The night with Adam lingers under Noah’s skin, a sensation he can’t shake. He wakes up feeling stretched and open. He moves through his days carrying the memory of it, the way Adam felt over him, inside him, the way his voice had pressed against his ear.
His body remembers before his mind does; he shifts in his seat at work and feels a faint, residual ache that sparks like static. It should fade, but it doesn’t.
Adam had taken him apart. That was the truth of it. Not just physically, though, God, physically, but something deeper, something he isn’t ready to put words to. Adam had held him steady, had told him exactly what he was doing as he did it.
He had made Noah say things out loud, he had made him understand what was happening to him, what it meant. And Noah had liked it. He’d let it happen. He’d given himself over to it completely.
He tries to tell himself it was just good sex. That’s all. But something about it makes that feel like a lie. He doesn’t know what to do with that.
That morning, Adam had felt settled. Grounded. Like the night had gone exactly as it should. He had wanted Noah, and Noah had given himself over to him without hesitation. No resistance, just wide-eyed, eager surrender. The way he had opened, the way his body had taken Adam so completely.
It should feel like something to hold on to. But it also feels like something to be careful with. So Adam tells himself he doesn’t need to analyze it. Noah had wanted it. Adam had wanted it. It was good. Better than good. It was right.
They don’t talk about it. Not directly. Not in the way that matters. They go back to their own spaces, their own routines. Coffee in the morning. Work. Gym. Dinner. Noah still goes climbing, but his body is looser, his grip slower. Adam works late, takes an extra shift, lets the distraction fill the edges of his mind.
There are texts. Nothing heavy. A how was your day? here, a running into you at the gym felt nice there. But there’s a weight to the silence between them now.
Noah hesitates before texting first. He wants to. He doesn’t.
Adam catches himself checking his phone more than usual. Notices the space they’ve left between them, the way neither of them is quite closing the gap.
Neither of them quite admits they’re retreating.
For Noah, the uncertainty starts as a whisper but grows louder when he’s alone at night, stretched out in his bed, the sheets cold against his skin. He wants to be in Adam’s. He doesn’t know how to ask for that. His thoughts loop. Why did Adam want this? What does he see when he looks at me?
For Adam, it’s something quieter. He feels it most in the moments in between, finishing a workout, lying in bed. He knows what Noah felt like in his hands. He knows what he sounded like. He knows how completely Noah had opened to him. And he knows that isn’t something he’s going to forget.
They see each other at the gym. When Adam walks past Noah, his hand brushes the small of his back, just barely there. Noah lingers when they part ways, fingers twitching like he wants to reach for something that isn’t there.
They keep finding each other in crowds. A shared glance across the room at a casual gathering. A gravitational pull.
It happens casually the first time. Noah grabs dinner with friends near Adam’s place and texts him afterward, something light. You home? I’m in your neighborhood.
Adam’s response is just as casual. Swing by.
Noah shows up with a six-pack and a restlessness he doesn’t know what to do with. They talk on the couch for hours, the show on TV barely noticed. Noah leans his head back at one point, eyes closed, and Adam thinks about kissing him. He doesn’t.
Eventually, Noah stands to leave. Adam walks him to the door. They pause. But Adam doesn’t ask him to stay. And Noah doesn’t ask if he can.
It happens again a few nights later. No excuse this time. Just a knock. Adam opens the door, surprised but not really. Noah steps inside like he’s done it a hundred times. They don’t talk much. They don’t touch. Noah falls asleep on Adam’s couch. Adam doesn’t wake him.
It sits between them. It builds. It breaks over dinner.
Adam texts late. Not midnight, but close enough to feel like he’d been holding back.
You eaten?
Noah stares at the message longer than he needs to.
Not really.
A beat. Then:
Come over. I’ll make something.
There’s no emoji. No flourish. Just enough space to say what he means without saying more. Noah doesn’t ask what time. He just says:
Okay.
When he arrives, the lights are low. Adam’s in the kitchen, sleeves rolled, something simmering on the stove. He looks up when Noah walks in, and for a second, neither of them speaks.
Then Adam says, quietly, “I wasn’t sure you’d come.”
Noah shrugs, setting his keys on the counter. “I wasn’t either.”
They don’t talk about the space between them. But they sit in it. And then, they eat.
Noah isn’t sure what sets him off, but the words spill out before he can stop them.
“Do you even think about it? Or was it just... a thing?”
Adam looks at him, startled. He swallows. His jaw flexes. He doesn’t answer right away.
Then: “You’re in my head, Noah.”
Noah looks at him. Adam’s voice stays even, measured, but there’s something underneath it now, something undeniable.
“It’s not just a thing. It’s not... casual for me.”
Noah softens. His breath comes out slow. They look at each other.
Then Adam pulls him towards him, pressing their mouths together, the grip on Noah’s arms firm, grounding. No questions. Just this. This is what he needed. Not words. Not an explanation. Just this.
The first time Adam notices it, it’s small. Almost nothing at all.
They’ve been out all afternoon, wandering from shop to shop, the easy kind of time spent between two people still learning the borders of each other’s lives. The store is a last stop, just something to step into while waiting for nothing in particular.
Inside, the air is quiet, the lighting dim. Clothes are arranged with too much care, everything curated to look effortless.
Adam browses. Picks up a jacket, a shirt. He glances at Noah, watching the way he moves through the store. His posture is loose, casual, but there’s something careful about the way he looks through the racks. Then just for a second, Noah stops.
His gaze catches on something deep in the men's section, tucked behind a line of pressed trousers and crisp button-downs, half-hidden like it doesn’t belong there. Because it doesn’t.
Noah doesn’t move. Doesn’t reach for it. Just stares.
Adam sees the hesitation in his body, the way his fingers twitch slightly at his sides. Something about it tugs at the edges of Adam’s attention, but before he can place the thought, he lets it go. He shifts away, moving toward a rack near the register, letting Noah have his space.
Noah doesn’t think. He acts. Quick. Precise. Almost unconscious. It’s softer than he expected, sliding cool between his fingers as he folds it, tucking it into his bag in a single smooth motion. A sharp rush runs through him, quick as a static shock.
When he turns, Adam is still near the front. Noah forces himself to exhale. His hands are steady. He crosses the store like nothing’s changed.
“You good?” Adam asks, barely looking up as Noah approaches.
Noah blinks, like he’s been pulled out of something. His face smooths, easy.
“Yeah,” he says. Then, lighter, “Yeah, fine.”
Adam doesn’t push. He pays for the jacket, and they step back onto the street, slipping into the steady hum of the city.
Later that night, when he gets home, Noah tosses the bag onto the bed without thinking. It’s a while before he touches it again.
The apartment is quiet. The air feels different. He isn’t sure why. He unzips the bag. Reaches in. His fingers close around it. Lighter than he remembers. Thin, delicate. He pulls it out, lets it unfold. The fabric pools in his lap, soft and pink.
A pink cheerleader skirt.
Noah stares at it. His pulse skips. He doesn’t even remember seeing it properly in the store. Just that it was there, tucked away, misplaced. That it had caught his attention, and his hand had moved before he thought.
Now it’s here. His breath is shallow. His skin feels too tight. He doesn’t know why. It shouldn’t be a big deal. It’s just fabric. Just something stupid. But his hands won’t stop shaking.
And then—he thinks of her. High school. A game. Friday night, floodlights humming. He can’t even remember why he was there.
Madison Hayward—long legs, high ponytail, jumping up and down on the sidelines, the pink cheerleader skirt bouncing with her. A flash of movement, the pleats flipping, catching just enough air to rise, then fall perfectly back into place.
But Noah hadn’t been looking at her.
He remembers Jason McKee standing a few feet away. Muscular. Built. A tight-fitting jersey stretched over his broad chest. Everyone knew him—star running back, loud in the hallways, the kind of guy who moved through the world like it belonged to him.
Jason was watching her, too. Something dark and intent in his face, something focused. His hands flexing just slightly at his sides, his jaw tight.
Noah had watched him longer than he should have. Had studied the tension in Jason’s shoulders, the way his lips parted slightly, the weight in his stance like he was holding something back.
The memory feels too close, too sharp now, pressing up against the reality of the skirt in his lap. He folds it, tucks it back into the bag. It’s fine. It’s nothing. Just an impulse. Just a mistake.
But when he turns out the light, the image lingers—the skirt bouncing on Madison, the lusty sneer on Jason’s face, the way it would feel if he put it on, if he let himself. Except it’s not Jason, the face he sees is Adam.
The afternoon light slanted through the window, casting long lines across the hardwood floor. Adam’s apartment was warm, lived-in without being cluttered, the scent of coffee still lingering in the air. The low hum of the city filtered through the glass, distant and unintrusive.
Noah sat on the couch, one leg tucked under him, thumbing idly through his notebook. His bag was open on the floor beside him, half-zipped. Adam was in the kitchen, rinsing out a mug, the sound of water steady against porcelain. The moment was quiet, unremarkable.
Until the bag tipped.
It happened fast, a careless shift, the strap sliding just enough to send everything spilling out in a scattered pile. The noise was barely anything—a dull thud of books, the muted slap of paper against wood.
And then, the skirt. Noah’s stomach flipped.
Adam had already turned toward the sound. He crossed the space between them in three steps, crouched easily, and reached for it. His fingers brushed over the fabric before Noah could react. The material shifted in his grip, cool, delicate.
Noah knew the moment Adam recognized it. Not just as a piece of clothing, but as something else.
Adam didn’t say anything right away. He studied it, turning the fabric slightly, the motion slow, almost thoughtful. His thumb smoothed absently over the fabric, feeling the weight of it.
“This is yours.”
Noah’s breath caught in his throat. His skin prickled hot, his pulse a sharp, uneven beat. He could hear himself swallow. Every instinct told him to laugh, to wave it off, to say something flippant and move on before it became real. But his mouth stayed dry.
“I… it’s nothing.”
Adam didn’t argue. He didn’t push. He wasn’t looking at Noah like he was waiting for an explanation. Adam looked at the skirt, smoothing it over his palm, brushing his fingers along the edge as if considering something. Then he held it out.
“Put it on. If you want.”
Noah stared at it, throat tight. Every part of him was braced for something that wasn’t happening—for a reaction that wasn’t coming. He reached out and took it.
He stepped away before he could change his mind, into the bedroom, closing the door halfway but not all the way.
Slowly, carefully, Noah took off his sneakers. Peeled away his socks. His movements were automatic, but when he reached for the waistband of his jeans, he hesitated.
Then, with slow, deliberate movements, he unbuttoned them. The denim was stiff as he shimmied it down over his thighs, stepping out and throwing them on the floor.
He glanced up, catching his reflection in the full-length mirror propped against the wall. His body looked the same. His t-shirt hung loose, slightly wrinkled. His thighs were bare now, muscled from years of climbing, his calves lean but strong. His cotton briefs sat low on his hips, snug and familiar. He stepped in.
The first thing he noticed was the coolness of it. The fabric whispered over his skin, impossibly soft. He pulled it up, the waistband sliding easily over his hips, resting snug just above the dip of his pelvis. The hem barely grazed mid-thigh. The outline of his briefs showed faintly through the fabric, something about it not quite right.
He looked at the back of the skirt. The way the skirt draped over his round ass cheeks felt impossible to ignore. He ran his hands down the front, smoothing the fabric, tracing the way it shaped to him.
His stomach clenched. He swallowed hard. He turned toward the door, pressing his hand to the wood. Paused. Took another breath. Then he stepped out.
Adam was still where he’d left him, waiting. The moment Noah came back into the room, Adam’s gaze landed on him, steady and unhurried. Noah fought the urge to fidget. He felt too seen.
Adam didn’t say anything at first. His eyes moved, taking him in—not just the skirt, not just the way it fit him, but the way he stood in it, the way his weight had shifted subtly to one side, as if he was still trying to figure out what this meant.
Adam stepped forward, closing the space between them. Noah’s skin prickled, his pulse loud in his ears. His fingers brushed over the fabric, barely a touch at all. Adam looked up, meeting his eyes. His voice was quiet but certain.
"It suits you."
Noah exhaled, a shaky breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. Adam’s hands moved then, slow, careful, slipping under the edge of Noah’s T-shirt, fingertips brushing warm against the bare skin of his stomach.
Noah inhaled sharply.
"So we can really see you," Adam murmured.
He lifted the t-shirt off in one smooth motion, peeling it away, leaving the skirt the only thing between them.
Adam’s gaze traced the new shape of him, the clean lines of his shoulders, the faint rise of his ribs, the perkiness of his pink nipples, the softness where the skirt sat high on his waist. Noah swallowed hard.
"Do you like it?"
His voice was barely above a whisper. Adam’s fingers brushed against his hip, a quiet, lingering touch.
"Yes," he said. His voice was low, steady. "And I like you in it. A lot."
Noah stood still, chest rising and falling too fast, standing in his pink skirt. He wasn’t naked, not really, but it felt like he was.
Adam watched him, silent, patient. The weight of his gaze made Noah shift, hyper-aware of every movement. It made him feel different. Strange. Seen.
“You look good in this.”
Noah swallowed. His throat was dry. “I feel… different.”
Adam stepped closer, tilting his chin up, forcing him to meet his gaze. There was no teasing in his expression.
“Yeah?” Adam asked, “You feel that already?”
Noah’s pulse pounded. He nodded, not trusting his voice.
Adam’s hands moved to his waist, fingers grazing the waistband of the skirt, feeling how it hugged him. Noah tensed, a shudder running through him. Then Adam’s hands went lower, smoothing the fabric over Noah’s bubbly cheeks, until he’d run out of skirt and cupped him firmly through his briefs. His hands squeezed, making Noah’s ass jiggle in his palms. Adam smiled.
“Feels good, doesn’t it?” Adam murmured, voice dark, low.
Noah couldn’t answer. He just nodded, panting. Adam stepped back slightly, but his eyes never left him.
He took off all his clothes quickly down to just his briefs, dark gray, stretched tight over his big cock. Then he hooked his thumbs into his waistband and pushed his briefs down, letting them fall to the floor.
Adam’s penis hung half-erect, thick and heavy even when not fully hard. His dark, coarse bush framed it like a crown.
Even though Noah had felt him inside before, he had never just… looked. Now, there was nothing else to do but look. Adam was so sure of himself. Noah thought that if he could imagine a perfect cock, this might be it. Well, maybe this was bigger than what he would imagine.
“You’re staring,” Adam murmured, amused.
Noah swallowed hard. His mouth was dry.
"I—I've just never..." He couldn’t finish the sentence.
Adam pressed closer, letting Noah feel the difference between them.
“You’ve never?”
“I’ve never met someone like you…”
Noah tensed when Adam’s fingers dipped lower, to where the skirt flared over his ass. Adam hummed in appreciation, cupping Noah’s cheeks again through the skirt, squeezing, feeling how the skirt barely hid the curve of him.
“You like how this feels,” Adam murmured, his hands kneading, making Noah squirm.
Noah let out a shuddering breath, already undone by how much Adam was paying attention to his ass.
“Turn around.”
Noah hesitated, then turned. His breath was shaky.
The skirt swished as he moved. Adam bunched the skirt slightly, teasing the edges of Noah’s briefs beneath. Then, just as he had done in the clinic, Adam slowly gathered the fabric of Noah’s briefs, pulling them up, wedging them deeper between his cheeks. The sensation was immediate—different this time. More intimate. More intentional. It made Noah’s legs go weak.
Adam let out a pleased sound behind him. “Like this?”
Noah choked out a breath, barely able to nod. He didn’t trust himself to speak. Adam pulled harder on the wedgie, Noah gasped a little. Then he lightly moved his fingertips across the round pale globes of this perfect ass.
It was the most perfect ass he had ever seen and seeing it this way, exposed, briefs wedged, the pink skirt—it was enough to make Adam’s cock feel like it was about to explode.
“Look how big you’re making me.”
Noah looked. Adam was huge, red, leaking. He moved to the waistband of Noah's briefs, but Noah caught his wrist. Adam immediately stopped. He didn’t push. He just waited. Noah’s entire body had gone rigid.
"Noah," Adam said softly. "Talk to me."
Noah swallowed hard. His pulse pounded in his ears. How could he stand there and let Adam see him? See what he’s always hated about himself? He knows what he looks like soft. Small. Too small. Especially compared to Adam.
Adam had stood there, unashamed, his size a presence in the room. Noah didn’t have that. He never would. Adam leaned in, pressing his chest against Noah’s back, warmth and strength wrapping around him.
“I want to see you,” Adam murmured, his voice low but firm.
Noah forced himself to exhale, his chest shuddering. “I don’t…” He shook his head, shame creeping up his throat. “I don’t look like you.”
Adam turned him around and tilted Noah’s chin, making him meet his gaze.
“I know,” Adam said simply. “And I still want to see you.”
Noah hesitated, then exhaled sharply. His fingers flexed. Then, finally, he nodded. Adam waited. Slowly, his fingers curled into the waistband of Noah’s briefs. This time, Noah didn’t stop him. A slight tug, and it was already slipping past his hips, baring him completely.
Noah squeezed his eyes shut. He couldn’t look. Couldn’t stand to see Adam seeing him.
Adam was silent. His gaze traced every detail: Noah’s lean stomach, the soft slope of his hips, his small, delicate cock resting close against him. He exhaled slowly,. He had known, of course. He had felt it before. But this was the first time Noah was standing still, nowhere to hide.
And it was small.
Not just smaller than his own, not just small for Noah’s frame. It was truly small. Even hard, it would never take up much space between them. Flaccid, it barely took up any space at all. Adam let that truth settle inside him.
And then he let it pass. Because the truth was, he didn’t care. It wasn’t that he liked it, or found it cute, or wanted to reassure Noah. It was simpler than that. It wasn’t what mattered to him.
His gaze slid lower, to how Noah’s thighs pressed together, where his breath was still uneven, where his body was already responding to being looked at, already trembling from the exposure. That was what Adam wanted. That was what mattered.
He let his hand smooth up Noah’s thigh, firm and certain, fingertips tracing just beneath the hem of the skirt. Noah tensed.
“Look at me,” Adam murmured.
Noah shook his head. He couldn’t. He wasn’t enough. He had never been enough. Adam watched him carefully. The way Noah clenched his fists. The way his hands twitched, his whole body waiting for something—judgment, teasing, anything.
“It is small.”
Noah flinched, just barely. Adam didn’t tighten his grip. Didn’t soothe. He just held him. Let the words hang.
“But that’s not what I’m here for.”
Noah swallowed, hard. Still wouldn’t look at him. Adam could feel the tension, the way he was bracing, waiting for a soft lie. Waiting for comfort that wouldn’t mean anything.
Adam didn’t give it.
Instead, his fingers slid lower. Past Noah’s cock, not touching it. Not even close. He cupped the heavy warmth of his ass, then slipped two fingers between the cheeks, pressing slow and steady against the soft, pink hole between them.
Noah gasped.
Adam didn’t move. Just held him there. Felt the way he trembled. The way his breath caught.
“This,” Adam said, voice low, thick. “This is what I want.”
Noah’s body jerked like the words hit some hidden place inside him he wasn’t ready for. But Adam didn’t pull back. He dragged his fingers over the fluttering ring again. Felt it tense and twitch, soft and warm and already trying to open.
“You think you need to impress me,” Adam murmured. “You don’t.”
His other hand slipped up Noah’s side, grounding him. Then down again, settling on the meat of his thigh. A slow stroke. Possessive. Certain.
“You don’t need to prove anything.”
He leaned in close, lips near Noah’s ear.
“You just need to be what you’re made for.”
Noah barely had time to breathe before Adam eased him back against the bed. Laid him out flat. Positioned him exactly how he wanted: on his belly, legs parted, skirt pushed up and bunched high on his waist.
Adam knelt behind him, took him in.
The soft curve of his back. The gentle taper of his waist. The swell of his round, perfect ass, the pink of his hole peeking out, twitching like it missed Adam’s touch already.
“Look at you,” Adam whispered.
Noah squirmed, hiding his face in his arms.
“Adam—”
“Shhh.”
Adam’s hands were steady, smoothing down his hips, over the backs of his thighs. Slow, reverent.
“You’re perfect like this.”
Noah let out a shaky breath.
Adam leaned in, pressing his lips softly against Noah’s lower back, just above the dip of his spine.
Noah gasped.
Adam’s mouth moved lower, open-mouthed kisses trailing down, down, until he reached the swell of Noah’s ass. He groaned, hands gripping just enough to make Noah squirm.
Noah’s breath caught, but he didn’t pull away. Adam spread him apart, slowly, exposing him fully. And then, without hesitation, he kissed him there, softly on his smooth pink ass lips.
Noah let out a soft, broken sound. Adam licked him, teasing at first, then deeper, his tongue dragging along the tight ring of muscle, wet and warm. Noah shook beneath him, his whole body trembling at the sudden, overwhelming sensation.
“Oh,” Noah gasped. His voice was high, breathless, almost disbelieving. “Oh, my God—”
Adam hummed against him, holding him open, licking again, pressing deeper, savoring the way Noah reacted, shaking, whining, pressing back into him.
“You taste so sweet,” Adam murmured between kisses. “Mmm I love your hole. Your sweet pink hole.”
Noah made another wrecked, helpless sound, his fingers clawing at the sheets. Adam groaned, spreading him wider, his tongue teasing the edge of him, then pressing in again, slow and deliberate.
Noah was open. Ready. His body knew where it belonged. Adam pulled back slightly, brushing a kiss against his hole, his breath warm against slick, sensitive skin.
And then, he whispered, “You were made for this.”
Noah whimpered.
Adam exhaled, voice thick. “You know that, don’t you?”
Noah’s whole body shuddered.
“Say it, Noah. Tell me.”
Slowly, Noah’s voice creaked out.
“I am made for this.”
“You are. Made to be spread open in your pretty skirt and have your hole opened up. First with my tongue…”
Adam leaned in with a long tongue lap from the bottom to the top of his tight pink butt lips.
“Then with my big, fat penis.”
Noah gasped when he felt the first press of Adam’s cock against him—hot, thick, demanding. His whole body went taut, hands gripping the sheets.
Adam lined himself up, one hand firm on Noah’s hip, the other guiding his cock to the slick, twitching entrance. The head pressed slow, deliberate, the blunt pressure mounting second by second.
Noah sucked in a breath—sharp, panicked—and then Adam began to push forward.
Not fast. But unrelenting.
The first inch forced him open, that sweet, swollen ring stretching wide around the thick head. Noah’s cry cracked from his throat, desperate and high.
Adam didn’t flinch. Didn’t stop. He groaned, deep and guttural, hips pressing forward with calm, brutal intent. His hands held Noah steady as his cock slid deeper, slowly feeding into him.
“Breathe,” Adam murmured, voice low. “Let it in.”
Noah buried his face in the sheets, shaking, his body resisting, his thighs trembling, the pain lighting up his nerves. His body arched, fighting to hold it, to make room. It wasn’t just the stretch—it was the weight, the length, the fullness. It was everything.
Adam loved it. Loved how tight he was, how his hole squeezed and trembled, fluttering helplessly around him. He watched, entranced, as each inch disappeared, as his shaft spread Noah wide, swallowed inch by inch by that impossibly snug grip.
He felt the tremors roll through Noah’s thighs, the twitch of resistance, the ragged intake of breath as his body tried to keep up.
Noah whimpered, then sobbed. Adam leaned over him, his weight steady, his cock pulsing thick inside Noah’s hole.
“It’s okay,” he whispered. “You can cry.”
Noah choked on a sound, not quite a sob, not quite a moan.
“Let it out,” Adam said again, slower now, deliberate. “Don’t hold it. I want to hear it.”
Noah’s body gave another shake, and this time the sob broke free, loud, desperate, wet. His tears hit the mattress. His hole clenched around Adam’s cock, twitching, still trying to process the impossible stretch.
Adam grunted, rocking deeper, letting another inch slip in. Then another. His cock pulsed thick and hot inside him, dragging friction across sensitive, uncharted skin. Noah gasped, tears slipping free now, his body shaking under the strain.
Adam bent over him slightly, one palm flattening against the small of his back. Grounding him. Keeping him still.
“You’re doing so good,” he murmured. “Taking all of it. Let it hurt. Let it happen.”
Noah cried out again, high and thin, body thrumming with sensation. His little cock was untouched, trapped against the bed, but the rest of him was wide open, raw, breaking around the thick length still pushing deeper inside.
Adam groaned as the last inch disappeared, hips finally flush against Noah’s ass. He held there, deep inside, chest heaving, savoring the feel of being fully sheathed. Noah was trembling beneath him, arms tense, legs shaking, his body stretched to the edge of what he could take.
He was still hurting. Adam could feel it in the way his muscles clenched, the way his breath came in short, shallow bursts. But the worst had passed. Now it was just the slow, aching stretch, burning at the edges but starting to shift, to open.
“Good,” Adam whispered, palm splayed across Noah’s back. “You’re doing so fucking good.”
Noah’s cheek was pressed into the mattress, his fingers twisted in the sheets, his whole body open and offered. He was breathing harder now, not from panic but from effort, his body working to keep up, to hold this new shape, to let Adam stay inside.
Adam didn’t move at first. Just held him. Let the weight of it settle. Let Noah feel it—the fullness, the pressure, the fact that there was no going back now.
Then, slowly, he pulled back. Just an inch. Just enough to make Noah gasp. The sound was sharp, involuntary. His hole clamped down, a soft whimper escaping him.
Adam pushed forward again. Not fast. Just deep. Noah shuddered. His whole body fluttered around him, overwhelmed by sensation, unable to fight or resist or hold himself together.
Adam grunted low, deep in his throat. His hands settled more firmly on Noah’s hips, anchoring them both, as he began to move, slow, steady strokes. Deep enough to press into that aching spot inside, slow enough to make Noah feel every drag of his thick shaft pulling free and sinking back in.
And the skirt. God, the skirt. It was bunched up high around Noah’s waist now, the pink pleats wrinkled and soft, framing the curve of his ass like a bow tied around a gift. Adam’s gaze locked onto it, hungry, obsessive.
“You’re so fucking pretty in this,” he murmured, almost to himself. “Your little skirt, all wrinkled and riding up while I fuck you.” His voice was darker now, tinged with reverence and heat. “You wore this for me, didn’t you?”
Noah didn’t answer, not with words. His breath caught, his body arching subtly back into Adam’s next thrust.
Adam’s rhythm deepened—still slow, still unrelenting. Each thrust made Noah rock forward on the mattress, his breath catching, his thighs trembling from the strain.
He shifted slightly, angling deeper, grinding in on each thrust. Noah gasped, crying out as something inside him gave way. His body jolted, back arching, hole fluttering around Adam’s big fat boner.
“There it is,” Adam breathed. “There’s that spot.”
Noah whimpered, voice broken now, pushed past the edge of words. Adam leaned over, pressing his chest to Noah’s back, his hands never leaving the grip of his hips.
“You feel how deep I am?” he breathed into Noah’s ear. “How far inside that sweet hole I’ve got?”
Noah let out a broken sob, his body too far gone to speak.
Adam kept going. His control was fraying at the edges. His thrusts grew harder, not faster, but heavier, each one pressing Noah down into the bed like he could fuse them together.
And that skirt. That fucking skirt. Every time it fluttered, every time it shifted, Adam’s cock twitched harder inside him.
“You’re the prettiest thing I’ve ever fucked,” Adam growled. “Skirt up, ass out, hole stretched open.”
Noah whimpered, voice ragged, trembling underneath the weight of it all. He started making sounds Adam didn’t recognize. Soft, high, breathless. His whole body was trembling now, thighs shaking, hips giving out beneath the weight of Adam’s thrusts.
Adam leaned over him, chest brushing Noah’s back, breath hot against his ear.
“Gonna fill you up,” he growled. “Gonna let it all go inside you.”
Noah moaned, barely able to hold himself up. His fingers clawed at the mattress, but there was nothing to grab. He was unraveling. His hole twitched around Adam’s cock, desperate, greedy.
Adam slammed in once—deep, brutal—and held there. His body seized, cock buried as far as it could go. Then he groaned, long and rough, as he started to come.
Thick, hot spurts flooded into Noah, one after another. His hole clenched around it, around him, trying to hold it all, to keep it inside. Adam kept grinding against him, small desperate pulses as he emptied himself fully, completely.
Noah sobbed into the sheets, his body overwhelmed, his mind blank with sensation.
Adam stayed deep, breathing hard, his body draped over Noah’s. Neither of them moved for a long moment. Just the sound of panting, the weight of release, the heat of it all still radiating between them.
Then Adam whispered, voice wrecked and reverent, “You took all of it.”
The heat spread inside Noah, deep and consuming, a molten weight that filled him completely. Adam held him there. Noah trembled. His whole body felt different. He could feel it. The way Adam’s sperm sank into him, settled inside him, claimed him from the inside out.
Neither of them moved for a long moment. Adam ran a hand down Noah’s back, slow and steady, grounding him. Noah exhaled shakily, sinking into the mattress, completely spent.
Adam shifted slightly, cupping a hand over Noah’s small cock, soft, untouched, barely more than a nub resting against his palm. It wasn’t hard. It wasn’t even trying to be. And Noah didn’t reach for it. He just kept trembling, his thighs quivering, his breath uneven.
Adam understood now.
Noah didn’t need to be hard. Didn’t need to touch himself. That little cocklet wasn’t what this was about.
Adam would take care of it. Of all of it. From now on, Noah didn’t need to chase pleasure on his own. Didn’t need to come. He just needed to be filled.
Adam let his fingers drift lower, brushing over the soft, pink folds of Noah’s puffy hole. It was still slick, still parted slightly, flushed and trembling. So sensitive now, and warm. So alive.
Noah whimpered, shifting just a little, but he didn’t pull away. His body was still open. Still waiting.
And Adam couldn’t help himself. He pressed a fingertip inside, just barely. Noah gasped, a sharp, wrecked little sound, his body twitching at the overstimulation. He was so tender, so soft, still pulsing faintly around Adam’s touch.
Adam groaned low in his throat, sliding his finger deeper, feeling the wetness of his sperm still swimming inside, feeling the heat of him, the way Noah’s body didn’t resist at all. He was so easy to enter. So open.
Noah trembled, whining softly, but didn’t tell Adam to stop. He didn’t want him to stop. The pain and pleasure were all mixed up and it sent Noah into a kind of dream state.
Adam fingered him slowly, carefully, feeling the way Noah’s body clenched weakly, still slick from what had just happened. It wasn’t about taking him again now. It was about keeping him like this. Keeping him sensitive. Keeping him ready. Keeping him open.
Adam spread his fingers just slightly, feeling the way Noah stretched for him without effort. He didn’t even have to work to open him anymore. Noah’s body just did it. Like it knew this was what it was meant for. Like it knew who it belonged to.
“So good,” Adam whispered. His voice was hoarse, thick with something dark and possessive.
Noah whimpered, his whole body shuddering, his soft cock twitching uselessly against the sheets. Adam smiled. He liked him like this. He liked him like this so much.
Adam’s fingers slid out, slow and deliberate, watching the way Noah’s body clenched after him—wet, gleaming, still trying to hold onto the shape of him. That told Adam everything.
This was what Noah was made for.
