It started as a joke. It ended in his bed.
So, I've got this roommate. Two years now. It's the kind of setup where we share a bathroom and don't care about closed doors when we're just pissing. I bring girls over, he brings guys or girls, whatever. We stay out of each other's way.
Then last month, we were drinking on the couch before this girl came over. I joked, "What if you pretend you don't know me tonight? Like you're just some random guest?" We laughed, made up backstories. But when she actually showed up, we did it. I introduced him. He shook my hand. It was a game.
Except it didn't feel like one. When he took my hand, he held it. Longer than a stranger would. His thumb brushed my palm and my stomach dropped. All night, we kept catching each other. I'd catch him watching me kiss her. He'd hand me a drink and his fingers would brush mine deliberately.
She left around midnight. We didn't move from the couch. Just sat there in the dark. My heart was pounding so loud I thought he could hear it. His knee touched mine. Neither of us pulled away.
Then his hand landed on my thigh. We still weren't looking at each other. Just staring at some dumb show while his thumb traced slow circles closer to my hip. My cock was hard already, straining against my jeans. I turned my head. He was already waiting.
We kissed. No talking. His mouth tasted like the IPA from earlier. His stubble scraped my chin. He pushed me back, got on top. He pulled my shirt up, and I undid his belt. We were both breathing hard, almost embarrassed by how fast we got there.
"We probably shouldn't," he said quietly.
"Probably not," said.
Neither of us moved away. We stared until it became unbearable, then both looked down at the same time, laughing. Nervous. Embarrassed.
"Fuck," he muttered. "This is weird."
"Yeah," I said. "Really fucking weird."
The laughter died. His fingers tightened again, deliberate this time, and we turned toward each other at the same moment. The kiss wasn't smooth. Our noses bumped. It was awkward and desperate and wet. He pushed me back, climbing over me, and the weight of him was solid.
We didn't rush to the bedroom. We stayed on the couch making out like teenagers, hands fumbling, belts stuck, laughing breathlessly when we couldn't get the angle right. When we finally stumbled down the hall, we paused at his door. He looked at me, checking. Like, are we really doing this? Is this real? I nodded. We went inside.
Clothes came off piece by piece. He was leaner than I'd imagined. When he kissed my stomach, his hands were shaking against my hips. I touched his hair, then his jaw, tilting his face up. We looked at each other for a second too long, both breathing hard, both scared shitless.
When I pushed inside him, it was slow. Tight. He gripped my shoulders, nails digging in. We moved like that for what felt like hours. Not talking. Just skin and sweat and the sound of the bed creaking. When he came, he bit my shoulder. I followed right after, burying my face in his neck.
We didn't say anything after. Just lie there. But I knew the next morning, everything would be different.
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