Sticks, Tricks, and Dicks – Part 4

Everyone in this story is 18+.

The morning light filtered through the blinds of my dorm, casting soft golden stripes across the rumpled sheets where Chris and I lay tangled, his arm a heavy, comforting weight over my waist. The room was quiet, save for the faint hum of the heater kicking on, the air thick with the sweet scent of our night—sweat, sex, and the woody undertone of his cologne clinging to the fabric. My head pulsed faintly from the homecoming beer, but his presence dulled the ache, his broad, muscled body pressed close, the heat of his skin seeping into mine. His cock was half-hard against my thigh, stirring as he shifted, brown eyes blinking open slowly, a lazy, knowing grin spreading across his handsome stubbled face.

"Morning, kid," he said, voice rough with sleep, his hand sliding down my chest, fingers tracing the hard lines of my abs with a almost torturous slowness that sent a shiver through me. They dipped under the waistband of my briefs, brushing the base of my dick, already twitching to life. "Don’t start something you can’t finish," I teased, arching into his touch, my breath hitching as he wrapped his fist around my heavy morning wood, stroking with a firm, practiced grip.

"Who says I can’t?" he shot back, his lips brushing my ear, the warmth of his breath making my skin prickle. His thumb circled the head, slick with precum, and I groaned, reaching back to find his thick shaft, seven inches of veiny, morning glory pressing against my hip. I matched his rhythm, my hand gliding over the skin, feeling him harden fully, his balls heavy and smooth as I cupped them. His free hand pinched my nipple, a sharp jolt shooting straight to my core, and I bucked into his fist, hips rolling instinctively.

"Fuck, Chris," I gasped, my voice breaking as he sped up, twisting at the base, his grip tightening just right. He kissed my neck, teeth grazing the skin, sucking a faint mark. "Cum for me," he growled, low and commanding, and I did—hot ropes of cum spilling over his hand, my body shuddering with the release, muscles clenching. He groaned against my shoulder, his own orgasm hitting seconds later, shooting across my back, sticky and warm, his cock pulsing in my grip as he milked himself dry. We lay there, panting, his cum cooling on my skin, his arms wrapping me up in a post-sex haze, his chest rising and falling against my back.

"Gonna miss this," he said after a while, his voice softening, fingers tracing idle patterns on my abs. We stayed like that, savoring the closeness, before disentangling to clean up. The small bathroom steamed as we shared the shower, water cascading over us—his broader frame brushing mine, my leaner build pressing back, our hands roaming lazily, trading soft kisses under the spray. We dressed slowly, him in his faded tee and jeans, me in a hoodie and sweats, the reality of his departure settling in. He zipped his duffel, slinging it over his shoulder with a sigh. "Work’s calling me back," he said, pulling me in for one last kiss in the room—deep, lingering, his tongue exploring mine, stubble scraping my chin, a promise in the press of his lips.

We walked out to the parking lot, the campus stirring with hungover stragglers and the rustle of fallen leaves, the air crisp with late September bite. His black sports car gleamed under the weak sun, and he tossed his bag into the trunk. "C’mere," he said, cupping my face with both hands, drawing me into another kiss—firm and public, his tongue brushing mine briefly, the taste of him mingling with the morning chill. A few students glanced as they passed, one whistling low, but I leaned into it, savoring the boldness, my hands gripping his jacket. He pulled back, thumb tracing my lip, a smirk tugging at his mouth. "Keep living, kid. Call me with the details—every messy bit."

I nodded, throat tight, watching him slide into the driver’s seat, the engine rumbling to life. He waved, pulling out, taillights fading down the road, leaving me with that familiar ache of missing him already. As I turned to head back, Jake appeared, blue eyes wide. He didn’t say a word, just nodded awkwardly, his jaw tight, and kept walking, disappearing around the corner toward the quad.

◆◆◆

That night, Delta Chi transformed into a pulsing epicenter of chaos—the basement a throbbing jungle of bodies under flickering strobe lights, trap beats rattling the walls with a relentless bass that vibrated through my chest. The air was thick with sweat, spilled beer pooling on the sticky floor, and the faint haze of vape smoke curling upward, mingling with the shouts and laughter. Jake and I dove in headfirst, claiming the kitchen as our battleground, shotgunning beers with reckless abandon. Foam sprayed as he out-chugged me, slamming his empty can down with a triumphant yell, his laugh booming over the music. "Beat your ass again, Grayson!" he crowed, yanking me into a sloppy headlock, his arm locking tight around my neck, his chest heaving against my back as we stumbled, laughing like fools, the crowd cheering us on. We hadn’t talked about earlier that day yet, but I knew it was going to come up at some point.

But first, we dominated the beer pong table next, the crowd forming a loose circle around us—Jake’s aim was deadly, his tongue poking out in concentration as he sank shot after shot, the ping-pong ball splashing into the cups with satisfying plops. "Teamwork, man!" he shouted, high-fiving me with sticky palms, our fingers lingering a beat too long, his eyes sparkling under the flashing lights. I matched his energy, sinking a few myself, the alcohol loosening our moves, our bodies brushing as we leaned in for the next throw, thighs pressing together, the heat of him cutting through the chill of the beer. We moved on to Jägerbombs in the corner, the liquor burning sweet and sharp down my throat, the room tilting as the shots piled up, faces blurring into a kaleidoscope of grins and shouts.

His arm stayed slung over my shoulders, pulling me close during a frat chant, his breath hot on my ear as he whispered a dumb quip about Tyler’s ridiculous man-bun, both of us cracking up till tears stung, the laughter shaking our frames. We danced through the crowd, dodging spilled drinks and flailing limbs, his hand gripping my wrist to guide me through the chaos, our steps syncing like we’d been doing this forever. The party hit its fever pitch—bodies grinding on the dance floor, shots circulating like currency, the air electric with energy—and the spins took hold, the room spinning faster than I could keep up. "Let’s find a breather," Jake slurred, his voice thick, guiding me upstairs with a steady hand on my lower back, the bass fading to a dull thump as we escaped to an empty guest room.

The door clicked shut, muffling the chaos, and we flopped onto the bed, a heap of booze-soaked clothes—his hoodie half-zipped, revealing the V of his tanned chest, my tee twisted up my abs, exposing my navel and the faint trail of hair below. We goofed around like kids, wrestling on the mattress, him pinning me down with a laugh, his weight solid and warm, then me flipping him with a grunt, our breaths coming fast, faces inches apart. "You’re such a pushover," he teased, his hands on my sides, fingers digging in ticklishly, making me squirm and laugh till my sides ached. He rolled off, lying beside me, both of us catching our breath, the room spinning slower now, the silence between us thick with something new.

Then he leaned in, lips grazing mine—soft, tasting of Jäger and beer, a hesitant exploration. I kissed back, slow and deep, our tongues brushing, his body shifting closer, chest pressing mine, heat surging between us like a live wire. We broke apart, panting, foreheads touching, the air crackling.

"Shit! Sorry," Jake blurted, pulling back fast, his face flushing crimson, blue eyes wide with panic. "You and Chris are a thing, right? I saw you—kissing goodbye outside. Fuck, I didn’t mean to overstep—"

I sat up, heart slamming, grabbing his arm to stop him from bolting. "Wait. Yeah, we are. But it’s not that simple. Let me explain." He nodded, settling back, his expression a mix of guilt and curiosity, his hands twisting in his lap as I took a deep breath and spilled it all—the raw, messy truth. "Chris and I have a history. It started on a college tour here, I was nervous, scoping campuses, feeling lost. He had business in town—my step-uncle by marriage, he was married to my Aunt. We shared a room—we ended up fucking, fucking till dawn. It was my first time. Then back home, my graduation party—he showed up, we snuck to my room while my parents toasted downstairs, went at it again, harder, like we couldn’t get enough, the risk making it hotter. After that, London—a week-long trip, just us. Explored the city by day—Tower Bridge, pubs, the Eye—then fucked nonstop at night. Flip-fucking in the hotel, shower sex with the glass fogging up, waking up to blowjobs every morning. When I left for college, we agreed to keep it open—honest, no strings on exploring. He’s my confidante, Jake. Knows about everything—how it felt free, wild. He encourages it, even if it stings him a little. Seeing me live like this, chasing what I want, makes it worth it for him. But I’m open to more—dating, hooking up with other guys. You... that camp shower, tonight—it’s real for me. If you’re up for it, I am too. But I won’t push."

Jake’s mouth dropped, eyes widening in stunned disbelief, a flush creeping up his neck to his ears. "Step-uncle? Holy fucking shit, Grayson—that’s your in-law? And London? A whole week of that? Tower Bridge by day, ass-up by night? Damn, that’s... insane. Hot as hell, but insane. You’ve been living this secret life. You’re out there exploring, and I’m just... freaking out over liking guys." He ran both hands through his hair, pacing the small room, the bed creaking as he moved, his voice rising with each step. "Chris being family—that’s huge. Like, family family? And he’s cool with you hooking up? My head’s spinning."

I nodded, watching him process, my stomach knotting with a mix of relief and nerves. "Yeah. Started innocent, turned into this. He’s okay with it—jealous sometimes, sure, but he wants me to live. I tell him everything. And you... I like you, Jake. A lot. That kiss—it meant something. But I get it—you’re not out, not ready. Take your time."

He stopped pacing, turning to me, his breath uneven, hands dropping to his sides. "Fuck, man... that’s a lot. Chris being your step-uncle-in-law? Wild. And you’re open? That kiss—I wanted it. Bad. Still do. But I’m scared shitless. Not out, not even to myself half the time. Give me time, okay? This is... big."

"Take all you need," I said, our eyes locking, his shoulder brushing mine as he sat back down, the tension easing into something warmer, more fragile. "We’re solid as friends—best friends even. That’s enough for now."

He grinned, small but real, leaning back against the headboard. "Besties, and speaking of exploring... exited about that field trip to Canada? Hockey and figure skating freshers going, before the season officially starts. Team-building—scrimmages, ice time?”

"Hell yeah," I said, matching his grin, the idea sparking excitement. "Us against the skaters? Gonna be epic!”

Jake laughed, the sound lightening the room, his head tilting back—till the conversation finally softened, yawns creeping in. He flopped back fully, and I joined him, our bodies side by side, arms brushing, the warmth of him pulling me under as we drifted off together, the night settling into a quiet, charged peace.