4 uni lads share a flat - Part 4

This is a fictional story about 4 seemingly straight British lads who get randomly allocated to share a flat in their first year. I recommend you read Part 1 first.

Sexual action starts at the *****.

I’m relatively new to this and writing it on my phone so please be gentle, but any constructive criticism is welcomed!

Everyone involved is over the age of 18!

—————————————————————

The flat was dark except for the TV, just Finn and Toby were at the flat. Callum was at the library cramming for a mid-term exam that was still a week away. Freddie was at a wine-and-cheese society event, which Toby had rinsed him about for about ten minutes straight. 

Finn and Toby had opted for a quiet night in, settled in front of some action film that they half-watched as cans gathered on the table and floor. Toby sprawled across one end of the sofa, Finn at the other, their bare feet almost touching in the middle. On screen a man in a black car was refusing to die. 

"This film's shit," Finn said.

"You picked it."

“I didn't pick it. It was already on."

"Same thing."

“I think I’ve seen it before.”

“So have I.”

Finn threw a piece of popcorn at him and missed. "Make it interesting, then. We call it. Before it happens. Yes or no. Loser pays a forfeit."

Toby sat up a fraction. "Go on."

The man on screen limped toward a warehouse. Finn pointed. "Does he die? Forfeit, you text the group chat that you've seen Titanic and it made you cry."

Toby considered it. "Yes. At least I think he does."

The man kicked the door in and kept walking. Not dead.

"Pay up."

Toby typed it out, held the phone up so Finn could read it, sent.

"I’ve never seen it," Toby said.

"How have you not seen Titanic?"

Toby just shrugged.

The game found its rhythm. Finn called a car flip, Toby said yes, and the car flipped, and Finn drained the warm dregs of his can in one. Toby called a gunshot, Finn said the woman pulled the trigger, and she did, and Toby ran a lap of the living room in his boxers. 

Then the film slowed. The man had found a building, a party, and a woman in a red dress. She took his hand and led him toward the stairs. 

"Does he make it to the bedroom?" Finn said. 

"Forfeit?" 

“Naked lap. Kitchen counter and back.”

Toby watched the screen. "That it? Fine. Yes." 

The man made it to the door, stopped, turned, and went back down. 

"Strip.” 

Toby stood. Pulled his t-shirt over his head. The glow from the TV caught him — broad shoulders, soft blond fuzz over the chest, and the darker blond trail running down his stomach. Thumbs in the waistband, everything down in one go. His cock swung free: five inches soft, almost as thick as a beer can, the foreskin sitting back so the head was bare and ruddy, a heavy vein running its length. His balls hung full and heavy, the sac shaved smooth. He stood there a beat, letting Finn look, then walked to the kitchen counter and back, bare feet silent on the floor. 

"Happy?" He dropped onto the sofa and didn't cover himself. 

Finn's cheekbones had gone pink. "Your turn."

Toby pointed at the screen. The woman in the red dress, back again. "Does she kiss him? Forfeit — loser strips and stays stripped."

Finn swallowed. "Ummmm ohh shit… yes." He said uncertainly.

She didn't kiss him. She slapped him.

“Oh for fuck’s sake.”

Finn flushed deeper, but stood. T-shirt off — wiry, swimmer's shoulders, freckles scattered across the nose and shoulders, a flat stomach, a faint sandy trail from the navel. Shorts and boxers down together. Soft, he was unremarkable: three inches, the snug foreskin fully hooded, tucked neat between his thighs, compact balls high and tight in their sandy fuzz. The flush ran down his chest. He sat, naked, and didn’t cover up either. 

They sat like that. Two naked lads watching a bad action film. The air had changed, thickened, and neither of them was about to name why.

Finn called the next one. "Does she come back in the next scene? Forfeit - loser has to touch the winner's cock. Hand fully on it. For five seconds."
Toby took first dibs. "No."

The scene cut. She didn't come back. A man in a suit answered the door instead.

"Pay up," Toby said. He leaned back, spread his knees. 

"Go on, then." 

*****

Finn reached over. Closed his hand around Toby’s thick, heavy cock. Five inches of warm hefty weight, the bare head slick against his fingers. He counted under his breath. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. He pulled away like he’d been burnt. A small drop of precum began to form at his piss slit.

"Not enjoying this, are you Toby boy." Finn said.

"Shut up."

Finn set his drink down. The flush had reached his ears. 

“My turn to call.” Toby said. He studied the screen. A car idled outside the building. “Does the car blow up? Forfeit, same deal. Loser's hand on the winner's cock. Full grip. Five seconds.”

Finn took dibs first, “Yes.”

The car went up in a fireball.

“Fuck’s sake” Toby said, and laughed. 

Finn spread his legs “Pay up.”

Toby’s hand on Finn was different. His hand moved before he told it to, and that was the thing, he’d wanted to feel Finn’s cock since the first night. His fingers closed around Finn’s three inch, soft, fully hooded cock confidently. He felt the warmth and aliveness in his palm. The skin was smooth, looser than his own, the snug sleeve of foreskin bunched over the head so it hid the pink entirely. Beneath the skin there was a give, spongy, pliant, the kind of softness that promised hardness. Toby’s thumb found the hooded tip and pressed, gentle, and the foreskin slid, the head a dense knot beneath the loose skin.

He’d imagined this. In the shower, in bed, in the university toilets. What it would feel like to hold Finn’s cock. To roll the foreskin back with his thumb and bare the pink crown. To stroke it slowly until it thickened in his fist. To bend the head and take it, taste the salt and the clean skin, feel it swell against his tongue. Finn’s cock twitched and slowly began to rise into a decent four and a half inch semi. 

“You’re not enjoying this, are you Finn boy?” Toby taunted. “Because that would be gay.”

“Ohh Fuck off Toby, you're playing with it of course it's gonna twitch.”

His thumb worked the foreskin in a slow circle, and he didn’t tell it to. The hood slid back a fraction, baring the faintest rim of pink, then closed again. He did it again. The rhythm of it. The heat of it. 

“I think your five seconds is up” Finn said. His voice had dropped.

Toby let go. His own cock twitched ever so slightly against his thigh, one small jump, barely there. He was surprised he hadn’t gotten harder, and thought that he’d gotten away without Finn seeing. 

Finn had seen it. 

He reached for a can and didn’t look at Toby. The twitch brought back what Liam had told him in a seminar, leaning in close: "Saw Toby head off the same way as Connor after training. Didn’t realise they were that close." Finn had laughed it off, but deep down it had been on his mind for the past few days. He knew something wasn’t right, for starters they lived in opposite directions, and he’d never heard Toby mention Connor’s name. Everyone knew Connor was… fruity at the very least. But Toby, Toby was the straightest lad he knew. Except maybe he wasn’t, he initiated the group wank in the first week, he was fairly confident in handling Finn’s cock, and his cock twitched as he did so - that must mean something. Or maybe nothing. Naked, horny, slightly tipsy, a cock in your hand, that would make any straight guy twitch, right?
And then the tone of the film changed.
The man was in a hotel room, and the woman in the red dress was on her knees. The camera didn't cut away. Her mouth slid down the length of him, and the screen showed everything — the wet shine, the stretch of her lips, the man's hand fisting in her hair, the slow pump of his hips. The sound filled the flat, wet and rhythmic.

"Bloody hell," Finn breathed. "I forgot this bit!"

Neither looked away.

Finn’s heart was going too fast. He was already horny. If he was going to test what Liam had said, now was the moment. 

"First to get hard has to give the other one a BJ," Finn said.

Toby's head turned. "What?" 

"Same game. First to get hard loses. Loser's on his knees." Finn kept his voice easy. "What's wrong, scared?" 

The logic was simple. Toby was straight. A fit bird with a mouthful of cock was going to get him, a straight lad, hard. All Finn had to do was stay soft, and when Toby lost, Finn got a blowjob. A BJ was a BJ, regardless of the gender, and even if it was coming from his flatmate. And if Toby didn't get hard — if he couldn't — then maybe Liam was right, Toby was gay, or at least into boy sex. 

Toby was already calculating. He saw the opening before Finn finished the sentence. The straight-lad cover. The excuse. He could play it, show off that he was straight, and lose on purpose, wanting it while making it look like a defeat.

"Now that’s a proper man’s challenge," Toby said. "She's fit as fuck."

He fixed his eyes on the screen. The girl gagged, pulled back, a string of spit bridging her lips to the man’s shaft. Toby let out a low fuck. Shifted his hips. Skimmed a hand up his thigh. 

Nothing. 

He looked at her, the stretch of her lips, the shine of the man’s cock, the way her throat worked. He tried to want it. Tried to find the heat. There was nothing there. No pull. No stirring. His cock lay soft and heavy against his thigh, and a cold panic settled in his chest: he couldn’t do it.

Not for her. 

So his mind went somewhere else.

His room last night, the door locked, the glow of his phone. The video he’d pulled up at two in the morning in incognito mode. A man on his front, arse in the air, another man’s cock sliding in and out. The sound of it. 

Connor. The shower, the water cascading down Connor’s chest and bum like a waterfall, his hand on his own balls, the look across the shower room that had been recognition. Permission. The weight of Connor’s long cock in his hand. The feeling of his and Connor’s cock and balls meshed together. Connor’s precum rolling down his cock. The salty taste and feeling of Connor dumping his load down Toby’s throat.

His cock stirred, slowly begging to rise as it filled out to a semi.

The lads before he came to uni. Years of them. The lads in the changing rooms at school, the glimpses he’d stolen and filed away. The older boy at the party, a mouth in the stairwell. The fumbling in the dark of a dormitory after lights-out. Hands he’d never learned the names of. 

His cock reached its full rock solid length. 

The bare head flushed dark, the heavy vein stood out, and the whole thing lifted from his thigh, all seven and a half inches of length, six inches of girth, leaking a steady shine from the slit.

Finn’s own cock twitched. A small, treacherous stir as he watched Toby harden, because watching another lad get hard out of the corner of your eye in a dark room did something, whether you were straight or not. He thought about the girl on the screen. Her mouth. He forced himself with all his might to stay soft. His cock pulsed once against his thigh, half-hearted, and he fought it down. It stayed soft. Just. 

And when Toby was fully hard, relief flooded through Finn. Straight. Thank God. Toby was straight, hard as a board for the girl with the mouthful of cock, and Liam was full of shit, and there’d been some innocent reason Toby and Connor had walked the same way after training. 

"Looks like you lost," Finn said.

Toby slid off the sofa onto his knees between Finn's legs. 

Finn’s hands shot out to cover his cock. “Ohhh no dude you don’t need to do that. It was a joke.”
He hadn’t truly thought this far. He didn’t want Toby’s inexperienced, virgin, tooth-filled mouth anywhere near his precious cock, it would probably feel like putting it in a blender.  

"A forfeit's a forfeit." Toby said. 

He gently parted Finn’s hands and took his cock into his hand. Soft, three inches, the foreskin sealed shut. Warm in his palm. He just held it for a moment, feeling the weight he’d felt minutes ago and hadn’t been allowed to want. 

Then he lowered his mouth.

The moment his lips closed over the head, Finn went rigid. His cock thickened against Toby's tongue — six inches, a solid five of girth, the curve filling out, the foreskin peeling back to bare the smooth pink crown. A bead of precum leaked onto Toby's tongue. Finn's hand fisted in Toby's hair. 

Toby worked him slow at first. His tongue pressed flat under the head, then found the frenulum and circled it, light, steady. His lips slid down the shaft, and his hand twisted at the base, keeping the rhythm even. He breathed through his nose and hollowed his cheeks and took him deeper, past the point where anyone doing it for a laugh would stop.

And that was when Finn knew. Toby had got hard watching the girl, sure — that part fit, that part was safe. But the way Toby worked him now didn't fit anything Finn had ever felt. The slow, sure rhythm. The tongue pressing the frenulum. The hand twisting at the base. The way he breathed through his nose and hollowed his cheeks and took him deeper. No straight lad was this good. No straight lad did it like he meant it.

Finn lasted longer than Toby had expected; he'd gathered from the group wank that Finn had a bit of a short fuse. It was almost as if Finn was trying not to cum, or trying — it was hard to tell. His hips twitched up in short aborted thrusts, then he’d force them still, fingers tightening in Toby’s hair, knuckles white. A groan escaped, low and involuntary, and he bit down on it.

Finn stopped trying to be careful. Both hands in Toby's hair, he fucked up into his mouth, the head hitting the back of Toby's throat, and Toby took it, eyes watering, a wet choke that became part of the rhythm. His free hand found Finn’s balls. Compact, and drawn up tight. He rolled them gently, then let his thumb drift lower, past them, to the smooth skin behind. His thumb swept that skin. Finn’s thighs tensed.

Toby’s eyes opened. 

Finn’s legs had fallen open, and there it was, his tight pink hole, shadowed beneath his balls, a little patch of sandy fuzz around it. Toby’s thumb hovered. He wanted to progress. He wanted to feel it give, the heat, the clench, the way any boy answered a finger sliding in.

Not now. Too far. It would scare Finn. 

He let his hands settle on Finn’s inner thigh instead and gripped hard. 

Finn’s hands tightened on Toby’s hair  "I'm—"

Toby didn't pull off. He looked up, mouth full, eyes wet and wide, and Finn came — five hard shots down Toby's throat, and Toby swallowed around the head, throat working, taking every pulse. Then he pulled off slow and wiped his mouth and sat back on his heels.

Finn sagged against the sofa, chest heaving.  He looked down at Toby — lips swollen, eyes wet, cock still hard between his own legs. He should leave it there. That was the sensible thing. 
But his mouth felt dry, and a part of him was curious - curious what it tasted like, Toby’s. What it felt like to be the one on his knees. Not gay. Just curious. He’d done stuff with Freddie the other day and it had been alright, and a BJ was a BJ. It was an opportunity. Plus, Toby had just gone at it like it was the one thing he was born to do, he deserved something in return.

“Your turn," Finn said.

Toby shook his head. "You don't have to."

"I want to."

"That's gay, Finn."

"A BJ is a BJ." Finn slid off the sofa onto the floor in front of him. "Surely you know that." He paused, looked up. "I’ve had enough blowjobs from girls to know that you weren't born that good, Toby. Someone taught you."

Toby's face went still. Mortified. His mouth opened and nothing came out.

"I'll keep my mouth shut," Finn said, quieter. "Just tell me what to do."

Toby's hand found the back of Finn's head. Not pushing. Just guiding. "Use your hand on the base. Watch the teeth. Breathe through your nose. And go slow, you don’t have to take it all."
Finn nodded. He looked at Toby’s cock properly for the first time, all seven and a half inches, thick as his wrist, the bare and ruddy head, wet with precum that hadn’t stopped leaking since he’d gotten hard. Finn’s long fingers slowly traced the vein that ran the length of his cock, following it as it branched near the crown. It was a lot. Bigger than his own, bigger than anything he’d seen in real life.

He leaned in and tentatively took the head between his lips. 

Salt. That was the first thing. Salt and something else, warm and alive. The slick of precum spread over his tongue. He worked the head with his mouth, unsure, and Toby’s hand tightened slightly in his hair.

"Tongue flat. Underneath."

Finn flattened his tongue. The weight of the head settled on it, heavy, hot, and a steady throb that answered his own heartbeat. He slid down, taking another inch, his lips stretching around the girth, Finn’s jaw started to ache immediately. 

“Hand. Base. Twist on the way up.”

Finn’s hand closed around the shaft. His fingers couldn’t fully close, but he made a fist anyway, twisting as he pulled back. Toby’s head dropped against the cushion and a sound came out of him that wasn’t a word. 

That sound did something to Finn. He did it again, hand twisting, mouth working the head, the wet noise of it filling the dark, and Toby’s hips started to move, small helpless thrusts that pushed his cock deeper into Finn’s mouth. 

“Just the head. Use your hand for the rest. Tighter”

Finn obeyed. He took the crown deep, hollowed his cheeks and let his hand work the shaft in the same rhythm. The precum was constant now, slicking his fingers, his chin, the corners of his mouth. His jaw ached. But Finn had become more confident; he slowly began taking more into his mouth. His own cock began stirring again against the corner of his thigh, and he didn’t stop it this time.

“Teeth,” Toby gasped. “Watch the- yeah. Like that.”

Finn found the rhythm. The wet sound. The weight. The way Toby’s thighs trembled under his free hand. He was getting hard again, kneeling there, and he didn’t care, because this was just a forfeit, just a dare, just a blowjob. A BJ was a BJ, it didn't matter who was giving it.  

Toby’s hand fisted in Finn’s hair, “I’m close.”

Finn pulled back just enough, he wanted to watch Toby cum. His hands kept working, fast and slick, and Toby came over his face, thick ropes across his cheek, his nose, his open mouth. Seven shots in total. Toby's chest heaved. His hand fell away from Finn's head.

They sat in the dark. The film still played, sound low, the wet noises gone from the screen. Neither moved to cover up.

Toby's voice was wrecked. "If you tell anyone about this, I'll kill you."

Finn wiped his face with the back of his hand. "I won't."

"Say it."

"What happens in this flat stays in this flat."

The film kept playing. Nobody reached for the remote.

—————————————————————

If you like this then I have some other stories on my profile!

Like I said I’m new to this and it written in a bit of a rush, but constructive criticism is welcomed.

If, like me this story made you get your cock out and wank, dm me - I wanna here about it or see it… ;)