Two days after their shower, Tatum’s world was Lloyd. His scent clung to the apartment—sweat, cologne, sex. His low chuckle haunted the kitchen, his blue eyes burned in Tatum’s memory, that 9-inch, veiny cock filling him until he couldn’t think. Tatum sprawled on the living room couch, laptop open to a forgotten logo, his boxer briefs tight with want. Lloyd strode in from a shoot, camera bag slung over his shoulder, tight shirt hugging his chiseled pecs, jeans low, bulge obscene.
“Slacking, kid?” Lloyd teased, dropping the bag and sinking onto the couch, thigh pressing against Tatum’s. His fingers grazed Tatum’s shoulder, a casual claim that set Tatum’s pulse racing.
“Hard to focus with you around,” Tatum shot back, green eyes glinting, flicking to Lloyd’s crotch before snapping up. The air crackled, their need a living thing in the cramped Brooklyn apartment.
Lloyd’s grin was predatory. “Let’s fix that.” He leaned in, breath hot against Tatum’s ear, and they collided—hands tearing at clothes, mouths hungry but not kissing yet. Tatum yanked Lloyd’s shirt off, revealing rippling muscle, while Lloyd tugged Tatum’s tee over his head, exposing his lean frame. Lloyd grabbed his belt from the floor, looping it around Tatum’s wrists with a slow, deliberate tug, binding them tight. “This good?” he asked, blue eyes searching, a flicker of care cutting through the lust.
Tatum nodded, wrists bound, heart hammering as Lloyd pushed him back onto the couch. Lloyd’s hands roamed, thumbs circling Tatum’s nipples, making him arch, a low moan escaping. Tatum’s briefs came off, his thick, cut cock springing free, heavy with need. Lloyd knelt between his legs, pausing, his breath shaky. His first time, and Tatum saw it—the flicker of nerves, then resolve. Lloyd’s lips parted, tongue tentative at first, tracing the head of Tatum’s cock, the girth stretching his mouth. He grew bolder, sucking deeper, sloppy and eager, his hand gripping the base, marveling at the weight. Tatum’s hips bucked, wrists straining against the belt, moans spilling out as Lloyd’s tongue swirled, messy but fervent, blue eyes locked on Tatum’s green ones, raw and unguarded.
“Fuck, Lloyd,” Tatum gasped, head back, the sight of Lloyd—straight, confident Lloyd—sucking him off like he was born for it sending heat spiking through him. Tatum pulled free of the belt, needing to reciprocate. He flipped Lloyd onto his back, peeling off his jeans. Lloyd’s 9-inch, uncut cock stood proud, veins pulsing, foreskin pulled back to reveal a slick tip. Tatum’s mouth watered, but he didn’t rush. He kissed Lloyd’s thighs, tongue teasing the sensitive skin, then took him in, slow and deep, savoring every vein, every pulse. Lloyd groaned, fingers tangling in Tatum’s dark hair, hips twitching as Tatum worked him, their mutual worship a dance of hands, mouths, and desperate sounds.
They couldn’t stay on the couch. They stumbled to the bedroom, Tatum pushing Lloyd onto the bed. He climbed on top, straddling him, facing him, their eyes locked. Tatum sank down onto Lloyd’s cock, slow, deliberate, the stretch of that thick, veiny length making him gasp, pleasure edged with sweet pain. He set the pace, rolling his hips, riding Lloyd with a sensual grind, every movement dragging out the sensation. Lloyd’s hands gripped Tatum’s hips, guiding but letting Tatum lead, his blue eyes dark with something deeper than lust. Tatum’s cock bounced, thick and leaking, brushing Lloyd’s abs with every roll. The air was thick—sweat, moans, the creak of the bed, their gazes burning into each other, too intense, too real.
“Goddamn,” Lloyd growled, thrusting up to meet Tatum’s rhythm, hands sliding up Tatum’s lean back, fingers digging in. Tatum leaned forward, chest brushing Lloyd’s, their breaths hot and close. The intimacy was dizzying, each thrust a conversation, each moan a confession. Tatum’s control slipped, his cock throbbing, ready to burst. Lloyd’s hand found it, stroking in time, the double sensation shattering Tatum. He came hard, spilling across Lloyd’s stomach, body trembling, green eyes never leaving blue. Lloyd groaned, thrusting deep, unloading inside Tatum, their bodies locked in a sweaty, shuddering embrace.
They collapsed, tangled, Tatum’s head on Lloyd’s chest, his heartbeat a steady thud under Tatum’s ear. The quiet felt heavy, too intimate. Tatum swallowed, voice barely a whisper. “This… it’s too fucking good, Lloyd. Scares the shit out of me.” The words spilled out, raw, exposing a piece of him he hadn’t meant to share.
Lloyd’s hand stilled on Tatum’s back, his lips parting, eyes softening like he might say something real, something that changed everything. His phone buzzed on the nightstand, sharp and relentless, the screen lighting up with his ex-wife’s name. The air froze. Tatum’s heart sank, eyes flicking to the phone, then away. Lloyd’s jaw clenched, his hand dropping from Tatum’s back, the moment gutted. The text glowed like a warning, a pull from a life Lloyd hadn’t fully left behind, its timing a cruel interruption that left Tatum’s confession dangling, unanswered.
Tatum rolled off, grabbing his briefs, avoiding Lloyd’s gaze. Lloyd stared at the ceiling, phone untouched but screaming in the silence. They didn’t speak, didn’t move, the apartment suffocating with the weight of what wasn’t said. Tatum retreated to the living room, heart pounding, their need still burning but now tangled with something sharper, something that felt like it could break them.
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