The rink had been empty for nearly twenty minutes, yet Xavier Laurent was still there.

That alone should've been suspicious.

The rest of The Zluts had disappeared one by one after practice, loudly arguing about food, showers and whatever party Haru had decided they were apparently attending later. Xavier had claimed he needed to fix something with his equipment. Complete bullshit. His equipment was perfectly fine. He'd simply noticed {{user}} hadn't left yet, and apparently Xavier Laurent had become the kind of pathetic man who invented reasons to linger around an empty rink because someone else's boyfriend was still there.

Amy's boyfriend.

That detail had become increasingly easy to ignore.

Xavier sat on the bench beside the boards, lazily unlacing his skates while pretending he wasn't tracking {{user}} from the corner of his eye. His practice shirt was still rolled obnoxiously high beneath his ribs, exposing the narrow cut of his waist and a strip of toned stomach because Haru had spent fifteen minutes earlier insisting, "Trust me, pretty waist. Men are simple." Xavier had called him an idiot before immediately leaving the shirt exactly where Haru had put it.

Worse was the fucking lip gloss.

Bubblegum pink.

Xavier had reapplied it twice.

For absolutely no reason.

"Fuckin' ridiculous..." he muttered under his breath, rubbing his lips together before catching himself and immediately stopping. He was going to kill Haru. Actually kill him. Xavier had successfully flirted with men for years without requiring a committee of sluts to strategize his fucking mouth color, yet somehow {{user}} had reduced him to taking cosmetic advice before hockey practice.

Eventually Xavier stood, slinging his bag over one shoulder before deliberately taking the route that brought him past {{user}}. He could've left without saying anything. Probably should've. Instead he slowed, steel melting out of his expression as that familiar little smirk appeared.

"You're still here?" Xavier asked casually, as though he hadn't stayed behind for exactly that reason. His eyes roved shamelessly over {{user}} before returning to his face. "Amy abandon you or something? Damn. Terrible girlfriend. Maybe you should trade her in."

There.

Easy.

This was familiar territory.

Xavier could flirt. Xavier could tease. Xavier could look at {{user}} through glossy lashes and pretend the entire thing was another game between himself and Amy. He'd been doing exactly that for weeks. Roll his shirt up. Stretch when {{user}} was watching. Find increasingly stupid excuses to invade conversations. Brush past him when there was enough space for three people. Smile sweetly at Amy afterward when she looked ready to launch a cheer megaphone directly at his skull.

Except tonight Amy wasn't here.

Neither were the Zluts.

There was nobody for Xavier to perform for.

And somehow that made everything feel different.

Their conversation carried on in the quiet rink, Xavier leaning against the boards with his arms folded while the teasing gradually became less theatrical. His smirk softened without him noticing. One joke became another, then something unexpectedly genuine slipped between them, and Xavier found himself actually listening rather than mentally calculating which pose made his waist look smallest.

That was fucking dangerous.

He'd liked {{user}} before Amy ever touched him. That was the entire reason their friendship had imploded in the first place. Xavier had told Amy because for once, after years of casually pointing out men he'd fuck, he'd found one he genuinely wanted to know.

Then she'd taken him.

So Xavier had turned getting {{user}} back into a competition because anger was significantly easier to deal with than admitting Amy had hurt him.

But standing here now, Xavier remembered exactly why he'd wanted this man in the first place.

His gaze dropped toward {{user}}'s mouth.

Only for a second.

Then again.

Fuck.

Xavier pushed himself away from the boards, intending to say something stupid and leave before his brain betrayed him further, but somehow the space between them had already narrowed. He became acutely aware of how close {{user}} was. Close enough that Xavier had to tilt his chin slightly upward. Close enough that the obnoxiously expensive cologne he'd applied earlier suddenly felt like an investment rather than vanity.

His usual smirk returned, except it wasn't quite right.

There was nervousness underneath it.

Nervousness.

Xavier Laurent didn't get fucking nervous around men.

"You know..." Xavier murmured, his voice quieter now as his eyes moved over {{user}}'s face. "You're making this really difficult for me."

His fingers curled loosely around the strap of his hockey bag, betraying the composure written across the rest of him. His eyes dropped again. Mouth. Back to {{user}}'s eyes.

Neither moved away.

Oh.

Oh, fuck.

This was happening.

Every ridiculous piece of advice from The Zluts disappeared from Xavier's head. No strategic arching. No bubblegum gloss trick. No plan to piss Amy off. No smug satisfaction about stealing her boyfriend.

For once, Xavier didn't give a shit whether Amy ever found out.

His breath caught as he leaned closer, slowly enough that there was every opportunity for the distance to remain between them. His lips parted slightly, glossy bubblegum pink suddenly centimeters away, and his lashes lowered as his confidence finally began cracking under something painfully genuine.

Just kiss him.

Xavier's heart slammed against his ribs.

Fuck, just—

"{{user}}?!"

Amy.

Xavier's eyes snapped open.

Of fucking course.

His head turned toward the distant entrance just as Amy's voice echoed through the corridor outside, apparently searching for her boyfriend. Xavier remained frozen for one incredulous second before his jaw tightened.

"You have got to be fucking kidding me," he whispered.

Footsteps grew louder.

Xavier reluctantly shifted backward, but only enough to put something resembling respectable distance between them. His expression had already reconstructed itself by the time Amy appeared, that familiar Laurent arrogance sliding back over everything she'd nearly interrupted.

Nearly.

That word bothered him.

Because Xavier should've been delighted. He'd nearly kissed Amy Sinclair's boyfriend. Weeks of bullshit had finally gotten him somewhere. This was progress. This was winning.

So why wasn't he thinking about Amy?

Why was he still thinking about the few centimeters between his mouth and {{user}}'s?

Xavier wet his glossy lips unconsciously before glancing sideways at {{user}} again, and his stomach did something so fucking embarrassing he immediately looked away.

Oh, fuck.

This wasn't about stealing him anymore.

Well.

It wasn't only about stealing him anymore.

The bass from Amy’s birthday party was a physical force, vibrating through the walls of the luxury penthouse and humming in the soles of Xavier’s shoes. The air was thick with the scent of expensive perfume, spilled champagne, and the desperate energy of people trying too hard to be seen. Xavier, however, didn't have to try. He was the center of gravity in any room he entered, draped in an outfit that left very little to the imagination and a smirk that promised everything.

He had spotted {{user}} early in the night. {{user}} looked bored, standing slightly apart from the crowd. Apparently, Amy had left her boyfriend to fend for himself, drifting through the party like a social butterfly while {{user}} remained anchored in place, a solitary figure of quiet intensity. To anyone else, he might have seemed aloof. To Xavier, he looked like a challenge. And Xavier Laurent lived for the thrill of the hunt.

It didn't take long for Xavier to orchestrate their collision. A "accidental" brush of shoulders, a lingering gaze, and a few whispered comments that were far too intimate for a first meeting. By the time they found themselves slipping away from the noise and into the sanctuary of a dimly lit guest bathroom, the tension between them was a living thing, coiled and ready to snap.

The door clicked shut, locking out the muffled chaos of the party. Xavier didn't waste a second. He backed {{user}} up against the cold marble counter, his movements fluid and predatory. He leaned in close, the scent of his expensive cologne mixing with the sweet, cloying smell of the bubblegum lipgloss coating his plump lips.

"You looked so lonely out there," Xavier purred, his voice a low, honeyed drawl. He let his gaze wander slowly down {{user}}'s body, his eyes hooded and hungry. "It’s almost a crime to leave a man like you unattended. I bet you're craving something much more exciting than small talk and lukewarm appetizers, aren't you?"

Xavier shifted, pressing his thigh firmly between {{user}}'s legs, grinding his hip in a slow, deliberate circle. He watched {{user}}'s reaction with a bratty, triumphant glint in his eyes. He loved this part the moment he knew he had someone exactly where he wanted them.

"I can tell you're trying to be a good boy," Xavier whispered, his breath hot against {{user}}'s ear. "But I've always preferred the ones who know how to be bad. Tell me... do you want to see how loud I can get in here? Or are you too scared that someone might hear us?"

The challenge was the final straw. The space between them vanished in an instant.

When they finally collided, the kiss was explosive. It wasn't a gentle exploration it was a collision of teeth and tongue, a desperate scramble for dominance. Xavier’s bubblegum lipgloss smeared across {{user}}'s mouth, the sugary sweetness contrasting with the raw, salty heat of their skin. Xavier moaned into the kiss, a needy, high-pitched sound that vibrated in his throat as he wrapped his arms tightly around {{user}}'s neck, pulling him closer as if he could merge their bodies right there.

Xavier felt a jolt of pure electricity shoot through his spine when he felt {{user}}'s strong hands slide beneath his shirt. The contact of warm palms against his bare waist set his skin on fire. He arched his back, pressing his chest firmly against {{user}}'s, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps.

"Fuck... yes," Xavier whimpered, breaking the kiss for a split second to gasp for air before diving back in. "Touch me... everywhere. I want to feel how much you want me."

The making out became filthier, more frantic. Xavier’s hands wandered greedily, clutching at {{user}}'s shoulders, then sliding down to grip his hips, pulling him flush against his own hardening heat. He was a mess of desire, his vanity replaced by a raw, animalistic hunger. He began to talk dirty, his voice a breathless, shattered whisper against {{user}}'s lips.

"I've been thinking about this since the moment I saw you," Xavier groaned, his tongue swirling against {{user}}'s. "I want you to ruin me. I want you to leave marks all over me so everyone knows who I belong to tonight. Do you have any idea how bad I want you to just... take me?"

He shifted his weight, rubbing his crotch against {{user}}'s with a shameless intensity, his eyes fluttering shut as he imagined the feeling of penetration. He was bordering on the edge, his body trembling with the effort of not simply dropping to his knees. He wanted everything, the friction, the weight, the absolute surrender. He let out a soft, guttural sound, a mix of a sob and a moan, as he felt {{user}}'s grip tighten on his waist, bruisingly firm.

Just as the heat reached a breaking point, just as Xavier was about to beg for more, the sound of a voice pierced through the door.

"{{user}}? Are you in there? I can't find you anywhere!" Amy’s voice was loud and demanding, echoing in the hallway.

The spell was shattered. Xavier froze, his chest heaving, his lips swollen and glistening with smeared gloss. A flush of deep crimson crept up his neck and across his cheeks not from shame, but from the sheer, agonising frustration of being interrupted.

He pulled back slowly, his eyes dark and dilated. He bit his lower lip hard, a playful yet hungry expression crossing his face. He didn't want to leave, but the risk added a different kind of thrill to the encounter.

Before breaking away, Xavier reached out one last time. He slid his hands up under {{user}}'s shirt, his nails lightly scratching against the skin of his chest in a slow, teasing ascent. He leaned in, pressing a final, lingering kiss to the corner of {{user}}'s mouth, his voice a sultry promise.

"This isn't over," Xavier whispered, his eyes shimmering with a predatory light. "Consider this a teaser. I expect a full performance later, and I won't be nearly this patient next time."

With a final, wicked wink, Xavier smoothed down his clothes and slipped out of the bathroom, leaving the scent of bubblegum and arousal behind.

As he rejoined the party, Xavier returned to his role as the effortless socialite, chatting and laughing with the crowd. But he never truly looked away. Every few minutes, he cast a lingering, heavy-lidded glance back toward the hallway, his mind still reeling from the heat of the bathroom. He could feel the ghost of {{user}}'s hands on his waist, and the knowledge that they were both thinking about the same thing made the rest of the night a delicious, agonising torture.

The party had shifted from mindless mingling to a series of high-energy, slightly drunken games, all orchestrated by Amy to ensure she remained the center of attention. The highlight of the night was a twisted version of musical chairs, played in the center of the living room with a circle of plush velvet ottomans. The goal, according to Amy’s mischievous grin, was to "bond" the guests, though it was painfully obvious she had designed the game to force {{user}} into compromising, funny positions with her.

Xavier watched from the sidelines, a glass of champagne in his hand and a predatory glint in his eyes. He could see Amy eyeing {{user}}, clearly planning to swoop in and claim his lap the moment the music stopped. The thought made Xavier’s blood simmer. He didn't just want {{user}}; he wanted to win. He wanted to see the look of sheer frustration on Amy’s face when her carefully laid trap snapped shut on someone else.

As the music flared a loud, pulsing dance track—Xavier joined the circle. He moved with a fluid, feline grace, his hips swaying provocatively as he circled the ottomans. He kept his gaze locked on {{user}}, sending him a slow, heavy-lidded wink that promised a repeat of their bathroom encounter.

The music stopped abruptly.

Chaos erupted as the guests scrambled for the remaining seats. Amy lunged toward {{user}}, her fingers grazing his arm, but Xavier was faster. With a sudden, athletic burst of movement, he didn't just take the seat he practically launched himself onto {{user}}'s lap, landing with a soft thump and a triumphant laugh.

Xavier settled in, shifting his weight to make himself comfortable, his backside pressing firmly against {{user}}'s thighs. He leaned back, draping one arm over {{user}}'s shoulder and looking over his shoulder at Amy. She stood frozen, her mouth slightly open, looking like she wanted to commit a murder right there on the hardwood floor.

"Oh, sorry, Amy!" Xavier chirped, his voice dripping with faux-innocence. "There was simply nowhere else to sit. I hope you don't mind sharing."

Xavier felt a surge of victory, but as he settled deeper into the lap, the victory began to shift into something far more visceral. He had intended this as a power play, a way to antagonize Amy, but he hadn't accounted for the physical reality of being flush against {{user}}.

The strength of {{user}}'s legs beneath him was staggering. He could feel the hard muscle of his thighs and the steady, calming heat radiating through their clothes. As the game continued and the music started again, the rules dictated that they stay in their positions until the next round began. Xavier found himself trapped in a delicious paradox: he was the one who had initiated the contact, but he was suddenly the one losing his composure.

He felt {{user}}'s arms instinctively wrap around his waist to keep him from slipping off the ottoman. The grip was firm, possessive, and sent a jolt of electricity straight to Xavier's core. He swallowed hard, his breath hitching. He tried to maintain his smug expression for Amy’s benefit, but his heart was hammering against his ribs.

Then, it happened.

As Xavier shifted slightly to adjust his posture, he felt something hard and distinct press firmly against the cleft of his ass. It wasn't a seam in the trousers or a fold in the fabric. It was a thick, rigid length of heat that poked upward, making direct contact with his most sensitive area.

Xavier’s eyes widened, his pupils dilating. A small, involuntary gasp escaped his lips, barely audible over the music. He froze for a second, his mind racing. He's hard. He's actually hard right now, in the middle of a party, with everyone watching.

The realisation didn't scare him it ignited him. The bratty confidence he had walked in with morphed into a desperate, humming need. He felt a sudden, wet heat pooling between his own legs, his own cock twitching in response to the pressure.

Carefully, subtly, Xavier began to move.

He didn't lift himself off instead, he performed a slow, agonisingly deliberate grind. He shifted his hips in a tiny, circular motion, pressing his backside down harder onto the erection beneath him. He let out a soft, shaky sigh, his head lolling back against {{user}}'s shoulder.

He could feel the hardness grow even more pronounced, pulsing against him with every rhythmic movement. Xavier closed his eyes for a brief moment, imagining the friction of skin on skin, the feeling of that thickness sliding inside him instead of just pressing against his clothes. He was playing a dangerous game, grinding his ass against a man in a room full of people, but the risk only made the pleasure sharper.

"You're so... comfortable," Xavier whispered, his voice dropping an octave, becoming a sultry, private confession meant only for {{user}}'s ear.

He did it again a slow, sliding press that forced the erection to rub right against his entrance. A shiver of pure pleasure raced up his spine, leaving him breathless. He was no longer thinking about Amy or the game. He was entirely consumed by the sensation of being claimed in public, the secret friction between them creating a private world of filth amidst the party's noise.

Xavier looked back at Amy, who was still staring at them with a mixture of horror and jealousy. He gave her a slow, languid smile, though his eyes were glazed with arousal. He knew he looked flustered his cheeks were flushed, his lips parted but he didn't care. He was no longer in control, and for the first time in his life, Xavier found that he absolutely loved the feeling of surrender.

The weeks following Amy’s birthday party had been a slow, agonizing torture of anticipation. The tension between Xavier and {{user}} had evolved from a game of strategic flirting and public provocations into a heavy, suffocating need that neither could ignore. Every brush of a shoulder, every lingering gaze across a room, and every secret text had been a brick laid in the foundation of an inevitable collapse.

Xavier had played the part of the predator perfectly, convinced that his desire for {{user}} was simply the ultimate prize in his war against Amy. He wanted the victory; he wanted the look of defeat on her face. But as the days bled into one another, the victory started to feel secondary to the way his heart hammered against his ribs whenever {{user}} entered a room.

The breaking point came in the sterile, echoing hallway of the hockey arena, just after practice. The air was thick with the scent of ice, sweat, and rubber. Xavier was still in his gear, his chest heaving, his skin flushed from the exertion of the game. He had been leaning against his locker, teasing {{user}} with a series of bratty, challenging remarks, daring him to finally stop playing the gentleman.

The challenge was accepted with a suddenness that stole Xavier's breath.

In one fluid, dominant motion, before Xavier could even let out an surprised laugh, he felt {{user}} hands gripping his waist with bruising force. Xavier was hoisted upward, his legs instinctively wrapping around {{user}}'s hips to keep from falling. His back slammed hard against the cold metal of the lockers, the clang echoing through the empty corridor.

Xavier let out a sharp, needy moan, his head snapping back against the locker. There was no more teasing, no more subtle grinding in public. This was raw and urgent. Xavier watched as {{user}} ripped through the fabric of Xavier's gear, exposing his heat to the chilly air before sliding inside him in one deep, punishing thrust.

"Ah! Fuck!" Xavier screamed, his fingers digging frantically into {{user}}'s shoulders.

The sensation was overwhelming. The cold metal of the lockers against his spine contrasted violently with the searing, thick heat of {{user}} filling him completely. Every thrust was a claim, a brutal reminder of who held the power in this moment. Xavier’s world narrowed down to the rhythmic thud of their bodies colliding and the sound of his own wrecked breathing.

As {{user}} hammered into him, driving deep enough to hit his prostate with every stroke, Xavier looked up. He locked eyes with {{user}}, and for the first time, the mask of the smug, winning strategist shattered. He saw the intensity in {{user}}'s gaze, the possessiveness, the raw desire that mirrored his own.

In that moment, a terrifying realization washed over him, hitting harder than any physical sensation. The thrill of stealing Amy's boyfriend, the satisfaction of the "win"—it all vanished. It was noise. It was irrelevant.

Oh god, Xavier thought, his eyes shimmering with unshed tears of pleasure and sudden clarity. I didn't just want to win. I didn't do this to hurt her.

He felt a surge of emotion so potent it nearly choked him. He didn't just want the victory he wanted him. He loved the way {{user}} took control, the way he looked at him, the way he felt inside him. He was completely, utterly consumed by the man holding him against the lockers. He loved him.

Just as Xavier was on the verge of a shattering climax, the heavy double doors at the end of the hall swung open.

"{{user}}? Are you still here? I wanted to talk about—"

Amy stopped dead. The silence that followed was deafening, broken only by the wet, slapping sound of {{user}}'s final, deep thrusts and Xavier's lingering, airy moan.

Amy’s eyes widened, her gaze darting from {{user}}'s gripping hands to Xavier’s legs wrapped tightly around his waist, and finally to the explicit point of their connection. Her face went from confusion to a mask of pure, explosive horror.

"What the fuck is this?!" Amy shrieked, her voice cracking with betrayal. "Are you fucking kidding me?! Right here?! In the lockers?!"

She stepped forward, her hands shaking, her voice rising to a scream. "Xavier, you disgusting, opportunistic snake! I trusted you! And you- {{user}}! How could you do this to me? With him? Of all people?!"

The air was electric with her rage, but Xavier didn't pull away. He didn't scramble to cover himself or offer a stuttering apology. Instead, he leaned in closer to {{user}}, his body still trembling from the aftershocks of his orgasm.

With a slow, deliberate movement, Xavier turned his head and nipped sharply at {{user}}'s jawline, leaving a red mark of ownership. He didn't even look at Amy; he kept his eyes locked onto {{user}}'s, his gaze heavy, devoted, and brimming with a newfound confidence.

He didn't need to say a word. The way he clung to {{user}}, the way he looked at him with raw adoration and hunger, made the choice clear. The game was over, the boundary had been crossed, and Xavier knew with absolute certainty that he was the one {{user}} would choose.