Getting It Straight

Rocky steps up to the plate, bat in hand, his eyes locked on Falcon's favorite, Rod Barry—the sun-kissed pool guy who's dodged Rocky's summer-long seduction like a pro. Back at base camp, the boys huddle around the video phone, beers in grip, chuckling as Rocky swings for the fences with moves that scream intent. It begins with playful splashes in the shimmering pool, water arcing like laughter, bodies brushing in the spray. But innocence cracks fast. Rocky's hand lingers on Rod's slick chest, fingers tracing the ridges of muscle earned from endless laps. Rod feigns resistance, a smirk betraying him, before he pulls Rocky close, their mouths crashing in a hungry clash. Clothes hit the deck in a wet heap. Rocky drops to his knees, taking Rod's thick cock deep, throat working with deliberate rhythm, salt and chlorine mingling on his tongue. Rod groans, fingers tangling in Rocky's hair, thrusting with building urgency. They shift—Rocky bent over the pool's edge, Rod behind him, sliding in slow at first, then pounding hard, skin slapping against skin, water rippling with each drive. Sweat beads, breaths ragged; Rocky arches back, chasing the edge. Climax hits them like a summer storm—Rod pulling out to spill hot across Rocky's ass, Rocky stroking himself to shuddering release. The boys whoop through the screen. Rocky seals the win, bet claimed, his man conquered in a haze of steam and satisfaction.