No, that’s not right. It can’t be. It’s just the situation. The adrenaline. The shock of it all. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to think of Staci. Staci’s ass, as North so eloquently put it. Staci’s tits. Staci’s... whatever. But the image won’t stick. It keeps dissolving into a blur of dark hair and a white-toothed grin. A deep, husky voice saying, “Come on, buddy.” Hard pecs. A pulsing vein.
I open my eyes and catch North looking at my dick again. His jaw is tight. There’s a bead of sweat running down his temple. He’s not looking at the TV at all. His gaze is fixed on me, on my hand moving up and down my length. The look he gets on the football field. The same look he gets when we’re playing Mario Kart and he’s about to pass me. He’s trying to win.
“Fuck, Gav,” he groans. “I’m close.”
Hearing my name from his lips, in that moment, is a lit match thrown on gasoline. My hips jerk up off the bed. Myballs tighten. A surge of pressure rips up my spine. There’s no stopping it. I give in, gasping, and the first rope of cum stripes across my stomach, warm and sticky. Another follows, then another. It keeps coming, flying in all directions, coating my fist, my chest, the bedsheets. My own goddamn chin. I feel the wetness drip onto my neck.Holy shit.I didn’t know I had that much in me. I collapse back against the headboard, panting, my ears ringing.
Through the haze, I hear North’s sharp intake of breath. “Jesus fucking Christ,” he says, and then he’s coming too, a guttural groan torn from his chest. I watch, my eyes heavy-lidded, as his cock pulses in his fist, thick white streams of it striping his stomach and the blue fabric of his T-shirt. His whole body shudders with the force of it. He keeps pumping, milking every last drop, then slumps back with a satisfied sigh.
The scene on the TV reaches its climax as the pizza guy delivers a final topping. Cum dribbles down the girl’s face, with globs of it clinging to her fake eyelashes. Then the screen goes dark.
Now our breathing is the only sound. Two sets of ragged breaths. Shaky inhales and exhales. The smell is potent—salt and musk. I look down at the mess on my chest. My jeans are tangled around my ankles. My dick is starting to soften against my thigh, a smear of cum on the tip. North is in a similar state. His softening cock lies in a puddle of wetness. There’s a dark spot on the front of his shirt.
What do you say after something like this? ‘Nice race?’ ‘Good game?’ My usual social awkwardness feels like it’s been amplified by a thousand.
Fortunately, North isn’t socially awkward. He grabs the hem of his shirt, pulls it over his head, and uses it to wipe the cum off his stomach. He balls it up and tosses it somewhere between allthe boxes. “Well,” he says, his voice a little raspy. “I guess you win this round, Marsh. By a fucking landslide.”
My brain is still buffering. The sight of his bare chest makes it worse. He’s all smooth skin and hard muscle. A light dusting of dark hair between his pecs, trailing down his abs. The V-lines that cut into his hips. Why am I noticing this? Why do I feel a renewed, faint twitch in my spent cock?
“I, uh…” I start, but I have no idea how to finish.
“Here.” He swings his legs off the bed, completely unconcerned about his nakedness. He’s soft now, but still impressive, a heavy club swinging between his thighs. He opens a box on the floor labeled BATHROOM, pulls out a roll of paper towels, tears off a long strip, and tosses it to me. “Clean yourself up, you mess.”
And while I wipe myself down, the rough paper scraping against my skin, I watch him. He moves to the small window and pushes it open to let some air in. The afternoon breeze stirs the blinds. Sunlight cuts across his back, catching the ridges of muscle along his shoulders.
It’s like looking at a familiar painting in a new light.
I don’t like this. This feeling. This unsettling fizz in my stomach. I prefer my world neatly alphabetized on a shelf. Predictable. Safe.
But I’m rooming with North now.
And my world just got a whole lot messier.
4
“Dude. Do you have morning wood?”
I blink my eyes open.Where am I?The ceiling is unfamiliar. There’s a water stain that I’ve never seen before. The light coming through the blinds is a milky gray. Oh, right. The new room. My new bed. Boxes all around me.
North’s face is hovering over me, too close. He’s grinning. Already dressed in a pair of athletic shorts and a tight Under Armour shirt. He’s holding a cup of coffee, the smell of it cutting through my sleep fog.
“What?” I mumble, trying to sit up.
“I said, do you have morning wood?”
Oh God. The events of yesterday afternoon come rushing back. The TV. The pizza porn. The race. The absolute deluge of cum I’d produced. And North’s naked body right next to mine. My face heats up.
“Because I had this great idea while I was in the shower,” he continues.
My brain immediately flashes to an image of North in our tiny bathroom, water streaming over that body, soap suds clinging to every plane of muscle. I push the thought away, fast.
“North, it’s…” I check my phone. “Seven in the morning.”
“Exactly. The best part of the day.” He sets his coffee on one of the unpacked boxes. “So? Morning wood? Pitching a tent?”
I can feel a heaviness down there, but it’s not a full-blown erection. More of a half-mast. “I’m not answering that.”
“That’s a yes.” He nods, triumphant. “Okay, so hear me out. You know Bangr?”
