Handy Men

Mason Garet and Evan Matthews lie back, legs wide. Matthieu Paris drives both fists in hard. The warehouse stinks of sweat and piss. Paris doesn’t pause to relieve himself—he just lets go, soaking the concrete while his hands keep working. Matthews opens wide. Paris slides past the wrist, then the elbow, straight in until the bigger man’s whole forearm disappears. Garet leans in and hammers the back of Paris’s arm, shoving it deeper still. The stretch is obscene, the rosebud flushed and shining. Paris stares at the wreck he’s made of Matthews and names him king on the spot.