A fuck…
Alex had always known that Jake was straight, or at least that’s what Jake insisted every time the lads ribbed him about never having a proper girlfriend. Six-foot-two, rugby build, easy laugh, the sort of bloke who could drink ten pints and still look like he’d stepped out of a cologne advert. They’d been mates since school, shared flats through uni, and now, at twenty-three, ended up crashing in the same house share in Manchester. Nothing had ever happened between them. Nothing, until one stupidly hot Saturday in August when the air-con broke and the rest of the housemates were away for the weekend.
They’d spent the afternoon on the sofa in just shorts, beers sweating on the coffee table, watching some rubbish action film neither of them cared about. Jake kept shifting, tugging at the waistband of his gym shorts, complaining it was “too bloody warm for clothes.” Alex, heart already thudding too loud, had laughed and said, “Then take them off, no one’s here.”
He’d meant it as a joke. Mostly.
Jake raised an eyebrow, smirked, and, without breaking eye contact, shoved his shorts down and kicked them across the room. His cock flopped heavy against his thigh, half-hard from the heat or the friction or, Alex realised with a dizzy rush, maybe from the dare itself. Jake stretched, all lazy muscle and golden skin, and said, “Your turn, mate. Fair’s fair.”
Alex’s mouth went dry. He stood up slowly, hooked his thumbs in his own waistband, and let his shorts drop. His cock was already fully hard, curving up toward his stomach, and there was no hiding it. Jake’s gaze flicked down, lingered, then met Alex’s eyes again. Something electric snapped between them.
“Jesus,” Jake muttered, voice rougher than usual. “Didn’t know you were packing like that.”
Alex laughed, shaky. “Didn’t know you were staring.”
Jake’s cheeks went pink, but he didn’t look away. He reached down, adjusted himself, and Alex watched, transfixed, as Jake’s cock thickened right in front of him, rising slow and deliberate until it stood flushed and leaking at the tip.
“Never done this,” Jake said quietly, almost like he was confessing. “But I’m not blind. You’re fit as fuck, Al.”
The words punched the air from Alex’s lungs. He stepped closer, close enough that their knees touched. Jake’s hand lifted, hesitant, then settled on Alex’s hip, thumb brushing the cut of muscle there. Alex mirrored him, fingers grazing the hot skin of Jake’s thigh, inching higher.
When their knuckles brushed both cocks at once, they both exhaled like they’d been holding their breath for years.
Jake was the one who moved first, wrapping his big hand around Alex’s shaft, grip tentative but firm. Alex groaned, hips jerking forward. He returned the favour, marvelling at how different Jake felt, thicker, uncut, the foreskin sliding silkily under his fingers. They stayed like that for a moment, just breathing, stroking each other slow and exploratory, learning.
“Tell me if I do it wrong,” Jake murmured, eyes dark.
“You’re doing it perfect,” Alex whispered, and leaned in.
The kiss was clumsy at first, teeth clicking, both of them laughing into it, but then Jake tilted his head and it turned hungry. Tongues sliding, messy and desperate. Alex tasted lager and salt and something uniquely Jake. Hands sped up without discussion, slick sounds filling the quiet room.
