The First Crack
Tuesday hit like a freight train. Work was relentless: client revisions, a last-minute deck that needed to be perfect by COB, emails piling up faster than I could delete them. My brain was fried by 5 p.m., but the only thing that kept me from shutting down completely was knowing he’d be at the gym.
I got there at 6:40. He was already on the rower, headphones in, pulling hard like he was trying to outrun something. His face was flushed, jaw set, eyes focused on the digital display like it owed him money. I didn’t interrupt. Just changed, warmed up, kept him in sight.
When he finally stopped, dripping sweat, he peeled off the headphones and looked around until he found me on the leg press. Our eyes locked. He didn’t smile. Just gave a small, tired nod and walked over.
“She got the offer,” he said when he reached me. Voice flat. “Starting salary’s insane. Relocation package. They want her by the end of February.”
I lowered the sled slowly. “What’d you say?”
“I told her congratulations.” He rubbed a towel over his face, hiding for a second. “Then I told her I wasn’t coming. She cried again. Said she’d expected it. Said she still loves me, but she can’t stay. We’re… done. Officially.”
The words hung there. Heavy.
I stood up, wiped my hands on my shorts. “You okay?”
“No.” He laughed once... sharp, brittle. “But I will be. I think.”
We didn’t say much after that. Just worked out side by side. He pushed himself harder than usual: deadlifts that made his back shake, pull-ups until his arms gave out. I spotted him without being asked. When he dropped from the bar on the last set, I caught him under the arms, steadying him. Our chests brushed. His breath hitched.
“Thanks,” he muttered, not pulling away right away.
“Anytime.”
In the locker room the tension was thicker than the steam. He stripped slower than normal, like every movement took effort. When he turned toward me, towel slung low, I saw the evidence of how keyed up he was: cock half-hard, thick and uncut, pressing against the fabric. He didn’t try to hide it. Just looked at me, eyes dark, pupils blown.
I felt myself thicken in response. No point pretending.
We showered in silence. Adjacent stalls again. Water loud. But this time I didn’t keep my back to him. I turned, let him see. Let him watch the way my cock filled out under the spray, heavy and cut, veins standing out. He stared openly, lips parted, water streaming down his smooth chest.
When we dressed he didn’t bother with a shirt right away. Just stood there in compression shorts, skin still damp, nipples tight from the cool air.
“Walk me home?” he asked. Voice low.
“Your place or mine?”
He swallowed. “...Yours. If that’s okay.”
My pulse kicked hard. “Yeah.”
The walk was quiet. No small talk. Just the crunch of our shoes on the sidewalk, the cold biting our faces, our shoulders brushing every few steps. At my building I let us in with my key fob. Elevator ride up... silent, electric. He stood close enough I could feel his body heat.
Inside my apartment the lights were low. I didn’t bother turning more on.
He dropped his bag by the door. Looked around once: taking in the sparse furniture, the view of the Arlington skyline through the big window... then turned to me.
“I’ve never…” He stopped. Ran a hand over his buzz cut. “I mean, I’ve thought about it. A lot. But I’ve never actually…”
“I know.” I stepped closer. Slow. Gave him time to back out.
He didn’t.
I cupped his jaw instead... thumb tracing the smooth line where beard would be if he grew one. His eyes fluttered closed for a second.
Then I kissed him.
This time it wasn’t tentative. He opened for me immediately, tongue sliding against mine, a hungry little sound in the back of his throat. His hands found my waist, fisting the hem of my hoodie, pulling me in until our hips slotted together. I felt him... fully hard now, thick and insistent against my thigh.
I walked him backward toward the couch. He went willingly, knees hitting the edge, sitting down with a soft thud. I followed, straddling his lap, never breaking the kiss. His hands slid under my hoodie, palms hot on my back, fingers digging into the hair there.
“Fuck,” he breathed against my mouth. “You feel so good.”
I rocked down once, slow grind and he moaned, head falling back against the cushions. I kissed his throat, felt the pulse hammering under his skin, tasted salt and clean sweat.
“Tell me what you want,” I murmured against his collarbone.
“I don’t know.” His voice cracked. “Just… don’t stop.”
I didn’t.
I peeled his hoodie off, then his tank. Ran my hands down the smooth planes of his chest, thumbs brushing over tight nipples. He arched, gasping. I took one in my mouth... sucked gently, then harder when he whimpered and grabbed my head.
His hips rolled up, seeking friction. I gave it to him: slow, deliberate rolls of my hips against his, feeling the heat of him through our shorts.
“Avie…” My name sounded wrecked coming from him.
I kissed him again... deeper, dirtier. One hand sliding down to palm him through the fabric. He was leaking, a wet spot already darkening the gray cotton. I squeezed, stroked once, and he bucked hard.
“Shit... wait, wait!” He grabbed my wrist, breathing ragged. “I’m… I’m gonna come if you keep doing that.”
I smiled against his mouth. “That’s the point.”
“Not yet.” He looked up at me, eyes glassy. “I want… more. I want to feel you.”
I nodded. Stood up. Pulled him with me. Led him to the bedroom.
Lights off. Just the city glow through the blinds.
We stripped each other slowly. His hands shook when he tugged my hoodie over my head, when he pushed my shorts down and saw me: thick, hard, already slick at the tip. He stared, licked his lips.
“You’re… big,” he whispered.
“You can handle it.” I kissed him soft. “We go as slow as you want.”
He nodded.
We ended up on the bed... him on his back, me between his thighs. I kissed down his body—chest, abs, the faint happy trail. When I reached his cock I took him in my hand first, stroked slow, watched his face. Eyes squeezed shut, mouth open, small desperate sounds every time my thumb swiped over the head.
Then I took him in my mouth.
He cried out... sharp, surprised. Hands fisting the sheets. I worked him slow, tongue tracing the foreskin, sucking gently, then deeper. He tasted clean, salty, young. I loved it.
“Avie... fuck... oh god!”
I pulled off just long enough to murmur, “You taste so good, baby.”
He whimpered. Hips twitching.
I didn’t let him come yet. Crawled back up, kissed him deep so he could taste himself on my tongue. He moaned into my mouth, hands roaming my back, my ass, pulling me closer.
I reached for the nightstand... lube, condoms. He watched, eyes wide.
“You want this?” I asked, voice rough.
“Yes.” No hesitation. “Please.”
I slicked my fingers. Took my time opening him... slow circles, one finger, then two. He was tight, hot, gasping every time I crooked my fingers. When I found his prostate he jolted, back arching.
“There... fuck... right there!”
I worked him until he was shaking, begging, cock leaking steadily onto his stomach.
When I rolled the condom on he watched every move. Bit his lip.
I lined up. Pushed in slow.
His eyes rolled back. Mouth open on a silent cry. I paused halfway, letting him adjust.
“Breathe,” I whispered. Kissed his forehead. “You’re doing so good.”
He nodded. Hands on my shoulders. Nails digging in.
I sank deeper. Inch by inch. Until I was buried, hips flush to his ass. He was trembling all over: tight, perfect heat gripping me.
“Move,” he gasped. “Please.”
I did.
Slow at first. Deep, rolling thrusts. Then harder when he started meeting me, heels digging into my lower back, urging me on.
The sounds he made... broken moans, my name over and over... were the hottest thing I’d ever heard.
I fucked him steady, watching his face, feeling the way he opened up for me, the way his cock bounced against his stomach with every thrust.
When he came it was sudden: body locking up, cry ripping out of him, cum splattering hot between us. I fucked him through it, chasing my own release.
“Steph...” I groaned, hips stuttering. “Gonna come!”
“Do it,” he panted. “Inside. Please.”
I buried deep and came hard, pulsing inside him, vision whiting out for a second.
We stayed like that... sweaty, shaking, breathing hard.
I pulled out carefully. Tossed the condom. Cleaned us up with a towel from the bathroom.
Then I climbed back in bed, pulled him against my chest.
He curled into me immediately... head under my chin, arm slung over my waist, leg thrown over mine.
I held him tight.
For the first time in years, I didn’t feel the urge to leave before dawn.
I just held him.
And he held me back.
And it felt like coming home.
... To be continued
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