Home

Pete listened. The walls were thin, the noises loud. His fingers rubbed idly around his belly, occasionally sneaking down the treasure trail and into his pubes, twisting and pulling, then back up. He was struggling with a mixture of emotions, but eventually arousal won out, and his hand went lower, stroking in time with the thumping from the next room. As the cries became more unrestrained a look of disgust distorted his features, but he couldn't help speeding up with them.

He could hear a muffled male voice grunting orders,"Shut up and take it, slut," then as the rhythm became more urgent, "Come for me, bitch, come for Daddy."

Pete whined and obeyed. He wiped his dripping hand down the side of the bed, before falling into a fitful sleep, full of dark dreams.

The next morning he couldn't look Jack in the eye, but his flatmate didn't notice, he was always cocky the day after a conquest.

"Has she gone?"

"Yeah, I gave her the money for a taxi,"

Pete hadn't needed to ask really, Jack didn't want to waste his time with someone after he'd fucked them. "Ever the gentleman."

"She wasn't complaining," Jack said half to himself, indulging in a cruel, self satisfied smile.

Pete's face flushed, he knew he should have just gone to his room, but a part of him enjoyed being tortured like this. He ate his toast, watching his friend casually, glancing away if he looked up from the newspaper. Jack always had an invisible glow of confidence, but the day after sex it seemed seemed more intense. When this was combined with his half-dressed scruffiness and unwashed, musky smell, Pete just wanted to roll onto his back and submit. He felt a hard on starting and went to do the washing up to distract himself.

"What are you doing today, then? Fancy coming to the market?" he called over from the sink, hopefully.

Jack screwed up his face. "Naah, I'm gonna go back to bed. Didn't get much sleep, you know..."

Those silly fantasies of them being a couple, out doing everyday, domestic tasks would have to wait. Paul got ready and left the flat with only a few vivid flashes of kneeling, servicing, licking...

---

The shopping put away, Pete walked towards his room and realised that the music he could hear was coming from there, not from Jack's room. What the fuck? He waited for a few moments, not really knowing how to process this, partly excited at the possibilities, partly concerned for his precious records.

He couldn't stand it any longer, and his hand turned the doorknob. Jack was sprawled on his bed, in his underpants, flicking through the porn he'd found in the bottom drawer. It was a fantasy come to life, but his stomach crawled and his sweat felt like insects.

"Ahhhh, finally! Were all the stalls run by cute boys again?" His casual dig was offered with a hot, nasty sneer.

Pete was frozen by the door, frantically running through possible reasons for this invasion, but all he could manage to mumble was a hesitant "What...?"

Jack got up and walked over to change the record. "Sit down, mate, I just thought it'd be nice to hang out a bit, fair enough?"

"Yes, yes, of course, fine..." Pete perched on the edge of his bed as if he was an interloper, but his strange host waved at him to relax back on the pillows. He was starting to get a little giddy from the smell left on them, when he realised what the album was, and went cold.

He looked over at his flatmate, who was now sat by the desk with his arms folded and a dark fire in his eyes. The magazine hadn't done anything for him, but now his cock was obviously starting to thicken through his thin shorts. Pete's rose helplessly too, his breathing quickened, his mind slowed down. All involuntary, conditioned responses to the music he'd been wanking to since he was a teenager.

"So, here's the thing," Jack drawled in a low voice, "I'm going to tell you what to do, and you're going to do it. Not 'cos I want to fuck you, I ain't a queer, and even if I was you ain't all that. You're just going to give me some entertainment."

Pete's thoughts didn't seem to be connecting, the situation was so bizarre that it was easier to pretend this was all just a dream. He knew Jack was a control freak, he was always taking advantage of Pete's crush to get him to do things, but this was way beyond that.

"Undo your trousers. Touch yourself." Fine, his erection was straining painfully against his fly anyway. "Tell me something that'll make me hard."

There was no end to how strange this was going to get. Pete racked his increasingly fuzzy head for something that would excite his friend. The sight of a submissive boy wanking didn't seem to be driving him wild, but there must be something he was getting out of this.

"I can't think straight, Jack, why are you being such a bastard?" he gasped, and was rewarded with a twitch in the other man's pants, a flash in his gaze.

Of course, it made sense, thinking about the girls he brought home, they weren't bimbos, they were intelligent, successful women. People who had something to lose, who knew what it meant that he could reduce them to drooling, needy holes.

Pete grinned inside. He knew how to play this game. "It's this music, why did you have to put this one on?" Always show them you know how clever they are.

"I thought you'd appreciate it. I can tell what you're doing in here when you blast this shit you know." Now Jack was starting to get aroused for sure, and he somehow seemed even more attractive as his guard slipped a little.

"I know, I'm sorry, I just can't stop myself, what do you think it's like for me living with you?" Pete's voice was soft and contrite, "Having to watch you seduce all those girls, finding their weak spots, the right words, the right touch to get under their defences..."

His flatmate grunted and stuck his hand down his pants. "Fuck it, you like it. You like the angst, you fucking emo."

He wasn't wrong, for all his affectedly lowbrow language, Jack was a total killer at seeing exactly how people worked. Now it was time for Pete to see if he could do the same. He slid lower down the bed and allowed all his shame and desire to the surface. "Don't call me that," he whispered, eyes wet and wide.

"Fucking. Skinny. Ugly. Pathetic. Emo. Stalker." Every word was punctuated with a thrust of his fist, and Pete echoed the movement, tongue wetting his lips.

"I can't help it. I want you."

Their eyes locked, one pair full of disgust, the other pair full of self-disgust. The fizzing emotion bouncing backwards and forwards, increasing in power with every desperate breath.

Pete's lust was making it hard for him to think, the music was pounding, this was normally the money shot, but he had to find a way to push his friend over the edge first or he'd lose this unspoken game.

Jack laughed softly, walked towards the bed, held his dick just a fraction too far away for Pete's to brush against it. "You little fuckwit," he said almost kindly, as he slowed down the pace of his hand to an aching tease, "you're supposed to lose."

Pete looked into his eyes, so cold and calm, and realised he'd been kidding himself. Jack nodded his permission and Pete tipped over the edge, cum roping over his own chest, pulling out his heart and will with it.

His tormentor chuckled and put his cock away. "Good boy. Now, get cleaned up and make some dinner. I'll want something before I go out."

Pete was still breathing hard as his flatmate left the room. He knew he should feel humiliated, embarrassed, used, and of course there was a layer of that floating on the surface, but deeper than that, where it counted, he felt like he was home.