There were also mornings when I could count on them. And that was perfectly fine. This arrangement never worked one way. I wasn't just someone who gave. I was also someone who could relax, allow myself to enjoy myself, and know that if I needed it, I wasn't alone.
I woke up earlier than usual. The house was still asleep. The silence was thick, soft, warm after the night. The air in the room had that specific smell of sleep and warm skin. I lay still for a moment before I felt the tension in my lower abdomen. Natural. Obvious. I reached under the covers without rushing.
I slid my boxers halfway down my thighs and let my hips lift slightly. My cock was hard, heavy, reacting to the slightest touch. I closed my eyes. My hand wrapped around it with confidence. The movements were slow, lazy, I wasn’t in a hurry. I didn’t have to be.
The images from yesterday were enough. Mike, leaning against the counter, with my mouth around him. Jackson, sprawled across the chair, looking down at me as I took him deeper. Their breaths. Their tastes. Their hands in my hair. Everything was still fresh.
My hand began to move a little faster. My skin was slippery, my breathing deepened on its own. All I could hear was myself, a quiet exhale, the rustle of the sheets, the wet sound of my hand sliding over my body. I didn't need much. Their presence in my head was enough for the tension to build slowly, pleasantly, exactly where it should.
It was that moment when I felt exactly where I belonged. At home, where sex was not a shame. Where the body was natural. Where mornings could begin the way I wanted, calmly, without pressure... and with the thought that if I wanted to, I wouldn’t have to come alone.
I heard it before I saw him. Soft footsteps in the hallway, a slight creak of the floor, as if someone was still moving in their sleep. I didn't open my eyes right away. For a moment, I thought it was just the sound of the house slowly waking up. But then the door to my room opened without a knock.
Mike.
He stood in the doorway with tousled hair, his chest bare and his boxer shorts low on his hips. He rubbed his eyes with one hand and leaned against the doorframe with the other. He looked like he always did at this time of day, a little lazy, a little relaxed, still caught up in the night. His gaze slid down from my face, right to where my hand was still working under the covers.
He paused. The corner of his mouth lifted in a lazy, amused smile.
"Hey, man..." he muttered softly. "Why didn't you wake me up?"
There was no surprise in his voice. Not a hint of embarrassment. Just that ease that always made everything between us so simple. He moved away from the door and came inside, never taking his eyes off me. I didn't look away either. My hand continued to move, slower, deliberately. I felt the tension turn into something thicker.
"I see you're doing fine," he added calmly.
Mike came closer and sat on the edge of the bed. The mattress sagged slightly. He rested his elbow on his knee, leaned over, and looked down at me. His presence was heavy, warm, very real. His fingers touched my thigh, moving slowly across my skin, as if checking the temperature.
"Let me..." he said calmly. "I'll do it for you."
I didn't have to answer. I spread my legs a little wider, giving him access. Mike snorted softly, as if that was exactly what he expected. His knee touched my hip, his body was close, familiar, safe.
Mike didn't rush for a second. His hand moved lower from my thigh. His fingers wrapped around me exactly where I had been alone a moment before. The difference was immediate. His grip was stronger, heavier, more decisive. As if he knew exactly what he was doing.
"You deserve it," he muttered softly. "Your sucking yesterday was wonderful."
I closed my eyes and sank deeper into the mattress. My hips lifted slightly toward him, responding to the first slow movement of his hand. Mike moved rhythmically, without jerking, without the need to prove anything. His thumb slid over the taut skin of my stomach, the rest of his hand working at the perfect pace, slow enough to feel every inch.
I could feel his warmth. The smell of sleep and skin. The way he sat close, leaning over, watching my face, never taking his eyes off me. His presence was calm, confident, almost protective. As if it were something obvious, something that simply belonged to the morning.
My breathing grew heavier. Every movement of his hand made the tension gather lower, thicken, pulsate. His fingers tightened at times, then loosened again, as if he sensed exactly how much I could take. As if he knew my body better than I wanted to admit.
Mike leaned in even closer. I could feel his weight on the edge of the bed, I could feel him watching my reaction, watching my body surrender control to him. He didn't say anything else. He didn't have to. That one sentence was enough, and it crossed my mind as an obvious truth:
I live in a place where a friend sees you with your dick in your hand and doesn't ask what you're doing... he just sits down and willingly does it for you.
And that's when I knew I was very close.
Mike didn't stop. Not for a moment. As if he knew exactly that I was already on the edge, and that this was the moment when he shouldn’t let up. His hand sped up slightly, barely noticeably, but enough to make the tension inside me tighten violently. My hips lifted on their own, my back arched, and my fingers dug into the sheet.
"Yeah…" Mike murmured, watching me closely."Now."
And then it broke.
A moan escaped my throat louder than I had planned. My body arched, and cum spilled across my stomach, hot, sticky, intense. Mike didn't slow down right away, pulling me through the last few tremors until the tension slowly began to subside.
He gathered the last drops with his finger, slowly, carefully, as if it were part of the same gesture. He looked me in the eyes with that calm, athletic ease that always made everything seem simpler.
"Next time, call for me," he said. "Seriously."
He got up, stretched lazily, as if he had just finished his morning stretching routine. Without rushing, he went to the bathroom, leaving behind silence, warmth, and me, relaxed, naked, my head heavy with pleasure.
I lay there motionless for a moment, staring at the ceiling, with a smile I didn't even try to hide.
Sometimes I really wonder who is luckier here, me or them.
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