The crevice shuddered again, a low, menacing growl building deep within James’s core. Dylan’s eyes widened, his grip tightening on the slick, pulsing ridges of the anus. “Oh, come on, another one?” he groaned, half-laughing, half-bracing himself. “You’re gonna bury me in a stink-storm, big guy!”
The rumble crescendoed into a monstrous BRRRRRAAAP, a hot, violent blast of gas that roared over Dylan, the stench a gut-punch of rotten eggs and damp earth. He yelped, the force shoving him back, his tiny body skidding along the boxer fabric. “Gah! That’s weapon-grade, man!” he coughed, waving a hand in front of his face, though the thick, musky air was inescapable. “You’re killing me down here, James! What’d you eat, a sulfur smoothie?”
Despite the overwhelming assault, Dylan’s grin didn’t fade. He steadied himself, planting his hands on the twitching, warm skin. “Okay, okay, you’re the boss,” he muttered, his voice hoarse but buzzing with adrenaline. “But if you’re gonna keep farting like a volcano, at least give me a heads-up so I can brace for impact!” The anus pulsed ominously, and Dylan chuckled nervously. “Or… maybe not. Let’s not tempt fate, huh?”
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