Roomies Before Arms – Part 2

Everyone in this story is 18+

Sebastian lay in the bed next to mine, still sleeping soundly, tufts of light hair poking up from under the duvet like dandelion fluff.

Figured I might as well take a shower.

I slung my towel over my shoulder and headed toward the dorm showers, half-awake and half-hoping for a bit of solitude. Maybe, finally, some ‘me-time’ before the building stirred and someone started shouting about chapel or trousers.

I’d made it two staircases and two long corridors to the showers, fully undressed and halfway into lathering up, when I realized—of course—I’d left my bloody razor on the windowsill.

Grumbling, I wrapped the towel loosely around my waist and padded back toward the room. I didn’t bother knocking. I was still mentally wired for dormmate-less living.

I opened the door—and immediately froze.

Sebastian was in his bed, knees pulled up, iPad balanced precariously on his thighs. His pajama trousers were bunched around his ankles, and his hand was—well, in motion. The duvet half-covered him, but not enough to hide the clear view: a flushed, rather sizeable knob with a slick purple head, his groin smooth, his balls hanging loose in the morning light.

For a second, neither of us moved.

His eyes met mine—wide, horrified—like a rabbit caught mid-crime. Then came the panic. He let out a strangled yelp, dove for the duvet, and knocked the iPad to the floor in the process. It landed screen-up, flashing a vibrant panel of manga smut that left precisely nothing to the imagination.

I raised an eyebrow.

Sebastian scrambled to pull up his pajama bottoms, face bright red, muttering “oh god oh god oh god” like a prayer to some long-departed deity of dignity.

“Relax,” I said dryly, crossing the room and plucking my razor off the shelf. “Just forgot something.”

He was still scrambling and more interesting was the way his whole body was trying to disappear into itself. Like if he curled tight enough, the floor might swallow him.

“Sorry!” he squeaked. “I didn’t—I didn’t think you’d be back—”

“No harm done,” I said, turning for the door. I pointed to the iPad and gave a cheeky grin. “Nice taste, by the way. I always thought the tentacle stuff was overhyped.”

He made a strangled noise.

“I’ll be sure to knock next time,” I added as I reached the door.

Behind me, a muffled, despairing: “My life is over.”

I laughed. “Oh, please. This is Eton. You really think you’re the first little willy I’ve walked in on mid-play?”

I turned just enough to toss him a wink. “Not even top twenty weirdest things I’ve seen go down here.”

Then I was gone, heading back toward the showers, my grin fading a little as I heard voices echoing off the tiled walls. Someone else had beaten me to it—and not the quiet kind.

I sighed. So much for a bit of peaceful ‘me-time.’

And, annoyingly, there was a faint itch under my towel that hadn’t been there before.

Bloody inconvenient timing.

◆◆◆

I returned a bit later, hair still damp and towel now mercifully inactive. When I opened the door, I nearly burst out laughing.

Sebastian was hunched over the ironing board with an expression of pure panic, furiously pressing... a pair of socks.

“Planning to attend chapel or just staging a sock parade?” I asked, stepping inside.

He jumped like I’d caught him mid-murder, knocking over the spray bottle in the process. “I—I just thought they looked rumpled,” he said, mortified.

“Ironing socks,” I said, tossing my kit onto my bed. “That’s a new one. Most lads here just try not to wear the same pair twice.”

He flushed and muttered something under his breath about “presentation” and “soothing.”

I shrugged out of my shirt and leaned against the bedpost. “Look, if it helps—I’m not bothered. Trust me, I’ve had dormmates who snored like foghorns, one who insisted on keeping a photo of Margaret Thatcher by his bed, and another who brought an actual ferret back after Easter term.”

Sebastian blinked. “A ferret?”

“Named him Rupert. Bit of a biter, if I recall.”

He managed a small laugh, the tension in his shoulders loosening ever so slightly.

“Anyway,” I said, “some of the more... excitable boys use a sock on the door as a kind of ‘do not enter’ sign. Bit vulgar, if you ask me. I prefer just knocking.”

Sebastian nodded quickly. “Yes. Knocking. I can do that.”

“I’ve been without a dormmate for a bit,” I added. “But I’ll get used to it again. Like I have for, oh… the past eighteen years.”

He gave me a strange look. “Have you been in boarding school since you were born?”

I smirked. “No. That would be absurd. Only since I was four.”

He stared at me, unsure if I was joking. I didn’t clarify.