Blake Hart
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Roomies in Arms - Part 12
🕑 Added 2025-07-04 20:00:07 +0000 UTCEveryone in this story is 18+
-------------Sebastian’s POV------------
Brady left quite literally hanging from Asher’s neck, giggling like someone who’d huffed tequila fumes for sport. Asher—stoic, ever the gentleman—nodded goodbye as though he weren’t currently acting as life support for a flailing American frat-boy with no sense of personal volume.
I closed the door behind them with a faint click and a sigh I didn’t quite realize had built up in my chest.
Nick and Jax had already vanished. I heard the certain sound of wet rhythm and kissing down the hallway and a door shutting behind them with the discretion of a brick through glass. Likely followed by something involving lube, biting, and at least one ill-placed houseplant.
Lex appeared beside me like some unholy raccoon-shaped summon, holding two bowls of popcorn and a mischievous glint in his eye.
“So,” he said. “Hentai?”
◆◆◆
We curled up on his bed, lights dimmed, monitor glowing with unearned authority. Mother, as he called her, whirred gently as if preparing to judge us.
The opening credits were unexpectedly lush. Strings. Soft animation. A gentle narration about a cursed kimono and a boy torn between his samurai duty and his erotic hunger.
I sipped my drink. “You know… it’s not terrible.”
Lex nudged me. “Give it ten minutes. Kazuya’s about to soul-bond with a tentacle that’s also his repressed trauma.”
I blinked. “What?”
“Exactly.”
The next twenty minutes passed in a warm blur of giggles, increasingly unhinged commentary, and the slow burn of something… else.
At some point, Lex paused the episode and I—clearly drunk on both the atmosphere and whatever was in that ginger-coloured monstrosity from earlier—stood up and launched into my best impression of Kazuya, complete with anguished breathing and wild, flailing arm movements.
“For the honour of my family!” I shouted. “And the throbbing of my—whoops—”
I mis stepped. Momentum shifted. My foot caught on a blanket or possibly my own dignity, and I tipped—quite literally—forward into Lex’s lap.
“Oh my god,” I muttered, blinking down at him.
He didn’t push me off. Didn’t laugh.
Just looked up, hands frozen on either side of my thighs, a quiet tension humming in his expression.
And then I felt it.
The slow rise beneath me. The firm shape pressing against the seam of my trousers.
Lex’s hand slid up, around, fingers settling on the inside of my thigh.
“Is this okay?” he asked, voice softer than I’d ever heard it.
I swallowed.
“Yes.”
He unzipped me with one hand and gripped my erection with the other—confident, slow, as if he already knew how I liked it. I breathed out sharply, body already stuttering with the rush of it. My hips twitched forward without permission. He smiled against my neck.
“You’re so fucking pretty like this,” he teased.
I whimpered, because of course I did, and his thumb flicked over the tip of my penis in just the right way to ruin me entirely.
He pumped the shaft slow at first—too slow—like he wanted to see how long he could keep me on the edge. I rocked into his grip, breath ragged, hands buried in his hoodie like it was the only thing tethering me to reality.
Then he kissed my jaw. Just once. And whispered:
“Wanna feel something amazing?”
I huffed, already on the cusp. “Better than this?”
He shifted me off his lap—gently, like I was glass—and leaned me over his desk, exposing me entirely.
I blinked, breathless. “Lex?”
He opened a drawer. Pulled out a small foil packet.
I squinted. “What is that?”
“Noodle grease.”
“What?”
“Trust me.”
He slicked his fingers with it. The smell was absurdly savoury.
“Lex—”
“Trust me,” he said again, quieter this time.
And then he slid his fingers between my cheeks and in—slow at first, but with certainty. The grease was warm, slightly stingy, oddly silky. My back arched immediately.
“Oh fuck,” I gasped, knuckles white on the edge of the desk.
“Told you,” he whispered, curling his fingers just right. “Nutritionally unsound. Sensationally accurate.”
I moaned—actually moaned—and Lex just laughed softly, then reached around with his other hand and started jerking me off again.
The rhythm built fast, slick and hot and absolutely filthy. My body rocked between the thrust of his fingers and the pressure of his grip. My thighs trembled. My breath caught.
“Lex—Lex I’m going to… Oh dear.”
“Good”
And I unleashed, a whole lot. Loudly. All over his desk. All over his hand. Maybe even a bit on the keyboard.
I collapsed, boneless, still panting, still full of his fingers and probably a questionable amount of sodium.
Lex kissed my spine and purred, “Best night ever.”
Cleanup was, in a word, humiliating.
I stood there, trousers still around my ankles, Lex grinning like a hentai villain from the edge of the bed, and me—shirt rumpled, hair disheveled, and a glob of questionable something sliding slowly down his desk drawer.
“I need… a cloth,” I muttered, already scanning the room for something vaguely sanitary.
Lex tossed something in my direction. I caught it on instinct, then froze.
“Is this—”
“My best cum rag,” he said cheerfully. “Vintage. Tried and tested. Slightly haunted.”
I stared at it. It stared back.
“Lex.”
“Yes, my prince?”
“This has… texture.”
“Historical significance.”
I wiped anyway.
Because of course I did.
By the time the me and the desk was mostly clean, and I’d awkwardly redressed while trying not to acknowledge the vague smell of beef stock still lingering in the air, I turned back toward Lex, intending to scold him further or possibly kiss him again, depending on how my dignity was doing.
Instead, I yanked him toward the bed.
“Round two?” he asked, delighted.
“I haven’t decided,” I said, dragging the blanket up. “But if I die of MSG poisoning in my sleep, just know I will haunt your codebase.”
He crawled in beside me, all sharp knees and warm limbs and the lingering scent of Marmite and sweat. His arm draped over me casually, like we’d done this a hundred times before.
I opened my mouth to say something—something clever, probably. Something dry.
But my body had other plans.
Sleep pulled at me like warm water.
The last thing I registered was Lex’s breathing, slow and even beside me. His heartbeat, steady where his chest met my back.
And the feeling—filthy and soft and utterly unrecognisable—of being held.
