Breakfast in Briefs

The smell of coffee hit first.

Then bacon.

Then the full-body awareness that I was wearing nothing but briefs in my parents’ kitchen.

I scratched the back of my neck, shuffled across the tile barefoot, and leaned against the counter like that would make this feel normal.

It didn’t.

Drew was already at the stove, one hand on the pan, the other loosely holding a spatula. His hair was a mess. The waistband of his underwear sat low on his hips, and his shirt was nowhere in sight.

He looked over his shoulder when I came in.

“Hey,” he said, casual. Like we weren’t half-naked. Like we hadn’t dry-fucked each other into the mattress four hours ago.

I rubbed my eyes. “We’re really doing breakfast like this?”

He smirked, flipping the bacon. “You ever make bacon fully dressed?”

“No,” I admitted. “But I also don’t usually make it with someone I… y’know.”

He glanced at me, eyes glinting. “What? Slept next to?”

I gave him a look.

“Dry-humped into oblivion?” he added, biting back a grin.

“Wow. Poetic.”

He shrugged. “I minored in English.”

We both laughed, which helped. A little. Just enough to let the tension soften at the edges.

He grabbed two plates and started stacking toast. “You want eggs?”

“Yeah. Sure.”

I moved to grab mugs from the cabinet, and for a second, our bodies passed close — skin brushing skin, heat still pulsing between us. Not electric. Not explosive. Just present. Like we hadn’t figured out what to do with it yet, so it just… stayed.

I poured the coffee, then leaned against the fridge. “Maybe we should put clothes on.”

Drew looked down at himself, then at me.

“I mean,” he said, “we could.”

There was a pause.

We didn’t move.

Then he added, “But how often do you get to just hang out in your underwear with someone who already knows what you look like when you come?”

I choked on my sip.

He grinned. Shameless.

I shook my head, but the smile tugged at my mouth anyway. “You’re insufferable.”

He passed me a plate. “You’re welcome.”

We ate standing up. Half-naked. Barefoot. Still warm from the bed and trying not to admit it.

And somehow… it wasn’t weird.

Not yet.

Drew polished off his bacon like it was the first real meal he’d had in a week.

I took mine slower. Not because I wasn’t hungry, but because eating across from him like this — just briefs and banter and soft post-everything air — felt… good. Weirdly good.

Too good.

He leaned back against the counter, chewing the last bite of toast, and eyed me over the rim of his mug.

“You always this quiet in the morning?”

I nodded. “Yeah. Especially after… you know.”

His brow lifted. “Earth-shattering orgasm-adjacent activities?”

I gave him a flat look. “I was gonna say ‘drinking.’”

He smiled around his coffee. “Sure.”

I tried not to smile back.

We finished in silence, the comfortable kind, until Drew rinsed his plate and turned toward the living room like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“You wanna put on a movie or something?” he asked, already halfway out the kitchen.

I watched him go — long limbs, low-slung waistband, that lazy confidence that had always seemed effortless when he was with Leah.

But this wasn’t with Leah.

This was with me.

And that was starting to catch up.

I followed him into the living room, dropped onto the couch beside him. He was already flipping through the streaming apps, one leg tucked up beneath him like he owned the place.

“Leah’ll be back tonight,” I said, not looking at him.

His thumb paused on the remote.

“Yeah.”

Silence settled again, but it was different now. Not tense. Not awkward.

Just aware.

“Does this…” I started, then stopped. “I mean, what happens now?”

Drew set the remote down. Leaned forward, elbows on knees, like he needed to say it right the first time.

“I don’t know,” he said honestly. “Last night felt… real.”

I nodded. “It did.”

“But I’ve also got a girlfriend,” he said, slower now. “Your sister.”

He didn’t say it like a warning. Just a fact. One that hung heavy in the space between us.

“I’m not asking you to figure it out today,” I said.

His eyes met mine.

“You’re not mad?” he asked. “That it happened?”

“No,” I said. “I’m not sure I even regret it.”

He exhaled, then leaned back again. “Me neither.”

We didn’t say anything else for a while.

The movie started playing, some old comedy with a laugh track that felt too loud. But neither of us was really watching.

We were sitting there in our underwear, side by side on a couch that had always belonged to our childhood, trying to pretend this was just another morning.

But it wasn’t.

And we both knew it.

The movie droned on, but neither of us was laughing.

I could feel the weight of the day pressing in — Leah’s car in the driveway, doors swinging open, the quiet breaking into something loud and unfixable. But she wasn’t here yet.

So we stayed.

Side by side.

Still in our underwear. Still warm from the fire, the coffee, the memory of last night wrapped in cotton and tension.

Drew shifted next to me. His leg brushed mine — not by accident. Not anymore.

“You know,” he said, barely above the volume of the laugh track, “if this really is just a one-time thing…”

I looked at him.

He didn’t finish the sentence.

Didn’t need to.

“You wanna make it count?” I asked.

His smile was slow. A little reckless. A little shy.

“Something like that.”

I didn’t move right away.

But then I set the remote down, twisted toward him on the couch, and let my hand rest just above his knee.

“I was kinda hoping you’d say that.”

He leaned in before I could change my mind.

The kiss was softer this time. Familiar. Like we’d already crossed the hard part and now we were just… letting ourselves feel it.

He climbed into my lap without a word, straddling me, arms sliding around my neck like they’d always belonged there. Our bodies aligned easily, already tuned to each other, already responding.

We kissed like we didn’t owe anyone anything yet.

And for now, that was still true.

His thighs settled around me like they’d done it before. Like my lap was already mapped into his body memory.

We kept kissing — slow and open-mouthed, with that same drunk honesty we’d shared in the dark, now made clearer by morning light. His hands moved down my back, fingertips trailing along skin, tracing lines that sent warmth shooting straight through me.

I let my hands roam too — up his sides, across his chest, pausing at his waist where the band of his briefs hugged his hips just right.

We started to grind, the way we had the night before — but this time slower, more deliberate. No rush. No shame. Just the steady friction of hard bodies pressed close, the feel of him thick and eager against me.

He gasped quietly into my mouth as I rolled my hips up. His cock slid against mine through soft cotton, already leaking, already wet between us. My hands gripped his ass, pulled him down harder, until the tension sparked in both of us.

I felt his breath catch. His rhythm shift.

We moved like we knew where this was going.

Like it was the only place left to go.

His hands slid up into my hair, tugging just enough to make me groan. I thrust up harder, and he rocked into it with a sound that was half-whimper, half-moan — quiet and wrecked and holy.

Our bodies met in rhythm. Our mouths didn’t stop moving.

We were messy with it. Pressed so tight I couldn’t tell where I ended and he began.

I was so close — could feel the coil tightening in my gut, the heat crawling up my spine. He bucked forward one more time and cursed under his breath, head falling to my shoulder.

Then he tensed.

His whole body jerked against mine, cock pulsing in his briefs as he came with a soft, shaking breath. I felt the heat of it — through fabric, through skin — and it undid me completely.

I gasped against his neck, dug my fingers into his back, and came hard, my own briefs clinging as I rutted through it, every muscle pulling tight until it snapped.

And then we just… stopped.

Not pulled apart.

Just stilled.

Still in each other’s arms, breathing hard, hearts pounding, skin flushed and damp.

He didn’t let go right away.

Neither did I.

Because we both knew this was the end of something.

And we didn’t want to let it go just yet.

We stayed like that.

His chest pressed to mine, my arms still looped around his waist, our skin damp and sticky and clinging where we’d come. Neither of us moved.

His head rested in the crook of my neck, breath still catching now and then. I ran a hand up and down his spine, slow and steady, like I was trying to memorize the shape of him by touch alone.

“I didn’t mean for this to happen,” he murmured.

“Me neither.”

“But I’m not sorry.”

I closed my eyes. “Yeah. Me neither.”

He lifted his head just enough to look at me. His hair was a mess, his cheeks flushed, his lips pink from kissing.

He looked like someone I shouldn’t be allowed to want.

And someone I already did.

“I could stay like this,” he said, half a whisper.

“Then stay,” I said.

And he might’ve.

He really might’ve.

But then, faint at first — too faint to be anything but background noise — came the low, familiar growl of tires crunching over frozen gravel. A slow approach up the unplowed drive. A familiar hum.

We both froze.

Drew lifted his head.

I sat up straighter.

Then came the unmistakable sound of a Jeep Wrangler’s engine idling just outside the house.

Leah.

Drew’s breath hitched in his throat.

I didn’t say anything.

Neither did he.

The moment shattered — not loudly, not suddenly. Just cleanly. Like glass underfoot.

p