curling low in my belly - but to chase something I wasn’t sure I’d find. The trail wound steadily uphill, pine and eucalyptus thick around me, the dirt soft and damp beneath my trainers. Birdsong and the distant rush of water met my ears, and the rhythm of my breath started to calm me.
But my mind kept circling.
Bryn’s car. Here.
Why here?
The sound of the waterfall grew louder, that familiar cascade of tumbling water echoing through the trees. I rounded a bend, heart beginning to thud again - not from exertion this time, but from something much deeper, sharper.
And then I saw him.
Real. Not a fantasy.
He stood beneath the waterfall, facing away from me, the morning light cutting a shimmer over the sheet of water that pounded against his shoulders and back. He was naked.
Gloriously, completely naked.
Water streamed down the curves of his body - his broad shoulders, his muscled back, the tight swell of his ass flexing slightly with each subtle shift of his stance. His clothes were strewn on a rock just a few feet away. He hadn’t come here to jog.
He’d come here to escape. Maybe to feel free. Maybe to be seen.
My cock stirred with dizzying speed, and for a moment I just stood there, stunned by the raw beauty of him. Then I forced myself to move - slowly, deliberately - until I was standing at the edge of the clearing.
“Hell of a way to wake up,” I called out, my voice more even than I expected.
He spun toward me.
Shock registered instantly in his eyes - wide, startled - but it didn’t last. When he saw it was me, that familiar grin spread across his face, crooked and boyish and wicked all at once. He tugged playfully on his half-hard cock, fingers curling around the shaft as the water cascaded around him.
“Well,” he said, cocky as hell. “Didn’t think I’d get caught. Then again… not a bad way to start my morning either.”
I swallowed thickly, heart hammering. My own cock was already hard, straining in my running shorts.
“You gonna just stand there,” he asked, “or are you gonna join me?”
I kicked off my shoes without another word. Peeled off my sweat-soaked shirt. By the time I was tugging down my shorts, Bryn’s eyes were fixed on my body with open hunger. My cock bounced free - thick, flushed, dripping with anticipation - and I didn’t even try to hide it.
The water was freezing as I stepped beneath the falls, but his body was hot. He pulled me into him, our mouths crashing together in a frantic kiss that tasted like lust and adrenaline and something darker. Our cocks slid against each other, hard and slick, trapped between our stomachs as our hands explored.
He dropped to his knees, water pounding down around him like thunder. His mouth wrapped around me in one smooth motion, hot and wet and perfect. I gasped, grabbing onto the rock behind me for balance as he sucked me with the hunger of someone starved.
I pulled him up after a while, pushing him gently against the wet stone, then dropped to return the favour. His cock was thick, veiny, and already throbbing. I licked along the shaft, tasting salt and clean skin, then took him deep into my throat. He groaned, fingers threading through my hair, hips twitching as I swallowed him again and again.
But I wasn’t done.
I turned him around, lifted one of his legs slightly, guiding it onto the smooth rock, exposing that perfect ass I’d dreamt about for far too long. I dropped lower, tongue tracing over his taint, then flicking gently over his hole. He gasped.
“Fuck,” he moaned. “Yes. Jesus…”
I licked again, slower, deeper, using my hands to spread him as I pressed my tongue inside. His whole body shook, and I could feel him pushing back, hungry for more. The sound of the waterfall only amplified the filthy wet sounds of my tongue working him open.
When I finally stood and pressed my cock to his hole, he was panting, eyes wild and glassy with need.
“Do it,” he whispered. “No teasing. I need it.”
I pressed forward, the tight resistance giving way slowly, deliciously, until I was buried to the hilt. His mouth dropped open, and he clung to the rocks, water cascading down our bodies as I began to thrust.
It was raw.
Unfiltered.
Mind-blowing.
Each stroke echoed through the clearing, skin on skin, my hips slamming into his ass as he moaned louder with every movement. His cock bounced between us, untouched but hard as steel, pre leaking steadily as he clenched around me.
I grabbed his hip with one hand, his shaft with the other, stroking him as I fucked him faster, deeper, the wet slap of our bodies merging with the roar of the falls. Bryn met every thrust with a grind of his own, greedy, lost in it. He looked back at me, water streaming from his hair, mouth parted, and it was the most erotic sight I’d ever seen.
“I’m close,” I gasped, the pressure in my balls coiling.
“Do it,” he moaned. “Fill me.”
His orgasm hit him mid-sentence - his body tensed, then jerked violently as he exploded all over my hand and his stomach, thick white ropes mixing with the water and washing down his thighs. I followed seconds later, slamming into him one last time, grunting as I spilled deep inside him.
We stood like that for a long moment, trembling, the water washing away everything but the heat still lingering between us.
And this time, it wasn’t a dream.
Our bodies stayed pressed together beneath the thundering waterfall, breath still ragged, muscles trembling from the high we’d just ridden. The water washed away the evidence, but not the heat, not the way Bryn’s lips lingered against my neck, soft and reverent.
"God," he whispered, kissing his way to my mouth. "That was…"
"Yeah," I murmured, lips parting for another kiss. Slow. Deep. Grateful.
We didn’t speak much after that. Instead, we touched. Brief kisses along wet shoulders, fingertips tracing ribs and hips, a forehead pressed to a chest like maybe it wasn’t just lust. The kind of silence that said, I needed this more than I knew.
Eventually, he sighed. Regret hadn’t reached his eyes yet, but it hovered.
"I should go," he said, brushing my cheek with his knuckles.
I nodded. "I know."
We dressed without ceremony. No goodbye, no promises, just one last glance over his shoulder as Bryn slid into his SUV, baby seat still strapped in the back.
I stood alone as the engine faded into the distance. The spray of the waterfall had cooled my skin, but not the ache settling back into my chest.
The next morning, the coffee shop felt smaller.
I arrived later than usual, hoping to avoid the possibility of a repeat encounter - or maybe hoping for one. I wasn’t sure anymore. What I found instead hit like a slow-motion car crash.
Bryn was already seated near the window.
And he wasn’t alone.
The woman beside him was stunning. Petite. Confident. Her long dark hair framed a face that had seen sleep deprivation but still radiated elegance. She reached across the table, dabbing Bryn’s chin with a napkin, laughing quietly.
I almost turned around.
But it was too late. Bryn spotted me. Eyes wide, then quickly guarded. He stood.
"Hey!" he called out, voice casual, maybe too casual. "Over here."
I walked over, clutching my cup like a lifeline.
"We only know each other from the coffee shop," Bryn said quickly, glancing at her. "Regular mornings. That kind of thing."
"Oh!" she smiled, standing to shake my hand. "Well, it’s lovely to meet you. I’m Marianne. And this is…?"
"Bruno," I said, watching Bryn’s reaction closely.
He blinked, then laughed softly. "Bruno. Huh. I never asked."
Marianne’s eyes lit up. "Bryn and Bruno? That’s funny. Sounds like you’re in a boy band."
I chuckled politely. "Guess it does."
She smiled warmly, sipping her cappuccino. "I wonder what else you two have in common."
Bryn nearly choked on his drink.
The moment snapped like a rubber band.
Marianne glanced between us, curiosity flickering in her eyes. But she said nothing else. The baby in the stroller stirred, and she reached down, her attention diverted.
I excused myself after a minute, something about work, something about running late. Bryn didn’t stop me.
I sat in my car for a while, fingers drumming the steering wheel, heart thudding in the too-quiet space.
It’s done, I told myself.
Whatever it was, it ends here.
But even as I said it, even as I tried to summon some version of dignity or control, the ghost of Bryn’s mouth lingered on my lips. The press of our bodies. The secret glint in his eyes when no one else was looking.
I thought of Marianne. Of the easy grace she carried. Of the baby’s coo. Of the way Bryn stood a little straighter when he was near them.
I closed my eyes.
I shouldn’t want more.
But I did.
I wanted everything.
And that was the most dangerous part of all.
I started the car, engine growling softly. The road ahead stretched long and familiar, but now it held a shadow I couldn’t quite outrun.
This wasn’t over.
Not yet.
