"Fuck, you feel even better than I imagined," Ansh groaned, his voice a raw, hungry thing in the dim light of the hotel room.
Rishav could only gasp in reply, his head thrown back against the pillows, his fingers digging into the sweat-slick muscles of his cousin’s back. "Ansh... oh god, Ansh..."
This wasn’t how tonight was supposed to go.
Three hours earlier, Rishav was scrolling, a bored, lonely flick of his thumb through a grid of faceless torsos and vague bios on Grindr. He’d been in the city for a week, a temporary transfer that felt more like exile. The generic “Hey” and “What are you into?” messages blurred together into a monotonous loop of disinterest.
Then a new profile popped up, proximity set to “Very Close.” FitVisitor24. The profile pic was a carefully cropped shot of a toned stomach, a trail of dark hair leading down into grey sweatpants that left little to the imagination. Rishav’s own breath caught. There was something… familiar about that torso. The specific curve of the hip, a small, faded scar just above the waistband.
Curiosity, a dangerous and thrilling itch, made him type. Visitor, huh? How long are you in town?
The reply was instantaneous. Just tonight. Looking for something… memorable. No strings.
Aren’t we all? Rishav typed back, his heart starting to pound for reasons he didn't want to examine. What kind of memorable?
I want to feel it. All of it. I want to fuck a perfect, tight ass until neither of us can think straight. I want to fill it up.
The vulgarity, the directness, sent a jolt straight to Rishav’s cock. This was exactly the nasty, anonymous release he needed. Hotel Atlas?, he ventured, naming the place he was staying.
A pause. Then, Room 712. Now.
The coincidence was staggering, a twist of fate so bizarre he almost laughed. He was in 710. They were neighbours. He stood, his legs unsteady, and walked the twenty feet to the next door. He knocked, his throat dry.
The door opened just a crack, then swung wide.
And there stood his cousin Ansh. His eyes, wide with the same shock that was currently freezing Rishav’s blood, scanned him from head to toe. The phone was still clutched in Rishav’s hand, the chat open.
"Rishav?" Ansh whispered, the name a disbelieving breath.
"Fuck," Rishav breathed out, the word tasting like ash. He should turn. He should run. He should pretend this never happened.
But he didn't. He just stood there, staring at the cousin he’d only ever seen at family gatherings, now standing in a hotel room doorway, half-hard in those grey sweatpants, exactly like the picture.
Ansh’s shock melted away, replaced by a look of pure, unadulterated heat. His eyes darkened, roaming over Rishav’s body with a new, terrifying comprehension. "Get in," he said, his voice low and rough. It wasn't a question.
The door clicked shut. The silence in the room was a physical presence.
"I... I should go," Rishav stammered, but he made no move toward the door.
Ansh stepped closer, invading his space. The scent of him, clean sweat and expensive cologne, wrapped around Rishav. "You messaged me. You came to my door. You want this." He reached out, his fingers brushing against the fly of Rishav’s jeans, feeling the hard length beneath. "I can feel how much you want it."
Rishav’s resolve shattered. A moan escaped his lips, and he surged forward, crashing his mouth against Ansh’s.
The kiss wasn't gentle. It was a collision of need, a frantic, open-mouthed exploration of lips and tongue. Ansh’s hands were everywhere, pulling at Rishav’s shirt, cupping the back of his head, holding him in place as he plundered his mouth. Rishav could taste the whiskey on his tongue, feel the scrape of his stubble. It was wrong. It was so fucking hot.
They stumbled toward the bed, a tangle of limbs and frantic hands tearing at clothing. "I've thought about this," Ansh growled against his neck, biting down on the tendon there. "Fuck, for years. Seeing you at Diwali, in those tight jeans... imagining what your ass looked like."
"Then stop imagining and fucking take it," Rishav panted, his own voice foreign, consumed by a need he’d never dared name.
They were naked in seconds. Ansh was thicker than he’d imagined, his cock a heavy, angry red, jutting up from a thatch of dark hair. He pushed Rishav down onto the bed, on his hands and knees.
"Look at that," Ansh murmured, his voice full of worship. He ran a hand over the curve of Rishav’s ass, spreading him open. "This perfect fucking hole. All mine tonight."
The cold drizzle of lube was a shock, then the hot, insistent pressure of Ansh’s thumb, circling, pressing, working him open. Rishav buried his face in the sheets, his whole body trembling. "Please..."
"Please what?" Ansh’s voice was a taunt, a promise.
"Fuck me, Ansh. Just fuck me. I need it."
The blunt head of Ansh’s cock pressed against him, a relentless, impossible pressure that gave way with a sharp, stinging burn that quickly melted into a fullness that stole Rishav’s breath. He cried out, a strangled sound, as Ansh sank into him to the hilt, his balls slapping against Rishav’s ass.
"Fuck, you’re so deep," Rishav gasped, pushing back against him, needing more.
Ansh set a brutal, punishing pace from the start, each thrust a masterclass in precision, angling himself to hit that spot inside Rishav that made his vision whiten. The room filled with the sound of skin slapping against skin, their ragged breathing, and filthy, broken words.
"You like your cousin’s cock stretching you open?" Ansh grunted, pistoning into him. "You like me fucking this ass that’s only for me?"
"Yes! God, yes! It’s yours! It’s all fucking yours!"
Ansh leaned over him, his chest pressed against Rishav’s back, his mouth at his ear. "I’m not pulling out," he snarled, the words a vow. "I’m gonna cum so deep inside you. I’m gonna pump my fucking load into your guts and breed this tight cousin-cunt. You’re gonna feel me dripping out of you for days."
The filthy promise, the sheer wrongness of it, tipped Rishav over the edge. His orgasm ripped through him, his cock pulsing untouched onto the sheets beneath him, his ass clenching rhythmically around Ansh’s driving cock.
Ansh swore, his thrusts becoming erratic, animalistic. "Fuck, yes, milk it out of me! Take it! Take my fucking seed!"
He slammed home one last time, and Rishav felt the hot, sudden flood inside him, jet after jet of wet heat filling him up, marking him. Ansh collapsed on top of him, his weight a crushing, wonderful anchor.
They lay there, breathing in ragged unison, connected. The sensation was overwhelming. The slow seep of cum, the throbbing of his own oversensitive body, the weight of his cousin on top of him.
Ansh shifted slightly, but he didn’t pull out. He stayed buried inside, softening but still present. He nuzzled Rishav’s neck, his lips gentle against the skin he’d bitten minutes before.
"You feel that?" Ansh murmured, his voice hoarse. "That’s me. Deep inside you. My fucking cum is in your fucking ass."
The warmth of Ansh’s cum was a living thing inside him, a thick, claiming heat that seemed to pulse with his own heartbeat. Rishav lay pinned beneath his cousin’s weight, every nerve ending screaming from the brutal, perfect fuck he’d just been given.
Ansh’s lips were soft against his neck, a stark contrast to the animalistic force of moments before. “You feel that?” he murmured. “That’s me. Deep inside you. My fucking cum is in your fucking ass.”
Rishav could only moan in response, a weak, overwhelmed sound. He felt utterly claimed, branded from the inside out. The smell of their sex flooded the room, a musky, honest scent that made his spent cock twitch with a faint, shocking interest.
Ansh shifted, his softening cock finally slipping out with a wet, obscene sound that made Rishav gasp. A slow, warm trickle immediately followed, tracing a path down his inner thigh. Ansh’s cum. Leaking out of me.
“Fuck,” Rishav breathed, the reality of it crashing over him. He was filled with his cousin’s load.
Ansh rolled off him, and the sudden absence of his weight left Rishav feeling hollow, cold. But the look in Ansh’s eyes was anything but cold. It was possessive, hungry, and already wanting more. His hand slid down Rishav’s stomach, his fingers following the trail of spent cum on Rishav’s thigh. He brought his fingertips to his own lips, never breaking eye contact, and sucked them clean.
“Tastes like us,” Ansh said, his voice a low growl.
A new, different heat flooded Rishav. The exhaustion was still there, a pleasant ache in his muscles and a deep, satisfied throb in his ass, but it was being overridden by a fresh, insistent need. He wanted to feel that connection again. He wanted to be in control of it.
“I want to ride you,” Rishav said, the words tumbling out before he could second-guess them.
Ansh’s eyes flashed with surprise, then dark approval. “Yeah? You want to get back on this cock already? Greedy fucking slut.”
“I want to feel it… I want to feel all of you moving inside me while I’m on top. I want to watch your face while I take every fucking inch.”
Ansh laid back against the pillows, his thick, muscular frame a feast for Rishav’s eyes. He was already hardening again, his cock thickening and rising against his stomach, slick with their combined fluids. “Then get up here. Show me what you need.”
Rishav moved with a newfound confidence, straddling Ansh’s hips. He reached behind himself, his fingers wrapping around Ansh’s shaft, guiding the blunt, wet head to his loosened, wet hole. He positioned himself, looking down at his cousin’s face, at the raw hunger written there.
Slowly, so slowly, he sank down.
Oh god. The sensation was completely different. He controlled the angle, the depth, the speed. He felt the thick length of Ansh’s cock stretching him open from this new angle, a delicious, filling pressure that made his head spin. A fresh trickle of cum leaked out around the invading thickness, making the slide wetter, hotter, nastier.
“Fuck, Rishav,” Ansh groaned, his hands gripping Rishav’s hips, his knuckles white. “Look at you. Look at my cousin riding my fucking dick. Using my cum as lube.”
Rishav began to move, a slow, grinding roll of his hips. He leaned forward, bracing his hands on Ansh’s chest, feeling the hard muscle there. He set a rhythm, rising up until just the tip remained inside him, then sinking back down, taking him to the root. Each time he dropped down, he felt the wet, hot squelch of Ansh’s seed being displaced inside him.
“You feel so deep like this,” Rishav panted, his eyes locked on Ansh’s. “I can feel you everywhere. I can feel your fucking load sloshing inside me every time I move.”
“Grind on it,” Ansh demanded, his voice strained. “Grind your fucking ass down on my cock. Milk it out. Let me feel it.”
Rishav obeyed, circling his hips, grinding his ass in a tight, dirty circle against Ansh’s pelvis. The friction was incredible, sending sparks of pleasure up his spine. He could feel the thick spill of more cum being worked out of him, a warm, slick mess between their bodies.
“I’m gonna…” Ansh started, but his words dissolved into a guttural groan. His body tensed beneath Rishav, his back arching off the bed.
Suddenly, he was pulling Rishav off him, flipping him onto his stomach on the bed with a strength that left Rishav breathless. Before Rishav could even process the movement, Ansh was kneeling behind him, his hands spreading Rishav’s ass cheeks wide open.
“What are you—” Rishav’s question was cut off by a sharp, shocked gasp as Ansh’s tongue, hot and wet and impossibly agile, swiped directly over his hole.
“Fuck!”
Ansh didn’t answer with words. He answered with his mouth. He ate at Rishav’s ass like a man starving, his tongue licking and probing, lapping up the mix of his own cum and Rishav’s sweat that was leaking from his well-used hole. The sound was filthy, wet, and obscene. Rishav buried his face in the sheets, his entire body trembling, his fingers clutching at the mattress.
“Ansh! Oh my god! That’s… that’s your…”
“I know what it is,” Ansh growled against his skin, his breath hot. “It’s my fucking cum dripping out of your perfect fucking ass. And I want to taste it. I want to taste us together.” His tongue pushed inside, a shallow, claiming thrust that made Rishav see stars. He could taste himself on Ansh’s tongue, a salty, musky flavor that was uniquely theirs. It was the most depraved, most intimate thing Rishav had ever experienced. Ansh’s nose was buried in his crease, his tongue working him open, cleaning him, worshipping him in the most vulgar way possible. Rishav was completely lost in the sensation, a willing participant in his own delicious degradation.
After long, mind-melting minutes, Ansh pulled back, breathing heavily. He landed a sharp, stinging slap on Rishav’s ass. “Come on. Shower. I’m not done with you.”
They stumbled into the bathroom, limbs entangled. Ansh turned on the spray, and soon steam was billowing around them. The hot water cascaded over their bodies, washing away the sweat and the initial evidence of their fucking. But as Ansh turned Rishav around, his back to the water, and began to soap his chest, Rishav felt it.
A fresh, warm trickle started its slow path down the inside of his thigh, cutting a clean line through the suds. Ansh’s eyes dropped down, watching it. His hand followed the path, his soapy fingers gently spreading Rishav’s legs further apart.
“Look at that,” Ansh said, his voice husky from the steam. “There’s so much of me in you, pretty cousin. My cum’s still leaking out. You’re still dripping for me.” His slick, soapy finger traced a circle around Rishav’s stretched, sensitive hole, catching a fresh bead of white as it escaped. “Even the hot water can’t wash me out of you.”
