All Chapters of FILTHY SHADES OF GAY: A Collection Of Raw MM Erotica : Chapter 21 - Chapter 30

The apartment across the street had floor-to-ceiling windows and no curtains. I noticed it the first week I moved in—late August, heat still clinging to the brick, air thick enough to chew. Every night at 11:17 p.m. the lights in the living room came on and he appeared.Tall. Lean. Dark hair that fell forward when he bent to unlace his boots. He always started the same way: kicked off his shoes by the door, peeled his shirt over his head in one smooth motion, tossed it onto the back of the couch. The lamp on the side table threw gold across his shoulders, down the long line of his spine, the shallow dip above his ass. I never saw his face clearly, always angled away or shadowed, but I memorized the rest: the way his back flexed when he stretched, the narrow waist flaring into hips, the V of muscle that disappeared into low-slung sweatpants.I told myself I was just looking. The building across from mine was maybe thirty feet away; my own windows were dark, blinds half-drawn. Harmless.

I’ve wanted Uncle Gerald since I was seventeen.Not some passing high-school crush. A deep, gnawing fixation that rooted itself in my chest and grew every time he showed up at our house in suburban Raleigh. He’s been Dad’s best friend since their UNC days—always the guy grilling burgers at Fourth of July cookouts, fixing the garage door when it jammed, tossing me a football in the backyard even after I outgrew the “kid” phase. Six-three, broad-shouldered, the kind of build that comes from weekend construction projects and CrossFit rather than a gym-bro obsession. Dark hair gone salt-and-pepper at the temples, short beard that’s never quite clean-shaven, forearms roped with muscle and dusted with hair. His voice is low and rough, Carolina drawl softened by years up north but still thick enough to make my pulse jump when he says my name.He still calls me “kid” or “little man,” even now that I’m twenty-one, six-one myself, and legally drinking. It should piss me off. Instead it makes he

We froze mid-breath.Gerald lifted his head, eyes wide with sudden alarm. “That’s your dad.”“Shit.” My heart slammed into overdrive. “He’s not supposed to be back till Monday.”Another honk—louder, more insistent.Gerald rolled off me in one smooth motion, yanking up his boxer-briefs and jeans. “Get dressed. You get to the couch. Now.”I scrambled. Wiped the worst of the mess off my chest and stomach with the corner of the sheet, yanked my shorts back on, pulled the tank down. Gerald tossed me my hoodie; I zipped it high to hide the bite mark already blooming on my neck. We made it to the living room just as the front door rattled—Dad’s key turning.“Henry? Gerald? Are you here?”Dad stepped inside, suitcase in one hand, phone in the other, looking travel-rumpled and mildly irritated.“Hey,” he said, frowning at us. “Tried calling both of you. The flight got delayed four hours—some hydraulic issue—so I came back for my laptop charger. Left it on the counter. You two are asleep or wha

The next appointment was two weeks later. Sarah was even more pregnant now—waddling slightly, glowing with that late-pregnancy light. She chatted with the nurse about names while Harlan examined her, his gloved hands moving over her belly with clinical precision. I stood beside her, holding her hand, but my eyes kept drifting to him. The way his coat gaped when he leaned forward, revealing the crisp white shirt underneath, the faint outline of muscle. The way his forearms flexed when he adjusted the wand.Sarah excused herself again for the bathroom. The door closed. Harlan turned to me, eyes dark.“Lock it.”My hands shook, but I did. The click felt louder than it should have.He crossed the room in two strides, pushed me back against the exam table. My ass hit the edge; I gripped the paper sheet, crumpling it. He kissed me, hard, hungry, tongue pushing in like he’d been starving for it. I kissed back, desperate, hands flying to his coat, yanking it open. Buttons popped. His shirt wa

The night air cooled the dunes, but inside the dome the heat between us lingered like smoke. Richard—Richie now, in my head—curled against my side on the wide bed, his head on my chest, one leg thrown over mine like he was afraid I'd vanish if he let go. His breathing had evened out, but every few minutes he'd twitch, hole still fluttering around the plug I'd slid in after the last round on the deck. Kept my load locked inside him. Claimed. I stared at the silk ceiling, one arm behind my head, the other tracing lazy circles on his lower back. The cigar was long gone, but the taste of him, sweat, spit, submission—stayed on my tongue. My cock rested heavy against my thigh, half-hard even after the past loads. Greedy thing. So was I. Morning came fast in the desert. Sunlight stabbed through the tent seams at six. Richie stirred, wincing as he shifted. Sore. Good. I rolled him onto his stomach without asking, spread his cheeks, and checked the damage. Hole puffy, red-rimmed, still glos