Meeting Ashley's New Man

The ice clinked softly in Larry's glass as he swirled the amber liquid, his dark eyes fixed on the flickering candle between them. Across the table, Jack leaned back in his chair, one boot propped on the rung, watching his husband with a quiet unease. The dining room was dim but warm, the kind of glow that made things feel softer than they were.

"So," Larry said, finally, voice low. "Are we... boring now?"

Jack blinked, then gave a tired half-smile. "You mean like old slippers boring, or, like, we should start seeing other people boring?"

Larry snorted. "Old slippers. You know. Comfortable. Predictable. Just... same old, same old."

Jack took a sip from his drink, let it burn a little before answering. "Seven years. That's what they say, right? The itch?"

Larry raised an eyebrow. "You itchy?"

"Not... like that," Jack said, shaking his head. "More like... restless. Like we're just running the same script every day."

Larry leaned back, his tank top clinging slightly to his torso in the heat. "Remember when we used to stay up all night talking? Or drive out to nowhere just for bad diner coffee?"

Jack's smile grew a little. "You fell asleep in your eggs once."

"You were boring that night," Larry said, deadpan, then cracked a smile.

Jack chuckled, rubbing a hand over his stubble. "Maybe we need something to shake us up."

Larry leaned in, eyes glinting. "Like a spontaneous trip? Or a threesome?"

Jack choked on his drink. "Maybe not that shaken."

They laughed, a little too hard, like they were trying to remember how.

Jack wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, still coughing slightly. "Jesus, Larry."

"I'm kidding--kind of," Larry said with a shrug, leaning back and letting one leg drape over the arm of his chair. "But maybe... I don't know. Maybe it's something we could actually talk about."

Jack looked at him sideways. "You serious?"

Larry met his gaze. "Serious enough to bring it up. Look, I love you. That hasn't changed. But we're in a rut. We both feel it. So why not consider... options?"

Jack was quiet, swirling the last bit of whiskey in his glass. His brow furrowed like he was working through a problem he wasn't sure how to solve. "So... what are you saying? You want to sleep with other people?"

"I'm saying maybe we could explore together," Larry said carefully. "Something mutual. A shared thing. Not some secret side hustle. Just... open a window, not burn the house down."

Jack leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. "Wouldn't that be burning the house down? What if it messes everything up?"

"What if it doesn't?" Larry said. "What if it reminds us of how lucky we are? Or, hell, what if it just gives us something new to talk about over drinks?"

Jack chuckled dryly. "Yeah, 'So how was your day, honey? Good, Chad and I did some light bondage. You?'"

Larry grinned. "See, that already sounds more exciting than payroll reports and whose turn it is to do the laundry."

Jack looked down at his hands. "Do you already have someone in mind?"

Larry hesitated. "No. Not really. But I've... thought about it. Fantasized, I guess. Have you?"

Jack took a breath, then nodded slowly. "Yeah. I mean--who doesn't?"

They sat in silence for a beat, the candle's flame dancing between them. Something unspoken had cracked open, and neither seemed eager to slam it shut.

"We don't have to decide anything tonight," Larry said softly. "Just... talk. Like we used to."

"Well, it's not like we have time with Ashley coming over in thirsty minutes." He popped in.

Larry toyed with Jack's fingers, his brow furrowed in thought. "Do you think this is just... what it's like? Being gay and married for seven years?"

Jack smiled faintly. "What, existential dread over cocktails?"

"Exactly," Larry said, laughing under his breath. "We fought so hard for the right to be married. No one warned us it might get... mundane."

Jack leaned back again, sighing. "Straight people didn't exactly send us a manual either. 'Congrats, here's your mortgage, your grocery list, and occasional identity crisis.'"

Larry laughed. "Don't forget 'mild resentment and matching bathrobes.'"

Jack smirked. "I like our bathrobes."

"I know you do," Larry said, with mock affection. "That's part of the problem."

They both went quiet again for a moment, the tension easing. The clink of glass, the distant hum of city life outside their window. Then Jack glanced at the clock.

"Ashley's coming soon, right?"

"Yeah," Larry said, perking up. "Her and the new guy. Kyle? Or Connor? Something aggressively handsome."

Jack grinned. "One of those names that sounds like it lifts weights for fun."

Larry rolled his eyes. "I just hope he's not a walking protein shake."

"Either way," Jack said, pushing back from the table, "we're getting out tonight. A real bar. With loud music. Bad flirting. Weird lighting."

Larry smiled, genuinely this time. "God, I need it. We need it."

Jack looked over at him fondly. "Let's be reckless tonight. Just a little. Like we're twenty-five and don't know what sleep is."

Larry stood, stretched, and grabbed his glass. "Deal. Let's get ready to disappoint some twinks."

Larry disappeared into the kitchen to rinse out his glass, calling over his shoulder, "By the way--Ashley texted me earlier. She said her new boyfriend can be a little problematic."

Jack, now half-sitting on the arm of the couch, raised an eyebrow. "Problematic how? Like 'doesn't recycle,' or 'quotes Joe Rogan unironically'?"

"She didn't specify," Larry said, reappearing with a towel slung over one shoulder. "Just said, and I quote, 'please don't fight him, Jack.' So. You know. Consider that a loving heads-up."

Jack placed a hand on his heart. "Me? Fight someone? I'm a gentle flower."

Larry arched an eyebrow. "You tried to lecture her last ex about late-stage capitalism while drunk on cider."

"He was wearing boat shoes in November," Jack said, shrugging. "And quoting Elon Musk."

Larry grinned. "Just... be nice, okay? We're going out. We're having fun. Maybe even letting go a little."

Jack gave a mock salute. "Nice. Fun. Flirty. Got it. I'll only say problematic things under my breath."

"Jack."

"Okay, okay!" Jack stood up, brushing invisible lint from his jeans. "I'll be on my best behavior. Like, golden retriever at a wedding level good."

Larry smiled, crossing the room to fix the collar of Jack's blue shirt. "You're lucky you're cute."

"I know," Jack said, pulling Larry in for a quick kiss. "Let's make tonight count."

There was a knock at the door, sharp and familiar.

Larry raised his eyebrows. "Showtime."

Larry opened the door with a warm smile that faltered--just slightly--when he took in the sight of Derrick.

"Ash!" Larry beamed, stepping forward to hug her. "You look like trouble."

Ashley grinned, arms flinging around his neck. "That's because I am." She pulled back and struck a pose, one hand on her hip. "Thought I'd remind the world I still have a belly button ring."

She looked radiant--shoulder-length blonde hair tousled just enough, tube top snug and gleaming in the hallway light, white denim clinging tight, strappy heels clicking like a punctuation mark.

Behind her stood Derrick. A head taller, with the kind of presence that felt both solid and uncertain. His black hair was slicked back in deliberate messiness, and his shirt--half unbuttoned--showed the curve of a tattoo curling out from his chest. His arms were thick, dusted with dark hair, casually powerful. He nodded at Larry, then at Jack, not quite meeting their eyes.

"Hey," he said. His voice was low, with a rough edge. "Nice place."

"Thanks," Jack said, extending a hand. "Jack."

Derrick took it briefly--firm but quick. "Derrick."

"Cool," Jack replied, a little too brightly. "You, uh, into home decor or just tolerating it?"

Derrick's mouth twitched, like he was trying to decide whether to smile or leave. "I guess I don't... think about throw pillows much."

Ashley jumped in. "He's more of a 'fixes motorcycles, judges your bourbon' type."

Larry laughed politely, but exchanged a quick glance with Jack--an entire silent conversation.

"Well," Larry said, stepping aside, "you two ready for a drink or three? I say we let the night take us somewhere weird."

Ashley gave a little cheer. "Yes, please. I've been trapped in couples-ville all week."

Derrick muttered something like, "Let's get it over with," under his breath, then immediately cleared his throat. "I mean--yeah, sounds good."

Jack's smile thinned, but he turned smoothly, reaching for his jacket. "Great. I've been dying for mediocre music and overpriced cocktails."

As the four of them stepped into the night, Larry whispered to Jack, just loud enough, "Golden retriever, remember?"

Jack's reply was tight-lipped. "He's lucky I like Ashley."

Back inside, the apartment buzzed with the low hum of a Bluetooth speaker playing a curated "going out" playlist--just the right amount of nostalgia and bass. Larry moved behind the counter, already pouring mezcal over ice while Jack grabbed the fresh lime and bitters.

"House special," Jack said, holding up the bottle like a magician about to perform. "We call it the 'Seven-Year Sting.' It hits hard and makes you question your life choices."

Ashley laughed, slipping out of her heels and plopping onto the couch. "Perfect. I want to forget I exist."

Derrick stayed standing, arms crossed, surveying the room like a bouncer on break.

Larry handed him a glass. "You strike me as someone who drinks things neat."

Derrick took the glass without a word, sniffed it, then nodded once. "Better than I expected."

Jack raised an eyebrow but said nothing. He handed Ashley her drink, then joined Larry on the opposite couch, legs touching out of quiet solidarity.

"So, Derrick," Larry said, "Ashley says you're good with your hands?"

Ashley let out a playful groan. "Larry!"

Derrick gave the smallest smirk. "Work on bikes. Build furniture sometimes. Real stuff. Not... throw pillow stuff."

Jack's expression didn't change, but the silence stretched an inch too long.

Ashley jumped in quickly, fingers brushing Derrick's arm. "He means like--manual work. Masculine stuff. He's not great at wording things."

Derrick shrugged, taking a sip. "Just saying, some guys get a little... soft.... Get too into decorating and couple's brunch."

Larry blinked. "Soft, huh?"

Jack tilted his head. "Yeah, god forbid we enjoy brunch."

Ashley let out a nervous laugh. "Okay! Okay! Let's not spiral. Derrick--stop."

Derrick looked genuinely confused, like he hadn't said anything wrong. "What? I didn't mean it like that."

Larry smiled, tight. "No worries. We're very soft. Like ethically-sourced cashmere."

Jack reached for his drink. "And brunch is sacred."

Ashley looked between them, biting her lip. "Can we just... drink? Talk about literally anything else?"

Larry raised his glass. "To new friends."

Jack followed, eyes cool. "And saying less."

They clinked, Ashley's laugh a little too high as she tried to smooth it all over. Derrick took a long sip and looked out the window, already halfway gone from the room.

"Actually," Ashley said, her voice bright and rehearsed, "we have some news."

Larry blinked. "Oh?"

Jack raised an eyebrow.

Ashley beamed, practically vibrating. "We're engaged."

There was a beat of silence.

Then she reached into her back pocket and pulled out a small, silver ring. Not in a box. Just loose, casual, like it had been bouncing around next to loose change and gum wrappers. She slid it onto her finger with exaggerated flair and held up her hand like it was sparkling under stage lights.

Larry's mouth opened slightly. "Wow. That's... congratulations."

Jack forced a smile. "Yeah. Congrats, you two."

Derrick nodded once, arms crossed. "It's not official-official yet. No big production. Just figured we knew."

Ashley looped her arm around his. "We're doing it our way."

"Totally," Larry said, his voice just a shade too high. "Very you."

Jack took another sip of his drink. "So when's the big day?"

"No date yet," Ashley chirped. "We just felt like it was time, you know? When you know, you know."

Larry and Jack exchanged the quickest of glances--tight, subtle, meaningful.

Larry smiled again, thinner this time. "Of course. You two seem... solid."

Ashley beamed, oblivious. Derrick stayed silent, eyes darting around the room like he was already over it.

In the space between them all, something tense and unseen curled quietly, twisting just out of reach.

Ashley let out a sudden gasp as her drink sloshed out of her glass and splattered down the front of her white jeans.

"Shit!" she cried, jumping to her feet and looking down at the spreading amber stain. "Oh my God, these were new."

Larry was up in a flash with a towel, but the damage was done. "I've got club soda--might help."

Ashley dabbed at her jeans helplessly. "No, it's hopeless. I look like I peed myself at a whiskey tasting."

Jack stood, already heading toward the stairs. "It's okay, Ash. I've got jeans that'll fit you."

Ashley raised an eyebrow. "You sure? My ass hasn't seen the gym in... well, ever."

Jack turned and grinned. "Please. We used to share jeans all the time in college."

Ashley snorted. "Yeah, when we were twenty and had the metabolisms of hummingbirds."

"Well," Jack said, "let's see if nostalgia has stretch fabric. Come on."

She followed him, still dabbing at the stain with a laugh that had just enough embarrassment in it. "God, remember that pair of red cords we used to trade like a sacred artifact?"

"You wore them with heels," Jack said over his shoulder as they climbed the stairs. "I wore them with eyeliner and bad decisions."

Ashley giggled. "You were a little slutty sophomore year."

"And you were jealous," Jack tossed back, winking.

Downstairs, Larry glanced at Derrick, who was busy inspecting the edge of the liquor cart like it had personally offended him.

Derrick set his glass down with a dull clink and stood, stretching his shoulders like he was shaking off the room. "Gotta take a leak. Bathroom?"

Larry nodded, gesturing toward the hall. "Just past the second door on the right."

Derrick gave a half-thank-you and disappeared down the hallway, his boots making soft thuds on the hardwood.

Now alone, Larry sank onto the edge of the couch and took a slow sip of his drink, letting the mezcal's smoky bite roll across his tongue. The music thumped softly from the speaker, now some indie synth track that felt too dreamy for the air in the room.

~~~~

Jack descended the stairs with an amused little huff, still barefoot. "She's going to take forever picking something out. You'd think I offered her the Louvre's costume department."

Larry smirked, handing Jack his drink. "Classic Ashley. She'll try on five things and settle on the first one she hated."

Jack took a sip and flopped beside him on the couch. "Honestly? It's nostalgic. She even made me rate her options out of ten, like we're back in the dorms."

They sat in silence for a moment, the weight of the evening slowly creeping in again.

Then Larry glanced toward the hallway, brow creasing. "Hey, has Derrick been in the bathroom this whole time?"

Jack followed his gaze. "Seriously? He's not exactly the bubble-bath type."

"Yeah," Larry said, sitting up straighter. "Feels like he's been in there a while."

Jack stood and stretched, already moving toward the hallway. "Alright, I'll bite. Maybe he's building a shrine to toxic masculinity in there."

Larry followed behind, both of them padding quietly toward the bathroom. As they neared, they noticed the door was slightly ajar, a sliver of light casting a diagonal beam across the dark floor.

Jack slowed, frowning. "That's weird."

Larry tilted his head. "Maybe he didn't latch it?"

Jack's voice dropped. "Or maybe he's doing something he shouldn't be."

Larry blinked. "Like what?"

Jack hesitated. "I don't know. My brain just went straight to drugs. The vibe is... off."

He stepped closer and rapped his knuckles softly against the doorframe.

"Derrick?" Jack called.

No response.

The bathroom was eerily quiet.

Larry looked at Jack, tension drawing between them.

Jack called out again, a little louder. "Hey--Derrick, you good, man?"

Still nothing.

They exchanged a look--half concern, half dread.

Jack reached for the door and gently pushed the door open with two fingers, just enough to peer inside--and immediately recoiled.

"Oh--shit!" he blurted, spinning around so fast he nearly knocked into Larry.

Larry peeked in after him--and immediately turned as well, eyes wide. "Oh my God. Sorry! We didn't--!"

Inside, Derrick was mid-stream at the toilet, frozen in a half-turn, expression caught somewhere between confused and deeply irritated.

"What the hell?" he barked, shifting just enough to preserve what dignity he had left.

The gay couple nearly fell over each other trying to back up, the embarrassment overtaking their sense of logic and equilibrium. In their struggle to re-shut the door, the white wood seemed to swing open further.

Derrick immediately stopped pissing, his dick flopping through the air as he turned back.

Even in their confusion, fear, and embarrassment, Larry and Jack could help but lock eyes onto the massive 8 inches of solid man meat swaying between Derrick's legs. The uncut cock seemed to jump from the large dark patch of public hair escaping from the man's waist.

"We thought something was wrong!" Jack said quickly, one hand over his eyes. "You were in here forever! The door was open!"

"Fucking faggots!" Derrick snapped.

"Excuse me!" Jack added, still facing the hallway wall like it could erase what they'd just witnessed. "It was a mistake. We didn't mean to walk in like this!"

"Just like you don't mean to keep standing there?" Derrick questioned.

Larry and Jack hadn't realized that after their initial panic, they still hadn't moved from the small hallway just outside the bathroom. Each of them wanted to escape so badly from the embarrassing situation, and yet neither could pull themselves away.

"Well," Derrick said, placing his hands on his hips. His dick danced about drawing the gay couple in like hypnosis, "I don't really like fags who go around pretending they're like the rest of us!"

"That's uncalled for," Jack said, allowed, but his words felt insincere.

Larry barely heard his words. He wasn't proud of the thought, but it crept in anyway. That cock--accidental, awkward, and absolutely not asked for--had left something humming beneath his skin. A stirring. A jolt of something that had been missing for a while. He glanced at Jack, who stood to his right. While he'd been physically satisfied, Jack's dick fell a few inches shorter than Derrick's. And aside from porn that they occasionally watched together he hadn't seen a dick that big in a long while.

Larry didn't say anything. Didn't have to. There was an unspoken tether between them--seven years of shared glances, unfinished sentences, and knowing silence.

Jack felt it too.

That same restless flutter. That low ache of something's missing, and maybe this is it at the same time.

But neither of them spoke.

"But I'm a nice guy so I'll give ya something in return. If you agree to divorce before me and the cunt's wedding, I'll let you two clean the piss of my dick with your mouths."

Derrick's words lingered in the air.

Larry and Jack were both stunned, unable to speak. This arrogant man barged into their home, claimed he was marrying their friend, and now gave them this sick, homophobic ultimatum.

"You have until I stop pissing to decide." Derrick, with no care in the world, turned back to the toilet. Taking his thick cock in his hand he let loose the stream of piss again. The urine blasted the side of the porcelain tub.

Larry's heart sank so far into his stomach. The thought of getting to touch a homophobic straight man's dick is something he'd dreamed about for decades, but he never said the words allowed. How could he? He had never even shared this twisted fantasy with his husband of seven years. They had been talking about spicing things up. But a divorce? Larry looked to Jack whose eyes were fixated on the massive dick a few feet away.

"Almost done, fairies!" Derrick's piss stream was loud but started to subside.

Larry began to open his mouth to say something to his partner, r though he hadn't yet found the words. But to his surprise, Jack began to lower to his knees looking straight at Derrick's beefy ass and cock; almost in a trance.

Larry hurried up and joined him, eager to get a taste of what he'd wanted in life for so long.

In one quick movement Derrick turned around quickly, hitting both of them across the face with the last pit of piss his bladder could muster. The pair jolted as the musty fluid collided with their faces.

Larry and his partner looked like ravenous animals.

Jack had never tasted urine before, but somehow it was sweeter than he imagined, though the musky salt was still overpowering.

Derrick let out a deep laugh.

"You two cumbuckets are hopeless like the rest of your kind" Derrick shook his cock causing a few drops of his urine to fly about the room, "I'm getting hard thinking about ruining your fag-lationship!"

"Please, sir, let us suck your dick!" Larry said allowed.

Derrick howled.

"Do you hear your husband, faggot?" He looked to Jack still slightly licking the urine from the side of his lips, "Is this what ten years of queer marriage looks like? Sucking down straight piss and begging for some real dick?"

The couple both kneeled there, side by side on the bathroom floor, eyes drifting occasionally toward the massive dick in front of them.

Jack's fingers twitched slightly on Larry's thigh.

Their eyes met. Just for a second, long enough to say everything.

We love each other, but this isn't going to be enough anymore. We know that now.

Larry blinked, his mouth twitching into the ghost of a smile--somewhere between guilt and relief.

"I want to suck your straight cock too. If you'd let us, sir." Larry finally looked up at the black-haired man towering over them.

"Fucking faggots, dude!" He laughed, through his head back, 'Your queer ass marriage is over after this shit! Fine, bitch boys. What man in their right mind would turn down a blow job? But you better make it quick before that bitch makes it back down here!"

Jack's hands went to Derrick's belt, unbuckling it with practiced ease.

Larry joined Jack, the two of them working together to free Derrick's cock. As they worked together to loosen the dark denim, they watched in awe at the massive cock bobbed about, dancing before their eyes. As the jeans made their way down the man's thick thighs, the biggest pair of balls the two men had seen came into view.

"Fuck, your nuts are incredible," Larry murmured; he reached dup wrapping his hand around the stiffing prick.

Derrick let out a low moan, his head falling back. "I take it your fag husband here must be lacking in the balls department."

For a brief moment, Larry fell silent, unsure of how to answer. But without fear of the consequences, he continued.

"I'm the one who mostly tops. We don't use Jack's dick and balls very much."

"Well..." Jack said with an annoyed tone, "For a so called top your dick is pretty useless compared to this."

Derrick laughed.

"Queers, shut the fuck up! You're running out of time. You can talk about your useless fag clits and failed marriage after you duck me off."

Jack glared at his husband a moment longer before moving forward and taking Derrick's cock in his mouth, his tongue swirling around the head. He moaned, the sound vibrating against Derrick's skin.

"Fuck, that feels so good," Derrick groaned, his hands tangled in their hair.

Jack sucked and licked, his head bobbing up and down on the straight man's dick. Derrick's moans filled the small room, a symphony of pleasure. Larry licked his lips watching his husband of 10 years losing himself on this man's dick. He couldn't take it anymore! Pushing up beside his husband, he shoved Jack aside.

"Give me some of that dick, greedy queer!" Larry said allowed before running his lips of Derrick's now fully erect cock.

The hetero man couldn't help but laugh over their faggy display.

The sensation was overwhelming for Derrick. His bitch ass fiancé wasn't this good! He could feel the heat of Larry's mouth, the wetness of his tongue, and the intensity of his suction. "Fuck, yes," he groaned, his hips thrusting forward.

The man chocked on the full length of his now ten-inch cock. Larry didn't give a lot of blow jobs in his relationship. Jack was definitely the more skilled one, but he wasn't about to give up the opportunity to taste this man's salty nectar.

Jack looked up at Derrick, his eyes filled with desire. "You taste so much better than him. I need more."

"Get your head in there then! Stop fucking whining!" Derrick reached down. Taking a wad of Jack's hair, he shoved the man's face into his balls. Immediately, he felt the man's tongue flick out of his mouth and begin dancing across his swollen nuts, How's it feel knowing I taste better than you?" He asked the current queer buried in his pubes.

Larry muttered something, but it was lost around Derrick's thick member.

Jack and Larry redoubled their efforts, almost as a team, their tongues and lips working in perfect harmony. Derrick's moans grew louder, his hips moving faster. "Yes, yes, right there," he panted, his body tensing.

With a firm grip, Derrick pulled Jack away from his balls.

"You need to learn to share, queers." Thrusting forward his entire dick disappeared down Larry's throat causing the man to gag profusely before backing of the man's dick to catch his breathe. Not missing a beat, Derrick shoved Jack back on his rod.

Guiding the man by his hair he drug his lips over the length of his massive dick.

Derrick threw his head back, his breath coming in ragged gasps. "God, yes. I fucking love it! You faggots are pros at this shit!"

Jack hummed in agreement, his mouth working on Derrick's cock like it was a favorite treat. He could taste the precum, salty and sweet, and he wanted more. He wanted all of the straight man.

Larry, jealous, followed what his husband had done prior. Trying his best to move up beside his partner of ten year he buried his face between Derrick's thick thighs and began lapping at the man's hairy ballsack.

Derrick's hips were moving, fucking Jack's mouth in time with his moans. "Yeah, faggot. Just like that! You're a good little cock sucker!"

Jack stopped only for a moment to take a breath and admire the massive head of the man's cock. It was truly beautiful! It was nothing like Larry's. From the massive, plump head to the girthy, long shaft and golf ball-sized testicles, every bit of this man's package was better than his gay husband's in every way!

He took Derrick back into his mouth, his head bobbing up and down as he sucked and licked and teased. He could feel the straight man's body tensing, could hear his breath coming in short gasps. He knew Derrick was close.

Larry could feel the same as the man's balls began to rise closer to his body.

"Jack," Derrick groaned, his hands tightening in Jack's hair. "I'm gonna fucking nut! Fuck, I'm gonna cum!"

Jack moaned into the man's dick, begging for his hetero seed.

Naturally, Larry emerged from between his thighs, awaiting the man's release.

Finally, with a loud groan, Derrick began to cum, his release filling Jack's mouth. The gay man tried his best to gobble down every drop but much to his dismay Derrick ripped his head off his dick.

"Fuuuuck! Ten years of fag marriage going down your fucking throat right now!!!" Derrick called out.

Instinctively, Larry pushed forward as the man's semen sprayed out over his face. He tried his best to open his mouth and take in the straight man's spunk, but it was no use, so he quickly began scraping his semen into his mouth before his greedy husband could get his hands on it.

Rope after rope of straight sperm landed across Larry's face. Just like the man predicted, his husband of ten years lunged forward, almost knocking his head into the bathroom sink. His lips wrapped around Derrick's dick tasking in the last drops of cum as they dripped form the bulbous head.

Derrick let out a low groan, his body convulsing as his orgasm began to subside. Squeezing the last pit of cum out of his dick he stepped back to look at the two queers flailing about on the bathroom floor desperate to find every drop of semen they could.

"Holy shit. You fuckers are disgusting." Derrick stood there above them, trying to catch his breath, "Whelp, looks like that's enough for you two. Glad I could help you fix your lives, but my soon-to-be wife is waiting for us, I'm sure."

The straight man grabbed his pants, pulling them up and over his firm ass. Tucking away his package, he zipped his fly.

"Get your fag faces cleaned up before you join us." Derrick stepped over the pair still sprawled out uncomfortably between the wall and the sink.

Larry and Jack looked at each other still kneeling with some piss and pre-cum on their faces. They both cracked a huge smile and felt happy for the first time in a long time. They were only sad that they had to join Ashley again soon for the boring evening out.