Christmas Series: Under the Mistletoe Pt. 1
The winter break means that most students decided to leave this quiet university town to go back to spend Christmas and New Year with their family. Not for Jeremiah though, as the foster kid practically has nowhere to call home so the sophomore sticks around in his dorm while his boyfriend, Marcus, dejectedly leave Jeremiah behind to spend the holiday with his mom and her new boyfriend that he despised judging from their only two encounter during summer break and Thanksgiving. Marcus actually wanted to ask his mom about the idea of having "a friend from college with no family" back to their home as a way to spend Christmas with Jeremiah, but he digressed before even asking. His mom, Elaine, is a high-powered Chief Legal Officer for a company that is planning to get listed in NYSE by next Spring. She's sharp as a tack but mostly blinded to solely focus on her career development and the looming IPO. Is she homophobic? Marcus is not sure, she seems indifferent, but she did say a lot to Marcus about having girls so she might not be very open. Tyrone in the other hand, that's an entirely different matter.
Dude's an arrogant douchebag through and through, and Marcus already spoke about him at length to Jeremiah. That man is a gold-digging brute only eyeing to be Marcus's mom eye-candy while definitely playing around on the side (not like he can proof it, just the vibe). He treated Marcus like he's a pesky, disrespectful brat and despite still just a boyfriend only separated by 13 years to Marcus while the gap between Tyrone and his mom is like 15 years, Tyrone acted less of an older brother and more like as if he's Marcus's dad or something. That frustrated Marcus but Jeremiah said that he should go home to accompany his mom anyway and paid zero attention to Tyrone, so he eventually head home and leave Jeremiah on his own in the dorm as Jeremiah's probably the only student in the entire floor of their dorm that skipped the chance to get out from the quaint little town during the break.
But, instead of digging himself to read books or play games, on a rather plain yet crisp December morning, something extraordinary happened. Jeremiah, experimenting with an obscure occult ritual he'd found online, accidentally triggered a possession ritual. One moment, he's in his dorm room; the next, his consciousness slammed into Tyrone's hulking body as his mind wandered to check on Marcus and how Marcus spent his holiday. The transition as his soul ripped out from his body to then crash into another one hundred miles away is pretty disorienting, a rush of heat and power that made his nerdy frame feel like a distant memory. He blinked, staring at the bathroom mirror in Elaine's upscale condo that he recognized pretty well from all the visual story Marcus give him, and grinned. Tyrone's face stared back: sharp features, a neatly trimmed beard, curly hair twisted into tight coils, and skin a rich caramel tone that screamed confidence.
Jeremiah flexed his new arms, watching the biceps bulge like coiled pythons under the skin.
"Holy shit," he muttered in Tyrone's deep, rumbling voice. It's gravelly, commanding, the kind that could silence a room. He then run his hands over the chest—broad, pectorals like slabs of marble, nipples dark and pert. The sensation is electric; every touch sent shivers through this borrowed form. He lifted an arm, bringing the pit close to his nose, inhaling deeply. The scent is musky, a mix of sweat from last night's gym session, cologne that smelled like leather and spice, and something primal, almost animalistic. Jeremiah's mind reeled with excitement as he never really enjoyed other people's scent this much and yet, smelling himself in this form is intoxicating and gives him some sense of forbidden thrill. He buried his face deeper, tongue flicking out to taste the saltiness, groaning as the flavor exploded on his palate: tangy, earthy, utterly masculine.
He stripped off the remaining clothes, standing naked before the mirror. Tyrone's physique is a masterpiece, six-pack abs etched like a washboard, veins popping along the forearms and down to the hands, which were large and calloused from weights. Jeremiah traced the V-line dipping toward the groin, feeling the coarse hair there, then cupped the heavy balls, warm and full. The cock is a spectacle, thick, uncut, hanging semi-erect and it twitched at his touch. He stroked it lightly, marveling at the weight, the way it swelled into a beer-can size in response as it feels heftier in his hands. The sound of his own ragged breathing filled the room, heavy and rhythmic, echoing off the tiles. He posed in between strokes, flexing his quads, watching the muscles ripple. The feel of power is overwhelming; every movement is effortless, like piloting a sports car after years on a bicycle.
Jeremiah spent what felt like hours in self-worship. He turned sideways, admiring the lats flaring out like wings, the traps rising to meet the neck. He squatted, feeling the glutes tighten, then jumped, landing with a thud that vibrated through the floor. The taste of his own skin lingered on his lips as he licked sweat from his upper lip. Salty, with a hint of the protein shake Tyrone had chugged earlier. He heard the distant hum of the city outside, but it faded as he focused on the internal symphony: heartbeat strong and steady, lungs expanding like bellows. He imagined Tyrone's life: endless workouts, picking up women (or so he bragged), but now it's his playground to explore. Then, it hit him. Marcus is literally in the same unit as him now, so with a smirk, he then inhale for a deep breath as he readied himself to see how far he can play along in this look
Jeremiah sauntered into the kitchen, clad in Tyrone's usual gym shorts and tank top, the fabric clinging to every curve.
"Mornin', babe," he drawled, pulling Elaine into a rough kiss.
She melted, oblivious to the change. Inside, Jeremiah smirked, how easy it was to mimic Tyrone's douchey swagger, the way he slapped her ass possessively, the drawl, this is all based on the recent and surface-level muscle memory of Tyrone, and he chugged every drop of it and poured it into action. Marcus is at the table, scrolling his phone, avoiding eye contact. Jeremiah ruffled his hair roughly using Tyrone's calloused hand.
"Hey, kid, pass the eggs. And fix your posture; you look like a slouch."
"Whatever, Tyrone." Marcus said as he rolled his eyes, and yet also still handing out the eggs.
Jeremiah sensed an opportunity to push this further so he leaned in, voice dropping to a petty growl.
"Watch your tone, boy. Or I'll tell your mom how disrespectful you're bein'."
He snitched right then, turning to Elaine.
"Babe, your son's got an attitude this mornin'. Thinks he can talk back."
Elaine sighed, checking her watch.
"Marcus, behave. I don't have time for this. Remember, no access to my card unless Tyrone told me you've been good to him and don't mess up with him," She was already in her power suit, briefcase in hand, heading out for work. As she kissed Tyrone on the lips for a quick second, she then said, "You two play nice. I'll be back late for today," with the nice stated directly to Marcus, guess it's easy to tell which man is the fave in this household and it ain't the pesky, bratty son
As the door clicked shut, Jeremiah's pulse quickened. Alone with Marcus, but still in character. He reveled in the deception—Marcus had no idea his boyfriend is inside this homophobic brute. Jeremiah flexed subtly, feeling the tank top strain.
"Gonna hit the gym, kid. You comin' or what? Nah, you probably too soft for real work."
Marcus muttered something under his breath, retreating to his room. Jeremiah laughed inwardly, amused with how perfect everything has been. He headed to the home gym in this private section of the condo unit, pushing Tyrone's body to its limits. He clearly is not experienced enough to handle any of these equipment, but Tyrone's muscle memory quickly takeover as he then gravitate to the weight racks. Deadlifts first: gripping the bar, he heaved 400 pounds like it's nothing, grunting with each rep. Sweat poured down, soaking the shorts. The burn in the hamstrings and back is quite an exquisite pain, a testament to the form's power. He moved to bench presses, loading the bar heavy, chest exploding with each push. Then, pull-ups followed, bodyweight feeling light as he cranked out sets of 20. The mirrors reflected a god: veins bulging, muscles pumped, face contorted in effort. Jeremiah paused between sets, sniffing his armpits again—deeper musk now, post-workout intensity. He tasted the sweat trickling down his abs, salty heaven. Touching himself, he can feel the hardness everywhere, the cock stirring in the shorts.
Hours blurred; Jeremiah lost track, immersed in the worship. He posed like in those Instagram fitness pics—double bicep, most muscular, abs crunched, pecs popped. Fooling them had been a rush: Elaine's trusting kiss, Marcus's annoyed glances. No one suspected the nerd inside the alpha. He imagined revealing himself later, but for now, the charade is too fun.
Exhausted but exhilarated, Jeremiah headed upstairs with his body glistening with sweat still. But that's when he heard it: groaning from Marcus's room. Low, rhythmic, unmistakable. Curiosity piqued, he crept to the door, peeking in. Marcus is on his bed, pants down, hand stroking furiously to gay porn on his laptop—two muscular guys going at it. A wicked grin spread across Tyrone’s full lips. Inside his borrowed skull, Jeremiah’s nerdy excitement buzzed like electricity. This is the moment he’d been building toward all day: the perfect collision of fear, arousal, and revelation.
He shoved the door open without knocking. The sudden intrusion made Marcus jolt upright, eyes wide with pure terror.
“Tyrone! What the fuck--get out!” Marcus scrambled for the blanket, yanking it over his lap, but it's too late. The laptop teetered on the edge of the mattress, still playing the unmistakable slap of flesh on flesh and the loud groan of two men completely succumbed to lust in the background. Jeremiah stepped fully into the room, letting the door click shut behind him. He filled the doorway like a wall of muscle as his broad shoulders straining the tank top, veins still pumped from the basement workout, skin shining under a fresh sheen of sweat. Tyrone’s deep voice rumbled out, thick with feigned disgust.
“What the hell is this, boy?” He took another deliberate step forward, towering over the bed, “You in here jackin’ off to faggot shit? Two dudes fuckin’ each other?”
Marcus’s face drained of color, yet he still tried to speak back
“It’s none of your business! Get out, Tyrone, I swear to God—”
“You swear to God what?” Jeremiah interrupted, voice dropping to a dangerous growl that sounded insidiously threatening coming from Tyrone. He leaned in, planting one massive hand on the mattress beside Marcus’s thigh, caging him.
“You gonna do somethin’ about it, little man? Huh?”
Marcus shoved at Tyrone’s chest with both hands hard. His palms met solid, unyielding pecs, slick with sweat. The push barely budged the bigger man. Jeremiah didn’t even flinch; he just let the resistance roll through Tyrone’s powerful frame like it's nothing.
“Get off me!” Marcus hissed, panic rising. He swung a fist this time, aiming for Tyrone’s jaw. Jeremiah caught the wrist mid-air effortlessly, Tyrone reflexes, thick fingers wrapping completely around it.
“Boy, you done lost your damn mind,” Jeremiah snarled in character, twisting the arm just enough to make Marcus wince. With his free hand, he snatched the blanket away, exposing Marcus fully as his erection still half-hard from the interrupted session, now rapidly deflating under the weight of fear.
Marcus kicked out, trying to scramble backward on the bed, but Jeremiah is faster. He climbed onto the mattress, knees pinning Marcus’s thighs, using Tyrone’s sheer mass to immobilize him. The struggle is brief and one-sided; Marcus thrashed, cursing, but every twist and push only pressed him harder against the immovable wall of muscle above him.
“Stop—stop it!” Marcus panted, chest heaving. “I’ll scream. Mom’ll hear—”
“Your mom ain’t here,” Jeremiah growled, leaning down until their faces mere inches apart. Tyrone’s breath is hot, smelling faintly of pre-workout and raw masculinity, "and even if she's here, what you think she’d say seein’ her son jackin’ it to gay porn, huh? She’d throw your ass out on the street.”
Marcus went still, breathing ragged, eyes glassy with humiliation and dread.
“Please… don’t tell her. Tyrone, please.”
Jeremiah’s lips curled into a cruel smirk. “Beggin’ now? Pathetic.” He shifted his weight, sitting back on his heels but keeping Marcus pinned. Slowly, deliberately, he reached down and hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his own gym shorts. Marcus’s eyes followed the movement, wide and unblinking.
Jeremiah tugged the shorts down just enough to free Tyrone’s heavy, thick, uncut cock that is already half-hard from the dominance play. It flopped out with a soft thud against Marcus’s bare thigh, the foreskin partially retracted, the head glistening. The scent hit immediately: musky, potent, a mix of dried sweat from the workout and fresh arousal. It dangled inches from Marcus’s face as Jeremiah leaned forward again, letting it sway teasingly.
“Look at it,” Jeremiah commanded in Tyrone’s low timbre. “That’s what a real man’s dick looks like. Bet you wish yours was half this big, don’t you, fag?”
“Fuck you.” Marcus replied as he turned his head away, cheeks burning
Jeremiah chuckled darkly. He gripped the base of his cock and give it a slow stroke, making the shaft swell thicker, veins pulsing along the length. A bead of precum formed at the tip. He angled it closer, brushing the slick head against Marcus’s clenched lips.
“Well, guess I'll be doing just that, with your assistance though. Open up and say sorry, boy. Maybe I won’t tell your mama what a little cocksucker you are,"
Marcus jerked his head side to side, lips sealed tight, but his breathing had changed into shallow and quick exasperated breath. His own cock, traitorously, twitched against his stomach.
Then Jeremiah let the mask slip.
His voice softened, the gravelly edge melting into something familiar, something Marcus knew intimately.
“Babe… it’s me," he said in a tone completely foreign from Tyrone
Marcus froze. His eyes snapped up to Tyrone’s face as he really looked at the face this time. The cruel smirk had transformed into something warm, loving yet mischievous.
“Jeremiah?” he whispered, disbelief cracking his voice.
Jeremiah’s grin widened ear to ear, Tyrone’s perfect white teeth flashing.
Marcus stared, mouth falling open.
“No fucking way. You—you’re inside him?”
“Every inch,” Jeremiah said, giving Tyrone’s cock another playful pump for emphasis. “Possessed him this morning. Been flexing and sniffing myself all day like a total narcissist. Then I heard you in here…figured it was time to scare the shit out of you before I gave you the best Christmas present ever.”
Marcus let out a shaky laugh that bordered on a sob.
“You asshole. I really thought—” He reached up, hands trembling as he touched Tyrone’s chest, tracing the ridges of muscle he’d only ever admired from a distance. “I thought he was gonna kill me. Or tell Mom.”
“Nah,” Jeremiah murmured, leaning down to kiss him gently, putting Tyrone’s full lips soft against Marcus’s. “I’d never let that happen. But admit it… you were kinda into the fear, weren’t you?”
“Shut up," Marcus flushed darker
Jeremiah laughed, the sound rich and deep in Tyrone’s chest.
The shift is immediate. The terror melted into hunger. Marcus surged upward, capturing Tyrone’s mouth in a desperate kiss, hands roaming greedily over the broad back, the pumped delts, the taper of the waist. Jeremiah groaned into it, letting Marcus explore the body he’d spent all day worshipping himself.
“Been hard all day thinking about this,” Jeremiah admitted between kisses. “Kept smelling these pits, licking the sweat off these abs… now I get to share it with you.”
Marcus pulled back just enough to stare. “You’re such a freak.”
“Your freak,” Jeremiah corrected, and pushed him flat again—this time willingly.
Clothes comed off fast. Marcus’s shirt yanked over his head meanwhiJeremiah peeled off his underwear fully. Marcus’s hands are everywhere—palming the heavy pecs, tracing the deep cuts of the eight-pack, wrapping fingers around the thick shaft that had terrified him minutes ago.
“God, it’s even bigger up close,” Marcus breathed, stroking slowly, watching the foreskin glide over the head.
“Suck it. Been edging myself thinking about your mouth all day.” Jeremiah hissed in pleasure
Marcus didn’t need telling twice. He scooted down, lips parting to take the head in. The taste exploded across his tongue, salty skin, faint bitterness of precum, the overwhelming musk of a man who’d just crushed a brutal workout. He moaned around it, taking more, cheeks hollowing as he worked the shaft.
Jeremiah threaded fingers through Marcus’s hair, guiding gently at first, then firmer. “That’s it… take that alpha dick. Take your mom’s boyfriend’s cock down your throat like a good side whore!"
The roleplay sent a fresh surge through both of them. Marcus pulled off with a gasp as his moan momentarily stopped
Jeremiah grinned down at him.
“I’m Tyrone. And you’re the dirty little secret I’m gonna fuck senseless while your mama’s at work.”
Marcus whimpered and dove back down, taking him deeper, gagging slightly but pushing through. Jeremiah’s hips rocked subtly, fucking Marcus’s mouth with controlled thrusts, watching the lips stretch around Tyrone’s girth.
Eventually, Jeremiah pulled him off with a wet pop.
“Turn over. I want that ass.”
Marcus scrambled to comply, getting on all fours. Jeremiah grabbed lube from the nightstand and slicked his fingers. He worked Marcus open slowly, teasingly, crooking fingers to hit that spot that made Marcus bury his face in the pillow and moan.
“Mmpphhhh.....please,” Marcus finally begged, pushing back. “Ty ....Fffuuuccckkkk......I need it, give....mmmmpphhaaahh....it to meee,"
Jeremiah lined up, the fat head pressing against the entrance. He slide in inch by inch, savoring the tight heat, the way Marcus’s back arched and his breath hitched. When he bottomed out, balls pressed against ass, both men stilled, breathing hard.
“Fuck, you feel good,” Jeremiah groaned the same way Tyrone would growl when he fucked Elaine. He pulled back and thrust in again, setting a steady rhythm that quickly built to something harder, deeper. The bed creaked under Tyrone’s powerful strokes.
Marcus reached back, gripping Jeremiah---Tyrone---thigh.
“Nghhhh...harder! Punish me!"
Jeremiah obliged, grabbing hips with bruising force, pounding relentlessly. Skin slapped against skin, the room filling with grunts, moans, the wet sounds of lube and flesh. He leaned over Marcus’s back, chest to spine, one hand snaking around to stroke Marcus in time.
“Gonna fill you up,” he growled in Marcus’s ear, voice rough with impending climax. “Gonna breed this ass with Tyrone’s load while you think about how close you came to getting caught.”
Somehow, such threat is enough because Marcus instantly cried out, coming first—stripes of cum painting the sheets beneath him. Soon after, the tight clench of Marcus asshole pushed Jeremiah over the edge. He buried himself deep and unloaded, pulse after pulse of thick seed flooding Marcus, hips jerking with each spurt.
They collapsed sideways, still joined, Jeremiah’s arms wrapped possessively around Marcus from behind. For several minutes, there's only heavy breathing and soft kisses along Marcus’s shoulder.
Then, the front door lock clicked.
Both men froze for a second
“Marcus? Tyrone? I’m home early, the meeting got canceled!” Elaine’s voice echoed from the first floor, heels clicking on hardwood.
Panic surged. Jeremiah pulled out carefully, cum already leaking from Marcus. “Shit----ughhh, shower....shower, I need to go now," Jeremiah said as he tiptoed out from the bedroom and headed to the bathroom right in the opposite side from Marcus bedroom, heart pounding in Tyrone's chest like crazy. Marcus grabbed tissues, wiping his creamed ass dry and all sorts of residue and spots of cum in his bed frantically, while Jeremiah cranked the shower on full blast, stepped in for exactly ten seconds, just long enough to soak his skin and hair, then shut it off. He grabbed whatever clothing he could find that he usually hung around the bathroom while making sure that the water from the quick shower dripping strategically.
Marcus managed to yank on his boxers and a T-shirt, snatched his phone, and already sprawled on the bed scrolling like nothing happened by the time Elaine knocked lightly and pushed the door open.
“Hey, baby,” she said, smiling at Marcus. Her gaze then shifted to the bathroom behind her back as Jeremiah opened the door quite loudly purposefully to ensure that Elaine does not spend too much time scanning the ground zero as he leaned casually against the doorframe, in damp clothes and still smelling like a wet dog. The air still hung heavy with the scent of sweat and sex, but the steam from the shower masked it just enough.
“Just finished cleanin’ up,” Jeremiah drawled in Tyrone’s lazy baritone, running a hand through wet curls, “Hit the gym hard today. Boy was there playin’ games or whatever kids do.”
Elaine wrinkled her nose slightly—probably catching the lingering musk—but dismissed it.
“You've been speaking like an old man the past few hours, a bit try hard as I might say. And you do smell like you worked out, babe. Anywau you two, dinner in an hour, okay?”
“Yeah, Mom,” Marcus mumbled, eyes glued to his phone, cheeks still flushed but passing as college student sullenness, meanwhile Tyrone just mumbled in agreement
Elaine left, closing the door behind her and kiss Tyrone as she said
"Can't believe we'll have some times for tonight since I'm home early....hmmm......love this smell on you, don't clean-up further, okay? I want this scent imprinted on me tonight,"
"Oh, you'll get it and more, babe," Jeremiah said seductively as he grabbed Elaine's ass and bite his lips sensually, really playing Tyrone to the tee.
She chuckled in excitement as she then stepped down to put on everything into her study room on the first floor while preparing some food test she wanted to make for Christmas later next week. The second her footsteps faded, Jeremiah opened the door to Marcus room and both men locked eyes. Marcus bit his lip to stifle a laugh. Jeremiah grinned, droplets still sliding down Tyrone’s carved torso, underwear tenting slightly from residual arousal.
“That was too close,” Marcus whispered.
Jeremiah sauntered over, leaning down to kiss him softly.
Marcus glanced at the strained underwear, then back up.
“Round two after she goes to sleep?”
Jeremiah’s grin turned wicked.
“Oh, we’re just getting started.”
Amazingly, I have finished this series on my draft so you'll see me dropping the next parts in the next couple days before closing it right on Christmas. If you have any thing you want to be added to the storyline, please comment or you can DM me and I'll see what I can do. Until then, see ya!
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