Rob Fucks Charlie
The silence after that afternoon in Rob’s room was deafening. Charlie replayed every second on a loop so constant it felt like a sickness. The way Rob’s mouth had felt around him, the desperate sound of his own cry echoing off the walls, the shared taste of himself on Rob’s lips. He’d walked back to his own dorm in a daze, his body light, his mind screaming. And then the door had closed, and the crushing weight of it all had descended.
What the hell had they done?
He lay in bed that night, staring at the ceiling, replaying the moment Rob’s eyes had met his before he’d dropped to his knees. There had been fear there, yes. But also a raw, unguarded need that Charlie recognized because it mirrored his own. They had crossed a line. No, they had sprinted across it, obliterated it, left it in ashes. And now what? Did Rob wake up this morning with regret curdling in his stomach? Did he look at the spot on the carpet where he’d knelt and feel shame instead of the electric thrill Charlie couldn’t shake?
His phone sat on his nightstand, face-down, a monument to his cowardice. He hadn’t texted. Rob hadn’t texted. The silence stretched into a second day, then a third. Charlie went to classes, went to practice, went through the motions of being Charlie Andersen—the easy smile, the casual nod, the guy who could talk to anyone. But inside, he was a mess. His thoughts kept veering into forbidden territory: Rob’s hands on his hips, Rob’s cock in his mouth, the way Rob had said his name like a prayer, the smell of Rob’s crotch.
He was so horny; he tried to think of girls but his mind kept going back to Rob. Eventually, for the first time, he went to his phone and typed "gay porn college guys." The site Corbin Fisher was the first result and he clicked, his pulse hammering. The site loaded, a wall of tanned, athletic bodies. He clicked on some preview videos at random and felt like he was watching himself; these were straight looking guys athletes.
He then found a site that had bootleg copies of the videos – he sought out one with Travis. He watched him kiss another guy messily, all tongue and teeth and then bend over the bed, his ass presented, and a blond guy lubed up and pushed inside him. Charlie’s breath caught. Travis’s face contorted, a mix of pain and ecstasy, and the blond fucked him hard, his balls slapping against Travis’s thighs. Travis’s hand flew to his own big cock, stroking in frantic time with the thrusts. When he came, it was with a choked scream, his body shuddering, and the blond followed seconds later, pulling out and painting Travis’s back in thick ropes.
Charlie came harder than he had in weeks – maybe ever, his body convulsing, his vision whiting out. And when he collapsed, panting, the shame flooded back in. But it was different this time. Underneath the shame was a hot, undeniable truth: he wanted that. He wanted to be Travis, to be taken, to be filled. He wanted Rob inside him.
He closed the laptop, disgusted with himself, and lay in the dark, his heart racing. The image of Travis cumming with a dick in his ass burned into his brain, impossible to erase. He wondered what it would feel like. He wondered if Rob would ever want to do that to him. He wondered if Rob was thinking about him at all.
Three streets over, Rob was having his own crisis.
He’d spent the first night after their encounter in a state of euphoric disbelief. He’d touched himself, replaying the feel of Charlie’s mouth, the way Charlie had looked up at him with those dark, hungry eyes. He’d come so hard he’d seen stars. But the next morning, the euphoria had curdled into a gnawing anxiety.
He was twenty years old. He was a third year. He was one of the best players on the soccer team, a guy who dated girls—attractive girls, the jealous envy of his less successful teammates. He was Rob Hawthorne, the witty one, the easy one, the one who always had a joke and a grin. He wasn’t supposed to be lying in bed, his hand wrapped around his own cock, thinking about another man.
But he was.
He couldn’t stop. At practice, his eyes kept drifting to his teammates’ asses as they ran drills. He watched the way their hamstrings flexed, the way their shorts rode up, the set of their hips. He caught himself staring at a freshman’s bulge during a water break and had to look away, his face burning. It was like a fever, a switch that had been flipped and couldn’t be turned off. Every guy on Grounds was suddenly a specimen, a catalog of male beauty, and his mind kept circling back to Charlie.
Charlie’s ass. God, Charlie’s ass.
The pool encounter came to him in vivid flashes: Charlie in that speedo - how it clung to his ass in the pool and in the shower. He had gotten hard staring at Charlie. He had wanted nothing more than to peel it off with his teeth.
And now he knew what Charlie tasted like. And he wanted more.
But three days had passed. Three days of silence, and every minute of it felt like a betrayal. Was Charlie regretting it? Was he disgusted? Had he confided in a teammate, laughing about the fag who’d sucked him off? The thought made Rob’s stomach churn. He knew Charlie wasn’t cruel, but fear doesn't care about reason.
Rob found himself checking his phone obsessively, thumb hovering over Charlie’s name in his contacts. He typed and deleted a dozen messages.
You up?
Hey, so about the other day…
I can’t stop thinking about you.
He deleted them all. What was he supposed to say? How did you even begin to navigate this? There was no playbook for what they had done, no script for the aftermath.
On the third evening, he was sitting in his room, his homework untouched, his mind a storm. He’d just watched a video—not porn, just some viral clip of a soccer player doing a bicycle kick—and his eyes had drifted to the player’s thighs, the cut of his shorts. He was a lost cause. He grabbed his phone, his heart pounding, and typed a message before he could lose his nerve.
“You alive?”
“Barely.” Rob laughed; Charlie as always understated. He typed back quickly, his fingers clumsy.
“I've missed hanging out.”
A pause. Then: “Yeah me too. Especially that last time. Are we okay?”
Rob replied, “100%. I'd like to see you.”
“You free tomorrow after practice?”
Rob’s schedule was a blur. He didn’t care. “Yeah. My room. 7pm.”
Rob was hard. Charlie was hard. Both were nervous, expectant.
“See you tomorrow.”
Reassured, Rob knew what he wanted. He'd fucked girls and he knew that's what he wanted with Charlie. And, then like a lightning bolt, he realized he'd need lube. The walk to the CVS felt illicit, like he was running a secret mission. The bright, harsh fluorescent lights felt accusatory. He ambled through aisles with exaggerated casualness, pretending to look at deodorants and throat lozenges, his heart thudding against his ribs. The “Personal Lubricants” section was nestled near family planning and pharmacy consultation.
He felt utterly exposed.
His eyes scanned the options: expensive silky ones, warming ones (Christ, no), natural varieties. He grabbed a simple, blue bottle of Astroglide that promised a close water rating. It felt heavy and obvious in his hand.
As he turned to head to the register, a voice, loud and familiar, boomed from across the store. “Hawthorne! Paying for your Zoloft yet?”
Rob turned and tried to hide the tube. It was his teammate Mitch Saunders, a midfield brute from the soccer team whose laugh sounded like a rusty chainsaw. Mitch was walking towards him, glancing at the pain meds.
Rob’s brain short-circuited. He had approximately two seconds before Mitch would see what was in his hand. There were no options. In one frantic, fluid motion, he shoved the bottle of Astroglide down the front of his own sweatpants, tucking it awkwardly against his hipbone. It was shockingly cool and hard.
“Nah, I get my serotonin from shoving your ass in practice,” Rob said, the joke sounding flat and strained to his own ears. He tried to put his hands in his pockets but one side now had a distinct, rectangular bulge.
Mitch laughed, coming closer. “That’s my laugh, boy. Grabbing condoms? Heard you had a date with Abby the other night.”
Rob’s blood ran cold. If he only knew. “Nope. All stocked up,” he said, his voice tight. He was acutely aware of the cold edge of the bottle digging into his groin. “Just… zit cream.”
Mitch’s eyes, thankfully, did not travel down. “Bro, you gotta use that good shit they give at Student Health,” he said, clapping Rob on the shoulder, oblivious.
He forced a grin, praying his face wasn’t turning crimson.
When Mitch finally wandered off towards the beer cooler, Rob’s entire body sagged. He exhaled a shaky breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. Rob basically raced to self checkout - thank god for self checkout - and rushed out of the store.
The next day was agony.
Charlie went through practice on autopilot. His coach yelled at him twice for missing plays, which was unlike him. His teammates teased him about being distracted, asking if he had a date. He laughed it off, but his mind was elsewhere. He was thinking about the compression shorts he’d worn for practice, the white pair that fit him like a second skin. He’d chosen them deliberately, knowing how they made his ass look. He’d caught his own reflection in the mirror that morning and felt a surge of something, a dark, heady power. He wanted Rob to see him in them. He wanted Rob to want him.
He didn't shower after practice; he wanted Rob to see him as the athlete he is. In the gym bathroom, he pulled down his lax shorts and looked at the compression shorts, the fabric wet and sweaty and tight against his damp skin. He checked himself in the mirror. The shorts hugged every curve, riding up slightly in the back, leaving nothing to the imagination at the front. His cock was a visible, heavy outline. He looked good. He looked like he knew what he wanted.
He headed across Grounds to Rob’s dorm. The autumn air was crisp, carrying the scent of fallen leaves and woodsmoke. He tried to calm his nerves by focusing on his breathing, but it didn't work. His heart was a frantic bird against his ribs.
He reached Rob’s building and paused at the bottom of the stairs. He could turn around. He could pretend he never got the text. He could go back to his room and jerk off to Corbin Fisher and pretend he was straight and normal and fine.
Instead, he climbed the stairs.
Rob was pacing his room like a caged animal. He’d had soccer practice but was as distracted as Charlie had been at lacrosse practice. He'd stayed in his uniform for the meeting with Charlie. A tight t=shirt that showed off his pecs and orange compression shorts underneath. He's stripped off his Umbros; he wanted Charlie to see him like this. The orange shorts showed Rob's cock angling up toward his right hip; he had been half hard all day and it showed in the tight material. After Charlie had felt him up in his speedskater costume, Rob had a feeling that the lycra would turn him on.
He checked his phone. 6:58. Two minutes.
He looked at his room, at the bed where it would happen. He’d changed the sheets, cleaned the mess off his desk. He’d even lit a candle, then blown it out, worried it looked too much like a date. He didn’t know what this was. He didn’t know what to call it. But he knew he needed it. He needed Charlie.
The knock came at exactly 7:00. A single, sharp rap.
Rob’s throat tightened. He wiped his palms on his shorts and walked to the door. He took a deep breath, then opened it.
Charlie stood in the hallway, his dark hair still slightly damp with sweat. He was wearing a grey UVA t-shirt that was slightly too big, and a pair of lacrosse shorts. His eyes met Rob’s then flicked down to Rob's dick in the orange shorts.
Rob saw Charlie slightly gasp. But neither of them spoke. The air between them crackled.
“Hey,” Charlie said, his voice low, steady.
“Hey,” Rob managed. "How have you been?"
"Good. Nervous."
Rob’s chuckled, “Me too.”
Charlie practically whispered, "I like your shorts. They're fucking hot. I'm sporting the same."
"Let me see," Rob said.
Charlie pulled down his lacrosse shorts, revealing the white compression shorts. They were a second skin, sculpting his ass into a perfect curve. Rob’s mouth went dry. He could see the outline of Charlie’s cock, thick and long, pressing against the fabric. He wanteCd to put his mouth on it again. He wanted to feel it slide down his throat.
He stepped forward, closing the distance between them. “You look…” He struggled for words. “Turn around.” The shorts - probably a size too small - obscenely framed Charlie's ass. His globes were round and muscular, perfectly shaped. The fabric rode up his crack with was a bit sweaty from practice. "Fuck, Charlie," whispered Rob. He slowly ran a hand over Charlie's left cheek.
Charlie leaned into Rob, his hand cupping Rob’s dick through the fabric. Rob gasped, his hips bucking into the touch. Charlie squeezed gently, feeling the heat, the size. “I’ve been thinking about this,” he whispered, his voice rough. “About you. About what I want you to do to me.”
Rob said, "I was so nervous about the other night; that I'd made a mistake. That we'd made a mistake. I don't know what I'm doing, Charlie. I thought I was straight but I'm so into you I can't take it."
Charlie breathed a sigh of relief, "I've been saying the same thing to myself. I've wrestled with anxiety that you were disgusted with me."
"Never. You're my best friend. And you're the sexiest fucking thing I've ever met."
Rob leaned in. Charlie's back met the door, and Rob was on him before he could draw a breath. Their mouths collided, hungry and desperate, the taste of three days of longing pouring between them. Rob's hands found Charlie's hips, pulling him flush, grinding their covered cocks together in a slow, punishing rhythm.
"Fuck, I missed you," Rob breathed against Charlie's lips. "I couldn't think. Couldn't eat. Couldn't do anything but replay what we did."
"Same," Charlie gasped, his fingers digging into Rob's shoulders. "I watched porn. Corbin Fisher. Fucking Travis and some blond. All I could think about was you doing that to me."
Rob pulled back, his eyes dark and searching. "Doing what?"
Charlie's face flushed, but he held Rob's gaze. "Fucking me. I want you to fuck me, Rob. I've never—but I want it. With you."
A shudder ran through Rob's entire body. His hands tightened on Charlie's hips. "I've never done that either. Never even thought about it until you. But Jesus Christ, Charlie, I want to. I want to be inside you so bad it's driving me insane."
They kissed again, deeper this time, tongues tangling in a messy, desperate dance. Charlie's hands slid up under Rob's t-shirt—one of those tight athletic tees—and splayed across his chest, feeling the soft hair, the firm muscle beneath. Rob moaned into his mouth and returned the favor, his fingers working their way under Charlie's shirt, tracing the lines of his abs.
"We should get these off," Rob muttered, tugging at Charlie's shirt.
"Not yet," Charlie said, his voice rough. He pushed Rob's shirt up, exposing his chest. He broke the kiss and lowered his mouth to Rob's collarbone, licking a hot trail down to his pectoral. He sucked one nipple into his mouth, flicking it with his tongue, and Rob's head fell back against the door with a choked groan.
"God, your chest," Charlie murmured between licks. "I've been staring at it since the first day. That hair. Those muscles. I wanted to put my mouth on you from the moment I saw you."
Rob's hands came up to cup Charlie's face, guiding him back up for another kiss. "My turn," he whispered.
He dropped to his knees, his hands gripping the waistband of Charlie's white compression shorts. Charlie's breath caught, thinking Rob was about to pull them down. But Rob didn't. Instead, he leaned forward and pressed his face against the damp fabric, inhaling deeply. Then he mouthed along the outline of Charlie's cock, his tongue tracing the thick shaft through the thin material.
"Fuck," Charlie gasped, his hips bucking involuntarily. His hands fisted in Rob's light brown hair.
Rob's mouth worked over him, sucking the fabric-covered head, licking the wet spot that was already forming. The compression shorts were so thin they might as well have been nothing. Charlie could feel every flick of Rob's tongue like it was directly on his skin. He was leaking. He could feel his pre-cum soaking through the white fabric, darkening it, making it cling obscenely to his cock.
"You like that?" Rob asked, his voice muffled against Charlie's shaft. "You like me worshipping your dick through your shorts like a fucking whore?"
"God, yes," Charlie moaned. "Don't stop. Please don't stop."
Rob didn't stop. He licked and sucked and mouthed at Charlie's cock until the entire front of the shorts was soaked, translucent, painting every ridge and vein in stark relief. His hands slid around to cup Charlie's ass, kneading the muscular globes through the fabric. He traced the seam of the shorts, following the path into Charlie's crack, pressing against his hole until Charlie was whimpering.
"Stand up. Let me get those off you," Rob said, his voice rough.
But Charlie shook his head. "No. Your turn. Get up."
He pulled Rob to his feet and reversed their positions, pushing Rob against the door. He looked down at the orange compression shorts, at the outline of Rob's cock straining against them. The fabric was already damp at the tip. Charlie dropped to his knees, mirroring Rob's earlier gesture, and pressed his face against the bulge. Rob was big; really big.
"You have no idea how long I've wanted this," Charlie murmured, nuzzling the length. "How many times I've thought about your cock. The way it looks. The way it tastes."
He opened his mouth and sucked the head through the fabric. Rob had to put his hand over his mouth to keep from alerting the whole dorm, his hips thrusting forward. Charlie worked his mouth over him, soaking the orange material, feeling Rob's pre-cum mix with his saliva. The taste was driving him insane—musky, salty, undeniably Rob.
"I want to feel you," Charlie said, his hands gripping Rob's ass, pulling him closer. "I want to feel how big you are. Touch yourself through your shorts."
Rob's hand came down and wrapped around his own covered cock, squeezing himself. Fuck, that was obscene. He stroked himself through the fabric, his hips pumping into his own fist as Charlie watched, transfixed.
"That's so fucking hot," Charlie breathed. He stood up and pressed his body against Rob's, grinding their soaked, covered cocks together. "I want you to feel mine too. Touch me."
Rob's hand slid down between them and wrapped around Charlie's cock through the white fabric. He stroked, slow and deliberate. The material was so wet it might as well have been a second skin. He could feel every inch of Charlie's length shifting in his grip.
They kissed again, messy and desperate, their hands working each other through their shorts. Through the thin layers, they pulsed hotter and harder.
They broke apart, panting.
"I got lube," Rob said. "Went to CVS and almost died buying it. Ran into Mitch and shoved the bottle down my shorts so he wouldn't see."
Charlie laughed, breathless. "You hid lube in your underwear from your teammate?"
"Shut up. You try explaining why you're buying Astroglide when you're supposed to be straight. I thought I was gonna pass out." He walked to his desk, pulled the bottle out of a drawer, and held it up. "Been thinking about this all day. About using this on you."
Charlie's mouth went dry. "Show me."
Rob squeezed a generous amount onto his fingers. Then he dropped to his knees, reached behind Charlie; and slid his slippery fingers between the cheeks of Charlie's ass. Charlie gasped, his hands flying to the wall behind him.
"Was thinking about this too," Rob said, his finger circling Charlie's hole. "About making you feel good. About opening you up."
"Rob," Charlie choked out. "Oh god."
Rob pressed one finger inside, slow and careful. Charlie's body resisted for a moment, then yielded. The heat was incredible, the tightness wrapping around Rob's finger like a fist. Rob watched Charlie's face contort, watched the battle between pleasure and pain playing out across his features.
"You okay?" Rob asked.
"Yeah," Charlie gasped.
Rob worked his finger deeper, finding the rhythm, curling it until he felt a spot that made Charlie whole body jerk. "Whoa."
"Fuck! Yes, there. Right there. Please don't stop."
*Rob added a second finger, scissoring them apart, stretching Charlie with deliberate care. Charlie's head fell back, sweat beading on his forehead. He was babbling now, obscene praises falling from his lips. Rob worked him open, three fingers now, thrusting and curling until Charlie was moaning slowly.
"I need you inside me," Charlie managed. "I've never—but I need it. Need to feel you."
"You're sure?" Rob's own cock was throbbing, leaking through his shorts.
"I've never been more sure of anything in my life. And, Rob? Take off your shorts. I want to see you."
Rob stood and peeled the soaked orange compression shorts down his legs. His cock sprang free, hard and glistening, the tip flushed dark. He kicked the shorts aside and looked down at Charlie who was still pressed against the wall.
"Now you," Rob said.
Charlie pulled off his off shorts, letting them drop. His cock bounced against his belly, thick and veined, curving upward. Precum beaded at the head and his hips twitched, as if it was desperate for release. He grabbed the lube from Rob's hand and poured it over his fingers, coating them generously. He held Rob's gaze as he reached behind himself and began to push his own fingers inside his ass. His knees buckled, and he groaned, deep and guttural, as he started finger fucking himself. Watching Charlie's arm move and his own cock bob rhythmically was a scene beyond anything Rob could have dreamed. Rob's mouth watered as he watched Rob stretch himself.
"Enough," Rob said, stepping forward. "I need to fuck you."
Charlie scrambled onto the bed obeying immediately, his heart hammering. He felt so exposed, presenting himself to the man he'd been fantasizing about for weeks. Rob climbed onto the bed behind him, his knees settling between Charlie's thighs.
"Spread yourself for me," Rob said, his voice low and full of dark promise.
Charlie reached back with both hands and grabbed his own ass cheeks, pulling them apart. He felt so vulnerable, and it was the hottest thing he'd ever done. The cool air hit his hole and made him shiver.
Rob returned his fingers to Charlie's hole, stretching him with deliberate, devastating slowness. He curled his fingers, hitting that spot again and again until Charlie was grinding back onto his hand, desperate. He grabbed his own cock, stroking himself to the rhythm of Rob's fingers. "Please, Rob. I need your cock. I need you to fuck me. Please." Rob's eyes went dark and primal. He pulled his fingers out, reached for the lube, and coated his achingly hard dick. He scooted forward, pressing the head against Charlie's stretched hole.
"Look at me," Rob commanded.
Charlie twisted his neck, locking eyes with Rob. Those hazel eyes were nearly black with need.
Rob then pushed inside.
Charlie cried out, a guttural mix of pain and ecstasy ripping from his throat - muffled into a pillow. The stretch was intense, overwhelming. But Rob held still, letting him adjust. Letting him feel every thick inch.
"Fuck," Rob gasped. He was only halfway in, and Charlie was already the tightest thing he'd ever felt. "You feel so fucking good."
"More," Charlie managed. "Give me more. Please."
Rob pushed deeper, inch by agonizing inch, until his hips was flush against Charlie's ass. He held there, both of them trembling, connected for the first time.
"Jesus Christ," Charlie moaned, his hands fisting the sheets. "You're so big. So fucking deep."
Rob began to ease in and out, slow, shallow thrusts that quickly turned deeper and more deliberate. The initial stretch was fading, and pleasure was starting to replace it. Rob's cock dragged against his prostate with each thrust, and Charlie was already losing his mind.
He leaned his chest against Charlie’s back and pulled his head around to kiss him. His tongue invaded Charlie’s mouth like his dick was invading his ass. Seeing Charlie submitting to him was the hottest fucking thing he’s ever seen.
"There it is," Rob grunted. "Feel that? Feel how deep my cock goes inside your tight ass?"
"Yes," Charlie gasped.
Rob's pace quickened, his balls slapping against Charlie's thighs. The sounds of flesh meeting flesh filled the room, joined by their soft grunts and moans. Charlie's hand flew to his own cock, stroking in frantic time with Rob's thrusts. He was close already. The combination of being filled and the visual of his best friend above him, face twisted in pleasure, pushed him faster.
"I'm gonna cum," Charlie warned. "Rob, I'm gonna—"
"Let it go," Rob growled, driving deeper.
"Cum for me."
Charlie's body convulsed as he came. But his own orgasm was more intense, and he didn't cover anything. His body bucked and fought as his cock spurt, painting that beautiful chest. "Fuck, Charlie. You came all over yourself. That's so hot. Fuck, your ass is clenching, I'm gonna—" He pulled out and shot thick, hot ropes across Charlie's back, painting his skin from the base of his spine up to his shoulder blades. The feeling of Rob's cum on his skin, in his crack, made Charlie shudder with aftershocks.
They collapsed together, breathing hard, tangled and sweaty.
Charlie turned his head and looked over his shoulder. Rob's eyes met his, and a light, wondering smile spread across his face. "So, that was a thing that happened."
"Another thing," Charlie said.
"That was everything."
Rob leaned down and kissed Charlie deeply. He had never been this intimate with anyone before. He trailed his hand down Charlie’s back and pressed against his loosened hole. "We're not done yet. I want more."
Charlie rolled over, looking up at Rob. He was already starting to get hard again, the sight of Rob's softening, cum-streaked cock enough to reignite the fire in his belly.
"Show me," Charlie said. "Show me what else you want to do to me."
And Rob did.
He guided Charlie onto his back, sliding between those magnificent thighs. He lifted Charlie's legs and hooked them over his shoulders, the new angle making his hole gape and inviting him back. They shared a bottle of lube, and this time Charlie stroked Rob until he was fully hard again, before he guided him back inside. The position was deeper than before. "You look incredible like this," Rob said, beginning to move. "Spread open, taking me. Lax bro about to get nailed. So fucking perfect." He reached down and ran his hands over Charlie's sweaty pecs and abs; Charlie did the same to Rob.
"I want to see you," Charlie managed. "See what you look like fucking me. Watching you makes me so damn hard.
Rob whispered, "Turn around. Get on top."
Charlie's heart was pounding. He straddled Rob, facing away from him, looking at his own reflection in Rob's closet mirror. He could see everything. He gripped Rob's cock in one hand and guided it to his entrance.
He lowered himself, inch by inch into the same spot. Once Rob was fully seated, Charlie began to move. He rose and fell, a slow rhythm at first, then faster, desperate. The view was obscene. Charlie’s thighs tensing and relaxing, his muscular ass swallowing Rob's massive cock over and over. The hairs around his hole – wet with lube – clinging to Rob’s dick. It was so over the top erotic and scandalous that it made his cock leak even more pre cum.
"Look at you," Rob moaned from below. "Fucking yourself on my dick. Making me feel so good. I'm gonna cum again. I'm gonna fill your hole."
Charlie heard that and it was all it took. He exploded, and a jet of cum shot across his own chest, and his body clamped down, and his ass squeezed Rob's cock like a fist.
"Fuck, your ass is grabbing me," Rob gasped.
"I can't hold it. I'm coming again, Charlie, yes, yes—"
He came inside Charlie - his channel with cum Charlie pulled off Rob’s dick – there could be no question that they were united now.
Charlie eased off, cum leaking onto his friend’s thigh, and collapsed onto the bed beside Rob, both of them heaving, covered in sweat and spend and each other. They lay there in silence for a long moment, staring at the ceiling, their breathing slowly evening out. The room smelled like sex.
"Well," Rob finally managed, his voice hoarse.
"I think we've established we're not completely straight."
Charlie let out a breathless laugh. He turned his head, his face still sticky with Rob's cum. "You think?"
"I know." Rob turned on his side, propping his head on his hand. He reached out and wiped a drop of cum from Charlie's jaw with his thumb. "That was incredible, Charlie. I've never felt anything like that."
"Me neither," Charlie whispered. "I was so scared. That it wouldn't be like I imagined. That I'd be bad at it. But you made it feel so… right."
"It was right," Rob said. His eyes were soft, sincere. "This is right. And as scary as that is, I know it's true."
Charlie reached up and pulled him down for a kiss. He could taste himself on Rob's lips, mingled with the taste of his own release. It was filthy, and it was perfect. "I don't know what we are," Charlie said against his mouth. "But I know I want to find out."
