The laptop screen flickered between them, a paused frame of two men caught mid-act, their bodies tangled in a way Barry couldn't quite look at and couldn't quite look away from. The blue light washed over Jake's chest, picking out the blonde hair that dusted his pecs, the trail that disappeared into the waistband of his shorts. Barry's throat went dry.

They'd been kissing for what felt like hours and no time at all. Jake's mouth was warm and patient, his hand a steady weight on Barry's shoulder, and every time Barry thought he'd figured out the rhythm of it — the tilt of his head, the soft press of lips, the way Jake's tongue swept along his bottom lip like an invitation — Jake would do something new. A small sound. A shift of his jaw. His fingers sliding up into Barry's hair.

And Barry would forget how to breathe all over again.

"You're thinking too much," Jake murmured against his mouth.

Barry's eyes flew open. "What?"

"You're thinking." Jake pulled back just enough to look at him, that easy smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "I can feel it. Your whole body goes stiff, like you're trying to solve a math problem instead of kissing me."

Heat flooded Barry's face. "I'm not—"

"Relax, bro. I'm not making fun of you." Jake's thumb traced the line of Barry's jaw, slow, deliberate. "First time's always weird. You're in your head about doing it right, but there's no right. You just gotta feel it."

Barry swallowed. His hand was still on Jake's chest, fingers curled into the springy blonde hair there, and he could feel the steady thump of Jake's heartbeat under his palm. "How do I stop thinking?"

Jake's grin widened. "Close your eyes."

Barry hesitated, then obeyed. The dark was immediate, intimate, the blue light of the laptop bleeding through his eyelids. He felt Jake shift, heard the soft rustle of the sheets, and then Jake's lips were on his again — softer this time, almost teasing. Barry's breath caught.

"There you go," Jake breathed against his mouth. "Just feel it."

It was different with his eyes closed. Everything narrowed to sensation — the scratch of Jake's stubble against his chin, the warm weight of Jake's hand on his neck, the way Jake's chest rose and fell against his own. Barry's fingers tightened in the hair on Jake's chest, and Jake made a low sound, something between a hum and a groan, that vibrated right through Barry's palm.

"Yeah," Jake said, his voice rougher now. "Like that."

Barry's eyes opened. Jake was looking at him with an expression he couldn't quite read — something dark and warm at the edges, like the last hour had changed the shape of the room between them.

"You good?" Jake asked.

Barry nodded, not trusting his voice.

Jake's hand slid down his arm, slow, deliberate, until his fingers wrapped around Barry's wrist. Barry's heart stuttered. Jake's grip was loose, easy, but Barry could feel the heat of his palm, the calluses on his fingertips from a thousand hours in the gym.

"You can touch, you know," Jake said, his voice low and easy. "I don't bite."

Barry's mouth went dry. "I am touching."

"Your hand's been stuck on my chest for the last ten minutes." Jake's thumb traced a slow circle on the inside of Barry's wrist. "You can move it. I won't break."

The words hung in the air between them, charged with something Barry didn't quite have a name for. His hand felt frozen on Jake's chest, his fingers buried in that soft blonde hair, and the idea of moving it — of letting it drift anywhere else — made his stomach flip.

"I don't know where to put it," Barry admitted, the words coming out smaller than he meant them to.

Jake's expression softened. "Here."

He guided Barry's hand down, palm flat against his stomach. The skin was warm, the muscles firm beneath a light layer of hair that tickled Barry's fingers. Barry's breath caught in his throat. He could feel the texture of it, the coarse strands trailing down from Jake's navel, disappearing into the waistband of his shorts.

"Feel that?" Jake asked, his voice a low rumble.

Barry nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

"That's just me, bro. Nothing to be nervous about." Jake's hand was still covering his, pressing it flat against his stomach. "You've got hair too, right? It's just skin."

"It's not—" Barry started, then stopped.

"Not what?"

Barry shook his head. He couldn't explain it — the way Jake's body felt different from his own. Jake was all warm muscle and coarse hair, solid in a way Barry's slender frame had never been. Touching him felt like touching something forbidden, even though Jake had invited it, even though they'd already done so much more.

"I'm not gonna laugh at you," Jake said softly. "Whatever it is."

Barry looked up at him. The blue light of the laptop caught the planes of Jake's face, the easy confidence in his eyes. Barry's hand was still on his stomach, and he could feel the heat of Jake's skin seeping into his palm, the subtle rise and fall of his breathing.

"It's just different," Barry finally said. "You're different."

A slow smile spread across Jake's face. "Different good or different scary?"

"Both?"

Jake laughed, a low, warm sound that Barry felt in his chest. "Yeah, that's fair." His hand shifted, covering Barry's again, and he pressed it just a little lower. "But you're doing good. You're not freaking out. That's more than most guys manage their first time."

Barry's heart was hammering. Jake's hand was warm over his, guiding it down, and he could feel the edge of Jake's waistband under his knuckles now, the thin cotton of his shorts. His mouth went dry.

"I'm not most guys," Barry managed.

"No," Jake agreed, his voice dropping lower. "You're definitely not."

The silence stretched between them, thick and charged. Outside, muffled footsteps passed in the hallway, followed by a burst of distant laughter, and the sound felt impossibly far away — like it belonged to a different world entirely.

Barry's hand was trembling. He could feel it, the fine tremor running through his fingers, and he knew Jake could feel it too, pressed as it was against his stomach. But Jake didn't pull away. He didn't laugh. He just watched Barry with those bright blue eyes, patient and steady.

"You can go lower, if you want," Jake said, his voice casual, like he was offering Barry a beer from the fridge. "I don't mind."

Barry's breath caught. "Jake—"

"I mean it." Jake's hand was still over his, a warm, steady weight. "We've already seen each other. We've already done stuff. This is just..." He shrugged, the movement shifting his stomach under Barry's palm. "More of the same."

It wasn't more of the same. Barry knew that. Touching Jake's chest was one thing — friendly, almost innocent. But the idea of his hand sliding lower, past the waistband of Jake's shorts, into that heat — his stomach flipped at the thought.

"What if I do it wrong?" Barry asked, the words slipping out before he could stop them.

Jake's eyebrows rose. "Wrong?"

"I've never—" Barry stopped, his face burning. "I don't know what I'm doing."

Something shifted in Jake's expression. The easy smirk faded, replaced by something softer, more careful. "Hey." He waited until Barry met his eyes. "You don't have to know what you're doing. That's the whole point of practicing, right?"

Barry's throat felt tight. "You're not mad?"

"Why would I be mad?" Jake's thumb traced a slow circle on the back of Barry's hand. "You're not doing anything wrong. You're just nervous. That's normal."

Barry let out a shaky breath. "I feel like I'm gonna mess this up."

"Mess what up?"

"This." Barry gestured vaguely between them with his free hand. "Us. Whatever this is."

Jake was quiet for a moment. The blue light flickered across his face, catching the stubble on his jaw, the faint smile at the corner of his mouth. "You're not gonna mess anything up, Barry. We're just hanging out. Feeling things out." His hand pressed a little firmer over Barry's. "There's no wrong way to do that."

Barry's heart was pounding so hard he was sure Jake could feel it. But something in Jake's words settled him, eased the sharp edge of his anxiety. He took a breath — slow, deliberate — and let his hand relax under Jake's.

"Okay," he said softly.

Jake smiled. "Okay."

They were quiet for a moment, the only sound the hum of the laptop and the distant murmur of the dorm hallway. Barry could feel the heat of Jake's skin under his palm, the coarse hair tickling his fingers, and slowly, tentatively, he let his hand move.

Just an inch. Just enough to feel the texture of Jake's stomach, the firm muscle beneath the soft layer of hair.

Jake's breath hitched.

Barry froze. "Did I—"

"No, you're good." Jake's voice was rougher than before. "Keep going."

Barry's mouth went dry. He let his hand drift lower, past Jake's navel, the hair growing coarser under his fingers. The waistband of Jake's shorts was right there, a thin line of cotton, and Barry could feel the heat radiating off Jake's body, the subtle tension in his muscles.

"That's it," Jake murmured. "You're doing good."

Barry's knuckles brushed the waistband, and his hand stopped. He could feel the edge of the fabric, the give of it, and just below — the unmistakable warmth of Jake's body. His heart was in his throat.

"Jake," he whispered.

"Yeah?"

"I don't—" Barry swallowed. "I don't know if I can—"

"You can," Jake said, his voice low and steady. "I've got you."

His hand covered Barry's again, warm and sure, and he pressed it down — just a little, just enough for Barry to feel the shape of him through the fabric. The hard length of Jake's cock, thick and hot against the cotton.

Barry's breath left him in a rush.

"That's it," Jake breathed. "Don't stop."

Barry's fingers curled, trembling, against the fabric. He could feel every inch of Jake through the thin cotton — the heat, the weight, the way Jake's cock twitched under his touch. His own body responded in kind, his cock thickening in his jeans, a hot flush spreading through his chest.

Jake's hand was still over his, not guiding anymore, just resting there — a silent permission. Barry's thumb moved, tentative, tracing the outline of Jake's cock through the fabric, and Jake made a low sound in his throat that went straight to Barry's groin.

"Yeah," Jake said, his voice rough. "Just like that."

Barry's hand moved again, bolder now, exploring the shape of him — the thick shaft, the heavy weight of his balls against his palm. The cotton was damp with pre-cum, a dark spot spreading near the tip, and Barry could feel the heat of it through the fabric.

"You're a natural," Jake murmured, and Barry's face burned.

He didn't feel like a natural. He felt like he was fumbling in the dark, every touch a guess. But Jake's voice was steady, his hand warm over Barry's, and the sound he made when Barry's fingers found the head of his cock was enough to make Barry forget his nerves entirely.

The laptop screen flickered, the paused frame of two men mid-act casting shadows across the wall. Barry barely noticed. All he could feel was Jake — the heat of him, the weight of him, the way Jake's breathing had gone shallow and rough.

"Barry." Jake's voice was low, almost a growl. "Look at me."

Barry looked up. Jake's eyes were dark, his pupils blown wide, and there was something in his expression that made Barry's stomach flip — hunger, maybe, or something close to it.

"You're doing so good," Jake said, his voice rough. "Keep going."

Barry's hand moved, slow and deliberate, tracing the length of Jake through the fabric. Jake's hips shifted, pressing into his touch, and Barry felt a surge of something hot and heady — power, maybe, or the closest thing he'd ever felt to it.

He was the one making Jake sound like that. He was the one making Jake's breath catch and his hips roll. The realization sent a thrill through him, electric and dizzying, and his hand moved faster, bolder, exploring the shape of Jake through the thin cotton of his shorts.

Jake groaned, his head falling back, and his hand tightened over Barry's — not stopping him, just anchoring him, holding him there.

"That's it," Jake breathed. "Don't stop."

Barry didn't stop. He curled his fingers around Jake's cock through the fabric, feeling the heat and the weight of it, and he squeezed — gently, experimentally — and Jake's whole body shuddered against him.

"Fuck," Jake breathed, and the word sent a hot jolt through Barry's chest.

He'd never heard Jake curse like that. Never heard his voice drop to that low, rough register. And knowing he'd caused it — that he'd made Jake sound like that with nothing but his hand — made Barry feel like he was on fire.

Jake's hand moved, sliding up Barry's arm to his shoulder, pulling him closer. Barry went willingly, his body pressing against Jake's, his hand still wrapped around Jake's cock through the fabric. He could feel Jake's heartbeat against his own chest, fast and strong, and the blue light of the laptop flickered across them both as they sank into each other.