Roomies Before Arms – Part 5

Everyone in this story is 18+

Some weeks pass. We had fallen into a familiar rhythm.

Sebastian’s still neurotic, still irons his socks—but somehow, we’ve become actual mates. The kind who toss each other books without asking and argue over who stole the last clean towel. He still looks vaguely terrified when someone speaks to him too loudly, but he’s loosened around me. We’re easy now.

That night, we shared the last of a bottle of Scotch I’d pinched from home. Not enough to get properly drunk, just enough to knock the edges off the day and it seemed Sebastian was a lightweight anyway. Our dorm was lit only by the desk lamp, jackets slung over chairs, window cracked to the cold.

“Seriously though,” I said, kicking off my slippers, “if I never hear another rendition of ‘Jerusalem’ sung off-key by a bunch of sixth-formers again, it’ll be too soon.”

Sebastian snorted from his bed. “I still don’t understand half the references you lot make.”

“That’s because most of them are either from Shakespeare, or some weird inside joke involving Latin puns and cricket scores.”

He shook his head, grinning. A beat passed, then he said, “You ever walk in on anything… awkward? In the dorms before?”

I raised a brow. “Define awkward.”

He waited.

I smirked. “Walked in on a game of soggy biscuit once.”

He choked on his own breath. “That’s not real?”

“Oh, it’s real,” I said. “And disturbingly competitive.”

Sebastian covered his face with a groan. “What is wrong with lads?”

Boarding school," I muttered. "Just too much bloody testosterone and pent-up hormones all in one spot.

We laughed for a moment, stupid and loose from the scotch, the kind of laughter that only happens after midnight when you’re warm and the lights are low.

Then Sebastian went quiet. “Can I ask something?”

“Sure.”

He turned onto his side, facing me across the gap between our beds, half giggling. “Have you… ever done it? Had sex?”

I didn’t hesitate. “Yeah.”

“With a girl?”

“Girls,” I corrected. “And… yeah. A guy or two.”

He blinked. “Really?”

I stretched, hands behind my head. “Mate, this is boarding school. Of course I’ve played with a willy here and there.”

Sebastian flushed, then smiled like he couldn’t help it. “Right.”

“What about you?” I asked.

He hesitated. “I’m a virgin. But… there’s been the occasional wank. You know. With a dorm mate. Mutual… necessity. Boarding school you know.”

“Of course.”

We lay in silence. The kind that stretches just long enough to become a question.

Then I became bolder, “Did you want to? Now, I mean.”

Sebastian’s breath caught. “Oh, dear… I… I mean, I suppose. If you want?”

I reached under the duvet and pushed my boxers down, smirking. “I’m game.”

He turned toward me, eyes wide.

“First one to blow his load,” I added, “has to muck the stables tomorrow.”

Sebastian stared at me. Then muttered, “Screw it,” and shoved his own boxers down.

“Stables duty’s on the line, Sebastian,” I said, voice low, dripping with a smirk. “Better not choke.”

He laughed, a nervous bark, cheeks red as his hand moved under the duvet. “You’re an arse, Asher,” he muttered, but his gaze flicked to my chest, then lower, where my hand gripped my dick—long, slender, trimmed neat like the rest of me. My skin was tanned from summer rugby, a light fuzz across my pecs trailing down to where I was already hard, the tip slick in the dim light.

Sebastian’s bed creaked, his duvet slipping to show pale thighs, lean and smooth, no hair except a dark, messy patch around his dick. Shorter than mine, but thick, flushed deep red, it glistened under his fingers. His knuckles whitened, stroking fast, his chest heaving like he was running from something.

“First time betting on a wank?” I teased, my hand sliding slow, savoring the burn building in my gut.

“First time with a smug bastard like you,” he shot back, voice cracking, but his eyes stayed on me, hungry now. His duvet fell further, baring his stomach, flat but soft, no muscle, just skin that looked like it’d bruise if you breathed on it.

The room smelled of us—sweat, skin, the faint smell of precum. Our hands made wet wanking sounds, bedsprings whining under the frantic pace. I leaned back, letting him see everything, my abs tightening as I worked myself. Sebastian’s stare was increasingly shameless now, his lips parted, breath ragged.

“Fuck, you’re gawking,” he panted, his hand stuttering, then speeding up.

“Mate, you’re a bloody spectacle,” I said, grinning. “Look at you, all desperate.”

He flushed, but didn’t stop, his dick twitching under his grip. I slowed my strokes, teasing the edge, watching him unravel. His thighs tensed, toes curling into the sheets, and I knew he was close—too close.

“Been ages, hasn’t it?” I said, voice like gravel. “You’re about to flood the place.”

“Piss off,” he gasped, but his eyes were glassy, lost. Then his back arched, a choked sound ripping from his throat. His dick erupted, thick white ropes spraying his chest, his stomach, more than I’d ever seen, like he’d been saving it for weeks. It kept coming, slick and messy, dripping down his sides, pooling on the sheets. His hand slowed, trembling, as he collapsed, panting, face red and dazed.

“Christ, Seb,” I said, half-laughing, half-awed. “You’ve drowned yourself.”

“Shut it,” he mumbled, a shaky smile breaking through. “Your turn, prick.”

His wreck of a state—sweat-soaked, cum-drenched—lit a fire in me. My hand flew, grip tight, the pressure bolling sharp in my balls. I locked eyes with him, his gaze daring me to match his chaos. My abs clenched, thighs shaking, and then it hit, spraying across my stomach, less than his deluge but enough to leave me breathless, slick warmth coating my skin.

We lay there, chests heaving, the room reeking of sex and defiance. The wind outside howled, cold air kissing our damp skin. Sebastian’s eyes met mine, a mix of shock and pride, like he’d just stormed a castle.

“Stables are yours,” I said, smirking, wiping my hand on the sheet.

“Worth every shovel,” he replied, voice soft but smug. “You’re not telling anyone, right?”

“Boarding school code, mate,” I said, miming a lock on my lips. “Sealed tight.”

He relaxed, sinking into the mattress, and I felt it too—a new thread between us, unspoken but solid. We grabbed tissues, mopping up the mess, the room settling back into its familiar hum. But something had shifted, a secret carved in the dark, binding us closer than before.

“Night, Seb,” I said, pulling the duvet up, the lamp’s glow fading as I flicked it off.

“Night, Asher,” he whispered, already half-gone.