8
Cole
I’m sat in the middle of the chaos, at the biggest table in the back corner of the campus café.
The aircon blasting cold enough to raise goosebumps on my arms, even though the July heat is trying to cook us alive.
Thank fuck for indoor seating today, nobody’s dumb enough to eat on the quad when it feels like breathing soup.
The whole team’s here, crammed around the long table like a pack of overgrown kids: shorts, vests, thin tees clinging to sweaty skin, hair damp at the temples, trays loaded with burgers, fries, and milkshakes, whatever the line had that looked edible.
Plates clatter, guys shout over each other, and laughter bounces off the walls.
Remy’s right beside me, like always, dead centre of the mess.
His arm’s slung casually over the back of my chair, fingers brushing my shoulder every time he reaches for the ketchup or steals a fry off my tray.
He’s been his usual cocky, idiot self these past couple days: loud on the field, throwing trash talk, laughing too big at Tyler’s dumb jokes, owning every room he walks into.
But when it’s just us… when the dorm door closes and it’s only him and me…
he turns into this blushing, quiet mess.
Eyes dropping, cheeks pink, voice soft. It’s adorable, and every time he goes shy, I have to fight the urge to kiss the look right off his face.
Hannah’s still sleeping in our dorm every night.
It’s driving me fucking insane. I haven’t heard sex noises, thank Christ for small mercies, but I’ve had to watch her kiss him good morning, watch her curl into his side on the couch, watch them disappear into his room at night, while I shove earplugs in and pretend I don’t care.
I don’t hate her, none of this is her fault.
She’s innocent, she’s sweet, she’s kind…
but I don’t want her touching him anymore.
In my head he’s mine now. And I know he feels the same because every time she gets too close, he tenses and glances at me like he’s apologising without words.
Right now, he’s turned slightly away, playing some dumb thumb-wrestling game with Tyler, laughing loud and bright. The sound hits me square in the chest.
Jeb, across the table, leans forward, grinning wide. “Dude, I am so hyped for tomorrow. This party’s gonna be sick.”
I laugh, leaning back. “Should be good, bro. Hope you’ve got plenty of alcohol ’cause I, for one, need to get pissed.”
Jeb hollers. “That’s the spirit!”
Matteo jumps in, smirking. “We’re still on mission: get Cole laid.”
Remy tenses beside me, his whole body going rigid for half a second.
I smirk, loving that jealous streak he can’t hide.
I’m not planning to hook up with anyone tomorrow.
Last weekend? Yeah, I thought maybe a random girl would snap me out of this weirdness.
But turns out when you’ve already got fifteen years of love…
platonic, deep, and bone-level with someone…
a week and a few fucks is all it takes to flip the script.
No “getting to know you” phase. No learning habits, we already know everything. There’s no slow fall.
Tyler chucks a fry at me. “If you don’t get laid, I’ll buy you a sex doll.”
I bark a laugh. “You’d only steal it.”
Tyler grins and shoves a handful of fries in his mouth.
I finish my own fries, stand, and grab my bag. “See you idiots at practice in an hour.”
They all mock-salute me, QB privileges.
I roll my eyes, then look at Remy. “Come on, man.”
“Oh…” He grabs his bag, following close behind as I manoeuvre through the crowd.
I head down the back hallway; toward the old toilets nobody uses anymore because the new block out front is clean and modern. These ones are dingy and half-forgotten. I push into the large disabled room, holding the door for him.
“What are you doing?” he asks, stepping in.
I lock it behind us.
He raises a brow. “What…?”
I chuck both our bags next to the sink, then grab him under the thighs and lift. His back hits the wall with an oof.
“I know I said no sex,” I mutter, voice rough, “but I think we both need this.”
My mouth crashes into his, desperate, hungry, all teeth and tongue.
He groans into it, hands flying to my shoulders, legs wrapping around my waist as I grind up against him.
The friction is instant fire, his cock already hardening through his shorts, rubbing right against mine.
I’m gasping into his mouth, hips rolling without thought.
I kiss down his jaw, teeth grazing. “You know I don’t want to sleep with anyone at the party tomorrow, right?”
He moans against my neck, grinding harder. “You don’t?”
“Of course not…”
He sighs with relief. “Cole… please…”
I groan and pull back just enough to yank my shorts down and free myself. Then I tug his open too, rough, impatient, and line us up, skin on skin. No penetration, just slick friction, teasing, torturing.
He pulls me into another kiss, desperate. “I need you…”
I groan again, hips stuttering. “I can’t… not until you’ve made a decision, Remy.”
He nods fast, panting, grinding against me. “Yeah… I need to… need to break up with her. It’s not her I want.”
I bite his bottom lip, possessively. “And who do you want?”
He moans, head tipping back against the wall. “Oh, shut up.”
I stop moving completely. “Okay, let’s go then.”
“What? Wait… no…”
I raise a brow. “So, tell me.”
He whines, needy and pathetic, and presses his face to mine, arms looping around my neck. “You… obviously, Cole. It’s you…”
I inhale sharp. Let just the tip of my cock nudge inside him… no lube, no prep, careful not to push deeper. The stretch burns sweet, perfect. He moans loud, head falling back, thighs shaking around me.
I keep it there, just the head, grinding shallow, letting him feel me without giving him everything. “That’s it… good boy.”
He’s already leaking, cock throbbing against my abs. The angle’s brutal. He’s babbling, nonsense, pleas, my name, hands scrabbling at my shoulders.
I wrap a hand around his cock, stroking fast and rough. “Come on… give it to me. Come for me, Remy.”
He shatters, back arching off the wall as he spills hot over my fist. I follow right after, growling low, pulsing just inside of him, filling him with shallow thrusts until we’re both shaking. I don’t pull out right away. Just hold him there, forehead pressed to his, breathing hard.
“Fuck,” I whisper. “You’re gonna kill me.”
He laughs shakily. “Feeling’s mutual.”
I kiss him again, slow this time, soft. Then carefully pull out, tuck us both back in, and zip us up. We’re a mess, sweaty, flushed, clothes rumpled.
I rest my forehead against his one last time. “We’re doing this right.”
He nods. “Yeah.”
I kiss his nose. “Now fix your hair, pretty boy. We’ve got practice.”
He laughs, shoving me lightly. “Asshole.”
◆◆◆
I stand on the scorched turf in the middle of the practice field, sweat pouring off me in rivers, jersey plastered to my skin like a second, suffocating layer.
It’s fucking boiling… July at its worst, the kind of heat that makes the air shimmer and turns every breath into a hot, wet inhale.
The whole team’s drenched, vests and shorts clinging, hair matted, faces red.
Coach refused to cancel, but even he’s looking like he regrets it now.
We’re in the middle of a 7-on-7 scrimmage drill, me at QB, Remy lined up wide right, Tyler slot left, Jeb and Matteo blocking.
I call the play: quick slant to Remy, option to Tyler if the corner cheats.
The snap comes clean. I drop back three steps, eyes scanning.
Remy explodes off the line, sharp cut, hips low, burning his man.
I plant and fire, a tight spiral that hits him in stride.
He snags it one-handed, tucks, and turns upfield like he’s got rockets in his cleats.
“Nice throw, QB!” Coach bellows from the sideline, clipboard under his arm. “That’s what I want to see… clean, crisp, no hesitation!”
The guys whoop. Tyler jogs over, slapping my shoulder pad. “Man, you’re making us look good out here.”
I grin, wiping sweat from my eyes. “That’s my job.”
Remy jogs back, helmet off, hair soaked and sticking to his forehead. He bumps my fist. “Perfect ball, Cap.”
“Perfect hands,” I shoot back, and he laughs loud, the sound that always makes the whole field feel lighter.
We reset. Next play: play-action fake, deep post to Matteo. I sell the handoff hard, drop back, pump once to freeze the safety, then loft it. Matteo tracks it like a hawk, high-points the ball over two defenders, and comes down with it in the end zone.
Coach claps. “That’s football, boys! That’s execution! Cole, arm strength, decision-making, poise under pressure. That’s why you’re QB. Keep that shit up.”
We’re all soaked now, jerseys dark with sweat, shorts sticking to thighs, cleats squelching.
I rip my helmet off, toss it to the ground with a thud, grab my water bottle from the sideline cooler, and in pure desperation just tip it over my head.
Cold water cascades down my face, neck, and chest…
shock of relief so intense I groan out loud.
The jersey clings even tighter now, outlining every ridge of muscle.
Tyler cackles. “That’s a brilliant idea!”
He follows suit, dumping his own bottle over his head.
Half the team’s doing it now, water pouring, laughter ringing.
And of course, the girls are watching. They always are, sideline cluster of cheer squad and randoms, phones out, giggling, whistling as my wet jersey molds to me, hair dripping into my eyes, mouth open in relief.
Then a towel drops over my head, rough and sudden. I laugh, assuming it’s Tyler fucking with me again.
Someone shouts, “Yo, Remy, what the fuck are you doing?”
The team’s laughing, good-natured ribbing.
Remy’s voice is casual but loud: “Just drying him off!”
I yank the towel down, still laughing, and scrub it over my head before letting it drape around my shoulders like a cape. I look at him standing there with that cocky grin, towel in hand, eyes bright.
“Baby,” I say, voice low enough for just us, “it’s too hot for me to care about some desperate college girls looking at me.”
Remy freezes, eyes wide, not moving.
I frown and laugh at the same time. “What?”
He’s staring like I just grew a second head. I grab another water bottle from the cooler, twist the cap, and dump it straight over his head.
He yelps. “Oh my… what the fuck, Cole?!”
Water’s streaming down his face, soaking his jersey, hair plastered flat.
I laugh so hard I have to hold my stomach. “Don’t tell me you don’t feel better.”
Tyler jogs over, soaked too, jersey off now, bare chest gleaming, because of course he took it off; the guy will flirt with anything that moves. “Coach says we can leave early today. Too hot to carry on.”
“Oh good. I’m gonna have the fan on all night.”
“Anyway,” Tyler says, clapping my shoulder, “see you two tomorrow at Jeb’s!”
I pat his back as he runs off with a couple others.
Remy’s still staring, eyes locked on me, wide and stunned.
I frown again. “I think you need to cool off. Come on.”
He follows quietly, obedient, like a dog doing exactly what it’s told. Not talking.
We get back to the dorm; thank fuck Hannah isn’t back from her classes yet.
She’s actually been going again; she likely won’t be let out early like us.
The room’s quiet, cool and safe. I peel my soaked jersey off, toss it into the laundry hamper near the hallway, and push my wet hair back with both hands.
I turn to Remy. “Arms up.”
He doesn’t move. I shake my head at whatever’s got him frozen like this, hoping it’s not heat stroke or some shit.
I tug at the hem of his jersey. “Baby, come on, arms up. You’re soaked.”
His eyes flick around my face, bright red creeping up his neck.
But he finally lifts his arms. I pull the jersey off him, wet fabric sticking, peeling away slowly.
His chest is flushed, nipples hard from the sudden cold air.
I toss it in the hamper too. Then I drag him to the couch, flick the big standing fan on high, the cool breeze hits like mercy.
I slump down and he drops beside me. I groan at the relief.
Remy clears his throat and holds his palm out.
I don’t hesitate to intertwine our fingers and squeeze once.
He squeezes back. “You…”
I turn my head, waiting for him to finish. The fan blows through my hair, drying it in messy strands.
“You called me baby,” he says quietly. “Twice.”
Heat creeps up my neck. “Do I apologise or…?”
He shakes his head fast. “No. I just… wasn’t prepared.”
I grin. “It just slipped out.”
He huffs a laugh, blushing harder. “You’re obsessed with me.”
I roll my eyes. “If you say so.”
But I don’t let go of his hand.