After admitting he barely lasts a minute in bed, Noah let Tyler back into his room for what was supposed to be a simple talk. Instead, Tyler surprised him by saying he’d researched ways to help and wanted to try the ‘start stop’ technique together. What began as awkward coaching turned into both of them stripping down and practicing side by side, the tension growing with every touch. Tyler guided Noah through breathing, slowing down, and resisting the edge, staying calm and steady even as Noah struggled to control himself. When he accidentally came into Tyler's hand, Tyler didn’t shame him or make it weird. He just promised they’d keep working on it. Noah fell asleep replaying the feeling of Tyler’s hand and the way he walked out of the room like it was nothing.
__ __
(Noah’s POV)
Morning light poured through the apartment windows when I walked into the kitchen. My head still felt hazy from last night, my body still shivered in that strange, pleasant way. The smell of coffee hit me first, warm and sharp. Then I saw Tyler leaning against the counter, mug in hand, looking like he had been awake for hours. Relaxed. Comfortable. Like nothing unusual had happened at all.
He looked up at me with that stupid grin.
“Morning, champ,” he said, lifting his mug. “You lasted a solid fifteen seconds last night.”
I stopped in the doorway and groaned into my hands. “Dude… Stop.”
“Oh come on Noah,” he said with a laugh. “That is an improvement”
“Tyler,” I muttered, but I could not stop the small smile breaking through. He always did that. Turned everything into something I could laugh at. Even this.
He took a slow sip of his coffee, watching me over the rim of the mug. I pretended to look busy, reaching for the cabinet, focusing on the cereal box like it was my life’s work. Anything to avoid looking him in the eye. Every time I did, all I could think about was his hand around my cock last night. His voice telling me to breathe. His body warm beside mine. The mess I had made all over both of us.
“Relax,” he said gently. “You do not have to walk around like you sinned in church.”
I rolled my eyes. “I am not acting weird.”
“You are absolutely acting weird.” He set the mug down, stepped closer, and gave me a playful shoulder bump. “It was training, bro. Nothing more. Do not overthink it.”
His hand landed on my shoulder, light and casual. A normal Tyler move. But the second he touched me, something in my stomach tightened. My skin remembered the weight of his grip, the sound of his voice right in my ear, the way his thumb had pressed into the side of my shaft like he knew exactly what he was doing.
I stood there, frozen for a second longer than I should have.
Tyler did not move his hand. Not right away. He just let it rest there, warm and steady, thumb brushing once across the back of my shoulder. It felt like the whole kitchen tilted. My breath stuck in my throat.
Then he stepped back and reached for the fridge like nothing had happened. “Eat something,” he said casually. “We are hitting the gym in an hour.”
I swallowed hard. “Yeah. yeah.”
He poured himself more coffee, then leaned against the counter again, completely carefree. I sat at the tiny kitchen table and opened the cereal box even though I was not hungry. The silence felt heavy, but not uncomfortable. More like anticipation. Something thick in the air that neither of us wanted to name.
Tyler watched me for a moment, then smiled in a softer way. “Seriously. You did good yesterday. Better than you think.”
I poked my cereal. “I kinda exploded all over your hand.”
“Yeah,” he said with a shrug. “And you are going to do that a lot. It is called practice.”
I groaned. “Please stop saying that word.”
He laughed again, and I hated how good it sounded. Bright. Easy. Like he actually enjoyed this whole thing. The weird part was that a small part of me enjoyed it too. Even now, sitting across from him, I felt a strange buzzing under my skin. Like my body was on a delay from last night.
After a minute he walked towards me, then, without even thinking about it, he rested one hand on the middle of my back. A slow, warm drag of fingers from my shoulder blade down to my ribs. It was casual. Just friendly. Something he had done a hundred times before. But today it felt different. My whole body reacted like I had walked into a live wire.
“Do not overthink it,” he said again, voice low.
I kept my eyes down on my bowl. “I am not.”
His hand stayed there a second too long. Maybe two. Then he tapped my back lightly and stepped away.
“We will hit chest today,” he said. “And then later tonight, we can do another session.”
I choked on my cereal. “Tonight?”
He turned around like it was obvious. “Yeah. We have to build a routine, my guy. That is how training works.”
“Tyler,” I said slowly, “we do not seriously have to do this every day.”
He raised an eyebrow. “You want to last or not?”
I could not argue with that. Not about something that had bothered me for so long. So instead I stared at my spoon and mumbled, “Yeah. I want to.”
“Good.” He clapped once, loud. “Then we train. Every night. Same way as yesterday, but we will push a little longer.”
My entire face went hot.
Tyler did not seem to notice. Or maybe he did, because he smirked a little and said, “You will be lasting entire minutes soon. Maybe even a whole five.”
“Please stop.”
“Nope,” he said cheerfully. “This is my coaching style now. Live with it.”
I stared at him. “You are way too happy about this.”
He leaned against the doorway, lifting one shoulder in a lazy shrug. “You want honesty?”
“Always.”
His eyes softened, just a bit. “It feels good to help you with something real. You trust me with it. That means something.”
I froze.
Tyler scratched the back of his neck, looking almost shy for half a second before the grin snapped back into place. “Also it is kind of fun. You get all focused and intense like you are trying to stop a volcano from erupting."
I shoved him, trying not to smile. “Shut up.”
He laughed, warm and bright. “Eat. Then get dressed. We leave in twenty.”
He walked out of the kitchen, still smirking, and I watched the muscles in his back move under his shirt. My chest tightened again for no reason I wanted to deal with at that moment.
Last night did something. And today… everything already felt different.
And neither of us wanted to say it out loud.
The second session started the same way as the first. Late evening. My room a little too warm. Tyler leaning against my desk chair like this was some tutoring session instead of what it really was.
He nodded toward the bed.
“Alright. Round two. Sit.”
I sat. My heart was already beating too fast, and he had not even touched me yet. He stayed a couple steps away for a moment, arms crossed, watching me with this steady calm that made me feel both safe and crazy. Then he moved closer, dropped onto the edge of the bed, and said, “Start when you are ready.”
I slid my hand down slowly, trying not to look directly at him. The second I touched my cock, he murmured, “Stop. Breathe. You jumped right in. You know that makes you finish faster.”
I breathed. He waited. Then he nodded.
“Okay. Now start again.”
I tried. I really did. But the second my hand wrapped around myself, the second I felt the thrill of his voice right beside me, I could not stop my hand from jerking my cock and I felt my body rush forward like a wave I could not stop. It hit me too fast. I gasped and jerked forward, finishing almost immediately.
I did not even try to hide it. I could not. It happened before my brain caught up.
Tyler gave a soft laugh, but not a mean one. More surprised than anything.
“Well damn,” he said, smiling. “That was a lot quicker than last night.”
I covered my face. “Oh my god.”
“Hey,” he said, leaning closer, touching my knee. “Breathe. It is okay. This happens. Maybe you were just really excited today.”
I peeked at him through my fingers. That stupid grin. Warm. Easy. Completely unfazed.
He squeezed my knee once. “We will go again in a few minutes since it was way too quick today.”
And somehow that calmed me more than anything.
Over the next few days, it became our strange routine. Morning banter. Normal day. And then at night, we would end up in my room, and he would sit next to me or across from me and tell me to breathe, slow down, take my time while I stroked my cock slowly.
Sometimes he joined in. He would sit close, legs spread a little wider than necessary, stroking himself with this relaxed confidence as if he were demonstrating something completely normal.
“See? Not a big deal,” he would say while his fist moved steadily. “You just stay aware of the moment. Not ahead of it.”
Watching him was torture. Beautiful torture. His skin warm in the low light. His breath changing as he got closer. The sound of his hand moving around his cock. The way his shoulders softened. The way he would glance at me like he was checking if I was keeping up.
Other nights, he did not touch himself at all. He sat on my bed with his back against the wall, one knee up, eyes on me, focused and patient like some kind of private coach.
“Slower. You are skipping steps again. Control is trust. Trust your body to hold the line.”
The crazy part was that it started to work.
Fifteen seconds.
Then twenty.
Then thirty before my body finally gave in.
The thrill of holding it, of fighting the urge, made everything hotter. Sometimes he made me edge twice in a row, stopping me at the last second with a quiet “Enough. Hands away. Breathe through it.”
My whole body shook each time he said it. He watched it all. Watched me fight myself. Watched me try to calm down. There was something deeply intimate about that. Almost too intimate.
And then there were the moments between sessions. The ones that felt like something else entirely.
Like the night when I lost control again, even faster than usual. My body just ran ahead without me, and I groaned in frustration, already embarrassed before Tyler could say anything. He smiled at me with this gentle softness I had never seen on him before.
“It is fine,” he said. “Some days are like that.”
He picked up the towel on my desk and handed it to me. His fingers brushed mine. “We will work through it. Nothing wrong with needing practice.”
Practice. That word was becoming a lie we both agreed not to expose.
Because it no longer felt like training. Not really. It felt like something growing quietly under the surface. A slow shift. A closeness that had weight.
Some sessions we would start laughing halfway through because of something stupid I said or some dumb joke he made. Other times, the room went quiet except for our breathing, and his touch on my shoulder or back would feel heavier than it should. He would leave his hand around my cock.. a little too long. Long enough for my chest to get tight. Long enough for my thoughts to slip into places I did not dare say out loud.
One night, after we had been going for a while, I managed to edge twice without losing control. My whole body was trembling from the effort when he finally said, “Alright. You can let go now. ”
When I finished, it felt different. Slower. Fuller. Like my body trusted the fall only because he was the one guiding it.
I lay back against the headboard, catching my breath, my chest rising and falling too fast. Tyler sat beside me, legs stretched out, his shoulder touching mine in quiet contact.
He looked at me for a moment. Not smiling. Not joking. Just looking.
“You are getting good at this,” he said softly.
I turned my head.
And the look in his eyes was the kind of look that changes the room. Steady. Warm. And something else I could not name yet.
I suddenly felt like the air had shifted. Like we had crossed an invisible line without noticing.
I did not know if this was still about fixing a problem anymore.
And judging by the way he kept looking at me, neither did he.
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