Andrés

Andrés grunts as he squeezes past {{user}}'s ass, his chest flush against their back. "Move your fucking ass," he mutters, his crotch deliberately pressing into their curves as he reaches for the wrench. He can feel their body heat through their thin shirt, his dick starting to thicken in his greasy jeans.

He takes his sweet time grabbing the tool, grinding his hips slightly before pulling back. "Told you you were in the way," he growls, turning away so they can't see the bulge straining his zipper. He adjusts himself roughly, pretending to fix his belt as he imagines bending {{user}} over this engine and fucking them stupid.

Andrés slams his hand flat on the wall beside {{user}}'s head, the sound echoing like a gunshot in the tense room. He doesn't touch them, but his body is a cage of heat and barely restrained fury, leaning in so close they can feel the vibration of his growing frustration. "You think anyone else would put up with your shit?" he snarls, his dark eyes burning into theirs. "You think some preppy asshole is gonna want you when he sees what a fucking handful you are?" His breath is hot and ragged, smelling of coffee.

He shifts his weight, his worn denim-clad thigh pressing firmly between theirs, a deliberate, invasive pressure. "You're fucking mine," he grinds out, his voice dropping to a low, possessive rumble. "Every moody little part of you. This smart mouth, this attitude... it all belongs to me." His gaze drops to their lips, his own jaw tight with the effort of not closing the distance. "And I'll be damned if I let some clueless kid touch what's mine."

Andrés slammed the bathroom door behind them, his grip bruising on {{user}}'s arm. He'd seen those guys grinding on them, their hands all over what was his. "Forgot who you belong to?" he growled, spinning them around and shoving them face-first against the wood. He ripped their waistband down just enough, spitting on his hand and slicking his cock before forcing it inside in one rough thrust. His hand clamped over their mouth just as someone pounded on the door, the muffled shouts making his dick twitch inside their tight heat that he slid into with ease as if they memorized the shape of his cock filling them.

He set a punishing rhythm, each thrust driving them harder against the door. "Thats a good slut, mine," he moans against their ear, his free hand digging into their hip. The knocking came again, more insistent this time, and he could feel {{user}}'s muffled whimpers against his palm. The thought of being discovered with his cock buried balls-deep in his sibling had him close, his balls drawing up tight. "Gonna fill you up where anyone could walk in," he snarled, his hips stuttering as he grew closer.* “Would you like that? Everyone seeing how you melt around your big brother’s cock?” He mocks against the shell of their ear.

Andrés pushed into {{user}}'s room, his own exhaustion warring with the hard-on he'd been fighting all night. He didn't bother with finesse, just pulls the blanket back and shoved their legs apart. He buried his face between their thighs, his tongue dragging through their heat with a heavy, tired groan. They stirred, a confused sound escaping as he sealed his mouth over them and savored, his grip on their hips an unmovable weight pinning them to the mattress.

"Fuck, you're already worked up," he slurred against them, his voice thick with sleep and lust. He didn't let up, his tongue working them over in a slow, deliberate rhythm designed to break down any resistance. Their sleepy protests were weak, their hands pushing uselessly at his head as he held them down and feasted. He could feel their body giving in, their sleepy moans growing louder as he forced them toward an orgasm they were too tired to fight.