Finding the Middle
At some point during the night, we’d fallen asleep wrapped around each other, his chest pressed to my back, one heavy arm slung across my waist. I don’t know how long we stayed like that, only that when I stirred next, he was already moving. No words. Just the press of his hardon against me, slow and certain, pushing inside me. I wasn’t used to his kind of stamina, but it never crossed my mind to protest. I needed the way he moved. Grounded. Confident. Like he already knew exactly what my body would say yes to.
It wasn’t urgent this time. There was no rush. Just the steady rhythm of someone who knew I’d already started opening up to him. And when it was over, I lay there blinking at the dark, unsure what it meant to want someone like Jackson.
Sleep came easier for Jackson than for me. I drifted in and out, thoughts circling the way they do when your body is tired but your brain won’t shut off. Every time I shifted, I felt him. Felt what we’d done. Felt how little I understood about what it meant.
The quiet had an intensity about it. The kind that makes you feel like the only one awake in the world.
The sheets were damp and kicked down around our waists, still rumpled from how intense and active the night had been. I lay motionless, aware of every inch of skin pressed against mine.
Jackson’s leg was draped over mine, heavy and bare. His arm stretched lazily across my ribs, keeping me tucked in against him. I didn’t move. My body ached in familiar ways, but it wasn’t just soreness. It was something else, something settled deeper, in my chest, in my head.
His breathing was slow, even, soft against my shoulder. I lay still, staring at the ceiling, trying to still my mind, something to anchor me. But the tension in me wasn’t physical. It came from not knowing how to hold what had just happened. From realizing how easily he’d drawn me out of my comfort zone.
I risked a glance down the bed and immediately regretted it. Jackson was half-exposed, bronzed skin, thick quads, chest rising and falling. He didn’t just lie there. He owned the space. Drew your eye. Made you feel how small you were by comparison, and for the first time in a while, I wasn’t sure how I measured up.
My breath hitched. I looked away. Tried to center myself. The scent of sweat and sex still hung in the air, clinging to the sheets, to my skin. My head was already starting to spiral. I wasn't used to feeling this raw. This vulnerable.
Jackson mumbled something in his sleep. A half-word, maybe a sigh. Then he shifted, rolled away from me slightly, and stretched out across more of the bed. His arm fell away in the process. I waited a few beats, then reached for the sheet. It felt silly, after everything, but I still wanted it. Something between us. A layer. Even if it didn’t really hide anything. I pulled it across my chest as I sat up.
I pushed the pillow up behind me and settled against it, upright now. My legs still brushed his. I didn’t pull away.
I looked at him then. Really looked. His face was turned toward the window. Jaw relaxed, one arm flung over his head. Even asleep, he looked so good. Like someone who didn’t have to try. Like someone who knew exactly what he was.
My stomach tightened. My reaction wasn’t born of envy, and it wasn’t about sex. It was about how easily I’d let Jackson into my bed, and how completely he’d unraveled me from the moment he arrived. I let my head fall back against the wall, eyes drifting shut for a moment. The silence in the room felt thick. Almost like it was waiting for me.
Jackson stirred beside me. Slowly this time. A stretch that made his shoulders roll and his lats flare, muscles shifting under skin. He blinked at the ceiling, then turned to me, voice still rough with sleep.
“You always get up this early?”
I didn’t answer. My throat felt dry. I shook my head slightly, eyes on my knees.
He didn’t push. Just sat up, scratched at his chest absently. Without fanfare, without a stitch of clothes, he strolled from the bedroom to use the washroom. When he returned, he paused in the doorway, He looked unreal in that light. Half-shadow, all muscle. Like I was the one visiting, and he was exactly where he was meant to be. Something in the way he looked under that light. The angles, the total ease, made me sit up straighter, reach for my briefs and pull them on.
As he approached the bed, I could feel his eyes on me. I didn’t meet them. I just pulled a t-shirt over my head.
He stood by the side of the bed, bending down to pick up his briefs. “You trying to send me a hint about overstaying my welcome?” I could hear the grin.
I kept my gaze on the blanket pooled near my feet. “You don’t have to go,” I said finally. “Not yet.”
He looked over at me. “Okay.”
He dropped his briefs on the floor and got back into bed, not quite touching, close enough that I could feel the heat off him again. We sat like that for a while. Me holding onto the silence like it might tell me what to do.
“I don’t do that,” I said eventually. “Not like that.”
He glanced over. Waited.
I didn’t meet his eyes. “I mean, I’ve… done it before. Bottomed.”
The words felt dry in my mouth. I scratched at my arm and kept staring down at the floor.
“But it was always different,” I said. “We talked about it. Agreed on it. I’d call the pace. I’d say how far it went.”
Jackson didn’t interrupt. Just listened.
“I wasn’t…” I stopped. The sentence frayed in the middle. “It wasn’t supposed to.. I didn’t expect to feel like that.”
My throat tightened. I wasn’t even sure what I meant yet.
He shifted slightly, just enough that I felt the mattress dip beside me. Still close, still quiet.
I drew in a breath. It didn’t help. “Last night… it wasn’t planned. You didn’t really ask me… I mean I’m not saying… I just—”
I cut myself off, jaw clenching.
I could feel his eyes on me.
“You didn’t ask me to stop,” he said, voice low.
I shook my head. “No.”
“You didn’t want to.”
It wasn’t a question.
I looked down at my hands. My fingers were tangled in the hem of my shirt again, knuckles white. I let out a sharp breath, then another.
“No,” I said. “I didn’t.”
The words sat there. Heavy. Real.
I felt exposed saying them. Like I’d just let something slip that I couldn’t take back.
“It wasn’t about giving something up,” I added, quieter now. “It wasn’t… about proving anything or trying something new. It just—” I trailed off.
He didn’t move. Didn’t push.
So I kept going.
“It was intense… visceral, like being caught up in something I didn’t even know I wanted.”
A beat passed.
Then another.
My voice cracked. “That’s not who I thought I was.”
I finally met his gaze
Jackson’s face was calm. Not smug. Not judging. Just there. Present. Like he already knew, but he’d waited for me to get there myself. “You sure it’s not?” he asked softly.
I flinched, a tiny recoil. “Don’t do that.”
Because it felt too easy. Too close. Like he could see a part of me I wasn’t ready to own out loud. Like he wasn’t just listening, he was calling me out. And I wasn’t sure if that terrified me or made me want to reach for him all over again.
“I’m not,” he said. “I’m just here.”
Something in me let go slowly, like a tight muscle unclenching after too long. It felt strangely okay, and I didn’t fight it.
For the first time, I didn’t feel like I had to explain myself or guard the edges of whatever this was. He’d seen me. All of me. And he hadn’t pulled away.
I stayed where I was. Let the quiet settle around us. Let it sink into my chest, deep and steady.
I didn’t say anything else. Just stayed where I was. Breathing. Sitting with it.
And so did he.
“You okay?” he asked again, gentler this time.
I nodded, then shook my head. “I don’t know.” I gave a dry, humorless laugh. “It was fucking incredible. I just… I don’t know what it says about me. I’m always the one who keeps things together. Who usually leads. Who doesn’t get carried away.”
He tilted his head slightly, that warm, frustratingly unreadable smile pulling at his mouth.
“Maybe it doesn’t say anything bad,” he said. “Maybe it just means there’s more to you than you’ve let yourself see.”
I tensed up. Not because it hurt. Because it felt too close to something I hadn’t wanted to accept. Like he was offering me a version of myself I didn’t recognize, but couldn’t deny. I didn’t know what scared me more, the fact that I’d wanted it, or the fact that it had felt so right. Like something I might want again.
I didn’t answer. Just lay back down, turned toward the wall this time. He didn’t follow. But a few seconds later, I felt the mattress shift as he stretched out again, letting the space between us settle.
We didn’t say anything after that. I didn’t remember falling asleep. But I remembered the feeling of him breathing against my back, steady and warm, just before the light began to change.
------------
I woke up to warmth pressed along my back, heavy, steady, and impossible to ignore. Jackson’s arm was slung across my waist. His chest rose and fell against my shoulder blades. One of his legs had found its way between mine. Even in his sleep, his cock was half-hard, nestled right against my ass.
I didn’t move. I just lay there, listening to him breathe. It felt good. Better than it should. I didn’t know how to hold it.
It still felt real, all of it. But in the daylight, it hit different. Less dream, more consequence. Jackson had stayed. Said all the right things. Meant them, from what I could tell. That was the part I didn’t know how to process. Not just the sex. Not just the way he’d held me. But the way he hadn’t pulled away after seeing all of me. It made me wonder if I’d read him wrong, or if I’d been bracing for the wrong thing all along.
“Morning,” he murmured. He didn’t move. His hand flexed lightly against my stomach, then settled.
After a moment, I eased out of his hold, just enough to breathe on my own. I couldn’t think clearly while he was holding me. I sat up slowly, the sheet slipping off my shoulder. I told myself I needed distance. Even just a few steps. Something to slow the spin in my chest.
The floor was cool under my feet. I padded into the kitchen, poured water into the kettle, and started the coffee. Every motion felt exaggerated in the morning quiet. Every sound a little too loud. I wanted to understand what last night had done to me. I’d felt so open, so exposed. I needed to make sense of that before it all blurred together again.
When Jackson entered, he was wearing only his briefs. Massive shoulders, thick with muscle, capped like boulders. His abs were tight, carved, and the way those briefs clung to him made it impossible not to notice how well he filled them out. He had that relaxed energy of someone completely at home in his body. He took up so much space, just standing there. I found it almost impossible not to stare.
“Smells good,” he said, nodding toward the coffee.
I poured two mugs. We stood near each other. The moment stretched between us.
“You sleep okay?” I asked.
He nodded.
“I didn’t think you’d still be here,” I said, quieter than I meant to.
Jackson looked at me for a second, his expression softening just slightly. He stood there. Present. Like he wasn’t surprised by the question, but still wanted me to hear the answer. “I didn’t have anywhere else I wanted to be.”
There was something about the way he said it. Without hesitation. No airs. No drama. Just sincerity. It felt like he meant it, and was willing to let me believe it in my own time. But I wasn’t sure what to believe.
I let out a shaky breath and leaned on the counter. “I’m not okay with casual,” I said, too fast. Like it had been waiting at the back of my throat since earlier and finally pushed its way out.
I paused. The words hung there between us, louder than I expected.
I glanced at him, suddenly unsure if I’d just said too much. My chest tightened, but the rest came anyway. “If you want to keep doing this… coming here, I need to know. Because I’m not going to be someone you just blow off steam with. Not someone who will just be there whenever you get horny! I’m not wired for that.”
I could feel the tension crawling up my spine. I hated how exposed I suddenly felt, like I’d thrown too much on the table. I swallowed hard, already trying to walk it back.
“I’m not looking for boyfriend stuff.” It came out quick, too quick, like I’d practiced it.
He raised an eyebrow. “Is that what you think... or what you want me to think?”
He was reading me again. And somehow, it felt less like exposure and more like understanding. The way he said it was calm and direct, like he saw straight through the layers I hadn’t even meant to show. It caught me off guard. He wasn’t deflecting. He was just there. And somehow already ahead of me.
I tapped the side of my mug, trying to ground myself. “I don’t know. You know… I’m seeing someone. I told you that. So yeah, last night probably shouldn’t have happened. Not like that.”
I hesitated. My voice came quieter this time. “But I mean... it’s not like I regret it.” I looked up at him, wondering if I looked as conflicted as I felt.
He studied me for a beat, something unreadable flickering across his face. “You sure seemed to be enjoying yourself last night,” he said. His mouth curved slightly, with just a hint of a smirk. He couldn’t help himself.
Of course he wasn’t making this easy. He wasn’t teasing, not exactly. Just... remembering. And somehow still holding all the cards without even trying.
I felt the air shift. My body tensed. “Jackson. I’m trying to be serious here.”
I met his eyes, willing him to hear it. “I just said, I’ve started dating this guy. It’s new. And now it’s messy. Last night made everything harder to sort out, not easier.”
He nodded slowly, thoughtful. “Yeah. Messy’s real.”
He didn’t try to close the distance. Just held his mug and let it breathe. “But sometimes,” he said, “messy just means you’re being honest. Letting it be what it is instead of trying to label it clean.”
He glanced at me. “Good things don’t always start tidy. Doesn’t mean they’re not worth it.”
I looked at him. “You think this is a good thing?”
“I think it could be,” he said. “If we let it.”
Then, more directly, “And I’m not interested in sharing you. Doesn’t matter who else thinks they’ve got a claim.”
That stopped me cold. My stomach dipped, sharp and sudden. For a second, I didn’t know if I was offended or floored. “You—what?”
“You heard me.” He stood there, steady and true.
I stared at him, trying to find the bluff. “Are you saying... you want this to be exclusive?”
He didn’t waver. “Now you’re getting it.”
I felt something shift in my chest. Tight. Twisting. Panic tangled with something warmer, something I wasn’t ready to name. “But w-why?” I asked, quieter now. “You date girls.”
He shrugged, easily. “I fuck girls,” he said. “Doesn’t mean I want to wake up beside them. And it doesn’t mean I look at them the way I look at you.”
That was unexpected and something inside me flinched. I looked down at my coffee, suddenly unsure what to do with my hands. With my face. With the part of me that wanted to believe him.
Then, softer he added, “I want you, Andy. Not pieces of you. All of it. Even the complicated parts.”
He was looking at me, more directly now. Like he was reading something. “You pulled back,” he said. “Just now, when it started to feel real. You went somewhere.”
I didn’t answer.
“So let me guess,” he said, voice quieter. “You gave more than he did. You leaned in, maybe even fell hard. And when it started to matter, he didn’t show up for you.”
My jaw tightened. My body didn’t move, but the reaction was written all over me.
“You don’t have to tell me,” he added. “But I know that look. You’re not afraid of connection. You’re afraid of getting left in it.”
I exhaled sharply. Stared past him for a moment.
“I’m not asking you to fix it,” I said. “I just need to know I can say no. That I can take up space without being punished for it. That I won’t get swallowed up in someone else’s life again.”
He nodded.
“And I won’t be someone’s secret. Or their release valve when things get tense. If you want me in your life, then I’m in. But this isn’t something I’m doing halfway.”
“Good,” he said, before I could overthink it. “Because I don’t want easy. I want you. Right here.”
It wasn’t just the words. It was the way he said them. Resolved. Authentic.
We stood side by side, coffee mugs in hand. Our arms brushed once. He’d given me space to say what I needed. Room to be me. He didn’t try to control the moment. That steadiness might’ve been the most dangerous thing of all.
And through all of it, he stood there in nothing but those briefs. Calm. Unbothered. Like baring himself was just part of who he was.
“I’m here, Andy. Your move.”
I exhaled. And for the first time, I didn’t feel the need to fill the silence.
-------
We stood there in the kitchen, long after the coffee had gone cold. Our mugs were still in hand, but neither of us had moved in a while. Jackson hadn’t stepped closer, hadn’t said anything. But I could feel him, his warmth, his attention. Like gravity pulling gently on my skin.
I set my mug down on the counter without a word. Turned, walked slowly toward the couch. I didn’t look back right away, but when I did, he was still there. Watching.
I sat first. Then leaned back, spreading my legs just enough to feel the air between them. Not cocky. Not even confident. Just… open. I didn’t know what I was doing exactly, but I knew I wanted a say in how this was going down.
He didn’t follow. He was waiting.
“You coming,” I said, voice low, “or are you just going to stare?”
It wasn’t a challenge. Not really. My voice cracked a little on the last word. But he heard it for what it was.
Jackson approached slowly. Shoulders loose. Eyes on me. He started to lean down, but I lifted my hand to his chest.
“No,” I said. “Sit.”
He raised an eyebrow, paused, and then he sat.
I stood again, just for a second. Reached for the hem of my t-shirt and peeled it off, my skin prickling as the fabric dragged over my shoulders. I dropped it to the floor, then hooked my thumbs under the waistband of my briefs. Slid them down in one smooth motion, not looking at him. I stepped forward and straddled him again, completely bare this time, every inch of me exposed against the heat of his body. Skin to skin.
Jackson leaned back slightly, bracing one hand behind him on the arm of the sofa. The shift tilted his torso just enough to meet me, abs angled perfectly beneath my cock. He looked up at me, patient.
I started to move. Slow. Careful. A deliberate drag of my hips forward, then back. The head of my cock caught every ridge of his stomach, slick skin meeting sculpted muscle. It was sharper than I expected. I gasped once, then bit it back.
He didn’t speak. Just watched.
So I gave him more.
I shifted into rhythm, finding my pace, hips grinding forward with more purpose. Jackson’s abs were like stone, every inch of him tight and ready under me. I could feel the friction building. Wetness smearing between us. My thighs trembled as I fought to hold the motion steady.
I looked down at him. His chest, his jaw, the focus in his eyes. I met his gaze and held it. I wanted him to see me like this.
His mouth parted slightly. Still no hands. Just that calm, unreadable heat in his expression.
My cock slid higher against his core. My breath caught. I kept going.
And then he spoke. Low. Teasing. “Not sure you’re gonna last much longer.”
My body jerked, tension curling hot in my gut.
He smiled, slow and devastating, then, without breaking eye contact, tightened his abs. The ridges hardened beneath me, sculpted and slick with sweat. I couldn’t hold it. I’d been riding the edge too long, too close. My breath caught, my whole body clenched, and then I was coming, hard. I thrust forward once, twice, crying out as I spilled across him. Hot ribbons coated his stomach, pooling in the grooves of his eight-pack, glistening in the morning light. I collapsed against his chest, my body still twitching, heart pounding, face pressed just above the mess I’d made.
His arm came around me, steady and slow. Just one hand, tracing gentle circles across my back like I hadn’t just come undone all over him. He didn’t say a word.
I stayed there for a breath. Maybe two. Then I lifted my head just enough to meet his eyes.
“We’re not done yet.”
He nodded once. No smile this time. Just heat and focus. Like he already knew.
I shifted and reached for the waistband of his briefs. He was already hard, thick, flushed, heavy against his stomach.
I licked my lips without thinking. Then shifted lower.
I stroked him once, slow and deliberate, just to feel the weight of him twitch in my palm. Then I slicked myself and shifted forward—hovering, close, but not lined up yet. Teasing both of us.
Jackson’s head fell back against the cushion. His chest rose fast. “You gonna drag this out?” he asked, voice rough.
I smirked. “That depends on how well you behave.”
I braced my hands on his chest and started to lower myself. Inch by inch. The stretch was deep, intense. I gasped, but I didn’t rush it. I wanted him to feel it. Every second. Every inch.
Then—his hands moved. Almost instinctively. His grip found my hips, fingers tightening like he meant to push me down, take control.
“Don’t,” I said.
He froze. Eyes locked with mine.
I reached down, wrapped my fingers around his wrists. Slowly peeled his hands away. My touch trailed over his thick forearms, tracing the muscle, the veins.
“You don’t need to steer,” I said, voice steadier than I felt.
His jaw flexed. I saw it, the hunger to take over, to fuck me through the couch. But he didn’t move. He let me push his hands away, resting them at his sides.
That did something to me. Made my whole body shiver.
I ran my palms up over his chest, slow and reverent. I could feel his restraint like a live wire under my skin. All that power. Waiting. For me.
Then I dropped my hips again, taking him fully. My body clenched around him, deep and stretched. He groaned, sharp and guttural, but he didn’t thrust.
I smiled. Because he could have. But he didn’t. Because I asked him not to.
It felt so right. This wasn’t him fucking me. This was me taking him. Me choosing how.
I rode him slowly at first. Hips lifting, settling, getting used to the pace. His hands found my thighs but didn’t guide me. Just rested there. Steady.
“Look at you,” he murmured. “Taking your time.”
I didn’t answer. Just leaned in and ground harder. Watching his jaw flex, watching him clench for me, not against me. He was holding back because I asked him to. And that… that made me want to see how much more he could take.
I shifted pace. Faster, then slower. I could feel him getting close. His breathing changed. His body tensed beneath mine.
Then I stopped.
Just froze in place. Still full of him. Still pressed tight.
He groaned. Long, deep, tortured.
“You little shit,” he breathed.
I smiled. I didn’t move.
He was shaking. His hands clenched at his sides. But he didn’t thrust. Didn’t take over. Just sat there and let me decide.
When I finally started moving again, it was slow. Controlled. I rubbed against the ridges of his abs, chasing the friction, chasing that final release. My body was trembling. His eyes were locked on mine, wide and wrecked.
I was close. So close. My thighs were trembling. My cock rubbed slick against the heat of his stomach, each grind bringing me right to the edge, and holding me there.
Then it happened.
Jackson groaned. Not teasing. Not measured. Just raw. His hands clutched at the couch. Then his hips jerked once—deep, hard, unplanned.
“Fuck,” he gasped. His eyes locked on mine, wide and stunned, as he spilled inside me.
That was it. That one desperate thrust, that sound, that loss of control.
It ripped right through me.
My body locked, hips grinding down hard against him as the orgasm hit again. Not sudden this time. Just… unstoppable. I felt it rising, cresting, crashing through me as I pulsed across his chest, slick and unrestrained. I cried out, loud and shaken, every nerve lit up. My thighs quivered, my whole body trembling from the effort of holding on too long.
And then I couldn’t anymore.
I collapsed forward with a groan, head dropping to his shoulder, my chest heaving against his. My cheek landed against the heat of his skin, damp and sticky where I'd spilled across him—over his abs, his chest, everywhere. My pulse thundered. My breath came in short, uneven bursts. I felt him wrap an arm around me, slow and steady, his palm pressing lightly to the small of my back.
He held me there. Didn’t speak. Just breathed.
The silence stretched long and full. Our skin cooling. Our bodies still tangled, still joined. I could feel his heartbeat under my cheek, strong, steady, like he wasn’t going anywhere.
I turned my face slightly, my lips brushing his collarbone. “We’re not done yet,” I murmured, voice rough.
His hand slid up my spine, slow and loose. “Good,” he said, low and satisfied. “Because I’m not tapping out.”
We stayed like that, resting into the silence. Letting it be enough for a while.
Eventually, I shifted off his lap, enough to slide beside him. My leg draped over his. His hand stayed at my thigh, thumb brushing lightly back and forth. We were quiet, but not distant. He looked over at me like I was the only thing in the room, gaze warm and unrushed.
“You okay?” I asked, voice still a little breathless, but teasing now.
His smile spread, slow and loose. “You have no idea.” He leaned back against the couch, exhaling through his nose. “You looked good on top of me.”
I smirked. “Wrecked suits you.”
He grinned wider but didn’t argue.
We lay back a little more, chests rising and falling. My head found its way to his shoulder. His arm found its way around me. And for a few minutes, there was nothing to do but let it land. Let it feel real.
Then, without looking at me, he murmured, “So… do I get a grade for that?”
I let out a laugh, quiet and surprised. “Don’t think this means I’m grading you any easier.”
He chuckled low in his throat. “Wouldn’t want it easy.”
And just like that, the room held something different. Not tension. Not urgency. Just the afterglow of something real. Something earned.
And for the first time in too long, I felt like I hadn’t messed it up. Like maybe I’d done something right.
Later, Jackson lifted me in his arms, easy and sure, and carried me back to the bedroom. No rush. No games. Just the two of us, getting to know each other in the way only skin and closeness allow. And this time, when I let go, it felt like the right thing to do.
