I Caught My Nerdy Roommate Staring

The next few days went by in a blur, nothing too extraordinary. Same routine. Same awkward silences between Oliver and me. But even though we were living in the same room, things felt... different. I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was building, even if we weren’t saying it out loud.

Then, Saturday night rolled around. I was sitting on the couch, my legs spread out a bit more than usual, shorts riding high. The remote was resting on my lap—definitely not by accident. It was there for a reason. I wasn’t sure where I was going with this yet, but I knew I had to make him notice.

Oliver walked in, a little too casually, looking like he was trying not to look at me or, more importantly, at the remote on my lap.

“Hey, man, you wanna watch a movie or something?” I asked, trying to sound laid-back, but the undercurrent was there. I was testing him.

“Uh, sure,” he said, sitting down, but keeping a good distance between us. He didn’t quite look at me, but I could see him glancing at the remote. He hesitated for a moment, like he was weighing his options, then reached over slowly, his fingers brushing lightly against my leg as he grabbed the remote from my crotch.

There it was. His hand was right there, so close that I could feel the heat from his fingers. I could’ve sworn I saw a flicker of hesitation in his eyes, but instead of pulling back, he held onto the remote and gave me a sheepish grin.

“Let’s, uh... see what’s more interesting,” he said softly, almost shyly, as he hit a few buttons to change the movie.

I watched him for a second, still quiet. But then he did something unexpected. Instead of just leaving the remote on the coffee table, he moved his hand again, deliberately placing the remote right back on my lap. This time, his fingers brushed my bulge. I could feel the contact clear as day, the heat from his touch sending a jolt straight through me.

And then—almost too naturally—he didn’t pull his hand away. Instead, he kept his fingers lingering on the remote, just resting there for a split second, like he was waiting for me to do something. Waiting for me to break the silence.

He shifted again, still not quite looking me in the eye, but I could see the way his hand stayed where it was.

“Oops,” he muttered, voice barely above a whisper, his thumb brushing against my hard-on by accident—definitely not an accident. “Sorry.”

I could barely contain myself at this point. My body was tense, every inch of me craving the touch, craving whatever this was that we were both pretending wasn’t happening.

But I wasn’t pretending anymore. I wasn’t backing down.

I leaned in just a little, my voice low, steady. “It’s okay,” I said, locking eyes with him. “I liked it.”

In that moment, everything shifted. His breath hitched, and I could see the uncertainty fading away, replaced by something else—something I wasn’t sure either of us could back away from now. There was no turning back.

And just like that, it was clear—something was about to happen.