Bread Rolls
By now, a weekly makeout was just… a thing we did. Like doing laundry or taking out the trash. Only laundry didn’t leave me hard and flushed and pretending I wasn’t about to melt in his hands.
Lucas always kissed like he meant it, like there was nothing else in the room except my mouth. Sometimes he’d hold my face with both hands, thumbs brushing over my cheeks, and I’d just stand there, letting him kiss me, my bulge pressed awkwardly against my jeans. Acting like this was normal. Acting like I didn’t have a crush so big it felt stupid to even name it.
I’d keep my eyes shut. If I opened them and saw him looking at me like that; close enough to notice the way his lashes fluttered or how his breath hitched...I’d probably get too flustered to handle it.
“You can grab my waist if you’d like,” he murmured once against my mouth.
I didn’t. My hands stayed stiff at my sides. Because in my head, I didn’t deserve a guy like Lucas. Not the guy who made friends with everyone, who ran five miles before breakfast, who looked like every gym thirst trap I’d ever double-tapped.
So, I stayed still and kissed him back until he eventually pulled away, smirking like he knew.
The next morning, I shuffled out of my room, hair a mess, half-awake in pyjamas, ready to make myself some breakfast. Instead of going for his usual morning run, he was in the living room this morning doing squats.
Deep, slow squats shirtless and in a pair of tight black booty shorts that did absolutely nothing to hide how solid and round his ass was. The fabric clung right between those cheeks, showing off every flex, every shift of muscle. My gaze kept drifting lower, watching the way his hamstrings tightened, the faint line of sweat along the curve of his spine. I should’ve turned away. I didn’t.
“Morning Tien,” he said, straightening up mid-rep like it was nothing.
“Morning,” I croaked, pretending I hadn’t just been staring at his ass like it was the eighth wonder of the world.
He grabbed his water bottle, tipped his head back, and took a slow drink. I watched his throat work, a bead of water slipping down over his collarbone. When he lowered the bottle, he stepped closer.
“Remember back in freshman year you made some bread rolls during that late-night binge?” he said, wiping the water droplets of his lips. “I was scrolling your Insta last night. Saw that picture. Been craving it ever since.”
I shifted my weight, feeling my ears warm. “Ah… those buns and rolls.”
His mouth curved. “Well… if you make me those buns and rolls…” His fingers trailed down his abs, slow enough that I followed the motion without meaning to. They caught on a drop of sweat, dragging it lower. Then he turned, hips cocking in a playful way, and gave his own ass a lazy slap. “…I’ll let you touch my buns and rolls today when we make out.”
My heart thudded in my ears. Before I could think better of it, I walked over to the couch and sat down, trying to sound casual but already feeling my pulse in my throat. “I’m… uh… gonna be needing my payment in advance,” I said, glancing up at him. “These rolls… uh… they’re gonna take a lot more time and effort than you think.”
Idiot. Why did I say that? Did that sound too desperate? My stomach dipped, but Lucas didn’t seem to mind. He just laughed, the sound easy and warm. His body was still sweaty from the workout, skin catching the light.
He stepped in close, standing at the edge of the couch. “Okay,” he murmured, hands sliding up my chest before gently pushing me backward. My knees bent without thinking, and I sank into the cushions.
Before I could even process it, Lucas leaned over me, one knee planting on either side of my hips as he climbed on top of me. His body hovered just above mine, heat radiating through his gym shorts, the smell of warm skin mixing with the faint salt of sweat. Then he flexed, abs tightening right in front of me. “These hot buns are fresh out of the oven.”
I laughed under my breath, but before I could say anything, he took my wrists and gently guided my hands down until they were cupping the curve of his ass through the thin fabric. I tensed, unsure, my fingers barely pressing in. My breath hitched, pulse stuttering, shyness creeping in as I struggled to keep my eyes anywhere but his.
“C’mon,” he said, leaning down so close his mouth brushed my cheek. “It’s the least I can do. You put so much effort into making these sweet treats for me… and I know how busy you get.”
His lips found mine before I could think of a reply. The kiss was slow but deep, and when I finally squeezed his ass, my palms found nothing but hard muscle under the shorts. He kissed me harder and sloppier until we were both breathing through our noses just to keep going.
“So,” he murmured against my mouth, “you totally deserve this.”
I couldn’t believe it; after all this time, actually touching him. My hands had only been allowed to look for so long, tracing his body in my head. Now, I slid them up, over his sides, until they spread across his chest.
He didn’t stop me.
When my thumbs grazed his nipples, he let out a low, surprised sound. His eyes fluttered for half a second before he caught himself, but I’d already felt the small jolt in his body.
“Uh… sorry,” I muttered quickly, pulling my hands back. “Was that too much?”
He shook his head, still holding my wrists. “No, no, Tien. I wasn’t really expecting you to do that.” His mouth curved slightly. “But I didn’t say I didn’t like it.”
Before I could respond, he guided my hands right back to his chest.
That little moan, the heat of his skin under my palms, the solid muscle shifting as he breathed - it all blurred together. And then there was the fact that the man I’d crushed on for almost a decade was straddling me, shirtless, looking right into my eyes. The rush hit me all at once, pooling low in my stomach. I got hard instantly, like my body didn’t even give me the choice.
When I shifted slightly, my hard cock brushed his thigh. His eyes flicked down for a split second.
“Shit,” he said, a little grin tugging at his mouth. “Are you hard?”
I froze. Of course I was. My face burned hot as the thought slammed into me; Lucas wasn’t hard at all. Not even close. I’d wanted him for so long that just having him on top of me was enough to undo me, and in that moment I felt small. Like I didn’t deserve to want him, not when he was this gorgeous, this easy, this out of my league in every way.
“Sorry, Luc. Uh—”
“Hey, hey,” he cut in, voice softer now. “Don’t be sorry, man. You’re allowed to want this. It’s not a big deal.”
Before I could figure out what to do with my boner, he reached between us, his palm cupping my hard-on through my pyjamas. The touch made me gasp, my hips jerking. He just smirked and started stroking, slow at first, his thumb rubbing over the outline.
“See?” he murmured. “Feels good, right?”
My head dropped back against the couch. “Yeah…” It was all I could manage.
His hand moved with an easy confidence, stroking me, his fingers pressing just enough to make my cock twitch inside my pyjamas. The heat built so fast it was almost dizzying. Every slow drag of his palm made me bite back a sound, my breathing getting louder and quicker.
He leaned in, lips brushing mine, soft and teasing. His hand stayed low, stroking me through the clingy fabric of my pyjama pants, each movement unhurried but deliberate. I was already so hard it hurt, my cock straining against the cotton, throbbing under his palm. The friction was maddening. I could feel everything; from the texture of the fabric to the heat of his touch, the ache building fast and sharp.
I gasped into his mouth as he kissed me again, deeper this time, and I couldn’t hold it back. My hips bucked once, twice, and before I could even warn him, I lost control. I came hard, cock twitching, warmth flooding the insides of my underwear and leaking a little through my pyjamas. My whole body tensed, thighs locked up, and my breath caught in my chest. The embarrassment hit me right after, heat rising in my cheeks, eyes dropping.
But Lucas didn’t flinch. He didn’t laugh or say anything cruel. He just let go, stood up from the couch, and gave me a slow, knowing wink. “You’re welcome.”
He headed for the shower, humming under his breath like nothing had happened, and then left for work not long after.
As soon as the door closed behind him, I got to baking. It was the only thing that felt safe to do, the only way I knew how to give something back. I made buns, rolls, and loaves until the kitchen smelled like a bakery, the counters dusted with flour. All afternoon, though, my mind kept drifting back to what had happened on the couch - to the way I had ejaculated a load in my underwear just from Lucas rubbing my hard cock over my pyjamas. Every time I thought about it, heat flushed my face.
By the time he came home, I had set out a week’s worth of fresh bread under a glass cloche on the kitchen counter. I didn’t even come out to see if he liked them. I just stayed in my room, pretending to be busy, too embarrassed to face him. It wasn’t just the memory of what happened; it was the heavy, uncomfortable thought that I might be taking advantage of his kindness for my own selfish, sexual pleasure. The more I thought about it, the worse it sat in my chest like the bread in the kitchen was some kind of clumsy apology I didn’t even have the courage to hand over in person.
Still, a small part of me hoped he’d notice the extra effort, that he’d enjoy the warm rolls or the crusty loaves enough to forgive me for… whatever it was I felt I’d done. I listened to the sounds of him moving around in the kitchen, the faint scrape of a chair, the clink of a plate. My hands itched to open the door, to peek out and see his face, but I stayed where I was.
The house smelled like fresh bread, and I lay there in the quiet, caught between guilt and the hope that maybe...just maybe...he was smiling out there.
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