The Student Across the Hall Came to Ask Me for Coffee

The apartment across the hall was rented to students at the end of September. Before that, a retired couple lived there who had moved south in search of sunshine, and although we were never friends, at least they didn't make any noise. When I saw the real estate agent's sign disappear and boxes with university stickers coming in, I assumed the worst.

I live in an old building, the kind with two doors per landing and floors that creak even when you walk in your socks. At forty-two, with a divorce behind me, I'd learned to appreciate silence. It's not that I'm a hermit. I simply got tired of negotiating with someone over whether I felt like having pasta for dinner at eleven or watching a movie until three.

I'd gone more than a month without fucking, and I was starting to feel it. My cock would get hard on its own in the mornings, and I'd wake up with my hand already between my legs without having decided to put it there. I've been bisexual forever, although in recent years almost all my adventures had been with women. Inertia, I suppose. The last time I'd swallowed a cock had been so long ago that I could barely remember the taste.

To my surprise, the new neighbors turned out to be a blessing. Three university guys, tidy and almost shy. Monday through Friday they studied behind closed doors. On Fridays they disappeared: some went back to their towns, others went to their girlfriends' places. And on Saturdays, when they came back late, they did so quietly, as if they knew the partition wall was made of paper.

I tried to be friendly when we happened to meet in the elevator. A smile, good morning, some joke about the noisy water heater. But while I smiled, I looked at them. They were young and slim, with that skin not yet ruined by office hours, and I couldn't help looking for the bulge in their pants. During the winter I could barely enjoy them: scarves, overcoats, hoods. When spring came, they started shedding layers, and things changed.

To keep from going crazy, I joined the gym on the corner. Three afternoons a week, exactly one hour, no excuses. I burned off my excess energy on the treadmill and with the dumbbells, and as a secondary reward I could also walk around in a T-shirt without my belly showing. The trick only worked halfway: in the locker-room showers I learned that looking out of the corner of your eye is an art, and more than one night I got home and jerked off thinking about the cocks hanging beneath the spray of water.

One Saturday in May, one of those days when you open the window at nine and it's already as hot as a Sunday in August, someone knocked on my door. I was in boxer briefs, one of those black Lycra pairs that leave little to the imagination, barefoot, with my coffee half prepared. I thought about putting on some pants, but then I thought whoever was knocking at that hour could deal with it.

It was one of the neighbors from across the hall. Iván. I knew because his name was written in marker on the mailbox. If I was lightly dressed, he was practically naked. He wore a pair of sweatpants that could hardly be considered pants and a tank top that was basically two strings holding together a minimal scrap of fabric. Light brown, almost blond, tall, with gray-green eyes and a mouth I'd already looked at more than was prudent on other occasions.

“Morning. Sorry about the hour,” he said, leaning against the doorframe. “I've run out of coffee and I have an exam on Monday. Do you have any left? I'll go downstairs later and replace it.”

“Come in, man. I was just making it. I'll treat you to one and you can take the rest with you.”

I opened the door and gestured toward the kitchen. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him looking at me. Not just in passing. He was really looking, without hiding it, sliding his eyes over my back, the waistband of my boxer briefs, the bulge of my cock outlined in the Lycra, and my calves. I did exactly the same when he walked past me and I saw the pert ass those useless pants gave him.

“Black, with milk, espresso with a little milk?”

“With milk and two sugars. Unhealthy, I know.”

“I don't care. I've got homemade sponge cake too. Don't think I'm any better.”

I poured his cup, cut two pieces of cake, and we sat at the little table I keep by the window. The light came in from the side, and I saw that the skin of his neck was shining slightly with sweat. I thought he must have been out for a while, or had come straight from bed without showering, and the idea of burying my nose in his armpit distracted me more than was advisable.

“You're very comfortable at home,” he said, chewing.

“That's the advantage of living alone. If it bothers you, I'll put something on. Or you can take your shirt off and we'll be even. Whichever you prefer.”

He smiled. He didn't answer with words. He took off his tank top and left it hanging over the back of the chair, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. His torso was smooth, defined without being exaggerated, with two small moles beneath his left collarbone and a line of blond hair running down from his navel and disappearing beneath the waistband of his pants. My mouth went dry and my cock got hard all at once, pulling against the Lycra.

“Fuck. You look better with nothing on.”

“You're not exactly lacking either. And those boxer briefs show everything. You can see the whole thing, man.”

“If you want us to be completely even, I can take them off too.”

“Go ahead, as far as I'm concerned.”

I stood up slowly and lowered the waistband of my boxer briefs, revealing my pubes first and then my cock, already half erect, which sprang free of the fabric. Iván stared at it without pretending otherwise, his mouth slightly open. I finished pulling the garment off over my feet and pushed it aside with my foot. He did the same with his pants: he lifted himself slightly from the chair, lowered them to his ankles, and his cock sprang out in front of him, already hard, thick, with the shiny glans peeking out beneath the foreskin. He wasn't wearing anything underneath. The two garments ended up together on the floor beside his shirt.

“Shall we keep having breakfast?”

“I'm hungry, yes.”

It was a hunger that had nothing to do with sponge cake, and we both knew it. We sat down again, this time in silence, looking straight into each other's eyes without pretending otherwise, our cocks pointing toward the ceiling beneath the edge of the table. Each of us held a piece of cake, chewing slowly, as if the ritual served to prolong the tension. His free hand had fallen onto his thigh, open, very close to his cock. Mine made the same journey.

When I leaned a couple of inches to reach the sugar bowl, my fingers brushed his knee. He didn't pull away. I slid my palm up the inside of his thigh, slowly, looking at him, until the back of my fingers brushed his balls. He let out a short gasp. I wrapped my hand around his cock and squeezed it at the base: thick, hot, throbbing against my palm. He left the piece of cake on the plate and moved toward my mouth.

The first kiss was gentle. He bit my lower lip before opening my mouth with his tongue. He tasted of sugar and coffee. His free hand searched for my chest and, with two fingers, pinched my right nipple. I let out a sudden breath. My nipples are absurdly sensitive, one of those things lovers take a while to discover.

He noticed immediately. He lowered his head and licked them, first one, then the other, with the concentration of someone learning the instruction manual. He nibbled them, sucked hard, tugged with his teeth until he drew a silly moan out of me. I was already jerking him off slowly, setting the rhythm, feeling pre-cum drip into my fist. With my other hand I pinched his testicles, pulling the skin of his scrotum between two fingers. It was clear that he spent time on his body.

“Let's go to bed. I'm going to break my back here.”

I got up from the chair and, during the second I turned my back to him to walk toward the bedroom, I felt him bite one of my buttocks and slip his tongue between my knees. He'd crouched down just enough to reach.

“You're horny.”

“Not as much as you are, you won't scream at me. You've been pointing at the ceiling for a while. How long since you last fucked?”

“Too long. What about you? You live with two guys.”

“With two nice guys, yes. And sometimes I jerk off in the shower if I have to go in after one of them and it's still warm. But today I wanted another cock. I don't know. Something from outside the apartment.”

He pushed me against the hallway wall. The textured plaster was cold. His cock pressed between my buttocks, fitting into the crack as if searching for the opening, and he wrapped one arm around my waist. With the other hand he grabbed my cock and began moving it slowly, with the firmness you learn from using your own hands. He ran his thumb over the glans, spreading the pre-cum, and drew a growl from me against the rough wall.

“What about the coffee?”

“The milk is better. The kind you've got stored in here.”

He crouched right there in the hallway and took me into his mouth in one go, swallowing me to the root without coughing. I felt his tongue wrap around my head, suck underneath it, move up and down while one hand squeezed my balls and the other spread my buttocks. He pulled my cock out with a pop, spat on it, and put it back in all the way to his throat. I braced my hands against the wall and looked down at him: that perfect mouth full of my cock, his green eyes looking up at me, his cheeks hollowing every time he squeezed. I nearly came right there.

“Stop, stop, I'm going to come,” I told him, pulling his hair back.

He stood up licking his lips, his chin shining with saliva. I grabbed the back of his neck and returned his kiss, pushing my tongue in until I found the taste of my own cock in his mouth. We reached the bedroom amid laughter and kisses, tripping over the rug and biting each other's necks. I pushed him onto the mattress and dropped down on top of him. We embraced and rolled over, changing positions, biting each other's shoulders and rubbing our cocks together until they were slick. For a moment I felt twenty years younger.

After a long while of kissing and caressing, Iván lowered his head again and swallowed my cock, but this time slowly, with a tongue that knew exactly when to press and when to let go. He pulled it all the way out, spat on it, and licked me from my balls to the tip as if it were an ice cream. I turned around so I wouldn't be left doing nothing, and we ended up in a classic sixty-nine, each of us with our head between the other's thighs and our hands on the other's ass.

His cock filled my mouth completely. Thick, with a prominent vein that rasped against my tongue, and a smell of young skin and sweat that drove me crazy. I pushed a finger into his ass while I sucked him, searching for his prostate, and he answered by thrusting his hips to fuck my mouth at a slow rhythm. He put two saliva-wet fingers inside me and patiently opened me from within, scissoring them, while sucking my testicles one by one.

It took us a while to get there. When he came, he filled my mouth with a hot, thick stream that struck my palate. I held it without swallowing and, with a silly but effective idea, sat up to give it back to him in a kiss. Iván laughed against my lips and swallowed half of his own cum. We shared the other half through licks and filthy kisses, licking each other's chins.

“You're such a dirty bastard.”

“Look who's talking.”

While we were eating each other, our fingers hadn't stopped. He already had two inside me, patiently opening me, sliding in and out with a wet little sound, and I'd done the same to him, three fingers this time, until I felt his muscle give way. We were both hard again, just as we'd been at the beginning, and breathing unevenly.

“Fuck me.”

I wasn't going to argue. I positioned him at the edge of the mattress, his legs raised and resting against my chest. I took the lubricant from the drawer, poured a generous amount onto my cock and another onto his ass, spreading it with two fingers until I pushed them in to the knuckle. I held his thigh with one hand and pressed the tip against his entrance. I pushed slowly, looking into his eyes, and felt the ring give way and swallow me inch by inch until I buried my entire cock inside him. He liked watching. So did I.

“Fuck, you're so tight.”

“Move slowly. Let me get used to it.”

His feet were level with my face, so I took the opportunity to kiss the instep, suck his toes one by one, and put his big toe in my mouth. Iván closed his eyes for a moment, opened his mouth, and let out a moan I would have liked to record. I began moving with a firm rhythm, not too fast, pulling almost all the way out before plunging back into him. I wanted it to last.

“Keep going like that. Just like that. Put it all the way in.”

I obeyed. His hands squeezed my thighs, then my waist, then my neck, his nails digging in. His cock slapped against his own belly with every thrust, dripping pre-cum onto his navel. I grabbed it at the base and moved it in the same rhythm as I fucked him, squeezing hard and making him grunt. I changed his position, putting him on all fours, and entered him from behind, gripping his hips. Seeing my cock go in and out of that young ass, watching it disappear completely and come back out gleaming, was pushing me to the edge.

“I'm going to come,” I said through clenched teeth.

I held out as long as I could. When I couldn't take it anymore, I pulled out, wiped myself with my forearm, and dropped beside him to catch my breath.

“You stopped halfway.”

“On purpose. I want to turn you over.”

He laughed. He pushed me until I was on top of him, straddling him, my knees pressed into the mattress on either side of his hips. He took my cock in one hand and, with the other, guided his toward my opening. I lowered myself slowly, bracing my palms against his chest, feeling him fill me inch by inch, feeling that thick cock make room for itself inside me. When my ass hit his balls, I stayed still for a second, holding my breath. His nipples were sensitive too. I discovered it by gently pinching them and watching him arch against the mattress.

“Easy. Slowly. I'm at my limit.”

“I know.”

I moved up and down at a slow pace, squeezing him with my ass every time I rose, feeling his cock touch me inside, right in the sweet spot. I watched him clench his jaw, his chest rising and falling, biting his lip at every downward stroke. I took his hands and placed them on my hips so he could set the rhythm, and he began pushing me upward and sinking me down with more force. The bed creaked. We could hear the slap of our skin colliding, my balls bouncing against his belly.

“I'm coming, fuck, I'm coming.”

He came inside me with a restrained groan, gripping my hips so hard he left the marks of his fingers. I felt him throb inside me, filling me, one hot spurt after another. I touched my cock twice and came shortly afterward, shooting over his belly and chest, thick spurts reaching as far as his collarbone, while he helped me with his hand, milking me to the last drop.

We stayed like that for a while, him underneath and me on top, unmoving, our hearts slowing together, feeling him soften inside me. His cum ran down my thigh when I sat up. I ran a finger through the pool he'd left on his belly and put it in my mouth. Then we rolled onto our sides and looked at each other like a pair of idiots.

“Fuck, Iván.”

“Fuck, yeah.”

“I didn't expect this when I got up this morning.”

“Neither did I. I really did come down to ask for coffee.”

We laughed. The laughter hurt my stomach, the kind of laughter that comes after something good and is almost better than the orgasm.

“Are you staying for lunch?”

“Better not. If I stay, I won't leave all weekend, and I've got the exam.”

“Another day, then.”

“Another day, yes.”

He got dressed in the kitchen without showering, my semen still drying on his chest beneath his T-shirt. He picked up the packet of coffee from the shelf and gave me one last kiss at the door, a long kiss with tongue, his hand slipping into the waistband of the boxer briefs I'd put back on and squeezing one of my buttocks. He crossed the landing barefoot, his tank top hanging from his shoulder and his pants pulled up to his waist. Before closing his door, he turned around and looked at me.

“Whenever you want to do it again, you only have to cross the hall.”

“And if you invite one of your roommates, even better. Two cocks next time.”

“I'll make a note of it.”

I closed my door, leaned against it, and smiled. The coffee had gone cold in the kitchen. I thought about making another, and while the coffee maker whistled, I looked at the chair where he'd been sitting, the crumbs of sponge cake on the plate. The kitchen still smelled of his cologne and sex. I could still feel the pleasant soreness in my ass and his cum trickling inside me whenever I shifted position.

That night I slept better than I had in months. And the next day, when I went out to take the trash down, his door was closed and I could hear the sound of a keyboard typing rapidly inside. I smiled.

Some neighbors are a blessing disguised as an inconvenience.