A Step Forward, Then a Pause
The takeout containers were still open on the coffee table. On my plate, half-finished rice and a skewer of grilled meat gone cold. I’d barely eaten. Just moved things around with my chopsticks while Zack ate beside me in silence. The quiet wasn’t awkward. But it wasn’t easy either. It felt like something thick hanging in the air.
We sat close. Not touching, but close enough that I could feel the heat still radiating off him. He’d just pulled on his briefs, finally covering what I’d had in my mouth not long ago. His chest rose and fell in slow, even breaths—broad and steady, like nothing had changed. Legs spread without shame. Utterly relaxed.
And then there was me. Still fully dressed. Shirt buttoned to the collar. Pants creased and stiff across my lap. I hadn’t undressed. Hadn’t even opened my belt. Just dropped to my knees and lost myself. Now I sat in the aftermath—cool stickiness in my briefs, fabric damp and clinging. I hadn’t even touched myself. Just the feel of him in my mouth, the weight of his hand, the sound of his voice as he praised me… and I’d come. Hard.
He stood eventually and walked away. Left me sitting there. “I’ll be out in a bit,” was all he said.
Now I was alone.
I stared at the blank screen of the TV, my reflection faint in the glass—flushed cheeks, mussed hair, a thousand-yard stare I couldn’t shake. My lips still tingled. My jaw ached, just faintly, like a reminder. And underneath it all, low and steady, it was still there—that slow, stubborn throb he’d left behind.
I shifted on the couch, the movement stiff and awkward. My thighs buzzed. My chest tightened every time the memory hit—his weight on my tongue, the way his muscles locked when he came, that ragged, unfiltered sound that escaped him. I’d pulled that from him. That was me.
And after, he hadn’t rushed me out the door. He’d lingered in the moment like it meant something. Then told me I should stay.
Still, I couldn’t settle. My body felt too full, too wired. My skin prickled where he’d touched me. My shirt clung damp against my back. I was hot and chilled all at once, heart still racing with the need I hadn’t managed to shake.
And the worst part—what scared me most—was how much I still wanted more.
In the background, the shower kept running—a soft, steady rhythm that faded into the quiet. I stared at the dark screen, unfocused. The water stopped.
A few minutes passed. Maybe more. I could hear him moving at the end of the hall. The scrape of the towel. A drawer opening. The muffled thud of a closet door swinging shut.
Then I heard him again—closer this time. Bare feet on hardwood. Calm and casual. He stepped into view, still damp from the shower, towel slung low on his hips. His chest rose slowly with each breath, water catching the light on his skin.
I didn’t mean to stare. But I did.
Everything in me pulled taut again. My body was responding to him, and wanted more.
He met my eyes for just a second, with a look that made it impossible to pretend things hadn’t changed.
~~~~~~
Zack didn’t say anything. He just walked past me, barefoot on the hardwood. I felt the heat roll off him as he passed.
My head turned on instinct, pulled by something I didn’t bother resisting. Water clung to his skin, droplets sliding along the planes of his back, catching in the shallow groove of his spine. The muscles there moved with quiet purpose. The kind of strength you didn’t need to prove.
He paused for a second, one hand braced casually against the wall. The towel dipped slightly, revealing the taut line of his obliques, the curve of his ass barely hidden. I swallowed, hard.
Then, finally, he looked back at me. Calm. Dark. Unbothered. Like he already knew what I was thinking—what I hadn’t let myself think out loud.
And then he kept walking. Past the couch. Down the hall. Never said a word. He didn’t ask if I was coming. Every step was a dare. A quiet challenge. Like he already knew exactly what I’d do.
I stood. The air felt thick and charged, like it had shifted around us.
I followed, my eyes locked on the broad sweep of his shoulders, the way his lats flared and narrowed down to that towel. His back moved with quiet force, impossible to ignore. Every step felt deliberate.
When he reached the bedroom, he paused in the doorway.
My breath caught. My skin felt too tight. My heart was hammering in a way that wasn’t fear.
Then, quiet, calm, he turned to ask me, “You ready to stop pretending you don’t want this?”
I didn’t answer right away. I couldn’t. The words caught somewhere in my chest, too heavy to lift, too true to ignore.
Because I did want this. I had followed him down the hall. I hadn’t looked away. I felt stripped bare under the question, exposed in a way that left me dizzy.
But I didn’t want to retreat.
My hands stayed open at my sides. My breath shook as I looked up at him, then past him, into the room. I wanted to say something to ground myself. But nothing came. Just the heat building in my chest, the pull of everything he made me feel.
And maybe that was enough.
He held my gaze like he already knew.
So I stepped forward. Just to be closer.
~~~~~~
The bedroom felt like him. Modern. Masculine. Nothing precious. A low bed with a dark grey duvet, a pair of big dumbbells on the floor, clean gym gear folded on the dresser. A flatscreen hung opposite the bed.
A poster hung on the wall. I didn’t notice it right away—but when I did, it stopped me in my tracks.
Zack.
Shirtless. Ripped. Caught mid-rep in a perfectly lit gym, conditioning sharpened by shadows and sweat. It wasn’t just hot—it was intimidating. Intense and surreal. Muscles built on a frame most guys would kill for—and sculpted with the kind of discipline most could never sustain.
I stared too long.
“I can get you a copy from the folks at Titan Fitness, if you want?”
His voice came from behind me—closer than I expected. Calm. Amused.
I turned slightly but didn’t answer. Couldn’t. My mouth had gone dry.
He passed me without touching. No smirk. No glance. Just that same steady confidence. The kind of presence that didn’t need to posture.
He stopped at the foot of the bed. Said nothing. Then let the towel drop.
He stood there, naked. Completely unbothered. Flaunting it like he knew the poster had lit the fuse—and now he was showing me the real thing.
A quiet challenge. Like he wanted to see if I could even look away.
His back was impossibly broad. Shoulders thick and square, tapering down to a narrow waist that made every part of him look built to provoke. The curve of his ass, the width of his thighs, the faint sheen of moisture still clinging to his skin—it all looked so perfectly deliberate.
He stood there for a beat, giving me every angle. Then, finally, he sat on the bed. Slow. Unrushed. Forearms on his knees, elbows wide, chest bunching. His cock hung heavy between his legs, soft, but only just.
I stared. My hands twitching like they didn’t know whether to reach or retreat. My whole body was buzzing, hot in places I didn’t want to admit. And still, I was getting hard. Just from looking at him. From letting myself be this obvious. From not being able to stop.
Finally, he smiled. “Do you really think I don’t see you, Simon?”
His voice was low. Even. But it landed like a hand on my chest—firm, unyielding.
“The way you look at me,” he went on. “Like I’m the one thing you told yourself you couldn’t want. But you haven’t stopped staring. Not since the pub.”
I didn’t move. My throat had gone dry. Even swallowing felt like it would betray me.
He wasn’t accusing me. He was just telling it like it is.
His gaze didn’t waver.
“You think I don’t notice? The way you tense when I move. The way your eyes track every stretch, every shift, like you're memorizing what it feels like to want something you think you can't have.”
It hit like a flush behind my eyes. A heat blooming up from my chest. He’d seen all of it. Every flicker. Every stolen glance. And now he was peeling it back—deliberate, relentless.
“And still,” he said, “you act like this is being... inflicted upon you." He paused to let that sink in before continuing. "Like you haven’t already made your choice.”
My stomach pulled tight. I blinked, hard. Part of me wanted to tell him no. That he was wrong. But I couldn’t.
Because I’d followed him into his bedroom instead of walking out the door.
“You’re here because of how I make you feel. Because when I look at you like this...”
His gaze caught mine and held it.
“...you forget how to hide.”
I couldn’t breathe.
He let the silence stretch, like he wanted me to hear the sound of my own heartbeat. Then, quieter, “You’re already in this, Simon. All that’s left is letting go. Letting me take you there.”
My throat burned. He wasn’t wrong. I just stood there. Still tense. Part of me still trying to hold the shape of who I’d been before Zack had barrelled back into my life.
He leaned back then, planting his hands behind him, legs still spread, abs tightening as he shifted. His whole torso flexed with the movement—chest rising, traps drawing tight. There was nothing guarded about him. Nothing defensive. He was open. At ease. Like the room belonged to him. Like I belonged there too, if I wanted.
The contrast between us felt absurd
“You don’t get it yet,” he said. “But we fit.”
I looked at him. Blinking. My eyes widened before I could stop them, a quiet shudder tightening my chest. I didn’t know what I expected—some line, maybe. Some tease. But his face was genuine.
And that undid me more than anything.
“When I walk into a room,” he said, “I know what people see.”
He shifted slightly, like this was any other conversation.
“But they’re not really seeing me. They’re seeing what they expect from a guy who looks like this. The size. The build. The way I move.”
His tone stayed steady—measured, grounded. He wasn’t trying to convince me. He was just telling his truth.
“I know what they want. They want to be entertained. Impressed. Or they want me to tone it down. Be less than I am—so they don’t have to admit what they’re not.”
His voice stayed steady, matter-of-fact. Like it was just a cost he’d learned to live with.
“But not you.”
His voice stayed low. Level.
“You look at me like I’m everything you want. Like I don’t have to do anything but show up.”
My throat caught.
“You’re scared,” he said. “I’ve seen it since day one.”
His voice was low, steady. Not calling me out. Just reading me.
“But you still come closer. Every time. You can’t fight it—you feel it. And then you move toward it anyway.”
Zack stood. Slow. Controlled. Every muscle engaged as he rose in front of me. His full weight shifting upright, towering in the quiet space between us.
He took a slow step forward.
“That gets me,” he said. “The hunger under all that hesitation. Like your body already decided before your mind caught up.”
He held my gaze. His chest rose with a deep breath.
“I’ve never felt that from anyone before. Not like this. Guy or girl. No one’s ever wanted me like that.”
My mouth was dry. I didn’t trust it to open.
“You’re still figuring it out. But I can feel it. I don’t have to hold anything back with you. I get to be all of it. And you still stay.”
He let that hang for a second, then added, quieter, “That kind of pull… it’s not always fair.” His gaze didn’t waver. “It can even be scary. Enough to push some people away.” He paused—just for a breath—then said, “But not you.”
And I just sat there, stomach tightening, pulse climbing, because he was right.
I did like it. The size of him. The way he filled a room. The quiet force that made other people watch their words. I liked being near it—being seen by it. I liked that when Zack turned his attention on me, the rest of the world dropped away.
Like earlier, on the phone, when he’d said he was skipping the date. Choosing me instead. I hadn’t wanted to admit it then, but it made me feel special.
Still did.
And yeah, it scared the fuck out of me how much I liked it.
Because it wasn’t the kind of thing you were supposed to admit out loud. That someone else’s confidence made you feel more alive. That someone like him could walk in like he belonged everywhere—and make you feel like maybe you did too, just by looking at you like that.
I looked down. I didn’t want him to see it hit.
But it had.
My eyes were fixed on the floor, heart racing. My jaw tightened, trying to hold something back. I didn’t know what. Why does that sound like something I’ve needed to hear for years?
I swallowed hard. My eyes stung.
Zack let the silence stretch—just long enough to let it settle, before bringing me back.
“And you looked so damn good with my cock in your mouth,” he said, voice low and steady.
I laughed—sort of. Awkward. Breathless. Embarrassed.
But I looked up at him again.
He was smiling now.
And I wasn’t moving.
He didn’t speak. Just stepped in close—closer than he had all night. His cock hung heavy between us, already beginning to swell again.
He reached for the hem of my shirt and lifted it up and over my head. My arms went limp, letting him do it. Then he brought his hands to my waistband.
Still, I didn’t move.
He unbuttoned my jeans. Slid them down. Boxers too. I stepped out of them in silence.
He took one long look at me, bare now in front of him.
Then leaned in and kissed the corner of my mouth. Not hungry. Not soft. Just sure.
Then he pushed me gently back onto the bed.
His hands guided me down like he was laying something valuable in place. His body followed, slow and warm, lowering over mine until I felt the weight of him. His elbows braced on either side of my shoulders. His chest pressed firm to mine. His cock, thicker now, pushed between my cheeks.
He dipped his head beside mine, his mouth at my ear.
And whispered—
“All evening, I’ve been thinking about your mouth. The way you took me. The way you moaned with me still on your tongue.”
He paused. Let it hang there.
“You think that was intense?”
A slow grind of his hips, just enough pressure to feel it.
“I haven’t even started showing you what your body can feel.”
~~~~~~
Zack’s breath warmed the side of my face. His weight settled over me. His chest pressed to mine. His cock, thick and impossibly warm, slid between my cheeks as he shifted, grinding slow, careful friction into the space where I felt most exposed. I gasped.
He didn’t say anything right away. Just stayed there, his mouth at my ear, his breath slow and steady. I felt the weight of his arms braced above my shoulders, the tension in his triceps, the heat of his body caging me in.
“You feel that?” he murmured, voice low and almost lazy. “That’s what you do to me.”
His hips rolled again. His cock dragged along my cleft, sticky and leaking. I could feel the slickness smear against my skin as he rocked gently, never pushing, just… lining me up.
I looked up at him.
His eyes—dark, focused—held mine like he had no intention of looking away. It wasn’t a stare. It was a hold. Like he was pinning me there.
I couldn’t breathe right. My hands gripped his shoulders without thinking, fingertips digging into warm, flexed muscle.
“You ready?” he asked.
I didn’t trust my voice. I just nodded.
Then I felt him shift again. His cock slid lower, thick and slick, the head tapping gently at my entrance. Testing. Letting me feel it before he pushed.
He nibbled at my ear. “Stay right here with me,” he whispered. “Let it happen.”
My whole body went still. My heart pounded so loud I could hear it in my ears.
Then he pushed in. Slow. The pressure was dizzying. Heavy. Real.
I clenched around him and felt him pause, just long enough for my body to adjust. Then he eased forward again—thicker, deeper—until I felt the stretch sharpen.
“That’s it,” he murmured. “A little more…you’ve got this.”
I reached up, needing something to hold, and found his arms—thick and solid, triceps flexing under my fingers as he kept pressing in. My touch slid instinctively along the line of muscle, gripping harder as he sank deeper.
I could feel the pulse of him, heat spilling against me, spreading everywhere we touched.
He groaned—just once, low in his throat—and it vibrated into my skin.
When he was fully inside, he didn’t move. Just held there, buried to the base, eyes still locked on mine.
I wasn’t shaking, but I could feel the tremor in my thighs. The burn of being stretched. The weight of him pressing into every part of me.
His hands cupped my face then. One on each side. He leaned down and kissed me—deep, slow, nothing rushed. I moaned into it.
Then he started to move.
He pulled back a few inches, then pushed in again. Kept it slow. Steady. The rhythm built gradually—just enough to let my body adjust before he pushed deeper, harder. His arms slid beneath me, palms gripping my shoulders as he began to fuck me in long, controlled strokes.
“You feel that?” he asked, lips brushing my cheek.
“I—yeah.” It came out rough. Barely a word. But I meant it.
“I’m not stopping,” he whispered. “Not until you come for me.”
My hands roamed without thinking—over his back, his delts, his thick, flaring lats. Every muscle was tight under my fingers, engaged with every thrust. He was working me open.
And then he angled his hips.
The next stroke hit something that made me jolt—eyes wide, mouth open.
“There,” he said. “That’s your spot.”
I moaned—loud, helpless.
Zack groaned again and pressed harder, deeper. The rhythm got messier, more frantic. His chest slid against mine, sweat beginning to build between us.
I wrapped my arms around his back, pulled him closer. I needed more. I needed everything.
He was leaking so much now I could feel it dripping from me, every thrust making it worse. I was soaked. Swollen.
My cock throbbed, pinned between our bodies, untouched—but aching.
He kissed my neck. My ear. Whispered between thrusts:
“I’m gonna feel you come.”
“You’re gonna give it to me.”
“You’re not gonna hold back.”
My back arched. My breath caught. I was right there—so close it hurt. I’d already come once tonight. I hadn’t thought I could again. But this was different.
“Look at me,” he growled.
I did.
And I broke. My whole body jerked, thighs shaking, mouth open in a moan that didn’t sound like mine. I came hard between us, streaking both our stomachs, crying out as my body locked up around his cock.
He groaned like he’d been waiting for it.
“Fuck, that’s it,” he breathed.
His rhythm broke. He slammed into me one last time, grinding deep as he finally let go. I felt it—hot, full, spilling into me in thick, pulsing waves. His whole body locked above mine, chest heaving, arms trembling.
Then he collapsed over me, bracing his weight on his forearms, forehead against mine.
We stayed like that. Breathing. Pressed together. Silent. Eventually, he kissed me again. Soft. Slow. And whispered, almost to himself.
“You’ll always remember who it was. Because no one else gets to be your first.”
~~~~~~
He was still breathing heavily. Hot against my cheek. He hadn’t pulled out. He just stayed there—inside me, over me, his chest rising and falling against mine, every inch of us still locked together.
I didn’t want him to move.
His fingers traced the side of my face, slow and aimless, like he wasn’t ready to let go. I kept my arms around his back, palms spread across the heat of his skin. His muscles still trembled underneath—small, exhausted twitches that gave away everything his voice didn’t.
“You okay?” he murmured.
I nodded, then swallowed. “Yeah.”
His nose brushed mine. A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, but he didn’t speak. He just kissed me again—this one soft and quiet, like he was trying to memorize the way I tasted after falling apart.
I felt him shift slightly, just his hips. His cock still nestled deep, still thick. The smallest movement made me gasp.
“Too much?”
“No,” I whispered.
He stayed still again. Let the moment stretch.
“Feels good being inside you,” he said softly.
His words landed deeper than I expected. Like it surprised him a little, too.
“You opened up for me,” he said. “Took all of me. Every inch.”
I felt my breath catch again.
“That was hot!”
I didn’t say anything.
Eventually, he pulled out. Gently. No words. Just the slide of skin on skin, a quiet breath. I lay there for a minute, my body humming in the aftermath. Then I got up and showered, the water hot on my skin, trying to process what I’d just done, what I’d just let happen.
Under the spray, it all became so real.
Two weeks ago, I thought I was into girls. Thought I knew exactly who I was. And now? I’d just let Zack fuck me—my first time, with anyone. Every thrust, every sound, still burned into me. My body wasn’t confused. It knew exactly what it wanted. But my head was still catching up, trying to understand what Zack had awoken me to..
When I came out, towel-wrapped and unsure, the charge between us was still there—but now it felt heavier. Not just want anymore. Something quieter. More loaded. Like we’d stepped past something we couldn’t walk back from.
I reached for my clothes, avoiding his eyes.
The silence wasn’t heavy. Just… awkward, for me. Zack looked fine, he looked like Zack. I was the one wondering about what happened when the need burned off and we were just two people again. Did I stay? Was I supposed to? Would he want me to? And if I stayed—what did that make me?
Before I could ask, Zack spoke.
“You could crash here, tonight, if you want.” He nodded toward the bed.
He wasn’t pushing, just offering. And part of me believed that’s what he really preferred.
I looked at him—still naked, still calm, still impossibly gorgeous—and felt my stomach twist.
“I… I think I need to go.”
He didn’t try to talk me out of it. “Yeah,” he said. “I kinda figured.”
I dressed quietly. My body was still aching in places I didn’t have words for. I couldn’t even look at the bed without my heart picking up again.
He walked me to the door. Still naked. Still at ease in his skin. Like nothing about what we’d done shook him at all.
At the door, he leaned against the frame, watching me pull on my shoes.
“I had fun,” he said, his voice easy. “I’m pretty sure you did too, Simon. You should let yourself admit that.”
I looked up. He was smiling.
“You don’t need to have it all figured out,” he added. “Just reach out when you know what you want next.”
I nodded. That was all I could give him.
Then I stepped into the hallway and closed the door behind me.
~~~~~~
Zack’s PoV
The door clicked shut behind him. I stayed where I was, leaning against the frame for a few seconds, listening to the empty hallway.
Part of me wanted to be annoyed. Simon had just left my bed after what we’d done—after the way he’d come apart for me—and he’d still chosen to walk out. He might have spent the night if I’d read him better. If I’d been more patient.
I pushed off the door and crossed the room. Had I miscalculated? I mean, everything I’d said, everything I’d done, was right. But maybe I’d been too much, too soon. Simon wasn’t in a place where he’d just turn over a new leaf for me. Even if I could get him hard by just scratching the back of my head, he’d still need some time and space.
I caught my reflection in the window—naked, still flushed. I thought about Ashley, about the date I’d cancelled without hesitation when I knew Simon was sticking around. A couple weeks ago, I wouldn’t have done that for anyone. Now? I hadn’t even questioned it.
I dropped into the armchair and rubbed my jaw. Seduction had always been my game—read the tells, set the pace, never chase. Simon made me question that playbook out. I didn’t want him because he was hard to get. I wanted him because he was him. Because when he looked at me like he was trying to figure himself out, it made me want to be the answer.
But if I pushed, he’d push back. If I pressed, he’d shut down. I didn’t want him to give in because I wore him down—I wanted him to come to me because it felt right. Because it was what he wanted.
I leaned back, eyes closing for a second. Tonight had been too much, too intense. Next time, I’ll give him more room to find his way.
And I was determined there would be a next time.
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