I made it back to my room without further interaction (which honestly felt like a small personal victory).
Door closed. Back against it. Deep breath.
Silence. Well... almost.
Because once I actually stopped moving, I noticed a faint sound bleeding through the wall from Adrien’s bedroom. His voice. Low, emotional.
I couldn’t make out the words, just fragments, the rhythm of someone on the phone:
“…no, that’s not what I meant.”
Another pause, longer this time.
“Yeah… I know.”
Not loud. Not dramatic. Just… heavy.
I sat on my bed, shoes still on, listening despite myself. There was a loud thud, then his voice dropped even lower after that, almost a murmur. I caught a tired exhale.
Breakup? Family stuff? Work stress? Existential crisis? Could’ve been anything.
I felt a little bad, suddenly, for sneaking around earlier worrying about my own ridiculous drama while Adrien sounded like his life was actually complicated.
I stared at the wall for a second. Considered knocking. Did not knock. Social courage level: zero.
“Tomorrow,” I whispered to no one, “I’ll check on him tomorrow.”
Classic lie you tell yourself right before doing absolutely nothing.
I peeled off my clothes, collapsed onto the mattress, and pulled the blanket over me.
Bad idea.
Because the second the lights were off and my brain had nothing else to chew on, it immediately replayed Julien's cock blasting cum like it was tonight’s feature film.
His rod twitching in my hand. Warm. Solid. The way it shifted when I pressed. The small satisfied sigh he’d let out when I’d gone deeper.
I groaned into the pillow.
“Stop,” I muttered.
And then, for absolutely no helpful reason, Greg’s voice barged into the memory too: that deep, gravelly “Steph!” from the hallway earlier.
Why did that stick in my head? It was just Greg. Just loud, rugby-guy Greg after pounding his regular fuckbuddy.
Somewhere between embarrassment, overthinking, and pure exhaustion, I finally drifted off.
I blinked awake. My phone said 6:58 a.m. 2 minutes right before my alarm.
Perfect. Awake before everyone. Safe. No social encounters required.
My jaw still ached, lips a bit swollen, and I could smell faint musk on my pillow—Julien's scent clinging to me.
I dragged myself out of bed, pulling on sweats over my half-hard morning wood, trying to act normal. But my face… had I gotten all the cum off? A quick mirror check showed faint white flecks dried in my stubble, impossible to hide completely. Panic bubbled, but thirst won; I needed water after last night's chlorine-tainted drool fest.
I shuffled to the kitchen in survival mode, threw together the most basic breakfast imaginable (some bread with jam and a nice cup of coffee), and stood at the counter half-asleep, spoon in hand, staring blankly at nothing while chewing.
Peaceful. Quiet.
Then I felt it.
That weird sensation of being watched.
My shoulders tensed before my brain even processed it. Slowly (very slowly!) I turned my head.
Greg was standing there.
Full gym outfit. Massive. Awake. Silent.
Looking directly at me.
Oh no.
He knows.
He absolutely knows.
He heard something.
He saw me leave Julien’s room.
I froze mid-bite, spoon hovering uselessly near my mouth.
“…Morning,” I managed.
Greg held my gaze another half-second (serious expression, unreadable), then nodded once.
“Morning.”
That’s it. Just morning. Like a normal human. Suspiciously normal.
He walked toward the counter.
And I swear this man has zero concept of personal space, because when he passed behind me it felt like an entire warm wall of muscle moved through my air supply. Close enough that I instinctively sucked in my stomach like that would somehow make me smaller?
He reached past me to grab food, one big arm brushing near mine, completely casual.
“So,” he said, rummaging around, “you up early.”
“Yeah,” I replied, voice slightly too high. “Got my first course at 8:30.”
“Mm,” Greg grunted, grabbing what he needed.
He didn’t sound suspicious. Didn’t sound accusatory. He just… stood there for a second, opening his container, then glanced at me again.
“Pool boy already up?” he asked.
“N-no idea,” I coughed. “Didn’t check. Haven’t… seen him.”
Technically true.
"Not cool, must be late then."
Greg stepped away with his food and went to knock at Julien's bedroom. Three loud knocks.
I was just starting to believe the morning drama quota had been filled…
…when Julien’s bedroom door exploded open:
“PUTAIN! Fucking phone didn’t ring!” he barked, voice rough with sleep as he stormed into the kitchen like a one-man natural disaster.
All naked. His dick bouncing with every step. Hair completely will. Pure panic energy! He went straight for the fridge, yanked it open, and started grabbing random things with zero strategy.
“Thanks Big G'” he shouted behind his shoulder. “Fuck, slept too well.”
I watched him in stunned silence while he chugged juice straight from the bottle, slammed it back, grabbed a yogurt, reconsidered, swapped it for something else, dropped a spoon, picked another one, muttered something about betrayal and technology…
Then he turned, and spotted me.
His whole face lit up in that stupidly bright, chaotic Julien grin:
“Oh. You’re up already?” he asked.
Before I could even react, he passed behind me:
SMACK.
A playful slap on my butt.
“Morning, cocksucker,” he tossed casually, like this was a completely normal roommate interaction. Maybe it was for him.
I froze. Entirely. Spoon still in hand. Brain buffering.
That Fucker! He just said that out-loud?
Greg was in the living-room, a few meters away, eating like none of this was noteworthy.
Julien was already halfway back toward his room, still talking at full speed:
“You coming for a swim with me Steph?.” The swimmer asked. "After hours."
"Mmm... Maybe I should..."
"Cool, I'll see you there then." Hew winked at me.
He disappeared into his bedroom, door slamming shut behind him.
Silence returned.
I remained there, perfectly still, trying to process… everything.
"Damn, don't know what you did to him." Greg commented, unphased.
Fuck...
Did he just...
My face felt warm. My brain felt like someone had shaken it in a jar.
"But that's a happy pool boy" the hunk finished while finishing his bowl of cereals.
From Julien’s room came the muffled sounds of drawers opening, things falling, and him loudly narrating his own crisis:
“WHERE ARE MY FUCKING SHORTS?”
I couldn’t help it, made me smile.
The embarrassment I felt was out of this world. I rubbed my face with one hand:
“Shit… need more coffee,” I muttered to myself.
Behind me, Greg snorted softly like he’d heard that:
"Not good for you guts..."
A pause, like he was preparing something wild to say.
And I wasn't disappointed:
"Cocksucker."
“I saw you last night, coming back from Julien's room.”
I couldn’t move. I was trapped.
“Face all fucked up, like you'd been hosed down.” His tone was blunt, no tease, just cold fact, like calling out a fumbled play.
He took another swig of his juice, Adam's apple bobbing, not watching me.
“Didn’t know you were gay, dude.”
My stomach dropped, glass trembling in my grip. Internally, I was spiraling:
Fuck, fuck, not gay, just touched it once, then the mouth thing, but it was his idea, I swear!
“You serious? That's not…” I stammered. “It's not like that.”
He snorted, short and mocking, setting his juice down with a clink:
“Bullshit. Hey, it’s fine Steph. Hiding it just makes you look pathetic.”
His voice stayed flat, earthbound, no anger. Just that rough honesty, like he was stating the score.
“You do you bud.” He continued. “Never seen a straight dude walk around with cum on his face though.”
Embarrassment flooded me, my cheeks were scorching under the dried remnants, Julien's thick load, now evidence against me.
I scratched at my jaw, flakes crumbling under my nails, the musky scent rising faint.
“I’m not gay man,” I insisted, voice cracking, panic twisting my brain. “It was... I don't know, just messing around. None of your business anyway.”
Why did I suck his dick? For fuck sake.
Greg picked up his juice again, sipping slow, casual as if we were chatting weather:
« Messing around? Looked like you were moaning all over his thick cock from what I heard.” He smirked faintly, cold eyes glinting.
Shit…
“Walls are thin, bro. I was fucking this bitch in my room, pounding her pussy, but even with her screaming, I caught your gags and slurps.”
I’m toasted.
“Sounded like you enjoyed that D, slurping it like a thirsty slut.” My face burned hotter, vision blurring with shame.
He heard?
Every wet suck, my teary nods as Julien face-fucked me slow? The jets hitting my skin, dripping down?
I wanted to sink into the floor, my cock twitching traitorously at the memory, half-hard in my sweats.
“You must've heard porn or something,” I lied, voice weak, grabbing my glass to chug water, hiding behind it. “I was giving him a massage. That’s all man”.
He chuckled low, draining his juice, setting the empty glass down with a thud:
“Porn? With your moans syncing to his grunts? Come on, man. Find a better one. Seemed you had fun sucking some cock. Nothing wrong with it. Just be honest, cause we’re fucking roommates.”
His stare pinned me now, blunt and unyielding. The kitchen felt even smaller now.
He’s right.
I should confess. Play it cool like he seemed to want me to.
Why is he so right about everything though?
The taste lingered, bitter on my tongue, and Greg's words hung heavy, waiting for me to crack.
What if he pushed more?
Maybe it would make me admit everything?
Just a bit more.
But he didn’t.
Greg stood up, cleaned his glass in the sink and got to his room, his heavy steps perfectly paced. His words hung in the air like a bad tackle, his cold stare pinning me against the counter.
I bolted from the kitchen with my half-hard cock straining against my undies, the dried cum flaking off my jaw as I wiped it furiously in the hall.
This was not my day.
The whole day blurred: lectures on ancient Rome droning on, my mind replaying the hot jets of Julien's load splattering my face, the way his raw cock throbbed in my mouth, uncut.
By afternoon, I was a wreck, sitting in history seminar, notebook blank, phone burning a hole in my pocket.
Fuck this.
I couldn't let it fester.
Fingers shaking, I pulled up Julien's private chat, typing hesitant:
“Hey man. I'm sorry, but about yersterday. That was a mistake.”
I hit send, heart pounding like a teenage girl.
My phone buzzed almost immediately, vibrating against my thigh under the desk. Professor droned about senators, but I couldn't focus, Julien's reply lit up the screen:
“Dude, chill. You were good at it, just need more practice. No biggie.” A winking emoji followed. “Next time you’ll swallow it, it’s OK.”
My face heated, cock twitching at the memory of his foreskin sliding back, the musky chlorine taste flooding my mouth.
Training?
That stupid jock, he meant more blowjobs while I wanted this to stop asap!
Panic spiked, Greg's blunt words echoing: 'Admit you're gay, Steph.'
What if everyone found out?
I texted back fast, thumbs fumbling:
“You don’t get it dude. Greg knows. He heard us. This is bad.”
Sent.
The seminar room felt exposed, like eyes on me, judging the cum-crusted history nerd who'd dropped to his knees for roommate cock.
Julien's response came a couple minutes later:
“Lol. Greg? He's cool. Doesn’t give a shite.”
“It was supposed to be private,” I fired back, voice silent but internal scream loud. “No one else needs to know.”
Fingers hovered, shame burning inside of me. Slowly admitting I swallowed 5” of uncut meat, let him paint my face so much it was dripping down my neck.
Julien: “Why hide? Bros get it. You'd have spilled sooner or later.” Another wink.
Frustration boiled; this jock asshole treating my first-time cock sucking like a casual beer pong win.
What if Adriend heard?
What if my friends learned that I was a cock-sucker?
My study buddies from high school, straight as they come, they'd bail, call me a fag maybe. Family? Dad's old-school lectures on manning up, no way they'd handle their shy son exposed as a dick-hungry sub.
My cock hardened traitorously at the thought, the exhibitionist thrill of being caught, marked like Julien's personal cum rag.
I gripped my phone, jaw tight, the seminar ending in a haze.
One more buzz:
Julien: “Talk after practice. Come to the pool with me. Don't flake. Slut :P”
Orderly, like he owned my mouth already.
I stared at the screen, too afraid to answer at first.
“Fine,” I eventually texted back.
Class let out, my mind spinning with what-ifs. Greg's cold mockery in the kitchen, Julien's casual commands… everything was spiraling, my shy world cracking open to this male/male rush.
By the time I hit the pool lockers to change, my sweats tented slightly, the anticipation building.
It was time to stop this.
Going further…
It was too dangerous.
I don’t know how far I could go into that cock lust.
Or if I could ever stop.
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