The bartender slid another whiskey across the polished oak, barely glancing up as the ice clinked against the heavy crystal glass. At the other end of the bar, a man with shoulders like a bull was laughing too loudly at something his friend said, the sound rich and warm under the thrum of bass-heavy music.
The rugby player had been nursing his beer for twenty minutes, idly watching the wrestler’s biceps flex under his tight black t-shirt every time he lifted his drink. It wasn’t subtle, the way his gaze kept drifting back — not that he was trying to be. There was something magnetic about the man, the kind of presence that made the air around him feel charged, like standing too close might leave a static buzz on your skin.
Their eyes met over the rim of a pint glass. The wrestler smirked, slow and knowing, before tilting his head in invitation. No words, just that look — like he already knew exactly how this would go. The rugby player didn’t hesitate. He picked up his beer and closed the distance between them, the crowd parting effortlessly as if they’d been waiting for him to make his move.
The rugby player’s fingers traced the rim of his glass as he leaned in, close enough to catch the wrestler’s scent—something woodsy and faintly sweet, like bourbon spilled over old leather. "You look like you could use a proper drink," he said, voice low enough that the wrestler had to tilt his head to hear him over the music.
The wrestler’s grin widened, his thumb brushing against the rugby player’s wrist when he reached for the offered whiskey. A spark, deliberate. "I thought you’d never ask."
They didn’t stay long after that. The wrestler’s hand settled at the small of the rugby player’s back as they wove through the crowd, possessive in a way that sent heat curling down his spine. Outside, the night air was sharp with autumn, but the wrestler’s body radiated warmth, his arm slung heavy around the rugby player’s shoulders as they stumbled toward a waiting taxi. The driver didn’t blink at the way the wrestler crowded him into the backseat, one broad palm sliding high up his thigh.
The rugby player’s apartment was all clean lines and muted colors, nothing like the wrestler’s chaotic energy. He barely had the door shut before hands were on him, turning him roughly against the wall, the wrestler’s mouth hot and insistent against his. There was no hesitation, no coyness — just hunger, raw and unfiltered. The wrestler’s teeth grazed his bottom lip, pulling a groan from him as fingers worked open his jeans. "Bedroom," the rugby player managed, though it came out more plea than command.
The wrestler’s hands didn’t leave him for a second — pushing his jacket off his shoulders, sliding under his shirt to map the ridges of his abdomen — as they stumbled down the hallway, mouths still locked together. The rugby player’s back hit the bedroom doorframe, and the wrestler took the opportunity to bite down lightly on his collarbone, just enough to make him gasp. “Fuck,” he breathed, tilting his head back to give him more access.
The wrestler chuckled against his skin, low and warm, before lifting him clean off the ground — muscles straining under his shirt — and carrying him the last few steps to the bed. He dropped him onto the mattress with deliberate care, then crawled over him, caging him in with arms thick enough to make his pulse spike. Their eyes locked — the wrestler’s dark with want, the rugby player’s already hazy — before the wrestler leaned down and kissed him again, slow this time, savoring the way his mouth yielded under his.
Hands found belts, buttons, zippers — clothes peeled away in a messy, hurried tangle. The rugby player arched up when the wrestler’s fingers traced the line of his hipbone, then lower, wrapping around his balls with a grip that made his breath hitch.
“I've been thinking about this since I saw you at the bar,” the wrestler murmured, his thumb swiping over the head of the rugby player's cock just to watch him twitch.
The rugby player’s breath stuttered as the wrestler’s beefy paw glided over his belly, fingers curling possessively around his cock. “Wait — wait,” he gasped, arching into the touch even as he caught the wrestler’s wrist. Dark eyes flicked up to his, questioning but patient. “We haven’t even … names. I should know your name.”
The wrestler laughed, low and warm, his free hand sliding up to cradle the rugby player’s jaw. His thumb traced the line of his cheekbone, deliberate, like he was memorizing the shape of him. “Liam,” he said, voice rough. “And you?”
“Ethan.” The name came out softer than he’d intended, almost lost under the sound of Liam’s exhale against his lips.
"Ethan," Liam repeated, savoring the syllables like they were something precious. His hand tightened ever so slightly around Ethan’s cock, thumb pressing just under the head in a way that made his hips jerk. "Nice to meet you."
Ethan laughed, breathless, fingers tangling in Liam’s hair as the wrestler leaned down to kiss him again — deep, unhurried, like they had all the time in the world. The weight of Liam’s body pressed him into the mattress, solid and warm, and Ethan arched up instinctively, craving more contact, more friction, more everything.
Liam broke the kiss with a soft groan, his lips trailing down Ethan’s throat to his collarbone, teeth grazing skin just hard enough to make him shiver. His free hand slid down Ethan’s side, tracing the dip of his waist before gripping his thigh and hitching it over his hip. The shift in angle made Ethan gasp — Liam’s cock, thick and heavy, ground against his own, the heat between them almost unbearable.
Ethan’s fingers dug into Liam’s shoulders as the wrestler rocked against him, the friction slow and deliberate, each movement sending sparks up his spine. He could feel every inch of Liam’s arousal pressed against his own, the heat between them building with every shared breath. Liam’s mouth trailed lower, tongue swirling around a nipple before biting down just enough to make Ethan gasp, his back arching off the bed. “God, you’re —” The words dissolved into a moan as Liam’s hand slid between them, fingers wrapping around both their cocks, squeezing just right.
Liam’s lips found his again, swallowing Ethan’s whimpers as his thumb circled the slick heads of their cocks, spreading precome in slow, maddening strokes. The wrestler’s hips rolled against his, the rhythm lazy but relentless, his breath hot against Ethan’s mouth. “You feel so fucking good,” Liam murmured, voice rough. His free hand slid down Ethan’s flank, gripping his ass and pulling him closer, eliminating any space left between them.
Ethan’s nails scraped down Liam’s back, leaving faint red trails in their wake. He could feel the wrestler’s muscles flexing under his touch, the power coiled beneath his skin barely restrained. “I need you inside me,” Ethan breathed, the words barely audible, but Liam heard him — his grip tightened, his kiss turning bruising for a heartbeat before he pulled back, eyes dark with want.
Liam exhaled sharply through his nose, fingers digging into Ethan’s hip as he nudged his thigh wider. "Yeah?" His voice was wrecked already, rough like gravel underfoot. "You sure?" The question was a formality — Ethan could feel the wrestler’s cock twitch against his abdomen, hot and insistent.
Ethan answered by hooking his legs around Liam’s waist, heels pressing into the small of his back. "Positive." He reached between them, guiding Liam’s hand to his ass, fingertips brushing the cleft. "C’mon. Don’t make me beg."
Liam’s chuckle was dark, pleased. "Maybe I want to." But he was already shifting, reaching blindly for the nightstand drawer, fumbling until his fingers closed around a half-empty bottle of lube. The cap clicked open, loud in the quiet between their breaths, and then Liam’s fingers were slick, pressing against him without preamble.
Liam’s first finger slid in with a slow, deliberate pressure, the stretch just shy of uncomfortable before melting into something deeper, hotter. Ethan exhaled through his nose, hips tilting instinctively to take him deeper, the initial resistance giving way to a slick glide. Liam watched his face, lips parted, pupils blown wide as he crooked his finger just so—Ethan jerked beneath him, a punched-out groan escaping his throat. “Fuck,” he gasped, fingers scrambling for purchase on the sheets. “Do that again.”
Liam obliged, adding a second finger with a twist of his wrist that had Ethan’s back arching off the mattress. The rugby player’s thighs trembled around Liam’s waist, his cock leaking against his stomach as the wrestler scissored his fingers, stretching him with a practiced ease that suggested he’d done this before—often, and well. The thought sent another pulse of heat through Ethan’s gut. “You’re — ah — fucking good at this,” he managed, voice ragged.
Liam’s grin was wolfish, his free hand stroking Ethan’s flank in a way that was almost soothing, if not for the hunger in his eyes. “I told you I’ve been thinking about this.” He leaned down, catching Ethan’s mouth in a messy kiss as he pressed a third finger inside, the stretch now toeing the line between pleasure and pain. Ethan broke the kiss with a sharp inhale, nails biting into Liam’s shoulders. “Easy,” Liam murmured, but he didn’t slow down — just curled his fingers again, dragging over Ethan’s prostate with unerring precision until he was writhing, sweat-slicked and desperate.
Ethan’s thighs trembled around Liam’s waist, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps as the wrestler worked him open with slow, deliberate strokes. Every twist of Liam’s fingers sent sparks arcing up his spine, the stretch burning sweetly until it melted into pure, liquid heat. “Fuck, Liam — enough,” Ethan managed, voice raw. His cock ached against his midriff, flushed and leaking, but Liam just chuckled darkly, his thumb pressing against Ethan’s perineum while his fingers curled deep inside. “I said — ah — enough!”
Liam withdrew his fingers with a slick sound, wiping them absently on the sheets before gripping Ethan’s hips and flipping him over onto his stomach with effortless strength. The rugby player barely had time to gasp before Liam’s weight settled over him, his chest pressed flush against Ethan’s back, lips tracing the knobs of his spine. “Better?” Liam murmured, his voice rough with want. Ethan could feel the wrestler’s cock, thick and hot, nudging against his ass, the tip slick with precum. He shuddered, pushing back instinctively, but Liam held him firm, one hand splayed between his shoulder blades. “Easy. Not yet.”
The wrestler’s free hand slid down Ethan’s flank, fingers tracing the dip of his waist before gripping his hip hard. His breath was hot against Ethan’s ear, lips brushing the shell as he rocked forward, the blunt head of his cock catching just slightly before sliding in with a slow, inexorable push. Ethan’s fingers twisted in the sheets, his back arching as Liam filled him inch by inch, the stretch bordering on overwhelming until — there — Liam’s hips met his ass with a final, grounding thrust. They both stilled, breathing ragged, sweat-slick skin sticking where they were joined.
Liam exhaled sharply through his nose, his entire body trembling with restraint as he buried himself to the hilt. Ethan’s back arched beneath him, the muscles of his shoulders taut like bowstrings, his fingers twisting tighter in the sheets. For a long moment, neither of them moved — just the shared rhythm of their breathing, the sweat cooling between their pressed skin, the unbearable heat where they were joined. Then Liam’s hand slid up Ethan’s spine, slow and reverent, fingers splaying between his shoulder blades before gripping the nape of his neck. "Okay?" he murmured, lips brushing the shell of Ethan’s ear.
Ethan’s response was a shuddering nod, his throat working around a swallowed moan. "Yeah. Just — god, you’re big." The words came out ragged, half-laugh, half-groan. Liam chuckled, the sound vibrating through Ethan’s back, and began to move — not the rough, frantic pace Ethan had half-expected, but a slow, rolling thrust that dragged against every nerve inside him. The wrestler’s hips rocked forward with deliberate precision, each movement calculated to draw out the sensation, to make it last.
Ethan’s forehead pressed into the mattress, his breath hitching as Liam’s cock dragged over his prostate with agonizing slowness. The wrestler’s free hand slid beneath him, fingers wrapping around Ethan’s neglected cock, stroking in time with his thrusts. The dual stimulation was maddening — Liam’s thickness stretching him open, his hand coaxing him closer to the edge, only to ease off every time Ethan’s breathing grew too ragged. "Bastard," Ethan gasped, pushing back against him, but Liam just laughed, low and warm, and nipped at his shoulder — not hard enough to mark, just enough to make him shiver.
Liam’s pace never faltered, his thrusts deep and unhurried, each one drawing a punched-out sound from Ethan’s throat. The wrestler’s hand left his cock only to cradle his jaw, tilting his head back until their lips met in a messy, breathless kiss. Ethan could taste himself on Liam’s tongue, the salt-slick of sweat and precum, the whiskey-dark heat of his mouth. The wrestler’s hips snapped forward just as he bit down on Ethan’s lower lip, the sudden jolt of pleasure-pain wringing a broken moan from him.
Time dissolved into the slick slide of skin on skin, the creak of the bedframe, the ragged symphony of their breathing. Liam’s thrusts grew incrementally faster, his control fraying at the edges, but still he held back — drawing out every sound, every twitch, every gasp as if memorizing them. Ethan’s thighs trembled, his cock leaking against Liam’s fist, his nails scraping uselessly at the sheets. "Liam —" His voice cracked, the name half-plea, half-prayer.
The wrestler’s response was a groan against his shoulder, his hips stuttering for the first time. "I know," he gritted out, fingers tightening around Ethan’s jaw. "I know." His next thrust was deeper, harder, his cock grinding against Ethan’s prostate with unerring accuracy. Ethan’s vision whited out for a second, his back bowing off the mattress as pleasure crested through him in a scalding wave. Liam’s hand tightened around his cock just as he came, stripes of white sperm painting the sheets beneath them, his body clamping down around Liam’s cock with a vice-like grip.
Liam’s hips stuttered, his rhythm breaking as Ethan’s body clenched around him. A ragged groan tore from his throat, his forehead dropping between Ethan’s shoulder blades as he thrust in once, twice more — deep, uncoordinated — before burying himself to the hilt with a shudder. Ethan could feel the wrestler’s cock pulsing inside him, the hot spill of cum filling him in thick, rhythmic bursts. Liam’s breath was hot and uneven against his back, his entire body trembling with the force of his release.
For a few minutes, neither of them moved. Liam’s weight pressed Ethan into the mattress, his chest rising and falling in time with Ethan’s own labored breaths. The wrestler’s fingers loosened their grip on Ethan’s hip, trailing up his flank in a slow, absent caress. Ethan exhaled, boneless beneath him, his limbs heavy with satisfaction. Liam’s lips brushed the nape of his neck — soft, almost reverent — before he shifted, pulling out with a slow, deliberate drag that made Ethan hiss through his teeth.
Liam rolled onto his back beside him, one arm slung over his eyes, his chest still heaving. Ethan turned his head to look at him, taking in the sweat-slicked planes of his torso, the way his abs flexed with each breath. The wrestler’s other hand found Ethan’s wrist, fingers sliding over his pulse point like he was checking to make sure he was still real.
Ethan’s fingers twitched against the sheets, still tingling from the aftershocks. Liam’s grip on his wrist was warm, grounding — an anchor in the hazy drift of post-coital stillness. The wrestler’s thumb traced idle circles over his pulse point, as if counting each beat. Ethan turned his head further, catching the way moonlight caught on the sweat drying along Liam’s collarbones, the rise and fall of his chest slowing to something languid, satisfied.
“Are you good?” Liam’s voice was rougher now, worn at the edges like old leather. His arm stayed draped over his eyes, but his lips quirked — a smirk Ethan could feel more than see.
Ethan huffed a laugh, rolling onto his side with a wince. His body ached in the best way, muscles loose and buzzing. “Better than good.” He let his fingers trail over Liam’s stomach, tracing the faint trails of hair leading down from his navel. “Are you?”
Liam’s smirk widened into a full grin as Ethan’s fingers wandered lower, skimming the dip of his hipbone. He caught Ethan’s wrist before his hand could stray too far, threading their fingers together instead and bringing them to his mouth. The kiss he pressed to Ethan’s knuckles was unexpectedly tender, his lips lingering just a second too long. "Never better," he murmured against Ethan’s skin, his breath warm.
Ethan watched him, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes as Liam’s thumb brushed over the ridge of his wrist. The wrestler’s grip was calloused, rough in a way that sent a shiver down his spine even now. He opened his mouth to speak — then hesitated, the words dissolving into a soft exhale when Liam rolled onto his side to face him fully, their tangled legs brushing among the tangled sheets.
The wrestler’s free hand reached out, fingertips tracing the curve of Ethan’s jaw with a gentleness that belied his size. "What?" Liam’s voice was low, curious. His thumb swept over Ethan’s bottom lip, still swollen from earlier.
Ethan caught Liam’s thumb between his teeth, biting down just enough to make the wrestler’s breath hitch. “Just thinking,” he murmured, releasing him with a slow drag of his lips. “About how you’re still here.”
Liam’s chuckle was a rumble against Ethan’s chest as he shifted closer, their sweat-slick skin sticking where they touched. “Where else would I be?” His palm slid up Ethan’s flank, fingers splaying over his ribs like he was mapping the terrain. “You think I’d fuck you like that and just —” He mimed vanishing with his free hand, grinning when Ethan rolled his eyes.
The rugby player’s fingers traced the thick muscle of Liam’s bicep, the ink there — a coiled serpent, half-hidden by shadow. “Most guys do.” The admission came out lighter than he’d intended, but Liam’s smile faded anyway. His grip tightened, just for a heartbeat, before easing into something softer.
Liam’s fingers stilled against Ethan’s ribs, his expression shifting into something unreadable in the dim light. He exhaled through his nose, slow and deliberate, before propping himself up on one elbow. The wrestler’s free hand cupped Ethan’s jaw, tilting his face up until their eyes met. “I’m not most guys,” he said, voice rough but sure. His thumb brushed over Ethan’s cheekbone, the touch lingering. “And you’re not most hookups.”
Ethan’s breath caught, his pulse jumping under Liam’s palm. The wrestler’s gaze held his — steady, unwavering — like he was waiting for Ethan to argue. When he didn’t, Liam leaned in, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth, chaste compared to the bruising hunger of before. Ethan chased the contact when he pulled back, earning a low chuckle.
“Needy,” Liam murmured, but there was no bite to it. His hand slid down Ethan’s chest, fingers tracing the divot between his pecs before skimming lower, over the faint tremor of his muscle-laddered abdomen. “Still sensitive?”
Ethan shivered as Liam’s fingers grazed the sensitive skin just above his hipbone, still humming from the aftershocks. “Christ, yes,” he breathed, arching into the touch despite himself. Liam’s chuckle was a warm rumble against his shoulder as he leaned in, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to the spot where Ethan’s pulse fluttered wildly. The wrestler’s stubble scraped against his throat, rough and delicious, and Ethan groaned, tangling his fingers in Liam’s hair to keep him there.
Liam's hands moved with the kind of deliberate patience that made Ethan's breath hitch — not hurried, not demanding, just savoring. His palm slid down Ethan's abdomen, fingers splaying wide as if memorizing the heat of him, before curling around his half-hard cock with a teasing grip. Ethan shuddered, hips twitching upward, but Liam held him steady with his other hand flat against his stomach. "Easy," Liam murmured, his voice low and rough. "We've got all night."
The wrestler's thumb swirled lazily over the head of Ethan's cock, smearing the wetness there in slow, maddening circles. Ethan gasped, his thighs trembling, every nerve alight. Liam watched his face — the flutter of his lashes, the way his lips parted — before bending to lick a stripe up his shaft, humming at the taste. Ethan's fingers tightened in Liam's hair, but he didn't push, didn't rush. Just held on as Liam took him deep, throat working around him in slow, wet pulses that had Ethan arching off the bed with a broken moan.
When Liam pulled off, his lips glistening, he climbed up Ethan's body, settling between his thighs with a weight that pinned without restraining. Their cocks brushed, hot and slick, and Liam rocked against him once, twice, just enough to steal Ethan's breath before reaching between them to guide himself in. The press was unhurried, relentless — Liam sinking into him inch by inch, his hips rolling in tiny, fluid motions until he was seated deep, their bodies flush. Ethan's legs wrapped around his waist automatically, heels digging into the small of Liam's back as he let out a shaky exhale. "God, you feel —"
Liam's groan vibrated against Ethan's throat as he paused, fully sheathed, his breath coming in ragged bursts against the wrestler's damp skin. "Christ, you're tight," he murmured, lips brushing the shell of Ethan's ear before he pulled back just enough to watch his face. His hips rolled in a slow, experimental circle, drawing a gasp from Ethan, whose fingers dug into Liam's shoulders. "Good tight," Liam clarified, voice rough with restraint, his forehead pressing against Ethan's as he began to move in earnest — not the frantic pace of their earlier grinding, but something deeper, more deliberate, each thrust a controlled slide that had Ethan's toes curling into the sheets.
Ethan arched beneath him, the stretch and burn fading into something molten, his body adjusting to the steady rhythm Liam set. The rugby player's hands cradled Ethan's hips, thumbs brushing the jut of bone there in silent praise as he angled himself just so — once, twice — until Ethan's breath hitched on a broken moan. "There," Liam breathed, hips snapping forward to press deep, the head of his cock dragging against that spot with devastating precision. "That's it, love. Just like that." He didn't speed up, didn't chase his own release, just kept that same maddening pace, each stroke measured and deep, until Ethan was trembling, sweat-slick and desperate beneath him.
When Ethan's thighs began to quiver, his cock leaking against his stomach, Liam finally shifted, bracing one forearm beside Ethan's head to loom over him, their chests brushing with every breath. His free hand slid between them, wrapping around Ethan's cock in time with his thrusts, his grip firm but not punishing. "Look at me," Liam murmured, and Ethan's eyes fluttered open, his pupils blown wide with pleasure. The rugby player's thumb swiped over the head of Ethan's cock, spreading the wetness there in slow circles, and Ethan gasped, his hips jerking into the touch. Liam held him steady, his thrusts never faltering, his gaze locked on Ethan's face as he watched him unravel.
The wrestler's orgasm hit him like a tide, slow and rolling, his body tightening around Liam in waves as he came with a choked moan, hot cum spilling over Liam's fingers. Liam groaned, his rhythm stuttering for the first time, his hips snapping forward as Ethan's body clenched around him. "Fuck — Ethan —" Liam's voice was raw, his forehead dropping to Ethan's shoulder as he shuddered through his own climax, his cock pulsing potent sperm deep inside him. Ethan could feel the warmth spreading inside him, Liam's hips jerking erratically as he rode out the last of his pleasure, his breath hot against Ethan's skin.
For a long moment, neither of them moved, the only sound in the room their ragged breathing and the distant hum of the city outside. Liam's weight was heavy atop him, but Ethan didn't mind — he'd never felt so grounded, so utterly present. Liam finally shifted, pulling out with a slow, careful motion that drew a soft sigh from Ethan, his body still sensitive. The rugby player rolled onto his side, pulling Ethan with him, their limbs tangling together as they settled into the mess they'd made. Liam's hand found Ethan's waist, his thumb brushing absently over the damp skin there, his touch tender. "Alright?" Liam murmured, his voice rough with exhaustion.
Ethan exhaled, pressing back into Liam's warmth. "Better than alright," he admitted, voice thick with spent pleasure. Liam's chuckle vibrated against his spine, arms tightening around him in a way that felt possessive without being stifling. The rugby player's breath ghosted over the nape of Ethan's neck — warm, steady — as if he couldn't quite bring himself to stop touching. Ethan didn't mind. The weight of Liam's forearm across his ribs grounded him, the occasional flex of fingers against his hipbone sending little aftershocks skittering through his nerves.
They lay there in silence for minutes that stretched like taffy, the city's distant pulse filtering through the cracked bedroom window. Ethan traced idle patterns over Liam's knuckles where they rested against his stomach, marveling at the roughness of calluses earned from gripping rugby balls rather than wrestling ropes. Different textures, same hunger. Liam shifted behind him, lips brushing the knob of Ethan's spine. "Tell me something," he murmured, voice sleep-roughened but alert. "Something real."
Ethan stilled. Normally, he'd deflect — cocktail party answers for one-night stands. But Liam's thumb was circling the divot of his navel with absent tenderness, and the question hung between them like a held breath. So he told him about the first time he'd stepped into a wrestling ring at sixteen, how the smell of sweat and resin had made his stomach flip, how his knees had locked when two hundred pounds of seasoned wrestler loomed over him. Liam's laughter bloomed warm against his shoulder blade. "I bet you wiped the floor with him."
Ethan snorted, nudging back against Liam's chest. "I ate the fuckin' mat for three minutes straight before I even got a grapple in." The memory should've stung — should've been humiliation carved into muscle memory — but here, with Liam's breath huffing against his skin, it felt like just another thread in the tapestry.
Liam's fingers trailed higher, tracing the ridge of a scar along Ethan's ribs. "And this?"
"Ah." Ethan caught his wrist instinctively, then relaxed, guiding Liam's touch to the raised line. "A Spanish wrestler in Bilbao. Elbow drop off the turnbuckle. I forgot to tuck."
Liam's fingertip pressed gently, as if committing the shape to memory. "You let him land that?" There was no judgment, just curiosity simmering under the words.
Ethan grinned into the pillow. "Needed the crowd to hate him. It worked like a fucking charm — they howled when I kicked out at two."
Liam's chuckle vibrated through him. "So it's all theater." His palm slid down Ethan's flank, possessive and warm. "Except the parts that aren't."
Ethan turned in Liam’s arms to face him, the sheets whispering between their damp skin. Moonlight striped Liam’s chest through the blinds, highlighting the constellation of freckles across his collarbones — tiny imperfections Ethan hadn’t noticed before. He traced one with his thumb. "And how did you get this?" he echoed, voice gravelly.
Liam caught his wrist, pressing Ethan’s palm flat against the jagged scar above his left pec. "Tackle from a 120kg prop who thought the rules were optional." His grin flashed white in the dimness. "Surgery, three pins, and a very pissed-off coach."
Ethan exhaled a laugh, fingertips skimming the raised tissue. The intimacy of it curled low in his belly — sharing wounds like secrets in the dark. Liam’s heartbeat thudded steady under his palm.
Ethan’s fingers lingered on Liam’s chest, the scar rough beneath his touch. The rugby player’s skin was warm, alive — a stark contrast to the memory of pain etched into it. Liam’s hand covered his, pressing Ethan’s palm harder against the mark as if to say, "Here, this is part of me too." The gesture was so unguarded, so unapologetically open, that Ethan felt something shift inside him, like a lock clicking open.
Outside, the city hummed — taxis honking, distant laughter — but here, in the cocoon of Liam’s bed, time stretched thin. Ethan tilted his head up, catching Liam’s gaze. The rugby player’s eyes were dark, pupils still blown from earlier, but there was a quiet intensity there now, something beyond lust. Liam’s thumb brushed Ethan’s lower lip, calloused and sure. “Tell me something else,” he murmured. “Something no one else knows.”
Ethan hesitated. Wrestlers were performers, storytellers — they traded in spectacle, not sincerity. But Liam’s fingers were tracing the shell of his ear now, patient, waiting. So Ethan exhaled and let the truth slip loose. “I used to cry before matches,” he admitted, voice low. “Not from fear. Just — adrenaline. Like my body didn’t know what to do with all of it.”
Liam’s fingers stilled against Ethan’s ear. For a heartbeat, the room held its breath. Then his thumb brushed the damp corner of Ethan’s eye—not mocking, not soothing, just there, a silent acknowledgment that made Ethan’s chest ache. “Yeah,” Liam murmured, so quietly Ethan felt it more than heard it. “I get that.”
The wrestler exhaled, tension bleeding from his shoulders as Liam’s palm cradled his jaw, calluses catching on stubble. The rugby player’s touch was deliberate, unhurried, mapping Ethan’s face like he was memorizing the planes of it. When Liam finally spoke, his voice was rough with something that wasn’t lust. “First time I played at Twickenham, I puked in the locker room sink. Coach told me it was passion.” His grin flashed, crooked and warm. “I'm pretty sure it was just terror.”
Ethan huffed a laugh, but the sound caught in his throat as Liam rolled them effortlessly, pressing Ethan into the mattress with the weight of his body. The rugby player’s thighs bracketed his hips, warm and solid, and Ethan’s hands found the dip of Liam’s waist on instinct. Moonlight gilded the sweat still drying on Liam’s shoulders, turning him into something carved from marble — except marble didn’t breathe like this, didn’t smile like this, all quiet amusement and shared secrets.
Liam’s weight pinned Ethan to the sheets, his palms planted on either side of the wrestler’s head. The rugby player’s gaze flicked over Ethan’s face — the curve of his lower lip still swollen from earlier, the faint flush high on his cheekbones — before dropping to his chest where their skin stuck together in the humid dark. Ethan could feel Liam’s breath ghosting over his collarbone, warm and uneven. "Tell me," Liam murmured, hips rolling in a slow, deliberate circle that made Ethan’s breath hitch. "What do you want now?"
Ethan’s fingers flexed against Liam’s waist. He could lie — could give him some polished, porn-ready answer — but the raw honesty of the last hour clung to him like sweat. "You," he admitted, voice rough. "However you’ll have me."
Liam’s exhale was almost a laugh, his thumbs brushing Ethan’s ribs. "Christ, you’re dangerous." He bent his head, lips grazing the hollow of Ethan’s throat. "I should’ve known a wrestler would fight dirty."
Ethan arched into Liam’s mouth as the rugby player’s teeth grazed his pulse point — not hard enough to mark, just enough to make his breath stutter. "Dirty?" he managed, fingers tightening in Liam’s hair. "You’re the one who —" The words dissolved into a groan as Liam’s tongue laved over his nipple, slow and wet.
Liam hummed against his skin, hands sliding down Ethan’s sides to grip his thighs. "I’m what?" he prompted, lifting his head just enough to catch Ethan’s gaze. Moonlight caught the smirk playing at his lips. "Go on, say it."
Ethan swallowed. The rugby player’s thumbs were circling the crease of his hips now, maddeningly light. "You’re the one who asked for "real"," he accused, his voice ragged.
Liam’s smirk deepened as he pressed Ethan’s thighs wider, his thumbs digging into the soft inner flesh just enough to make the wrestler’s breath catch. “And here I thought wrestlers loved an audience,” he murmured, bending to lick a slow stripe up Ethan’s cock. The wrestler’s hips jerked off the bed, but Liam pinned him down with one broad hand, his grip firm but not bruising. “Easy,” he chided, his breath hot against the wet tip. “You’ll get what you need.”
Ethan groaned, fingers twisting in the sheets as Liam took him deep, his throat working around him in slow, practiced swallows. The rugby player’s free hand slid beneath Ethan, fingers pressing just behind his balls in a way that had him seeing stars. “Fuck — Liam —” His voice cracked as Liam hummed around him, the vibration shooting straight to his spine.
When Liam pulled off with a wet pop, his lips glistening, he didn’t give Ethan a moment to recover. He flipped him onto his stomach with effortless strength, one hand splayed between Ethan’s shoulder blades to keep him down. The wrestler gasped into the pillow, his cock throbbing against the mattress, as Liam’s palm smoothed down the curve of his ass. “Still good?” Liam asked, his voice rough but careful.
"Shit, Liam, stop asking me if I'm good," Ethan snapped petulantly. "If I'm not good, I'll tell you, alright?"
Liam's laughter was a warm puff against the back of Ethan's thigh. "Alright, wrestler. No more questions." His palms spread Ethan's cheeks with deliberate slowness, thumbs pressing just shy of where Ethan wanted them most. The wrestler shuddered, pushing back into the touch, but Liam held him firm. "Patience," he murmured, lips brushing the sensitive skin behind Ethan's knee.
If you enjoyed this story, consider supporting the author on Wattpad.
To get in touch with the author, send them an email.
