Roommate Bonding Time (Remastered) | CH. 1

Four male roommates. One apartment. And a secret tension that’s been building for far too long. One night, a few coils of rope and a dare turns into something none of them can explain away.

This is a steamy MM romance intended for mature readers over the age of eighteen featuring shibari, BDSM, and roommates who discover they aren’t as straight as they thought. All characters are consenting adults.

Reader discretion is advised. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, and events are products of the author’s imagination.

© 2026 Josiah B Vale

All rights reserved.

Based on the viral story posted on josiahbvale.com.

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CHAPTER ONE

Rope has this thing about it. It doesn’t mouth off. Doesn’t mock you when you fumble a knot. It just sits there, obedient, gripping tight exactly how you want it to. People, though? They’re a whole other beast. Messy, unpredictable, and way too fucking emotional.

Which is why I usually keep the shibari videos to myself, tucked in between the climbing tutorials on my laptop. But tonight, four beers deep on the thrift-store couch, with my three roomie bros scattered in their mismatched thrifted chairs, the topic somehow landed on “weird hobbies,” and Dante, the one I’ve known the longest, leaned forward.

Dante always looks like he just wandered in from a better party. He was six feet of lean muscle and long legs, dancer’s posture that makes him look like he’s about to step into a spotlight, and rich brown skin. His black hair is tied back in a loose man bun, though there’s always one rebellious strand that slips free to brush his cheek like he thought he was Lara Croft. Those amber-hazel eyes catch whatever light’s in the room, holding it like he’s hoarding secrets. A fitted black long sleeve tee hugs just enough definition, sleeves rolled to show strong forearms.

He gave me that slow, dangerous grin. “Evan, you’re into rope, right?” he said, like it was nothing.

I told him not to bring up my search history. Sure, the desktop PC in the corner of the living room was technically for all of us, but Dante was a chronic snoop.

“Climbing,” I corrected. “Knots, mostly. Decorative stuff too.”

“Decorative,” Milo repeated, already smirking. “Like … rope sculptures … or?”

Milo crashed into my life as Dante’s stepbrother, the newest roommate in our chaotic setup. He’s average height, got a bit of a softer gut, but damn, those biceps, forearms, and calves are thick, built from lugging around way more than any sane person should. His black hair’s always a mess, hanging over his forehead like he’s too cool for a barber, framing these deep brown eyes that are always glinting with some smartass comment he’s about to drop. Tonight, he’s sprawled out in this oversized Elden Ring tee that’s seen better days and gym shorts that cling just a little too much, with mismatched socks yanked up like he’s daring you to call him out on it. He’s pure swagger, the kinda dude who’ll rip into you with a brutal roast but shove a cold beer in your hand before you can even blink.

And look, I’m not blind, his ass is straight up distracting. It’s thick, round, the kind of curve that’d have me losing my mind if he weren’t a dude. Hell, I’ll admit it, sometimes it still gets me … even if I keep that shit locked down tight. I’m not about to say a word. Milo’s always telling the chicks who flock to him that he’s straight as an arrow, but ends up shutting down their flirts with a grin. Even if that backside has me second guessing myself late at night, I’m not gonna cross that line. I just keep my thoughts to myself and try not to stare too long when he bends over to grab something from the fridge. Even though it seemed he knew exactly when to lean over just a little too far.

Heat crept up my neck. “Like—” I shrugged. “Some people would call it different things. I like a version called shibari.”

Chris leaned forward. “Wait, isn’t that … when you tie a chick upside down with some rope and fuck the living daylights out of her?”

I almost spit my beer, laughing. “Not always exactly like that.”

I fucked up by letting my eyes linger on all six-foot-two of Chris, sprawled out like he owns the damn place. Those broad shoulders are practically busting out of his white tank, the fabric so thin and damp it’s molded to every hard plane of his chest, sticking to the curve of his pecs. Dirty blond hair, still wet from a shower and drying in messy waves, hangs just low enough to shadow those piercing blue-gray eyes that are fixed on me with this unnerving, quiet intensity, like he’s daring me to say something. His boxers are slung low on his hips, barely concealing the thick, heavy outline of his dick pressing against the fabric. That damn man is always flopping it around, not giving a single shit who sees.

If I didn’t know better I’d think he’s trying to get us to see, getting off on it somehow, even though he’s made it crystal clear a hundred times that he’s “straight as hell.” Maybe it’s some power play, some jock bullshit to remind everyone he’s the alpha in the room. That cock shifts with every move he makes—taunting me, daring me to stare—and fuck, I hate how much it’s getting to me.

“Yo, you good over there?” he drawls, catching me off guard as he shifts, making that outline even more fucking obvious. “You’re staring pretty hard, man.”

I snap my eyes up, heat crawling up my neck, trying to play it off. “Just zoning out, bro. Long day.”

He smirks, leaning back further, one arm slung behind his head, stretching that tank even tighter across his chest. “Sure, whatever you say. Don’t let me distract you.” His tone’s got this teasing edge, like he knows exactly what’s running through my head, and it’s messing with me.

I force a laugh, shifting in my seat, trying to ignore the way my pulse is hammering. If only he weren’t a dude. I just grit my teeth and pretend I don’t notice how that heavy outline twitches when he adjusts himself again, right in my fucking line of sight.

“Have you ever actually done it on a person?” Milo asked.

I shook my head.

Chris spoke up again, “so practice on me, dude. What’s the worst that could happen?”

Wait what?

Dante laughed, leaning back in his chair. “Yeah, Knot Nerd. Show us your skills.”

Heat rose behind my cheeks, the kind you can feel all the way to your ears. I started to say the reasons why I was most definitely not going to do that but … but there was no way I was passing up the chance.

“Pick a color,” I told Chris.

“Black,” of course.

I crossed to my room where my stash of rope was coiled in neatly bundled loops, and quickly returned.

Maybe a little too eager.

I unrolled a black one onto the cleared rug, the hemp rope sliding through my hands, still tight and a little stiff from not being used much, a faint scent of fiber and wax catching in the air.

Chris stripped off his tank without hesitation, tossing it onto the couch like he’d been waiting for an excuse. The sudden exposure of his massive pecs made the room feel smaller. Thick flushed skin catching the warm apartment light, accented with light brown curls in between his warm red nipples and trailing down.

I stepped in close, the rope in my grip, and looped the first length around his wrists. My knuckles brushed the edge of his forearm, solid muscle under smooth skin, before I pulled the wraps snug, bound his hands up behind his head and connected them to a hook in the ceiling.

Now feeling like some kind of omen that this was inevitable, a ceiling hook had been there—right in the center of the living room—since we moved in. A leftover from the last tenant, who either liked hammocks or was a freak. I kept my gaze fixed on the cord sliding through my fingers, deliberately not on the flex of his biceps or the faint rise and fall of his chest. Not on him. Just the rope. This was certainly not about him. Just the practice of shibari.

The rope stretched in clean lines across his chest, forming a diamond lattice that framed his pecs and abs. Each knot was deliberately snug. This kind of tactile precision made my shoulders loosen and my mind narrow to just fiber, tension, and symmetry. I let a line trail down his back, over his spine, my knuckles grazing the dip at his waist. I looped it around his hips, the tension naturally cupping him tight before I guided the line down and between his ass cheeks.

He sucked in a breath, quick and sharp, and I pretended not to notice. I tied off the line at the small of his back, the final pull snugging the harness into place.

That’s when Dante stepped in. Always silent until he wasn’t. He moved behind Chris with that unhurried, dancer’s stride, the soft creak of the floorboards announcing him only a second before his hand settled low on the rope at Chris’s hip. He tugged once, not hard, but with enough force to make the tension bite exactly where it mattered.

Chris made a sound that was half exhale, and half something he probably didn’t want anyone naming, as his cock stiffened. He was undeniably hard, dick twitching beneath his boxers obviously now.

“Oh my god,” Dante said, voice mock innocent. “You’re actually into this.”

Milo barked a laugh from his chair. “Dude, you’re so gay.”

Dante’s tone turned lecturing, like he was about to deliver a TED Talk on the subject. “Getting hard in this kind of situation doesn’t make you gay. It just means you’ve got a dick. The ropes tighten in areas that affect blood flow, thats all. Biology, baby.”

I kept my hands busy, adjusting a knot that didn’t need adjusting. “Exactly,” I murmured.

My head was a damn mess. The way that harness framed every inch of him, the way it pulled tight in places I shouldn’t be thinking about … I’m straight, I’ve always been straight, but the way his body is locked up in my knots, the way he twitched with that tug … my pulse is jacked, and my jeans are feeling way too tight for my liking.

Milo leaned forward, grinning like he was watching a live episode of a show he never wanted to end, “this is better than TV.”

Dante tugged at another line, “damn, you’ve got a knack for this. You sure you’ve never done it before?”

“No, just good with knots,” I forced out, trying to laugh, but it sounded choked even to me.

My eyes flicked up, just for a second, catching the way the rope carved into Chris’ frame, accentuating every fucking line, and I had to tear my gaze away before I lost it completely. I’m not like this, I don’t think about shit like this, but the room’s too small, the air’s too thick, and every move he makes is burning into me.

“Bet you could make it even tighter,” came a taunt from Milo.

“Alright, smartass,” Dante said as he jerked his chin toward the cleared rug in the middle of the room. “Let’s see how you look all tied up.”

“I’ll do it,” Milo didn’t even hesitate, just rolled his eyes with that over-the-top sigh of his, like he was doing us all a favor, “and I’m not a pussy like Chris. I’m getting all the way naked. Because … you gotta know what it’s like to tie up a bare body, right?”

“Right,” I managed, the word sticking in my throat as I swallowed hard. It being a decision to escalate this further was not lost on me. My palms were sweaty against the rope, and I gripped it tighter to keep my hands from shaking. He was pushing it, and I wasn’t sure if I was ready for where this was going. But god damn, I definitely didn’t want to stop it.

“Don’t hold back, I can take it,” he winked.

The head rush from the words mixed with the innocent wink almost made me pass out. Milo made a show of it, peeling off his tee with a slow tug over his head, letting it drop to the floor like he was on stage. Then he hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his gym shorts, shimmied them down with a little hip shake that got Dante snickering, and kicked them off. The briefs were last, slid down his thick thighs with no hint of shame, revealing everything when stepped out of them, stark naked now, and flung himself onto the rug on the floor with a dramatic flair. The posed, sprawling on his side with one hand propped under his head, the other waving at us.

“Tie me like one of your French girls,” he mocked, batting his eyelashes at me, voice high and breathy before he burst into a cackle.

The room erupted with laughter, Chris and Dante losing it.

I just stood there, heat creeping up my neck, eyes stuck on him despite myself.

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