Laundry Room Heat

There was a laundry room on the basement level of our dorm. Flickering lights, dented machines, damp heat that stuck to your skin like sweat. It stank of bleach and mildew and detergent that wasn't doing its job.

Nobody ever came down late; except me.

I liked the quiet. The heat. The fact that I could sit in nothing but a hoodie and boxers, thighs spread, semi-hard from the buzz of the machines and the way the air stuck to my skin. I liked the way it made me feel; alone, wild, unbothered.

But that night?

The door creaked open, and in walked Chris.

Loose grey sweats, black tank that clung to his lean chest, bare feet. Hair messy, jaw sharp, eyes heavy like he hadn't slept or had just woken up from something better. He looked like he wasn't fully in this world. Like he'd come down because something was pulling him here.

He didn't say anything. Just bent over the table, pulling out clothes. A flash of bare skin. No underwear. Just him, thin cotton clinging to his ass, his cock swinging free underneath and fuck, he had to know what he was doing.

He turned, caught me staring.

Didn't flinch.

Didn't smile.

He just looked down at the way I was sitting, legs open, hoodie barely hiding my hard-on and raised an eyebrow like he was waiting for me to do something about it.

"You just gonna stare at my dick," he muttered, "or put it in your mouth?"

That was all it took.

I stood. No hesitation.

I wanted to taste him, swallow him, feel him pulse down my throat. I walked up, dropped to my knees, and tugged his sweats down.

No build-up. No teasing.

His cock flopped out, thick and flushed and already swelling with blood. I wrapped a hand around it, feeling the weight, and kissed the head softly before sliding him into my mouth.

Chris let out a sound like he hadn't expected it to feel that good.

He leaned back against the running dryer, hips twitching as I worked him deeper, spit slicking his shaft as I hollowed my cheeks and started sucking like I'd done this before like I'd been waiting for him.

"Shit," he groaned, voice cracking. "Fucking... damn, your mouth..."

He was big enough to choke on, and I did, eyes watering, nose buried in his pubes, throat stretching around his girth. But I didn't stop. I couldn't stop. I was rutting against the bench, hand inside my boxers, jerking my cock as I worshipped his like it was the only thing I needed.

He started to thrust.

Slow at first, then sharper. More desperate.

His hand tangled in my hair, guiding me, holding me still while he used my throat.

"Yeah," he grunted.

"Just like that. Fuckin' take it."

I looked up. His jaw was tight. Sweat on his forehead. His tank stuck to his chest like it was glued there. And the filth coming out of his mouth?

Unreal.

"You want this, huh? Bet you've been thinking about sucking a cock for weeks. Fapping in your bed like a little freak." "Yeah. You like swallowing other guys' loads, don't you?" My moan vibrated against his shaft, and he groaned at that.

Loud and raw. "Shit. I'm gonna cum. Keep your fuckin' mouth open—don't you dare waste it."

He slammed deep and let go. Hot, thick spurts shot straight down my throat, and I swallowed around him, not letting a drop escape. He kept twitching, gasping, eyes glassy with pleasure. I pulled off slowly, letting his softening cock fall from my lips with a wet sound, spit trailing down my chin.

My own cock was leaking, painfully hard, and I didn't even need to touch it anymore. I was so wound up, so desperate, I felt like I could explode from just the taste of him. Chris stared down at me. "You hard?" he asked, voice still rough.

I didn't answer.

I just stood, dropped my boxers, and let my cock spring free—red and glistening, precum stringing from the tip.

His eyes locked on it, then back up to mine. He dropped to his knees. No hesitation.

He grabbed me by the thighs and took me into his mouth like he was starving for it. Wet, filthy sucks. His tongue lapping under the head, circling it. His eyes looking up at me like he wanted to ruin me. And he did. I came within seconds—loud, gasping, my load flooding his mouth as he moaned around me like he loved the taste.

He swallowed everything, licked me clean, and then stood up, rubbing his mouth with the back of his hand. We both stood there, half-naked in that humid little room, panting, sweating, dripping with each other.

"Dryer's done," I muttered.

He smirked, licking his lips.

"So are we."