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Roommate, The (by Xyggurat)
|It was dark in my dorm room, but the lines of everything were blurred as if with heat. A faint golden cast spilled over everything, its source a branch of candles positioned next to the bed on a small stand.
I looked down. Sweat was trailing down the tensed musculature of my chest. Lisa lay beneath me, deep blue eyes vacant with pleasure, breaths coming in wild gasps. I was already partially inside her, and I eased the rest of my dick in. Her nails left furrows of pain in the skin of my back. Pain could not detract from those eyes, though: they were jewels in her face, set off by the lustrous gold of her damp hair. The sheets were twined about our limbs like serpents, clenching and unclenching with the force of our lovemaking.
At first, I went slowly, allowing her to adjust to the size of my member. Most girls had difficulty taking it, but Lisa exceptional. Hormones claimed me, and I began thrusting with greater speed and force. She groaned, but not in pain. I pinched her nipples with my hands, and she moaned something I didn't quite understand.
As I soared toward climax, I realized that there was something wrong. Her eyes were the wrong shade, a bit too pale a blue. And her hair was swiftly retreating into her scalp, its unsullied gold corroding into a rusty shade. Realization came over me, and my ardor wilted as I noticed my cock pressed up against an equally hard member. In my terror, I pushed myself away from the man who was definitely not Lisa. I couldn't get away, though. His hands were steel bands around my arms, and the bedsheets were binding me to him.
I jerked awake. The first thing I saw was Phil’s face staring into mine, and only self-control saved me from a physical display of revulsion. I blinked my eyes to clear the sleep away. I’d fallen asleep sitting up, leaning against the wall, still in the T-shirt I’d worn to bed. The first coherent thought I had was that I must have stretched it out, as it didn’t feel quite as snug about my biceps and shoulders as it should have. Phil was only wearing his boxers, as if to confront me with how much muscle he had put on in the last few weeks. He wasn’t large by any means, but his complete lack of body fat made every bit of muscle spring into veined relief.
“Morning, sunshine,” he said, his voice cracking slightly. It sounded deeper than I was used to from him.
After a yawn, I asked, “Coming down with a cold?”
“Naw, man, I feel great,” he said, flexing his arms. I blinked unintentionally at the small muscles that mounded up on his slender body, especially his golf ball biceps. Then he notified me, “You look like shit.”
I felt like it, too. I didn’t feel like I’d slept at all. My muscles were exhausted, and they moaned in protest when Phil asked if I wanted to work out. Against my better judgment, I pulled on my grey workout shirt and parachute pants. As he was changing, I glanced over at Phil, again assessing how much he had grown in just a month. He was definitely larger all over, although that not-terribly-small bulge in his boxers was probably a semi. His legs had always been pretty well-developed from his time as a high school runner, but they were putting on some cut mass now. I felt a surprising bit of heat in my face as he turned around and caught me looking at him. I hoped my face wasn’t as red as I thought. Had I been checking my roommate out?
I glanced around the room uneasily. Our dorm room had a relatively simple layout, with our beds positioned along opposite walls. Mine was positioned under a window; Phil's, a blank wall. Between our beds was a table littered with a few outdated magazines. Phil's desk featured an old computer that was apparently good for little more than looking at porn. He sure never used it to study. I never liked an excess of junk on my walls, and Phil didn't care enough to hang much up. Above my desk was my main concession to decoration: several trophies and plaques displayed in a semblance of order. They weren't all athletic, but I think they made my field of expertise pretty obvious. All of this was reflected by a hanging mirror next to the doorway.
He just chuckled and walked over to me. Anxiety passed away from the pit of my stomach at his wide smile. The friendly expression was pretty alien to his face; I was used to sneers and smirks. He stopped right in front of me and asked, “Ready?”
Inanely, I asked, “Are you getting taller?” Sure enough, the distance between his gaze and mine was not quite as great as I’d become used to.
“Don’t think so,” he said, but he stepped over to his closet and pulled out a folding, rigid measuring stick. I hadn’t seen him buy or make the thing, but it was a good seven feet tall. After getting it straight, he ordered me, “Help me set this thing up.”
I did. He stood against it, and I was surprised to see Phil was just a hair under 5’7. He insisted on measuring me. “6’0, like always,” he told me. I guess I had always been closer to 6 feet than 6’1, and besides, I’d slept in a weird position. They say your spine compresses.
We headed to the gym, leaving the measuring stick standing against our wall, held fast by the ceiling and the floor.
As my muscles had predicted, I did pretty miserably in the gym. Phil told me not to worry about it, as I was still a big guy. I couldn’t quite make 235 on my bench, so I slipped down to 220. My curls were likewise lesser, and I had to settle for 60 pounds with each arm. It was a little disheartening. I don’t think I could have done it at all if Phil hadn’t been offering encouragement.
There was one high point of the day. I had never been fat, but I was trying to get a little more cut to look like Phil. It did wonders for him, and I was pleased to be down to 177 pounds by the call of the scale. I teased Phil about getting fat: he was 136 pounds now, and benching 140. His curls were still miserable: at first, he couldn’t get himself over the 25 pound-per-arm mark. I shamed him up to a pair of 30-pounders.
I was too tired after the workout to want to shower, but Phil’s newfound energy manifested itself. We wound up in the bathroom. Phil headed immediately for the showers, but I stopped to admire myself in the bathroom mirror.
As I had done many a time before, I brought my arm up into a solid flex, admiring the way my baseball-sized biceps pushed out of my arm. With a bit of a smirk on my face and my hair spiked with the sweat of a good workout, I looked dangerous, sexy. My confidence boosted, I went to join my roommate in the showers.
Phil looked at me as I entered, but I walked past him and claimed a shower head. The warmth of the water was soothing at first. It wasn't long, though, before I felt constricted by the steam and heat. It was making me woozy. After a few minutes of leaning against the glassy-smooth wall of the shower, I was almost ready to go to sleep.
The touch of a cool hand on my shoulder startled me into abrupt alertness. Phil was standing behind me, a slight smile on his face. It wasn’t the sort of smile I wanted to see from my roommate. There was a bit of a puckish gleam in his eyes.
He asked me, “You all right, Dane?” I glanced at him over my shoulder, my face heating up again at his closeness, and nodded.
Phil leaned closer. My heart was suddenly pounding, and it felt as if it were pushing all the caffeine at Starbuck’s through my veins. His face was redder than mine, a fact made all the more obvious by his pale white skin. I felt one of his solid little pecs pressing against the middle of my back.
Quietly, I finally stuttered, “W-what are you doing?” I think maybe I was spellbound.
Phil’s voice came, deep in whisper. “I saw you checking me out this morning.”
My heart seized. To my revulsion, the heat spread to my groin, which began to echo with my heartbeat. I was boggled. I couldn’t be getting excited over this! My heart was pounding. A rush of self-disgust fueled my strength, and I rounded on Phil, pushing him firmly away. He slipped, flailed, and fell with a smack of skin and bone against tile. I did not move to help him. I stood there, staring down at my fallen roommate. My fingers fumbled ineffectually over the surface of the wall, trying to turn off the shower. Finally, the stream of water stopped. I pulled the towel down to cover my growing junk.
Phil laughed when I met his eyes. He was lying there with a full-on erection. Judging from what I’d seen of him before, he was at full mast, a little over 5 inches. He was still bigger than I’d expected from seeing him that day after the beach. There was some seepage from the head, paler in hue than the water droplets clinging to his heat-reddened body. He must have been whacking it while we were in the showers. The thought of my body being the source of Phil's arousal tore every pretense of a rational response away from me.
With all the coldness I could muster, I shouted, “What the fuck is wrong with you?”
His laughter dissolved, and his face hardened. “You were checking me out earlier today. I thought—"
“You’re queer?” I demanded, even as I cajoled myself internally for such a stupid question. When he didn’t respond, I shouted, “God damn it! Get the hell away from me!”
“Don’t lie to yourself—“ he began, rising. I pushed him down again, knocking him back onto the floor. My balance was off, and I followed suit. His erect penis left a trail of fresh wetness where it encountered my leg through the slit of my towel. I drew my arm back to punch him, but I didn’t.
Instead, I forced myself to cruel calm. I was holding his head against the tiles, his struggles barely denting my raging strength.
“Don’t ever think about me again, you dirty little pervert," I growled. "I don’t care if you’re gay. I’m not. I’m a hell of a lot bigger than you. I will make you pay for this.”
His cock was still rock hard against the muscles of my thigh. I shifted myself, but it only served to rub up against the shaft of his penis. I saw terror in his eyes, and an uncontrollable spasm went through his body. I felt the cock buck, once, twice, and a spray of white ooze arced out across my bared thigh. Phil was sobbing, at this point, despite the orgasm. My mind was a whirl of emotions, and the lack of sleep from the night before was getting to me. Something strange was going on, I knew it, and I didn’t care. I just wanted Phil to go back to being my apathetic, idiot roommate, and not some pervert who fancied me!
I was in shock, definitely. The world felt like it was spinning. Dizzied, I wiped myself off with my towel. There wasn’t as much cum as I had thought there would be, from the number of spurts. Afterwards, I threw the towel at him and yanked his down from its hook. As I walked away, Phil whispered something to himself. The room swayed around me as I turned to look at him.
Through his tears, he was smiling.
Dizzily, I spun back about and left to get changed.
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