Sharing A Room
Mason arrives at his brother’s wedding estate only to find himself unexpectedly sharing a room with Calvin (his brother’s best friend and longtime secret crush). As tension crackles between them, Calvin’s teasing grows bolder, and Mason struggles to hide just how badly he wants to be ruined by him.
Calvin was already waiting for me in the hallway in that deep blue shirt from earlier, sleeves pushed up, collar open just enough to draw the eye. The tattoos along his forearms looked darker against the crisp fabric, like the ink itself had thickened since this morning. He leaned against the doorframe with one arm braced high, the other casually resting on his thighs. His watch caught the light. His smirk didn’t move.
“You coming, Pretty Boy? Or just standing there thinking about it?”
I followed. Hesitantly.
I mean, yeah, I was excited to be close to him. Who wouldn’t be? But I didn’t trust my dick at all. It had been trained to get hard just from looking at him. Sharing a room with Calvin Hale meant things would get hard. Literally.
Still, I followed. Slowly. Like I was walking into a trap I couldn’t help but want.
The room was bigger than I expected. High ceilings. Open windows. Warm light pooling onto hardwood floors from the bedside lamp. But I barely registered any of that. Because his scent was still in the air. And the only thing I could focus on was how long I could hide this hard-on before it became a problem.
The staff had already moved my suitcase. It was near the edge of the bed, beside Calvin’s messy pile of stuff. And his things were everywhere.
One of his cologne bottles was half-uncapped on the dresser, thick and masculine with that dangerous, woodsy smell that made my knees soft. His belt was coiled on the floor beside it like it had been yanked off in a rush. A white button-down, the one from earlier had been tossed across the back of a chair. His underwear, dark gray and clearly worn, sat beside the bed like a warning sign.
“Damn,” I muttered, stepping in. “You’re messy.”
Calvin kicked the door shut behind us with one boot and rolled his shoulders. “I travel light.”
“Looks like your boxers traveled straight to the floor.”
He didn’t answer. Just walked past me, grabbing the shirt off the chair and slinging it into a half-zipped duffel like it didn’t matter. His back moved with every step; those broad shoulders flexing under that shirt like they knew I was watching.
“You’re on that side Mase” he said, nodding toward the left.
I dropped my bag, still pretending I wasn’t painfully hard from just being in the same space. The bed was big. But not that big.
“Don’t worry,” Calvin added, already unbuttoning his cuffs, “I don’t bite.”
He paused. Glanced back over his shoulder. “…unless you ask nicely.”
I turned away too fast. My face was on fire. My dick? Hard enough to snap the waistband of my underwear. What the hell was I supposed to say to that?
He started unpacking without fanfare; a deodorant, a second pair of boots that looked expensive and fully unnecessary. I caught myself looking too long when he bent to adjust something under the bed, that tight shirt clinging to his back like it was stitched on.
I tried to busy myself with my own stuff: charger, moisturizer, overpriced night cream and told myself I was being normal. That I could survive a few nights like this. But when I turned back around, he was standing way too close.
“Forgot something,” he said.
Then reached past me; deliberately... to grab something from my side of the bed. His cologne bottle. His fingers brushed mine on purpose. His body was a wall of heat.
I didn't move.
And then his scent hit me. Rich. Heavy. Masculine in the way that clung to your skin and made your mouth water. It was the kind of smell that made you want to bite down and beg. My cock twitched, thickening fast, pressing hard against the front of my pants. My hole clenched like it already knew what it wanted, who it wanted... like my body was one step ahead of my pride. I stood there, frozen, pulsing, too aware of how close he was and how fucking good he smelled.
He grabbed the bottle. Kept it on his side of the bed. Said nothing. Just smirked like he knew I was about to fall apart.
I couldn’t take it.
“Uhm ... let me check if they brought my duffel bag from the other room,” I blurted. “Think they forgot.”
I didn’t wait for a response. I bolted.
Down the hall. Around the corner. Anywhere I could get a second to breathe and pray my cock didn’t prematurely cum right there in my pants like some desperate, submissive little bitch who couldn’t handle being in the same room as him.
Which, apparently, I was.
I tried to wait it out.
Ended up sitting on a old velvet sofa in the living room of the estate, now turned reception area, where candles flickered against the stone walls and the florists had already started prepping fake flower arrangements for a photo-op. I sat there, legs crossed tight, scrolling through nothing on my phone, willing the ache in my pants to settle. I couldn’t be seen like that; not with a full hard-on and my brother’s best man two rooms away looking like the way he did.
But waiting didn’t help.
The more I sat there, the worse it got. I kept thinking about the smell of him. The weight of his body just inches from mine. The way his voice dropped when he said Pretty Boy like he already knew what it did to me.
After a few minutes, I gave up.
I walked down the hall, ducked into my old bedroom....grabbed my duffel from the corner, and made my way back to Calvin’s room. My stomach was still tight. My cock not fully soft.
When I walked in, the shower was running.
Steam slid out from under the bathroom door. Calvin’s blue shirt was slung carelessly over the chair. His pants were bunched up on the floor beside the door, one sock half inside out like he’d peeled them off in a rush. His belt had been dropped beside the dresser again... wide, leather, thick enough to do damage.
I swallowed and looked away.
Dropped my duffel next to my other suitcase. Fished through it, grabbed a pair of my boxers. Usually, I sleep with nothing on just skin and sheets but tonight? I couldn’t trust my cock with Calvin Hale in the same room. So I changed. Quietly. Quickly. Pulled the waistband high and tried not to imagine him wet, nude, dripping on the other side of that door.
I climbed onto my side of the bed and tucked myself under the blanket, willing myself to breathe normally. Just lie down. Just sleep. Just don’t think about—
The bathroom door opened.
And my eyes, completely betraying me, drifted over.
Calvin stepped out in nothing but a pair of black trunks; tight, high on the thigh, clinging like they’d been painted on. His skin was still damp, glistening under the light. Water dripped from his collarbone down his chest, sliding between two ridged pecs before vanishing across his abs. His arms looked thicker wet. Veins visible. Shoulders wide enough to block out the doorframe behind him.
His tattoos; thick blackwork along one shoulder, curling across his chest like smoke were even darker now, soaking into every inch of skin like they belonged there. His hair was wet, messy, pushed back with his fingers. And his cock, heavy and outlined through those trunks, swung slightly with each step like it didn’t give a single fuck what room he was walking into.
I blinked.
I could not believe the sight of him. Calvin Hale.. in his fucking underwear... huge, walking toward the bed like it was just another night and he wasn’t the living embodiment of every single orgasm I’d had in the last 10 years.
I gripped the blanket tighter.
“Masey-boy,” he said from across the room. “You find your bag?”
I hesitated. My brain stalled. I was too busy trying to will my hard-on down while pretending I hadn’t just been staring at the shape of his cock through those tight black trunks. His chest was still damp. His abs flexed every time he moved. I forced myself to look away, cleared my throat, and nodded like my voice wasn’t seconds from cracking.
If you enjoyed this story, consider supporting the author on Patreon.
