Nice to meet you, I am Andrej.
- Thread starter bankai-shikai
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- coming out first time gay mma
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Hvala puno, postoje isečci čitave priče na internetu tu i tamo, ali u ovoj verziji i načinu na kojem sa postavio na LPSG ne postoji.
jel imas linkove gde su isečci ili kako ih pronaci? citacu je i ovde na LPSG ali me zivo zanima ostatak
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Iskreno, nemam linkove. Isečci su pisani tako, možda jedna priča svakih godinu ili dve. Postavio sam neke na sajtu klubzaodrasle.com ali tada nisu imali kategoriju gej ili bi priče, tako da priče nisu kategorisane. Koristio sam takođe u tim pričama i druga imena, tako da ćeš ih vrlo teško pronaći. Ili čekaš ovde kao i svi ostali haha
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Chapter 7
The air between us was charged, thick with the weight of something neither of us had the strength—or desire—to resist. My back pressed against the cold brick wall in the alley behind the bar, and Andrej’s lips claimed mine, soft at first, hesitant, as though testing the waters of a sea neither of us had dared enter before. But hesitation quickly gave way to hunger, and in that hunger, there was a kind of madness. His fingers laced into my hair, gripping with a desperation that sent shivers down my spine. I let out a small, involuntary gasp against his mouth, and it only seemed to embolden him.
My hands roamed his back, tracing the outline of muscles tense with anticipation. Our bodies fit together like puzzle pieces, each touch igniting something raw and untamed between us. His scent—faint cologne mixed with the smoke from me and sweat clinging to his skin—filled my lungs, intoxicating me further. The night air was cool, but my skin burned everywhere he touched me. My God…
As his hands wandered, trembling but determined, I felt the rough graze of his fingers at my belt. There was no hesitation in the way he tugged at the leather, no second-guessing, just a feverish need that mirrored my own. He was looking into my eyes, holding his breath. I held my breath as well. But just as the buckle gave a sharp clink, shattering the silence around us, a voice pierced through the darkness, yanking us back to reality with the force of a sudden storm.
“Petar!”
My name rang out like a gunshot. I froze, heart hammering against my ribs, breath coming in shallow, erratic gulps. Andrej’s hands stilled instantly, his chest rising and falling against mine. Our eyes locked in the dim light once again, both of us searching for something—reassurance, understanding, the promise that what had just happened wasn’t going to vanish like mist in the morning sun.
Andrej, ever so calm even in the chaos, swallowed hard before whispering, “Please don’t panic. Everything is going to be alright.”
His voice was steady, but I could see the flicker of fear behind his dark eyes. I nodded, though my hands were still trembling as I hurriedly smoothed my hair and straightened my wrinkled shirt. My fingers fumbled with my belt, securing it back in place as I sucked in a deep breath and forced my legs to move.
I stepped inside, blinking against the golden glow of dimly lit bulbs strung across the ceiling. The bar had the kind of timeworn charm that made it feel like it existed outside of time itself—wood-paneled walls, a long counter lined with half-empty bottles, old cigarette smoke hanging in the air despite the open windows. The place was packed, filled with laughter, clinking glasses, and the occasional burst of music from the aging speaker in the corner.
I spotted my mother near the bar, balancing a tray of drinks in her hands. Her eyes flicked up as I approached, and she sighed. “There you are. Come help me serve. Stevan’s friends are drinking like it’s their last night on earth.”
I nodded mutely, still feeling the ghost of Andrej’s lips against mine. The rush of blood in my ears made the voices around me sound distant, like I was underwater. I moved mechanically, picking up a tray and weaving through the crowd, offering drinks to faces I barely registered.
But Andrej was there. He had entered from the side, leaning casually against the counter. One hand lazily gripped the edge of the bar, the other holding a half-finished glass of rakija. Across the room, his dark eyes flicked toward me, burning through the haze of bodies between us. My stomach twisted with unspoken hunger. The glances between us were like whispers in a crowded room—intimate, urgent, alive with something neither of us could name but both felt with aching clarity.
My mother, oblivious, leaned in slightly as she placed an empty glass on the bar. “I haven’t seen Andrej at our place for a long time,” she remarked casually, her eyes scanning the room. “He used to come around all the time.”
My throat tightened. “Yeah,” I muttered, forcing nonchalance into my voice. But my fingers fidgeted against the rim of my own glass. I dared another glance at Andrej. He had heard. He smirked, tilting his glass in silent amusement before taking a slow sip. Heat curled in my gut.
Then, my phone vibrated in my pocket. A quick glance, and my breath hitched.
Andrej: "You look very hot like this. Sweating lightly, hair all messed up. "
To this day, I haven’t felt such a surge of emotions. I guess that the flame of one’s first love really does burn the brightest. I couldn’t give order and clarity to my thoughts. I remember to this day that I was thinking things like How in hell are these things happening to me?
He was fully and intentionally ignoring his and Stevan’s friends. He was fixated on me. Every single second that I spent looking at him, he spent it looking at me as well. Imagine this man, leaning on his side on the bar, legs crossed. He was wearing a simple white t-shirt again. He was almost always wearning one, a thing that definatelly made an impact on me, as I started wearing them as well. As the body dismorphia dissolved, even I started wearing them. But his looked way better on him, sculpting his chest, shoulders and arms the way only a perfectly fitted t-shirt could. The sip he took in front of my eyes was dedicated to me, as he gave me a small nod with his lips curved in the most discrete of ways. A smile.
I felt trapped and I was sinking, but my God was the feeling that the sinking hole gave me good.
Then the first shove happened, breaking my slow motion film.
A glass tipped over. A sharp voice cut through the ambiance. The air changed instantly, like the static before a storm. I turned just in time to see one of Stevan’s friends—Miloš, a wiry guy with a sharp jaw—shove another guest back so hard he stumbled into the edge of the bar. The music faltered, voices dropped.
“Say that again, you motherfucker,” Miloš spat, his face red with drink and fury.
Stevan was between them in seconds, hands raised. “Hey, hey, cut it out.” But before he could even finish, the other man swung, his fist colliding with Stevan’s cheek in a dull crack. Stevan staggered back, and chaos exploded.
Adrenaline surged through me as bodies crashed into tables and stools. A chair tipped over. Shouts rang through the bar, some girls screaming. Then Andrej was beside me, his voice a growl in my ear. “Let’s go.” We were moving before the thought had fully formed—fists colliding with flesh, the satisfying jolt of impact reverberating through bone. My knuckles cracked against someone’s jaw, sending him sprawling. A weight slammed into my back, but before I could turn, Andrej had ripped the guy off me, shoving him hard into the bar counter.
A bottle shattered. Someone grunted in pain. I tasted copper in my mouth, and through the blur of movement, I found Andrej’s eyes, wild and burning. We fought like we belonged to something primal, something untamed. The bar was a frenzy of limbs and curses until, finally, the men staggered back, panting and beaten.
The sharp cry of my mother’s voice cut through the madness. “Enough! What the hell are you doing?!” Her face was pale with fury, her breath heaving. I wiped a hand over my mouth, smearing blood over my chin, my heartbeat still hammering. My gaze locked with Andrej’s—shirts torn, faces bruised, blood staining our skin. And yet, through it all, that same tension still crackled between us, stronger than ever.
I turned on my heel and strode toward the back room, my breath sharp and uneven. I barely had time to pull off my ruined shirt before Andrej was there, pushing through the door, closing it behind him with a quiet click.
Silence. Heavy. Charged.
“Who knew you Karlovačka boys were so tough?“ he asked.
And then, he was on me.
His hands grabbed my waist, slamming me against the wooden dresser with a force that sent a jolt through my spine. Lips crashed together—hot, desperate, tasting of blood and sweat and something even more intoxicating. I moaned into the kiss, my hands flying to his face, fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer, deeper.
Andrej bit down on my lower lip, just enough to make me gasp. “You drive me crazy,” he murmured, his voice rough, his breath hot against my mouth, burning my tongue with the aftertaste of rakija.
I raked my fingers down his back, nails digging into flesh, the pain only heightening the heat between us. The kiss grew messier, tongues colliding, teeth grazing skin. Andrej’s hands were everywhere—gripping my waist, sliding up my back, pressing me into the hard wood as if he wanted to fuse us together. I felt all of him.
I pulled back just long enough to suck in a ragged breath, my head tipping back as Andrej trailed open-mouthed kisses down my jaw, my throat. A groan tore from my lips as he bit down just above my collarbone, sucking hard enough to leave a mark. He was making me his. There was nothing I could do.
Our bodies pressed together, feverish, desperate, every inch of us screaming for more. I tilted my head, capturing his lips once again, deepening the kiss until there was nothing left in the world except the taste of him, the feel of him, the raw, electric need burning between us. My God, what am I doing with my life?
The air between us was charged, thick with the weight of something neither of us had the strength—or desire—to resist. My back pressed against the cold brick wall in the alley behind the bar, and Andrej’s lips claimed mine, soft at first, hesitant, as though testing the waters of a sea neither of us had dared enter before. But hesitation quickly gave way to hunger, and in that hunger, there was a kind of madness. His fingers laced into my hair, gripping with a desperation that sent shivers down my spine. I let out a small, involuntary gasp against his mouth, and it only seemed to embolden him.
My hands roamed his back, tracing the outline of muscles tense with anticipation. Our bodies fit together like puzzle pieces, each touch igniting something raw and untamed between us. His scent—faint cologne mixed with the smoke from me and sweat clinging to his skin—filled my lungs, intoxicating me further. The night air was cool, but my skin burned everywhere he touched me. My God…
As his hands wandered, trembling but determined, I felt the rough graze of his fingers at my belt. There was no hesitation in the way he tugged at the leather, no second-guessing, just a feverish need that mirrored my own. He was looking into my eyes, holding his breath. I held my breath as well. But just as the buckle gave a sharp clink, shattering the silence around us, a voice pierced through the darkness, yanking us back to reality with the force of a sudden storm.
“Petar!”
My name rang out like a gunshot. I froze, heart hammering against my ribs, breath coming in shallow, erratic gulps. Andrej’s hands stilled instantly, his chest rising and falling against mine. Our eyes locked in the dim light once again, both of us searching for something—reassurance, understanding, the promise that what had just happened wasn’t going to vanish like mist in the morning sun.
Andrej, ever so calm even in the chaos, swallowed hard before whispering, “Please don’t panic. Everything is going to be alright.”
His voice was steady, but I could see the flicker of fear behind his dark eyes. I nodded, though my hands were still trembling as I hurriedly smoothed my hair and straightened my wrinkled shirt. My fingers fumbled with my belt, securing it back in place as I sucked in a deep breath and forced my legs to move.
I stepped inside, blinking against the golden glow of dimly lit bulbs strung across the ceiling. The bar had the kind of timeworn charm that made it feel like it existed outside of time itself—wood-paneled walls, a long counter lined with half-empty bottles, old cigarette smoke hanging in the air despite the open windows. The place was packed, filled with laughter, clinking glasses, and the occasional burst of music from the aging speaker in the corner.
I spotted my mother near the bar, balancing a tray of drinks in her hands. Her eyes flicked up as I approached, and she sighed. “There you are. Come help me serve. Stevan’s friends are drinking like it’s their last night on earth.”
I nodded mutely, still feeling the ghost of Andrej’s lips against mine. The rush of blood in my ears made the voices around me sound distant, like I was underwater. I moved mechanically, picking up a tray and weaving through the crowd, offering drinks to faces I barely registered.
But Andrej was there. He had entered from the side, leaning casually against the counter. One hand lazily gripped the edge of the bar, the other holding a half-finished glass of rakija. Across the room, his dark eyes flicked toward me, burning through the haze of bodies between us. My stomach twisted with unspoken hunger. The glances between us were like whispers in a crowded room—intimate, urgent, alive with something neither of us could name but both felt with aching clarity.
My mother, oblivious, leaned in slightly as she placed an empty glass on the bar. “I haven’t seen Andrej at our place for a long time,” she remarked casually, her eyes scanning the room. “He used to come around all the time.”
My throat tightened. “Yeah,” I muttered, forcing nonchalance into my voice. But my fingers fidgeted against the rim of my own glass. I dared another glance at Andrej. He had heard. He smirked, tilting his glass in silent amusement before taking a slow sip. Heat curled in my gut.
Then, my phone vibrated in my pocket. A quick glance, and my breath hitched.
Andrej: "You look very hot like this. Sweating lightly, hair all messed up. "
To this day, I haven’t felt such a surge of emotions. I guess that the flame of one’s first love really does burn the brightest. I couldn’t give order and clarity to my thoughts. I remember to this day that I was thinking things like How in hell are these things happening to me?
He was fully and intentionally ignoring his and Stevan’s friends. He was fixated on me. Every single second that I spent looking at him, he spent it looking at me as well. Imagine this man, leaning on his side on the bar, legs crossed. He was wearing a simple white t-shirt again. He was almost always wearning one, a thing that definatelly made an impact on me, as I started wearing them as well. As the body dismorphia dissolved, even I started wearing them. But his looked way better on him, sculpting his chest, shoulders and arms the way only a perfectly fitted t-shirt could. The sip he took in front of my eyes was dedicated to me, as he gave me a small nod with his lips curved in the most discrete of ways. A smile.
I felt trapped and I was sinking, but my God was the feeling that the sinking hole gave me good.
Then the first shove happened, breaking my slow motion film.
A glass tipped over. A sharp voice cut through the ambiance. The air changed instantly, like the static before a storm. I turned just in time to see one of Stevan’s friends—Miloš, a wiry guy with a sharp jaw—shove another guest back so hard he stumbled into the edge of the bar. The music faltered, voices dropped.
“Say that again, you motherfucker,” Miloš spat, his face red with drink and fury.
Stevan was between them in seconds, hands raised. “Hey, hey, cut it out.” But before he could even finish, the other man swung, his fist colliding with Stevan’s cheek in a dull crack. Stevan staggered back, and chaos exploded.
Adrenaline surged through me as bodies crashed into tables and stools. A chair tipped over. Shouts rang through the bar, some girls screaming. Then Andrej was beside me, his voice a growl in my ear. “Let’s go.” We were moving before the thought had fully formed—fists colliding with flesh, the satisfying jolt of impact reverberating through bone. My knuckles cracked against someone’s jaw, sending him sprawling. A weight slammed into my back, but before I could turn, Andrej had ripped the guy off me, shoving him hard into the bar counter.
A bottle shattered. Someone grunted in pain. I tasted copper in my mouth, and through the blur of movement, I found Andrej’s eyes, wild and burning. We fought like we belonged to something primal, something untamed. The bar was a frenzy of limbs and curses until, finally, the men staggered back, panting and beaten.
The sharp cry of my mother’s voice cut through the madness. “Enough! What the hell are you doing?!” Her face was pale with fury, her breath heaving. I wiped a hand over my mouth, smearing blood over my chin, my heartbeat still hammering. My gaze locked with Andrej’s—shirts torn, faces bruised, blood staining our skin. And yet, through it all, that same tension still crackled between us, stronger than ever.
I turned on my heel and strode toward the back room, my breath sharp and uneven. I barely had time to pull off my ruined shirt before Andrej was there, pushing through the door, closing it behind him with a quiet click.
Silence. Heavy. Charged.
“Who knew you Karlovačka boys were so tough?“ he asked.
And then, he was on me.
His hands grabbed my waist, slamming me against the wooden dresser with a force that sent a jolt through my spine. Lips crashed together—hot, desperate, tasting of blood and sweat and something even more intoxicating. I moaned into the kiss, my hands flying to his face, fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer, deeper.
Andrej bit down on my lower lip, just enough to make me gasp. “You drive me crazy,” he murmured, his voice rough, his breath hot against my mouth, burning my tongue with the aftertaste of rakija.
I raked my fingers down his back, nails digging into flesh, the pain only heightening the heat between us. The kiss grew messier, tongues colliding, teeth grazing skin. Andrej’s hands were everywhere—gripping my waist, sliding up my back, pressing me into the hard wood as if he wanted to fuse us together. I felt all of him.
I pulled back just long enough to suck in a ragged breath, my head tipping back as Andrej trailed open-mouthed kisses down my jaw, my throat. A groan tore from my lips as he bit down just above my collarbone, sucking hard enough to leave a mark. He was making me his. There was nothing I could do.
Our bodies pressed together, feverish, desperate, every inch of us screaming for more. I tilted my head, capturing his lips once again, deepening the kiss until there was nothing left in the world except the taste of him, the feel of him, the raw, electric need burning between us. My God, what am I doing with my life?
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Chapter 7 - part 2
I think I knew in my gut that this night was far from over. There was something else that had to be done. A sort of an instinct, that is influenced and strenghtend by the adrenaline and all the alchohol that was consumed in the night.
I think we both knew very well where and how this night was going to end. We didn’t talk much as we were walking towards my home. He didn’t even ask if it was alright for him to spend the night. It was implied.
The bathroom was thick with steam, curling along the ceiling, smothering the old blue tiles in a humid fog. The air smelled of soap and something else—warm skin, damp hair, the quiet charge of expectation. The dim light above the mirror was casting shadows over the walls, the glow just strong enough to catch on the water droplets sliding down Andrej’s bare chest.
He stood just behind me. Close.
The heat of him pressed against my back, almost but not quite touching, as if he were still deciding if he should.
I clenched my jaw and reached for the soap, lathering it between my palms, dragging it over my chest and washing away the blood. The water had loosened the tension in my muscles, but it did nothing to calm the aching pressure between my legs. My cock was already hard—too hard—and no matter how much I tried to ignore it, there was no escaping the fact that Andrej was right there, watching me.
I exhaled sharply, trying to steady myself.
Then—a touch.
The lightest brush of fingers against my lower back.
Testing the waters.
I sucked in a breath, my whole body locking up. Neither of us spoke.
Andrej reached again, more deliberate this time, trailing his fingers down the length of my spine. The heat of his palm settled between my shoulder blades, pressing gently, not pushing—just feeling.
My eyes slipped shut.
Then I turned.
And he was right there.
His wet curls clung to his forehead, darkened by water, droplets slipping down the sharp angle of his jaw. His lips were slightly parted, undecided, his chest rising and falling with deep, measured breaths.
I forced my gaze to stay on his face, but it dropped—only for a second.
The hard, heavy outline of his cock was right in front of me, thick and undeniable, water sliding down its length in slow rivulets.
Shame burned through me. He still seemes unphased.
I wanted to touch him.
God, I wanted to touch him.
But if I did—if I started—
Would I be able to stop? Where would this lead to?
Andrej didn’t seem to notice my hesitation. Or if he did, he didn’t comment. Instead, he reached for the soap, lathered his hands, and lifted my arm.
He washed me slowly, methodically, his touch both too much and not enough.
Fingers slid over my bicep, down the curve of my ribs, circling over my stomach with the lightest pressure. When Andrej’s knuckles brushed my hipbone, I twitched, gasped—the sound barely controlled, barely contained.
Andrej stilled.
Our eyes met, something undeniable crackling between us.
Then, instead of speaking, instead of making some teasing remark that would shatter the moment, Andrej lifted my other arm and started again.
His hands slid everywhere but where I ached for them most.
And I—ashamed, aching, trembling—couldn’t bring myself to do the same.
I clenched my fists at my sides, resisting the overwhelming urge to reach out.
Because if I touched Andrej now—if I let myself have this—
It would be over.
And I didn’t want it to end.
So I stood there, letting his hands explore me, feeling every slick, careful touch like fire under my skin.
By the time we left the shower, the water was running cold.
---
The bed beneath us was damp with sweat, the sheets sticking to my skin, trapping the heat between us.
Andrej was everywhere.
Above me. Inside me. Covering me.
I arched beneath him, my fingers clawing at his back, feeling the slickness of his skin under my nails as he thrust deep, slow, deliberate—dragging pain and pleasure through me with every movement.
The room smelled like sex. Like skin and sweat and the sharp, aching hunger between us.
Andrej’s mouth was everywhere—tracing over my jaw, down my throat, across the hollow of my collarbone. His lips burned every place they touched, leaving a trail of heat and want.
I tried to stay silent.
We both did.
But I couldn’t help it—couldn’t help the soft, breathless moans that slipped past my lips every time he moved.
Andrej grinned against my skin, pressing his hand over my mouth, his breath hot against my ear.
"Shh."
The fucker was enjoying this.
My moans muffled against his palm, the sound vibrating through my throat as he pushed deeper, harder, hitting that spot that made my entire body seize up.
I trembled beneath him, my fingers digging into his back, trying—failing—to keep still.
The air between us was heavy, suffocating.
Sweat slid down the curve of Andrej’s spine, dripping onto my chest, mingling with my own. Every shift, every thrust, every breath made the sheets stick to our overheated skin.
I could feel him—all of him.
The thick, overwhelming fullness of him inside me. The weight of his body pinning me down. The hard press of his abs against mine every time he rocked forward.
I was unraveling beneath him.
So I did the only thing I could—I flipped us over.
Andrej let out a low, surprised groan as I straddled him, pressing him down, forcing him to take what he had given me.
I rode him slow at first, dragging my nails down the hard planes of his chest, watching his jaw go slack, his breath catching in his throat.
Then I moved faster.
Andrej’s head fell back.
His fingers tightened around my hips, nails digging in, leaving marks.
"Fuck—"
His voice was rough, wrecked.
He was trying to be quiet, but I knew that sound.
I wanted to hear it again.
I rolled my hips deliberately, watching the way his throat bobbed when he swallowed hard, the way his stomach clenched, the way his fingers bruised into my skin as he held me tight.
"Petar—"
I pressed a hand over his mouth, grinning down at him.
His eyes went dark with something almost dangerous.
And then he was moving again.
We came within seconds of each other, our bodies wracked with pleasure, hands clinging, lips barely touching as we rode the high together.
The silence that followed was thick, heavy.
The only sound was our breathing—sharp, uneven, drowning out everything else.
And then—
Click.
My eyes snapped open.
My body went rigid beneath Andrej’s, my breath stuck in my throat.
The door.
Not the front door.
Not the bathroom.
Stevan’s door.
I wasn’t imagining it.
I knew that sound.
My stomach twisted, the weight of reality crashing down on me all at once.
Andrej was still on top of me, still inside me, his breath warm against my collarbone.
He must have heard it too, because his body had gone just as still.
For a long, agonizing second, neither of us moved.
Then—
A slow, wicked smirk curled at the corner of Andrej’s lips.
"Think he heard us?"
My breath hitched, heat flooding my face.
I think I knew in my gut that this night was far from over. There was something else that had to be done. A sort of an instinct, that is influenced and strenghtend by the adrenaline and all the alchohol that was consumed in the night.
I think we both knew very well where and how this night was going to end. We didn’t talk much as we were walking towards my home. He didn’t even ask if it was alright for him to spend the night. It was implied.
The bathroom was thick with steam, curling along the ceiling, smothering the old blue tiles in a humid fog. The air smelled of soap and something else—warm skin, damp hair, the quiet charge of expectation. The dim light above the mirror was casting shadows over the walls, the glow just strong enough to catch on the water droplets sliding down Andrej’s bare chest.
He stood just behind me. Close.
The heat of him pressed against my back, almost but not quite touching, as if he were still deciding if he should.
I clenched my jaw and reached for the soap, lathering it between my palms, dragging it over my chest and washing away the blood. The water had loosened the tension in my muscles, but it did nothing to calm the aching pressure between my legs. My cock was already hard—too hard—and no matter how much I tried to ignore it, there was no escaping the fact that Andrej was right there, watching me.
I exhaled sharply, trying to steady myself.
Then—a touch.
The lightest brush of fingers against my lower back.
Testing the waters.
I sucked in a breath, my whole body locking up. Neither of us spoke.
Andrej reached again, more deliberate this time, trailing his fingers down the length of my spine. The heat of his palm settled between my shoulder blades, pressing gently, not pushing—just feeling.
My eyes slipped shut.
Then I turned.
And he was right there.
His wet curls clung to his forehead, darkened by water, droplets slipping down the sharp angle of his jaw. His lips were slightly parted, undecided, his chest rising and falling with deep, measured breaths.
I forced my gaze to stay on his face, but it dropped—only for a second.
The hard, heavy outline of his cock was right in front of me, thick and undeniable, water sliding down its length in slow rivulets.
Shame burned through me. He still seemes unphased.
I wanted to touch him.
God, I wanted to touch him.
But if I did—if I started—
Would I be able to stop? Where would this lead to?
Andrej didn’t seem to notice my hesitation. Or if he did, he didn’t comment. Instead, he reached for the soap, lathered his hands, and lifted my arm.
He washed me slowly, methodically, his touch both too much and not enough.
Fingers slid over my bicep, down the curve of my ribs, circling over my stomach with the lightest pressure. When Andrej’s knuckles brushed my hipbone, I twitched, gasped—the sound barely controlled, barely contained.
Andrej stilled.
Our eyes met, something undeniable crackling between us.
Then, instead of speaking, instead of making some teasing remark that would shatter the moment, Andrej lifted my other arm and started again.
His hands slid everywhere but where I ached for them most.
And I—ashamed, aching, trembling—couldn’t bring myself to do the same.
I clenched my fists at my sides, resisting the overwhelming urge to reach out.
Because if I touched Andrej now—if I let myself have this—
It would be over.
And I didn’t want it to end.
So I stood there, letting his hands explore me, feeling every slick, careful touch like fire under my skin.
By the time we left the shower, the water was running cold.
---
The bed beneath us was damp with sweat, the sheets sticking to my skin, trapping the heat between us.
Andrej was everywhere.
Above me. Inside me. Covering me.
I arched beneath him, my fingers clawing at his back, feeling the slickness of his skin under my nails as he thrust deep, slow, deliberate—dragging pain and pleasure through me with every movement.
The room smelled like sex. Like skin and sweat and the sharp, aching hunger between us.
Andrej’s mouth was everywhere—tracing over my jaw, down my throat, across the hollow of my collarbone. His lips burned every place they touched, leaving a trail of heat and want.
I tried to stay silent.
We both did.
But I couldn’t help it—couldn’t help the soft, breathless moans that slipped past my lips every time he moved.
Andrej grinned against my skin, pressing his hand over my mouth, his breath hot against my ear.
"Shh."
The fucker was enjoying this.
My moans muffled against his palm, the sound vibrating through my throat as he pushed deeper, harder, hitting that spot that made my entire body seize up.
I trembled beneath him, my fingers digging into his back, trying—failing—to keep still.
The air between us was heavy, suffocating.
Sweat slid down the curve of Andrej’s spine, dripping onto my chest, mingling with my own. Every shift, every thrust, every breath made the sheets stick to our overheated skin.
I could feel him—all of him.
The thick, overwhelming fullness of him inside me. The weight of his body pinning me down. The hard press of his abs against mine every time he rocked forward.
I was unraveling beneath him.
So I did the only thing I could—I flipped us over.
Andrej let out a low, surprised groan as I straddled him, pressing him down, forcing him to take what he had given me.
I rode him slow at first, dragging my nails down the hard planes of his chest, watching his jaw go slack, his breath catching in his throat.
Then I moved faster.
Andrej’s head fell back.
His fingers tightened around my hips, nails digging in, leaving marks.
"Fuck—"
His voice was rough, wrecked.
He was trying to be quiet, but I knew that sound.
I wanted to hear it again.
I rolled my hips deliberately, watching the way his throat bobbed when he swallowed hard, the way his stomach clenched, the way his fingers bruised into my skin as he held me tight.
"Petar—"
I pressed a hand over his mouth, grinning down at him.
His eyes went dark with something almost dangerous.
And then he was moving again.
We came within seconds of each other, our bodies wracked with pleasure, hands clinging, lips barely touching as we rode the high together.
The silence that followed was thick, heavy.
The only sound was our breathing—sharp, uneven, drowning out everything else.
And then—
Click.
My eyes snapped open.
My body went rigid beneath Andrej’s, my breath stuck in my throat.
The door.
Not the front door.
Not the bathroom.
Stevan’s door.
I wasn’t imagining it.
I knew that sound.
My stomach twisted, the weight of reality crashing down on me all at once.
Andrej was still on top of me, still inside me, his breath warm against my collarbone.
He must have heard it too, because his body had gone just as still.
For a long, agonizing second, neither of us moved.
Then—
A slow, wicked smirk curled at the corner of Andrej’s lips.
"Think he heard us?"
My breath hitched, heat flooding my face.
- Joined
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- Location
- Zurich, Zurich,Switzerland
- Sexuality
- 90% Gay, 10% Straight
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- Joined
- Dec 12, 2022
- Posts
- 20
- Media
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- Likes
- 66
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- Location
- Zurich, Zurich,Switzerland
- Sexuality
- 90% Gay, 10% Straight
- Gender
- Male
Ther
There isn’t a lot of good writing like this. One of the best stories I’ve read. Please continue
