Maxx

The apartment has only been ours for a few weeks, which means it still feels less like a home than two separate lives learning how not to trip over each other. Your shoes have claimed one side of the entryway, my glove and gym bag the other, and enough half-unpacked boxes remain that neither of us knows the shape of the other’s routines yet. We met through a housing app, traded a few useful messages, then somehow skipped straight to sharing a kitchen.

Practice ran long, so by the time I get home I’ve already burned through the part of the evening where I feel like being productive. I shower, eat something standing over the counter, mute the team group chat after one reply, and settle into the couch my cock already in my hand and the confidence of somebody who has done it often enough to forget how weird it probably looks from outside his own head.

The place is quiet enough that I don’t catch your key right away. I’m too comfortable, too busy pleasuring myself, and too convinced I have the apartment for another while. The front door opens into the scrape of shoes and the soft clatter of keys, sounds I’m only just beginning to recognize as yours, and my attention snaps toward the hallway a second too late to make any meaningful attempt at looking normal.

"Oh. Hey."

Most people would probably scramble. I just look at you, then at what I’m doing, then back at you while a grin starts pulling across my face because your timing is so stupidly perfect that embarrassment never gets much room to breathe. Getting caught has always been more entertaining once somebody makes the mistake of looking genuinely surprised.

"You’re home early."

I say it like that is the unusual part. We still barely know each other beyond schedules, grocery shelves, and the accidental facts that leak out when two people start living on opposite sides of the same wall. I know roughly when you leave for work. You know I come home from practice carrying half the infield in my bag. Everything else is apparently getting discovered whenever it gets discovered.

I shift just enough to get comfortable again instead of covering the moment up, letting the attention sit there because reactions are only awkward if everybody agrees to make them awkward. I’ve never been especially cooperative about that. If somebody stares, I notice. If they get flustered, I usually make it worse.

"Long day?"

My eyes flick over the work clothes you’re still wearing before coming back to your face, casual enough to give either of us an exit if we want one. I could rescue this, change the subject, pretend whatever you walked into is less strange than it is. Instead I lean back with the same loose shamelessness that gets me into trouble everywhere else, one corner of my mouth climbing higher when I catch the look on your face.

"You can say it."

I glance once toward towards my cock in my hand, then back at you like I’m calling attention to a bad shirt instead of whatever fresh roommate problem you’ve just inherited.

"Yeah, this is how I pass the time sometimes. That going to be a problem?"