Dad, son and his roommate Part 1

By The Lazy Pornographer 
 
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Dad, son and his roommate Part 1

The September sun hung low over the campus, casting long shadows across the car park as Mark eased the estate car into a space outside the halls of residence. His son, Tom, had already bounced out with the energy of an eighteen-year-old finally free of home, lugging a duffel bag and chattering about freshers’ week. Mark, forty-two, still in his work shirt with the sleeves rolled up, followed more slowly, carrying the heavier boxes.

The room was on the second floor - shared, of course. Tom had been assigned a roommate named Jamie. When the door swung open, Mark’s first thought was that the lad looked older than most of the students milling about outside. Tall, broad-shouldered, dark hair falling just past his collar, a sharp jaw shadowed with stubble. He wore a simple black T-shirt that stretched across a solid chest and low-slung jeans. His eyes were a cool grey, and they flicked over Mark with frank interest before settling on Tom with an easy smile.

“You must be Tom. Jamie.” He stuck out a hand, grip firm. Then, to Mark: “And Dad, I take it?”

“Mark,” he corrected, feeling an unexpected heat under the younger man’s gaze.

They unpacked together. Tom talked non-stop while Jamie helped shift furniture, muscles flexing under the thin cotton of his shirt. Every so often those grey eyes would catch Mark’s, lingering a second too long. When Tom announced he was heading down to the union to meet some of the others, Jamie stayed behind, leaning against the desk with casual confidence.

“He’s a good kid,” Jamie said once the door closed. “You raised him well.”

Mark gave a short laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Trying my best. You look like you’ve been here a while.”

“Second year. They stuck me with a fresher this time.” Jamie pushed off the desk and stepped closer. The air between them tightened. “You’re not rushing off, are you?”

Mark should have left. Should have driven home, made dinner, watched the news. Instead he found himself saying, “No rush.”

Jamie’s smile was slow, knowing. He reached past Mark as if to adjust a curtain, but his chest brushed Mark’s arm, solid and warm. The scent of him - clean soap and something darker - filled Mark’s head.

“I’ve been watching you since you walked in,” Jamie murmured. “The way you carry yourself. Quiet. Controlled. Makes me want to see what happens when that control slips.”

Mark’s mouth went dry. “You’re Tom’s roommate.”
“And you’re his dad. We’re both adults.” Jamie’s hand came up, fingers curling lightly around Mark’s wrist. The grip was firm, not rough - yet. “Tell me to stop and I will. But I don’t think you will.”

Mark didn’t. He let himself be turned, guided back against the wall beside the wardrobe. Jamie’s body pressed flush against his, hard muscle and unmistakable erection already thick against Mark’s hip. The younger man’s mouth found his without hesitation - deep, claiming kisses that left Mark’s lips tingling and his cock thickening in his trousers.

“On your knees,” Jamie said, voice low and certain.
Mark’s breath hitched. He sank down, the carpet rough under his knees. Jamie unzipped, freed a heavy, flushed cock that curved up toward his stomach. Mark didn’t need further instruction.

He leaned in, tongue first, tasting salt and heat, then took the head into his mouth. Jamie’s hand settled in his hair, not forcing, just holding, guiding the pace as Mark worked deeper, cheeks hollowing, throat relaxing around the thick shaft.

“That’s it,” Jamie murmured. “Good. Take it properly.”
Mark did. Spit slicked his chin as he bobbed, one hand bracing on Jamie’s thigh, the other stroking what he couldn’t fit. Jamie’s hips rolled in shallow thrusts, testing, then pushing deeper until Mark’s nose brushed the dark hair at the base. He held there, eyes watering, until Jamie pulled him off with a wet pop.

“Stand up. Trousers off.”

Mark obeyed, shucking his clothes with clumsy hands while Jamie watched, still mostly dressed, cock glistening. When Mark was naked, Jamie spun him, bent him over the edge of Tom’s empty bed, and slicked two fingers with spit before pressing them between Mark’s cheeks. The stretch burned, then eased into a deep, aching pressure as Jamie worked him open - scissoring, curling, finding the spot that made Mark’s knees weak and his cock drip onto the duvet.

“Ready for me?” Jamie asked, already lining up.

“Yes,” Mark managed, voice rough.

The first push was slow, relentless. Jamie’s thick cock split him open, inch by thick inch, until he was buried to the hilt and Mark was panting, forehead pressed to the mattress. Jamie gave him a moment, then began to thrust - long, powerful strokes that rocked the bed and forced broken sounds from Mark’s throat. One hand pinned Mark’s hip; the other reached around to stroke his cock in time with the rhythm.

“Look at you,” Jamie growled, leaning over him, breath hot against his ear. “Taking it so well. Your son’s not even out of the building and you’re bent over for his roommate.”

The words sent a shameful jolt straight to Mark’s cock. He pushed back, meeting every thrust, the wet slap of skin filling the small room. Jamie fucked him harder, deeper, angling until every stroke dragged over that sensitive place inside.

Mark came first - spilling over Jamie’s fist with a muffled cry, clenching hard around the cock buried in him. Jamie followed soon after, burying himself deep and flooding Mark’s arse with hot pulses, hips stuttering, a low groan vibrating against Mark’s back.

They stayed locked together for a long moment, breathing hard. When Jamie finally pulled out, the slow drag left Mark feeling open, used, thoroughly claimed. Jamie turned him, kissed him again - gentler this time, almost fond.

“Next time you visit,” Jamie said, wiping them both clean with a discarded T-shirt, “come alone. Or don’t. I’m not particular.”

Mark dressed on shaky legs, the evidence of what they’d done still warm and slick between his cheeks. Outside, Tom’s laughter floated up from the courtyard. Mark met Jamie’s eyes one last time, nodded once, and left the room with the taste of the younger man still on his tongue and the promise of more already settling low in his gut.