I woke up with my throat raw and my lips still swollen from last night. Every swallow brought him back the thick, salty taste coating my tongue, the way Chris’s cock had pulsed and spilled down my throat. The frat house felt massive and empty. Winter break had gutted it: brothers gone home, parties on pause, no bass thumping through the floors. Just the low hum of the furnace and the occasional creak of old wood settling.
Chris had been up for hours. I could hear his heavy footsteps pacing the hallway, the muffled rumble of his voice on a call, probably flexing about his latest PR or bullshitting with some girl from last semester. When I finally rolled out of bed and cracked my door, he walked right past me in nothing but black boxer briefs. Chest glossy with sweat, every ridge of his pecs and abs catching the hallway light. Morning wood thick and heavy, tenting the fabric shamelessly. He didn’t even glance my way. Just a small, gruff grunt as he disappeared into the bathroom.
My stomach plummeted. No smirk. No “morning, little man.” Nothing. Like last night had been erased.
I stood frozen in the doorway feeling exposed and stupid, chest tight with the sudden fear that I’d ruined the easy thing we had…the late-night gaming, the dumb inside jokes, the way he’d always ruffle my hair like I was still the freshman pledge. Maybe sucking his dick had crossed a line he couldn’t uncross.
Breakfast was worse. He sat across the kitchen island, eating dry cereal straight from the box, scrolling his phone like he was trying to disappear into the screen. I tried catching his eye a couple times…nothing. Jaw locked, shoulders squared, pretending the room was empty. Every time I opened my mouth to say something casual, the words died. My chest felt like someone had parked a dumbbell on it. I kept thinking maybe I’d fucked up the only real friendship I had in this house.
By early afternoon he vanished. No text, no note. Probably at the campus gym, blasting music, pumping iron, pretending the whole thing never happened. I stayed in my room, replaying every second on loop: the low hiss when I first took the head, the way his abs flexed when he groaned my name, the desperate buck of his hips when he finally lost it. The more I remembered, the more insane it felt that he could just shut me out. I tried distracting myself with Netflix, push-ups, jerking off in the shower to the memory of his taste but nothing killed the ache. Every time I closed my eyes I felt his cock again, thick and hot against my tongue.
The house stayed dead quiet all day. Sun went down. Shadows stretched long across the hardwood. By nine I was a wreck…wired, needy, half convinced he’d never step foot in my room again.
Then the front door slammed. Chris’s signature slam. Heavy, careless, confident. My heart slammed against my ribs in response. I stayed exactly where I was: face down on my bed in tight black boxer briefs, the kind that hugged every curve of my ass and left nothing to the imagination. I’d positioned myself deliberately…pillow under my hips, thighs parted just enough, ass lifted slightly with each slow breath. Pretending to scroll on my phone, waiting.
My door opened. No knock.
Chris filled the doorway, still drenched from his day. Tank top dark and plastered to his chest, every muscle outlined in sweat. Gym shorts slung low, clinging to thick thighs. He froze when he saw me. His eyes raked down my back, over the dip of my spine, lingered hard on the way my ass curved up, the tight fabric stretched thin and riding up between my cheeks.
He let out a long, slow breath, almost a groan.
“Callum,” he said, voice low and rough, almost laughing under it. “If I didn’t know you were here, I’d swear some chick with a fat, juicy ass was lying on the bed.”
The words rolled over my skin like warm oil. I didn’t lift my head. I just shifted a little, arching my back more, letting the briefs pull even tighter. The fabric dug in, outlining every round inch. I felt his stare like fingers dragging down my spine.
He stepped inside. Door clicked shut. Gym bag hit the floor with a soft thud. Then his breathing got closer…slow, thick, heavy. Like the sight had punched him straight in the gut.
“You always sleep like that?” he asked, voice gravelly now.
“Sometimes,” I mumbled into the pillow, keeping it lazy, casual. “It’s really comfortable.”
“That looks fucking dangerous, bro,” he muttered. “For real.”
I smiled where he couldn’t see. Good. Let it get dangerous.
I pushed my thighs apart another inch. The briefs strained, fabric biting into the soft flesh where thigh met ass. My cheeks spread just enough to hint at everything underneath. I heard him curse under his breath…low, filthy, no attempt to hide it.
“Callum. Fucking hell, bro.”
I felt him step closer. Heat rolled off him in waves…sweat, the sharp musk of a hard workout. Floorboards creaked under his weight. I didn’t move. I let him look. I wanted him to drown in the sight, to feel how badly my body was begging without me saying a word.
“You wearing those tight ones on purpose?” His voice had dropped an octave, rougher, hungrier.
“No,” I lied, voice soft. “Just grabbed whatever.”
He exhaled hard through his nose. Long silence. Then another. Then the sound that made my pulse spike…his big hand adjusting his cock through the shorts, slow, deliberate, squeezing the thickening length as he breathed heavy.
I looked back over my shoulder, slow and deliberate, letting him catch me staring. His tank was soaked through, nipples hard under the fabric, abs flexing with every breath. Shorts hung dangerously low, cock outlined thick and heavy, swelling under his palm as he pressed his fingers into the bulge, showing me exactly how hard my ass was making him.
He didn’t pull his hand away. He pressed harder, letting me see the full shape of him.
“You keep lying there like that,” he said, voice thick and low, “and I’m gonna get ideas I shouldn’t have.”
I reached back lazily, hooked a thumb under the waistband, and tugged the briefs down just enough to bare the top curve of my ass…smooth, round, a clean line of skin glowing in the dim lamp light. A promise.
His breath snagged, sharp and audible.
“You trying to tease me, little man?” he asked.
“Maybe.”
He stared at that exposed strip like it was the hottest thing he’d ever seen. Then he sat on the edge of the bed, mattress dipping deep under his weight. The movement brought his thigh right against mine. Heat poured off him, thick and heavy.
“You always knew I was an ass guy,” he said quietly, almost to himself.
“Yeah,” I murmured. “I know.”
Another soft curse slipped out. Then his fingers brushed my hip…light, testing. Just enough contact to make my skin prickle. I pushed back into his hand, slow and deliberate.
That broke him.
His palm slid over my cheek, big and rough, squeezing once…deep, possessive, kneading the flesh like he’d been thinking about it all day. His breath shook.
“Callum,” he said, voice wrecked. “We’re roommates. This is…”
“A roommate with a fat ass,” I finished, voice low and teasing.
His hand moved again, bolder. Thumb hooked the waistband and tugged lower. My whole ass spilled out….round, full, needy, cheeks spreading slightly as I arched. I heard him swallow hard, the sound loud in the quiet room.
“You really got a fat one,” he murmured, almost reverent, fingers tracing the curve. “No wonder you lay like this. Fuck.”
“Touch it,” I whispered.
He did. Both hands now. Spreading me open slow, kneading deep, thumbs dragging along the sensitive crease. My cock throbbed hard against the mattress, leaking into the briefs, the wet spot spreading. Every squeeze sent jolts straight to my balls.
Then he pulled back abruptly, like he’d been burned. Stood up fast, breathing ragged, adjusting his cock again with a frustrated groan.
“Man. I’m so fucking horny,” he muttered, pacing one step away. “That workout got me all pumped. I can’t even think straight right now.”
I pushed up on my elbows, letting him see everything…the way my cock strained the front of my briefs, the dark wet spot blooming, the way my ass still lifted toward him, begging.
“You don’t have to think straight,” I said quietly. “You can stay if you want.”
He looked at me…his eyes dragging over my body, my ass, the obvious tent, the way I was trembling for him.
Then he sat back down, heavier, closer.
“Callum,” he said, voice low and thick with want. “You wanna do something stupid?”
“I want whatever you want.”, I replied.
He exhaled like the words had punched him square in the gut, a rough, shaky sound that made my cock twitch against the mattress, the fabric of my briefs now soaked through with anticipation.
Chris reached for his waistband without another word, his fingers curling around the elastic with deliberate slowness, drawing out the moment until I could hear the faint rustle of fabric against skin. The gym shorts slid down his thick, muscled thighs in one agonizing drag, and his cock sprang free, heavy and flushed, fully hard, close to eight inches of veined muscle that bobbed once before settling against his leg like a promise of dominance. The swollen head glistened with a thick bead of precum, dark and angry, the scent of his arousal mixing with the sharp tang of sweat, filling the air between us and making my mouth water.
I could not look away, my eyes tracing every ridge and vein, the way it pulsed slightly with his heartbeat. His smirk widened, lazy and cocky, the kind that always twisted my stomach into tight knots of submission, making me feel small and eager under his gaze. He let it rest there for a long second, allowing me to drink in the sight, the heat radiating from it like a furnace, before he shifted closer on the bed. The mattress dipped deeper under his weight, creaking softly, his body heat rolling over me in waves that made my skin prickle and my pulse spike harder. My own cock throbbed painfully in the soaked briefs, the fabric clinging wetly, outlining every desperate inch, the cool air of the room contrasting with the burning need building low in my belly.
“Cal,” he said, voice gravel and smoke, thick with command. “You really sure you wanna do this? Once we start, I might not hold back.”
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