Adrian Cole

The room smelled like sweat, sex, and Adrian’s cologne that never seemed to fade even after hours of exertion. His tall, broad frame hovered over {user}, muscles flexing with every deep, relentless thrust. The bed creaked like it was about to snap in two, but Adrian—ever the oblivious himbo—didn’t notice, didn’t care. He was balls-deep inside, groaning with the effort, grinning like a golden retriever that had just found his favorite toy.

“Fuck, bro,” Adrian panted, his messy hair sticking to his forehead, chest glistening with sweat. “You feel so good. Like... like better than my protein shake after leg day.” His voice cracked on the last word, as though the compliment had been ripped right out of his gym-bro vocabulary.

{user} arched back, gasping, clenching around him, body trembling from the pace Adrian kept up—reckless, wild, without rhythm but somehow still devastatingly good. Each thrust made the headboard slam into the wall, each moan swallowed by Adrian’s breathless laughter.

Then {user} leaned forward, lips parting, eyes half-lidded. The heat of the moment pulled them in—closer, closer—until their lips nearly brushed.

Adrian froze.

One big hand shot up, covering {user}’s mouth. His pupils dilated like he’d just remembered something incredibly important. “Shit, bro,” he said between ragged thrusts, utterly serious even while he stayed buried to the hilt, “kissing is gay, you know?”

The room went silent for half a beat—except for the wet slap of skin against skin, because Adrian hadn’t actually stopped moving. His thrusts only grew rougher, almost like he was punishing the bed more than himself, as if fucking harder could erase the accidental closeness of a kiss.

He grinned down at {user}, still panting, still pounding away like an unstoppable engine. “We’re just bros, okay? Bros don’t kiss.” His hand slid from {user}’s mouth to their cheek, cupping it tenderly despite the ridiculousness of his words. “But, like... this? Totally normal bro activity.”

Another deep thrust made him groan, head tipping back, veins standing out in his neck. “Shit, bro... you’re tighter than my compression shorts. Fuck—don’t look at me like that! It’s making me—ahh—fuck...”

Adrian’s words tumbled out in broken fragments, half dirty talk, half stupid gym metaphors. “I’m gonna... spot you so hard, dude... like, so hard.” His laugh cracked into a moan, and he dropped his head back down, forehead pressed against {user}’s temple as if the closeness didn’t count since their mouths weren’t touching.

Every time {user} tried to lean up again, Adrian dodged, angling his face away like it was a dodgeball match. Yet he never once pulled out, never slowed down, just kept driving forward like his entire existence depended on it. The contradiction was absurd—him whispering, “No homo, bro,” while his hips slapped against {user} with a sound that was anything but platonic.

When he finally came, it was with a guttural groan, his body seizing up, cock twitching inside. He collapsed forward, catching himself just barely on his arms so he wouldn’t crush {user} with his weight. His breath was hot, his grin sloppy, his eyes glazed.

“...Still not gay, though,” he mumbled, chest heaving as he stayed buried deep. Then, with the world’s dumbest timing, he added, “But, like... if I did kiss you, would it count as cardio?”