I pull back gently, my cock slipping from Mat’s mouth with a wet pop. A thick string of spit and precum connects his lips to my glistening head for a second before it breaks. He looks up at me, cheeks flushed, eyes glassy with lust and something like disbelief at what he’s just done.
“Fuck, mate,” I breathe, voice rough. “You’re a natural.”
He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, grinning sheepishly but still stroking himself slowly. “Didn’t think it’d feel like that. Tastes… better than I expected.”
I drop to my knees between his spread thighs, the carpet rough under me. His cock is thick, veined, curving slightly upward, the head dark and slick. That heavy sack rests against the sofa cushion, balls drawn up tight. Twenty years of friendship and I’ve never really looked at him like this—never let myself.
I wrap my hand around the base, feeling the heat, the pulse. He hisses through his teeth.
“Turnabout’s fair play,” I murmur.
Before he can overthink it I lean in and take him into my mouth. Just the head at first—salty, musky, unmistakably him. I swirl my tongue around the ridge, tasting the bead of precum that’s been leaking since I walked in. Mat’s hips jerk involuntarily.
“Jesus—mate you’re a fucking god at this —”
I sink down further, letting my throat relax the way I’ve practised alone more times than I’ll ever admit. His pubes tickle my nose when I bottom out; he’s not as long as me but thick enough that my jaw aches in the best way. I hollow my cheeks and suck, bobbing slowly while my hand rolls his balls.
He groans loud enough that I’m glad the neighbours are out. One hand fists my hair—not guiding, just holding on like he needs an anchor. The other is gripping the sofa cushion so hard I can see the tendons stand out on his forearm.
I pull off with a slow, deliberate slide, letting my tongue drag along the underside until I reach the tip again.
“Like that?” I ask, voice low.
“Fuck yes. Don’t stop.”
I don’t. I work him with mouth and hand, twisting at the base on every upstroke, sucking hard on the down. His breathing turns ragged; little curses spill out between moans.
After a minute his hand tightens in my hair and he tugs me off. His chest is heaving.
“Gonna come if you keep that up,” he pants. “And I’m not ready for it to be over.”
I sit back on my heels, wiping my mouth, grinning. “Good. ’Cause I want more than that.”
I stand, pulling him up with me. We’re both rock-hard, cocks brushing together as we face each other—hot skin on hot skin. I reach down and wrap both our shafts in one hand, stroking us together. The contrast is filthy and perfect: mine longer and straighter, his thicker, both leaking steadily now. The slick sound fills the room.
Mat’s forehead drops to mine. “This is mental,” he whispers, half-laughing. “Twenty years and we’re jerking each other off in your lounge like it’s nothing.”
“Been a long time coming,” I say, and mean it in every sense.
His hand joins mine, so now we’re both working our cocks together. His other hand slides around to my arse again, fingers tracing the cleft before one presses insistently at my hole. I push back onto it without thinking; he sinks in to the second knuckle.
“Fuck—yeah,” I groan. “Deeper.”
He adds a second finger, scissoring slowly while we keep stroking each other. The stretch burns just right. I can feel my pulse in my cock, in my arse, everywhere.
“Want you inside me, Mat,” I say against his mouth. No preamble. No pretending this is casual anymore.
His eyes snap to mine, pupils blown. “You sure?”
“Been sure for longer than I want to admit.”
He swallows hard, nods. “Bedroom?”
I lead him down the hall, both of us still hard and dripping, cocks bouncing with every step. Once we’re inside I shove him gently onto the bed on his back. I grab the lube from the drawer—thank fuck I keep it handy—and slick my fingers.
“Gonna open myself up for you first,” I tell him. “Watch.”
I kneel over him, straddling his thighs. He props himself on his elbows, eyes glued to me as I reach back, circling my hole before pushing two fingers in. I moan low, rocking back onto my hand while I stroke myself with the other.
“Jesus Christ,” he breathes. “That’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”
After a minute I pull my fingers out, coat my hand with more lube, and slick him up. His cock jumps in my grip.
I line him up, notch the fat head against me, and start to sink down.
The stretch is intense—bigger than his fingers, bigger than my toys. I go slow, breathing through it, until my arse is flush against his hips and he’s buried to the root.
We both freeze for a second, panting.
“You okay?” he asks, voice strained.
“Better than okay.” I roll my hips experimentally. Pleasure sparks up my spine. “Fuck, you feel massive.”
I start to ride him—slow at first, then harder. His hands grip my hips, guiding me, thumbs digging in. Every downstroke punches a grunt out of him.
“Mate—shit—tight—”
I lean forward, bracing my hands on his chest. Our mouths crash together, sloppy and desperate. Tongues, teeth, spit. His hips start thrusting up to meet me, fucking into me properly now.
“Gonna come,” he warns, voice wrecked. “Can’t hold it—”
“Do it,” I growl against his ear. “Fill me up, mate. Want to feel it.”
A few more hard thrusts and he locks up, groaning my name as he unloads deep inside me. The heat of it tips me over—my cock jerks untouched between us, painting his abs and chest with thick ropes.
We collapse together, sweaty, shaking, still joined.
After a long minute he laughs breathlessly against my neck.
“Twenty years,” he mutters. “Fucking hell.”
I kiss his jaw. “Worth the wait?”
He pulls me down for another slow, filthy kiss.
“Ask me again in ten minutes when I’m hard enough to go again.”
I grin against his mouth.
“Deal.”
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