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2025-10-01
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2025-10-18
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guards! fuck that man for me (kinktober '25)

Summary:

my contribution for kinktober 2025.

Notes:

not gifting it to y'all because hmph. but let it be known that it's 100% because of your bad influence, kay and ava. i was such an angel before i met you, wasn't i?

all chapters are unrelated unless otherwise specified.
please read the tags.
please remember: this is a work of fiction, and these are only characters that resemble real people and events loosely based on real life.

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Chapter 1: need a taste of your magic, right here, right now

Notes:

shreyas iyer/hardik pandya.
semi-public sex, blowjobs, snowballing.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

all shreyas did was step outside to get a drink of water. he doesn’t feel hardik’s beady eyes on him as he slips out of the hall, but he certainly does feel his hands on him, dragging him to the washroom and locking the door behind them.

“hardik, what—?”

shreyas is pressed against the door, face inches away from hardik’s. “what is it?”

“what do you mean what is it, what is what—”

“do you regret it?” shreyas stills at the vulnerability he senses in hardik’s voice. “d’you regret kissing me?”

“no, i don’t.” he tilts his head, hands on the other’s shoulders. rakes his fingers through harry’s hair. “i could never.”

“then why won’t you touch me?” hardik demands, and his eyes go wide in surprise. “you won’t even look at me!”

“we’re in public!” shreyas protests. “how can i—in front of the board...? they already don’t like me—”

“we’re not in public right now.” and it’s the pout that has shreyas’ shoulders slumping. he draws him in closer and kisses him sweetly. he thinks this argument is successfully resolved when he feels hardik melt into it.

but then his belt gets unbuckled and trousers are pooling around his ankles.

shreyas may or may not yelp at this. “harry!” and then clamps his hand over his mouth as harry drops to his knees and drags his tongue along the underside of his cock. he falls heavily back against the door, craning his neck to make sure it’s really locked. keeping his eyes open proves rather difficult with how enthusiastically hardik is swallowing him down.

what a sight. shreyas can’t help but grip harry’s well-styled hair, locks spilling between his fingers. other hand trailing lightly over the tattoos along the sides of his straining neck. shreyas doesn’t realize he’s murmured ’so pretty’ until hardik whines around him and bobs his head faster.

there’s a sudden, sharp knock on the door that sends vibrations through shreyas’ body, and he freezes, terrified. hardik feels the tension and pulls off his cock, calling out, “give me five minutes!” and returning to his lover. shreyas lets go of harry’s hair and covers his mouth with both of his hands, hopelessly aroused by hardik’s confidence. he can feel the pleasure building in his gut slowly, slowly, and a determined prodding of harry’s tongue to the bulging vein along his dick has his vision going blurry for a second.

hardik grunts when he tips over, cock pulsing and leaking into the back of his mouth. “fuck,” he whispers, muffled by his hands. harry doesn’t stand up until he’s drained every last bit from him, and then pulls shreyas into a kiss. he’s startled when a tongue forces his lips open and cum trickles onto his own. take it, he can almost hear harry thinking, taste yourself. one of harry’s hands roam over his chest, thumbing over his nipples. and the other hand still gripping his dick, still playing with it, making him jerk wildly between hardik’s body and the door.

shreyas swallows his own cum, twitching, sensitive, and inhales deeply. hardik finally takes pity on him and lets go, bends down to pull up his trousers and tucks him back in. shreyas can’t do anything but stay where he is and watch harry wash his hands and face, wet his hair and style it back up again.

“see you, shrey,” he sings, teasing, and he decides he can’t let hardik just walk out like that. so shreyas yanks him closer by the wrist, a hand reaching down to squeeze his ass hard, and leaves a whisper in his ears.

“my room after dinner. gotta return the favour.”

then he’s out the door, disappearing into the crowd of players attending this bcci event. hardik takes a moment to process this, then realizes he doesn’t know which room shreyas is in. he’s opening the door to call after him—the hallway outside the washroom is empty—and then feels something in his back pocket.

a key card. when did he...?

hardik shakes his head, biting his lip. “fucking jaadugar.”

-

Notes:

word meanings:
jaadugar - magician

Chapter 2: so do i measure up to your expectations?

Notes:

jasprit bumrah/shubman gill.
tailor x model au, teasing, groping, dry humping, interruptions.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

so his tailor has been fired. thank god. shubman can fucking breathe now.

“—so forget about it, yeah, gill?” tushar, his manager is saying. “she’s gone. we’re getting you someone else. someone professional.” shubman nods absently, still feeling icky from the memory of her odd behaviour towards him. always a little too touchy than necessary, suggestive comments that only turned more aggressive after he told her he’s gay, as if trying to convince him that he isn’t.

he follows the man through this new building to the room the tailor must be in; they knock, wait for the ‘come in!’ and enter.

tushar moves to the side, and shubman is greeted with possibly one of the most breathtaking men he’s ever come across. and he works as a model. his job quite literally requires him to be in the company of beautiful people, but this man carries some sort of lethal energy around him. dangerous. wild, almost.

shubman takes in his features one by one. doesn’t even hear what his manager is saying. glasses. beard. lightly graying hair. lean muscle. dark eyes. he feels his skin start to prickle, sweat beading up; he’s suddenly nervous.

“—is shubman. shubman, this is jasprit.” he blinks and nods hastily as tushar introduces them. “arya’s gone over the designs with him already, he just needs your measurements now.” he motions for shubman to go ahead, so he stumbles forward until he’s within arm’s distance of jasprit.

the table next to him is covered in the designs he’s supposed to be wearing for the next several photoshoots, and there’s a list of the measurements the tailor needs. jasprit takes a long, steady look at him, up and down—he’s wearing very form-fitted clothes today, as he usually does with tailor visits—and shubman wipes his palms on his thighs, heart pounding. finally, jasprit tugs the tape measure from around his neck and places the end at the top of shubman’s arm.

he usually zones out during these sessions, only paying attention when he’s being spoken to, but now he’s so present, so aware of jasprit’s every movement. so much for being able to breathe now. a new tailor isn’t helping with that situation at all.

shubman jumps when his manager’s phone rings, loud and shrill. the tailor startles at the way he jerks, glancing up at his face. jasprit notices the way he’s stiff, the way sweat rolls down the side of his face.

“let me take this.” tushar nods for them to continue and steps outside.

shubman barely refocuses on getting measured, when jasprit mutters, ‘may i?’ and sinks onto one knee. his fingertips dip just a little under the waistband of his pants to secure the tape measure, and shubman abruptly has a vision of jasprit dragging them down for a different reason.

to his horror, his cock twitches. he’s not looking down, but he feels the tailor’s hands pause in their motions. humiliated, shubman tilts his head upwards, fists clenching at his sides and eyes squeezed shut. heat flushes through his face and neck. he waits for a biting remark that doesn’t come. jasprit simply moves onto the next measurement, wraps the tape around his upper thigh, then just above his knee.

shubman lets out a breath, relieved. okay. he’s a professional. this must happen all the time. it’s nothing to be ashamed of. they’re just going to ignore it. but then there’s a palm dragging down the front of his pants, and shubman gasps. looks down.

jasprit is smirking. casually shifting his tape measure around like he didn’t do anything else. like shubman is just overreacting like a little slut. so sensitive. so needy. like he’s just a little plaything—

okay. his mind needs to stop. control. control.

the tailor rises to his full height, turns to write on his notepad, just seconds before tushar walks back in, eyes on his phone.

“gill,” the man says, “i have to run out for a bit. finish up here and then get back to the studio, okay? karan is waiting in the car for you downstairs.” shubman nods, swallows thickly. jasprit is just inches away from him, still scribbling his measurements down.

the silence that follows after he leaves is suffocating, jasprit quietly estimating the rest of his proportions. shubman jolts when jasprit gently nudges his arms up and leans in close to loop the tape around his hips. he’s so fucking close. shubman can count his eyelashes if he tried to.

“what are you thinking?” the tailor murmurs, tightening the tape.

“nothing, nothing, i—” shubman’s breath hitches when jasprit pulls him closer with it around his waist. they’re chest to chest now. the look that he’s giving him is too much for shubman to bear—heavy, dark, intense. his gaze drops to jasprit’s mouth instead and the man licks his lips, sending a rush of anticipation through him. a whisper escapes him. “oh, fuck me.”

“how much time do you think we have until your driver comes looking for you?”

“um.” shubman can hardly focus. “he—he never does, he’ll just call me—”

“good.” then he’s being dragged into a kiss, hot and furious. there are arms around his waist—tape measure slips to the floor—and shubman is being lifted up onto the table. he’s gripping jasprit’s hair, holding on for dear life. when the elder latches onto his neck, he hisses.

“no marks!”

jasprit pulls back. “shame.” and then there are hands lifting his shirt enough to pull his waistband down. hand on his dick and one running over the swell of his ass. it sets something alight in shubman—he’s frantically pawing at the tailor’s belt, desperate to touch him as well. it’s futile; jasprit pins his arms behind his back and yanks him to the edge of the table, close enough that he can slot his hips against shubman’s crotch. the contact has him jerking, trying to find a good enough angle to squirm against him.

the elder hooks an arm around his back, keeping him in place, and kisses him again. his eyes are darker than ever, pupils blown in lust. the first rough grind has him groaning, tossing his head back, breathing heavy. jasprit grips his hair and forces him to sit up.

“don’t do that if you don’t want me to leave my mark on you,” he growls. “unless...” his fingers brush against the skin of his throat and grip his neck lightly. shubman goes a little cross-eyed. jasprit’s mouth is warm on his as they chase their pleasure—his entire focus is on that point of contact of their hips, cocks separated only by a few layers of cloth. god, he can feel jasprit’s heat even through them.

“please—!”

a buzzing sound has them jumping apart. shubman’s phone is going off in his pocket, and karan’s name is flashing on the screen when he takes it out. he looks at jasprit helplessly, but the man only smiles, smug. takes a step away.

“go ahead, answer it.” he’s adjusting his glasses and clothes, picking up his tape measure and returning to the persona of the perfectly professional tailor everyone else believes him to be. “i’ll see you another day, mister gill.”

-

Notes:

why is jassi so hot.

Chapter 3: all bets are off when it comes to you

Notes:

kl rahul/virat kohli.
bets, teasing, handjobs, orgasm denial.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

rahul closes his eyes, internally groaning when virat returns after the innings, covered in sweat and grinning from ear to ear. only opens them when two hands on his shoulders shake him in glee.

“what do you have to say for yourself now, huh?”

he sighs. “remind me to never get into a bet with you again.”

“i will do no such thing.” virat swipes his hair off his forehead. “so. you ready?”

“do i have a choice?”

virat shakes his head. “okay. one week. you’re not allowed to touch me. and every time you do, it extends by a day.”

“you seem confident that i’ll end up touching you.”

“oh, please, rahul.” virat turns to the dressing rooms, glancing over his shoulder. the confidence in his eyes has desire already stirring in rahul’s stomach. “you know you can’t resist me.”

he’s right, of course. but rahul is determined to not let him get away with this. he has a plan. whether it works or not, only time will tell.

on monday rahul attempts to ignore virat entirely. tries his best to avoid being in the same room as him—not because he doubts his own self control on its own, but because he knows that virat will do everything in his power to get him to break as soon as possible. he gets away with it only because their schedules take them to different places for most of the day, but by the time it’s night (virat sends him to sleep in another bed despite his arguments that him touching virat in his sleep doesn’t count) virat has caught on to what he’s doing.

tuesday rahul’s plan doesn’t work. virat latches onto him from the moment they wake up. they go work out together and rahul has to pause in between his sets to catch his breath, not because he’s exhausted but because virat is on the other side of the room. shirtless. dripping sweat and water. dancing to the music playing. shaking his ass, thrusting his hips. making eye contact with him while he does bicep curls. rahul grits his teeth and turns around on the bench.

on wednesday, rahul decides to take it easy. it’s going to be a lazy day around the house for him, and he’s going to enter such a state of zen that nothing virat pulls is going to have any impact. he’s lounging on the sofa reading his book when virat saunters out of the bedroom, and—god, have mercy, he’s barely wearing anything—and comes over to straddle rahul’s thighs. rahul’s cock jumps to attention nearly immediately, but he continues to read, fingers clenching around the book. he feels virat’s hand settle lightly over his sweatpants, squeezes his dick. rahul’s leg jerks. virat leans in to kiss his neck once (rahul can hear him snickering, the asshole) and climbs off, walks away humming to himself.

it's thursday, and rahul thinks he can distract virat by making dinner and filling the house with aromas that they both love. what did he expect? his boyfriend peers into the kitchen once he’s almost done, and it’s not to compliment his cooking or thanking him for making it, but it’s to crowd him against the counter and run his hands all over him. rahul tries to stare him down, but virat’s eyes are so seductive that he has to bite his lip and tip his head back.

virat grabs his collar and yanks him back down. “eyes on me."

as if they could take themselves off you, rahul thinks helplessly. as if i could ever look away. his hands twitch with the need to touch. virat leans up on his tiptoes and presses his lips so tenderly to his, teeth nipping, and rahul decides he’s had enough.

he’s slamming virat against the wall—hand protectively behind his head, other hand gripping his hip—and absolutely devouring him. he’s swallowing virat’s surprised moans before they can come out fully, and ripping his shorts down as fast as he can. he takes his own cock out of his sweats and holds them both in hand. virat is writhing against him, shocked that rahul, rahul, out of the two of them, is being this wild. this feral. this desperate. just taking what he wants without a word.

“you little—” the word that rahul wants to use gets muttered into virat’s mouth, but he groans like he knows, squeezes his eyes shut. rahul strokes their cocks together, pressing the pads of his fingers into the tips. it’s fast, for him at least, being deprived all week, and he spills over his hand, over virat’s dick. the elder whines at the feeling, even though he’s still not looking. come drips onto the floor between them. he should get virat off, too, but...

rahul steps away, hand dirty. virat’s eyes snap open at the loss of contact.

...virat’s been jerking off to his frustration all week. rahul isn’t obligated to make him come right now. if he wanted to come so badly, he wouldn’t have made a bet at all.

“what—?”

“sorry,” rahul drags his his gaze over his boyfriend. “i just had to.”

“but that’s—” virat clears his throat, wrecked. lips swollen, eyes lidded, panting. “the bet—”

“another week, then. my punishment, remember?” rahul murmurs, running his come-covered thumb over virat’s bottom lip, tempted to sink his fingers into that mouth. “if you can handle it.”

-

Notes:

you're welcome, babes.

Chapter 4: sorry about your sweet dreams, baby (not sorry)

Notes:

suryakumar yadav/tilak varma.
somnophilia, mildly dubious consent, mild dom/sub, rimming, anal sex.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

it’s just past three a.m. when surya gets home. the tournament against england was brutal, and he doesn’t even care that they left it tied. he’s just happy to be back. after he’s washed and slept he can see tilak again. his anxious little baby isn’t home, not since surya left, instead bunking with ishan because he can never handle being home alone for so long. he should text him that he’s back. but for all he knows, tilak might still be awake playing video games and see the message right away.

he doesn’t want his boyfriend rushing over this late. it can wait till morning.

surya isn’t expecting it. isn’t expecting to open the door and walk into his bedroom to find tilak sprawled across his bed, fast asleep. he nearly drops his bag in surprise.

oh, his baby. look at him. on his stomach, his long, lanky limbs starfished on the mattress to make up for the extra room that isn’t occupied. locks of hair falling onto his face, onto the pillow—surya wasn’t sure what to think when tilak decided to grow his hair out, but fuck, he loves it. lips slightly parted as he breathes, deep and slow.

maybe he’s a horrible, perverted person. he should be feeling tired after his journey and all the physical effort he’s put in the last few weeks. but he sees tilak so soft, so pliant, so comfortable in his space, making his bedsheets smell of him...and he can’t resist. his heartbeat picks up little by little the longer he stares at his boy.

his cock is filling up. surya curses himself, sets his bags down by the vanity, grabs a pair of boxers and a towel, and trudges to the bathroom to deal with himself and wash the exhaustion off. it’s useless. his dick has only just settled when he steps out, clean, when he sees tilak and it starts to ache again.

surya grips his dick—a moment of confession coming to mind—and walks towards the bed. he remembers one night. one movie they watched together. one scene that had tilak straining in his shorts. and a shy, embarrassed reaction to sky’s questions: you like it? being woken up like that?

he never brought it up after that, but...what if?

grabbing some lube just in case, surya climbs onto the bed carefully so not to jostle tilak. he’s in a deep, deep slumber. doesn’t feel it at all when surya brushes his hair off his face to see him better, or when he slowly drags the shoulder of his t-shirt down to kiss the skin hiding under it. a tiny, happy noise escapes the sleeping boy, and surya’s heart melts. for a second he considers waking him up, but...look at him, he’s sleeping so peacefully. besides, he’ll wake up in a few moments anyway. might as well let him get the extra rest.

(he’s the one who needs the rest, but if a cold shower couldn’t fix this, then he’s not getting sleep until something is done about it.)

he lifts the hem of tilak’s shirt up, exposing his lower back. he plants his lips on the dip of his spine, feeling the warmth radiating off him. fingertips hook into the waistband of tilak’s boxers and slides them down over his ass, inch by inch, slow and cautious. tilak makes a questioning sort of sound that seems more awake than before and he freezes. but he doesn’t stir. surya leaves the boxers around his knees and shifts down the bed, braces himself over the boy.

god, look at him. he can’t help but dip down to kiss the top of his thighs, plush ass against his cheek. he bites just enough to leave a mark, and then he’s spreading tilak’s thighs farther apart and burying his face into him. tongue dragging over his opening, rough hands sliding up and down tilak’s sides. the boy squirms a bit in his hold, on the brink of sleep and wake—surya wonders what he might be dreaming of to account for these sensations—and he’s slicking up his fingers with the lube and pressing them to his rim.

another noise. a sleepy, muffled noise. surya fucks two fingers in and out of his boyfriend, abandoning his caution. tilak is so close to waking up, and surya doesn’t want him to panic. he leans over and slots his face into the crook of tilak’s neck, whispering soothing words that he hopes tilak can hear, wherever he is caught between dream and reality. come on, baby, wake up for me. i need you so bad right now, yeah? need to make you feel so good.

he presses a third finger inside, and tilak wakes with a start. he’s breathing heavily, blinking in the darkness, confused. as expected, he starts to panic—cries aloud, struggles under him—until surya says his name.

tilak relaxes, still so confused, still so sleepy. “surya—?”

“hey, baby.” he kisses the side of tilak’s head as he pushes his fingers in deeper. his boy’s hips buck, a sharp cry filling the air. “’m home.”

the younger man drops his head onto the pillow, exhausted, giving surya the chance to withdraw. wraps his arms around the boy instead. tilak’s drowsy whines are making him closer and closer to losing it. he doesn’t even realize he’s subconsciously grinding into tilak’s ass until the boy pushes back into him.

“so good for me,” surya mumbles into tilak’s shoulder. “my baby was waiting for me, hm? all spread out so i could take you as soon as i got home?” another whimper. “need me all the time, don’t you? just. so. hungry.”

“surya,” tilak begs, voice low and rough with sleep. “please—”

he doesn’t waste another second. drops his own boxers, rolls on a condom and he’s pushing his cock into tilak’s tight heat. his boy moans, embarrassed, turning his face into the pillows. “it’s okay, baby,” surya nearly growls, arousal rushing through his body, “just take it. i’ve got you.” he thrusts into him, slow at first, but picks up the pace when tilak tilts his hips up, desperate for more.

he nearly comes right then when he notices tilak shoving his hand down between himself and the mattress to stroke his cock. his fingers prod around his rim, brushes against surya where he pounds into him. it makes him more aggressive—raises up onto his knees, lifts tilak’s ass higher and gives it to him hard.

tilak fucking sobs at the new angle hitting his prostate. he’s trembling already, dancing on the edge, body so sensitive just out of sleep. he stammers out bits and pieces of words, of surya’s name, but just can’t seem to finish any sentence. he reaches back to claw at surya’s thigh—it’s something he does when he’s so close and can’t articulate that verbally—and the elder decides to help his baby out. lays tilak out flat on the bed and circles his hips in deep, pushes his cock firmly into the mattress.

the boy comes silently, body locking up, muscles in his shoulders straining. surya sinks his teeth into the tattoo along his neck as he follows, emptying into the condom, gently releasing his full weight onto tilak.

he mumbles his name, barely audible.

“yeah, baby?”

“you’re h’me.”

surya huffs, breath warm on tilak’s skin. “i am.”

“mm. ‘m still sleepy.”

“that’s okay, sweetheart.” surya carefully pulls out, and leans down to kiss tilak’s cheek. his eyes are already falling shut. “you go back to sleep.”

-

Notes:

blame ava and her typos.

Chapter 5: there’s a time and person for everything (it ain’t me)

Notes:

shubman gill/abhishek sharma.
dom/sub, bondage and discipline, cock slapping, face slapping.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

“did we learn our lesson yet?” abhishek asks sweetly, untying his scarf from around shubman’s wrists. “are you going to have an attitude like that with me again?” shubman doesn’t answer. he can’t. abhi’s fucked the words right off his tongue.

things got way out of hand today. their second match against pakistan, and tempers were higher than ever. abhishek loved going out to open with his best friend, but the constant digs from the pakistani players had them heating up very quickly. abhi didn’t keep his mouth shut in the face of their jabs, and neither did shubman. but once that exchange was over, abhi put his head down and focused on the game.

it wasn’t enough for shubman, however. abhi had just reached his fifty, and he was raising his hand in his signature celebration, when one of the opponents spit something nasty at them. abhi was going to ignore it, but shubman whirled around. a curse left his mouth; abhi could tell he was ready to stomp over to him, so he reaches out and hooks a finger in the grill of shubman’s helmet, yanks him down to his eye level.

enough, he said. play your game. he should have known from the way shubman’s eyes widened, that he would be distracted. in the end, abhi walks off the ground with seventy-four runs to his name, and shubman just short of fifty.

and there he was at the post-match party, sitting around moping because he could play well enough for his own standards. abhi made the decision to walk over and tell him to snap out of it, but shubman made the mistake of snapping back.

and that was it.

abhi marches him to their room and strips him bare. tosses him onto the bed and ties his hands behind his back with a scarf that he happened to find in his suitcase.

“don’t know why,” abhi mutters while tightening the scarf around his wrists, “you keep acting up when you know this is what happens.” he leans in. “what you want to happen.”

“abhi, come on,” shubman says, irritated at being reprimanded and manhandled, as if he were a child. it’s never something he’ll admit out loud, only something he’ll quietly strive to improve on, but he hates that abhi is stronger than him, hates that those arms can pick him up like he’s feather-light, pin him down like it’s no effort at all.

shubman yelps when abhi smacks the inside of his thigh. it takes one look into abhi’s narrowed eyes for him to understand what he’s in for tonight.

(it’s the same thing that happened the night of their ipl match against each other. how a pent up shubman argued and argued with the umpires and didn’t even listen when abhi pushed him back. it’s the same thing that happened before this asia cup, too; shubman nearly breaking himself to pieces practicing for the tournament and refusing to rest when abhi called him inside.)

“sit up,” abhi snaps. shubman struggles to with his hands tied but manages to sit upright. nearly falls back down onto the bed when abhi’s hand grasps his soft dick. he bends a little to look shub in the eye. “tell me what you did wrong today.”

“i didn’t—” he barely gets those words out before abhi lifts his hand and slaps his thigh again. shubman bites back a cry. “um, i—i lost my temper during the match.”

“and?”

“i couldn’t focus when i was batting.”

“mhm.”

“i wasn’t celebrating with you. because i was...only thinking about myself.”

“what else?”

“i....” he mumbles something abhi can’t hear, head lowering. he grips shubman’s chin and forces him to look up. raises a brow. “i wasn’t nice to you.”

“yeah, shub, you weren’t. gave me attitude.” he tries to let his disappointment show. “do you think you deserve to be punished tonight?” shubman hesitates. abhi can tell he’s debating whether to answer yes or no. if he says yes, abhi will follow through on that. but if he says no...his punishment would be even worse for trying to manipulate abhi into sparing him for the night.

he watches the decision form in shubman’s mind. miserably, the elder nods.

abhi raises a hand and brings it down over shubman’s cock. he knows by now that he’s not supposed to make any noises. abhi does it again. and again. four times, then five. by the time he’s drawing back for the sixth, shubman is straining against the ties, whispers of ‘please’ continuously falling from his lips. another slap, and shubman’s crying out loud.

“fuck!” he squeezes his eyes shut, a tear slipping through his lashes. “abhi, i can’t—mmh.” it’s pissing off abhi even more that shubman doesn’t even try to be quiet, so he stuffs the fingers of his other hand into the other’s mouth. presses down on the back of his tongue to make him gag just a little.

shubman holds out until abhi counts to ten. he’s a quivering mess by the end of it, cock red and twitching. he’s making those soft noises that usually precede his orgasm, and abhi can’t have that. he grasps the base of his dick tightly, no stimulation whatsoever. forces shubman to be still until the waves of pleasure fade away.

he’s dazed, so abhi smacks his cheek a couple of times to get him to come back down. his eyes are clearer when they open again.

“shubi.” abhi kneels on the edge of the bed and cups his face, thumb stroking his reddening skin. “are you okay?” he nods, eyelids drooping in exhaustion. abhi reaches for the scarf. another last snarky comment about shubman learning his lesson for giving him attitude, and the man is free. abhi rubs his wrists sympathetically and kisses him. “you good to keep going?”

he’s expecting shubman to be non-verbal for a lot longer, like he was the previous times they did this, but instead he raises his head and looks him in the eye.

“how do you want me?”

-

Notes:

and then abhi fucks him into next tuesday, hallelujah, amen.

Chapter 6: strip away your doubts and fears, my dear

Notes:

shubman gill/yashasvi jaiswal.
strip club, lap dancing, dry humping.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

“guys, come on, is this necessary—”

“we’re not taking you here to lose your virginity, yashu,” abhi says with a laugh, slinging his arm over yashasvi. “strip club hi toh hai.”

“i don’t—”

“move, move!” riyan pushes them along into the building. “hurry up. it’s gonna be fine.” shubman follows them, he and arsh cackling so hard they’re leaning into each other. yashasvi glares at them over his shoulder but it does nothing to stop them. he shuts his eyes for a brief prayer, begging for forgiveness and strength, and then lets himself be dragged into the loud, packed, dimly lit room.

it doesn’t seem that they’re planning on relaxing at all. out of the corner of his eyes he spots several dancers on the other side of the space but he determinedly looks away. he’s expecting them to get some drinks, dance a little, try to get him to watch those women move; he’s definitely not expecting to be deposited onto a sofa in a semi-private room and his friends howling as a pretty, young, scantily clad woman knocks his feet apart with her heels.

at first he assumes the worst—surely not in front of his friends?—but then she’s swaying her hips along with the music, dropping low with her hands on his knees. he’s very, very aware of her fingernails digging into his thigh through his trousers. he’s sweating, he knows it. he can’t see his own expression, but it must be hilarious if his asshole friends are still laughing at him. when she climbs onto his lap, however, his hands clench into fists in the sofa cushions and he squeezes his eyes shut.

he swears he hears her huff in amusement, but it’s drowned out by the protests of the others. he feels hands on his face trying to pry his eyes open, but a sharp, hands off, boys, let me do my job, from her has them backing away.

“i’m sorry,” he grits out, still not looking at her.

“why are you sorry, sweetheart?” she murmurs in response. “i’m getting paid to do this. but you don’t have to sit here and take it. just tell me if you’re not comfortable.” yashasvi swallows and opens his eyes to look her in the face. he shakes his head, ashamed. she taps his nose and smoothly withdraws.

“what—aw, yash, come on, yaar!” abhi groans.

the dancer sets her sights on riyan, who’s been nearly devouring her with his gaze ever since they arrived. she grasps his wrist and tugs him along with her to dance. before they leave, she turns back to tell them, “stop being dicks.”

arsh breaks the silence that fell to say, “what happened, bro? you didn’t like it? she wasn’t pretty enough for you, because damn—”

“i—don’t like girls!” it comes out stilted and barely audible over the music, but the three of them stop, stunned. they weren’t expecting this to be the reason for yashasvi’s hesitance regarding relationships, but huh. makes sense.

shubman hasn’t taken his eyes off him. yashasvi can almost see the idea forming in his head, a smirk pulling up the corner of his mouth as it does. before he knows it, he’s pushing arsh aside and straddling yash’s lap instead. abhay audibly rolls his eyes and arshdeep is whooping, already pulling out his phone to take a video.

he doesn’t hold back at all. shubman gets a lot closer than the dancer did, touches him a lot more, grabs his hands to run them over his chest, all while that stupid dimpled smile is plastered on his lips. this is a very amusing joke to him. to all of them. and it would be to yash as well, if...if he didn’t have such a terrible crush on shubman.

the elder rolls his hips a little too far down. lets out a tiny, involuntary sigh, and yash’s cock is suddenly throbbing.

shubman stills. glances down at their laps. yashasvi does as well, closing his eyes in humiliation yet again, so he won’t have to see shubman’s disgust.

“really?” he hears the elder mutter, mind racing. and then he asks something yash could never even dream he would say. “because a man, or me?”

yashasvi’s head snaps up, and he’s staring into dark eyes that seem to be holding onto a final thread of hope that is his answer. heart pounding, he whispers, “you.”

and then shubman’s kissing him, deep and filthy, tongue licking into his mouth. distantly, he hears abhi and arsh just booking it out of there, but he truly couldn’t care less. his hands clutch shubman’s shirt unconsciously as he gets pressed back into the sofa. he wants nothing more than for him to unzip his trousers and get him off, but this isn’t the place for that.

so for now, they’ll have to make do with this. with the relentless motions of shubman’s hips against his, with the scorching heat of his back when yash runs his palms under his shirt, with the light tugging of his hair between those long fingers. and when yashasvi chokes back a moan as he comes in his pants, wetness flooding between them, he sends the other down the same spiral, shuddering apart on top of him.

“wanted this for so long,” shubman says against his lips, breathless, back still arching. “never—never thought i could have you.”

“i can’t believe you want me.”

“yashu. no,” he corrects gently. “i need you.”

-

Notes:

word meanings:
hi toh hai - it's only that; here, it's only a strip club
yaar - friend

Chapter 7: so beautiful you leave me tongue-tied

Notes:

josh hazlewood/pat cummins/virat kohli.
polyamory, threesome, bondage, gags, chain sex, anal sex.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

“joshy, what—” pat lets out a laugh at the way his boyfriend drags him insistently back to their room. “what’s going on?” he’s just been relieved from a meeting with the coaches and a board rep concerning the ongoing india’s tour of australia, only to find hoff standing outside and pouncing on him at once.

josh doesn’t give him an answer—he didn’t expect it—but when they reach the room and he pushes open the door, pat’s brain melts.

on the bed, naked, cuffed to the headboard, is virat. fucking. kohli. wrists straining against their ties, and a gag shoved in his mouth. jesus christ.

the two of them had a conversation only the previous night about how much they miss their boyfriend, that it’s so difficult to get ahold of him even if they’re in the same country, that it’s not enough making eyes at him from across the field. and now, here he is. he doesn’t know how josh made this happen, but if virat is here, bound, then it’s definitely because he wants it. and it’s definitely because he wants them in a rather specific way.

“fuck me,” pat groans as hoff closes the door and locks it. “joshy, babe, you did this for me?” he drifts towards the bed, looking down at virat as he squirms. notices how his cock is already hard and leaking, wonders what hoff must have done to rile him up before pat’s meeting was over. he palms himself just thinking about it and virat lets out a whine.

“pretty little thing, isn’t it?” josh murmurs from just behind pat, slipping his hands under the hem of pat’s shirt and kissing the side of his neck. a smile flits across pat’s lips at that—virat has never said it outright, nor will he ever, but he likes it when they talk about him like he’s not there. something humiliating about it. maybe they should be concerned, but they think with their dicks whenever virat is around. can’t help it.

“yeah.” pat turns around to drag josh into a hungry kiss, hands roaming, pulling clothes off of each other. hoff slides his hands down the back of pat’s boxers, squeezing his ass, fingertips brushing his rim. it makes him gasp, and hoff uses that as a chance to stick his tongue down his throat. he’s already chubbing up, fuck. the effect these two have on him is unreal.

another whine from over on the bed. virat kicks a leg in their direction, telling them in no uncertain terms that what they’re doing is supremely unfair. hoff chuckles into pat’s mouth, breaks away just a little to ask under his breath, “how do you want us?”

pat swallows, heart racing at being given this choice. “i wanna fuck him,” he says at once. hoff nods and turns to get the lube, but pat grabs his wrist. “while you fuck me.” josh’s eyes widen. it’s not something they’ve tried before, but he’ll be damned if he says no to it.

“go play with him a bit.” josh gestures to the bed. “but don’t let him come.”

eager, pat lifts a knee onto the mattress and leans over virat, pressing his lips to his firm stomach. feels the muscles tensing under the touch. he completely ignores his dick, instead shifting up his body to flick his tongue over his nipples. virat throws back his head and moans, muffled sounds through the gag. he’s yanking on the cuffs so hard the metal clanks loud and constant. pat has to scrape his teeth over a sensitive bud for him to wince and finally stop moving.

he jolts when a pair of hands grasp his waist. glances over his shoulder to see josh behind him, undressed, pulling pat’s boxers down over the swell of his ass, off his legs, onto the floor.

“you wanna open him up?” josh asks and pat automatically reaches out for some lube. warms it between his fingers, and rubs his slick fingers over virat’s entrance. the man writhes, hips grinding up as if humping the air, desperate for any kind of friction. pat now wonders how long hoff had him handcuffed and waiting. the idea of virat being bound for hours for his sake makes him even harder.

“christ, he’s so gorgeous, joshy,” pat says, helplessly. pushes a couple of fingers inside him. “d’you think if i suck him off he’ll come?”

“better make sure he doesn’t, then.”

so pat bends to take virat’s cock. almost chokes when the elder jerks, but continues his motions, both with his fingers and his mouth. spreads his own thighs when josh asks him to, arches his back beautifully when he feels fingers circling his hole. pat pulls off of virat’s cock and his ass—to stop both of them from coming.

“jesus fuck,” he curses, pushing back into josh’s hands. “fuck me already, god, please—” hoff coaxes him a little bit forward on the bed, using his slippery fingers to tug on pat’s cock.

“you wanted to fuck him,” he rasps. “do it.”

pat has to close his eyes to compose himself for a second. josh could be so fucking hot when he takes charge like this. it’s almost too much. wordlessly, he guides his cock to virat’s opening. the sound virat makes when he pushes in nearly has him nutting right then and there.

josh watches them, both fondness and lust in his gaze. watches the muscles of pat’s back and ass contract as he slowly fucks into virat, watches the way the elder’s thighs quiver and lock around pat’s waist. watches how the bed shakes, how the handcuffs clink violently against the headboard. god, they’re beautiful together.

his dick throbs.

pat goes still when josh slots himself behind him, sinks deep into virat and waits, breathing heavily. virat hums, concerned, thinking he must have stopped because something was hurting him (he still hasn’t forgotten how he got his back blown out by them one night and had to convince a very distrustful board that it was a sports-related injury) but then notices josh’s position. if only pat could hear the way his heart skipped a beat.

josh gently pushes pat down onto virat, face in his shoulder, and rubs the head of his cock against his rim. pat lets out a shuddering breath into the crook of virat’s neck, and then a much more broken one when josh slides into him. the dual sensations are overwhelming at first; pat claws at the pillows beside virat’s head, torn between grinding into the man beneath him, or back into the man above.

virat makes two noises that sound like fuck him, that make josh laugh and thrust sharply into pat.

“f-fuck!” pat involuntarily bucks his hips, pushing deeper into virat. josh lets him adjust to the feeling for a few moments. when pat lets out an exhale and lifts himself onto his elbows again, he starts to move. “josh—”

“yeah.” he grips pat’s ass, slowing down just a bit to watch his dick go in and out of him. “i hear you.” and then he’s angling himself back a little bit. picks up the pace. he’s fucking them both, essentially—every time he rocks into pat, he sends pat fucking into virat.

their eldest starts to whine, and josh realizes he’s close. he twists his hand in pat’s hair and drags him upright. “don’t let him come yet, patty, what did i say?”

pat looks like he would rather do anything else except prevent virat from reaching his peak, but he drops his head and stops moving. holds his hips still even as josh rams into him. it’s a tremendous effort, and josh starts to worry about his back, but pat stays strong. he can feel virat clenching around him, desperate for more stimulation.

“you close, babe?” josh mutters into his ear. pat nods, a rush of pleasure leaving him numb and euphoric. “go ahead and come for us.”

it’s almost immediate. pat feels that pressure in his gut and then he’s spilling, just the tip of his cock inside virat, white dripping out around him. an arm circles his waist, and josh is fucking into him hard, just a groan and teeth pressed to his shoulder before he empties himself inside pat. it’s an incredible feeling; he feels wet all over, at the front and the back, and sweat beading on his skin.

pat pulls completely out of virat and reaches up to undo the cuffs and remove the gag. virat draws him into a kiss of relief, broken only by him snapping his fingers at hoff and hissing, you better finish what you started, hazlewood!

hoff laughs. leans over. swallows down virat’s cock until it leaks down the back of his throat, and pat swallows down his noises.

“thank you,” pat mumbles so only virat could hear. “i don’t deserve—”

“shut up.” virat pulls him down beside him, hoff getting up to clean them up. “i wanted to.”

“yeah, patty.” josh comes back to kiss him on the top of his head. “we love you. so whether you deserve it or not, we’re here.” another kiss. “don’t forget that.”

-

Notes:

happy birthday, kay <3

Chapter 8: one man’s trash is another man’s treasure

Notes:

nitish kumar reddy/abhishek sharma.
cuckolding, degradation/humiliation, dirty talking, anal sex, coming untouched.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

“this was fun,” abhi says, leaning against the door. “i had a good time.”

aarav—that’s what he said his name was, right?—glances up after lacing up his shoes and grins, gaze flicking over his body. “same. you’re so fucking hot.” he straightens up. “maybe we can do this again sometime.”

“i’ll think about it.” abhi gives him a little laugh, a wave, and then closes the door. the second it’s locked, he’s pressed against it, face to the wood.

“like being so giggly with him, don’t you?” his boyfriend growls into his ear, thrusting his dick into his now clothed ass. abhi hisses, sensitive from getting fucked, but still presses back into him. “you dirty whore.”

“nitish,” abhi gasps, “please.”

he’s dragged to their bedroom—not the guest bedroom that aarav just ruined him in—and pushed onto the bed. nitish climbs over him, fingers deftly unbuttoning his shirt and then abhi’s, and leans down to kiss him, all tongue and teeth.

“did you find him or did he find you?” nitish mumbles into abhi’s neck, palms spread out over his abdomen, feeling his muscles tense.

“he found me.” abhi swallows down a noise as his boyfriend nips at his skin. “bought me a drink.”

“of course he did, my baby is so fucking pretty, isn’t he?” he can’t help but lift his hips up against nitish’s. “how can anyone resist?” another attempt to hump the air and his boyfriend grips his thigh, pinning him down. “so you brought home the first guy who gave you a little attention? and then what?” abhi shivers at nitish’s intense gaze. “what did he do?”

“and then he fucked me,” abhi tells him, biting, sharp, challenging almost. “better than you ever could. didn’t you hear me moaning for him—!” he’s cut off when nitish kisses him hard, rough.

“tell me how he fucked you.” he lifts up to drag abhi by his thighs closer to the edge of the bed. “like this? did he watch your pretty face while he made you cum? or—” abhi finds himself flipped onto his stomach, legs flailing to find a stable surface. “did he fuck you like this? did he shove your face into the pillow and take you from behind?” he grips abhi’s hair and yanks him back to his chest. “tell me.”

nitish doesn’t even wait for abhi to stutter out an answer. he’s already pulling down abhi’s boxers and gripping his ass.

“fuck, look at you.” abhi’s arms tremble when nitish presses a thumb against his hole. he must look so pink, so used, so wet. he’s proven right when his boyfriend sinks three fingers into him right away, a faint squelch of lube reaching his ears. “he didn’t come inside you? huh?”

“no.” abhi ducks his head, hips tilting back as nitish presses his fingers in deeper. “he’s—not allowed.”

“yeah? who’s allowed to come inside you?”

“only you—!”

nitish’s fuck, yeah, gets muffled when he bends down to bite at abhi’s ass. abhi’s arms finally give in, and he drops to his elbows, chest against the mattress. “what do you want me to do, babe?”

“fuck me.” he’s panting now. “fuck, just—take what you want.”

he doesn’t need to be told twice. in seconds, he’s tugged off his own shorts and guided the head of his cock to abhi’s opening. pushes in easily, leaving abhi an overstimulated mess atop the sheets.

“so loose,” nitish grunts, not bothering to give him any time to adjust. “god, you’re such a slut, abhi.” he bears down, props himself up with his hands on either side of abhi’s shoulders, and speeds up. “you wanted his cum, too, didn’t you? wanted me to fuck it back inside, huh?” he kisses abhi’s back, gentle in comparison to how fiercely he’s fucking him. “one day, baby, i promise. one day i’ll let ‘em cum inside you. let you walk back to me with it dripping out of you. maybe i can lick you clean before i take my turn with you—”

“fuck, shut up!” abhi hisses, reaching up to hold onto the headboard. “don’t—”

“what, you don’t like hearing the truth?” nitish gets as close to abhi’s face as he can. “it’s what you want, abhi. we both know it. because it’s never enough for you, is it?”

abhi buries his face in the pillow and groans. “nitish, i’m—”

“gonna cum already?” the way he scoffs sends shivers down abhi’s spine. “fine, then.” he has no warning whatsoever as nitish slips out his dick, pulls abhi to the edge of the bed so his feet are firmly on the ground, and slams back into him. nitish’s low mutters are drowned out by abhi’s cries.

he tries to stroke his leaking cock—he’s already come once, he can’t come again without touching himself, can he?—but nitish has his hands pinned behind his back at once. the angle of his thrusts changes again, his cock hitting his sweet spot. abhi’s going to lose his mind.

“i can’t!” he bursts out, a tear escaping his eye. “i need—fuck—”

nitish drags him upright, back to his chest. clamps his other hand over his mouth. abhi can’t see the irritated wrinkle in his forehead at his incessant noise. nitish is determined that abhi will come just like this, and he will.

it builds slowly. pressure in the pit of his stomach. it’s vast and growing so uncontrollably that it almost frightens him. he can’t even cry out loud. he’s not going to survive this. he’s going to pass out. he’s—

and then he’s falling. a chill spreads through his mind, blank, white, calm. his head tips back onto nitish’s shoulder and though the younger man releases his grip on his face, no sound escapes him. he’s gone entirely boneless, a tremor rising up from within him, spreading to every inch of his body until he’s shaking apart in nitish’s arms.

he doesn’t feel how his boyfriend lays him gently onto the bed again. doesn’t feel the rest of his frantic thrusts. doesn’t hear the way he grunts as he finishes nor does he feel the warmth spilling into him. doesn’t even realize he’s still coming, weaker waves of pleasure pulsing through him, making his dick twitch and drip onto the sheets.

“so beautiful,” nitish is mumbling when he comes back to the present. “you’re so pretty like this, abhi.”

“fuck.” he closes his eyes and tries to prop himself up, only to collapse again, exhausted. “you’re such a freak.”

nitish kisses him, smiling into it. “you love it.”

-

Notes:

welp. i guess ava convinced me nkr isn't just an ipad kid.

Notes:

until october ends, come give me ideas, people, let's see if i can write 'em.