The day had started crazy enough with Matt bursting into the room while I was enjoying Brody’s morning wood like a goddamn lollipop. In hindsight, maybe locking the door would’ve been smart—but where was the fun in that?
Breakfast was a blur of coffee and stolen glances. Matt leaned across the table to snag a piece of bacon, his forearm brushing mine just a second too long, his smirk lingering like he knew exactly how his touch burned. "Sleep well, Mika?" he asked, voice dripping with faux innocence. Brody, blissfully clueless, shoveled pancakes into his mouth like they might disappear if he didn’t eat fast enough. Derek watched from the corner of his eye, stirring his coffee with deliberate slowness.
On the slopes, the cold air did nothing to dampen the heat of Matt’s teasing. He’d "accidentally" bump into me at the lift, his gloved hand grazing my ass with a sharp slap that echoed louder than it should’ve. "Whoops," he’d say, grinning beneath his goggles, while Derek’s gaze flicked between us, unreadable. Brody, of course, missed it all, too busy marveling at the snow like he’d never seen it before.
By afternoon, the après-ski cabin was packed with sweaty bodies and laughter, the air thick with the scent of beer and damp wool. Matt leaned into my space, his thigh pressing against mine under the table, his breath warm against my ear. "Bet you’re wishing Brody’s hands were as bold as mine," he murmured, just loud enough for Derek to catch. Derek’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t react—not yet.
Then, like a dam breaking, Derek cornered me by the bar, his voice low and razor-sharp. "Did you fuck Matt, or what’s going on?" His eyes were dark, probing.
The question hit me like a ski pole to the ribs—sharp and unexpected. I glanced past Derek’s shoulder to where Matt was leaning against the fireplace, his grin widening as he caught my eye. He raised his beer in a mock toast, the bastard. Behind him, Brody was too busy arm-wrestling some poor stranger to notice the tension.
I forced a smirk, twisting the truth just enough to sting. "What’s it to you?"
Derek’s jaw flexed. "Don’t play dumb." His voice was low, edged with something that wasn’t quite anger—more like the quiet tension of a man who’d solved a puzzle but didn’t like the picture it revealed. His fingers tapped once against his beer bottle, knuckles white from the cold or the grip, I couldn’t tell. Behind him, Matt was laughing too loud at something Brody said, his hand slapping Brody’s shoulder like they were sharing a secret. Derek’s gaze flicked to them, then back to me. "Matt’s been hanging off you all day like a fucking barnacle. And you—" He exhaled sharply through his nose. "You’ve got that look."
"What look?" I grinned, leaning into the bar just to watch his eye twitch.
"The one you get when you’ve won something you shouldn’t have." Derek took a slow sip of his drink, his throat working as he swallowed. "So. Did you?"
The question hung between us, heavy as the snow-laden eaves outside. I could’ve lied. Should’ve, maybe. But the weight of Derek’s stare—the way his shoulders were set, like he already knew—made honesty feel like the sharper weapon. "Yeah," I admitted, rolling my neck until it cracked. "Last night. After you all passed out."
Derek’s fingers tightened around his bottle. "And Brody?"
"Brody knows I helped Matt out, yeah." I kept my voice light, watching Derek’s face for tells. "But honestly... he already knew what I'm into..."
Derek’s laugh was short, humorless. "You're fucking with me, aren't you?" He rubbed his temple, like he was trying to physically push the information deeper into his skull. "Christ, Mika. He’s your *brother*."
"And?" I arched a brow. "You’ve known Brody since we were kids. You really think I could force him into anything he didn’t want?"
Derek’s gaze slid past me to where Brody was arm-wrestling some tourist, his biceps straining as he grinned like an overgrown puppy. "No," he admitted grudgingly. "But that’s not the point." He leaned in, his voice dropping so low I had to strain to hear it over the din of the bar. "It’s fucked up. You know that, right?"
I shrugged. "Maybe. But he likes it. *I* like it." I tilted my head, studying Derek’s face—the tightness around his mouth, the way his jaw kept working like he was chewing on the words. "You’re not gonna tell him he shouldn’t, are you?"
Derek exhaled hard through his nose. "No." He took another swig of beer, his Adam’s apple bobbing. "But I’m not gonna pretend it’s normal either." His gaze flicked up, sharp. "I should’ve known, though. The way you looked at him all those years when I came over." A muscle in his jaw jumped. "Christ, Mika. You were *kids*."
I rolled my shoulders, feigning nonchalance even as my pulse kicked. "And now we’re not."
"Still fucked up."
"Still feels good."
Derek’s laugh was short, humorless. "Yeah. I bet." He leaned in, voice dropping. "But exploiting Brody’s dumbass nature? That’s low."
"Exploiting?" I arched a brow. "He’s the one who comes for *me* now."
That got a reaction—Derek’s eyes widened fractionally before his expression shuttered. "Bullshit."
"Ask him." I jerked my chin toward Brody, now arm-wrestling a third victim, his biceps straining as he grinned. "He’ll tell you."
Derek stared at me for a long moment before exhaling sharply through his nose. His fingers tapped against his beer bottle—once, twice—before he took a slow sip. The noise of the après-ski bar roared around us, laughter and clinking glasses swallowing the silence between us. "You're a piece of work," he muttered, but there was no real bite to it. Just exhaustion, maybe. Resignation. His gaze flicked past me to where Matt was now arm-wrestling Brody, their forearms straining against the wooden table, sweat glistening at their temples.
Matt caught my eye over Brody’s shoulder and winked.
Derek noticed. His jaw tightened.
"I'm not stopping," I said lightly, tracing the rim of my glass. "And neither is Brody. So you can either get over it or—"
"Or what?" Derek cut in, voice low. "Tell your parents?"
I snorted. "You wouldn’t."
He didn’t deny it. Just rubbed his temple again like he was trying to erase the conversation entirely. "Just—keep it discreet. Christ." He pushed away from the bar, his shoulder brushing mine—hard enough to be deliberate—before he vanished into the crowd.
The walk back to our cabin was a blur of snow-crunching footsteps and Matt’s relentless teasing. He kept bumping into me on purpose, his gloved fingers sliding along my waist, his breath warm against my ear as he murmured shit like, "How about I fuck you next to Brody so he can learn?" Derek pretended not to hear, but his shoulders were tense, his stride just a fraction too stiff. Meanwhile, Brody lumbered ahead, blissfully oblivious, kicking up snow like an overexcited Saint Bernard. "You are *such* an asshole," I muttered, elbowing Matt in the ribs—hard—but he just laughed, loud enough to make Derek’s jaw twitch.
Inside, the cabin smelled of pine and damp wool, the fire crackling low in the hearth. I showered first, the hot water sluicing away sweat and tension, but by the time I stepped out, voices drifted up from the living room—low, conspiratorial. I paused at the top of the stairs.
Brody’s voice boomed, earnest as ever: "Yeah, the first time was on the couch—he just grabbed my dick like it was no big deal." A beat. Then Matt’s laughter—bright, unhinged—followed by the wet smack of a palm hitting denim. "No fucking way," Matt wheezed. "You just *let* him?"
I froze on the staircase, bare feet silent on cold wood. Below, Derek lounged in the armchair, one ankle hooked over his knee, fingers steepled under his chin. His biceps strained the sleeves of his thermal shirt, the fabric pulling taut across his chest as he exhaled through his nose. "Jesus Christ," he muttered, but his lips twitched.
Brody sprawled on the rug by the fireplace, back propped against the couch. He has changed from his ski pants into sweatpants by now, thighs spread wide enough that the seam of his sweatpants strained. His upper body bare, carved abs still faintly damp from his sweat, the firelight casting shadows between each ridge. "I mean," he shrugged, "Mika said he was helping me. Like spotting at the gym."
Matt collapsed onto the couch behind Brody, his buzzcut catching the light as he tipped his head back, throat working around another laugh. His thighs spread carelessly, the outline of his cock unmistakable even in ski pants. "Bro," he gasped, "that’s not spotting, that’s—"
"Gay as hell," Derek finished dryly. His gaze flicked to Brody, dark and assessing. "You really didn’t think twice?"
Brody scratched his stomach, fingers trailing through coarse treasure-trail hair. "I *thought* about it," he admitted. "But then Mika got on his knees, and—"
"Hold up," Matt interrupted, leaning forward to grip Brody’s shoulder. His biceps bulged, veins standing proud under golden skin. "He *swallowed* you raw?"
I bit my lip, blood rushing south at the memory—Brody’s hips stuttering, his groan echoing in my skull.
Brody nodded, oblivious. "Yeah.’"
Derek’s head thunked against the chair. "*Christ*."
Matt howled, slapping Brody’s back. "Dude! That’s fucking great!"
Brody blinked. "It is?" His biceps flexed as he scratched his head, the motion pulling his sweatpants even tighter around his thighs. Firelight flickered over the thick vein running down his forearm, the same one that pulsed when he came down my throat.
Matt wiped tears from his eyes, his shoulders shaking with laughter. "Bro, you got your *brother* to suck you off without even realizing what a great service you got?" His fingers dug into Brody’s shoulder, knuckles whitening against the thick muscle.
Brody blinked, his brow furrowing like a confused slab of granite. "Service?"
Derek’s fingers drummed against his knee, the tendons in his forearm flexing under golden skin. "He means Mika was *servicing* you," he drawled, voice dripping with dark amusement. His gaze flicked to Brody’s lap—where his sweatpants tented obscenely just from recounting our exploits—then back up. "Like a fucking gas station attendant."
Matt barked another laugh, slapping his thigh hard enough to leave a red imprint on the smooth skin. "Yeah, except instead of pumping gas—"
"I *get* it," Brody interrupted, flushing. His biceps bulged as he crossed his arms, the motion pulling wiggling his pecs. A bead of sweat trailed down his throat, disappearing into the shadow between his collarbones.
Derek leaned forward, elbows on his knees, the fabric of his thermal shirt straining over his broad back. "You let Mika call the shots every time?." His dark eyes locked onto Brody’s, unblinking. "Ever think maybe *you* should take control?"
Brody’s nostrils flared. His thighs spread wider, denim stretching taut over his quads. "I don’t—" His fingers flexed against his knees. "Mika *likes* telling me what to do."
Matt leaned forward, forearms braced on his knees, the outline of his cock pressing obscenely against his ski pants. "Yeah, but have you ever *made* him take it?" His tongue flicked over his lower lip. "Mika clearly is the recieving end here, and from what I know, bottoms fucking *crave* being put in their place."
Brody's throat worked as he swallowed, his thick fingers flexing against his own thighs. Firelight flickered over the dense muscles of his shoulders, the sweat drying on his collarbones. "I—" His brows knit together, the gears visibly turning. "I mean, I wouldn't *mind, but I wouldn't know—"*
Derek exhaled through his nose, shoulders rolling under his thermal shirt as he leaned forward. The fabric pulled taut across his chest, seams straining. "You just *fuck,*" he said, voice low and deliberate. His fingers flexed around his beer bottle, knuckles whitening. "Pin him down. Make him *feel* it."
Matt grinned, sharp and knowing, his thigh nudging Brody’s shoulder. "Yeah, man. Mika’s got you trained like a fucking show pony—time to flip the script."
Brody’s nostrils flared. His fist clenched, the veins in his forearm standing out like cables. "But Mika *likes*—"
"*Trust me,*" Derek interrupted, smirking. "He’ll like *this* too."
That’s when I stepped off the stairs, the old wood creaking under my bare feet. "The fuck is this?"
All three heads swiveled toward me. Brody’s eyes widened—guilty, eager, his cock straining obscenely against his sweats. Matt just grinned, stretching his arms behind his head to flex his biceps, his ski pants riding lower on his hips. "Sex ed," he drawled. "Derek’s teaching Brody how to *properly* rail you."
I folded my arms, leaning against the stair railing as the firelight flickered over their faces—Brody flushed and eager, Matt grinning like he'd won the lottery, Derek's dark eyes glinting with something dangerous. "Brody and I take it slow," I said, rolling my shoulders like I wasn’t already half-hard from the tension in the room. "I rode him once. That’s it." I flicked my gaze to Derek, then Matt, their expressions hungry in a way that made my pulse jump. "You two might wanna dominate, but Brody’s a nice guy."
Matt’s smirk widened. He sprawled back against the couch, thighs spreading deliberately. "Nice guys finish last, Mika." His tongue darted over his lower lip. "I’d *love* to show Brody how to take care of an ass. Right here. Right now."
The air crackled. Derek's fingers twitched —muscles flexing under his thermal shirt. His dark gaze flicked from me to Matt, then back, his jaw working like he'd just swallowed something bitter. The smirk he'd worn seconds ago faltered, replaced by something sharper—uncertainty, maybe. Or calculation. His chest rose once, twice, the fabric of his shirt pulling tight before he exhaled through his nose and crossed his arms.
Matt didn't notice. Or didn't care. He inched forward on the couch, thighs spreading wider, pants pulling tighter—every movement a deliberate provocation. His smirk twisted into something predatory as he watched me, fingers tapping against his knee. "Come on, Mika," he coaxed, voice dropping into that rough, playful register that made my pulse jump. "Wouldn't you like Brody to know exactly how to fuck you?" His tongue darted out, wetting his lower lip. "I'm happy to demonstrate."
Derek exhaled sharply through his nose—one quick, irritated sound—before pushing to his feet. The movement was fluid, deliberate, muscles shifting under his thermal shirt like a predator deciding the hunt wasn’t worth it. "Riling Brody up was fun," he muttered, wiping his palms on his thighs, "but this?" His dark eyes flicked over the three of us—Brody flushed and eager on the floor, Matt sprawled like a king on the couch, me leaning against the stair railing with my pulse hammering in my throat. "Going too far." He smirked, but it didn’t reach his eyes. "Have fun. I’ll shower." The last word was a punchline, dripping with implication as he strode toward the hallway, his broad back blocking the firelight for one long second before he vanished.
Matt didn’t miss a beat. He stretched, arms arching over his head to flex his biceps, his ski pants riding obscenely low on his hips. "So," he drawled, gaze locking onto mine, "think you can take me tonight?" His smirk widened when I didn’t answer immediately, his fingers tapping against his thigh. "Or is Brody the only one who gets to wreck that ass?"
Brody made a noise—half protest, half interest—his thick fingers flexing against his own knees where he sat cross-legged on the rug. Firelight painted his shoulders gold, shadows pooling in the divots of his abs. He didn’t speak, just watched, pupils blown wide.
I rolled my shoulders, stepping closer until my bare feet brushed the edge of the rug. "I can try," I said, tilting my chin up.
Matt’s laugh was low, victorious as he stood up—his movements fluid, deliberate—his thighs flexing under his ski pants as he stepped toward me. The firelight caught the smooth planes of his chest when he peeled off his own thermal shirt, tossing it onto the armchair Derek had vacated. His abs were tight, defined without being grotesque, the kind of body built for endurance and power. "Better view for Brody," he murmured, jerking his chin toward the armchair as he guided me backward into it. His hands were hot on my shoulders, pressing me down until the leather creaked under my weight. Then he took my face between his palms—rough, demanding—and tilted it up.
His mouth crashed into mine before I could react, tongue sliding past my lips with practiced ease. It wasn’t gentle—Matt wasn’t the type for gentle—but it wasn’t sloppy either. He kissed like he rode bikes: all precision and controlled aggression, his teeth nipping my lower lip just hard enough to make me gasp before his tongue soothed the sting. One hand fisted in my hair, angling my head back to give him better access while the other slid down to grip my thigh, fingers digging in hard enough to leave marks.
"Show him," Matt growled against my mouth, pulling back just far enough for Brody to see his tongue drag wetly over my lower lip. His fingers tightened in my hair, angling my face toward Brody—still sprawled on the rug, sweatpants tented obscenely—as he traced the seam of my lips with his thumb. "Watch how he *melts* when you take control," he murmured, eyes locked on Brody’s while his other hand slid down to palm me through my sweats.
Brody’s throat bobbed, his thick fingers digging into his own thighs as Matt kissed me again—slower this time, deliberate, tilting my head back with a fistful of hair until my throat arched. Matt’s tongue worked mine with rough precision, his teeth scraping my lip just enough to make me gasp. When he pulled away, my mouth chased his instinctively, and he smirked—sharp, victorious—before glancing at Brody. "See that? He *wants* it." His thumb swiped over my swollen lower lip.
Matt’s thumb dragged over my bottom lip one last time before he pulled back, leaving me breathless against the armchair’s leather. He turned his head toward Brody, still sprawled on the rug like a golden statue of confusion and arousal. "When you’re done showing him how good your tongue is," Matt murmured, fingers tightening in my hair, "you flip him over and eat his ass like it’s your last meal." His grin was all teeth. "Got it?"
Matt’s fingers twisted tighter in my hair, forcing my head back against the leather as his knee pressed between mine—hot, insistent—before he dropped down smoothly, one knee planted on the floor and the other wedged against the armchair between my thighs. The shift in position made my stomach flip; suddenly, I was staring down the length of my own body at Matt’s buzzcut catching firelight, his shoulders flexing under smooth skin as he palmed my hips. "Legs up," he ordered, voice rough, and I obeyed without thinking, bending my knees to make room for him to yank my sweats down my thighs. Cool air hit my bare ass as he shoved the fabric past my ankles, tossing it somewhere behind him.
Brody’s breath hitched audibly from the rug. I glanced over—just in time to see his tongue swipe his lower lip, his thick fingers digging into his own thighs like he was restraining himself. Matt noticed too. His smirk was wicked as he hooked his hands under my knees, lifting them higher until my ass perched right at the edge of the chair, exposed and vulnerable. "See this?" Matt angled my hips toward Brody, his thumbs pressing into the soft flesh of my inner thighs, spreading me wider. "You wanna eat him out, you gotta *own* it." His voice dropped, deliberate, as his gaze locked onto Brody’s. "Grab whatever you want—his hips, his thighs, hell, even his feet if that’s your thing." His fingers trailed up my legs, tracing the sensitive skin behind my knees before squeezing hard enough to leave marks. "Bottom line? He *wants* you to take charge."
Brody’s nostrils flared. "Where?" he rasped, voice thick.
Matt laughed—low, filthy—as he leaned in, his breath hot against my ass. "*Anywhere,*" he murmured, before his tongue swiped a slow, deliberate stripe from my taint to the base of my spine.
I gasped, fingers scrabbling at the armrests as Matt’s mouth worked me open—no teasing, no preamble, just wet, hungry licks that sent sparks up my spine. His nose pressed into me, blunt and unrelenting, while his thumbs kneaded my cheeks apart. "Fuck, you’re *clean,*" he muttered against my skin, the words vibrating through me. "Like you *knew* you’d be getting wrecked tonight." His teeth nipped the curve of my ass, just hard enough to sting, before his tongue soothed the spot. "Bet you’ve been *dreaming* about Brody’s tongue right here, huh?"
I whimpered, thighs trembling as Matt’s hands slid up to grip my hips, holding me steady while he devoured me. Firelight glinted off the sweat on his shoulders, the muscles of his back shifting like a predator’s as he worked me over. Over his shoulder, Brody stared—spellbound—his cock straining against his sweatpants, his chest rising and falling like he’d just sprinted uphill.
Matt pulled back just enough to smirk at him. "Your turn," he said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand before standing. He stepped aside, gesturing grandly toward me like he was unveiling a prize. "Show him how it’s done, Brody."
Brody didn’t hesitate. He was on me before Matt finished speaking, his huge hands replacing Matt’s on my thighs, spreading me wider as he buried his face between my cheeks with a groan. Where Matt had been precise, Brody was *messy*—all wet, sloppy licks and hungry noises, his tongue dragging broad strokes over my hole before plunging in deep. The difference was intoxicating; Matt’s technique had been clinical, calculated, but Brody *feasted* like he’d been starving for it.
I arched, moaning as his nose pressed into my perineum, his touch teasing the sensitive skin of my inner thighs. His grip shifted—one hand sliding up to grip my hip, the other palming my ass—as he licked into me like he was trying to memorize the taste.
Matt barked a laugh from behind Brody. "Damn, Brody," he drawled, voice dripping with amusement. "Never thought I’d see one of my boys eat his own brother out like a starving man at a buffet." His fingers trailed lazily over Brody’s flexed shoulders as he watched, his smirk widening when Brody didn’t even pause—just growled against my skin and dug his thumbs deeper into my thighs. Matt exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "Fuck, watching this is getting me hard. Guess my brain’s already fried from cheating on my girl all weekend. Maybe I just like things… unconventional."
He stepped back, palms slapping his thighs. "Alright, gonna grab lube and condoms. Brody—" His fingers flicked Brody’s ear, making him grunt. "Do a good job prepping him, or I’ll have to stretch him the rough way. My fat dick’ll rip him open." His gaze locked onto mine, winking as Brody’s tongue plunged deeper, curling just right to wring a broken moan from my throat. Matt’s laugh was filthy, bouncing off the cabin walls as he strode toward the hallway.
Brody didn’t stop. If anything, he got *worse*—his tongue dragging broad, wet stripes over my hole before spearing inside, relentless. His hands were everywhere: gripping my hips to yank me closer, kneading my ass cheeks apart, fingertips pressing bruises into my thighs. Every lick sent shocks up my spine, his nose grinding against my perineum as he devoured me like he was trying to memorize the taste. My cock jerked against my stomach, precome smearing my abs, my moans pitching higher with every flick of his tongue.
Matt’s return was announced by the creak of the stairs—his steps deliberate, heavy—and I glanced over just as his shadow stretched across the living room wall. He’d lost his pants somewhere between the hallway and now, striding bare except for socks, his thick thighs flexing with each step. Lube dangled from one hand, condoms pinched between the fingers of the other, his smirk widening as he caught me staring. "Like what you see, size queen?" His voice was rough, amused, his free hand trailing down his own torso to grip his cock—thick, flushed, already half-hard—and give it a lazy stroke. "Bet you’re used to bigger, huh?"
I didn’t answer, my throat too dry, my focus locked on the way his quadriceps tensed as he descended the last step. Firelight licked over his thighs, highlighting the dense muscle built from years of punishing climbs, the faint sheen of sweat still clinging to his skin from the slopes. He smelled like pine and salt, the musk of a day unshowered, and fuck if that didn’t make my cock twitch.
Matt tossed the lube bottle onto my stomach—cold enough to make me gasp—before dropping the condoms onto my chest. His smirk was all teeth as he stepped closer from the side of the armchair, his thick cock bobbing against his abs with each movement. Firelight caught the smooth planes of his torso, highlighting the dense muscle built from years of cycling—his obliques flexing as he slapped his own dick against his palm with a wet smac. "See this?" He gripped himself at the base, thumb swiping over the leaking tip before angling it toward my face. His voice dropped, rough with amusement. "Tell Brody what you think."
I swallowed, tongue darting out to wet my lips as I stared at the thick vein running along the underside. "It’s…" My throat clicked. "*Perfect.*"
Matt's palm cracked lightly against my cheek—more sound than sting—before his fingers curled into my hair, tilting my head back. "Good boy," he murmured, eyes flicking toward Brody, who hovered behind me, still kneeling, his breathing ragged. "You prepped him nice and loose." Matt's thumb dragged over my lower lip, pressing down just enough to make me gasp. "Go park that thick ass on the couch, big guy. You earned the show."
I watched, pulse hammering, as Brody rose—his thighs flexing, sweatpants clinging to the outline of his cock—and stumbled backward onto the couch, sinking into the cushions with a groan. The shift left space for Matt to step forward, his knees bracketing mine as he loomed over me, his thick thighs framing my hips. The ridges of his abs shifted as he flexed deliberately, rolling his shoulders to make his pecs bounce. "Look at you," he taunted, fingers tightening in my hair. "Eyes fucking *glued* to my body like it's your last meal." His free hand trailed down his torso, fingers tracing the deep V of his hips before gripping his cock, angling it toward my face. "Guess I ain't wrong."
The musky scent of his skin—salt and the faint tang of dried sweat—hit me as he leaned closer, his dick bobbing inches from my lips. Behind him, Brody shifted, his hand already working under the waistband of his sweats. Matt smirked without glancing back. "Go ahead, Brody. Stroke that monster. Nobody's judging." His attention snapped back to me, his grip tightening. "And you... Open that pretty mouth of yours."
I obeyed, tongue pressing flat against my bottom teeth as Matt guided himself forward, the broad head of his cock dragging wetly over my lips before pushing past them. The taste was bitter-salty, thick with the musk of a day spent shredding powder, and fuck if that didn't make my own dick twitch. Matt exhaled sharply, his thighs flexing as he rocked deeper, his tip nudging the back of my throat. "Christ, you *love* this," he muttered, hips rolling lazily. "Sucking down a real man's dick while your brother jerks off to it." His thumb swiped over my stretched lips, smearing spit. "Bet you'd let him face-fuck you next, huh?"
From the couch, Brody seemed more than happy with his view, his fist moving faster under his sweats, his knees falling open wider. Matt's laugh was low, victorious. "See? Even *he* knows you're a slut for it." He pulled back just enough to let me gasp, his cock glistening with spit, then shoved back in, deeper this time, his balls slapping my chin. The stretch burned—his girth undeniable—but the noise I made was pure want, muffled around him.
Matt's fingers tightened in my hair, holding me still as he pulled his cock from my mouth with a wet pop—strands of spit clinging to his shaft before snapping. I blinked up at him, lips swollen, chin glistening, the taste of him thick on my tongue. His smirk was filthy as he thumbed my lower lip, pressing down until I gasped. "Good boy," he rumbled, voice rough.
He stepped back, cock bobbing against his abs, and gestured to the rug with a jerk of his chin. "Let's give Brody a proper show." His grin was all teeth as he surveyed my wrecked face—lips swollen, chin glistening—before nodding toward the space between the couch and the fireplace. "Down you go, Mika. Flat on your belly. Parallel to the couch so Brody gets the full view." His fingers flicked the pack of condoms I'd been clutching, and I handed them over without hesitation, my pulse thrumming as I scrambled off the armchair onto the rug. The wool fibers scratched my knees as I positioned myself, stretching out on my stomach with my hips angled slightly upward, my face turned toward Brody. He was still sprawled on the couch, sweatpants shoved down to mid-thigh, his thick fist pumping his cock lazily as he watched me settle.
Matt knelt beside me, one knee pressing into the rug near my ribs, the other planted between my thighs. Firelight traced the ridges of his abs as he leaned over me, his shadow swallowing mine. "Watch closely, Brody," he murmured, tearing open the lube with his teeth. The sound made me shiver. "Prep’s everything." His fingers—cool with slick—dragged down my spine, pausing at the base before circling my hole with deliberate pressure. "You wanna fuck him like this?" Matt’s thumb pressed in, just enough to make me gasp. "Gotta *open* him up first." His voice dropped, roughened with amusement as Brody nodded, his fist stilling on his cock. "Otherwise you’re just shoving a tree trunk into a mailbox."
I buried my face in my forearms as Matt’s fingers worked me open—first one, then two, his knuckles twisting slowly while his free hand palmed my ass, kneading the flesh. Every movement was calculated, his rhythm steady, his breath hot against the back of my neck. "See how he’s relaxing?" Matt’s thumb pressed deeper, curling just right, and I whimpered into my arms. "That’s how you know he’s ready." Behind me, Brody exhaled sharply, his thighs flexing as he watched Matt’s fingers slide in and out, the lube glistening in the firelight.
Matt pulled his fingers free with a wet sound and reached for the condom, rolling it down his length with practiced ease. The latex clung to his thick veins, the firelight catching the sheen of lube as he slicked himself further. His knees bracketed my hips, his weight settling over me—not crushing, but *dominant*, his torso pressing along my back as he lined himself up. "Now *this*," he growled, hips rolling forward, "is how you take him." The head of his cock pressed against me, blunt and insistent, before he pushed in with a slow, deliberate thrust.
The stretch burned—a sweet, searing pressure—as Matt buried himself to the hilt, his hips flush against my ass. His breath hitched, his abs flexing against my spine as he paused, letting me adjust. "Fuck," he muttered, fingers digging into my hips. "Tight as hell." His thighs trembled slightly, the muscles taut as he pulled back almost entirely before driving in again, deeper this time, his pelvis grinding against me. The pace was relentless—slow, measured thrusts that dragged against every nerve, his cockhead rubbing just right on the way out, the base pressing firmly on the way in.
I gasped as Matt shifted his weight, one hand sliding up to grip the back of my neck, pinning me to the rug. His other hand braced beside my shoulder, his biceps flexing as he fucked into me with controlled precision. The angle changed subtly—his thrusts hitting harder, deeper—and I arched under him, my toes curling against the wool. Matt’s breath came in rough bursts against my ear, his hips rolling in a rhythm that was almost *casual*, like he had all the time in the world to wreck me.
Over my shoulder, Brody’s gaze was locked on where Matt’s cock disappeared into me, his own hand moving faster on his dick, his throat working. Matt noticed. His smirk was filthy as he slowed further, dragging his next thrust out obscenely, his tip nudging deep before pulling back. "See this, Brody?" He punctuated the question with another leisurely roll of his hips, his sweat dripping onto my back. "This is how you *own* him."
Brody’s answer was a simple nod, underscored by his usual goofy grin. Matt laughed—low, victorious—and picked up the pace, his thrusts gaining force but never losing that deliberate control. His body was a furnace atop mine, his muscles coiled like springs, his hips pistoning with the kind of precision only years of cycling could hone. Every snap forward drove me deeper into the rug, the fibers scratching my bare chest as Matt’s weight pinned me down. His thighs—those monstrous, tree-trunk thighs—flexed with each movement, their power undeniable as they propelled him into me again and again, his cock hitting depths that made my vision blur.
I gasped into the rug, fingers clutching at nothing as Matt’s rhythm shifted—no longer slow and teasing, but deep, relentless. His hips rolled with the same cadence he’d use climbing a mountain, steady and punishing, his quads bunching with every thrust. The angle was perfect—his cockhead dragging against that sweet spot inside me with every withdrawal, the thick base stretching me wide on the push back in. Sweat dripped from his chest onto my back, his breath hot against my neck as he murmured, “You take dick like a fucking champ, Mika.” His palm pressed between my shoulder blades, pinning me harder to the floor. “Better than my girl, and she’s had years of practice.”
The words shouldn’t have made my cock twitch against the rug, but they did—validation and degradation twisted together.
I couldn't help it—the moan tore from my throat like I was some back-alley slut, high-pitched and desperate, my cheek grinding against the wool rug as Matt's cock nailed that spot again. His laugh was dark, triumphant, hips never faltering as he continued to fuck into me.
I could feel the tension coiling in my gut, hot and insistent, my cock trapped beneath me against the rough wool rug, smearing precome in sticky streaks with every grind of Matt’s hips. Above me, he’d gone silent—no more taunts, no breathy laughs—just the ragged pull of air through his teeth as his thrusts turned jagged, erratic. His weight pressed me deeper into the floor, his cock impaling me with a punishing rhythm that left no room for anything but sensation. The thick vein along the underside of his shaft dragged against my rim with every withdrawal, the swollen head nudging that spot inside me until my thighs trembled.
The pressure built like a storm surge—inevitable, unstoppable—as Matt's cock dragged against that spot inside me with every deep, rolling thrust. His thighs pressed flush against the backs of mine, the dense muscle quivering with restraint, his hips pistoning with the same relentless rhythm he'd use to summit a climb. Firelight flickered over his sweat-slicked shoulders, highlighting the way his trapezoids flexed as he braced himself above me, his biceps corded tight where his hands planted on either side of my head. Every inch of him was taut, controlled, his abs rippling with each snap forward, his cock burying itself to the hilt before withdrawing almost entirely—only to plunge back in, slow and deliberate, like he was savoring the way my body yielded to him.
I gasped into the rug, my own hips grinding down against the rough fibers, the friction against my trapped cock sending sparks up my spine. Matt's weight pinned me perfectly—his chest a solid warmth against my back, his pelvis driving into me with precision that left no room for thought, only sensation. The stretch was unbearable in the best way, his thickness filling me so completely I could feel the outline of him with every clench of my muscles. His rhythm hitched, his thrusts growing uneven, and I knew he was close—could feel it in the way his fingers dug into the rug near my shoulders, the way his breath came in ragged bursts against my ear.
Then it hit me—a white-hot coil of pleasure snapping tight in my gut, my vision tunneling as my cock twitched against the rug. I came with a broken moan, my back arching under Matt as my release spilled hot and messy beneath me, my thighs trembling violently. The aftershocks rippled through me, my hole fluttering around Matt's cock in erratic pulses, milking him as I shuddered through the waves of pleasure.
Matt's laugh was breathless above me, his hips stuttering mid-thrust. "Fuck, thats hot—" His voice cracked as his own orgasm overtook him, his sentence dissolving into a guttural groan. His body locked up—every muscle rigid, his thighs pressing impossibly closer against mine as he buried himself to the root. I felt it then: the way his cock twitched deep inside me, the condom filling with his release as his hips jerked in shallow, involuntary thrusts. His head tipped back, tendons standing out in his neck, his groan raw and unfiltered as he emptied himself in long, pulsing waves.
Matt exhaled sharply—a sound somewhere between relief and exhaustion—as his hips stuttered to a stop, his cock twitching inside me one last time before he slapped my shoulder in that casual, bro-ish way of his. His palm lingered for a second too long, fingers digging into my trapezius like he was steadying himself. Then he pulled out with a slick sound, his weight lifting off me as he knelt back on his haunches, thighs still bracketing my hips. I could feel the absence immediately—the stretch easing, the heat of his body replaced by the cooler cabin air—but my skin still tingled where his sweat had smeared against mine.
"Fuck," Matt exhaled, his voice ragged but saᴛisfied as he stepped back, peeling off the condom with a wet snap. His cock still glistened in the firelight, flushed and heavy between his thick thighs. He admired me sprawled on the rug—cheeks flushed, ass up, my skin slick with sweat—like a painter surveying his canvas. Brody’s voice cut through the haze, hesitant but thick with arousal: "You okay, Mika? You look... wrecked."
Matt didn’t let me answer. He smirked, tossing the used condom toward the fireplace. "That’s how he *should* look if you did your job right." His gaze flicked to me, one eyebrow arched. "Right?" I swallowed, my throat dry, but managed a breathless "Yeah. Felt great." I shifted to push myself up, muscles trembling—only for Matt’s foot to press between my shoulder blades, shoving me back down. I twisted to glare up at him, but his grin was all teeth, his fingers lazily stroking his softening cock. "What, you don’t wanna let Brody have his turn?" His tone was pure provocation. "He’ll be done fast—my handiwork’s still fresh, and you’re nice and loose."
I wanted to argue, but the thought of Brody’s thick cock sinking into me, still stretched from Matt, sent a hot shiver down my spine. With a groan, I flopped back onto my belly, cheek pressed to the rug. "Sure."
Matt didn’t waste time. He nudged Brody’s knee with his foot. "Mount him. He’s prepped—just slide in." Brody hesitated, brow furrowed. "Do I... need a condom?" Matt snorted, overtaking the answer again. "Nah. I only used one ’cause I’ve got a girl. You can fill him up—unless Mika objects." He paused, waiting, but I didn’t. Couldn’t. The noise I made was embarrassingly eager. Matt’s smirk deepened. "That’s what I thought."
The next thing I knew, Brody was peeling himself off the couch—his sweatpants already shoved halfway down his thighs—and stumbling to his feet with that endearing lack of coordination. He kicked them off clumsily, his thick thighs flexing as he stepped free of the fabric, his cock swinging heavily between his legs, already glistening with precome from his earlier jerking. I watched over my shoulder, my cheek pressed to the rug, as he approached—his broad shoulders blocking the firelight, his abs tensing with each step. There was something primal about the way he moved now, his usual goofy hesitation replaced by a hungry focus, his gaze locked on where Matt had just been buried inside me.
Brody’s weight settled over me, his chest pressing flush against my spine, his thighs slotting behind mine with none of Matt’s calculated dominance—just heat, and the clumsy eagerness of a man who’d never done this before but *wanted* to. His cock nudged against me, blunt and slick with precome, and I braced—but the stretch was nothing now, just a slow, delicious burn as Brody pushed in with a groan that rumbled through his chest and into mine. His hands found my neck, fingers curling around the base like Matt’s had, but where Matt had pinned me with precision, Brody’s grip was almost hesitant—his thumbs brushing my jawline like he was afraid to hurt me. His elbows planted beside my head, his forearms framing my face, his biceps flexing as he lowered himself until his torso was flush against my back, his abs pressing into my spine. The difference was visceral: Matt had fucked me like a challenge, Brody was *melding* into me, his skin slick with sweat, his breath hot against my shoulder blades.
Then he moved.
Brody’s first thrust was hesitant—just a shallow push, testing—but the second he realized how slick and open I was from Matt, he groaned like he’d been punched, his hips snapping forward in one deep, uncoordinated roll. His cock buried itself to the hilt, his pelvis grinding flush against my ass, and for a second, he froze, his breath ragged against my shoulder blades. Then, like a dam breaking, he pulled back and drove in again, harder this time, his thighs flexing against the backs of mine, his sweat-slick chest pressing me deeper into the rug. His rhythm was less calculated than Matt’s—no strategic pauses, no teasing withdrawals—just raw, hungry thrusts, his hips pistoning with a clumsy urgency that made my toes curl.
If I hadn’t already come, I would’ve spilled right then—just from the way Brody’s body moved over me, his muscles straining with every thrust, his forearms corded tight where they framed my head. His biceps flexed as he braced himself, the swell of them blocking the firelight, casting my face in shadow as his hips snapped forward again and again, his cock dragging against that sweet spot inside me with each withdrawal. The sound of skin slapping skin filled the cabin, underscored by Brody’s ragged moans—low, broken noises that rumbled from his chest into my spine. Mine were higher, breathier, my fingers clawing at the rug as his pace turned punishing, his thick length splitting me open with every deep, messy stroke.
Matt was silent for once—no taunts, no commentary—just the occasional rustle as he shifted on the couch behind us, his gaze heavy on where Brody’s cock disappeared into me. I could feel his satisfaction radiating off him, the smug bastard, but I didn’t care, not when Brody’s hips stuttered suddenly, his rhythm turning erratic. His grip on my neck tightened, his thumbs pressing into my jawline as he fucked into me with desperate, shallow thrusts, his breath hot against my shoulder blades. "Mika—" He started breathless, then groaned, deep and guttural, as his hips snapped forward one last time, burying himself to the hilt.
And then I felt it.
Brody didn’t just come—he *flooded* me, his cock twitching inside me in thick, pulsing spurts, each one hotter and heavier than the last. Where Matt’s release had been contained, clinical behind latex, Brody’s was primal, messy, his body shuddering against mine as he emptied himself in long, unbroken waves. I could feel every pulse, the way his cum filled me until it spilled back out around his shaft, dripping down my thighs in sticky rivulets. The heat of it was overwhelming, a molten rush that made my toes curl against the rug, my own oversensitive cock twitching uselessly beneath me.
A sharp whistle cut through the haze—Matt, of course—followed by a low, approving chuckle. "Good job, big guy." His shadow shifted near the couch as he stretched, his muscles flexing in the firelight. He stood up, "My work here is done. Gonna hit the shower—you two enjoy your... afterglow." The slap of his bare feet against the hardwood floor echoed as he walked away, his thighs flexing with each step, the dim light catching the sweat still glistening on his trapezius. His footsteps receded up the stairs, leaving Brody and me alone in the flickering firelight, the only sounds now the crackling logs and Brody’s ragged breathing against my spine.
Brody didn’t pull out. His weight stayed pressed into me, his chest rising and falling in slow, heavy waves against my back, his cock still buried deep inside me, twitching occasionally as aftershocks rolled through him. The warmth of his cum seeped between us, sticky and intimate, his hips flush against my ass like he couldn’t bear to separate yet. His hands, still framing my head, loosened slightly—thumbs brushing my jawline in absent, tender strokes, his calloused fingers tracing the curve of my ear with a gentleness that made my chest ache.
I turned my head slightly, nuzzling into the rug just enough to catch a glimpse of his profile—his brow relaxed for once, his thick lashes casting shadows over his cheekbones, his lips parted as he caught his breath. He looked... peaceful. Not confused, not hesitant, just *there*, present in a way he rarely was outside the gym or the garage. His biceps flexed as he adjusted his weight, the swell of them blocking the firelight, and I couldn’t resist reaching back with one hand, my fingers splaying over the dense muscle of his forearm.
"Stay," I murmured, my voice hoarse from earlier. My other hand slid between us, palm pressing against his ribs—the heat of his skin searing my fingertips, the steady thud of his heartbeat grounding me. He could’ve shrugged me off easily. Could’ve laughed and rolled away, could’ve made some dumb joke about needing a snack. But he didn’t. Instead, he exhaled sharply through his nose, his breath warm against my shoulder blades, and sank deeper into me, his hips shifting infinitesimally forward like he was trying to get even closer.
His fingers twined with mine where they rested on his forearm, squeezing gently, and something in my chest tightened—a hot, bright pulse of pride and affection so fierce it stole my breath. *Mine.* The word echoed in my skull, unbidden but undeniable. Not in the way Matt owned a moment, or Derek controlled a room, but in the way Brody’s body responded to mine without thought, without hesitation. His trust was implicit, his hunger honest, his movements unguarded in a way they never were outside this.
I knew then, with bone-deep certainty, that he was *mine*—not because I’d manipulated him into it, but because he’d chosen to be. Because beneath all that muscle and simplicity was a man who followed his instincts, and right now, those instincts had him wrapped around me like a second skin, his cock still half-hard inside me, his breath steadying against my neck.
I closed my eyes, let the warmth of him seep into me, and smiled.
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