A few days later, Vic knelt backward on their living room sofa. His hands were splayed against the back of the couch, arms locked to hold himself up, and his knees were spread wide. His shirt had been rucked halfway up his back; his sweat pants, pushed down low on his thighs, exposing the pale round cheeks of his ass, now reddened from the attention Matt lavished on them. Teeth marks faded on his skin, and lubricant slicked his buttocks. Matt stood behind him, boxers down to his ankles, and thrust into Vic with a fast rhythm that shook the couch and made the floorboards creak. He rubbed Vic’s back with one hand, alternately pushing his shirt up out of the way and grasping onto the hem, holding it tight as if it were a rein he could use to pull Vic back on him. The other hand encircled the
