Saturday Morning Truths and Closeness
Sunlight was already spilling across Tom’s bedroom when Stan surfaced, slow and warm, as if waking up was something you did with your whole body and not just your eyes. The curtains weren’t fully closed, so the room had that bright, clean Saturday glow—honest light, no disguises.
Tom was right there. Still. Breathing evenly. Close enough that Stan could feel the quiet rhythm of him through the blanket.
Neither of them moved to get up.
Stan turned his face toward Tom, and Tom’s eyes opened like he’d been awake for a while—like he’d been looking at Stan and didn’t want to be caught doing it, but also didn’t want to stop.
“Morning,” Tom said, voice low and a little husky, like the word belonged in a softer world.
Stan smiled, half-asleep. “Morning.”
Tom reached out, careful at first, fingers brushing Stan’s arm, then sliding higher—an absent-minded caress that became more deliberate as if his hand had decided, Yes. This. Keep doing this.
Stan responded in kind, palm on Tom’s chest, over his heart, holding him there like a grounding point. Tom exhaled—an unguarded sound, a little too intimate for two people who were still pretending this wasn’t exactly what it was.
“Do you ever…” Stan began, then paused, as if he was choosing a path with his words. “Do you ever wake up and feel like you don’t want to go back to your life yet?”
Tom’s mouth quirked. “I don’t want to go back to my life at all this morning.”
That made Stan laugh, soft and surprised, and Tom looked pleased—like making that sound happen was something he’d been hoping for.
They lay there, tangled in the easy hush of the morning, tracing each other with slow hands. Not searching. Not urgent. Just… learning. Claiming in the gentlest way.
After a minute, Stan said, quietly, “I’ve lived in this neighborhood for a while. Long enough to know which porch light belongs to which family. Long enough to recognize footsteps.”
Tom watched him carefully, like he was reading a story he didn’t want to miss a single line of.
“I had a boyfriend,” Stan continued, eyes on the ceiling now, the words coming easier once he started. “He didn’t want the same thing I did. Or… he said he didn’t. He wanted fun and freedom and no plans. I wanted—” He swallowed. “I wanted someone to come home to. I wanted a we.”
Tom’s hand slid to Stan’s waist and held there—steady, wordless.
Stan’s voice tightened. “He cheated. And it wasn’t even the cheating that hurt the most, not really. It was the part where I realized he’d been living a separate life next to mine, and I’d been… making excuses. Building a little house out of hope.”
Tom didn’t interrupt. He only moved closer, forehead nearly touching Stan’s temple, his thumb stroking small circles against Stan’s skin. The tenderness wasn’t performative. It wasn’t even a comfort routine. It felt like Tom’s body understood before Tom’s mind could find the words.
“I’m sorry,” Tom said finally. “That kind of betrayal messes with your sense of reality. Makes you question your instincts.”
Stan let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. “Yeah. Exactly.”
A quiet settled between them. Then Stan turned his head, eyes searching Tom’s face.
“What about you?”
Tom’s gaze went distant for a moment, like he was stepping into a room in his memory and closing the door behind him.
“I loved my wife,” he said. It wasn’t defensive. It was reverent. “I really did. She was… good. Warm. The kind of person who made a room feel safer just by being in it.”
Stan’s chest tightened, not with jealousy—something more complicated. Something like respect.
Tom swallowed. “When she died, I thought that was it. The story was finished. The love part, anyway.”
Stan’s hand slid up, fingers combing gently through Tom’s hair. “But it wasn’t.”
Tom looked back at him then, eyes bright in the morning light. “No,” he admitted. “It wasn’t.”
His voice dropped even lower, more private. “The truth is… even when I was with her, I was always… emotionally drawn to men. Not in a way I knew how to name back then. I had a thousand reasons not to. I had a life that made sense from the outside.”
Stan didn’t speak. He only listened. His thumb kept moving, a slow metronome over Tom’s scalp.
Tom’s mouth curved in a sad little smile. “I worked in the corporate world for years. Always in a suit. Always polished. I could tie a perfect knot in under ten seconds and talk about quarterly projections like it mattered more than anything. I was very good at looking like I belonged.”
“And did you?” Stan asked softly.
Tom’s answer came after a beat. “I belonged to the role. Not always to myself.”
He hesitated, then continued, as if he’d decided Stan was safe enough for the whole truth.
“There was this guy at work.” Tom’s eyes flicked away, then back. “Much younger. In his twenties. I was in my fifties. It sounds like a cliché when I say it out loud, but it wasn’t like that. He was just… engaging. Bright. The kind of person who looked straight at you when you spoke, like you were the only thing happening in the room.”
Stan watched Tom’s face as he spoke—how Tom’s expression softened, how something tender and old loosened inside him.
“We both knew,” Tom admitted. “Not with words, but… we knew. He’d come into my office and lean against the doorframe like he had all the time in the world. And I’d feel my whole body go… alert.”
Stan’s throat went dry. “Did anything happen?”
Tom exhaled through his nose, almost a laugh. “Not exactly.”
He shifted closer, and Stan could feel the warmth of him, the quiet electricity of proximity that wasn’t new anymore—it was familiar now. Their thing.
“One time,” Tom said, voice barely above a whisper, “he stayed late. Everyone else was gone. He came in and shut my office door. Not dramatically. Just… calmly. And for a few minutes it felt like the air changed. Like the whole building held its breath.”
Stan’s hand stilled on Tom’s chest. “Tom…”
Tom nodded once, eyes steady. “We got close. Too close to pretend it was nothing. I could see it in his face—he was waiting to see if I’d step forward. And I wanted to. God, I wanted to.”
He swallowed, jaw tightening, the old restraint returning for a second like muscle memory.
“But I didn’t,” Tom said. “I couldn’t. I had a wife at home. A life. A reputation. And even beyond that, I think I was… afraid of what it would mean if I admitted how much I wanted him. Because once you admit it, you can’t un-know it.”
Stan’s eyes softened. “So you spent your life not admitting it.”
Tom looked at him like that sentence landed exactly where it needed to.
“Pretty much,” Tom said quietly.
Stan shifted closer until their foreheads nearly touched. He could feel Tom’s breath. Could feel the exact moment Tom stopped holding himself at arm’s length.
“And now?” Stan asked.
Tom’s hand came up to Stan’s face, cupping his cheek as if he couldn’t help it. As if this was the most natural place for his hand to be.
“Now,” Tom said, “I’m here. In bed. On a Saturday morning I don’t want to end. With you.”
Stan’s heart thumped hard, almost painfully, because there was something in Tom’s voice that sounded like both confession and relief.
Stan leaned in—not rushing, not demanding—and pressed a kiss to Tom’s mouth that was soft enough to be a question.
Tom answered it immediately, pulling Stan closer as if he’d been waiting his whole life to finally choose the thing he wanted without apologizing for it.
And for the first time, Tom’s tongue extended into Stan’s mouth, only to find Stan’s tongue already reaching back at the same time. They were tasting each other for the first time, and it sent shivers up both of their spines.
Finally, they pressed their bodies against each other, and realized that their underwear were already both damp from both of their cocks wanting attention desperately from one another all this time.Stan’s hand started reaching for Tom’s cock, not hungrily, but with patience, gentleness, and warmth. Tom didn’t know it before, but he knew it then, that that was exactly what he was needing. Not a wild, animal-like response to his sexual desires, but someone who understands his heart, his soul, and his mind. His body was reacting like he is finally receiving the attention and care that he has longed for from a man like Stan. So when Stan held Tom’s cock in his hand even through his underwear, firmly and yet gently, Tom’s body gave in.
Stan began to stroking Tom’s cock ever so gently and slowly through the fabric, while their lips and tongues continued to express the love they began to feel for each other.
Tom started moaning erratically and involuntarily, because he finally can let go of his body, his mind, and his heart to allow pleasure not just from a physical sense, but from someone who truly wants to make him feel good. He started allowing his muscles and tension to relax, and the more he relaxed, the more passionate his kiss was.
Stan began to reach inside the waistband of Tom’s underwear, slowly finding Tom’s hard cock that was begging to be released from the final piece of clothing separating Tom’s body from Stan’s hand. And when Stan finally wrapped his hand around Tom’s bare cock, Tom moaned loudly. Their kissing intensified, so did their breathing. Tom’s eyes are now closed to allow himself to enjoy what he’s been desperately wanting and fantasizing.
Just when Tom was tilting his head back a little, Stan broke off their kiss, only to find his way down to Tom’s chest. Stan began to lick Tom’s left nipple, keeping his right hand on his cock. Tom suddenly felt a jolt of electricity down his body as his nipples were connected directly to his cock. The sensations were beginning to spark and fly inside Tom’s body, so electrifying that Tom found himself unable to move, as if he is bound by Stan’s movements, tenderness, and gentleness toward Tom’s body.
After gently licking and fondling Tom’s right nipple, Stan used his remaining hand and found Tom’s left nipple. This sent Tom almost overboard as that is the last part of Tom’s body that is aching for attention and is now met with Stan’s gentle but firm fingers.
Tom is now in a state where he can’t move, he can’t go anywhere because what Stan is doing to his body is giving him an endless toggle between a trance and pure ecstasy. For the next few minutes, Stan continued to slowly and gently rub Tom’s cock, lick, and fondle his nipples, and when Stan looked up to see Tom’s face, Tom’s head was titled so far back as he allowed himself to enjoy these electrifying sensations, so much so that his breath has become loud, irregular, and almost pant-like. This is when Stan knew, that he was pleasing Tom, and that made Stan even hornier and determined to make Tom climax that day.
