FILTHY SHADES OF GAY: A Collection Of Raw MM Erotica

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**Mikel’s pov**

I exhaled heavily.

“Man, holidays next week and my parents are jetting off to some family reunion in the Bahamas. House empty, fridge empty, me just… rotting on the couch for two whole weeks. Sounds like a blast, right?”

Jace, my best friend leaned back in his chair, that easy grin splitting his face, but my mind was already somewhere else after I asked him that question—somewhere dangerous. He had no clue. No one did. I was the shy one with girls, the guy who “just hadn’t met the right one yet.”

The truth burned hotter than the coffee I hadn’t touched: I’d known since I was nineteen exactly who made my blood run thick and my cock ache.

He tilted his head, eyes narrowing like he was reading me. “Dude, come stay at mine. Dad’s being asking about you, and he’s always cooking like he’s feeding an army. Mom’s on another business trip—Paris or Milan or wherever rich people disappear to—so it’ll just be us guys. You, me, Dad. What do you say?”

My heart didn’t just flutter. It slammed against my sternum like it wanted out, a wild, frantic beat that made my breath catch. I clenched my fists tight under the table, nails digging crescents into my palms, the sharp sting grounding me before I could moan out loud at the thought. Spend the holidays with Jace… and Marius.

Marius.

Four years. Four fucking years since that Thanksgiving, and the memory still hit me like a fist to the gut every single time.

I’d been nineteen, awkward as hell, trailing Jace into his family home with a cheap bottle of wine my parents had forced on me.

The second Marius opened the door—tall, broad-shouldered, tattoos snaking down one thick arm like ink poured over muscle—I forgot how to speak. His voice when he said my name for the first time, low and smooth, “Mikel,” had rolled over me like warm oil. I’d spent the entire dinner stealing glances: the way his shirt stretched across his chest when he carved the turkey, the flex of his forearm when he passed the potatoes, the dark stubble shadowing his jaw that I wanted to feel scraping the inside of my thighs.

He caught me. The first time, our eyes locked across the table. I expected disgust, anger, the kind of look that would end friendships. Instead… nothing. Just empty, unreadable steel-gray eyes that pinned me in place until my cock twitched hard against my zipper. I’d dropped my gaze so fast my neck cracked, thighs squeezing together under the table to hide the sudden, humiliating swell.

Later, when my dad pulled up to take me home, Jace had disappeared into the bathroom. I knew exactly what he was doing—I’d caught the flash of his phone earlier, that video his girlfriend sent: her fingers sliding in and out of her wet pussy, the slick sounds tinny through the speaker. Jace had been rock-hard under the table, and now he was in there jerking off like his life depended on it.

Marius walked us out. The night air was cool on my burning face. I was already half-hard again just from being near him, dick pressing uncomfortably against denim. Then he said it.

“Mikel.”

The world stopped. My name in his mouth—deep, deliberate, like he was tasting it. My balls drew up tight, a hot pulse shooting straight to my cock. I turned, throat dry, and he stepped closer, voice dropping even lower.

“Be a good boy. Huh?”

That was it. Five words. I nearly came in my jeans right there on his driveway. My mind flooded instantly: Marius pinning me face-down on his king-sized bed, one massive hand between my shoulder blades, the other gripping my hip hard enough to bruise. “Be a good boy,” he’d growl again, right against my ear, as he lined up that thick cock I’d only imagined—veined, heavy, leaking—and thrust in raw.

One brutal snap of his hips, stretching me open, the wet, obscene sound of skin slapping skin echoing through the room. Gluck-gluck-gluck as he bottomed out again and again, balls smacking my ass, my hole clenching greedily around every inch while I moaned like a whore into the sheets. “Take it. Fuck, you’re so tight for me, boy.” The burn, the fullness, the way he’d grind deep and stay there, letting me feel every throb before he started pounding harder, faster, until I was sobbing, cock trapped beneath me leaking a puddle onto the mattress.

My dad honked. I startled so hard my knees nearly buckled. Marius smirked—just the corner of his mouth lifting—and raised a hand in goodbye. Did he see the tent in my jeans? The way I was breathing like I’d run a marathon? I never knew. But that smirk haunted me for years.

Now Jace was offering me two weeks in that same house.

“Yeah,” I said, too fast, voice cracking. I unclenched my fists, palms stinging, and forced a grin. “Sounds perfect, man. Thanks.”

Jace whooped, fist-bumping me across the table. “Sick! Dad’ll love having company. He gets bored when Mom’s gone and I’m glued to my girl most of the time. You’ll keep him from turning into a hermit.”

The thought of being alone with Marius—Jace off with his girlfriend, the house quiet except for the two of us—sent another rush of heat straight to my groin. I shifted in my seat, cock already half-hard again, imagining Marius cornering me in the kitchen after Jace left, apron slung low on his hips, that same empty stare now dark with hunger. “On your knees, boy. Show me how good you can be.”

Guilt twisted in my gut like a knife, but it only made me harder.

A week later, Jace was slamming the trunk of his car shut on my suitcase, muscles flexing under his t-shirt. I stood on the curb, arms crossed tight over my chest to hide how my hands were shaking. He’d told me everything on the drive over last semester—every fight with his girl, every dirty text, every time he’d snuck her into his dorm. And here I was, hiding the biggest secret of my life: I wanted his dad to wreck me.

“Get in, loser,” Jace laughed, clapping my shoulder. I hadn’t even heard him call my name the first time. My mind was too busy spinning filthy possibilities. What if Marius walked around shirtless again? What if he caught me staring and this time he didn’t look empty? What if he pushed me against the wall and—

I slid into the passenger seat. The drive felt endless. Every bump in the road made my cock rub against my boxers, a constant teasing friction that had me clenching my jaw until my teeth ached. My heart pounded so loud I was sure Jace could hear it over the music. When the big house came into view—modern lines, huge windows, the pool glittering out back—my stomach flipped like I was on a rollercoaster.

We parked. The second we stepped inside, the smell hit me: garlic, herbs, roasting meat—rich, savory, mouth-watering. Jace’s stomach growled loud enough to echo off the walls. We both burst out laughing, the sound loosening some of the tension in my shoulders for half a second.

Then we heard it. Singing. Low, smoky, perfect pitch, following the melody of some old blues track playing from the kitchen speakers.

Marius.

My crush slammed into me harder than ever. He was good at everything. Of course he could sing like that—like sex wrapped in velvet.

Jace kicked off his shoes. “Dad! We’re home!”

Footsteps. Then Marius stepped out of the kitchen.

My breath punched out of me in a sharp gasp.

He wore nothing but a black apron tied low around his waist and a pair of gray sweatpants that clung to thick thighs and the heavy outline of what I knew—fuck, I knew—was a massive cock.

Shirtless. Four years hadn’t changed a damn thing: broad chest dusted with dark hair, abs carved like stone, that tattoo sleeve snaking from wrist to shoulder, muscles shifting under inked skin as he wiped his hands on the apron. Sweat glistened at his collarbone from the heat of the stove. He looked edible. Dangerous. Mine in every filthy fantasy I’d jerked off to since Thanksgiving.

Jace launched himself at his dad for a quick hug, laughing about the food smelling like heaven. Marius ruffled his son’s hair, that deep chuckle rumbling out, and my dick throbbed so hard I had to bite the inside of my cheek until I tasted blood.

Then Marius turned to me.

Gray eyes locked on mine. Same empty stare from four years ago—except now it wasn’t empty. It was… assessing. Hungry. His lips curved, just barely.

“Hey, Mikel.”

My name in his mouth again. My knees almost gave out. I opened my mouth to answer, but Jace’s phone exploded with that obnoxious ringtone he refused to change.

“Shit—babe, I gotta take this,” he muttered, glancing at the screen. “She’s probably already at the mall waiting. Eat without me, yeah? I’ll be back later.” He clapped my shoulder again—hard enough to jolt me—then bolted out the front door, sneakers squeaking on the tile.

The door clicked shut.

Silence.

Just me and Marius.

He took one step closer, the apron shifting, the outline of his cock more obvious now in those sweatpants. My mouth went dry. My hands fisted at my sides, nails biting skin, cock straining painfully against my jeans as every fantasy crashed over me at once.

He extended his hand for a handshake, palm broad, fingers long and strong.

I reached out, heart slamming so violently I felt it in my throat, my own cock leaking into my boxers at just the thought of touching him.

His fingers closed around mine.

And then, his thumb brushed slowly, deliberately, over the sensitive skin of my wrist, right where my pulse was racing out of control.

His voice dropped, low and rough, meant only for me.

“Welcome home, Mikel. Try to be a good boy throughout your stay… or don’t. I’m not picky.”