Chapter 1
Jake's thumb hovered over the cracked screen of his phone, hesitating for a fraction of a second before scrolling past another news alert. The glow from the device was the only light in his apartment besides the dull flicker of the fridge motor kicking on. He'd been standing in the same spot near the sink for twelve minutes, though he wouldn't have been able to say why.
A coffee cup sat half-full on the counter, the liquid inside long gone cold. The smell of old grounds mixed with something vaguely chemical—cleaning spray he'd used three days ago and hadn't bothered to wipe up properly. Outside, a car alarm started its repetitive cycle, then cut off abruptly. Jake exhaled through his nose.
When the phone buzzed in his hand, the vibration traveled up his arm like a small electric shock. The notification read: "Lucas." His roommate from college. The last time Jake had seen him was over a decade ago at some class reunion.
Then the preview text appeared beneath the number: "Hey, man. It's Lucas. You still at the same place? I'll be in town tomorrow." Jake's fingers tightened around the phone.
Jake felt his chest loosen in a way it hadn't in months. He typed fast, thumbs hitting the screen harder than necessary: "Holy shit, Lucas. Different apartment, same town. When do you land?" The reply came instantly, Lucas's old habit of never letting a text hang: "Morning flight. You free in the afternoon?" Jake didn't hesitate: "Yeah. Come straight here."
The fridge hummed again, louder this time. Jake realized he was grinning. He pressed a thumb against his bottom lip, trying to push the expression down, but it didn't work. Somewhere in his brain, the stale apartment air suddenly carried the ghost of Lucas's old cologne—something woody and sharp that used to linger in their shared bathroom.
Jake turned toward the sink, catching his reflection in the dark window above it. His face looked different somehow—not younger, but lighter. He reached for the cold coffee and dumped it down the drain with a quick twist of his wrist. The cup clattered against the stainless steel, louder than he'd intended. Tomorrow. After more than ten years, tomorrow.
The morning passed in slow, jagged pieces. Jake wiped down counters that didn't need wiping, adjusted picture frames that were already straight. When the doorbell rang—sharp and sudden—his stomach dropped like he'd missed a step on a staircase. The sound echoed through his apartment, bouncing off bare walls. Jake's fingers twitched at his sides before he forced himself to move.
The man on the other side of the door was unmistakably Lucas, but distilled into something sharper. His shoulders filled the doorway, stretching the fabric of a light button-down shirt Jake could tell was expensive without knowing why. The laugh lines around Lucas's eyes had deepened, but the way they crinkled when he smiled was painfully familiar. "Hey, stranger," Lucas said, his voice warm and low. Jake's tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth.
Then Lucas pulled him into a hug, and Jake felt the awkwardness fracture. The scent of that cologne—real this time, not imagined—hit him like a memory. Lucas's arms were solid, his grip firm enough to press the air from Jake's lungs. When they broke apart, Jake realized he'd been holding his breath. Lucas grinned, nodding toward the apartment behind him. "So," he said, stepping past Jake without waiting for an invitation, "you gonna show me around or what?" The casual ease of it made Jake's shoulders relax.
The tour felt absurdly formal, like they hadn't once shared a dorm room where Lucas's dirty socks had colonized half the floor. Jake gestured at the sleek kitchen island, the recessed lighting, the stupidly expensive espresso machine he'd bought on a whim last year. Lucas whistled low, running a hand along the marble countertop. "Look at you," he murmured, and Jake caught the glint of something unreadable in his eyes before Lucas turned away.
When they reached the balcony, Lucas leaned against the railing, staring down at the city sprawled beneath them. Wind tousled his hair—thinner now at the temples, Jake noticed—and for a moment, neither spoke. Then Lucas chuckled, nudging Jake's elbow with his own. "Remember our old place? That shitty radiator that either baked us alive or did fuck-all?" Jake snorted. "And the mold in the shower," Lucas added, grinning. The shared memory curled between them like smoke.
Back inside, Lucas paused in the doorway of Jake's bedroom. His expression shifted, just slightly. "This sure as hell isn't Twin XL bunk beds," he said, nodding at the king-sized mattress. Jake's throat tightened inexplicably. He watched Lucas's gaze travel over the neatly made bed, the framed photos on the dresser—none of which included anyone Jake had known back then. Lucas turned to him, eyebrows raised. "No roommate these days?" The question landed heavier than it should have.
Jake exhaled sharply through his nose, crossing his arms. "Unless you count that plant I keep forgetting to water." Lucas's laugh was sudden and bright, but it faded too quickly. He rubbed the back of his neck, the motion achingly familiar—something he'd done during late-night study sessions and bad breakups alike. "Yeah," Lucas admitted, voice dropping half an octave. "Same here. Unless you want to count my ex's cat."
The silence that followed wasn't uncomfortable, exactly, but charged with something neither of them knew how to name. Jake leaned against the doorframe, suddenly hyperaware of the empty space around them. They'd spent their twenties talking about futures—careers, cities, vague dreams of families—but never this. Never the quiet that came after success, when you realized some doors had closed without you noticing.
Jake cleared his throat. "Kind of fucking weird, right?" He gestured vaguely at the apartment. "Me playing host when you used to step over my laundry piles to get to the fridge." Lucas's chuckle was warm, but his fingers tapped an absent rhythm against his thigh. "You're doing better than fine," he said, nodding toward the espresso machine. "That thing probably costs more than our first year's rent."
Jake grinned, pushing off the doorframe. "Yeah, well. Turns out adulthood tastes better with artisan coffee." He watched Lucas's mouth quirk—that same half-smile he'd worn when Jake burned microwave popcorn at 2 a.m.—and something in his chest loosened. For a moment, it was just them again: the easiness, the shorthand.
"Anyway," Jake waved toward the living room, "make yourself at home." Lucas's eyes flickered with mischief, his fingers already working at the top button of his shirt. "Oh?" His voice dropped into that old teasing register. "Like I used to? Just wander around au naturel?" The memory hit Jake like a heatwave—Lucas padding bare-assed to the shower, towel slung over his shoulder, whistling off-key.
Jake barked a laugh, louder than he'd intended. "Please. Nothing I haven't seen." The words hung between them, charged with ten years of unspoken history. Lucas paused, shirt gaping just enough to reveal the hollow of his collarbone—still golden, still dusted with freckles. "Good to know," he murmured, and the way he said it made Jake's pulse skitter.
They settled on opposite ends of the couch, knees almost touching, the awkwardness dissolving in whiskey and fractured nostalgia. Lucas swirled his glass, ice clinking. "Remember Dr. Chen's pop quizzes? The way he'd smirk while we all panicked?" Jake groaned, fingers tightening around his own drink. "Asshole had a PhD in psychological warfare." Lucas flashed that grin—the one that used to get them both kicked out of lecture halls—and suddenly they were twenty again, trading insults about professors long retired.
The conversation meandered through forgotten landmarks: the pizza place that gave them free garlic knots, the TA who wore the same sweater every Thursday, Rachel from 3B who'd drunkenly tried to kiss them both at the same party. Lucas mimed her teetering heels, nearly spilling his whiskey, and Jake realized his ribs hurt from laughing. He hadn't laughed like this—full-bodied, unrestrained—in months.
When Lucas leaned forward, elbows on knees, his voice softened unexpectedly. "You know, those were the best years," he said, gaze fixed on the melting ice in his glass. "Not because of the parties or the bullshit. Just...having you there." The admission hovered between them, fragile as the condensation rings their drinks left on the coffee table.
Jake felt something unclench in his chest, old and tight. "Yeah," he admitted, quieter than he'd intended. He rubbed his thumb along the rim of his glass, remembering late-night study sessions where Lucas's socked feet pressed against his under their shared desk. "Half my college memories are just...you." The words surprised him as they left his mouth—unvarnished, uncalculated.
Lucas exhaled sharply through his nose, shaking his head like he was dislodging a thought. "It's fucking wild when you think about it," he murmured, tilting his glass toward Jake. "We clicked instantly—even changing in front of each other was so natural." His grin was crooked, self-deprecating. "I was this shy kid from Omaha, remember? I used to shower in fucking swim trunks the first month."
Jake snorted, the image flooding back—Lucas's damp curls, the chlorine smell of cheap nylon clinging to his thighs. "Bullshit," he countered, leaning forward. "You were prancing around buck-ass naked by midterms." Lucas threw his head back laughing, the column of his throat exposed, and something electric skittered down Jake's spine at the sight.
Lucas wiped his eyes, still grinning. "Damn, I'll never forget—" he jabbed a finger at Jake's chest, "—your face when you saw my dick for the first time." Jake remembered the startled heat that had crawled up his neck, the way his tongue had stuck to the roof of his mouth. He swirled his whiskey to hide the flush creeping up now. "In my defense," he muttered, "nobody expects to see *all that* before their 8 a.m. econ lecture."
Lucas stretched, the hem of his shirt riding up to reveal a strip of golden skin. "Yeah, well," he drawled, eyes glinting with mischief, "after that first accidental peek, it was like the floodgates opened." He mimed jerking off with lazy strokes, his grin widening when Jake choked on his whiskey. "What? You don't remember how we'd just... go for it? Like it was fucking breakfast?"
Jake wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, the burn of alcohol mixing with the heat crawling up his neck. He remembered—too vividly—the way Lucas would sprawl on his bunk, boxers shoved down just enough, his breath hitching as he palmed himself. "Twice a day," Jake admitted, voice rough. "Sometimes three if we were procrastinating finals."
Lucas barked a laugh, fingers tapping against his glass. "And then there was that time *you*—" his grin turned wicked, "—casually suggested we compare sizes." Jake groaned, rubbing his forehead as the memory hit him: Lucas's raised eyebrows, the slow once-over he'd given Jake before shrugging and shucking his sweatpants right there in the middle of their dorm.
"I don't know why I suggested that," Jake muttered, shaking his head. His own whiskey-addled boldness from a decade ago still mortified him. "I knew damn well I was gonna lose." Lucas threw his head back with a sharp laugh, the sound ricocheting off Jake's ribs. "Yeah, but Christ, was it fun." His fingers twitched against his thigh—just once—like he was physically stopping himself from reaching out.
Jake snorted, swirling his drink. "Easy for you to say with your porn star genetics." His voice came out rougher than intended, dredging up memories of Lucas's thick cock curving toward his stomach—the way Jake had swallowed hard, pretending fascination was just curiosity. Lucas's grin turned wolfish. He leaned forward, elbows on knees, until their faces were mere inches apart. "You weren't exactly suffering," he murmured, breath warm with whiskey. "Pretty sure your dick stayed hard the entire goddamn comparison."
Jake laughed. "You're right, that felt quite hot indeed. Even the losing part."The air between them crackled—not with tension, but with the easy familiarity of men who'd seen each other at their most unguarded.
Lucas swirled his drink, the ice cubes clinking like punctuation. "Seriously though," he said, voice dropping half an octave, "tell me I wasn't the only one who...kept chasing that feeling after we graduated." His thumb rubbed absent circles on the glass. "You ever find another buddy to have fun with?" The question hung between them, weighted with ten years of unspoken curiosity.
Jake rolled his eyes, but his pulse kicked against his ribs. "Please. You’ve known I’m gay since sophomore year—don't act shocked I've done more than *measurements* with guys." He stretched his legs out, deliberately brushing his foot against Lucas's ankle. The contact sent a jolt up his calf.
Lucas grinned, but his fingers tightened around his glass. "Oh, I'm not talking about *dates*," he murmured, leaning close enough that Jake caught the whiskey on his breath. "I'm asking about having fun like we had, jerking off together, comparing and stuff." His knee pressed against Jake's now, warm through denim. "Because I've never found another idiot willing to play along."
Jake exhaled sharply through his nose, his own glass suddenly forgotten on the coffee table. "No," he admitted, thumb tracing the damp rim of his whiskey glass. "Never had another jerk buddy like you."
The silence stretched between them—not awkward, but thick with something Jake couldn't name. Outside, a distant siren wailed, the sound muffled by the apartment walls. Lucas's knee was still pressed against his, warm and solid. Jake cleared his throat. "By the way," he said abruptly, "I think I've never thanked you for that. For staying the same after you learned I was gay. For not being weirded out about it." His voice cracked slightly on the last word, the memory of that sophomore-year confession suddenly vivid—how Lucas had barely looked up from his econ textbook, just shrugged and said, *Cool, pass the Cheetos.*
Lucas chuckled, shaking his head like Jake had missed the point entirely. "Man," he murmured, rubbing his thumb along Jake's knee—just once, fleeting—"I could tell before you even told me." He grinned, eyes crinkling at the corners. "The way you looked at me when we jerked off? Like you were trying to memorize the goddamn shape." Jake's breath hitched, but Lucas kept going, softer now: "Didn't change shit. Still doesn't." His fingers tapped against his glass, the ice inside nearly melted. "Hell, if anything, it made it hotter. Knowing you were into it."
Jake exhaled sharply through his nose, the whiskey-scented air suddenly charged. He remembered those stolen glances—Lucas's flushed skin, the way his hips rolled lazily into his own hand—and how he'd pretended it was just curiosity.
"Funny thing," Jake admitted, tracing the rim of his glass with a fingertip. "Pretty sure seeing your dick for the first time was my sexual awakening." The words hung between them, heavier than intended. Lucas's grin faltered for a fraction of a second before morphing into something wolfish. "No shit?" he murmured, stretching his arms behind his head in that infuriating, show-off way that made his shirt ride up. "Well, I'm honored."
Jake huffed a laugh, but his pulse thrummed against his ribs. Lucas's expression softened unexpectedly. He leaned forward, elbows on knees. "Seriously though—it was never about gay or straight for me," he said, voice dropping into unfamiliar sincerity. "We were just two dudes who liked getting off, and damn if we weren't good at it." His knuckles brushed Jake's knee—accidental?—leaving a trail of heat even through the fabric.
"Well, thank you for that anyway," Jake murmured, throat suddenly dry. He watched Lucas's thumb pause mid-circle on his whiskey glass—a hesitation the old Lucas never had. The air between them shifted, charged with something neither had named in ten years.
Then Lucas laughed—a bright, sudden sound that startled Jake out of his thoughts—and leaned in close enough that Jake could count the whiskey-induced flush creeping up his neck. "Tell me something, Jakey," Lucas drawled, slow and deliberate, his old nickname curling between them like smoke. "Does talking about this shit still get you hard, too?"
Jake groaned, rubbing a hand down his face, but his traitorous pulse jumped anyway. "Christ, Lucas," he muttered, shaking his head. "Yes. Obviously." The admission tasted like whiskey and something dangerously close to relief. Lucas exhaled sharply through his nose, his knee pressing harder against Jake's now. "Good to know I'm not the only one," he murmured, thumb tracing the rim of his glass in a way that made Jake's stomach flip. "Thirty-fucking-five and still getting stupid horny just from talking about jerking off. Pathetic."
Jake shook his head, fingers tightening around his own glass. "That's not pathetic," he countered, voice rougher than intended. "It's just... boys being boys." The old cliché felt flimsy between them—too small for the way Lucas was looking at him now, pupils blown wide with whiskey and something hotter.
Jake's thumb hovered over the cracked screen of his phone, hesitating for a fraction of a second before scrolling past another news alert. The glow from the device was the only light in his apartment besides the dull flicker of the fridge motor kicking on. He'd been standing in the same spot near the sink for twelve minutes, though he wouldn't have been able to say why.
A coffee cup sat half-full on the counter, the liquid inside long gone cold. The smell of old grounds mixed with something vaguely chemical—cleaning spray he'd used three days ago and hadn't bothered to wipe up properly. Outside, a car alarm started its repetitive cycle, then cut off abruptly. Jake exhaled through his nose.
When the phone buzzed in his hand, the vibration traveled up his arm like a small electric shock. The notification read: "Lucas." His roommate from college. The last time Jake had seen him was over a decade ago at some class reunion.
Then the preview text appeared beneath the number: "Hey, man. It's Lucas. You still at the same place? I'll be in town tomorrow." Jake's fingers tightened around the phone.
Jake felt his chest loosen in a way it hadn't in months. He typed fast, thumbs hitting the screen harder than necessary: "Holy shit, Lucas. Different apartment, same town. When do you land?" The reply came instantly, Lucas's old habit of never letting a text hang: "Morning flight. You free in the afternoon?" Jake didn't hesitate: "Yeah. Come straight here."
The fridge hummed again, louder this time. Jake realized he was grinning. He pressed a thumb against his bottom lip, trying to push the expression down, but it didn't work. Somewhere in his brain, the stale apartment air suddenly carried the ghost of Lucas's old cologne—something woody and sharp that used to linger in their shared bathroom.
Jake turned toward the sink, catching his reflection in the dark window above it. His face looked different somehow—not younger, but lighter. He reached for the cold coffee and dumped it down the drain with a quick twist of his wrist. The cup clattered against the stainless steel, louder than he'd intended. Tomorrow. After more than ten years, tomorrow.
The morning passed in slow, jagged pieces. Jake wiped down counters that didn't need wiping, adjusted picture frames that were already straight. When the doorbell rang—sharp and sudden—his stomach dropped like he'd missed a step on a staircase. The sound echoed through his apartment, bouncing off bare walls. Jake's fingers twitched at his sides before he forced himself to move.
The man on the other side of the door was unmistakably Lucas, but distilled into something sharper. His shoulders filled the doorway, stretching the fabric of a light button-down shirt Jake could tell was expensive without knowing why. The laugh lines around Lucas's eyes had deepened, but the way they crinkled when he smiled was painfully familiar. "Hey, stranger," Lucas said, his voice warm and low. Jake's tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth.
Then Lucas pulled him into a hug, and Jake felt the awkwardness fracture. The scent of that cologne—real this time, not imagined—hit him like a memory. Lucas's arms were solid, his grip firm enough to press the air from Jake's lungs. When they broke apart, Jake realized he'd been holding his breath. Lucas grinned, nodding toward the apartment behind him. "So," he said, stepping past Jake without waiting for an invitation, "you gonna show me around or what?" The casual ease of it made Jake's shoulders relax.
The tour felt absurdly formal, like they hadn't once shared a dorm room where Lucas's dirty socks had colonized half the floor. Jake gestured at the sleek kitchen island, the recessed lighting, the stupidly expensive espresso machine he'd bought on a whim last year. Lucas whistled low, running a hand along the marble countertop. "Look at you," he murmured, and Jake caught the glint of something unreadable in his eyes before Lucas turned away.
When they reached the balcony, Lucas leaned against the railing, staring down at the city sprawled beneath them. Wind tousled his hair—thinner now at the temples, Jake noticed—and for a moment, neither spoke. Then Lucas chuckled, nudging Jake's elbow with his own. "Remember our old place? That shitty radiator that either baked us alive or did fuck-all?" Jake snorted. "And the mold in the shower," Lucas added, grinning. The shared memory curled between them like smoke.
Back inside, Lucas paused in the doorway of Jake's bedroom. His expression shifted, just slightly. "This sure as hell isn't Twin XL bunk beds," he said, nodding at the king-sized mattress. Jake's throat tightened inexplicably. He watched Lucas's gaze travel over the neatly made bed, the framed photos on the dresser—none of which included anyone Jake had known back then. Lucas turned to him, eyebrows raised. "No roommate these days?" The question landed heavier than it should have.
Jake exhaled sharply through his nose, crossing his arms. "Unless you count that plant I keep forgetting to water." Lucas's laugh was sudden and bright, but it faded too quickly. He rubbed the back of his neck, the motion achingly familiar—something he'd done during late-night study sessions and bad breakups alike. "Yeah," Lucas admitted, voice dropping half an octave. "Same here. Unless you want to count my ex's cat."
The silence that followed wasn't uncomfortable, exactly, but charged with something neither of them knew how to name. Jake leaned against the doorframe, suddenly hyperaware of the empty space around them. They'd spent their twenties talking about futures—careers, cities, vague dreams of families—but never this. Never the quiet that came after success, when you realized some doors had closed without you noticing.
Jake cleared his throat. "Kind of fucking weird, right?" He gestured vaguely at the apartment. "Me playing host when you used to step over my laundry piles to get to the fridge." Lucas's chuckle was warm, but his fingers tapped an absent rhythm against his thigh. "You're doing better than fine," he said, nodding toward the espresso machine. "That thing probably costs more than our first year's rent."
Jake grinned, pushing off the doorframe. "Yeah, well. Turns out adulthood tastes better with artisan coffee." He watched Lucas's mouth quirk—that same half-smile he'd worn when Jake burned microwave popcorn at 2 a.m.—and something in his chest loosened. For a moment, it was just them again: the easiness, the shorthand.
"Anyway," Jake waved toward the living room, "make yourself at home." Lucas's eyes flickered with mischief, his fingers already working at the top button of his shirt. "Oh?" His voice dropped into that old teasing register. "Like I used to? Just wander around au naturel?" The memory hit Jake like a heatwave—Lucas padding bare-assed to the shower, towel slung over his shoulder, whistling off-key.
Jake barked a laugh, louder than he'd intended. "Please. Nothing I haven't seen." The words hung between them, charged with ten years of unspoken history. Lucas paused, shirt gaping just enough to reveal the hollow of his collarbone—still golden, still dusted with freckles. "Good to know," he murmured, and the way he said it made Jake's pulse skitter.
They settled on opposite ends of the couch, knees almost touching, the awkwardness dissolving in whiskey and fractured nostalgia. Lucas swirled his glass, ice clinking. "Remember Dr. Chen's pop quizzes? The way he'd smirk while we all panicked?" Jake groaned, fingers tightening around his own drink. "Asshole had a PhD in psychological warfare." Lucas flashed that grin—the one that used to get them both kicked out of lecture halls—and suddenly they were twenty again, trading insults about professors long retired.
The conversation meandered through forgotten landmarks: the pizza place that gave them free garlic knots, the TA who wore the same sweater every Thursday, Rachel from 3B who'd drunkenly tried to kiss them both at the same party. Lucas mimed her teetering heels, nearly spilling his whiskey, and Jake realized his ribs hurt from laughing. He hadn't laughed like this—full-bodied, unrestrained—in months.
When Lucas leaned forward, elbows on knees, his voice softened unexpectedly. "You know, those were the best years," he said, gaze fixed on the melting ice in his glass. "Not because of the parties or the bullshit. Just...having you there." The admission hovered between them, fragile as the condensation rings their drinks left on the coffee table.
Jake felt something unclench in his chest, old and tight. "Yeah," he admitted, quieter than he'd intended. He rubbed his thumb along the rim of his glass, remembering late-night study sessions where Lucas's socked feet pressed against his under their shared desk. "Half my college memories are just...you." The words surprised him as they left his mouth—unvarnished, uncalculated.
Lucas exhaled sharply through his nose, shaking his head like he was dislodging a thought. "It's fucking wild when you think about it," he murmured, tilting his glass toward Jake. "We clicked instantly—even changing in front of each other was so natural." His grin was crooked, self-deprecating. "I was this shy kid from Omaha, remember? I used to shower in fucking swim trunks the first month."
Jake snorted, the image flooding back—Lucas's damp curls, the chlorine smell of cheap nylon clinging to his thighs. "Bullshit," he countered, leaning forward. "You were prancing around buck-ass naked by midterms." Lucas threw his head back laughing, the column of his throat exposed, and something electric skittered down Jake's spine at the sight.
Lucas wiped his eyes, still grinning. "Damn, I'll never forget—" he jabbed a finger at Jake's chest, "—your face when you saw my dick for the first time." Jake remembered the startled heat that had crawled up his neck, the way his tongue had stuck to the roof of his mouth. He swirled his whiskey to hide the flush creeping up now. "In my defense," he muttered, "nobody expects to see *all that* before their 8 a.m. econ lecture."
Lucas stretched, the hem of his shirt riding up to reveal a strip of golden skin. "Yeah, well," he drawled, eyes glinting with mischief, "after that first accidental peek, it was like the floodgates opened." He mimed jerking off with lazy strokes, his grin widening when Jake choked on his whiskey. "What? You don't remember how we'd just... go for it? Like it was fucking breakfast?"
Jake wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, the burn of alcohol mixing with the heat crawling up his neck. He remembered—too vividly—the way Lucas would sprawl on his bunk, boxers shoved down just enough, his breath hitching as he palmed himself. "Twice a day," Jake admitted, voice rough. "Sometimes three if we were procrastinating finals."
Lucas barked a laugh, fingers tapping against his glass. "And then there was that time *you*—" his grin turned wicked, "—casually suggested we compare sizes." Jake groaned, rubbing his forehead as the memory hit him: Lucas's raised eyebrows, the slow once-over he'd given Jake before shrugging and shucking his sweatpants right there in the middle of their dorm.
"I don't know why I suggested that," Jake muttered, shaking his head. His own whiskey-addled boldness from a decade ago still mortified him. "I knew damn well I was gonna lose." Lucas threw his head back with a sharp laugh, the sound ricocheting off Jake's ribs. "Yeah, but Christ, was it fun." His fingers twitched against his thigh—just once—like he was physically stopping himself from reaching out.
Jake snorted, swirling his drink. "Easy for you to say with your porn star genetics." His voice came out rougher than intended, dredging up memories of Lucas's thick cock curving toward his stomach—the way Jake had swallowed hard, pretending fascination was just curiosity. Lucas's grin turned wolfish. He leaned forward, elbows on knees, until their faces were mere inches apart. "You weren't exactly suffering," he murmured, breath warm with whiskey. "Pretty sure your dick stayed hard the entire goddamn comparison."
Jake laughed. "You're right, that felt quite hot indeed. Even the losing part."The air between them crackled—not with tension, but with the easy familiarity of men who'd seen each other at their most unguarded.
Lucas swirled his drink, the ice cubes clinking like punctuation. "Seriously though," he said, voice dropping half an octave, "tell me I wasn't the only one who...kept chasing that feeling after we graduated." His thumb rubbed absent circles on the glass. "You ever find another buddy to have fun with?" The question hung between them, weighted with ten years of unspoken curiosity.
Jake rolled his eyes, but his pulse kicked against his ribs. "Please. You’ve known I’m gay since sophomore year—don't act shocked I've done more than *measurements* with guys." He stretched his legs out, deliberately brushing his foot against Lucas's ankle. The contact sent a jolt up his calf.
Lucas grinned, but his fingers tightened around his glass. "Oh, I'm not talking about *dates*," he murmured, leaning close enough that Jake caught the whiskey on his breath. "I'm asking about having fun like we had, jerking off together, comparing and stuff." His knee pressed against Jake's now, warm through denim. "Because I've never found another idiot willing to play along."
Jake exhaled sharply through his nose, his own glass suddenly forgotten on the coffee table. "No," he admitted, thumb tracing the damp rim of his whiskey glass. "Never had another jerk buddy like you."
The silence stretched between them—not awkward, but thick with something Jake couldn't name. Outside, a distant siren wailed, the sound muffled by the apartment walls. Lucas's knee was still pressed against his, warm and solid. Jake cleared his throat. "By the way," he said abruptly, "I think I've never thanked you for that. For staying the same after you learned I was gay. For not being weirded out about it." His voice cracked slightly on the last word, the memory of that sophomore-year confession suddenly vivid—how Lucas had barely looked up from his econ textbook, just shrugged and said, *Cool, pass the Cheetos.*
Lucas chuckled, shaking his head like Jake had missed the point entirely. "Man," he murmured, rubbing his thumb along Jake's knee—just once, fleeting—"I could tell before you even told me." He grinned, eyes crinkling at the corners. "The way you looked at me when we jerked off? Like you were trying to memorize the goddamn shape." Jake's breath hitched, but Lucas kept going, softer now: "Didn't change shit. Still doesn't." His fingers tapped against his glass, the ice inside nearly melted. "Hell, if anything, it made it hotter. Knowing you were into it."
Jake exhaled sharply through his nose, the whiskey-scented air suddenly charged. He remembered those stolen glances—Lucas's flushed skin, the way his hips rolled lazily into his own hand—and how he'd pretended it was just curiosity.
"Funny thing," Jake admitted, tracing the rim of his glass with a fingertip. "Pretty sure seeing your dick for the first time was my sexual awakening." The words hung between them, heavier than intended. Lucas's grin faltered for a fraction of a second before morphing into something wolfish. "No shit?" he murmured, stretching his arms behind his head in that infuriating, show-off way that made his shirt ride up. "Well, I'm honored."
Jake huffed a laugh, but his pulse thrummed against his ribs. Lucas's expression softened unexpectedly. He leaned forward, elbows on knees. "Seriously though—it was never about gay or straight for me," he said, voice dropping into unfamiliar sincerity. "We were just two dudes who liked getting off, and damn if we weren't good at it." His knuckles brushed Jake's knee—accidental?—leaving a trail of heat even through the fabric.
"Well, thank you for that anyway," Jake murmured, throat suddenly dry. He watched Lucas's thumb pause mid-circle on his whiskey glass—a hesitation the old Lucas never had. The air between them shifted, charged with something neither had named in ten years.
Then Lucas laughed—a bright, sudden sound that startled Jake out of his thoughts—and leaned in close enough that Jake could count the whiskey-induced flush creeping up his neck. "Tell me something, Jakey," Lucas drawled, slow and deliberate, his old nickname curling between them like smoke. "Does talking about this shit still get you hard, too?"
Jake groaned, rubbing a hand down his face, but his traitorous pulse jumped anyway. "Christ, Lucas," he muttered, shaking his head. "Yes. Obviously." The admission tasted like whiskey and something dangerously close to relief. Lucas exhaled sharply through his nose, his knee pressing harder against Jake's now. "Good to know I'm not the only one," he murmured, thumb tracing the rim of his glass in a way that made Jake's stomach flip. "Thirty-fucking-five and still getting stupid horny just from talking about jerking off. Pathetic."
Jake shook his head, fingers tightening around his own glass. "That's not pathetic," he countered, voice rougher than intended. "It's just... boys being boys." The old cliché felt flimsy between them—too small for the way Lucas was looking at him now, pupils blown wide with whiskey and something hotter.
