He was right, though. My grandparents had insomnia and woke easily at night. Opening the upstairs door now might keep them up till morning. Their health mattered more than my discomfort.
So I swallowed my unease and let him share the bed. I warned: “Sleep properly! Or I’ll tell Grandpa and Grandma first thing!”
In this situation, threats were all I had. But deep down, an inexplicable anxiety gnawed at me.
Finally getting to sleep should’ve thrilled me. Instead, I instantly regretted my decision. The moment he slipped under the mosquito net, he stripped off his shirt and pants, leaving only tight white briefs. In the dim light, the fabric strained sharply at the front—definitely not my imagination.
I frowned. “What the hell are you doing now?”
He pulled the blanket to his waist. “Too hot. Just cooling off. Guys together—what’s there to hide?”
I grumbled: “Guys or not, have some decency!”
He laughed casually: “What’s lost by being decent? Or is ‘decent’ running away the second you see someone’s package—like you did earlier?”
I swallowed hard, equal parts angry and embarrassed, then yanked the blanket over my head. He kept teasing: “Thought with all those dorm guys you’d seen plenty by now. Didn’t know you were so shy!”
I snapped: “Shut up and sleep—we’re opening the shop early.”
He ignored me: “Nah, stay up and talk. You handle the shop tomorrow; I’ll sleep in.”
I tuned him out, turning away. Truth? I couldn’t sleep with him chattering. Even if we were real cousins, he’s a guy—and I’m gay. How could I relax next to a hot dude in nothing but briefs, sporting an obvious hard-on?
I stayed still, hoping he’d think I was asleep and shut up. Instead, after no response: “Asleep? Asleep? Asleep?”
Each “asleep?” came with a touch—first chest, then stomach, then he grabbed my cock through my shorts and squeezed.
He chuckled softly: “Asleep but your dick’s rock-hard?”
I was helpless against his shamelessness. Two choices: keep pretending to control myself, or stop him—and explain my erection?
I chose to play dead—no reaction to words or touches. Part fear, part thrill. Thrill from groping a stud; fear because we’re cousins—guilt gnawed at me. Playing dead meant whatever happened was on him, not me.
Everything was crystal clear now—he definitely wanted me. After grabbing my dick with no reaction, he grew bolder. He rubbed me over the fabric without hesitation, then felt my racing heartbeat on my chest. He giggled: “Faking it, huh?”
I couldn’t fight the lust, but couldn’t cross the line either. He didn’t seem to care about lines. Fair point—we’re both guys; no babies, no “inbreeding” worries.
With every second, he got braver. From outside my shorts, his hand slipped inside, stroking my bare cock. He whispered: “Going commando at home? Naughty boy.”
Being jerked by someone else was new and intoxicating—I got insanely excited. My breathing turned ragged, uncontrollable.
He stroked root to tip: “A bottom with a thick, veiny cock like this? Rare find!”
He didn’t know I’m actually a vers bottom. In love, I’d top for the right guy. But pure sex? Top or bottom—who cares, as long as it feels good.
After playing enough, he smoothly tugged my shorts down. I wondered how many people he’d done this with—his grip was perfect, neither too loose nor tight. No way this was new to him.
His other hand pushed my shirt to my chin, teased my nipples till they hardened, then sucked one. Best tongue I’d ever felt—each lick made my cock twitch. His hand kept steady on my shaft.
I lay frozen; he sat beside me. “Playing dead” was pointless now. But even if I wanted to, he wouldn’t let me. He took my hand, guided it to his crotch. He’d already freed his cock from his briefs—placing it in my palm.
Feeling him made me harder. Huge—longer than mine by half a handspan. Rock-solid, slight upward curve (probably how he tucked it). Trimmed pubes, head proportional to the shaft.
I explored greedily. Then he swallowed my cock. Expert—deep-throating, tongue never leaving the skin, tracing every vein from base to tip.
I stifled a gasp. He paused, pulled off: “Damn good at sucking. Bet you’ve blown the whole dorm, huh?”
I didn’t argue—mouth busy on him was better. But for an experienced guy like him, that wasn’t enough. He spread my legs, fingers probing my hole. The touch made me clench.
He glanced back: “Still a virgin?”
I hummed yes, signaling stop. He got it—I was saving my first for a boyfriend—so he just rubbed gently outside. But those circles alone made me shiver with pleasure.
While he teased my hole, I returned the favor. He knelt straddling me, ass right in my face. I wet my middle finger and circled his rim. No resistance—so I added more spit and eased inside.
He jolted upright: “No!”
I didn’t stop—slow in-and-out. Feeling his walls grip my finger was fascinating. No wonder tops love fucking asses.
I kept fingering steadily despite his protests. Soon he sat bolt upright, trembling: “Stop… stop! It itches… itches too much!”
Confused—itch? Mosquito bite? I lost the mood and pulled out. He rolled beside me, legs straight, one crossed over the other, squirming.
Back to me, one hand clutching his ass: “Itches… itches so bad!” Gasping in distress.
Panic replaced horniness: “What’s wrong? Where? I’ll scratch it.”
Breathless: “You… you started it… scratch for me tomorrow… don’t ignore me in the morning!”
I nodded vaguely. Suddenly he dove back down, sucking me hard again till I was fully erect. Confused: “What now? Where’s the itch?”
He cut me off: “Close your eyes—I’ll show you where to scratch!”
I obeyed. He guided my hand to his waist. Before I could scratch, ecstasy hit—my cock enveloped in tight, warm heat. I thought throat—but impossible in this position.
I opened my eyes: Minh Quang straddling me, sinking down on my cock.
Eyes open, he started riding. I panicked: “Wait—what? Where’s the itch?”
He gasped: “Inside! Only… only this… scratches it!”
Panic and bliss hit simultaneously. His ass was hotter, tighter than anything—riding greedily, fast and deep, swallowing me to the root.
I joined in, teasing: “Thought you were a top… turns out you’re the girl?”
Writhing in pleasure, hands braced for leverage: “I am a top! Vers top! If you hadn’t fingered me… I wouldn’t have shown you!”
So that’s it—doesn’t bottom unless triggered. Once the itch starts, only a cock scratches it.
First time topping a guy—mind-blowing. Like Quốc Bảo’s first time, I knew I wouldn’t last. Goal: make him cum first.
Face-to-face, I grabbed his cock and stroked. Still rock-hard—probably from double stimulation. His desperate moans drove me wild, but I clamped a hand over his mouth—noise would wake everyone.
He rode faster; my cock throbbed inside. I jerked him quicker—head swollen and slick. He pulled my hand away, frantic: “I’m close! So good… cock and ass at once… fuck, gonna die… Hưng, cum inside me! Ah… Ah… I’m cumming first! Can’t hold it… Ah… Ah…!”
Hot ropes shot across my stomach, some hitting my face. As he came, his ass clenched rhythmically—milking me so tight I lost control.
I gripped his hips, slammed him down, buried deep, and unloaded. My cock pulsed, flooding his insides. We panted together; I slowly pulled out—cum leaking, dripping onto my stomach.
After cleanup, he pulled me into his arm, even kissing my cheek. Calm returned—guilt crept in. This wasn’t right. He read my face: “Regrets now? Too late—already done!”
I sighed, pushed him away: “Sleep like this and Mom sees tomorrow? Disaster.”
He pouted: “Set an alarm—we’ll separate early. Auntie won’t know!”
I stayed still. He kissed my forehead, hugged me: “Wish we weren’t cousins… Come back soon so I can do this again.”
I ignored the clinginess. He whined: “Can I hold you?”
I didn’t answer—but wrapped an arm around him. He pushed: “One kiss? Please!”
I gave in—cheek, forehead, hair. Satisfied, he fell asleep smiling.
I knew those hugs and kisses meant more to him than the sex. In my heart, I just hoped Minh Quang would find someone good someday—someone who wouldn’t judge his past, understood his feelings, and embraced this grown-up wearing a child’s scars.