He gasped and tried not to clench too hard as Rhys fucked into him in reply, opening him around the fat, length of meat, stretching his rim tight and lewd and god it just felt so good. He swore as Rhys’ hand wrapped around his dick, pulling and tugging his dick and he leaked all over his fingers as his husband fucked into him and it was fucking delicious. “You feel so fucking good, god, you’re so big, Rhys. Fuck,” He glanced at Rhys and he knew it was a warning, that smirk meant things were about to happen and he was probably going to melt into wanton, moaning puddle of desire and need. It was then a rapid fire assault on his ass and his insides and his nerves. He cried out, high pitched and full of hot pleasure, his hands grabbing at the ones curled around his hips, holding him still as he panted ‘fuck’ none too quietly at every punching fuck into his hole, sending shivering, electric sparks up his spine, jolting on every drag out. “Jesus Rhys, yes,” he was rambling at this point as his face twisted and he gasped and jerked as he came suddenly over his lovers stomach and he clenched around the fat dick, hard. “I’m not done,” he promised his lover. “Don’t stop, fuck, don’t you dare stop,” He had cum, sure but he wasn’t finished yet. Oh no, not even close.
Rhys moaned as Joe did, whimpered when he felt hands on his own, both grounding him, anchoring him there to the bed, to reality, not letting him dare drift off or away from what was happening then and there. Rhys returned fire with his own slew of whispered swears as Joe moved and as Joe bounced and as Joe writhed. And again as Joe came, shooting hot cum all over his fingers, over his arms, splashes of it on his chest and stomach and even his face and neck. Instinctively, Rhys licked his lips, cleaning whatever bit of Joe had landed there. He tugged his husband’s dick until the drips stopped dripping down and he moved to spreading those cheeks further apart, letting every hot, fat inch of his dick to sink inside uninterrupted. “Here-here. Watch—” Rhys slid out, knowing he’d get a glare but it’d be okay. A few adjustments and Rhys was painting his dick in his husband’s cum, spreading it around from his fist, slapping the head at Joe’s, collecting all the pearly sheen he could and standing full salute, hard and throbbing, red and hot and pounding and veiny, he gave a squeeze and his own precum came drooling out from his tip, oozing a clear, sticky substance down his shaft. “Suck it.”