On the previous nights the dreams had been like a jumble of half-recollected memories, feeling somehow real despite the parade of orcs and beast-men, but this time it was different. They were vivid but surreal. Creatures and faces blurred into one another; one instant he was human, the next an orc, then a great, monstrous ogre. The only constant was the sex, all of it highly charged and all of it with males. As it built to a crescendo, he found his huge cock being suckled on by a satyr with a mischievous glint in his eye. Defying logic, the creature was somehow able to get all of it in his mouth. It went deeper and deeper each time, and John began twitching his hips, then bucking and thrusting as he lost all self-control. The satyr went faster and faster. John grabbed at its horns, desperately trying to get further in and further in and--
As he finally came, John bellowed hoarsely, triumphantly. He was an orc! He was the greatest orc! He was... he was clutching at his sheets and sitting up in bed, muscles tensed as he pumped cum into them. He closed his eyes as pleasure washed over him for what seemed like minutes. Eventually he slackened to a dribble, and then the occasional twitch.
There was a soft knock at his bedroom door.
"Um, John? Everything all right in there?"
It took him a few seconds to put his brain back in gear and register that it was Brian and that he should reply.
"Yeah," he started, his voice deep and scratchy. He cleared his throat and continued, sounding more normal.
"Yeah, everything's fine. Just had a..." He hesitated. He couldn't bring himself to call it a nightmare.
"Had a pretty intense dream there," he concluded. "But I'm fine. Don't worry about it."
"Well, OK," replied Brian. "But try to schedule those for the weekends, eh? Some of us have to be up at six."
John grunted. "Yeah, I'll pass that on to the sandman the next time I see him. Get back to bed, OK?"
"OK. G'night, man."
John kept still, listening to Brian's footsteps until they faded away and his room-mate's door clicked shut. Then he waited another five minutes. Then, very carefully and quietly, without turning on the light, he stripped the sheets from the bed and balled them up, cleaning himself up with the dry parts as best he could. They felt sopping wet -- surely he hadn't cum that much? -- and he dropped them gingerly in his laundry basket. There was no way he was going to get a clean set of sheets from the linen cupboard without waking Brian again, so he draped his towel on the bed, lay down on that, and was quickly asleep.
In the morning he found he'd leaked yet more cum onto the towel as he slept, so that went into the laundry basket too. The sheets smelled pretty strong -- musky but not unpleasant -- so he decided to toss them all in the washer before he left for work. To his embarrassment he found his cock twitching as he stood there, and quickly closed the lid. Definitely all going in the wash, he thought.
He felt more relaxed than he had for days as he soaped himself up in the shower and scrubbed off the dried cum. Whatever this orc kink he'd picked up was, it was really, really hot. He hadn't had an orgasm like that since -- well, since that thing in the bathroom on Saturday. It had felt so real... but it couldn't have been. It must have been another of these intense dreams, or maybe a waking dream. He grinned and fondled himself as he remembered. He'd been standing... here, hidden by the shower curtain, turning into an orc, as Brian had walked in. His cock had swollen up and grown that sheath thing. His dick thickened in sympathy at the memory. Man, his imagination had been inventive. But maybe it would've been hotter if Brian had joined him instead of leaving? He smirked at the idea. Next time he had this fantasy that's what would happen, he decided, shutting off the water.
The wet dream seemed to have relieved some of the pressure, and he wasn't nearly so distracted that day at work. He felt a lot more assertive -- even aggressive -- and felt none of the previous day's awkwardness about checking guys out. He was getting more than a few glances in return, too. Maybe it was just the change in poise, but he felt burlier, his shirt pulling tighter across his chest.
When he came home that evening, Brian said nothing about being woken up in the night. Even so, John tried to be discreet about running the clothes dryer and collecting his sheets -- he didn't want Brian to know what had made him bellow like that, or at least didn't want to give him physical evidence of it. When he pulled the sheets out, though, he couldn't help but curse out loud at the sight.
"Hey, what's the problem?" Brian called from the next room. "We out of detergent again?"
"Piece of shit machine tore up my sheets!" John yelled back.
There were several sets of parallel rips in the sheets, some nearly an inch long and others more like punctures. John stared at them for a few seconds, puzzled and angry, then kicked the drying machine hard. As it rocked back, Brian ambled into the room to take a look.
"Geez, I see what you mean." He held a corner of the sheet, poking a couple of fingers through holes and waggling them idly, then looked up at John and raised an eyebrow.
"What?" demanded John.
"That sure is one mangled set of sheets. You'd better talk to the landlord, see if he can get the machine fixed."
"Yeah, I'll do that," said John, mollified. He bundled the sheets under his arm along with the towel -- _that_ wasn't torn, at least -- and stomped off to his room with them.
As soon as he walked in, he noticed that there was still a hint of the musky smell -- it must have soaked down into the mattress. He found himself relaxing. The ripped sheets which had made him so angry a few minutes before didn't seem such a big deal now. He sat down on the bed, pulled off his shoes and socks, and kneaded the soles of his feet with his thumbs. He smiled, closed his eyes, and let his mind wander.