Alex Barcelona & Milton Escudero – Good Neighbors
Good Neighbors – Alex Barcelona, Milton Escudero
The elevator hummed between them, heavy with the weight of every furtive glance exchanged in the hallway. Alex, 35, leaned against the mirrored wall, his sleeves rolled up, revealing his tense forearms. Milton, 21, clutched his shopping bag like an anchor, his throat churning at the scent of cedar and coffee clinging to Alex’s shirt.
“Fourth floor?” Alex’s voice broke the silence, his knuckles brushing the panel, a deliberate brush against Milton’s trembling finger. Nods replaced the words.
In the apartment, daylight filtered through the half-open blinds as Milton turned his back to the door. Alex’s laugh, a low rumble, vibrated against his jaw. “Nervous?”
“Curious,” Milton whispered, arching at the warmth of a palm sliding beneath his shirt. The friction turned into rhythm: zippers giving way, fabric bunching like lost secrets. When teeth scraped his collarbone, Milton gasped, a sound swallowed by lips that tasted of mint and impatience.
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