Flatmates
Obsession sees boundaries crossed.
Written by Ricky
I hear his heavy footsteps as he stumbles from the bathroom back to his bed. I didn’t hear his door close. It’s nearly 4am and he’s left the corridor light on that’s my excuse to get up.
My heart is pounding as I pull on my boxers and step out into the hallway. His door is almost wide open. I quietly walk over and stand in his at the entrance to his room. There he is, lying on top of his blanket completely naked. Before I’ve processed what I’m looking at, I’ve walked in and now I’m standing at the foot of his bed. I must have switched off the hallway light because we’re both only illuminated by the last of the moon and the first glimmers of dawn.
I’ve been in here enough times over the last two months, but not like this. Not with him here as well, sleeping. It’s become so routine now; waiting for him to leave for work then sneaking in to inhale his scent. The musk of his bedding and the remnants of whatever cologne he’s doused himself in that day. But tonight the room smells different, stronger because now he is here, we're both here. And then it hits me. I'm in his bedroom standing over his naked body. What the fuck am I doing?
He looks so inviting, lying there on his front, his head facing the door and his right knee up by his elbow. His skin is glowing, and the light coating of fur on his legs arms and chest is absent on his back. He looks even broader lying like this. So strong and yet so gentle and submissive. Who even sleeps like that, back arched and presenting?
He’d been out in Kennington, no doubt expecting some sort of action. I recognise the red jock that cradles his plump ass tangled amongst the clothes he’d peeled off around him. He’d worn it in one of his Instagram thirst traps. I’ve not used that jock yet. His briefs are easier to take, he’s less likely to notice them missing than one of his jocks.
That was my Friday night. Whilst he was out, I was inhaling his worn pants whilst scrolling his socials. I can smell him in those briefs, imagining how his balls would taste, how much that cock leaks when its fully engorged. Or how the skin on his chest and stomach might react to my bearded mouth running over it.
I replayed our interaction from earlier that evening, then reminisced about last week’s movie night, that joke he made and a hundred different moments from the last few weeks. Then my mind wandered as it did every night, to fantasies of us frotting, kissing, fucking. The imaginations of him on me, in me, me in him; caressing him and tasting him, his carnal lust matching mine in every way.
I did this for two hours tonight, getting myself close so many times but not allowing myself to cum. Not until I was ready and had played out all my fantasies. Yet again, it was the thought of his face contorted in ecstasy that finally made me shoot my load. When he’s home, I stuff his pants in my mouth to stop myself from making a noise. But I was alone tonight, so I didn’t hold back. When the time came and I couldn’t edge any longer, I let out a deep guttural moan, so loud and primal, it almost certainly disturbed the neighbours.
I’ve had his orange pants for a week and his scent is beginning to fade. So I used them to wipe my seed from my stomach and stuffed it under my pillow, intending to throw them in with my laundry tomorrow. They’ve served their purpose and I’ll grab a ripe pair of his on Monday.
He’s not snoring. We share a wall and I know the sound of him sleeping. Okay sure, he’s only just gone to bed. But if he’s been on the lash, he should be snoring. So he must be faking it.
My heart is racing as I stare at him, wondering if he has planned this; for me to walk in and find him like this and do exactly what I am doing now.
He isn’t asleep, he wants this too.
I’m so consumed by this notion, I don’t notice that I’ve freed my shaft from my boxers, my hand now wrapped around it and gently pumping the base. I’m still wet, despite my earlier milking, and a thin strand of precum begins to leak from my cock head.
His arse looks perfect. Like a fuzzy peach, so plump and primed. Fuck I want to taste him, to run my tongue over that seam running from the knot of his hole, down his taint and to those heavy balls resting so tantalising on the bed. Would he “wake up” if I touch him?
What If I’m wrong? How would I explain myself if he opens his eyes and finds me here like this? I push these fears away. It doesn’t matter; he wants this just as much as I do.
I quietly step forward and lean closer. I feel the heat radiating from his body and my nose fills with the smell of him. It’s so potent that it has my dick straining in my grip. I’m stroking a little faster now and the strand of precum lands on the bed by his foot.
I hover a hand over him like I’m performing some weird reiki, daring my fingers to touch him, to make the first move and to begin this. How long have I been here? The room has grown brighter and faint sounds of birdsong interrupt the stillness. But he’s still quiet.
I tell myself it’s okay. He’s awake and planned for me to be here, because he wants this. Nobody sleeps like this.
With a jolt of conviction, my hand lands on his cheek, grabbing a little harder than intended and pulling it aside to reveal his hole.
Adrenaline is rushing through my veins and setting my whole body on fire. This is it; this is what I’ve been craving since he moved in. And it’s even more beautiful than I imagined. My thumb begins to gently stroke towards it whilst I let go of my cock and place my other hand on him to part the cheeks and get a better look. The ring around his hole is a couple of shades darker than the rest of his skin, and is the light playing tricks or is his tight boy-pussy twitching?
I lower my head and part my lips, sticking my tongue out to taste the prize I’ve been longing for. And then he begins to snore.
My head and hands snap off him as if struck by lightning. This wasn’t his plan. He’s asleep! Horrified at the scene I find myself in, I get up off his bed and hurry back to the safety of my own room.
My heart is beating out of my chest. What have I done and why am I still stroking my cock? Where are my boxers to catch my load?
I hear him close his door.
This story was written as part of a Naked Men Talking Writing Workshop, in response to the prompt "Obsession". Copyright remains with the author - this story cannot be republished or distributed without the consent of the author.
Gareth Johnson