Later that evening, after Greg disappeared into his room and the apartment settled into a quieter rhythm, I found Adrien working on the living-room table.
He was wearing a fitted blue shirt. The kind that made him look unfairly put-together for someone who had spent the morning in boxers on the couch. Sleeves rolled up to his hairy forearms, laptop open in front of him and a focused look in his eyes. There were printed diagrams spread across the table: cells, tissues, annotated arrows everywhere.
The odd little detail was that he wasn't wearing any trousers. He was working in his underwear and socks, all relaxed.
He looked up when I went to see what he was up to:
“Hey Steph.”
“Hey.”
I nodded toward the papers:
“Homework?”
A faint smile curved his mouth:
“Correction work.”
“Oh?”
“I teach first-year undergrads. Practical lab sessions.” He tapped one of the sheets. “Cell biology. Histology, mostly.”
"OK, so that's why you were talking about lab the other day then. But what's Histology anyway?"
“Study of tissues. Microscope work. Making sure they don’t confuse an epithelium with connective tissue, things like that.” He leaned back slightly.
I blinked:
“Well I don’t know what’s an epithelium aha. Stopped biology a while ago. So, if you teach you’re… not just a student?”
“I’m in a PhD right now,” he said. “Specializing in neurobiology.”
“Wow ok, so you’re the serious academic of the flat,” I said.
He raised an eyebrow:
“You’re in History dude.”
“Yeah, but I’m only in masters” I smiled. “And I don’t manipulate living matter. Your stuff seems more pratical.”
“Debatable,” he replied calmly: “You manipulate narratives and people believes, right?”
I laughed:
“Fair. I'm into military history,” I clarified. “Political structures. Warfare. Cultural shifts.”
Adrien tilted his head, genuinely interested:
“Specific period?”
“Classical era mostly. Fourth century BCE. ”
“Thebes, Sparta… that kind of things?” he asked casually. "Sacred Band?"
I stared at him.
I felt oddly… impressed. This guy seemed to know things on lots of different subjects. You could tell he was the oldest but also the smartest of my roommates.
“Yeah exactly,” I said, unable to hide the enthusiasm creeping into my voice. “Around two hundred and fifty pairs of male lovers fighting together. There’s debate about the true nature of their bonds...”
“Did you chose that subject yourself,” Adrien cut in softly. "Or more like... followed a teacher's?"
The sentence hung there. He watched me with that steady, observant gaze of his. The one that made me feel like he was analyzing me, searching into the deepest parts of my personality.
“A mix of both I guess. Always liked that period.”
He nodded.
I was about to leave him to his homework when he stopped me:
“Hey,” he called. “There’s something that might still be in your room.”
“My room?”
“Yeah. From… before.”
I understood immediately.
“Oh.”
He rubbed the back of his neck. A rare gesture for someone usually so composed.
“It’s probably nothing. But if it’s there, I’d rather not leave it.”
“What is it?” I asked.
He hesitated.
“Something I made for my ex.”
That was vague enough to make me curious.
“You can go get it,” I said. “I don’t mind.”
He glanced at me, measuring.
“I don’t want to just walk in.”
“I can come with you,” I offered.
A small nod:
“Yeah. Okay.”
- - -
We walked to my room together. It still felt strange calling it mine. Adrien stepped inside slowly, scanning the space like he was looking at a memory instead of furniture. I had dropped several of my personal belongings here and there, but organizing my stuff was not my priority right now. I had also pinned a couple of posters from my previous bedroom on the walls, mostly from "Histoire Magazine", he even commented on them:
"Oh nice man." He took time to look at the one picturing Greek soldiers. "It's cool your changing this place."
"I mean... that's just a start. I liked the walls being filled with stuff."
“Feel ya..." He paused for a second, scanning the bedroom. "I think it’s near the desk.”
He crouched down and reached toward a small gap between the desk and the wall — a spot I hadn’t even noticed. His long fingers slipped behind it and pulled out something flat, wrapped in paper.
He stared at it for a second before unwrapping it.
It was a wooden frame. Inside, pressed carefully under glass, were dried flowers arranged in a pattern. On the bottom corner, burned lightly into the wood, were initials.
“You made this?” I asked softly.
“Yeah.”
His voice was different now. Quieter. Less steady.
“For our 5 years birthday.”
He ran his thumb along the edge of the frame.
“She said she liked handmade stuff.”
A faint, humorless smile crossed his face.
“Turns out she didn’t like mine.”
I didn’t know what to say.
“She kept it out for a week,” he continued. “Then it disappeared. Said he had lost it. True story is she was hiding that thing.”
My chest tightened.
“She probably didn’t realize how much it meant to you,” I offered carefully.
“Oh she did,” he replied simply.
There was no anger in his tone. Just something heavier.
He stood up slowly, still holding the frame.
“It’s stupid man,” he added. “I don’t even know why I want it back.”
“It’s not stupid.”
Something in his boxers seemed to move at that precise moment.
He looked at me, with a faint sadness in his eyes:
“I miss the contact you know,” he admitted. “Not her, specifically. Just… someone there. Around my room.”
The honesty caught me off guard.
“I get that,” I said. “Breakups can mess with you more than you expect.”
He studied my face for a moment, as I kept wondering if I should open myself to him just like he did.
“You ever had one?” he asked, interested.
“Yeah,” I lied automatically. Then corrected myself. “Well. Something like that. Wasn't as long as yours it seems.”
He didn’t push.
“If you ever need to talk though,” I said, my voice steadier than I felt, “or just… chill. You can come to my room. Anytime.”
The offer hung between us. I saw his bulge twitch again.
Yeah, that was his cock.
And it looked fat too!
He was visibly considering it:
“That’s nice of you Steph.”
“I mean it.”
“I know. You're a cool guy. Knew it immediately.”
He adjusted his grip on the frame. Then he stepped toward the door, paused, and looked back at me:
“Night' Steph."
And with that, he left.
I stood there alone in my room, the air feeling heavier somehow.
That night, I couldn’t turn my brain off.
I undressed slowly, mechanically, like my body was moving on autopilot while my mind stayed somewhere else entirely. Somewhere tiled. Humid. Chlorine-soaked.
The locker room.
Julien.
I exhaled sharply and pulled my shirt over my head, annoyed at myself already.
It was just a body.
That’s it.
An athletic body. A swimmer’s body, with way more muscles than me, yeah. But it's more like a functional body, built for performance.
That’s all.
I sat on the edge of my bed, staring at nothing, replaying flashes I hadn’t asked for.
The way his shoulders flexed when he pushed off the wall. The smooth line of his back under the harsh white lights. The effortless strength in his arms when he grabbed mine to correct my stroke.
His cock.
Solid. Warm. With precum dripping from the slit...
I swallowed.
Why did I remember how his skin felt on my tongue?
Having his taste lingering there.
That was a normal thing to try, right? Like testing waters with another dude.
Everybody does that at some point, could be with your cousin when you're young or later, doesn't change a damn thing.
You're just experimenting, right?
I mean, physical contact is physical contact. You notice things. Texture. Pressure. That doesn’t mean anything.
I was now on my back, staring at the ceiling in the dark, with all the stars glowing in the dark.
You are not gay.
The thought kept coming back. Defensive.
I’ve had crushes before. On girls. Obviously. This wasn’t some grand revelation.
One girl particularly.
We dated for a few months but she dumped me in the end.
Said I was not "invested" enough.
Seems more like we didn't share a lot of things and had different expectations from life.
So yeah, I only dated, touched or even thought about girls all my life.
So this was just… over-stimulation. New environment. Three athletic guys walking around half-dressed. My brain was reacting. That’s all.
It didn’t mean I found him...
I stopped the thought before it finished.
Didn’t mean I found him what?
Attractive?
No.
I rolled onto my side, jaw tight.
I had just… noticed him. That was different.
Anyone would notice him. Clearly.
My thoughts began to blur at the edges as exhaustion finally started winning the fight. The soreness in my shoulders grounded me back into my body. The fatigue from the swim dragged me downward.
The images softened. Became less sharp.
Water instead of skin. Movement instead of muscle. Light instead of touch. Somewhere between denial and dreaming, I stopped arguing with myself.
But sleep wouldn't come!
My mind replayed the locker room nonstop, his balls heavy in my hand, the bitter flood on my tongue, my own cock growing as I was slowly jerking it, without even realizing it!
Well fuck.
I was hard just thinking about him!
Thirst hit me hard around 11 pm., my mouth dry from the nerves and the thoughts of his dick invading my palate. I had to go for a glass.
The apartment was pitch black and dead quiet, just the hum of the fridge as I padded out in my boxers, cock already twitching at half-mast from the unresolved ache. I flicked on the kitchen light, the cool tile under my feet.
I went to the sink and filled a large glass of water, fingers shaking a bit.
That's when I heard it: soft footsteps from the hall. My heart jumped, and I turned to see Julien stepping into the kitchen, buck-ass naked, his muscly swimmer's body on full display under the dim bulb.
Shit!
I almost dropped the glass on the floor.
His cock hung heavy between his thighs, half-hard already, maybe six inches soft and swaying with each step, the uncut foreskin pulled back just enough to show the glistening head. His balls dangled low and shiny, shaved smooth like they were oiled up, swinging lazily as he closed the distance, bold as fuck, no shame in his grin.
"What the hell are you doing up, bro?" he asked, voice casual, leaning against the counter right next to me. The musky scent starting hitting me: sweat and skin, faint precum already beading at the slit.
I froze, glass halfway to my lips, eyes locked on his junk before I could stop myself:
"Uh, just... thirsty,' I stammered, my face heating up as I forced a sip, the water doing nothing for the dryness in my throat now. "What about you? You always sleep... like that?"
He chuckled, low and teasing, scratching his abs as his cock twitched, thickening a bit more under my stare:
"Couldn't sleep. Figured I'd grab a snack." He opened a drawer and fetched a small pack of cookies. "And yeah, always sleep commando. Way better for your skin dude."
"Yeah okay."
Julien raised his eyebrows; I must have been disturbed by his nudity because he continued on that topic:
"Dude, it's our place. We're between bros here, so get comfy like this if you want. We don't mind."
Honestly, I was only partially paying attention to his argument. My gaze was mostly fixed on his glistening crotch.
He eventually let out a chuckle:
"Seeing anything you like?" His eyes dropped to my boxers, where my own dick was tenting obvious, straining against the fabric from the sight of him exposed again.
"No, sorry."
I flushed deeper, turning back to the fridge to hide it, but he stepped closer:
"Come on, Steph, you're staring at my cock again. You'll get used to it man. I walk around like this with Big G' and Curvy all the time. They don't give a shit; neither should you."
He paused.
"Unless you're not fine with it."
"It's... it's fine, really." I lied, voice cracking, but my gaze flicked back down anyway. His monster was mesmerizing: purple veins starting pulsing along the shaft, resting heavy on those shiny, low-hanging balls that looked even fuller than in the locker room.
I could almost feel their weight again, the way they'd rolled in my palm, packed with cum. My mouth watered despite myself, remembering the bitter tang, my cock throbbing painfully as exhibitionist heat flooded me.
Fuck.
He was just standing there, naked and casual, like offering his dick up was everyday shit.
Julien smirked, catching every flustered glance.
"You sure? You've been thinking about my cock since the lockers, haven't you?"
I froze.
"Bet that little suck you gave it got you hooked." He reached down, giving his shaft a lazy tug, foreskin sliding back to expose the slick head fully, a fresh drop of precum welling up and dripping onto the floor.
I swallowed hard, backing up against the counter, my heart pounding.
"No, I mean... yeah, maybe a little. But that was not a good idea man."
He laughed softly, stepping right up so his half-hard cock nudged my hip, the heat radiating off it.
"Come on, bro. You want to taste it again? I wouldn't mind letting you. Got plenty of juice built up from earlier."
His smile.
His damn cocky smile.
"Your mouth felt good wrapped around it you know. You could try it again."
His voice dropped, charismatic and easy, like he was offering me a beer, not his throbbing dick. Those shiny balls shifted as he flexed.
Panic twisted in my gut, the first-time nerves crashing back hard:
"No thanks, really. That's... not happening." My words came out weak, eyes glued to his cock despite myself, imagining dropping to my knees again, sucking him off while he stood bold and naked.
Julien shrugged, but his grin turned wicked.
That fucker!
He grabbed his floppy dick at the base (still half-hard, thick and veiny) and shook it right under my eyes, the shaft slapping against his thigh with a soft smack, balls swinging heavy and full. Precum flicked off the head, landing on the floor.
"Too bad, man. I've got loads of spare juice here that'd go straight down the drain otherwise."
He let go, the cock bouncing back into place.
"Would've been hot watching you swallow it all."
It was now dangling temptingly as he walked back to his room, ass flexing with each step.
I stood there, water forgotten, my own dick leaking into my boxers, the tension coiling tighter than ever.
The moment I went back to my bed, I moved my boxers to my ankles and started stroking myself under the sheets.
Ample, fast strokes.
Yeah, I jerked myself to his beautiful cock.
Only three minutes in and I was cumming so fucking hard all over my stomach, shooting ropes and ropes everywhere.
I even thought about tasting it. Imagining it was Julien's cum.
I was so close.
But disgust took over and I cleaned myself up before finally closing my eyes and finding rest in a deep sleep.
Filled with erotic images...
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