I never thought I’d be the kind of guy to confess stuff like this, but sometimes life surprises you. I’m Alex, 25, originally from Chicago, now living in a small Brooklyn apartment I share with Liam. We’ve been roommates for nearly a year—more like friends, actually. He’s the kind of guy everyone gets along with: messy brown hair, always wearing band T-shirts, easy smile. Sometimes we’d drink on the fire escape after work, talk about sports, or share memes and late-night takeout. It all felt so comfortable.
If you’d asked me, even a few months ago, whether I was attracted to guys, I probably would’ve deflected the question. Not because I had anything against it, but because it just wasn’t something I’d explored. I had a string of boring Tinder dates with women, nothing ever seemed to stick. But I’d notice things, like waiting a little too long in the kitchen when Liam was changing for a morning run, or how my stomach twisted the night I walked in on him towel-wrapped and wet after a shower, laughing about something dumb on his phone. I told myself it was just roommate stuff.
This really started to change during one week in late August, when the city was in one of its gross, humid spells, the whole place sticky and restless. Liam and I both worked from home, the AC barely keeping up; he usually wore running shorts and nothing else, sprawled on the couch with a fan pointed at his bare chest. I found myself glancing over more and more, watching the sweat bead on his skin—wondering, I guess, what it would feel like, before quickly shaking the thought away.
One night, a Friday, he suggested we get some beers and actually try cooking instead of ordering pizza. “Dude, if we survive this, we can survive anything,” he joked, holding up a box of cheap pasta and jarred sauce. I laughed, maybe a little too nervously. While we cooked, we drank, music played, and the mood got lighter. He touched my arm to show me how to chop garlic. I felt a jolt that had nothing to do with static or nerves.
At dinner, he sprawled across from me, bare feet up on the opposite chair, grinning, eyes glinting over his glass of beer. “Man, why didn’t we do this before?”
“I guess we’re lazy idiots,” I said, feeling warm. It wasn’t just the alcohol.
He leaned toward me, lowered his voice. “You ever get bored of just…the usual?” he asked.
My heart jumped. “What do you mean?” I tried to laugh, but there was something charged in the room.
He shrugged, looking me in the eye. “I dunno. Like, same type of weekend, same type of dating. Like all my dates feel…predictable.”
I nodded, feeling a little exposed. “Yeah. I get that.”
There was a long pause. He didn’t look away.
Something in my face must’ve given me away, because he grinned, more softly this time. “You’re blushing, man.”
I scoffed. “Shut up. It’s just hot in here.”
We both laughed, and the tightness in my chest eased, but for the rest of the meal I was hyper-aware of how close he was, of the way his leg would touch mine under the table. I told myself it was nothing. But I felt wired.
After dinner, he wanted to put on a movie. We piled onto the grimy old couch, barely a foot apart. I fiddled with the remote while he scrolled through Netflix. At some point, I realized he’d stopped pretending to watch and was looking at me, eyes searching. I think he could feel my nerves.
“Can I ask you something kind of random?” he said.
“Yeah?” My voice was a little too quick.
He drew in a breath. “Have you ever…hooked up with a guy?”
I hesitated, mouth dry. This was the moment, right? The one where everything could get weird. “No. I mean, never really thought about it. You?”
His eyes lingered on me. “Once. In college. Wasn’t a big thing. I just…sometimes I wonder, you know, what people are really into—instead of just what they’re supposed to be into.”
I nodded, feeling my cheeks burn. “Yeah. I get that.”
He shifted closer. We watched the movie in silence, except I was painfully aware of every breath, every inch between us. The air was thick.
Finally, during a scene where the characters started making out, I felt his hand graze my thigh, almost accidental. My heart pounded.
“You good?” he whispered.
I nodded, not trusting myself to speak.
Then suddenly his hand was firmer, steady, his thumb making small circles on my bare skin. It was so gentle, but I felt like I was burning up. He kept watching the screen, pretending nothing was different.
“You can tell me to stop,” he said quietly.
I shook my head, shivering. “No, don’t.”
My voice was barely more than a whisper. But I’d given myself away.
He moved closer, leg pressed against mine. I felt his body heat, smelled the sweat-salt of his skin. His fingers moved up my shorts, tentative, almost shy.
“Alex,” he said, voice low, “I don’t want stuff to get weird.”
I laughed, a sharp little sound. “It already kind of is, isn’t it?”
He grinned, then leaned in slowly. Like he was giving me every second to pull back. I didn’t. When his lips met mine, it was soft at first—just a testing, gentle thing, tasting my mouth, letting me breathe him in.
He tasted like beer and garlic and something else—something electric. I kissed back, heart pounding so loud in my ears I couldn’t hear anything else. He pulled away, just a few inches, searching my face.
“You okay?” he asked.
I nodded. “Yeah. I think I want this.”
He smiled, visibly relieved, and kissed me deeper, tongue sliding against mine now, hands cupping my jaw. I groaned, the sound raw and desperate. I wanted him, more than I’d wanted anyone in ages. I let my hands travel over his arms, up to his shoulders, gripping, pulling him closer.
He slid his hand under my shirt, rough and firm over my skin, fingertips tracing my ribs. I let my own hands wander, feeling his back, his abs, feeling how hard he was under my touch. He pressed me back into the couch, hips grinding against mine. I could feel his dick, hard and insistent, through the fabric.
I broke the kiss, gasping. “Liam, are you sure about this?”
He ran his hand through my hair. “I don’t think I’ve ever been more sure of anything. You?”
Instead of answering, I kissed him again, more desperately this time. I tugged at his shorts, and he made this beautiful, frantic little sound. I pushed his shorts down, he wriggled free, then pulled my own shorts off. We hesitated, naked except for our boxers, eyes locked, both of us grinning like idiots.
He leaned forward, mouth tracing my neck, biting just where my pulse throbbed. I shuddered and held him tighter. His hand found my cock through my boxers, stroking gently, teasing. I could hardly breathe, hips jerking up into his palm.
“Fuck, Alex,” he groaned, pressing his forehead to mine. “You feel so good.”
I reached down, pulled his boxers down over his hips, letting his cock spring free. Thick and hard and leaking, I wrapped my hand around him, feeling him twitch. He gasped, grinding against my fist.
We stroked each other, slow at first, then faster, kissing between breaths, groaning, desperate for more. The air was full of sweat, skin, panting. I pushed him onto his back, straddling him, kissing down his chest, biting his nipple. He arched into me, hands gripping my ass.
“You want me?” I asked, half-shaky, half-bold.
He grinned, wide-eyed, “Yeah. God, I want you so bad.”
Wordlessly, I reached for the lube we kept in the bathroom for…other reasons. There was a brief, awkward moment—a lot of laughing, kissing, hands awkwardly fumbling. But it just made it better, more real.
I slicked him up, then myself. He pulled me in, legs wrapped around my waist, eyes never leaving mine. A moment of tension, nerves—was I really doing this? His hand guided me to him, and I pushed in, slow, eyes locked, until I was buried all the way inside.
We both gasped. It was intense, overwhelming. For a second all I could do was hold him, bodies pressed together, breath mingling. Then I started to move, slow at first, building a rhythm as his nails dug into my back, moaning my name. I lost myself in the heat, the friction, the sound of him whispering “fuck yes, don’t stop.”
We fucked, slow and deep at first, then rough, harder, sweat-slick and grunting, until he came, jerking in my hand, cock pulsing between us. I followed, shuddering through my own orgasm, riding the wave until I collapsed, shaking, on top of him.
We lay there for a long time, catching our breath. He stroked my hair, smiling.
“That was…definitely not the usual Friday night,” he whispered, voice still rough.
I laughed, feeling lighter than I had in ages. “No,” I said, kissing his cheek. “But maybe we’re just getting started.”