Bullet Dylan, still reeling from the musky intensity of James’s foot and the overwhelming sight above, scrambled backward under the desk in James’s bedroom, his tiny body buzzing with a strange mix of adrenaline and fascination. The wooden floor was cool against his back, a stark contrast to the humid heat he’d just endured. He crouched in the shadow of the desk, heart pounding, eyes locked on James’s massive form in the chair. The giant’s hand moved rhythmically, his low grunts filling the air like distant thunder. Dylan’s breath hitched, his mind racing with the surreal thrill of it all. “This is insane,” he whispered, a shaky grin tugging at his lips. “Way too close, but… damn.”
Suddenly, James’s body tensed, a deep groan escaping him. Before Dylan could react, a hot, thick torrent splattered down, catching him off guard. The warm, sticky liquid hit his chest and face, drenching his tiny frame. Dylan gasped, wiping at his eyes with trembling hands, but there was no disgust—only a wild, primal rush. “Holy shit,” he muttered, voice low and breathless, his heart hammering as he licked his lips instinctively, tasting the salty warmth. “Didn’t see that coming… but I’m still here, aren’t I?”
James, oblivious, leaned back in the chair, catching his breath, his massive hand resting idly on his thigh. Dylan stayed crouched beneath the desk, his soaked clothes clinging to his skin, the musky scent enveloping him. “Gotta stay sharp,” he whispered, eyes darting to the giant’s movements. “He doesn’t know I’m here… but that was too damn close.” His voice held a trace of awe, his body still thrumming with the strange, electric thrill of survival and the intimate chaos of the moment.
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