The success party for Pritam and Pedro had been pure chaos — champagne towers, flashing cameras, producers screaming congratulations every five seconds. By 2 a.m. Vir Hirani and Vikrant Massey were both wrecked, laughing too loud, leaning on each other just to stay upright. Neither of them could drive. The hotel was right next door. One suite. Two king beds. It made sense.
They stumbled into the room still high on the night. Vikrant kicked the door shut, already pulling his shirt over his head.
“Kya kar raha hai bhai… kapde kyu utar raha hai?” Vir’s voice was thick with alcohol and amusement.
Vikrant grinned, eyes glassy. “Andar body jal raha hai be. Itna garam kyu hai aaj.”
Vir’s gaze dropped. Vikrant’s black jeans were hanging low, the curve of his ass clear under the thin fabric. Without thinking, Vir reached out and gave it a firm spank. The sound cracked through the quiet room.
“Tike… aapka ass sexy hai bhai.”
Vikrant’s laugh was low. “Mein bath karne ja raha hoon.”
Vir was already unbuttoning his own shirt, fingers clumsy. “Jaldi aao bhai… mein bhi karna hai.”
“Aajao phir. Saath karenge.”
Vir froze for half a second, then shook his head with a shy little smile. “Kya bol raha re bhai… ye kaise ho sakta. Mere paas dusra underwear bhi nahi hai pehne ke liye. Nanga karna padega. Aap bhi nanga.”
Vikrant stepped closer, voice dropping. “Toh problem kya hai? Mereko lund hai, aapko bhi lund hai. Iss mein kya hai?”
Vir’s ears went pink. “I’m shy bhai. Aap jaake aao… mein wait karunga.”
Vikrant rolled his eyes but the smile stayed. “Tike. Rona mat. Mera baathi karo.”
“Jaldi aao.”
Vikrant disappeared into the bathroom. The shower started. Fifteen long minutes later he came out with a towel low on his hips, hair dripping, skin still flushed from the heat. Vir was sitting on the edge of the bed in just his boxers, trying not to look too hard at the water running down Vikrant’s chest.
“Mein karke aata hoon,” Vir muttered, standing up.
He didn’t lock the bathroom door.
Vikrant waited exactly five minutes. Then he padded quietly back, heart already thudding. The door was open a few centimetres. Through the gap he could see Vir under the spray — head tipped back, eyes closed, shampoo sliding down his neck and over the hard lines of his shoulders. Soap ran in white rivers over his chest, his stomach, the dark trail of hair leading lower. Vir’s cock was half-hard already, heavy and thick against his thigh as he washed himself. He turned a little, giving Vikrant a perfect view of the wet, rounded curve of his ass, water cascading over it.
Vikrant’s own cock jumped under the towel. He sat on the closed toilet lid, shoved the towel aside, and wrapped a fist around himself. Slow at first. Then faster. Watching Vir’s soapy hand slide between his cheeks, watching the way Vir’s dick twitched when he rinsed the shampoo from his hair. Ten full minutes of pure torture. Vikrant’s breathing was ragged, fist flying over his shaft, eyes locked on that dripping, perfect ass.
Then Vir opened his eyes.
He froze. Turned. Saw Vikrant sitting there, completely naked, cock in hand, staring at him with a dark, hungry smile.
“Aa… aap kya kar rahe ho bhai? Ye sab kya hai?”
Vikrant stood. His cock was rock-hard, flushed dark, the head already shiny. He walked forward under the spray until their chests almost touched.
“Aapka gaand dekh ke… chodne ka man kar raha hai be.” His voice was rough. “I can’t resist myself anymore.”
He reached down and wrapped his hand around Vir’s cock. Vir’s breath punched out of him. For one second he tensed — then the tension melted. His hips pushed forward into Vikrant’s grip. His eyes dropped to Vikrant’s mouth.
“Get down on your knees, bhai.”
The words were soft. Commanding.
They looked at each other for a long second. Something electric passed between them. Then Vir grabbed the back of Vikrant’s neck and kissed him hard — open-mouthed, filthy, tongues sliding, water pouring over both of them. Vikrant groaned into the kiss and dropped to his knees on the wet tiles without being told twice.
He licked the tip first — slow, tasting the clean water and the salt of Vir’s skin. Looked up. Vir’s eyes were pure hunger. He nodded once.
Vikrant opened his mouth and took him in.
Deep.
Vir’s cock stretched his lips wide, slid over his tongue, and kept going until the head nudged the back of his throat. Vikrant’s eyes watered. He didn’t pull off. He swallowed around it. Vir’s fingers tangled in his wet hair and held him there.
“Fuck… yes…” Vir’s voice cracked. “Aur le… poora le.”
Vikrant’s nose pressed against Vir’s stomach. He stayed there, throat working, spit running down his chin and mixing with the shower water. When Vir finally eased the pressure, Vikrant pulled back only enough to gasp once — then Vir shoved back in harder.
He started fucking Vikrant’s throat in earnest.
Short, deep strokes. Holding him down every few thrusts until Vikrant’s throat convulsed and wet, broken sounds spilled around the cock choking him. Two full minutes of it. Vikrant’s face was a mess — eyes streaming, spit and pre-cum dripping from his chin, cock leaking untouched between his knees. He took every thrust like he was starving for it.
When Vir finally pulled out, a thick string of spit connected Vikrant’s swollen lips to the head of his cock. Vir hauled him up by the hair and kissed him again, tasting himself.
“Turn around.”
Vikrant spun, braced his hands on the tiled wall, and pushed his ass back. Water ran down the cleft. Vir’s soapy fingers slid between his cheeks, found the tight hole, and pushed two inside without warning. Vikrant moaned loud, pushing back onto them.
“Look at you… already opening up for me.” Vir’s voice was pure filth. He scissored his fingers, stretched him, then pulled them out and lined up his cock.
He pushed in slow at first — just the thick head — then kept going until his hips were flush against Vikrant’s wet ass. Both of them groaned.
Then Vir started fucking him.
Hard.
Deep, punishing strokes that slapped wet skin against wet skin. One hand locked on Vikrant’s hip, the other reaching around to stroke his cock in time with every thrust. Vikrant was loud — moaning, cursing, begging for more in a broken mix of Hindi and English.
“Aur zor se… haan bhai… meri gaand phaad do…”
Vir gave it to him. He angled deeper, hit that spot that made Vikrant’s knees buckle, and kept hammering it. The shower sprayed over them, steam thick, the sound of skin and water and desperate moans echoing off the tiles.
The first orgasm hit Vikrant hard. He came untouched, cock jerking, painting the wall in thick white stripes while Vir kept fucking him through it. The clench of his ass pulled Vir over the edge right after. He pulled out at the last second, spun Vikrant around, and stroked himself twice before exploding across Vikrant’s face and open mouth. Thick ropes landed on his tongue, his lips, his cheek. Vikrant licked what he could reach, eyes half-lidded and filthy.
They barely paused.
Vir pushed him down onto the shower floor this time — on his back, legs spread wide. He slid back inside the loose, cum-slick hole and started fucking him again, slower but deeper, grinding against his prostate on every stroke. One of Vikrant’s legs hooked over Vir’s shoulder. Their mouths crashed together, messy and desperate.
This round lasted longer. Dirtier. Vir spat in Vikrant’s mouth. Vikrant swallowed it and asked for more. They talked pure filth — about how tight Vikrant still felt, how good Vir’s cock looked disappearing inside him, how they were going to do this again the second they got to the bed.
When Vir finally came the second time he stayed buried deep, flooding Vikrant’s ass until it leaked out around his cock and mixed with the water swirling down the drain.
They stayed under the spray for a long time after, kissing slowly, hands still roaming. At some point the kissing turned hungry again. Vikrant ended up on his knees once more, cleaning Vir’s cock with his tongue, tasting both of them. Vir pulled him up, pressed him against the wall, and they ground against each other until they were both hard a third time.
What followed was messier.
Vir made Vikrant kneel under the spray and open his mouth. The golden shower was slow at first — warm, deliberate — then heavier as Vir watched Vikrant’s throat work to swallow. Vikrant took it all, eyes locked on Vir’s the entire time, cock leaking steadily onto the tiles. When Vir finished he dropped down and kissed him deep, tasting it, then pushed Vikrant onto his back and returned the favour, mouth open, drinking every drop while he stroked both of them.
They didn’t make it to the bed for another hour.
By the time they finally collapsed onto the sheets — still damp, marked with bite marks and handprints — the sky outside was starting to lighten. They fucked one more time, slower, deeper, looking into each other’s eyes the whole way. When they came it was almost quiet. Exhausted. Complete.
Vir was gone when Vikrant woke up a few hours later.
The only proof it hadn’t been a fever dream was the ache in Vikrant’s throat, the dull throb in his ass, and the faint taste of Vir still lingering on his tongue.