peepeker
The door swung open again, letting in a gust of damp night air and a man shaking water from his dark hair. The older man slid onto the stool beside Dennis, close enough that their elbows almost brushed. He ordered a beer, his voice a low rumble that cut through the background noise. Dennis caught his profile in the mirror behind the bar - sharp jawline, salted hair, tired eyes, an easy confidence in the way he leaned against the worn wood.
***
Michael pulled back just enough to growl, "Stay open," before diving back in with renewed fervor. His tongue plunged deeper, a slick invasion that made Dennis cry out, hips lifting helplessly off the mattress. Then came the pressure -thick, blunt, and insistent- as Michael's spit-slicked finger circled Dennis's stretched rim. No warning, just the relentless push past resisting muscle, knuckle-deep in one brutal slide. Dennis gasped, the sudden fullness a sharp counterpoint to the wet heat still working him open from the outside. The stretch burned, a delicious ache that radiated through his lower stomach.