Brody had rolled into me just before dawn, his thick thigh wedging against mine, his morning erection pressing insistently against my hip like it had its own agenda. The heat of him—solid, sleepy, radiating warmth—had woken me and didn’t need long to get me excited as well.
At some point, I had pushed the duvet down toward the foot of the bed, the fabric pooling in heavy folds over Brody’s ankles, giving me full access to the half-asleep giant sprawled out before me. He hadn’t stirred much beyond a sleepy grunt, his arms splayed above his head, his chest rising and falling in deep, even breaths. The black boxers he wore did nothing to hide the thick outline of his cock, the fabric straining against the weight of it—already half-hard from sleep or dreams or just the inevitable morning wood Brody never seemed to escape.
It hadn’t taken much—just a shift of my hips, a hand sliding under the waistband of Brody’s boxers before he’d even fully registered being awake. The fabric was damp, the heat of him radiating through the material as I tugged it down just far enough to free his cock, thick and heavy against his stomach. His balls followed, rolling loose and full against his thighs as I ducked my head, tongue dragging up the underside of his shaft before he could so much as groan.
Brody had still been half-asleep when it started, his hand absently scratching his belly twice before his brain registered the wet heat wrapped around him. He’d lifted his head slightly—just enough to peer down the expanse of his own bulging pecs and abs—to find me lapping at his thick cock like it was the last lollipop on earth. I’d smiled up at him, all teeth and mischief, before continuíng with slow, deliberate strokes of my tongue along his shaft. His head fell back again with a soft exhale—less arousal, more surrender—but that was the point. It was about savoring him, waking him up in the best way possible.
His balls hung heavy in front of my nose, warm and musky, the skin loose enough that I could’ve traced the veins if I’d wanted. I’d thought about cupping them, rolling their weight in my palm—but today wasn’t about lingering. Instead, I wrapped both hands around the base of his cock, my fingers barely meeting in the middle, and gave a slow, twisting stroke. The precome already beading at his tip rolling down the shaft, mixing with the spit I’d left there earlier, turning the whole thing slick under my palms. The sound was obscene—wet, rhythmic—and Brody’s hips jerked up instinctively, his thighs tensing beneath me.
I was halfway through what must’ve been my twentieth stroke—maybe twenty-fifth, who counts at that point?—when Brody’s cock twitched hard in my grip, already dripping enough precome that my fingers slid effortlessly along his shaft. The rhythm was hypnotic: twist up, squeeze the head, drag back down with just enough pressure to make his hips buck. His abs flexed under his skin, his breath coming in rough, uneven huffs while he occasionally lifted his head to watch me work him over with a lazy smile.
I was just about to duck back down and finish him off properly—maybe make him whimper like he did when I hollowed my cheeks just right—when a rather dramatic *BAM* exploded behind me. Not a knock. Not a rap. A full-bodied door assault, like someone had decided the hinges were optional. My shoulders jerked up instinctively, teeth accidentally grazing Brody’s cock as I flinched, and by the time I twisted my head to look over my shoulder, I already knew we were fucked in the worst possible way.
Matt stood frozen in the doorway, one hand still clamped around the doorknob like he’d been mid-kick when the scene registered. His buzzcut might as well have been steaming. His eyebrows had rocketed up so high they nearly merged with his hairline, and his mouth—usually smirking—was currently doing an impressive impression of a carp. "Seriously?" he blurted, voice cracking halfway through the word.
Brody, bless his dumb soul, didn’t even try to cover himself. Just blinked up at Matt like this was a totally normal Tuesday. "Uh," he offered, eloquent as ever, his cock still glistening in my slack grip.
The silence that followed was the kind of thick you could spread on toast. Matt’s gaze ping-ponged between Brody’s dick and my mouth, which was still embarrassingly shiny.
Then, like a switch flipped, Matt’s shock melted into his usual shit-eating grin. "Well," he drawled, leaning against the doorframe like he owned the place. "Should’ve known this was a possibility man..." He gestured lazily between Brody and me, his smirk widening as his eyes raked over the scene.
Brody blinked, his mouth opening and closing like a fish that had forgotten how to breathe. His thick fingers twitched against the sheets, grasping at nothing—brain clearly buffering as he tried to process the fact that Matt was standing there, watching him with my spit still glistening on his cock. "Uh," he started, then stopped, brow furrowing like he was mentally flipping through a dictionary of terrible excuses. "I—there was this... spot? Like, a weird spot. On my... thigh. Mika was just—checking it. Yeah."
Matt didn't even blink. Just tilted his head, arms crossing over his chest as his smirk deepened. "Really?" he drawled, nodding toward Brody's still-hard dick. "That why your cock’s standing at attention like it’s trying to salute me?" His gaze flicked to me, amusement dancing in his eyes. "And why it’s all shiny?"
I let go of Brody with a sigh, rubbing my forehead with my sticky hand—not even bothering to hide the mess. The tension in the room was thick enough to chew, but Matt’s posture was relaxed, his shoulders loose, like he was enjoying the spectacle more than he had any right to. I patted Brody’s thigh, feeling the muscle jump under my palm. "It’s fine, big guy. He caught us. Nothing we can do now." Then I turned my full attention to Matt, arching a brow. "You don’t seem to mind, though. Right?"
Matt’s smirk faltered for half a second—just long enough for me to clock the flicker of surprise—before he recovered, shrugging one shoulder. "Who am I to judge?"
"Right? Besides," I added casually, stretching my arms behind my head and letting my gaze flick between them, "Matt was in need last night. So I helped him out." My tone was breezy, like I’d just mentioned passing him a napkin at dinner. Brody blinked, his brow furrowing as his slow-processing brain caught up. Matt, though—Matt was sharper than he let on. His smirk twitched, eyes glinting with something between amusement and anticipation as he leaned harder against the doorframe, arms still crossed. His biceps flexed under his tight shirt, the fabric straining just enough to remind everyone in the room exactly how much time he spent lifting.
Brody’s mouth opened, then closed. "Wait," he rumbled, voice still sleep-rough. "You—helped Matt?" His gaze slid from me to Matt, then back to me, his expression hovering somewhere between confusion and the dawning realization of a man who’d just been handed a puzzle with half the pieces missing.
Matt uncrossed his arms, rolling his shoulders in a lazy shrug. "Yeah," he said, voice dripping with fake nonchalance. "You were out cold fast last night, so Mika came to check on me. And it... led to things." His smirk widened, showing too much teeth. "Which was *real* nice of him, right?" He tipped his chin toward me, eyes glinting with challenge.
"Yeah man, my brother is the best," Brody rumbled, nodding with such earnest sincerity that I nearly choked on my own spit. His hands absently scratched his abs, fingers tracing the grooves between muscle as casually as someone petting a dog. "So, uh—Matt? Could you maybe... give us a second? So Mika can finish me?" He blinked up at Matt like he’d just asked him to pass the salt.
My throat clicked as I swallowed wrong, coughing while Matt’s smirk curled into something downright predatory. He leaned harder against the doorframe, biceps flexing under his rolled-up sleeves. "Sure," he said, voice dripping with amusement. "Wouldn’t wanna interrupt... family bonding time." His gaze lingered on Brody’s dick—still glistening and twitching in the air—before flicking to me with a wink so deliberate it felt like a brand. Then he pushed off the frame, grabbing the doorknob with a lazy grin. "Have fun Mika." The door clicked shut behind him with finality.
I stared at the closed door for a solid three seconds, brain scrambling to process the absurdity of Matt's exit—that smirk, that fucking *wink*—before Brody's impatient grunt snapped me back to reality. He was still sprawled beneath me, thick thighs spread wide, his cock standing at attention like a redwood tree that had gotten lost. His expression was caught between sleepy contentment and mild confusion, one hand absently scratching his belly as he waited for me to continue like we hadn't just been caught mid-blowjob. The sheer, blissful obliviousness of him—so relaxed, so trusting—made something hot coil in my gut.
I didn't even think. Just wrapped my fingers around my own dick in one smooth motion, stroking fast and dirty while my other hand returned to Brody's shaft, twisting up in that way that made his hips jerk. He groaned, deep and throaty, his abs flexing as his head tipped back against the pillow. "Yeah, that's—fuck, Mika," he rumbled, his voice gravel-rough with sleep and arousal. His cock pulsed in my grip, precome smearing across my knuckles as I worked him with rough, practiced strokes. I ducked down, swirling my tongue around his tip just to hear him choke on another groan, the sound vibrating through me like a live wire.
The rhythm was instinctive—up-down-twist, my hand flying over my own length while my mouth sucked Brody down just enough to tease. I could feel him getting close, his thighs tensing under my knees, his balls drawing up tight against his body. His breathing turned ragged, his fingers tangling in the sheets like he was holding himself back.
I hollowed my cheeks around him, sucking hard—the kind of pressure that made Brody's thighs shake beneath me—and felt his cock pulse against my tongue just before the familiar tension coiled through him. His hips jerked up instinctively, the thick vein along his shaft throbbing as his balls drew tight. I pulled off just in time, my lips popping free with a wet sound that would've been embarrassing if I cared, and wrapped my hand around his spit-slick length instead. His cock was slippery with precome and my own saliva, the heat of him almost too much against my palm as I twisted my grip—up, squeeze the head, drag back down—just the way he liked it when he was this close.
Brody choked out a groan, his abs flexing hard enough that I could see each individual muscle ripple, before his cock pulsed violently in my grip. The first spurt landed high on his chest—just below his collarbone—thick and pearly white against his golden-brown skin. The second hit lower, splattering across his abs in a messy arc. The third barely made it past his navel, dribbling down his shaft as I twisted my hand one last time, milking him through the aftershocks. His thighs trembled beneath me, his fingers digging into the sheets like he was trying to tear through them, breath coming in rough, uneven pants.
I didn’t let go—just stroked him slowly, watching his cum pool in the dips between his muscles—before finally releasing him to focus on my own neglected erection. My dick was already slick with precome, the head flushed dark as I wrapped my fingers around it, twisting my wrist in the same rhythm I’d used on Brody. The slide was effortless, my own arousal mixing with the remnants of spit and Brody’s fluids still coating my palm, turning every stroke into something filthy and slick.
Brody watched me through half-lidded eyes, his chest still rising and falling rapidly, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. His hand twitched toward me—like he wanted to help but wasn’t sure if he should—before settling back on the mattress with a grunt. I didn’t need his help, though. The sight of him sprawled out beneath me—covered in his own cum, muscles still twitching with residual pleasure—was more than enough to push me over the edge.
My orgasm hit me, stripes of white painting my underwear in messy arcs. It was a good one—perhaps not the hardest, but more than enough to release the tension within me, for the time being.. Brody blinked at me, still catching his breath, his expression hovering somewhere between awe and mild concern, like he wasn’t sure if he should applaud or call an ambulance. "Damn," he rumbled, voice still rough. "You okay?"
I flopped onto the bed beside him, my chest heaving, and wiped my sticky hand on his thigh just to hear him grunt in protest. "Never better," I said, grinning up at the ceiling. The scent of sex hung thick in the air—musky and warm—mingling with the piney chill seeping through the cabin walls. Brody’s cum glistened on his stomach, some of it already cooling into sticky streaks. I reached over lazily, dragging a finger through it just to watch him twitch. "You made a mess," I teased, holding my finger up like it was evidence. "You should clean up."
Brody blinked at me, slow as a loading screen, before glancing down at his own stomach. His nose wrinkled. "Uh." He rubbed his palm across his abs—ineffectually smearing everything—then frowned at the result. "This isn’t working."
I snorted, watching Brody’s futile attempts at cleaning himself with the grace of a concussed bear. "Yeah, no shit," I said, rolling off the bed before he could accidentally elbow me in the face. My legs wobbled slightly—part exhaustion, part satisfaction—as I grabbed my discarded sweats from the floor. "You can recover, big guy. I’ll go shower first." I tugged them on, ignoring the sticky mess in my underwear for now. "We gotta be up early if we wanna hit the slopes when the snow’s fresh."
Brody made a noise halfway between a grunt and a sigh, flopping back onto the pillows with enough force to make the bedframe creak. His abs flexed as he stretched, the remnants of our mess glistening under the dim cabin light. "What time’s early?" he mumbled, rubbing his face with one massive hand.
"Sunrise," I said, leaning down to flick his nipple just to watch him twitch. "Which means we are already late."
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