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.
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CHAPTER FIVE
I blinked awake, inhaling the mix of coconut oil, sweat, and that deeper, musky trace of us tangled together in my sheets. We were just roommates who sometimes fucked, a mantra I used to keep my racing heart in check. The quiet, domestic rhythm we’d fallen into was the biggest surprise of my life … but it felt like winning the jackpot, then immediately being terrified that talking about the prize would make it disappear.
Sweat dries on my skin. Milo’s thigh still pins my left leg to the bed, warm but suddenly claustrophobic. I glance over at his hair flopped over his face, black and soft. For a second, I just want to burrow closer, kiss the nape of his neck, and tell him the truth: I might let him tie me up like this forever.
Instead, my heart kicks hard in my throat, choking me, and I start to slide free.
Bare feet on the cool hardwood is always a brutal wake-up call.
I need to buy a rug, I remind myself.
I stretch, and Milo grunts. His eyes crack open, all sleepy brown and warm.
“Stay,” he mumbles, barely audible. Strangely familiar. Just one word, but it fucks me up harder than anything I’ve ever heard.
I almost do it. Almost give in. And tell him that single word was the cutest damn thing I’d ever heard. But saying that meant admitting the flutter in my gut, defining this thing we hadn’t dared to label. I couldn’t risk cracking it open.
Instead, I just say, “Gotta shower, man,” and bolt for the bathroom—hiding in the steam, letting the piping-hot water pound out the panic.
By the time I dragged myself out, hair damp and eyes blurry, Milo had left the bed.
My worn T-shirt clung to my chest when I dressed, athletic shorts riding low with no underwear.
I found him sprawled on the thrift-store couch in the narrow living room, already delving into his morning ritual of smoking a bowl and scrolling through YouTube on the TV. He’d thrown on an oversized hoodie and gym shorts, mismatched socks sliding down his calves.
Black hair flopped over his eyes as he smirked at me, playful but with a nervous edge.
I ruffled his hair on instinct, a small, tender move that felt too intimate. My heart did that dumb backflip again.
***
Dante
I didn’t need to see the tangled limbs or hear the whispered words to know what the hell was going on.
Things were supposed to escalate after our little bondage tryst the other night, but with me at the center. The vibe of the apartment had gone soft, domestic, and utterly boring.
Sitting cross-legged on the edge of my bed, doom-scrolling through TikTok, I heard the sound of the TV in the living room, signaling Milo had exited Evan’s room—where he’d been sleeping again—and was out for his morning routine.
My jaw tightened. I had created this fire. It was supposed to consume all four of us in an inferno. Instead, it became a cozy little hearth for two, and I was standing outside in the cold.
I felt a deep, maybe childish, sting of exclusion … I would not be left out.
Shedding my silk robe, I darted for my dresser and pulled out my nicest black leather jockstrap. The one with silver rings, reserved for when I was determined to turn heads. I was going to re-establish control of the narrative.
Peeking through the cracked bedroom door, I saw Evan emerge, hair damp. He stopped in front of Milo and ruffled his hair before sitting next to him on the couch.
A casual, tender gesture that made my stomach turn.
Swinging the door open with theatrical force, I made my entrance.
“Good morning, little lovebirds,” I called out, leaning against the doorframe.
Their eyes were on me, wide, mouths agape.
Good.
“Good morning to you, too,” Milo said, a nervous smile creeping up one corner of his mouth.
“What the hell are you wearing?” Evan asked.
“Oh, just a little something I threw on. You like it?” I plucked the strap on my side and let it go with a snap against my flesh. I could see Evan flush slightly.
“Don’t … hate it,” he replied.
The look Milo gave him was subtle, but clearly jealous. We can’t have that. They both need to feel like they’re choosing me.
I strutted over to Milo, making eye contact, grabbed his hand, then placed it right above my crotch. “What about you, Milo? Think the jockstrap suits me?”
The loud swallow Milo gave almost made me laugh. I had him. He whipped his hand away the moment I released it.
“It definitely suits you,” he said.
Lord, they were such nervous babies about this.
“Is the shared hobby of watching each other sleep going well?” I asked pointedly. Brows furrowed. A glance was shared. They really weren’t going to talk about this, were they? “Or are you just practicing your shibari skills, Evan?”
Neither responded. Of course they wouldn’t. Such insecure little men. Toxic masculinity is ruining America. Just do what you want and fuck the labels, good god.
Letting the tension build, I inched closer toward Evan. Then smiled seductively. “You must have gotten so good lately, if so, with all that practice. I feel like I’m missing out.” I stepped back to spread my arms with flair. “Make me your masterpiece.”
I saw Milo look away with worry. “And teach Milo a few things while you’re at it.”
Evan looked at Milo, nervous but eager. “You want to?” he said.
“Um … sure,” Milo replied.
Got ’em.
“Tie me up, roomies,” I declared, my voice a seductive challenge, appealing to Evan’s obsession and Milo’s desperate desire to please.
***
Evan
I felt myself flush. Milo, sitting next to me, pulled his knees up and buried his face slightly.
“Come on, knot nerd and bubble butt, get up,” Dante beckoned, crooking a finger.
And of course, we complied.
Sure, I didn’t mind another chance to practice my rope skills, but deep down, I knew saying no would raise too many questions. About … whatever the hell was going on between me and Milo. If I tie everyone up, it’s just casual, right? Just bro shit, not deep. Not exclusive. Even if a part of me wanted it to be. No way Milo did.
Dante’s amber eyes locked on mine, sharp as a blade. He knew exactly what he was doing. I was just a pawn in his game. Like that first night.
Maybe I didn’t care because that night was fun as hell.
“Make sure it’s tight. I want to feel it,” he purred, sinking to all fours in the center of the living room. He arched his back, ass high, hole on display, looking back at us over his shoulder, completely unashamed.
“I’ll get the rope,” I said, slipping away to my room for the handful of seconds it took to grab my favorite coils.
When I came back, Milo was kneeling next to Dante, massaging his shoulders. Definitely at Dante’s suggestion.
“That’s it,” Dante crooned, glancing up at me.
I shot him an inquisitive look.
“Care for your sub beforehand. It’s important,” he added, lecturing me like he was teaching a workshop.
Milo and I snickered, catching each other’s eyes.
Here we go again.
He might want to be tied up in the most submissive position imaginable, but with Dante, he was always in control. Us pretending to be doms was just part of his game. But fine, I could play along.
“Come on, Evan. Show off some skill. Teach your boy,” Dante teased, voice low and inviting.
I knelt beside him, rope in hand, heart pounding. If he wanted a masterpiece, I’d give him one, and maybe show Milo exactly what I could do in the process.
“Alright, let’s do this,” I said, the familiar weight of the rope grounding me as I unraveled a coil.
Dante looked over his shoulder at me. “I like the sound of that.”
I nodded, already slipping into the calm focus. The only thing that existed in my mind was skin and rope. Skin and rope. Nothing complicated.
The blue rope looked gorgeous as I draped it over his rich brown skin, pulling it snug across his chest in a way that made him lose his breath for a second. His smirk deepened, eyes gleaming as I secured the first knots at his sternum.
“We’re starting with a karada tie, high anchor point,” I explained to Milo.
He mirrored me, and soon we were working in tandem seamlessly.
He had gone climbing with me on multiple occasions; I should’ve known he’d be a natural. The sight of him so focused, tongue sticking out in concentration, made my gut twist in a way I wouldn’t linger on—not now.
My hands trembled slightly as I tied the final knot, wary of the lack of more rope to distract me from what came next.
But then I saw Dante … completely immobilized, arms pinned overhead, his body a taut, exquisite bow. The dim morning light and rope cast shadows over his chestnut skin, highlighting every tense muscle.
Sweat beaded on my brow and dripped from my temples as I stepped back to check our work. My worn T-shirt clung to my sweat-damp chest, and I swiped my hair back out of my eyes, focusing on the precision of the harness rather than the heat pooling low in my gut.
I focused on Dante. Waiting for us to use him.
“Looks fucking perfect.” I wasn’t sure if I said it aloud.
Letting out a low rumble, Dante shifted, testing his restraints. It made the rope creak. “Tight, just how I like it,” he said. “You’re too good at this, knot nerd.” His eyes glinted with a mix of challenge and invitation.
Milo couldn’t seem to take his eyes off Dante’s ass …
My hand trailed down his back. Dante breathed heavy, eyes locked on mine. “A little lower.”
Heat crawled up my neck as my hand drifted down, brushing the curve of his ass. His skin was warm, and the way he leaned into the touch sent a jolt through my spine.
“You’re gonna make me beg, aren’t you?” he asked.
Milo let out a sharp, nervous laugh beside me. “Damn, dude, you’re shameless,” he muttered, but his gaze remained glued to Dante’s bound form, hunger creeping into his expression.
Dante’s words were a match to gasoline, igniting a heat I couldn’t douse … I slid my hand lower, brushing between his cheeks. His body shifted, pushing back into my touch, and the way his breath caught sent a hard throb through my cock. I spread him wider, exposing the tight, brown ring of muscle, and the sheer vulnerability of him bound like this, waiting for us, made my head spin.
“Jesus, Dante,” I muttered under my breath, almost to myself, as my thumb grazed closer, testing.
My athletic shorts were tenting hard now, no hiding it with no underwear on, and I could feel Milo’s stare boring into me from the side.
“You seeing this, Milo?” I said, glancing over, my voice rough with the effort to stay cool.
His tan face was flushed deep, mouth parted as he nodded, his gym shorts barely containing the bulge straining against them.
“Hard not to,” he croaked, licking his lips before catching himself. “Dude, you’re just … fucking open for it, huh?” He aimed the jab at Dante, but his eyes kept flicking to me, like he was gauging my reaction.
“Open and waiting,” Dante drawled, voice thick as he locked onto Milo, then me. “So what’re you waiting for? I’m your canvas, boys. Paint me.”
I didn’t need more coaxing. My fingers fumbled with my shorts, yanking them down just enough to free myself, my cock bobbing heavy and aching in the apartment air.
Milo hesitated only a second longer, shoving his own shorts down, revealing the thick length straining against his white briefs before he tugged those off too. His hands were trembling, but the starving sparkle in his eyes matched mine.
“Fuck it,” I grunted, positioning myself at Dante’s face, gripping the base of my dick as I pressed the tip to his parted lips. “Open up, then.”
He did, his tongue flicking out to tease before he sucked me in, hot and wet.
A harsh groan ripped from my chest as I gripped the rope at his shoulders for balance and to pull myself deeper, hips twitching forward. Dante gagged eagerly, drool spilling down my balls, before I let him free.
He gasped for air before saying, “That’s a start. Now show me how a real man would do it,” he taunted.
“Oh, I’ll show you,” Milo said behind him, and spat into his palm, slicking himself with quick, jerky strokes before lining up with his asshole. “You ready to get fucked, Dante?” he asked, voice shaky but thick with want.
Wow, seeing Milo like this was hot. It was a whole damn new side of him.
“Do it, Milo. Fuck me,” Dante ordered, mouth open on my balls now. The vibrations made my head fall back.
I snapped it up. I couldn’t miss Milo’s face in this moment. He pushed in slow at first, a low, broken moan spilling out as he closed his eyes in awe.
Dante pushed back until his ass met Milo’s hips, the ropes digging into his skin with the motion.
“Shit, you’re a damn pro,” Milo hissed, hands gripping Dante’s ass cheeks. “Evan, you gotta feel this—fuck, this is insane.”
His eyes met mine over Dante’s arched back, and for a second I wanted to pull him closer, kiss him deeply and passionately, tasting the heat of this moment on his tongue.
But Dante was here.
His mouth dragged me back, sucking hard at my tip, hands working my base and balls, and I thrust deeper, losing myself in the wet heat.
Dante worked me with a relentless rhythm, tongue swirling over the head of my cock while his lips tightened just right, pulling a low growl from my throat. My hand gripped the back of his man bun, feeling the head of my dick squeeze into the back of his throat again while he gagged helplessly, Milo slamming deep inside him from behind, pushing him further into me, and me further back still, almost making me fall over. My fingers grasped for purchase on the ropes as I fought to stay steady.
Milo was thrusting into Dante with a desperate edge, his thick thighs flexing with every push, breaths coming in sharp, ragged gasps.
“Fuck, Dante, how’re you taking this so good?” Milo moaned, his voice strained as he adjusted his grip on the harness knots, one hand taking an anchor point on his mid-back, the other giving Dante’s ass a rough slap as the rope bit red marks into Dante’s skin.
Milo’s eyes flicked to mine for a split second, searching for something, before dropping back to where their bodies connected.
Dante pulled off me just enough to smirk, his voice a husky rasp. “Years of practice, baby. Keep going. Harder.” Then his mouth was back on me, sucking deeper, daring me to lose it. My hips bucked as a shudder ripped through me.
I was so caught up in the haze of it—the slick sounds, the tension in Milo’s hairy chest, the way Dante’s bound body quivered helpless between us—that I almost missed the door swinging open. The sharp creak cut through the room like a blade, and my head snapped up.
Chris stood frozen in the doorway, his massive gym bag dangling from one hand, his broad shoulders still glistening with post-workout sweat.
Beside him was another guy, even bigger, probably one of the tallest men I’d ever seen. Someone whom I’d never met. With a curious glint in his eye …
Chris’s blue-gray eyes were wide, his face draining to a sickly white as he took in the scene: Dante tied to the floor in an intricate harness, my cock in his mouth, and Milo buried deep in his ass.
“Oh,” Chris choked out, the sound high and pitiful, like he’d been punched in the gut.
Milo yanked out of Dante with a startled grunt, his dick slick and twitching as he stumbled back, hands raised like he’d been caught stealing. “Shit, man, uh …” he stammered, cheeks flaming red under his tan skin.
I nearly choked on a manic laugh, pulling out of Dante’s mouth with an awkward pop, my heart hammering as I fumbled to cover myself.
But Dante didn’t flinch.
Well, not that he had much choice, but he seemed fine with the sudden display in front of a stranger.
He lifted his head, calm as hell, and locked eyes with the visitor, a slow, predatory smile curling his lips. “Don’t just stand there, boys,” he purred, voice dripping with honey. I imagined he was what a siren would sound like, as he gave a tiny smile. “We could use an extra set of hands. Or two.”
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