The dorm room was dimly lit, the only source of light coming from the small bedside lamp that cast soft, golden shadows on the walls. The air was thick with the lingering scent of warm shower steam and fresh soap, clinging to Caleb's skin as he stepped out of the bathroom, a towel wrapped loosely around his waist.
His damp hair was messy from towel-drying, stray droplets tracing slow, lazy paths down his collarbones and chest. Exhaustion pulled at his muscles after an intense training session, and all he wanted was to collapse onto his bed.
As he got into his shorts, he turned toward the lump on the other bed.
"The shower's free," Caleb said casually, stretching his arms before preparing to fall into bed.
Silence.
Frowning, he glanced toward Christian, who was lying on his stomach, face buried into his pillow.
Caleb called out again, voice laced with irritation. "Yo, Evans, is your stomach hurting again?"
A muffled groan. Then, a sharp, annoyed response. "Why do you care, Weston? Leave me the hell alone."
Caleb rolled his eyes. Of course. He had only been trying to help, but Christian always had a way of making him regret it.
"Fuck you! I'm just trying to help," Caleb snapped back, throwing himself onto his bed.
More muffled noises. This time, softer, breathier—almost like strained groans. Caleb's irritation wavered, replaced by mild concern. He turned his head toward Christian, brow furrowing.
"If your stomach hurts, let me call the nurse or the coach."
Christian's head lifted slightly from the pillow, his voice sharper now, laced with frustration.
"It's not the stomach. Leave me alone!"
Caleb huffed, shifting onto his back and grabbing his phone, scrolling through social media to distract himself. Fine. If the asshole didn't want help, that was his problem.
But Christian wouldn't stop moving.
Every few minutes, the bed creaked softly under his shifting weight. More muffled groans, a frustrated sigh, then silence, only for the restless movements to start again.
Caleb clenched his jaw, his patience thinning.
"Can you be quiet? If nothing hurts, why the fuck are you making so much noise?!"
A pause. Then, Christian's voice, breathy and laced with irritation.
"Die, Weston."
Caleb exhaled loudly, dropping his phone onto his chest before turning onto his side, propping himself up on one elbow.
"What is your problem?" he demanded.
A moment of hesitation. Then, Christian's voice, quieter this time.
"I can't tell you."
Caleb's brows furrowed. That was new.
"Why?"
Another pause.
"Because you are not trustworthy."
A sharp laugh burst from Caleb's throat.
"Oh yeah?! Tell me that right to my face, you fucker."
And before Christian could react, Caleb reached out and grabbed his shoulder, flipping him onto his back with little effort.
Christian gasped, his face flushing a deep red as he tried to struggle against the sudden movement. But Caleb wasn't paying attention to his protests—his gaze had already dropped, locking onto the obvious bulge beneath Christian's shorts.
For a second, neither of them spoke.
"The fuck is wrong with you, Evans?" Caleb blurted out.
Christian quickly moved back onto his stomach.
"Why did you do that?! Don't touch me!"
Caleb tilted his head, realization settling over him. "Did you get hurt in the groin area?"
"No! Just leave me the fuck alone, you nuisance. Don't stick your nose into my business!"
Caleb smirked.
"I think your business is very much sticking itself out."
Christian let out an exasperated groan, burying his face into the pillow.
"It is not your problem. Don't be such a noisy jerk and go to your bed."
But Caleb wasn't done yet. There was no way he was letting this go now.
"Do you think I'm that hot that you got yourself a boner?" he teased, smirking.
Christian lifted his head just enough to glare at him.
"Shut the fuck up, Weston! Not everything is about you and your gigantic ego!"
Caleb ignored him, still grinning.
"Why don't you… go into the bathroom and take care of it? Like a fucking normal person. You weirdo."
Christian stiffened at that, his ears burning.
"Because it is not your business! And don't you dare mention any of this to our teammates."
Caleb leaned forward slightly. "Do you have some kind of medical condition?"
Christian let out a frustrated groan, fists clenching. "Just fuck off. I do not have any medical condition, you dumbass. I just… I… I just don't know how to jerk off."
Silence.
Caleb's smirk faded as his brain processed the words. For a solid few seconds, he just… stared.
Then—
"You… do not know how?!"
Christian's entire body tensed. "YEAH! I DO NOT KNOW HOW! Not everybody is a pervert like you who masturbates probably since twelve years old! And… it hurts when I try to do it."
Caleb blinked. "I jerked off for the first time at thirteen years old, which is very normal, thank you very much. And what do you mean it hurts?! What the heck hurts?!"
Christian refused to look at him. He hated that this was happening with Caleb of all people.
Caleb's grin slowly returned. "Wait… are you cut?"
Christian frowned. "Cut?"
"Yes, cut. Do you have foreskin?" Caleb waved a hand vaguely. "Is your dick covered with… extra-skin?"
Christian hesitated. "…No."
Caleb was shocked. "You're fucking serious?! This entire time, your issue was that you're cut and didn't know how to jerk off properly?!"
Christian grabbed the nearest pillow and slammed it into Caleb's face.
"SHUT THE FUCK UP, WESTON! JUST LEAVE ME ALONE!"
But Caleb just peeled the pillow off his face, biting his lip, still grinning.
"Oh my god. You poor, poor bastard."
Christian growled. "I swear, I will KILL YOU!"
Caleb wiped at his eyes, his laughter dying down as his gaze settled on Christian again—this time, his voice was lower. Smoother.
"So… you really don't know how to do it without pain?"
Christian swallowed. His heart pounded. He couldn't answer. But his silence was an answer.
Caleb ran his tongue along his bottom lip, tilting his head. He was still amused, but now? Now he was also… curious.
"Do you want me to show you how?"
Christian froze.
Christian's breath hitched in his throat. "W-what?"
Caleb smirked, lifting one shoulder in an easy shrug, his fingers gripping the edge of Christian's bed frame as he leaned in slightly.
"I mean, clearly, you suck at it. And I'm feeling generous tonight."
Christian bolted upright so fast he nearly knocked heads with Caleb.
"NO!"
The sheer desperation in his voice only made Caleb's grin widen. He didn't move back.
Instead, he bit his bottom lip, eyes dark with something unreadable.
"You sure?" Caleb murmured, voice low and taunting. "'Cause your body's telling me something else, Evans."
Christian clenched his jaw, mortified.
But Caleb wasn't done yet. Not even close.
Slowly, he straightened, stretching his arms above his head with a lazy, deliberate motion, the shorts on his waist shifting slightly. Not enough to reveal anything, but enough to make Christian's gaze flicker downward for half a second too long.
Caleb saw it. Oh, he definitely saw it.
He let out a soft chuckle, stepping even closer until his knee pressed against the side of Christian's mattress, making Christian to back off and sit on the bed.
"Let me get this straight," he mused, tapping a finger against his chin, "you've got a problem, I'm offering a solution, and you're still saying no?"
Christian sucked in a breath. "It's not that simple—"
"No, it is," Caleb cut him off smoothly, dropping onto the bed without invitation.
Christian nearly flinched away, but he had nowhere to go—his back hit the headboard, his heart hammering like a trapped animal's.
"See, the way I see it," Caleb continued, "you either keep doing it wrong and stay miserable, or you learn from someone who knows what the fuck they're doing."
Christian's face burned. "I-I can't—"
"You can," Caleb corrected him, tilting his head slightly. His hair was beginning to dry in soft waves, the scent of his soap still clinging to his skin.
"You just don't want to admit you need help."
Christian swallowed hard, his throat dry. Caleb exhaled, then—very deliberately—brushed the back of his knuckles against Christian's wrist.
The lightest touch. Barely there. But Christian felt it like an electric shock.
Caleb's gaze flickered downward, landing on Christian's lap before dragging back up to meet his eyes.
His smirk softened, his expression turning into something just slightly more serious.
"Let me show you."
Christian's breath stuttered.
Caleb didn't push further. Not yet. He simply sat there, close enough that Christian could feel his body heat, but not touching him.
"It will feel good, Evans," he murmured, voice a deep, smooth promise. "I'll make sure of it."
Christian didn't move. Didn't breathe. Caleb was too close. Too fucking close.
The warmth of his skin radiated through the small space between them, and Christian swore he could feel every shift of his body, every subtle breath, every molecule of air charged with Caleb's scent—clean soap, something fresh and citrusy, something that made his stomach twist in a way he didn't understand.
He was used to Caleb being a cocky bastard. That, he could handle. But this?
Caleb, with his smirk softened into something dangerously smooth.
Caleb, lowering his voice like a slow, deliberate caress.
Caleb, touching him with just the back of his knuckles, teasing, light, as if he had all the time in the world to unravel him?
That, Christian was not prepared for.
"So tense," Caleb murmured. His eyes flickered downward, taking in the way Christian had practically folded into himself, pressing his back against the headboard like he could sink into it.
"Relax, Evans. I don't bite."
His smirk curled. "Unless you want me to."
Christian's breath hitched.
Caleb chuckled, his hair falling lazily over his forehead. His fingers flexed once before moving—slow, deliberate, confident. His hand ghosted over Christian's wrist again, but this time, he let his fingertips linger. Let them trace up along the inside of his forearm, featherlight.
Christian sucked in a sharp breath, his skin erupting in goosebumps.
"W-what are you—"
"Shhh," Caleb murmured, his fingers sliding up further, barely grazing the edge of Christian's bicep.
It was ridiculous how casual he made it look—like it wasn't a big deal at all, like he wasn't slowly pulling Christian apart at the seams.
Christian clenched his jaw, trying to ignore the way his heart was slamming against his ribs, the way his entire body felt wired, hyper-aware of every single one of Caleb's movements.
And then—Caleb did something truly evil.
He leaned in closer.
Not enough to touch. But enough that Christian could feel the warmth of his breath against his neck, against his jaw, against the shell of his ear.
A shiver rolled through Christian's spine, and Caleb fucking felt it. A slow, pleased chuckle rumbled in his chest.
"Didn't take you for the sensitive type, Evans."
Christian's hands fisted into the sheets, his face heating up so fast it was dizzying.
"Fuck off, Weston," he gritted out, though his voice was not nearly as strong as he wanted it to be.
Caleb's fingers finally skimmed the hem of Christian's shorts.
Not pushing, not pulling, just hovering.
Christian's breath hitched so hard he was sure Caleb noticed.
"See," Caleb mused, his voice a lazy, sinful drawl, "if you'd just let me teach you, you wouldn't have to suffer through this."
Christian's stomach tightened.
Caleb wasn't even doing anything yet, and his body was already betraying him in the worst possible way. His throat was dry, his fingers digging into the mattress like his life depended on it.
And then, as if to make it worse—Caleb finally touched him.
His palm flattened against Christian's stomach, just above his waistband, pressing warm and firm against the tense muscles there.
Christian's entire body jerked at the contact, a choked sound caught in his throat.
Caleb smirked against his skin, his lips just barely grazing Christian's jaw as he murmured—
"You're shaking, Evans."
Christian jerked away from Caleb's touch like he'd been burned.
His breath was erratic, his body too hot, too tense, too aware of every single inch of Caleb pressing into his space.
"S-stop," he stammered, but it was weak. Embarrassingly weak.
Caleb just laughed. Low. Slow. That infuriating, cocky sound that made Christian's stomach twist even harder.
"Why?" Caleb murmured, his hand still resting right above Christian's waistband, fingers flexing slightly, teasing.
Christian tried to push at his chest—tried to shove him away—but Caleb barely budged.
"You're not even trying, Evans," Caleb mused, smirking as he caught Christian's wrists and pinned them down against the bed.
Christian's lungs seized.
"Fuck." The weight of Caleb's body pressing against him was too much—too warm, too solid, too fucking dominant. Christian thrashed instinctively, but Caleb was stronger. So much stronger.
"Let me go, asshole!" Christian growled, twisting in his grip.
Caleb tch'ed softly, amused. "Mm. No." His grip tightened just enough to make Christian's breath hitch again.
"I think you like being handled, Evans," Caleb mused, tilting his head as he studied Christian's flushed face, the way his chest rose and fell rapidly.
Christian's fingers curled into the sheets.
"I don't," he gritted out. "I hate you."
Caleb's smirk widened. "No, you hate that you like this."
And then—Caleb pressed his thigh against Christian's lap.
The choked sound that escaped Christian's lips was the exact moment he lost.
Caleb felt the way his body tensed, the way his hips almost jerked up in reflex before he stopped himself.
He laughed softly, voice husky, his lips hovering dangerously close to Christian's ear.
"That's what I thought."
Christian turned his head, trying to escape the heat of Caleb's breath against his skin.
"F-fuck off."
Caleb hummed. "Still fighting?"
His fingers slid lower. And lower. And then—he cupped Christian through his shorts.
Christian made a noise that he would never, ever admit to making.
His entire body arched, muscles locking up. His mind short-circuited.
"Wha—"
"See? That's much better." Caleb murmured, rolling his palm, slow and steady.
Christian whimpered. Fucking whimpered. His face burned, but his body was betraying him completely. The sensation was nothing like before. No pain. Just—pleasure.
Warmth. Pressure. Caleb.
"You feel that?" Caleb murmured, his tone infuriatingly smug.
Christian squeezed his eyes shut.
"Shut up," he whispered.
Caleb chuckled. "Make me." And then—he squeezed.
Christian gasped. His hips bucked up before he could stop them.
Caleb grinned.
"You're so fucking easy, Evans."
Christian tried to escape for the last time, but Caleb's hand wasn't leaving. He wasn't letting go.
"Still want me to stop?" Caleb taunted. "Or are you gonna let me teach you properly?"
Christian's breath shuddered out of him. His pride was still there. Hanging on by a fucking thread. But the way Caleb was touching him… It felt too good. He bit his lip. Swallowed hard.
And then—Christian finally broke. His voice was barely a whisper.
"Show me."
Caleb grinned like he'd just won the championship. Like this was a game, and Christian had just handed him the prize. His hand tightened around Christian's wrists.
"Good boy," he murmured, voice low, smooth, dripping with satisfaction.
Christian's stomach tightened. His body twitched under Caleb's grip, and for a second—just a second—his pride almost made him back out.
But then Caleb moved again. Slow. Deliberate. Controlled. He pressed his palm fully against Christian's clothed cock, rubbing in one smooth motion, applying just the right amount of pressure.
Christian whimpered again to his shame.
"F-fuck," he breathed, his hips reacting before he could stop them.
Caleb hummed in approval, dragging his fingers up, teasing the waistband of Christian's sweats.
"See?" he murmured. "Feels better already, doesn't it?"
Christian squeezed his eyes shut. It was humiliating. So humiliating. But he couldn't deny it. It felt… good. So much better than before.
Caleb let out a soft chuckle, his free hand reaching toward the desk near Christian's bed.
Christian barely registered the soft click of a cap opening before— Caleb's hand slid under his waistband.
Something cool and smooth touched his skin.
Christian's eyes snapped open.
"W-what—"
"Relax," Caleb purred, voice almost mocking. He rubbed Christian's dick, spreading the slick substance.
Hand cream.
Christian swallowed hard, his throat dry.
Caleb lowered his voice even more.
"This will help."
Christian jerked, his entire body going stiff.
"Oh, fuck. "
Caleb didn't hesitate. His slick fingers wrapped around Christian's cock, moving slow, careful, precise. Not too tight. Not too fast.
And for the first time in his entire fucking life— It didn't hurt.
Christian's breath shattered.
Caleb released his wrists and he immediatly fisted the sheets, his thighs tensing.
"Holy—" A sharp gasp cut him off as Caleb twisted his wrist slightly, adding the perfect amount of friction. It felt so fucking good. Christian's mind went blank. Every logical thought, every ounce of resistance, every part of him that had wanted to fight evaporated in an instant.
"See?" Caleb murmured against his ear. "That's how it's supposed to feel."
Christian couldn't respond. He could barely think. His hips rocked into Caleb's hand on instinct. His body was on fire, burning from the inside out.
He hated this. Hated that it was Caleb making him feel this way. Hated that he didn't want him to stop.
And Caleb knew it.
"Told you I'd make sure it felt good," he whispered, voice dark and smooth.
Christian let out a broken sound. He was so fucked.
Caleb shouldn't be enjoying this so much either. This had started as a joke—a way to mess with Christian, to see him squirm, to break through that tight-lipped, stubborn little wall of his. He had expected resistance. Had been prepared for Christian to fight him, to throw a punch, to curse him out. He hadn't expected this. He hadn't expected Christian to sound like that. To breathe like that. To move like that.
Caleb's fingers tightened slightly around Christian's cock, dragging his hand up in a slow, slick motion, his palm gliding with ease thanks to the hand cream.
He could feel everything. The way Christian twitched under his touch, the way his hips bucked forward like he couldn't control it, the way his muscles trembled.
"Fuck. " Caleb's own body reacted before his brain could stop it. A slow, hot curl of arousal pooled low in his stomach, and he realized— He was getting hard. His smirk wavered for half a second, surprise flickering through him. Because of this? This was supposed to be funny. Not… not hot. Not something that would make his pulse spike and his breathing go shallow. Not something that would make his fingers twitch, aching to touch Christian more, push him further, wreck him completely. Caleb dragged his thumb lazily over the leaking tip, smirking as Christian choked on a moan.
"Shit." That sound shot straight through Caleb's spine, twisting something deep in his gut. Arousal spiked in his blood like a slow-burning fire. Oh, this was so much more sexy than he thought it would be.
Christian was unraveling. Completely. His breath was erratic, his chest rising and falling too fast, his fingers digging into the sheets like they were his only lifeline.
Caleb could see it all.
Every twitch of his muscles. Every shaky breath. Every barely contained whimper that threatened to break free.
And Caleb? Oh, he was so fucking gone. Christian was not supposed to sound like that. And Caleb was not supposed to be this fucking hard. But he was. His shorts were tight, his own arousal pulsing hot and insistent between his legs. But none of that mattered. Not when Christian—Christian fucking Evans—was finally giving in.
Caleb leaned in, lips brushing against Christian's jaw. Soft. Featherlight. A mockery of a kiss.
"Bet you've never sounded like this before," he murmured, voice low and thick with heat.
Christian groaned. Caleb felt it. Felt it in his gut. In his blood. In the way his dick throbbed so hard he almost groaned out loud too. This was so fucked. And he wanted more. So much more.
"What's wrong, Evans?" Caleb taunted, dragging his thumb over the head of Christian's cock. Slow. Torturous.
Christian jerked, a sharp gasp breaking past his parted lips.
"S-shut up," he panted. "Just—fuck off—"
Caleb grinned. Oh, he loved this. Loved seeing him like this—flushed, wrecked, on the edge of something he didn't understand. Loved the way he was falling apart beneath him, completely helpless to stop it.
Christian's hips bucked. Instinctively. Desperately. And that's when Caleb knew. Knew that he could break him. That he could drag this out until Christian was begging. Until he was shaking, pleading, falling to pieces. Caleb's hand slowed. His fingers barely moved. Just enough to tease. To drive Christian insane, but not enough to satisfy him.
And Christian felt it immediately. The lack of friction. The denial. The agonizing, unbearable need. His chest heaved, his lips parting on a broken sound.
Caleb smirked. "Something you want, Evans?"
Christian's face burned. He wanted to fight. Wanted to curse him out, call him a smug bastard, push him away. But his body? His body was a fucking traitor. His hips lifted, chasing Caleb's touch.
Caleb continued with his slowly, imperceptible hand movements.
Christian whined. Actually whined.
And Caleb's entire body reacted. His dick throbbed so hard he almost lost his own self-control. But no. He wasn't done yet.
"You were just telling me to fuck off a minute ago," Caleb murmured, voice dripping with amusement. "But now? Now you're making noises like that?"
Christian's fingers clenched in the sheets. He wanted to die. He wanted to punch Caleb. He wanted to tell him to shut the fuck up. But most of all? He wanted him to keep going.
"You want me to keep going, don't you?" Caleb's voice was low. Rough. So, so smug.
Christian's breath hitched. He squeezed his eyes shut tighter, shaking his head.
"N-no—"
Caleb's smirk darkened. "Liar." And then— He stopped. Pulled his hand away completely.
Christian froze. His body twitched involuntarily, his hips still slightly raised, expecting more that never came. The lack of touch was unbearable.
Christian's stomach clenched painfully, frustration crawling up his spine.
Caleb waited. Watched. Waited for Christian to break. And then—it happened.
Christian's fingers clutched the sheets so hard his knuckles turned white. His head tilted back against the pillow, his chest rising and falling quickly.
And then— A whisper. So soft. So broken.
"Please."
Caleb's lungs tightened.
"Fuck. Oh, fuck. " His smirk faltered. His own dick ached painfully in his sweats. Because—holy shit. He had actually made him beg. And he had never wanted to ruin someone more.
Caleb stared at him. At Christian, flushed and ruined, his chest heaving, his lips parted.
At the desperate plea still lingering in the air.
"Please."
Something snapped inside Caleb. He had never—never— heard Christian sound like that before. And fuck if it didn't make him dizzy with want. A slow smirk curled over Caleb's lips.
"Say it again."
Christian's breath stuttered. He shook his head, jaw clenched tight.
Caleb's smirk darkened. He wrapped his fingers back around Christian's cock and didn't move. Didn't give him anything. Just held him there. Let him feel the weight of it. The possibility of it.
Christian whined.
Caleb's dick twitched.
He leaned in, his lips brushing against Christian's jawline, barely touching, but close enough to drive him insane.
"Say it again," he murmured, his voice dropping to a rough, taunting whisper.
Christian shivered. His head tilted back involuntarily, exposing the long column of his throat.
Caleb almost groaned. His fingers tightened just slightly, teasing.
Christian's hips twitched. His body wanted more. More of Caleb' touch. And then—he finally broke. A whisper.
"Please."
Caleb grinned. "Good boy." And then— He moved. Slow at first, dragging his hand down Christian's length, letting the slick warmth spread, letting the pressure build.
Christian gasped, his whole body tensing.
Then—faster. More. More. Until Christian was shaking, panting, writhing beneath him. His hips snapped up involuntarily, chasing the friction, his thighs trembling.
Caleb's own breathing was rough now, his body burning, his cock pounding. Because this was so much hotter than he ever imagined. The way Christian completely unraveled for him. The way he let him take control. The way he fell apart under Caleb's hands, breathless and wrecked and perfect.
"Caleb—" Christian's voice was high and broken and desperate.
Caleb felt his own stomach tighten at the sound of his name on Christian's fully lips. It had always been Evans and Weston. A sharp, mutual hatred. Always taunts, sarcasm, sharp edges. But Caleb…Christian never called him that.
"I know, baby," he murmured, barely thinking anymore.
Christian whimpered.
Caleb groaned.
"Fuck. " He wanted—
Christian tensed—his breath hitched— And then he shattered.
A choked, ragged gasp, his whole body arching as pleasure crashed over him, sharp and intense and overwhelming.
Caleb didn't stop. Not until Christian had ridden it all out. Not until he was trembling and wrecked and barely breathing. Only then did Caleb pull back, his own chest heaving, his own body hot and aching and on the edge.
Christian wasn't moving. His eyes were still shut, his lips parted, his body completely limp against the mattress.
Caleb swallowed. This was a Christian he wanted to see again.
Christian's chest was still heaving. His skin felt too hot, too sensitive, too alive. His mind? Fucking blank. He couldn't think. Could barely even breathe.
But Caleb wasn't moving. He was still there. Still close. Still watching him.
Christian's stomach tightened. His fingers twitched where they were still tangled in the sheets, his body too tired to move, but his mind screaming at him to do something. Because Caleb should've let go by now. He should've pulled back. Should've laughed, made a joke, called him a dumbass and walked away like he always did. But he didn't. He was still there. Still touching him. His fingers were tracing lazy circles along the inside of Christian's thigh, his thumb skimming over overheated skin. Too soft. Too intimate.
Christian's stomach lurched. His breath caught in his throat. "C-Caleb—"
A slow smirk curled over Caleb's lips hearing his name again. He could get used to that.
"You look good like this, Evans."
Christian's lungs seized. Caleb's voice was low, rough, dripping with satisfaction. And something else. Something he wasn't ready to name.
His fingers kept moving. Kept teasing. Kept stroking along the inside of Christian's thigh, up toward his hip, slow and unhurried.
Christian's breath turned ragged again. His body reacted again—his thighs tensing, his stomach clenching, his head tipping back against the pillow.
And Caleb noticed. Oh, he definitely noticed.
His smirk turned wicked. "You're still so sensitive," he murmured, dragging his fingertips higher.
Christian's clenched his teeth. His body was betraying him again. He could feel it. The warm pulse low in his stomach, the tension creeping back into his muscles. The lingering heat that wasn't going away.
"Oh, fuck." He needed to stop this. Now.
Caleb's cock throbbed at the sight of a panting, body trembling, face burning Christian, not knowing what's going in Christian's mind. Because holy fuck. Christian had just come, and yet he still reacted like that. Still so needy. So sensitive.
Caleb should have felt victorious. He should have been smirking, teasing, dragging this out even more. But something about the way Christian was looking at him—like he was scared of himself, of what had just happened, of Caleb—made something in Caleb's chest tighten. For the first time, he hesitated.
What the fuck are we doing? His body was still aching, still burning, still so fucking hard from all of this—but Christian? Christian looked like he was on the edge of spiraling. Caleb wasn't supposed to care. But—fuck. Maybe he did. Just a little. Caleb exhaled, shaking his head, forcing himself to pull back.
Christian's heart was pounding. His mind was screaming. And before Caleb could say anything, he scrambled off the bed and bolted for the bathroom. The door slammed shut and pure panic rised in his chest. Panic for what just happend and panic for what will come next.
Caleb sat there. Still. Silent. His hand was still hovering in the empty space where Christian had been just seconds ago. His own chest was rising and falling too fast, his own body still burning. And for the first time since this whole thing started— He had no fucking idea what to do next.
He was fucked too.
Neither of them will be the same after this.