Hot and Wet

Adrian’s POV

I had Elias’s cock in my mouth and the broken sound he made when I took him deeper was better than any victory I had ever claimed on the track. He was already leaking across my tongue, hips twitching despite the way his fingers stayed locked in my hair like he still wanted to push me away.

I hollowed my cheeks and dragged my tongue along the underside, tasting the sharp salt of him while my free hand worked between his legs, two fingers sliding slick and easy into the tight heat that clenched around me the second I pressed inside.

“Fuck…Adrian, wait….”

Elias’s voice cracked on my name. “We shouldn’t—this is still a mistake….”

I pulled off just long enough to speak against the wet head of his cock. “Then stop moaning like that.”

“I’m not….”The protest died when I curled my fingers and found the spot that made his knees buckle. A sharp, helpless moan spilled out of him. “Shit… don’t…”

“You don’t want me to stop,” I said, wrapping my hand around him and stroking in time with the slow thrust of my fingers. “Your cock is dripping for me. Listen to yourself.”

He bit down on his own wrist to muffle the next sound, but the way his hips rolled forward told me everything he refused to say. I took him back into my mouth and sucked hard, matching the rhythm of my hand and the fingers working him open. Every time he tried to form another denial it turned into a choked whimper.

“Adrian…fuck…your mouth…”

I hummed around him and felt his thighs start to shake. When I added a third finger he gasped so loudly I was half-afraid his mother would hear, but the house stayed quiet. I pulled off again, spit-slick and breathing hard.

“Turn around.”

“No.”

“Elias. Turn the fuck around.”

He stared at me for one more second of stubborn silence, then the last of his resistance cracked. He spun and braced both hands against the wall, forehead dropping to the plaster. I shoved his sweatpants the rest of the way down, spit into my palm, and slicked myself before I lined up and pushed in with one long, relentless stroke.

The sound Elias made was wrecked. I bottomed out and stayed there, buried to the hilt while his body clenched and fluttered around me.

“Still a mistake?” I asked against the back of his neck.

“Yes….fuck! Ngh! yes, it’s a mistakeHis voice broke on a moan when I pulled almost all the way out and slammed back in. “Harder…don’t you dare stop…”

I gripped his hips and gave him exactly that, setting a brutal pace that made the wall creak. Every thrust punched another broken noise out of him. I reached around and wrapped my hand around his cock, stroking him in time with the way I fucked him.

“You’re so fucking tight,” I groaned. “Taking me like you were made for it. Still hate me?”

“I hate you,” he gasped, pushing back to meet every thrust. “I hate…ah…how good you feel…”

“Liar.”

I angled my hips and dragged over that spot inside him until his arms started shaking. The wet slap of skin on skin filled the small living room. Elias was past coherent sentences, reduced to moans and my name and the occasional broken “fuck” that only made me drive into him harder.

“Adrian—I’m close…”

“Come with me.”

I stroked him faster, fucking him through it as my own orgasm coiled tight at the base of my spine. Elias came first with a muffled cry, spilling hot over my fist and clenching so hard around my cock that I followed him over the edge with a low, punched-out groan, burying myself deep and filling him while his body milked every pulse out of me.

We stayed locked together for several long seconds, both of us breathing hard. I pressed my forehead between his shoulder blades and felt the fine tremor still running through him.

Eventually I pulled out. Elias sagged against the wall, then slowly turned and slid down until he was sitting on the floor with his ruined sweatpants around his thighs. He looked wrecked and beautiful and still half in denial.

I cleaned us up with my shirt because it was the only thing within reach. Neither of us spoke. When I finally stood and offered him a hand he ignored it and pushed himself up on his own.

“This still doesn’t mean anything,” he muttered, voice rough.

“Keep telling yourself that.”

He didn’t answer. I stayed the night because leaving felt impossible, and at some point we ended up on the narrow couch with his back against my chest. I woke once to the sound of his mother coughing upstairs and felt Elias tense, but she never came down.

Morning light was already cutting through the thin curtains when I opened my eyes again. Elias was standing over me fully dressed, expression carefully blank, holding my jeans out like they were contaminated.

“Get up,” he said. “You need to leave before my mom wakes up.”

I sat up slowly, scratching a hand through my hair. “Good morning to you too.”

“I’m serious, Adrian. Out.”

I took the jeans and stood, still half-hard and completely unbothered by the way his eyes flicked down and then away. “You’re kicking me out after last night?”

“Last night was another mistake. A louder one. Now put your clothes on and go.”

I stepped into the jeans, deliberately slow. “You’re cute when you’re panicking.”

“I’m not panicking. I’m protecting my scholarship and my mother’s peace of mind. There’s a difference.”

I pulled my shirt on—still slightly damp in places—and stepped into his space. “You came so hard you almost fell. Twice. We’re past the ‘mistake’ stage.”

Elias pointed at the door. “Out. Now. And if you show up at practice acting like anything happened, I’ll break your nose.”

I grinned, grabbed my keys, and opened the door. “See you at practice, Elias.”