The two of you had been mates since sixth form — same Sunday league football team back then, same easy rhythm now. Ryan still carried that solid, broad-shouldered build that made doorways feel smaller. Thick thighs, fuzzy chest he never bothered covering when he crashed at yours, and an unselfconscious way of lounging that always left you a little too aware of how much space he took up. Tonight he sat at the other end of your sofa in nothing but loose grey shorts, fresh from the shower, one bare foot propped on the coffee table while the action film droned on.

You were in trackies and a faded T-shirt, nursing your third can. The conversation had meandered the way it always did after a few beers — football, work, then inevitably porn. Ryan laughed low in his chest, stretching his arms along the back of the sofa so the muscles across his pecs shifted under the light dusting of hair.

“Do you reckon any of that’s real?” he asked, nodding at the screen where two supposedly straight lads had somehow ended up stroking each other. “Straight guys actually sitting around jerking each other off, or is it all just camera tricks for the wank bank?”

You shrugged, trying to sound casual even as something low in your stomach tightened. “Probably just TV bollocks. Blokes don’t do that. Not really.”

Ryan looked at you sideways, that familiar half-grin tugging at his mouth. His hand rested on his thigh, thumb idly tracing the hem of his shorts. “You sure about that?”

The room felt smaller. The film kept playing but neither of you was watching anymore. You noticed the way the front of his shorts had begun to tent — not fully hard yet, but definitely interested. Your own cock gave a slow, lazy twitch inside your trackies in answer. You told yourself it was the beer. The warmth of the room. Anything but the way Ryan’s eyes kept drifting down to your lap.

“Suppose there’s only one way to find out,” he said quietly, voice a touch rougher than a moment ago.

Your heart thumped once, hard. You didn’t reply straight away. Instead you watched as his hand moved, slow and deliberate, cupping the growing bulge through the thin fabric. He gave it a gentle squeeze, eyes never leaving yours, waiting for your reaction.

The uncertainty hit you sharp and sweet. Part of you wanted to laugh it off, change the subject, pretend the air between you hadn’t thickened. Another part — louder now — wanted to see exactly how far your mate would take this. You felt yourself filling out further, the soft cotton of your trackies suddenly too confining. Ryan could clearly see the outline now. He didn’t look away.

You swallowed. “You serious?”

He shrugged, but his cock jumped visibly under his palm. “Just seeing what happens. No pressure. We can stop whenever you want.”

That last part — the easy out — somehow made it hotter. You nodded once, barely, and let your own hand drift down. The moment your palm pressed against the hard line of your cock through the fabric, Ryan’s breath hitched. He pushed his shorts down just enough to free himself.

His cock sprang up thick and cut, already half-hard, the head flushed darker and glistening with the first bead of precum at the slit. Heavy balls hung low beneath, shifting as he settled back against the cushions. He wrapped his fingers around the shaft and gave one slow stroke from base to tip, spreading the slickness.

Your mouth went dry. You shoved your own trackies down, letting your uncut cock bob free. It was already leaking, a clear string stretching from the foreskin to your stomach. Ryan’s gaze locked on it.

“Fuck,” he murmured, almost to himself. “You’re proper leaking already.”

So are you, you thought, but the words stuck. Instead you curled your fingers around your length and started stroking — slow, matching the lazy rhythm he had set. The wet sound of skin on skin filled the quiet between you. Neither of you spoke for a long minute. You just sat there, side by side, hands moving in unhurried strokes while the television flickered forgotten in the background.

Ryan shifted closer. His bare thigh pressed warm against yours. The contact sent a fresh pulse through your cock. You didn’t pull away. If anything, you let your leg stay there, skin against skin, while your hand kept working.

His eyes kept flicking between your face and your cock. “Feels weirdly good having you watch,” he admitted, voice low.

“Yeah,” you managed. Your own cock throbbed harder in your grip, another bead of precum welling up and sliding down the shaft. You used it to slick your strokes, the glide turning smoother, filthier.

Ryan’s free hand hovered, then brushed lightly against the outside of your thigh. You stayed still. Encouraged, he let his fingers drift higher until they grazed the base of your cock, just above where your own hand pumped. The touch was barely there, but it made your hips twitch involuntarily.

You returned the favour, letting your knuckles brush the side of his thick shaft. He groaned softly. The sound went straight to your balls.

For a while you stayed like that — each of you stroking yourselves, occasionally letting your hands wander to the other. Fingers would graze, knuckles bump, thumbs accidentally swipe across a leaking head. Every light touch felt electric. Your cock jumped every time his skin met yours. His did the same.

“Bet yours feels different,” he said after a minute, eyes fixed on the way your foreskin slid smoothly over the head. “Uncut lads always look like they’re hiding something nice.”

You laughed, shaky. “Want a closer look?”

The words came out before you could stop them. Ryan’s eyes darkened with something hungry and uncertain at the same time. He nodded.

You angled your body toward him. He did the same. Now your cocks were only inches apart, both hard and shiny with precum, both being stroked in slow, matching rhythm. You could smell the faint clean musk of him — shower gel mixed with pure male arousal. The heat coming off his body made your skin prickle.

His hand left his own cock and wrapped loosely around the base of yours. Not stroking yet, just holding, feeling the weight and the way it pulsed against his palm. You did the same, curling your fingers around his thick shaft. The girth filled your hand nicely. You gave one experimental squeeze and felt him throb.

“Jesus,” he breathed. “That feels… different. Good different.”

You kept the rhythm deliberately unhurried. Every few strokes you’d pause to spread the fresh precum, letting it coat both your hands until everything was glossy and slick. Your balls felt heavy, drawn up tight, but you refused to rush. You wanted to stay right here in this strange, thrilling space where your straight mate was holding your leaking cock and you were holding his.

Ryan’s hips rocked forward once, subtle, pushing his length through your loose grip. You matched him, fucking slowly into the tunnel of both your hands. Your cocks brushed together now and then — hot, slippery, electric. Each accidental slide of shaft against shaft sent sparks up your spine.

Still neither of you spoke much. Just the occasional low curse when one of you hit a sensitive spot, or a shared glance that asked is this really happening? without needing words.

You could feel the edge creeping closer for both of you. Ryan’s heavy balls had drawn up, his breathing deeper. Your own hole fluttered involuntarily at the thought of how close he was. But you kept the pace slow, drawing it out, letting the tension coil tighter and tighter.

His thumb swiped over your slit, collecting a thick drop of precum and spreading it down your shaft. You did the same to him, circling the head of his cock until he groaned and his hips bucked once without permission.

“Fuck… keep doing that,” he muttered, voice rough.

You did. And he kept stroking you in return, both of you now fully lost in the slow, mutual rhythm. Cocks slick, hands sliding, thighs pressed tight together. The uncertainty still hummed beneath everything — the quiet thrill that this was your mate, your straight mate, and yet here you both were, leaking and hard and stroking each other like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Ryan’s eyes met yours again, dark and questioning and hungry all at once.

You didn’t look away.

Neither did he.

The film had ended long ago. The room was quiet except for the soft, wet sounds of your hands moving and the occasional shared breath. Ryan shifted again, turning more fully toward you. His knee brushed the inside of your thigh. The new position brought your cocks even closer. They brushed together more often — hot length against hot length, slick heads sliding past one another.

You let your cock rest against his for a moment, feeling the shared heat, the way both shafts throbbed in time. Ryan’s breath caught. His hand tightened around you, then loosened again, stroking slowly along the combined length.

“Like this?” he asked, voice rough.

“Yeah,” you breathed. “Just like that.”

You stayed that way for a long time — cocks pressed together, hands moving in slow, shared strokes, precum mixing and dripping down over your fingers. Every now and then one of you would pause, letting the other feel the full weight and heat of the moment. Then the rhythm would start again, lazy and deliberate.

Ryan’s free hand rested on your chest now, fingers tracing lightly over your nipple through your T-shirt. The touch made you shiver. You returned it, letting your palm slide up his fuzzy chest, feeling the firm muscle beneath, the way his nipple hardened under your thumb.

The exploration stayed gentle, unhurried. Hands wandering while the main focus remained on the slow stroking below. Thighs pressed tight. Breaths shared. The occasional soft groan when a stroke hit just right.

You could feel how close you both were, but neither of you pushed for the finish. You kept the pace slow, savouring every second of the uncertainty, every involuntary twitch, every shared drop of precum.

Ryan’s eyes met yours again, dark and heavy-lidded.

“Still okay?” he whispered.

You nodded, hand tightening just a fraction around his thick, leaking cock.

“Yeah,” you said. “Keep going.”

And you did.

The tension kept building, slow and thick. Your strokes grew a little firmer, a little faster, but still controlled. Ryan matched you, his grip tightening around your shaft as his thumb kept circling the sensitive head. Your cocks slid together more deliberately now, slick with shared precum, the wet glide sending sparks up your spine every time the heads bumped.

Your balls drew up tighter. You could feel the familiar pressure gathering low in your gut, but you held it back, wanting to stay in this moment a little longer. Ryan’s breathing had turned ragged. His heavy balls were pulled tight against his body, his thick cock pulsing steadily in your hand.

“Fuck… I’m getting close,” he muttered, voice strained.

“Me too,” you admitted, the words coming out hoarse.

Neither of you stopped. The rhythm stayed steady, deliberate, drawing the pleasure out. Your hands moved together — sometimes stroking your own cocks, sometimes wrapping around both at once, sliding up and down the combined length in long, slick strokes.

Ryan’s hips bucked once, harder this time. His cock throbbed violently in your grip. A thick rope of precum spilled over your fingers.

“Shit,” he groaned, eyes half-closed. “Don’t stop.”

You didn’t. You kept stroking him, firm and steady, while your own cock leaked steadily against his thigh. The pressure inside you kept rising, coiling tighter with every slide of skin.

Ryan’s free hand gripped your thigh, fingers digging in. His chest rose and fell rapidly, fuzzy pecs glistening with a light sheen of sweat. You could see the muscles in his stomach tightening, the way his abs flexed with every breath.

“I’m gonna cum,” he warned, voice tight.

The words sent a fresh jolt through you. Your own cock jumped, another thick bead of precum drooling from the slit. You kept stroking him, watching his face, watching the way his mouth fell open, the way his eyes fluttered shut for a moment before locking back on yours.

His cock swelled in your hand. The first pulse hit hard. A thick rope of cum shot from the head of his cock, landing across his fuzzy chest in a warm, sticky line. He groaned deep in his throat, hips jerking as the second and third ropes followed, painting his stomach and dripping down over your fingers.

The sight and the sound of him — your straight mate coming apart in your hand — pushed you right to the edge. Your hole clenched hard. Your balls drew up tight. You kept stroking him through it, drawing out every pulse until his cock finally began to soften slightly in your grip, still twitching with aftershocks.

Your own orgasm crashed over you a moment later. You groaned low, hips bucking as the first thick rope of cum erupted from your cock, splattering across Ryan’s thigh and mixing with his. Pulse after pulse followed, your cock jerking hard in your fist while Ryan watched, eyes dark and heavy, his hand still loosely wrapped around the base of your shaft.

You kept stroking through it, slow and steady, milking every last drop until both of you were spent, chests heaving, cocks softening but still slick and messy with cum.

For a long moment neither of you moved. The room was quiet except for your shared breathing. Cum cooled on skin and fingers. Ryan’s hand stayed on your thigh, thumb stroking lazy circles against the muscle. Your hand rested on his stomach, fingers lightly tracing through the mess you’d both made.

“Fuck,” Ryan said eventually, voice rough and wondering. “That was… intense.”

“Yeah,” you managed, a small laugh escaping you. “Not just TV bollocks after all.”

He grinned, that familiar half-grin, but softer now. “Reckon we could do that again sometime?”

You looked at him, at the cum streaking his chest, at the way his cock still twitched occasionally against his thigh, and felt another lazy throb of interest low in your gut.

“Yeah,” you said. “I reckon we could.”

The night wasn’t over yet. But for now, the two of you sat there in the quiet afterglow, bodies warm and close, the uncertainty replaced by something new — the quiet knowledge that straight mates sometimes did sit around jerking each other off.

And it felt better than either of you had imagined.