House Rules

Christian claimed Marco as his own plaything, a gift too tempting to resist. They wandered the winding trails of the forest, breaths syncing with the rustle of leaves underfoot, sunlight dappling their skin like scattered gold. Desire simmered, building until they collapsed into a sun-warmed clearing, the grass soft as a lover's whisper. Tentative at first, their touches lingered—fingertips tracing collarbones, lips brushing with shy hunger. Christian's heart raced as Marco's hands roamed lower, parting his cheeks with gentle insistence. Marco dove in, tongue lapping at Christian's steamy ass, hot and insistent, savoring the musky heat that bloomed there. Christian arched, a low moan escaping, the world narrowing to that wet, probing rhythm. Marco didn't hold back for long. He rose, slick with need, and thrust into Christian—deep, deliberate strokes that built like a gathering storm. Christian gripped the earth, pushing back to meet each plunge, their bodies slick and straining. Pleasure coiled tight, then shattered. Christian came first, spurting ropes of jism onto the grass in hot pulses. Marco followed, burying himself to the hilt, flooding Christian with his own thick release, both of them trembling in the afterglow.