He Got Next: Backyard Fire & Blunt

`Author's Note

Hey y'all--

Before you dive in, just a heads up: this is a long one. I didn't rush a single stroke, moment, or line because these characters deserve space to breathe--and so does the tension between them. If you're looking for something quick, this may not be the scene for you.

Also, let me say this gently but clearly:

The language, slang, and tone in this piece are intentional.

It reflects the culture, attitude, and reality of these Black men as they exist in this world. If any phrases or words feel unfamiliar or too raw--then maybe this wasn't written for you. And that's okay.

No need to correct, suggest, or clean it up. I promise you, it's not broken.

I write stories that sound like the people I love and grew up around. If that resonates with you--welcome. If not, feel free to move on.

Thanks for reading.

--KT

"Life's a bitch and then you die..."

Radiant Children do it every time, for sure.

As the sun gives its final farewell, the moon peeks out, eager to glow on us.

It's a perfect night for it--seventy-eight degrees in the city, fifty percent humidity, with a soft breeze dancing over bare skin.

Best feeling besides that weekly release after a seven-day edge.

Or that first slide in...

Finally alone again, I felt the weed take the lead.

Might ruin him if I trust myself. I need him to want this too. Ass too good to just walk away from.

I've tried picking up beautiful Black woman--ass stacked and sitting just right.

Hands itching, just waiting to slap both cheeks. But when my tongue explores what lies hidden between, all of a sudden she's not "that" freaky.

Couldn't get hard again.

Instead of embarrassing myself, I let my mouth do the talking.

Every kiss left with a bite, and soon a damn waterfall soaked my beard.

That shit was fucking sexy. But still--I couldn't enjoy it.

"When you gon' let me in that brain of yours, Nas?" Khalid joked,

but behind his eyes I saw it--

A longing for answers.

Answers I'm not ready to draw conclusions on.

Working a thesis always been my guilty pleasure.

"Ain't much in there, bruh," I smile lazily.

Definitely feeling the high.

I look at Khalid, who's clearly saying something--but not saying anything.

With my private fences standing tall, I decide to take a risk...

Khalid found my stack of card games and picked his favorite one--Uno.

"When you gon' get tired of this fuckin' game?" I chuckled, cracking my knuckles and putting my joint out.

I needed to focus.

Yeah, this is a game in a sense.

But Khalid's a risk taker... he loves betting.

The evil smirks and the way he fidgets? It's telling.

My dick hardens at the thought of his mouth on my lips.

And with this breeze hitting my bare nipples?

Whew.

"When you gon' get tired of fucking me?" he asks.

I scrunch up my face.

"What kinda question is that?"

He looked hesitant, and I instantly understood his concern.

"I can't explain what this is," I shrug, "but I'm vibing..."

Khalid props up on his knee and deals out seven cards.

As he bends toward the coffee table, I can't help but stare at that fat ass.

Swear I never paid his ass any mind before.

But now?

My sight has been blessed.

And I'll make sure to keep that ass jiggling on this dick--

Shit, forever, if it were up to me.

But it ain't.

And suddenly, shame creeps in.

Like this ain't something I should be doing.

This my friend.

My nigga.

My brother.

We showered after gym as kids--never paid it any mind.

But now?

I get... hard.

What the hell?

Whatever this is, God got me.

And that should matter, right?

Wrong, nigga.

Your head's on a platter and you're the new dish.

Roast time! Who's hungry?

Malik gon' walk in with open arms--but his silence would mean the most.

Tyreek gon' quote that Jhene Aiko grocery lyric like:

"Damn, did you really prefer bussy over pussy?"

This could ruin me.

"'True say, I want and I need,'" Khalid sings, pulling me back in.

And I'm. In. That. Zone.

Back to him.

Didn't realize how much he smiled till now.

I pull him closer so our legs are touching.

Not satisfied with that, I come up with a plan.

They say the sides get all the fun, right?

Well, in this case--they're right.

We shift, sittin' sideways, his legs over mine.

Locked in. No hiding.

And damn--what I saw had me ready to say "fuck this game."

But we play a few light rounds to warm up.

Since it's just the two of us, shit gets boring quick.

"Let's make this interesting," I growl, frustrated.

Edging can only take you so far--and the intensity? Might just kill me.

His eyebrow rises.

Curiosity fills his eyes.

Print already showing--he know what time it is.

"Outside?" he asks.

I look at this nigga like he's crazy.

So many emotions rush through his mind.

Acknowledgment.

Embarrassment.

Lust?

His caramel complexion flushes as the memory of how I made him feel floods back.

"We ever gonna talk about that?"

"Nah..."I shelf the cars, remaining eyes contant.

Peering into his cousily eyes, when he became such a brat?

"What's understood don't need to be explained."

I blinked away the real world and transformed--for him.

His bro.

His man? Hell nah.

Whatever this was, his ass wrote a check that needed to be cashed on big daddy's dick.

Chris Brown ft. Joyner Lucas & Lil Wayne -- "Need a Stack" slipped in, the perfect transition into the vibe I needed. I needed him loose. Loose as fuck.

"There's only one rule: every time you lose, you take off a piece of clothing."

His eyes lit up, and I twitched just thinking about where this could go.

"Bet," Khalid replied, not a lick of hesitation in his voice.

Now focused, hungry, with an attainable goal in sight--his energy surged like a lightning rod.

"Black Lightning's back.." I mumble so that I could hear.

I couldn't help but sing the theme from my favorite superhero show.

Fuck what they said--Black Lightning was fire. Black excellence on screen.

Yeah, sure, the powers were both a gift and a curse--but the real gems? Them daughters. That drama. Them powers. That's what we are.

Black stories.

Fiction laced with the cold truths of being Black in America.

But that's a story for another day. Literally.

Round one -- I win.

Khalid slides off a sock.

Round two -- I lose.

I peel off my shirt, flexing my pecs a little, then wink.

I catch the hunger in his eyes, that little body squeeze he does when he's trying not to show it.

Yeah... he want it.

By round three, shit gets wild.

"Nah nigga, that's strike three!" Khalid snaps, dramatically folding his arms over the deck.

I just keep. pulling. cards.

ADHD in full effect.

"What? This your rule," I tease, still drawing like I'm in Vegas.

He bites his lip. And that tone? That tension? He's fighting it--but I see it.

He ain't used to getting checked.

But now? Now he's got something to lose.

Good dick.

"She got a hump and a bump, trunk in the back..."

Damn.

Fuck me.

Round four -- I win again.

Khalid sighs dramatically but stands up slow. Real slow.

He turns his back like this some kind of runway show and peels his joggers down over thick thighs and boxer briefs that are trying to hide a whole damn problem.

I lick my lips. Problem confirmed.

It's printin'. Loud.

And I know he see me see it, 'cause he smirks when he turns back around.

"You still good, Nas?"

Voice low, teasing.

Yeah I'm good--but I'm also hard. Rock hard.

"Yeah... You good?" I counter, eyes dragging down his body.

He shrugs but that twitch in his thigh gives him away.

"Guess we gon' find out."

Round five -- tie.

We both throw a seven on a seven, at the same time.

Standoff.

"Sudden death?" I ask.

He nods, grabbing his water bottle, gulping it down like we ain't sitting here with stiff dicks and unresolved tension.

Then he locks eyes with me and says,

"Loser takes off the boxers."

No smile. No joke.

Just heat.

I don't even blink.

"Run that shit."

We shuffle. Deal.

Draw. Play.

It's tense. Too tense. I fuck up. Skip when I should reverse.

"Aht! Gotcha."

Khalid grins like he just won a championship.

I lean back, exhale hard.

"Damn."

But rules is rules.

I stand. Hook my thumbs in the waistband.

And just like that, I'm dick out, high, and free under the moonlight.

This breeze ain't helping either.

"So what now?" I ask, still standing.

Khalid's eyes are fixed--hungry but unsure.

"Now..." he breathes, voice thick, "I guess I see what you been holding back."

I sit down, legs wide, not even pretending to hide shit.

"Keep playing," I tell him.

"Or fold."

"Keep playing," I say, voice low, eyes locked on his.

But I don't just sit still.

My hand drops.

Real slow.

Wraps around the base.

And I start stroking. Lazy. Controlled.

Just enough to feel it--just enough to make him feel it too.

Khalid's jaw tightens.

He watches me, cards in his hand but forgotten.

Game? What game?

"You good?" I ask again, voice thicker now.

He nods, but it's shaky this time. His lips part like he's gonna say something, but he doesn't.

Just stares.

My strokes stay slow. Real slow.

I drag it out. Let him watch the way I grip.

Thumb gliding over the tip with each pass, catching a little slick.

"This what you wanted?" I murmur.

"Cause it's been what I wanted..."

I lean back, still stroking, hips shifting just enough to make it obvious I'm not holding anything back anymore.

"You gon' fold or play?"

I glance down at the cards still in his lap, then back up.

"Or you wanna put that mouth to better use?"

He finally breathes.

And sets the cards down.

Without a word, just moves forward--slow and deliberate.

Like a man ready to finally eat what he's been craving for way too long.

... to see how long he can last with me deep inside him;

his throat wrapping around my shit like it belong there.

He ain't pulling back either--eyes watering, jaw flexing like a champ. I bite my damn fist, watching him make it disappear slow like he doing a magic trick.

"Shit... you good, baby?" I mutter, voice cracked up in disbelief.

He hums with my dick down his throat, vibrating, making my knees buckle just a lil'.

"Damn nigga..." I whisper, palm on the back of his head, steady but not forcing. I ain't gotta--he wants it.

I feel that Leo pride in the way he works it.

Like he tryna claim something, etch his name in every vein of my dick.

I start rolling my hips now--slow grind--pressing into his face, letting him feel the weight.

"You feel me nigga?"

He gags a little, pulls back just to spit and twist, then goes right back down.

"Push through, nigga."

It's not love... but it's more than just sex.

It's connection. It's power. It's two hood niggas in their truth, and that shit feel holy.

I hold his head in place, as I slowly stand from the couch.

Now firm and grounded I continued.

1...

2...

3...

4...

Fuck. He doesn't fold.

Neither do I, gots to follow thru... my boi

5...

6...

7...

8...

9...

1-

He choke a little, eyes look up at me, tearin' and cocky all at once.

I smirk.

"Atta boy..."

That's my nigga...

Harder than ever, I pull out of his mouth.

He's gasping for air, and I couldn't help but chuckle.

The hard smack that followed--right to my shoulder--told me he didn't like that.

Oops.

But the laugh cleared the tension.

The heat was still in the air, thick and waiting, and I pulled him back into my space.

Eyes wide, but it didn't take long for his Leo ass to fall right back into lust.

That lip of his stayed tucked under his sharp canines.

Don't ask me why that shit turned me on, but my dick had a mind of its own.

Tap.

Tap.

Tap.

My dick hit his stomach while I grabbed them cheeks.

He moaned, and I looked in his eyes.

I looked into his soul.

Fuck. I saw something I shouldn't have.

Now my need was different.

I didn't just want him--

I needed him.

Now.

I leaned in.

He crashed his mouth onto mine, and that energy?

It lit me up.

I let go and felt him.

His need matched mine.

When our tongues touched, we both felt that shock.

I had to pull back and really look at him.

Like really look.

His lips swollen, eyes glazed, chest rising like he just ran sprints.

But it ain't exhaustion--it's need.

And I'm right there with him.

"Damn..." I mutter, more to myself than him.

He don't say shit--just grabs the back of my neck, pulling me right back in.

Now it's on.

The kiss is messy now.

Teeth. Tongue. Breaths overlapping like our bodies don't know how to be separate no more.

I press him back, guiding him with a grip to the base of his spine. He arches into me, and that ass...

That ass.

My hand slides down, grabbing a handful while I grind against him, letting him feel every ich.

Precum oozing crying for a release.

"You sure?" I whisper against his jaw, even though I already know.

The way he pushing into me?

Yeah, nigga why

"Take it, daddy."

He says it low, like a dare.

Seals it with the golden wrapper in my hand.

Boom.

That's it.

That's all I needed.

I lift him.

Deadass.

Palms on thighs, the fence looks sturdy...

He wraps around me like he been here before.

Like he was made for this moment.

Once Khlaid's back I tear the condom wrapper open with my teeth, not missing a beat.

Slide it on with one hand, the other gripping his hip, steadying both of us.

Then I line up, breathing deep.

This that edge-of-your-seat shit.

That slow slide in, both of us moaning through the stretch.

"Fuuuuuck," he hisses, biting down on my collarbone.

"Let me in nigga," I growl.

He oblies with a moan and relaxed walls.

20 mins later

"Don't step on your toes, bitch."

"Let me in, nigga," I growl.

He moans, low and hungry, and lets those walls relax.

Ass propped up, back arched--

Doggy in a chair? Definitely a game changer.

He's caged in, locked between the armrests.

Only way out?

Me.

If I'm willing to let him go...

I slide in long, slow--

Moving to the beat,

Matching the rhythm like we rehearsed it.

Beat. Beat.

Beat. Beat.

Slide in, slide out.

We ride out the rhythm.

Khalid eats it up, never shying away from the feeling.

Shit--how could he?

He know what I'm packin'.

As Isaiah Rashad fades out, The Weeknd's "Snowchild" kicks in.

Too fast.

I ain't tryna nut early and ruin the night.

So I ride the bass--

Let the beat slow me down but not the intensity.

If anything, that shit made it worse.

Brick hard.

Fucking someone who could really take dick.

Didn't know whether to reward him with more dick...

or praise.

The fuck--I'm over here weighing options like I got unlimited time.

"You feel me, nigga?"

I hit a deep stroke and catch a soft gasp.

He cries out, not loud but real.

Like his spirit is rejoicing.

That tight squeeze right before he tucks his feet,

arching deeper--

Ass on a platter.

Begging for more.

"Yesss..." he drags it out, head tilted back,

showing off how flexible he really is.

Shit.

This eye contact about to take me over the edge.

"Deep in my shit, nigga... ahhh fuck." he purrs.

Then Ari Lennox's "Chocolate" comes on--

and my body switches gears without a second thought.

That switch drives Khalid wild.

Eyes locked, glazed over,

subbed out.

He's so loose now, I could take anything I want from him.

A protective thought rushes in--

I need to claim him.

"No one fucks you like this."

Ain't a question.

His body already told me he's been longing for this kind of treatment.

"N-fuck..." he gasps when I speed up--

Now I'm on a mission.

Words ain't even needed.

He'll come back for me.

Trust that.

"Get that shit, nigga."

I grip his neck,

press him forward--

Mush his face into my plush-ass outdoor couch cushions.

He gon' take it all.

Gaspin' every time the pace picks up,

his mouth gets nastier.

"Oooh fuck... ugh, yess... don't stop, nigga..."

And once I feel him start to tighten up--

The loud smack to his ass echoed through the space.

"Ahhh--" he cried out.

Loved that shit.

I brought my hands back around his neck.

He was so far gone, eyes damn near rolling.

I knew what time it was.

Time to finish him.

"She said

don't get attached to me,

I will let you down,

down, down, down--"

Couldn't have said it better myself, Eli.

Mental note: ask Khalid about this playlist.

It was perfect.

Like it was made for us.

Moans never stopped spilling from our lips as I took us up ten thousand altitudes.

I could feel myself climbing--

slow, like a rollercoaster being tugged up the track,

click by click.

A quick squeeze around my dick let me know--

he was ready.

"Can't pull out--won't make it," I husked,

gripping his sides to steady myself.

He looked back at me, lazy smirk in full effect.

"Who said I wanted you to?"

I chuckled darkly, that grin refusing to leave my face.

Say less.

My grip on his hips tightened--

I pulled him onto my dick.

Nothing could stop me now.

He wasn't my friend.

Wasn't Khalid right now.

Nah...

Right now?

He's my bitch.

And he just found out.

I wasn't letting off.

"Fuuuuckk, daddy."

"Talk your shit, bitch.

Tell me how this dick got you feelin'."

SPLASH.

The cold hits like a shockwave.

Khalid's arms flail for a second before wrapping tight around my shoulders.

"Nigga, what the fuck--"

I laugh. Deep. From the chest.

Water drips down his face, lips trembling in a half-smirk.

"Chill," I say, holding him afloat. "You looked too damn good laid out like that. Had to cool you off before I ran it back."

Khalid clicks his teeth. "Run what back? You act like you owned the shit we just did."

I lean in close. Face-to-face. Inches from his lips.

"I did."

His breath catches. But he still grins, still Leo bold.

That pretty-ass mouth curls around a challenge.

"You say that like you know I ain't getting fucked on the regular," he whispers, voice slick like oil on heat.

He floats backward just enough to tease distance, hands drifting across the water lazily, like he ain't trying to get caught.

"I don't give a fuck about regular," I say, swimming after him.

"I care about mine."

Khalid raises an eyebrow. "Yours?"

I press him up against the ledge of the pool.

Water between us. Heat rising anyway.

"Don't do that."

My voice is low, throat dry.

"You know what this is."

His lips twitch like he's about to laugh--then he sees I'm serious.

Real serious.

"I ain't with that halfway shit," I murmur. "I ain't about to be somebody's gay experiment. But if I'm gonna risk all this for a nigga?"

My hand slides under water, gripping his thigh, then pulling him closer.

"Then that nigga better know who he belong to."

That shuts him up.

But not for long.

He leans into my ear.

Breath hot.

Voice smug.

"You said if. Sound like you already made your mind up."

Then he bites my earlobe--fast, soft, gone.

I grip his ass beneath the surface, and feel it--tight, pulsing, needy.

He been clenching since we left the patio.

"You already knew I was yours, Nas," Khalid says quietly.

"That's why you jumped."

A moment of silence passes.

Then--

"But just so you know..."

He wraps his legs around my waist, pressing up, slick with water and attitude.

"... you don't own me. Not unless you earn it. And definitely not unless you keep this same energy when we're not fucking."

I chuckle.

"Challenge accepted."

"Good," he says. "Because after that first time... every time I jerked off since, I was thinking about your dick in me."

Damn.

"Say less."

I pull him down on me.

He lets out a moan so wet it echoes in the still night.

NEXT MORNING

The sun's already doing too much.

Golden light creeps over the edge of the patio, catching the edge of the pool like it ain't seen what we did just hours ago.

But Khalid?

He's not here.

I'm on the same couch where I blew his back out. The cushions are still dented. Smells like sweat, weed, and us.

There's a towel draped across the pool railing--his.

Half-wet swim trunks balled up under a chair.

No shoes.

But he ain't in the house.

A mug sits on my kitchen counter. One of mine. Used. Empty.

That means he got up, helped himself, and dipped.

Didn't say shit.

Didn't need to.

I stare out the glass door for a while, scrolling.

Nothing from him.

No DM, no meme, no track share.

Not even one of his petty "don't fall in love" texts.

The space he left is louder than the music we fucked to.

I head to the bathroom and see it--

His scent still clings to the towel he dried off with.

That cocoa butter and something citrus.

He wanted me to notice.

But not chase.

I pull out my phone. Hover over his name.

Not "Khalid" in the contacts. Just ????.

I don't text. Not yet.

He's a Leo.

That means if he wanted to be missed, he'd ghost just long enough to make sure I did.

And it's working.

Damn.