u/throat_goat_617

All characters depicted in this story are fictional and 18 years of age or older

Calvin – my brother's best friend had been eating my ass on that ladder in the wine cellar when Ralph one of the groomsmen walked in on us. Instead of making a scene, he just smirked and asked if there was room for one more. ________________________

Ralph stepped closer, calm as ever, like walking in on a man getting his ass eaten was just another Tuesday for him. Calvin finally lifted his head from between my cheeks; his face wet from all the drooling, beard a little messy, eyes half-lidded, and he looked up at Ralph with a lazy grin.

“Oh. Hey, Ralph,” he said, as if his mouth wasn’t just in my ass. “You want some of this?” He spread my cheeks wide with both hands, exposing me shamelessly. “Or you want the usual stuff?”

I blinked. The usual? What the fuck did that mean?

Calvin didn’t explain what he meant. He just held me open like a display piece. I couldn’t see what was happening behind me; I only heard Ralph’s body movements as he moved in closer. The cellar was too quiet. My breathing was too loud.

Ralph’s gaze flicked down, then locked on mine. “Well?”

My voice came out hoarse, fucked-out already. “Might as well get two bearded guys on my ass.”

They both chuckled. Calvin gave my ass a soft slap.

“Masey, you’d like that, wouldn’t you?” He purred. “Two men fighting over your hole?”

I arched my back instinctively, grinding my hips in the air. “Don’t you dare fight over it,” I muttered. “Unless you’re taking turns.”

Ralph didn’t take long to shut me up. I felt the difference instantly - his beard was fuller than Calvin’s, a little coarser, covering more skin as it pressed into me. His tongue made slow, deliberate circles around my hole, teasing me in a way that felt brand new. Not hesitant; just… exploratory and more methodical. And fuck, it was good.

“Fuckk, dude…” I groaned, gripping the edge of the shelf harder.

Calvin just laughed. He reached out and pushed Ralph’s head deeper between my cheeks. “Get into it,” he growled. “I know you like this shit.”

And apparently, Ralph did. His tongue got bolder, wetter, flatter against me. I felt him spit, then lick again, tracing the mess up and down. Every flick of his tongue had my thighs trembling.

Then I felt Calvin move.

His hand slid up my lower back, warm and familiar, while Ralph stayed buried in my ass. Calvin came around my side, crouching, one hand rubbing my lower back while the other slipped under to stroke my cock. His fingers knew exactly how to curl around it.. just like last night. He didn’t even look at what he was doing, he was watching Ralph. Smirking.

“You’re not bad at that,” Calvin said casually. “But let me show him what he really likes.”

Ralph pulled back, face wet, looking dazed but hungry. Calvin didn’t hesitate; he dove back in like he knew I was obsessed with him.

My back arched harder. My head dropped.

“Uhmm… fuck, Cal…,” Ralph moaned.

I heard a shuffle of movement beneath me, like knees shifting, bodies adjusting. Calvin’s moans deepened against my hole—gritty and primal, devouring me, not just eating me out. His spit was everywhere, smeared across my hole, my cheeks, dripping down. I was clenching without realizing, trying to trap his tongue deeper inside me, keep him right there.

Then I heard it again.

“Uhhmm… f-fuck…” Ralph’s voice, thick and broken.

I turned my head, breath caught in my throat and there it was. Ralph, on his knees below me, head bobbing, his face stuffed full of Calvin’s cock. Gagging and panting while Calvin's face was still buried in between my cheeks. I watched Ralph slap the thick shaft on his tongue between strokes, spit flying, jaw unhinged as he went back in.

Gawk… gawk… gawk…

Wet, frantic and feral sounds filled the cellar.

And through it all, Calvin never stopped on me. His tongue stayed buried in my hole, his hand working my cock in slow, possessive strokes, while Ralph sucked him off like a fucking maniac.

Talk about multitasking.

Ralph didn’t let up. If anything, he got hungrier, taking Calvin's cock deeper, sloppier, like he was already familiar with its taste on his tongue. The way he moved—confident, practiced—it almost felt like he’d done this before. Is this what Calvin meant by his “usual stuff”?

Was Ralph, my brother’s groomsman and Calvin’s friend, one of the guys he’d been with before? The thought made my head spin, my cock twitch.

I could hear everything...every choke, every wet slurp, every strained breath between strokes. Meanwhile, Calvin's beard brushed my hips a little lower and it sent a fresh jolt through me.

Calvin was moaning now too, low and deep, his tongue still pressed against my hole. The vibrations of his sounds traveled straight through me. His face was still buried deep in my ass, and now Ralph’s face kept bobbing on Calvin's cock...

“Fuck,” I gasped, shaking. “You’re both fucking insane.”

Ralph groaned around Calvin’s cock.

Calvin’s hand was back on my shaft, stroking me with that same teasing grip, not letting me get too close. “Say it again, Masey,” he muttered into my hole between licks. “Tell me how this feels.”

Below me, Ralph came up for air, face wet, eyes glazed. His lips were parted, tongue flicking over the spit Calvin had left behind. He looked wrecked already, and I wasn't far behind.

Calvin’s words...“Tell me how this feels” buzzed against my skin, each syllable vibrating right through my hole. And fuck, I felt it. Felt the wet drag of his tongue, the soft scratch of his stubble, the warmth of his breath mixing with Ralph’s.

My body jolted. My spine curved.

I couldn’t hold it back.

“Fuck—fuckfuck—Calvin!”

I came hard.. unexpected, almost violent; my cock pulsing in his hand as he kept that teasing grip around it, guiding every twitch. His thumb rolled over the head just to push it further, to milk every last drop from me. My cum spilled into his fingers, dripping messily onto the floor beneath me, and Calvin just chuckled, proud, like he’d done exactly what he came here for.

“Good boy,” he muttered, tongue still flicking lazily across my overstimulated hole.

Ralph watched it all, eyes low, lips parted, breathing heavy. “Shit,” he whispered, hand sliding down to adjust the obvious tent in his jeans. “That was so fucking hot.”

Calvin’s face finally rose from between my ass cheeks, glistening and flushed. His right hand was still coated in my cum, fingers sticky, but his left moved fast gripping Ralph’s hair tight. Without warning, he guided Ralph straight onto his cock.

“Yeah… fuck yeah, boy,” Calvin growled, eyes half-lidded as his hips bucked forward.

I turned over, shaky, tugging my pants halfway up as I stood on the ladder and watched. And fuck, it was a sight.

Ralph was on his knees, gagging like a pro, barely pausing, barely breathing as Calvin face-fucked him with no mercy. It looked like a fucking porn shoot. Ralph’s throat opened up like it knew Calvin’s cock. Like it had been here before. His spit coated Calvin’s shaft, dripping down his chin as he took every thrust deep.

“Unghh fuck… unghh fuckkk,” Ralph moaned between gags. “Give it to me…”

Calvin’s rhythm got rougher. His hips snapped forward again and again, the sound of it was dirty and filthy.

“Unghh yeah, Daddy,” Ralph choked out, eyes rolling back. “Give me that sweet cum of yours”

I couldn’t look away. Calvin’s grip in Ralph’s hair tightened, knuckles white, and then he yanked. Hard.

Ralph was pulled flush to the base. Nose pressed to Calvin’s sweaty pubes. No space. No air.

Calvin’s abs clenched. His body jerked once...twice...

Then he groaned from deep in his chest as he came. I saw it happen. Saw Ralph swallow fast, again and again, eyes fluttering as Calvin held him there, emptying every drop straight down his throat.

Ralph stayed down until the very last drop. I watched his throat work, swallowing everything Calvin gave him like it was routine. When Calvin finally let go of his hair, Ralph pulled off slow; mouth shiny, lips red, a string of spit and cum still connecting him to the tip.

He was breathless. But not done.

Calvin smirked, still catching his own breath, and raised his right hand; the one still glistening with my cum. He brought it to Ralph’s face like it was nothing.

And Ralph didn’t hesitate. He opened his mouth and licked it clean. Tongue flat. Eyes up. Like he was starving for more cum.

Calvin chuckled darkly. “Here’s how the groom’s brother’s cum tastes,” he said, voice low, almost teasing. “Be sure to thank him for the hospitality.”

I stood there, pants barely up, chest heaving, unsure if I’d just come once or twice. My mind was spinning.

I mean...what the fuck was this?

The best man just tongue-fucked the groom’s brother and face-fucked one of the groomsmen at the same time. All while there’s a whole wedding party waiting back outside the barn, counting on us to grab a few bottles of wine for their damn lunch.

I zipped up my pants, still dazed, staring at the mess in front of me.

And somehow, the day wasn’t even close to over.

All characters depicted in this story are fictional and 18 years of age or older

Calvin – my brother's best friend had been eating my ass on that ladder in the wine cellar when Ralph one of the groomsmen walked in on us. Instead of making a scene, he just smirked and asked if there was room for one more.

________________________

Ralph stepped closer, calm as ever, like walking in on a man getting his ass eaten was just another Tuesday for him. Calvin finally lifted his head from between my cheeks; his face wet from all the drooling, beard a little messy, eyes half-lidded, and he looked up at Ralph with a lazy grin.

“Oh. Hey, Ralph,” he said, as if his mouth wasn’t just in my ass. “You want some of this?” He spread my cheeks wide with both hands, exposing me shamelessly. “Or you want the usual stuff?”

I blinked. The usual? What the fuck did that mean?

Calvin didn’t explain what he meant. He just held me open like a display piece. I couldn’t see what was happening behind me; I only heard Ralph’s body movements as he moved in closer. The cellar was too quiet. My breathing was too loud.

Ralph’s gaze flicked down, then locked on mine. “Well?”

My voice came out hoarse, fucked-out already. “Might as well get two bearded guys on my ass.”

They both chuckled. Calvin gave my ass a soft slap.

“Masey, you’d like that, wouldn’t you?” He purred. “Two men fighting over your hole?”

I arched my back instinctively, grinding my hips in the air. “Don’t you dare fight over it,” I muttered. “Unless you’re taking turns.”

Ralph didn’t take long to shut me up. I felt the difference instantly - his beard was fuller than Calvin’s, a little coarser, covering more skin as it pressed into me. His tongue made slow, deliberate circles around my hole, teasing me in a way that felt brand new. Not hesitant; just… exploratory and more methodical. And fuck, it was good.

“Fuckk, dude…” I groaned, gripping the edge of the shelf harder.

Calvin just laughed. He reached out and pushed Ralph’s head deeper between my cheeks. “Get into it,” he growled. “I know you like this shit.”

And apparently, Ralph did. His tongue got bolder, wetter, flatter against me. I felt him spit, then lick again, tracing the mess up and down. Every flick of his tongue had my thighs trembling.

Then I felt Calvin move.

His hand slid up my lower back, warm and familiar, while Ralph stayed buried in my ass. Calvin came around my side, crouching, one hand rubbing my lower back while the other slipped under to stroke my cock. His fingers knew exactly how to curl around it.. just like last night. He didn’t even look at what he was doing, he was watching Ralph. Smirking.

“You’re not bad at that,” Calvin said casually. “But let me show him what he really likes.”

Ralph pulled back, face wet, looking dazed but hungry. Calvin didn’t hesitate; he dove back in like he knew I was obsessed with him.

My back arched harder. My head dropped.

“Uhmm… fuck, Cal…,” Ralph moaned.

I heard a shuffle of movement beneath me, like knees shifting, bodies adjusting. Calvin’s moans deepened against my hole—gritty and primal, devouring me, not just eating me out. His spit was everywhere, smeared across my hole, my cheeks, dripping down. I was clenching without realizing, trying to trap his tongue deeper inside me, keep him right there.

Then I heard it again.

“Uhhmm… f-fuck…” Ralph’s voice, thick and broken.

I turned my head, breath caught in my throat and there it was. Ralph, on his knees below me, head bobbing, his face stuffed full of Calvin’s cock. Gagging and panting while Calvin's face was still buried in between my cheeks. I watched Ralph slap the thick shaft on his tongue between strokes, spit flying, jaw unhinged as he went back in.

Gawk… gawk… gawk…

Wet, frantic and feral sounds filled the cellar.

And through it all, Calvin never stopped on me. His tongue stayed buried in my hole, his hand working my cock in slow, possessive strokes, while Ralph sucked him off like a fucking maniac.

Talk about multitasking.

Ralph didn’t let up. If anything, he got hungrier, taking Calvin's cock deeper, sloppier, like he was already familiar with its taste on his tongue. The way he moved—confident, practiced—it almost felt like he’d done this before. Is this what Calvin meant by his “usual stuff”?

Was Ralph, my brother’s groomsman and Calvin’s friend, one of the guys he’d been with before? The thought made my head spin, my cock twitch.

I could hear everything...every choke, every wet slurp, every strained breath between strokes. Meanwhile, Calvin's beard brushed my hips a little lower and it sent a fresh jolt through me.

Calvin was moaning now too, low and deep, his tongue still pressed against my hole. The vibrations of his sounds traveled straight through me. His face was still buried deep in my ass, and now Ralph’s face kept bobbing on Calvin's cock...

“Fuck,” I gasped, shaking. “You’re both fucking insane.”

Ralph groaned around Calvin’s cock.

Calvin’s hand was back on my shaft, stroking me with that same teasing grip, not letting me get too close. “Say it again, Masey,” he muttered into my hole between licks. “Tell me how this feels.”

Below me, Ralph came up for air, face wet, eyes glazed. His lips were parted, tongue flicking over the spit Calvin had left behind. He looked wrecked already, and I wasn't far behind.

Calvin’s words...“Tell me how this feels” buzzed against my skin, each syllable vibrating right through my hole. And fuck, I felt it. Felt the wet drag of his tongue, the soft scratch of his stubble, the warmth of his breath mixing with Ralph’s.

My body jolted. My spine curved.

I couldn’t hold it back.

“Fuck—fuckfuck—Calvin!”

I came hard.. unexpected, almost violent; my cock pulsing in his hand as he kept that teasing grip around it, guiding every twitch. His thumb rolled over the head just to push it further, to milk every last drop from me. My cum spilled into his fingers, dripping messily onto the floor beneath me, and Calvin just chuckled, proud, like he’d done exactly what he came here for.

“Good boy,” he muttered, tongue still flicking lazily across my overstimulated hole.

Ralph watched it all, eyes low, lips parted, breathing heavy. “Shit,” he whispered, hand sliding down to adjust the obvious tent in his jeans. “That was so fucking hot.”

Calvin’s face finally rose from between my ass cheeks, glistening and flushed. His right hand was still coated in my cum, fingers sticky, but his left moved fast gripping Ralph’s hair tight. Without warning, he guided Ralph straight onto his cock.

“Yeah… fuck yeah, boy,” Calvin growled, eyes half-lidded as his hips bucked forward.

I turned over, shaky, tugging my pants halfway up as I stood on the ladder and watched. And fuck, it was a sight.

Ralph was on his knees, gagging like a pro, barely pausing, barely breathing as Calvin face-fucked him with no mercy. It looked like a fucking porn shoot. Ralph’s throat opened up like it knew Calvin’s cock. Like it had been here before. His spit coated Calvin’s shaft, dripping down his chin as he took every thrust deep.

“Unghh fuck… unghh fuckkk,” Ralph moaned between gags. “Give it to me…”

Calvin’s rhythm got rougher. His hips snapped forward again and again, the sound of it was dirty and filthy.

“Unghh yeah, Daddy,” Ralph choked out, eyes rolling back. “Give me that sweet cum of yours”

I couldn’t look away. Calvin’s grip in Ralph’s hair tightened, knuckles white, and then he yanked. Hard.

Ralph was pulled flush to the base. Nose pressed to Calvin’s sweaty pubes. No space. No air.

Calvin’s abs clenched. His body jerked once...twice...

Then he groaned from deep in his chest as he came. I saw it happen. Saw Ralph swallow fast, again and again, eyes fluttering as Calvin held him there, emptying every drop straight down his throat.

Ralph stayed down until the very last drop. I watched his throat work, swallowing everything Calvin gave him like it was routine. When Calvin finally let go of his hair, Ralph pulled off slow; mouth shiny, lips red, a string of spit and cum still connecting him to the tip.

He was breathless. But not done.

Calvin smirked, still catching his own breath, and raised his right hand; the one still glistening with my cum. He brought it to Ralph’s face like it was nothing.

And Ralph didn’t hesitate. He opened his mouth and licked it clean. Tongue flat. Eyes up. Like he was starving for more cum.

Calvin chuckled darkly. “Here’s how the groom’s brother’s cum tastes,” he said, voice low, almost teasing. “Be sure to thank him for the hospitality.”

I stood there, pants barely up, chest heaving, unsure if I’d just come once or twice. My mind was spinning.

I mean...what the fuck was this?

The best man just tongue-fucked the groom’s brother and face-fucked one of the groomsmen at the same time. All while there’s a whole wedding party waiting back outside the barn, counting on us to grab a few bottles of wine for their damn lunch.

I zipped up my pants, still dazed, staring at the mess in front of me.

And somehow, the day wasn’t even close to over.

All characters depicted in this story are fictional and 18 years of age or older

The old cellar door creaked like it had secrets. Calvin reached for the light switch, but the bulb overhead flickered once and gave out, plunging us into a dim, dusty sort of silence.

“Perfect,” he muttered, already stepping down the creaky wooden stairs like he owned the place. “Guess I really will have to feel around.”

I followed behind him, the door groaning shut above us. The air was cooler down here, thick with the smell of oak barrels, cork, and years-old earth. Wine racks lined the stone walls, some full, some half-raided, and a few bottles stacked in crates on the floor like someone had been too lazy to shelve them.

“We’re supposed to grab a few good ones for the toasts,” I said, squinting through the faint strip of sunlight coming from a high, narrow window. “Nathan said look for the expensive stuff. Something that says, ‘We’re classy, but we’ll still do body shots later.’”

Calvin raised a brow. “I mean, I do have a body. You can do more than a shot off it, if you ask nicely.”

I rolled my eyes, turning toward the racks. “Are you going to help me find some fancy wine or just keep flirting with me in your sex voice?”

He walked over to a stool in the corner, sat down like he had all the time in the world, arms folded across that annoyingly tight polo. “Nah. I’m going to watch you struggle. See that twink body of yours stretch and bend while you...what’s the phrase...work for it.”

“Urgh. Fine.” I muttered, even though I was already half-smiling.

The cellar was bigger than it looked at first glance. Racks towered up to the ceiling in that chaotic, not-quite-organized way that suggested someone started sorting things alphabetically, then got lazy halfway through. I crouched down near a crate labeled in thick, black marker '2009 Bordeaux' and ran my fingers along the dusty glass. Not bad. But i figured I'd look for a few more. I moved toward another rack, scanning the faded labels. My shoulder brushed a cobweb, and I let out an involuntary shiver. “Jesus, it’s like a haunted vineyard down here.”

Behind me, I heard Calvin exhale a low chuckle. “There. Top shelf. That dusty one with the gold foil on the neck.”

I followed his gaze, then squinted up. The top row of the far rack tucked between some old-looking Italian reds and a champagne bottle that looked like it had survived a war. Sure enough, there was one bottle gleaming under the dim light, label intact, foil shimmering faintly. It looked like money. Probably tasted like it too.

I grabbed the old ladder propped up in the corner and started dragging it toward the rack.

Calvin didn’t move a muscle.

I turned back toward him. “Why’d you build all those muscles if you’re not gonna help?”

He smirked. “They’re decorative. Like abs on a Greek statue. You don’t use them, you just admire.”

He finally pushed himself off the stool with a theatrical sigh, walked over, and grabbed the ladder from me with one hand like it weighed nothing. Then he placed it just under the highest rack, perfectly aligned with the dusty bottle in question. “C’mon. I’ll hold it steady. You climb and get it.”

I gave him a look. “You just want a view of my ass.”

He didn’t even blink. “Obviously. Mase”

I climbed up slowly, partly because the ladder creaked like hell, and partly because, well; if he wanted a show, I might as well give him one. My shirt rode up as I reached toward the top shelf, fingertips brushing the neck of the bottle. I pulled it down gently and handed it to Calvin, who took it and set it on the counter behind him with a thunk.

“Here comes another,” I muttered, grabbing a second bottle, then a third.

The third one had a little more dust, and I had to stretch for it; hips shifting, arms reaching all the way, my thighs tight against the steps.

Behind me, Calvin groaned. “Fuck the wine. I wanna taste what’s in front of me.”

I froze on the ladder. “Did you just moan?”

“No,” he said, voice thick. “That was appreciation. Like an art collector seeing the Mona Lisa up close.”

I looked over my shoulder. His gaze was locked on my ass, his hands still on the ladder rails but white-knuckled now.

“Are you fucking serious, Calvin? Someone might walk in.”

He didn’t even flinch. “Let them.” His eyes trailed down the back of my thighs like a slow pour of honey. “I’ll tell them it’s a tasting. Pairing wine with ass.”

“Jesus Christ.” I was already halfway hard.

“Fuck, I didn’t know Mase-boy would have an ass with so much definition…” Calvin let out this guttural sound, like the words burned his throat. “Didn’t think I’d ever have my best friend’s brother bent over in front of me like this.”

I smirked over my shoulder. “You mean this ass?” I placed both hands on the shelf, gripping it at the edge, then arched my back and pushed my hips out; slow and deliberate, right into his face. I gave a little shake, a twerk even.. just to be a brat.

His hands slid to the sides of my jeans, palms hot and greedy. “Mmhmm, fuck, boy…” His voice dropped into a moan as he pressed his face into the curve of my ass. “You are so fucking slutty.”

I grinded back against him, dragging my ass across his face like I knew he’d eat it raw. “Only for tatted hunks who think they’re straight.”

His head lifted, breath ragged. Then...shkkk...his hands yanked my jeans and briefs down in one rough motion, exposing me completely. My bare ass met the cool air, but all I could feel was his gaze. “I never said I was straight,” Calvin muttered, eyes locked on my ass. “You’d be surprised how many men have taken my cock.”

My chest fluttered. Not just surprise, but something like relief. He wasn’t going to be that kind of guy; the type to nut, freak out, and ghost. Calvin wasn’t built like that. Guys like him… they always come back for seconds. And thirds. Guys like him get addicted to fucking men.

He grunted behind me. “Fuck, boy…” His voice was hot and breathy as he leaned in. One hand gripped my hip. The other slid down, fingers running between my crack.

Then I felt it; his fingertip brushing against my hole.

“Ahh, fuck..” I hissed, body jerking at the contact.

Calvin laughed low, dark, and full of promise. “Is that pretty little hole equipped to take big cocks like mine?”

“Oh, you’d be surprised. You’re not the first hunk I’ve -”

I didn’t even get to finish the sentence.

His face dove in. And then I felt it. A wet tongue dragging right over my hole; slow, deep, with zero hesitation. My knees nearly buckled.

“Fuckkk... fuckk..” The sound left me in a helpless moan, my fingers clenching tight around the shelf.

He groaned into me like he’d been starving to eat me out. His hands spread my cheeks wider, and his tongue started moving in deliberate circles. Soft at first, then firmer. Then he pulled back, spat on my hole, and licked it all up again; messy, unbothered, like he was claiming me.

Another spit. This one loud. Hot. I felt it slide down between my cheeks and collect right where I needed it. He smeared it in with his tongue, his nose pressed in, beard scratching gently against the curves of my ass as he devoured me.

My whole body rocked with each lick. Each pass of that hot, wet tongue felt deeper. Needier. Like he was tonguefucking the words out of me.

I gasped and whimpered. My hips started grinding back on their own, chasing every drag of his mouth. The scratch of his beard against my skin made it even filthier. Every time he pulled back for air, I felt the burn of it; a bristly friction, rough and masculine and impossible to ignore.

I shook my ass side to side, dragging it across his face just to feel it again. That beard. That heat and the pressure which felt too fucking good.

“You like the feeling of my beard across your cold ass, don’t you?”

“Unghh... fuck, I do..”

He didn’t wait. He dove back in, growling...He buried his face between my cheeks and started motorboating; messy, wild, completely unhinged. His tongue slid back and forth while his stubble scratched everywhere at once.

I was moaning, whimpering and gasping.. Trying not to be too loud.. I felt like a slut. That’s all I felt like in that moment. Bent over. Legs spread. Ass getting eaten like I was made for it.

Calvin’s tongue was working my hole with obsession. His beard was spattered with saliva. My thighs were shaking. He was making these desperate little noises, like every taste of my hole was driving him insane. I was so far gone I didn’t even realize my jeans were fully off now; bunched somewhere near my ankles, bare ass high in the air, back arched, breathing hard.

I moaned again as he pressed deeper; his hands gripping my hips now, spreading me open like he owned me.

And then...

A sound behind us.

Footsteps.

A low chuckle.

Calvin didn’t even pull away. His breath was still hot on my hole.. I couldn't register until I heard a voice.

“What the fuck...” a voice said casually, amused... in a playful tone.

I whipped my head around, panic thudding in my chest.

There, standing just inside the cellar door, leaning against the wall like he’d been watching for a while, was Ralph. One of the groomsmen. Tall. Thick forearms. He was holding a small toothpick, lazily chewing on the last corner of a cheese cube like he was at a wine tasting.

His eyes were on me. Then on Calvin’s face between my ass. Then back on me again.

He didn’t look away. Didn’t leave. Didn’t create a scene.

He smirked. “Didn’t know you two were into that kind of fun.”

I tried to move. Tried to pull my jeans up. But Calvin didn’t budge. His hands just tightened on my hips.

Ralph licked the salt from his fingers, cocking his head as he walked towards us. “Got room for one more?”

Calvin’s breath was still warm against my hole. My back was still arched. I watched as Ralph stepped closer, unhurried, his tongue dragging slowly across his bottom lip like he was going to devour my hole.

All characters depicted in this story are fictional and 18 years of age or older

The old cellar door creaked like it had secrets. Calvin reached for the light switch, but the bulb overhead flickered once and gave out, plunging us into a dim, dusty sort of silence.

“Perfect,” he muttered, already stepping down the creaky wooden stairs like he owned the place. “Guess I really will have to feel around.”

I followed behind him, the door groaning shut above us. The air was cooler down here, thick with the smell of oak barrels, cork, and years-old earth. Wine racks lined the stone walls, some full, some half-raided, and a few bottles stacked in crates on the floor like someone had been too lazy to shelve them.

“We’re supposed to grab a few good ones for the toasts,” I said, squinting through the faint strip of sunlight coming from a high, narrow window. “Nathan said look for the expensive stuff. Something that says, ‘We’re classy, but we’ll still do body shots later.’”

Calvin raised a brow. “I mean, I do have a body. You can do more than a shot off it, if you ask nicely.”

I rolled my eyes, turning toward the racks. “Are you going to help me find some fancy wine or just keep flirting with me in your sex voice?”

He walked over to a stool in the corner, sat down like he had all the time in the world, arms folded across that annoyingly tight polo. “Nah. I’m going to watch you struggle. See that twink body of yours stretch and bend while you...what’s the phrase...work for it.”

“Urgh. Fine.” I muttered, even though I was already half-smiling.

The cellar was bigger than it looked at first glance. Racks towered up to the ceiling in that chaotic, not-quite-organized way that suggested someone started sorting things alphabetically, then got lazy halfway through. I crouched down near a crate labeled in thick, black marker '2009 Bordeaux' and ran my fingers along the dusty glass. Not bad. But i figured I'd look for a few more. I moved toward another rack, scanning the faded labels. My shoulder brushed a cobweb, and I let out an involuntary shiver. “Jesus, it’s like a haunted vineyard down here.”

Behind me, I heard Calvin exhale a low chuckle. “There. Top shelf. That dusty one with the gold foil on the neck.”

I followed his gaze, then squinted up. The top row of the far rack tucked between some old-looking Italian reds and a champagne bottle that looked like it had survived a war. Sure enough, there was one bottle gleaming under the dim light, label intact, foil shimmering faintly. It looked like money. Probably tasted like it too.

I grabbed the old ladder propped up in the corner and started dragging it toward the rack.

Calvin didn’t move a muscle.

I turned back toward him. “Why’d you build all those muscles if you’re not gonna help?”

He smirked. “They’re decorative. Like abs on a Greek statue. You don’t use them, you just admire.”

He finally pushed himself off the stool with a theatrical sigh, walked over, and grabbed the ladder from me with one hand like it weighed nothing. Then he placed it just under the highest rack, perfectly aligned with the dusty bottle in question. “C’mon. I’ll hold it steady. You climb and get it.”

I gave him a look. “You just want a view of my ass.”

He didn’t even blink. “Obviously. Mase”

I climbed up slowly, partly because the ladder creaked like hell, and partly because, well; if he wanted a show, I might as well give him one. My shirt rode up as I reached toward the top shelf, fingertips brushing the neck of the bottle. I pulled it down gently and handed it to Calvin, who took it and set it on the counter behind him with a thunk.

“Here comes another,” I muttered, grabbing a second bottle, then a third.

The third one had a little more dust, and I had to stretch for it; hips shifting, arms reaching all the way, my thighs tight against the steps.

Behind me, Calvin groaned. “Fuck the wine. I wanna taste what’s in front of me.”

I froze on the ladder. “Did you just moan?”

“No,” he said, voice thick. “That was appreciation. Like an art collector seeing the Mona Lisa up close.”

I looked over my shoulder. His gaze was locked on my ass, his hands still on the ladder rails but white-knuckled now.

“Are you fucking serious, Calvin? Someone might walk in.”

He didn’t even flinch. “Let them.” His eyes trailed down the back of my thighs like a slow pour of honey. “I’ll tell them it’s a tasting. Pairing wine with ass.”

“Jesus Christ.” I was already halfway hard.

“Fuck, I didn’t know Mase-boy would have an ass with so much definition…” Calvin let out this guttural sound, like the words burned his throat. “Didn’t think I’d ever have my best friend’s brother bent over in front of me like this.”

I smirked over my shoulder. “You mean this ass?” I placed both hands on the shelf, gripping it at the edge, then arched my back and pushed my hips out; slow and deliberate, right into his face. I gave a little shake, a twerk even.. just to be a brat.

His hands slid to the sides of my jeans, palms hot and greedy. “Mmhmm, fuck, boy…” His voice dropped into a moan as he pressed his face into the curve of my ass. “You are so fucking slutty.”

I grinded back against him, dragging my ass across his face like I knew he’d eat it raw. “Only for tatted hunks who think they’re straight.”

His head lifted, breath ragged. Then...shkkk...his hands yanked my jeans and briefs down in one rough motion, exposing me completely. My bare ass met the cool air, but all I could feel was his gaze. “I never said I was straight,” Calvin muttered, eyes locked on my ass. “You’d be surprised how many men have taken my cock.”

My chest fluttered. Not just surprise, but something like relief. He wasn’t going to be that kind of guy; the type to nut, freak out, and ghost. Calvin wasn’t built like that. Guys like him… they always come back for seconds. And thirds. Guys like him get addicted to fucking men.

He grunted behind me. “Fuck, boy…” His voice was hot and breathy as he leaned in. One hand gripped my hip. The other slid down, fingers running between my crack.

Then I felt it; his fingertip brushing against my hole.

“Ahh, fuck..” I hissed, body jerking at the contact.

Calvin laughed low, dark, and full of promise. “Is that pretty little hole equipped to take big cocks like mine?”

“Oh, you’d be surprised. You’re not the first hunk I’ve -”

I didn’t even get to finish the sentence.

His face dove in. And then I felt it. A wet tongue dragging right over my hole; slow, deep, with zero hesitation. My knees nearly buckled.

“Fuckkk... fuckk..” The sound left me in a helpless moan, my fingers clenching tight around the shelf.

He groaned into me like he’d been starving to eat me out. His hands spread my cheeks wider, and his tongue started moving in deliberate circles. Soft at first, then firmer. Then he pulled back, spat on my hole, and licked it all up again; messy, unbothered, like he was claiming me.

Another spit. This one loud. Hot. I felt it slide down between my cheeks and collect right where I needed it. He smeared it in with his tongue, his nose pressed in, beard scratching gently against the curves of my ass as he devoured me.

My whole body rocked with each lick. Each pass of that hot, wet tongue felt deeper. Needier. Like he was tonguefucking the words out of me.

I gasped and whimpered. My hips started grinding back on their own, chasing every drag of his mouth. The scratch of his beard against my skin made it even filthier. Every time he pulled back for air, I felt the burn of it; a bristly friction, rough and masculine and impossible to ignore.

I shook my ass side to side, dragging it across his face just to feel it again. That beard. That heat and the pressure which felt too fucking good.

“You like the feeling of my beard across your cold ass, don’t you?”

“Unghh... fuck, I do..”

He didn’t wait. He dove back in, growling...He buried his face between my cheeks and started motorboating; messy, wild, completely unhinged. His tongue slid back and forth while his stubble scratched everywhere at once.

I was moaning, whimpering and gasping.. Trying not to be too loud.. I felt like a slut. That’s all I felt like in that moment. Bent over. Legs spread. Ass getting eaten like I was made for it.

Calvin’s tongue was working my hole with obsession. His beard was spattered with saliva. My thighs were shaking. He was making these desperate little noises, like every taste of my hole was driving him insane. I was so far gone I didn’t even realize my jeans were fully off now; bunched somewhere near my ankles, bare ass high in the air, back arched, breathing hard.

I moaned again as he pressed deeper; his hands gripping my hips now, spreading me open like he owned me.

And then...

A sound behind us.

Footsteps.

A low chuckle.

Calvin didn’t even pull away. His breath was still hot on my hole.. I couldn't register until I heard a voice.

“What the fuck...” a voice said casually, amused... in a playful tone.

I whipped my head around, panic thudding in my chest.

There, standing just inside the cellar door, leaning against the wall like he’d been watching for a while, was Ralph. One of the groomsmen. Tall. Thick forearms. He was holding a small toothpick, lazily chewing on the last corner of a cheese cube like he was at a wine tasting.

His eyes were on me. Then on Calvin’s face between my ass. Then back on me again.

He didn’t look away. Didn’t leave. Didn’t create a scene.

He smirked. “Didn’t know you two were into that kind of fun.”

I tried to move. Tried to pull my jeans up. But Calvin didn’t budge. His hands just tightened on my hips.

Ralph licked the salt from his fingers, cocking his head as he walked towards us. “Got room for one more?”

Calvin’s breath was still warm against my hole. My back was still arched. I watched as Ralph stepped closer, unhurried, his tongue dragging slowly across his bottom lip like he was going to devour my hole.

Everyone is 18+

The bus doors hissed open and the heat of Camp Blackridge hit me like a slap. Dust swirled around my boots. Barbed wire glinted under the brutal sun. The air smelled thick with male sweat, boot polish, and something sharper like diesel and discipline. I stepped down onto the gravel, duffel bag heavy on my shoulder, and already felt eyes crawling over me.

I was 22. 6’1. Former college lacrosse player with the kind of build that looked good without trying too hard. Defined shoulders, strong legs, lean waist. On paper I looked exactly like the guy who belonged here. In my head I was still the same Callum Rhodes who had proposed to his girlfriend because it was the next logical step in our relationship and then watched the whole thing explode when her father told me I was not man enough and my own father echoed the same shit with a cold laugh. ‘Grow some balls, Callum.’ Public story was that I dropped out and enlisted for discipline and direction. Real story was simpler. I needed to prove I was not weak.

Ryder Callahan spotted me before I even reached the barracks door. Six two of pure American jock energy. Wide shoulders, thick arms, messy brown hair, and a grin that looked like it had never met a problem it could not fuck or fight its way out of. He clapped a heavy hand on my back hard enough to jolt me forward.

"Rhodes, right? Come bunk with me. Come on."

Ryder Callahan did not wait for an answer. He grabbed my duffel bag strap like we had known each other for years and pulled me toward the long low building that served as the main barracks. The common room was wide and open with rows of metal bunks lined up along both walls. Thin mattresses. Gray blankets. The air already smelled like sweat and fresh boot polish even though we had only just arrived. About thirty recruits were milling around, claiming spots, laughing too loud, trying to look tougher than they felt.

Ryder claimed the top bunk in our corner with zero hesitation. He tossed his own bag up and turned to me with that loud golden boy grin. His shirt was already half unbuttoned from the bus ride, revealing a thick chest dusted with dark hair and a dark happy trail that ran down toward the waistband of his pants. His shoulders were wide and powerful, the kind of build that came from years of football and casual lifting. When he reached up to adjust the thin pillow on the top bunk his back muscles flexed under his skin. It was impossible not to notice how solid he looked.

"Perfect spot," he said, voice booming even in the noisy room. "Close to the door but not too close to the sergeants. And I get to look down on your ass all night, Rhodes."

He laughed like it was the funniest thing in the world and stripped his shirt off right there in the open common room. No shame at all. Just pure straight guy confidence. His chest was broad and defined, abs tightening as he moved. Sweat from the bus ride still glistened lightly on his skin. He climbed the bunk ladder and his muscular thighs flexed with each step. I felt a strange pull in my stomach as I watched him settle in. It was just appreciation. The guy looked like the kind of athlete I used to compete against back in college. Nothing more.

We started unpacking our gear in the tight space between the bunks. Elbows brushed. Shoulders bumped. The sound of zippers and rustling fabric filled the air around us. Ryder kept talking nonstop about girls back home, some sorority party, and how he was going to crush every PT session. His knee knocked against mine when he bent down to grab something from his bag. The contact was casual but it sent a small jolt through me. He smelled like deodorant mixed with clean sweat and something warmer underneath.

"Here, catch," he said and tossed me one of the issued camp shirts. I caught it and we both changed right there. The common room was full of guys doing the same thing. Fabric whispered against skin. When he turned to slap me on the back his palm landed heavy and warm between my shoulder blades. Then he grinned and gave my ass a firm smack.

"For luck, Rhodes. Don’t be a virgin on day one."

I laughed and shoved him back, telling him to fuck off. The sting from his hand stayed on my skin longer than it should have. It felt too familiar for two guys who had just met. But that was how guys were in places like this. Bro shit. Nothing deeper.

A quieter voice cut through the noise a few minutes later. Julian Park stood near the supply table handing out the rest of the gear. He was five nine, slim but toned, with messy black hair and warm eyes. He wore his glasses even though most guys had already ditched theirs for the day. When he passed me my boots he gave a small calm smile and said, "Hey Callum, nice to meet you. You doing good?"

I nodded. Something about the way he asked made the knot in my chest loosen just a little. First person who actually seemed to notice I might not be as steady as I looked.

The platoon formed up outside under the blazing sun a short while later. Thirty new recruits standing in straight lines, sweat already soaking through our shirts. Then Sergeant Dominic Ashford walked out.

He was six four of pure commanding presence. Dirty blond hair cropped brutally short and sun bleached from years in the field. His skin was weathered from desert tours, stretched tight over a body built for war. Broad shoulders. Thick chest. Powerful arms that made the uniform sleeves look painted on. Veins stood out along his forearms when he moved. His hazel eyes scanned the line like they could cut through every lie we told ourselves.

He moved slowly down the ranks. Boots crunching on the gravel. When he stopped directly in front of me the entire world narrowed. He towered over my six one frame. Heat rolled off his body in waves. I caught the faint scent of his sweat mixed with sharp aftershave. His eyes locked on mine. The stare lasted too long. Two full seconds past anything normal.

There was a small smudge of dust on my t-shirt collar. Sergeant Ashford noticed it immediately. He reached out with two thick fingers and brushed the dust away in a slow deliberate motion. His knuckles grazed the hollow of my throat as he cleaned it off. The touch was firm and unhurried. Warm calloused skin against mine.

"Fix your posture, Recruit Rhodes."

His voice was low and clipped with that British accent. Rough around the edges like gravel under boots. The contact lingered for half a second longer than necessary before he finally pulled his hand back.

He stepped back but did not walk away. Instead he began pacing slowly left and right in front of the entire platoon. His broad shoulders rolled with each step. The uniform stretched tight across his thick chest as he moved. Every recruit stood straighter under his gaze.

"Welcome to Camp Blackridge, Recruits" he said, voice carrying clear and commanding without shouting. "You are no longer civilians. You are recruits. For the next twelve weeks you belong to me. I will break every weak habit you brought with you. I will rebuild you into soldiers.”

“You will sweat. You will bleed. You will learn that excuses mean nothing here."

He stopped pacing for a moment and looked straight at me again.

"I expect perfection from everyone, Recruit Rhodes."

His hazel eyes pinned me in place. Then he continued pacing, voice rising just enough to reach every man in the formation.

"I expect obedience. And I will know every single one of you better than you know yourselves."

The platoon stayed frozen for half a second. Then the response came, slow and uneven at first.

"Yes sir..."

Ashford’s expression hardened. He took one step forward, voice cutting through the air like a whip.

"I cannot hear you, Recruits."

The entire platoon snapped to attention. Voices exploded together in one loud unified shout.

"Sir, yes sir!"

The sound rolled across the training ground, deep and masculine. Thirty male voices booming at once. Chests puffed out. Shoulders back. The raw energy of it hit me in the chest. It felt like something primal. Something powerful. Manly woo woo in its purest form.

Sergeant Ashford turned sharply on his heel and faced us all.

"Dismissed."

The squad finally started to disperse. My heart was still hammering against my ribs when Ryder elbowed me with that easy grin. "Dude, he is already eyeing you up. Better watch your ass."

His words landed with a laugh but they stuck in my head like glue. I forced a smirk and shoved him back, telling him to shut the fuck up, but the comment refused to leave me alone. Sergeant Ashford had not just looked at me. He had touched me. Those thick fingers brushing my throat. The way he said my name like he was already tasting it. I could still feel the ghost of that touch hours later.

Back in the common room, the air had grown thicker with the smell of thirty sweaty bodies unpacking and claiming space. Alistair Beckett was already leaning against a locker near our bunks. He was six foot even, lean and wiry with pale skin and sharp cheekbones that made him look like he belonged in some fancy London boardroom instead of boot camp. His dark brown hair was trimmed neat and his cold grey eyes cut through the room like knives. He had clearly overheard Ryder claiming the bunks because the moment we walked closer, he muttered just loud enough for me to hear.

"Daddy’s boy always gets the good bunks, don't they?"

The words dripped with sarcasm. His gaze raked over my body slowly from my chest down to my legs and back up again. It was not friendly. Not even close. There was jealousy burning behind those eyes. Sharp and immediate. Like I had already taken something that belonged to him. I clocked it right away but I did not react. I was still too busy trying to shake the memory of Sergeant Ashford’s fingers on my throat and the low growl of his British voice saying my name.

Alistair did not say anything else. He just kept watching as Ryder and I dropped our remaining gear. The tension rolled off him in waves but I pushed it to the back of my mind. There were bigger things taking up space in my head right now.

The rest of the afternoon blurred by in a haze of orientation briefings and more gear checks. By the time the sun dropped low over Camp Blackridge, the common room had settled into a heavy kind of quiet. Guys were sprawled on their bunks, some already half asleep from the long travel day. The lights dimmed for the night and the overhead fluorescents buzzed once before going out completely.

I lay on the bottom bunk in nothing but the thin issued boxers. The mattress was hard and the blanket barely covered me. My skin still felt sticky from the heat of the day. Above me the bunk creaked as Ryder shifted his weight. His thick arm suddenly dropped down from the top bunk. His hand dangled inches from my face. I could smell him clearly now. Sweat. Deodorant. Pure masculine skin that had been working hard all day.

"You smell like nervous virgin, Rhodes," he whispered, voice low and playful in the dark. The proximity made the words feel way too intimate. His fingers brushed my shoulder once. Casual. Accidental. Maybe not.

I did not answer. I just lay there staring at the metal frame above me while my mind spun in circles.

The broken engagement kept flashing behind my eyes. My ex telling me there was no spark anymore. That I felt too safe. Too careful. My father's voice echoing right after her. Grow some balls, Callum. And now here I was surrounded by shirtless sweaty straight guys who all seemed so comfortable in their own skin. Ryder with his easy laughs and casual touches. Sergeant Ashford with his commanding stare and those thick fingers on my throat.

My body was reacting whether I wanted it to or not. I was rock hard under the thin blanket. I had not jerked off in over a week because of all the moving and stress. Was this just built up tension? Or were all these men around me actually doing something to me that my girlfriend never could?

I didn't know what the fuck to make of it.

I told myself it was just the heat. But my cock was already half hard and the bootcamp had barely begun.

Everyone is 18+

The bus doors hissed open and the heat of Camp Blackridge hit me like a slap. Dust swirled around my boots. Barbed wire glinted under the brutal sun. The air smelled thick with male sweat, boot polish, and something sharper like diesel and discipline. I stepped down onto the gravel, duffel bag heavy on my shoulder, and already felt eyes crawling over me.

I was 22. 6’1. Former college lacrosse player with the kind of build that looked good without trying too hard. Defined shoulders, strong legs, lean waist. On paper I looked exactly like the guy who belonged here. In my head I was still the same Callum Rhodes who had proposed to his girlfriend because it was the next logical step in our relationship and then watched the whole thing explode when her father told me I was not man enough and my own father echoed the same shit with a cold laugh. ‘Grow some balls, Callum.’ Public story was that I dropped out and enlisted for discipline and direction. Real story was simpler. I needed to prove I was not weak.

Ryder Callahan spotted me before I even reached the barracks door. Six two of pure American jock energy. Wide shoulders, thick arms, messy brown hair, and a grin that looked like it had never met a problem it could not fuck or fight its way out of. He clapped a heavy hand on my back hard enough to jolt me forward.

"Rhodes, right? Come bunk with me. Come on."

Ryder Callahan did not wait for an answer. He grabbed my duffel bag strap like we had known each other for years and pulled me toward the long low building that served as the main barracks. The common room was wide and open with rows of metal bunks lined up along both walls. Thin mattresses. Gray blankets. The air already smelled like sweat and fresh boot polish even though we had only just arrived. About thirty recruits were milling around, claiming spots, laughing too loud, trying to look tougher than they felt.

Ryder claimed the top bunk in our corner with zero hesitation. He tossed his own bag up and turned to me with that loud golden boy grin. His shirt was already half unbuttoned from the bus ride, revealing a thick chest dusted with dark hair and a dark happy trail that ran down toward the waistband of his pants. His shoulders were wide and powerful, the kind of build that came from years of football and casual lifting. When he reached up to adjust the thin pillow on the top bunk his back muscles flexed under his skin. It was impossible not to notice how solid he looked.

"Perfect spot," he said, voice booming even in the noisy room. "Close to the door but not too close to the sergeants. And I get to look down on your ass all night, Rhodes."

He laughed like it was the funniest thing in the world and stripped his shirt off right there in the open common room. No shame at all. Just pure straight guy confidence. His chest was broad and defined, abs tightening as he moved. Sweat from the bus ride still glistened lightly on his skin. He climbed the bunk ladder and his muscular thighs flexed with each step. I felt a strange pull in my stomach as I watched him settle in. It was just appreciation. The guy looked like the kind of athlete I used to compete against back in college. Nothing more.

We started unpacking our gear in the tight space between the bunks. Elbows brushed. Shoulders bumped. The sound of zippers and rustling fabric filled the air around us. Ryder kept talking nonstop about girls back home, some sorority party, and how he was going to crush every PT session. His knee knocked against mine when he bent down to grab something from his bag. The contact was casual but it sent a small jolt through me. He smelled like deodorant mixed with clean sweat and something warmer underneath.

"Here, catch," he said and tossed me one of the issued camp shirts. I caught it and we both changed right there. The common room was full of guys doing the same thing. Fabric whispered against skin. When he turned to slap me on the back his palm landed heavy and warm between my shoulder blades. Then he grinned and gave my ass a firm smack.

"For luck, Rhodes. Don’t be a virgin on day one."

I laughed and shoved him back, telling him to fuck off. The sting from his hand stayed on my skin longer than it should have. It felt too familiar for two guys who had just met. But that was how guys were in places like this. Bro shit. Nothing deeper.

A quieter voice cut through the noise a few minutes later. Julian Park stood near the supply table handing out the rest of the gear. He was five nine, slim but toned, with messy black hair and warm eyes. He wore his glasses even though most guys had already ditched theirs for the day. When he passed me my boots he gave a small calm smile and said, "Hey Callum, nice to meet you. You doing good?"

I nodded. Something about the way he asked made the knot in my chest loosen just a little. First person who actually seemed to notice I might not be as steady as I looked.

The platoon formed up outside under the blazing sun a short while later. Thirty new recruits standing in straight lines, sweat already soaking through our shirts. Then Sergeant Dominic Ashford walked out.

He was six four of pure commanding presence. Dirty blond hair cropped brutally short and sun bleached from years in the field. His skin was weathered from desert tours, stretched tight over a body built for war. Broad shoulders. Thick chest. Powerful arms that made the uniform sleeves look painted on. Veins stood out along his forearms when he moved. His hazel eyes scanned the line like they could cut through every lie we told ourselves.

He moved slowly down the ranks. Boots crunching on the gravel. When he stopped directly in front of me the entire world narrowed. He towered over my six one frame. Heat rolled off his body in waves. I caught the faint scent of his sweat mixed with sharp aftershave. His eyes locked on mine. The stare lasted too long. Two full seconds past anything normal.

There was a small smudge of dust on my t-shirt collar. Sergeant Ashford noticed it immediately. He reached out with two thick fingers and brushed the dust away in a slow deliberate motion. His knuckles grazed the hollow of my throat as he cleaned it off. The touch was firm and unhurried. Warm calloused skin against mine.

"Fix your posture, Recruit Rhodes."

His voice was low and clipped with that British accent. Rough around the edges like gravel under boots. The contact lingered for half a second longer than necessary before he finally pulled his hand back.

He stepped back but did not walk away. Instead he began pacing slowly left and right in front of the entire platoon. His broad shoulders rolled with each step. The uniform stretched tight across his thick chest as he moved. Every recruit stood straighter under his gaze.

"Welcome to Camp Blackridge, Recruits" he said, voice carrying clear and commanding without shouting. "You are no longer civilians. You are recruits. For the next twelve weeks you belong to me. I will break every weak habit you brought with you. I will rebuild you into soldiers.”

“You will sweat. You will bleed. You will learn that excuses mean nothing here."

He stopped pacing for a moment and looked straight at me again.

"I expect perfection from everyone, Recruit Rhodes."

His hazel eyes pinned me in place. Then he continued pacing, voice rising just enough to reach every man in the formation.

"I expect obedience. And I will know every single one of you better than you know yourselves."

The platoon stayed frozen for half a second. Then the response came, slow and uneven at first.

"Yes sir..."

Ashford’s expression hardened. He took one step forward, voice cutting through the air like a whip.

"I cannot hear you, Recruits."

The entire platoon snapped to attention. Voices exploded together in one loud unified shout.

"Sir, yes sir!"

The sound rolled across the training ground, deep and masculine. Thirty male voices booming at once. Chests puffed out. Shoulders back. The raw energy of it hit me in the chest. It felt like something primal. Something powerful. Manly woo woo in its purest form.

Sergeant Ashford turned sharply on his heel and faced us all.

"Dismissed."

The squad finally started to disperse. My heart was still hammering against my ribs when Ryder elbowed me with that easy grin. "Dude, he is already eyeing you up. Better watch your ass."

His words landed with a laugh but they stuck in my head like glue. I forced a smirk and shoved him back, telling him to shut the fuck up, but the comment refused to leave me alone. Sergeant Ashford had not just looked at me. He had touched me. Those thick fingers brushing my throat. The way he said my name like he was already tasting it. I could still feel the ghost of that touch hours later.

Back in the common room, the air had grown thicker with the smell of thirty sweaty bodies unpacking and claiming space. Alistair Beckett was already leaning against a locker near our bunks. He was six foot even, lean and wiry with pale skin and sharp cheekbones that made him look like he belonged in some fancy London boardroom instead of boot camp. His dark brown hair was trimmed neat and his cold grey eyes cut through the room like knives. He had clearly overheard Ryder claiming the bunks because the moment we walked closer, he muttered just loud enough for me to hear.

"Daddy’s boy always gets the good bunks, don't they?"

The words dripped with sarcasm. His gaze raked over my body slowly from my chest down to my legs and back up again. It was not friendly. Not even close. There was jealousy burning behind those eyes. Sharp and immediate. Like I had already taken something that belonged to him. I clocked it right away but I did not react. I was still too busy trying to shake the memory of Sergeant Ashford’s fingers on my throat and the low growl of his British voice saying my name.

Alistair did not say anything else. He just kept watching as Ryder and I dropped our remaining gear. The tension rolled off him in waves but I pushed it to the back of my mind. There were bigger things taking up space in my head right now.

The rest of the afternoon blurred by in a haze of orientation briefings and more gear checks. By the time the sun dropped low over Camp Blackridge, the common room had settled into a heavy kind of quiet. Guys were sprawled on their bunks, some already half asleep from the long travel day. The lights dimmed for the night and the overhead fluorescents buzzed once before going out completely.

I lay on the bottom bunk in nothing but the thin issued boxers. The mattress was hard and the blanket barely covered me. My skin still felt sticky from the heat of the day. Above me the bunk creaked as Ryder shifted his weight. His thick arm suddenly dropped down from the top bunk. His hand dangled inches from my face. I could smell him clearly now. Sweat. Deodorant. Pure masculine skin that had been working hard all day.

"You smell like nervous virgin, Rhodes," he whispered, voice low and playful in the dark. The proximity made the words feel way too intimate. His fingers brushed my shoulder once. Casual. Accidental. Maybe not.

I did not answer. I just lay there staring at the metal frame above me while my mind spun in circles.

The broken engagement kept flashing behind my eyes. My ex telling me there was no spark anymore. That I felt too safe. Too careful. My father's voice echoing right after her. Grow some balls, Callum. And now here I was surrounded by shirtless sweaty straight guys who all seemed so comfortable in their own skin. Ryder with his easy laughs and casual touches. Sergeant Ashford with his commanding stare and those thick fingers on my throat.

My body was reacting whether I wanted it to or not. I was rock hard under the thin blanket. I had not jerked off in over a week because of all the moving and stress. Was this just built up tension? Or were all these men around me actually doing something to me that my girlfriend never could?

I didn't know what the fuck to make of it.

I told myself it was just the heat. But my cock was already half hard and the bootcamp had barely begun.

All characters are 18+ and fully consenting

I realized it was 1:17 a.m. when I caught myself scrolling through the same few apps for the fifth time. Instagram. Nothing new. Twitter. Still nothing. Just the same faces pretending not to be awake.

So, naturally, bored out of my mind, I opened Grindr.

The screen lit up my entire bedroom like a stage light. I blinked, rubbed my eyes, and let my thumb swipe through the usual collection of blank faces and torso shots, guys from campus pretending they were not from campus. A couple of them even favored me earlier in the week but never messaged. Same script every night.

Then a new chat popped up.

No greeting. No name.

Just a picture.

And fuck, it was a good one.

A hard dick, thick and leaking, the angle close enough that it felt like the guy had pressed his phone right up against it. The skin was golden and smooth, the lighting soft, the background out of focus. I could barely make out the suggestion of car seats and maybe the inside of a truck.

Another message appeared under it.

“This is what is up.” (Well, my profile name was “What’s up?”, so honestly, It was kinda hot for him to reply that)

I laughed out loud. Not even a hello. Just the dick and a line.

I sent a laughing emoji, mostly because that thing was impressive and also because I knew exactly the kind of guy who sent unsolicited pictures like that. Bored. Horny. Impatient. Very likely straight to the world and pretending it did not matter.

A new message came in immediately.

“Craving a blowjob so bad.”

“Been edging for an hour.”

“You down.”

Three separate messages. Zero punctuation and absolutely no shyness.

I stared at the screen. My body reacted faster than my brain did. Heat pooled low in my stomach.

I typed back.

“Sure. Where?.”

The response came instantly.

“Parking lot behind the gym. My truck.”

I smirked a little. The thrill hit me right in the chest. Anonymous trucks in dark campus lots were not exactly new to me.

Another message.

“You will know which one.”

Then, a final one.

“Backseat.”

The last message hung there like a dare.

I sat on the edge of my bed for a second, trying to pretend I was considering it. I was already getting hard. The quiet of my dorm room made the whole thing feel even filthier.

I typed only one word.

“Okay..Coming.”

I tossed my hoodie over my shoulders, slipped into sneakers without socks, and cracked my door open. My roommate was out cold, snoring into his pillow. I stepped out slowly, easing the door shut behind me like I was sneaking out of my parent’s house and not a college dorm.

The hallway smelled like stale popcorn and cheap laundry detergent. I kept my hood up and moved quickly toward the exit. The moment the cool night air hit my face, a shiver ran through me. Not from the cold. From the sheer wrongness and rightness of what I was doing.

Campus at night felt like a different world. The lamps buzzed. Everything looked washed out and empty. Only the gym building still glowed faintly in the distance with that sad twenty four hour lighting.

My phone buzzed again as I walked.

“Five minutes.”

I texted back.

“Close.”

My pulse kicked harder. Not just from the anticipation. Something about the truck in the background of that dick pic felt familiar. The seats. The color.

I tried not to think too hard about it.

I turned the corner and entered the parking lot. It was mostly empty except for a few cars belonging to the late night gym addicts. And then I saw it.

A silver Tacoma parked near the fence line. The windows completely fogged over.

I felt a full body jolt.

I stopped walking and stared. The Tacoma looked familiar. Actually, very familiar.

Fuck.

I pulled my phone out.

“Silver Tacoma?.”

A reply appeared almost instantly.

“Yeah.”

“Backseat.”

My heart slammed against my ribs.

I already knew who drove that truck. Every guy on campus knew. Every girl knew. Half the professors probably knew. I felt heat shoot through my body, but not the kind I expected. More like a rush of disbelief and desire tangled together.

I walked toward it before my brain could talk me out of it.

The door was cracked open, just enough that a sliver of darkness showed inside. The dome light was off. I could see only the faint outline of the seats and the windows reflecting the streetlights.

I gripped the handle, pulled gently, and slid inside.

It smelled like sweat and rubber and a hint of spearmint. The kind of scent you only got from someone who lived in the gym and kept gum in every pocket.

I slowly turned toward the man.

“Hey…”

My voice died instantly.

Because sitting beside me, leaning back, legs spread wide, hoodie pulled half over his face… was Heath Callahan.

Rugby captain.

Campus golden boy.

Six foot two and built like a god.

And very much not straight.

He was the guy people whispered about in locker rooms. The same guy who winked at girls in the dining hall. The same guy whose laugh carried across the quad. The same guy who once smirked at me when I spilled coffee all over my film notes and said, “Rough morning, Brian.”

Yeah. Him.

He stared at me like I was a ghost. His phone slipped out of his hands and fell onto his lap.

“Shit,” he breathed. “Brian?”

I blinked. My mouth opened. Closed. Then opened again.

“Yeah,” I said. “Surprise.”

Heath sat up so fast the truck shook. He reached for the keys on the seat beside him like he was about to peel out of the parking lot.

“I swear I was messing with you,” he blurted. “I sent the picture as a joke. I did not know it was you. I am not doing anything. I just. Fuck. I was joking.”

He fumbled the keys again.

I laughed. I could not help it. The situation was so ridiculous it was perfect.

“Relax, captain.”

Heath froze.

I leaned towards him..completely calm.

“You want the head or not?.”

He stared at me like the air had been knocked out of him.

I shrugged.

“I do not give a fuck who you are. Actually”...I let my eyes drag slowly down his body and back up..“I am glad it is you. You are fucking hot.”

His breath hitched. His face went bright red. His mouth opened with no sound coming out.

He looked away.

Then back at me.

Then away again.

Finally he whispered, voice rough and cracked,

“…Are you serious?”

I smirked.

“Spread your legs and find out.”

He did.

Slow. Hesitant. Thighs opening inch by inch.

A soft groan slipped out of him when he did it.

I smiled like I had won something...which to be fair, I did.

“Good boy.”

His eyes fluttered.

And I knew right then.

We were not stopping.

─────

The truck felt way too small once Heath actually opened his legs. The air between us turned heavy, thick with something neither of us wanted to name. Every window was fogged, every breath louder than it should have been.

He swallowed hard and leaned back a little, hoodie slipping down enough that I could see the tense line of his jaw.

“No one can know about this,” he said. His voice was low. Almost pleading.

I grinned. “You think I am running around campus telling people whose dick I sucked behind the gym.”

He stared at me for a long second. Eyes searching. Nervous in a way that did not fit his body at all.

“Still,” he whispered, “I need to hear you say it.”

I let my head tilt. Not mocking. Just honest.

“Relax. I am not telling a soul.”

He nodded, but not with relief. More like resignation. Like he had already crossed a line and now he was trapped on the other side of it.

His hand moved to his waistband.

“Fine,” he muttered.

Then he dragged his rugby shorts down.

My breath left me.

No underwear. None at all. Just a thick 8 inch cock heavy against his thigh, the head flushed a light shade of pink, a bead of precum glistening at the tip. The kind of cock that made guys suspiciously curious in locker rooms. The kind that would ruin someone if they were not ready.

I opened my mouth to say something but the sight of it killed every thought instantly.

“Fuck,” I whispered.

He tried to cover his nerves with a weak laugh. “Told you I was edging.”

I looked up at him. “Yeah. I can tell.”

I leaned in without asking, without waiting. His thighs were already open. He had already chosen this.

I bent down, my face close enough to feel the heat of him, the smell of sweat, gym musk, and something warm that hit straight between my legs. I stayed on the seat right beside him, just leaning over him, my mouth a breath away from the thick cock pulsing in front of me.

Heath sucked in a breath when I wrapped my fingers around his dick. He was hot and hard and dripping with precum enough that my hand slid easily from base to tip.

“Jesus,” he whispered. “You really know what you are doing.”

I looked up at him, lips parted. “You called me here. I assumed you wanted something good.”

He let out a short, shaky laugh.

“I do.”

I pressed my tongue to the underside of his cock, dragging it up from the base all the way to the swollen head. He hissed through his teeth, hand jumping to the back of my neck like he could not stop himself.

“Oh my god… Brian…”

I closed my mouth around the tip, slow and deliberate, letting the warmth pull a helpless groan from his chest.

He leaned his head back against the seat and spread his thighs wider, as if his body decided for him. Every inch of him was trembling just slightly.

I took more of him into my mouth, his cock sliding easily… feeling him pulse against my tongue. His hand tightened in my hair…Like he needed something to hold on to.

“Fuck,” he breathed. “Ah.. I wanted this..”

I pulled back with a wet sound, letting cool air hit the wet head before licking it again, slow circles that made his thighs twitch.

“I told you,” I said against his skin. “I am glad it is you.”

He reached for my face with one shaky hand, thumb brushing my jaw like he was still trying to believe this was happening. Then he let his hand fall away again, too overwhelmed to keep up the pretense.

I took him back into my mouth and started working at a steady rhythm. My lips sealed around him, my tongue stroking the underside, my hand twisting at the base.

He groaned, deep and guttural, hips jerking up before he caught himself.

“Wait,” he gasped. “I do not want to hurt you.”

I smiled around his cock and lowered my head again, taking him completely until my nose hit his pubes. His breath ripped out of him in one sharp sound.

“Brian… holy shit…you fucking slut”

I bobbed my head, letting spit gather, letting the sound fill the truck along with his broken breaths. His thighs flexed under my arm, thick and strong and shaking. The truck rocked slightly with each movement.

He pressed his palm to the window beside him,.

“You are gonna make me cum” he said, voice barely there. “Your mouth feel so good… oh fuck bro…”

I pulled off again, stroking him slow, watching him fall apart.

He looked down at me, eyes wild, chest rising fast under his hoodie.

“You are good,” he whispered.

I leaned in and kissed the head, soft and teasing. “Good.”

His hand gripped my hair again. Stronger this time. Needier.

“Suck it, I am really close,” he breathed.

He pushed gently, guiding me down, his cock sliding deeper into my throat. instinct hit me but I steadied myself with a hand on his thigh.

He groaned. Loud and raw.

I pulled back just enough to breathe, spit trailing from my lips to the tip, then went down again, taking him deeper, my face pressed to his body, my mouth full of him.

His hips jerked up.

“Oh fuck. Sorry. Sorry I didnt mean to thrust like that.”

“Do it, Captain..,” I said, voice rough. “Fuck the shit out of my mouth.”

He made a sound that did not sound like anything I had ever heard from him. I did not know guys like him could sound like that.

He thrust again, shallow and desperate, like he was losing control inch by inch.

“Brian…..fuckk.. I am close…”

He choked on the words.

I sucked harder, stroking the base with my hand, tongue pressing under the head each time I rose.

He slapped his hand against the window again, breath shaking, thighs trembling, voice breaking apart.

“Fuckk… fuck.. I am gonna… I am gonna…”

I doubled down, taking him as deep as I could, mouth filled, breath warm against his skin.

He snapped.

His entire body jerked, a groan ripped out of him, deep and low and helpless.

He came in my mouth with pulse after pulse, thick and hot, filling me until I swallowed out of pure instinct.

He kept trembling long after it ended. One hand stayed in my hair. The other stayed pressed to the window.

“Fuck,” he whispered. “Oh my god. Fuck.”

I pulled back slowly and wiped my mouth on my sleeve, breathing hard.

He stared at me like he had no idea what planet he was on.

I smirked.

“Well,” I said, “that was fun.”

He slumped against the seat, eyes still unfocused.

“Jesus Christ,” he whispered. “Brian…”

I grabbed my hoodie zipper and stood up, opening the door.

The cold night air rushed in.

“Same time next week, captain?.”

He let out a breath that sounded like a laugh and a whimper mixed together.

“Fuck, yes please,” he said softly.

I stepped out of the truck, pulled my hood up, and walked back into the empty campus night.

His eyes followed me until the darkness swallowed me.

Just the way I wanted.

All characters are 18+ and fully consenting

I realized it was 1:17 a.m. when I caught myself scrolling through the same few apps for the fifth time. Instagram. Nothing new. Twitter. Still nothing. Just the same faces pretending not to be awake.

So, naturally, bored out of my mind, I opened Grindr.

The screen lit up my entire bedroom like a stage light. I blinked, rubbed my eyes, and let my thumb swipe through the usual collection of blank faces and torso shots, guys from campus pretending they were not from campus. A couple of them even favored me earlier in the week but never messaged. Same script every night.

Then a new chat popped up.

No greeting. No name.

Just a picture.

And fuck, it was a good one.

A hard dick, thick and leaking, the angle close enough that it felt like the guy had pressed his phone right up against it. The skin was golden and smooth, the lighting soft, the background out of focus. I could barely make out the suggestion of car seats and maybe the inside of a truck.

Another message appeared under it.

“This is what is up.” (Well, my profile name was “What’s up?”, so honestly, It was kinda hot for him to reply that)

I laughed out loud. Not even a hello. Just the dick and a line.

I sent a laughing emoji, mostly because that thing was impressive and also because I knew exactly the kind of guy who sent unsolicited pictures like that. Bored. Horny. Impatient. Very likely straight to the world and pretending it did not matter.

A new message came in immediately.

“Craving a blowjob so bad.”

“Been edging for an hour.”

“You down.”

Three separate messages. Zero punctuation and absolutely no shyness.

I stared at the screen. My body reacted faster than my brain did. Heat pooled low in my stomach.

I typed back.

“Sure. Where?.”

The response came instantly.

“Parking lot behind the gym. My truck.”

I smirked a little. The thrill hit me right in the chest. Anonymous trucks in dark campus lots were not exactly new to me.

Another message.

“You will know which one.”

Then, a final one.

“Backseat.”

The last message hung there like a dare.

I sat on the edge of my bed for a second, trying to pretend I was considering it. I was already getting hard. The quiet of my dorm room made the whole thing feel even filthier.

I typed only one word.

“Okay..Coming.”

I tossed my hoodie over my shoulders, slipped into sneakers without socks, and cracked my door open. My roommate was out cold, snoring into his pillow. I stepped out slowly, easing the door shut behind me like I was sneaking out of my parent’s house and not a college dorm.

The hallway smelled like stale popcorn and cheap laundry detergent. I kept my hood up and moved quickly toward the exit. The moment the cool night air hit my face, a shiver ran through me. Not from the cold. From the sheer wrongness and rightness of what I was doing.

Campus at night felt like a different world. The lamps buzzed. Everything looked washed out and empty. Only the gym building still glowed faintly in the distance with that sad twenty four hour lighting.

My phone buzzed again as I walked.

“Five minutes.”

I texted back.

“Close.”

My pulse kicked harder. Not just from the anticipation. Something about the truck in the background of that dick pic felt familiar. The seats. The color.

I tried not to think too hard about it.

I turned the corner and entered the parking lot. It was mostly empty except for a few cars belonging to the late night gym addicts. And then I saw it.

A silver Tacoma parked near the fence line. The windows completely fogged over.

I felt a full body jolt.

I stopped walking and stared. The Tacoma looked familiar. Actually, very familiar.

Fuck.

I pulled my phone out.

“Silver Tacoma?.”

A reply appeared almost instantly.

“Yeah.”

“Backseat.”

My heart slammed against my ribs.

I already knew who drove that truck. Every guy on campus knew. Every girl knew. Half the professors probably knew. I felt heat shoot through my body, but not the kind I expected. More like a rush of disbelief and desire tangled together.

I walked toward it before my brain could talk me out of it.

The door was cracked open, just enough that a sliver of darkness showed inside. The dome light was off. I could see only the faint outline of the seats and the windows reflecting the streetlights.

I gripped the handle, pulled gently, and slid inside.

It smelled like sweat and rubber and a hint of spearmint. The kind of scent you only got from someone who lived in the gym and kept gum in every pocket.

I slowly turned toward the man.

“Hey…”

My voice died instantly.

Because sitting beside me, leaning back, legs spread wide, hoodie pulled half over his face… was Heath Callahan.

Rugby captain.

Campus golden boy.

Six foot two and built like a god.

And very much not straight.

He was the guy people whispered about in locker rooms. The same guy who winked at girls in the dining hall. The same guy whose laugh carried across the quad. The same guy who once smirked at me when I spilled coffee all over my film notes and said, “Rough morning, Brian.”

Yeah. Him.

He stared at me like I was a ghost. His phone slipped out of his hands and fell onto his lap.

“Shit,” he breathed. “Brian?”

I blinked. My mouth opened. Closed. Then opened again.

“Yeah,” I said. “Surprise.”

Heath sat up so fast the truck shook. He reached for the keys on the seat beside him like he was about to peel out of the parking lot.

“I swear I was messing with you,” he blurted. “I sent the picture as a joke. I did not know it was you. I am not doing anything. I just. Fuck. I was joking.”

He fumbled the keys again.

I laughed. I could not help it. The situation was so ridiculous it was perfect.

“Relax, captain.”

Heath froze.

I leaned towards him..completely calm.

“You want the head or not?.”

He stared at me like the air had been knocked out of him.

I shrugged.

“I do not give a fuck who you are. Actually”...I let my eyes drag slowly down his body and back up..“I am glad it is you. You are fucking hot.”

His breath hitched. His face went bright red. His mouth opened with no sound coming out.

He looked away.

Then back at me.

Then away again.

Finally he whispered, voice rough and cracked,

“…Are you serious?”

I smirked.

“Spread your legs and find out.”

He did.

Slow. Hesitant. Thighs opening inch by inch.

A soft groan slipped out of him when he did it.

I smiled like I had won something...which to be fair, I did.

“Good boy.”

His eyes fluttered.

And I knew right then.

We were not stopping.

─────

The truck felt way too small once Heath actually opened his legs. The air between us turned heavy, thick with something neither of us wanted to name. Every window was fogged, every breath louder than it should have been.

He swallowed hard and leaned back a little, hoodie slipping down enough that I could see the tense line of his jaw.

“No one can know about this,” he said. His voice was low. Almost pleading.

I grinned. “You think I am running around campus telling people whose dick I sucked behind the gym.”

He stared at me for a long second. Eyes searching. Nervous in a way that did not fit his body at all.

“Still,” he whispered, “I need to hear you say it.”

I let my head tilt. Not mocking. Just honest.

“Relax. I am not telling a soul.”

He nodded, but not with relief. More like resignation. Like he had already crossed a line and now he was trapped on the other side of it.

His hand moved to his waistband.

“Fine,” he muttered.

Then he dragged his rugby shorts down.

My breath left me.

No underwear. None at all. Just a thick 8 inch cock heavy against his thigh, the head flushed a light shade of pink, a bead of precum glistening at the tip. The kind of cock that made guys suspiciously curious in locker rooms. The kind that would ruin someone if they were not ready.

I opened my mouth to say something but the sight of it killed every thought instantly.

“Fuck,” I whispered.

He tried to cover his nerves with a weak laugh. “Told you I was edging.”

I looked up at him. “Yeah. I can tell.”

I leaned in without asking, without waiting. His thighs were already open. He had already chosen this.

I bent down, my face close enough to feel the heat of him, the smell of sweat, gym musk, and something warm that hit straight between my legs. I stayed on the seat right beside him, just leaning over him, my mouth a breath away from the thick cock pulsing in front of me.

Heath sucked in a breath when I wrapped my fingers around his dick. He was hot and hard and dripping with precum enough that my hand slid easily from base to tip.

“Jesus,” he whispered. “You really know what you are doing.”

I looked up at him, lips parted. “You called me here. I assumed you wanted something good.”

He let out a short, shaky laugh.

“I do.”

I pressed my tongue to the underside of his cock, dragging it up from the base all the way to the swollen head. He hissed through his teeth, hand jumping to the back of my neck like he could not stop himself.

“Oh my god… Brian…”

I closed my mouth around the tip, slow and deliberate, letting the warmth pull a helpless groan from his chest.

He leaned his head back against the seat and spread his thighs wider, as if his body decided for him. Every inch of him was trembling just slightly.

I took more of him into my mouth, his cock sliding easily… feeling him pulse against my tongue. His hand tightened in my hair…Like he needed something to hold on to.

“Fuck,” he breathed. “Ah.. I wanted this..”

I pulled back with a wet sound, letting cool air hit the wet head before licking it again, slow circles that made his thighs twitch.

“I told you,” I said against his skin. “I am glad it is you.”

He reached for my face with one shaky hand, thumb brushing my jaw like he was still trying to believe this was happening. Then he let his hand fall away again, too overwhelmed to keep up the pretense.

I took him back into my mouth and started working at a steady rhythm. My lips sealed around him, my tongue stroking the underside, my hand twisting at the base.

He groaned, deep and guttural, hips jerking up before he caught himself.

“Wait,” he gasped. “I do not want to hurt you.”

I smiled around his cock and lowered my head again, taking him completely until my nose hit his pubes. His breath ripped out of him in one sharp sound.

“Brian… holy shit…you fucking slut”

I bobbed my head, letting spit gather, letting the sound fill the truck along with his broken breaths. His thighs flexed under my arm, thick and strong and shaking. The truck rocked slightly with each movement.

He pressed his palm to the window beside him,.

“You are gonna make me cum” he said, voice barely there. “Your mouth feel so good… oh fuck bro…”

I pulled off again, stroking him slow, watching him fall apart.

He looked down at me, eyes wild, chest rising fast under his hoodie.

“You are good,” he whispered.

I leaned in and kissed the head, soft and teasing. “Good.”

His hand gripped my hair again. Stronger this time. Needier.

“Suck it, I am really close,” he breathed.

He pushed gently, guiding me down, his cock sliding deeper into my throat. instinct hit me but I steadied myself with a hand on his thigh.

He groaned. Loud and raw.

I pulled back just enough to breathe, spit trailing from my lips to the tip, then went down again, taking him deeper, my face pressed to his body, my mouth full of him.

His hips jerked up.

“Oh fuck. Sorry. Sorry I didnt mean to thrust like that.”

“Do it, Captain..,” I said, voice rough. “Fuck the shit out of my mouth.”

He made a sound that did not sound like anything I had ever heard from him. I did not know guys like him could sound like that.

He thrust again, shallow and desperate, like he was losing control inch by inch.

“Brian…..fuckk.. I am close…”

He choked on the words.

I sucked harder, stroking the base with my hand, tongue pressing under the head each time I rose.

He slapped his hand against the window again, breath shaking, thighs trembling, voice breaking apart.

“Fuckk… fuck.. I am gonna… I am gonna…”

I doubled down, taking him as deep as I could, mouth filled, breath warm against his skin.

He snapped.

His entire body jerked, a groan ripped out of him, deep and low and helpless.

He came in my mouth with pulse after pulse, thick and hot, filling me until I swallowed out of pure instinct.

He kept trembling long after it ended. One hand stayed in my hair. The other stayed pressed to the window.

“Fuck,” he whispered. “Oh my god. Fuck.”

I pulled back slowly and wiped my mouth on my sleeve, breathing hard.

He stared at me like he had no idea what planet he was on.

I smirked.

“Well,” I said, “that was fun.”

He slumped against the seat, eyes still unfocused.

“Jesus Christ,” he whispered. “Brian…”

I grabbed my hoodie zipper and stood up, opening the door.

The cold night air rushed in.

“Same time next week, captain?.”

He let out a breath that sounded like a laugh and a whimper mixed together.

“Fuck, yes please,” he said softly.

I stepped out of the truck, pulled my hood up, and walked back into the empty campus night.

His eyes followed me until the darkness swallowed me.

Just the way I wanted.

All characters are 18+ and fully consenting

When Matteo asked me to be his boyfriend, I laughed.

Not because it was funny, exactly. More because I thought it had to be a joke. Matteo jokes about everything. He’s the kind of guy who flirts with waiters just to make them blush, then tips them like he’s doing penance for it. So when he leaned across the café table that morning and said, completely straight-faced, “I need you to pretend to be my boyfriend,” I nearly spat out my espresso.

He didn’t even flinch.

That was my first clue he was serious.

Now, before I sound like the kind of guy who gets swept into other people’s chaos, I should probably explain something. Matteo Romano has a gift. He can make absolutely anything sound like a good idea. Even this.

He said it like we were planning a road trip or adopting a dog. “Just for a bit,” he told me. “To get her off my back.”

“Her,” of course, being Jessica Moretti.

Jessica and Matteo dated for almost two years, and for a while they were the kind of couple that looked like an ad for Italian summers. Gorgeous, loud, inseparable. But things between them started to crack somewhere between the arguments about work and the jealousy that Matteo swears he never understood. When they finally broke up, it should have been clean. Except it wasn’t.

Because Jessica is still his roommate.

And Matteo, being Matteo, still insists on being the nice guy who won’t kick her out.

They live in a beautiful old apartment near the waterfront in Palermo. Big windows, terracotta walls, a tiny balcony that looks like it should be in a postcard. It’s the kind of place no one gives up easily. Especially not Matteo. He loves that apartment almost as much as he loves his morning cappuccino and his Vespa. And finding a new place in Palermo right now is impossible unless you are either rich or lucky, and Matteo is neither.

So he stayed.

And she stayed.

And now, apparently, she refuses to believe it’s really over between them.

According to him, Jessica has convinced herself that Matteo just “needs time.” She’s been watching him like a hawk, waiting for him to crawl back. He says she still asks who he’s texting, still lingers in the kitchen when he brings someone over. Which, lately, he hasn’t.

That’s where I come in.

Matteo doesn’t want to date anyone right now. He says he is done with women for the moment. Which would have been fine, except his friends will not stop trying to set him up. And Jessica will not stop acting like his fiancée. So, in his head, the logical solution was to tell everyone he is already seeing someone.

A man.

Me.

I swear, I thought it was a prank.

I told him he was insane.

He just grinned at me like he was offering me a cigarette after sex. “Come on, Adrian,” he said, that lazy smirk curling the side of his mouth. “You’re the only one I trust to make it believable.”

Believable. Right.

The word still makes something in my chest tighten a little.

Because the truth is, if there is anyone who could make that kind of lie feel real, it would probably be him.

Matteo and I met five years ago, back when I moved to Sicily for work. He was the first person to show me around Palermo. I was the quiet new guy in the office, the only openly gay one, and Matteo was the loud, charming, everyone’s-favorite-person type. He had a girlfriend back then, a different one, and a laugh that could fill a bar. Somehow we ended up friends.

We still are.

Except sometimes I think being friends with him is like trying to stand too close to the sun. He’s too bright. Too easy to look at.

I have spent years pretending I don’t notice things about him. The way his shirt clings to his chest when he laughs too hard. The small scar on his bicep that he always shows off with a flex. The way he stands with one hand in his pocket like he knows he’s being watched. I have pretended not to look, not to think about how his voice drops when he’s tired or how it feels when he slings his arm around me like it’s nothing.

So when he asked me to be his fake boyfriend, I should have said no. I should have said, find someone else, this is dangerous.

But I didn’t.

Because he looked at me that way he does when he’s asking for something impossible, like it’s already decided.

And maybe because a small, stupid part of me wanted to know what it would feel like.

To have him call me his boyfriend. Even if it was a lie.

So I nodded. Like an idiot.

It was supposed to be harmless.

That’s what I keep telling myself.

Just a bit of acting. A few photos. Maybe a dinner or two. Something to convince Jessica he has moved on. Something to convince his friends to stop throwing girls at him. Matteo gets his peace, Jessica gets closure, and I get… what?

A front row seat to my own emotional disaster, probably.

But I told him yes anyway.

He texted me today with a plan that sounded way too casual for what it was. Come by tonight. Jess wants to meet my boyfriend.

Boyfriend.

Even reading it made my stomach twist.

I sat on my bed, phone glowing in my hand, re-reading the message like it might change. The words were so simple. So easy.

And somehow, I already knew this was going to end badly.

Still, I typed back: Sure babe. What time?

Then I tossed the phone aside and leaned back, staring at the ceiling, trying to remind myself this was all pretend.

Just a favor for my best friend.

Nothing more.

Right?

________________

By the time I reached Matteo’s apartment that evening, my stomach was a tight knot of nerves and caffeine. The kind of nerves you get before a first date, except this wasn’t one. Not really.

His building looked the same as always, a faded ochre block with a cracked blue door and potted plants spilling out of the stairwell. The air smelled faintly of basil and sea salt. I could hear the faint hum of the city outside, people talking, scooters passing, someone laughing in the next street over. Palermo on a Friday night always feels alive, and somehow that made me even more aware of what I was walking into.

The second I knocked, the door swung open.

“Babe,” Matteo said with a grin, arms open, like this was the most natural thing in the world. Before I could react, he pulled me into a hug. Tight. Warm. He smelled like cologne and red wine, and his shirt was soft against my cheek. My arms went up automatically, half responding, half trying not to look like a complete idiot.

“Hey,” I managed, my voice somewhere between casual and strangled.

“Come in,” he said, keeping one arm draped over my shoulders as he guided me inside. “Jessica’s in the living room.”

Great. Straight to the lion’s den.

Jessica looked up as we entered, her expression somewhere between polite and suspicious. She was sitting on the edge of the sofa, legs crossed neatly, a glass of wine in her hand. She looked as composed as ever, hair smooth, makeup perfect. She gave me a small smile that did not reach her eyes.

“Adrian,” she said smoothly. “It’s been a while.”

“Yeah,” I said, trying to match her tone. “Good to see you, Jess.”

She set her wine down, head tilting slightly. “So… Matteo tells me you two are together now?”

Her words were sharp, almost playful, but I caught the way her fingers tightened on the stem of the glass. Matteo laughed, sitting down beside her. “You sound surprised.”

“Well,” she said lightly, “you could have mentioned that your best friend was suddenly your boyfriend. Bit of a jump, isn’t it?”

Matteo shrugged and looked at me. “It just happened.”

I nodded like a man who had rehearsed this scene all week. “Yeah. Unexpected, I guess.”

Jessica’s smile thinned. “Right.”

Matteo reached for the bottle of wine and poured me a glass without asking. “Relax, babe,” he said, handing it to me. “You look like you’re about to bolt.”

I almost dropped the glass. The word babe hung in the air like smoke, curling around the room, thick and deliberate. Jessica’s eyes flicked toward me, sharp and assessing.

“Babe,” she repeated softly, a hint of disbelief curling her mouth.

Matteo ignored it completely. He leaned back on the sofa, arm stretching casually behind me, fingers brushing the back of my neck. It was nothing, just an easy, friendly gesture. Except it wasn’t. Not to me. His fingertips barely touched my skin, but it sent a strange rush through me all the same.

I forced myself to breathe normally.

“So,” Jessica said after a moment, pretending to sound casual. “How did this even start? You two have known each other for years.”

Matteo smirked. “Exactly. Who better, right?”

Her gaze shifted to me, curious and sharp. “Adrian? I thought you were seeing that blond guy last week. The one from the café near the market?”

I could feel my pulse in my ears. “Oh. Him. No, he’s just a friend.”

Jessica’s smile widened, falsely sweet. “You have a lot of those.”

Before I could answer, Matteo jumped in. “Jess, come on. Can we not interrogate my boyfriend at dinner?”

She blinked. “Interrogate?”

He leaned forward, his voice smooth but firm. “Yeah. You are making him nervous.”

“I’m not—” she started, then stopped. Her mouth pressed into a tight line.

Matteo grinned and reached for my hand, giving it a light squeeze. “You’re fine, babe. She’s just curious.”

I nodded, pretending I was completely comfortable. My palm was sweaty against his.

The rest of dinner passed in that strange, careful rhythm. Jessica asked polite questions and smiled too much. Matteo played his part too well. Every time she looked away, he would brush his thumb over my hand or rest his knee against mine, small gestures that probably looked casual to anyone else. To me, they felt enormous.

He poured me wine like it was second nature, laughed a little too loudly at my jokes, leaned in close enough for his shoulder to press against mine. At one point, when Jessica stood to grab another bottle, he leaned back and stretched, his arm settling behind me again, fingers grazing my hair.

“You’re doing great,” he murmured under his breath.

“Am I?” I muttered back. “Because I feel like I’m about to pass out.”

He grinned. “You look perfect.”

Jessica came back before I could respond. Her eyes darted between us, taking in the space that barely existed anymore. She sat down, quieter now, sipping her wine with the kind of silence that says too much.

After a while, she excused herself, claiming she had an early morning.

The moment her bedroom door closed, Matteo let out a low whistle. “That went well.”

I turned to him, still half stunned. “That went… something.”

He laughed, tossing an arm around me again, this time looser, more relaxed. “She totally bought it.”

I raised an eyebrow. “You sure about that?”

“Absolutely. You saw her face.”

“Yeah. She looked like she wanted to stab you with a fork.”

He laughed harder, the sound filling the small room. “Jealousy looks good on her.”

“On her?” I asked. “You mean terrifying.”

He looked at me then, really looked. “Thanks for doing this, Adrian. I owe you one.”

“It’s fine,” I said quickly. “Just… maybe keep the ‘babe’ thing to a minimum next time?”

He grinned, completely unbothered. “You didn’t like it?”

I opened my mouth, then shut it. “It was… convincing.”

“That’s the point.”

He was still smiling when I got up to leave. I felt his eyes on me as I walked to the door, the same lazy warmth in his voice when he said, “Text me when you get home, yeah?”

Outside, the air was cooler, quiet. I started walking, the sound of my shoes on the cobblestones too loud. I could still feel the ghost of his touch on my skin, the weight of his arm behind me, the warmth of his voice when he said babe.

This was supposed to be fake.

So why did my heart forget?

When I finally got home, the city was still buzzing outside my window. I dropped onto the bed, staring at the ceiling, running the whole evening through my head. The laughter, the looks, the way his hand lingered on mine longer than it needed to.

It was all pretend. Every bit of it.

Except it didn’t feel like pretending.

I checked my phone without meaning to. No new messages. I told myself to sleep. That I was overthinking. That this was just the first of many awkward nights, and eventually it would stop feeling so strange.

Then the screen lit up.

Matteo: Thanks for helping me dude. I hope she bought it.

I stared at it for a long time before replying.

Adrian: Yeah. Totally.

But even as I sent it, I knew she hadn’t.

And maybe, just maybe, neither had I.

All characters are 18+ and fully consenting

The package was supposed to land on my bed, hidden safely under a pile of books until I had the dorm to myself. Instead, it landed next door.

I only realized when I got the notification: Delivered. Except my room number wasn’t listed.

My stomach dropped.

That was Nate’s room.

For a minute I just stared at the screen, sweating like I’d been caught red-handed even though no one knew anything yet.

Then my phone buzzed again. Unknown number.

Nate: Hey, Jamie. I think your package came to me. Nate: You might wanna come get it.

Relief flooded me… right up until the third message came in.

A photo.

My package, torn open, the dildo in plain view, resting against his desk.

Nate: Gotta say, wasn’t what I expected.

I nearly threw my phone across the room. My face went hot, ears burning so bad I wanted to crawl under the covers and never surface.

Why the hell had I been dumb enough to order it online instead of just going to a store two miles away? Why had it had to get misdelivered to the one neighbor who actually noticed everything?

Nate wasn’t the type to let this go.

My thumbs hovered over the keyboard.

Me: …Please don’t.

Nate: Don’t what?

Me: Don’t mess with me. Just give it back.

Nate: Oh, I’ll give it back. But I already opened it. And now I’m curious.

I groaned and dropped the phone onto the bed. I could picture his grin; sharp, smug, that irritating confidence that came from knowing he looked good shirtless at the gym and everyone else knew it too.

Nate was the kind of guy who could say boo and half the hall would laugh like he’d just cracked a stand-up set.

And now he had my dildo in his hand.

Another buzz.

Nate: C’mon over. Don’t make me knock.

I stared at the message. My legs felt like stone, but eventually I shoved on a hoodie, jammed my feet into some flip flops, and slipped out into the hall. My heart pounded louder than my footsteps.

One knock and his door swung open.

Nate leaned against the frame, hoodie and gray sweatpants hanging low on his hips, a smirk stretching across his face. In his hand was my package. The brown cardboard ripped open, the toy peeking out just enough to remind me of my humiliation.

“Well, well. Jamie.” He looked me up and down like he was deciding what flavor of trouble I’d walked into. “Guessing you’re here for… this?”

I swallowed hard. “Yes. Just...hand it back, please.”

Instead of moving, he pulled the door wider, gesturing me inside.

“Come on. We can’t have the whole hallway watching you beg for your dildo, can we?”

I froze. He said it so casually, like ordering coffee. The word hung in the air, hot and heavy. My legs carried me forward before my brain caught up.

His room was neat, annoyingly so with his gym bag tucked in the corner and a football poster above his desk. And right there on the desk, gleaming under the lamp, was my mistake.

Nate shut the door with a quiet click and leaned back against it. “You know, I thought it was one of those shaker bottles I ordered. Opened it up and… surprise.” He lifted the dildo, holding it between his fingers like it was an artifact. “You’ve got taste. I’ll give you that.”

My chest was burning. I wanted to grab it, shove it back into the box, sprint out. Instead I mumbled, “You shouldn’t have opened it.”

He tilted his head. “Shouldn’t have? You think I was just gonna leave a mysterious package in my room? Nah.” His grin widened. “Besides, I like surprises. Especially ones like this.”

I covered my face with both hands. “Okay. Fun’s over. Can I have it back?”

He didn’t move. He just twirled the thing lazily in his hand, watching me squirm. “Sure. But I think you should earn it.”

My breath caught. “Earn it? What does that even mean?”

“Means…” He stepped closer, lowering his voice until it curled against my ear. “I already know your little secret, Jamie. You might as well own it.”

I froze, every nerve on edge. He smelled like soap and sweat, freshly showered but still distinctly Nate.

“You want me to beg for my own package?” I asked.

His smile was pure mischief. “Maybe. Or maybe I just wanna see how red you can get.”

I wanted to hate him. I wanted to call him an asshole and storm out. But my legs didn’t move. My skin prickled under his gaze.

He placed the dildo back on the desk and turned to face me fully. For the first time, his tone softened, less teasing, more curious. “Seriously, Jamie. You wanted this. Why?”

The question hit harder than the teasing. My throat tightened. “Because…” I faltered, my voice dropping. “Because I wanted to try. Because I’m tired of pretending I don’t think about it.”

Nate’s eyes flicked over me, sharp but not unkind. He leaned closer, close enough I could feel his breath. “So you do think about it.”

I couldn’t answer. My silence said enough.

For a moment, we just stood there, tension crackling like static. Then he chuckled, low and rough. “You’re braver than I thought.”

I tried to move past him, but he blocked me with one arm against the doorframe. “Going somewhere?”

“Yes. My room. With my package.”

He lifted an eyebrow. “Not yet.”

My pulse thudded in my ears. His nearness was overwhelming, every line of his lean body just inches away. The air between us buzzed with something I couldn’t name, a mix of dread and want.

“Nate—”

“Relax,” he said, smirking again. “I’m not gonna do anything you don’t want. But I think you want me to mess with you just a little.”

I should have denied it. Instead, my lips parted, and no words came out.

He tapped the dildo with one finger, then looked back at me. “Jamie… if you’re really curious,” he said, his hand sliding over the front of his sweatpants, “I can help you.”

He stroked the dildo once, eyes locked on mine. “This thing might give you a taste, but it’s not the real experience.” His smirk deepened. “So what’s it gonna be? The real deal, or this cheap package back?”

My pulse kicked hard in my throat, every part of me screaming to answer, though I wasn’t sure what would come out if I opened my mouth.