Chapter 9 Things He Did That
THINGS HE DID: THAT
Nate
“It’s fine. I just have a problem. And several follow-up problems.”
She stuck in his head.
Her laughter, light and breathless, clung to the hollow of his chest like perfume.
That little stumble they’d turned into choreography, that flash of real delight in her eyes when he caught her just right.
The way her fingers had curled into the collar of his shirt.
She’d gasped when he spun her too close, and that hadn’t been part of the routine.
Neither was the way their thighs had locked together, bodies pressed flush, like they’d been designed for it.
Like they’d done it before.
He’d made it through dinner. Talked. Smiled. Faked normal like it didn’t cost him everything. Cameras, castmates, clinking glasses… he'd played his role. But now? Alone?
This.
He was already hard by the time he kicked the apartment door closed behind him.
No fantasy. No buildup. Just the violent snap of restraint giving way the moment he didn’t have to keep it in anymore.
He stripped on the way to the bathroom like a man tearing free from chains.
Jacket? Floor. Shirt? Gone. Belt yanked loose with a savage tug, jeans shoved down like they’d offended him.
His boxers clung low on his hips, one very telling spot damp with need and the weight of everything he wasn’t saying.
For a moment he hesitated, thumbs sliding beneath where the elastic waistband bit into his hips.
The cotton had gone tight, stretched over the weight of him.
Already thick, already pulsing with the need that left no room for patience.
He dragged the fabric down slowly, breath shallow, jaw locked. When it caught over the swollen head of his cock, he hissed through his teeth, not from pain but from contact
The friction was maddening. Excruciating. Just enough to make his thighs tense and his body jerk, instinct tightening low in his gut. He freed himself with a rough exhale, the fabric slipping past, baring him completely. And still, it wasn’t enough, not when he ached like this.
Not when she was the fucking reason.
The water hit his shoulders like absolution.
Scalding enough to sear the memory of her out of his mind.
Or so he hoped. Nate leaned a palm flat against the wall, jaw clenched, breath thick in his throat.
His other hand was on his cock before he could think, graceless and desperate, hips jerking forward with a hissed, "Fuck—"
There was no rhythm to it. No finesse. Just need. Brutal, suffocating need that had been coiling low in his spine for days. It owned him now.
Her name was already on his tongue. Holly.
It slipped out like a prayer. Like surrender.
He saw her in his head Fuck, he saw her.
Cheeks flushed, eyes wide, lips parted just the way they had been when she’d looked up at him after that last spin.
That stunned little exhale, like he’d pulled something from her without her realizing it.
His hips snapped forward, hand tightening, desperate to feel her.
Not even her body, just her presence, her energy, the way she existed in his world now like a sun he couldn’t look away from.
She’d touched his arm after the show. Just a thank you, nothing in it.
But he’d felt it like she'd slid her hand inside him and left fingerprints on his fucking soul.
“God, Holly…”
His head dropped forward and his gaze dropped, breath catching as he watched his own hand stroke the ache that’d haunted him all week. He was flushed, thick, already slick at the tip, twitching in his own grip like his body knew she wasn’t there and hated him for it.
Every motion felt too much. Too much, but not enough.
The veins stood out, angry and swollen, and he swore he could feel every beat of his pulse beneath his fingers.
He was hard like punishment, like guilt, like a man who couldn’t lie to himself anymore, and watching himself only made the shame hit harder.
Because it wasn’t his body he wanted to see.
It was hers.
The spray hit the back of his neck, but he was burning. He rocked into his hand, gritted teeth bared in the steam, chasing something he didn’t have a name for. It wasn’t just pleasure, it was possession. It was a craving to mark her, claim her, brand himself into her skin until she fucking knew.
He imagined her under him. Above him. In front of him with her lips wrapped around the pulsing head of his cock like it belonged to her. He imagined her knowing what she’d done to him. How easily she’d undone every single layer of self-control he’d ever built.
The pressure coiled tighter, unbearable. Heat roared in his gut, up his spine, behind his eyes like it was trying to burn him alive from the inside out. His muscles locked, thighs trembling, teeth bared like a man seconds from breaking. And then he snapped.
The release hit like violence. Like something stolen.
His body jerked, helpless, as pleasure tore through him so hard it left his vision white and his knees threatening to give.
It wasn’t clean. It wasn’t quiet. It was messy, desperate, and fucking drained him.
Hot ropes painted the tile, his stomach, his knuckles.
He didn't even remember the sounds he made, just the name he moaned through gritted teeth like a man being tortured.
“Holly—fuck—Holly—”
It echoed. Off the tile. Off his bones. He collapsed against the wall, panting, shivering, shaking like it had gutted him.
And still, it wasn’t enough. Not when her name was still clawing its way up his throat.
Not when he came thinking of her smile. Not when he hadn’t even touched her. Maybe he never would.
Maybe this was what ruin looked like now. Alone, in a too-expensive LA apartment under boiling water, gasping a woman’s name like it meant something. He leaned his forehead against the wall, letting the water beat down on the back of his neck. Breath slowing. Pulse still feral.
He didn’t want her. He couldn’t. She was just choreography. Just a fake relationship for the cameras.
Just his last shot at a second chance.
And yet his cock twitched again, forcing him to squeeze his eyes shut.
God fucking help him.
HAMMERHEADS: MURDER LINE EDITION
Jaime
you good, brick?
Cash
bro
i just watched your rumba and i’m hard
for YOU
what the fuck
Zeke
is this like
a trauma response??
do we need to call Sully
or an exorcist
Leo
i’ve fucked people with less eye contact than that routine
Hunter
that was not a dance
that was a live demonstration of a breeding kink
y’all need jesus
Roman
he’s not answering
which means he’s either dead
or currently trying to put his dick back in his body
Alex
can we not be so graphic
i was watching with my mom
she said “they have chemistry” and then sighed
like. deeply.
Cash
“chemistry” is wild
they were seconds away from setting off a pregnancy scare through the screen
Zeke
BLINK TWICE if she’s got you on a leash and you’re not mad about it
Jaime
no leash
he’s wagging his tail and rolling over on command
this is amazing
Hunter
fr though
she choreographed his soul
Leo
what if she steps on his neck
what if we get to see that on live television
i’m setting up a shrine just in case
Roman
if nate wins this season
i’m taking one of her classes
dead serious
Alex
you’d rupture a hip, don’t be stupid
Cash
nate, if you marry her
you can’t get suspended for fighting anymore
think about the growth arc
Jaime
wait do you think delaney sent him on the show
AS A SEXUAL REHABILITATION STRATEGY
Zeke
that’s actually genius
‘get the aggression out through rumba’
Leo
aggression is out, alright
he’s gonna need stitches in his sheets
Roman
still not answering.
he’s either fisting his cock
or writing poetry
no in-between
Alex
STOP SAYING FISTING
SOME OF US ARE PURE
Cash
not anymore baby boy
welcome to the club
Jaime
@brick
i swear to god
if you fall in love
and forget how to take a slapshot
i’m benching you for emotional misconduct
Nate
just opened this chat
genuinely not sure if i need holy water, a therapist, or to lie face-down in traffic
thanks for the support
go fuck yourselves
Leo
bro said ‘lie face-down in traffic’ like he didn’t just nut so hard he saw the season finale