The fire had burned low, casting long, golden shadows across the cottage walls. Three mostly-empty wine bottles and an open bag of crisps sat on the coffee table, a messy aftermath of laughter and late-night snacking. Jacob lay curled sideways on the rug, propped on one elbow, flushed and glowing from drink. Colin lounged back in the armchair, a glass dangling from his fingers, his shirt already unbuttoned halfway. Miles was tucked against one of the sofa arms, barefoot and pink-cheeked, his knees drawn to his chest, sipping the last of his cider.
It was the kind of warmth that made everything feel safe and dangerous at once.
Jacob grinned, swirling his wine and watching the flicker of flames. “We should play something,” he said, voice slurred slightly but mischievous. “Old-school. Truth or dare.”
Colin raised an eyebrow lazily. “Are we really that bored?”
“Come on,” Jacob said, sitting up and grabbing an empty bottle. “It’s classic. Plus, we’re all tipsy. Perfect time to make terrible decisions.”
Colin smirked. “You make it sound so enticing.”
Jacob spun the bottle anyway. It rattled across the wooden floor, wobbling before pointing neatly at Colin.
They all laughed, but Colin’s eyes sparkled with something darker. He drained the rest of his wine, leaned forward, and set his glass down with deliberate calm. “Alright. Dare.” He looked at both of them, lips curling. “Take it all the way down to boxers. You too, Jacob. No exceptions.”
Jacob and Miles groaned in near unison. “Seriously?” Miles laughed.
“That’s the dare,” Colin said smoothly, already standing. He unbuttoned the rest of his shirt and peeled it off, revealing that tight, broad chest, every line of muscle catching the firelight. He undid his belt slowly, watching them both with a look that dared them to protest again.
Jacob’s stomach flipped. The heat in his cheeks wasn’t just from the wine anymore. With a muttered curse, he pulled his sweater over his head and stripped his jeans, leaving just snug grey boxer-briefs. Miles hesitated a second longer, then shrugged and followed, blushing but grinning, his long frame revealed inch by inch.
Colin sat again, legs spread. “Better,” he murmured.
Jacob spun the bottle again, hands shaking slightly now. It clicked across the wood, turned… and landed on Miles.
Miles looked up, devilish. “Dare.”
A beat. Then: “I dare Jacob… to lick Colin,” he said, voice husky. “From… cock to mouth. Over his boxers, I mean.”
Jacob laughed out loud, half-horrified, half-thrilled. “You’re joking.”
“I’m not,” Miles said, smirking. “C’mon. It’s just boxers.”
Colin’s gaze sharpened but he didn’t speak. He just opened his legs a little wider, watching Jacob with calm amusement.
Jacob’s whole body buzzed. He crawled across the rug, awkward and flushed, until he was kneeling between Colin’s legs. Colin leaned back slightly, hands resting behind his head like he owned the moment. And maybe he did.
Jacob leaned in, lips brushing over the bulge in Colin’s boxers, hot and heavy and unmistakably hard. He licked—slowly, shakily—up the length, over cotton, across Colin’s abs, then up his chest, his collarbone, his neck. When he reached Colin’s mouth, he paused.
Colin didn’t. He pulled Jacob in and kissed him, deep and claiming, one hand curling into Jacob’s hair.
When they finally parted, Jacob fell back onto his heels, breathless and dazed. The bottle was already spinning again.
It landed on Colin.
Colin didn’t hesitate. His voice came low, sharp as a match strike. “Miles,” he said, “I dare you to ride Jacob.”
Miles blinked, mouth opening. “What?”
“Boxers on,” Colin said calmly, one hand stroking his thigh idly. “You straddle him. Ride him until he’s hard enough to beg. Just friction. Just pressure. No need to be shy.”
Jacob’s eyes widened. His cock twitched at the thought alone. Miles sat frozen for a heartbeat… and then stood.
He walked to Jacob slowly, his chest rising and falling too fast. He climbed into Jacob’s lap, thighs bracketing Jacob’s hips, their boxers brushing, heat blooming where skin met skin. He lowered himself slowly—grinding, shallow, teasing.
Jacob groaned, gripping Miles’s hips instinctively. Miles rolled his hips again. Jacob was hard in seconds, his head tipping back, breath ragged. Colin watched from the chair, utterly still, a king in his court.
Miles leaned in and whispered in Jacob’s ear, breath hot. “Is this what you wanted when you dared him?”
Jacob could barely answer.
The air in the room had thickened—charged, sultry, every breath seeming louder than the last. Jacob’s lips were parted, sweat shining faintly along his collarbone, Miles still pressed into his lap, hips rolling with slow, measured cruelty. Colin watched them both like a sculptor admiring his own half-finished masterpiece.
When the bottle slowed its spin again, the neck pointed cleanly at Jacob.
He looked wrecked—flushed and glassy-eyed—but a slow smile curled at his lips. “Alright,” he said, voice low and trembling with barely hidden tension. “Dare.”
Colin arched an eyebrow. “You daring yourself now?”
“No,” Jacob said, locking eyes with Colin, then shifting his gaze to Miles. “I dare you two… to re-enact that time. The living room. Back at the house. When I caught you.”
The words landed like a jolt in the room. Miles froze. Colin didn’t.
“Be specific,” Colin said, voice soft as smoke.
Jacob swallowed. “No penetration. Just like how you… started with me. That night you pretended to pass out.”
Miles didn’t move for a long moment—then, wordlessly, he rose from Jacob’s lap and stepped to the center of the rug. He turned, chest rising and falling fast, and bent forward. Hands braced on the coffee table. Legs slightly apart. Just like he had before.
Colin didn’t move right away. He watched. Let the silence stretch until the watching became almost unbearable. Then he stood.
He walked behind Miles slowly, eyes dragging over every inch of his body. He didn’t touch him. Not at first. He just stood there—his breath hot against Miles’s back, his presence a force in the air. Then one hand slid to Miles’s waist, the other to the back of his neck, pressing him gently, firmly, into position.
Jacob couldn’t look away. His heart was a drumbeat in his throat.
Colin leaned in, lips grazing Miles’s ear. “You remember how you begged?”
Miles shuddered. “Yes.”
“Then give him the show he wants.”
Colin stepped closer, and Miles arched his back instinctively, pressing his hips back just enough to make the curve of him fully visible. The fire crackled behind them, shadows dancing along the lines of their bodies—Colin towering over Miles, all slow command and coiled power.
He bent low, his lips grazing Miles’s neck. “Hands flat on the table,” he murmured, voice like a secret. “Back arched. Eyes down.”
Miles obeyed. His hands trembled slightly against the wood as he adjusted, baring himself even more. The stretch of his boxers over his ass left nothing to the imagination.
Jacob sat motionless, unable to speak, unable to move. His hands dug into the rug beneath him, breath shallow. He should have stopped this. He should have laughed it off. But instead—he burned for it.
Colin’s hands smoothed down the sides of Miles’s body, possessive, slow. Not touching skin—yet—but close enough that Miles’s whole frame trembled with anticipation. “Remember what you said?” Colin murmured, low and deliberate. “You said, ‘Please don’t stop.’”
Miles nodded, a soft, desperate sound catching in his throat. “I remember.”
Colin smiled. “Say it again.”
“Please…” Miles gasped, voice breaking. “Please don’t stop.”
Colin slid one hand to the back of Miles’s thigh, lifting just enough to adjust his stance wider. “You begged me for it,” he said. “Right here. Bent over and panting. Just like this. You wanted me to use you.”
Miles whimpered.
Colin gripped his hips, grinding against him—through their boxers only—but hard enough that Miles jolted forward, hands bracing tighter. The friction was obscene. Measured. Just enough.
And all the while, Colin’s eyes flicked sideways—to Jacob.
Jacob sat frozen, jaw clenched, his own cock pressing painfully against the front of his boxers. He was hard. Desperate. Jealous. Devastated. Watching the man he couldn’t quit dominate the boy he might love.
Colin thrust once more against Miles, slow and deep, then pulled away. “You’re shaking,” he whispered. “Still greedy for it.”
Miles stayed bent, breath ragged, hips twitching as Colin stepped back, untouched and entirely in control.
The room went silent—except for the fire, and the sound of three hearts beating too loud, too fast, and out of sync.
Miles was still bent forward, arms trembling slightly as he tried to hold the position Colin had commanded. His breaths came in shallow gasps, his back slick with heat, his boxers visibly tented and clinging to him. The air had gone too still—like the room itself was waiting.
And then it slipped out of him.
A soft, broken yelp—barely a whisper, but loud in the quiet.
“Ooh… fuck me, please.”
Silence.
Miles’s eyes flew wide as the words echoed, hanging between them like a secret screamed in church. His cheeks went crimson, his head dropping instantly in shame. “I—shit—I didn’t mean—” he stammered, his voice cracking as he started to rise from the position.
But Colin’s hand found the center of his back, holding him there—not forcefully, but firmly.
“You did,” Colin said quietly. “You meant it.”
Miles froze, breathing hard, face burning.
Jacob could barely process it. The words. The look in Colin’s eyes. The way Miles had just… surrendered, without meaning to. His own body screamed for release, but his chest felt like it was caving in.
Colin looked over at Jacob, gaze slow and steady. “Your dare,” he said softly, “cut deeper than you knew.”
Jacob shot to his feet, his whole body tense, his face flushed with something deeper than arousal. “What the fuck was that?”
Colin didn’t flinch. He straightened slowly, his hand sliding from Miles’s back as if removing the last piece of a performance. “You dared us to act it out.”
“That wasn’t acting,” Jacob snapped. “He begged you, Colin. He fucking begged.”
Miles turned, eyes wide, shame and confusion flooding his face. “Jacob—”
But Jacob was already backing away, grabbing his shirt from the floor. “This was supposed to be a joke. Just a bit of tension, some flirting. But you—” His voice broke. “You knew exactly what you were doing.”
Colin stood calmly, still shirtless, the firelight dancing over his bare chest. “You gave me permission,” he said, quiet. “Don’t be angry that you liked watching it… until you didn’t.”
Jacob shook his head, jaw tight, trying to speak—but no words came. He turned and stormed up the stairs, footsteps loud against the old wooden steps, the bedroom door slamming a second later.
Miles stood awkwardly, half-hard and half-horrified, unsure whether to follow. But Colin just sank onto the sofa, picked up his glass, and sipped the dregs of the wine like nothing had happened.
After a moment, Miles joined him, sitting close but not touching.
The fire crackled.
“I shouldn’t have said that,” Miles muttered. “That thing I said. It just—slipped.”
Colin glanced sideways, eyes soft but gleaming. “It wasn’t wrong.”
Miles laughed bitterly. “Jacob hates me now.”
“He doesn’t hate you,” Colin said. “He hates losing to me. And to you.”
They sat in silence for a moment, the air warm but thick. Then Miles spoke again, voice softer, cracked. “I wish it was just us sometimes. Like... no tension. No guilt. No third person watching.”
Colin set his glass down and leaned in slowly. “It could be,” he whispered. “All it takes is a little space. A little time away from him.”
Miles turned his head, lips parting to say something—but Colin’s mouth was already on his. The kiss was deep, slow, hungry. Not rushed. Not greedy. It was a promise disguised as seduction.
When they finally pulled apart, breathless, Colin rested his forehead to Miles’s. “I’ll fuck you like that,” he whispered. “Exactly like you need. And more. Just be patient.”
Miles nodded, eyes wide and lips red. “Okay.”
Colin pulled back with a slow, satisfied smile. “Goodnight, sweetheart,” he murmured, standing and padding quietly up the stairs.
Miles sat in silence, hard and aching and alone, staring into the fire.
|
*
The message delivered with a satisfying ping.
He imagined Miles rolling his eyes and laughing, maybe blushing just a little.
A moment passed before Miles replied.
Academic twink?
Excuse me, I’m a distinguished scholar in soft sweaters. Huge difference.
Also, he added,
you just admitted you have a type. Dangerous move.
Jacob’s grin deepened, tension melting from his shoulders.
Only dangerous if the type starts flirting back.
Who says I stopped? Miles wrote.
Jacob stared at the screen, a slow flutter building in his chest.
This—this was easy.
Real. Safe.
And maybe, just maybe, worth not running from.
Absolutely. Here’s the revised version of that last part with Jacob expressing a clear, more confident desire:
---
Jacob’s fingers danced over the screen, smirking as he typed:
You know you’re my type, Miles. And you know I’ve been thinking about topping a guy…
A beat later, Miles replied:
Oh? Well, well…
Is that a warning or an invitation?
Jacob bit his lip, feeling his cheeks warm.
*Depends—are you
Well… I am kinda horny tonight,
So I guess it’s a bit of both.
Jacob hit send, pulse quickening just enough to feel it.
A second passed. Then two.
Miles’s reply lit the screen:
Damn. You really know how to derail a guy’s evening lecture prep.
Now I’m just picturing you all confident and bossy… and it’s distracting as hell.
Another message followed immediately after:
Don’t play with me unless you’re planning to back it up.
Jacob smiled to himself, heart racing, caught somewhere between amusement and temptation.
Who says I’m playing?
And this time, he didn’t take his eyes off the screen.
What if I came over…
Would your housemates mind you screaming my name?
Jacob stared at the message a moment, then hit send with a wicked grin, pulse fluttering in his throat.
Miles’s reply came fast:
You little shit.
I just spat my tea out.
They already think I’m weird—might as well give them a show.
Another bubble appeared:
Seriously though… come over. If you mean it.
Door’s open.
Jacob sat up slowly, heart pounding now for entirely different reasons.
Maybe it was the timing.
Maybe it was the way Miles saw him—without all the shadows.
But maybe, just maybe… it was the first time he was choosing something without needing to feel owned to feel wanted.
