They're at the bar again. The team packs the place wall to wall. Music thumps. Drinks flow. Carl throws back shots like they're water, chasing the numbness that never quite arrives. Adam stands behind him at the counter, one hand resting on Carl's hip, thumb rubbing slow circles through his shirt. Carl can feel the heat of Adam's chest against his back. He drinks more.
By the time they stumble back to the dorm, Carl's head swims. The hallway tilts. Adam's hand grips his shoulder, steering him through the door. The room spins gently as Carl grabs his towel and shower kit.
"Going first," Adam says, already yanking his shirt over his head.
Carl stands in the dark room, swaying slightly, listening to the water run. He stares at the joined beds , Adam pushed them together days ago, and they've stayed that way. One wide surface covered in tangled sheets that smell like both of them. His stomach clenches.
The shower cuts off. Adam comes out in a cloud of steam, a towel slung low on his hips, water still dripping from his chest hair. He stretches, and Carl catches the V of muscle below his abs before looking away.
"Your turn, babe."
Carl showers on autopilot. Hot water beats against his neck. He braces both palms against the tile and lets it run over his face. His thoughts slide around, slippery and unmoored. When the water starts cooling, he shuts it off, dries himself, wraps the towel around his waist, and pushes open the bathroom door.
Adam is lying in the center of the joined beds. Naked. One hand behind his head. The other wrapped loosely around his half-hard cock, stroking it with lazy, slow pulls. His black eyes track Carl across the room, and the corner of his mouth pulls up into a smirk that sends a spike of something, fear, want, shame, all tangled together, through Carl's chest.
"I guess my dick misses your mouth, babe," Adam says. His voice is low, almost lazy, but his eyes are sharp. "It's not getting hard without it."
Carl stands frozen by the bathroom door. Water drips from his hair onto his shoulders. His towel feels like it weighs a hundred pounds. He watches Adam's hand move with slow, deliberate strokes, the shaft thickening in his grip, and his mouth goes dry.
He tells himself to say no. He tells himself to grab his clothes, sleep on the floor, do something. But his legs carry him forward. His hands drop the towel. He climbs onto the bed, and the sheets are warm where Adam's body has been.
They lie there. Neither speaks. The only sound is their breathing and the distant thump of music from somewhere down the hall. Adam's arm comes around Carl's shoulders, pulling him closer. Carl turns his head, and Adam's mouth finds his.
The kiss starts slow. Adam's lips are warm and soft, and his tongue slides against Carl's with a practiced ease that makes Carl's stomach flip. Carl kisses back. He doesn't want to, but he does, and the contradiction burns through him. Adam's hand slides down Carl's back, fingers tracing the line of his spine, coming to rest on his hip.
Then Adam's mouth moves. Down Carl's jaw. Down his neck. Lower. His lips close around Carl's left nipple, and Carl's breath catches, a sharp, involuntary hitch. Adam sucks. His teeth graze the hardened nub, and Carl's back arches off the bed. Adam's hand finds the other nipple, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger, pinching just hard enough to make Carl's hips jerk.
Adam works Carl's nipples for what feels like forever, sucking, biting, licking, pinching, until both are red and swollen and Carl's cock is fully hard against his stomach, leaking a thin strand of precum.
Then Adam's hand is on Carl's shoulder. Pushing. Down.
Carl doesn't fight. He knows there's no point. He slides down the bed, his chest dragging across the sheets, until his face is level with Adam's cock. It's fully hard now, thick, veined, the head flushed dark and slick with precum. Adam's hand comes to rest on the back of Carl's head, fingers threading through his blonde hair.
"See? You're doing this on your own now," Adam says, and there's a satisfaction in his voice that makes Carl's face burn. "Glad you're being a good boyfriend about it."
Carl opens his mouth and takes Adam in.
He's gotten better. He hates that he knows this, but he does. The first time was a clumsy, gagging mess. The second time was desperate and rough. Now, now his jaw relaxes on instinct. His tongue finds the groove under the head. He sinks down, taking Adam's cock deep into his throat, and the only sound is a wet, muffled glk as his lips press against the base.
Adam's hips twitch. His hand tightens in Carl's hair. "Fuck, babe. You learn fast."
Carl pulls back slowly, letting his lips drag along the shaft, then dips lower. He takes one of Adam's balls into his mouth, sucking gently, his tongue rolling the heavy flesh. Adam's thigh muscles clench. Carl switches to the other one, then licks a long stripe up the underside of Adam's cock before swallowing it again.
He works Adam's cock with a steady rhythm, deep, sloppy, wet. Spit drips down his chin. His hand wraps around the base, stroking what his mouth can't reach, twisting on the upstroke. Adam's breathing picks up. His hips start to move, tiny thrusts that push his cock deeper into Carl's throat.
Carl takes it. He breathes through his nose. He relaxes his throat and lets Adam fuck his mouth, and the sound of it, the wet, slick schlk schlk schlk of his lips sliding up and down the shaft, fills the quiet room.
Adam lets him work for a long time. His hand stays in Carl's hair, not pushing, just resting there. His head is thrown back against the pillow, eyes half-closed, chest rising and falling heavy and slow. He's enjoying it. Taking his time.
Then his grip tightens. He pulls Carl off his cock with a wet pop.
"Get on your stomach," Adam says. His voice is rough. Breathless. "I wanna eat that fat ass."
Carl hesitates. His body goes still. The last time Adam did this, Carl came harder than he ever has in his life. His whole body shook. His vision went white. He thinks about this. He thinks about how good it felt and how much he hated that it felt that good. His face burns.
But he rolls over. He gets onto his stomach. His face presses into the pillow. His ass is in the air. Round. Pale. Smooth. The crack is tight. The pink hole sits there. Small. Clenched.
Adam kneels behind him. His massive hands grip Carl's cheeks, one in each palm, and squeeze. He spreads them open.
Carl's hole is pink. Tight. Slightly wet from the shower. Adam stares at it, and a thought moves through his head like a slow wave: No matter how many times I see this ass, it doesn't get old. Round, pale, smooth. The kind of ass that looks like it was built to be fucked. And it's his. All his.
He leans forward and licks a long, flat stripe from Carl's taint to the base of his spine.
Carl jerks. A strangled sound comes out of his mouth, not a word, just a raw noise that gets caught in his throat. His fingers grip the sheets.
Adam does it again. And again. Long, slow licks that cover Carl's hole in spit. Then he points his tongue and pushes it inside.
Oh, fuck. Carl's forehead drops to the mattress. His back arches. Adam's tongue is hot and wet and relentless, pushing in and pulling out, fucking him open. Carl's thoughts scatter, this is wrong, this is wrong, this feels so fucking good, and his cock is hard again, trapped against the mattress, throbbing with every thrust of Adam's tongue.
Adam pulls back. His thumb finds Carl's hole, circling the rim, pressing lightly. He spits directly onto it, a thick wad of saliva that trickles down, and pushes his index finger inside.
Carl tenses. The intrusion is strange, uncomfortable. Adam's finger is thick, and it slides in slowly, knuckle by knuckle. The burn is dull at first, then sharper.
Adam pushes deeper. He crooks his finger, searching, and finds it, that small, firm bump inside. Carl's whole body jolts.
"There it is," Adam mutters.
He works it. Slow circles. Pressing. Rubbing. Carl's hips start to move on their own, pushing back against Adam's hand. His breathing turns ragged. His cock leaks a steady stream onto the sheets.
A second finger joins the first. The stretch is sharper now, a hot, splitting burn that makes Carl hiss through his teeth. Adam's fingers are thick, and Carl's hole clamps down around them, tight and resisting. Adam feels it — the squeeze, the heat, the way Carl's body fights him even as his hips push back for more.
Fuck, he's tight, Adam thinks. Tighter than any pussy I've ever had.
He scissors his fingers. Slowly. Stretching Carl open, spreading him wider. Carl makes a sound, half groan, half whine, and his hands twist in the sheets. The burn fades into something else. Something heavy and full and aching.
Adam picks up speed. His fingers fuck into Carl with a wet, sloppy rhythm, squelch, squelch, squelch, and Carl's sounds get louder. Higher. His back arches deeper. His ass pushes back. And then his whole body seizes, every muscle locking, and he comes. Hard. His cock pulses against the mattress, shooting thick ropes of cum onto the sheets, and his hole clamps down on Adam's fingers so tight Adam can barely move them.
Adam gets up and he gets a wash towel. He first tells Carl to get up. Adam then takes the bedsheet off and then cleans Carl up. Then Adam pushes Carl down on the mattress again.
Carl's face is pressed into the pillow. His body shakes. His breath comes in broken gasps.
Adam spits into his palm, twice, three times, and wraps his hand around his cock. He strokes himself, spreading the spit, making himself slick. His cock is iron-hard, the head flushed and angry.
He positions himself behind Carl. The head of his cock presses against Carl's spit-slick hole.
Carl realizes what's happening. His body goes tense. "Adam—"
Adam pushes him down. One massive arm across Carl's lower back, pinning him to the mattress. His other hand guides his cock, pressing forward.
The head pushes against Carl's hole. It resists. Too tight. Adam spits again, a thick glob of saliva landing directly on Carl's hole, trickling down, and presses forward again.
The head pops in.
Carl's breath punches out of him. The burn is sharp, immediate, overwhelming. His hole stretches around the thick head of Adam's cock, and it feels like being split open. His fingers claw at the sheets.
Adam stops. Just the head inside. He can feel Carl's ring clamped tight around his shaft, squeezing, pulsing. Fuck. He's never felt anything this tight. This hot. This fucking good. Better than any pussy he's ever had.
"Breathe, baby, breathe," Adam says. His voice is low, soft. The same voice he's used on every girl whose cherry he's popped. "Deep breaths, okay?"
Carl breathes. His chest heaves against the mattress. The burn is still there, but it shifts, changes, as his body adjusts to the intrusion. His hole throbs around Adam's cock.
Adam pushes forward. Another inch. Carl makes a sound, a low, broken groan that gets caught in his throat. The stretch is enormous. He feels like he's being torn apart.
"I'm not going anywhere, girl," Adam says. He holds still. Lets Carl get used to it. "I'm gonna hold still a bit and let you get used to me, okay?"
The word "girl" hits Carl like a slap. His face burns. His eyes sting. He's not a girl. He's a man. A sprinter. A conference record-holder. And he's face-down on a bed with his best friend's cock buried in his ass, being called "girl" and "baby" and "babe," and the shame of it is so thick he can barely breathe.
Adam pushes deeper. Another inch. Another. Slow, deliberate thrusts that feed more of his cock into Carl's tight hole. Each inch draws a sound from Carl, a whimper, a hiss, a choked-off moan. And each sound sends a rush of power through Adam's chest that makes his cock throb.
This is it, Adam thinks. This is what it feels like to take a straight man's virginity. To make him your bitch. To fuck the shit out of him. The power rush is intoxicating. Carl, lean, fast, disciplined Carl, is pinned beneath him, groaning, taking his cock, and Adam has never felt more like a man.
He pushes forward again. And again. Slow. Patient. Until his bush presses flush against Carl's round, pale ass. He's all the way in. Every inch of his eight-inch cock buried in Carl's tight, hot hole.
Carl can feel it. The fullness. The pressure. The soft scratch of Adam's pubes against his smooth skin. It drives something home, something final and irreversible. He's been conquered. His manhood is gone. He sucked cock twice and thought that was the worst thing in the world, but this, this is worse. This is everything.
His eyes water. A tear slips down his cheek and soaks into the pillow.
Adam feels the tightness. The heat. The way Carl's hole spasms around his cock, squeezing, milking. He's never fucked without a condom before. The girls he's been with never let him.
"Fuck, babe. You're the best friend a guy could have," Adam says. "Letting me raw dog you like this. No rubber. Just skin. You feel that?"
Carl feels it. He feels everything. The throb of Adam's cock. The heat of his body pressing down against his back. The scratch of Adam's hairy legs against his own. The weight of Adam's muscled pecs against his shoulders. Adam's pumped biceps wrapped around either side of him. This isn't the soft, smooth skin of a girl. This is all hard muscle and coarse hair and raw male power, and it's pressing him into the mattress.
"Now you've become a total boyfriend," Adam says. His lips brush Carl's ear. "Got my dick in that fat ass of yours. You're my girl now, babe. My good little bitch."
Carl's hole clenches. The words cut through him, sharp, degrading, true. A sob catches in his throat.
Adam holds still. He shushes Carl, whispering into the hair covering his ear. "Shh, shh. It's okay. You're doing so good. Such a good girl." His hand strokes Carl's side, slow and soothing. The same hand that throws sixty-yard bombs on Saturdays. The same hand that gripped a trophy three times.
Carl's hole spasms around Adam's cock, wild, involuntary clenches that squeeze and milk his shaft. The tightness is unbearable. The heat. The raw, wet grip of Carl's virgin hole clamped around his bare cock.
Adam doesn't last. He can't. The sensation is too much, too tight, too hot, too fucking good. His balls pull up. His cock swells. His hips jerk forward, driving deep, and he comes.
"Ohhh — fuck — I haven't cum inside a cunt ever," Adam groans. His voice breaks. His hips grind against Carl's ass, pushing his cock as deep as it can go. "This is the best feeling. Yeah, take that. Take that cum deep in your stomach."
Carl feels it. The swell. The pulse. The hot, thick spurts of cum shooting into him, deep, flooding, filling him up. He can feel Adam's cock jerking inside him, each throb pumping another load into his guts. The warmth spreads through his core, and his body goes limp beneath Adam's weight.
Adam's chest heaves. His forehead drops to Carl's shoulder. He's still inside, still twitching, still leaking. "You've got the tightest cunt," he breathes. "I haven't come this quickly ever."
They lie there. Adam's weight presses Carl into the mattress. His softening cock sits inside Carl's hole, plugged in, holding the cum in place. The room is quiet except for their breathing.
After a minute, Adam pulls out. Carl's hole gapes slightly, pink and swollen and wet with cum. Adam watches a thick drop of white leak out and slide down Carl's taint. He smirks.
"Don't worry," Adam says. He rolls onto his back beside Carl, one arm behind his head. "I'll be ready to fuck again in just a few minutes."
Carl doesn't move. He lies face-down, cum leaking from his hole, his face wet wi th tears he can't stop. His ass throbs. His stomach feels full, warm and heavy with Adam's load. The shame sits on his chest like a weight.
Twenty minutes pass. Adam's hand rests on Carl's back, idle, possessive. Then Adam sits up.
"Get on your hands and knees."
Carl knows what's happening. He's too tired to fight. Too drained. He pushes himself up, arms shaking, and gets into position. Doggy. On his hands and knees, ass in the air, hole still wet and leaking.
Adam kneels behind him. His cock is hard again, standing thick and flushed against his stomach. He grips Carl's hips with both hands.
"Doggy's my favorite," Adam says. He lines himself up. "Can fuck as fast as I want. And I can see that ass jiggle."
He pushes in. The head slides past Carl's ring, easier this time, slick with cum and spit. Carl's hole opens for him, and Adam sinks deep in one slow thrust.
Carl makes a sound. Low. Broken. Not a word, just a noise that comes from somewhere deep in his chest. His arms tremble.
Adam starts slow. Long, deep strokes that pull almost all the way out before pushing back in. Carl's hole grips him, tight and hot, cum squelching around his shaft with each thrust. The sound is obscene, wet, sloppy, schlk schlk schlk, and it fills the room.
Carl feels small. Like a toy. Like something for Adam to use. His arms shake. His knees press into the mattress. And behind him, Adam's massive frame looms, hands on his hips, cock buried in his ass, using him the way he's used countless girls before.
Adam picks up speed. His hips snap forward, and the sound changes — slap, slap, slap — skin hitting skin, Carl's ass rippling with each impact. The fat of his cheeks shakes, bounces, jiggles with every thrust, and Adam watches it with hungry eyes.
"Look at that fat ass jiggle when I hit it," Adam says. His hand comes down hard — smack — on Carl's right cheek. The sting makes Carl jerk forward, but Adam's grip holds him in place. "You were made to get fucked by a real man with that fat ass."
Carl's face burns. The words sink into him, fat ass, real man, made to get fucked, and the humiliation is so thick he can taste it. He's not a real man anymore. He's a hole. A cunt. A thing for Adam to pound.
"Ohhh, dude! You feel amazing!!!" Adam's voice cracks with the words. "Way fuckin' better than pussy!!! Oh, yeah!"
The slapping gets louder. Faster. Carl's whole body rocks forward with each thrust, and the sounds coming out of his mouth are beyond his control, grunts, moans, whimpers, high-pitched noises he's never made before. Not words. Just sound. Raw, animal sound pulled from his throat by the relentless pounding of Adam's cock.
"Anyone walking outside our room can hear your fat ass getting fucked. And anyone who hears us will be jealous of me. Jealous that I am getting to fuck this fat ass." Adam says between thrusts. His breathing is heavy, ragged. "Next time they see us, they'll joke about me fucking you. But this time? This time it'll be real."
Carl's arms give out. He collapses face-down, stomach on the mattress, ass still raised. Adam doesn't stop. He adjusts his angle and keeps fucking, driving down into Carl's upturned ass, each thrust grinding Carl's hips into the mattress. His hand comes down again — smack, smack — alternating cheeks, leaving red handprints on the pale skin.
Carl's face is pressed into the sheets. His moans are muffled but still audible, desperate, broken sounds that escape around the fabric stuffed against his mouth. Adam's weight presses him down, and the headboard starts to hit the wall. Thud. Thud. Thud. A steady rhythm that matches the slap of skin on skin.
Adam pulls out. Carl's hole gapes, wet and swollen. Cum leaks out, trailing down his taint.
Adam stands. Walks to the desk. Grabs a bottle of water, drinks half, sets it on the nightstand. "Here," he says, holding another bottle toward Carl's face.
Carl takes it. His hand shakes as he drinks. The water is cold and clean and tastes like nothing, and it grounds him for exactly three seconds before the reality crashes back. He's lying naked on joined beds, face-down, ass-up, cum leaking from his hole. Adam is standing over him, cock still hard, sweat gleaming on his chest.
Carl knows this routine. He's heard it in the dorm before, Adam fucking some girl, taking a break, drinking water, then going back for round two. Adam always takes a long time to cum the second round. Carl has lain in his own bed, pillow over his head, listening to the girl's moans and the creak of the mattress and Adam's steady, relentless pace.
Now he's the girl.
Ten minutes pass. Adam sits on the edge of the bed, drinking water, scrolling his phone. Carl doesn't move. He lies face-down, ass still raised, waiting. He's too tired to protest. Too broken to care.
Adam sets his phone down. Moves behind Carl. Grips his hips.
Carl doesn't say anything. He just gets his knees under him, arches his back, and presents his hole.
Adam pushes in. The cum inside Carl squelches around his cock, and the sound is filthy, wet, sloppy, obscene. He starts slow, letting Carl get used to the feeling again. Long, deep strokes. Pulling out until just the head remains, then sinking back in to the root.
Then he picks up speed.
He fucks Carl on his side next, one leg over Adam's shoulder, the other pinned to the bed. The angle changes the pressure, and Carl's breath hitches. Then on his back, legs spread wide, knees pushed to his chest. Adam's weight presses down on him, and the eye contact is worse than anything, those black eyes staring into his, watching every flicker of pain and pleasure cross his face.
Then back to doggy. And that's when it happens.
Adam's cock hits something inside Carl, that same spot, that firm bump, and the sound that comes out of Carl's mouth is different. Higher. Thinner. A moan that doesn't sound like pain. His cock, impossibly, starts to harden again.
Adam notices. His rhythm falters for half a second. Then he grins.
"You enjoying this now?"
Carl doesn't answer. Can't answer. But his body answers for him, his hips pushing back, his hole clenching, his cock leaking onto the sheets.
Adam feels the shift. The power. Carl, a man, a straight man, his best friend, is moaning beneath him. Not from pain. From pleasure. From getting fucked. And something primal surges through Adam's chest, hot and electric. He's fucking a man. A man is moaning under him. Taking his cock. Loving it.
He goes faster. His hips jackhammer, blurring, relentless, pounding Carl's ass so hard the joined beds scrape across the floor. The headboard hammers the wall. BANG. BANG. BANG. Carl's ass ripples with each impact, fat cheeks bouncing, red and raw from Adam's spanks. The sounds from Carl's mouth are continuous now, a stream of moans and whimpers and broken, high-pitched cries that he can't stop.
Adam drives deep. Grinds. His cock swells inside Carl's tight, raw, cum-slick hole, and he comes again, thick, hot spurts that flood Carl's guts. His hips jerk with each pulse, and his hands grip Carl's hips hard enough to bruise.
Carl feels it. The swell. The pulse. The heat flooding into him again. His hole clenches around Adam's cock, milking it, and his own cock jerks against the mattress, not a full orgasm, but a weak, leaking throb that leaves a wet spot on the sheets.
Adam collapses on top of him. His full weight presses Carl into the mattress. His cock softens inside Carl's hole, cum leaking out around the shaft, pooling on the sheets beneath them.
The room is quiet. Their breathing fills the silence, heavy, ragged, slowing.
Adam's lips press against the back of Carl's neck. A lazy, satisfied kiss.
"Best cunt I've ever had," he murmurs. His arm wraps around Carl's chest, pulling him close. "Don't worry, babe. We're gonna be spending a lot of time together."
Carl stares at the wall. His ass throbs. His hole is wrecked, swollen, raw, leaking. And somewhere beneath the shame and the pain and the exhaustion, he closes his eyes.
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