Hostel Nights

it’s hot. like, ridiculously hot. maybe not in “objective” terms, but in a heat wave, when every building is designed to retain heat in the winter and nobody in the whole country seems to know that topsheets exist, so you’re stuck with a duvet even at the height of summer, it all adds up to a stifling night in a hostel bed, even sleeping in your underwear.

it’s only two of you in the room tonight; the other four beds are empty. you’re not sure why this is the arrangement the two of you ended up with, both in top bunks along opposite walls, but you’re not the one in charge of the hostel’s bed allocation system.

you haven’t spoken to your roommate, besides a polite “hello” when he came in and dropped off his stuff. he’s average height, a little shorter than you, and average build, it looked like. you didn’t get to do a full evaluation, because after he dropped his bags on the bed he immediately went out. he wasn’t back by the time you went to bed, but you woke up in the middle of the night to the sound of the door closing heavily behind him.

you opened your eyes — somewhat discreetly — to watch as he made his way across the room. he stepped into the dim light coming through the open window and you did your best to breathe normally as he stripped off his shirt; then he half-turned towards you, and you quickly closed your eyes so he wouldn’t see you staring. you waited until you heard the sound of him climbing up into his bed before you cautiously allowed yourself to look again. you watched, but while you got a moment’s glimpse of his ass, nicely filling out his boxer-briefs, when he settled on his side, facing you, his crotch was in shadow, and you couldn’t see any detail.

that probably would have been the end of it, if it weren’t for this fucking — blessed, you amend — heat.

instead:

you wake up early, stifling, sometime after sunrise — not that sunrise is a useful time metric this far north. you turn over and check your phone. quarter to six. fuck. way too early.

and way too hot. it’s sweltering even just in the pale morning light. you lie there, eyes closed, willing yourself to fall back to sleep. then you hear a sound from his bed, and you open your eyes to look — and then suddenly you’re wide awake, because he’s rolled onto his back in his sleep, and since he’s not using the duvet you can see that he is, apparently, rock-hard: his cock is sticking prominently up from between his legs, straining at the fabric of his boxer-briefs.

holy shit.

as you watch, it throbs visibly, sending a shock of arousal down to your own cock, which begins to stiffen in response. it throbs again, and you exhale, realizing that you were holding your breath. cautiously, trying not to make a sound, you sit up, propping yourself up on your elbows, and then, with an internal “fuck it,” sitting up straight. you fumble for your glasses to get a clearer view.

fuck.

you’re as hard as he is, now, albeit less dramatically or impressively. he shifts in his sleep again, and you hold your breath, sure that he’s going to turn over and you’ll lose this incredible sight. instead, his left hand slides down to rest at his hip, his fingers brushing across his still-straining dick for a moment, then framing it even more obviously. your heart is pounding; you’re practically drooling.

you can’t help yourself: you have to get a closer look. slowly, carefully, you move over to the ladder and, wincing with the creak of each rung and glancing repeatedly over your shoulder at him, climb down from your bed. he doesn’t react, even when your step down to ground level is a lot heavier than you intended. you stand in the space between your beds, staring openly at him — and not just at his dick: now, closer and with your glasses on, you can admire the rest of his body, too, from his short blond hair, down to his chest, scattered with blond fuzz, then following his arms — lightly muscled — across his stomach (with a nice little treasure trail) to finally rest on his cock, which throbs as you look at it, as if it’s responding to your gaze.

fuck. you really want to touch him. he’s so close — all you’d have to do is reach out and wrap your hand around his cock. from here you can see he’s not quite as ridiculously big as it looked like from your bed, but he’s still obviously impressive. you lick your lips.

you look like an idiot — a horny idiot, since your own erection is sticking out very obviously in front of you. but you can’t move, can’t turn away, can’t go back to sleep, which is what you really should do. instead you just... stand there, staring at him — consumed with lust, as the saying goes. eventually, surely, his hard-on will subside and you’ll be able to convince yourself to climb back into bed.

you’re not sure how long you spend like that, just watching him, but suddenly the silence breaks.

“hey.” the word hits you like lightning. you turn away hurriedly and step up onto the ladder, as if you had been just about to get into bed. “hey,” he says again, more insistently.

“hey,” you say, and you can’t resist turning to glance at him. he’s turned his head on the pillow to look at you. to your surprise, he’s smiling languidly. his hand moves, drawing your eyes, in spite of yourself, back down to his cock. he strokes himself idly — openly — through his boxer-briefs.

“couldn’t sleep?” he asks. the words are lightly accented — Scandinavian, maybe, you think.

“yeah,” you say, a little breathlessly. “it’s so hot.” your eyes are still glued to the slow, leisurely movement of his hand.

“yeah...” he continues stroking himself, and when you finally manage to tear your eyes away and look back at his face, he’s still smiling. “like what you see?”

your heart is pounding, but this has taken a very different turn than you expected. so, throwing caution to the winds, you say, “must have been a fun dream you were having, huh. couldn’t help but notice.”

“‘notice,’ huh?” he laughs softly. “seemed like you were doing more than just noticing.”

“maybe,” you admit.

“you can touch it if you want.” you stare at him, not quite believing this is really happening. “I don’t mind.”

you hesitate for a moment, halfway up the ladder to your bed, then climb back down. you step across the distance between your beds, and he takes his hand away from his cock, leaving you free access. you glance up at him again and he nods encouragingly at you. so you reach out and do what you were dreaming about not so long before: you wrap your hand around his cock, hot and hard under the fabric of his boxer-briefs, feeling the thickness of it — and the wet spot at the head. it throbs in your hand, and you whisper, “fuck.”

“you like that, eh?” you nod as you begin to stroke him. it’s a little awkward like this, still with his underwear on; you move your hand to the waistband and look up at his face again. he responds by lifting his ass up off the bed so you can pull his underwear down, lifting the waistband to make sure it doesn’t get caught on his dick. fully revealed, the feeling of awe returns: it may not be the longest you’ve ever seen, but it’s deliciously thick and uncut, and there’s a bead of precum gathering at the tip.

“fuck. it’s so thick.”

“yeah.” he’s grinning. he lets out a contented “mm” as you stroke him, watching his foreskin slide smoothly — all the more so for being slick with precum — back from the head, then up again, leaving just the tip exposed. your sense of awe deepens: it’s a gorgeous cock. you want it in your mouth.

“can I...come up?” you ask.

“be my guest.”

so you clamber up awkwardly into the too-small bed, position yourself as best you can — on all fours crouched over him — and lean down, first to lick away the precum at the head and then to take him into your mouth, your tongue sliding between the foreskin and the head and drawing another, more emphatic “mmm” out of him. his hand moves to rest lazily on the back of your head, not pushing or pulling, just there, tangling in your hair.

“that’s good,” he says, “with your tongue.”

you keep at it, working your way up and down the shaft until finally you move to deepthroat him, swallowing and earning yourself something halfway between a grunt and a moan; his fingers tighten slightly in your hair.

when you come up to breathe, he says, “fuck, dude.”

“I try,” you say, panting, and smile at him.

then you get back to work, focusing your attention on the head but stopping now and then to swallow the whole thing. it isn’t long before he murmurs, “I’m getting close.”

you’d guessed as much from his increasingly haggard breathing; you pick up the pace, and then — he was closer than you’d expected — he’s cumming, filling your mouth with the salty taste of his cum, his hips rising up from the mattress slightly as his hand pulls you towards him.

you swallow his load, which is a challenge in itself, because it’s a big one. when he’s finally done, you let his cock slip out of your mouth and sit up straight, your hand sliding automatically down the front of your boxers to wrap around your cock.

“here,” he says, “lie down.” he scoots over slightly to make room for you as best he can in a single bed. when you’re lying next to him, he turns onto his side, reaches over, and takes hold of your cock, still rock-hard in your boxers, and begins to stroke you. you’ve been on the road for a while, now, with no chance to jack off, and after an embarrassingly short time, before you can even warn him — before you have time to, say, take your cock out — you’re cumming, gasping with surprise as you make a real mess of your boxers.

“f-fuck,” you gasp as your orgasm begins to subside.

“damn,” he says. “that was hot.”

“yeah,” you agree, stupidly.

“how long are you staying here for?” he asks.

“one more night,” you say. “I leave on Thursday.”

“same here,” he says. “maybe we can have some more fun tomorrow night.”

you look at him; he’s smiling — less self-satisfied now; maybe almost tender, even. “yeah,” you say, “I’d like that.”

“good.” then, to your surprise, he leans down and kisses you, light and a little bit scratchy from his stubble. when he pulls away, the smugness is back: “now get out of my bed so I can try to get back to sleep. it’s too hot for this. plus” — he looks down significantly at your underwar — “you should probably change out of those.”

you look down, too; you can feel the wet of your cum, and you know it’s starting to get sticky. “probably, yeah.”

you clamber out of his bed and — glancing quickly at him; he’s watching, which you take as a good sign — slip off your boxers.

“nice,” he says, looking you up and down in full. he winks at you — actually winks — and then he settles back down and closes his eyes. “good night.”

“good night.”

you climb, breathless and unbelieving, back up into your bed and flop down on it. you’re never going to get back to sleep now.