Roommates With Benefits [BL]

About a month ago, I moved into Damien Lockwood’s penthouse, hoping to pretend I could handle living with someone I had spent years not wanting to miss.

Fast forward a month, and I was bickering with him over blankets snatching snacks from his kitchen.

Clearly, I was doing great with my recovery.

Things had changed a lot in the penthouse since I showed up. Damien would probably argue that not much had altered beyond my stuff invading his space.

My books were now all over the coffee table, my go-to blanket had claimed the couch, and my chargers had multiplied like they were trying to survive an extinction event.

There was also a second toothbrush in the master bathroom, some of my ransom shirts and hoodies hanging amid Damien’s designer suits, and a stash of snacks in the kitchen that Gabriel had apparently begun buying just for me.

I was either making myself at home or slowly transforming the penthouse into a reflection of my personality. Personally, I preferred to think it was the latter.

Mornings had become particularly awkward, as I now had this habit of waking up tangled around Damien, usually with a leg draped over him and my face pressed against his chest.

I insisted it was purely accidental, though Damien liked to point out how I always ended up back with him, regardless of where he moved on the bed.

It was becoming a bit of a problem.

Every morning at around 7:30, he’d kiss my forehead before heading out to the office, even on days packed with meetings when his phone had already started ringing.

Sometimes, he’d bring me coffee first, setting it next to my breakfast while asking what I had planned for the day, as if he actually cared about my work as someone whose main responsibilities involved reading research papers in his pajamas.

He somehow turned even the mundane into something special, from how he whipped up breakfast on weekends to those quiet mornings spent by the windows, reading the news together while the city slowly woke up beneath us.

I had never realized coffee could taste so much better just because someone remembered how I liked it, but apparently, I’d been missing a big part of human interaction.

Naturally, I refused to admit this to Damien because he was already insufferably smug.

My surrender to this new life became evident when I figured that living in a penthouse with an infinity pool meant it was finally time to master swimming.

Damien offered to teach me, which seemed reasonable until I remembered he wasn’t a certified lifeguard.

”I can’t believe I’m trying this again,” I warned him one sunny afternoon as we stood by the pool. ”Water and I don’t mix, Damien. What if I drown and fucking die?”

He glanced at the water, then back at me. ”You’re not going to drown.”

”You sound awfully sure for someone who has seen me panic in the ocean before.”

He grinned, and it was annoyingly charming, especially given that I was about to risk my life for self-improvement.

Still, I took his hand and stepped into the water, immediately regretting every decision that led me there.

Damien stayed close, one arm wrapped around my waist while he explained how to control my breathing and move my legs without splashing like I was trying to escape a disaster.

He was shockingly patient, correcting my movements gently and encouraging me to try again whenever I lost my nerve, though the slight twitch at the corner of his mouth showed my technique was providing him some entertainment.

Things took a turn when he asked me to practice floating.

I managed about four seconds before grabbing his shoulders and clinging to him like a panicked koala.

”Oliver, baby.” he said, trying hard not to laugh, ”you need to relax.”

”I am relaxed! Shut up!”

”You’re literally squeezing the life out of me.”

”This is how I show trust.”

He adjusted his grip around my waist, holding me steady while I glowered at him, trying to maintain whatever dignity I could muster while using my boyfriend as a flotation device.

”Look at me, Sunshine,” he said softly, brushing the wet hair off my forehead. ”I’ve got you. Take your time.”

Something in the calmness of his gaze made it easier to breathe, and I started to ease my grip enough to try again, though I kept one hand firmly on his shoulder because I wasn’t ready to be overconfident yet.

Unfortunately, the pool had other ideas.

I swallowed water during my next attempt, came up sputtering, and immediately decided that the whole pool was out to get me.

”Holy shit!”

Damien rubbed my back while I coughed indignantly against his shoulder.

”Breathe, Sunshine.”

He kissed my forehead, which was a ridiculous response to a medical emergency, especially since the emergency was due to his fancy swimming pool.

Despite my protests, we kept practicing until I finally managed a few actual strokes without clinging to him or swallowing enough water to qualify as a temporary fish.

When I reached his waiting hands, I stared at him in shock before throwing my arms up in victory.

”Wooo! I did it!”

”You did.”

”I actually swam!”

”You did really well.”

”I expect everyone to remain calm as I process my monumental athletic achievement.”

Damien laughed and pulled me in for a kiss, his hands resting on my waist as I wrapped my arms around his neck.

I kissed him back eagerly, because I’m not unreasonable and would never turn down a reward for a job well done.

When he pulled away, I rested my forehead against his.

”I assume that was my prize.”

”It was.”

”Great. For future athletic accomplishments, I’m gonna need better compensation.”

”What do you want?”

”I’m thinking kisses, snacks, and maybe a small trophy.”

”I’ll see what I can do.”

”You should. I’m a star on the rise.”

He laughed again, and I found myself grinning against his shoulder, feeling proud of what I achieved and even more grateful for how he helped me.

I had been worried about looking silly, about failing, and about discovering I wasn’t as capable as I wanted to seem, but Damien never made me feel like I had to hide any of that from him.

He just stayed by my side until I was ready to try again.

It was a small thing, maybe, but it made me feel safer with him than I could put into words, so naturally, I ruined the moment by asking about lunch.

My next domestic challenge was making sure Damien Lockwood didn’t replace all his meals with coffee.

I realized just how serious the situation was one afternoon when I walked into his home office and found three empty coffee cups surrounding his laptop, a half-finished bottle of water next to the keyboard, and absolutely no sign that he’d eaten anything remotely resembling actual food.

”Have you eaten?” I asked.

”I’m working.”

”That wasn’t my question, Asshole.”

He kept typing, apparently believing that ignoring me would magically fix the problem.

I put the lunch Gabriel had prepared on his desk and crossed my arms.

”Damien.”

He looked up. ”Oliver.”

”Eat your lunch.”

”I have a meeting in twenty minutes.”

”Perfect. You have nineteen minutes to remember you’re a human and need nourishment.”

His mouth twitched, but he didn’t move toward the food, so I pulled up a chair next to his desk and opened the container myself.

”I’m not leaving until you finish this.”

”You’re really bossy.”

”And you’re really on the verge of being reported to Gabriel, who is going to be a lot less nice about your eating habits than I am.”

That finally got his attention.

Damien put his laptop aside like he was resigning to an unfortunate legal settlement, and I handed him a fork, settling in beside him to supervise his recovery.

When he tried to go back to his emails after only a few bites, I held up another forkful in front of his mouth.

He stared at me.

I stared back.

”Are you feeding me?” he asked.

”Yes, you better eat or else I’m gonna kick your ass.”

He took the bite, and I smiled triumphantly and ruffled his dark hair before offering him another. ”Good boy.”

His face changed so quickly I nearly dropped the fork. ”Excuse me?”

”You finished your food. I’m proud of you.”

”Oliver.”

”What? Want me to give you a certificate?”

He leaned back in his chair, watching me with a smile that hinted I might have crossed a line that I’d regret later.

”Keep talking, Sunshine. Call me a good boy again.”

I blushed, ”You know what? I’ve suddenly remembered that I left something in the kitchen.”

He caught my wrist before I could bolt, brought my hand to his lips, and kissed my knuckles before letting me sit back down.

”I’m grateful,” he said quietly, his teasing expression softening. ”You know that, right?”

I squeezed his hand, feeling my own smile turn softer.

”I know. But I really would appreciate it if you’d stop acting like food is optional.”

He promised to try, which I accepted, despite knowing that a promise from Damien Lockwood about eating regularly was likely about as trustworthy as a politician’s vow of financial transparency.

Still, he finished his lunch, and I called the afternoon a win.

Summer break had given me some breathing room at St. Jude University, but I still had research papers to plow through, lesson plans to create, and colleagues who seemed determined to schedule video calls right when I’d finally settled onto the couch.

I spent most afternoons working wherever I could find a flat surface, though Damien eventually decided that my habit of balancing my laptop on my knees was a serious threat to my academic future... and my back.

The first sign he was intervening came when he brought home a fancy desk and matching chair and set up a proper workspace by the windows, complete with everything I needed for the upcoming semester.

The second sign was when I found the receipt he tried to hide by tossing it in the walk-in closet trash can.

I marched into the living room, waving it between two fingers.

”Damien, why does this chair and table cost more than my entire freaking car?”

He glanced up from his report. ”Because your car is freaking awful.”