(4:20 a.m.)
Ash wasn’t sure what woke him at first—just the heat, maybe. But then he felt the weight of another man in his bed. The familiar stretch of his hole filled by a big, hard cock.
Slade. Still inside him.
Rick was pressed close behind, lodged deep, one arm clamped tight across his waist, the other braced into the mattress. His hips rolled slow and steady, grinding into Ash with a force that belied the haze they were both caught in. It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t careful. It was primal, compulsive, something their bodies had started on their own, long before their minds could catch up.
Ash blinked into the dark, eyes unfocused, breath stuttering as another thrust rocked into him. His hole opened to it, wet and aching, already shaped to Rick’s size. He was being fucked in his sleep. That was the only way he could describe it—like his flesh had been dragged to life while the rest of him was still dreaming. Slick sounds filled the space between their skin. Rick never stopped moving. Not even to speak. Not even to look. Just held him there, chest to his back, thighs pressed to his, rutting into him like it was all he knew how to do. Like his body refused to give up.
He let out a soft, ragged sound as Rick’s cock drove rougher, pushing in all the way, the stretch reigniting every ache and throb from before. His own cock had stiffened, trapped between his stomach and the damp sheets. He couldn’t move much, couldn’t even think clearly. Everything was muted and thick, like swimming underwater. But the heat built with every shove,spreading low through his belly, tight in his thighs. His flesh responded whether he wanted it to or not.
Rick’s breath was harsh along the side of his neck. No words; only low, quiet grunts, as he ground in balls-deep, plunging beyond Ash’s second hole and grinding against his ass like he wanted to merge with him and never leave. Ash tightened around him, helpless, his ass milking every inch of that fat, merciless cock. Soon, his whole frame trembled—an orgasm without release, no cum, just a blinding inner shudder that started within and radiated outward, leaving his limbs leaden and boneless, his entire being in a state of golden bliss.
Groaning, Rick’s pace quickened, rougher now, almost angry, and Ash lost track of where the pleasure ended and the exhaustion began. When Rick came again, rich and hard, Ash felt it in his throat. The strength of it. The ample, molten flood within him. Rick’s hips jerked one last time before he stilled, pulsing deep, locked in place like he meant to live there.
Even then, he didn’t pull out. Didn’t roll away. Simply slumped forward and went inert, one long exhale ghosting over Ash’s ear, cock still buried to the hilt. Ash lay there, dazed, letting his eyes flutter closed. The sheets were a mess. Rick was too heavy, too warm on him. But he didn’t want to move, and Rick’s arm curled tighter, possessive even in rest. Anchoring him there.
And just like that, sleep took them again.
(6:37 a.m.)
Sometime near dawn, the hunger sparked anew.
Ash stirred, pulled into awareness by the strange, crawling itch that had taken root under his skin. It throbbed low in his stomach, worse in his ass, a live wire curling in his core. He squirmed beneath the weight pinning him down, disoriented and half-drenched, every inch of him feverish.
Rick was still inside him. Still mostly erect.
The realization hit like a shockwave—lust, fear, disbelief knotting tight in his gut. It shouldn’t have been possible. And yet, there it was: that sweet, dull pressure, the wide stretch of Rick’s cock lodged deep, hefty and unmoving, holding him open. Secured. He shifted, instinct overriding thought, hips rolling, and Rick grunted behind him in his sleep.
Ash felt it—Rick’s cock twitching, stiffening, swelling. A sharp breath escaped him, the burn reigniting. Some distant part of him knew this was reckless, dangerous. But the hunger didn’t care. The need was louder than reason.
He rose enough to twist around, disengaging only long enough to push Rick flat on his back. Then he straddled the man’s waist, reached behind to guide his cock home, and sank onto it with a shuddering gasp. His thighs burned. His hole throbbed, sore and swollen, overstretched, flooded—yet it welcomed the solid intrusion like it was always meant to be there. Like it didn’t know how to be empty anymore.
Ash began to move, slow and tentative at first, testing the angle, easing himself lower until he took every inch. He rode him shallow, hips rolling in lazy circles, breath hitching with each wet grind. Rick’s cock was searing and huge, perfectly rigid, the stretch almost unbearable—but the pleasure edged too close to rapture to stop. The friction ignited everything. The itch flared higher.
Rick stirred beneath him. Groaned softly. But didn’t wake. His hands found Ash’s hips, steadying him, a sleepy rumble of approval vibrating in his chest.
Ash bit his lip and rode faster. Each bounce made a filthy sound, ass slapping against groin, the tension building in his core, a volcano ready to erupt. He slammed onto Rick again, and again, and again, every motion faster, rougher, messier. Sweat trickled down his spine. His head fell forward, curls clinging tohis damp face. He was panting, desperate, overtaken. His cock, flushed and untouched, dragged over Rick’s stomach, smearing precum across sweat-slick abs. But he didn’t need to be touched to come. Not with this man.
Then it hit. No sharp peak, no fireworks; just a slow, seismic release, a quake that began in his hole and radiated outward in long, rolling waves until every cell of him was consumed. He jerked once, hard, his ass clenching down, his voice breaking on a strangled cry.
Rick rumbled and bucked upward, half-asleep, hips slamming into Ash with brute instinct. Eyes closed, hands gripping Ash’s hips, hauling him lower, driving into him with a sleep-heavy force.
Ash cried out, overwhelmed, as Rick fucked into him from below, blindly, like some animal part of him knew exactly where he was, even in the dark of stupor. He came with a snarl, and a thick load spilled into Ash, hot and endless, coating his insides. The high was instant. All-consuming.
He collapsed forward onto Rick’s chest, boneless, twitching around the length filling him. Rick’s arms wrapped around him, unyielding, locking him in place. Ash turned his head and burrowed his face in the crook of Rick’s neck, his fingers trailing through the soft fur of his pecs.
They stayed like that, tangled and spent, bodies glued together, joined in every possible way. Ash could barely feel the light breaking at the edges of the curtains. All he knew was the hum beneath his skin, the way his limbs felt waterlogged and warm, the slow, rhythmic pulse of Rick’s heartbeat against his cheek, and the solid fullness of his cock in his ass.
Sleep came once more like a wave, and he let it take him under.
(11:40 a.m.)
The next time Ash awoke, it was to the sound of fists hammering on his front door. Not the polite kind of knocking either. The kind that said cops, or worse—someone who didn’t give a damn about doorbells or warrants.
He stirred with a sigh, eyes blinking open to a ceiling washed in bleary light. Outside, the distant honk of a horn blared over city traffic. Poe let out a sulky meow from somewhere near the fireplace. Ash’s body ached in the best possible way, skin flushed, hips pinned by the heavy sprawl of Rick Slade, still very much inside him.
Well. No wonder he was so deliciously warm.
