“What do you want for breakfast? I can do eggs. I’ve got time before Ezra drags me onto a call.” His thumb traced a lazy arc against Colin’s thigh through the cotton, still not moving higher, still not acknowledging what was pressing against the front of Colin’s boxers. “I could do French toast. Have you had French toast with ube jam? You’d lose your mind, Colin, it’s this purple yam thing from —”
Colin reached down and hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his boxers.
It was the most impulsive thing he’d done in years. He moved before the rest of his brain had time to overthink things. He’dwoken up feeling safe and warm, beside an alpha whose first conscious thought had been to ask about his upcoming day and what he wanted for breakfast.
That, more than anything else, told him that he was going to be okay with Diwa.
He shimmied the boxers down his hips and kicked them to the foot of the bed and Diwa’s hand went still on his skin.
Diwa’s breathing caught and held. His slick had been building since before he’d woken, pooling warm between his thighs, and now it was running freely, wetting the sheet underneath him.
Colin’s hand twitched against his thigh. He’d never been wet like this in front of anyone. The smell of him was rising thick and sweet around them, and for a half-second he wanted to pull the sheet over himself and pretend this had never happened.
Then he looked at Diwa, whose eyes moved over him; his cock, his slick-soaked thighs, the wet patch spreading on the sheet. The alpha’s mouth hung half open. He was looking at the mess of Colin like he was the best thing he’d ever seen.
That urged Colin on.
He got a knee over Diwa’s hip and settled himself across the alpha’s lap, the Stanford shirt bunching up around his waist. Diwa’s hands came to his thighs by reflex, palms warm against his wet skin, and Colin watched his face as the weight of what was happening landed on him. Diwa bit down on his bottom lip. His eyes were wide open, dark, tracking Colin’s face as his slick soaked through onto the front of Diwa’s boxers.
“Colin…”
“Shut up.”
Diwa’s teeth stayed sunk into his bottom lip, and his fingers flexed once against Colin’s thighs without moving higher.
The Stanford shirt had ridden up past his hips but the hem still covered him, pooling in the crease of his thighs where he satastride Diwa’s lap. Diwa’s hands came to the fabric first, not to Colin’s skin. He reached for the hem and gathered it, bunching it up in slow fistfuls. He pushed it higher until it sat rucked above Colin’s hips and everything below was bare. Diwa held the fabric there, knuckles pressed into the soft give of Colin’s waist, and he looked down between them.
The breath left him in a single hard exhale through his nose.
Colin worked the waistband of Diwa’s boxers down. Diwa lifted his hips to help, and Colin got the boxers down and left him to kick them the rest of the way off. When he settled back down on Diwa’s lap, the alpha’s cock lay thick and hard against his inner thigh.
His fingers closed around Diwa and the alpha’s head tipped back against the pillow, throat bared, a rough sound escaping through his teeth. Colin knew how to do this much. He’d had years of his own hand on himself, and he knew how to grip a cock, and just how much pressure to apply.
He was circumcised, the head smooth and exposed, a vein running the length of the underside that Colin traced with his thumb. His skin was hot and silky under his palm, and when he drew his hand up in an experimental stroke that was more about getting to know the weight of his shaft than anything else, Diwa’s stomach muscles clenched hard under him.
He did it again, his movements slower and tighter, and he watched the alpha come apart because ofhim.
He shifted forward on Diwa’s lap, got his hips angled right, and took his own cock in his free hand. The first brush of it against Diwa’s drew a sound out of him he hadn’t known he could make, a short, punched-out breath. Diwa’s cock was hot against his, almost shockingly so, the difference in size obvious now that they were pressed flush together. Colin wrapped his hand around both of them.
His palm was rough. Years of handling wire wool and limescale had left calluses across the meat of his hand that no amount of moisturising was going to shift. The texture of his own skin against the smooth heat of Diwa’s cock made the alpha’s breath stutter, his hips jerking up once before he caught himself.
Diwa’s hands went to Colin’s hips. He held him there, thumbs pressed into the crease where his thighs met his pelvis, firm enough that Colin could feel the grip while still being able to move however he wanted. Colin looked down at him and saw Diwa watching his face with his jaw set tight, holding himself back with visible effort.
Colin started to move his hand.
He didn’t do anything clever. He did what he’d done alone in his own bed for years: kept a steady grip, unhurried, working from root to tip with enough pressure that his fingers dragged along their cocks. The difference was the heat of another cock against his own, the way Diwa’s skin slid against the underside of Colin’s shaft with every stroke. His own foreskin caught and pulled with the friction, and the drag of it sent a bright jolt up through his belly that made his thighs clamp tighter around Diwa’s hips.
He found a rhythm. Slow enough to feel everything, fast enough that the slickness from his own body and the precome leaking steadily from Diwa’s cock mixed under his palm and made the slide wetter, easier. His thumb pressed into the groove where their shafts met on every upstroke, and Diwa made a noise like he’d been hit.
“Colin. Fuck!”
Colin squeezed tighter and Diwa’s head dropped back against the pillow, both hands flexing hard on Colin’s hips. His breathing had gone ragged, coming in short bursts through his teeth. Colin watched the tendons in his neck stand out. He’ddone that. His hand, his body, was getting this reaction out of the alpha.
He sped up. His wrist ached and he didn’t care. The wet sound of his fist working over both of them filled the quiet bedroom, obscene and good, and Colin’s own orgasm was building at the base of his spine in a hot wave he couldn’t have stopped even if he’d tried. Diwa’s cock pulsed against his, thickening in his grip, and Colin tightened his hand and kept to the same pace because he knew, the way he knew his own body, that changing anything now would ruin it.
Diwa came first. His hips snapped up hard enough to lift Colin with them, his fingers biting into Colin’s hips as he spilled hot over Colin’s knuckles and across both their stomachs. The feel of it, the wet heat of it, running down over Colin’s own cock, tipped him over.
Colin came with his teeth sunk into his own bottom lip and his free hand braced flat on Diwa’s chest, his whole body drawn tight as a wire before the tension broke and left him shaking. His spend mixed with Diwa’s between them.
