Ben blinked awake to the suffocating warmth of another body pressed flush against his own. The first thing he registered was the weight. Leo’s lean frame draped diagonally over him, one leg hooked between Ben’s thick thighs, the sharp jut of his hip bone digging into Ben’s hip. The second thing was the heat. Leo’s bare chest glued to his side, slick with sleep sweat, the wiry blonde hair tickling Ben’s ribs. And the third, most undeniable thing: the hard, insistent press of Leo’s cock against Ben’s hip, hot and pulsing against the damp skin between them. Ben’s own erection strained against his stomach, thick and heavy, the foreskin pulled taut over the swollen head, a bead of pre-cum smeared across his abs where Leo’s thigh had shifted against him in sleep.
Leo’s face was buried in the crook of Ben’s shoulder, his tousled blonde hair sticking up in chaotic tufts, the strands catching the faint morning light filtering through the blinds. His lips were parted slightly, breath warm and uneven against Ben’s collarbone. One arm was flung possessively across Ben’s chest, his fingers twitching occasionally in sleep, the calloused tips brushing Ben’s nipple. Ben’s own curls were a wild mess, crushed flat on one side from the pillow, the dark strands clinging to his damp forehead. His biceps flexed involuntarily as he tensed, the veins standing out starkly against his skin, his pulse hammering in his throat as he took in the tangled reality of their bodies- bodies intertwined, cocks aligned, Leo’s hip pressing back against Ben’s hip with every shallow breath.
Panic surged through Ben like a live wire. His breath hitched, his thighs tightening reflexively, which only ground Leo’s erection harder against him. A soft, throaty noise escaped Leo in response, his hips rolling forward instinctively, chasing the friction even in sleep.
Carefully and agonizingly slowly, Ben peeled Leo’s leg off his own, gritting his teeth at the way Leo’s lean calf muscles flexed against his grip. The runner’s smooth skin stuck briefly to Ben’s thigh before separating with a quiet, tacky sound. Leo’s arm slid limply from Ben’s chest, landing palm-up on the rumpled sheets, fingers twitching once as if reaching for him even unconscious. Ben froze, watching Leo’s face, eyes glued to the flutter of pale lashes and the relaxed pout of his lips. Ben exhaled sharply through his nose when Leo didn’t wake.
He continued to roll away in stages: first his shoulders, then his torso, finally freeing his hips with a minute shift that left Leo sprawled diagonally across the mattress. The absence of Leo’s warmth was jarring. Ben hovered at the edge of the bed, his thick thighs tensed to bolt, his gaze darting between Leo’s sprawled form and the sunrise bleeding through the blinds. Leo’s cock lay heavy against his thigh, flushed and leaking slightly onto the sheets. Ben swallowed hard, his own erection throbbing in response.
The floorboards creaked under his weight as he stood. Leo stirred with a faint hitch in his breathing and a faint frown, and then settled deeper into the pillow, his tousled hair obscuring half his face. Ben grabbed his discarded jockstrap from the floor, the elastic snapping softly against his wrist as he tugged it on. The pouch cradled his still-hard cock uncomfortably, the fabric damp with yesterday’s sweat. He didn’t look back as he slipped out the door and into the hall.
His apartment greeted him with sterile silence. The late morning sun cut sharp rectangles across his hardwood floors, illuminating dust motes swirling in the air. Ben stopped dead in front of the full-length mirror mounted on his closet door. The man staring back at him was a stranger with messy curls matted on one side from sleep and a jawline darkened by stubble. His shoulders were broad, the muscles dense and defined even at rest, tapering down to thick forearms corded with veins. The jockstrap dug into his hips, framing the heavy curve of his ass, the fabric stretched taut over his thighs. His cock strained against the pouch, the head visibly outlined, flushed and swollen. A faint trail of pre-cum glistened where it had leaked onto the fabric.
Ben’s throat worked as he took himself in, from the dark hair dusting his chest, the deep brown of his nipples, to the way his abs flexed when he breathed. His hands, rough from years in the gym, looked incongruous against his own skin as he traced the waistband of the jockstrap. He turned slightly, catching the side view: the slope of his back, the dimples just above his ass, the thick column of his thighs.
His cock sprang free with a soft snap of elastic as he pulled the jock down over his thighs and calves and kicked it across the floor. His dick was a hard curve against his tan skin, the foreskin pulled taut over the head. He exhaled sharply through his nose, fingers curling loosely around the shaft. He squeezed experimentally, the girth filling his palm almost completely, but his eyes kept flicking downward. Five and a half inches. Solid, sure, but not long like Leo’s seven, not elegant like Daniel’s six. Just thick. A blunt instrument.
A bead of pre-cum welled at the slit, glistening in the morning light. Without thinking, Ben swiped it with his thumb, lifting the digit to his lips. The taste was sharp, salty; familiar, but somehow different today. His tongue darted out again, chasing it, as his other hand tightened around his cock, dragging a slow stroke from root to tip.
The movement was methodical, not rushed or desperate, just a slow, indulgent friction. His thumb circled the swollen ridge beneath the head on each upstroke, applying just enough pressure to make his hips jerk involuntarily. The veins stood stark along the shaft, pulsing under his touch as he remembered the heat of Leo's mouth, the way his throat had constricted around him, the way his fingers had dug into Ben's thighs, possessive and demanding.
A low groan escaped Ben’s lips as he leaned back against the wall behind him, his reflection watching him with dark, hooded eyes. His thighs trembled slightly, muscles taut with restraint as he teased himself, drawing it out. The scent of sex still clung to him- Leo’s cologne mixed with sweat, the musk of sheets tangled between them- and it made his strokes sloppier, his breath harsher.
His knees hit the hardwood with a dull thud, his thick thighs spreading instinctively as he knelt there, still pumping his cock. His abs flexed with each tug, his shoulders rolling forward, chest heaving. He imagined Leo’s fingers in his hair again, gripping and pulling, while that smug mouth wrapped around him, swallowing him whole. His free hand slid up his own torso, fingers brushing a nipple, pinching roughly, the sharp sting making his cock twitch in his grip.
The slap of skin against skin filled the quiet apartment, the slick sounds of his fist working his thick length obscene in the morning stillness. His mouth fell open, panting, his other hand gripping his thigh hard enough to bruise, grounding himself as pleasure coiled tighter and tighter. His balls drew up, heavy and aching, and he knew he was close. He could feel it in the way his thighs shook, the way his stomach clenched with each ragged breath.
Ben paused suddenly, his strokes slowing. He shifted his weight, sweeping his legs out from under him with a grunt, his bare ass hitting the cool hardwood floor. He stretched his legs out in front of him, thighs flexing, toes curling against the smooth grain of the floor. His cock bobbed, flushed and dripping against his stomach, the thick vein throbbing visibly along its length. He lifted his free hand to his mouth and sucked his index finger in slowly, coating it thoroughly with saliva before pulling it out with a wet pop. His dark eyes locked onto his reflection, watching as he traced the damp finger down his shaft, circling the swollen head before sliding lower and lower.
His breath stuttered as his finger pressed against his perineum, the touch light but electric. He rubbed small, experimental circles there, the pressure just shy of too much, just enough to make his hips jerk involuntarily. His cock twitched against his stomach and another bead of pre-cum welled at the tip. His thighs trembled, muscles taut as he teased himself, the sensation sharp yet welcome.
The thought hit him suddenly, unbidden: Leo’s smirk, the way his tongue had darted out to catch the head of Ben’s cock, the way his fingers had dug into Ben’s hips, pulling him deeper. Ben’s finger slipped further back, pressing tentatively against his own hole. His breath came in short, sharp bursts, his cock pulsing as he imagined Leo’s long fingers pushing inside him instead, stretching him open, claiming him. His reflection watched him, eyes dark with want, lips parted around silent moans.
Ben shuddered as he breached himself, the stretch sharp and foreign but undeniably good. His finger worked in shallowly, the muscles clenching around the intrusion, his cock twitching against his stomach with each tentative thrust. The slide was slicker now, his spit easing the way as he fucked himself slowly, his breath coming faster. His free hand tightened around his shaft, stroking in time with the push of his finger, the dual sensations making his thighs tremble.
The angle was awkward and his back pressed uncomfortably against the wall, but he couldn’t stop. He imagined Leo behind him, his lean body pressed flush against Ben’s back, his breath hot against Ben’s neck as he whispered filthy praise into his ear. Ben’s finger crooked slightly, brushing against something inside him that sent a jolt of pleasure up his spine. His hips jerked, his cock leaking onto his stomach, his breath coming in ragged gasps.
He was close now, so close, his body coiled tight like a spring. His strokes grew frantic, his finger pumping faster, deeper, chasing that elusive edge. His reflection was a blur of flushed cheeks, a sweat-slicked chest, and the desperate clench of his jaw, but he didn’t need to see himself to know how wrecked he looked. The orgasm hit him like a train, his body seizing as he came in thick, pulsing stripes across his stomach, his finger still buried inside him as he rode out the waves of pleasure. His head fell back against the wall with a dull thud, his chest heaving, his limbs heavy and spent.
When he finally blinked the haze from his eyes and focused on the mirror again, the sight punched the breath from his lungs. His reflection was a study in debauchery. His thick cock lay limp against his thigh, glistening with cum, his abs streaked with white, his nipples reddened from the pinching. His thighs trembled slightly where they sprawled open, the muscles still twitching with aftershocks, and his chest rose and fell in shallow, uneven breaths. His lips were parted, slick with spit from biting back moans, and his dark curls clung damply to his forehead. But it was the mess that held his gaze: the slick trail of cum dripping down his stomach, pooling in the crease of his hip, his cock softening against his thigh, still twitching faintly.
The apartment was silent except for his ragged breathing, but outside, the muffled sound of voices made Ben freeze. His pulse spiked until the sound of laughter fading down the hall filtered through the thin walls. Ben exhaled sharply, his muscles unclenching by degrees, and mixing with the aftershocks of pleasure still humming through his body. He reached blindly for a discarded shirt and mopped roughly at his stomach. He tossed it aside, watching his reflection grimace as he shifted to stand, his legs feeling gelatinous beneath him.
Ben padded to the bathroom on unsteady feet, the cool tile soothing against his overheated skin. He turned the shower tap on hard, the water hitting his back like a thousand tiny needles, washing away the sweat and cum. His fingers traced the faint red marks on his hips where Leo had gripped him. He tipped his head back under the spray, letting the water sluice over his face, down his chest, between his thighs.
When he emerged, towel slung low around his hips, his phone buzzed on the counter. A single message lit up the screen: Missed you this morning. Coffee later? -L. Ben’s thumb hovered over the keyboard, his chest tight. He typed Sure, then deleted it. Typed Can’t, then deleted that too. Finally, he settled on Yeah, sent it, and tossed the phone onto the bed like it had burned him. The towel slipped from his hips as he turned away, the fabric pooling at his feet. Ben didn’t pick it up.
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