From His Photo I Knew What It Would Be Like Between Us

I had been looking at that photo for three days. Adrián, seen from behind, with his hands clasped behind his neck and the afternoon light falling across his shoulders. A profile picture with no apparent intention beyond simply existing, but it had kept me thinking about him every time I tried to sleep. There was something about his posture, the way his back curved slightly toward his waist, that made it hard to look at anything else. I had jerked off to it three nights in a row, imagining that arched back, that ass which looked firm beneath his jeans, my cock slowly burying itself between those two cheeks.

I wrote to him on Tuesday afternoon with more composure than I felt. We made plans for Thursday.

When he opened the building door and climbed the stairs to my apartment, I realized the photo had been honest. Adrián was exactly as he had shown himself: slim, with that slightly cautious way of moving that people have when they’re still learning to occupy the space they deserve. He greeted me with a kiss on the cheek and came in as if he already knew the place.

I offered him something to drink. He said no. We sat on the sofa and talked for twenty minutes about anything and everything—his job, a movie he’d seen, how hot the city had been that month—and at some point we stopped talking. There was no clear signal. Just that instant when silence changes its nature.

I leaned in and kissed him. He responded immediately, without hesitation. I pushed my tongue deep into his mouth and he sucked it hungrily, as if he had been waiting for it since before he rang the bell. I ran my hand over his pants and there it was, hard, pressing against the fabric. I squeezed it without mercy, and he let out a muffled moan into my mouth.

***

I took him to the bedroom without rushing. I wanted him to enjoy every part of it, not feel that this was something we had to hurry through to get somewhere else. He had told me, without making much of it in our earlier conversation, that he had little experience with men. I understood it for what it was: a warning and an invitation at the same time. It meant no one had opened his ass yet, that this was the first cock that was going to go in there.

I asked him to undress and get comfortable facedown on the bed. He took his clothes off slowly, without looking at me, and when he was naked I understood why the photo had kept me awake for three nights. He had a small, white ass, with two dimples just above his cheeks, and a long, slender cock that swung between his legs when he walked. He lay facedown and parted his legs just slightly, letting me see the space between his thighs, the pink shadow between his cheeks.

I picked up the oil from the nightstand and asked if he was okay with it. He nodded. I knelt beside him and began massaging his back with slow, broad movements, letting the oil cover everything: his shoulders, shoulder blades, waist, buttocks. Adrián rested his forehead on his crossed arm and closed his eyes. I felt the muscles in his back gradually loosening beneath my hands.

His breathing became slower. I moved down. When my hands reached his cheeks, I felt him tense for barely a second before letting go completely. I carefully spread them, pulling them apart until his asshole was in view, small, pink, closed. I passed my thumb over the opening in a slow, circular motion, without pressing, just so he could feel that I was there and that there was no hurry of any kind. His ass clenched and opened beneath my finger like a mouth that didn’t know whether it wanted to speak.

“Good?” I asked.

“Yes,” he said softly, almost to the mattress.

I kept at it for quite a while. My fingertip drew slow circles around the edge of his asshole, letting him grow accustomed to the sensation without forcing it. I lowered my face and ran my tongue along the cleft between his cheeks, from top to bottom, once, then again, and he let out a short moan he couldn’t swallow. I spread his ass wide with both hands and ate his asshole slowly, burying the tip of my tongue right where the muscle began to yield. Adrián started moving slightly, a small, almost involuntary push backward that became more obvious with every minute, offering me his ass, rubbing himself against my face.

I took more oil, poured it directly over his asshole, and watched it run between his cheeks. I spread it with my finger, thoroughly soaking the opening, and slid my index finger in slowly. It entered without resistance up to the knuckle. A soft moan escaped him, only half restrained, and I felt his ass tighten around my finger as if it didn’t want to let it go.

“Don’t stop,” he said.

I didn’t. I began moving it in and out with slow, steady motions, searching inside him for the spot, that swelling I knew would make him lose his mind. I found it. Adrián let out a long gasp, and his ass lifted off the bed, asking for more. I added a second finger when I felt he was ready, sliding them both in together, opening him patiently. His reaction was immediate: his breathing changed, his hands gripped the pillow, and he made that guttural sound people make when something fills them in a way they weren’t expecting.

“Fuck,” he whispered into the pillow. “Fuck, fuck.”

My two fingers went in and out of his asshole with a wet, sticky sound that filled the room. I fucked his ass with my hand and my mouth at the same time, alternating my tongue between my fingers, soaking everything, leaving the inside of his cheeks and his thighs glistening with saliva and oil.

***

With my fingers still inside him, my lips traveled up his back, kissing the nape of his neck, gently biting his shoulder. Adrián slowly turned onto his back, as if he knew exactly what was coming. He looked up at me with an expression that mixed calm with something harder to name: a kind of anticipatory gratitude, or perhaps simply undisguised desire. His cock rose against his stomach, hard and red, a clear drop sliding from the head.

He pulled my head down toward his stomach. The message was clear.

I took him into my mouth without preamble. Adrián exhaled sharply, a short, surprised sound that became something longer when I swallowed him to the base. His hands searched for my shoulders, my hair, anything to hold on to. I went slowly at first, learning his rhythm: what made him tighten his fingers and what made him release a long, broken sigh. I licked the head with the tip of my tongue, then lowered myself and licked his balls one by one, taking them into my mouth while continuing to stroke his cock with my hand. When I found the right cadence, I stayed with it, moving my mouth up and down his entire shaft, letting the pre-cum collect on my tongue.

After a while he stopped me with one hand, firm but calm, against my forehead.

“Not yet,” he said. “I want it to last. If you keep going like that, I’ll come right now.”

I sat up, my lips shining with saliva. We kissed for a long time. His hands moved over me with more confidence than before, as if the first hour had been a period of calibration and now he was ready for something completely different. He undressed me unhurriedly, studying every part of me. When he reached my cock, hard and dripping, he stared at it for one long second before taking it in his hand.

“It’s big,” he murmured, more to himself than to me.

“It’ll fit,” I told him. “Slowly, but you’ll take all of it.”

I lay back and he moved down my body. He took his time before beginning: he looked at me, assessed me, seemed to be calculating something. Then he did it. He took the head into his mouth first, sucking it with his lips closed around it, pulling it out with a wet sound, then taking it back in. Adrián had an instinct for this even if he didn’t fully know it: he knew when to apply more pressure and when to pull back, when to run his tongue beneath the head and when to swallow my whole cock. I put one hand on the back of his neck, not pushing, only guiding, and he let himself be led. He sucked me hungrily, gagging a little when he reached the bottom, pulling away with strings of saliva hanging from his chin before taking me back into his throat. I stared at the ceiling for a while before closing my eyes and letting myself go.

I stopped before reaching the edge.

“Come here,” I told him. “If you keep that up, I’m going to fill your mouth, and I want to fill something else.”

***

I took my time with him. First, two well-lubricated fingers, moving slowly inside his ass while he breathed against my neck with his arms around my shoulders. Adrián didn’t say much, but his body was eloquent: that slight arch in his back, the way he rhythmically clenched and relaxed his asshole around my fingers, the moans he released with less and less restraint. When I added a third, he clenched his jaw for a second and then exhaled slowly. I opened him patiently, twisting my fingers inside him, pressing the spot that made his thighs tremble.

“Does it hurt?” I asked.

“A little. But I don’t want you to stop. Keep going, keep opening me up.”

I continued. His moans changed in pitch, becoming deeper, more open. They stopped being restrained. I pulled my three fingers out and thrust them back in, and each time his ass yielded with less resistance, softer, readier.

“I want you to put it in me,” he finally said, his voice leaving no room for interpretation. “I want you to fuck me now.”

I arranged him facedown, with a pillow beneath his hips to raise them and leave his ass high in the air. I took a moment to look at him: his buttocks gleaming with oil, his asshole open and throbbing, still dilated from my fingers, the curve of his back, the tension in his shoulders that was half nerves and half anticipation. I spread his cheeks with one hand, spat over his asshole, and watched my saliva slide inside him. I put on a condom, added more lubricant, and positioned myself. The head barely brushed the opening, not entering yet, rubbing up and down along the cleft.

I pushed in with calculated slowness. I felt the muscle open, yielding inch by inch around my cock. Adrián made a sound that wasn’t entirely comfortable but didn’t ask me to stop either. I paused halfway and waited, letting his ass adjust to my thickness.

“Shall we keep going?” I asked.

“Yes,” he said, and he pushed himself backward until I was all the way inside him, until I felt my balls pressed against his cheeks.

The moan he let out then was different from all the others. Deeper, coming from farther inside. Like something he had been waiting for without knowing he was waiting for it. I stayed still for a moment, buried to the hilt in his ass, feeling him tighten and relax around my cock in waves.

***

We moved together patiently. I began to pull out slowly, almost to the tip, then slide all the way back in. Adrián found his rhythm from the beginning: small movements at first, then broader, more deliberate ones, pushing his ass backward every time I thrust forward. I followed his cadence rather than the other way around, letting him set the tempo for all of this. When I sped up a little, his fingers clutched the sheet and his hips answered with equal force, colliding with mine with the sharp sound of skin against skin.

“Like that,” he said. “Exactly like that. Harder, don’t stop.”

I grabbed his hips and started fucking him for real, thrusting in and out with long, firm strokes. The mattress moved, the bed creaked, and Adrián moaned into the pillow with his mouth open, biting it every time I hit his prostate. I slapped his ass, and his asshole clenched around my cock in response. I slapped the other cheek, and he moaned louder.

I changed positions. I carefully pulled out of him—the asshole remained open for a second, pink and glistening—and lay on my back. I made him sit on top of me, facing me. I wanted to see his face while he impaled himself. Adrián settled over me slowly, my cock aimed at his ass, and lowered himself little by little, letting the weight of his body take him. He braced his hands against my chest for balance, closed his eyes when he had taken all of me, and began moving in circles, alternating them with little bounces up and down. I stayed still and let him do it. There was something about watching him like that, riding me, his hard cock bouncing against his stomach, focused and completely present, that was worth more than any haste I might have felt.

I took his cock in my hand as he moved and began jerking him off to the rhythm of his riding. Adrián closed his eyes, and his breathing caught for a second. The combination of my cock buried in his ass and my fist moving up and down his made him stop for an instant to regain his balance, then he continued with greater intensity. His hips found a rhythm of their own, undulating and circular, driving me toward the edge faster than I wanted. I watched his face: his mouth open, sweat on his forehead, that expression of someone about to break apart.

I stopped. I grabbed his hips to hold him still.

“Why did you stop?” he asked, his eyes still closed and his cock dripping onto my stomach.

“Because I want it to last,” I replied, giving him his own words back.

When he opened his eyes and looked at me, he smiled. It was the first genuine smile of the whole afternoon.

***

I lifted him carefully, pulling out of him, and lay him on his back. I began moving down his body with my mouth. I wanted to take his cock again, but I veered away. I kissed his thighs, his groin, his stomach. I brushed my cheek against his member without taking it, just to feel the heat radiating from it. I kept moving down. I lifted his legs, folded them against his chest, and stopped at his buttocks, looking at his open asshole, still glistening with lubricant and well-fucked.

What came next has no name that does it justice. I slowly buried my tongue in his ass, pushing it as far as it would go, eating him hungrily, without haste. I ran my flat tongue over the entire cleft and buried it in his asshole again, fucking him with the tip, going in and out. Adrián tried to decide whether to moan, speak, or simply exist in that moment. He chose to moan, and the moans were loud and disordered. I grabbed his cock with one hand and slowly jerked him off while eating his ass. I stayed there until his hips began moving on their own, seeking more tongue, seeking fingers, seeking anything without my having to ask.

“Marcos,” he said softly, his voice breaking. “Come up. Put it in me again. I can’t take any more.”

I sat up and moved up his body to his mouth. We kissed slowly, without the urgency we’d had before, although he could taste himself on my tongue. His hands moved over my back with a new confidence, as if in the last few hours he had learned something about how he wanted to touch and be touched. He lowered one hand to my cock and guided it to his asshole.

“I want to finish like this,” he said. “Like before, but looking at you.”

I positioned myself between his legs. I lifted his thighs and rested them on my shoulders, then entered him again, this time with us looking at each other. My cock slid in without resistance, all the way to the bottom. Adrián didn’t close his eyes. Neither did I. We moved with a firm rhythm, with a synchrony that builds itself when two people stop thinking and simply feel what’s in front of them. Each thrust drew a short moan from his mouth, and every moan made me thrust harder.

I took his cock in my hand as I thrust, jerking him off at the same rhythm with which I fucked his ass. I felt the spasms before they came: his asshole tightening around my shaft, his thighs trembling against my sides. His body arched, tightened around mine, and he came with a sound he made no attempt to control, shooting thick jets of cum over his own stomach and chest, some reaching as far as his neck. His ass squeezed my cock so hard that it was enough. A few seconds later I came too, inside him, my hands gripping his hips, emptying myself into the condom with short, deep thrusts while he continued squeezing me in spasms.

***

We stayed still for a while. I slowly pulled out, tossed the full condom onto the floor beside the bed, and lay down next to him. Adrián stared at the ceiling with an expression I couldn’t quite interpret: it wasn’t sadness or regret, but something more like the calm that comes after resolving something you’ve spent a long time failing to understand. He still had cum on his stomach, slowly drying.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

“Better than okay,” he said. “I’m just processing.”

I waited. I knew that silence. It didn’t need me to fill it with anything.

After a few minutes, he spoke without looking at me.

“It was my first time,” he said. “Not being with a man in general. Just this, what we did. Having someone put it in me. I’m glad it was you. I hesitated a lot before writing to you, you know? I went back and forth for days.”

I didn’t know what to say right away. I put a hand on his arm, still saying nothing.

“Thank you for telling me,” I said at last.

“After all that hesitation,” he continued, “I feel so sure now. What you said about wanting it to last, that there was no hurry…it helped. I don’t know if you knew that.”

I turned toward him. I brushed the back of my hand over his cheek.

“I knew,” I said. “That’s why I did it.”

Adrián nodded slowly. Outside, afternoon had turned into night without us noticing. I told him he could stay if he wanted. He said yes without thinking much about it.

We remained quiet for a while longer. His breathing became steadier, heavier. Before falling completely asleep, he said something softly, almost to himself.

“The photo was mine. But what I imagined would happen was completely different. It was better.”

I told him it was, that it almost always is when nothing is forced.

He fell asleep. I took a little longer, staring at the ceiling and thinking that sometimes a profile picture is only the beginning of something that doesn’t have a name yet.