My Roommate Reads My Stories - Part 4

I had started noticing details—little things about Harry that no one else would ever pay attention to. The exact way he ran his fingers through his hair in the morning, the faint ridge of his collarbone under his T-shirt, the little hum he made when he brewed coffee. I didn’t just watch him anymore—I catalogued him. Every gesture, every breath, every twitch of skin was fuel.

That afternoon, I couldn’t resist. I typed furiously:

Hank moved through the kitchen, stretching lazily as he reached for a mug. Every motion drew Luke’s gaze, sharp and hungry, tracing the curve of his biceps, the soft slope of his hips. Hank didn’t notice, humming quietly, lost in his own rhythm. And when he brushed past Luke—towel hanging low on his hips, damp hair clinging to the nape of his neck—Luke’s breath caught, fingers twitching at the bulge pressing against his jeans. The simple, accidental contact made him shiver, hands tightening, cock straining with desperate need.

I leaned back, hand twitching at the thought of Harry doing exactly the same, imagining him brushing past me, towel dangerously low, unaware of how much he was teasing me.

The next morning, my pulse spiked before I even saw him.

Harry.

Towel low on his hips, exactly like I’d written. Hair damp, curling slightly against his neck. He moved casually through the kitchen, humming, stretching his shoulders just so. My cock leapt against my jeans, impossibly hard.

I couldn’t breathe. My mind raced—was it chance? Or was he subconsciously performing what he’d read?

I cleared my throat too loudly, making him glance up at me.

“You… uh, you leaving the towel like that on purpose?” I asked, trying to sound casual. My voice shook slightly.

Harry blinked, smirk tugging at his lips. “What, this? Nah… just… comfortable.” He leaned on the counter, unaware of how badly I wanted to pull him into my lap.

My cock throbbed, desperate. “Right… comfortable,” I muttered, more to myself than him.

He hummed, turning back to his mug, and I realized it—I wasn’t going to survive this day without my hand. I sank down onto the chair, fingers moving under the desk, imagining the towel riding dangerously low with every stretch, imagining the heat of him brushing past me again.

And then, I opened a new document, letting my imagination spiral. Hank and Luke. Not just teasing, not just jerking off, but full, messy, needy fucking.

Hank’s fingers trembled as he shoved Luke onto the bed, wet skin pressing together. Luke moaned, pulling Hank closer, lips crushing together in a sloppy, desperate kiss. Hank’s hand slid down to wrap around Luke’s cock, stroking slow, then fast, as Luke matched him, pushing into Hank with every pulse, hips rocking in rhythm. They were a tangle of slick skin, tongues tangling, hands everywhere—gripping hair, scratching backs, exploring every inch. Hank leaned over, whispering, “God… you feel so good,” as Luke’s teeth bit at his shoulder, moaning in response.

They switched positions, Luke on top, grinding down, nails dragging lightly along Hank’s chest. Hank gasped, rocking up to meet him, letting him control the pace, the angle, the intensity. Cum leaked between them, hot and sticky, sliding over thighs and stomach, mixing together, until they were shaking, trembling, hearts racing, trembling in each other’s arms. Luke pulled Hank close, panting, whispering, “I need you… all of you,” and Hank wrapped his arms around him, gripping tight, knowing they would collapse like this for hours if they could.

I leaned back from the laptop, slick and trembling, cock painfully hard in my lap. And then I heard it—a soft creak from the apartment. My pulse spiked. Harry, just outside the kitchen, humming again, towel still dangerously low…

“Uh… Luigi?” he said, voice teasing.

I froze, hand twitching under the desk. “Yeah?” I croaked.

“You okay? You look… distracted,” he said, smirk tugging at his lips, moving just a little closer. My vision blurred.

I swallowed hard, voice trembling: “Yeah… just… coffee.”

He raised an eyebrow, humming softly, towel shifting with each stretch. I could feel myself straining against the fabric of my pants. My heart hammered. I wanted him. I needed him.

I closed the laptop gently, saving the Hank & Luke story as a draft. Not yet. This one… this was for my own private pleasure, a map of everything I wanted to see, feel, and maybe, someday, experience with Harry himself.