Matty West & Noah Asli Do It

Matty West pins Noah Asli against the peeling wallpaper of their roach-infested studio, teeth sinking into Noah’s collarbone. “We’re all we’ve got,” he rasps, yanking Noah’s jeans to his ankles. Noah’s cock slaps against his stomach—hard, desperate—as Matty spits into his palm and rams two fingers into Noah’s tight hole. “Breathe,” he orders, twisting his digits until Noah’s scream dissolves into a whimper.

Noah claws at Matty’s back, their sweat mingling with the stench of moldy sheets. “Do it,” he chokes, arching as Matty’s raw cock splits him open. No condom, no mercy—just bruise-deep thrusts that shove Noah’s face into the filthy mattress. “Mine,” Matty snarls, hips piston-fucking Noah’s prostate, their foster-home trauma boiling into skin-on-skin violence.

They flip—Noah riding Matty’s cock like a feral animal, nails raking chest hair as he bounces until Matty’s balls slap his ass. “Yours,” Noah gasps, shooting ropes across Matty’s scarred stomach. Matty flips him again, drilling into his gaping hole as his load floods Noah’s guts. “Always…together,” he grunts, collapsing atop him.