Flynn Fenixl steps into the limelight for the first time. Jay Stryker, all muscle and confidence, greets him with a welcoming grin that’s hard to overlook—along with everything else. It doesn’t take long for the pair to make eye contact, share a joke, and plunge directly into action that requires no introduction.

Before they realized it, Flynn’s small hands were pulling at Jay’s shirt, raising it to reveal his chiseled chest as he leaned in to plant a playful kiss on the taller man. Jay’s hand cradled the back of Flynn’s head, pulling him closer, deepening the kiss with a hunger that astonished them both. Flynn’s fingers fumbled with Jay’s belt, eager and unsteady, before eventually freeing his growing erection. A grin spread across Flynn’s face as he enveloped Jay’s length with his lips, taking him in with a combination of enthusiasm and precision that had Jay groaning. “Damn, you’re good at this,” Jay muttered, his voice coarse.

Flynn didn’t stop there. He pulled back just enough to glance up at Jay, mischief in his eyes. “You ain’t seen nothing yet,” he quipped before diving back in, bobbing his head with a rhythm that had Jay gripping the edge of the counter for support. When Flynn finally pulled away, he turned around, arching his back and presenting himself with a cheeky smirk. Jay didn’t need an invitation. He buried his face between Flynn’s cheeks, teasing and tasting until Flynn was writhing and pleading for more.

“Fuck, just take me already,” Flynn panted, and Jay didn’t need to be told twice. He lined himself up and pushed in slowly, watching as Flynn bit his lip and released a shaky breath. They moved together in a rhythm that was both frantic and controlled, each thrust sending sparks through them both. The room filled with their shared sounds—gasps, moans, and the occasional curse—until they reached their peak almost simultaneously. Flynn collapsed forward, still trembling as he laughed breathlessly. “Damn,” he said, grinning up at Jay. “You might just be worth keeping around.”