Clean-Cut to Gutter Slut - Part 10 (Patreon)

Everyone in this story is 18+

Move-in day was pure chaos. The dorm parking lot was jammed with cars, parents yelling directions, freshmen lugging boxes up the stairs like it was a competition. I stood outside our building with two duffel bags and a cardboard box of random shit, stomach twisting the whole time. Emily had sent a heart emoji and a Bible verse about new beginnings right before I left home.

Brooks’ name sat right next to mine on the door tag, and the biggest part of me was actually excited to finally share a room with him after all the years of talking about it. The rest of me felt restless as hell. My brain kept looping back to the crazy summer.

I hauled everything upstairs and pushed the door open. The room was tiny—two twin beds, two desks, one window looking out at the quad. I dropped my bags and started unpacking just to keep my hands busy, folding shirts way too neatly, stacking socks like it mattered. My pulse wouldn’t settle. Every time I pictured texting Emily something sweet, my mind flashed to a stranger’s cum leaking down my thigh. I sat on the edge of my bare mattress, elbows on my knees, staring at the floor.

The door swung open and Brooks walked in backward, dragging a giant duffel while balancing a pizza box on top. “Yo, roomie,” he said, kicking the door shut behind him. He set the pizza on my desk and turned around with that easy grin he’s had since freshman year football. “Figured you’d forget to eat. Pepperoni and extra cheese—your order, right?”

I nodded, trying to smile. “Thanks, man.”

He dropped his bag and started helping without asking—grabbed my sheets and started making my bed like it was the most normal thing. “You good? You look like you’re about to bolt.”

I shrugged, kept folding a hoodie. “Just… new place. Lots going on.”

He didn’t push. Just kept working, humming some old song we used to blast in his Jeep. Every few minutes he’d bump my shoulder when he passed, or hand me a pillow and say something dumb like, “Remember when we tried to sneak that keg into your garage and your mom caught us? Same energy, but now nobody can ground us.” It was stupid, but it landed. My shoulders loosened a little.

After we demolished the cold pizza straight from the box, we spent the afternoon sorting the room. He remembered I hated the dining-hall eggs and ran down to the cart outside for bagels. Later we stayed up messing around on his laptop, watching old highlight reels of our high-school games, laughing at how scrawny we looked back then, shoulders bumping every time one of us pointed at the screen. Nothing big. Just us, the way we’d always been, but closer now with no parents, no Emily in the next room.

By the time the hallway quieted down it was late. Most people had gone out. We’d both showered, lights off except the string of fairy lights his mom had insisted on. I was on my bed scrolling, but my leg wouldn’t stop bouncing. Brooks looked over from his desk. “C’mere.”

I walked the two steps between our beds. He stood up, caught my wrist gently, and pulled me in. This time when he kissed me it wasn’t rushed. Just soft at first—lips brushing, then pressing, tasting like the mint toothpaste we both used. His hands slid up my back under my shirt, warm and slow, thumbs tracing my spine like he was learning every inch. I melted into it. We moved to his bed without saying anything, clothes coming off one piece at a time—his hoodie, my shorts—until we were skin to skin.

He laid me down on my back, settled between my legs like he had all the time in the world. His mouth found my neck, kissing slow open-mouthed trails down to my collarbone, then lower, tongue flicking over my nipple until it hardened. I arched a little and he smiled against my skin, one hand sliding down my side, fingers brushing the inside of my thigh. When he finally reached between us he wrapped his hand around both our dicks together—slow, lazy strokes that made me leak all over his knuckles. He kissed me again, deeper this time, tongue sliding against mine while his thumb circled the heads, smearing the mess.

I reached down and guided him. He took the hint, grabbed the lube from his nightstand, lathered himself up, then pressed the tip against my hole. He didn’t push right away. Just held there, eyes locked on mine, letting me feel him. I breathed out and he eased forward—inch by careful inch—watching my face the whole time. The stretch was full and warm, no burn, just that deep pressure that made my toes curl. When he bottomed out he stayed still, forehead pressed to mine, breathing the same air.

Then he started moving. Slow rolls of his hips, not pounding, just rocking deep and steady. Every thrust dragged perfectly over that spot inside me, sending warm waves through my whole body. His hand stayed on my cheek, thumb stroking my cheekbone. I wrapped my legs around his waist and held on, nails digging lightly into his back. He kissed me between thrusts—soft, open-mouthed, tasting like salt and us. I could feel every inch of him sliding in and out, the way his abs brushed my dick on every forward roll, the way his balls rested warm against me when he was all the way in.

My own cock was trapped between our stomachs, leaking steady. He reached down and wrapped his fingers around it—gentle strokes in time with his hips, thumb swiping over the head every time he pulled back. I moaned quietly into his mouth. The pressure built slow and deep, not frantic. Just rising, warm and inevitable. When I came it, spilling between us, coating his stomach and mine while my hole clenched around his hardness. He groaned softly into my neck, hips stuttering once, twice, then he buried himself deep and followed. I felt it filling me, while he trembled against me.

He didn’t pull out right away. Just stayed there, breathing hard, kissing the corner of my mouth, my cheek, my temple. After a minute he grabbed the towel from the floor, wiped us both clean without making it weird, then pulled me against his chest. His arm draped heavy over my waist, thumb rubbing slow circles on my hip.

“Whatever’s eating at you,” he whispered into my hair, “we figure it out together. Same as always.”

I nodded against his skin, eyes already heavy, one tear falling from my eye.