Perfect Timing
Marc again woke slowly to the rich, inviting aroma of fresh coffee and warm buttery croissants drifting in from the kitchen. Sunlight poured across the bed in golden stripes, warming the sheets tangled around his waist. He stretched lazily, muscles pleasantly loose from the night before, and reached for his phone on the nightstand. The screen lit up. 9:07 AM.
His eyes widened. “Shit. Frank, it is after nine. We are late. The pitch follow up... We need to get moving.”
Frank’s deep chuckle came from the doorway. He stood there in nothing but a pair of loose gray pajama pants slung low on his hips, the trimmed dark hair on his muscular chest and stomach on full display. A tray balanced in his hands held two steaming mugs of coffee, a plate of warm croissants, and a small bowl of fresh strawberries. His neat beard was still slightly sleep rumpled, hazel eyes soft with amusement.
“Easy, Marc,” he said, voice calm and warm. “Check your work mail first. Then breathe.”
Marc frowned but unlocked his phone. The top email sat bold and recent, sent from Frank’s account at 7:45 that morning.
Dear Team,
Take the day off. No extra holiday needed. I already cleared it with HR. After yesterday’s fantastic acquisition of the next major project, we all earned this. Rest, recharge, celebrate in whatever way feels right. See you tomorrow either at the office or during our running group at the latest.
P.S. @Chris sent you a link to another great series from a new author. Fantasy fans unite.
Frank Klink
Marc stared at the screen for a long second, then let out a slow, relieved breath. The tension melted from his shoulders like morning fog. He pulled the sheets over his head with a muffled laugh, burrowing deeper into the bed.
“This day could not start better,” he said, voice happy and muffled. “A whole day off. With you. After everything we pulled off yesterday. I feel like I won the lottery twice.”
Frank set the tray on the nightstand and climbed onto the bed, gently tugging the sheets down until Marc’s face appeared again. He leaned in and kissed him softly, tasting sleep and happiness. “You did win. We all did. Now eat something before I decide breakfast can wait.”
They sat up together against the headboard, sharing the tray between them. Marc tore into a croissant, flaky crumbs dusting his bare chest, while Frank sipped his coffee and watched him with quiet affection. They talked easily about nothing and everything: the client’s surprised faces during the pitch, Josh’s latest running group joke, Chris’s reaction to the new book recommendation already lighting up the group chat. The conversation felt light, domestic, the kind of morning Marc had never imagined sharing with the once grumpy, untouchable boss who had first intimidated him in that conference room weeks ago.
Halfway through the second croissant, Marc’s gaze drifted over Frank’s body. The way the pajama pants hung low, the soft trail of dark hair disappearing beneath the waistband, the way Frank’s broad chest rose and fell with each breath. Heat stirred low in Marc’s belly, quick and insistent. He set his plate aside, eyes darkening.
“Breakfast was perfect,” he said, voice dropping. “But I need something else now. I need you, Frank. All of you. Right now.”
Frank’s hazel eyes flashed with the same hunger. He took Marc’s mug and set it down, then pulled him into a deep, hungry kiss. Their mouths moved together, slow at first, then growing more urgent as tongues slid and tasted. Hands roamed freely, Marc’s fingers tracing the firm ridges of Frank’s abs, Frank’s palms sliding down Marc’s lean back to grip his ass.
They started right there on the bed. Marc pushed Frank onto his back and kissed his way down the mature man’s body, licking across the trimmed chest hair, sucking briefly on each nipple until Frank groaned. When he reached Frank’s cock, already thick and hard, Marc took his time. He licked the heavy shaft from base to tip, savoring the salty skin, then sucked the flushed head into his mouth, hollowing his cheeks.
“God, Marc,” Frank breathed, one hand gentle in Marc’s blond hair. “Your mouth feels incredible. Take more of me. Just like that. Fuck.”
Marc worked him deep and wet, bobbing slowly while one hand stroked what he could not swallow. Frank’s hips rocked gently, never forcing, always letting Marc lead. After several long minutes Marc pulled off with a wet pop and flipped them so Frank could return the favor. Frank’s mouth was hotter, more insistent, the neat beard scraping deliciously against Marc’s trimmed blond pubic hair as he took the entire average length in one smooth glide.
They moved to the living room next, still kissing, cocks hard and leaking. Marc bent Frank over the wide leather couch, dropping to his knees behind him. He spread Frank’s muscular ass and rimmed him thoroughly, tongue circling the tight hole before pushing inside, wet and eager. Frank moaned loudly, pushing back.
“Yes. Eat me, Fischer. Get me ready for you.”
Marc added two slick fingers, stretching him open while still licking around them. Frank’s voice grew rougher, more desperate. “I need your cock. Fuck me, Marc. I want to feel you deep.”
Marc stood, slicked himself, and pushed in slowly from behind. The first thrust was tender, letting Frank adjust to the stretch. Then the pace built, turning rougher as Marc gripped Frank’s hips and drove in harder, skin slapping against skin. Frank met every thrust, moaning encouragement.
“Harder. Give it to me. I love how you fill me up.”
They switched on the kitchen island. Frank lifted Marc onto the cool marble, spread his legs wide, and dropped down to rim him in return. His tongue was relentless, licking deep while two thick fingers opened Marc up. Marc’s head fell back, hands braced on the counter.
“Frank. Fuck. Your tongue is magic. Do not stop.”
When Marc was ready Frank stood and slid inside him in one long thrust, fucking him right there on the island with deep, powerful strokes. Marc wrapped his legs around Frank’s waist, pulling him closer, kissing him messily between moans. They moved again, this time to the large armchair by the window. Marc rode Frank slowly at first, sensual and deep, then faster, bouncing hard while Frank stroked his cock and whispered praise.
“You look so good taking me like this. My beautiful, strong man. I could watch you forever.”
The heat built steadily, shifting between tender moments, slow grinding kisses, and rougher bursts where hands gripped harder and thrusts turned punishing. They returned to the bed for the final stretch. Marc fucked Frank on his back, legs over his shoulders, pounding deep and fast while Frank stroked himself. Then Frank flipped them and took Marc from behind again, one hand wrapped around Marc’s throat lightly, the other jerking him in time.
They were both close, bodies slick with sweat, voices hoarse from constant dirty encouragement and loving praise. Marc pulled Frank off him at the last second and lay back, stroking himself furiously.
“Come on me,” he gasped. “Both of us. Cover me.”
Frank knelt between Marc’s spread thighs, stroking his large cock fast. They came almost together, thick ropes painting Marc’s chest and stomach, mixing on his skin in hot, sticky stripes. Marc’s own release joined the mess, his veiny, uncut cock pulsing as he moaned Frank’s name.
They collapsed, breathing hard. Marc tugged Frank down on top of him, not caring about the cum smearing between their bodies. He wanted the weight, the closeness, the heat of Frank’s muscular, hairy chest pressed fully against his own slick skin.
Frank settled over him, strong arms bracketing Marc’s head, their foreheads touching. The older man’s body was heavy and perfect, warm and grounding. In the hazy afterglow, still sticky and spent, Frank kissed him softly and whispered against his lips.
“I love you.”
Marc’s eyes flew open, stunned for a heartbeat. Then a slow, radiant smile spread across his face. He cupped Frank’s bearded jaw, thumb stroking gently.
“Now that we are all sticky and sweaty you tell me the most romantic thing?” he teased, voice soft with wonder.
Frank grinned, the expression lighting up his whole face in a way that still felt new and precious. “Could not imagine a better time.”
Marc laughed quietly, pulling him down for another kiss. “I love you too, Frank. So much. And I am looking forward to the future. All of it. The runs, the office, the days off, the intimacy like this. Us.”
They stayed like that for a long time, Frank still draped over Marc, bodies cooling together in the quiet apartment. The city hummed faintly beyond the windows, but inside it felt like the whole world had narrowed to just the two of them.
In the months that followed, life settled into a rhythm that felt both exciting and wonderfully steady. The new project with the car manufacturer launched successfully, bringing the team even closer as they collaborated daily. Frank continued to grow into the kinder, more open leader everyone had glimpsed beneath the old armor. He still pushed hard when deadlines demanded it, but the snobbish edge was gone, replaced by genuine support and the occasional self deprecating joke that always made the room laugh.
The running group became a true tradition. Josh and Emily joined regularly, turning the Englischer Garten loops into lively group outings filled with banter and friendly competition. Chris never ran, but he showed up at the finish line some mornings with coffee and book recommendations, cementing the fantasy book club as a sacred off hours ritual. Marc and Frank ran side by side most days, sometimes pushing each other to new personal bests, sometimes simply enjoying the quiet companionship. Marc no longer held back his speed. Frank no longer hid his softer heart.
Evenings often ended at Frank’s apartment or Marc’s place in Schwabing, filled with home cooked meals, lazy couch cuddles, and passionate nights where they explored every dynamic they both craved. They traveled together on weekends when they could, Marc introducing Frank to winter sports in the Alps, Frank showing Marc hidden running trails outside the city. The age gap, the boss employee line, the initial tension, none of it mattered anymore. They had built something real on the foundation of those first charged runs, something that made both of them better men.
One year later, on a crisp spring morning exactly like the one when Marc had first shown up at the Englischer Garten, they stood at the Chinese Tower again. This time the whole team was there, laughing and stretching. Frank looked over at Marc, hazel eyes warm with love and quiet pride, and reached out to squeeze his hand openly.
“Ready?” Frank asked, the same word he had used on that very first run.
Marc smiled, the same bright, happy smile that had once crawled straight under Frank’s skin and refused to leave.
“Always,” he said.
They took off together, side by side, the path ahead open and full of promise. The slow burn had become a steady flame, warming every part of their lives, and neither of them ever looked back.
The End
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