FCF
Shane Cook plops down, grinning like he owns the place, ready to spill on his first guy-on-guy hookup. He ribs the interviewer for jumping right in, but hell yeah, he's all about dishing the dirty details. Picture this: Shane stumbles home buzzed from a wild night out, and there's his quiet-as-a-mouse college roommate, Gabe Bradshaw, hunched over books like it's the apocalypse. Shane's in that post-party mood—chatty, flirty, tossing compliments Gabe's way. Poor guy's blushing beet red, stammering like he's never heard a pickup line before. Shane always figured Gabe had a crush, but he was all about the ladies back then, so whatever. Tonight, though? Yapping about those smoking hot girls at the bash gets Shane revved up, blood pumping south. And Gabe's right there, looking all cute and innocent with that shy vibe—why not? Shane knows Gabe's wound tight, so he cranks up the charm: 'C'mon, dance with me, help me shake this energy.' Gabe's all 'no way,' squirming away, which turns into a goofy wrestling tussle on the floor. Shane pins him easy, their faces inches apart, breaths mixing hot and heavy. Boom—tension's thicker than fog, cocks stirring under jeans. No backing out now. To seal the deal, Shane plays the hero, rubbing Gabe's tense shoulders like a pro masseuse with benefits. Gabe melts a bit, but he's still pumping the brakes hard. 'Dude, what if this fucks up our roommate thing? You always tease-flirt after parties, but we never... you know.' Shane's cocky smirk says it all: 'Relax, man. This changes zilch between us. Bros before... well, you get it.' Gabe caves, eyes hungry, and they dive in—kissing sloppy, hands roaming, clothes hitting the deck for a night neither saw coming. But did Shane keep his word? Spoiler: some promises bend like pretzels in the heat.
Shane Cook plops down, grinning like he owns the place, ready to spill on his first guy-on-guy hookup. He ribs the interviewer for jumping right in, but hell yeah, he's all about dishing the dirty details. Picture this: Shane stumbles home buzzed from a wild night out, and there's his quiet-as-a-mouse college roommate, Gabe Bradshaw, hunched over books like it's the apocalypse. Shane's in that post-party mood—chatty, flirty, tossing compliments Gabe's way. Poor guy's blushing beet red, stammering like he's never heard a pickup line before. Shane always figured Gabe had a crush, but he was all about the ladies back then, so whatever. Tonight, though? Yapping about those smoking hot girls at the bash gets Shane revved up, blood pumping south. And Gabe's right there, looking all cute and innocent with that shy vibe—why not? Shane knows Gabe's wound tight, so he cranks up the charm: 'C'mon, dance with me, help me shake this energy.' Gabe's all 'no way,' squirming away, which turns into a goofy wrestling tussle on the floor. Shane pins him easy, their faces inches apart, breaths mixing hot and heavy. Boom—tension's thicker than fog, cocks stirring under jeans. No backing out now. To seal the deal, Shane plays the hero, rubbing Gabe's tense shoulders like a pro masseuse with benefits. Gabe melts a bit, but he's still pumping the brakes hard. 'Dude, what if this fucks up our roommate thing? You always tease-flirt after parties, but we never... you know.' Shane's cocky smirk says it all: 'Relax, man. This changes zilch between us. Bros before... well, you get it.' Gabe caves, eyes hungry, and they dive in—kissing sloppy, hands roaming, clothes hitting the deck for a night neither saw coming. But did Shane keep his word? Spoiler: some promises bend like pretzels in the heat.