weird thought tonight but...... islam + jeans......?????
His jeans are too tight. He knows it. He always hates wearing them after training. It makes him feel stiff—too snug around his thighs like his muscles are trying to burst through the seams. But he was in a rush, and you were waiting, and now he's half-sunk into your couch, legs spread, arms draped over the backrest, exhaling slow.
And then you glance down.
Right where the denim stretches indecently.
You blink once. Look up fast. But it’s too late. He caught it.
Islam swallows hard, eyes narrowing just slightly. At first, he thinks that maybe he’s wrong. Maybe he wants to believe you're looking. That you’re imagining him the way he’s imagined you. Thinking about what he looked like under the denim while he's thinking about what panties you're wearing right now. His cock twitched just from the way your eyes had widened for that half-second. Like you were trying to burn the image into your head.
Were you? Have you thought about it before, what he looked like? What he felt like? How good it would be, for Islam to let you unzip his jeans, kneel between his legs, make you take all of it. All of him. Make you see what you've been imagining this whole time. Feel it, too.
You know he knows, right? Like the other day, when your gaze had flickered down for the third time, between his thighs where his shorts had rode up, tight over his thick quads. He was sitting with his legs folded on the edge of the mat, sweat glistening at his temple, breathing heavy from training. And you were staring.
You don’t even know what it does to him. That you stare. That you want. That, without touching, you’re already making him hard just from your gaze alone.
You’re biting your lip now, pretending to scroll on your phone like he didn’t just catch you red-handed. But Islam—Islam knows. Your thighs are pressed together. You’re squirming a little now. You should know that you shouldn’t do that. Not to him. Not when he’s been trying so hard to be good. To keep his thoughts clean. To lower his gaze like he’s supposed to. All he wants to do is grab your jaw and make you look again. Make you say what you want. How could he not when you were looking at him like that?
It makes his jaw tick. Makes him shift just a little—spread his legs wider.
The jeans pull even tighter. His thighs flex under the denim, bulge right there in your line of sight. His cock is straining now, aching against the zipper, and you still haven’t said a word. But he doesn’t need you to. Not when your cheeks are pink, lips parted just the tiniest bit now, staring because he knows you can't help it.
jacobvanloon
germansingergirl
annaxmalina
tangentwithtanner
janainaart
