Page 38 of Canned & Coated

He inches closer, gaze never leaving mine as his hand abandons Tanner and finds me instead. The moment his slick fingers trace my entrance, electricity shoots through me. A ripple that curls my toes and steals my breath mid-inhale.

Tanner wasn’t lying. The chill surprises at first contact, but then transforms, melting into something that wakes every nerve ending it touches. My skin hums with it.

“There it is,” Milo whispers.

My only answer is a desperate nod.

When he pushes inside, there’s no resistance. Only a perfect, impossible slide of skin against skin. Whatever mystery substance coats his fingers performs small miracles as he works deeper.

“Seriously, what did you…“

The question dissolves into sound as he crooks his finger finding that spot that makes my vision blur at the edges. My spine arches off the ground of its own accord. Then Tanner’s mouth descends, hot and wet around me, his tongue tracing patterns around my cock that make coherent thought impossible.

I’m spiraling toward the edge so fast I couldn’t care less what slick substance is easing the way.

“You really want to know?” Milo’s voice has dropped an octave. “It’s safe, it’s effective, and…” he hesitates, “…telling you might kill the mood.”

Another finger joins the others. The burn of stretching transforms into liquid heat as he works me open with methodical patience, each thrust reaching deeper.

“God, Nate,” he breathes against my ear. “The way you’re opening up for us... for Tanner... for both of us, maybe...”

Tanner’s approving moan vibrates through me, and I can’t hold back the broken sound that escapes me as my hips stutter upward, thighs quivering.

“Tell me,” I gasp between shallow breaths, eyes shut tight as sensation crashes over me in relentless waves.

Milo hesitates. Even lost in sensation, I feel the subtle tension in his touch, the way his movements falter. He’s guarding something, preparing for my reaction.

Then I sense the moment he relents. The pump slows until it’s torturous.

“Remember those, um, refried beans from dinner?”

My eyes snap open. Tanner’s mouth is suddenly gone, leaving me cold.

Milo’s gaze darts between us. “The leftover beans were still warm by the fire, and when they cool down, that liquid on top gets this consistency that⁠—“

“BEAN GOOP?!” The words tear from my throat, colliding with a moan as his fingers find that perfect spot inside me.

My outrage dissolves into something embarrassingly needy.

“Exactly,” he confirms without a hint of shame. “It thickens up perfectly. Obviously it works. Judging by the mess you’re making on yourself right now, you’re not exactly complaining.”

Tanner’s gaze drops to my stomach, his expression sharpening into something almost clinical. Then he glances toward the tent flap, where the remains of dinner sit beyond the canvas.

“We need to clean that up,” he says. “It’ll attract bears.”

“Focus,” Milo commands, working deeper, finding an angle that makes my vision blur. “He’s close. Bears can wait.”

The absurdity hits me all at once. I’m about to get fucked with refried bean juice as lube. Yet when I look between Milo and Tanner, their faces flushed and waiting, something settles in my chest. These are my people. We’ve always figured things out together.

Maybe we’re supposed to reach for what we want with whatever we have.

The perfect moment doesn’t exist. What exists can be messy and unexpected and ridiculous and somehow, sometimes, that’s still exactly what you need.

Maybe that’s the point.

Take the imperfect offering with both hands and say yes anyway.

I let out a sigh and manage a shaky grin. “See. You’re resourceful, after all.”