The hotel corridor was quiet at that hour, the kind of thick, carpeted silence that only five-star places managed after midnight. Mahesh Babu had just finished a late meeting downstairs and was heading to his suite when the need hit him. He pushed open the door to the nearest men’s washroom without thinking twice.
The lights were on. Soft, warm. The air already smelled of soap and something heavier underneath.
Prabhas stood at one of the sinks, jeans shoved down to his thighs, thick cock glistening and half-hard. A young guy—some random fan who had somehow slipped past security—was on his knees between Prabhas’s boots, mouth stretched wide around the head, one hand working the heavy shaft. The wet, rhythmic sounds of sucking filled the tiled space.
Prabhas’s head was tilted back, eyes half-lidded, one big hand resting on the fan’s head. He looked completely at ease, like this was just another ordinary night.
Then the door clicked shut behind Mahesh.
The fan’s eyes went huge. He jerked back so fast he nearly fell, wiping spit from his chin with the back of his hand. “Fuck—sorry—I—”
Prabhas didn’t even look at the kid. His gaze locked on Mahesh. Dark, calm, and already deciding.
“Get out,” Prabhas said, voice low.
The fan scrambled up, adjusted his clothes with shaking hands, and bolted past Mahesh without another word. The door swung shut. The lock clicked under Prabhas’s fingers.
Mahesh’s pulse jumped. “What the hell, Prabhas? Are you out of your mind? In a hotel washroom?”
Prabhas pushed off the sink and closed the distance in two long strides. He was still half-hard, cock heavy and wet, hanging out of his open jeans. Up close he smelled like heat and skin and the faint cologne he always wore. He was bigger than Mahesh remembered from the last event they had shared a stage at—broader through the chest, thicker in the arms.
“You walked in,” Prabhas said. “You saw.”
“I didn’t ask to see that.”
Prabhas’s hand shot out and closed around Mahesh’s wrist. The grip was iron. He yanked Mahesh forward hard enough that Mahesh stumbled into him. Chest to chest. Mahesh felt the hard line of Prabhas’s cock press against his hip through the fabric of his trousers.
“Doesn’t matter,” Prabhas murmured. “You’re here now.”
Mahesh tried to pull free. “Let go. This isn’t—”
Prabhas spun him around and shoved him face-first against the cold marble of the vanity counter. Mahesh’s hands slapped down on either side of the sink to catch himself. Before he could straighten, Prabhas was already on him—one heavy thigh wedging between Mahesh’s legs, one arm wrapping around his waist, the other hand sliding up under the hem of Mahesh’s shirt to splay across his stomach.
“You’ve been looking at me for years,” Prabhas said against the side of Mahesh’s neck. His breath was warm. “Every award show. Every joint appearance. You think I don’t notice?”
“That’s not true—”
Prabhas’s hand dropped lower, cupped Mahesh through his trousers, and squeezed. Mahesh’s body betrayed him with a sharp, involuntary twitch. Prabhas hummed, low and pleased.
“Liar.”
He worked the button and zipper open with practiced ease. Mahesh’s cock was already starting to thicken when Prabhas freed it. The cool air of the washroom hit sensitive skin, then Prabhas’s rough, warm palm closed around him and stroked once, twice—slow, deliberate, thumb dragging over the head.
Mahesh’s breath stuttered. “Prabhas—stop. Someone could—”
“Door’s locked. And you’re not going anywhere.”
Prabhas used his free hand to shove Mahesh’s trousers and briefs down to mid-thigh. The fabric trapped his legs. Mahesh felt exposed, ridiculous, and far too aware of the thick cock now pressing against the cleft of his ass. Prabhas rolled his hips once, letting the wet head smear precome across Mahesh’s skin.
“Been thinking about this,” Prabhas said. “Making the great Mahesh Babu take it. Making you my slut for one night.”
The words landed like a slap. Mahesh’s ears burned. “I’m not—”
Prabhas’s hand left Mahesh’s cock long enough to spit into his own palm. Then two thick fingers pushed between Mahesh’s cheeks and pressed against his hole. No gentle teasing. Just pressure, steady and insistent, until the first knuckle breached him.
Mahesh hissed through his teeth. The stretch burned. He tried to twist away, but Prabhas’s arm around his waist held him locked in place. The second finger joined the first almost immediately, scissoring, working him open with rough efficiency.
“Tight,” Prabhas muttered. “Figures. All that pretty-boy image. Bet you’ve never had anything real in here.”
Mahesh’s forehead dropped against the mirror. His reflection stared back—flushed, lips parted, eyes dark with something that wasn’t only anger. Prabhas’s fingers crooked inside him and found the spot that made Mahesh’s knees threaten to buckle. A broken sound escaped before he could stop it.
Prabhas chuckled. “There it is.”
He pulled his fingers free. The sudden emptiness made Mahesh clench around nothing. Then the blunt, slick head of Prabhas’s cock nudged against him. Prabhas spat again, used the wetness to coat himself, and pushed.
The first inch forced a sharp, punched-out gasp from Mahesh. Prabhas didn’t pause. He kept going, thick shaft stretching Mahesh open in one relentless slide until his hips were flush against Mahesh’s ass and every inch was buried deep.
Mahesh’s hands curled into fists on the counter. His cock jerked against the cool marble, leaving a smear of precome. The burn was intense, overwhelming, and somehow the pressure against that sensitive place inside made heat coil low in his gut anyway.
Prabhas didn’t give him time to adjust. He pulled almost all the way out and slammed back in. The wet slap of skin on skin echoed off the tiles. He set a hard, steady rhythm—deep, punishing thrusts that forced Mahesh up onto his toes with every drive.
“Fuck,” Prabhas growled against Mahesh’s ear. “Feel that? That’s me owning this hole tonight.”
Mahesh tried to stay quiet. He failed. Soft, broken sounds kept slipping out with every thrust—half protest, half something darker. Prabhas reached around and wrapped a big hand around Mahesh’s cock again, stroking in time with his hips. The dual sensation short-circuited whatever resistance Mahesh still had left.
“You’re hard,” Prabhas said, voice rough with satisfaction. “Getting fucked in a hotel bathroom like a desperate little slut and you’re leaking all over my hand.”
“Shut up—”
Prabhas slammed in harder. “Make me.”
He shifted the angle, hitting that spot dead-on with every stroke. Mahesh’s thighs trembled. His reflection in the mirror looked wrecked—hair falling into his eyes, mouth open, a flush spreading down his throat. Prabhas watched him over his shoulder the whole time, dark eyes gleaming.
“Say it,” Prabhas ordered. “Say you’re my slut for the night.”
Mahesh shook his head, but the words came out cracked and unwilling. “I’m… not…”
Prabhas slowed deliberately, grinding deep, then pulled almost free until only the head remained inside. Mahesh’s hole fluttered around the emptiness. Prabhas waited.
“Say it or I walk out and leave you like this.”
The threat hung in the air. Mahesh’s pride warred with the aching need that had taken root. He closed his eyes.
“…Yours. For the night.”
Prabhas rewarded him with a deep, rolling thrust that punched a moan out of him. “Louder.”
“I’m your slut for the night,” Mahesh ground out. “Just—fuck—move.”
Prabhas grinned against the side of his neck and gave him exactly what he asked for. The pace turned brutal. The washroom filled with the wet sounds of fucking, the slap of Prabhas’s hips, Mahesh’s increasingly open moans. Prabhas’s hand on Mahesh’s cock never stopped—tight, relentless strokes that matched the rhythm of his thrusts.
Mahesh came first, sudden and hard, spilling over Prabhas’s fist and onto the marble with a choked cry. His body clamped down around the cock still pounding into him. Prabhas groaned, buried himself to the hilt, and followed a few thrusts later—hot pulses flooding deep inside Mahesh as he held him locked in place.
They stayed like that for a long moment, both breathing hard. Prabhas’s forehead rested against the back of Mahesh’s neck. His hand was still wrapped around Mahesh’s softening cock, sticky and warm.
Eventually Prabhas eased out. Come dripped down the inside of Mahesh’s thigh. Prabhas watched it with open satisfaction, then reached for a handful of paper towels. He cleaned Mahesh up with surprising care—gentle wipes between his legs, a rough swipe over his stomach—before tucking himself back into his jeans.
Mahesh stayed leaning against the counter, trousers still around his thighs, trying to remember how to stand properly. His hole felt used and open. The ache was already settling in.
Prabhas turned him around by the shoulders. For a second Mahesh thought the bigger man might say something almost soft. Instead Prabhas leaned in and bit the side of his throat hard enough to leave a mark, then licked over it.
“Room 1408,” Prabhas said quietly. “I’m not done with you. You’re staying the night.”
Mahesh opened his mouth to refuse. The words wouldn’t come. His body still hummed with the aftermath, and the look in Prabhas’s eyes promised more of the same—rougher, longer, until morning.
Prabhas stepped back, unlocked the door, and held it open like a gentleman. The corridor outside was still empty.
Mahesh pulled his clothes back into place with shaking hands. He didn’t look at the mirror again. He walked out first.
Prabhas followed a few seconds later, close enough that Mahesh could feel the heat of him at his back the entire way to the elevator.
Room 1408 waited.
And Mahesh already knew he was going to walk through that door.