Page 6 of Shared by My Roommate

Finn lets out a long, content sigh, and it cuts straight through the movie noise. My eyes go over before I can stop them, just a quick glance, and my mouth falls open.

Nolan’s hand is on Finn’s thigh under the blanket. The fabric is thin, and the shape of it is unmistakable. His hand moves slowly up and down, from mid-thigh to just above Finn’s knee and back. It’s a long, unhurried stroke, over and over, and it looks absent-minded.

Except there’s no way he doesn’t know. Nolan is the most body-aware person I’ve ever met. You don’t play corner at his level without knowing where every inch of you is at all times. He knows where his hand is, and he knows what it’s doing.

And it’s doing plenty, because Finn doesn’t look sleepy anymore.

His eyes are half-closed, but his breathing has gone shallow, his chest rising and falling under that old PCU t-shirt. A flush is crawling up his neck into his cheeks. His red lips are parted and wet. The leg hooked over Nolan’s thigh shifts restlessly, a small movement he seems to be trying to suppress.

I turn back to the TV so fast my neck pops. My heart is pounding as I stare at the screen, but all I see is the afterimage of Nolan’s hand stroking Finn under the blanket.

I should feel weird about this, but the feeling sitting in my chest isn’t embarrassment.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” Finn says quietly.

I can’t help it and look back.

He’s pushed himself a few inches off Nolan’s shoulder, and he’s holding the blanket down over his lap with one hand. The blanket is tented over his crotch, and Finn is glaring at it as if he glares hard enough, it’ll go down.

“It’s, um, been a while. Drew and I haven’t… And I’m…” He trails off, and the flush on his cheeks goes from pink to red. Even like that, he’s adorable, and I hate my own brain for noticing. “I’m just horny, apparently,” he adds sheepishly.

For a beat, nobody says anything, then Nolan’s face goes soft. He’s looking at Finn as if Finn just did something charming, and the corner of his mouth pulls up. His hand, still on Finn’s thigh under the blanket, gives a slow squeeze.

And then his eyes flick to me.

In that half second, I get the whole message: he knows I can see all of it, and he doesn’t care. There’s no guilt, no scrambling. If anything, there’s something close to a dare in it, like he’s curious what I’ll do.

I do nothing. I just hold still with my warm beer in my hand and look back at him. He holds my eyes for one more beat, and then he turns back to Finn.

“Hey, it’s all right. You don’t have to apologize for having a body. It happens to everyone.”

“Yeah, but when it’s a gay guy on a couch with two straight football players, it’s a whole different story,” Finn mutters, but the panic is draining out of him.

“Do you think we’re homophobes or something?” Nolan asks calmly. “Come on, Finn. I thought you knew us better than that.”

Finn huffs a laugh and settles back down. And then, because apparently Nolan Grant fears neither God nor man, his hand goes back to Finn’s thigh, over the blanket this time, resting high, his thumb pressing a slow arc into the muscle. Finn makes a small sound in his throat and drops his head back onto Nolan’s shoulder, and Nolan tips his head until his cheek rests against Finn’s dark hair.

My eyes drop before I can stop them. Nolan isn’t covered by the blanket anymore, and his gray sweatpants show everything. He’s hard, too, and he’s doing absolutely nothing to hide it. My dick twitches in my jeans.

Because here’s the thing about Nolan: he’s the most confident person I’ve ever been around. Not loud confident, and not the fake swagger half the team runs on, but real confidence, the kind where he decides something and holds his ground until the world agrees. He’s twenty-one, two years younger than me, and I think Finn just turned twenty-two. That makes Nolan the youngest of the three of us in this room, and he’s, without question, the one in charge of it.

I watch them for another long moment and realize I like seeing them together. I like it so much that I’m harder than I’ve been in weeks. I shift my weight and slide a hand down to adjust myself through my jeans, pressing my dick into a position that won’t strangle it.

On screen, two cars race toward a train crossing, but I don’t think anyone in this room is watching.

4

Finn

When the credits roll, nobody moves. Nolan’s arm stretches past me for the remote, and he says, “Another one?”

It’s almost one in the morning, and I know what he’s doing: building a wall of distraction between me and my bedroom. He thinks the second I’m alone with my thoughts I’ll come apart again. The saddest part is that he’s probably right.

“2 Fast 2 Furious,” I say. “The one where they jump the boat.”

“That’s the second one, yeah.” Sawyer’s voice rumbles out of the dark end of the couch. He hasn’t moved either, still sprawled with the pillow behind his head.

“Teeth first,” Nolan says, unfolding himself out from under me. My head drops an inch without his shoulder to rest on, and I already miss the warmth. “I’m not falling asleep with pizza mouth.”