🏡 Holemates

A Queer Serial About Use, Longing, and the Boys Who Stay Anyway

There’s a home in the city.
Three bedrooms. Four boys. No doors that lock.

No one remembers exactly how it started.
Jet showed up with snacks and lube.
Wes never left after the second blowjob.
Rafe started filming the moment he moved in.
And Daz —
Well. Daz was already on his knees when they found him.

That’s Me on Screen

Chapter Three

The Watcher.

Rafe likes the distance a lens gives him.
Safer that way. Cleaner.

He films the others’ sweat, their moans, their collapsing little bodies, and tells himself it’s just art. That the tremor in his hand is from focus, not feeling.

He is muscled, quiet, deliberate. A man who fills the room without asking for it.
But when the camera’s off, he fades. Stays in the corner. Keeps his hunger locked behind his teeth.

Rafe learned early that being seen could ruin you.
A leaked tape. A viral clip. A thousand strangers calling you pretty, filthy, theirs, before your own family even knew.
So he picked up the camera instead. Safer to frame others than to risk being framed himself.

Now, he keeps his distance.
Always in the room, never the one on screen.
The red light blinks for everyone but him.

But the lens doesn’t lie. It catches what he tries to hide:
the way Jet’s warmth unravels him,
the way Daz exhales his name,
the way Wes looks straight into the camera like he knows exactly who’s watching.

He can’t edit that away.

And in this house, where even silence is shared, eventually the watcher will be the one watched.

Leaked

He told himself it wasn’t a hook-up.
Just a drink. Just hanging out. Just another guy from an app who liked movies and lifting.

The apartment was dim, air heavy with weed smoke and cheap deodorant. Posters curling off the wall. A mattress on the floor, half-covered in sheets that smelled like sweat and detergent that had given up.

They drank. They laughed. A hand on his thigh. Too long. Too easy.

When the kiss came, sloppy and sudden, Rafe didn’t pull away. He leaned in, tongue fumbling, heart hammering. His shirt was tugged off. His jeans followed. He didn’t cover himself. Didn’t hide. His cock was already hard, heavy against his thigh.

The guy knelt between his knees, spit dripping down his chin as he took Rafe’s cock whole. No teasing, no warm-up, just a wet choke around thickness that surprised them both.
Rafe groaned loud, head tipping back. His abs clenched as the suction pulled, spit foaming at the corners. His thighs shook. His voice caught.
“Fuck—”

The guy laughed around him, pulled off just to spit again, then swallowed him back down. Rafe gasped, fingers gripping the sheets. He’d jerked off a thousand times, but this felt like being lit on fire. Every nerve lit. Every vein throbbing.

When he was flipped onto his stomach, it was clumsy but rough. A palm pressed the back of his neck. His knees spread without being told. He wanted it. God, he wanted it.

The first push in was blunt, burning. Rafe groaned into the pillow, teeth catching fabric, hole stretching wide. It hurt, but it felt like proof. Like he’d been waiting his whole life to be opened.
“Please,” he gasped, not even meaning to. “Harder. Don’t stop.”

And the guy did.
Fucked him with sharp, driving thrusts, hips slapping his ass, skin slick with sweat. Each push knocked a sound out of him. Low moans. Higher whimpers. Begging without words. His cock swung under him, leaking across the sheet with every jolt.

“Fuck, you’re perfect,” the guy panted. “Pretty boy. Born for this.”

Rafe cried out, back arching. His body shook as his orgasm ripped through him, untouched, cock jerking hard against his stomach, spilling up his chest in hot lines. His moan broke in the middle, raw and desperate, echoing against the walls.

He collapsed into the mattress, face buried, body still pulsing. The guy groaned behind him, slammed in deep, and spilled inside him with a grunt.

It felt real.
It felt good.
It felt like being wanted.

That night he went home smiling, sore, dizzy from it all. Replay already burning in his head, cock twitching at the memory of how hard he’d come without a hand.

A week later, his cousin sent him the link: is this you?

The video was everywhere.
Pornhub. Twitter threads. Reddit compilations.

Rafe on his back, cock thick and dripping, moaning like he’d been made for it.
Rafe on his knees, hole spread, taking it deep, begging for more.
Comments stacked: look at that cock, devilish good looks, fuck, he loves it, who is this guy?

It wasn’t just strangers. It was his family. His friends. His mother.

That was the night he made the vow.
Never again.
If there was a camera in the room, he’d be the one holding it.

Switch & Stacked

The lens woke before the boys did.