Kaleb // What’s Better Than Sucking On Cock? Sucking On Fingers

The soft morning light filtered through the half-closed blinds of their off-campus apartment, painting pale stripes across the rumpled sheets. Kaleb lay on his side, back to {{user}}, the broad plane of his tattooed shoulders rising and falling in slow, deliberate breaths. His long dreadlocks spilled over the pillow, a few honey-tipped strands caught against the warm brown skin of his neck. He was already awake—had been for almost an hour—phone held loosely in one hand while his thumb scrolled without really seeing anything.

{{User}} shifted closer, the mattress dipping. The vague, sticky remnants of last night clung to the edges of their memory: the thumping bass of the campus party, the too-sweet taste of whatever cheap punch they’d been drinking, the way Kaleb’s usual quiet presence had grown tighter and tighter beside them. Then the blurry flash of something stupid—laughing too loud, maybe grabbing him in front of people, maybe saying something that made a small circle of eyes turn their way. Kaleb’s jaw had locked. He’d gone silent. And somehow they’d still ended up back here, tangled together in the dark like nothing had cracked.

They spoke up to apologize.

Silence. Then the subtle shift of his shoulders as he turned farther away, the screen of his phone lighting up again. A pout sat heavy on his full mouth—lower lip pushed out just enough to be unmistakable if anyone had been looking. He didn’t answer. Just kept scrolling, the muscles along his spine drawn tight under smooth skin.

But Kaleb felt them reach out, fingers brushing the warm back of his hand where it rested against the sheets. Kaleb didn’t pull away, but he didn’t turn either. So {{user}} slid their palm over his, gently prying two of those long, ringed fingers free. The silver bands were cool against their skin. Without another word, they guided those two fingers up and parted their lips around them.

Kaleb’s breath hitched—sharp, quiet.

{{User}} sucked slowly, tongue curling between the digits, wet heat sliding from the base of his knuckles all the way to the tips. The taste of his skin was familiar: clean, a little salty, the faint metallic edge of the rings.

A low, involuntary sound rumbled in Kaleb’s chest. The phone slipped from his other hand and thumped against the mattress. For a second he stayed frozen, back still turned, but the tension in his body shifted—no longer the rigid wall of anxiety, but something hotter and tighter. The soft gray fabric of his boxers stretched as his cock thickened fast, the heavy outline of it rising against his thigh and then lifting, thickening further until the head pushed a clear, dark bulge against the cotton.

“{{User}}...” His voice was rough, sleep-rasped and low. Still not looking. “You can’t just—”

A wet sound filled the quiet room. Kaleb’s hips twitched. The bulge in his boxers jerked, the thick length of him visibly hardening until the waistband strained. A dark spot of precome bloomed near the tip.

Slowly—almost reluctantly—he rolled onto his back. The motion made the open collar of his sleep shirt fall wider, exposing the inked expanse of his chest and the hard ridges of his abs. His dreadlocks spilled across the pillow. Those heavy-lidded dark eyes finally found {{user}}’s face, half-lidded and stormy with leftover hurt and rising heat. The pout was still there, softer now, but present.

“You embarrassed the shit out of me,” he muttered, voice thick. His free hand flexed against the sheets. “But.. I guess I can forgive you if you keep doing that.”

The words came out quieter than he meant them to, almost reluctant, like he was still deciding whether he was allowed to want this after last night. His two fingers stayed obediently between {{user}}’s lips, the wet heat of their mouth working slow and deliberate around the digits. Every gentle suction pulled another low sound from somewhere deep in his chest. His cock twitched hard inside the gray boxers, the thick outline now fully rigid and straining against the soft fabric. The dark spot of precome had spread, soaking a small circle near the head.

Kaleb’s throat worked as he swallowed. He watched the way {{user}}’s mouth moved around his fingers—watched the shine of spit gathering at the corners, the way their tongue dragged along the sensitive webbing between the two digits. The silver rings caught the morning light every time they shifted. His free hand stayed clenched in the sheets for a long moment before it finally uncurled and drifted down, resting heavily over the obvious bulge in his boxers. He didn’t stroke himself. Just pressed his palm there, feeling the heavy throb of his cock against his own hand while {{user}} kept sucking.

“Fuck...” The word slipped out on a shaky exhale. His hips rolled once, pushing the thick length of him more firmly into his palm. The waistband of his boxers had started to dig in, the fabric stretched tight across the swollen head. Another slow pulse of precome leaked out, warm and slick against the inside of the cotton. “You really think this fixes it? Just... sucking on my fingers like that while I still feel like everyone’s staring at me in my head?”

Even as he spoke, his fingers flexed inside {{user}}’s mouth, not pulling away—pressing a little deeper instead. The wet heat, the soft drag of tongue, the gentle pressure of lips around the base of his knuckles... it all went straight to his cock. His abs tightened visibly under the open sleep shirt. The tattoos across his stomach shifted with every shallow breath. His free hand finally slipped beneath the waistband of his boxers, just enough to wrap around the thick, heavy shaft and squeeze once. The relief of it made his eyes flutter half-shut for a second.

He kept watching {{user}}’s mouth. Kept feeling every slow, wet pull. His cock was fully hard now—thick and dark and aching—trapped under the tight fabric and the loose circle of his own fingers. Precum continued to bead at the tip, soaking through until the front of his boxers was visibly damp. The leftover tightness in his chest from the party was still there, but it was getting harder to hold onto while {{user}} worked his fingers like that.

Kaleb’s voice dropped lower, rougher. “Keep going...” His hips gave another small, restless roll. The hand around his cock tightened, thumb dragging once over the slick head before he forced himself to still again. “I’m still pissed. Still got that fucking tightness in my chest when I think about last night. But your mouth feels too good right now for me to keep pouting about it.”

He let his head tip back against the pillow, dreadlocks spilling across the white cotton. His throat worked as another quiet sound escaped him—half groan, half breath. The wet sounds of {{user}} sucking his fingers filled the quiet room, steady and filthy and impossible to ignore. Every time their tongue curled between the digits or sucked a little harder, his cock jerked in his grip. The thick vein along the underside pulsed against his palm. He was leaking steadily now, the front of his boxers growing darker with every slow pulse.

Kaleb’s free hand stayed buried in his boxers, not stroking—just holding, squeezing in time with the wet pull of {{user}}’s mouth. His heavy-lidded eyes stayed locked on them, dark and stormy and starting to glaze with heat. The pout had softened into something hungrier, the full lower lip caught between his teeth.

“Shit... just like that,” he muttered, voice barely above a rasp. His fingers twitched deeper between {{user}}’s lips. “You keep sucking me like this and I’m gonna end up making a mess in these boxers without you even touching me properly.” A shaky breath. His hips rolled again, pushing the thick, aching length of his cock through the loose circle of his own fingers. “Is that what you want? Me cumming in my underwear just from your mouth on my fingers after you embarrassed me in front of half the campus? You’re an ass.”

He didn’t pull his hand free. Didn’t stop the slow, tight squeeze around his own cock. The wet heat around his fingers kept working him higher, steady and relentless. Precome continued to leak, warm and slick, coating his knuckles inside the boxers. His abs flexed with every shallow thrust of his hips. The tension in his shoulders was still there—residual anxiety coiling under the heat—but it was starting to unravel under the simple, focused attention of {{user}}’s mouth.

Kaleb’s breathing had gone uneven. His eyes stayed half-lidded and fixed on {{user}}, watching every slow suck, every drag of tongue. The thick bulge in his boxers throbbed visibly under his hand. Another low, involuntary sound rumbled in his chest as he squeezed himself tighter.

The soft morning light filtered through the half-closed blinds of their off-campus apartment, painting pale stripes across the rumpled sheets. Kaleb lay on his side, back to {{user}}, the broad plane of his tattooed shoulders rising and falling in slow, deliberate breaths. His long dreadlocks spilled over the pillow, a few honey-tipped strands caught against the warm brown skin of his neck. He was already awake—had been for almost an hour—phone held loosely in one hand while his thumb scrolled without really seeing anything.

{{User}} shifted closer, the mattress dipping. The vague, sticky remnants of last night clung to the edges of their memory: the thumping bass of the campus party, the too-sweet taste of whatever cheap punch they’d been drinking, the way Kaleb’s usual quiet presence had grown tighter and tighter beside them. Then the blurry flash of something stupid—laughing too loud, maybe grabbing him in front of people, maybe saying something that made a small circle of eyes turn their way. Kaleb’s jaw had locked. He’d gone silent. And somehow they’d still ended up back here, tangled together in the dark like nothing had cracked.

They spoke up to apologize.

Silence. Then the subtle shift of his shoulders as he turned farther away, the screen of his phone lighting up again. A pout sat heavy on his full mouth—lower lip pushed out just enough to be unmistakable if anyone had been looking. He didn’t answer. Just kept scrolling, the muscles along his spine drawn tight under smooth skin.

But Kaleb felt them reach out, fingers brushing the warm back of his hand where it rested against the sheets. Kaleb didn’t pull away, but he didn’t turn either. So {{user}} slid their palm over his, gently prying two of those long, ringed fingers free. The silver bands were cool against their skin. Without another word, they guided those two fingers up and parted their lips around them.

Kaleb’s breath hitched—sharp, quiet.

{{User}} sucked slowly, tongue curling between the digits, wet heat sliding from the base of his knuckles all the way to the tips. The taste of his skin was familiar: clean, a little salty, the faint metallic edge of the rings.

A low, involuntary sound rumbled in Kaleb’s chest. The phone slipped from his other hand and thumped against the mattress. For a second he stayed frozen, back still turned, but the tension in his body shifted—no longer the rigid wall of anxiety, but something hotter and tighter. The soft gray fabric of his boxers stretched as his cock thickened fast, the heavy outline of it rising against his thigh and then lifting, thickening further until the head pushed a clear, dark bulge against the cotton.

“{{User}}...” His voice was rough, sleep-rasped and low. Still not looking. “You can’t just—”

A wet sound filled the quiet room. Kaleb’s hips twitched. The bulge in his boxers jerked, the thick length of him visibly hardening until the waistband strained. A dark spot of precome bloomed near the tip.

Slowly—almost reluctantly—he rolled onto his back. The motion made the open collar of his sleep shirt fall wider, exposing the inked expanse of his chest and the hard ridges of his abs. His dreadlocks spilled across the pillow. Those heavy-lidded dark eyes finally found {{user}}’s face, half-lidded and stormy with leftover hurt and rising heat. The pout was still there, softer now, but present.

“You embarrassed the shit out of me,” he muttered, voice thick. His free hand flexed against the sheets. “Half the math department was there. I could feel everyone staring. My chest got so tight I thought I was gonna pass out in the middle of that fucking kitchen.”

Even as he spoke, his hips rolled once—small, involuntary—pushing the thick ridge of his cock more firmly against the front of his boxers. {{User}} kept sucking his fingers, slower now, watching him through their lashes. Watching the way his throat worked when he swallowed. Watching the way the tattoos on his neck shifted when his jaw clenched.

Kaleb’s free hand finally moved, sliding into {{user}}’s hair with surprising gentleness. Not pulling. Just holding. His thumb stroked once behind their ear.

“I didn’t say anything last night because I didn’t want to fight while you were drunk,” he continued, quieter. “But I barely slept. Kept replaying it. Kept thinking about how many people saw me freeze up.” A shaky exhale. His cock twitched hard enough that the wet spot on his boxers grew. “And now you’re sucking on my fingers like that’s supposed to fix it.”

{{User}} let his fingers slip free with a soft, wet pop, a string of saliva connecting their lower lip to his glistening knuckles. They shifted down the bed, palms sliding over the hard planes of his stomach, feeling every defined ridge. The waistband of his boxers was already tented obscenely. {{User}} hooked their fingers in and tugged.

Kaleb lifted his hips without being asked. The thick length of his cock sprang free—heavy, flushed darker at the head, a bead of precum already sliding down the underside. It slapped against his abs with a soft sound, the weight of it making it rest heavy and full. The veins along the shaft stood out under the smooth skin. His balls were drawn tight, the short hair at the base neatly trimmed.

“Fuck,” he breathed, eyes fluttering half-shut for a second. The hand in {{user}}’s hair tightened just a fraction. “You’re really gonna suck me after making me want to crawl out of my own skin last night?”

But he didn’t stop them. When {{user}} leaned down and dragged their tongue from the base of his cock all the way up to the glistening head, Kaleb’s whole body shuddered. A low, punched-out sound left his throat. His thighs tensed on either side of {{user}}’s shoulders.

{{User}} took him into their mouth slowly—stretching their lips around the thick girth. Kaleb’s hips jerked once before he forced them still, the hand in {{user}}’s hair guiding without forcing. His breathing had gone ragged.

“Shit... just like that,” he muttered, voice dropping into that quieter, rougher register he only used when the walls were down. “You look so fucking good with your mouth full of me.”

He watched through heavy lids as {{user}} worked lower, taking more of him, the wet heat of their throat fluttering around the head. One of his long legs bent, foot bracing against the mattress. The tattoos on his hand flexed as his fingers tightened in {{user}}’s hair. Every time {{user}} hollowed their cheeks and dragged back up, Kaleb’s abdomen clenched and a fresh pulse of precum spilled across their tongue.

The leftover tension from the party still sat in his shoulders, but it was melting under the slow, wet pressure of {{user}}’s mouth. His free hand reached down, tracing the stretch of {{user}}’s lips around his cock, thumb brushing the corner of their mouth where it was shiny with spit.

“I’m still mad,” he said, but the words came out softer, almost dazed. His hips rolled up in a shallow thrust, feeding another inch into the heat of {{user}}’s throat. “Mad and hard as hell and—ah, fuck—you’re gonna make me cum if you keep sucking me like that.”

His dreadlocks shifted against the pillow as his head tipped back. The morning light caught the sheen of sweat starting to form along his collarbones and the defined V of his hips. His cock throbbed heavily on {{user}}’s tongue, the thick vein along the underside pulsing.

He was still pouting a little—lower lip caught between his teeth—but his eyes had gone dark and heavy with want. The quiet, anxious part of him was still there, but it was drowning under the heat of being wanted, of being touched like this after a night that had left him raw.

The soft morning light filtered through the half-closed blinds of their off-campus apartment, painting pale stripes across the rumpled sheets. Kaleb lay on his side, back to {{user}}, the broad plane of his tattooed shoulders rising and falling in slow, deliberate breaths. His long dreadlocks spilled over the pillow, a few honey-tipped strands caught against the warm brown skin of his neck. He was already awake—had been for almost an hour—phone held loosely in one hand while his thumb scrolled without really seeing anything.

{{User}} shifted closer, the mattress dipping. The vague, sticky remnants of last night clung to the edges of their memory: the thumping bass of the campus party, the too-sweet taste of whatever cheap punch they’d been drinking, the way Kaleb’s usual quiet presence had grown tighter and tighter beside them. Then the blurry flash of something stupid—laughing too loud, maybe grabbing him in front of people, maybe saying something that made a small circle of eyes turn their way. Kaleb’s jaw had locked. He’d gone silent. And somehow they’d still ended up back here, tangled together in the dark like nothing had cracked.

They spoke up to apologize.

Silence. Then the subtle shift of his shoulders as he turned farther away, the screen of his phone lighting up again. A pout sat heavy on his full mouth—lower lip pushed out just enough to be unmistakable if anyone had been looking. He didn’t answer. Just kept scrolling, the muscles along his spine drawn tight under smooth skin.

But Kaleb felt them reach out, fingers brushing the warm back of his hand where it rested against the sheets. Kaleb didn’t pull away, but he didn’t turn either. So {{user}} slid their palm over his, gently prying two of those long, ringed fingers free. The silver bands were cool against their skin. Without another word, they guided those two fingers up and parted their lips around them.

Kaleb’s breath hitched—sharp, quiet.

{{User}} sucked slowly, tongue curling between the digits, wet heat sliding from the base of his knuckles all the way to the tips. The taste of his skin was familiar: clean, a little salty, the faint metallic edge of the rings.

A low, involuntary sound rumbled in Kaleb’s chest. The phone slipped from his other hand and thumped against the mattress. For a second he stayed frozen, back still turned, but the tension in his body shifted—no longer the rigid wall of anxiety, but something hotter and tighter. The soft gray fabric of his boxers stretched as his cock thickened fast, the heavy outline of it rising against his thigh and then lifting, thickening further until the head pushed a clear, dark bulge against the cotton.

“{{User}}...” His voice was rough, sleep-rasped and low. Still not looking. “You can’t just—”

A wet sound filled the quiet room. Kaleb’s hips twitched. The bulge in his boxers jerked, the thick length of him visibly hardening until the waistband strained. A dark spot of precome bloomed near the tip.

Slowly—almost reluctantly—he rolled onto his back. The motion made the open collar of his sleep shirt fall wider, exposing the inked expanse of his chest and the hard ridges of his abs. His dreadlocks spilled across the pillow. Those heavy-lidded dark eyes finally found {{user}}’s face, half-lidded and stormy with leftover hurt and rising heat. The pout was still there, softer now, but present.

“You embarrassed the shit out of me,” he muttered, voice thick. His free hand flexed against the sheets. “Half the math department was there. I could feel everyone staring. My chest got so tight I thought I was gonna pass out in the middle of that fucking kitchen.”

Even as he spoke, his hips rolled once—small, involuntary—pushing the thick ridge of his cock more firmly against the front of his boxers. {{User}} kept sucking his fingers, slower now, watching him through their lashes. Watching the way his throat worked when he swallowed. Watching the way the tattoos on his neck shifted when his jaw clenched.

Kaleb’s free hand finally moved, sliding into {{user}}’s hair with surprising gentleness. Not pulling. Just holding. His thumb stroked once behind their ear.

“I didn’t say anything last night because I didn’t want to fight while you were drunk,” he continued, quieter. “But I barely slept. Kept replaying it. Kept thinking about how many people saw me freeze up.” A shaky exhale. His cock twitched hard enough that the wet spot on his boxers grew. “And now you’re sucking on my fingers like that’s supposed to fix it.”

{{User}} let his fingers slip free with a soft, wet pop, a string of saliva connecting their lower lip to his glistening knuckles. They shifted down the bed, palms sliding over the hard planes of his stomach, feeling every defined ridge. The waistband of his boxers was already tented obscenely. {{User}} hooked their fingers in and tugged.

Kaleb lifted his hips without being asked. The thick length of his cock sprang free—heavy, flushed darker at the head, a bead of precum already sliding down the underside. It slapped against his abs with a soft sound, the weight of it making it rest heavy and full. The veins along the shaft stood out under the smooth skin. His balls were drawn tight, the short hair at the base neatly trimmed.

“Fuck,” he breathed, eyes fluttering half-shut for a second. The hand in {{user}}’s hair tightened just a fraction. “You’re really gonna suck me after making me want to crawl out of my own skin last night?”

But he didn’t stop them. When {{user}} leaned down and dragged their tongue from the base of his cock all the way up to the glistening head, Kaleb’s whole body shuddered. A low, punched-out sound left his throat. His thighs tensed on either side of {{user}}’s shoulders.

{{User}} took him into their mouth slowly—stretching their lips around the thick girth. Kaleb’s hips jerked once before he forced them still, the hand in {{user}}’s hair guiding without forcing. His breathing had gone ragged.

“Shit... just like that,” he muttered, voice dropping into that quieter, rougher register he only used when the walls were down. “You look so fucking good with your mouth full of me.”

He watched through heavy lids as {{user}} worked lower, taking more of him, the wet heat of their throat fluttering around the head. One of his long legs bent, foot bracing against the mattress. The tattoos on his hand flexed as his fingers tightened in {{user}}’s hair. Every time {{user}} hollowed their cheeks and dragged back up, Kaleb’s abdomen clenched and a fresh pulse of precum spilled across their tongue.

The leftover tension from the party still sat in his shoulders, but it was melting under the slow, wet pressure of {{user}}’s mouth. His free hand reached down, tracing the stretch of {{user}}’s lips around his cock, thumb brushing the corner of their mouth where it was shiny with spit.

“I’m still mad,” he said, but the words came out softer, almost dazed. His hips rolled up in a shallow thrust, feeding another inch into the heat of {{user}}’s throat. “Mad and hard as hell and—ah, fuck—you’re gonna make me cum if you keep sucking me like that.”

His dreadlocks shifted against the pillow as his head tipped back. The morning light caught the sheen of sweat starting to form along his collarbones and the defined V of his hips. His cock throbbed heavily on {{user}}’s tongue, the thick vein along the underside pulsing.

He was still pouting a little—lower lip caught between his teeth—but his eyes had gone dark and heavy with want. The quiet, anxious part of him was still there, but it was drowning under the heat of being wanted, of being touched like this after a night that had left him raw.

“C’mere,” he rasped after another long minute of wet, filthy sounds. His hand tugged gently at {{user}}’s hair, pulling them off his cock with a slick pop. A thick strand of spit and precome stretched between their lips and the flushed head of his dick before breaking. Kaleb’s chest heaved. His cock stood rigid and shiny against his stomach, twitching with every heartbeat.

He pulled {{user}} up until they were straddling his hips, the thick length of him trapped between their bodies. His hands slid down to grip {{user}}’s ass, fingers digging in just enough to leave faint marks. The pout had faded into something softer, hungrier.

“You’re gonna ride me,” he murmured, voice low and rough against {{user}}’s mouth. “Nice and slow. And you’re gonna look at me the whole time so I know you’re here. Not at some party. Not making a scene. Just here. With me.”

One hand left {{user}}’s ass just long enough to line himself up. The blunt, slick head of his cock pressed against {{user}}’s entrance, hot and insistent. Kaleb’s jaw flexed as he waited—letting {{user}} sink down at their own pace, watching every flicker of expression on their face. The thick stretch made his breath stutter. His hands returned to {{user}}’s hips, guiding, grounding.

When {{user}} finally bottomed out, taking every heavy inch of him, Kaleb’s head fell back against the pillow with a broken sound. His thighs trembled. The tattoos across his chest and stomach shifted with every deep breath.

“Fuck... there you go,” he whispered. His eyes locked on {{user}}’s. Still a little wounded. Still a little pouty. But burning. “Now move. And don’t you dare look away.”

{{User}} started to ride him—slow, deep rolls of their hips that dragged every thick inch of his cock along sensitive walls. Kaleb met each movement with a controlled upward thrust, the wet sound of their bodies filling the quiet apartment. His hands roamed—up {{user}}’s sides, over their chest, back down to grip their hips hard enough to bruise. Every time {{user}} clenched around him, his breath caught and his fingers flexed.

The anxiety from last night still lingered at the edges, but it was drowned beneath the heat of {{user}}’s body, the way they looked at him, the way they took him so perfectly. Kaleb’s pace stayed measured, almost possessive—deep, grinding thrusts that kept him buried to the hilt, the thick base of his cock stretching {{user}} wide on every downstroke.

“Still mad,” he panted against {{user}}’s mouth, though the words were losing their edge. One hand slid up to cup the back of {{user}}’s neck, holding them close. “But fuck, you feel too good.”

The soft morning light filtered through the half-closed blinds of their off-campus apartment, painting pale stripes across the rumpled sheets. Kaleb lay on his side, back to {{user}}, the broad plane of his tattooed shoulders rising and falling in slow, deliberate breaths. His long dreadlocks spilled over the pillow, a few honey-tipped strands caught against the warm brown skin of his neck. He was already awake—had been for almost an hour—phone held loosely in one hand while his thumb scrolled without really seeing anything.

{{User}} shifted closer, the mattress dipping. The vague, sticky remnants of last night clung to the edges of their memory: the thumping bass of the campus party, the too-sweet taste of whatever cheap punch they’d been drinking, the way Kaleb’s usual quiet presence had grown tighter and tighter beside them. Then the blurry flash of something stupid—laughing too loud, maybe grabbing him in front of people, maybe saying something that made a small circle of eyes turn their way. Kaleb’s jaw had locked. He’d gone silent. And somehow they’d still ended up back here, tangled together in the dark like nothing had cracked.

They spoke up to apologize.

Silence. Then the subtle shift of his shoulders as he turned farther away, the screen of his phone lighting up again. A pout sat heavy on his full mouth—lower lip pushed out just enough to be unmistakable if anyone had been looking. He didn’t answer. Just kept scrolling, the muscles along his spine drawn tight under smooth skin.

But Kaleb felt them reach out, fingers brushing the warm back of his hand where it rested against the sheets. Kaleb didn’t pull away, but he didn’t turn either. So {{user}} slid their palm over his, gently prying two of those long, ringed fingers free. The silver bands were cool against their skin. Without another word, they guided those two fingers up and parted their lips around them.

Kaleb’s breath hitched—sharp, quiet.

{{User}} sucked slowly, tongue curling between the digits, wet heat sliding from the base of his knuckles all the way to the tips. The taste of his skin was familiar: clean, a little salty, the faint metallic edge of the rings.

A low, involuntary sound rumbled in Kaleb’s chest. The phone slipped from his other hand and thumped against the mattress. For a second he stayed frozen, back still turned, but the tension in his body shifted—no longer the rigid wall of anxiety, but something hotter and tighter. The soft gray fabric of his boxers stretched as his cock thickened fast, the heavy outline of it rising against his thigh and then lifting, thickening further until the head pushed a clear, dark bulge against the cotton.

“{{User}}...” His voice was rough, sleep-rasped and low. Still not looking. “You can’t just—”

A wet sound filled the quiet room. Kaleb’s hips twitched. The bulge in his boxers jerked, the thick length of him visibly hardening until the waistband strained. A dark spot of precome bloomed near the tip.

Slowly—almost reluctantly—he rolled onto his back. The motion made the open collar of his sleep shirt fall wider, exposing the inked expanse of his chest and the hard ridges of his abs. His dreadlocks spilled across the pillow. Those heavy-lidded dark eyes finally found {{user}}’s face, half-lidded and stormy with leftover hurt and rising heat. The pout was still there, softer now, but present.

“You embarrassed the shit out of me,” he muttered, voice thick. His free hand flexed against the sheets. “Half the math department was there. I could feel everyone staring. My chest got so tight I thought I was gonna pass out in the middle of that fucking kitchen.”

Even as he spoke, his hips rolled once—small, involuntary—pushing the thick ridge of his cock more firmly against the front of his boxers. {{User}} kept sucking his fingers, slower now, watching him through their lashes. Watching the way his throat worked when he swallowed. Watching the way the tattoos on his neck shifted when his jaw clenched.

Kaleb’s free hand finally moved, sliding into {{user}}’s hair with surprising gentleness. Not pulling. Just holding. His thumb stroked once behind their ear.

“I didn’t say anything last night because I didn’t want to fight while you were drunk,” he continued, quieter. “But I barely slept. Kept replaying it. Kept thinking about how many people saw me freeze up.” A shaky exhale. His cock twitched hard enough that the wet spot on his boxers grew. “And now you’re sucking on my fingers like that’s supposed to fix it.”

{{User}} let his fingers slip free with a soft, wet pop, a string of saliva connecting their lower lip to his glistening knuckles. They shifted down the bed, palms sliding over the hard planes of his stomach, feeling every defined ridge. The waistband of his boxers was already tented obscenely. {{User}} hooked their fingers in and tugged.

Kaleb lifted his hips without being asked. The thick length of his cock sprang free—heavy, flushed darker at the head, a bead of precum already sliding down the underside. It slapped against his abs with a soft sound, the weight of it making it rest heavy and full. The veins along the shaft stood out under the smooth skin. His balls were drawn tight, the short hair at the base neatly trimmed.

“Fuck,” he breathed, eyes fluttering half-shut for a second. The hand in {{user}}’s hair tightened just a fraction. “You’re really gonna suck me after making me want to crawl out of my own skin last night?”

But he didn’t stop them. When {{user}} leaned down and dragged their tongue from the base of his cock all the way up to the glistening head, Kaleb’s whole body shuddered. A low, punched-out sound left his throat. His thighs tensed on either side of {{user}}’s shoulders.

{{User}} took him into their mouth slowly—stretching their lips around the thick girth. Kaleb’s hips jerked once before he forced them still, the hand in {{user}}’s hair guiding without forcing. His breathing had gone ragged.

“Shit... just like that,” he muttered, voice dropping into that quieter, rougher register he only used when the walls were down. “You look so fucking good with your mouth full of me.”

He watched through heavy lids as {{user}} worked lower, taking more of him, the wet heat of their throat fluttering around the head. One of his long legs bent, foot bracing against the mattress. The tattoos on his hand flexed as his fingers tightened in {{user}}’s hair. Every time {{user}} hollowed their cheeks and dragged back up, Kaleb’s abdomen clenched and a fresh pulse of precum spilled across their tongue.

The leftover tension from the party still sat in his shoulders, but it was melting under the slow, wet pressure of {{user}}’s mouth. His free hand reached down, tracing the stretch of {{user}}’s lips around his cock, thumb brushing the corner of their mouth where it was shiny with spit.

“I’m still mad,” he said, but the words came out softer, almost dazed. His hips rolled up in a shallow thrust, feeding another inch into the heat of {{user}}’s throat. “Mad and hard as hell and—ah, fuck—you’re gonna make me cum if you keep sucking me like that.”

His dreadlocks shifted against the pillow as his head tipped back. The morning light caught the sheen of sweat starting to form along his collarbones and the defined V of his hips. His cock throbbed heavily on {{user}}’s tongue, the thick vein along the underside pulsing.

He was still pouting a little—lower lip caught between his teeth—but his eyes had gone dark and heavy with want. The quiet, anxious part of him was still there, but it was drowning under the heat of being wanted, of being touched like this after a night that had left him raw.

“C’mere,” he rasped after another long minute of wet, filthy sounds. His hand tugged gently at {{user}}’s hair, pulling them off his cock with a slick pop. A thick strand of spit and precome stretched between their lips and the flushed head of his dick before breaking. Kaleb’s chest heaved. His cock stood rigid and shiny against his stomach, twitching with every heartbeat.

He pulled {{user}} up until they were straddling his hips, the thick length of him trapped between their bodies. His hands slid down to grip {{user}}’s ass, fingers digging in just enough to leave faint marks. The pout had faded into something softer, hungrier.

“You’re gonna ride me,” he murmured, voice low and rough against {{user}}’s mouth. “Nice and slow. And you’re gonna look at me the whole time so I know you’re here. Not at some party. Not making a scene. Just here. With me.”

One hand left {{user}}’s ass just long enough to line himself up. The blunt, slick head of his cock pressed against {{user}}’s entrance, hot and insistent. Kaleb’s jaw flexed as he waited—letting {{user}} sink down at their own pace, watching every flicker of expression on their face. The thick stretch made his breath stutter. His hands returned to {{user}}’s hips, guiding, grounding.

When {{user}} finally bottomed out, taking every heavy inch of him, Kaleb’s head fell back against the pillow with a broken sound. His thighs trembled. The tattoos across his chest and stomach shifted with every deep breath.

“Fuck... there you go,” he whispered. His eyes locked on {{user}}’s. Still a little wounded. Still a little pouty. But burning. “Now move. And don’t you dare look away.”

{{User}} started to ride him—slow, deep rolls of their hips that dragged every thick inch of his cock along sensitive walls. Kaleb met each movement with a controlled upward thrust, the wet sound of their bodies filling the quiet apartment. His hands roamed—up {{user}}’s sides, over their chest, back down to grip their hips hard enough to bruise. Every time {{user}} clenched around him, his breath caught and his fingers flexed.

The anxiety from last night still lingered at the edges, but it was drowned beneath the heat of {{user}}’s body, the way they looked at him, the way they took him so perfectly. Kaleb’s pace stayed measured, almost possessive—deep, grinding thrusts that kept him buried to the hilt, the thick base of his cock stretching {{user}} wide on every downstroke.

“Still mad,” he panted against {{user}}’s mouth, though the words were losing their edge. One hand slid up to cup the back of {{user}}’s neck, holding them close. “But fuck, you feel too good.”

His thrusts grew a little harder, a little deeper. The wet slap of skin on skin filled the room. Kaleb’s abs flexed with every movement, the defined ridges glistening with a thin sheen of sweat. His cock pulsed heavily inside {{user}}, the thick vein along the underside throbbing against sensitive nerves.

When he came, it was with a low, guttural sound that vibrated against {{user}}’s lips—hips snapping up hard, burying himself as deep as he could go while thick, hot pulses of cum flooded {{user}}’s insides. His whole body shuddered through it, dreadlocks sticking to the damp skin of his neck and shoulders. He kept thrusting through the aftershocks, slower now, grinding the last spurts deep like he couldn’t stand the thought of any of it escaping.

For a long moment afterward he just held {{user}} there, still buried inside, chest rising and falling hard. His forehead pressed to {{user}}’s. The pout was gone. In its place was something quieter, more open.

“...Next time you get that drunk,” he murmured, voice rough and spent, “you stay glued to my side. No making a scene. No putting eyes on me when I can’t handle it. Just... stay with me. Okay?”

His hands stroked slowly up and down {{user}}’s back, gentle now. The thick length of him was still half-hard inside them, twitching every so often as another slow pulse of cum leaked out around his cock.

Kaleb kissed them once—soft, lingering—before burying his face against their neck with a quiet sigh.

“I’m still a little mad,” he admitted against their skin, the words muffled. “But I love you more than I’m mad. So... stay like this a while. Let me feel you.”

Outside, the campus was already waking up. Inside, the only sound was their breathing and the quiet, wet shift of Kaleb’s cock still nestled deep inside {{user}}, keeping every drop of him right where he wanted it.

.