If the sperm from a man is put together with the sperm of another man there will just be a lot of sperm from two different men in a test tube.
everybody gay
everybody, literally everybody
Battle Scars
This is a Mass Effect fanfic smut I wrote a while back… I was watching so much of the game at the time and couldn’t help my imagination… 😉
Excuses, Excuses
Young Lord Crossway considered it his sworn duty, as much as arbitrating the affairs of his people or collecting taxes. Some days he performed his duties in the silent dining hall. Sometimes it was the great bedchamber with only the torches in their sconces to witness.
Today he was where he was requested: on the floor of the kitchens, rubbing oil into his cock and crotch. Knuckles rasped at the door and the heavy wooden thing swung open. Lord Crossway ironed out his face so he was smiling.
“Lord Trimble,” he said, inclining his head in respect. He gripped the base of his cock tighter, forcing it to be erect and impressive. His other hand pushed off the floor as he tried to stand, but the caped Lord Trimble swept into the room and put a firm palm against Crossway’s shoulder.
“Stay down there. I have no need of an equal today.” He took a handkerchief from his breast pocket and dabbed at the deep lines in his haggard face. "Today you will serve me.“
Crossway gulped. "But m’lord.”
“Spare me your excuses,” Trimble scoffed. His stringy gray hair had escaped from beneath his wig and he looked like he had not slept for days. "Stand and prepare to receive me.“
Crossway winced as he stood, bent double. Trimble wrenched down his pants and made a noise. "Is this your excuse? This welt?”
“Yes, m’lord.” Crossway berated himself again for relenting to Lady Gibbons’ insistence that he go rolling down the grassy hills with her; the boulder had left a dent in his backside.
He screamed as Trimble slapped him hard across the wounded cheek. "Let that be a lesson: you will keep your body for me. I will not defile myself on lesser beings.“
"Y-y-yes, m-m’lord,” Crossway managed through the tears.
“Very good. Give me the oil.” There was a rustling of fine cloth as Trimble derobed. Crossway held the oil bottle behind him until he felt its weight disappear and felt the cool tip of Trimble’s cock nudging at his ass. He took a deep breath and spread his legs, making himself available for the older man.
Trimble probed him first with a finger, gently massaging towards the outside so he was ready for the lord’s massive cock. Still, when Trimble pushed in with a heavy sigh of relief, Crossway had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from crying out. But as the oil did its job and Trimble slid in deeper, the wave of relief and pleasure came and the pain was forgotten. Keeping his balance with his knuckles, he rocked back against Trimble, feeling the other’s soft hair dancing across his skin.
Suddenly Trimble flattened himself against Crossway’s back. His breath, hot with the smell of fish and fruit, brought words to the younger man’s ears: “I give no quarter to my enemies, boy, not even when they have fallen. Do not imagine that I expect less of you.”
His cock throbbed inside Crossway, coming hot and heavy.
The Trader
“Dad! Dad! The trader’s here!” Lee pounded up the path, his boots flailing, and he vaulted into his father’s arms. "Can I get something this time? Please?“
"Perhaps,” Keane chuckled, lifting his boy onto his shoulders, “if you behave.”
They headed down the steep path, Keane’s sure feet stepping over the pebbles and loose shale with confidence. Soon, he could see the shape of the small cart and equally small mule hitched to it, the driver perched on a box with his head thrown back to the sun. Keane’s brow twitched. It was someone new. The usual trader was a grizzled old man from even higher in the Highlands, of foul breath and constant bottle.
This man was a vision. His hair was lush, a golden brown, thick but tight against his head in restless curls. His eyes, which lit up when he looked down and saw them, were an impossibly clear green. A lump rose in Keane’s throat and he swung Lee off his shoulders.
“Run along,” he said hoarsely. Lee gave him a pitiful look, but his father was unmoved. "Go!“ he grunted, indicating with a hand his precise amount of amusement at the boy’s defiance. Lee scampered away the way they had come.
"Ho, traveler,” Keane said when Lee’s dust cloud faded.
“Ho, friend.” The trader touched the bill of an invisible cap. "Come for my wares?“
"Come for more than that,” Keane grunted, attempting a smile, but the man’s beauty was blinding. He looked down at his hands. "I’m sorry. We get few travelers this far north. It is – unexpected to see another face.“ The words tumbled awkwardly from his tongue.
The man was looking sideways at him, and at this last he smiled and turned back to the sun. "My mule will wait a while.”
He stretched out his hand for Keane to help him down. The bigger man took it, his arm burning where the other touched him. He met the trader’s beautiful eyes. "So will my wife,“ he said.
A knowing nod. "The trader comes but once a year,” he said, then laughed and added, “and so he does.”
The trader dropped softly off his cart and pulled Keane to him. Keane tasted distant lands, strange bazaars, foreign women and men. He drank in the kiss and returned one that told of the powerful Highland winds, the winters with only family for comfort, the slaying of the wolf that had pestered the flocks.
They broke away, their hunger piqued, and without losing touch walked without a word to the nearby stone formation. Boulders worn smooth by time welcomed and sheltered them as they lay curled into one another, moving without regard to time, the mountain whistling around them.
Rivalry Love
Brent peeled off his Elks uniform and chucked it across the locker room. It landed halfway in the hamper, dripping sweat into the pool already on the floor. He waved an aching arm at it. Good enough.
His footsteps slapped hollowly through the empty rows of lockers and benches as he padded to the showers. He had opted to stay late, preferring the solitude of the field for his endurance training; besides, then the showers were deserted and he could hose off in peace.
Brent adjusted the temperature with a practiced hand and stepped under the flow. He closed his eyes to let the water tumble down his face. He let out a deep sigh as his muscles started to relax.
“Oh!”
Brent whirled around at the single, startled word. Standing buck naked at the shower room doorway was Rodney Whittaker, quarterback for the Bobcats, the Elks’ biggest rival. More specifically, Rodney Whittaker was Brent’s biggest rival, his nemesis on the field and in the hearts of both schools’ cheerleading squads.
“I thought – uh, they said – I biked over to see Cynthia, and they said I could use the showers.”
Brent had never seen Rodney so flustered. His gaze dropped to the other boy’s cock, which to his surprise was halfway hard. Rodney followed Brent’s line of sight and suddenly his cheeks pinched in a smile.
“Right? Everyone’s always like, ‘You just play football because you have a tiny dick, blah blah blah.’ So much for that.”
“Yeah,” Brent said. He turned around slowly, staring at the wall and trying to think of anything else, because a sudden rush of blood was swelling his own dick. He put a hand over it, tried to push it down. He frowned at the sound of three of the other showers turning on.
But before he could turn around, another hand slid down over his, slipping between his fingers and gently caressing his shaft. Brent moaned without prompting, his heart skipping beats wildly. Rodney’s now-rock-hard cock pressed into his ass crack.
“I’ve seen you watching me,” the other boy murmured into his ear, making Brent shudder. "I know you want this.“
Brent bit his lip. A thousand scenarios flooded into his mind: the coach walking in to find them; his mother making a surprise visit to the school; his teammates discovering not only his pleasure but his fraternizing. But worst of all: looking back on this day and regretting that he hadn’t taken the chance he had been dreaming of for almost three years.
So he put his palms against the wall and offered his ass to his greatest rival. Rodney grinned, swiped his tongue across his hand, and moistened his cock.
"I won’t make any wide receiver puns,” he chuckled, and nuzzled the tip against Brent’s asshole.
The sound of the showers mostly drowned out the boys’ satisfied grunts.