Seduction
Spin the Bottle – Escalation at Imogen's Flat
The party had hit that tipping point around 1 AM—when the music got louder, the lights dimmer, and inhibitions thinner. Bottles cluttered every surface, laughter edged into something sharper, and the air hummed with the kind of energy that promised bad decisions. Imogen's flat felt smaller now, bodies pressed closer in the living room, the glitter from earlier sticking to sweat-damp skin like confetti after a storm.
Charlie and Nick were on the sofa, tangled in a lazy make-out session that had started as a quick kiss and devolved into something slower, deeper. Nick's hand was under Charlie's jumper, fingers splayed possessively across his lower back, while Charlie's nails scratched lightly at the nape of Nick's neck. They broke apart only when Imogen plopped down beside them, flushed and giggling, a half-empty bottle of vodka in hand.
"Okay, loves," she announced to the room, voice carrying over the thumping bass. "Time to up the ante. Spin the bottle—truth or dare edition. But dares only, because truths are boring and we're all sluts tonight."
A cheer went up from the circle forming on the floor: Sahar rolling her eyes but joining anyway, Otis already cross-legged with a beer, a couple of Imogen's flatmates whose names Charlie couldn't remember, and Daniel—lounging against the coffee table, shirt sleeves rolled higher, a predatory gleam in his dark eyes.
Charlie felt a flicker of hesitation—games like this always made his stomach twist, memories of school parties where things got mean. But Nick squeezed his thigh reassuringly. "We can bail anytime," he murmured against Charlie's ear, breath hot. "Or... it could be fun."
Charlie nodded, heat blooming low from Nick's touch. "Okay. But if it gets weird—"
"Out," Nick finished, kissing his temple.
They joined the circle, Nick's broad frame settling cross-legged, Charlie tucked against his side. Daniel was directly across, knees almost brushing Nick's as the group tightened. Imogen set an empty tequila bottle in the center, gave it a dramatic spin.
First round: It landed on Sahar. Imogen dared her to shotgun a beer. Easy, quick—Sahar nailed it, earning whoops.
Next: Otis to one of the flatmates—kiss on the cheek. Tame.
Then it started tilting toward Nick. Maybe it was the way the bottle wobbled on the uneven floor, or maybe it was sheer cosmic thirst, but spin after spin seemed to point his way.
First one: Imogen's dare. "Nick, body shot off... hmm... Charlie." She winked.
Charlie's cheeks burned, but he lay back on the floor as Nick poured tequila into the dip of his navel, sprinkled salt on his collarbone, lime wedge between his teeth. The circle watched, hushed and hungry, as Nick licked the salt slow—tongue flat and deliberate—then sucked the tequila from Charlie's skin, lips brushing his abs. He took the lime from Charlie's mouth with a kiss that lingered, turning it filthy. Charlie's breath hitched, hands fisting in Nick's shirt.
"Get a room!" someone catcalled, but the air thickened.
Daniel's eyes were glued to Nick the whole time—watching the flex of his shoulders, the way his throat worked as he swallowed.
Next spin: Sahar's turn. Bottle on Nick again. "Lap dance. From... Daniel." She grinned mischievously, clearly in on some vibe.
Daniel's eyebrows shot up, but his smile was slow, pleased. He looked straight at Charlie first—always Charlie first, that calculated respect. "You cool with that, Char? Don't want to step on toes."
Charlie blinked, pulse racing. It was just a game, right? And Nick was his. But something in Daniel's gaze made his skin prickle. He glanced at Nick, who shrugged with an easy grin. "Up to you, baby."
Charlie swallowed. "Yeah. Fine. It's a dare."
Daniel stood, rolling his shoulders like he was warming up. The music shifted to something slower, bass-heavy—perfect timing, or maybe Imogen queued it. He straddled Nick's lap without hesitation, hands bracing on Nick's broad shoulders. Nick's eyes widened slightly, but he played it cool, hands resting loosely on Daniel's hips.
Daniel started moving—slow rolls of his hips, grinding down in time with the beat. His shirt rode up, revealing a strip of toned abs, the V of his hips dipping low. He leaned in close, breath ghosting Nick's ear. "Relax, big guy," he murmured, just loud enough for Charlie to hear. One hand slid up Nick's chest, fingers tracing the outline of his pecs through the henley.
Nick's cheeks flushed, his grip tightening on Daniel's waist. The circle hooted, but Charlie felt it like a punch—watching Daniel's body undulate, ass pressing down against Nick's thighs, the way Daniel's dark curls fell forward as he arched back, exposing the long line of his throat.
It lasted a full minute—intense, charged—before Daniel dismounted with a wink. "Not bad for a straight boy," he teased Nick, but his eyes flicked to Charlie again. "All good?"
Charlie nodded tightly, pulling Nick in for a possessive kiss the second Daniel sat down. Nick responded eagerly, hand cupping Charlie's jaw.
But the bottle wasn't done with Nick.
Next spin: One of the flatmates. "Nick—remove your shirt. Slowly."
Groans and cheers. Nick laughed, standing up. He peeled the henley off inch by inch—revealing the broad expanse of his chest, the defined ridges of his abs from rugby training, the happy trail disappearing into his jeans. Sweat glistened under the lights, making his skin glow. Everyone stared—openly thirsty. Daniel's gaze was downright feral, tongue darting out to wet his lips.
Nick sat back down shirtless, arm around Charlie, who couldn't help but trace his fingers over the warm skin.
Spin again: Imogen. Bottle on Nick. "Body shot—off you this time. Volunteer's choice."
Hands shot up, but Daniel was fastest. "Me," he said smoothly, eyes on Charlie. "If that's alright with you, mate?"
Charlie's throat tightened. The game was heating up, and Daniel's constant checks felt... off. Like he was playing nice to slip under the radar. But saying no would seem petty. "Go for it."
Daniel grinned, grabbing the tequila. He pushed Nick back gently until he was reclining against the sofa arm, broad chest on full display. Salt sprinkled along the V of Nick's hip, just above his jeans—low enough to make Nick's abs tense. Tequila pooled in the hollow of his sternum. Lime in Nick's mouth.
Daniel started at the salt—tongue dragging slow, flat, over the sensitive skin of Nick's hip. Nick inhaled sharply, muscles jumping. Daniel's hands braced on Nick's thighs for "balance," fingers digging in slightly. Then up to the tequila—lips sealing over the dip, sucking deliberately, tongue swirling to get every drop. The room was silent, electric.
Finally, the lime—Daniel leaned in, taking it from Nick's lips with a graze of teeth, their mouths brushing for a split second longer than necessary. Nick's eyes were dark, breath uneven.
Daniel pulled back, licking his lips. "Delicious," he said lowly, holding Charlie's gaze. "You okay, Char? That wasn't too much?"
Charlie forced a smile. "Fine." But inside, jealousy twisted hot with something else—arousal, maybe, from watching Nick unravel a bit.
The game ramped up. Another spin: Otis. Bottle on Nick. "Kiss the person to your left." That was Charlie—easy, but they made it count, Nick pulling him into his lap for a deep, claiming kiss that left Charlie hard against him.
Then Sahar: "Nick—let someone lick your neck."
A flatmate volunteered, quick and giggly, but it was tame compared to what came next.
Spin: Imogen again. "Alright, escalating. Nick—armpits are fair game. Lick from... Daniel."
Daniel's eyes lit up like Christmas. He loved this—had always had a thing for the musky, intimate spots on a guy's body, especially on someone built like Nick. Broad, strong, the kind of guy whose scent could drive you wild.
But again: "Charlie? Your call. I can pass if it's weird."
Charlie hesitated longer this time. Nick's armpits—exposed now, shirtless, a faint sheen of sweat from the heat of the room. It felt... vulnerable. Intimate. But the circle was watching, and Nick murmured, "I'm good if you are."
"...Okay."
Daniel didn't waste time. He shifted close, one hand lifting Nick's arm gently, exposing the soft, sensitive skin under his bicep. Nick's muscles flexed instinctively, the broad expanse of his chest rising with a deep breath.
Daniel leaned in slow—nose first, inhaling subtly, eyes half-closing like he was savoring. Then his tongue—flat, warm—dragged from the center of Nick's armpit up to the curve of his shoulder. Slow, deliberate, tasting the salt of sweat, the faint musk of Nick's skin. Nick shuddered, a low groan escaping his throat, free hand clenching on his thigh.
Daniel did it again—longer lick, lips brushing the hair there, sucking lightly at the end. The room was dead silent, everyone transfixed by the intensity: Daniel's obvious hunger, Nick's body responding despite himself—nipples hardening, abs tightening.
He pulled back finally, eyes locked on Nick's. "Fuck, you taste good," he breathed, then to Charlie: "Still cool?"
Charlie's face was flushed, a mix of jealousy and heat pooling in his gut. He nodded, but pulled Nick closer possessively.
The game went on—more spins, more dares centering Nick: a flatmate grinding on his lap briefly, Sahar daring him to flex and let people feel his biceps (hands roamed everywhere), Otis making him do push-ups with Charlie on his back, bodies sliding slick.
But Daniel got one more big one: Spin landed on him daring Nick. "Lap dance—reverse. You on me."
Charlie's turn to check, but Daniel beat him: "Only if Charlie signs off."
It was the game, the alcohol, the heat—Charlie said yes, heart pounding.
Nick stood, a little unsteady, and straddled Daniel's lap. Daniel's hands went to Nick's hips immediately, guiding him down. Nick rolled his hips awkwardly at first, but the dares had him buzzed, loose. He ground down harder, ass pressing against Daniel's crotch, feeling the hard line there.
Daniel groaned low, hands sliding up Nick's bare back, nails scratching lightly. "That's it," he murmured. "Feel good?"
Nick's breath hitched, rhythm picking up—intense, friction building. Charlie watched, nails digging into his palms, arousal warring with possessiveness.
It ended with Daniel's hand in Nick's hair, pulling him down for a near-kiss—lips inches apart—before time was called.
The game dissolved after that—people pairing off, music pulling them to dance. Nick hauled Charlie up, pressing him against the wall in a dark corner, kissing him fierce and desperate.
"Want you," Nick growled. "Now."
They slipped out to the bathroom—locked door, Nick lifting Charlie onto the sink, hands everywhere, reclaiming.
But as they left the party later, Daniel caught Nick's eye one last time—smile promising more games ahead.
And in the Uber home, Charlie held Nick tighter, wondering if the bottle had spun them into something dangerous.
\----
Private Views and Cracked Facades – Late Night Unraveling
Nick couldn't sleep. It was 2 AM, the flat quiet except for the distant hum of London traffic filtering through the cracked window. Charlie was out cold beside him, curls splayed across the pillow, one arm thrown over Nick's waist in that possessive way he did after intense nights. The party lingered on their skin—sweat, glitter, the faint tang of tequila. Nick's body still buzzed from the dares, the touches, the way eyes had raked over him like he was the main course.
He reached for his phone on the nightstand, screen glow casting blue light over the sheets. Habit: scroll Instagram to wind down. But tonight, his thumb hovered over Daniel's profile—@daniel\_delavega. The follow had been casual, spurred by that text about rugby. Nick had scrolled the public feed once or twice—beach pics, gym selfies, nothing too wild. But earlier, after the party, a notification had popped: \*Daniel Dela Vega added you to their Close Friends list.\*
Curiosity tugged. Nick tapped into stories. The first one was public: a boomerang of the party crowd, glitter flying. But then—green ring around the next. Close Friends only.
He tapped.
It was a mirror selfie, timestamped an hour ago—post-party, Daniel in his loft bathroom. Shirt unbuttoned all the way, hanging open to reveal the lean, toned lines of his torso: defined abs glistening with what looked like fresh shower water, hip bones sharp under low-slung joggers that dipped dangerously low, no underwear line in sight. The fabric clung to his thighs, outlining everything. Daniel's free hand rested on his lower abs, fingers splayed, thumb hooking the waistband just enough to tease a shadow. His head was tilted back slightly, lips parted, eyes half-lidded at the camera like an invitation. Caption: \*Winding down. Wish you were here to help.\* Emoji: water droplets, eggplant hidden in the text.
Nick's breath caught. Heat flushed his neck. He glanced at Charlie—still asleep—then swiped to the next story.
This one was a video: Daniel lounging on his bed, sheets rumpled white around him. He was shirtless now, propped on one elbow, free hand tracing slow circles over his chest, down his abs, stopping just at the joggers' edge. The camera panned up to his face—biting his lip, eyes dark and direct. "Can't stop thinking about tonight," he murmured in the audio, voice low and rough. "That lap dance... fuck." His hand dipped lower, out of frame, but the implication was clear—the subtle shift of his hips, the way his breath hitched. It looped, hypnotic.
Nick's mouth went dry. His body reacted instinctively—pulse quickening, heat pooling low. He shifted under the sheets, careful not to wake Charlie. \*This is for me?\* The Close Friends list—Nick checked: he was the only one added recently. Daniel had set this up just for him. Private show.
Next story: Still photo, Daniel on his back, joggers pushed down to his thighs, hand wrapped around himself—blurred just enough for IG guidelines, but the outline was unmistakable. Hard, thick, curved slightly. Caption: \*Thinking of your hands instead.\* No face, but the tattoo on his hip—a small wave design—matched what Nick had glimpsed at the party.
Nick's free hand clenched the sheet. He felt guilty, aroused, confused. Daniel was hot—undeniably. Lean and pretty, with that confident edge. But Charlie... Nick looked over again, heart twisting. This was wrong. He should block him. Delete the app. But his thumb lingered, watching the video loop again.
The last story: Daniel post-climax, chest heaving, a streak of white across his abs. Lazy smile at the camera. "Your turn? DM me." Then it vanished—stories expiring in his mind like smoke.
Nick locked his phone, heart pounding. He rolled toward Charlie, pulling him close, burying his face in soft curls. Charlie mumbled in his sleep, pressing back against him. Nick's erection pressed insistent against Charlie's thigh, but he ignored it—guilt winning out. For now.
\---
Morning came too soon. Sunlight sliced through the blinds, Charlie stirring first with a groan. "Ugh, hangover." He reached for Nick, smiling sleepy and soft. "Last night was... intense."
Nick kissed him, morning breath be damned—deep, reassuring himself as much as Charlie. "Yeah. You okay with everything?"
Charlie propped on an elbow, blue eyes searching. "The dares? It was hot, watching you. But Daniel... he was pushing it."
Nick nodded, stomach flipping at the memory of those stories. "Yeah. A bit much." He didn't mention the IG. Not yet.
They showered together—slow, soapy hands exploring, turning into lazy morning sex against the tiles. Nick fucked Charlie deep and deliberate, whispering praises into his neck, chasing away the guilt with every thrust. Charlie came with Nick's name on his lips, and for a while, it felt solid again.
Breakfast: eggs on toast, coffee strong. Charlie's phone buzzed midway through—unknown number, but the area code was local.
He answered on speaker, mouth full. "Hello?"
"Char...lie?" Slurred, heavy breathing. "S'me. Daniel."
Charlie's fork paused. Nick's jaw tightened.
"Daniel? You okay? It's like, 10 AM."
A laugh, wet and forced. "Not... great. Party got wild after you left. Drank too much. Flatmate's pissed, kicked me out for the day. Can I... crash at yours? Just till I sober up. Please?"
Charlie blinked, glancing at Nick. Nick shook his head subtly—no.
"Uh, Daniel, we're kind of busy today—"
"Please, man." Daniel's voice cracked—acting? Or real? "Don't feel safe on the tube like this. You're the only one I trust right now. Nick's cool, right? Won't be weird."
Charlie rubbed his temple. "Hold on." He muted the call, turning to Nick. "What do you think? He sounds wrecked."
Nick set his mug down hard. "No. Absolutely not."
Charlie frowned. "Why? He's our friend. If he's drunk and needs help—"
"He's not our friend, Char. He's your friend. And after last night? The way he was all over me? This is a play."
Charlie's eyes narrowed. "A play? For what?"
"To get closer. To me. Come on, you saw it—the dares, the looks. He's flirting hard."
Charlie leaned back, arms crossed. "And? You're mine. I trust you. If he's in trouble, we help."
Nick exhaled sharp. "It's not about trust. It's about boundaries. He added me to his Close Friends on IG—posted shit that's basically porn. For me."
Charlie's face paled. "What?"
"Yeah. Last night. Shirtless, jerking off, captions about thinking of me. He set it up just for my eyes."
Charlie unmuted quickly. "Daniel? Yeah, no. Can't today. Get an Uber home or something." He hung up, face flushing angry. "Why didn't you tell me?"
"I was going to. It happened late. I didn't respond—"
"But you looked. You watched."
Nick winced. "Yeah. I did. It was... shocking. But I didn't do anything."
Charlie stood, pacing the small kitchen. "Shocking? Or hot? Be honest, Nick."
Nick hesitated—a beat too long. "Both? I don't know. He's attractive, okay? But I don't want him. I want you."
Charlie laughed bitter. "Attractive. Right. So while I'm sleeping next to you, you're scrolling his nudes?"
"It was stories! They popped up—"
"You tapped in. You kept watching."
Nick stood too, reaching for him. "Char, come on. It was a mistake. I feel guilty as hell."
Charlie pulled away. "Guilty because you got caught? Or because you liked it?"
"Both!" Nick's voice rose. "Fuck, Charlie. Last night at the party—everyone wanted a piece of me. Including him. And yeah, it felt good, the attention. But I came home with you. I fucked you this morning thinking of you."
Charlie's eyes glistened. "But you're thinking of him now. Admit it."
Nick ran a hand through his hair. "Maybe a little. The stories were intense. But it's fantasy shit. Not real."
"Not real? He's calling to stay over! What if I said yes? Would you have said no to him crashing here?"
"Of course! But you were going to let him—"
"Because I thought he needed help! Not because I want him sniffing around you."
The argument escalated—voices overlapping, old insecurities bubbling up. Charlie's eating disorder days, feeling not enough; Nick's confusion during his bi awakening, the pull of new attractions.
"You're always so trusting," Nick snapped. "Like with Ben. You see the good, but sometimes it's manipulation."
Charlie flinched. "Don't bring up Ben. Daniel's not like that."
"Isn't he? Drunk at 10 AM? After posting that? He's playing drunk to get in the door."
"Maybe. Or maybe he's lonely. His backstory—you know he had a rough time coming out."
Nick groaned. "Don't make me the bad guy for protecting us."
"Us? Or your ego? You liked the lap dance. The licks. Admit it turned you on."
"It did! But so did you watching. It was hot because it was us in the end."
Charlie stopped pacing, tears spilling. "What if it's not? What if you want to... experiment?"
Nick pulled him close then—Charlie resisting at first, then melting. "I don't. I love you. But yeah, I'm bi. Attractions happen. Doesn't mean I'll act."
Charlie buried his face in Nick's chest. "I know. But Daniel... he's targeting you. It scares me."
"Me too," Nick admitted, holding tight. "Block him?"
Charlie nodded. "Yeah. And no more parties with him."
They sank onto the sofa, argument dissolving into kisses—urgent, reaffirming. Hands under clothes, Nick pinning Charlie down, grinding slow. "You're mine," Nick growled, teeth on Charlie's neck.
"Yours," Charlie gasped, nails raking Nick's back.
They fucked there—hard, emotional, Charlie riding Nick with fierce possession, both coming with sobs and whispers.
But later, as they dozed tangled, Nick's phone buzzed. Daniel: \*Sorry if I overstepped. Hope we're cool?\* With a photo attachment—another tease.
Nick deleted it unread. But the seed was planted, the slow burn flickering on.
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