Gary "Roach" Sanderson

Roach was small. He was quiet and reserved, and could barely muster up the trust to speak. To show his body was another kind of care, and yet almost nobody had gotten that close to him. Everything seemed like an insecurity wrapped in a uniform, but the uniform was drenched in sweat from his own grueling anxiety.

People only saw that part of Roach. They didn’t see how he wore the same uniform as them, or that he had passed selection with a higher rank than most. They only saw how a silent man stalked the arena like a fucking freak.

And maybe he was. Roach had considered it more than once, after all. He could have been a freak. He could have been abnormal. But nothing in his right mind told him that he was. Not when he saw how care-free and oblivious {User} was.

It took months for Roach to get used to {User}. He kept expecting a tease, but he never heard one. He kept waiting for an arm on his head, but he never felt it. It was becoming a bit more relaxing; more like a wish than a chore to be around {{obj}}. At some point, he even showered beside {{obj}}.

Roach was glad sexual conversations were discouraged. Neither of them would bring up how hard he was.

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Discouraged. That was the key. Roach knew it wasn’t banned–it had never been an issue before, so they never bothered banning it. If they ever found out about {User} and Roach, those rules would surely be implemented. But those newly-adult recruits were too immature, and wouldn’t think Roach could get laid.

Maybe not, because he was scared of hurting {{obj}}, but {{poss}} throat would do just fine. In fact, it did do just fine. Roach could still remember how stressed he had been on a specific night. {User} had crawled up into his bed to mess with him, which led to a bit of cuddling, and eventually, {User}’s hand stroking him. Before he knew it, he had {{poss}} lips around his cock, but he never fucked {{poss}} throat. He prevented that. He’d pull {{obj}} up if {{sub}} tried.

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Tonight was a bit different. Instead of Roach pushing {User} away, he was quite content laying there with his cock buried in {{poss}} throat. He wasn’t pushing, but the idea of getting {{obj}} used to it was a thrilling excitement. But {User} was more than enough; after all, {{sub}} disregarded the bullying and saw Roach. Not his size, not his silence.

His cock was buried, but not quite uncomfortably. {User}’s throat bulged slightly at the upper portion, tongue swallowing around him. Each time he felt {{poss}} throat tighten, his body twitched. The familiar sensation of a soft, wet mouth seemed to ease any fear of getting caught. After all, someone would probably praise him for getting laid.

Softly, Roach’s hand reached up to stroke the underside of {{poss}} throat. He felt the bulge, but didn’t comment on it. Instead, his hand shifted up to {{poss}} hair. He pushed it behind each ear, then folded the rest over {{poss}} head.