The moment Alex dropped his bag in the hallway and peeled off his T-shirt without closing the door, I knew sharing the flat was going to test me.

He was twenty-nine, same as me. Friendly enough in the messages, worked nights at a warehouse, paid on time. When he arrived with two duffel bags and that quiet smile, I thought we would get along fine. I did not expect him to treat clothes like something he could simply leave behind.

“Mind if I air out?” he asked, already tugging the hem up over his stomach. The fabric caught on his chest for a second before it came free. Broad shoulders, a light dusting of dark hair across solid pecs, flat stomach tapering into a thick happy trail. He balled the shirt and tossed it onto his bag.

I stood in the kitchen doorway, coffee mug halfway to my lips. “Yeah, no problem.”

He kicked off his trainers, hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his joggers, and slid them down. No underwear. Just bare skin and the heavy swing of his cock as he stepped free. Thick even soft, darker at the head, hanging low between strong legs. His balls looked full and relaxed.

I forced my eyes back to my coffee.

“Long drive,” he said casually, stretching his arms overhead. Everything shifted — chest, stomach, cock. “Didn’t want to sit in sweaty gear all evening.”

“Fair enough.” My voice sounded normal enough. My dick did not. It gave a slow, heavy twitch inside my shorts and started to fill.

Alex padded past me into the living room, completely naked, and dropped onto the couch like he had lived here for years. One leg stretched out along the cushions, the other bent, foot on the floor. His cock lay against his thigh, thick and soft, the head resting just above his knee.

I stayed in the kitchen a moment longer than necessary, pretending to rinse my mug. When I finally walked through, his eyes flicked up from his phone.

“You alright, mate?”

“Yeah. Just… not used to the whole naked thing yet.” I tried for a laugh. It came out a bit tight.

He grinned, easy and warm. “Sorry. I run hot and I hate clothes at home. If it bothers you I’ll keep a towel handy.”

“It doesn’t bother me,” I said too quickly.

His grin widened a fraction. He shifted on the couch and his cock rolled slightly against his thigh. A single bead of moisture glistened at the slit before it disappeared.

I sat in the armchair opposite, trying to focus on the TV. My own cock was half-hard now, pressing noticeably against the front of my shorts. I crossed my legs.

Over the next few days the pattern settled. Alex would come home from his night shift around eight in the morning, strip in the hallway, and wander the flat naked while he made breakfast or showered. He never made a show of it. He just existed that way — comfortable, unselfconscious, hung.

Mornings became the worst. I would be eating cereal at the small table and he would walk in, cock swinging with every step, still damp from the shower. Sometimes it was half-hard from the heat of the water. Once I caught him standing at the fridge, door open, reaching for the milk, his thick shaft resting against the cold shelf. The contrast made my stomach tighten.

I told myself it was just the novelty. Two guys sharing a small flat. Bound to notice things.

But the noticing kept happening.

One evening I came out of my room for water and he was on the couch again, legs spread, scrolling on his phone. His cock lay heavy against his belly, thicker than usual, the head flushed a deeper pink. A thin string of precum had leaked and was slowly stretching toward his abs. He did not cover up. Just glanced over and gave me that same easy smile.

“Hot tonight,” he said.

“Yeah.” My voice cracked. I filled my glass and tried not to stare.

His eyes dropped to the front of my shorts. I was hard. Obviously. The outline was clear.

He did not say anything. Just went back to his phone. But his own cock gave a slow, visible twitch and thickened another inch, lifting slightly off his stomach.

I went back to my room and closed the door. Leaned against it. My heart hammered. I wrapped my hand around my cock through the fabric and squeezed once, hard, trying to make it go down. It only leaked more.

The next morning I woke to the sound of the shower running. I needed to piss. Badly. I padded down the hall in just my boxer briefs, half-asleep, and pushed the bathroom door open without thinking.

Alex was under the spray, back to me, water streaming over his shoulders and down the deep groove of his spine. His ass was firm, cheeks slightly parted by the way he stood. Between his legs I could see the heavy hang of his balls and the thick base of his cock.

He turned slightly. The water hit his front now. His cock was fully hard — thick, veined, the head swollen and shiny. A steady drip of precum fell from the slit and disappeared into the water at his feet.

Our eyes met.

For a second neither of us moved. Steam curled around us. My own cock surged in my briefs, pushing the fabric out obscenely.

Alex did not cover himself. He just reached for the soap, lathered his hands, and ran them slowly down his chest. His voice was low, almost conversational.

“Morning.”

“Morning,” I croaked.

I should have backed out. Instead I stepped inside and closed the door behind me. The small room filled with steam and the sound of water. My bladder was forgotten. All I could see was the way his soapy hand slid down his stomach and wrapped loosely around the base of his cock. He did not stroke. Just held it, thumb resting under the head.

My briefs were tented. A wet spot had already formed at the tip.

Alex’s eyes dropped there again. Stayed.

“You don’t have to keep pretending you’re not looking,” he said quietly.

I swallowed. “I’m not pretending.”

He gave one slow stroke from base to tip. The motion was unhurried, almost lazy. His cock throbbed visibly in his fist. Another thick bead of precum welled and stretched downward.

I hooked my thumbs into my waistband and pushed my briefs down. My cock sprang free, hard and leaking, the head flushed dark. I stood there, naked in front of my new roommate, heart pounding so hard I could feel it in my throat.

Alex’s gaze moved over me slowly. Appreciative. No rush.

“Fuck,” he murmured. “You’ve been walking around half-hard for days.”

“Yeah.” My voice was rough. “So have you.”

He smiled then — small, warm, knowing. His hand gave another slow stroke. I wrapped my fingers around my own shaft and matched him. The wet sound of skin on skin mixed with the shower.

We stood like that, maybe three feet apart, stroking ourselves in the same unhurried rhythm. Eyes locked, then dropping to watch each other’s cocks. The steam wrapped around us. Water ran down our bodies. My hole clenched every time his thumb circled the head of his dick and spread the slick precum.

Neither of us spoke again for a long time. Just the hiss of the shower, the soft wet slide of our hands, and our breathing growing heavier.

His balls drew up tight. Mine did the same.

I could have come right then. So could he. But we did not push. We just kept the slow, steady pace, letting the tension coil tighter and tighter.

Finally Alex let go of his cock. It bobbed heavily in front of him, angry and leaking. He turned the water off.

“Breakfast?” he asked, voice low.

I nodded, still holding myself. “Yeah.”

We dried off in the hallway, side by side. Our cocks stayed hard the whole time. He did not bother with clothes. Neither did I.

We sat at the small kitchen table, naked, eating cereal while our erections slowly softened but never quite went away. Every now and then one of us would shift and our knees would brush under the table.

Later, when he headed to his room for a nap before his next shift, he paused in the doorway.

“Same time tomorrow?”

I met his eyes. “Yeah. Same time.”

He grinned, that same easy, warm grin, and left the door open.

I already knew I would not be closing mine either.