Chapter Twenty-Five
Dean
I walk in to apologize to Alex for snapping earlier, nerves twisting in my gut.
I know things have been brutal for him, and I was a dick earlier—necessary, maybe, but still out of line.
I’m ready to say all of that, but the second I open the bathroom door, I freeze.
Alex is in the shower, water streaming down his body, stroking his cock—hard, slick, and thick in his fist. Oh shit.
The glass is fogged, but the sight is unmistakable.
My pulse quickens, heat churning low in my stomach.
I’ve seen Alex with women before, always confident, always in control, but this—this is different.
Raw. Private. And, fuck, I can’t say I’ve never thought about it.
What it would feel like to lick the barbells, and taste him.
I step closer, unable to look away. Alex doesn’t stop—he just slows, his gaze locking on mine through the haze of steam, daring me, almost pleading.
“Hey. I’m sorry,” I manage, my voice rough, trying not to stare but failing miserably.
He sees right through me—he always does.
"I'm sorry, I know you don't—" I start, but my words dry up, nerves and want warring inside me. I turn away, almost bolting, but his voice snaps through the air—firm, sharp, a command I can’t ignore.
“Stop.” The word hits me like a physical force. He turns off the water, stepping out onto the towel, water dripping from every hard line of muscle. “I know what I’ve said,” he murmurs, eyes never leaving mine, and suddenly I’m not sure if I should stay or go—except I know I don’t want to leave.
My heart is pounding, adrenaline buzzing under my skin.
I want to keep my distance, keep things safe, but the heat between us is electric, impossible to ignore.
Alex’s voice drops, thick and raw with something that sounds like need and confession tangled together.
"I know what I’ve said, Dean, but honestly?
I don’t care anymore. I’m fucking aching.
" The words hang between us, crackling with urgency and something vulnerable—a plea and a challenge. I stand frozen, gaze flicking down to his cock, hard and slick in his hand, then back up to his face. He meets my eyes, and there’s so much heat there it almost makes me dizzy.
He strokes himself again, slower, a deliberate dare.
"Dean…" he murmurs, his tone dark and rough—a warning and an invitation at once.
Water beads on his skin, his black hair clings to his face, every muscle wound tight.
He starts moving faster, finding a rough, relentless rhythm as he braces one hand against the top of the shower door, every line of his body tense, waiting for me to make the call.
Then his eyes lock on mine, pupils blown wide, and his voice comes out low and commanding: "Dean, come here. "
That’s all it takes. My resolve breaks. I step forward, heart racing, and when Alex points to the floor, I sink to my knees in front of him—utterly willing, every nerve alight with want and tension.
The air between us is charged, humming with everything we’ve been holding back, the kind of anticipation that feels like it could snap the world in half.
I lean in and flick my tongue over the bead of precum at the tip, savoring the salty taste.
Alex lets out a deep, guttural groan—a sound I’ve heard a hundred times but never for me, never like this.
I wrap my lips around the swollen head, circling the first barbell with my tongue, exploring the hard steel and sensitive skin.
His hand slides into my hair, firm but not rough, guiding me down further.
There’s trust between us—he knows I want this, and I know exactly what I’m doing.
He’s different than Zayn, but the challenge only fuels me.
I hollow my cheeks, sucking him deeper, and Alex groans again—a raw, desperate sound that shoots straight through me.
I moan around him, letting the vibrations ripple along his cock, and he shudders, his grip tightening in my hair.
He starts to move, setting a quick, urgent rhythm, hips rocking forward as I match him stroke for stroke.
My hand wraps around the base, working in perfect sync with my mouth, sliding up and down in a slick, relentless pace.
Every time he thrusts, I let my throat open for him, letting him take what he needs, loving every second of his loss of control.
I can feel him starting to tense, muscles tight and body straining, and I know he’s close—his pleasure written in every line of his body, every sound that breaks from his lips.
"Oh fuck, goddamnit, Dean," Alex growls, voice rough and breathless, his abs tensing as pleasure overtakes him.
I keep up the suction, hollowing my cheeks, feeling every shudder and twitch in his thighs as his orgasm builds.
His hand tightens in my hair, holding me in place as his hips start to stutter, desperate and uncontrolled.
"Fuck, Dean, I'm gonna—" The warning is barely a gasp before he spills hot and thick down my throat, the taste salty and sharp. I don’t let up, milking every last spasm from him, swallowing greedily, savoring the way his body jerks with every pulse.
His muscles flex and strain, the room filled with the sound of his ragged breathing.
I draw back slowly, letting his cock slip from my mouth with a wet, satisfied pop, licking my lips as I look up at him—my own chest heaving, heart racing with the thrill of it all.
Alex’s chest rises and falls, sweat glistening along the lines of his abs and the dark hair that trails down toward his hips.
For a split second, he just stares at me—eyes wild, lips parted, pupils blown so wide they’re almost black.
Then, as the intensity ebbs, a slow, genuine smile spreads across his face, softening the sharp lines of him.
"No wonder Zayn fucking loves you," he says, a low, almost reverent laugh rumbling in his chest. The tension between us breaks, replaced by something gentle and a little awed.
I can’t help but grin, wiping the back of my hand over my mouth, still tasting him. “Speaking of Zayn, I’m gonna go find him," I say, heading for the door, feeling loose and light, every nerve humming with release.
Alex meets my eyes, and for a second, there’s something raw and grateful there—something I didn’t expect to see.
“Thanks, Dean.” He doesn’t have to say anything else; the weight of those words is enough.
I know exactly what he means. Whatever just happened between us, it mattered—a moment of real connection, a kind of release we both needed, whether it ever happens again or not.
I give him a small, genuine smile. “Goodnight, Alex.” The air between us feels lighter than it did when I first walked in—like we’ve both set something down, at least for tonight.
Zayn
I watch Dean slip out of the bathroom, cheeks flushed, hair mussed, still catching his breath.
He hesitates when he sees me in the hall, shoving his hands in his pockets, shoulders a little hunched.
“Hey,” he says, voice a little shaky, not quite meeting my eyes—like he’s not sure what I saw or what I’m thinking.
I can see it all over him: nerves, confusion, maybe even guilt.
It’s so un-Dean that for a second, I almost laugh, but I bite it back.
Honestly, it’s kind of cute, this big, tough guy looking like he just got caught sneaking out after curfew.
I grin, leaning against the wall and letting the curiosity show in my eyes. “Hey, yourself. Everything good in there?” I tease, not letting him off the hook but not pushing too hard either.
Dean glances away, rubs the back of his neck, then grabs my wrist and tugs me down the hall to the spare room—the room that’s become ours, even if we never said it out loud.
He closes the door behind us, still looking unsettled.
“I don’t know what happened,” he blurts, words tumbling out fast. “It just… felt right, so I went with it.” His eyes dart up to meet mine, anxious and uncertain, like he’s afraid I’ll judge him or pull away. But that’s the last thing I feel.
I step in close, my hands settling on his waist, grounding him, wanting to make this easier. “Dean, chill. Why are you panicking? Seriously—it’s fine. It’s more than fine. You’re adorable when you get all flustered, you know that? Don’t make it a thing, alright?”
Before he can say another word, I silence him with a hard, hungry kiss—claiming his mouth, pouring all my longing and relief into it.
If I had any questions about what exactly happened in there, I don’t once I taste Alex’s cum on his tongue.
My hands explore every inch of him, relearning the shape of his body, the heat of his skin, letting him feel just how much I’ve missed him.
I tug his shirt over his head, my lips trailing down his throat, across his collarbone, then lower to his chest. I take my time, teasing each nipple with slow, lingering flicks of my tongue, savoring the way his breath stutters and his groans vibrate against my mouth.
The sound of his pleasure drives me, fueling the hunger that’s been building for weeks.
I want to worship him, to remind him that he’s wanted—cherished—down to his bones.
I trace my tongue down his stomach, feeling him shiver beneath me, and make quick work of his pants, sliding them down and off.
By the time I drop to my knees, his cock is already hard for me, thick and flushed, and I waste no time—taking him into my mouth, sucking slow at first, then deeper, letting my tongue swirl and tease along the sensitive underside.
Dean’s hips roll into my rhythm, his hands tangling in my hair as I set a pace that has him groaning, lost and helpless to the need between us.
Every sound, every ragged breath, every tremor of his body is its own reward—and I want to keep giving, keep taking, until neither of us can think about anything else.
I let Dean’s cock slip from my mouth and rise to my feet, our eyes locking in a silent understanding that thrums between us.
“I need you to fuck me, Zayn. Please.” The words come out rough, pleading, every ounce of his longing laid bare.
That’s all I need—my restraint snaps. I strip off my clothes, tossing each piece aside with trembling hands, desperate to feel every inch of him against me.
The lube is cool in my palm as I slick my fingers, desire sparking through my veins.
For so long, I thought I’d never have this again—never feel him like this, never hear his voice break with need for me.
Dean props one knee on the edge of the bed, the other foot planted securely on the floor, offering himself up without hesitation.
His body is flushed, the head of his cock leaking precum as he strokes himself harder.
I move in behind him, letting my free hand roam the curve of his back, feeling the heat radiate from his skin.
My slicked fingers circle his entrance, and he shudders, hips rolling back toward me, greedy for more.
I ease one finger in, then another, working him open slowly, savoring the way his breath stutters and his body clenches around me.
He whimpers my name, the sound raw, and I press a kiss to the back of his neck, reassuring and possessive.
When I finally line myself up and press inside, it’s slow—agonizingly slow—giving him time to adjust, feeling every inch of him stretch and yield around me.
He groans, hand fisting his cock harder, and I pause, buried deep, just breathing him in.
His body is tight, hot, and welcoming, and for a moment, it’s almost overwhelming.
He never stops stroking himself, his fist moving in time with my hips as I start to thrust—first slow, then picking up the pace, rougher, deeper, our rhythm building with every slap of skin on skin.
My hand slides around to grip his throat, the other anchoring him at his hip, and I lean in, words rough against his ear.
“I fucking missed you, my good fucking boy.”
Dean moans, pushing back, taking everything I give, his body pliant and hungry. Every sound he makes, every desperate gasp and broken plea, drives me fucking insane.
The room is filled with the sounds of us—our breath, the slap of my hips against his ass, the slick slide of my cock inside him.
My orgasm is building, coiling tight in my belly, but I want him to tip over first. “Come on, Dean, show me how much you fucking missed me,” I snarl, tightening my grip on his throat just enough to make him gasp.
That’s all it takes—he comes with a shout, thick spurts painting the sheets, his body clenching down on me so hard I see stars.
I keep thrusting through his orgasm, chasing my own release, and when it finally hits, it’s blinding—I spill deep inside him, every muscle tensing, my vision going white at the edges.
We collapse together in the mess, tangled and shaking, sweat-slicked and breathless, clinging to each other as the world slowly seeps back in.
For the first time in what feels like forever, I am almost whole. Almost.