Roughin' It

Out on his morning jog, Nash Lawler twists his ankle hard. He hobbles along until Ty Colt appears, offering a strong arm to lean on. Together they limp back to Nash's place, where Ty dials for help. Once Nash sinks into the couch, Ty's hands work magic—kneading the swelling, easing the pain. The touch turns tender, insistent. Ty's fingers trace higher, then his mouth claims Nash's cock, sucking with deliberate hunger. Nash moans, his body igniting. Gratitude surges through him. He pulls Ty close, swallows that thick shaft whole, lips sliding down to the base. Then Nash parts those firm cheeks, dives in with his tongue, rimming deep and wet. Debt and desire tangle in Nash's gut. He reclines, legs splayed wide, offering his untouched hole like a secret gift. Ty leans in, lips brushing the tight ring, teasing it open with kisses. He presses forward—slow, careful—his cock breaching that virgin warmth. Gentle thrusts build rhythm, in and out. Nash's whimpers beg for more, so Ty obliges: faster, harder, plunging to the hilt. They lose themselves in the blaze, this first split of innocence binding them. Side by side now, hands fly over slick lengths. They erupt together, ropes of cum spilling hot and free.