Ultraviolence

Part IX: Nico’s POV Moses and I pass the pipe back and forth. Slow. Still. Satisfied. Moses takes a hit—deep, slow. Holds it. Exhales a long stream of smoke toward the ceiling, like it means something. Like it seals something. “He didn’t move,” he says, eyes locked on Cole. I take the pipe from him. Torch it. Inhale until it burns. “Didn’t have to.” I exhale toward the rug. “He’s not supposed to.” Cole’s body glows in the low light. Still bent. Still leaking. Still open like a wound. Moses watches him—eyes sharp, amused. “You think he knows what we did to him?” “I think he wanted not to.” I pass the pipe back. Moses hits it again, deeper this time. “Think we went too far?” I glance at him. Let the silence hang. “Do you feel bad?” He exhales with a snort. Shakes his head. “Fuck no.” Then he laughs—low and mean. “I feel great.” His smile is real now. Not soft. Not reflective. Just pure satisfaction. “He wanted to be used,” he adds, voice flat. “So we used him.” I reach for the pipe. “You think he knows how wrecked he is?” Moses shrugs. “Maybe. Not sure it matters anymore.” We both look at him. Cole. Bent over like a discarded offering. Cum still dripping from his hole, drying on his thighs. The rug beneath him soaked and shining. Moses grins. “We made him into something better.” I nod slowly. Torch the bowl again. Hold it. Let the heat settle in my chest. But the pressure in my gut keeps climbing. I shift. “Shit,” I mutter, stretching my back. “I gotta piss.” I turn toward the hallway on instinct. But Moses—gaze still fixed on Cole—doesn’t even blink. “Don’t waste it,” he says. I pause. “What?” He tilts his head toward Cole. “Do it in him.” My cock twitches. This isn’t sex anymore. It’s a rite. I step between Cole’s legs again. Kneel. His hole’s still open, still glossy, still leaking. I press two fingers in—slow, casual. His body takes them like it’s second nature. “You hear that, tiny?” I murmur. “You’re not done yet.” He moans. Barely. Just a sound. No words. Maybe no awareness. Doesn’t matter. I guide my cock back to him. Tip first. Then deeper. The slide is smooth. Too easy. He doesn’t flinch. I settle all the way in. And I let go. The piss hits fast—hot, almost burning—coating the inside of him, mixing with cum already filling him to the edge. My whole body slackens as it pours out of me, long and steady. The sound is obscene. Wet. Echoing. Real. But underneath it? Something quiet. Peaceful. Moses doesn’t speak. Just watches. Pipe glowing between his fingers. “Look at him take it,” I murmur. It overflows. Trickles out around me. Soaks his thighs. Stains the rug. He stays still. Shuddering. Not from protest. But from completion. Like this is the final act he was made for. When I’m empty, I pull out slow. The gush that follows is heavy. Warm. Endless. Piss. Cum. All of it spilling back out of him in one final offering. Ruined. Perfect. Holy. ⸻ Part X: Moses’ POV Cole hasn’t moved in twenty minutes. He’s curled on the rug, knees tucked slightly in, ass still leaking, mouth parted in that perfect post-T daze. His eyes half-lidded. Glassy. Pupils wide. There’s drool on the corner of his mouth and cum drying down his thigh. We left a pipe on the table next to him. He’s close enough to reach it. He hasn’t tried. I’m on the couch. Nico’s beside me, one leg draped lazily over the armrest, packing a fresh pipe like it’s a meditative ritual. The room smells like sweat, smoke, and sex. The music’s something ambient—slow, pulsing, background filth. I glance at my phone. Notifications. Missed calls. Low balance. “I need money,” I mutter. Nico doesn’t even look up. “Yeah?” “Rent’s late. Cards are tapped. Shit’s tight.” He snorts. Finishes torching the bowl. Then: “We’ve got product.” I turn toward him. Raise an eyebrow. He nods toward the rug. “Right there.” I follow his gaze. Cole. Ruined, compliant, perfect. I look at him—really look. Hair damp. Breathing shallow. Holes loose and used and wet. “You think he’d…” I don’t even finish. Nico chuckles. “I don’t think the faggot has much of a choice.” He takes a hit. Passes it to me. I inhale. Let it fill my chest. Let the idea bloom. Selling my brother. Letting others use what we just broke in. Might’ve shocked me a few hours ago. Now? It makes sense. ⸻ The first thing we do is get him off the rug. He’s beautiful there, sure—curled and leaking, breath soft, spine loose—but rugs aren’t built for business. No lighting. No angle. No presence. Nico grabs him under the arms. I lift the legs. He doesn’t resist—just makes a little noise, like a sigh laced with want, and lets us carry him like a doll. The hallway’s dark. My bedroom is cleaner. Not by much—but enough. White sheets. Dim lamp. No clutter. We lay him down in the center of the bed, on his back, legs slightly parted. His head lolls to the side. His lips are still red. His thighs are still damp. He looks ready. But not finished. “We should dress him up a little,” Nico says. “How?” He grins. “Not like, clothes. Just… accessories. Make him look offered.” I nod. Get it immediately. I go to the drawer. Pull the basics: The collar. Black leather. Simple buckle. No tag—yet. A ball-stretcher. Heavier than it looks. One of my rings. Thick silver. I slide it onto Cole’s pinky just because. I find the wipes. We clean his thighs, wipe the cum and piss streaks, but we don’t close him up. That’s part of the pitch. He’s still dripping. Still open. The smell of sex in the room isn’t a problem—it’s marketing. Nico finishes wrapping his cock in the stretcher. Not tight. Just firm enough that it looks full, needy. “Gonna redose him?” he asks. I tilt my head. “He’s already floating, but he could float higher.” “Fuck yeah he can,” Nico says. One more dose of G, light and clean, right up inside him with a slim syringe. He moans when it slides in—his hips twitch, his hole flutters. His cock starts to rise again, half-chubbed, twitching inside the wrap. He’s ready now. Fully. Nico and I step back. Look him over. “You’d pay for that?” I ask. He smirks. “Fuck yeah I would.” Then he pulls out his phone. Starts scrolling. I sit at the edge of the bed, one hand on Cole’s thigh, thumb brushing the soft rise of his inner leg. His skin’s warm. His breath steady. His body open like a locked door pried from its hinges. Nico’s voice is casual when he speaks. “I’ve got a guy. High-roller. Buys T from me on the regular. Told me once he likes his holes trained and high during a smoke sesh.” “How fast?” “Thirty minutes. Maybe less.” He makes the call. Cole murmurs something under his breath. I lean in. “What was that?” He shifts. His voice is small. Slurred. Faint. “Wanna be good.” I smile. “You already are.” ⸻ The knock comes twenty minutes later. Two short. One long. Nico doesn’t flinch. He slides his phone into his back pocket, walks to the door like it’s nothing. I stay in the bedroom with Cole. He hasn’t moved much. Still on his back. Still open. Chest rising slow. Pupils blown. Collar snug around his neck, cock half-hard inside the stretcher. He moaned once when I brushed him gaping hole with my thumb. I hear the door open. Low voices. A deeper one—clipped, measured, not emotional. Then footsteps. The bedroom door pushes open. Nico leads the man in. Doesn’t say his name. Doesn’t need to. The client is tall, sharp-shouldered, maybe late forties. Black coat. Dark jeans. No jewelry. Pale hands. Clean nails. Not flashy—just clean. That quiet type you can’t quite read. Sadist, definitely. One of those guys who doesn’t speak much because he knows the weight of his silence does more. He walks in and looks at the bed. At Cole. Just stares. Doesn’t blink. Doesn’t speak. His head tilts slightly. His nostrils flare—taking in the scent of sex and sweat and T in the air. Then he finally says: “Turn him.” His voice is soft. Nico and I move in unison. We roll Cole to his side, then onto his stomach. Arms slack. Ass in the air. His legs shift reflexively—subconsciously spreading. His hole, still slick, glistens under the lamp. The client breathes in once. Deep. Then reaches into his coat pocket. Pulls out a thick money clip. Black elastic band around a fat stack of crisp bills. No hesitation. He tosses it on the nightstand. “That should cover it.” I don’t count it. I don’t have to. He hasn’t stopped looking at Cole. I step back. Nico pulls the chair from the corner closer to the bed. We both sit—one on either side—framing the scene. The client shrugs out of his coat. He lays it across the arm of the chair without care. I pass the pipe to Nico like it’s popcorn. He lights it. Hits it. Passes it to me. I take it deep. Exhale slow. I look over at Cole. Still pliant. Still unaware of what’s coming. “Say something for our guest,” I murmur. Cole stirs. “Thank you for coming,” he slurs. The client doesn’t smile. But he steps forward. Runs a hand down Cole’s back. Then he cups Cole’s ass. Spreads him. Just an inch. Just enough. “I like when they’re already used,” he says quietly. “He’s full of us,” Nico says. The client glances at him. Nods once. I take another hit. The client pulls out a small silver ring from his pocket—thin, cold, polished. Not jewelry. A tool. He hooks it around his finger and traces it down the center of Cole’s spine. Watching the goosebumps rise. Then he runs a thumb down Cole’s crack. Finds the rim. Rubs it. Pushes—not in, just pressure. Cole exhales. A long, low moan. “How much?” the client asks. “For what?” Nico replies, grinning. The client lifts his gaze. Flat. “To do what I want.” I don’t blink. “That was the deal.” He nods once. The client climbs onto the bed, not on top of Cole—beside him. Close enough to touch. Not enough to claim. He studies him. Like an object. Like a prize behind glass. “Age?” Nico answers. “Freshly 18.” “Experience?” “First night.” The client’s eyebrows twitch. Slight. Almost a smirk. But not quite. He drags a single finger down Cole’s back. Pauses just above his ass. “He been fisted?” “Not yet,” I say. “But he’s ready.” He hums. Nods slightly. Thumb presses the bruised skin of Cole’s inner thigh. “G or T?” “Both,” Nico says, handing me the pipe again. “We dosed him maybe forty minutes ago. Boofed G. Torched the T. Still floating.” The client doesn’t speak. He reaches down and gently spreads Cole again—two fingers pulling him wide, slow. My cum. Nico’s. Still there somehow. Still dripping. He watches it slide out like he’s checking engine oil. The client brushes hair from Cole’s forehead. Lifts an eyelid with his thumb. Checks his pupils. “Sedated, but responsive,” he says. He slaps Cole gently across the cheek. Cole moans. Turns his head toward the contact. “Good boy,” the client says softly. “What’s the max session time?” “Two hours uninterrupted,” Nico answers. “Aftercare?” I shrug. “Optional.” He nods. Then: “Clean his mouth. Want it ready.” I move. I take a wet rag from the drawer, fold it, wipe gently along Cole’s lips. His mouth opens slightly, pliant. I slip two fingers inside. Press down on his tongue. He moans and sucks like it’s instinct. The client watches. Silent. Cole’s mouth is clean now. Glossy with spit. Lips pink. Soft and swollen. I keep my fingers resting against his bottom lip while he breathes around them—slow, shallow, rhythmic. He takes the edge of Cole’s jaw between two fingers and tilts his head. Examining. Not admiring. “Teeth?” I slide my fingers out. Use both hands to pry his mouth open. Gently. No resistance. He blinks up at me, high and warm and good. “Say ‘ahh,’ baby.” Cole does. The sound comes out thin. The client leans in slightly, inspecting the inside of his mouth like a mechanic checking hoses. “Position?” he asks. “Dealer’s choice,” Nico says, exhaling a cloud of smoke. “He’ll bend.” “Have him ask,” he says. I raise an eyebrow. “Ask what?” “For use.” I nod once. Lean down. Palm the side of Cole’s face. “Cole,” I murmur. “Tell him what you want.” He blinks slow. The client stands, arms folded. Cole turns his head slightly, mouth heavy, voice dreamy. “Please, use me.” The client raises one eyebrow. Still doesn’t speak. Just starts to unbuckle his belt. The sound of the leather sliding free is loud in the quiet. “Bring his head to the edge of the bed” he says. I move instantly, helping Cole shift, turning his body gently, guiding him. He trembles slightly, spine slack, arms resting at his sides. He doesn’t lift his head. He doesn’t need to. The client stands in front of him now. Zipper down. Slacks open. Not out yet. He just watches Cole breathe in the scent of the fabric. Watches the shift in his posture. Like a dog recognizing his leash. Nico leans forward. “He’s not gonna gag,” he says. “But if you want him to—he’s good at that too.” The client gives the faintest nod. Then, finally: “Open.” Cole’s mouth falls open instantly. Waiting. The client doesn’t move yet. He just looks at him. Nico passes him the pipe, offering it to him. He lights the bowl. Torches it perfectly. Inhales. Exhales. No words yet. Then—without ceremony—he reaches down, slides his cock free from his briefs, and lets it rest on Cole’s lower lip. No thrust. No grab. Just contact. It’s a good size cock. Not as big as Nico’s or mine. But still uncut, and thick as a beer can. His lips close gently around the tip—not sucking, not moving—just receiving. His eyes are still low, unfocused. His tongue presses up slightly, like he’s remembering how. The client stays still. No reaction. He doesn’t thrust. He doesn’t instruct. He simply observes the connection, like a man watching a flame take hold at the end of a long fuse. Nico exhales a breath beside me. “He’s warmer inside.” The client slides forward an inch. Just the head slipping in. Cole closes his lips more firmly now. His jaw relaxes—trained. Familiar. “Tongue,” the client says. Cole obeys instantly—pressing the underside of his tongue along the client’s shaft, curling it slightly. It’s subtle. Skilled. Enough to show he knows what he is. The client hums. Approving. Then, finally, he begins to move. Each push forward is shallow. Controlled. Less about getting off and more about testing limits. Cole adapts with every inch. No gag. No flinch. His mouth accepts the invasion like he was made for it. “Did he train for this?” the client asks. “No,” I say. “Natural.” He smiles. It’s small. Tight. But it’s real. He pushes in deeper now. Cole breathes through his nose—soft little huffs. I can see the concentration on his face. The quiet submission. The joy of it, even through the haze. The client pulls back slowly, cock wet and shining. Then slaps it lightly across Cole’s cheek. One. Two. Gentle taps. “Good boy,” he says softly. Cole moans. Doesn’t speak. Doesn’t need to. Then the client grips the back of Cole’s head with one hand. Doesn’t thread fingers through his hair. Doesn’t pet him. Just holds—like stabilizing a vise. He pushes in. Not gentle now. The head pops past Cole’s tongue and into the throat. The rhythm starts slow but deeper this time—intentional penetration, not oral play. Not for Cole’s pleasure. Not even for his own. Just to test endurance. Cole doesn’t gag. He moans, just barely—a little muffled sound around the shaft now pushing further with every pass. The client breathes evenly. In. Out. One hand steady at the back of Cole’s skull. The other at his side. Not using leverage. Just standing still while his cock uses the shape of Cole’s throat like a precision tool. I feel Nico lean toward me. Low voice, near my ear. “Fuck, he’s really taking it.” I don’t look at him. Just exhale slowly. “Told you he was good for it.” The client adjusts slightly. Hips closer. Now the strokes go all the way in—base of his cock pressing against Cole’s lips. Each thrust followed by a slow pullback. The sound is wet. Tight. Every few seconds, Cole lets out a tiny breath around the seal in his throat. The client starts to fuck his throat faster. Not rough—just more rhythm. More purpose. Cole’s arms stay limp at his sides. Drool slipping from the corners of his mouth between strokes. His body rocks slightly with each impact. But he doesn’t resist. He knows this is the job. The client groans quietly. Not theatrical. Just pleased. He glances down—just once—to watch Cole’s lips stretch around the base. Then pulls out. A thread of spit and pre-cum trails from Cole’s mouth to the head of his cock. He lets it fall. Slaps his cock gently across Cole’s tongue again. Left cheek. Right. Then taps the tip on his bottom lip like knocking at a door. “Fuck,” Nico whispers. “He doesn’t even flinch.” I smirk. “He knows better.” Cole licks his lips. Moans softly. Still not speaking. Still offering. The client steps back. He looks down at him—mouth hanging open, glistening with spit and slick—and then he turns to me and Nico like he’s been watching a product demo and is ready to customize the next stage. “Face down,” he says. Not to Cole. To me. I nod. Stand. Move to the bed. Grip Cole by the shoulders and slowly roll him onto his stomach—legs falling open on their own. He’s leaking again. The client turns slightly toward Nico. “I want him spread. Properly.” Nico doesn’t hesitate. He grabs each ankle and pushes them wide. Adjusts Cole’s thighs. Folds a pillow under his hips. Then takes two fingers and spreads Cole’s hole open again. Pink. Wet. Unclenched. “How’s that?” Nico asks. The client hums. “More. Make him display.” Nico leans in. Spits. Drags his thumbs wider, until the skin pulls taut and the hole gapes softly. I glance at the client. His expression is still blank. But his cock twitches. The client moves between his legs. Palms his cock. Lines it up. Pauses. “Talk while I take him,” he says. Still not looking at Cole. Looking at us. “I want to hear what you think of what you made.” Nico lets out a low breath. Smiles. “With pleasure.” The client pushes in slow. One long, controlled stroke. His cock disappears into Cole’s hole without resistance. Cole doesn’t cry out. He exhales. Soft. Ragged. Nico lights the pipe again. Inhales slow. Passes it to me without a word. I take a hit. The warm slide of T burns smooth behind my ribs. My cock’s still heavy. Hard again. But I don’t touch it. I watch. The rhythm picks up slightly—soft slaps of the client’s hips against Cole’s ass. No rush. Just depth. “You see that?” Nico murmurs. He’s crouched at the edge of the bed, near Cole’s shoulder. Watching the way Cole’s body folds around the client’s cock. “Doesn’t even fight it anymore.” “He likes it,” I reply, voice low. I lean forward. Wipe drool from Cole’s bottom lip with my thumb. “He gets high off being used.” The client thrusts deeper. Cole lets out a noise—half-moan, half-choke. Doesn’t close his mouth. Nico grins. “You think he even remembers his name anymore?” “Doesn’t matter.” I tap his cheek. Gently. “You’re not Cole right now, are you?” He twitches. Whimpers. “You’re just a hole.” The client hums under his breath. Pushes in harder. The next thrust goes deeper. I see Cole’s hands tighten into loose fists. His spine arches subtly. His mouth stays open—but now he’s panting. I cradle Cole’s jaw. Thumb resting against his tongue. “Say something, baby.” He tries. Fails. Just a wet moan. I stroke his cheek. “That’s good enough.” The client leans in now, pressing his chest over Cole’s back, one hand planted on either side of his body, fucking him harder. Brutally now. Each thrust sounds wet now. Loud. Nico takes another hit. Offers it to me. I take the pipe. Light it. Inhale. And exhale a thick cloud directly into Cole’s face. The client’s rhythm speeds up. His breath shifts. Closer now. He growls something under his breath—words we don’t catch. Then he buries himself. One long exhale. One loud growl. And we know. When he pulls out, Cole stays arched. I sit forward. Slide my hand between his legs. “You feel that?” I ask him. He shudders. “That’s three loads tonight, baby brother.” Nico steps in beside me. ”And many more to go."

Part VIII: Nico’s POV Moses pulls out slow, and I watch it all. Cole’s hole, red and open, still fluttering. Moses’ cum dripping out of it, down the backs of his thighs. Legs twitching. Back arched like he doesn’t know how to un-curve anymore. He’s fucked. Properly. But not completely. Not yet. Moses stands there, breathing heavy, cock slick, eyes locked on his brother like he just saw God bleed. Like he finally figured out how much he likes breaking pretty things. Good. He’s getting it. But he’s still holding back. Still playing like that load he dropped means the game’s over. It doesn’t. ⸻ Moses has always had a god complex. I’ve watched it swell over the years—quiet at first, then louder, heavier, consuming every room we walked into. And in a way? I built it. Fed it without him noticing. Even tonight—my hesitation, my withdrawal—was part of the plan. Every step, a nudge to push him deeper into the role he thought he owned. But it’s time to pull the mask off. I let Moses be the first to fill Cole. Because it was the right move. A gesture. An offering. And now? Now I’m about to answer the question he didn’t think to ask— What’s hotter than this? His best friend, pumping a second load into his baby brother. ⸻ I step forward. Crouch beside Cole. Drag two fingers through the slick mess Moses left between his cheeks. “You stopped too early,” I say. Moses looks at me. Not defensive. Curious. “He’s wrecked.” I smirk. Shake my head. “He’s ready.” I reach for the pipe again, load it with muscle memory—fast, clean, practiced. Moses watches. No protest this time. He gets it now. I glance at him. “Hold him open,” I say. “Let him feel what he is.” He does. Big hands, one on each side of Cole’s hole, spreading him wide again. His hole is still twitching, a little gape showing pink. Fucking obscene. Exactly how I left him the first time. Now worse. Now better. I bring the pipe to Cole’s mouth. “You with us, baby?” He moans. Doesn’t talk. That’s fine. He doesn’t need words for this part. I light it. The crystal blooms in vapor. I watch his lips part. Watch him inhale. Deep. Like he knows exactly what this is. What it means. His eyes roll back. His chest jerks. Arms trembling. There it is. That sweet, perfect surrender. I stand. Step between his legs. Look down at the wreck we made. I press the tip of my cock to that slick, used hole. He flinches, then pushes back. Begging without words. I push in. Slow. Stretching him again. He’s loose, yeah—but still tight enough that I feel it. The heat, the slick slide of Moses’ cum already inside. It coats me. Makes everything dirty in the best fucking way. I groan. “Fuck. He’s addicted to it now.” Moses says, his voice low, sharp. “He’s nothing but a faggot.” I reply. I thrust deeper. He moans under us—high and broken. I fuck him steady. Not fast. Not yet. Just enough to hear the squelch every time I sink into him. Just enough to remind him that this hole isn’t his anymore. I glance at Moses as he watches me. Really watching. Not jealous. Not territorial. Just impressed. “You feel it?” Moses asks, voice low. “How his hole grabs when you say his name?” That makes me quicken my pace. Moses leans in. Grabs Cole’s throat. Just enough to hold him. “Say thank you,” he growls. Cole tries. Chokes it out. I drive deeper. Harder. He twitches around me. Muscles spasming. Cum now pouring out of him like he’s trying to hold on to both of us and failing. Good. I shift my weight. Snap my hips harder. His body rocks forward under me. I’m close. Fucking close. “You want it again, don’t you, faggot?” I mutter. “Want me to fill you up just like your brother did.” He sobs something—yes, please, more—it doesn’t matter. I slam in deep. Balls flush. Heat rising. Chest tight. I groan through my teeth as I cum inside him, cock jerking hard, pulse after pulse shooting into the mess already inside. I hold there, pressed in deep, grinding it all into him like I want to leave a scar. Moses is staring at me the whole time. Like he’s watching art happen. When I finally pull out, Cole doesn’t even close up. He just stays open. Leaking. Breathing like he ran a fucking marathon on his knees. I drag my thumb down the center of his back. Feel the heat. “Now,” I say, voice calm, breath slowing. “He’s owned.” Moses nods once. And smiles.

Part VII (cont.): Moses’ POV Cole’s still twitching—every little movement makes my cock throb harder inside him. He’s so fucking tight. Still leaking, still high, still split open around me like he knows he’s just a hole now. And I’m going to fill it. I slow down. Grind instead of thrust. Deep rolls of my hips, dragging every inch along his raw nerves. I can feel his body fight between begging for mercy and begging for more. “Still with me, faggot?” He moans something wet and broken. I slap his ass hard, just to watch him flinch. “Didn’t fucking hear you.” “Y-yes, sir.” It’s breathless. Slurred. Perfect. I lean down, chest against his back, lips to his ear. “You feel that?” I whisper, thrusting deep, staying there, letting the weight of my cock sink into the ache inside him. “That’s mine. Your big brother’s cock. My fucking name tattooed inside your guts.” He whimpers. Fists the rug. “What are you, Cole?” He shudders. “Your faggot.” “Whose hole is this?” “Yours, sir—fuck—only yours—” I grin. Pull back. Slam forward again. He screams. I keep going. Slow, then fast. Long, brutal strokes that leave him twitching under me. Then slow again—just to hear him cry for it. I grip the back of his neck. Force his head down into the rug. My other hand spreads him wide, thumb digging into the bruises I’ve left behind. I watch his hole swallow me over and over, slick and red and obscene. “You know what I’m gonna do now?” I mutter. He shakes his head. “I’m gonna cum in you. Deep. Messy. So fucking much it leaks out for hours.” I lean in. “So next time you sit at the dinner table, you’ll feel it drip down your thigh.” He moans—wrecked, open, used. I look at Nico. I smirk. “You watching this?” He doesn’t answer. “You see what I’m doing to your little project?” I slam in again. Hard enough to make Cole jerk forward on the floor. “He’s not your boy anymore.” Thrust. “He’s not a good kid.” Thrust. “He’s a cum dump for his brother.” I let the words hang. Then I grab Cole’s hips. Plant my feet. Roll my neck. And fuck him. For real this time. No games. No teasing. Just relentless, claiming rhythm—balls slapping, sweat dripping, breath hissing through my teeth. I feel my orgasm build low in my gut, heat curling around my spine. “You ready for it, faggot?” Cole sobs into the floor. Nods. “Please—please—I want it—fill me—please—” I bare my teeth. Then I thrust one last time—deep, deep, fucking deep—and unload. Groaning. Guttural. A full-body exhale that rips through my chest as my cock jerks inside him, spurting rope after rope of cum into his wrecked little hole. I stay there, buried to the hilt, gripping him like he might run—like he could—but we both know he won’t. Not now. Not ever. When the last pulse fades, I don’t move. Just lean over, breath hot against his ear. “You’re full now,” I whisper. “Say thank you.” His voice is raw. “Thank you, sir.” I smile. Pull out slow. Watch my cum leak down his thighs. And feel every ounce of power settle where it belongs—on me.

Part VII: Moses’ POV “Fuuuuck yeah baby brother. You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this.” He told me to take him. So I did. Buried to the root now—inside my baby brother, inside this filthy little body that used to be polite and clean and untouchable. Not anymore. Now he’s just skin and heat and G sweat and open hole. His back is arched just how I told him. Ass high. Face low. Moaning like a whore at a party with no name. He takes me perfectly. Tight, but not resisting. Like his body was waiting for this. I grip his hips. Hard. Just to hear the little gasp he makes when I dig in. Behind me, Nico’s silent. I don’t have to look to know he’s watching—cock probably half-hard, pride trying to keep it down. He should’ve known I’d take it from him. That’s what I do. I fuck better. I fuck meaner. I own what he thought he was borrowing. I drag my hips back. Slow. Then slam forward. One long stroke that makes Cole choke on a sound. Again. He whimpers. Again. He moans. “Listen to yourself,” I growl, leaning in, mouth close to his ear. “You were fucking born for this.” Another thrust. Deeper. Sharp. His ass swallows me whole. “Used to sit there at the table, legs crossed, manners perfect.” I reach forward and grab a fistful of his hair, forcing his head up. “Now look at you.” I slam into him again. “Drooling on the rug.” Another. “Split open.” Another. “Faggot little hole twitching like it wants to get bred.” He sobs something into the floor. I don’t care what it is. “You wanna cum from this?” I ask. “You wanna shoot all over yourself while your big brother breaks you in?” He whimpers. Nods. “Say it.” His voice is raw. “Yes, sir—please—I wanna cum—wanna come while you—” he cuts off with a cry when I slam in again. “While I what?” “While you fuck me—while you ruin me.” That’s better. I glance over my shoulder. Nico’s still there. Leaning against the wall. Watching with that tight jaw like he’s still deciding whether this counts as a betrayal or a blessing. “Strip,” I say, without turning. Silence. “Now.” I hear the rustle of fabric. A belt buckle. A zipper. His shoes hit the floor. Good. I grip Cole’s hair tighter, forcing his back to arch harder. His hole clenches around me, fluttering like it’s close. Not yet. “Come here.” Nico steps closer. I guide him with a gesture. He kneels. Same place he was before. Right next to Cole. In front of me. He won’t look me in the eye. Fine. “Open him up again.” His hands obey before his mind catches up. Thumbs spreading Cole’s hole wide around my cock. The stretch makes Cole whimper again—louder this time. “Good boy,” I murmur—not to Cole. To Nico. He flinches. I slow my thrusts, grinding deep, keeping Cole right on the edge. “Say something to him,” I say to Nico. “Tell him what he is.” He hesitates. So I slap Cole’s ass hard enough to make his hips jolt. “Now.” Nico swallows. Then, low: “You’re a faggot, Cole.” Cole moans. “You’re a dirty little faggot who got his brother to ruin him.” He moans louder. I nod. “Again.” Nico leans closer. “You wanted this. You planned this. Got me to fuck you, got Moses to claim you.” I thrust into him harder—once, twice—just to hear him gasp under the words. “Say it, Cole,” I snarl. “Tell us what you are.” His voice is broken glass. “I’m a faggot. I’m yours. I’m—fuck—I’m a fucktoy—please, I’m gonna cum—” “Not yet.” I bend over and wrap a hand around his throat. Just enough pressure to pause his breath. Hold him there. He shudders. Nico’s still staring. I can see it in his eyes now—jealousy, hunger. The kind that eats at a man when he realizes he’s not the apex anymore. I lock eyes with him. “You miss this hole?” He doesn’t answer. “You want it back?” Still nothing. “Too bad,” I whisper. “This faggot’s mine now.” Then I slam into Cole and don’t stop. The rug muffles the sound of skin on skin. Cole’s breath breaks into sobs—pleasure and drugs and overstimulation ripping him apart. I fuck him through all of it. Faster. Deeper. Nico’s still kneeling. Still watching. And when Cole finally cums—shaking, screaming, shooting mess all over the rug—I don’t let up. Because this isn’t about his orgasm. This is about mine. And I always take what’s mine.

Part VI: Cole’s POV The door clicks shut behind them. I don’t move. My arms are trembling, knees sore against the rug, back arched the way Moses told me to hold it—ass in the air, face flushed, mind swimming in syrupy heat. Every second they were gone stretched out like it might last forever. But I didn’t move. Not an inch. He told me not to, and I didn’t. The air shifts when Nico and Moses return. Footsteps. Slow. Confident. Moses first—I know that walk. Measured. Mean. Nico’s heavier, more reluctant, like he’s not sure he should be back in this room. I don’t lift my head. I just listen. Feel the thick silence rewrap around us. “You stayed,” Moses says, low behind me. Closer now. His voice does something to me. Cuts through the fog of the G still slow-dancing in my bloodstream and makes my stomach clench. It’s approval—but dark, sharp-edged. Like being praised for letting yourself drown. Then a pause. Just long enough for my body to start buzzing with the silence. “Good,” he says again. Quieter. I hear something. A rustle. Then the sound of fingers tapping plastic. No words. Just movement. Moses crouches behind me. I can feel the heat of him there, radiating toward my skin. “You want your reward, baby brother?” My breath shudders out. I nod. “No,” he snaps. “Use your words.” “Yes, sir,” I whisper. “I want it.” He lets out a hum—something between approval and amusement. I hear plastic again, a rubber plunger. My mind tries to piece it together but everything’s blurred around the edges. I feel hot and light and hungry in a way that terrifies me. “Arch deeper,” he says. “I want that hole begging.” I push my chest closer to the rug. Shift my knees wider. My spine curves down and back until I’m fully open—every part of me exposed, stretched, waiting. Humiliated. Fucking ready. Then I feel his hand—firm on my hip, grounding me. “You know what boofing is, Cole?” Moses asks, almost casually. I don’t answer. Can’t. A slap. Sharp, fast, across the same spot he hit earlier. “Answer.” “Y-yeah,” I choke out. “Kind of.” He chuckles. It’s a low, dangerous sound. “Good. Then you know this isn’t just for fun. It’s going to hit hard. Fast. No going back.” My pulse skitters. He spits on his fingers. Rubs the slick mess between my cheeks. Then his fingers press—just at the rim. Testing. Behind me, I hear Nico shift. Still silent. Watching. Like he’s trying to pretend he doesn’t want to kneel down beside Moses and help. “Hold still,” Moses murmurs. “One push.” And then the syringe. The cool tip of it replaces his fingers. I freeze—everything in me locking up with tension—but I don’t move. He warned me. “This is mine,” Moses mutters. “Not some watered-down club shit. This’ll light you up from the inside.” The tip slips in. Deeper than I expected. My breath stutters. I grip the rug, jaw clenched. Then the pressure. He plunges it. I feel the warmth immediately. Not like drinking. Not even like a hit. This is different—intimate, violating, invasive in a way that makes my vision go white at the edges. My body jerks once, instinctual, but his hand clamps down on my lower back. “Stay,” he growls. “Let it hit.” The burn turns to heat. The heat turns to fire. And suddenly everything inside me is moving too fast—my heart, my breath, my thoughts. I let out a sound—half moan, half whimper—but I can’t stop it. Moses pulls the syringe out and gives my ass one more slap. Not hard. Just enough to say, you’re mine now. My arms give out. I collapse halfway, forehead to the floor, moaning through clenched teeth as the rush slams into my bloodstream like a bullet train. Everything is liquid. Everything is sharp. Behind me, I hear him say to Nico: “You do the other.” My heart skips. “What?” “The T.” No hesitation. Just command. “I’ll hold him open,” Moses says. I feel his hands on me—firm, practiced. Thumbs pressing into the dip of my ass, spreading me for another time tonight. I flinch at the contact but don’t pull away. I can’t pull away. Not when my blood is fizzing, my hole still slick from earlier, still burning from what Moses just pushed inside. I sense Nico crouching behind me. Same feeling as before. The tip of a syringe sliding into me. “Plunge it.” Moses demands. Nico complies. My vision sharpens, blurs, then sharpens again. Every nerve in my body lights up like someone flipped the switch from human to live wire. My tongue goes numb. My cock throbs painfully. My fingers flex against the rug like they’re digging for stability that isn’t there. Moses watches me like a craftsman inspecting a fragile thing mid-transformation. “There he is,” he murmurs. “There’s my good little slut.” The words melt into me. Mine. He said mine. I don’t speak. Can’t. All I can do is exist—naked, split open, drugged and desperate and wanting more than I’ve ever wanted anything. Nico pulls out the syringe like he’s been burned. I hear his breath. Short. Clipped. He’s trying not to let it show. But I know what he sees. He sees me, wrecked and perfect. Moses stands. He unzips. Finally. I look up just as his cock springs out from his jeans. Uncut, rock hard, dripping with pre cum. Framed by a thick black bush. I look further up and see him grinning at me. I let out a whimper. My brother—I shouldn’t like this. But fuck. He looks so fucking good. “Move” he says to Nico, breaking our gaze. I turn my head and watch him get to his knees—positioning himself behind me. He bends over me, whispering in my ear, “You ready for this cock, baby brother?” The G and T plunged inside me makes me let out a desperate moan. Moses’ hand wraps around my throat in response. “I asked you a question, faggot.” His grip getting tighter with each word. “You ready for your big brother to fuck you raw? You ready to feel every inch of me inside you?” “Fuck, Moses,” I let out, “Fuck yes.” Moses snickers and pulls back, then I feel the head of his cock press low against me—hot, heavy—like it’s always meant to be there. “Last chance,” he says, not because he’s asking, but because he wants to hear it. My voice cracks. “Take me.” A beat. Then— Pressure. Stretch. Invasion. His cock pushes in slow. My body protests—tight, too tight—but I don’t run. I don’t clench. I accept. It’s not Nico’s rushed fuck. It’s not about getting off. It’s about claiming. About being filled until I don’t belong to myself anymore. Moses sinks in deeper. Deeper. Until I feel his hips flush against my ass, his breath thick and steady behind me. He doesn’t move. Just stays there, buried. One hand gripping my waist. One planted on the back of my neck, holding me down. Owning me. “Fuuuuck yeah baby brother. You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this.”

This started off as a true story, then I decided to make it into my own fantasy. I have the rest of the story written and I’ll release it in parts. It gets darker, and darker... and darker. Been trying to slim it down for readability while keeping the sexual tension there. Let me know if you guys like the format. 🙂 Oh and feel free to message me with cock pics for inspiration. 😈

Part V: Moses’ POV “Then beg, faggot.” Cole’s lips part. His throat works like he’s choking on air. Then— “Please. I want more. I… need it.” Still on his knees. Eyes glassy, staring up like I’m holding salvation. Like the pipe’s communion and I’m the fucking priest. Then an idea struck me. I set the pipe down, watching the disappointment flood Cole’s face. I nod to the floor. “Turn around. Bend over. Hands down. Arch your back.” He hesitates. Then obeys. He folds forward like he’s done this before. Like submission is muscle memory. His knees spread, arms planted, back curved—head hanging low, waiting for whatever I decide to do to him. “Look at you,” I mutter. “Fucking perfect.” I move in behind him. Crouch low. Let my hand hover—then slap his ass. Just a tease. Just to hear the sound. “Jesus,” he gasps. I smirk. “Didn’t think you had it in you.” I slap the other cheek harder—watch the skin bloom red. His hips jerk. His fingers dig into the floor. But he doesn’t move away. “That’s it. Stay just like that.” I run my hand down his spine until my thumb brushes the slick edge of his hole. Raw. Glistening. Used. He flinches. I spread him open with two fingers, just enough to see the damage done. “Nico’s a greedy fuck,” I whisper. I lean closer—not touching, just hovering. Letting the heat of my breath skim over the most wrecked part of him. “You always been like this?” I say. “All quiet and preppy at the dinner table, but the second someone opens you up—” I slap him again. Sharper. “—you turn into a fuckin’ faggot.” He twitches. Doesn’t deny it. “Still high. Still wanting more. You even know where you are?” “Yes, sir.” Voice ragged. I glance at Nico. Still leaning against the wall, arms crossed, eyes locked on Cole like he’s watching a car crash in slow motion. “You call him that too?” I ask. Silence. I slap Cole again. “I asked you a question.” “No,” he gasps. “Just you.” I pause. Let that sit. Then palm his ass again. Knead it once. “Good answer, baby brother.” I flick my chin toward Nico. “Come here.” He doesn’t move at first. Then he does. “Spread his hole.” Nico crouches without a word. Uses both hands to pull Cole open, thumbs wide. I turn to grab the vial of G off the coffee table and— Empty. I click my tongue, but it doesn’t matter. I’ve got better. I stand slow. Cole’s still bent. Still twitching. Nico crouched next him, holding him open like a display. “Don’t move a fucking inch,” I say to Cole. Then to Nico—calm, cold: “Come with me.” He stands. Follows. We move down the hall, into my bedroom. The door clicks shut behind us, sealing the heat in. The tension’s different here—private. Quieter. Worse. I head straight to my dresser. Bottom drawer. Locked. Click. Open. I pull out a vial. Dark glass. No label. Stronger G. Pure. Got my bitch high off it just the other night. Instead of a dropper, I pull out two oral syringes with it. Behind me, Nico shifts his weight. That silence—the pause just before something dangerous happens. “You sure about this?” he asks. Voice flat. Not fear. Just that low-end dealer instinct, sniffing out volatility. I don’t turn. I draw the syringe full. G clean inside the barrel. Enough to tilt the night off its axis. “You saw him. He crawled to me,” I say. “Begging for it.” “You gonna dose him that heavy?” “Hell yeah. This time though? Straight up the ass. I’ve already got him in position.” That lands. He adjusts his stance. No longer cool. Just… alert. “You’re pushing it.” “Yeah?” I turn. “You gonna cry about it?” Nico’s jaw ticks. “I don’t cry. I just don’t waste good product on someone who’s gonna pass out before the fun starts.” “He’ll handle it,” I say. “Then again, so what if he doesn’t?” We lock eyes. Two wolves. And something soft, broken, and ready waiting in the other room. “You don’t think this is overkill?” I step in. Real close. Smell the sweat on him. The testosterone he tries to wear like armor. “You thinking about tapping out?” “I’m thinking this looks like obsession.” “It is.” “And you’re okay with that?” “I’m fucking hard because of it.” He glances—just once—over at the supplies on the dresser. “You gonna hit him with T too?” “Stacked,” I say as I walk back over to the dresser, putting a second syringe together. One part water. One part T. “One plunge after the other. Straight into the hole you just fucked. Straight to that faggot’s brain.” “I don’t know, Moses. That’s a big fucking dose of G.” “That’s the point.” His brow furrows. “You squeamish now, Nico?” “Fuck off.” “Nah. You flinching? After you fucked him like he belonged to you? What? You got feelings for him or something?” He squares up. “You’re playing dirty.” “So leave.” “Maybe I will.” “You won’t.” “Why not?” I press one of the syringes against his chest. Lean in. Voice low, like a secret. “Because you wanna watch me break him. You just don’t wanna admit it.” That gets him. He grabs the syringe. His mouth curls. A grin. A snarl. Right where I want him. “I already broke him.” I laugh, clicking my tongue. “You think I won’t outdo you?” “I’d like to see you try.” We hold that moment. Then I pull back, grabbing the other syringe off the dresser. “Then come watch me ruin this faggot.”

Part IV: Moses’ Plan “You want this, don’t you, baby brother?” Cole’s breathing is ragged, skin flushed, still bent over the couch. Nico pulls out slow, like he’s reluctant to let go. His cock slips free with a wet sound—a slick, messy echo of how deep he’d been. Spit and sweat cling to the open swell of Cole’s hole, glistening under the low light. It wasn’t just sex. It was a handoff. Cole shudders. His back arches just slightly, and his thighs tremble. I’m still standing beside him. Watching. Cole tries to move—shifts like he’s going to push himself upright, maybe find a blanket, maybe pretend this didn’t happen. “No,” I say quietly. He freezes. “Stay.” My voice is calm. Not a bark. Not a command. Just final. Cole slowly sinks back down, palms flat against the cushion, body slack and waiting. His head drops a little, like he’s embarrassed—or maybe just floating. Either way, he obeys. Good. I step back finally, circling around, grabbing the chair again and sinking into it like a man settling in for a show that’s only just started. My hand finds the pipe again—habit—and I flick the torch once, then let it die. Not yet. I look at Nico. He hasn’t said shit. Still catching his breath, but I can feel him watching me. Watching us. Guilt in his eyes, but also heat. He knows I’m taking over now. He knows he’s already out of this dynamic. I look back at Cole. He’s still slumped forward, holes twitching, chest rising and falling like he just ran ten miles barefoot. But there’s a stillness in him now—like he’s waiting for someone to decide what happens next. So I do. “Nico,” I say without looking at him, “did you give him anything?” There’s a beat. Then Nico answers, voice tight. “G. Just G. I measured it.” I measured it—I thought mockingly. As if I care. My eyes drop to Cole again. His body is loose, lips parted, eyes heavy. I clock the microtwitches. The way his fingers dig into the couch. The lag in his blinking. Yeah. He’s on it. “You took G?” I ask him directly. He nods once. “First time?” Another nod. “How much?” “Only a little,” Cole replies. Liar. But I’ll let it slide—for now. “Did you smoke any T?” Cole hesitates. Then, quieter than before: “Yes. But tonight was my first time with that too.” I glance at Nico. He doesn’t react. Two liars. That tells me everything. “Come here,” I say. Cole shifts—starts to get up, one leg moving under him, weight shifting onto his foot like he’s going to stand— “No,” I say again. Sharper this time. “On all fours.” His eyes flick to mine, wide for a second. Then, slowly, he lowers back down. Curls his fingers against the floor. Crawls. And fuck, it’s good. The sight of him moving like that—post-fuck, half-high, obedient—is better than any hit I’ve taken tonight. When he reaches me, I let the silence linger. He kneels in front of me. Legs parted slightly, body swaying. Sweat slicks his chest. His cock’s soft now, but twitching. Still needy. I reach out and tilt his chin up. Two fingers under his jaw. “You feel good?” He nods. I wipe a smear of spit from his bottom lip with my thumb. He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t even blink. “How high are you?” He breathes out. “I don’t know.” I smile, just slightly. “You’re about to find out.” His throat works, swallowing that. Good. Behind me, Nico doesn’t move. He’s just watching now—silent, hands in his lap, mouth drawn tight. Maybe regretting what he started. Or maybe just jealous I’m doing it better. I reach for the pipe—holding it up where Cole can see. His mouth opens—lips parted, eyes soft, expecting me to raise the pipe to his mouth like it’s medicine. Like I’m here to take care of him. I click my tongue, smirk, and hold his eyes—half scold, half praise. This tells me everything I need to know about how Nico’s been treating him. Like he still deserves gentleness. But I’m not Nico. I’m not afraid to break him. “You want more?” Cole nods again. Quicker this time. I raise an eyebrow. “Then beg, faggot.”

Part III: POV Rewinds Moses’ POV The room’s thick—smoke coiling through the air like it’s alive, curling around Nico and Cole tangled up on the couch. Nico’s body moves slow but heavy, deep thrusts punctuated by Cole’s breathy gasps, those little choked sounds that sound too pure for what’s happening. And then I see it. A flash of glass. Small. Clear. Nestled next to the TV remote like it belongs there. GHB. I blink once. Twice. My high brain clicks into gear, slow but razor-sharp. I know what I’m looking at. I’ve used before—but never with Cole in the room. Never with him involved. I grab it from the coffee table, eyes narrowing. “Whose is this?” No one answers. Just the sound of skin on skin, breath and heat. Then, a soft voice—barely audible over the wet grind of Nico’s hips. “It’s mine.” Cole. My little brother, fucked out on my best friend’s cock, just claimed that vial like it’s no big deal. Like I didn’t just walk in on something that should never be happening. I should be angry. I should be pulling Nico off him and throwing punches. But all I feel is heat. A low, deep kind of hunger curling through my chest. “Can I take some?” I ask, like we’re at a bar ordering shots, like it’s nothing. But my voice comes out lower than I expect. Rough. Curious. Cole doesn’t even look up. Just nods, soft and distracted, like he’s floating in Nico’s rhythm. “Yeah,” he breathes. “Sure.” That’s all I need. I grab the vial like it’s fragile—like it’s holy. Step into the kitchen, the cold linoleum grounding me just enough to focus. I grab a clean glass, juice—orange, bitter enough to hide the taste. I unscrew the vial slowly, watching the viscous liquid cling to the dropper. I draw 2.5 mL. Not too much. Just enough for a slow melt. Drop. The clear liquid kisses the juice and disappears. I swirl the glass, watching it blend, then knock it back in one smooth motion. Chemical bitterness lingers on my tongue as I sink back into the chair across from them, grabbing the pipe for another hit. Nico’s still going, slow and possessive. Cole’s head is tilted back, lips parted, sweat trickling down his neck. His eyes flicker but don’t open. He’s gone—melting, unraveling, taking it like he was meant to. And I feel it start. That slow G bloom. Warmth spilling from my chest outward, loosening muscles, unclenching fists I didn’t realize were tight. My thoughts slow but sharpen, laser-focused on one thing. Him. Cole’s body moves with Nico’s now, like they’re synced. Like Nico’s rhythm is etched into his spine. Every breath, every shift, every fuck-drunk sigh from his lips goes straight to my cock. I take a long pull from the pipe, watch the vapor thicken, turn in the bowl, dance like it’s alive. I blow out a slow stream, eyes never leaving Cole. He’s beautiful like this. Vulnerable. Obedient. And he doesn’t even know I’ve already decided. It’s not just that I want him. I want to claim him. I watch Nico’s hips stutter, see his shoulders tense—he’s close. Too close. And I move. I stand, slowly walk over to them—like I’ve got all the time in the world. My hand settles on Nico’s shoulder, firm. He tenses. I lean in, voice low enough to vibrate in his spine. “Don’t get too excited there, Nico. You may have popped my brother’s cherry, but I’ll be damned if I’m not the first one who busts a nut inside him.” Nico freezes. Still buried in my brother. Still gripping his hips like he owns him. But his eyes snap to mine—wide, disbelieving, furious. I don’t blink. Cole doesn’t move, either. He just breathes—shallow, fast—and I know he heard me. And I know he wants me to mean it. Cole’s POV I can’t breathe right. My chest is tight, heart hammering in my ribs like it’s trying to escape. Nico’s hands are locked on my hips, fingers digging into skin, and his cock—fuck, it’s buried so deep inside me I can’t tell where I end and he starts. Every thrust is slower than I expect, but deeper. Heavy. Like he’s fucking through me, not into me. I can barely think. The G is curling through my veins like honey, sticky and warm, turning everything soft and dangerous. My skin feels electric. Nico’s breath hits my shoulder, hot and sharp, and I moan before I can stop it. Then I look up—and Moses is still there. Sitting. Watching. Holding the fucking pipe. His eyes are locked on us, and I know what he sees: me, bent over, spread open, taking my first fuck with my big brother’s best friend. He should be pissed. Disgusted. But he’s not. His face is unreadable, but his eyes are hungry. Dark. I see him clock the vial. Fuck. Then his voice cuts through the room. “Whose is this?” My brain stutters for a second, then I answer without thinking. “Mine.” It’s barely a whisper. Doesn’t matter. He hears it. He stares at me like he’s seeing something new. Something broken. And for a second, that weight hits me—this thing I’ve done, what I’ve become, what I want. I’m not sure what Moses asked next, or what I replied with. Too fucked out of my mind to make sense of anything. I only see Moses disappearing into the kitchen, hear the sound of the fridge, a glass, the quiet suck of a dropper. Then he’s back, pipe lit again. He takes a hit like it’s nothing, like this is normal. Like me being wrecked on the couch by my brother’s best friend is something he sees all the time. His lips part. His fingers flex around the pipe. Then he stands. My heart stops. Moses steps toward us. Nico’s still inside me when Moses leans in and says: “Don’t get too excited there, Nico. You may have popped my brother’s cherry, but I’ll be damned if I’m not the first one who busts a nut inside him.” My breath catches. The G buzzes hard in my ears. Nico freezes—his grip tightens—but Moses? He’s calm. Certain. My voice shakes. “What are you doing?” He doesn’t answer right away. Just looks at me like he owns me already. Like I’ve always been his. Then he leans in. “You want this, don’t you, baby brother?”

Part 2 I feel the heat of his body under mine, the tension in his muscles as he leans forward, his hands gripping the couch like he’s trying to ground himself. His body is bent just the way I want him, exposed and vulnerable in front of me, but still strong, still present—like he’s daring me to do something with all this control. The mirror across from us catches every movement—my body pressing into his, the way his head tilts just slightly, lips parted as he catches his breath. His eyes dart to mine in the reflection, and the look there—fuck—it’s like he’s letting me in, letting me see every piece of him, every inch of his desire. I slide a hand down his back, feeling the way his skin shivers under my touch. The warmth radiates off him, and I can feel his heartbeat in my chest, matching mine in the silent rhythm of our movements. “Stay still,” though I’m not sure if I’m telling him or myself. I’m barely holding it together, already lost in the feeling of him—so perfect beneath me. He doesn’t resist as I slap my 9” cock onto his smooth, tight hole. I line myself up, and then press forward, feeling the stretch as my foreskin pulls backward, my cock sinking deeper into him. His body tenses for a split second but then melts, as I watch him bite his lip in the reflection. God, he’s beautiful like this—completely open, completely mine in every way. I lean down, my chest brushing against his back, my lips barely grazing the curve of his neck. I can feel his body tremble under me, his skin warm, soft, and every inch of him responding to my touch. My hand slides down his side, fingers grazing the smoothness of his waist, feeling the slight tremor of his muscles. I pull him closer, pushing him into the couch with a steady pressure. The mirror catches the moment—our bodies moving together, the way I’m taking him, holding him there. His eyes lock with mine again, and in that reflection, I see it: the raw need, the desperation that mirrors my own. His pupils are blown wide, lips parted as he tries to hold it together, but he can’t. He’s lost in this, just as much as I am. I can’t help myself. My thumb slides over his jaw, pushing his face up to meet mine, forcing him to look at me, forcing him to see me. The reflection is everything. It’s him, it’s me, it’s the tension between us that’s unbearable. I push deeper, slowly, feeling him stretch around me. His body shakes under the pressure, but his hands grip the couch, holding himself still for me. I move again, deeper this time, my body pressing into his as I feel the friction, the tightness. He gasps, the sound tearing through the air, and I feel my control slip. The sensation of him beneath me is overwhelming. I lean forward, my chest pressing to his back, my lips grazing the nape of his neck, tasting the sweat on his skin, the salt of him, as I move inside him. The heat of him is everything—so soft, so warm against me. “You feel so fucking good,” I growl, my hand finding his waist again, fingers tightening as I pull him closer, deeper. The mirror shows the way he reacts—his body jerking with every thrust, the way his chest rises and falls, each breath a quiet plea. I lean over him, close enough to feel his pulse against my chest, close enough to taste the air between us. I keep moving, my rhythm steady now, building the pace, feeling the way his body fits with mine. His back arches again, pushing into me, and I know he’s close—closer than I expected. I can feel him shudder, his body tightening, and when he breathes my name—low, shaky, “Nico…”—it breaks everything. I grip him harder, pushing even deeper, watching the way his face contorts in the mirror, the pleasure, the tension, the raw need reflected back at me. His fingers dig into the couch cushions, his body giving way to every push, every stroke. I feel it—he’s mine, every inch of him, every sound he makes. I move faster, harder, and I hear him gasping, feeling the way his body finally gives in, trembling beneath me. He’s lost in it, just as much as I am. The reflection tells me everything. His eyes lock with mine again, wild, desperate, and I see the moment he breaks—his face twisted in pleasure, his body jerking beneath mine. Fuck, I can’t hold back anymore. I push him through it, pushing until we’re both lost in the rush. Then that’s when I hear it—the creak of the front door opening. The sharp sound rips through the air, jarring me out of the haze of my own mind. For a split second, I think it’s just my head playing tricks on me, the high messing with my senses, Cole’s tight fucking hole wrapped around me. But then the door opens wider, and I hear the unmistakable sound of shoes hitting the floor along with the words: “What the fuck?” For a split second, I don’t move, don’t say anything. I just freeze, and Cole, beneath me, does too. I’m still inside him, my grip on his waist firm, holding him in place as his breath hitches. The tension is suffocating, the silence louder than anything else in this fucking room. I don’t pull away. I don’t move. Instead, I slowly glance over at Moses, standing in the doorway, his eyes wide, a mixture of confusion, surprise, and something else I can’t quite read. He stands frozen, hands at his sides, staring at us like he’s processing what the fuck he just walked into. Cole’s body shifts beneath me, his face flushed with embarrassment. He looks up at me briefly, eyes searching mine, and I see it—the hesitation, the silent plea for me to fix this. But I don’t know how. I can’t fix this. Moses doesn’t speak at first, just glares, his gaze moving between me and Cole. He looks like he’s about to blow. “What the fuck is going on here?” He steps closer, his tone sharp and full of disbelief. I pull back slightly from Cole, slipping out of him with a quiet “pop”, but staying close, trying to maintain control, but fuck, everything’s spinning out of my hands now. I wipe my hand over my face, trying to find something to say. Moses’ eyes flicks to me, the anger in them flickering like a flame ready to burn everything down. “Seriously, Nico? My brother?” His voice is rough, but there’s something else there—something I didn’t expect. Maybe it’s the shock. Maybe it’s the disbelief. But it hurts more than I thought it would. I swallow hard, not sure where to start. I glance back at Cole, who’s still sitting there, his hands covering his lap, looking small in a way that doesn’t match how he normally is. I try to steady myself. “Moses, it’s not what you—” “Bullshit.” He cuts me off, voice rising now, his chest heaving with frustration. “This isn’t some fucking misunderstanding. I can see it. You’re actually fucking him, aren’t you?” I don’t answer at first. My breath is sharp, the words dying in my throat, and that’s when I realize—Moses isn’t just angry. There’s something else simmering under the surface, something conflicted. I meet his eyes, trying to read him. He’s not backing down, but the way his jaw is clenched, the way his hands are balled into fists, makes me wonder just how far this is going to go. I glance back at Cole again, who’s still silent, eyes on the floor. He’s not backing down either. Moses’ gaze shifts from me to Cole, and for a brief second, it softens, just the slightest shift. I see him look at Cole—like he’s seeing him in a way he hasn’t before. It’s almost… curious. He swallows hard, running a hand through his hair. “What the fuck is this, Nico?” I look at him, the weight of the moment crashing down. There’s no turning back from this. Not now. Not with him standing there, seeing us both in this fucking mess. But somehow, I find my voice, and this time, it’s clear. “It wasn’t supposed to happen like this, Moses. I never meant for any of this.” Moses shakes his head, still processing, still pissed. But there’s something in his eyes—something under all that anger. His voice drops to something lower, more tense, “So what? You’re fucking him, and now you want to make it okay?” I don’t know how to respond to that. Because the truth is, I don’t have the fucking words. I don’t know what any of this is, or what it means for us. Then, to my surprise, Moses takes a step forward, his face softening slightly. He looks at Cole, his brother, and there’s something there—something I can’t explain. He’s not just angry anymore. There’s this understanding, or at least the beginning of it, like he’s processing the new reality in front of him. He glances back at me, his voice quieter this time. “You’re both fucked up, but… shit, man. What the hell were you thinking?” I don’t have an answer. I never had an answer. But there’s this strange, unspoken understanding between Moses and me now—he’s still my best friend, still the guy I’ve known forever. But there’s no going back from this moment. He doesn’t say more. He just stands there for a moment, looking at me, then at Cole. The weight of it is too much. I stand there, still unsure of what the fuck happens next. Then Moses walks over to the coffee table, grabs the pipe off it, and inspects it for a second like it’s just a normal thing to do. His fingers wrap around it casually, like he’s deciding if he wants to hit it or hit me upside the head with it. I feel Cole shift beneath me, but I don’t pull away. I hold his body close, watching Moses carefully. Without looking back at us, Moses brings the pipe to his lips, lights it up, and takes a long, slow hit. His eyes look up at the cloud of smoke he exhales, his gaze sharpening as he looks back at us. “Well, don’t stop on my account,” he says nonchalantly, voice calm as he sits down across from us. The smoke curls around him. He’s completely unfazed. I feel Cole tense up beneath me, his eyes flicking nervously between Moses and me, his body half-turned, trying to process what the hell is happening. I stay still, not sure what the fuck to say, or do. My heart’s still pounding in my chest from pounding Cole just a few moments ago, and now Moses is here—watching us, like he’s completely comfortable with this. I expect him to be pissed. Maybe call it a mistake. But instead, he just sits there, eyes watching us closely as he takes another drag from the pipe, blowing out another thick cloud of smoke. Moses’ eyes flick to Cole for a moment, studying him, before turning back to me, almost like he’s waiting for me to break the silence. Cole shifts again, his voice shaky, but he tries to speak. “You… you want to watch, or…?” The words hang in the air awkwardly, and I feel his unease ripple through me. Moses isn’t just walking in on us—he’s sitting down like he’s made himself part of this. Moses exhales slowly, blowing the smoke out to the side as if he’s giving the question some thought. “Yeah, I want to watch,” he says casually, like he’s talking about something as simple as a movie. But there’s a sharpness to his tone that catches me off guard. There’s no judgment, no disgust, just the quiet acceptance of it all—like he’s been around enough to know that this is just what happens. I stare at him for a second. This is weird. Sure, we all get high together. We all know the drill. But to sit here and watch? This is new. But I don’t know what to say to that. I don’t know how to tell Moses this is crossing some line I didn’t even realize existed. I should feel anger, but instead, I just feel a tinge of confusion. Why is he so okay with this? “You sure about that?” I ask, voice still low, not entirely hiding the surprise that I’m feeling. Moses shrugs nonchalantly, his expression unreadable. “Why the hell not? Might as well… see it all the way through.” I feel Cole shift underneath me, his body stiffening with uncertainty. He meets Moses’ gaze briefly, his mouth opening like he’s about to say something, but nothing comes out. His hands are still gripping the couch like he’s trying to hold on to whatever bit of normalcy is left in this fucked-up situation. “This is… strange,” Cole mutters, his voice softer, eyes flicking nervously between Moses and me. He’s still trying to figure out how to process this, still caught between confusion and something else—maybe desire, maybe something darker. Moses leans back in the chair, blowing out another cloud of smoke and making a lazy circle in the air with it. “Is it? Or are you just not used to someone calling it out like it is?” He lets the silence settle in, the tension rising. I feel Cole’s body relax a little beneath me, but I can tell his mind is still racing. He’s confused, uncertain—but a part of me can see it in his eyes. He’s curious. Moses, on the other hand? He’s too comfortable in this situation. His gaze shoots back to me, sharp as ever, waiting for me to make the next move. He’s just sitting there, completely at ease with the whole fucking situation, his face unreadable. Another hit. Another cloud of smoke. Like he’s watching some fucked-up movie unfold in front of him, but this movie is real. I feel the tension tighten in Cole’s body as I move again, my hands gripping his hips, pulling him closer to me. He’s so fucking soft under my touch, like I could break him with just a look, but he’s strong—he holds himself together, even as my body pushes against his, every inch of him tight, ready. “You’re still okay with this?” I ask, my voice low, rough. The words taste like fire in my mouth, but I need to know. I need to hear it from him. Cole nods, his breath hitching, his fingers gripping my wrist as he pulls me in closer. “Yeah,” he says, voice shaky, but sure. “I want this.” And there it is. That fucking thing in his eyes—the desire, the need, the acceptance of what’s happening. Without a second thought, I line my cock back to Cole’s hole. This time, staring Moses directly in the eyes as I push into Cole harder, feeling him tighten, his body reacting to every inch of me. I turn to Cole and watch him fall apart in front of me, his chest rising and falling as I set the pace. His lips part, gasping, and I’m right there with him, losing myself in the movement, in the feeling. Cole’s body moves with mine, the friction pulling us closer. His breath quickens, and I can tell he’s fighting it—fighting the urge to lose himself, to give in to what we’re doing. But there’s no holding back now. I shift, pushing harder, making him take me deeper. His back arches again, his hands moving to grip the cushions beneath us, knuckles white, and I feel the tension in his body snap, the first wave of release hitting him hard. He groans, his body shaking beneath me, his head tipping back, and I can’t help the low growl that escapes me as I feel him tremble. Fuck. “Don’t stop,” he whispers, his voice hoarse. He grips my wrist harder, pulling me closer, deeper. I don’t. I can’t. I move faster now, no restraint, no holding back. The mirror catches us both—the way he moves beneath me, the way I’m taking him, and I can’t stop watching him. His face is a picture of raw need, of surrender, and fuck, it’s beautiful. And then, in the background, I hear Moses, his voice a low murmur over the quiet crackling of the pipe. ”Don’t get too excited there, Nico. You may have popped my brother’s cherry, but I’ll be damned if I’m not the first one who busts a nut inside him.”

Part 1 - True Story - Written by “Cole” in the POV of Nico. “Took your sweet time.” I said as I stepped inside, kicking the door shut behind me. My gaze flicks over Cole—assessing. “Moses home?” I don’t wait for an answer. Just brush past him like I belong here—because, honestly, I do. This house has been a second home for years. Don’t even know why I knocked. “No, he’s not.” Cole’s voice is tight, annoyed. “And you’re gonna get me in trouble. I’m not supposed to have anyone over.” I scoff. “Relax, tiny. It’s just me.” Cole—Moses’ kid brother, always trailing after us, always trying to keep up. I’ve known him since he was a scrawny little thing with skinned knees and too much to prove. I drop onto the couch like I own the place, stretching my arms over the backrest. “Happy late birthday, by the way. The big one-eight.” I smirk, eyes flicking to him. “Senior year treating you good?” Cole crosses his arms, shifting his weight from foot to foot like he’s debating whether to kick me out or let it slide. He settles on glaring. “Yeah, sure. Feels exactly the same, except now I get lectures about college and taxes.” I huff out a laugh. “Welcome to adulthood, kid. It’s all paperwork and disappointment from here.” Cole rolls his eyes, but there’s something in them—maybe amusement, maybe irritation. “You’re not exactly a role model, Nico.” I smirk. “Never claimed to be.” I lean forward, elbows on my knees. “What, you got big plans or something? College? World domination?” “Don’t know,” he mutters, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. “Just trying to get through the year.” I nod, because yeah, that’s fair. High school’s a whole mess of bullshit, and Cole’s always been the type to overthink things. “You’ll figure it out.” He scoffs. “Wow. So wise. Truly, I am blessed by your insight.” “Hey, you’re the one who said I’m not a role model.” I grin, kicking my feet up onto the coffee table. “Now stop whining and put on a movie or something. If I’m stuck waiting for Moses, I might as well be entertained.” Cole groans but grabs the remote anyway and begins scrolling through options. He can complain all he wants—he’s not getting rid of me that easily. I watch him, letting my eyes trace over his profile—sharp but soft in a way that stands out. He’s got that kind of beauty that sneaks up on you. Perfect complexion, all smooth angles and symmetry. Brown hair always neat, like he actually cares how he looks. Green eyes that somehow manage to look both bored and sharp at the same time. He’s Latino, but you wouldn’t know unless he told you. Not like Moses. Moses got all the Latin genes and left Cole with none. If you lined them up next to each other, no one would guess they were brothers. Moses and I, we look the way people expect men like us to look—tan skin, dark eyes, thick brows, sharp jaws. Built like we were made for violence. Like we’d fuck someone up for looking at us wrong. Cole? He’s the opposite. White-passing, preppy, clean-cut. Small-framed but just toned enough to not look skinny. He looks like he belongs in some private school wearing a sweater over his shoulders, not in this house, not anywhere near people like me or Moses. If he ever got pulled over, the cop would probably call him “son” and send him on his way. And the best part? He has no idea. No idea his big brother’s keeping me in business. No idea I sell meth. No idea Moses does it, either. I wonder if he’d look at me differently if he knew. If he’d stop pretending like I’m just some annoying family friend taking up space on his couch. He exhales sharply, still scrolling. “Jesus, there’s nothing on.” I smirk. “Maybe you’re just bad at picking.” “Maybe you can shut up.” I chuckle, shaking my head. He’s got bite when he wants to. But I bet he’s never needed to actually fight. Bet no one’s ever looked at him like a threat. Cole keeps scrolling, eyes flicking across the screen like he’s actually weighing his options. I’m not sure if he’s taking his time just to piss me off or if he really is this indecisive. Probably both. I stretch out, watching him frown at the TV. “Hurry up, tiny. We’ll both be dead before you pick something.” Cole exhales through his nose, then, with a flamboyant exaggeration shoves the remote into my hand. “Here. You pick, since you’re such an expert.” I smirk, settling deeper into the couch, one arm draped lazily over the backrest. “Finally. You should’ve just admitted you suck at decisions five minutes ago.” I start flipping through the options, not really paying attention. I’m just killing time, waiting for Moses. Then Cole says, “I know what you do, by the way.” My thumb freezes on the remote. I don’t react right away, don’t look at him, just keep scrolling like he didn’t just drop that in my lap. “What are you talking about?” I ask, casual. Too casual. Cole leans back against the couch, arms crossed. He looks at me like he’s waiting for me to stop playing dumb. “I know what you do for work.” I scoff. “I don’t know what you think you know, but—” “You sell,” he cuts in, bluntly. His green eyes don’t waver. “And Moses buys.” A slow pulse of something heavy settles in my chest. I force out a chuckle, shaking my head. “That’s a hell of a thing to accuse someone of, tiny.” Cole just shrugs. “I don’t care.” That makes me glance at him, really look at him. His expression is unreadable, but he’s serious. I let out a slow breath, tossing the remote onto the coffee table. “You don’t care?” I repeat. “You should. Normal people don’t just brush that kind of thing off.” He shrugs again. “I stopped expecting normal a long time ago.” I study him, waiting for him to flinch, to crack, to do anything that makes me think he’s just trying to get a reaction. But he doesn’t. Instead, he tilts his head slightly. “What’s it like?” I frown. “What’s what like?” “That world,” he says, vague but somehow precise. “The dealing, the using. The whole thing. What does it feel like?” I roll my tongue over my teeth, considering. “Why do you wanna know?” “Just curious.” His voice is light, but there’s something underneath it. Something deeper. I think about lying, brushing it off, telling him it’s nothing, but I don’t. “It feels like control,” I say finally. “Like you’ve got the whole world at your feet. And like none of it matters at the same time.” Cole nods, like that makes perfect sense to him. He exhales slowly, then looks at me again. “Can I try some?” That pulls a sharp laugh from me. “Funny.” “I’m serious.” I narrow my eyes. “Not gonna happen.” Cole doesn’t back down. “Why not?” “Because it’s not for you.” He gives me a look, one I can’t quite place. “Maybe I don’t want to be me for a while.” His voice is quiet, but the weight of it lingers. I don’t say anything right away. I just watch him, this kid who has everything lined up for him, who has no idea what he’s asking for. “Go get drunk or something,” I mutter, shaking my head. “Find some other way to let go.” “I don’t want to drink.” His jaw tightens. “I want to feel what you feel.” That makes something inside me twitch, but I lie. “You don’t.” He holds my gaze. “You don’t know what I want.” I exhale sharply, shaking my head. “Not happening, Cole.” But he doesn’t drop it. Instead, he tilts his head slightly, studying me. “You know about ‘pnp’?” I frown. “The hell is that?” “Party and play.” He watches me, waiting to see if the words land. When I don’t react, he explains. “It’s a thing in the gay scene. Hooking up while high. Mostly meth, sometimes coke or G.” Felt that twitch again, but in my cock that time. “And?” I ask, voice flat. Cole leans forward. Calm, calculated—like he’s thought about this for a while. “I’m going to college next year. I’m gonna end up smoking at some point. You might not know, but it’s popular in my hookup culture.” His lips press together for a second, then he looks me dead in the eye. “The first time I do it should be with someone I trust.” I bark out a laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “You trust me? That’s your first mistake.” “I do.” His voice is steady. Too steady. I drag a hand down my face, shaking my head. “Jesus, Cole.” It’s not like I give a shit what people do with their dicks. Never have. Cole being gay? Old news. Everyone knows, not that it matters to me. I’ve got my girls, maybe more than one, depending on the night. But Cole… I don’t know. He’s always been different. Soft spot doesn’t even cover it. Something about him has always pulled me in, made me look twice. Made me care when I shouldn’t. And now he’s sitting here, telling me he wants this—this inside him? “Why do you even want this?” I ask. “You don’t need it.” He shrugs, looking away for the first time. “Maybe I don’t want to be me for a while.” I know that feeling. I know it too fucking well. I sigh, thinking. I should shut this down completely, tell him no again, make sure he never asks. But part of me knows he’s right. If he’s going to do it—and he is—then better with me than some random asshole at a college party. I glance at him again. His perfect skin, his neat hair, his green eyes holding something deeper, something restless. I shouldn’t even be considering it. And yet. “I’ve tried G before.” He says too casually. Another cock twitch. “Excuse me?” He stands up without another word, disappearing down the hall. A minute later, he’s back, holding a tiny glass vial between his fingers like it’s nothing. Like it’s just another thing in his neatly curated life. I sit up straighter, narrowing my eyes. “Tell me that’s not what I think it is.” He tosses it to me, and I catch it easily. Twisting off the cap, I dab my finger inside and press it to my tongue. A distinct sour, chemical taste—definitely GHB. I let out a slow breath, gripping the vial tighter. “Where the fuck did you get this?” Cole shrugs like it’s no big deal. “I have my ways.” I glare at him. “That’s not a fucking answer.” “Neither is ‘I’ll think about it.’” He crosses his arms. “So let’s make a trade. I get you high on G, and you get me high on meth. Seems fair.” I exhale sharply, rolling the vial between my fingers. “You don’t just have this shit, Cole. What the fuck were you planning to do with it?” He holds my gaze. “What do you think?” I don’t answer. He just told me. My cock twitches again, but followed by a strange mix of anger and jealousy pouring over me. I set the vial onto the coffee table, leaning back. “You’re a fucking idiot.” “So is Moses, and you still sell to him.” That one hits harder than I want it to. My jaw tightens, but I don’t argue. Cole tilts his head, watching me. “So?” I sigh, dragging a hand through my hair. “I’m not saying yes.” “But you’re not saying no.” I shoot him a look. “I’ll consider it.” Cole doesn’t gloat, doesn’t smirk. He just nods, like that’s all he needed to hear. Then, before I can stop him, he’s already moving. “Be right back.” “Cole—” But he’s gone, jogging into the kitchen. I stare at the vial sitting on the table, irritation curling in my gut. I should’ve flushed it or thrown it back in his face. But I didn’t. A minute later, Cole returns, carrying two cups. “Here.” I frown. “The fuck is this?” “Mixer.” He sets them down, unbothered. “If you won’t smoke me up, I’m taking G, and so are you” I let out a bitter laugh, shaking my head. “Not how this works, tiny.” “It is now.” His eyes meet mine. Jesus Christ. He’s really doing this. Really pushing. And the worst part? I’m not sure if I want to stop him. “Fine.” Cole blinks. “Fine?” I shoot him a look. “Yeah, fine. But don’t get ahead of yourself—I’m not smoking you up.” Cole just smirks, like he knew I’d fold eventually. “But when Moses gets home, you better be in your room. Last thing I need is him seeing you fucked up.” Cole doesn’t even argue. He just nods, pleased with the arrangement so far, like this is some kind of negotiation he’s winning. We sit there for a while, neither of us talking. Then Cole shifts slightly, turning his gaze to me. “Well? You’re the dealer. You need to measure it out.” I scoff. “Bossy little shit.” But I don’t argue. G’s not something you eyeball unless you’ve got a death wish. I glance at Cole. “You know how easy it is to overdose on this shit?” He nods, watching as I grab my phone and open the calculator, doing quick math. “Yeah. That’s why I trust you.” I pause for half a second. Then shake it off and get to work. I unscrew the cap, tipping out a careful dose, measuring with the precision that comes from experience. Cole watches intently, eyes sharp, absorbing every movement. Like he wants to learn. Like he wants to know exactly how this world works. I don’t know if that should worry me. Actually, I do. But I’m doing it anyway. I measure out just under a full dose for Cole—enough to feel it, not enough to fuck him up completely. He won’t notice the difference. Then I pour double into my own cup. If one of us is going under, it’s going to be me, not him. Cole doesn’t question it as I hand him his drink. He takes the cup, fingers brushing mine for half a second before he leans back against the couch. He doesn’t drink it yet, just swirls the liquid like he’s testing it. “You sure about this?” I ask, watching him. He lifts a brow. “Are you?” I don’t answer. Instead, I raise my cup. He does the same. We clink them together, and then I throw mine back. Cole hesitates for half a second before following suit. I watch him, as he downs the G, licking his lips after like it’s nothing, like this is just another night. Like we do this all the time. Silence settles between us again, heavier this time. We both know what comes next. Cole leans his head back against the couch, eyes flicking to me. “How long?” I stretch out, feeling the slow warmth creeping through my limbs already. “Give it fifteen.” He exhales through his nose, tapping his fingers against his knee. Waiting. Twenty minutes pass, and the G is in full force. My body feels loose, warm, like I’m sinking into the couch but floating at the same time. Everything is just good—my muscles relaxed, my mind foggy but not gone. My cock no longer twitching, but harder as fuck. The TV is playing something, but I’m not paying attention. G always makes me wanna smoke, and my fingers twitch with the urge to reach into my pocket, to take the edge off the pleasure creeping under my skin. I swallow it down, exhaling through my nose, still not sure how I feel about letting Cole go that far. Instead, I look at Cole, getting lost in watching him. He’s close enough now that I can smell the faint hint of his cologne under the warmth of his skin. He’s always been pretty, but right now, he’s something else entirely. The worst part? I can’t look away. Cole turns his head, catching me in the act. Damn. He tilts his head slightly, like he’s studying me. Then, with a slow smirk, he murmurs, “Feel good yet?” The G kicks in harder, spreading through my veins like liquid gold, making my skin buzz, making everything feel too good, too much. And Cole—Cole’s right there, watching me, soaking it all in. I exhale through my nose, smirking back. “You tell me.” His eyes flick down—over my chest, my arms, the way my fingers twitch against the couch. Then he licks his lips and lets out a soft, lazy chuckle. “You’ve been staring for a while.” Fuck, I need to look away. But I don’t. “Maybe I like what I see.” I don’t know why I say it. Maybe it’s the G talking, loosening my tongue along with everything else. Maybe it’s something else. But Cole doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t get flustered. Instead, he tilts his head slightly, studying me the same way I was just studying him. Then, like he’s making some kind of silent decision, he smirks back. “Yeah,” he says, voice smooth and slow. “I think you do.” This makes my cock throb harder than it ever has in the past. Blinking hard like I can shake the moment off. “Shit—” I rub a hand over my forehead. “Didn’t mean to say that.” Cole raises a brow, still smirking. “Yeah?” I exhale sharply. “Blame it on the G.” I wave a lazy hand between us, trying to smooth over whatever that was. It was the high, that’s all. Didn’t mean anything. Right? Cole just watches me, head tilted, like he doesn’t quite believe me. And maybe I don’t believe myself, either. I need to shift the energy. Fast. So, before I can second-guess it, I let out, “Fuck it. Let’s smoke.” Cole straightens slightly, interest sparking in his hazy green eyes. “Yeah?” I nod, already reaching into my pocket, fingers brushing the familiar weight of glass and baggie. “Yeah. But listen up first.” I try to sit up, but the G still has me melting into the couch, body slow, thoughts even slower. Still, I do my best. “This shit isn’t a game.” My voice comes out heavier than I intend, slurred around the edges but still firm. “You do it once, you’ll wanna do it again. Maybe not right away, but it’ll be in the back of your head. And when it’s in your head, it stays there.” Cole just nods, like he’s absorbing every word. I let out a slow breath, pushing past the warmth of the G curling in my gut. My hand dips into my pocket, pulling out the pipe and a bag of crystal. “First rule,” I say, shaking the bag slightly, watching the tiny shards catch the dim light. “You don’t call it meth. That’s a dirty word.” Cole raises a brow but doesn’t argue. “Crystal is fine. Or Tina. But mostly just T.” He nods again. “T.” I tap out a small amount, carefully loading the bowl, hands steady from muscle memory alone. The whole time, I can feel Cole’s eyes on me, watching, absorbing, taking in every little movement like he wants to learn it all. And maybe it’s just the drugs, but swear to god, he’s getting more attractive by the minute. I push that thought away, focus on what’s in front of me. The packed pipe. I glance up at Cole, meeting his gaze. “Last chance to back out.” Cole shakes his head, slow but deliberate. “I’m not backing out.” His voice is steady, not a hint of hesitation. He knows what he’s doing. Or at least, he thinks he does. “Alright,” I mutter, reaching for my backpack. I unzip the side pocket and pull out my torch, flicking the cap open with my thumb. The blue flame shoots to life, steady and hot. “Pay attention,” I tell him, rolling my shoulders, settling in. “You don’t just light it like a blunt. You gotta heat it slow, let it melt down before you pull. And you never hold it in—this isn’t weed. You blow it out right away.” Cole nods, eyes locked on the pipe in my hand. He looks like a kid in class, laser-focused, taking mental notes. It almost makes me laugh. Almost. I adjust my grip, rolling the pipe between my fingers, making sure the crystal is spread evenly in the bowl. Then I bring the torch up, the flame licking under the glass. The crystals start to sweat, then liquefy, pooling at the bottom before swirling into thick, white vapor. I keep the movement slow, rotating the pipe so it doesn’t burn too hot in one spot. “See that?” I glance at Cole. “That’s what you want. Not too much heat, not too little. Just enough.” He doesn’t blink. “Got it.” I smirk, then bring the mouthpiece to my lips, pulling in a deep, steady drag. The smoke fills my lungs instantly, a sharp warmth spreading through my chest. I don’t hold it—I don’t need to. I part my lips and exhale, blowing a thick cloud straight up to the ceiling. The rush hits fast, that familiar electric clarity slicing through the G’s haze. My pulse kicks up, my skin tingles, my brain sharpens like a knife. I close my eyes for half a second, letting it settle, then look back at Cole. “Your turn.” I hold out the pipe, the bowl still cloudy with vapor. “Let’s see if you were actually paying attention.” Cole takes the pipe, holding it carefully, but instead of going for the torch, he looks at me. “You light it for me.” I pause, fingers tightening slightly around the torch. There’s something about it—something I can’t put my finger on, something that feels… personal. Too personal. Anyone who knows this shit knows it’s an unspoken thing, a quiet kind of intimacy. And suddenly, I remember what Cole said before—about pnp, about the way fags do it. And I gotta admit—they got that part right. It’s hot. In a way that makes no damn sense. A slow burn, a flicker of heat curling low in my stomach. A weird kind of trust. I don’t get it, not really, but I feel it. And yet, I do it anyway. “Alright,” I murmur, voice lower than I meant for it to be. I tilt the pipe in his hand, angling the bowl just right. “I’ll tell you when.” Cole nods, lips parting slightly, eyes flicking between the pipe and my face. I hold his gaze as I bring the flame to the glass, warming it slow, just like I did for myself. The crystals liquefy, then swirl into vapor, thick and milky. “Now,” Cole inhales, his green eyes locked onto mine. His lips close around the mouthpiece, cheeks hollowing slightly as he pulls, the vapor disappearing into his lungs. I watch the way his throat moves, the way his eyelashes flutter for half a second before he exhales, a smooth cloud spilling past his lips. It’s a good hit. Clean and controlled. Thought it wasn’t possible for my cock to throb any harder, but I was proven wrong again. I clear my throat, shifting back slightly. “Not bad.” Cole tilts his head, exhaling the last of the smoke. “Told you I was paying attention.” I huff out a small laugh, shaking my head. “Yeah, yeah.” But the warmth is still there. That weird, lingering heat in my gut. I ignore it. I take the pipe back from him, flicking the torch on again. “One more.” Cole just smirks. “Whatever you say, dealer.” An hour slips by, the minutes blurring into smoke and warmth. Every time, I light the pipe for Cole, watching as he inhales, his lips parting slightly, his eyes hooded as he exhales. He’s a fast learner—too fast. Takes to it like he was made for this. I should stop him. Should’ve stopped after the first hit. But I don’t. Eventually, I glance at my phone, noting the time. Been two hours since I first stepped through the door. I lean back into the couch, stretching, feeling the way my muscles buzz under my skin. “Moses is taking his sweet time,” I mutter. “What’s he even out doing?” Cole hums, his head tilted against the couch, gaze flicking toward me. He hesitates just a second before saying, “He’s staying at his girl’s place tonight.” I pause mid-motion, giving him a look. “What?” Cole shrugs, lazy. “Won’t be back until tomorrow.” Something clicks into place in my head. I stare at him for a long second, then let out a dry, amused scoff. “You little shit.” Cole smirks, eyes glinting. “What?” “You played me.” I shake my head, exhaling a laugh. “You knew he wasn’t coming back tonight. You set this whole thing up.” He doesn’t even bother denying it. Just shrugs again, looking way too pleased with himself. “You wouldn’t have agreed otherwise.” I let out another sharp laugh, shaking my head. “Unbelievable.” But, lowkey? I’m impressed. Cole’s always been the quiet, follow-the-rules type. The preppy golden boy, the one who didn’t pull this kind of shit. Or at least, that’s what I thought. Turns out, he’s got more in him than I gave him credit for. I drag a hand down my face, still smirking. “So what, you planned all this just to get high with me?” Cole tilts his head, lips curling at the edges. “Would you have come if I told you the truth?” I don’t answer. Because we both already know. I lean my head back, letting the high settle deeper into my bones before glancing over at Cole. “How you feeling?” He exhales slowly, a small, lazy smile tugging at his lips. “Great.” His voice is smooth, relaxed. “Didn’t really feel the G much, though.” I raise a brow. “Yeah?” He nods. “I mean, it was nice, but it didn’t hit me like it hit you.” He tilts his head, eyes flicking over me. “You wanna do more?” I consider it for a second. I am feeling good—buzzing, floating, perfect—and nobody’s coming home until tomorrow. There’s nothing stopping me. I shrug. “Fuck it.” I grab the vial from the table, rolling it between my fingers before twisting the cap off. Cole watches as I measure out two doses into my own cup, then pour a single one into his. I go to hand him the cup, but he doesn’t take it right away. Instead, he looks at me, eyes sharp despite the haze. “Give me the same as you.” I hesitate. First-timers shouldn’t push it too far. That’s the rule. But I think back to how easily he took the first dose, how steady he was, how he never wavered. Some people can just handle it well. Cole’s one of them. “Alright,” I murmur, pouring the extra into his cup, matching my own. “Your call.” I watch Cole as he downs the G, licking his lips absentmindedly before setting the cup down. He runs a hand through his hair, fingers raking through the strands before letting his arm drop over the couch, closer to mine now. “You really do this all the time?” I flick my eyes to him. “What, the G?” “All of it.” He gestures vaguely. “T, G, dealing, all of it.” I smirk. “You already knew the answer before you asked.” He tilts his head slightly. “Still wanted to hear you say it.” His smirk lingers, and he leans back just a little, stretching out, mirroring the way I’m sitting now. He’s comfortable. Maybe too comfortable. And he’s watching me like he’s waiting for something. I roll my tongue over my teeth, “You feeling it yet?” His smirk widens just slightly. “I think so.” Fucking cock won’t stop throbbing. I push past it, shifting forward, reaching for the pipe again. “Good. Then let’s keep it that way.” I exhale toward the ceiling, watching the cloud drift up, feeling the rush settle in my bones. Then I glance at Cole. I smirk, shaking my head, then pass him the pipe, torch still in hand. “Here.” Cole takes the pipe without hesitation, bringing it to his lips. I lean in, closer this time, and light it for him, watching as the vapor builds. “Now,” I murmur. He inhales, slow and deep, just like I showed him. The smoke disappears into his lungs, his green eyes flickering toward me as he holds the hit for half a second—long enough for me to reach for the pipe. But before I can grab it, Cole moves. His free hand shoots up, fingers tangling in the back of my hair, pulling me in, dragging my face toward his before I can even register what’s happening. Then his lips are on mine. And before I can even process that, he exhales—the hit rushing past my lips, into my lungs, filling me up, hotter than it should be. Shotgunning. An intimacy. A challenge. A fucking game. My whole body tenses, mind short-circuiting between the drugs and the heat of his mouth, his lips, the way he holds me there, fingers gripping my hair like he’s testing a boundary he already knows he’s breaking. The high kicks up, sharper, hotter, sending a pulse through my veins that makes me forget, for half a second, that I’m supposed to be in control here. I rip myself back, fast, like I’ve been burned. “The fuck was that?” My voice comes out sharp, cutting through the thick haze of smoke and G and whatever the fuck Cole thinks he’s doing. Cole leans back slightly, but he doesn’t look guilty. He doesn’t even look surprised. If anything, he looks amused. “Relax.” His voice is smooth, too smooth. “Just having fun.” I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand, scowling. “That’s not—” I exhale hard, jaw tightening, forcing my pulse to slow the fuck down. “That’s not how this works.” Cole tilts his head, watching me, that lazy smirk still tugging at his lips. “No?” I shake my head, reaching for the pipe, more out of habit than anything else, just to have something in my hands. “You don’t pull that shit with me, Cole.” He shrugs, stretching out, looking too damn comfortable. “Seemed like you liked it.” Something in me snaps. Before I could react to what I was doing, my arm was already outstretched, hand wrapped around Cole’s throat, pinning him to the couch. I lean in close, lowering my voice, making sure he fucking hears me. “You don’t know what you’re playing with.” Cole’s smirk falters—just a fraction. But it’s enough. I let him go, trying to shake the weird, charged energy out of my system. I don’t know if it’s the G, the T, or the fact that Cole fucking made out with me like it was nothing, but I feel wired, too hot, too aware of everything. Cole watches me for a long moment, then exhales, like he’s letting it go. Then Cole shifts beside me, exhaling softly. “Alright,” he mutters. “Maybe I crossed a line.” “It’s a small town,” he says, voice quieter now. “Not a lot of options.” I frown. “Options?” His lips press together for a second, then he lets out a dry laugh. “Gays, Nico.” He finally looks at me. “There’s, like, five of us here. And they’re all…” He trails off, shaking his head. I raise a brow. “All what?” “Fem,” he says flatly. “Bottoms. Good friends, but not exactly great for, you know…” His hand gestures vaguely between us. “Experimenting.” I huff a small laugh, shaking my head. “Jesus. You really just said that.” Cole shrugs, unbothered. “It’s true.” Then he leans back against the couch, tipping his head to the side as he studies me. “I’ve got a type, and none of them fit.” I narrow my eyes. “And what’s your type, exactly?” He hums, dragging his fingers lazily over the rim of his empty cup, pretending to think. “Older. Built. Not soft.” His eyes flick over me, slow and deliberate. “Masculine. A little dangerous.” I let out a short laugh, shaking my head. “Subtle.” Cole just smirks, unashamed. “You asked.” “And it’s not just the looks, either. It’s the energy.” His fingers drum against his knee, gaze flicking to mine again. “That… intensity.” My jaw tenses. I look away, shifting in my seat. “Sounds complicated.” “It is,” he admits, then exhales through his nose, his smirk fading. “Not that it matters. It’s not like I’ve actually done anything.” That makes me pause. I glance at him again, frowning slightly. “What do you mean?” He shrugs. “I mean exactly that. I haven’t done anything.” I stare at him for a second. “Wait.” I shift toward him, eyes narrowing. “You’re telling me you’re still a virgin?” Cole huffs out a small, almost embarrassed laugh. “Yeah, Nico. I am.” I blink. Then bark out a laugh, shaking my head. “Couldn’t be me.” Cole rolls his eyes. “Yeah, no shit.” I smirk, leaning back again. “Damn. A virgin at eighteen?” “What, you lost it at, like, fourteen?” he shoots back, raising a brow. I shrug. “Fifteen.” Cole groans. “Of course you did.” I just grin, taking another hit, letting the smoke curl lazily from my lips. “You’re really out here trying to experiment, huh?” He exhales dramatically. “You have no idea.” I shake my head, chuckling. “Poor thing.” “Fuck off.” But there’s no heat in his voice. Just that same lazy smirk, that same energy humming between us. Cole shifts, getting more comfortable on the couch, eyes flicking to me with something that’s both amused and too curious. “Tell me about straight sex.” I pause mid-inhale, pipe still between my fingers. I exhale a slow cloud of smoke, smirking. “What?” “You know,” Cole says, waving a lazy hand. “Fucking bitches.” That makes me actually laugh, the kind that shakes in my chest. “Jesus, Cole.” He grins, eyes flickering with amusement. “What?” “You saying it like that.” I shake my head. “You sound like a kid trying to prove something.” He shrugs, still grinning. “I mean, I have to know what all the hype is about. Why do you guys love it so much?” I huff a laugh, stretching my arms over the back of the couch. “You’ve never been with a girl, obviously.” Cole makes a face. “Nope.” “But you’ve seen straight porn.” He snorts. “Unfortunately.” Then, mocking, he adds, “Couldn’t be me.” That makes me laugh again, shaking my head. “Yeah, yeah.” Cole tilts his head, watching me. “So? Explain” I smirk, exhaling another slow breath of smoke. “It’s the way they react, man. The softness, the sounds. The way their bodies move. It’s like…” I trail off for a second, trying to find the right words. “It’s powerful. Controlling how they take it, how they moan, how they come apart under you.” Cole listens, head tilting slightly, eyes sharp even through the haze. “So it’s about dominance?” I smirk. “It’s about control.” Cole hums, gaze flicking over me, unreadable. Then he exhales, shaking his head. “Yeah. Couldn’t be me.” I chuckle. “Yeah, I figured.” Cole shifts again, pulling one leg up onto the couch, turning more toward me. “And you don’t ever think about it differently? Like, I dunno, being on the other side?” I raise a brow. “What, letting a girl take control?” “No.” He gives me a look. “I mean with a guy.” My jaw flexes slightly, but I keep my expression easy. “No.” Cole watches me for a second longer, then smirks like he knows something I don’t. “Interesting.” I shake my head, smirking right back. “You’re something else, you know that?” He grins, leaning back again. “I try.” I take another hit, letting it sit heavy in my lungs before I pass the pipe back to him. And as he takes it, fingers brushing mine, I can’t shake the feeling that this conversation isn’t over. Not even close. Cole takes the pipe, bringing it to his lips, waiting for me to light it. He’s steady, smooth, confident in a way that should make me stop and think. Should make me ask myself why the fuck I’m still here, still entertaining this, still letting it happen. But I don’t. I bring the torch up, flicking the flame on, watching the crystals liquefy and swirl into thick, white vapor. The moment it’s ready, I murmur, “Now.” Cole inhales, slow and deep, his green eyes flicking up to meet mine as he pulls. And fuck, I need my cock to stop this throbbing. With that, I break. I reach for him, grabbing the back of his neck, pulling him toward me, pressing my lips against his as I inhale his hit straight from him. His breath stutters for half a second before he exhales, feeding it into me, the smoke burning between us. But the second he tries to push deeper, the moment his fingers curl into my shirt, trying to pull me in—I shove him back. Hard. Cole stares at me, chest rising and falling, lips still parted, green eyes blown wide with surprise. “What the fuck?” I drag a hand down my face, breathing hard. “I can’t.” Cole’s brows pull together, and then—irritation. “The fuck you mean you can’t?” I shake my head, jaw tight. “Not like this.” Cole scoffs. “Not like what?” I glance away, exhaling hard through my nose. I don’t answer. I can’t. Because I know myself when I’m high like this. I know the way it takes me over—how my dominance turns razor-sharp, how I get aggressive, controlling. I know how I take, and that’s not something you throw at someone who’s never done this before. Not someone like Cole. He watches me for a long second, then shakes his head, letting out a frustrated breath. “You’re fucking teasing me.” I glance at him sharply. “That’s not what this is.” “Bullshit.” His jaw tightens, his fingers flexing against his knee. “You keep pulling me in just to push me away. What the fuck do you want?” I don’t answer. Because I don’t know. Cole tilts his head slightly, smirking—but it’s pissed now, not amused. “I get it.” He exhales sharply, shaking his head. “You think I can’t handle it.” I clench my jaw. “Cole—” “You still think I’m some kid.” I exhale sharply, fingers curling into fists. “It’s not that—” “Then what?” His voice is sharp, cutting through the haze. “See? You are a tease. Just like one of your bitches” I snap. I grab his jaw, tilting his head up, making him look at me. His lips part, his breath stutters, but he doesn’t pull away. Cole’s breath hitches, but he doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t pull back. If anything, the challenge in his eyes sharpens, his lips curling at the edges like he wants this reaction from me. Like he planned for it. His fingers flex against my wrist where I’ve got him by the throat, testing, feeling the way my grip tightens. But he doesn’t try to pry me off. He just looks at me. Green eyes dark, lips parted, chest rising and falling. I lean in closer, my grip firm but controlled, voice dropping lower. “You really wanna test me, Cole?” His smirk wavers—just slightly—but he holds my gaze. “Maybe.” I exhale slow, shaking my head. “You think this is a fucking game?” Cole hums, the sound vibrating against my fingers. “Feels real to me.” Something deep in me twists at that, something dangerous. The high amplifies everything—the way his skin feels under my hand, the way his body shifts beneath me, the way his breathing picks up just slightly but he doesn’t look away. I slide my thumb over his jaw, pressing just enough to make him tilt his chin up for me. “You’ve got a smart mouth.” Cole exhales a slow, shaky breath. “So do something about it.” I snap. I crush my mouth against his, swallowing whatever smart-ass remark he was about to throw at me. Cole doesn’t hesitate. He leans into it, gasping softly against me before he fists my shirt in both hands, pulling me closer, pressing up into me like he’s been waiting for this all night. And fuck, maybe he has. I shove him back into the couch, my weight pressing into him, my hands gripping tight—his throat, his waist, his hip—feeling, claiming. He groans, the sound sharp, raw, like he’s never been handled like this before. Like he’s never wanted to be. And now he’s got me—high, reckless, dominant—right here, giving him exactly what he asked for. And I’m not stopping this time. Not until he knows exactly what it means to push me. I stand up slowly, rolling my shoulders like I’m shaking off the last bit of restraint. My jaw is tight, my eyes dark, my whole demeanor shifting into something heavier, something final. Cole watches from the couch, breath still uneven, lips still parted from the force of the last kiss. He doesn’t move yet, just waiting, watching. I exhales through my nose, running my tongue over my teeth before speaking. “Get up.” Cole blinks, his pupils still blown wide, his body still buzzing from the drugs, the tension, everything. “What?” I tilt my head, eyes narrowing. “You heard me. Get the fuck up.” Cole swallows, pushing himself up slowly, cautious, but not scared. Not hesitant. If anything, there’s something eager in the way he moves, like he’s been waiting for m to take control like this. I sit back down, reaching for the pipe, tapping out another hit. I don’t even look at Cole as I flick the torch on, heating the glass. “Strip.” The single word cuts through the thick air. Cole exhales sharply, his fingers flexing at his sides, his breath catching slightly like it finally hit him—this is happening. I exhales a thick cloud toward the ceiling before finally looking at Cole again. “I said strip, faggot.” I hear him whisper “fuck” under his breath. Like a small whimper. His fingers go to the hem of his shirt, gripping it, lifting it slowly—almost too slow. Testing. Watching my reaction. I exhale another stream of smoke, my eyes tracking every movement, every inch of skin revealed. Cole lets the shirt slip off, tossing it aside before moving to the button of his jeans. His fingers work the metal, the sound of the zipper cutting through the thick silence of the room. I take another hit, inhaling deep, letting the warmth crawl through my veins, amplifying everything. Cole pushes his jeans down his hips, stepping out of them. He’s standing there now, exposed, chest rising and falling, fingers twitching at his sides. But he’s not shy. He’s not covering himself. He’s waiting. I set the pipe down on the table and lean forward, elbows on my knees, dragging my tongue over my bottom lip as I look Cole up and down, taking my time with it. Not just a pretty face, but a pretty everything. His dick hung their uncut, freshly shaven, smooth until his legs, covered in carpet of hair. I looked up at him with a smirk and motioned for him to turn around. Now, I’ve seen a lot of ass in my day, but I’ll admit, there’s something about his. Perfectly round, smooth. Innocent. I tilt my head, smirking. “Now get over here.” Cole steps forward, closing the small space between us, his breath coming a little quicker now. He’s standing right in front of me, bare, exposed, but not nervous. Locking eyes with him, I reach down and tug at the bulge in my pants, gripping myself through the fabric. I was rock hard and couldn’t take it anymore. “Get on your knees.” Cole lowers himself. When he settled onto his knees between my legs, looking up at me with those blown-out green eyes, lips parted, chest still rising and falling— “Fuck, you look good like that.” I let out greedily “Now take my cock out of these jeans,” I demanded. Cole didn’t hesitate. His hands moved immediately to my bulge, one palm pressing firmly against it, his fingers curling to squeeze. A small smirk ghosted across his lips as he felt the weight of me through the denim. Then, with steady hands, he reached for my zipper, dragging it down with agonizing slowness. I lifted my hips slightly, helping him as he tugged my jeans down past my thighs. The moment they pooled around my ankles, my cock sprang free—thick, uncut, and standing proud, a full nine inches of me throbbing in the open air. My dark pubes framed it, a stark contrast against my skin. Cole’s breath hitched. His eyes widened, a mix of hunger and awe flashing across his face. He licked his lips unconsciously, his gaze locked onto me like I was the only thing in the world he wanted. “Go ahead faggot, taste it” Cole’s breath shuddered as he exhaled, his lips parting, so close I could feel the warmth ghosting over my skin. His fingers tightened instinctively around my shaft, stroking slowly, teasingly, as if testing my patience. I smirked, threading my fingers through his hair, gripping just enough to make him gasp. “Did you not hear me? Put that mouth to work.” My voice was low, firm, an order he had no intention of disobeying. With a slow motion he leaned in, his tongue flicking out to taste the head of my cock. A soft groan rumbled in my chest as I watched him, savoring the way his lips stretched over me, the warmth of his mouth enveloping the tip. “Good faggot,” I murmured, tightening my grip in his hair as I guided him lower. Cole moaned around me, the vibration sending sparks of pleasure straight to my core. His tongue swirled, tracing every ridge, every sensitive spot, his movements both eager and controlled. His hands braced against my thighs as he took me deeper, inch by inch, his throat relaxing as he pushed himself further. I let my head fall back against the couch, pleasure surging through me as he worked. The wet heat of his mouth, the way he hollowed his cheeks and sucked, the sinful noises slipping from his throat—it was intoxicating. “Fuck, just like that,” I praised, looking down at him. His eyes met mine, dark and needy, desperate to please. I gave him what he wanted, thrusting gently into his mouth, watching as his lips stretched wider, as his throat tensed around me. He took it, moaning as if he needed this as much as I did. His fingers dug into my thighs, urging me on, silently begging for more. And who was I to deny him? I tightened my grip in his hair, yanking his head back just enough to force his eyes up to mine. His lips were already slick, parted, desperate for more. “You’re taking your time,” I murmured, my thumb brushing over his swollen bottom lip before pressing against his tongue. He let me, obedient, his eyes dark with need. “I didn’t tell you to tease, did I?” He shook his head, my thumb still resting on his tongue, making him struggle to answer. “No, Sir,” he managed, voice hoarse, breathless. I smirked. “Then do it right.” Without hesitation, he parted his lips wider, taking me back into the heat of his mouth. This time, I didn’t let him set the pace. My hand in his hair held him still as I pushed deeper, his throat tightening around me as he tried to adjust. His fingers gripped my thighs, nails digging in, but he didn’t pull away. He knew better. “Relax,” I ordered, my other hand settling heavy on his jaw, guiding him. His lashes fluttered, a choked sound escaping him as I pressed deeper. When he finally opened up for me, his throat flexing, I groaned in satisfaction. “That’s it,” I praised, keeping my grip firm as I began to fuck his mouth in slow, deliberate strokes. His moans vibrated around me, sending pleasure curling through my spine. I controlled every movement, every inch he took, every breath he struggled for. He let me. He wanted this—wanted to be used, to be owned. His hands trembled against my thighs, but he didn’t resist. He let me push, let me test his limits. My cock slid deeper, his throat tightening, and I held him there for a beat, watching the way his eyes watered, the way his body shuddered. “Look at you,” I murmured, thumb stroking his jaw as I pulled back, letting him gasp for air before pushing in again. “So desperate to please.” A needy whimper escaped him. I held him there for a moment longer, feeling the way his throat flexed around me, the way his breath hitched, his body shaking from the effort of keeping still. His fingers clenched against my thighs, his chest rising and falling in shallow, controlled breaths. Then, finally, I eased back, my grip in his hair loosening as I pulled out of his mouth. A wet gasp tore from his throat as he sagged against me, his lips red and glistening, spit connecting us in thin strands that broke as he swallowed hard. I let my thumb trace the edge of his jaw, tilting his face up so he had no choice but to meet my gaze. His eyes were hazy, his pupils blown wide, his chest still heaving as he tried to steady himself. “Breathe,” I ordered, my tone softer now, but no less commanding. “Think you can handle more, boy?” His breath hitched, but his answer came immediately this time—steady, certain. “Yes, Sir.” I tilted his chin up higher, forcing him to hold my gaze. “That’s what I like to hear.” Then I leaned in, my lips ghosting over his ear as I whispered my next command. “Stand up,” I ordered. He moved immediately, though his legs shook slightly as he rose. I watched the way his chest rose and fell, the way his fingers twitched at his sides as he fought the urge to reach for me, to cling to whatever I decided to give him. “Turn around,” I murmured. His lips parted slightly, his pupils still blown wide, but he obeyed without question. I let my eyes drag over him as he turned, taking in the way his body tensed under my gaze, the way he seemed to fight the urge to squirm. “Good boy,” I praised, letting my hand trail down his spine, slow and deliberate. I felt the shudder that rippled through him, the way he sucked in a breath as my palm ghosted lower. Then I leaned in, my lips grazing the shell of his ear as I gave my next command. “Bend over.” For a split second, he hesitated—just long enough for me to tangle my fingers in his hair and pull his head back slightly. “You heard me.” My voice was low, firm, leaving no room for doubt. “Bend over.” A whimper slipped from his throat as he nodded, his body moving instinctively to obey. He braced himself against the nearest surface, his hands gripping the edge as he arched his back slightly, presenting himself exactly how I wanted him. I smirked, trailing my fingers down his spine again, feeling the way he shuddered under my touch. “Now that’s a sight,” I murmured, stepping back just enough to take him in fully. “So eager. So obedient.” I let my palm rest on his lower back, pressing down just enough to keep him in place. “But let’s see if you can stay that way.”