The second time it happened, Leo was answering emails.
Not even important emails — just the usual bullshit from his manager at Rumor, a chain of passive-aggressive messages about the till being short fifty bucks on Saturday night. Leo had been typing back a defense — I counted three times, Karen, your math's the problem — when he heard Jake's bedroom door open.
He didn't look up. He knew the sound of Jake's bare feet on the hardwood, the specific creak of the floorboard outside his door. He knew the rhythm of Jake's morning shuffle — heavy, deliberate, the walk of a man who woke up with a dick hard enough to hammer nails and didn't care who saw it.
"Bro."
Leo's fingers kept moving. "Mm."
"You busy?"
"Karen's blaming me for her shitty math. Give me a sec."
Jake didn't give him a sec. Jake walked into the kitchen, opened the fridge, stood there with the door open and the cold air spilling out. Leo could see him from the corner of his eye — hair a mess, boxer briefs doing nothing to hide the situation. The kind of morning wood that made the waistband tent out, the head peeking over the elastic like it was looking for breakfast.
"You want another coffee?" Jake asked.
Leo finally looked up. Jake was holding the milk carton, twisting the cap off, sniffing it. The guy had a boner so hard it was practically pointing at the ceiling and he was checking if the milk had gone bad.
"I still got half a cup here," Leo said, nodding at his mug.
"Yeah, but I need to bust somewhere that isn't my sheets." Jake said it the same way he'd say I need to switch the laundry over. Completely flat. Completely normal. "Woke up so hard, bro. Dreamed about that redhead from Tuesday. The oiled-up one."
"The one with the fat ass?"
"That's the one. She was riding some guy's face in my dream. Woke up grinding the mattress like a teenager." Jake took a swig straight from the milk carton, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "So. Second coffee?"
Leo looked down at his mug. About a third left. Lukewarm. He'd been nursing it for forty-five minutes.
He slid it toward the edge of the table without looking away from his screen. "Sure, bro. I could go for another cup."
Jake set the milk down. Crossed the kitchen in four strides. He didn't grab the mug right away — he stood at the edge of the dining table, looking down at the coffee like he was sizing it up.
"This is almost empty."
"Then you got room to work."
Jake laughed. A short, low sound. "Fair point."
He picked up the mug. Brought it to his nose, sniffed it. Straight black, no sugar, no cream. Leo drank it like a psychopath and Jake never let him forget it.
"Smells like shit, dude. You need to clean your Keurig."
"I'll get to it."
"You said that last month."
"I'll get to it this month."
Jake shrugged. Set the mug back down on the table, right at the edge. Then he hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his boxer briefs and pushed them down.
Leo glanced up. Just a flicker. Jake's dick sprang free — thick, uncut, the foreskin bunched at the tip like an art project. The morning wood was absurd, curving up toward his navel, and Jake wrapped a hand around the base like he was greeting an old friend.
"Don't watch me," Jake said, already stroking slow. "You'll make me laugh and I'll lose it."
"I'm not watching you. I'm reading about Karen's missing fifty bucks."
"You're definitely watching me."
"I'm glancing. There's a difference."
Leo turned back to his laptop. The email was still there, Karen's passive-aggressive font glaring at him. He started typing — With all due respect, Karen, I've been bartending for six years and I know how to count a till — but his ears were tuned to the sounds behind him.
The wet slide of Jake's hand. The soft grunt that came every few strokes. The way Jake's breathing changed when he found the rhythm he wanted.
"Bro, this angle sucks," Jake said. "Can I move the chair?"
"It's not my chair. Move whatever you want."
Jake hooked the dining chair with his foot and pulled it out from the table. Leo's laptop shifted with the movement, but he caught it, kept typing. Jake sat down hard, the wooden legs scraping against the floor, and spread his thighs.
Now he was at the table. Like a fourth person had joined breakfast. His dick was right there, leveled with Leo's coffee mug, and Leo could hear the change in pitch as Jake's hand found a faster tempo.
"Fuck, I needed this," Jake muttered. "I was about to blow in my own hand like a loser."
"You blow in your own hand every time you jerk off."
"Yeah but that's intentional. Waking up and having to deal with it? Annoying."
"Seems like a you problem."
"It's a me problem that you're solving. You're welcome."
Leo snorted. Kept typing. There was a new email now — Karen had responded while he was drafting, her tone even sharper. Leo, I'm not accusing you, I'm saying the numbers don't add up and you were the closer.
"God, look at that," Jake said.
"Look at what?"
"The way my foreskin moves. You can see the head come out and go back in. It's like a goddamn turtleneck."
Leo glanced over. Jake had slowed down, watching his own hand with genuine interest. The foreskin was sliding back with each upward stroke, the glistening head emerging pink and slick before disappearing again on the downstroke.
"That's hot," Leo said, and meant it the way someone means that's a nice car.
"Right? I wish I had foreskin."
"You have foreskin."
"I mean I wish you had foreskin. The sounds it makes are so porny."
"My cock doesn't make sounds."
"It does when I'm fucking someone. All that wet noise. But on video? Uncut sounds better. It's a fact."
Leo laughed. Shook his head. Went back to Karen's email.
Jake's grunts got louder. More deliberate. He was close — Leo could tell from the way the rhythm changed, the way Jake's thighs tightened, the way his free hand gripped the edge of the table like he was holding on.
"You want me to aim?" Jake asked, breathless.
"Mug's right there. You got this."
"Okay. Okay. Fuck — "
The first shot hit the side of the mug. A thick rope of cum that slid down the ceramic slow, mixing with the cold coffee at the bottom. The second shot went straight in — a splash Leo heard from three feet away. The third was weaker, mostly dribbling over the rim.
Jake kept stroking through it, milking himself until nothing else came out, his chest heaving, his head tipped back.
"Fuck," he said again. Softer this time.
"Good one?"
"Solid eight-point-five. Would've been a nine if I'd hydrated better yesterday."
"Noted. I'll remind you to drink water."
"Appreciate it."
Jake sat there for a moment, dick still in hand, catching his breath. The cum was pooling in the bottom of the mug, mixing with the black coffee into something cloudy and thick. He reached over, picked up a spoon from the side of the table, and stirred it in.
"There. Aerated."
"You're a fucking artist."
"I know."
Leo picked up the mug. Brought it to his lips. Took a sip. The coffee was lukewarm, salty at the back of the throat, with a texture that was slightly thicker than usual. He took another sip. Then another.
"Not bad," he said. "Good viscosity today."
"Two gallons yesterday. Heavy leg day."
"Keep it up."
Jake was still sitting there, dick soft now, hanging heavy between his thighs. He looked down at it, then back at Leo.
"Hey. There's still a bit coming out. Drops, you know."
Leo looked at him. Looked at the tip. A bead of cum was forming at the slit, pearly white, slow.
"You want me to get it?"
"If you want. Waste not, want not."
Leo set the mug down. Didn't get up. Just leaned over from his chair, one hand on the table for balance, and brought his mouth to Jake's dick.
The taste was familiar now. Salt, warmth, something mineral underneath. Leo's tongue pressed flat against the tip, lapping up the bead before it could fall. Then he sealed his lips around the head and sucked — just once, just enough to pull the last drops from the slit, his tongue circling the opening like he was cleaning a bottle cap.
He pulled back. Swallowed.
"Mmm. Straight from the source."
Jake laughed, the sound rumbling through his chest. "You're so fucking weird, bro."
"You asked me to."
"I said you could. There's a difference."
"Same difference."
Jake stood up, pulled his boxer briefs back over his hips. The fabric caught on his semi, and he had to adjust himself, cupping his balls through the cotton. "I'm gonna shower. You want me to grab you a breakfast sandwich from the bodega?"
"Egg and cheese. Salt pepper ketchup."
"Got it."
Jake padded toward the bathroom. Leo turned back to his laptop. The coffee sat warm in his hand, and he took another sip, swishing it around his mouth before swallowing.
The email from Karen was still open. He read it again, his response half-finished.
With all due respect, Karen —
He deleted it.
Started over.
Hey Karen, let's go over the numbers together when I'm in next. Probably a miscount on my end. My bad.
Hit send.
He took another sip of coffee. Salty. Warm. His.
The shower started running in the bathroom. He could hear Jake singing — off-key, some pop song from the radio, the melody mangled beyond recognition.
Leo smiled into his mug.
Just another morning.
