It hadn’t even been two days since the last time, and I could still feel it under my skin. At times, I caught myself returning to that image: Nick sitting naked in front of me, his hand on his cock, his breath trembling as he came. And me in front of him, doing exactly the same thing. It was like a memory that wouldn't fade, and I didn't want it to fade at all.
That's why when he knocked that afternoon, I felt that familiar flutter in my stomach. I opened the door with feigned nonchalance, ready for anything... except what I heard.
Nick stood in the doorway in a sports shirt and shorts, as if he'd come straight from practice. His hair was damp, his skin slightly flushed, and his shoulders tense. He looked at me with that half-smile of his that always made me feel hot.
"I don't need a shower today," he announced, tilting his head. "I need a pair of good hands."
Before I could ask what he meant, he added:
"My back is all tight from training. Can you give me a massage?"
I didn't even have to think. My heart said "yes" before my brain had even formulated the thought.
"Sure," I replied quickly. Maybe too quickly.
Nick walked inside, looking around as if it were his own apartment. I closed the door behind him, trying to keep a straight face. Inside, I was boiling.
"Can I go here?" he asked, pointing to the bed, but without waiting for permission, he immediately grabbed the bottom of his T-shirt.
In one motion, he pulled it over his head. His chest, heavy, defined, and slightly glistening with sweat, looked like something that should be watched in slow motion. I really had to clench my teeth to keep from staring too long.
Then he unbuttoned his shorts. They slid down his thighs and fell to the floor, revealing boxer briefs tight against his hips. His abs flexed as he adjusted the waistband. With every movement, he looked more like a fantasy, less like a real person standing in my room.
"I mean, we're both guys," he said jokingly.
And then... he did something I wouldn't have expected even in the wildest version of last night.
He grabbed the waistband of his boxers and pulled them down in one confident motion.
Just like that. Without shame. Without asking.
He stood before me completely naked.
His cock hung heavy, natural, full.
His thighs were taut, his ass rounded, firm, as if sculpted.
When he bent over to put the boxers on the chair, his buttocks lifted slightly. I almost gasped in awe.
Then he lay face-down on my bed, resting his head on his arm.
"Okay. I'm ready," he muttered, closing his eyes.
I stood there for a second, staring at his naked body. I pretended to be calm, but my cock betrayed me immediately, it went hard, throbbing, ready. All the blood drained from my head straight down there.
"Get a grip," I tried to tell myself.
But no use. Not with the sight of his naked body stretched out on my bed.
It was a massage.
A legitimate touch.
For the first time, I could really feel him.
Nick was lying naked on my bed, as if it were the most ordinary place in the world. His back was relaxed, his broad shoulders resting comfortably against the pillow, his buttocks slightly raised, perfectly rounded. Every muscle of his looked like an invitation to touch. I stood by the shelf, reaching for the massage oil, trying to keep a professional expression, though my cock was getting so hard I was afraid to move.
I opened the bottle. The scent of the oil filled the space between us, warm, heavy, intimate.
I was about to step forward when I heard his voice:
"Matt."
I turned around.
Nick was looking at me from under half-closed eyelids, with that calm, provocative expression of his. The kind that said, "I know more than I'm telling you."
"Take your clothes off too," he said softly. "You'll be more comfortable."
At first, I thought I'd misheard him.
A massage was supposed to be just that. Even touching his body felt like crossing a line. But touching him naked?
My brain short-circuited, my heart racing right after it… and my body reacting even faster.
"What?" I asked, to buy a second.
Nick shifted slightly, his buttocks tensing in a way I immediately felt in my stomach.
"Yeah. Get undressed," he repeated. "Like me."
The air in the room thickened. My hands grew hot, my skin tightening from my neck to my hips.
I took off my shirt. I slid down my shorts.
I was left in my boxers, trying to maintain at least some semblance of control over the situation.
But Nick looked at me from the side, assessing.
And he said in a tone so calm it sent shivers down my spine:
"Boxers too."
I froze.
I stood facing him, and my cock was hard enough that the fabric of my boxers had long since given everything away.
"Seriously?" I mumbled.
"Seriously," he replied. "If you want to give me a good massage… get undressed just like me."
This man had no idea what his words were doing to my body.
So I grabbed the waistband of my boxers. I slid them down slowly, trying not to look at myself or at him. My cock sprang out immediately, taut, heavy, throbbing. I could only pray he wouldn't look.
And indeed, luckily, at that moment he turned his head to the side, closing his eyes as if preparing for a massage. So he didn't see the moment when I got hard as a rock. He didn't see the tremor that ran through my hips.
The relief was fleeting, because the feeling of air against my skin only made it worse. I was naked. He was naked.
And I was going to touch him.
I stepped closer to the bed, feeling my body practically pulling me toward him. The oil in my hand smelled sweet, but it was Nick's scent, his skin, his sweat, his breath, that dominated the entire room.
"Ready?" I asked, trying to steady my voice.
"Mhm," he mumbled, without opening his eyes. "Do your thing."
And I stood over him, naked, hard, trembling with tension...
and I knew that in a moment I would touch him for the first time, truly.
I opened the bottle of oil, and the scent immediately filled the room, warm, heavy-sweet, perfect for touching bare skin. Nick lay before me completely relaxed, as if my bed were his natural resting place. His back was broad, his muscles symmetrical, every breath raised and lowered them in such a mesmerizing way that I had to remind myself I had a task.
I moved closer.
I could feel the warmth of his body even before I touched him.
I poured the first trickle of olive oil onto his neck. It trickled slowly between his shoulder blades, winding like a warm drop of light. Nick sighed low, the first sound that wasn't a word or a joke, but a pure reaction.
"All over," he said suddenly, in a calm but clearly provocative tone.
I paused for a second, staring at the lines of his back.
"All over."
Words that immediately sent heat to my lower abdomen.
I granted his request.
I poured the oil onto his shoulders. Down his back. Then lower, onto his buttocks, full, firm, round. Droplets ran down the curve of his ass and along his thighs, creating shiny trails. The oil was warm, but his skin was hotter.
I finally touched him.
My hands glided down from his neck, slowly at first, circling, exploring how his muscles yielded under pressure. Nick was hard, built like someone who spends his whole life at the gym, but to the touch… he softened. He relaxed. He breathed deeper.
I moved my hands over his shoulders, along his spine, and then wide to the sides, massaging the muscles beneath his shoulder blades. The oil allowed me to glide smoothly, as if I were caressing the surface of something forbidden, something I shouldn't touch, and yet I had every right to do so. Legally. Invited.
At one point, I moved my hands to his buttocks.
My fingers glided over his smooth, taut skin.
Every touch made me harder.
I felt a tremor in my calves, my arms, even my voice was dry.
Nick sighed deeply, a smaller, more intimate sound than before.
It only turned me on more.
The oil ran down his thighs, and my hands followed it, all the way down to his knees, then back up, in broad strokes along the entire length of his legs. I felt his warmth, his weight, his strength. I felt that I was really touching him. That this was no longer watching from a distance, or breathing in the scent of his boxers, or jerking off in secret.
This was contact.
Conscious.
Almost intimate.
I tried to stay focused, but the truth was that my body was trembling with arousal. My hands were hot, heavy. My cock throbbed with every movement.
Then Nick spoke again.
"I can barely feel your hands..." he muttered, in a slightly disappointed tone.
He turned his head slightly toward me.
"Sit on me."
My heart stopped.
Everything inside me tensed up.
He really said that.
He really wanted that.
And my body responded faster than my brain.
My heart was beating so loudly that I was sure he could hear it.
"Sit on me."
Words that could have been a joke, a provocation… or something more. But the tone of his voice didn't sound like a joke. It was a calm, expectant command.
I ran my hands over his back one more time to buy a moment, but my body made the decision on its own. I slowly straddled his buttocks. His skin was hot, slick with oil. I felt the tension of his muscles beneath me, felt his breath across my thighs.
And most of all, I felt what I didn't want to show:
my cock, hard as a rock, pressing against the center of his buttocks.
I clenched my fingers on his shoulders, trying to feign composure.
He lay still, relaxed, as if absolutely nothing unusual were happening between us right now.
"That's better," he murmured softly, satisfaction in his voice. "Now I can really feel your hands."
My hands trembled a little as I massaged his shoulders, intensely, deeply, just as he wanted. I leaned over him so I could press harder. It was a mistake... and at the same time the best thing that could have happened.
Because when I leaned in, my cock slid between his buttocks.
It didn't go inside, but the tip slipped between his muscles for a brief, electrifying second.
My body froze.
Nick didn't.
He reacted immediately.
He lifted his hips slightly, as if to better feel what had happened.
His voice was low, pleasantly husky, utterly shameless:
"Whoa, Matt..."
I closed my eyes.
I wanted to sink into the ground, or move even further away.
"I can feel you've gotten really hard," he added, as if it were an obvious, natural observation.
I swallowed.
"Sorry... it just happened," I mumbled, feeling my cheeks burn.
Nick sighed deeply, calmly, as if what he'd felt didn't bother him at all.
Quite the opposite.
"It's cool," he said softly. "Seriously."
And then, quietly, almost murmuring:
"Ohh... that feels good now."
That single sentence shot through my body like an impulse.
I felt it between my legs.
In my stomach.
In my chest.
In my throat.
To finish the massage, I had to lean over again, even deeper, and each time my cock brushed against him, sliding on the oil, slipping between his buttocks a millimeter, two, three… With every movement, my hips trembled harder. Nick was breathing slowly, deeply, as if he were truly enjoying my weight and my touch.
When I was done, Nick got up lazily, wrapped a towel around his hips, calmly, without rushing, as if nothing unusual had happened.
"Thanks, Matt," he said, rubbing his neck. "That was good. Really good."
He gave a half-smile.
He left just as casually as he'd come in.
And I was left alone, naked, trembling, with a cock hard as a rock, oil on my hands...
and one question in my head:
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