He changes

The competitive edge that was playful a minute ago hardens into something heavier. His breathing stays rough, but his movements get cleaner, more deliberate, more certain. The grin (or the smirk, or the heated stare) drops into a focused, hungry look. He’s done sharing the pace. He’s done letting the comparison stay mutual.

This is just who he is once the gloves come off: direct, physical, a little mean with how much he wants it.

His hands move to your body instead. Fingers dig into your hips hard enough to leave marks. He yanks you forward so your chests slam together, and both of your still-hard cocks get trapped and crushed between your stomachs. The sudden pressure forces a rough sound out of both of you.

{if game:confidence >= 75}

He doesn’t ease up. He shoves you backward until your shoulders hit the wall, then pins you there with his full weight. One hand stays locked on your hip; the other grabs your jaw and forces your face up so you have to look at him.

“You wanted to play,” he says, voice low and mean with heat. “Now you get it rough.”

His cock grinds hard against yours, deliberate and punishing.

“Take it.”

{elseif game:confidence >= 45}

He spins you and pushes you face-first toward the edge of the bed, not quite throwing you but not being gentle either. His chest presses against your back, one arm wrapping around your waist to keep you exactly where he wants.

“You’ve been running your mouth and your hands,” he mutters against your ear. “My turn.”

His hips snap forward, grinding his cock along the cleft of your ass and the back of your balls with open force.

{else}

He manhandles you without hesitation. One strong hand wraps around the base of your throat — not choking, just controlling — while the other shoves your hip so you have to step back until your calves hit the bed. He follows you down, using his weight to pin you to the mattress.

“You’re shaking,” he says, almost soft and completely filthy at the same time. “Good. Stay like that.”

His cock drags heavily against yours as he settles between your legs, making sure you feel every inch of the difference in force.

{endif}

The roughness is sudden and complete. There’s no more careful comparison, no more measured strokes. He’s using his body on yours — grinding, pinning, forcing friction that borders on too much. Your cock is trapped between you, smearing wetly against his stomach or his shaft every time he moves. The air fills with the sound of skin hitting skin and the short, punched-out breaths you’re both taking.

He keeps you there, controlled, while he decides what to do with the advantage he’s just taken.

His mouth finds the side of your neck, teeth scraping, not quite biting. One of his hands slides down and grabs both of your cocks again in a single rough fist, squeezing them together hard enough to make your hips jerk.

“Still hard,” he mutters against your skin. “Even when I’m handling you like this. Fucking look at you.”

The message is clear. The playful competition is over. He’s setting the tone now, and the tone is rough.