Sex stories

What Malik knew, originally, was that Carl, 22, was a senior at the state college, majoring in English because it felt less daunting than the sciences, though he spent more time sketching in his notebook margins than writing essays. Pale-skinned and lean, with sandy hair always falling into his hazel eyes, Carl rocked nice clothes, painted nails, and an obvious queer vibe. That’s how Malik met him—through a mutual friend at a campus coffee shop. Malik, 21, was all easy confidence in a hoodie and ripped jeans, with a sharp fade and a smile Carl couldn’t stop staring at: bright, edgy, a little dangerous. Carl had fumbled through their first chat, nervous but charmed, and Malik had just laughed, saying, “Chill, man, I don’t bite.”

After that, Carl kept showing up—first for coffee, then for hangs. Months blurred into a routine: Carl texting Malik, meeting at odd hours, lingering longer each time to talk music, video games, or random campus gossip. Malik worked the night shift at a warehouse, slinging boxes to pay his bills. But one chilly evening, Carl found Malik pacing outside the coffee shop, no hoodie, just a thin T-shirt and a duffel bag slung over his shoulder. His usual grin was gone, replaced by a tight frown.

“Lost the gig last month,” Malik muttered when Carl asked, kicking a pebble. “Boss caught me slacking, fired me on the spot. Couldn’t find anything else in time. Landlord’s kicking me out tomorrow. No job, no rent, you know how it goes.”

Carl stood there, heart pounding as Malik’s words sank in, a wild idea sparking. “You could stay with me,” he blurted. His voice cracked, too high, and he winced, shoving his hands into his pockets. Malik’s eyebrows shot up. He knew Carl lived off-campus in a modest one-bedroom apartment, no roommates stealing his snacks, but this offer caught him off guard.

Carl rushed on. “Just, uh, on the couch. It’s comfy. For as long as you need. No big deal.”

Malik straightened, his tough-guy mask slipping for a second. “Nah, man, that’s dope of you, but I can’t just crash like some charity case.”

“You wouldn’t be. I mean it. I don’t… have real friends, you know? Just dudes who call me Carly and laugh. I’d like the company. For real.” Carl dared a glance, meeting Malik’s dark, searching eyes.

Malik rubbed the back of his neck, shifting his weight. “I can’t pay rent, Carly. I’m broke without the warehouse gig.”

Carl shrugged, smiling. “Don’t need rent. My folks cover my place. Just… come stay, yeah? At least tonight?”

Malik exhaled, glancing from Carl to the duffel at his feet. He could hit up Dre, who’d cram him into a tiny studio, or Kev, who might talk his mom into taking him in, but they were stretched thin already. “Alright,” Malik said finally, hefting the bag over his shoulder. “But just till I sort shit out.”

Carl nodded, heart thudding as they headed to his apartment, the night air buzzing with something unspoken. The walk was quiet at first, just the crunch of gravel and distant traffic. Malik kept his eyes forward, jaw tight like he was wrestling with something.

After a block, he spoke, voice low. “Just a few days, aight? I’ll hit up some guys, find a gig, get back on my feet. I don’t like leaning on people, man. Feels off.”

Carl glanced at him. “You need anything done around the place? I’m not useless. I can fix a faucet, patch a wall, whatever. Don’t wanna be a freeloader.”

“Nah, it’s cool,” Carl said. “Nothing’s broken. Well, except my cooking, but that’s a lost cause. We’ll grab takeout.”

Malik didn’t push back. The guy was offering a couch and food, no strings attached. At the apartment, Carl opened the door to a familiar mess: a couch and armchair around a coffee table, pillows scattered, a half-empty mug on the dining table. Malik stepped in, dropping his bag by the couch with a thud, scanning the space with a slow nod.

“Nice spot,” he said, almost to himself, then looked at Carl, arms crossed like he was waiting for the catch.

Carl kicked off his sneakers, gesturing at the room. “You’re welcome here, man. For real. I wasn’t BS-ing about the company. Gets… quiet, you know?” He met Malik’s gaze, steady despite the flush on his neck. “You being here, it’s enough. Someone to chill with before bed.” He laughed, awkward.

Malik hesitated, rubbing his fade, then let out a breath. “Alright, Carl,” he said, softer. “Thanks.” He sank onto the couch, testing it with a bounce. Carl grabbed a spare blanket from the closet, yelling from his bedroom how to pull the couch into a bed. A few hours later, after fried chicken takeout Carl insisted on covering, they crashed, the night settling around them. Malik, drifting off on the couch, thought maybe he’d landed on his feet for a bit.