Taking Care of My Roommate | E3

All characters in this story are over 18 years of age.

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I Helped Him Shave. Then Things Got Interesting.

I entered the bathroom without knocking. I recognized the sound of the trimmer, that quiet, nervous buzzing that stopped every few seconds. Mike was standing at the sink, completely naked. His back was turned to me. His butt was slightly hairy, firm, natural. When he moved, the weight of his body shifted to his thighs, and his muscles tensed instinctively.

He turned around when he heard me. His cock hung loosely, slightly hairy at the base, heavy, calm. His chest was partially shaved, with unfinished strands visible on his stomach. His thighs were similar. The whole thing looked like an interrupted job. Like frustration written on his skin.

"Hey," I said quietly. "What happened?"

He shrugged. He was subdued. Quiet. Completely different than usual.

"I need to shave," he muttered. "And with my hand injured, it's... a nightmare. Everything takes forever." He looked at his reflection, then looked down.

"It pisses me off."

I moved closer. I didn't comment on his nakedness. It was already normal between us.

"Then why don't you call me?" I asked calmly.

He hesitated. For a moment, he looked as if he wanted to take a step back.

"But... do you really want to?" he asked quietly, almost uncertainly.

The answer came immediately.

"Sure," I said without hesitation. "That's why I'm here."

He looked at me intently, as if checking to see if it was a joke. Then he nodded. Slowly. With relief.

The trimmer in his hand fell silent. I took it without a word. He stood motionless, naked, exposed, allowing me to come closer. The excuse was simple. Practical.

And his body already knew that it was surrendering itself into my hands.

I turned on the trimmer. Its steady hum filled the bathroom, breaking the silence between us. Mike stood motionless, his hands down, his eyes fixed somewhere on the wall. I approached and placed the head of the trimmer against his chest, right next to his sternum, where the muscles tense involuntarily. I felt his skin tremble under my hand.

I started slowly, deliberately. The trimmer glided down, leaving a smooth line behind it. His skin was warm, elastic, taut as a bowstring. With my other hand, I gently supported him by the side.

"Breathe normally," I said quietly.

He took a deeper breath. I moved the trimmer lower, to his stomach. When I ran it right by his belly button, his muscles trembled. He held his breath, as if he didn't want to interfere. I could feel every twitch under my fingertips. And I saw his cock move slightly, ever so slightly. It wasn't hard yet, but it was alert.

Something began to change in my head. This excuse, which was only supposed to be a helping hand, turned into guidance. Into a touch that had nothing to do with hygiene. I knew he could feel it. And that he wasn't protesting.

I moved the trimmer to his thighs. First the outside, confident, calm movements. Then the inside. Where the skin is thinner, more delicate. Mike spread his legs reflexively, without a word. I placed my hand on his thigh, steady, firm.

He was breathing slowly. Deeply. And I think he was beginning to understand that it didn't have to end with shaving.

"Turn around," I said calmly.

He was now standing with his back to me, his hands resting on the edge of the sink, his head slightly bowed. His back was broad, tense, and his butt... exactly as I remembered it. Firm, naturally hairy, with a slight shadow of muscle under the skin. I stood behind him a moment longer than necessary. Not touching him yet. Giving him time.

I placed the trimmer on one buttock. Slowly. With a steady motion. I saw the skin react immediately with a slight shiver. With my other hand, I spread his buttocks a little wider to do it thoroughly.

"Stick your butt out," I said quietly. "I'll do it properly."

He did so without hesitation. His hips moved back a few inches. His breathing changed, becoming heavier, less controlled. The trimmer glided on, stroking the skin, leaving a perfectly smooth surface behind. Closer and closer to the center. More and more intimate.

I spread his buttocks wider. The skin between them was warmer, more sensitive. I shaved slowly, carefully, right in the middle, without rushing for a second.

Mike didn't say anything. But his body said it all. His buttocks tense, his thighs trembling, his hips pushed out obediently. I could feel his excitement without looking at the front. It was enough to look at the way he was breathing.

"Just a moment," I muttered calmly.

When I was done, I pulled the trimmer back and turned it off. Silence struck suddenly. I touched the shaved skin with my hand. Smooth. Warm.

"Okay," I said. "Turn back around."

He did so slowly. Very slowly. And when he stood in front of me, naked, exposed, with a clear erection, I knew that the line had long been crossed.

He stood naked in front of me. He was breathing harder than before, his chest rising slower, deeper. His cock was already clearly hard, not nervously tense, but heavy, conscious, as if his body no longer saw any point in pretending anything. I looked at him for just a moment, then turned the clippers back on.

"The lower front now," I said calmly, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

I started with his thighs. The clippers moved upward, closer and closer to his groin. The skin there was thinner, more sensitive. Mike instinctively tensed his stomach, then relaxed when I placed my hand on his hip, steady, guiding. I was signaling to him that he didn't have to move. That I knew what I was doing.

I moved lower. His balls. Gently. Carefully, but without hesitation. I cupped them in my hand, lifted them slightly to get a closer shave. Then I felt his cock react more strongly. It hardened even more. It pulsed.

"Oh..." I muttered, glancing up. "Someone's waking up."

He looked at me with a slight blush on his face, but didn't move an inch. His hips even moved forward slightly, as if they wanted to close the distance themselves.

To finish, I had to grab him. Encircling his cock with my hand, I lifted it slightly. It was hot. Hard. Heavy. I could feel it trembling under my touch. The trimmer moved down, stroking the skin at the base, leaving it clean, smooth, exposed.

I turned it off and set it aside. Silence enveloped us again.

Mike swallowed.

"Could you..." he began, paused for a moment, then finished quietly, "...take care of that right away too?"

I didn't ask "what." There was no need.

"Sure," I replied calmly.

I knelt in front of him. At first, I just brought my face closer. I let him feel my breath on his skin. On the tip.

And I already knew that this was a natural continuation of everything that had started with one simple excuse.

I knelt in front of him, close, but not touching yet. I wanted this moment to last a second longer. I wanted him to feel that this wasn't a reaction to an erection, but a decision. Mike stood motionless, his hands resting on the edge of the sink, his fingers clenching tighter and tighter. His cock was hard, clearly tense, as if his whole body was waiting for just one signal.

I brought my lips closer slowly. First, just my breath. Warm, calm. I felt him tremble.

I touched him with my tongue, gently, around the glans. Without rushing. The taste was familiar, slightly salty, real. Mike moaned softly, completely uncontrollably. I closed my lips around the tip and began to suck softly, setting the rhythm the way I like it. Carefully. Consciously.

Then deeper.

I took him all in with my mouth, controlling my breath, pace, pressure. I placed one hand on his hip, the other on his thigh, steady, protective.

His body reacted more violently than he expected.

His breathing faltered, his hips twitched, and his hand tightened on the sink. I continued to suck him, deeply, calmly, until I felt Mike's whole body tense up. As if he suddenly had no room for his own tension.

And then he came.

He moaned low and long, and his release filled my mouth with warmth and weight. I didn’t pull away. I took it all. Swallowed calmly, without hurry, feeling his cock still twitch for a moment between my lips.

Only then did I slowly pull away.

I looked up. Mike was breathing heavily, sweaty, completely relaxed. His body said it all.

"You're beautiful," I said quietly. "Smooth. And fulfilled."

He didn't respond with words. He didn't have to.

He just stood there for a moment, breathing, and I knew that this was no longer just help. It was care that his body accepted without hesitation.

And that from now on, he would want more and more of it.

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