On screen, the two guys take each other’s cocks in their mouths in a full-on sixty-nine.
“They’re in good shape,” I say, not sure what else to offer.
“Yeah, for sure.”
We sit there for a few more minutes, the slurping sounds from the laptop echoing through the dorm room. My cheeks start to heat up.
“You know what’s weird? I don’t feel grossed out by it,” Chase says. “It’s just… sex.”
“Yeah, I guess.”
“I’m more thrown off by the fact they’re doing it on a white couch. That would be a nightmare to clean.”
I snort. “Dude. Same. All I can think about is how they’re gonna get those stains out.”
“I know, right? But the guys… I don’t know. It’s just two people.”
“Two very flexible people,” I add. The guys have moved on to some impressive acrobatics.
“Holy shit. I don’t think my back bends that way.”
“No chance.”
We watch for a while longer in silence. I realize I’m leaning into Chase to see the small laptop screen better, and he doesn’t seem to mind. His shoulder is warm against mine.
Chase reaches over and clicks forward in the video. “Let’s skip ahead to the main event.”
The scene changes. One of the guys is now in a fake Santa beard, the other dressed as an elf with pointy ears and striped tights. They’ve moved next to a Christmas tree, and Santa’s got the elf bent over a pile of wrapped presents. The elf screams, “Yes, Santa, stuff my stocking!” in a high, theatrical moan.
“What the fuck?” I whisper.
Chase tries to keep a straight face, but when we look at each other, we lose it, laughing so hard the whole bed shakes.
“I guess this is their idea of spreading holiday cheer,” he gets out between gasps.
“Ho ho ho,” I wheeze, wiping a tear from my eye.
“Okay, okay,” Chase says, still chuckling as he clicks out of the video. “Let’s find something less... festive.”
He scrolls through the homepage and clicks on another thumbnail. “This one looks normal.”
The laughter dies in my throat instantly.
A twink is getting his brain fucked out by a muscular dude in a football jersey. He’s braced against a row of lockers, headthrown back, and the football player is behind him, slamming into his narrow frame with enough force to make the metal doors rattle.
I can’t tear my eyes away. Not just because of the sheer intensity of it, but because the football player… he kind of looks like Chase. Same build, same dark hair. A vicious look of concentration on his face. He’s got his fingers twisted in the guy’s curls, pulling his head back as he fucks him, and his other hand is clamped on the guy’s hip hard enough to turn his knuckles white.
“Jesus,” Chase breathes next to me.
My own breathing has gone shallow. My body reacts in ways I can’t control, a familiar heat pooling in my gut. My dick, which had mercifully gone soft during the Santa scene, is starting to stir again. I shift on the bed, trying to adjust myself discreetly.
“Yeah,” I say, my voice tight. “He’s… going for it.”
“Dude in the jersey is hung,” Chase notes, like he’s commentating on a game. “And he knows how to use it.”
I didn’t need him to point that out. I’m well aware of the player’s attributes. I’m also aware that my own traitorous body is responding to this “research.” My reindeer boxers are starting to feel uncomfortably tight, and a wet patch is spreading right where the tip of my dick presses against the fabric.
I pray that Chase doesn’t notice, but he seems completely absorbed in the action on the screen, watching the scene unfold. The jock’s muscles flex and contract with each brutal thrust, the veins on his forearms standing out. The twink he’s fucking is wailing like a banshee, egging him on—‘Harder, harder’—and the jock obliges.
