Recap: Eli never expected his hot new roommate to ask for help with shooting nudes, but Zack had that easy confidence that made it hard to say no. What was supposed to be a simple photo session turned into something slower and more charged when Zack kept losing his hardness. Eli tried to play it cool, giving direction, adjusting poses, pretending it was all routine, but the room kept getting warmer and Zack kept getting more frustrated. One moment of stubborn eye contact later, Eli ended up on his knees, taking over in the most direct way possible. Zack let him, almost too easily, gripping the bed, head tipped back, breathing hard while Eli sucked him off.
From there everything shifted into a blur of heat. Zack’s body loosened under every stroke and slow pull of Eli’s mouth, the tension melting into something hungry and helpless. Eli was trying to stay detached, like he was only doing what needed to be done for the camera, but Zack’s reactions made that impossible. It wasn’t planned, wasn’t talked about, and neither of them had any idea what it meant after, but their first time ended with Zack cumming against Eli’s tongue, shaky and surprised, while Eli held him steady and pretended like this was still just about helping a roommate out.
(Eli's POV)
I woke up feeling like someone had shaken me all night. My body felt loose and jittery at the same time and my mouth felt embarrassingly aware of what it had been doing yesterday. The apartment smelled like coffee and cereal when I pushed open my bedroom door and for a second I almost hoped Zack would be hiding in his room, giving me time to collect myself.
No luck.
He was in the kitchen, perched on the counter like he lived on cereal boxes and sunlight. Shirtless. Hair messed up. Phone in one hand. Spoon dangling lazily in the other. He did not look different. He did not even look conflicted. He looked like a guy having breakfast after a totally normal night.
He lifted his eyes when I walked in and gave the simplest greeting in the world. “Morning, camera guy”
The way he said it felt unfairly calm.
I just nodded and pretended my pulse had not jumped. I went for a mug, tried to look casual, tried to control my breathing. My hand shook slightly against the cabinet door. I told myself he did not notice.
He definitely noticed.
Zack kept scrolling, spoon clinking against the bowl, chest rising in slow breaths. The picture of ease. I kept expecting him to smirk or hint at last night or even flinch at the memory, but the only flinching happening was mine. Every time he shifted his weight, I remembered the way his thighs tightened. Every time he swallowed a mouthful of cereal, I remembered the small sounds he made when he was close. My face felt warm and I had no idea where to stand.
I opened the fridge even though I did not need anything. “You sleep okay?” I asked, voice thinner than I wanted.
“Yeah, fucking good” he said, casual as ever. “You?”
I took too long to answer because I suddenly remembered the moment he came, the way his body jerked, the shock on his face. My tongue brushed my own lower lip without permission, like part of me was still tasting his cum. I forced my voice out. “I slept okay.”
He nodded, not calling out the lie.
I poured coffee even though I did not want coffee. My hands searched for something to do, any movement that might make me look stable. Zack hopped off the counter behind me. The floor creaked under his weight and his warmth filled the room even before he walked over.
He moved close enough that I felt the heat of his chest somewhere between my shoulder blades. He reached over me for the carton in the fridge and the brush of his arm along my back made me inhale too fast. His voice came from right beside my ear. “You usually wake up earlier.”
I froze for a moment before answering.
“Yeah, no just slept in.”
He hummed, a soft sound that said he did not believe me. Then he stepped away and the room felt colder.
I tried to drink the coffee. My hands were unsteady. Zack leaned against the island, crossing his arms behind his head in a long stretch that made his abs tighten. He held the pose a little too long. He did not look at me directly, but his eyes flicked toward me in the reflection of the microwave door.
I looked away fast.
He took a slow breath. His tongue swept across his bottom lip while he checked a message on his phone. That tiny motion seemed louder than his actual voice. It made my throat feel dry.
“You hungry?” he asked, still not looking up.
“I am good,” I said too fast.
He glanced at me, amused in a quiet way. The type of amused that hides something deeper.
“You seem tired.”
“I am fine.”
His eyes lingered on my face for a fraction too long before drifting away again. Not once did he mention last night. Not once did he act embarrassed. If anything, he looked more relaxed than he had before we ever did anything.
I tried to escape the kitchen by pretending I had something to pack. I grabbed my camera bag and started checking things I had already checked. Zack followed me into the living room as if it was the most natural thing in the world. He leaned on the doorway, arms folded loosely, watching me with the kind of attention that curled under my skin.
“You good for today?” he asked.
“Yeah,” I said, eyes on the floor. “Just… regular stuff.”
His mouth twitched.
“Alright.”
I could feel him looking at me. Not heavily. Not with intensity. Just with quiet observation, like he was studying something he was not sure how to define yet.
I walked past him toward the hallway and his hand brushed my shoulder. It could have been an accident. It could have been deliberate. It lasted longer than it needed to. A warm press that made my stomach drop.
“You seem different,” he said.
“I am not,” I answered, too fast again.
Zack nodded. He pushed his hair back with a slow drag of his fingers. He looked at me with a soft expression that I could not quite read. Not playful, not serious. Something in between.
I tried to step around him. For a moment he did not move. His shoulder rested against the wall and his body blocked half the hallway. When he finally slid aside, he did it slowly, eyes following me in a way that felt intentional.
I walked past him, trying to look untouched by it all. My heartbeat betrayed me. His silence betrayed him too.
The day slipped by in a blur and I kept replaying every moment from last night whether I wanted to or not. My mouth still felt too aware. My thoughts kept looping around the taste of Zack’s cock. I tried to distract myself with work, editing, errands, anything, but the apartment felt different when I came home. Warmer. Charged.
By the time I started making dinner the light outside had faded. I stood at the stove stirring pasta sauce even though I kept zoning out. The kitchen felt too quiet and every time I blinked I saw Zack’s face from yesterday. The way he reacted. The way he looked at me afterward.
I was so deep in my head that I did not hear him walk in.
I only felt him.
At my back.
Close enough that the air between us lifted the hairs on my neck. His breath moved across my skin in a soft wave and I froze with the wooden spoon still in my hand.
Zack leaned forward, reaching past me. His arm brushed along my back like a slow electric line. He dipped his finger into the sauce with casual confidence, tasted it, then made a pleased sound in his throat.
“I didn’t know you cook, camera guy.”
I turned slightly, trying to look normal even though my knees felt weak.
“Yeah, just a bit. I am not very good at it, but I try.”
He licked a bit of sauce from his fingertip, eyes steady on mine.
“Well it tastes fucking good.”
I did not reply. I just stared at him for a moment and felt my stomach drop. He must have seen the shift in my expression because his face softened, a calm mask over something tighter underneath.
“Thinking about last night,” he said quietly. “I hope it was not weird for you or anything. You were acting differently all day.”
My grip on the spoon slipped. I felt heat rise straight up my neck. He was close enough that I could feel the warmth of his shoulder. For the first time all day he did not look relaxed. He looked almost unsure.
Zack looked at the sauce, then back at me. “You were pretty gentle with me,” he added, voice lower. “Was it seriously your first time suck-ing a dick?”
I swallowed hard. My tongue felt heavy.
“Uhm… yeah,” I lied to him. I had sucked dick plenty of times before. I just wanted him to think it was my first.
“I mean, I have never even seen any guy naked. I just keep to myself.”
Zack watched me struggle. His eyes flicked down to my mouth for the briefest second before he looked away with a quiet exhale.
“Well,” he muttered, “it did not feel like someone inexperienced. You give better head than the chicks I have matched with.”
I didn't know where to look. The kitchen felt smaller. His compliment hit me too sharply and I could not tell how he meant it. Zack’s jaw tightened and he turned his gaze toward the stove, almost like he needed the distance.
“Just… I don't know,” he said. “It was kind of different.”
My heart thudded so loudly I felt it in my fingertips. The silence stretched between us like a pulled wire.
Zack’s eyes lowered again. “I thought it would feel wrong,” he said. “It did not.”
He said it gently, like he was not talking to me at all but to the part of himself that had been wrestling with this since last night. I could barely breathe.
Zack stepped closer as if honesty pulled him forward. His voice softened even more. “I have not stopped thinking about it.”
I felt the whole room tilt, like gravity had shifted. The spoon slipped into the pot and the sauce bubbled quietly. Zack’s thumb brushed the edge of the counter. The tiny motion looked nervous and it sent another tight pull through my chest.
“I do not know why I let a dude do that,” he whispered. “I do not know why I asked you suck my dick..But I did.”
He was looking at the counter, not at me. Vulnerability sat right under his voice, and it felt too intimate to witness.
“Zack…” I whispered, stepping toward him.
He shook his head quickly. “Forget it.”
He backed up as if he had said too much, as if the truth had slipped through a crack he did not mean to open. His face shuttered over with a practiced calm.
He looked at the pot. “Anyway. Tell me when the pasta is ready.”
He turned to leave and my heart dropped. His shoulders were tense in a way I had never seen. He walked toward the hallway and paused at the doorway with his back to me. He stayed there for a long moment, hands at his sides, breathing unevenly.
“Eli…” he said, voice low.
He did not turn around.
He did not finish the sentence.
He just walked into his room and closed the door softly, leaving me standing in the kitchen with my pulse racing and the smell of pasta sauce filling the quiet apartment.
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