Carl's eyes crack open. Sunlight cuts through the gap in the curtains like a blade. His skull throbs, a dull, deep pound behind his temples that syncs with his heartbeat. He squeezes his eyes shut again. Too bright. Too loud, even though the room is silent.
The room smells like sweat and something else, something salty and familiar that Carl cannot place right now.
He is lying on his stomach, face pressed into the pillow. His jaw aches. His lips feel swollen, tender. He shifts, and the ache spreads, a soreness in his neck, in his throat. His tongue feels thick and dry.
The weight across his waist is warm and heavy. Adam's arm.
Carl turns his head slowly, carefully. Adam is asleep beside him, chest rising and falling in a slow, steady rhythm. His black hair falls across his forehead. His stubble is darker now, a shadow along his square jaw. He looks peaceful. Content.
The memories come back in pieces, like a puzzle assembling itself in the wrong order. The football match. The bar after. Adam's arm around him, pulling him close. Stumbling back to the dorm. The laptop. The porn. Adam's hand on himself, then Adam's mouth on his, then —
Carl's stomach drops.
His throat. His mouth. Adam's hands in his hair. The taste. The sounds. Adam laughing, teasing him about not being able to take it deep enough. Then Adam falling asleep, satisfied, while Carl lay there, hard and aching and confused.
Carl sits up too fast. The room tilts. He presses his palm against his forehead and waits for the spinning to stop. His mouth tastes like stale beer and something else he does not want to name.
He stands on unsteady legs and makes his way to the bathroom, grabbing a towel from the hook on the way. He shuts the door behind him, leans against the sink, and stares at his reflection. His blue eyes are bloodshot. His blonde hair is a disaster, matted on one side, sticking up on the other. His lips are red and slightly swollen.
He turns on the shower, as hot as he can stand it, and steps under the spray. The water pounds against his shoulders, his back, his neck. He braces his hands against the tile wall and lets his head hang. Steam fills the small bathroom. He stays there for a long time, letting the heat work on his headache, letting the water wash away what it can.
It does not wash away the memory.
He can still feel Adam's hands in his hair. Still feel the stretch in his jaw, the pressure against the back of his tongue. Still hear Adam's voice, lazy, amused, commanding.
He turns the water colder. He stands there until the shaking stops.
When he steps out of the bathroom, towel wrapped around his waist, water still dripping from his blonde hair, Adam is sitting up in bed. He is stretching his arms above his head, his t-shirt riding up to show his tanned stomach. He turns, sees Carl, and his face splits into a wide, easy smile.
Adam just gets up and goes to the bathroom without saying anything.
Carl starts getting ready for class.
The bathroom door opens. Adam walks out, towel around his waist, steam rolling out behind him. He is whistling. He catches Carl's eye and gives him a grin.
"Ready?" Adam says.
Carl stands. He grabs his backpack. "Yeah."
They walk out together. The hallway is busy with students heading to morning classes. Adam falls into step beside Carl, close, too close. His hand finds the small of Carl's back, then slides lower. His palm cups Carl's ass through his shorts, squeezes once, and stays there.
Carl's jaw clenches. "Adam—"
"Marcus is coming," Adam murmurs. His hand squeezes again. "Smile."
Marcus waves from down the hall. "Hey! Lovebirds! You coming to practice later?"
Adam waves back with his free hand. "Wouldn't miss it." He pulls Carl closer. "Right, babe?"
Carl forces a smile. It feels like cracking his face open.
They pass Marcus, who grins and gives them a thumbs up. As soon as they are out of earshot, Carl steps away from Adam's hand. "Can you not grab my ass in the hallway?"
"Marcus was right there."
"You could have just had your arm around my shoulder."
Adam shrugs. "This is more convincing." He shoots Carl a look. "Relax. It's just for show."
But his eyes linger on Carl's body a beat too long before he looks away.
The routine holds for three days.
In the dining hall, Adam sits beside Carl and feeds him bites of his pancake. In the library, Adam drapes his arm across Carl's shoulders and plays with the hair at the back of his neck. On the quad, Adam grabs Carl by the hip and pulls him in for a quick kiss, a press of lips that lasts two seconds too long, while teammates whistle and clap.
Carl endures it. He smiles when he needs to. He leans into Adam's touch when people are watching. He laughs at the jokes.
But at night, alone in his bed while Adam sleeps, he replays everything. The kiss at the party. The laptop. The porn. Adam's cock in his mouth. His own silence.
On the third night, Carl lies in bed and stares at the ceiling. Adam is asleep on his own bed, breathing deep and even.
Carl turns onto his side, facing the wall. He closes his eyes.
He does not sleep well.
The fourth day. After classes. The dorm room.
Carl is standing by his desk, flipping through his phone, when the door opens and Adam walks in. He drops his backpack, kicks the door shut, and crosses the room in three long strides.
Before Carl can react, Adam's hands grip his shoulders and spin him around. Adam's mouth crashes into his, hard, wet, demanding. His tongue pushes past Carl's lips. His big hands grip Carl's waist, pulling their bodies together.
Carl's back hits the wall. Adam's weight pins him there. The kiss is aggressive, hungry. Adam's stubble scrapes against Carl's chin.
Carl pushes against Adam's chest. His palms press into the slabs of muscle, but Adam does not budge. He is too big, too solid, too heavy.
Adam pulls back just enough to speak. His black eyes are dark, pupils blown wide. "I've been thinking about this all day."
"Adam, we need to talk about—"
Adam's hands grab the hem of Carl's t-shirt and yank it upward. The fabric bunches under Carl's armpits, then clears his head. Adam tosses it on the floor.
Carl's torso is exposed. His nipples are pink, small, slightly hard from the air.
Adam stares. His tongue drags across his lower lip.
"What are you doing?" Carl crosses his arms over his chest, trying to cover himself.
Adam reaches out and grips Carl's wrists. He pulls Carl's arms apart, pins them at his sides. "Let me look at you."
"Hold still." Adam's hands move to Carl's chest. His big palms cover Carl's chest. He squeezes, not gentle, firm. His fingers dig into the muscle.
Carl flinches. "What the—"
Adam squeezes again, kneading the hard muscle beneath his fingers. He watches his own hands working Carl's chest. "Fuck. These are nice."
"They're not, it's just a chest, Adam. It's not—"
"Stop talking." Adam's thumbs find Carl's nipples. He rubs them in slow circles, pressing down.
A jolt shoots through Carl's body. His stomach tightens. His breath catches. His back arches slightly off the wall.
Adam notices. His eyes flick up to Carl's face. A slow grin spreads across his jaw. "Oh. You like that."
"I don't, I'm not—" Carl's voice wavers. His face flushes red. "I've never, nobody's ever touched my—"
"I can tell." Adam leans down. His mouth hovers over Carl's left nipple. His breath is warm. "You've been holding out on me."
Adam's mouth closes around Carl's nipple. He sucks, gentle at first, then harder. His tongue flicks against the stiffened peak, circling it, lapping at it. His lips pull and release, pull and release.
Carl's hands come up to push Adam's head away. Adam slaps them aside without removing his mouth. His hands grip Carl's hips, pinning them to the wall, while his mouth works Carl's nipple with wet, obscene sounds.
Slurp. Suck. Slurp.
"Oh god—" Carl's head falls back against the wall. His eyes squeeze shut. His cock, trapped in his shorts, throbs against the fabric. Every pull of Adam's mouth sends electricity straight down his body. "I didn't, I didn't know they were—"
Adam switches to the other nipple. His teeth graze the sensitive bud. Carl's hips buck forward involuntarily.
Adam's thoughts are racing. He loves this. The way Carl's body reacts. The way his muscles jump under his mouth. The way his pink nipples stiffen and darken under attention. He thinks about how this started as a way to get Sophia off his back, a simple plan, a fake relationship. But now, now he is kissing Carl and touching Carl and making Carl moan, and it is better than he expected. Better than any girl he has had in months. There is something about the control. Something about the way Carl resists and then gives in. It feeds something in Adam he did not know was there. An ego boost. A power rush.
He pulls his mouth off Carl's nipple with a wet pop. He looks at Carl's face, flushed, eyes half-closed, lips parted, breathing hard. "You're so sensitive," Adam says. "It's hot."
Carl shakes his head. His blonde hair falls across his forehead.
Adam's hands grip Carl's shoulders. He pushes down. Firm. Steady. Carl's knees buckle, partly from the pressure, partly from the overwhelm still buzzing through his body from the nipple play.
Carl sinks to his knees. The carpet is rough under his kneecaps. He looks up at Adam, his blue eyes wide, his lips still red and swollen.
"Kissing your lips and groping that fat ass got me so horny." Adam unbuckles his belt. The sound of metal is loud in the quiet room. He unzips his shorts and shoves them down with his underwear in one motion.
His cock springs free. It is thick, veiny, half-hard and growing. The head is dark, flushed. It juts out from Adam's tanned body, pointing at Carl's face.
Carl closes his eyes. His lips part.
Adam taps his dick against Carl's lips. Tap. Tap. Tap. The sound is obscene. The head of his cock leaves a smear of precum on Carl's lower lip.
"Stick your tongue out," Adam says.
Carl hesitates. Then his tongue emerges, pink, wet, slightly trembling.
Adam slaps his cock against it. Slap. Slap. The weight of his dick on Carl's tongue makes a thick, wet sound. "Good. Now close your mouth around it."
Carl's lips wrap around the head. The taste hits him, salty, musky, skin and precum. His cheeks hollow as he sucks.
Adam groans. His hand stays on Carl's head, guiding him. "Yeah. Just like that. Slow."
Carl bobs his head. He manages the first few inches, the thick head and maybe an inch of shaft. His jaw already aches from the stretch. Adam's girth is too much. His lips strain at the corners.
Adam watches. He looks down at Carl, blonde hair falling across his forehead, those blue eyes looking up at him, his pink lips stretched tight around his cock. The sight is better than any porn on the laptop.
"That's good," Adam says. "But you can take more."
Carl pulls off, gasping. A string of spit connects his lips to Adam's cock. "I can't. You're too thick. My jaw—"
"You can. Come on." Adam steps back and lies down on his bed. He props himself on the pillows, his cock standing straight up, thick and rigid. He pats the mattress. "Over here."
Carl stands slowly. His legs feel weak. He walks to the bed and climbs on, positioning himself between Adam's spread legs. His face is level with Adam's cock. Up close, he can see every vein, the ridge of the head, the heavy balls beneath.
"Take it in your mouth," Adam says. "Slow."
Carl leans down. He opens his mouth and takes the head in. He sucks, moving down an inch, then two. His jaw stretches wide. Drool pools at the corners of his lips and drips down Adam's shaft.
Adam puts his hand on the back of Carl's head. Not pushing. Guiding. "Breathe through your nose. Relax your throat."
Carl tries. He pushes down another inch. The head presses against the back of his tongue. His throat convulses, he gags, hard, pulling off and coughing. Spit hangs from his chin in long strings.
"It's okay," Adam says. "Take your time."
Carl catches his breath. His eyes are watering. He goes back in. This time, he angles his head slightly, the way Adam's hand guides him. He gets to the same spot and gags again, but less violently. He pulls back, breathes, goes again.
"You're learning," Adam says. He keeps his voice even, patient. "I've taught a lot of girls who said they couldn't take my whole dick. Every single one of them learned."
Carl pulls off. His face is flushed, lips swollen, blue eyes wet. "I'm not a girl."
Adam looks down at him. A slow grin spreads across his face. "Well, I'm not the one with a dick in his mouth."
Carl's face burns. He looks away. Shame coils in his stomach. But he does not get up. He does not leave.
Adam's hand returns to Carl's head. "Come on. Let's try again. Breathe. Relax. When you feel the gag coming, push through it. Your throat will open."
Carl leans back down. He takes Adam's cock into his mouth. Inch by inch. The head passes his tongue, reaches the back of his throat. He gags, but Adam's hand holds him steady.
"Push through it. Breathe through your nose."
Carl forces himself down. His throat protests, tight, convulsing, and then something gives. The head slides deeper. His eyes stream tears down his cheeks. His nose presses against Adam's pubic bone.
"Fuck yes," Adam breathes. "That's it. See? You can take it."
Carl pulls back, gasping. Drool pours down his chin, soaking Adam's shaft and balls. His throat burns. His jaw aches. But he did it.
"Do it again," Adam says.
Carl goes back down. This time, it is easier. His throat opens faster. He slides down until his chin touches Adam's balls. He holds there, breathing hard through his nose, his throat spasming around the thick shaft.
"Good boy," Adam says. The words send a flush through Carl's body. "Now up and down. Slow."
Carl bobs. Up. Down. Up. Down. Each stroke pulls a wet, sloppy sound from his throat. Schlck. Schlck. Schlck. Drool runs everywhere, down his chin, down Adam's balls, pooling on the sheets.
Adam watches. His best friend is deep-throating his cock, tears running down his face, spit everywhere, and Adam feels like a king. The power. The control. It is intoxicating.
"Lick my balls," Adam says.
Carl pulls off. He leans down and runs his tongue over Adam's sac. The skin is smooth, tight. He takes one ball into his mouth, sucking gently.
"Ah, fuck—" Adam's hips jerk. "Yeah. Just like that."
Carl sucks, then switches to the other. His hand wraps around Adam's wet shaft, stroking slowly.
"Back on my dick," Adam says. "All the way down."
Carl takes the head back into his mouth. He pushes down, slow and steady. Inch by inch. Past the tongue. Past the gag. Until his chin rests against Adam's balls again.
Adam holds him there. "Breathe. Good. Now I'm going to help you."
Adam lifts both of his legs and wraps them around Carl's head. His thighs lock, thick, muscular, immovable. Carl's head is trapped. His eyes go wide.
Adam raises his hips. His cock drives deeper into Carl's throat. Then he pulls back and thrusts. Again. Again. His hips piston, driving his cock in and out of Carl's mouth with wet, brutal sounds.
Glk. Glk. Glk. Glk.
Carl's hands grip the bedsheets. He cannot pull back. Adam's legs hold him in place. His throat convulses around each thrust. Tears stream down his face. Drool pours from the corners of his mouth. His jaw is on fire.
"I know it's hard to take my dick down your throat," Adam says, his voice strained. "But I'm teaching you. You're doing so good."
Glk. Glk. Glk.
"Almost there. Just a little more."
Carl's vision blurs. His lungs burn. But through the overwhelm, something else, his own cock, hard and throbbing, leaking into his shorts. His body responds even as his mind screams.
Adam's thrusts speed up. His abs tighten. His head falls back. "Fuck, fuck, I'm going to—"
He drives deep. His cock pulses. Hot cum shoots straight down Carl's throat. Carl swallows involuntarily, his throat working around the shaft. Spurt after spurt. Adam groans, long and low, his hips jerking.
When it ends, Adam's legs loosen. Carl pulls off, gasping. Cum and spit drip from his lips. He coughs, wipes his face with his arm. His blue eyes are red-rimmed and wet.
Adam lies back, chest heaving. A satisfied smile spreads across his face. "That was so good," he says. "You're getting better at this."
Carl says nothing. He climbs off the bed and goes to the bathroom. He shuts the door. He leans over the sink and spits. He turns on the faucet and cups water to his mouth, rinsing again and again.
Friday night. A party at a house on Greek Row.
Carl and Adam show up together, as usual. Adam's arm around Carl's waist, hand resting on his hip. The team is there. Drinks flow. Carl drinks more than he should, cheap beer and whatever is in the red cups. The room spins. The music pounds.
They stumble back to the dorm around midnight. Adam is laughing about something someone said. Carl is quiet, drunk, his head swimming.
In the room, Carl fumbles with his clothes. He turns away from Adam, facing the wall, and tugs his t-shirt over his head. He reaches for his jeans, shoves them down, but in his drunkenness his ends up taking off his underwear as well. He bends over to pick them up from the floor.
The movement exposes everything, the round, firm cheeks of his ass, pale and smooth, and between them, the tight pink ring of his hole.
Adam freezes.
His eyes lock on it. He was horny at the party. The drinks, the grinding, the way Carl leaned into him on the dance floor. He wanted pussy. He has been wanting pussy for weeks. But here, bent over in front of him, is the next best thing.
Adam stands. He crosses the room. He puts both hands on Carl's back and shoves. Carl goes face-down onto the mattress, legs hanging off the edge of the bed.
"Adam, what—"
"Stay there." Adam's hands grip Carl's bare ass. His fingers sink into the firm flesh. He squeezes, hard, and a low groan comes from his chest. "Fuck. This is incredible."
"Adam, I'm naked, what are you—"
"Shh." Adam kneads the cheeks. He spreads them, lets them close, spreads them again. "I've been grabbing this through your shorts for weeks. But touching it for real, nothing like it." He slaps Carl's right cheek. Smack. The flesh jiggles. "This ass is perfect."
Smack. Another slap. Carl's body jerks on the bed.
Adam's hands pull the hard, tight buttocks apart. There it is, small, smooth, pale pink. There is no bad odor at all. In fact, Carl smells clean, like soap and sweat and skin. Adam lets the ass close again but feels himself leaning down to kiss each magnificent glute. A peck turns into two, then more. Pecks turn into longer kisses, then laps of his tongue.
Never would he have done this before tonight, not with a guy. But he cannot think straight. He gropes and parts the beautiful cheeks again. He draws his tongue over Carl's sweet rosebud. He laps over the tight little ring. He laps at the gentle curves of Carl's ass. He laps up the narrow valley, moaning.
Adam is lost. This is pussy, his brain tells him. Such a beautiful pussy. He sucks at the hole. He digs his fingers near it, pulling the tiny lips apart, sucking them. Lost in the confusion of Carl's scent and taste, Adam momentarily forgets this is his best friend. He drills his tongue inside, between the pink lips of the rosebud, and moans so loudly he does not hear the sounds coming from Carl.
Carl does not know what is happening. He knows only the pleasure, pleasure causing his blue eyes to roll back in his head. His hands claw at the bedding. His legs spread wider, trying to enable whatever is happening to happen more. He moans into the mattress.
Adam blindly continues eating Carl's sweet ass, his nose tucked between the two big glutes, his long tongue digging inside as far as he can reach. It gives him great pleasure, worshiping this hole. He wants it in his mouth. It fills a hunger within him.
Slurp. Suck. Lap. He pulls back to breathe, then dives in again. He slaps Carl's ass while he eats, smack, smack, and Carl's hips buck each time.
"Adam, oh god, what are you, I can't—"
Adam does not answer. His tongue works faster, circling the rim, probing deep, hungry laps inside. He pulls back, spits on his index finger, and brings it to the wet, spit-slicked hole.
He eases the finger in. Slow. Steady. The tightness is unreal, hot, clenching, gripping his finger like a vice. Carl's body tenses, then relaxes.
"Adam—"
"Relax. Just one finger."
Carl is too blissed out to object. The finger slides deeper. Adam curls it, searching. He finds it, a small, firm bump. The prostate.
He presses.
Carl's entire body seizes. His back arches. His cock, trapped between his stomach and the mattress, pulses. Cum erupts, thick ropes that soak the sheets beneath him. Carl cries out, a strangled sound that is half moan, half sob. His hips grind against the bed, riding the wave.
Adam watches, his finger still inside, feeling the contractions. "Fuck. That was hot."
Carl lies there, trembling, spent. His face is flushed. His breath comes in ragged gasps. Cum cools on the sheets beneath him.
Adam pulls his finger out. He stands and rolls Carl onto his back. Carl's body is limp, pliable. His cock softens against his thigh. His blue eyes are glazed, half-focused.
Adam drops his shorts. His cock is hard again, thick and ready. He climbs onto the bed, straddling Carl's chest. His balls rest on Carl's sternum. The head of his cock bumps Carl's chin.
"Open up," Adam says.
Carl's lips part without resistance. His body has given up. Adam slides his cock into Carl's mouth and begins to thrust, slow at first, then faster. His hands grip the headboard for leverage. His hips drive forward.
Glk. Glk. Glk. Glk.
Carl's throat opens and closes around the shaft. Drool runs down his cheeks, pooling in his ears. His eyes are closed. His hands lie at his sides, limp.
Adam chases it. His thrusts become erratic, desperate. His abs clench. His jaw tightens. He drives deep one final time and unloads, thick, hot, straight down Carl's throat.
Carl swallows. He has no choice.
Adam pulls out and collapses beside him. Within minutes, his breathing evens out. He is asleep.
Carl lies there, awake. His jaw aches. His throat is raw. His ass is wet with spit. His stomach is sticky with his own cum. The ceiling stares back at him.
He does not sleep for a long time.
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