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    Summary

    The New Yorker cut himself off yet again, turning his head as if he were embarrassed about what he was about to say, “Want to what?” Sapnap pressed, “Say it Karl, you’re already sitting on my lap, come on.”

    “I think maybe we should just kiss tonight,” Karl confessed nervously, “Maybe what I want is something we should sleep on. Think it over, let our—”

    Sapnap pushed his hair back, running the flat of his palm down Karl’s jawline and cupping his face softly, “Karl, come on, tell me.”

    “I’m about to,” Karl mumbled, trying to laugh at his own joke, but the want in his voice took over and he moaned, “I want your thighs. Wanna ride your thigh.”

    Or; Sapnap's friends are highly interested in riding his thighs.

    Language:
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