The evening was quiet. I was alone in the apartment, with a cup of tea and nothing important to do. The sounds from the street were muffled, the windows fogged up from the heat. My phone finally fell silent, and the music from the speaker faded. And then, a knock. Quiet, as if hesitant. I wasn't expecting anyone.
The door opened slowly. Austin stood in the doorway, a backpack slung over one shoulder, wearing a sweatshirt with a slightly torn sleeve and eyes that looked… empty. Red from crying, without a trace of their former sparkle. His lips were slightly parted, but for a moment he said nothing. He just stood there. Like he didn’t even know why he came. Or maybe he knew all too well and didn't want to say it out loud.
I stepped aside, letting him enter without a word. He walked past me, leaving the cold from outside behind him. He sat down heavily on the couch. His backpack slipped off his shoulder and fell to the floor. I didn't stare. I gave him space. I gave him time. I waited. For him to say something… or not.
A minute passed. Maybe two.
"She left me," he said finally. His voice was hoarse, as if he'd just stopped crying. "She said she prefers girls."
I didn't answer right away. I just stood there. His hand rested on his thigh, his fingers clenching slightly. You could see how hard he was trying not to fall apart right in front of me. As if the presence of someone familiar was hard enough, and admitting his pain was too much.
"You don't have to say anything," he added more quietly. "I don't want to talk about it. I just… had to go somewhere. I didn't want to be alone."
I nodded, though he wasn't looking anyway.
The scent of mint wafted from the kitchen. I made him some tea, as if it were the simplest way to say, "Stay. You don't have to rush." I set the mug down next to him without saying a word. I sat down beside him. Not too close. Just close enough.
Austin took off his sweatshirt. In the dim light of the room, his shoulders looked even more massive than I remembered. A body built from the gym, sports, maybe also from tension. Arms that once embraced someone else now hung limply. As if they had nothing left to protect.
"Thanks," he said quietly, reaching for the mug. His hands were trembling slightly. From the cold? From tension? From everything at once.
After a few minutes of silence, he moved closer. I felt his thigh against mine. Warmth seeping through the fabric of my pants. For a moment, I held my breath, not that he'd notice. Maybe he needed this more than I could understand.
And then, without warning, his head fell onto my shoulder.
I didn't look at him. I stayed still, letting him choose this moment. His temple touched my shoulder, and his hair, slightly damp from the evening's humidity, smelled like something familiar. Not his cologne. Something more intimate, a body after a storm.
"I don't know if anyone will ever love me again," he whispered, almost without a sound.
I turned my head slightly. My fingers rose slowly and rested on the back of his neck. Gently, as if it were a glass object. I felt the tension in his muscles, the tremor beneath his skin.
"You'll find someone," I replied. "Someone who will love you just the way you are. And understand."
He didn't answer. But he didn't pull away.
And my hand stayed there, on the back of his neck,
warm, soft, without questions.
We sat in silence for a moment longer. His head rested heavily on my shoulder, and I no longer knew whether I wanted it to stay there or for me to stop feeling it that way.
"Stay the night," I said finally, calmly, without hesitation. "You shouldn't be alone in this state."
Austin lifted his head. For a moment, he looked at me as if trying to gauge whether I was saying it out of pity. But he didn't ask. He didn't judge. He just nodded.
"I guess... that would be okay," he replied. His voice was lower, as if something had snapped inside him.
I stood up, stretched slightly, and then headed toward the bedroom, calling over my shoulder:
"I'll be right back. I'm going to change."
I took off everything except my boxers. Nothing new. I liked sleeping that way, my body breathes better, and I feel more… present.
Suddenly, the door to my bedroom swung open. Austin was standing in the doorway. He was in just his boxers, too. And he was smiling slightly, but it wasn't a smile meant as a joke. More like one that hid uncertainty.
And that's when I saw him. In the full light of the night lamp.
His chest was taut, rising slightly with each breath. His stomach, defined and firm, as if all the tension of the day had settled there and hardened in silence. His shoulders, broad and strong, his legs, muscular, hairy, slightly apart. He wasn't overdoing the posing. But he wasn't pretending it was nothing, either.
I froze for a moment. Only one thought flashed through my mind: He looks as if someone had just created him for intimacy. To be held. To be touched.
"Aren't you against me sleeping with you?" he asked quietly. "I don't want to be alone tonight."
I smiled slightly, as if it were the most normal question in the world.
"Sure. There's plenty of room."
We lay down without a word. He on one side of the bed, me on the other. For a moment, we were separated by a few centimeters of empty sheets and all the tension seeping from them.
I turned off the light. The darkness wasn't complete. Outside the window, a streetlight cast a soft, warm shadow through the blinds. I could see his silhouette. He was breathing more slowly, but not evenly. Like someone trying to pretend they're falling asleep, when in reality they're wide awake.
I don't know who moved first.
Maybe me. Maybe him.
But suddenly his arm touched mine. Almost casually. As if by accident, but too calmly for it to be an accident.
Then his thigh brushed against mine. Skin against skin, separated only by the fabric of our boxers. The warmth of his body crept under my skin, leaving a trace that refused to fade.
I held my breath as his stomach moved in time with mine. In the same rhythm. As if our breaths had begun to synchronize. I could feel him. All of him. Next to me. And on top of me.
I didn't say anything. Neither did he. Just silent consent, as if everything were written in the tension of our muscles, the flutter of our eyelids, and the rhythm of his heartbeat, which echoed against my shoulder.
And then I felt his breath on the back of my neck. Quiet, warm, unhurried. Not intrusive, it was just there. As if his body were saying, "I'm here. I want to be close."
I didn't pull away. I didn't flinch.
I closed my eyes and allowed myself a thought I didn't voice aloud:
"This isn't sex yet. But it's more than friendship."
I woke up earlier than I planned. Not because of the alarm clock. Because of a sound.
Muffled. Low. Intermittent.
For a few seconds, I lay still, listening to the silence of the apartment. And then I heard it again, a quiet moan, as if someone were trying to hold it back, but their body wouldn't let them. It was coming from the bathroom.
I sat up in bed. The sheets were still warm from his body. The spot next to me was empty. I got up slowly, feeling the coolness of the floorboards under my feet. Every step was deliberate. I took my time.
The bathroom door was ajar. I opened it slowly, without a sound.
Austin was standing with his back to me. Naked.
With one hand braced against the wall, he gripped his cock with the other, stroking it in a slow, desperate rhythm. His head was tilted back. His body was tense, the muscles in his back and shoulders flexing visibly with every movement, while his hips rocked in the same rhythm as his hand.
He looked… damn sexy.
Not posing. Not for me.
Just for the relief he couldn't give himself.
His breathing was heavy, ragged. I heard the wet sound of a hand sliding across skin. The scent of morning, warm skin, and something rawer, arousal.
"What happened?" I asked quietly.
He didn't turn around. He didn't even flinch. As if he knew I was there. As if he'd been waiting for it.
"I miss her…" he said after a moment, his voice hoarse with tension.
"She sucked me so well."
A brief pause. A firmer stroke of his hand.
"That's what I miss the most."
His hand continued to move rhythmically along his cock, harder now, as if speaking those words had only intensified the tension.
I didn't take my eyes off him. I watched his shoulder blades tense beneath his skin, his hips seeking relief in the empty space. I stepped out of the shadows and took the first step.
One step, closer to his back.
A second, close enough that I felt the warmth of his skin.
I placed my hand on his shoulder. Calmly. Confidently. Not to stop him. Rather… to show him he didn't have to do this alone.
I leaned slightly toward his ear and whispered:
"Trust me… I'll do it better than her."
He froze.
His hand dropped. His breath caught for a second, as if time had stopped along with him.
He turned his head over his shoulder. He looked at me in disbelief, but he didn't pull back. Everything was in his eyes: surprise, tension, hunger.
His cock was even harder than a moment ago. It throbbed slightly, wet at the tip, ready. He didn't look away when I looked at him. He didn't cover himself. He wasn't embarrassed.
It was just there, all of it. Open. Real.
"Can I?" I asked quietly, my hand still on his shoulder.
For a moment, he just looked at me. Quietly. Motionless.
And then he said one word:
"You can."
And that was enough.
I didn't need anything else.
I already knew what to do and how much he wanted me to do it.
I slid down to my knees. Slowly, without a word, letting the moment unfold on its own.
The cold tiles touched my legs, but I didn't feel the chill. All my attention was focused on him. On his body. On what stood before me, literally and symbolically.
Austin stood, upright, his arm still resting against the wall. His cock, hard, wet, taut to the root, twitched slightly with every breath. Up close, it was even more arousing. Thick. Heavy. It smelled of something I knew only from male skin, raw, unfiltered arousal.
I looked up at him.
His gaze was fixed on me, unmoving. Only his hand tightened its grip on the doorframe. As if he couldn't believe this was really happening.
But it was. And I was the one in control.
I grabbed him at the base, wrapping my hand tightly around him, but without rushing. I could feel it pulsing beneath my skin.
I leaned in, stuck out my tongue, and licked the tip, slowly, thoroughly, tasting the salty precum waiting for me there.
Austin moaned softly. His head fell back.
"Fuck..." he gasped.
I didn't stop.
I rested one hand on his thigh, guiding him with the other, controlling the depth.
I slid his cock into my mouth, slowly, inch by inch. I took my time. I wanted him to feel every movement, every tightening of my throat.
I started sucking, rhythmically, sensually, deep and wet.
I varied the pace. Sometimes I sped up, sometimes I slowed down. I let him move, but not enough to lose control.
Austin was breathing heavily. His moans grew louder. His hips began to thrust toward me on their own, but I held his thighs so he'd know who was in charge.
The warmth of his body spread to my hands, and his cock slid over my tongue with every wave of tension.
His hand finally found my neck, not to push me away.
To pull me closer.
"She… didn't do it like this…" he whispered. "You… you know what you're doing."
I moved deeper. The tip of his cock touched my throat, and I let him moan louder, without shame.
Saliva was running down my chin, but I didn't stop. His body was giving in, trembling, his legs buckling slightly. He was all tension.
And then I felt his hips stiffen.
He was coming.
And I wasn't going to back down.
I felt his whole body tense up.
His fingers clenched my neck, his hips twitched, once, twice, and then…
he filled my mouth.
He didn't moan.
He let out only a single, ragged breath, one that sounded like relief mixed with disbelief.
His cum was hot, thick, flowing onto my tongue in waves.
I didn't pull away.
I swallowed it all, slowly, feeling his body lose tension with every pulse he released inside me.
I was still holding his thighs, but gently, no longer guiding him, just being there.
He was leaning against the wall. He was trembling. His legs buckled slightly, as if he wasn't sure he could still stand.
When I slid off his cock, I looked up.
His eyes were misty. He was breathing through his mouth, quietly, irregularly.
He was… disarmed.
Not just physically. Completely.
I stood up calmly, without a word.
I didn't wipe my mouth. I didn't fix my hair. I just stood in front of him, just as he had stood in front of me earlier, exposed, calm, confident.
There was silence between us. But not an empty one.
A silence that contained everything that had just happened.
And then he said, barely audibly, as if only now were the words able to pass through his throat:
"That... was better."
He didn't say better than what.
He didn't have to.
Because we both knew it wasn't just about sucking.
It was more than a comparison.
It was an admission.
An acknowledgment that someone, me, had just made a mark on his body like no one had before.
And I didn't need an answer.
Because I had his taste on my tongue.
And his tension beneath my fingers.
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