Afterglow and Aftermath
I woke up before him. The room was still dark, city lights bleeding through the half-closed blinds in thin orange stripes across the sheets. Steph was curled into me like he belonged there: face tucked against my chest, one arm slung over my waist, leg hooked over mine. His breathing was slow, deep, the kind of sleep that comes after exhaustion and release. I didn’t move. Just lay there feeling the steady rise and fall of his ribs against my side, the warmth of his skin, the faint scratch of his buzz cut under my chin.
For once, I didn’t feel the itch to slip out before dawn. No urge to reclaim space, no mental checklist of exit strategies. I just… stayed.
He stirred eventually. A small, sleepy sound in his throat, then his hand flexed against my back, fingers spreading through the trimmed hair there like he was testing if I was real.
“Morning,” he mumbled, voice thick with sleep.
“Morning.” I kissed the top of his head without thinking.
He went still for a second, then huffed a quiet laugh against my collarbone. “You’re still here.”
“Wasn’t planning on going anywhere.”
He lifted his head, green eyes bleary but bright. Looked at me like he was seeing me for the first time. Then he smiled... slow, shy, a little dazed and leaned up to kiss me. Soft. Lazy. Morning breath and all. I kissed him back, hand sliding down to rest on the small of his back, thumb tracing lazy circles over smooth skin.
When we broke apart he dropped his forehead to mine. “Last night really happened.”
“Yeah.”
“I didn’t dream it.”
“Nope.”
He laughed again... soft, disbelieving. “I came so hard I think I blacked out for a second.”
I smirked. “I noticed.”
He groaned, hiding his face against my neck. “Shut up. I’m allowed to be embarrassed.”
“You’re allowed to be anything you want.”
He stayed quiet for a minute, just breathing me in. Then, quieter: “I’ve never… come like that. Not with anyone.”
I squeezed him once. Didn’t say anything. Let him talk when he was ready.
“I kept thinking about you,” he admitted. “Even before. In the gym. Watching you lift. The way your arms flex when you row. The beard. Those fucking blue eyes. I’d tell myself it was just… appreciation. Guy thing. But it wasn’t.”
I ran my fingers over his scalp, short bristles rasping under my palm. “You don’t have to explain.”
“I want to.” He lifted his head again. “I’ve been lying to myself for years. About her. About me. About… this.” He gestured vaguely between us. “Last night felt like finally telling the truth.”
My chest tightened. Not in a bad way. In the way that hurts because it’s good.
I kissed him again... deeper this time. Rolled us so he was under me, thighs parting automatically. He made a small, needy sound when our cocks brushed, both half-hard already, morning wood and leftover want.
We didn’t rush. Just rocked together slow, skin on skin, mouths open against each other’s. His hands roamed my back, my ass, pulling me closer. I kissed down his throat, sucked a mark just below his collarbone where no one would see it under a shirt. He arched, gasping.
“Avie…”
I reached between us, wrapped my hand around both of us... his uncut length against my cut one, slick with pre-cum already. Stroked slow. He whimpered, hips jerking up into my grip.
“Like that?” I murmured against his ear.
“Fuck... yes!”
I kept the rhythm steady, thumb circling the head of his cock on every upstroke, foreskin sliding back and forth. He was leaking steadily now, making everything slicker, hotter. His breath came in short pants against my neck.
“Gonna come again,” he warned, voice wrecked.
“Come for me, baby.”
He did: body locking up, a choked cry, cum spilling hot over my fist and onto both our stomachs. I followed right after, grinding down hard, spilling between us with a low groan.
We stayed tangled like that, sticky and breathless, until the room started to lighten.
Eventually he laughed.... soft, shaky. “We’re a mess.”
“Worth it.”
He looked up at me, eyes soft. “Yeah. Worth it.”
We showered together. Crowded under the spray, soaping each other slow. His hands lingered on my chest hair, tracing patterns. Mine on his ass, squeezing gently. We kissed under the water until it started to cool.
After, in the kitchen, I made coffee while he sat on the counter in my borrowed sweatpants... too long, pooling at his ankles and one of my old T-shirts. He looked ridiculous. And perfect.
He sipped his coffee black, watching me move around the small space.
“So,” he said eventually. “What now?”
I leaned against the opposite counter. “Whatever you want it to be.”
He tilted his head. “That’s consultant-speak for ‘I’m not going to pressure you.’”
“Guilty.”
He set the mug down. Hopped off the counter. Walked over. Slid his arms around my waist, pressed his cheek to my chest.
“I want this,” he said quietly. “You. Us. Whatever this turns into.”
I wrapped my arms around him. Held tight. “Me too.”
He pulled back just enough to look up. “But I’m still… new at this. I might fuck up. Be clumsy. Say dumb shit.”
“I like your clumsy,” I told him. “And your dumb shit.”
He grinned... bright, boyish. “Good. Because there’s gonna be a lot of both.”
We spent the morning like that... Lazy, easy. No gym. No rush. Just coffee, toast, more kissing on the couch until we were both hard again and laughing about how insatiable we were.
Around noon he got a text. Looked at it. Sighed.
“Her flight lands in an hour,” he said. “She’s probably going straight to her parents’ place in Bethesda. Said she needs space.”
I nodded. “You gonna see her?”
“Not today. Maybe not for a while.” He looked at me. “Is that okay?”
“More than okay.”
He exhaled. Leaned into me again.
We didn’t go back to the gym that day. Or the next.
But when we finally did... Thursday evening, same time, same place... he walked in holding my hand for half a second before letting go, like he was testing how it felt in public.
No one noticed. Or if they did, no one cared.
He spotted me on bench press. I spotted him on squats. We stole glances. Smiled like idiots.
And when we left together, shoulder to shoulder, walking the two-minute route back to my place, I realized something.
For the first time in years, I wasn’t looking for an exit.
I was looking forward.
To tomorrow.
To him.
To whatever came next.
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