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I woke already holding myself.
My cock was already in my fist, filling out from sleep the way it had been doing most mornings since I left home. I lay there and let it happen. There was no rush to get up. The dorm was still enough that I could hear someone shift on a far bunk and the faint sound of the corridor starting to move.
I'd finished school in June and then sat in my bedroom for a fortnight looking at the same four walls, waiting for a plan to arrive that never did. University forms, jobs I didn't want, a year that looked like a straight line into something I couldn't picture. In the end I booked a one-way flight because it was cheaper than staying put and pretending I knew what came next. I told my mum I was taking time to travel and figure things out. That was true enough. I had a rucksack, a pass for the trains, and a list of hostels I kept adding to whenever a bed came up cheap.
London had been the first stop because I could get there without thinking too hard. A week in a noisy dorm near the station, then Paris, where the room smelled of wet towels and I learned to sleep with earplugs in. Berlin after that. Two nights in Prague. Vienna, where the guy in the bunk above me had watched me wank through the slats and then come down the ladder at two in the morning without saying much first. I was getting used to that kind of thing. Hostels made it simple. You shared a room with strangers, you saw them half-dressed, and sometimes you saw more than that if nobody bothered to hide.
Amsterdam was next, then south toward Barcelona if the money lasted. This place was only a pause between trains. Four nights booked: green-and-white walls, metal bunks stacked too close, a window that let the morning in earlier than I wanted it. I'd walked in yesterday afternoon with the rucksack still damp from the last station and taken the bottom bunk because it was the one left.
Matteo had already been on the facing bed when I came through the door. We did the talk you always do: where we'd come from, how long we were staying, whether the showers had any pressure. He was moving the other way up the map, a few days here and then north. That was the whole of it. Two men in the same dorm because the booking site had put us there. We'd stayed up later than the others last night, talking across the aisle in the dark after the room had settled, and I'd gone to sleep knowing he was still opposite me. I woke knowing it too. His sheet was off. His hand was already moving.
The top bunk’s metal sheet hung over me with its rows of punched holes and the stamped plate near the frame, close enough that the morning light coming through them dotted my chest. White duvet shoved down my thighs in a heap that still held last night’s warmth. Hostel window throwing that flat early brightness across the green-and-white stripes on the far wall. My cock was filling in my fist, uncut head pushing out of the foreskin as I gave it a pull from the base all the way to the tip and felt the weight of it land in my palm.
Across the aisle Matteo was already going.
He was on the facing bunk, sheet kicked off, knees fallen apart, one hand working his cock in the open like he’d decided the room belonged to him. Not hiding it against his hip. Not looking at his phone. Looking over here whenever the angle of his pillow let him, fist moving the whole time. I kept my own fist moving and let him see the whole thing: shaft lifting off my stomach, balls drawn up from sleep, the head coming through my grip already wet.
“You started without me,” I said, not loud, the words meant for the gap between the bunks.
Matteo’s mouth opened on a breath that he’d been holding for a while. “You were twitching under that sheet for ten minutes, Damien. I could see the shape of it from here. I was waiting to see if you were going to keep the duvet on like you were still pretending to sleep.”
I shoved the rest of the duvet off my hip so there was nothing left covering me. “Are you happy now. You can see all of it.”
“Yeah. I can see all of it.” His fist made a wet sound that carried across the carpet. “Show me properly then. Don’t just hold it. Work it so I can watch the head come through.”
I planted my feet on the mattress and stroked the way he asked, long enough that he could follow the head punching out of my grip and the way the foreskin bunched under the crown. Precum smeared over the tip and made the next pull louder. The dorm held the usual leftover smell of other people’s washing and last night’s beer from the corridor. Under that, now, the sharper scent of two men jacking off in the same small room with the window open and the door unlocked.
Matteo’s cock looked heavier than mine from here, darker at the head, a thick base that made his fingers look short around it. He pumped it without any attempt to be discreet, his thumb rubbing the underside each time his hand came up, a slick noise that told me he’d been at it long enough to get wet. I matched him without deciding to, same pace, same open display, my own equipment standing off my stomach in the light.
A bedspring ticked on his side when he shifted his heel. My bunk answered when I lifted my hips to meet my fist. Chargers hanging off the wall socket. A lime towel slung over the far bedframe. Someone’s socks on the grey carpet. All of it stayed at the edge of my attention because Matteo’s fist and my own were the only things doing any real work in the room.
“Are you always this hard in the morning?” he said, watching the way my cock jumped in my hand.
“When there’s a show across the aisle I am.” I nodded at his cock, at the way he was still stroking it like he wanted me to keep looking. “Has that been out long, Matteo, or did you wait until I pulled the sheet down?”
“Since I heard you breathing like that. You do this little catch in your throat when you’re already going under the duvet.” He gave himself a longer stroke and let me see the full length of it, heavy, the head dark. “I didn’t think you’d actually do it with the door unlocked and the whole dorm able to walk in.”
“The door’s been unlocked all night. I stopped caring about the door when I saw your hand moving.”
He made a sound that started as a laugh and broke when his hand tightened around the base. I felt that in my own cock, a jump I didn’t tell it to make, more precum sliding down toward my knuckles. I used it. Slicked the shaft. Kept my eyes on him while I wanked, on the flex of his stomach and the way his fist hid and then showed the head.
We didn’t cross the aisle. There was a strip of grey carpet and a metal post and the knowledge that any of the other beds in the room could fill without warning. That was the heat of it. Two hard cocks out in a hostel dorm at breakfast time, fists moving, no one touching anyone except himself, both of us watching the other do it.
Matteo’s stomach flexed again. He had more hair than me down the middle, a darker line that ran straight to the base of his cock. I watched that line and the way his balls lifted when he squeezed himself. My own hand sped up to stay with him. The underside of the top bunk sat close enough that I could have reached up and put my fingers through the holes in the metal. I didn’t. I used that hand to hold the edge of the mattress so I could lift into the stroke.
My chest and stomach were bare to the aisle, cock standing up into the morning with Matteo’s eyes on it.
“Fuck, Damien.” Matteo’s voice had gone lower, scraped. “Keep doing that. The way you pull the skin back and let me see the head when it’s wet like that. I can see it shining from here.”
I did it again, taking my time, so he could watch the head come out wet and the foreskin slide. “Are you watching my cock or my face over there?”
“Your cock first. Then your face to see if you’re going to last. Then your cock again because that’s the part I came here to look at.” He pumped harder, the wet sound picking up. “You look like you’re about to make a mess on yourself and I want to see it when you do.”
“That’s the idea. I don’t mind if it’s you first or me first, as long as I get to watch you shoot.”
Footsteps in the corridor didn’t belong to us.
I heard them late. Rubber sole on the lino outside, then the change of sound when they hit the dorm carpet. Matteo’s hand didn’t stop. Mine didn’t either. I had a second of thinking it was some stranger from the next room coming back for a bag and then Stefan was in the aisle between the bunks.
His shirt was off, dark shorts sitting on his hips, white socks still on, hair flattened from whatever sleep he’d got. He came in looking toward his own bed first, the ordinary morning errand still on his face, and then the line of his eyes ran across Matteo’s bunk and landed on me, on my fist still moving, on the wet head of my cock standing off my stomach in the open.
He stopped walking.
The three of us held that picture whether we’d asked for it or not. Me on my back with my legs open and my cock in my hand. Matteo opposite with his own cock still being worked. Stefan standing in the gap with his chest bare and his mouth slightly open, the charger he’d come for forgotten in the look he was giving us.
“Morning,” I said, and I didn’t take my hand off myself to say it.
Stefan looked from my cock to Matteo’s and back again like he needed to confirm he was seeing both. “You’re both out. You’re both… Damien, you’re actually doing that in front of the room.”
“Yeah. We are. We have been for a bit.” I stroked once, fully, base to tip, so there was no argument about what he was seeing and no chance he could tell himself it had been a trick of the sheet. “You walked in on it. That’s what it is.”
Matteo didn’t cover. He kept the rhythm, slower now, like he wanted Stefan to get a proper look at the length of him and the way his fist shone. “Are you going to stand there staring, Stefan, or are you going to your bed like you meant to? Because I’m not putting this away while you’re deciding.”
Stefan’s throat moved. He didn’t answer at once. His eyes stayed on my hand, on the way I was still jacking off in front of him as if he were part of the furniture, on the precum shining on the tip each time my fist came up. Then they cut to Matteo, to the heavier cock being worked across the aisle, to Matteo’s balls tight against the base.
I felt my own balls pull up from being watched. Not from shame. From the extra heat of a third pair of eyes on a thing Matteo and I had already decided to do in the open. My cock kicked in my grip and another smear of precum wet my fingers. Stefan saw that. I know he saw that because his gaze dropped to it and stayed.
“You can watch,” I said. “We’re not stopping for you and we’re not stopping because of you. If you want to stand there, stand there. If you want your charger, it’s where you left it.”
Stefan’s hands hung at his sides like he’d forgotten what to do with them. The front of his shorts had started to change shape, a lift he hadn’t asked his body for, fabric beginning to push out off his thigh. He noticed it the same moment I did. His fingers twitched like he might reach down and adjust himself and then he didn’t, which told me more than if he had.
“I just came back for my charger. That was all I came back for.”
“It’s on the wall by the socket.” I tipped my chin toward it without taking my hand off my cock. “You know where. You’ve been using it since we got here. You can walk over and take it.”
He didn’t go to the wall. He stood in the aisle and looked. Matteo let out a breath that broke into a moan and pumped himself with Stefan still planted there, putting on a little more of a show now that there was someone new to give it to. I did the same. The metal bunk ticked over my head when I lifted. My fist made that wet sound again, skin on wet skin. Stefan’s gaze kept dropping to the movement of both of us and then lifting toward our faces like he could pretend he was only passing through on the way to his own sheets.
He wasn’t passing through. He was watching two hard cocks get wanked in his dorm and his own body had already voted.
“Fuck,” Matteo said, the word aimed at both of us, voice frayed. “He’s looking at yours, Damien. He hasn’t taken his eyes off the way you’re pulling on it.”
“He’s looking at both. He keeps cutting over to you when you make that sound.” I spread my knees a fraction wider on the mattress so the whole of me was available to the aisle. “If you want a better angle, Stefan, you can take two steps this way. I’m not going to tell you off for it.”
He didn’t take the two steps. He also didn’t leave. The bulge in the shorts was obvious now, fabric pushed forward in a thick line off his left thigh, the shape of him filling out whether he liked the timing or not. He swallowed. Looked at the door. Looked back at my cock as I stroked it for him. Looked at Matteo’s fist flying.
Then he turned and walked out the way he had come, a little too fast for a man who’d only wanted a charger, white socks flashing against the carpet, the tent in the shorts visible in profile until he cleared the doorframe and the corridor took him.
The dorm felt smaller after he went. The air he’d been standing in stayed charged.
Matteo laughed once, short, wrecked, his hand still moving. “He is going to think about that all morning. You saw his shorts, Damien. That wasn’t there when he walked in.”
“He is thinking about it now. He’s in the corridor with that bulge and nowhere to put it.” I spat in my palm and got my cock properly wet, the slide suddenly filthy. “Don’t you dare stop. He looked at us and we kept going and I want to finish like that.”
We didn’t stop. The leftover charge of Stefan standing in the aisle went straight into the pace. I watched Matteo’s fist blur and the head of his cock appear and disappear in the grip, wetter than it had been before the door opened. He watched me pump and lift my hips off the sheet, stomach tightening, the load already gathering. Precum ran down to my wrist and I used it again. The window light made the wetness on both of us obvious, two shining cocks being worked in a room that still had an unlocked door.
“I’m close,” Matteo said, the words running on. “I’m close from him standing there looking at it, Damien, I’m not going to last if you keep showing me the head like that.”
“Show me when you cum. I want to see you shoot on yourself. Don’t turn away, keep it where I can watch.”
He nodded, jaw tight, stroking with his whole forearm now, the bunk taking the movement. I matched him. The hostel could have been full of people in the corridor with trays and wet towels. I didn’t care. My cock was throbbing in my grip, leaking, the head dark, the shaft slick to the base. Matteo’s balls were drawn up tight. His feet had gone rigid on his mattress, toes pointing.
I came first.
The first pulse hit my own stomach, thick, hot, a rope that landed above my navel and sat there shining. I kept stroking through it, a sound coming out of me that I didn’t bother to swallow, eyes on Matteo while more of it pumped out over my knuckles and down the side of my cock onto the sheet. My hips jerked without any instruction from me. Another burst, heavier, catching the hair below my navel. Then a third, smaller, sliding into the mess I’d already made of myself.
“Fuck, Damien, look at that.” Matteo’s voice broke on my name. He watched the mess land on me and that finished him the way Stefan’s staring had started it. His back arched off the bunk. He pumped his load up his own stomach, heavy spurts one after another, fist flying over the head, a sound coming out of him that he tried to bite down and failed to. Cum landed on his skin and on his hand and kept coming until he had to slow the stroke or it would have hurt, his thighs shaking on the mattress.
We lay there breathing like we had run.
My cock twitched in the last of it, still holding its shape, shining, the load already starting to cool on my stomach in the window light. Matteo’s chest went up and down. His cock lay against his hip, spent, a string of cum still connecting his fingers to the shaft. The metal sheet over my head had little dots of brightness in every hole.
The dorm smelled like us now. Sleep and cum and the faint leftover beer from the hall.
I wiped my hand on the sheet because there was nothing else in reach to wipe it on. Matteo saw that and laughed, the sound wrecked and pleased and still a bit stunned.
“He is coming back,” I said, looking at the doorway while I said it.
“Do you think he’s coming back after walking out like that?”
“He left his charger on the wall. And he left with a hard-on he didn’t have when he walked in. He’s going to stand in a bathroom or a stairwell and then he’s going to remember he still needs the charger.”
Matteo looked at the doorway the same way I was looking at it, his spent cock still out, his load drying on him in streaks. “If he comes back I’m not putting it away. He already saw it hard. He can see it after.”
“Neither am I. He can look at the mess if he wants the full morning.”
We didn’t put anything away. My cock lost only a little of its stiffness, still fat against my hip, the skin shining. The mess on my stomach stayed where it was, a thick smear above the navel and a run of it into the hair. Matteo stayed on his back with his cock out and his own load on him. Morning kept coming through the window. Someone laughed two rooms over, a bright ordinary sound. A tap ran. A locker door banged and then stopped in the way hostel mornings do when people start moving.
Then the carpet took footsteps again.
Stefan filled the aisle the same way he had the first time, like his body had memorised the spot, shirt still off in the same dark shorts and the same white socks. He hadn’t gone far and he hadn’t calmed down. The front of the shorts was tented hard now, a huge bulge pushing the fabric out and down the left thigh, the shape of his cock obvious through the cloth, thick enough that the shorts couldn’t pretend it was a fold or a pocket or anything other than what it was.
He stopped in the same place he had stopped before.
He looked at the cum on my stomach. He looked at Matteo’s mess shining on Matteo’s skin. He looked at both cocks still out on the sheets, mine and Matteo’s, spent and not hidden. His own equipment strained against the shorts like it wanted into the room with us, a visible kick when his eyes landed on the load I hadn’t wiped off.
He didn’t speak.
I wrapped my messy hand around myself again, just holding the weight of it, and met his eyes across the aisle.
“You came back,” I said. “The charger’s still on the wall. The rest of us are still right here.”
Stefan’s throat worked. The bulge in his shorts jumped once, a kick he couldn’t hide, fabric pulling tighter. He stayed in the aisle and stared at the two of us, caught and spent and still exposed on our bunks in the morning light, and he didn’t look away.
Thank you so much for reading. If you have any capacity to share, comment or review, please do so as I am so so so grateful to anyone who can help get my writing in front of more people.
Please also visit my website hardmanpod.com to find out more about all of my work and how to keep in touch. Find my latest stories here, or via my website, or follow me on Twitter.
If you’d like to commission a story or have a suggestion, please reach out to me a [email protected] - I’ll consider ideas and if they excite me I’ll give them a go. Paid options are available, but if you can’t afford it don’t let that put you off – I’m always keen to hear what people are wanting to read about and would love to play a part in bringing your fantasies to life. I’ve got a lot of stuff in the pipeline beyond just stories, so please watch this space.
Finally, this is a work of fantasy. Any resemblance to real people is purely coincidental. Some works may be inspired by other creators, but all work is entirely original and written by me, Harlan Maddox-Powell. All characters are adults and have fully consented to the depicted roleplay scenario. In real life, always practise safe sex and enthusiastic consent.
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