Aw C'mon, You Can Take It, Dude!

Tony Genius sits there rubbing the back of his neck, voice low like he's scared somebody might hear. “Bro, she wants it in the ass,” he blurts, eyes darting around the room. “And I’ve never done that. What if I wreck her?” Trevor Brooks raises an eyebrow, already half-grinning. “So you want to test-drive the whole thing on me? I’m about her size. You’ll get the feel.” Tony’s cheeks go pink, but he nods. They drop their shorts, sit on the edge of the couch, and start stroking side-by-side—slow at first, just getting blood pumping. Tony’s fingers wander, slick with lube, tracing circles around Trevor’s hole. He pushes one in, watches Trevor’s abs jump, listens to the short, sharp breath that slips out. “Deeper,” Trevor mutters, voice low and rough. Tony works a second finger past the ring, twisting, stretching, learning the give. His own cock stands hard, throbbing against his palm while he pumps. When he lines up and presses the head in, Trevor groans, grabs a fistful of couch cushion, and tells him how it feels—angle, speed, pressure—guiding Tony like a coach with a prize on the line. Tony’s hips snap forward, deeper each time, the slap of skin loud in the room. He pulls out, fingers Trevor open again, watches the tight muscle clench, then sinks back in harder, chasing the right rhythm. Sweat beads on both of them. Tony’s inked forearm flexes, the dark lines shifting as he grips Trevor’s hip for leverage. Every thrust, every moan, is data he’ll use later. Right now it’s practice. Nothing more.