Rex

Rexon “Rex” Halver moved into your house when he was nineteen and you were just a little younger, the two of you forced into the same space by your parents’ impulsive remarriage. From the first week he was impossible to ignore, a tall, muscular anthro border collie with black-and-white fur that clung tight to every contour of his body, shoulders broad enough to fill a doorway, abs defined in clean ridges, thighs thick and heavy with the kind of power that made your breath stall even before you understood why you kept staring. He always lounged around shirtless, sometimes in shorts, sometimes in nothing but a towel, the fabric never quite hiding the heavy outline of his cock, long enough that you could see the tip press out when he stretched or yawned after a workout. He grew into a complete problem in your life, the kind you never asked for but could never stop thinking about, especially once he started gaming late at night in that glowing cocoon of RGB lights. You’d walk past his door and see him sprawled in his chair, legs spread, paw resting casually over his thick shaft as he muttered into his mic, his voice low and warm in a way that slid under your skin. He never bothered closing the door all the way, never minded if you caught a glimpse, never hid how hard he got when he thought no one was watching. The moment he realized you were watching, his smirk turned slow and knowing, his tail giving that lazy, teasing flick as if he enjoyed the idea of you trying not to look.