A/N: Just wanna say thank you for the readers, feed back and dms. I really appreciate it, just comment down your feedback or suggestions for the next part. And yeah some parts I have to get suggestions from ai but most of it are mine so excuse for the wrong grammars. Luv y'all!
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Nick's Side – Reflections and Ripples
Nick Nelson wasn't always the confident, broad-shouldered guy who turned heads without trying. Growing up in Kent, he was the kid who towered over his classmates by Year 7, the one teachers pegged for sports early on. Rugby came naturally—his dad had played semi-pro before the divorce, and Nick threw himself into it like a lifeline, the pitch a place where everything made sense: strategy, strength, camaraderie. But off the field? He was quieter than people assumed. The "golden boy" label stuck—good grades, popular, always polite—but inside, he wrestled with the pressure of being everyone's expectation.
Coming out as bi in sixth form had been a whirlwind. Charlie changed everything: that soft-spoken drummer with the sharp wit and vulnerable heart. Nick fell hard, navigating his sexuality amid school drama, family support (Mum was a rock, even if she worried), and the thrill of first love. University followed—Nick at Loughborough for sports science, Charlie at UCL for English lit. Long-distance tested them, but they made it work: weekend trains, late-night calls, stolen holidays. Now, post-grad, they shared a cozy flat in London—Nick coaching rugby at a local academy while pursuing a teaching qualification, Charlie interning at a publishing house.
The job suited Nick: mornings on the field with teens, channeling his energy into drills and pep talks; afternoons in classrooms learning pedagogy. It kept him fit, grounded—broad chest from endless push-ups, legs like tree trunks from squats. But lately? Lately, everything felt... charged. Unsettled.
From Nick's POV, the past few weeks were a blur of heat and confusion. That first party at Daniel's loft—Charlie's new uni friend, all charm and sharp cheekbones—had started innocently. Daniel's flirts were subtle: brushes, looks, that low laugh. Nick brushed it off as friendly banter. But the spin-the-bottle night? Fuck. The lap dances, the body shots, Daniel's tongue dragging hot and deliberate over his skin—armpit included, that musky intimacy making Nick's body betray him with shudders he couldn't hide. He'd gone home rock-hard, fucked Charlie senseless to reclaim the night, but echoes lingered.
Then the IG stories. Private, explicit—Daniel's lean body on display, hand working himself with captions screaming \\\*for you\\\*. Nick had watched, transfixed, cock twitching in the dark. Guilt hit like a tackle: he loved Charlie, craved him daily—the way Charlie's lithe frame fit against his, the moans when Nick pinned him down. But Daniel stirred something primal, a bi curiosity he'd explored lightly in uni (a hookup or two, nothing serious). It wasn't want, exactly—just intrigue. Heat. And Daniel knew it, the bastard.
The "drunk" call? Obvious ploy. Nick had argued with Charlie—raw, honest—airing the attraction like ripping off a plaster. They'd made up fiercely, bodies colliding in reassurance. But seeds of doubt sprouted: Was he enough for Charlie? Was Charlie enough for him? No—yes. Definitely. But Daniel's persistence gnawed.
Nick shook it off during runs, pounding pavements till his lungs burned. Work helped: coaching kept him focused, the kids' energy a distraction. Until the email hit his inbox that afternoon.
He was at the academy, post-session, sweat-soaked in trackies, checking his phone in the locker room. Subject: \\\*Upcoming Charity Gala – Volunteer Coaches Needed\\\*. The academy was partnering with local unis for a fundraiser—sports scholarships for underprivileged kids. Fancy event: black-tie, auctions, networking. Nick skimmed: \\\*Event planner secured through UCL connections...\\\*
His stomach dropped. \\\*Daniel Dela Vega – Events Extraordinaire\\\*. A bio attached: Daniel's smiling headshot, all polished charm. \\\*Specializing in bespoke experiences. Let's make your event unforgettable.\\\*
"Fuck," Nick muttered, leaning against the lockers. Awkward didn't cover it. Hot? Potentially disastrous.
He texted Charlie: \\\*Check your email. The gala. Guess who's planning?\\\*
Charlie's reply: \\\*No way. Daniel? Shit.\\\*
They met at home—Charlie arriving flustered from work, Nick already pacing. "We don't have to go," Nick said, pulling Charlie into a hug. But Charlie shook his head. "It's for a good cause. And you're volunteering—coaching demo or something. We can't bail."
Nick groaned. "He's going to make it weird."
Charlie's eyes darkened. "Then we make it clear. Boundaries."
But Nick felt the pull—the awkward heat building like pre-game adrenaline.
\\---
\# The Planning Phase – Daniel's Calculated Charm
Daniel got the gig through Imogen—her flatmate knew the academy coordinator, dropped his name. "Perfect fit," she'd said. Daniel smiled: \\\*Oh, it will be.\\\* He'd planned it meticulously: schmoozed the right people, underbid competitors, tailored the proposal with rugby themes—silent auction of signed memorabilia, a "try line" cocktail bar. But the real prize? Nick's involvement. He knew from group chats Nick coached there; a quick LinkedIn stalk confirmed.
His next move: site visit. The venue was a sleek hall in Shoreditch—high ceilings, industrial chic. Daniel arrived early, clipboard in hand, looking sharp in tailored chinos and a crisp shirt, sleeves rolled to show veined forearms. The coordinator—a bubbly woman named Lisa—greeted him.
"We'll have coaches demoing skills," she explained. "Nick Nelson's leading— he's great with crowds."
Daniel's pulse quickened. "Excellent. I'll coordinate with him directly."
He texted Nick that evening—professional, of course: \\\*Hey, Nelson. Heard you're on the gala team. Need to chat logistics. Coffee tomorrow? My treat. – Daniel\\\*
Nick stared at the message, thumb hovering. Charlie peered over. "Say yes. Keep it business."
Nick replied: \\\*Sure. 10 AM at the cafe near the hall?\\\*
\\---
\# The Meet – Awkward Heat
The cafe buzzed with morning rush, but Daniel had snagged a corner table—private, intimate. He stood when Nick arrived, handshake lingering a beat too long, thumb brushing knuckles. "Good to see you, mate. No hard feelings about... everything?"
Nick sat, broad frame dwarfing the chair. He was in coach gear: fitted polo hugging his chest, shorts showing thick thighs. "We're good. Let's keep it professional."
Daniel nodded, eyes flicking to Nick's biceps. "Absolutely. Gala details: You'll do a short demo—rugby basics for guests. Maybe auction a private lesson?"
Nick nodded, sipping coffee. "Sounds fine."
But Daniel leaned in, voice dropping. "Need measurements for the setup—stage space. Mind if I...?" He pulled out a tape measure—props for the "planner" role.
Nick raised a brow. "Here?"
"Quick. Stand up."
Awkward: Nick rose, people glancing. Daniel measured arm span—hands grazing Nick's sides, breath warm on his neck. "Broad as ever," Daniel murmured. "Impressive reach."
Nick tensed, heat flushing. "Done?"
Daniel stepped closer for "height check"—chest brushing Nick's. "Just ensuring the spotlight hits right. You'll be the star."
Nick's mind flashed to those IG stories—Daniel's body, the captions. His cock twitched traitorously. "Yeah. Thanks."
Daniel pulled back, smile sharp. "One more thing: Themed photos. You in kit, maybe shirtless for 'athlete appeal'? Raises more funds."
Nick choked on his coffee. "No."
Daniel laughed low. "Kidding. Mostly." But his eyes said otherwise.
They wrapped up, but Daniel's hand on Nick's shoulder as they left—firm, warm. "See you at rehearsals. Can't wait."
Nick walked away, pulse racing. Awkward? Check. Hot? Undeniably. He called Charlie immediately. "This is going to be a nightmare."
But Daniel was already planning the next phase: "accidental" run-ins, private fittings, turning the event into his chessboard. The slow burn intensified—Daniel patient, Nick conflicted, the gala looming like a powder keg.
\\--×-×--
\# Charlie's Side – Shadows and Self-Doubt
Charlie Spring had always been the quiet observer, the one who felt everything too deeply. Growing up in Kent, he was the middle child in a family that loved him but didn't always see him—Dad buried in work, Mum fussing over Tori's sharp edges and Oliver's boundless energy. School was a minefield: the bullying started subtle, whispers about his curls, his softness, escalating to outright cruelty by secondary. Ben Hope had been the worst—charming at first, toxic underneath, leaving scars that therapy still unpacked years later. Coming out as gay felt like shedding a skin, but it came with isolation until the drum kit became his escape, rhythms pounding out the anxiety.
Then Nick. That rugby king with the kind smile who upended everything. Charlie fell fast, terrified it'd shatter. But Nick stayed—through the eating disorder lows, the mental health spirals, the family dinners where Charlie's hand shook under the table. University brought distance: Charlie at UCL, diving into English lit, interning at a small press where he edited manuscripts and dreamed of writing his own stories. The flat with Nick was sanctuary—bookshelves overflowing, drum pads in the corner, Nick's rugby gear strewn about. Charlie loved the domesticity, the way Nick's presence grounded him.
But lately? Lately, Charlie felt unmoored. The parties, the dares—it started fun, a spark in their routine. Watching Nick under all those eyes, the touches, had ignited something primal: jealousy twisted with arousal, his cock hardening as Daniel's tongue dragged over Nick's skin. Charlie had agreed to every dare—nodded through the lap dances, the licks—because in the moment, it thrilled him. The possession afterward, Nick claiming him fiercely, made it worth it. But now? Regret gnawed.
He'd distanced from the group: ignored Imogen's texts about brunches, Sahar's invites to debates, even Daniel's casual check-ins (though those felt loaded anyway). Charlie blamed himself—\\\*I said yes. I got off on it. What if I pushed Nick toward temptation?\\\* Daniel's flirts were obvious now, the IG stories a slap. Charlie trusted Nick, but doubt whispered: \\\*You're skinny, anxious Charlie. Daniel's confident, hot. What if Nick wants more?\\\*
Work suffered: edits came slower, his mind replaying the party—Daniel's mouth on Nick's armpit, Nick's shudder. Charlie had leaked in his jeans that night, shame and heat mingling. He loved Nick's body—the musk, the strength—but seeing someone else take it felt like theft. And he'd allowed it.
Tonight, curled on the sofa with a book he wasn't reading, Charlie waited for Nick to get home from coaching. The gala loomed, Daniel's name attached like a threat. Charlie needed reassurance, or it'd eat him alive.
\\---
\# Home – Reassurance and Ignition
Nick walked in at 7 PM, duffel bag thumping to the floor, sweat-damp hair tousled from the field. He smelled like grass and effort—Charlie's favorite. "Hey, love," Nick said, leaning down for a kiss that lingered, tongue flicking teasingly.
Charlie set the book aside, pulling Nick onto the sofa. "How was practice?"
"Brutal. Kids are beasts." Nick's hand found Charlie's thigh, squeezing. "You okay? You've been quiet."
Charlie hesitated, fingers tracing Nick's collar. "About Daniel. The gala planning... you met him today. Anything happen?"
Nick's expression softened, thumb rubbing Charlie's knee. "Nothing. We talked logistics—stage setup, demos. He was professional. A bit flirty, maybe, but I shut it down. It's fine, Char. Nothing happened."
Charlie searched his eyes—warm, honest hazel. Nick wouldn't lie; he never had. Relief washed over, doubts quieting. "Okay. I believe you." He leaned in, kissing Nick soft at first, then deeper, hands sliding under his polo to feel warm skin.
Nick hummed approval, pulling Charlie into his lap. "Missed you today." His voice roughened. "Been thinking about you all afternoon."
Charlie's breath hitched, grinding down instinctively. "Yeah?"
"Yeah." Nick's hands gripped his hips, guiding the roll. "Want you now."
Charlie nodded, already hard. "Bedroom?"
Nick stood, lifting Charlie effortlessly—strong arms flexing, Charlie's legs wrapping around his waist. They kissed messily en route, Nick kicking the door shut behind them.
\\---
\# Intense Reclamation – The Bedroom
The room was dim, curtains half-drawn against the city glow. Nick set Charlie down gently, but his eyes burned—possessive, hungry. He stripped his polo off in one fluid motion, revealing the broad expanse of his chest: pecs defined from coaching drills, nipples already pebbled in the cool air, a faint trail of hair leading down to his abs, which clenched as Charlie's gaze dragged over him. Nick's skin was flushed from the day, a light sheen of sweat lingering in the hollows, that masculine scent filling the space—earthy, intoxicating.
Charlie's mouth watered. He reached out, palms flat on Nick's chest, thumbs circling nipples until they hardened further. "God, you're so hot," Charlie whispered, voice trembling with want.
Nick groaned low, hands fisting in Charlie's jumper. "Off. All of it."
Charlie complied, peeling off his clothes slow—teasing, though his cock strained against his boxers, a damp spot already forming. Naked, he stood vulnerable: lean frame, pale skin marked with faint scars from old habits, curls falling into his eyes. Nick's gaze softened with love, then heated with lust.
"Bed," Nick commanded, voice gravelly. He shucked his shorts and boxers, cock springing free—thick, veined, curving up toward his abs, pre-come beading at the tip. Charlie backed onto the mattress, Nick crawling over him like a predator, knees bracketing Charlie's hips.
They kissed fiercely—open-mouthed, tongues tangling, Nick's weight pressing Charlie down. Charlie's hands roamed: nails raking down Nick's back, leaving red trails; fingers digging into the firm globes of his ass, pulling him closer. Their cocks slid together, slick with pre-come, friction sending sparks up Charlie's spine.
Nick broke the kiss, trailing bites down Charlie's neck—sucking marks that'd bruise tomorrow, claiming. "Mine," he growled against Charlie's collarbone.
"Yours," Charlie gasped, arching as Nick's mouth found a nipple, tongue flicking, teeth grazing. Heat built low in Charlie's belly, his cock leaking steadily now, smearing against Nick's abs.
Nick moved lower, kissing the sharp lines of Charlie's ribs, the dip of his navel, then lower still—nuzzling the crease where thigh met groin. Charlie whimpered, hips bucking. "Nick—please—"
"Not yet." Nick's voice was teasing, but edged with need. He flipped them suddenly—Charlie on top, straddling Nick's waist. Nick's hands gripped Charlie's thighs, thumbs pressing into the sensitive inner skin. "Want something first."
Charlie's heart raced. "What?"
Nick's cheeks flushed deeper, eyes dark with vulnerability and desire. He lifted one arm, exposing the soft, muscled underside—armpit dusted with hair, skin warm and slightly damp from the day's residue. "Lick me. Here. Like... like at the party."
Charlie froze, pulse thundering. Images flooded: Daniel at the party, tongue dragging slow over that same spot, Nick shuddering, groaning. Charlie had watched, jealous but so fucking hard—leaking in his jeans, imagining it was him tasting Nick's musk. Now, Nick asked for it—from him. Possession surged, mixed with that forbidden heat.
"Okay," Charlie breathed, leaning down. He started tentative: nose first, inhaling deep—the scent heady, salty-sweaty-man, pure Nick. It made Charlie's cock twitch, a fresh bead of pre-come dripping onto Nick's stomach.
Nick's free hand tangled in Charlie's curls, guiding gently. "Yeah, baby. Taste me."
Charlie's tongue darted out—flat, slow drag from the center of Nick's armpit up to the bicep curve. The taste exploded: salt, faint bitterness, the warmth of skin. Nick moaned deep, body arching, his cock jumping against Charlie's thigh. Charlie did it again—longer, bolder, lips sealing to suck lightly, tongue swirling through the soft hair. He imagined Daniel doing this, the hunger in his eyes, and it fueled him—made him lick harder, possessive, claiming what Daniel wanted.
"Fuck—Char—" Nick's voice broke, hips grinding up. His hand tightened in Charlie's hair, the pull sending jolts to Charlie's groin.
Charlie leaked more now—steady drip, his cock throbbing untouched. The fantasy twisted: Daniel's pretty face buried there, but it was \\\*him\\\* making Nick writhe. He switched arms when Nick offered the other, repeating the worship—licks turning sloppy, open-mouthed, saliva mixing with sweat. Nick's breaths came ragged, chest heaving, abs clenching rhythmically.
"God, feels so good," Nick panted. "Your mouth—fuck, don't stop."
Charlie didn't—alternating sides, hands roaming Nick's chest, pinching nipples to heighten it. His own arousal built unbearable: balls tight, cock slick and red, pre-come pooling on Nick's skin. Every lick echoed the party, but reclaimed—hotter, because it was theirs.
Finally, Nick pulled him up, kissing him filthy—tasting himself on Charlie's tongue. "Need inside you," he growled, flipping them again.
Charlie nodded frantically, spreading his legs. Nick grabbed lube from the nightstand, slicking fingers. He prepped Charlie quick but thorough—one finger, then two, curling to hit prostate. Charlie keened, back arching, pre-come spurting.
"Ready?" Nick asked, lining up—fat head nudging Charlie's entrance.
"Yes—please—"
Nick pushed in slow—one long glide, stretching Charlie full. They groaned together, Charlie's nails digging into Nick's shoulders. Nick bottomed out, hips flush, pausing to kiss Charlie deep.
Then movement: slow thrusts building to hard, deep snaps. The bed creaked, skin slapping. Nick's hand wrapped Charlie's cock, stroking in time—thumb swiping the head, smearing slick.
Charlie's world narrowed: the drag of Nick inside, hitting that spot relentlessly; the taste of Nick's sweat on his lips; fantasies flickering—Daniel's eyes watching, but Nick choosing him. It pushed him higher, coil tightening.
"Close," Charlie gasped, thighs shaking.
"Come for me," Nick urged, pace brutal now—sweat dripping from his brow onto Charlie's chest. "Wanna feel you."
Charlie shattered—vision whiting, body clenching around Nick as he came hard, ropes painting his stomach, Nick's hand. Waves crashed, prolonged by Nick's thrusts, milking every pulse.
Nick followed seconds later—deep groan, hips stuttering, filling Charlie hot and deep.
They collapsed tangled, breaths syncing. Nick kissed Charlie's forehead. "Love you."
"Love you," Charlie murmured, doubts silenced—for now. But the gala loomed, Daniel waiting in the wings.
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