Disclaimer:
This story contains explicit adult content, including themes of consensual intimacy, emotional vulnerability, and sexual expression between same-gender characters. It is intended for mature audiences only (18+). This story is a work of fiction and should be interpreted as such. Reader discretion is strongly advised.
“Act Up” blared from Cedric’s Bluetooth speaker, a reckless, ratchet anthem rattling the walls just enough to blur the line between celebration and chaos. He’d just finished his last final—turned it in, closed the tab, and exhaled like he’d been holding his breath all semester. Now he was vibing, high off relief, weed, and wine at the same time, stripped down to a pair of tight black boxer briefs that clung to his waist and rode up with every move.
In front of the full-length mirror mounted to the back of their bedroom door, Cedric moved like he was dancing for himself, but he knew better. One hand balanced a half-full wine glass, the other flicked ash from the blunt between his fingers. He dipped low, bounced, and arched his back with practiced ease, running his free hand lazily over his thigh. The smoke curled around him like a spotlight. He looked good and knew it—and tonight, that was the whole point.
His hips moved like they knew they were being watched—because they were.
Corey sat across the room at his desk, headphones clamped over his ears, highlighters scattered like shrapnel from an academic warzone. He was surrounded by open textbooks, notebooks filled with scribbled notes, and a blinking cursor on his laptop that had been taunting him for twenty minutes. His fingers were still, hovering over the keys, because his eyes kept drifting.
Back.
To.
That.
Bounce.
Cedric caught the reflection of Corey’s gaze in the mirror and smiled, just a little too proud. He turned slightly, just enough to give Corey a clearer view. His ass rolled with the beat, shameless, deliberate. He sipped his wine without breaking rhythm.
Corey looked down at his notes. Tried again.
Five seconds later, his eyes were back on Cedric.
Cedric leaned forward in the mirror, sticking his tongue out playfully at his own reflection, then gave his ass a light slap and kept dancing, rolling his hips slower now, like the track was made just for him.
“Seriously?” Corey finally said, pulling off his headphones.
Cedric looked over his shoulder, eyebrows up like he was surprised to hear him. “What?”
“You know what. I’m trying to study.”
Cedric turned around fully, wine glass still in hand, his chest bare, skin glowing from the dim LED lights that rotated pink and blue across the walls. “You trying to study… and yet you watching me like you paid for it.”
Corey blinked, lips twitching like he was fighting a smile. “You’re dancing like a video vixen.”
“Maybe I am.” Cedric sipped, then took a step toward him, hips still swaying. “Maybe this is my final. You gonna grade me or what?”
Corey exhaled through his nose, leaned back in his chair, and crossed his arms—pretending like he wasn’t affected. But the flush at his neck said otherwise.
Cedric laughed under his breath and turned back to the mirror, letting the song ride out with one last dramatic grind.
He didn’t need Corey to admit it. The tension was already building. Slow. Thick. Familiar.
He just had to keep turning it up.
The next track rolled in without pause, a cocky, bouncing beat that hit with the kind of energy only Ice Spice could summon. “Think U The Shit” filled the room like perfume and attitude. Cedric smirked before the first bar even dropped.
“Oh, this my shit,” he muttered to himself, tossing the now-empty wine glass onto the bed with a soft clink. He hit the mirror again, but this time, it wasn’t just celebration—it was performance.
Hands on his knees, ass arched, tongue out, he started slow-grinding to the beat, back arching in perfect rhythm like he was twerking for the camera that wasn’t there. Then he caught his own eye in the reflection and gave himself a little wink.
Behind him, Corey still sat at the desk, trying to read through a stack of lecture slides on constitutional law, headphones back on, eyes forward—but every few seconds, his concentration slipped.
Cedric knew the exact moment he cracked him.
He dropped it low, real low, then rose back up like he was made of nothing but hips and heat. Then he did it again—slower this time—until he found a rhythm that made his ass bounce with every movement, cheeks jiggling and dribbling like a basketball. Smooth. Controlled. Hypnotic. He didn’t need to look behind him to know Corey was watching. He could feel it in the way the air shifted. In the stillness.
Another roll. Another slow, taunting arch. His body moved like it was born for this kind of flex—half dance, half ritual. Cedric tilted his chin, brushing a hand across the neat taper of his fresh fade, and looked back at Corey through the mirror, lips parted in a lazy smirk.
Yeah. He had his attention now.
Corey exhaled hard and ripped off his headphones.
“Can you not?” he said, more breath than voice.
Cedric turned halfway, just enough for Corey to get a better view of the curve of his hip. He flicked ash into an old mug and took a lazy pull from the blunt.
“Why?” he said, blowing smoke toward the ceiling. “I look good, don’t I?”
Corey blinked like he wanted to deny it. Couldn’t. Instead, he looked back at his laptop, jaw set tight. “You’re ridiculous.”
Cedric let out a soft laugh and did a full slow turn, his body loose, cocky. He paused once he was facing Corey—one hand on his hip, the other lifting the blunt back to his lips.
“You ain’t denying it though.”
Corey shook his head, the ghost of a smile tugging at his mouth. He tried to hide it behind a sip of water, but it was there.
They both let it hang.
The room was thick with smoke, music, and something else now—something quiet but undeniable. Corey’s screen faded to black from inactivity. His fingers tapped at the desk, rhythmless. His foot bounced. His focus was gone.
And Cedric? He was thriving in the silence. In the stare.
He leaned against the wall near the mirror, one leg cocked, letting the music pulse through him.
“So what,” he said after a beat, “you just gonna sit there pretending I don’t got you hard as fuck right now?”
Corey didn’t answer, but his ears went red.
Cedric smiled, slow and wide, and took one final pull from the blunt.
Playtime was just getting started.
The bass dropped like a whisper soaked in heat. “Under the Influence” slid into the room like silk, and the atmosphere shifted—soft and sensual, thick with promise. Cedric turned the volume down just enough to let the vocals hum low, like a secret between bodies. The LED lights bled into red and violet, painting everything in slow-motion desire.
He said nothing as he moved toward Corey—no more teasing, no more games. This was different. Focused. His sway was slower now, hips rolling with the kind of fluid control that made time forget itself.
Corey didn’t move. Didn’t blink. His laptop screen had gone dark, and so had the rest of the world. All he could see was Cedric—bare, lithe, glowing in the low light like temptation made flesh.
Cedric climbed into his lap with deliberate grace, thighs spreading over Corey’s like silk falling over steel. He exhaled, wine-sweet and smoky, pressing close enough for Corey to feel the heat of his breath at his neck.
Then the dance began.
It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t cute. Cedric moved like his body was an instrument tuned to pleasure, like he’d studied Corey and choreographed this just for him. He started with a slow grind, chest to chest, the barest friction between them enough to draw breath from Corey’s lungs.
Then he pulled back just a little, hands braced on Corey’s shoulders, and let his hips do the talking. He rolled them in slow, tight circles—each motion hypnotic, obscene in its perfection. His ass bounced once, twice, then rippled like a wave crashing through Corey’s core.
Better than any stripper. Any late-night fantasy. This wasn’t a show—it was a ritual.
Corey’s jaw clenched, his hands twitching against Cedric’s thighs. He wanted to grip, to pull, to give in—but he couldn’t move. Not yet. He was frozen, captivated.
Cedric dipped lower, letting his body slide like water down Corey’s lap, then rose again with the same sinuous rhythm. His eyes never left Corey’s.
Chris Brown’s voice poured out low and breathy from the speaker, thick with lust and confession. The words weren’t clear—but the feeling was. Like somebody couldn’t hold back anymore. Like a body could speak louder than anything else.
And Cedric’s body was speaking.
Every sway, every bounce, every slow grind against his lap said what words couldn’t. Said everything. Corey didn’t know if it was the song or the wine or the weeks of tension finally snapping—but in that moment, Cedric felt like temptation, desire, and surrender wrapped in sweat and skin.
His body talked, and Corey listened with everything he had.
The words hit like a confession. Like Corey had said them himself.
Cedric leaned in, mouth brushing Corey’s ear, breath warm and teasing. “You feelin’ it now?”
Corey’s answer came as a strangled exhale, his breath catching as a quiet shudder rolled through him. His hands moved without thinking, sliding up Cedric’s sides to grip his waist—tight, desperate—like he was afraid if he didn’t hold on, Cedric might vanish.
“You’re unreal,” Corey muttered, barely above a whisper.
Cedric smiled—slow, sultry, wicked. He kept moving, kept grinding, until Corey’s restraint frayed into nothing.
That was when the kiss happened.
It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t soft either. Cedric kissed him like he’d already won, tongue tasting, lips pulling, breath mixing. Corey kissed back like he’d been holding it in all semester.
They didn’t need permission. They were past that.
Clothes came off in increments, scattered across the bed, the floor, forgotten. Each layer peeled away like a secret surrendered. Cedric took his time with everything—touching, teasing, guiding Corey through the rhythm they’d been building all night. His lips trailed down Corey’s chest with reverence, warm breath skating over skin, until he knelt between Corey’s legs and wrapped his mouth around his dick.
He started playful—slow flicks of his tongue, soft suction, a teasing glance upward—but the moment shifted as Corey let out a breath that wasn’t quite a moan, his hand sliding gently into Cedric’s hair. Cedric took more of him, steady and unhurried, the wet heat of his mouth coaxing Corey into low, shaky gasps. When he finally pulled back, lips slick, eyes heavy, Corey pulled him upward, kissed him with gratitude and something deeper, then guided him down onto the bed.
Corey returned the gesture, his mouth tracing a path down Cedric’s stomach, kissing tender skin with growing hunger. When his lips found Cedric’s dick, the taste and weight of it grounded him. He moved with care, with rhythm, with focus—like pleasing Cedric was something sacred. Cedric trembled beneath him, one hand clutching the sheets, the other reaching for him in blind gratitude.
When Corey moved up, kissing Cedric softly, their breaths tangled. Eyes locked. Cedric opened his legs in invitation, breath warm against Corey’s cheek. No words were needed, just the slight nod, the tilt of his hips, the trust in his gaze.
Corey aligned their bodies slowly, first slicking his throbbing dick with careful strokes, his breath catching as his hand moved. When he was ready, he guided himself down, the tip of his dick brushing softly against Cedric’s hole, testing the give, the warmth, the welcome waiting for him.
They fucked in slow waves at first, bodies adjusting, syncing. Cedric’s hole clung to him, legs wrapped loosely around Corey’s waist, back arching with every thrust. Corey held him like something precious—one hand cradling his jaw, the other gripping his thigh as they fell into rhythm.
Their mouths met again, messy now, kisses broken by gasps. And then, between one thrust and the next, Corey paused—his forehead pressed to Cedric’s, eyes searching.
“I love you,” he said, breathless, wrecked.
Cedric blinked, stunned—but his answer came fast, whispered through trembling lips. “I love you more.”
Something shifted after that. Their movements deepened, slowed, sharpened. Cedric cupped Corey’s face, eyes wide open now, letting himself be seen. Corey pressed in harder, not faster—just fuller, like he wanted to disappear inside him.
They grooved like they’d done this before in dreams. Like their bodies had memorized each other in silence.
The rhythm climbed, breaths grew louder. Cedric’s nails traced the ridges of Corey’s back as he cried out, his body vibrating around Corey’s dick. Corey buried his face in Cedric’s neck as his own orgasm hit, a low groan escaping his throat as his body tensed, then gave in.
When it finally broke—when they both came, breathless, bodies trembling—it wasn’t with shouting or spectacle. It was deep. Drawn out. Something sacred shared beneath the bass line.
After, Cedric collapsed against him, still warm, still pulsing with that post-climax glow.
They didn’t speak at first. The song had long since ended, but neither of them reached for the speaker.
Cedric curled against him, cheek pressed to Corey’s shoulder. His voice was soft, nearly drowsy when he finally spoke.
“Told you,” he murmured. “You always think too hard.”
Corey kissed his temple, eyes closed.
“I just needed a break.”
Cedric smiled, satisfied. “I gave you one.”
And this time, Corey didn’t argue.
The song faded out on its own, no one reaching for the speaker. Just the quiet hum of the final beat, then silence—soft and complete, like the room had exhaled with them.
Cedric lay stretched across Corey’s chest, skin warm and slick, cheek pressed to the rise and fall of Corey’s breath. He drew slow, aimless circles on Corey’s stomach with one fingertip, not thinking, just feeling. His body was still pulsing in the low, steady way it did after good sex. After being seen.
Corey had one arm wrapped around Cedric’s back, the other resting in the tight taper of Cedric’s fade, fingers brushing rhythmically against his scalp. His eyes were closed, face relaxed in a way Cedric rarely got to see—like something tight in him had finally gone loose.
“You good?” Corey murmured, his voice a sleepy rumble.
Cedric smiled into his skin. “Better than good.”
Corey’s hand paused for a second, then resumed its slow motion. He didn’t say anything right away, just let the silence hold. Cedric could feel his heartbeat under his cheek, slow and sure.
“I told you,” Cedric said softly. “I help you feel.”
Corey opened his eyes just enough to glance down at him. “You also almost got me failing con law.”
Cedric laughed, low and satisfied. “Boy, stop. You needed that more than any lecture slide.”
They didn’t move. No rush to. No reason to. The whole world felt smaller now, dimmer around the edges, but brighter between them.
Cedric shifted just enough to kiss Corey’s chest, right over his heart. “You can think again in the morning.”
Corey hummed in agreement, eyes drifting shut. “Yeah,” he said. “Morning.”
His final was still a few hours away. The books would still be there. The stress, the noise, the pressure—it would all come flooding back.
But this?
This was the break he really needed.
Line Me Up »
