"Good boys" | Two Rivals. One Bet.

The rivalry didn’t start at university. It started years earlier, in the same high school hallways that still smelled like sweat and cheap body spray.

Lucas Voss and Alejandro Vargas had been at each other’s throats since the first time they stood on the same starting line. Lucas — the polished blond bastard who always looked like he’d already won before the race even began. Alejandro — the darker, broader one who ran like he wanted to kill someone. They took turns crushing each other in everything: track, grades, attention. Every victory one of them got felt like a personal insult to the other. By senior year it had stopped being competition and turned into something uglier. Something personal.

Then university happened. Same campus. Same faculty. Same goddamn locker rooms.

It was the second week when everything went to shit.

They were both still damp from the evening training, sitting on the bench in the almost empty locker room. Coach Holm had already left. Rafa was laughing about something stupid near the showers. That was when they both noticed you for the first time — really noticed. You walked past the open door, headphones on, completely unaware that two pairs of eyes had locked onto you like predators spotting the same prey.

Silence stretched.

Alejandro was the first to speak, voice low and rough.

“You saw him too.”

Lucas didn’t even look at him. Just smiled that soft, poisonous little smile.

“Obviously.”

Another pause. Then Lucas turned his head, blue eyes cold and amused.

“Wanna make it interesting?”

Alejandro’s jaw flexed.

“I’m listening.”

“First one to fuck him wins.” Lucas’s voice stayed quiet, almost gentle. “Loser submits. Completely. One time. Whatever the winner wants. No safe words. No refusal. And after that… you get on your knees in front of the whole track team and admit you were never better than me. In anything.”

Alejandro stared at him for a long second. Then a dark, ugly grin spread across his face.

“Deal. But when I win, I’m not gonna be gentle with you, pretty boy.”

They shook on it. No witnesses. Just the two of them and the weight of years of hatred.

That was three weeks ago.

Now the game is fully on.

You’re sitting in the campus café near the sports building, the one with the big windows. It’s late afternoon. Outside the sky is already turning grey.

Lucas is the first to appear. He slides into the seat across from you like he owns the place, blond hair still slightly damp, smelling of that expensive cologne he always wears. He rests his chin on his hand and looks at you with that slow, lazy interest that somehow feels more dangerous than shouting. His knee brushes yours under the table. Not by accident.

“Long day?” he asks softly.

Before you can answer, the door opens harder than necessary.

Alejandro walks in, still in his training hoodie, dark hair messy, jaw tight. The second he sees Lucas already sitting with you, something ugly flashes in his eyes. He doesn’t bother with greetings. He just drops into the chair beside you — close enough that his thigh presses against yours — and stares straight at Lucas. His hand lands on the back of your chair, fingers brushing your shoulder. Possessive. Claiming.

“You’re early,” he mutters.

Lucas only smiles wider, voice still soft.

“Jealous already? We haven’t even started.”

Alejandro’s fingers tighten slightly on the chair.

“Shut the fuck up, Voss.”

Both of them are looking at you now.

Waiting.

It happens two days later.

Alejandro gets held back after training — Coach Holm wants to go over his starts again. Rafa tries to wait for him, but Alejandro waves him off, irritated. By the time he finally leaves the sports building, the sky is already dark.

Lucas doesn’t waste the opening.

He finds you near the back entrance of the library, the quiet side where almost no one walks after nine. He’s leaning against the wall like he’s been waiting, hands in the pockets of his black coat, blond hair slightly messy from the wind. When he sees you, that slow, knowing smile appears.

“Alone?” he asks softly. “What a rare sight.”

He pushes off the wall and steps closer. Not touching yet. Just close enough that you can smell his cologne — clean, expensive, familiar by now.

“Alejandro’s still stuck with the coach,” Lucas continues, voice low, almost conversational. “I checked. He won’t be free for at least another forty minutes.” A small pause. “Which means I have time.”

His blue eyes move over your face, then lower, unhurried.

“I’ve been patient,” he murmurs. “More patient than him. But I’m done waiting.”

He reaches out and takes your wrist — not roughly, but firmly enough that you feel the intent. His thumb strokes once over your pulse.

“Come with me.”

He doesn’t ask again. He just leads you around the corner, into the narrow service alley behind the library where the security light is half-broken and the shadows are deep. The second you’re out of sight from the main path, Lucas turns and backs you against the cold wall.

One hand stays on your wrist. The other slides up to your jaw, tilting your face up to his.

“He’s going to be so fucking angry when he finds out,” Lucas whispers, almost smiling. “I almost wish I could see his face.”

His hand leaves your jaw and moves down, slipping under your clothes with practiced ease. Cool fingers find bare skin, then lower.

It happens three nights later.

Lucas has a late seminar that runs over. Elias and Theo see him leave the building with a group of students and text Alejandro about it — not out of loyalty, just because the drama is too good to keep quiet. Alejandro doesn’t thank them. He just starts walking faster.

He finds you near the old athletics field, the one that’s half-abandoned after dark. The floodlights are off. Only the distant campus lamps give any light. You’re cutting across the grass toward the dorms when a familiar voice stops you.

“Don’t even think about walking past me.”

Alejandro steps out from the shadow of the equipment shed. Hoodie half-zipped, dark hair still damp from a late shower, jaw tight. His eyes move over you once, slow and heavy, like he’s already decided how this ends.

He doesn’t smile.

“Voss is stuck in that fucking seminar for another hour,” he says. “I made sure.” A pause. “Which means you’re coming with me.”

He doesn’t wait for permission. His hand closes around your wrist — rough, hot, final — and he pulls you behind the shed, into the narrow space between the metal wall and the tall fence. The second you’re out of sight, he turns and shoves you back against the cold corrugated steel.

One forearm braces beside your head. The other hand grabs your jaw, forcing you to look at him.

“He’s been sniffing around you for days,” Alejandro mutters, voice low and rough. “Touching you. Smiling that shitty little smile. I fucking hate it.”

His thigh pushes between yours, hard and insistent. You feel how worked up he already is.

“I’m done sharing.”

He kisses you like he’s angry at you for existing — deep, messy, all teeth and tongue. When he breaks away, his breathing is heavier.

“Clothes off. Now.”

It happens in the dorm laundry room on the second floor — late, almost empty, the machines humming in the background.

You’re folding clothes when the door opens.

Lucas walks in first. He doesn’t look surprised to see you. If anything, he looks pleased. Blond hair slightly messy, black sweater sleeves pushed up to his elbows. He closes the door behind him with a soft click and leans against the washing machine next to you, close enough that his arm brushes yours.

“Couldn’t sleep?” he asks quietly, that familiar half-smile already in place. “Or were you hoping someone would find you here?”

Before you can answer, the door slams open harder.

Alejandro steps in, still in his training pants and a dark t-shirt that clings to his chest. The second he sees Lucas standing so close to you, his expression turns sharp.

“Of course you’re here,” he mutters. “Fucking figure.”

He walks straight over, ignoring the empty space on the other side of the room, and stops right behind you. One hand lands on the dryer beside your hip, caging you in from the back. His chest almost touches your shoulder.

Lucas doesn’t move away. He only tilts his head, blue eyes calm and cold.

“Jealousy doesn’t suit you, Vargas. You look constipated.”

Alejandro’s jaw flexes.

“Keep talking, pretty boy. See what happens.”

His other hand settles on your waist — heavy, possessive, thumb sliding under the hem of your shirt to touch bare skin. Lucas notices immediately. His smile doesn’t fade, but something colder settles in his eyes. He reaches out and takes your hand instead, lifting it, brushing his fingers slowly over your knuckles like he’s claiming his own territory.

“You always grab what’s mine,” Lucas says softly. “It’s a bad habit.”

“Yours?” Alejandro lets out a short, ugly laugh. “He hasn’t chosen shit yet. And when he does, it won’t be the guy who only knows how to whisper.”

He leans down, mouth close to your ear, voice rough.

“Tell him to fuck off.”

Lucas steps even closer from the front, until you’re caught between them. His free hand rises and gently turns your face toward him, thumb resting just under your lip.

“Don’t listen to him,” he murmurs, almost tender. “He’s loud because he’s scared he’s losing.”

Alejandro’s fingers dig harder into your waist.

“I’m right here, asshole.”

“I noticed,” Lucas answers without looking at him. “You’re hard to miss when you reek of desperation.”

The air between the three of you turns thick. One of the machines beeps, but neither of them reacts. Both are staring at you now — Lucas with that quiet, dangerous patience, Alejandro with open heat and challenge.

Neither is willing to step back.

Both are waiting to see which one you’ll lean toward first.

It’s past midnight when the knock comes.

Not polite. Not hesitant. Two hard hits against your dorm door.

You open it and freeze.

Lucas stands on the left, blond hair messy, pupils already dark. His coat is open, the front of his black pants visibly strained. Alejandro is right beside him, breathing heavier, jaw tight, the thick outline of his cock clear against his grey sweatpants. Neither of them looks surprised to see the other. If anything, they look like they’ve already had this conversation in the hallway.

Lucas is the first to speak, voice low and rough around the edges.

“We need to come in.”

Alejandro doesn’t wait for an answer. He puts a hand on the door and pushes it wider, stepping inside. Lucas follows. The door clicks shut behind them.

For a second the three of you just stand there in the small room. The only light comes from the desk lamp. Both of them are clearly hard. Both of them are staring at you like the bet no longer matters.

Alejandro breaks the silence first.

“Fuck the bet,” he mutters. “I don’t care who wins tonight.”

Lucas lets out a quiet, humourless breath that might have been a laugh.

“For once we agree.”

He steps closer, eyes locked on yours. When he speaks again, his voice is softer, but there’s nothing gentle in it.

“We both want the same thing. And we’re done pretending we’re going to take turns being polite about it.”

Alejandro moves in from the other side. One warm, rough hand slides under your shirt and up your stomach, already possessive. His mouth finds the side of your neck, open and hungry.

“Clothes off,” he growls against your skin. “Now.”

Lucas reaches for your face at the same time, turning you toward him, thumb brushing your lower lip.

“He’s right.” His other hand drops and presses openly over the hard line in Alejandro’s sweatpants for a brief second, like he’s acknowledging the situation, then moves to you instead. “We’re both too far gone to share nicely. So you’re going to take us. Both of us.”

Alejandro bites down on your neck hard enough to leave a mark, hips already pushing against your ass.

“Bed,” he orders. “Before I fuck you right here against the door.”

Lucas’s blue eyes stay on yours, dark and intent.

“You heard him.” A small, almost cruel smile. “Get on the bed. We want you open and ready. We’re not leaving until we’ve both had you.”