Jaxson slowed, the realization landing all at once, sharp enough to steal his breath.
They hadn’t always been in shadow.
Jaxson slowed as the realization finally surfaced—quiet at first, then unavoidable. They had been moving through pools of light for a while now, each lamppost along the path spilling its own small circle onto the concrete. He hadn’t noticed at the time. He’d been following Marcus.. too focused on the pleasure he was getting from edging himself. Too buzzed from the joint to notice.
Each pool of light meant exposure.
Each one had revealed him to the world—bare skin, bare intentions—before releasing him again into shadow. The thought sent another electric shiver down his spine. How many times had he stepped into the light without thinking? How willingly had he let himself be seen?
Now he stood between two lampposts, suspended in the dark seam between brightness. The rough, warm concrete pressed into the soles of his bare feet, grounding him, reminding him how little stood between him and consequence. Vulnerable. Awake. Alive in a way that made his chest feel too small.
Marcus stopped too, as if he’d felt the shift. He watched Jaxson struggle with his internal thoughts. But his body gave away his true desires. Jaxson looked back, and then out into the dark field, and then to the bright basketball court ahead....all while never stopping the motion of his right hand working the thick head of his throbbing cock. Marcus was surprised he hadn't busted his load long ago. He must be an expert at riding that edge of orgasm. He watched small visible shocks run through Jaxsons body as he would just touch the edge of orgasm and back off for a few seconds, holding his hand perfectly still - but never letting go of that sensitive head.
Ahead, the next pool of light glowed brighter, leading toward the basketball court and whatever eyes might still be awake in the park. To stay on the path was to keep choosing visibility—to keep trusting that whatever was building between them was worth being seen.
To the left, the soccer field opened up—dark, wide, and quiet. No lampposts. No cover. Just an expanse of night stretching toward the low brick wall that bordered the park along the side street near Jaxson’s house. He knew that field intimately. Had crossed it a hundred times. In daylight it felt endless; at night it felt like a test.
He hesitated, nerves fluttering low in his stomach. Then, softer than he meant to be, almost shy, he spoke.
“My place is… just on the other side of the park,” he said, gesturing into the darkness. “Across the field. Maybe ten minutes.” A pause. “If you wanted to come over. For a drink.”
Marcus turned then. The light caught his face just enough to show the smile forming—slow, assured, unmistakably pleased. No surprise. Just confirmation.
Without a word, Marcus stepped off the path and into the open field.
Jaxson’s heart kicked hard. He glanced quickly around—back down the path, toward the court, toward the lamppost behind them—then stepped off the concrete after him. Grass brushed his ankles, cool and soft compared to the sidewalk, and the darkness closed around them almost immediately.
The soccer field seemed to stretch forever, a vast, black openness that made every step feel louder than it was. The trees and shrubs along the path had offered cover, protection, excuses. Out here there was nothing to hide behind. Fifty yards in any direction to the nearest shadow. No pools of light. No witnesses—just space and sky and the quiet hum of the city beyond the park.
Marcus walked easily, confidently, as if the openness energized him. Jaxson followed, pulse racing, every nerve lit up. The risk wasn’t gone—it was amplified. But so was the pull.
And with each step across the dark field, Jaxson understood something clearly at last:
This wasn’t about hiding anymore.
By the time they reached the middle of the field, Jaxson’s heart was racing hard enough that he was sure Marcus could hear it. His knees felt loose, unreliable, as if the ground itself had softened beneath him. The farther they walked, the more the night seemed to press in—quiet, vast, expectant.
When they finally reached the far edge of the park, the brick wall rising out of the darkness like a boundary line, Jaxson was breathless. A light sheen of sweat glistened across his chest and along his hairline, catching the moonlight every time he moved. Excitement hummed through him—blood pumping, heart thumping, muscles pulled tight and ready. He felt overcharged, like a live wire daring the world to touch him.
On the other side of the wall, the street lay dark and empty. The plan was simple enough. Follow the wall twenty yards to the black wrought-iron gate. Slip out of the park. Cross the street into the smaller green space beyond. From there it was a straight line home—his house facing the park like it always had, a quiet promise of shelter and familiarity.
But Marcus stopped.
Before Jaxson could ask why, Marcus slid an arm over his shoulders, the weight of it deliberate, grounding. He guided Jaxson closer to the wall, steps slow, controlled. Then, with a subtle shift, Marcus turned him—back to brick, breath hitching—and Jaxson felt the strength in Marcus’s hands as they settled at his waist.
The world tilted.
In one smooth motion, Marcus lifted him, firm and effortless, and set him atop the wall. The bricks were warm beneath Jaxson’s palms, solid against the backs of his thighs. He sucked in a sharp breath, startled—not by fear, but by how easily Marcus handled him, how natural it felt to give over to that momentum.
Marcus stepped in close, between Jaxson’s knees, presence unmistakable. Up here, Jaxson was eye level with him now, pulse pounding in his ears. The distance they’d been holding onto all night dissolved in an instant.
He was exposed again—no lampposts this time, no artificial light—but somehow this felt brighter than any pool of illumination on the path. His bare feet dangled above the ground, toes flexing unconsciously, nerves buzzing. He could feel the warm rough bricks on his bare ass.
Marcus’s hands lingered at his waist, thumbs pressing in just enough to be felt, not enough to push. Still letting Jaxson choose. Always that careful restraint. Marcus moved Jaxson's hand back to his throbbing cock and together they stroked it. Marcus guiding Jaxson's hand, setting the pace, letting Jaxson control the grip and pressure - just to his liking.
The night wrapped around them, the open field behind, the dark street beyond the wall ahead. Marcus picked up the pace slightly and could see the warning on Jaxson's face. A few more seconds and he wouldn't be able to stop the explosion that was rapidly approaching.
Jaxson's eyes begged for it. The smile on Marcus' face welcomed it. Together they worked Jaxon's body to the very edge. Electric waves seemed to start at his nipples and scatter down his spine to thread through his thick mushroom head they were working together at the top of each stroke. Jaxson was ready to lay himself bare for Marcus. He pushed his chest out as he his head tipped back and his eyes closed. Now focused completely on the sensations washing over his body. The moment was near.
Jaxson was lost in the moment. Completely. The night had narrowed to the warmth of brick at his back, the steady presence of Marcus in front of him, the charged silence hanging between them.
At first, the sound didn’t quite register.
It slipped in at the edges—soft, distant—easy to mistake for blood rushing in his ears. Then it repeated. Measured. Even.
A rhythm.
That sound.
His thoughts stuttered as recognition crept in. Shoes on pavement. Breath paced and controlled.
Steps.
A jogger.
The realization tugged at his focus, pulling him just enough out of the gravity well he’d fallen into. His eyes snapped open, scanning instinctively toward the darkness along the wall—
“Jaxson?”
The voice landed like a spark to dry air.
“Oh! Sorry—didn’t realize I was interrupting.”
There was no mistaking it. Rex. Familiar, amused, unmistakably smiling even without seeing his face. Jaxson could hear it in the lift at the end of the words, in the pause that followed—long enough to confirm exactly what Rex had walked in on.
Everything hit at once.
Shock, sharp and electric. Embarrassment flushing hot across his chest and up his neck. A thrill he couldn’t quite suppress—being seen, caught, known. Nerves skittered wildly, his body suddenly aware of every point of contact, every exposed inch of him perched on that wall.
Marcus didn’t jump back. Didn’t curse. Didn’t rush to explain.
Instead, his hand tightened just slightly —steady, anchoring—Continuing the stroking before he turned his head calmly toward the sound. The contrast only made Jaxson’s pulse spike harder.
“Hey,” Marcus said easily, like this was nothing more than a coincidence. Like the night hadn’t just cracked open.
Rex laughed softly, slowing his pace but not stopping entirely. “Didn’t mean to crash the party. I’ll… keep moving.”
Jaxson swallowed, heart hammering, caught between wanting to disappear and wanting to hold exactly where he was. The field felt enormous again, suddenly full of invisible sightlines and half-known eyes. Yet beneath the embarrassment, something else lingered—an undeniable rush, a reckless spark that refused to dim.
Instead of letting Rex slip away into the night, Marcus shifted—just enough to keep the moment intact rather than end it. Rex’s footsteps circled closer, and a second later he moved in behind Jaxson, stepping up to the wall so he could face Marcus directly.
Jaxson felt him there before he saw him—Rex’s presence at his back, close but not touching. Rex leaned against the brick wall, forearms resting on the top beside Jaxson’s legs, casual and unhurried. From that position, he had a clear view of Marcus… and an unobstructed one of the moment still unfolding.
Marcus didn’t step away. Didn’t release Jaxson. He simply turned his head slightly and offered an easy introduction, his tone relaxed, almost conversational, as if Jaxson wasn’t still perched between them, pulse loud as the stroking continued.
“How do you two know each other?” Marcus asked, eyes steady.
Rex smiled—Jaxson could hear it, could feel it at his back. “Neighbors,” he said. “Next door, actually. We work out together sometimes. Oh, and we dated for bit off and on.”
The words settled in slowly, adding weight rather than breaking the spell. Jaxson remained where he was, the wall solid beneath him, Marcus close in front, Rex braced comfortably behind. No one rushed to move. No one pretended the tension wasn’t there.
Rex took it all in—the closeness, the heat, the way Marcus’s attention never fully left Jaxson. And Marcus, perfectly aware of the audience now, made no effort to retreat.
The moment didn’t end. It expanded.
Jaxson realized then that Marcus and Rex were both fully aware of him—of where he was, of how exposed he felt—and that they were enjoying it. The awareness sent another sharp ripple of electricity down his spine, lighting him up from the inside out.
This moment wasn’t an accident. It was a choice.
He could pull back, diffuse it, retreat into something safer and familiar. Or he could lean into the heightened tension, the rare alignment of timing and desire, knowing chances like this didn’t come twice.
Everyone there wanted to be exactly where they were.
And Jaxson—more than anyone—knew he did too.
The moment the choice settled into place, Marcus saw it instantly—written across Jaxson’s face, in the way his hesitation melted into intention. He didn’t interrupt it. He simply eased back, just enough to give Jaxson room.
Jaxson moved without overthinking it. He swung one leg over the brick wall, until he was straddling it—one bare foot dangling beside Rex, the other on the park side with Marcus. Balanced between them. Deliberate.
He leaned back then, bracing his hands on the warm brick behind him, opening his posture completely. From there he could see them both—Marcus steady and grounded on one side, Rex close and observant on the other. The position felt exposed, intentional, unmistakable.
Marcus stepped back in, reclaiming his space. Rex mirrored the movement from the opposite side of the wall, as if he belonged there.
Jaxson felt it all at once—the weight of their attention, the symmetry of it, the quiet hum of being fully seen. He wasn’t caught between them anymore.
He had placed himself exactly where he wanted to be. Opened himself to it.
Jaxson bathed in the moment—the stillness wrapped around him, the charged quiet humming just beneath the surface. The attention felt warm rather than heavy, deliberate rather than demanding. For once, he didn’t flinch under it. He let it wash over him, sink in, settle.
He leaned back a little more, trusting the wall, trusting himself. His breath slowed, then deepened. The nervous edge softened into something steadier, more assured. In that space between Marcus and Rex, with the night holding them in suspension, Jaxson felt his inhibitions loosen their grip and finally fall away.
There was no rush now. No need to perform or explain. Just presence. Just choice.
He met Marcus’s gaze, then Rex’s, letting the connection linger with each in turn. The air felt thicker, alive with possibility, but unforced—an invitation rather than a demand. Jaxson smiled, small and genuine, and in that simple expression made it clear:
He wasn’t being pulled into the moment. He was embracing it. Marcus continued his slow stroking, now knowing exactly how Jaxson liked it.
Rex let the mischievous grin spread slowly, deliberately, like he was savoring a private joke. His eyes lingered on Jaxson, taking in the posture, the openness, the unmistakable confidence beneath the vulnerability. Memories flickered easily—late nights, shared laughs, risks taken just for the thrill of it. He knew this version of Jaxson well. The adventurous one. The cocky one who liked to dance right at the edge and pretend he’d simply wandered there by accident.
This wasn’t an accident.
Rex could read it in the way Jaxson held himself, in how comfortably he occupied the space between two sets of attention. He’d seen that look before—the quiet challenge, the unspoken watch what happens next. And it stirred something familiar and eager in him.
He shifted closer, casual but intentional, leaning into the moment rather than circling it. His gaze flicked to Marcus then, assessing, measuring, already curious. There was a confidence there too—different from Jaxson’s, steadier—but Rex recognized it instantly.
Oh, this could be fun.
Rex wasn’t there to compete. He was there to contribute. To translate. To show Marcus the nuances—what made Jaxson light up, what made him melt, what made him lean in rather than pull away. The small tells. The subtle reactions. The things only time and shared experience taught you.
Jaxson felt it—the shift, the alignment—before a word was spoken. The air seemed to tighten just a fraction, charged with shared understanding.
Rex met Marcus’s eyes and smiled, the kind that promised stories rather than explanations.
“Yeah,” he said lightly, voice warm with familiarity. “Jaxson’s full of surprises.”
And the night, it seemed, was just getting started.
Rex placed his hand on Jaxson’s bare knee, the contact light but deliberate. It wasn’t a grab or a claim—more a punctuation mark, a quiet acknowledgment of everything hanging in the air. His thumb rested there easily, warm against Jaxson’s skin, grounding and teasing all at once.
Jaxson’s breath caught, just slightly.
Marcus noticed immediately. He always did. Without a word, he released his hold on Jaxson and mirrored the movement, letting his own hand settle at Jaxson’s opposite knee. The symmetry wasn’t accidental. It was attentive. Considered. Marcus followed Rex’s lead not as a surrender, but as a choice—to let the moment unfold rather than steer it alone.
Jaxson felt it then, fully—the balance, the focus, the way both of them were tuned in to him. His muscles loosened as he leaned back against the wall, hands braced behind him, chest lifting with a slow exhale. The night seemed to close in around the three of them, narrowing to touch and breath and shared awareness.
Rex glanced at Marcus, a flicker of something like approval passing between them, unspoken but clear. Marcus met the look evenly, calm and curious, as if committing the moment to memory. Then they both pulled Jaxson's knees wide open, putting him on full display.
Jaxson was perched on the wall, a foot dangling on each side, balanced between two worlds. He glanced back across the wide, open field they’d crossed—the grass silvered by moonlight, empty and endless, offering nowhere to hide and nothing to interrupt the memory of how exposed it had felt walking through it. The field looked calmer now from this distance, almost innocent, as if it hadn’t tested him at all.
Then he turned his head the other way.
The street beyond the wall stretched out in both directions, dark and quiet, the occasional porch light glowing like a distant star. Next, Rex slid his hand slowly from Jaxson's knee, up the inside of his thigh. Higher still until he reached the heavy sack at the base of that thick wide cock jutting out in front of Jaxson. He remembered all too well how to get Jaxon's motor running. He started with feather light touches all across the heavy globes. A small moan escaped Jaxson's mouth. Continuing the teasing motions he took his free hand and slid it around grip the thick meaty ass perched on the wall. Then with slow deliberation he traced his way up to the small of his back, around to tease over his abs, higher still until he took that hard nipple in between his fingers. He began to gently roll and tug until the combo sensations drew another moan.
Marcus stayed quiet, letting the moment breathe. He watched Rex move with an ease that only came from familiarity—not rushed, not performative, but precise. Every shift of weight, every angle he chose, seemed intentional. Rex didn’t crowd the space; he shaped it. And Jaxson responded without thinking, his body giving away tells long before his expression did.
Marcus noticed all of it.
The way Rex’s touch lingered just long enough to register. The timing—how he waited for Jaxson’s breath to change before moving again. How his focus never wavered, never scattered. Laser intention. Purposeful presence. The kind that didn’t demand attention because it naturally commanded it.
Jaxson’s reactions were subtle but unmistakable. A tightening here. A slow exhale there. The faint tilt of his head when something landed exactly right. Marcus cataloged every response, every cause and effect, committing them to memory like coordinates on a map he intended to use later.
It wasn’t jealousy that stirred in him—if anything, it was appreciation. Rex wasn’t taking anything away from the moment. He was revealing it. Showing, not showing off. And Marcus understood then that this wasn’t about control so much as fluency—learning the language Jaxson already spoke so naturally.
Marcus took what he’d observed and folded it seamlessly into the moment. He mirrored Rex’s movements from the opposite side, not copying outright, but adapting—introducing slight variations, different pacing, a broader sweep of attention. Where Rex was precise and familiar, Marcus was expansive, exploratory, testing responses and watching how Jaxson registered each one.
The effect was immediate.
Jaxson felt the contrast as much as the balance—two distinct energies meeting him where he was, overlapping without competing. His posture shifted almost unconsciously, shoulders relaxing, spine arching just a fraction as he leaned back into the wall, giving both of them access without giving anything up.
Marcus paid close attention to the reactions Rex had already uncovered, then pushed gently past them, seeing how far the response traveled. When Jaxson’s breath hitched, Marcus noted it. When his focus drifted, Marcus adjusted, re-centering him with presence alone.
Rex noticed too. A glance passed between them—brief, knowing. Not rivalry. Coordination.
Jaxson was no longer simply reacting; he was resonating. The wall beneath his hands felt steadier now, the night warmer, the space around them charged but controlled. Marcus understood then that this wasn’t about taking turns or claiming ground.
It was about range.
And together, they were covering all of it. Marcus left the now tightened balls to Rex and he focused on working that fat mushroom head as he was before.
Rex and Marcus found a rhythm, and once it settled, it felt effortless—like something they’d always known how to do, even if they’d never done it together before. There was no need to speak it aloud. They adjusted instinctively, giving and taking space, letting the moment breathe while keeping its pulse steady.
For Jaxson, the rest of the world began to blur at the edges.
Sound dulled, then sharpened inward. His heart pounded so loudly it seemed to echo in his ears, each beat crowding the next. His breath came faster now, shallow and ragged, pulled from him without permission. He wasn’t thinking anymore—his body had taken over, responding to the layered attention with raw honesty.
Without realizing it, he flexed—every muscle drawing tight at once. His back arched subtly away from the wall, chest lifting as if pulled by an invisible current. His knees widened, thighs tensing, grounding him in place as sensation rippled through him. It wasn’t something he chose. It was something that happened.
Marcus noticed first, his focus narrowing, attention sharpening. Rex followed a heartbeat later, recognizing the shift immediately. Neither of them interrupted it. They let Jaxson move through it, let the moment crest naturally, honoring the intensity rather than pushing it further.
Jaxson’s eyes fluttered closed, his grip on the wall firm, knuckles pale. For a suspended instant, there was nothing else—no park, no street, no past or future. Just the hum of connection, the certainty of being exactly where he was meant to be
Rex and Marcus both focused on Jaxson’s face, their attention narrowing to the smallest details. The flutter of his lashes. The way his lips parted as if he were on the edge of saying something—or forgetting language entirely. They watched the tension crest and hover, recognized the fragile point where sensation tipped toward overwhelm.
Neither of them rushed it.
They slowed instead, stretching the moment until it felt elastic, teasing the inevitable without letting it arrive. A breath held just a second longer. A pause that deepened rather than relieved. Time seemed to thin there, pulled taut between them, suspended by shared intent.
Jaxson trembled faintly, caught in that suspension. His body was wound tight, but his expression was open—unguarded, radiant with sensation. The night seemed to lean in with them, quiet and complicit, as if it too wanted to see how long the moment could be held before it finally broke.
And for as long as they could manage, Rex and Marcus kept him right there—balanced on the edge, fully present, savoring every heartbeat of the now.
When the moment seemed to stretch impossibly long, Rex lifted his gaze and met Marcus’s. It was brief—no words, no nods—but heavy with understanding. In that shared glance lived agreement, restraint, and intent all at once. They didn’t need to spell it out. They both knew exactly where the line was—and how close they could bring Jaxson to it without crossing.
The shift was subtle but deliberate.
They grounded the moment rather than escalating it, easing the tension just enough to let it resolve instead of shatter. Marcus slowed his movements, anchoring Jaxson with steady presence. Rex softened his touch, letting familiarity replace provocation. Together, they guided the energy downward, inward, giving Jaxson space to come back to himself without letting the magic dissipate.
Jaxson’s breath gradually steadied. The tight coil in his body loosened, leaving behind a warm, buzzing calm that spread through his limbs. His eyes opened slowly, unfocused at first, then finding theirs—Marcus on one side, Rex on the other—both watching him with quiet satisfaction.
The night returned gently this time. The park. The wall. The distant hum of the city.
But something had changed.
The finish line wasn’t about pushing further. It was about landing together—fully present, fully aware, and still exactly where they wanted to be.
But Jaxson looked at them—really looked—with something raw and unmistakable in his eyes. Hunger. Not hidden. Not tentative. A silent plea that needed no words because it carried its own gravity.
Rex saw it first. Marcus a heartbeat later.
They didn’t hesitate this time.
The shift was immediate—clean, deliberate. Where before they had stretched and teased, now they moved with purpose, guiding Jaxson back to that suspended edge he’d been hovering near. Faster. More certain. No testing, no circling. They knew exactly what he was asking for.
Jaxson responded instantly, body leaning into the moment, breath breaking free of him in uneven pulls. He wasn’t just open now—he was asking. Inviting. Urging them on with every unguarded reaction.
Rex’s presence was confident and familiar, Marcus’s steady and grounding, and together they closed the space with intention. The world narrowed again, sharper this time, the tension rebuilt not slowly but decisively, like a wave drawn back just long enough to crash.
Jaxson’s grip tightened on the wall behind him, knuckles whitening as his focus fractured. There was no pretending now, no restraint left to negotiate. He met their eyes once more, a breathless, wordless please written plainly across his face.
And this time, they didn’t hold him there.
They let the moment carry him all the way to the finish line—
and when it finally broke, the night seemed to explode.
The ache in his balls had Jaxson's mouth open wide in a silent scream. Eyes squinted closed from the ecstasy.
Marcus recognized it instantly—the shift in Jaxson’s breathing, the way his body drew tight again, the unmistakable momentum of the moment rushing forward. He stayed calm where everything else was accelerating. This was where precision mattered.
With practiced awareness, Marcus adjusted the angle of his stroking—just a subtle change in angle, a careful recalibration rather than a new move. He knew exactly what he was doing. Calculating distance, timing, response. Anticipating how Jaxson would react before he even did.
Rex felt it as well, sensed the alignment snap into place. He didn’t interrupt. He trusted Marcus’s read, trusted the trajectory they’d set together.
Jaxson gasped, caught by the sudden clarity of it—the way everything converged at once. His focus shattered, then narrowed to a single point, the world collapsing inward as sensation surged through him. He clung to the wall, eyes flew open wide, every nerve alight. He watched as the first rope of cum blasted from his cock. It was almost slow motion as it bathed his face in a hot splatter. The second shot almost a prefect aim to land in his open mouth across his tongue. He tasted the salty sweetness as rope after rope covered his face, neck and chest. Grunts burst from his throat. Rex expertly worked his balls as Marcus painted his body with the expert grip on his hog.
Jaxson bathed in the moment, letting it wash over him without restraint. The exposure—perched on the wall, open to the night—ignited something deep and electric, sending sparks along every nerve ending. He stopped measuring himself, stopped holding back. Whatever walls he’d built fell away, brick by brick, until only sensation and presence remained.
The night seemed to lean in, complicit and quiet. His breath spilled free now, unguarded, and he didn’t try to hush it. He didn’t need to. The moment belonged to him—earned by choice, by trust, by the courage to stay exactly where he was.
Marcus and Rex stayed with him there, steady and attentive, letting the intensity crest and settle in its own time. When the rush finally softened, it left behind a warm afterglow that hummed through Jaxson’s body, grounding him back into the world with a newfound clarity.
He exhaled, long and slow, eyes opening to the night again—the park, the wall, the dark street beyond—unchanged and yet entirely different.
The once-hot lava across his face and chest slowly cooled, the intensity easing into a lingering warmth. With it came goosebumps, rippling over his skin as the night air reclaimed him. Reality washed back in like a gentle wave—steady, grounding, inevitable.
Rex and Marcus didn’t withdraw. Their attention stayed right where it was, unbroken, unhurried, as if this part mattered just as much as what came before. Jaxson felt the aftershocks move through him in soft tremors, the last sparks settling into something calmer, sweeter.
The picture of the well-muscled man perched on the wall was intoxicating. Jaxson looked almost sculpted there in the moonlight—thick arms and powerful thighs shaped by countless, hard-earned hours at the gym, muscles still faintly taut from the intensity he’d just ridden out. His expansive chest rose and fell as he worked to catch his breath, each inhale deliberate, each exhale loosening him a little more. His massive thick cock still oozing and throbbing after Marcus had let go. Rex let that devilish grin spread again, slower this time, like he was savoring the reveal. He tilted his head, eyes never leaving Jaxson, clearly enjoying the way the attention lingered on him. Then holding eye contact he lowered his head down and guided that massive cock into his mouth. He began to work the final drops out in the expert way he always did when they hooked up. He knew this was one of Jaxsons favorite part. To be pushed a little farther. A bit longer.
There was something unapologetic about the way he moans and squirmed, offering himself. Strength and vulnerability existed side by side, and that contrast was what made it impossible to look away.
A nervous chuckle slipped from his throat before he could stop it, breathless and genuine. It surprised even him. The sound seemed to unlock the moment, easing the tension into something shared and human. Marcus smiled, slow and satisfied as he watched Rex tease the final drops from Jaxson.
Jaxson was still riding the aftershocks, that soft, floating warmth humming through him, when Marcus spoke—casual, grounded, like he was gently turning the volume back down on the night.
“We should probably go grab your clothes,” Marcus said, a hint of amusement in his voice. “Wallet. Phone. If they are still there.”
The practicality of it made Jaxson laugh, nervously, the reality of after settling in.
Rex pushed off the brick and stood, stretching like nothing extraordinary had just happened. He slipped effortlessly back into jogger mode, easy and unbothered, like this was just another pause in his run.
“Well,” he said lightly, nodding once to Marcus, “nice to meet ya, dude. Hope we see you again real soon. Don't forget I'm right next door if you guys need a helping hand.”
There was no weight in it. No pressure. Just a promise wrapped in a grin.
Then Rex turned and jogged off into the night, footsteps quickly swallowed by the darkness along the path.
Jaxson watched him disappear for a moment, then looked back at Marcus. Something unmistakable lingered in the air between them—shared, earned, and unspoken.
Marcus held Jaxson’s gaze, a small smile playing at the corner of his mouth. “Come on, I'll walk you back.” he said gently.
Marcus turned and headed back into the dark field, setting an easy pace toward the distant fountain where Jaxson’s things had been left behind. The lights along the path felt far away now, swallowed by the open stretch of grass.
Jaxson lingered for a beat, the post-excitement haze settling over him like a tide going out. He carefully eased his thick, tired body down from the wall, every movement deliberate. The cool grass beneath his bare feet grounded him immediately—a quiet reminder of how exposed he still was, how real the night felt now that the intensity had ebbed.
The air chilled the moisture on his skin, sending a shiver through him as he drew in a steadying breath. His knees felt unsteady, not weak so much as spent, and he laughed softly under his breath at himself. He pushed off and shuffled forward, closing the distance to Marcus as they moved together into the field.
The walk back felt longer this time. Slower. The vastness of the soccer field stretched out around them, silent and forgiving, the earlier intensity replaced by a warm, lingering afterglow. Each step dried the evidence of the moment, leaving behind only sensation and memory.
Marcus admired the view without trying to hide it. Jaxson crossed the field naked, shoulders loose now, posture softened by exhaustion. His once raging pardon now thick and long and flapping from thigh to thigh as we walked. The thing was just as massive soft as it was hard. The strength was still there—obvious in the breadth of his shoulders, the solid lines of his legs—but it was tempered by something quieter. Spent. Open. Real.
The grass whispered under Jaxson’s feet as he walked, damp and cool against bare feet. His movements were slower now, unguarded, like someone no longer performing for the world. Moonlight caught on him in fragments—an arm, a shoulder, the curve of muscle easing back into rest.
Marcus let himself take it in.
There was something deeply satisfying about this part—the aftermath. Not the intensity, but what followed it. The honesty of a body that had nothing left to prove. The way Jaxson carried himself now, neither hiding nor posturing, just existing exactly as he was
Marcus knew—quietly, certainly—that this was only the beginning.
Jaxson had shown him something rare tonight. Not bravado. Not performance. But honesty. He had laid his desires bare without needing to explain them, trusting that they would be seen and understood. That kind of openness changed things. It erased the need for pretense, for guarded steps or half-spoken wants. There was no reason to hide anymore.
And Jaxson knew it too.
As they walked across the field, the thought settled into him with a heady weight: all he had to do was ask. There was a confidence in Marcus that made that feel real—not reckless, not indulgent, but assured. As if Marcus didn’t just hear desires, but knew how to meet them. Shape them. Deliver them with intention.
The realization sent a quiet thrill through Jaxson, different from the rush before but just as intoxicating. Possibility stretched out in front of him, wide and open as the field they crossed. Not just tonight—but the nights to come. Conversations yet to happen. Choices waiting to be made.
Marcus glanced over at him then, catching the look on Jaxson’s face—thoughtful, charged, alive with what-ifs. A knowing smile touched his lips, subtle but unmistakable.
Neither of them said a word.
They didn’t need to.
Some beginnings announce themselves loudly.
Others arrive softly—certain, inevitable—and change everything all the same.
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