“Where the fuck… how… when the fuck did you learn to do that?” I asked, breathless, after he pulled out and was lubing his cock.
“Might have done some research in my morning presentations,” he said without looking at me.
“What?”
He glanced at me, a smirk growing across his lips and red on his cheeks. “Searched for how to have gay sex and found some informative stuff. The first piece of advice was a lot of lube.” He twiddled the bottle. “Second was to stimulate the bottom, orally if possible, then with your fingers. Then massage his prostate, and when you feel him loosen, he’s ready to get fucked.”
“Damn. So I guess I shouldn’t ask you about payroll automaton,” I asked with a chuckle, referencing his morning presentation.
“Nope, and,” his cheeks reddened more, “I was getting hard reading up on it, so I had to put it away, calm down and come back to it.”
We laughed. “Ready?” he asked.
“More than ever.”
“I, uh… got condoms, too. But I’m okay without if you are?”
“If you’re okay bare, so am I. You’ve already come in me once, and I trust you.”
Alec grinned and nodded.
His entry wasn’t without pain, but so much less that it felt like I’d died and gone to heaven. Alec fucked me in missionary, my legs wrapped around his torso, and his lips never leaving mine. It was slow and pleasant, and I stayed hard through all of it. It felt so good a few minutes in that I understood why guys wanted to get fucked every day.
“I’m close, Mason,” were his first words since entering me.
“Come in me. Please,” I said, sounding much less needy than I was.
Alec grunted, came inside me, and collapsed. After catching his breath, he sat up, pulled out, then replaced his cock with his fingers and covered mine with his mouth. Minutes later, I grunted as I fed him a heavy load. We cuddled the rest of the night and fucked again in the morning. It was one of my favorite sex memories.
???
One night, two weeks after moving in, we were cuddling naked and sweaty after a hard fucking. Alec asked me if I was still sleeping with other people. I told him “no.” I had no time or desire for anyone else. He chuckled, kissed my head, and said, “Good. Let’s keep it that way.”
Then, a week later, we were watching TV after dinner, and he put his arm over my shoulder. He was shirtless, and I leaned into him, playing with his chest hair. I was so content I could’ve stayed there forever. A few minutes later, I realized I’d only been that comfortable with a girlfriend.
It hit me like a freight train. We were, for all intents and purposes, dating in secret. It took me longer than I’d like to admit how obvious it was from an outside perspective.
Neither of us were in a place to date anyone—Alec, especially. He’d go through bouts of depression about his marriage ending, and I tried to support him the best I could. The only thing I came up with was letting him come inside me one way or another. It worked, somewhat. Quiet, sad Alec had a smile on his face once his load was spent. The same went for upset and confused Mason.
If I couldn’t even give him a basic level of support, how in the fuck could I help him as his… dating partner? Secret lover? Incognito cuddle buddy? That wasn’t what I wanted.
I thought I’d pull away once I realized, but I didn’t. I was fuckinghappy. A battle waged inside, weighing pros and cons and listing proofs to show we were only live-in friends with benefits. There weren’t many, and plenty to the contrary, like how well we got along and how happy we were. And how well we worked as roommates. Which, goddamnit, we did.
He’s great at domestic stuff, and a serious type-A clean freak. Outside of work, my life philosophy had been flying by the seat of my pants. Things like a messy room or what foods I put into my body never bothered me.
Did that cause tension living with him? No, not really. Just as in the office and the bedroom, I followed Alec’s orders without complaint.
“I’m gonna throw a load in. Put new sheets on after I strip it?” He’d ask, and I would.
It was nice to have a made bed every week. Alec didn’t like to sleep in sex sheets, but I only had two sets, so we started putting a towel down. Before, I’d go two or three weeks, sometimes a month, without changing them. Call me gross, but they always passed the sniff test.
I was in charge of putting the laundry away if he folded it, or folding it if he threw it in. Doing all the dishes if he cooked and tidying up the place as much as I could. He was the one scrubbing weekly. My tiny apartment had never been cleaner since doubling the number of men in residence. There was a sense of peace to it, too. Clean space, clean mind.
Alec also took over cooking for us almost as soon as he moved in. Then, grocery shopping, and soon, all household goods. I wasn’t charging him rent, so he felt he had to contribute something. He didn’t, he already did so much, but I hated grocery shopping and he liked it, so I let it be.
The longer we lived together, the more domestic we became. I saw patterns that reminded me of my parents, and was scared we resembled his marriage, too. Part of me wanted to believe that’s just what happened when people lived in the same space and fucked all the time. But I knew it wasn’t.
I let it slide for as long as I could. There was only one way to solve it: talk to him like a man and ask. But bringing up the “what are we” conversation and hoping the other person lands on the casual side felt stupid. Stupider than moving my boss into my place and letting him fuck me without thinking things could get complicated.
