Fourgy

Bo lounged on the sun-warmed bed, the siesta haze wrapping around them like a secret. Steve, that enigmatic spark of mischief, slid in close, his breath hot against Bo's skin. Fingers traced lazy circles over Bo's cheeks, dipping lower to tease the tight ring of his asshole—light at first, then insistent, circling with a promise that made Bo's pulse quicken. Steve's cock, thick and eager, pressed in next, breaching that forbidden heat with a slow, deliberate thrust. Bo gasped, arching into it, the burn blooming into raw pleasure. They moved together, bodies slick and urgent on the rumpled sheets. Steve fucked him deep, pulling out only to plunge again, each stroke claiming more. Bo's moans filled the room, unchecked. But Steve craved the thrill of exposure. He guided Bo to the open window, the breeze whispering over their naked forms like an unseen lover. There, with the world just beyond the sill, Steve bent Bo over the frame and drove in harder—relentless, rhythmic, pounding that ass until Bo trembled on the edge. Again and again, Steve took him, switching spots from bed to window and back, his hips snapping with feral hunger. Sweat glistened, muscles strained. Finally, Steve pulled out, fisting his cock as release hit. He scooped the hot spill of cum from his hand and fed it to Bo—salty, thick fingers sliding past parted lips. Bo sucked them clean, savoring the intimate gift, his own desire coiling tighter still.