Straight to Release!

[Radica7]

Chapter three:

Asher sat at his desk, mindlessly staring into a blank spreadsheet on his screen. It had been three days since the massage, and yet it still lingered in his mind like a persistent whisper. I masturbated in someone’s shower, for God’s sake, he thought, the memory sending his heart racing with a mix of shame and inexplicable thrill.

After the shower, he realized his clothes were still back at the massage table in the sitting room. He scanned the bathroom for a lone white towel and wrapped it around his waist, the fabric soft against his damp skin. Before heading for the door, he passed the small vanity mirror and caught a quick glance at himself—hair wet and tousled on his head, face rosy from the lingering heat, nipples perked and sensitive in the cool air.

The door to the bathroom had creaked open under his hesitant push, and there was Fabian, arms crossed loosely over his broad chest, leaning against the arm of the couch like he'd been waiting. Those eyes, deep, warm brown, flecked with gold in the soft lamplight locked onto Asher's, holding him in place. Asher's pulse thrummed in his ears, the towel clutched tight around his waist suddenly feeling too thin, too exposing. He'd moved quickly, heart pounding, to the massage table where his clothes waited in a neat pile. His fingers fumbled with the briefs, the cotton cool against his still-damp skin. Fabian didn't turn away, didn't avert his gaze, and that realization sent a shiver racing down Asher's spine, pooling low in his belly. As he hooked his thumbs into the waistband of the towel, letting it drop just enough to step into the underwear, he felt the air shift, cool against his exposed skin. His ass cheeks, still flushed from the hot water, flexed involuntarily under the weight of that unspoken attention.

“How’s your back feeling?” Fabian asked, his voice low and steady.

Asher now removed the towel entirely, folding it neatly on the massage table before reaching for his sweatpants. “Better,” he replied, his tone casual despite the flush creeping up his neck. “Not as much pain shooting through it.”

As he bent forward to step into the sweatpants, Fabian’s hand suddenly found the small of his back. Warm, soft fingers traced slowly upward along his spine, sending an electric shiver through Asher’s body. “Feels less tense,” Fabian murmured, the touch light but intimate.

The contact startled Asher, his skin burning pink from the unexpected touch. He straightened quickly, throwing on his shirt with hurried movements, a soft smile tugging at his lips as his eyes barely held the handsome man’s gaze. “It helped a ton. Thank you,” he stammered, reaching for his wallet. He paid the masseur a fair amount and added a hefty tip, barely registering the numbers through his haze of nervousness. There wasn’t much chatter afterward...in fact, he’d left in a hurry, the door clicking shut behind him like an escape.

Now, back in the office, Asher dropped his head into his hands, elbows propped on the desk. Was that too abrupt? Why did I leave in such a rush? He was unsure why the memory replayed continuously in his mind, but he couldn’t shake it off. His thoughts traced the ghost of Fabian’s touch on his back, softly traveling downward, fingers brushing the curve of his ass in a way that made his breath hitch even now—

“What’s got you in a trance?” Mhia leaned over the desk divider and peeked into Asher’s station, her voice pulling him sharply from his reverie.

Their corner of the office held four desks arranged in a square, with low dividers separating each space for a semblance of privacy. Mhia, one of the other interns and possibly his closest colleague here, reached out with a curious tilt of her head.

Asher snapped out of his mindless daze and turned to stare at her, blinking rapidly. “Eh, it’s nothing,” he dismissed it, forcing his focus back to the screen.

“Still thinking about that massage?” she teased, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “That babe must’ve been a smokeshow for her to still be occupying your mind.”

“Geez, stop,” he brushed her off with a weak chuckle, heat rising to his cheeks. “Not thinking about the massage. And... he?”

Mhia gasped, her hand flying to her mouth in mock surprise. “He???”

Asher rolled his eyes and continued tapping at his spreadsheet, though his fingers felt clumsy. “Was he hot? Sexy?” she pressed, leaning in closer.

“I wouldn’t know,” Asher said in a dry tone, avoiding her gaze as his pulse quickened at the mere mention.

Mhia’s playful grin widened. “Want a refill on your coffee?” she offered, grabbing her own cup on her way to the kitchen.

“I could use another,” Asher said, handing her his mug and watching as she pranced away, her light steps echoing softly in the quiet office. He exhaled slowly, the tension in his shoulders easing just a fraction, though the echoes of that massage still hummed beneath his skin.

“What’s got you two chatterbirds up and going?” a voice boomed from the desk in front of him.

Sam Murphy rolled his chair to the side so he could peer directly at Asher’s face. If there was anything like an office rival, it was Sam...boisterous, full of bravado, with a swagger that demanded attention. Above all, he saw Asher as competition, always clashing in subtle ways that kept the air charged.

Asher met Sam’s green eyes, taking in his pale face dusted with faint freckles and the tousled strawberry blonde hair, before flicking his gaze back to the screen. He wasn’t in the headspace to entertain Sam today, not with his thoughts tangled elsewhere. As he stared at the monitor, his mind drifted once more to the massage table, the scent of warm oils, the building heat, the press of Fabian’s body leaning into his. Why am I thinking of this again? The questions clouded him, pulling him under.

“Earth to Hayes,” Sam snapped his fingers sharply.

He stood up and sauntered over to Asher’s desk, dressed in fitted black slacks and a crisp white shirt, sleeves rolled up to reveal thick, veiny forearms. The shirt was tucked in, hugging his broad figure, with the top few buttons undone to show a soft dusting of hair across his chest.

“What, you’re ignoring me now?” Sam said dryly, perching on the corner of the desk right next to where Asher’s right arm rested.

Unknowingly, Asher’s eyes dipped, lingering on how Sam’s butt cheek settled firm yet soft against the desk edge. His gaze held a beat too long before he jerked it away. As much as he didn’t care for Sam, there was no denying the guy was fit, dressed sharp in a way that turned heads.

“Not today, Murphy,” Asher retorted, his voice clipped.

“What, messed up your evaluation?” Sam chuckled, leaning in with a smirk. “I’ll have you know I did mine yesterday and aced it.”

He watched closely, waiting for a reaction, but Asher sat there with his mind drifting again. There was an innocent quality to him, full lips slightly parted, a distant twinkle in his golden eyes that caught Sam off guard. It made him stammer, “It’s not a big deal if you messed up. You’re decent at what you do.” A flush crept up Sam’s pale neck, the rosy tint blooming visibly on his skin.

Asher pushed back from his chair and stood, leaning forward to click his monitor into sleep mode. He grabbed his keycard from the desk and headed for the door, leaving Sam in abrupt silence.

Sam’s eyes followed Asher as he walked away, taking in the white quarter-zip sweater and brown khaki pants, the ones Asher always wore on Wednesdays, gripping and hugging the curve of his ass just right. Asher was oblivious, but he turned heads in those pants, and right now, Sam’s gaze lingered the longest, tracing the sway with unspoken intensity.

Sam bolted to the kitchen, where Mhia was busy brewing two cups of coffee.

“Okay, Mhia, what’s the catch?” He yanked open the fridge door as she reached for the almond milk.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, ginger,” she teased, her tone light.

“Cut it out. What’s going on with Asher? He seems out of it.”

Mhia moved to the counter, pulling a tin of sugar from the cabinet. “You’ll have to ask him that.”

“He’s your best mate, isn’t he?” Sam followed her to the cabinet, towering at 6'2”.

“What do you care?” she shot back, barely glancing up at his frame.

“Okay, what do you want? I’ll do a solid. Anything practical, not over the top.”

Mhia chuckled, sunlight from the window catching her melanin-rich skin in a warm glow. “I don’t know...”

“You’re busy with backlogs, right? I’ll take twenty files off your plate.”

“Forty files,” she countered.

“Twenty-five and no more,” Sam bargained, annoyance edging his voice.

“Deal.” Mhia stirred the coffee and turned to him. “I’m not entirely sure, but he went for a massage.”

Sam barked a laugh, as if the info was ridiculous. “So he fell in with a masseuse? Didn’t peg him for the type. Who was she?”

“He,” Mhia corrected, grabbing both steaming cups. “And that’s the extent of my information. I’ll email you your share of the workload.” She chuckled and strode out of the kitchen, leaving Sam standing there, brow furrowed in surprise.

-----------


The glass of whiskey landed on the scarred wooden bar with a sharp clink, the amber liquid sloshing just shy of the rim. Sam barely registered it, his fingers drumming idly on the sticky surface as the bartender snatched up his empty glass. O'Reilly's was alive tonight, the air thick with the pulse of bass-heavy music vibrating through the floorboards. Blue and purple neon lights flickered overhead, casting erratic glows across the crowded dance floor where bodies twisted and ground against each other in a haze of sweat and synthetic fog. Laughter and shouts mingled with the thump of tracks, but Sam felt detached from it all, slouched on his favorite stool at the far end of the bar, the one tucked into the shadowed corner where the light didn't quite reach.
His shirt hung open at the collar, three buttons undone to reveal a glimpse of his chest hair, damp with the bar's humid warmth and glistening under the faint neon bleed. He came here to unwind, to let the burn of whiskey chase away the day's bullshit, and tonight it clung to him heavier than usual. Work had been a grind, deadlines piling up like unanswered emails, and the weight sat heavy in his gut.

'I didn't order another,' Sam muttered, his voice low and gravelly, eyes fixed on the condensation ring left by his previous glass. He glanced up, expecting the familiar face of the grizzled regular behind the bar, but this was someone new. Younger. The guy smirked, wiping his hands on a rag tucked into his belt, his shoulder-length black hair slicked back with what looked like gel or sweat, strands falling to obscure one side of his face.

'You didn't,' the bartender said, his tone light but edged with something playful. 'The gentleman at the end of the bar did.'

Sam's gaze flicked down the length of the polished oak counter, landing on a middle-aged guy in a loud floral shirt and faded jeans, nursing a fruity cocktail through a tiny straw. Sunglasses perched on his nose even in the dim light, and he waved with a wink, lifting his glass in a mock toast. Sam turned away, jaw tightening. Not tonight.
The bartender lingered, polishing a tumbler with slow, deliberate circles of the rag. 'Not in the mood?' he asked, leaning one elbow on the bar, close enough that Sam caught a whiff of his cologne, something clean and spicy, cutting through the stale beer and smoke.

Sam stared up at him, the whiskey's warmth doing little to loosen the knot in his shoulders. The drinks weren't hitting right; they just amplified the low hum of irritation buzzing in his veins. He'd rather sink into oblivion than force small talk with a stranger. The dance floor throbbed beyond them, shadows merging under the strobing lights, couples and groups pressing close in rhythmic abandon. But here, at the bar's edge, it was quieter, more intimate...a bubble amid the chaos.

'Not really,' Sam replied, his voice flat, eyes tracing the line of the bartender's jaw.
'Ah, those kinds of days,' the guy said softly, his voice dipping deeper, resonant enough to cut through the din. He set the glass down, his ink-black eyes meeting Sam's with a steady intensity that lingered a beat too long.

Sam took another look, really taking him in this time. Shiny black hair framing a sharp face, pink lips curved in that perpetual half-smirk, eyes like polished obsidian reflecting the neon glow. His tight black tee, the bar's uniform, no doubt, clung to his torso outlining the subtle flex of muscles beneath. Nipples pressed against the fabric, perked from the cool draft or something else, and a tattoo snaked out from under his left sleeve: a coiled serpent entwined with a blooming rose, vivid against his golden-tanned skin. Runner's build, lean and wiry.

'You know, it's not obligatory for a bartender to make small talk,' Sam said, his tone dry, but there was a spark of challenge in it. 'Despite what the norm is.'

The bartender chuckled, low and genuine, the sound rumbling from his chest. He leaned in a fraction closer, the bar top between them like a thin barrier. 'I've never seen someone get irritated at getting hit on and free drinks.'

Sam's eyes slid back to the floral-shirt guy, who was still staring, sipping his cocktail with exaggerated slowness, lips pursed around the straw in a way that screamed desperation. 'You mean that guy. I'm not interested.'

The bartender topped off Sam's whiskey with a flourish, the pour steady despite the bar's sway. 'I wasn't talking about him,' he murmured, his voice dropping to a soft, seductive growl that sent a shiver skittering down Sam's spine.
Their eyes locked, the moment stretching taut like a wire. The neon lights pulsed in the background, bathing the bartender's face in alternating blues and purples, highlighting the curve of his lips, the faint sheen of sweat on his collarbone. Sam's pulse quickened, the whiskey's heat mirroring the one building low in his belly. He held the gaze, unblinking, the bar's noise fading to a distant roar.

Sam chugged the fresh pour in one go, the burn searing down his throat, then slammed the glass down with a loud thud that echoed off the shelves of bottles. 'When do you get off?'

The bartender glanced at the clock above the register, his smirk widening into something predatory. 'Twenty minutes. Wait for me?'
Sam nodded once, sharp, and slid a bill across the bar. 'Make it fifteen.'

The wait dragged, every minute amplified by the throb of music and the press of bodies. Sam nursed another drink, slower this time, his eyes tracking the young bartender as he moved behind the bar, pouring shots with fluid efficiency, laughing off a rowdy group's demands, his hair swinging with each turn. The tattoo flexed with his arm muscles, the snake's coils seeming to writhe under the lights. Sam shifted on his stool, his slacks tightening uncomfortably, his mind already racing ahead to the release he craved.
When the bartender finally untied his apron and slipped out from behind the bar, he shrugged on a leather jacket, the black tee still hugging his frame. He approached with that same easy stride, eyes locked on Sam's. 'Ready?'

'Been ready,' Sam growled, standing abruptly, the stool scraping back.

They pushed through the crowd, shoulders brushing strangers, the air thick with pheromones and spilled liquor. Outside, the night air hit cool against Sam's flushed skin, but it did nothing to temper the heat coiling inside him. The bartender's apartment was a few blocks away. Sam had grinned when he suggested it, no hesitation.

 

[Radica7]

The door to the bachelor pad flew open with a bang, the two of them stumbling inside in a tangle of limbs and urgency. Sam's hands were everywhere, fisting the other guy's jacket and yanking it off before the door even clicked shut. Their mouths crashed together in a sloppy, hungry kiss, lips bruising, tongues sliding hot and wet. He tasted like mint and the faint tang of bar fruit, his stubble scraping Sam's chin as he pressed closer, bodies slamming against the wall.
The bartender fumbled for the lock, but Sam was relentless, like a man starved. He latched onto his neck, teeth grazing the pulse point, sucking hard enough to leave a mark. The younger man's knees buckled, a gasp escaping him as he sagged against the doorframe, hands clutching Sam's shoulders.
'I'm Raul, by the way,' he panted, voice breathy, barely audible over their ragged breaths.
'Yeah, whatever,' Sam muttered, his fingers digging into the hem of Raul's tee, gripping the fabric like he might tear it clean off.
Raul laughed, low and throaty, shoving back just enough to yank the shirt over his head. It hit the floor in a heap, revealing his torso: golden-tanned skin glistening under the apartment's soft overhead light, well-defined abs rippling with each heave of his chest, a runner's lean build etched with subtle veins tracing his hips. Dark happy trail leading down from his navel, disappearing into low-slung jeans.
Sam's eyes devoured him, hunger sharpening. Raul's hands were on him now, gleeful fingers working the buttons of Sam's shirt, popping them open one by one until the fabric gaped wide. Sam's paler skin contrasted sharply, white and toned, a light dusting of chest hair across pecs that flexed under Raul's touch, broader shoulders speaking to gym hours amid the stress.
'God, you're so hot,' Raul breathed, palms sliding over Sam's chest, thumbs circling his nipples until they hardened into peaks.

The apartment was open-concept, kitchen bleeding into living room with a worn leather couch and coffee table scattered with remotes and empty takeout boxes. Beyond it, a slight elevation led to the bedroom, a big king bed dominating the space, sheets rumpled overlooking the rest like a throne. No walls, no barriers; the whole place felt exposed, intimate.
They moved in a playful wrestle, Sam leading the charge, shoving Raul toward the elevation with hands on his hips. Laughter mixed with groans as they shed clothes...jeans kicked off in the hallway, Raul's boxers snagging on his ankle before he toed them free. Sam's slacks followed, belt clinking as it hit the floor, his cock springing heavy and half-hard against his thigh. By the time they tumbled onto the bed, they were naked save for Sam's black socks, the fabric bunching at his calves.
The mattress dipped under their weight, springs creaking as Sam rolled on top, pinning Raul with his bulk. Their mouths met again, slower now, tongues exploring with languid strokes while hands roamed. Sam's fingers traced the ridges of Raul's abs, dipping into the hollows, then lower to grip his ass, firm cheeks clenching under the squeeze. Raul arched up, his erection sliding against Sam's belly, hot and leaking pre-cum that smeared sticky trails.
'Fuck, you feel good,' Sam growled against Raul's lips, nipping the lower one before soothing with a lick.
Raul's hands were in Sam's hair, tugging lightly, then down his back, nails raking lines that made Sam hiss. He bucked his hips, grinding their cocks together, the friction sending sparks up his spine. They wrestled across the bed, sheets tangling, bodies slick with sweat. Sam flipped them once, Raul straddling his waist, grinding down with a roll of his hips that drew a guttural moan from Sam's throat.
But Sam wasn't one to yield. He grabbed Raul's hips, strong hands spanning the narrow width and flipped him again, manhandling him onto his stomach. Raul went willingly, ass lifting instinctively as Sam pressed a palm to the small of his back, arching him just right. That beautiful brown ass presented itself, cheeks parting slightly to reveal the soft fur dusting the cleft, leading to the tight pucker that winked invitingly in the low light.
Sam's breath caught, cock throbbing fully hard now, angling up thick and veined. He spread Raul's cheeks wider, thumbs digging in, exposing everything. The scent hit him, musky, clean, intoxicating. Without a word, he dove in, face burying between those globes. His tongue lapped broad and flat over the hole, tasting salt and skin, circling the rim with firm pressure.
Raul jolted, a whine escaping him, fists clenching the sheets. 'Shit—yes, like that.'
Sam devoured him, relentless. Tongue probing deeper, spearing inside the clenching ring, fucking in shallow thrusts while his lips sucked at the sensitive skin. He licked every inch, the perineum, the heavy sac below, drawing one ball into his mouth to roll with his tongue before returning to the main course. Saliva dripped down, slicking the fur, making Raul's ass glisten. Sam alternated, long, slow drags from taint to tailbone, then quick flicks over the hole, feeling it flutter and relax under the assault.
He barely knew this guy and yet here he was, on all fours in his bed, ass up and quivering as Sam ate him out like a starving man. It was cathartic, the act purging the day's tension, replacing it with raw, primal need. Sam's cock leaked steadily, untouched, as he ground against the mattress for friction.
Raul pushed back, grinding against Sam's face, moans muffled into the pillow. 'Don't stop—fuck, your tongue feels so good.'

Sam didn't. He worked him open, tongue delving as deep as it could, humming vibrations against the sensitive walls. When Raul was trembling, hole softened and slick, Sam pulled back, spitting directly onto it before sliding a finger in. Tight heat gripped him, velvet walls sucking at the intrusion.
'God, you're tight,' Sam rasped, pumping the digit slow, crooking it to brush that inner spot that made Raul buck.
One finger became two, scissoring gently at first, then faster, stretching him with twisting motions. Raul purred, low and needy, hips rocking back to meet each thrust. Sam's free hand stroked his own cock, base to tip, smearing pre-cum over the flushed head. The sounds were obscene, wet squelches, Raul's gasps filling the room.
'Lube,' Sam demanded, voice rough, pulling his fingers free with a pop.
Raul nodded, pointing weakly. 'Top drawer.'
Sam lunged for the nightstand, yanking it open. Inside: a half-used bottle of lube, a pink dildo curved and veined, a box of condoms unopened. He grabbed the lube and a foil packet, slamming the drawer shut. Squirting a generous amount onto his fingers, he returned, slicking Raul's hole before plunging two digits back in. The slide was smoother now, easier, Raul's body yielding as Sam worked him open, three fingers soon, curling and spreading, hitting that prostate with precision.
Raul was a mess, purring and writhing, cock trapped against the sheets, leaking steadily. 'Ready—please, fuck me.'
Sam tore the condom open with his teeth, rolling it down his eight-inch length, cut, thick, veins pulsing. He slicked himself thoroughly, then positioned, blunt head nudging Raul's entrance. One hand on Raul's hip, the other guiding, he pushed in slow at first, breaching the ring with a burn that made them both groan.
'Tight as fuck,' Sam grunted, bottoming out in one firm thrust, balls slapping against Raul's.
Raul cried out, back arching, ass clenching around the invasion. 'Yes—move, fuck me hard.'
Sam set a rhythm, rough, sensual, hips snapping forward with power. Each thrust drove deep, cock dragging along inner walls, the condom's latex no barrier to the heat enveloping him. Raul moved beneath, pushing back, body undulating in desperate counterpoint. 'Harder—god, yes, right there.'
Sam commanded him, one hand fisting Raul's hair to pull his head back, exposing his throat for bites and licks. The other gripped his hip, bruising, controlling the pace, pull out to the tip, slam back in, balls smacking wetly. Noises filled the space: skin slapping skin, Raul's moans escalating to shouts, Sam's grunts punctuating each plunge. The bed creaked, headboard thumping the wall, the elevated platform giving them a view of the disheveled living room below like some erotic stage.

Sweat slicked their bodies. Raul's golden skin shining, abs contracting with every thrust; Sam's paler form taut, muscles bunching in his thighs and ass as he pounded away. Raul's cock bobbed untouched, red and weeping, trapped between him and the mattress.
The build was relentless, pleasure coiling tight in Sam's gut. Raul's walls fluttered, squeezing rhythmically, and suddenly he shattered, cumming without a touch, body convulsing as ropes of white spurted onto the sheets. His moan was raw, extreme, a keening wail that echoed... 'Fuck—cumming, oh god!' Ass clenching vise-like around Sam's cock, milking him.
The sight and feel pushed Sam over. He ramped the thrusts, erratic and brutal, chasing his peak. 'I'm cumming—fuck!' He pulled out with a wet slide, ripping off the condom in haste. Hand fisting his slick length, he beat furiously—up and down the shaft, thumb swiping the slit until he erupted. Thick jets of cum coated Raul's glistening asshole, painting the brown cheeks white, dripping down the cleft to mix with lube and sweat.
They collapsed onto the bed, chests heaving, limbs entangled. The air reeked of sex, musk, cum, exertion. Raul turned his head, face flushed and sated, a lazy grin splitting his lips. 'That was fucking great.'
Sam rolled off, grabbing a cigarette from his trouser pocket. He lit up with a flick of his lighter, the flame illuminating his pale body in the dim room. Padding to the window in just his socks, cock still semi-hard swinging between his thighs, ass flexing with each step, he cracked it open and exhaled a plume of smoke into the night.
Moonlight slanted in, silvering his skin, highlighting the curve of his glutes, the dimples at his lower back. Raul propped on an elbow, watching. 'I guess you're thinking of someone else?'

Sam smoked in silence, the cherry glowing red, ash flicking to the sill. The high faded into a hollow buzz, his mind drifting unbidden.
'I don't mind, you know,' Raul said, voice casual as he tiptoed toward the bathroom, naked and unashamed. 'This was great. Hit me up whenever you want to release.'
The bathroom door stayed ajar, and Sam heard the stream, loud, splashing into the bowl, unfiltered. It grounded him for a second, but then he moved, stepping over discarded clothes to fish his phone from his slacks pocket. Unlocking it, he thumbed open Instagram, scrolling straight to Asher's profile. The latest post: a gym selfie from a week ago, Asher flexing in a tank top, sweat-slicked skin and that easy smile staring back. Sam's thumb hovered, eyes tracing the lines of Asher's arms, the hint of chest peeking from the neckline. Mindless, endless scroll, the cigarette burning down forgotten between his fingers.

 

[michaelnola]

Awesome writing and great build up to hot action to cum

 

[Mark Blazer]

Hot. Why the POV shift from Asher to Sam though?