Still Straight?

Kael

My fingers stayed wrapped around his cock, hot and pulsing in my grip. The fabric of his shorts created this delicious friction — warm, slightly rough against his slick skin. Every slow stroke made the material drag over him, trapping the heat and the wetness building inside.

Riven’s breath hitched again, sharper this time. His thighs tensed on either side of me, muscles jumping under my forearms. He was still gripping my arm like it was the only thing keeping him grounded, nails biting into my skin.

I didn’t speed up. I kept the rhythm torturously deliberate, long, firm pulls from base to tip, letting my thumb circle the sensitive head on every upstroke, spreading his leaking pre-cum until the inside of his shorts felt soaked and slippery.

“Fuck…” Riven whispered, so quietly I almost missed it. His eyes were locked on mine, wide and glassy, cheeks burning red. He looked like he was fighting every urge to look away.

“That’s it,” I said softly, watching his face. “Keep your eyes on me. Let me see you.”

I twisted my wrist just a little on the next stroke, pressing the heel of my hand against the underside of his cock through the fabric. His hips jerked forward involuntarily, chasing the pressure.

A tiny, broken sound escaped him — not quite a moan, but close. His free hand fisted the cushion beside him, knuckles white.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” I teased, keeping my voice low and intimate. “Even though you’re pretending you don’t want this.”

“Shut up,” he hissed, but there was no heat in it. His voice cracked halfway through. His cock throbbed hard in my palm, another rush of pre-cum slicking my fingers.

I chuckled darkly. “Make me.”

Instead of answering, he bit down on his lower lip, trying to hold back whatever sound was trying to climb out of his throat. I rewarded that little act of defiance by slowing down even more, dragging my fist from root to tip so slowly he could feel every single centimeter.

His head tipped back against the couch for a second before he forced it forward again, eyes finding mine like I’d commanded.

“Good boy,” I murmured, letting the praise slip out. “Look at you… falling apart already, and I’ve barely started.”

Riven’s breathing was coming faster now, shallow little pants that matched the rhythm of my hand. His thighs trembled. The hand gripping my arm slid higher, fingers digging into my bicep as if he needed something solid to hold onto.

I could feel his cock swelling even thicker in my grip, the head flaring against my palm with every slow stroke. The wet, muffled schlick of fabric and slick skin filled the small space between us.

A real moan finally broke free. It was low, reluctant, and so fucking sweet. It vibrated through his chest and straight into my veins.

“There it is,” I growled softly, eyes never leaving his face. “Let it out, Riven. I want to hear you.”

He shook his head weakly, but another moan slipped out anyway when I tightened my grip and gave him a firmer twist at the head.

“Shit… Kael…” His voice was wrecked, barely recognizable. His hips started rocking into my hand in tiny, helpless movements, chasing the pleasure even while his face screamed embarrassment.

I watched every second of it — the way his lashes fluttered, the way his lips parted on shaky breaths, the way that straight-boy denial cracked wider with every stroke. He was breaking so beautifully, and I was drinking it in.

My own cock was fully hard again under the towel, pressing insistently against the fabric, but I ignored it. This was about him. About watching the proud, stubborn Riven lose control in my hand.

“You’re so close already,” I said, my voice dark with satisfaction. “I can feel it. Your cock is pulsing like it’s begging for more.”

“Fuck you,” he gasped, but his grip on my arm tightened, pulling me closer instead of pushing me away.

I leaned in until our faces were inches apart, my breath brushing his lips. “You’re holding onto me so tight… like you’re afraid I’ll stop. You don’t want me to stop, do you?”

He didn’t answer with words. Instead, another broken moan tore from him as I stroked him faster — still not rushing, but with more purpose now. The inside of his shorts was a mess, slick and hot and filthy.

His whole body started to tense. His abs clenched under his shirt. His thighs shook harder around me. His cock jerked and throbbed violently in my palm, the pulses coming quicker, stronger.

“Look at me,” I ordered quietly when his eyes started to drift shut. “I want to watch you come.”

Riven’s gaze snapped back to mine, desperate and humiliated and so turned on it made my chest tight. His breathing turned ragged, almost sobbing.

“Kael… I— fuck—”

“That’s it,” I coaxed, stroking him through it, slow and relentless. “Come for me, straight boy. Let go.”

His body locked up. A deep, guttural moan ripped out of him as his cock pulsed hard — once, twice, three times — thick, hot spurts of cum flooding the inside of his shorts, soaking my hand and the fabric. His hips bucked erratically into my grip, chasing every wave of pleasure while his eyes stayed locked on mine, wide and shattered.

I kept stroking him gently through the aftershocks, milking every last drop until he was trembling and oversensitive, whimpering softly with each pass of my thumb.

When the last tremor finally faded, Riven slumped back against the couch, chest heaving, face flushed deep red. His hand was still gripping my arm like he couldn’t let go yet.

I slowly withdrew my hand from his shorts, bringing it up between us. My fingers were shiny and coated with his release. I held his gaze as I wiped them casually on the towel around my waist.

“Fuck…” Riven whispered, voice hoarse. He looked wrecked and beautiful. “I… I can’t believe I just…”

I smirked, still crouched between his legs, watching him try to piece his denial back together.

“Still straight?” I asked, my voice teasing but soft.

He didn’t answer. He just closed his eyes and turned his head away, breathing hard.

Slowly, his hand left my hand. “I have been straighter, Kael Dravin. Now, go away.”