The Roommate Ch. 1

This is something that floated around at the back of my head for a while. Nothing special; it is what it is.


I was so fucking mad. Fuck Preston, fuck his hot boyfriend, fuck needing a roommate to cover my rent. Fuck it all.

I’d been in love with Preston for, well, just about forever, and the asshole knew it. In college he was the cool, crazy, good-looking freshman who ran around in the rain at three in the morning, the guy who pulled pranks that never got out of hand, the life of every party. Nobody really cared whose pants he got into because he was so damn likable. I was a shy, newly un-closeted gay kid who worried constantly about being ostracized. Preston took me under his wing, brought me into his wide social circle, and didn’t push me away when I followed him around like a puppy dog. He even kissed me a couple of times, but he was drunk and it was always at a frat party, so everyone else assumed it was a joke. I never told Preston outright, but I knew he knew how I felt; it wes pretty obvious. He moved in with me knowing how I felt about him, even if I hadn’t said it out right, and then treated me like shit because he knew I’d take it. He was a fucking tease. No more. Enough. I was finished.
“Come on, Sammie,” he had coaxed, his green eyes sparkling at me. Not even my mother got away with calling me Sammie. “Julius just needs a place to stay for a little bit, then he’ll move out. It’ll just be a month, maximum.”
I whirled to face him and poked a finger into his muscled chest. “I’m am not going to let your ass of the week to come in and eat my food, and leave his shit all over the place, then break my stuff when you dump him.”

Preston had a history of bad breakups, and all the nice shit in the condo that looked like good chuck-at-my-new-ex’s-head material was mine. Back when I thought maybe I was going to be the next boyfriend I used to tease him that he was the reason why we can’t have nice things, but now it just annoyed me. Every time he told me he was discontent in a relationship I had to pack my stuff away in preparation for the Day of Dumping.

“Please, Sam,” he had begged, closing in on me. “Do it for me.” And then the clincher—he smiled, his perfect teeth gleaming at me, eyes crinkling mischievously at the corners, his dark hair falling over his forehead.

Of course I ended up agreeing to it. What else would I do, say no? Stand up for myself? Be assertive? Think with the larger of my two heads? No, not I. All it took was for Preston to blink his green eyes at me and paste a puppy-dog look on his charming freckled face, and I was the one helping to unload Julius' stuff, who wasn’t there because he was out trying to get into modeling and there was a casting call that day. Of course Preston dated models. He also had dated airline pilots, firefighters, bartenders, that one exotic dancer, fellow producers, the occasional porn star, and so on. None of them, however, looked quite like Julius, nor ended up causing as much trouble as he did.

When I finally met Julius I had a hard time hating him, mostly because he was so aloof that I sometimes wondered if he really was having sex with Preston or just crashing in his room. Julius was and is exotically handsome, like some Eastern European prince (or a vampire), and has a sexual magnetism that even I feel. He’s taller than both Preston and me, which only adds to an already overpowering presence. He has amazing icy blue eyes, thick lashes, wavy light brown hair, a carefully sculpted body, and the voice of a porn star. Sex Embodied was staying at my house. I might have been in love with Preston, but I still popped a woody every time his boyfriend pranced around in his little man panties, which was a lot.

Not a week after Julius moved in I was chopping some vegetables for a salad at the island in the kitchen. Julius was supposed to be removing stems from the spinach, he offered to do so, but he was mostly just toying with them. I watched his hands, easily imagining them sliding over Preston’s chest, his back. I knew I was envious, but I didn’t know of whom.

Preston came in with the steaks he had been grilling on the patio—another thing I love about him is that he’s a great cook—and rummaged in the cabinets.

“It’s in the dishwasher, still dirty,” I told him, knowing he was looking for a platter.

“Thanks,” he said.

“You’re roommate's cute, Preston,” Julius commented, dropping spinach leaves into a bowl. I almost dropped my knife. “He has sexy bedroom eyes.”

Preston seemed more focused on washing the dish in his hands. “Mm hm,” he replied absently.

“Er, thanks,” I said awkwardly. I couldn’t tell if Julius was hitting on me or just being all male-model and critiquing my bone structure.

Julius grasped my chin, and I did drop my knife.

“What are you doing?” I asked, trying to sound amused. “You’re supposed to be making a salad.”

Strong fingers tilted my chin up until I was looking right into his glacier eyes. “You have a gorgeous mouth,” he said, running his thumb over the bottom lip. Before I thought about it my tongue traced the path of his thumb, and Julius smiled wolfishly. I breathed heavily through my nose and stepped back.

“De-stem that spinach,” I ordered. I glanced over at Preston, who was glowering at one or the both of us. I hoped it wasn’t me, seeing as how I didn’t do anything.

Julius turned to Preston and kissed him, and I tried to focus on the radishes. “Seriously, Babe, I don’t know how you couldn’t have fucked him yet. He has such a nice ass, too.”

I hated it when Julius called Preston, “Babe.” Plus I prefer being a top. And I wanted Preston to notice my ass all on his lonesome. My face was hot.

Preston removed Julius arm from around his waist. “Stop it, Julius. You’re embarrassing him.” Ever coming to my rescue—one more reason why I loved him so much.

Of course, once Julius knew how he was affecting me he teased me constantly, pulling his shorts down when Preston looked the other way, or brushing past me when there was plenty of room for both of us to pass without touching. Sometimes he’d just make comments about how well I could swallow my beer, or eat a popsicle (it didn’t help that my favorites are the ones with the cream stuff inside). I never deluded myself into thinking that Julius actually had the hots for me, but he was used to everyone finding him attractive. I think it was just part of his male-model nature to be a tease.

Preston noticed, I know, and I heard him snap at Julius a couple of times, telling him to leave me alone. Julius would always respond that he wasn’t cheating, the only ass he was fucking was Preston’s, so what did it matter. Back when I thought I had a chance with him, I would have taken Preston’s lack of response to mean something didn’t.

One afternoon I was watching TV when Julius came in.

“Have you seen Preston?” he asked.

“Naw,” I said lethargically, not turning my head away from the screen. I hadn’t had a good veg session in a long time. Steven Seagal movies (the best of the worst, which is a lot to choose from), Nutella, pretzels, cream soda for now, beer for later.

Julius watched me watching Seagal whisper threats at Asian thugs, then flipped off the television.

“Hey!” I protested, wondering when I’d muster up the energy to go turn it back on. Preston lost the remote, and the television is awfully far away from the couch.

Before I made up my mind Julius was straddling me, rubbing his crotch on mine. I couldn’t help getting hard, but I pushed him away.

“What are you doing, Julius?” The question was mostly rhetorical; it was practically a mantra in the house.

He smiled lazily, still halfway on my lap. “Would you believe me if I said I’d wanted to do this since I first laid eyes one you?”

It was possible, but, “No.”

He shrugged. “Okay, but I came home specifically to have sex, and my boyfriend isn’t here to fulfill my needs. ” His lips silenced my sarcastic response to that, and Julius was undeniably sexy, and I hadn’t been touched, really touched like that in a long time.

There was a split second during which I asked myself why the hell I would ever have sex with one of my best friend’s boyfriend, especially considering how I felt about that friend. The feeling of hard cock rubbing mine through two frustrating layers of jean interrupted that thought. So what if this was Preston’s boyfriend? Just because Preston didn’t want me didn’t mean some other equally gorgeous man wouldn’t. In the back of my jealous little mind a voice told me that maybe, just maybe by touching Julius I could touch a little bit of Preston.

I liked how Julius kissed, playful, nipping at me until it hurt. He kept teasing me until I pressed my mouth to his and forced my tongue inside. My hands were roaming up and down his back, but there were two shirts in the way and I was suddenly impatient to get to his skin.

I rolled us over so that I was straddling him, and when I pulled Julius’ shirts over his head I saw his smug grin.

“What?” I asked.

Julius snaked a hand around my waist and into the back of my pants. “You’re more aggressive than I thought you were,” he replied teasingly as he ran his fingers up and down the cleft of my ass.

Julius didn’t, still doesn’t, know anything about me because we never talked about anything aside from my gorgeous mouth and my bedroom eyes.I shrugged and did my best to shove my tongue all the way down his throat. Julius had both hands in my pants gripping my buttocks as he ground me against him. We were both breathing heavily. My fingers were hovering at his zipper when I was yanked backwards off of him.