Gay Guy and Straight Jock: Everything Including Fisting

Lorenzo had lived with Anton for six weeks before the apartment started to feel too small for both of them. He was twenty-four, a graphic designer who worked from the second bedroom’s desk, and Anton was twenty-two, a college lacrosse player whose gear bag always smelled like grass and tape. They had been paired by the listing site and had never pretended they weren’t circling each other.

Lorenzo watched him without apology. Anton came back from practice shirtless more often than not, sweat shining on the heavy shelf of his chest, his arms thick from stick work, his shorts riding low on hips that had no business looking that good. Lorenzo let his eyes stay. He said, more than once, that Anton’s body was the best thing in the apartment. Anton flushed, laughed, and did not tell him to stop looking.

Anton noticed the looking. He started noticing it in the kitchen, in the hallway, when Lorenzo’s hand brushed his wrist passing a beer. He was straight, or he had been, and the curiosity that rose in him was loud enough that he stopped calling it a joke. He liked the way Lorenzo’s voice dropped when he said his name. He liked the heat that gathered low in his gut when he caught Lorenzo staring at his ass in gray practice shorts. They talked about it at the table one night, both of them sober, both of them clear. The attraction was mutual. They were going to see what it was instead of pretending the air between them wasn’t charged.

“You’re sure?” Lorenzo asked.

“I’m sure I want to find out,” Anton said. His voice was rough. “I keep thinking about your hands on me. That’s not going away.”

Lorenzo nodded once. The decision sat between them, clean and wanted.

The banter after that was worse, which meant better. Anton came home late from film and lingered in the doorway of Lorenzo’s room in nothing but a towel, water still beading on his shoulders, and asked if the view was up to the designer’s standards. Lorenzo told him the view would be better without the towel. Anton held his ground and grinned, then left the towel on the floor on purpose when he walked to his own room. They cooked together and bumped hips on purpose. Lorenzo’s palm landed on the small of Anton’s back and stayed. Anton leaned into it until Lorenzo’s fingers slid lower, over the curve of his ass, and Anton’s breath caught hard enough that the spatula clattered into the pan.

At night they sat on the couch with a game muted and their thighs touching. Anton’s hand found Lorenzo’s knee and did not move. Lorenzo turned his face and spoke against Anton’s ear, low and filthy, telling him exactly what he wanted to do with that thick cock and that tight jock ass. Anton’s ears went red. His dick strained against his sweats. He said he was straight and then, in the same breath, said he couldn’t stop imagining Lorenzo’s mouth. The contradiction sat in the room like heat.

After the next home game they didn’t even sit. Anton dropped his bag, still damp from the shower at the field, and looked at Lorenzo with his jaw set. “It’s cracking,” he said. “Whatever I thought I was. I want you. I want all of it. Don’t hold back on me.”

Lorenzo crossed the room and kissed him.

Anton’s mouth opened under his immediately, hungry, no hesitation. He tasted like mint and the end of a long day. His hands came up and grabbed Lorenzo’s shirt, yanking him closer, and the sound he made when their chests met was almost a growl. Lorenzo walked him backward until Anton’s shoulders hit the wall. They kissed like they had been waiting the whole six weeks, which they had. Tongues sliding, teeth catching lips, Anton’s big hands roaming under Lorenzo’s shirt and over his ribs, then down to palm his ass and haul him in.

Lorenzo ground against him. Anton’s cock was already hard, a thick ridge against Lorenzo’s hip, and Lorenzo rolled his own against it until both of them were panting into the kiss. Anton broke just far enough to speak, voice wrecked. “Do everything. I mean it. I want your mouth, I want to fuck you, I want you in me. I’ve been thinking about your fingers in my ass for a week. Don’t stop at half.”

“You tell me if anything’s too much,” Lorenzo said against his mouth.

“I’ll tell you to go harder,” Anton said, and dragged him toward the bedroom.

They stripped on the way, shirts yanked over heads, pants shoved down, socks kicked aside. Anton’s body was even better bare: wide shoulders, thick thighs, a heavy cock already flushed and leaking, balls drawn tight. Lorenzo was leaner, darker hair trailing down his stomach, his own cock standing rigid. They hit the bed in a tangle and kept kissing, hands everywhere, Anton’s palm wrapping both of them and stroking until the friction made Lorenzo swear.

“On your back,” Lorenzo said.

Anton went, spreading his legs without being asked twice, one knee bent, eager and flushed from chest to cock. Lorenzo settled between his thighs and took him into his mouth in one long slide, lips stretching around the thick head, then down until his nose brushed the trimmed hair at the base. Anton shouted. His hand landed in Lorenzo’s hair and held, not forcing, just gripping while Lorenzo worked him deep, throat opening, spit slicking the shaft. Lorenzo hollowed his cheeks and pulled off slow, then sank again, gagging once on purpose and swallowing past it until Anton’s cock nudged the back of his throat on every stroke.

“Fuck, your mouth,” Anton gasped. “Deeper. Yeah. Like that.”

Lorenzo’s free hand slid lower, two fingers already wet from his own spit, and pressed against Anton’s hole. Anton’s hips jerked. He bore down, opening for them, and Lorenzo pushed both fingers in to the second knuckle while he kept sucking. Anton’s ass clenched and then yielded, hot and tight, and the sound he made was raw. Lorenzo crooked his fingers, found the firm swell inside, and rubbed while he deepthroated him in steady, filthy pulls. Anton’s thighs shook. Precum flooded Lorenzo’s tongue.

“My turn,” Anton said, voice cracking. “I want to taste you. Get up here.”

They shifted. Anton went down on him with less grace and more hunger, licking the head, then taking him halfway and groaning at the weight on his tongue. Lorenzo guided him with a hand on the back of his neck, not pushing past what Anton could take, and Anton took more anyway, spit running down his chin, eyes watering, cock hard against the sheets. Lorenzo fingered him again while Anton sucked, three fingers now, working him open until Anton was moaning around his cock and rocking back onto the stretch.

They sixty-nined until both of them were slick and desperate, then Lorenzo pulled free and reached for the lube on the nightstand. He coated his cock and pressed two fingers back into Anton, scissoring, watching that tight hole shine. “You still want everything?”

“Everything,” Anton said. “Fuck me. Then I’ll fuck you. I want all of it tonight.”

Lorenzo lined up and pushed in slow. Anton’s ass gripped him, hot and relentless, and Anton’s mouth fell open on a broken curse. Lorenzo sank to the hilt and held there, letting him adjust, then started to thrust, deep and measured, the wet sound of it filling the room. Anton wrapped his legs around Lorenzo’s waist and pulled him closer, begging for harder, and Lorenzo gave it to him, hips snapping, balls slapping skin, sweat already gathering at his temples. He fucked him in long strokes that punched little sounds out of Anton’s chest, then shorter ones that ground against his prostate until Anton was clawing at the sheets and leaking all over his own stomach.

“Turn over,” Lorenzo said.

Anton rolled onto his hands and knees, ass up, back arched, looking over his shoulder with his mouth open. Lorenzo drove back in and took him hard in that position, one hand on Anton’s hip, the other between his shoulder blades, pinning him into the mattress rhythm. The slap of skin was loud. Anton pushed back to meet every thrust, vocal and filthy, telling Lorenzo to wreck him, to use that hole, that he could take it. Lorenzo did, fucking him until his own control frayed, then pulled out with a wet sound and rolled onto his back.

“Ride me,” he said. “Reverse. I want to watch your ass take it.”

Anton swung a leg over and sank down facing Lorenzo’s feet, hands braced on Lorenzo’s thighs, and the view was obscene: that thick jock ass spreading around Lorenzo’s cock, hole stretched and glistening, Anton’s heavy balls swinging as he started to bounce. He rode hard, dropping his weight, grinding in circles, moaning every time the head dragged over his prostate. Lorenzo gripped his hips and thrust up to meet him, sweat running down his chest, the bed frame knocking the wall. Anton’s cock slapped his own stomach, untouched and dripping, and he kept going until his thighs burned and he had to slow, panting, still full.

They switched again. Lorenzo got on his back and pulled his knees up. Anton slicked himself and pushed in, and the stretch made Lorenzo groan, head tipping back. Anton fucked him in missionary with the same hungry focus he brought to a faceoff, thick cock driving deep, one hand braced beside Lorenzo’s head, the other stroking Lorenzo’s cock in time. He was vocal the whole way, telling Lorenzo how tight he was, how good it felt to be inside him, how he wasn’t stopping until they were both ruined. He flipped Lorenzo onto his stomach and took him from behind, chest to back, biting at his shoulder, hips pounding, the wet slap relentless. Lorenzo came the first time like that, spilling over Anton’s fist and the sheets, clenching so hard Anton swore and had to still himself or follow.

They didn’t stop. Anton pulled out, still hard, and Lorenzo turned and kissed him, messy and open, tasting sweat. Then Lorenzo spread Anton’s cheeks and put his mouth on him.

He rimmed him thoroughly, tongue flat and then pointed, licking around the rim and pushing inside, spit running down to Anton’s balls. Anton buried his face in a pillow and moaned, pushing back, hole fluttering against Lorenzo’s tongue. Lorenzo ate him until Anton was shaking and begging, then reached for the toy they had bought together two days earlier and never used: a thick, curved silicone cock, heavy in the hand, and a slimmer plug still in its sleeve. He lubed the plug and worked it into Anton while he kept licking, then traded it for the dildo, pressing the broad head against that loosened hole and sliding it in inch by inch while Anton gasped and nodded and said yes, yes, more.

“Both,” Anton managed. “You said everything. I want your cock and that. I can take it.”

Lorenzo slicked himself again, pulled the dildo almost out, and pressed his own cock alongside it at the rim. Anton’s hole stretched obscenely around both, the burn bright and wanted, and he bore down with a broken shout as Lorenzo eased in beside the toy. The double fill made Anton’s whole body lock, then melt. Lorenzo fucked him shallow at first, the dildo held steady in his other hand, then deeper, the two shafts dragging together inside that gripping heat. Anton came without a hand on his cock, spilling across the sheets in thick pulses, ass clamping so hard Lorenzo had to grit his teeth. He kept moving through it, slow and deep, until Anton was whimpering and still hard, oversensitive and asking for more anyway.

Lorenzo eased both out. Anton’s hole gaped, wet and open, fluttering. Lorenzo coated his hand to the wrist, folded his fingers, and pressed them to that shining rim.

“You want my fist,” he said. It wasn’t a question so much as a check.

“I want it,” Anton said, voice hoarse and sure. “All the way. I’ve been thinking about your whole hand in me. Do it. Please.”

Lorenzo worked him open with four fingers first, twisting, adding lube until it ran down Anton’s taint. Anton breathed and pushed out, and the widest part of Lorenzo’s knuckles slipped past the rim with a wet, obscene give. Anton cried out, not in pain he wanted to stop, but in the shocked pleasure of being that full. Lorenzo paused, let him adjust, then sank deeper, past the knuckles, his hand disappearing into that hot clutch until his wrist met the stretched ring of muscle. Anton’s ass gripped him like a fist of its own. Lorenzo curled his fingers inside, found the prostate, and rubbed in slow, firm circles while his other hand wrapped Anton’s cock and stroked.

Anton came again almost at once, a sharp, helpless orgasm that wrung a shout out of him and painted his stomach. Lorenzo didn’t pull out. He kept the pressure steady, fucking him with small movements of his wrist, the heel of his hand grinding that spot, and stroked him through the aftershocks into another peak. Anton’s voice broke. He begged, filthy and desperate, telling Lorenzo not to stop, that he could feel it in his gut, that he wanted to come on that fist until he couldn’t. Sweat soaked the sheets. The room smelled like sex and lube and skin. Lorenzo worked him through a third orgasm, this one deeper, rolling, Anton’s cock pulsing in his grip while his ass spasmed around the wrist buried inside him, milking, clenching, releasing in waves that made his whole body shudder.

When the last one ebbed, Anton was shaking, eyes wet, mouth open, utterly wrecked and still murmuring yes. Lorenzo kissed his thigh, eased his hand free with care and more lube, and watched that used hole flutter closed by degrees. He was covered in sweat. Anton was streaked with cum. They found each other’s mouths and kissed for a long time, slow and messy, tasting salt and each other, no urgency left, only the heat of what they had just done.

They made it to the shower on unsteady legs. Under the warm water Lorenzo washed Anton’s back, his chest, the tender place between his cheeks, gentle now, thorough. Anton did the same for him, big hands careful, rinsing sweat and spend from Lorenzo’s stomach and thighs. They stood under the spray with their foreheads touching, breathing, the water loud around them.

“Again,” Anton said quietly. “Not just tonight. I want this. All of it. With you.”

“Whenever you want,” Lorenzo said.

Anton nodded. His hand stayed on Lorenzo’s waist. The water ran. Neither of them spoke after that. The bathroom held only the sound of the shower and the quiet of two men who had already said everything that mattered.