Entry Level 03 (Patreon)

Everyone is 18+ and fully consenting.

Weekend story update: As you guys know, every weekend I’ll be adding a new chapter to a longer story. It’s going to be a novel, and you guys are the first eyes to see it! Enjoy the next chapter of Entry Level!

Chapter 3: Regular

Sunday morning, I woke up with "so do you" echoing in my ears as I was coming out of my dream. It was like it had been repeating in my head all night.

I lay there for a minute and looked at the ceiling and then I got up and went to the kitchen.

Decker was already there. Boxer briefs, no shirt, the usual morning presentation. He looked up when I came in and his face was a little different, confirming to me that last night really happened. 

I got a mug down and poured coffee and leaned against the counter across from him.

"Hey," he said.

"Hey."

He looked at his phone for a second, then set it face down on the counter. He seemed like he was going to say something and was figuring out how to say it, which was unusual for him. Decker didn't usually stop to figure out how to say things. He just said them.

"I was pretty high on pussy last night," he said. "I think some of that energy just kind of drifted out to you." He paused. "Hope that's not weird."

"No," I said. "It's cool."

But it hurt in my stomach. 

He looked at me for a second and then winked, slow and deliberate, and turned back to his phone. That made me feel better. I could sense that there would be more for us. 

I drank my coffee and looked out the window and thought about the wink for probably longer than it deserved.

—[]—

We were on the couch that afternoon when a text from Tony came in our group chat. It hit both our phones at the same time, which I could tell because Decker's expression changed a half second after mine did. It was a video from his point of view as he had sex, his giant dick showing clearly as he penetrated some poor girl. He had added "me last night" as the caption, which was technically all the context needed.

Decker watched it and then set his phone down on his knee.

"Tony's packing," he said.

"Yeah," I said. "He showed me in the bathroom at the club last night, actually."

Decker turned his head and looked at me. He didn't say anything. Something moved through his expression that I couldn't fully read, something below the surface, and then he reached into his waistband and pulled himself out, showing a decent half chub already started, and set his phone aside.

He looked at me.

"You wanna," he said.

"I thought you were just high on pussy last night," I said.

He smiled, then sat down next to me. I pulled myself out as well, already growing to match him.

We started the way we had before, hands, both of us, but something shifted fast. I slid down off the cushion and got between his knees on the floor without fully deciding to do it and put both hands on him and forgot about myself entirely. I wasn't thinking about my own dick at all. I was just looking at him, up close, both hands working slowly, and he was looking back down at me with the expression he had the night before, serious in a specific way, focused.

I jerked him hard with both hands, making his balls flail around. He opened his mouth for a second, then said, “Can you…”, but drifted off.

I opened my mouth as well, just slightly, and looked up at him and let the question answer itself.

"Just," he said, and couldn't finish that either.

I leaned forward. The smell hit me first, warmly thick with the smell of boy. Up close and heated up from arousal. Different than mine, unique to him and his essence, something that had been in the background of the apartment for weeks now, in his sweaty underwear and in the air. 

I felt the heat of him against my lips and then he put his hand on the back of my head and guided me the rest of the way down until he hit the back of my mouth.

The fullness of it was the first thing, the weight, the way it filled my mouth completely and pressed toward the back before I'd gotten more than halfway. I held still for a second and breathed through my nose and then I started to move, slow, finding something like a rhythm, and he made a sound low in his chest that landed in my stomach. His hand stayed on the back of my head, not forcing, just playing with my body, his fingers curling slightly into my hair when I went deeper. I used both hands at the base and worked them in slow circles the way I'd seen done in porn, and I felt his thighs tense under my forearms. He said something that wasn't a word, and I kept going. 

When I came up for air a string of saliva connected my lip to him and I went back down without wiping it away and his grip tightened in my hair and he said something that was almost my name but not quite. His hips started to move, small movements, like he was trying not to and couldn't fully stop himself. I felt him getting closer in the way the rhythm changed, the way his breathing changed, and I held on and kept going until he pulled back and started jerking himself hard with one hand, his other hand still resting on my head.

“Do it in my mouth,” I said.

He didn’t react for a few seconds, going to town on himself, then suddenly pushed my head back down onto him, and I felt the pulses empty his seed into my mouth, the sour but satisfying tasted landing on my tongue, telling me how he tastes on the inside. 

When he let my head go, I sat back on my heels and breathed.

The apartment was quiet.

"Have you done that before?" he said, after a minute.

"No," I said. "You?"

"Not with a guy," he said.

“That was… hot.”

“Yeah,” he said as pulled his boxers back up. I got back onto the couch. We watched whatever was on TV and didn't talk about it and the afternoon passed in a specific atmosphere of pretending nothing had changed, the only other word we shared for the rest of the day was each of us saying, “night” to the other around 11pm. I went to bed and spanked my willy to the memory and the remnant of taste in my mouth, hoping that the next time would happen sooner rather than later.

—[]—

The next morning, I was still asleep when a knock came on my bedroom door.

It took me a second to place it. Decker didn't normally knock on my door. We didn't have that kind of norm. We existed in shared spaces, the couch and the kitchen, and our rooms were our own, except when he had invited me in to work out. In six weeks he hadn't once knocked on my door when I was in it.

"Yeah," I said.

He pushed it open and stood in the doorway in his underwear, squinting slightly against his own alertness like he'd just barely woken up. I wondered if he had even gone pee yet. He looked at me for a second and then made the jerking off gesture with a loose fist, the universal signal, but it was a strange context for it, first thing in the morning.

“You wanna?” he said.

I looked at him. “Why not a nice…”, then I made the other gesture, chin forward, mouth open, the equally universal signal for a blowjob.

He should have laughed. It was funny. Instead he swallowed, his throat moving visibly, and just stood there.

I reached down and pulled the blanket off myself. I'd been sleeping naked for the past week, a habit that had developed as a response to living with Decker, and there I was, morning wood and all, fully on display in the gray morning light coming through my curtain. He walked over to my bed and looked down at me, and the shape of him in his underwear was already answering its own question.

I reached up and peeled his waistband down.

His hand found the back of my head before he was even all the way out, pushing my face against his body. It was a different situation from the couch, the angle and the position, and he moved with more confidence than the day before, like something had been established and he wanted more from my mouth. I held on to the sheets and let him set the pace and used my free hand on myself as he got faster and faster, even pushing into my throat a couple times. 

I learned to breathe through my nose, but I was quickly a hot mess anyway, spit and throat slime spilling down my chin as his balls slapped my chin. The feeling of him using me like that was surreal and satisfying, and I groaned even more than he did. 

“Here it comes,” he said, and I jerked myself harder, wanting to have my climax while his taste in my mouth was at its freshest. 

His pace got sloppy just about the time I went over the edge, and just as I started shooting onto my abs, I felt his warmth enter me and give me my morning dose of protein.

He straightened up and looked down at me for a moment, slowly pulling out. His expression was hard to read, but I had figured out enough to be happy with what had happened, regardless of his thoughts on it. Then he went to the bathroom and I heard the shower start and I lay there on my back looking at the ceiling with a specific feeling in my chest that I decided try to cover with a cup of coffee.

—[]—

We took the train to the office without talking about it. I saw my reflection in the window and could see how red my eyes still were. I looked at Decker.

“Look at my eyes, dude,” I said. He smiled. 

“Lookin’ good still,” he said with a wink. 

At the office, Decker was quieter than usual. He looked at me a few times across the desk cluster, but I could tell he was just thinking about me. I looked back a couple times when I caught it, and he'd shift his eyes to his screen.

Tony was doing his usual thing, which that morning involved a recap of the weekend’s debauchery, delivered at normal conversational volume in an open office. I'd stopped registering most of it. It was like traffic noise after a while.

The boss came over mid-morning with a new project, a thick folder and a USB drive and an expression that indicated this was not optional and was not going to be simple. He set it on the edge of the intern cluster and looked at all four of us.

"This is for big boys," he said.

I muttered it without thinking about it. "That means Tony."

The boss turned and looked at me with forty-year-old eyes that had seen enough to know what I had meant, maybe.

"What do you mean?" he said.

"Nothing," I said. "I've got it."

He held the look for one more second. Across the cluster, Decker opened his laptop and I heard the specific quality of silence that meant he was laughing without making any noise.

"This is a team project," the boss said. "All four of you. Don't dump it on Tony. I'm counting on you." He walked away.

Tony exhaled through his nose. "Thanks for that," he said, and reached for the folder.

We worked through lunch. The project was dense and detailed and required actual thought, which was at least good for keeping me out of my own head for a few hours. Decker and I found a rhythm on the parts that overlapped, working without talking much, passing documents back and forth. By four o'clock we had most of it done. By five-thirty Tony had made exactly one meaningful contribution and had gotten up to use the bathroom four times.

We made the deadline, and just as we finished, Tony grabbed the pile of paperwork. “I’ll hand it in,” he said.

“No,” Decker said, taking the folders from him. “Nick’ll hand it in. He earned it.”

I smiled at Decker as he handed me the folder, and passed me a barely perceptible wink.

—[]—

We went home separately, and Decker got home late. I heard the key in the lock and then the door and then a long sigh. He dropped his shoes by the door. His jacket went on the hook. His shirt came off before he'd fully made it to the living room and his pants followed at the edge of the couch, and he dropped onto the cushion in his underwear with a long exhale aimed at the ceiling.

"My parents are visiting," he said.

"Nice," I said.

"Meh," he said.

I looked at him. He was staring at the ceiling with the specific exhaustion of someone who loves their family and had nonetheless been performing for them all evening. The TV was on low. Whatever was playing wasn't important.

"You want to take a load off?" I said, making the same jerking off gesture that we had started the day with.

He turned his head and looked at me.

"Long day," he said. "I just want to watch TV."

"So watch it," I said, and reached over and put my hand on him through his underwear.

He looked at me for a second, and then looked at the TV as he played with the remote, choosing a movie and hitting play.

He watched the movie while I lay across the couch with my face at his crotch. I peeled off his underwear, working his dick out into view, and putting my mouth on it. I don't remember what the movie was. I don’t think I saw a single frame of it. It was long, which worked in everyone's favor. My hand worked slowly, following my lips as I tried to very slowly help him relax. 

I worked slowly and deliberately, but within a couple minutes he seemed ready to blow already. I paused, having practiced edging on myself for a long time. I didn’t want him to pass out and fall asleep yet. When his throbbing retreated back to its basal rate, I started again. Every time I felt him getting close I eased off and came up and waited, and he'd exhale slowly and his hand would move in my hair and I'd go back down. He pushed down on my head every few minutes, like he was just testing my limits. He held himself in my throat a few times and I found, each time, that I could hold it longer than I expected, longer than made sense, breathing through it in slow measured pulls through my nose while he stayed still and the muscle of his thigh flexed under my hand.

His other hand rested on the back of the couch. Sometimes he'd look down at me and sometimes he'd watch the movie, and both felt like different versions of the same thing. Occasionally he'd push a little, not hard, just a reminder of direction, and I'd take it and work back into the rhythm.

When the credits rolled, I looked up at him and he looked down at me and we shared a telepathic understanding. I looked him in the eye as I jerked him hard, squeezing the wet tip and making loud sloshing sounds. When he inhaled sharply I dropped my head and swallowed him completely, letting his steel hard rod pulse in my throat. He groaned and put both hands on my head, his hips thrusting upward. The strange angle of a hard dick threatening to enter my stomach was insane, let alone the feeling of pulsing jizz flowing through a tube directly into my esophagus. I stayed with it and let him finish. He finally let go and I pulled back just a few inches, breathing around his dick as I tried to milk the last of him out onto my tongue. I got a couple drops, but the majority of his load was already in my stomach, and that was satisfying enough. 

“Duuuuude,” he said, letting his head drop back onto the back of the couch. “Thank you for that.”

“I liked it,” I said. 

“I LOVED it,” he replied, staring at the ceiling. “You’re the best.”

“It was hot,” I said, pulling myself out of my underwear finally, my puddle of pre-cum dripping all over the place. 

He dropped a hand down without looking, and grabbed me. 

“You’re the best roommate I’ve ever had,” he said as he started working me, spreading my pre-cum around. It felt like heaven.

“You’re so hot,” I said.

“You are.”

“You’re gonna make me cum,” I said. 

“Then cum,” he said, and I went over the edge. 

He looked down as he jerked me off onto my own stomach.

“Dirty boy,” he said as he milked out my last drop. 

I collapsed down onto the couch, pulling my underwear back up.

He got up after a minute and went to the shower without saying anything. I sat back on the couch and noticed, for no sensible reason after two hours, that I felt something like incompleteness. Not dissatisfaction. Just the strange hollow that follows when something you've been focused on entirely is suddenly done. It didn't make sense. I sat with it anyway, trying not to dwell on it.

He came out of the bathroom naked, rubbing a towel on his head, drying his hair. When he looked up, I could see how relaxed he was.

He stood in the living room and started to say something. “Do you wanna…” and then he didn't finish. He looked at me for a second, and then he just slowly turned his naked body around, and walked into his room.

I understood.

I got up and followed him.

He pulled back the covers and got in and I came in after him and lay on my back on the far edge of the mattress, tentative, not sure what the geometry of this was supposed to be. The room was dark. Outside the window the city did its thing.

He reached over and put a hand on my shoulder and pushed me onto my side, away from him, and then his arm came around me from behind and his chest was against my back and the weight of his arm across my ribs was warm and strong, and I lay there and felt my eyes get heavy almost immediately, a wave of euphoria washing through me.

I was asleep before I had a single additional thought.