Hi y'all, here's chapter 4 where we meet the last of Carl's regular partners, Ryan, and find out what his deal is. Next, now that we have all main characters set up, we start exploring how they interact, starting with Malik and Jake.
After Jake’s visit, they slid back into their familiar hum, like nothing had happened. Mornings together, days apart, finding no work, lazy evening sharing junk food in front of the television. The clothes kept coming. The cumrags as well.
One evening, they were sprawled out, same as always. The TV droned on, some cooking show neither cared about and which allowed them to scroll, but Malik’s eyes kept snagging on Carl’s hands, fidgety tonight, thumb swiping his phone screen every few minutes like he was going from one page to another on a loop. Malik threw a look towards Car’ls screen : he kept looking at the score for a game of college soccer, their school’s team scrapping it out.
“Yo, Carly, what’s up with you? You checking that shit like it’s life or death. You bet on it or something?”
“Nah, nothing like that,” he said. He set the beer down, preparing to say something. “It’s, uh, it’s Ryan. One of my guys. The last regular one. He’s on the team, he’s a midfielder or the midfielder, I’m never sure. Anyway, when they lose, he… he needs me after. He needs to unwind.” His eyes flicked back to the phone, the score still tied late in the second half, and he chewed his lip, a habit Malik clocked when Carl was nervous but trying not to show it.
“You nervous they’re gonna win?”
“Fuck, yeah. Kinda.”
Malik sat up slowly, thinking. Jake’s visit still rattled around in his head and it’d flipped something in him, made him bolder, less content to just sit on the sidelines. He tapped the ash into the tray, keeping his tone casual as if it was just an idea that came from nowhere, and not several nights of thinking. “So, what, do I gotta bounce with him? Or…” He hesitated, the words sticking for a second, then pushed past the weight in his chest. “Could I watch this time? Stay in the room, you know. See what’s up with this dude.” His eyes locked on Carl’s, steady but searching.
Carl blinked, caught off guard, his fingers tightening around the phone. “Ryan’s not like Jake or Tyson,” he said, shaking his head quick. “He’s… quieter, you know? Not loud or showy. Might freak him out, having you there. Jake’s DL but he was weirdly not phased by you, Tyson doesn’t care who’s around, but Ryan, he’s chill. He could get weird about extra eyes.” He paused, glancing at the screen again, the game ticking into stoppage time, then back at Malik, his hazel eyes softening. “We’ll see what he says when it’s over. Gotta wait for the score anyway, it’s not like he can answer now.”
Malik took another drag, dulling the impatience in his gut as they settled back into scrolling and ignoring the television.
Then Carl tilted his head, with some innocent look he pulled sometimes, voice light like he was testing the water. “Hey, uh… what about Dre? Is he good after the other night? When’s he coming around again? Been a minute.” His fingers tapped the phone case, casual but not, and Malik caught the spark behind it.
Malik smirked. “Dre’s asking about you, too, like he’s checking in but don’t wanna say it straight. Think he’s hooked on that little bedroom stunt you pulled, whatever it was. I could give him your Snap, let y’all sort it out direct. Save me the middleman bullshit.”
Carl shook his head no. “Let Dre ask for it if he wants it.” His phone pinged, and the game ticker flashed the final score: home team down 2-1. Carl’s breath hitched. “Ah, they dropped it,” then the phone buzzed again, a call lighting up the screen, the letter R the only identification. “Hey, how you doing, yeah, tough one tonight,” Carl said, now pacing around the apartment. “You coming over? …Yeah, my friend’s still crashing here, the one I told you about.” He glanced at Malik, a quick check-in, then kept going. “Could he stick around, maybe, like, watch? He’s not from school, he’s a dealer so he knows how to keep his mouth shut, won’t say shit. No, Ty’s met him. Yeah. Yeah!” A pause, Carl’s brow furrowing as he listened. He added, “For me?” and then his eyes widened, a flicker of relief breaking through. “Okay, cool. See you soon.”
He hung up, turning to Malik with a grin that was both shy and thrilled. “He’s pissed about the game, said they fucked it in the last ten, but he’s fine with you staying if you do know how to keep it shut. Annoyed, but he’s coming anyway. Should be here quick. Guess we’re in for it now,” he said, soft but electric.
The joint was down to a stub by the time the knock hit, sharp and quick, cutting through the low drone of the TV. Carl bolted from the couch, bare feet slapping the hardwood. Malik stayed slouched, straining to catch the low murmur spilling from the entryway after Carl cracked the door. Ryan’s voice slipped through. It was deep, steady, not loud like Jake’s but carrying a weight that made Malik sit up a little straighter.
“Hey, baby,” Ryan said, the word landing like a pebble in still water. Malik’s brow ticked up, the nickname jarring after Tyson’s “Carly” and Jake’s “fag.” Carl’s reply was too quiet to catch, a mumble lost under the creak of the floor, but Ryan’s next line came clearer, edged with a tired bite. “Rough fuckin’ game. I thought we’d start right away, you know.”
A pause, then Carl’s voice, higher, apologetic, threading through the gap. “I’m sorry, Ry, he’s cool, I swear, he’s just here, come meet him.” Malik caught the faint shuffle of feet, the rustle of fabric, then a wet, quick sound of lips on lips. A kiss, short but firm. Carl’s tone dipped, pleading soft. “You tell me what I can do to make it up to you, baby.”
Ryan’s sigh was heavy, audible even from the couch, laced with a flicker of irritation. “I dunno, Carl. With some guy here? Feels off, it ain’t the same.” The door clicked shut, and their voices hushed for a beat, Carl’s low and coaxing, Ryan’s clipped but not harsh. Malik wanted in on this, wanted to see what Ryan brought out in Carl that Jake’s chaos and Tyson’s play didn’t.
Carl rounded the corner first, eyes flicking to Malik with a reassuring look. Ryan trailed behind, taller than Malik expected, 6’1” of lean muscle, all legs and quiet presence, his black hair damp and swept to one side, sticking to his forehead from the game’s sweat. His olive skin gleamed under the living room light, a faint scar catching the glow on his chin, and his deep brown eyes skimmed the room before landing on Malik. He was still in soccer gear, with a navy jersey clinging to his chest, shorts riding high on those runner’s thighs, high socks, but he’d swapped the cleats for beat-up slides. Malik clocked the tiredness in his slump, the way his shoulders sagged like the loss was still sitting on them. “Yo,” Malik said, lifting a hand in a lazy salute. Trying to make himself non-threatening.
Ryan nodded back, a quick jerk of his chin, his slides scuffing the floor as he shifted his weight. “Sup, man,” he muttered, not unfriendly but guarded, his gaze darting to Carl then back to Malik, sizing him up without the cocky edge Jake had carried. And he wasn’t calling him a nigger. Malik smiled politely, like this was a normal situation, and leaned back into the couch. “Y’all do your thing, man. Pretend I ain’t even here. I won’t blink, won’t say shit.” He tapped the joint stub into the ashtray, casual as hell, but his pulse kicked up, eyes locked on Ryan’s reaction.
Carl stepped closer to Ryan, his hand sliding up Ryan’s back, fingers tracing the damp jersey slow and soft. “It’s okay, baby,” he murmured, voice low and soothing. “He’s cool, I promise. Tyson’s met him, went fine, told me he had a stamp of approval. Even the one you don’t know about, he’s been here too, no problem. I told you.” Carl’s words hung there, easy but loaded, and Malik’s mind spun. Ryan knew about Tyson and vice versa, but they didn’t know about Jake. Had Tyson and Ryan ever teamed up on Carl? A threesome, Carl caught between both men. The thought hit low, a jolt in his gut, his jeans tightening as he pictured it, wondering if that idea would haunt him all the way to his nightly cumrag.
Ryan exhaled hard, running a hand through his sweaty hair. His eyes flicked to Carl, then the floor, then back up, a crease forming between his brows. “Yeah, whatever,” he said, voice flat but not pissed, just worn. “I ain’t feeling it right now, though. Gimme a beer and some smoke first, babe, I need to chill before I get into anything.” He dropped onto the armchair, legs splayed wide, the slides slipping half off his feet as he sank into the cushions. Carl nodded, already moving to the kitchen, leaving Malik and Ryan.
Malik watched him settle, intrigued. Ryan wasn’t charging in like Jake, all mouth and swagger, or acting all natural and chill like Tyson. This dude was holding back, moody but not mad, and it hooked Malik deeper. What did he do to Carl when the vibe was right? Was he slow, needy, taking his time after a loss sank in? Or did he flip a switch, get rough once the beer and weed loosened him up? Malik grabbed a fresh joint from the stash on the table, sparked it and passed it to Ryan as he studied the guy. “Rough one out there, huh?” Malik said, keeping it light, testing the water.
Ryan took the joint, his long fingers brushing Malik’s for a split second, and nodded slow. “Yeah, fucking sucked,” he muttered. “Last-minute header, shoulda cleared it, but we didn’t. Coach ripped us new ones after.” He inhaled deep, holding the smoke a beat before blowing it out, the cloud drifting toward the ceiling.
Carl came back with three cold beers, passing one to Ryan with a soft “Here, baby,” his fingers lingering on Ryan’s knuckles, giving one to Malik before he perched on the armrest beside him. Ryan cracked the can and took a long pull, his throat working as he swallowed, eyes half-closed like he was trying to shake the game off.
Malik clocked the way Carl’s hand rested light on Ryan’s shoulder, the easy closeness between them, and it stirred even more curiosity.
Ryan took more long pulls from the beer before he set it down on the armrest, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, his deep brown eyes flicking to Malik. The joint made its rounds, from one to the other and back to him. “So, Malik,” he started, smoke billowing out of his mouth, “you got a girl? Someone who’s wondering why you’re sleeping on this here couch?”
“Nah, man. Ain’t got time for that shit. Ain’t got the money for dates either. Solo for now.”
Ryan nodded, like he was filing it away. “You know anybody on campus, then? Team guys, class heads, anybody?”
Malik shrugged. “Not really. They’re just clients, you know, dealers don’t run with the college crowd that way. The only one I really know is right here, next to you.”
Ryan’s brow creased, his gaze sharpening for a beat before he leaned back, crossing one leg over the other. Casual man asking casual questions. “Aight, cool. So…” He paused, glancing at Carl perched on the armrest, then back to Malik, his voice dropping lower, direct but not harsh. “You sleeping with Carly? It’s okay if you are, obviously.”
Malik’s laugh came quick. “Nah, bruh, we ain’t like that.”
Carl jumped in fast, his voice soft but firm, hands fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. “Yeah, no, we’re just friends, Ry. That’s it. Malik’s crashing here, nothing else.”
Ryan he took it in, the tension in his shoulders loosening. He cracked his knuckles, the sound sharp in the quiet, then shot Malik a look. Not suspicious now, just settled. “Good to know,” he said, voice even, and Malik caught a flicker of relief in it, like Ryan had been sizing up a threat and found it empty.
But Malik wasn’t done, he wanted under this dude’s skin, wanted to crack what made him tick with Carl. He leaned forward, his smirk tugging wider. “So, why’s it cool with Tyson, then? He’s been here, fuckin’ Carly up, I don’t see you tripping over that, or the one you don’t know about. I met him.”
Ryan’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t snap, just paused. “Ain’t jealous, man,” he said, “Tyson’s Tyson, he does his thing, I do mine. I’m just wary of direct competition, you know? Too many cooks in the kitchn, shit gets messy.” He shrugged, the jersey shifting over his lean frame, and glanced at Carl, a silent beat passing between them, something unspoken locking into place. Carl slid off the armrest, his bare feet hitting the hardwood, and Ryan reached out, hooking an arm around his waist, pulling him down onto his lap with a gentle tug. Carl settled there, slight frame fitting easily against Ryan’s taller build. Ryan’s hand slid lower, caressing Carl’s ass through his jeans, slow and possessive, fingers tracing the curve like it was second nature. “When I’m here,” Ryan said, eyes back on Malik, “Carly’s like my girlfriend, you feel me? That’s how it works. After a shitty game like tonight, I need someone to take the edge off, make it right. Don’t want some hot Black dude who’s fucking my girl and sleeping on her couch every night watching me while I’m trying to get mine.” His hand squeezed Carl’s ass, firm but not rough, laying it bare.
Malik’s breath caught, the words hitting like a spark. Girlfriend. Not “fag” or “slut” like Jake spat and Tyson sang, not even a simple “Carly”, but girlfriend, like Ryan meant it in his own fucked-up way. His jeans tightened fast, the idea slamming into him. Carl as Ryan’s girl, curled up in his lap, taking care of him after a loss. He shifted on the couch, hiding the bulge growing hard.
Carl tilted his head back, resting it on Ryan’s shoulder, his hazel eyes half-lidded, a small hum slipping out as Ryan’s fingers kept moving. Malik caught the ease between them, the way Carl melted into it, and something bold flared up, sharper than before. “Yo, Ryan, game was trash, right? And Carly’s got you covered, right? Beer, weed, the works. Maybe kiss your girlfriend as a thank-you, huh? Show some love for the hookup.”
Ryan glanced at Carl, then turned back to Malik, his voice steady but warm. “Yeah, maybe I should,” he said, and shifted Carl in his lap, tilting his chin with a gentle nudge. Carl’s breath hitched, his lips parting, and Ryan leaned in, kissing him deep but not sloppy, lips moving with a hunger that wasn’t for show.
Malik watched, transfixed, growing even harder as Ryan pulled back, brushing Carl’s hair from his face with a murmured “Thanks, baby,” his eyes flicking to Malik like he’d won the dare without breaking a sweat. “Yo, Malik,” he said, “you sure we can really do this like you ain’t here? For real, man, no weird vibes, no interruptions?”
“I swear, man, I don’t wanna harsh your buzz,” he said, voice steady, locking eyes with Ryan. “I’m a ghost. Part of the couch. Y’all do you.”
Ryan nodded like he was weighing it one last time, then nodded again with more conviction, decision made. “Aight, cool,” he said, his hand sliding up Carl’s back, fingers tracing the spine through his shirt. “Anything that goes down in here, you can see. The living room’s fair game. But when we’re done, I’m taking Carly to the bedroom, and you ain’t following. The door stays open, you can listen if you want to, but that’s it. No peeking at the door. You’re part of the couch. Deal?”
“Deal.”
Ryan’s hand slid to Carl’s jaw, tilting his face close, and he dove in, lips crashing into Carl’s like he was drinking him in. Carl melted into it, his slight frame sinking lower in Ryan’s lap, hands clutching at the damp soccer jersey as their mouths moved together, wet and deliberate.
“Babe,” Ryan murmured against Carl’s lips, the word slipping out natural as breathing. He pulled back just enough to kiss the corner of Carl’s mouth, then his jaw, his hand kneading Carl’s ass again, slow and possessive. “Missed you, girl, fucking needed you this tonight.”
The kisses stretched on, minutes bleeding together, the room filling with the faint smack of lips, the rustle of Carl’s jeans against Ryan’s shorts, the low creak of the armchair as their weight shifted. Ryan’s hands roamed up Carl’s back, down to his thighs, gripping firm but not rough, like he was mapping him out, claiming every inch. “My pretty girl,” he whispered, nipping Carl’s earlobe, and Carl shivered, his fingers digging into Ryan’s shoulders, a soft “Ry…” slipping out, needy and small.
Malik watched, unmoving, beer can sweating in his grip.
After ten minutes, maybe more, Ryan broke the kiss, his chest heaving like he was truly in love, or had convinced himself he was, his brown eyes half-lidded but burning. He shifted Carl in his lap, hands sliding to his hips, voice dropping lower, urgent now. “Carly, babe, do it, please… I need it bad tonight.” The plea hung there, raw and quiet, and Malik’s brow ticked up, intrigue spiking hard. What the fuck did Ryan need?
Carl nodded, no hesitation, his hazel eyes glinting with a spark Malik knew now. He slid off Ryan’s lap, kneeled between his legs, and reached for the hem of Ryan’s jersey, tugging it up slow over his head.
Ryan lifted his arms, letting Carl peel the damp fabric off, revealing a lean torso, olive skin stretched tight over runner’s muscle, a faint sheen of sweat catching the light. Carl tossed the jersey aside, the navy heap landing near Malik’s feet, then hooked his fingers into Ryan’s shorts, sliding them down his long legs. The shorts hit the floor, leaving Ryan in just his high navy blue socks, bunched around his calves, and a pair of tight gray briefs that hugged his bulge. Carl paused, hands hovering, then glanced up at Ryan, a silent question in his eyes. Ryan nodded, shifting low in the armchair, his slides slipping off as he raised his legs, planting his feet on the edge of the cushion, knees bending wide.
Malik’s breath hitched as Ryan hooked his thumbs into his briefs, yanking them down and off in one quick move, tossing them to the side. His legs lifted higher, exposing his tight, shadowed asshole between lean cheeks.
Carl didn’t wait, he dove in, hands gripping Ryan’s legs and pushing them back, face burying between his ass cheeks with a hunger that made Malik’s dick throb to leaking. The first wet sound hit the air. Carl’s tongue lapped slow, deliberate, a soft slurp that cut through the quiet, and Ryan sighed, long and deep, his head tipping back against the chair, eyes fluttering shut. “Fuck, babe, yeah,” he murmured with relief, one hand sliding to Carl’s hair, fingers threading gentle but firm, guiding him deeper.
Carl’s sandy hair bobbed between Ryan’s thighs, tongue working with a focus that was close to worship. Ryan’s socks stayed on, his calves flexed, and the sight burned into Malik’s head: Carl eating Ryan’s ass like it was his job, Ryan melting into it, “babe” and “girl” coming out as whispers. Ryan’s sighs grew softer, a low groan slipping out as Carl’s tongue swirled deeper, the wet sounds mixing with the faint creak of the chair. Ryan’s hand tightened in Carl’s hair, his breath hitching as he muttered, “Good girl, just like that,” and Carl kept going with a moan, shoving his tongue as deep as he could.
Malik watched Carl work between Ryan’s legs for a long while, not even touching himself. Time slipped away, minutes bleeding into a haze, could’ve been fifteen, could’ve been forty. Carl kept his face buried deep and his tongue lapping at Ryan’s asshole.
Then Malik shifted, slow and deliberate, reaching for the stash on the table. His fingers moved automatic, rolling a fresh joint, the crinkle of the paper sharp in the quiet between Carl’s muffled sounds. He sparked it, took a deep drag. Like he was just watching a movie. Ryan’s eyes caught catching Malik’s movement through the haze. He didn’t say shit, just raised a hand, fingers twitching in a lazy gesture, and Malik leaned forward, passing the joint over Carl’s bowed head. Ryan took it, inhaling long and slow, his chest rising as he held it, then passed it back with a faint nod, the only sign Malik wasn’t invisible. No words, just the joint moving between them, smoke threading through the air while Carl stayed locked in, eating ass like it was his whole world.
Ryan’s voice cut through now and then, dripping with praise. “Fuck, babe, you’re so good,” head tipping back against the armchair, one hand tangled in Carl’s hair, guiding without forcing. “My girl always know what I need, huh?” His socks stayed on, navy blue stretched tight over his calves as his legs flexed, spread wide to give Carl room.
Carl always tried to answer, his voice muffled against Ryan’s ass, words garbled but eager. “Love eating you, Ry… so fucking tasty after your games…” the sound swallowed by the hairy cheeks pressed tight to his face.
He watched Carl’s hands roam, slender fingers tracing up Ryan’s legs, over the bunched soccer socks, brushing the coarse hair sprouting thick along his shins, then higher, stroking the bare skin above the knees, just taking in his man. Ryan’s hair was dark and wiry, a stark contrast to Carl’s pale grip, and Carl caressed it like it was gold, thumbs digging gentle into the muscle, mapping every inch while his tongue kept working. Carl wasn’t just into this, he fucking loved it, that hairy asshole pressed to his lips, the musk and sweat of Ryan’s game-worn body driving him wild. It wasn’t like with Jake, all rough and filthy, or Tyson, bold and sexy, this was quieter, messier, Carl losing himself in Ryan’s scent and taste like it was a fix he’d been craving since the game started.
The room hummed with the wet lap of Carl’s tongue, the calm holding steady as Carl worshipped that hairy hole, the hair glistening faint with spit now. Carl’s nose was buried deep, yet he barely came up for air. Ryan’s sighs grew longer, his lean frame sinking lower in the chair, legs trembling slightly under Carl’s grip, and Malik clocked the shift. Something was building, relief turning into need. Ryan’s hand tightened in Carl’s hair, rougher, urgent. “Babe, fuck, I need to come now. Get me there, girl, please.”
Carl pulled back with a disappointed moan, his face flushed and slick, eyes dazed as he lowered Ryan’s legs, easing them down with care. Ryan shifted, slumping lower in the chair, his thighs spreading wide, and Malik’s gaze snapped to what Carl uncovered: Ryan’s cock, thick and hairy, jutting out from a dark bush, veins pulsing visible under the skin. It wasn’t as long as Jake’s nine inches or Tyson’s eleven, maybe seven or eight, but the girth was heavy, the kind of cock that stretched, and the hair ran wild up the shaft, matching the mess between his legs.
Carl licked his lips, a quick swipe, then leaned in, hands steadying Ryan’s hips as he took it in his mouth, slowly, but deep, the first suck sloppy and wet, spit pooling fast at the corners.
Ryan groaned, head lolling back, his socks flexing as his toes curled against the floor. “Yeah, babe, like that, nice and easy,” he murmured, voice thick with need, one hand guiding Carl’s head, the other gripping the armrest. Carl’s lips slid down, taking him to the root again and again, the sound wet and loud, slurps and soft gags as he worked the thickness, spit dripping down Ryan’s hairy balls, glistening in the low light.
Malik kept watching and smoking, fascinated now, as Carl sucked, slow and sloppy, his throat stretching to take it all. Ryan’s praise rained down, “good girl, fuck, you’re perfect,” while his hips twitched, chasing the rhythm.
Ryan’s groans hit a sharper edge, his lean body tensing in the armchair, socks flexing hard against the floor as his hips bucked once, twice. “Fuck, babe, take it for me,” he growled, hands clamping down on Carl’s head with no disagreement possible now, fingers digging into sandy hair. He pushed Carl deeper onto his cock, locking him there, the thick, hairy shaft disappearing down Carl’s throat with a wet choke. Carl’s hands gripped Ryan’s thighs, steadying himself, eyes fluttering shut as Ryan came hard and fast, a shudder ripping through him, his head tipping back with a guttural “Yeah, girl, fuck, swallow me.”
The load spilled deep, Carl’s throat working to swallow, a faint gag muffled by the press of Ryan’s hips holding him still. Ryan panted, chest heaving, then eased up, hands sliding to Carl’s shoulders, guiding him off slowly with a soft, “good, babe, fucking perfect.”
Carl pulled back, lips slick and red, a thin string of spit snapping as he gasped for air. Ryan slumped lower in the chair, legs still spread, his thick cock softening against his thigh, glistening with spit and a faint sheen of cum. “Thanks, Carly, you’re the best girlfriend ever,” he murmured, one hand ruffling Carl’s hair, the other brushing his cheek gently. Carl smiled, small and shy still on his knees, leaning into the touch like a pet.
They stayed like that a minute, Ryan’s breath evening out, Carl’s head resting on his thigh, hands tracing lazy legs, brushing the socks and the coarse hair. Then Carl stirred, glancing up at Ryan with a soft, “Be right back, babe,” and peeled himself up and headed for the kitchen, leaving a quiet hum in his wake.
Ryan stretched, long legs flexing as he hauled himself out of the armchair, unfolding with a faint groan. He grabbed the joint from the table where Malik had left it, still lit, and ambled over, dropping onto the couch beside Malik with a casual thud. His thick cock swung free as he settled in, one arm slung along the backrest, the other passing the joint to his lips. He took a deep drag, smoke curling out slow as he glanced at Malik, voice steady but light. “Part of Carly’s girlfriend gig is cooking for me after a game. Nothing big. But it does the trick. Keeps me fed, keeps me chill.” He grinned, clearly tired, as he passed the joint back.
Malik took it, fingers brushing Ryan’s again, on purpose this time. His gaze flicked down, he couldn’t help it. Ryan’s cock was just there, thick and veined, the hair matted with drying spit. He caught himself staring, heat creeping up his neck, but Ryan didn’t flinch, just smoked and sprawled like it was nothing. “So,” Ryan said, exhaling a plume toward the ceiling, “you like watching that? Me and Carly going at it?” His tone was curious, not pushy, like he was piecing Malik out again.
Malik shrugged, keeping it cool. “Yeah, man, I did. Shit’s new to me, just starting to fuck with it, you know? Experimenting.” He smirked, glancing at Ryan sidelong, the admission slipping out easy after what the other man had let him see.
Ryan nodded, slow, taking the joint back with a lazy reach. “Weird for me, somebody watching,” he said. “Ain’t my thing, feels off. But Carly’s so damn good, I forgot you were here halfway through. Just zoned out, let him do his thing.” He chuckled, smoke spilling from his lips as he passed the joint again, his hairy cock shifting as he crossed one leg over the other, socks brushing the cushion.
Malik caught Ryan’s eyes flicking down, clocking where his own gaze kept drifting, and Ryan raised a brow, grin tugging wider. “Yo, I can throw my boxers back on if it’s too much, man. Ain’t tryna flex like that.” He nodded toward the gray briefs crumpled by the chair, casual but checking in.
“Nah, you good,” Malik said, shaking his head. “That thing’s a fucking beast, though, must stretch girls out something crazy.” The words slipped out bold as he tested the vibe.
Ryan laughed, his cock twitching like it heard him. “Yeah, stretches them good, and Carly too,” he said, conspiratorial, a flicker of pride in it. “Takes it like a champ, my girl. That thickness fucks him up just right. You’ll hear him say it later, I guess.” He grinned like he was finally getting into it.
Before he could push it further, Carl padded back in, a plate in his hands. Two grilled cheese sandwiches with bacon, steam curling off the golden crust, a side of chips piled sloppy next to it. “Boy dinner,” he just said as he set everything on the coffee table. He settled on the floor between Ryan’s legs, back to the couch, his slight frame curling up as Ryan leaned over him to eat.
Ryan dug in after ruffling Carl’s hair with a murmured “Thanks, babe.”
Ryan’s thick cock rested against his thigh now, hairy and veined, brushing Carl’s shoulder as he ate, and Malik couldn’t help check regularly. Ryan polished off his food in five minutes and slumped back into the couch, asking for the smoke again. Carl stayed curled between his legs, head tilted into Ryan’s knee like a cat waiting for a scratch. Ryan grabbed the joint from Malik, his free hand sliding into Carl’s sandy hair. He played with it, fingers twisting strands, tugging gentle, then smoothing them down as he smoked. “Babe, you’re too good to me” slipping out, voice low and warm. Carl hummed, leaning into it, hands resting light on Ryan’s socked calves.
The joint made its rounds again, After a while, maybe ten minutes, maybe more, time blurring under their condition, and in this situation, Ryan shifted, his long legs flexing as he sat up. “C’mon, Carly,” he said, voice soft but firm, hand tapping Carl’s shoulder. “It’s bedtime, baby girl, let’s go.”
Carl scrambled up, and Ryan followed, his naked frame unfolding from the couch with a faint groan, cock swinging heavy as he moved. He glanced at Malik, gave him a quick nod. “Door’s open, like I said,” then led Carl down the hall. Malik stayed put, the apartment settling into a hush as their footsteps faded, the bedroom door half open. He grabbed the stash from the table, rolling yet another joint with shaky fingers, chain-smoking now, and sparked it fast, the flame flaring in the darkened space.
It started soft. Lips on lips, the faint smack of kisses cutting through the stillness. Ryan’s voice came low, muffled but clear enough: “I love you, babe,” and Carl’s answered, softer, higher, “I love you too, Ry,” the words spilling out easy, like a script they both knew.
It wasn’t real, like Jake’s “fag” and “nigger” were not real, just crude masks they wore, but this was theirs, Ryan and Carl playing house in a way that twisted Malik’s cock with energy. Soon the bed creaked, like they skipped preliminaries this time. It was a steady rhythm, building up, skin on skin. The faint slap of Ryan’s hips, Carl’s gasps rising sharp and needy.
Carl’s praise poured out between kisses, voice hitching with every thrust. “God, Ry, you’re so handsome… so fucking sexy… I’m so fucking lucking to have you…” His words were tumbling fast, worshipful, like he couldn’t hold them back. “Your cock’s so big, baby, it stretches me so good… smells amazing, baby… that tasty ass, fuck, I love it…”
Malik’s head tipped back against the couch as he pictured it. Carl sprawled under Ryan, taking that thick, hairy dick, kissing him sloppy while he sang his name.
Ryan groaned low, “I love you, girl, my perfect girl,” on a loop, the bed squeaking louder, the pace picking up, wet and urgent, their breaths tangling. Malik slowly removed his jeans, his shirt, his underwear, keeping only his socks. He was leaking against his palm as he stroked himself, matching the rhythm drifting down the hall.
The sounds sharpened. “Fuck, babe, you’re everything,” Ryan rasped, voice breaking, and Carl whimpered back, “I love you, Ry, please, keep going…” Malik’s grip tightened, his strokes quickening, the joint burning low in his other hand as he lost himself in their “I love yous,” Carl’s endless praise, the raw, sloppy intimacy of Ryan fucking him like a lover. It built fast, a crescendo of gasps and creaks, until Ryan’s voice cracked, “Thank you, babe, thank you, fuck,” and he came, a long, shuddering groan spilling out in the wake of those words, the bed stilling with a final creak. Carl’s soft “Love you” followed, faint and breathless, the air going quiet except for their heavy panting.
Malik’s hand moved faster, the joint forgotten as he chased it, eyes squeezed shut, their voices echoing in his skull, Ryan’s thanks and Carl’s worship tipping him over. He came hard, a sharp grunt slipping out, cum spilling hot over his boxers.
He slumped back, chest heaving, the apartment falling silent around him. The dark swallowed everything, Carl and Ryan out cold down the hall, Malik sprawled alone, the open door letting out faint snores, the joint’s musk blending with the musk of sex still hanging in the air. His dick softened and he closed his eyes, giving up on opening the couch and making it into a bed.
Thank you to everyone following these long ass complicated slow burn stories! I'm having fun
