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Introduction:

There are some moments that seem small when they happen, the kind of thing that starts as a joke and ends up changing the way you remember an entire summer.

For me, it happened during a stupid game of Truth or Dare.

We were all crowded together with our friends, laughing too loudly and pretending none of us cared about the dares being thrown around. Then someone challenged me to kiss a guy. And not just any guy, but Luca Soldano. The golden boy of the island. The one everyone knew, everyone liked, and everyone seemed to orbit around without even realizing it.

What was supposed to be a harmless dare became the first time I ever kissed another guy, with all of our friends watching.

At the time, it lasted only a few seconds… but I've been thinking about it ever since.

Before I tell you what happened with Luca, there are a few things you should know about me.

First, I'm kind of an asshole.

I don't entertain girls for more than two seconds. I say whatever's on my mind, even when I know it'll piss someone off. I don't lose sleep over offending people, and honestly, most people can't stand me for longer than ten minutes… Which is fair.

That's exactly why I only have a few friends (there’s a very limited amount of people who can actually stand me for long). There's Xander, who's somehow managed not to punch me in the face after all these years. Then there's Rhett, the idiot who follows us around like a lost puppy and somehow keeps coming back no matter how much crap we give him.

And then there's Luc…

Yeah. Luca Soldano. The golden boy of the island. The guy everyone loves. The guy I definitely wasn't supposed to kiss. But the thing about Luc is that — no matter how annoying he is — you always end up liking the bastard.

Luca had been my best friend for as long as I could remember. Back when we were eight, we'd spend entire afternoons catching crabs off the pier with cheap plastic buckets and getting yelled at by fishermen for being in the way. We learned how to swim in the same water, got into trouble with the same people, and spent so much time together that half the island just assumed we came as a package deal.

Somehow, while the rest of us were stumbling through awkward teenage years, Luca grew into the kind of guy people write coming-of-age movies about.

He was the hometown hero. Star quarterback of the school's football team. The kid who volunteered at charity events without being forced to. The guy who remembered everyone's name, smiled at everyone's parents, and somehow never seemed fake doing it.

Everybody loved Luca Soldano. Parents loved him. Teachers loved him. Little kids followed him around like he was some kind of superhero. Tourists stopped him for directions as if he'd been elected mayor of the coastline.

And the worst part? He genuinely deserved all that praise.

Luca was genuinely that good.

Meanwhile, I was… well, me. A sarcastic asshole with a talent for irritating people before they'd even finished introducing themselves.

We made absolutely no sense as best friends, but somehow we worked. Which would have been fine if my stupid heart had learned to stay in its lane.

Instead, I'd spent years pretending it didn't trip over itself every time he threw an arm around my shoulders after a game. Pretending I didn't notice the way his grin could ruin an otherwise perfectly normal day. Pretending I wasn't painfully aware of every casual touch, every inside joke, every moment he looked at me like I was his favorite person in the world.

I got pretty good at pretending… or at least, I thought I did. Because that night, anyone who didn’t notice my feelings for him was either blind or stupid.

It was a Friday night. We were hanging at the Cooper’s place, just a bunch of bored teenagers with too much free time on their hands and not enough common sense. The night it happened started like every other summer night on the island. The air smelled like salt and smoke. Someone had dragged speakers down to the beach. Half the town's teenagers were scattered across the sand, drinking sodas, arguing about music, and pretending they weren't keeping track of who was flirting with who.

I was stretched out in a beach chair, trying not to get sand in my shoes. Xander was losing an argument he'd started five minutes earlier. Rhett was being Rhett. And Luca was sitting beside me. Close enough that our shoulders bumped every now and then. Close enough that I was once again doing what I'd spent years doing: acting like it didn't affect me.

I thought it was going to be another ordinary night. Then somebody suggested we play Truth or Dare.

At first it was all fun and games. A bunch of idiots sitting in a circle making increasingly terrible decisions. People got dared to chug cans of soda until they cried. Someone had to run into the ocean fully clothed. Rhett got talked into singing a love song to the girl he found the most attractive at the party.

The truths weren't much better.

People confessed to ridiculous childhood fears, embarrassing crushes, and enough dumb secrets to keep the island gossip mill running for the next six months. Every now and then, somebody dropped a genuinely juicy confession and the whole group exploded into screams and accusations, but even then it was harmless.

Just friends being idiots. Just another summer night.

Then the bottle landed on Finn… And me.

The entire circle immediately went quiet in the way people do when they sense something entertaining is about to happen. Because the thing about Finn Cooper is that he never misses an opportunity to wreak havoc.

If chaos were a competitive sport, Finn would have multiple championships by now. The guy treated other people's peace of mind like a personal enemy.

The second our eyes met across the circle, a grin spread across his face. It wasn’t a normal grin. It was the kind of grin that should come with evacuation alarms and government warnings.

I knew that look. I'd seen it too many times before. Usually right before someone regretted something.

“Well,” Finn said, leaning back in his chair. “This is interesting.”

“No,” I replied immediately. “It’s not.”

The grin got wider.

Around us, people started laughing.

“Finn,” I warned.

“Relax, man.”

Finn tapped his fingers against his knee, looking around the circle like he was ***********ing a weapon.

Then his eyes landed on Luca.

And suddenly I had a very, very bad feeling.

Finn rubbed his hands together, grin stretching wicked and wide.

“Ok, Sebby,” he said. “Truth or dare?”

“Do not call me that.”

“Ok, Sebastian,” he repeated without losing the grin. “Truth or dare?”

Every nerve in my body misfired. “Uh… dare?” The words slipped out before I could catch them.

Finn’s grin went feral.

Why the hell did I pick dare?

“I dare you,” he announced, voice booming like some demonic game-show host, “to kiss Luca. On the lips. No bullshit. Really snog him.”

The room erupted — laughter, shrieks, a couple gasps. Heat shot up my neck so fast I thought my skin might peel off.

“Fuck OFF!” I snapped. “I’m not doing that.”

Beside me, Luca gasped dramatically, clutching at his chest like I’d wounded him. “Are you rejecting me right now?”

I barked out a laugh — too loud, too sharp. “Shut up, man!”

But my heart was slamming so hard I could hear it in my ears. He was joking. Obviously. But I wasn’t.

Luca scooted closer, nudging my knee with his.

“Would you seriously rather drink that thing,” he gestured toward the Anti-Shot like pointing at a corpse, “than kiss one of your best friends?”

“You’re making it weird, Luca,” I muttered. I could barely get the words out.

“And not just one of your best friends,” he added, tossed hair and all. “The most handsome one.”

“HEY!” Rhett and Xander shouted in unison.

Luca winked at them, shameless. Chaos. Absolute chaos.

My throat tightened. “Seriously, Luca. I’m not…” The word stuck in my mouth like it had thorns. “…kissing you.”

His eyes gleamed — warm, cocky, utterly unbothered. “Well, I’m not drinking that shit.”

He said it like the kiss would be nothing. Like it was a joke. Like the idea didn’t even graze him. Meanwhile my entire nervous system was staging a coup — panic, curiosity, terror, want, denial, all smashing together until I didn’t know which way was up.

Everyone watched us. Waiting. Hungry. Finn and Dylan already looked like they were planning the wedding.

I could feel Luca’s shoulder against mine — casual, thoughtless. Except I felt it like electricity.

“C’mon, Seb,” Luca said softly, like he was coaxing a puppy. Or daring me to jump. “It’s a game. It’s not that deep.”

Not that deep for him. For me it felt like free-falling off the planet. And I hated that. Hated how he could sit so close. Hated how he smiled at me like he knew something I didn’t. Hated how the idea of kissing him made me want to bolt and lean in at the same time.

My brain scrambled for an exit. Any exit.

“I can’t,” I blurted, shaking my head so hard it made the room tilt. “Nadia’s right here. She’s my girlfriend. I’m not— I can’t just—”

Every pair of eyes swung to Nadia. She blinked at me, caught off guard for half a second… then adjusted her expression into something breezy, unbothered. Like this was math class and not the worst moment of my entire life.

“It’s just a game, Seb,” she said lightly.

My stomach dropped straight into the floor.

“What? No—Nadia—come on.” I stared at her, pleading. “You can’t be okay with this.”

She gave a small shrug, the kind that said she was above all this childish drama. “We all agreed. Nothing counts. No one gets mad. That’s how the game works.”

“But—” I tried again, desperate.

“No exceptions!” Dylan cut in gleefully.

I stared at Nadia like she might crack and save me.

She didn’t even flinch. Of course she didn’t — this was embarrassing for her, not devastating. She wasn’t invested like that. Neither of us was. It was all surface, all status, all convenient. And she knew that. We both did. But still — watching her shrug like this was no big deal felt like the ground shifting under me.

“Babe,” she said quietly, “I don’t care. It’s just Luca.”

Just Luca. As if that made it easier. As if kissing him would be the same as kissing anyone else.

Luca laughed under his breath. A soft, playful sound that punched me in the ribs.

“See? Permission granted,” he said, leaning back on his hands. “So what’s the problem?”

“You,” I hissed under my breath.

Luca tilted his head at me — golden retriever curiosity with just a hint of something sharper behind it. “Seb. Come on. It’s not like I’m gonna bite.”

“You bite everyone,” I snapped.

“Yeah,” he said, smirking, “but only if they ask nicely.”

Someone choked. Someone else screamed. The room dissolved into chaos again. The laughter around us swelled, ricocheting off every wall. The pressure closed in — loud, bright, suffocating.

I must’ve gone pale or weirdly quiet or… something. Because suddenly Luca wasn’t smiling anymore. Not the teasing smile. Not the showman grin. Not the “I live for chaos” sparkle. Just… concern. Real concern.

He leaned in slightly, voice dropping low enough that only I could hear it. “Hey. Hey, Seb—look at me.”

I didn’t want to, but I did. His brows were drawn together, soft, steady. Grounded in a way Luca almost never was.

“You okay?” he asked. “You look like you’re about to pass out.”

My throat tightened. I couldn’t answer. I didn’t know what the answer even was.

Luca’s teasing evaporated completely.

“We don’t have to,” he said quietly. “If it’s really too much for you, we can just drink the Anti-Shot.”

His voice was gentle. Calm. And weirdly protective. Like he wasn’t just giving me an out — he was bracing himself to take the hit with me.

I followed his gaze to the kitchen. To the bowl of absolute hell sludge. To the red-brown meat juice swirling on top, the expired milk curdling, the egg foam turning colors that eggs should not turn. Luca’s whole face pinched with disgust, but he still offered it like a shield. Like he really would drink that monstrosity if I needed him to. And that made something hot and painful twist inside me.

I didn’t want to kiss him. And I really didn’t want to drink that thing. But those were the only two exits.

“Let’s just…” The words scraped out of me. “Let’s just get this over with.”

For a heartbeat Luca looked startled. Then his grin snapped back — bright, wicked, alive.

“Atta boy,” he said softly. And then louder, for the whole room: “Let’s give them a hell of a show.”

“What? Luca—” I didn’t get to finish.

Before I could process, before I could flinch, before my brain could scream DON’T or DO or something in between— Luca’s hand slid to the back of my neck. Warm. Sure. Effortless. And then his lips were on mine, and everything exploded.

Luca’s mouth hit mine in a way that wasn’t rough or dramatic like the room probably expected. It was soft. Too soft.

His lips brushed mine once, warm and hesitant, like he was checking if I’d bolt.

I froze. Completely. My breath caught somewhere between my lungs and my throat, stuck there like it couldn’t decide whether to exist.

Then Luca pressed in a little more, a real kiss this time—gentle, cautious, almost shy. That alone shocked me more than the kiss itself. Luca Soldano didn’t do shy. But here he was, kissing me like I was something fragile.

The circle around us went dead quiet.

And maybe that silence did something to him.

Or maybe my body leaning in—a fraction, barely anything—did.

Because the kiss changed.

Luca angled his head, brushing his nose against mine in a way that felt stupidly intimate for something that was supposed to be a dare. His fingers tightened at the back of my neck, grounding me, anchoring me, holding me there like he wasn’t letting me vanish into my own panic. His lips moved against mine again. Slow. Testing.

My heart tried to punch through my ribs. My hands didn’t know where to go. Everything buzzed. Then—God help me—I kissed him back. Just slightly. Just enough. But Luca felt it. He made a sound—barely there, a small exhale—and suddenly the kiss wasn’t shy anymore.

He drew me in closer, a lazy confidence sliding back into his movements. His mouth opened a little against mine, coaxing, warm. I didn’t even realize I’d parted my lips until—

His tongue touched mine. Just a flick. Quick and teasing.

My entire body jolted like he’d hit a live wire.

It was one second. Maybe less. But it was enough to send heat rushing through me so fast I nearly groaned.

Luca deepened the kiss, just for that heartbeat, before easing off again like he didn’t want to overwhelm me, but absolutely wanted me to know he could if he felt like it.

I tasted mint gum and whatever stupid fruity drink he'd had earlier. And underneath all that—him. Warm. Reckless. Luca.

The kiss slowed. Softened. He pulled back in tiny increments, like he wasn’t quite ready to stop even though he knew he had to. His lips brushed mine once more, feather-light, barely a ghost of a kiss. Then he finally separated from me, eyes half-lidded, breathing uneven.

The room erupted. Cheers. Screams. Someone probably died.

I couldn’t hear any of it. All I could hear was my heartbeat detonating inside my skull.

Luca grinned at me—bright, triumphant, a little breathless.

“Damn,” he murmured, voice low enough for only me. “That was fun.”

The second Luca pulled away, my brain blue-screened. Like, actual system failure. Static behind my eyes. Limbs not responding. Breathing? Entirely optional, apparently.

I sat there, staring at nothing, staring at everything, completely unable to comprehend the last thirty seconds of my life.

Luca had just kissed me.

I had just kissed him back.

There had been tongue.

HIS tongue.

In MY mouth.

My heart sprinted. My thoughts crashed into each other like drunk shopping carts. My body… yeah, uh… My body wasn’t helping. It was not cooperating. At all. I had to crouch forward and cover my lap with my forearms, praying no one noticed why.

The entire room was screaming — cheering, laughing, making feral animal noises — but it all came through muffled, like I was underwater.

Meanwhile Luca just… wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, shook his hair out of his face, and smiled like he’d just won a pillow fight.

“Alright,” he said, clapping his hands once, casual as hell. “Who’s next?”

I was losing consciousness and he sounded like he’d just reviewed a movie. Then he turned back toward me, leaned in, squinted, then—

“Hey, Seb, you good?” he asked loudly enough that the whole circle tuned in again. “You look like you’re… drooling a little.”

The room exploded all over again. My soul left my body. I snapped out of it just long enough to shove his shoulder. “Oh shut up, Soldano. You’re a terrible kisser anyway.”

Gasps. Ohs. Screams.

Luca’s eyebrows shot up, delighted. “Really? Terrible? That’s interesting.”

“It’s the truth,” I spat. A lie. A big, monumental, historical lie. “You barely— I mean— it wasn’t even— you didn’t—” My tongue stopped working mid-sentence.

Luca’s grin sharpened. “Do you need another round just to be sure? I think you stuttered.”

“NO,” I barked instantly.

“See? Definitely stuttering,” he teased. “That’s, like, textbook confusion. Or flusteredness. Or…” His eyes flicked down for half a millisecond — just enough for me to panic. “…something else?”

Heat slammed into my face so hard I wanted the floor to swallow me whole.

Rhett was wheezing. Hallee was crying from laughter. Zoey and Will were chanting “KISS! KISS! KISS!”. Xander was just yelling “BROOOOOO.”

Luca just basked in it, sun-warm and smug and completely unaffected. Meanwhile I sat there, trying to pull myself back into my body, trying to breathe, trying to pretend I wasn’t about to spontaneously combust from shame and something way, way worse.

Luca nudged my knee with his. “You’re fine, man. Relax. It was just a dare.”

Just a dare?

For him, maybe. For me? Yeah, no. Not even close.

Luca kept drinking for the rest of the night. Every time I looked over, somebody was handing him another bottle or another cup and he was accepting every drink handed to him like it was part of a community service project. So shortly past midnight, his cheeks were pink, his smile was a little too easy, and he was laughing at things that weren't remotely funny.

Normally, Luca barely touched alcohol. Being the star quarterback meant spending most of the year treating his body like a temple. While the rest of us were making questionable decisions, he was worrying about training schedules, practice, game film, and keeping himself in shape.

But football season was over and summer had officially started. So for the first time in months, Luca had absolutely nowhere he needed to be. No coaches. No games. No responsibilities. Just a beach, a bonfire, and a bunch of friends encouraging bad ideas.

Which, as it turns out, was a dangerous combination. So I just had to get him home to make sure he wouldn’t die or do something stupid.

It was definitely a feat, but I finally got Luca through the door of his apartment, his arm slung heavy over my shoulders, all sun-warmed muscle and seawater cologne, leaning into me like gravity had picked favorites. Outside, the island was still awake. Somewhere down the hill, waves gnawed at the docks in slow, patient bites. Music drifted faintly from the beach bars along the marina, muffled by the humid midnight air.

Luca kicked the door shut behind us with the heel of his sneaker and laughed at absolutely nothing, that loose, bright laugh everyone on the island knew. The kind that got him forgiven for anything. Missed dates. Broken porch railings. Forgetting names. Existing too loudly.

His bedroom was cluttered with pieces of him. Framed football photos crowded the shelves. Sun-faded Polaroids were taped haphazardly across the walls, corners curling from years of ocean air. A surfboard leaned beside the bed, covered in signatures and faded doodles scribbled into old layers of wax. A stack of medals hung from a hook near the closet, tangled together like they'd been tossed there without a second thought. There were half-read books on the nightstand, a hoodie draped over a chair, and enough seashells scattered around the room to suggest he collected them without meaning to.

There was sand on the floor. There was always sand on the floor. It gathered in the corners, hid in the rug, and somehow found its way onto the sheets no matter how often his mother complained about it.

Luca carried the beach with him everywhere.

The room smelled faintly of saltwater, sunscreen, and whatever detergent his family used. It felt less like a bedroom and more like a collection of all the things Luca loved, piled together and left exactly where they'd landed.

“Easy, quarterback,” I muttered, adjusting his arm higher around my shoulders when he nearly dragged both of us sideways.

The night out had hit him hard; shot after shot, laughter turning sloppy, and now here we were, stumbling toward his bedroom.

“’M fine, Seb” he insisted immediately, words melting together. Then, after almost tripping over his own coffee table: “Okay, maybe a little tipsy.”

Despite myself, I snorted.

His grin flashed lazy and devastating over my shoulder. Even drunk, he had that effect. Like the entire world tilted instinctively toward him.

Getting him to the bedroom felt like wrestling a very affectionate golden retriever that happened to be six-foot-tall. He kept bumping into me accidentally, and every collision sent another electric jolt through my ribs.

His hand slid from my shoulder to my waist for balance, fingers spreading there for one dizzy second too long.

My pulse turned traitor.

This was torture. Actual torture.

“You’re a lifesaver, Seb,” he slurred once I finally got him onto the edge of the bed.

The mattress dipped beneath his weight. He looked unfairly good even half-conscious. Brown wavy hair wrecked by ocean wind and too many hands ruffling it at parties. Cheeks pink from alcohol and sun. Ocean blue eyes glassy but still glowing with that open, eager warmth that made people trust him instantly.

I stepped back before I did something stupid.

“Just get some rest, man,” I said, keeping my voice steady through sheer force of will. “Water’s on the nightstand.”

Luca looked up at me instead of the water.

Not unusual.

Except this time… he kept looking.

The room suddenly felt too small. Ceiling fan whirring lazily overhead. Salt air sneaking through the cracked window. My skin painfully aware of every inch between us.

“You’re really handsome, y’know that?” he said softly.

The words landed like a dropped bottle.

I froze.

Luca blinked slowly, like he didn’t realize he’d spoken out loud. His elbows rested on his knees, broad shoulders slumped forward, gaze fixed somewhere around my mouth.

A laugh tried to crawl up my throat and died there. “You are catastrophically drunk.”

“Maybe.” Another crooked smile. Smaller this time. “Still true, though. You could pull any girl on this island if you weren't such an insufferable asshole.”

My chest tightened so fast it hurt.

Outside, a boat horn echoed across the harbor.

Inside, Luca reached blindly for the bottle of water, missed completely, and nearly tipped sideways off the bed.

The tension snapped just enough for me to catch his shoulders before he face-planted into the floor.

“Jesus Christ, Luca!” I muttered.

Luca laughed again, quieter now, his forehead accidentally knocking against my chest. “See? Lifesaver.”

But he didn’t move away.

And neither did I.

“You should, uhm… you should get some sleep, man.”

He flopped back, legs splayed, but then grinned up at me, all teeth and mischief.

“Nah, dude, I can't sleep like this.”

His hand drifted to his crotch, adjusting himself casually, but I caught the outline—the thick bulge straining against his jeans.

“Fuck, Seb, I'm so hard it hurts. Like, rock solid. You ever get that after drinking? Feels like my dick’s gonna explode.” He laughed it off, like it was just guy talk, but his fingers lingered, rubbing over the denim.

Heat flooded my face, and I forced my eyes to the wall, anywhere but there.

“Luca, come on. You're wasted, man. Just crash already.” My voice came out tighter than I meant, pulse racing.

I’d fantasized about him a thousand times—his strong hands, that easy smile—but this was real, and he was straight-as-an-arrow. No doubts. Except tonight, with the alcohol blurring lines, my resolve cracked just a little.

He sat up, fumbling with his belt. “No way, Seb. I gotta jerk off or I’m gonna die. Swear to god.”

The zipper rasped down, and before I could blink, he shoved his jeans and boxers low, his cock springing free—thick, veined, flushed red at the tip, already leaking a bead of pre-cum. It bobbed heavy in the dim lamplight, and I froze, mouth dry.

“Luca, don't—” I turned half-away, hand on the doorframe, but my feet wouldn't move. “I'll leave you to it. Just… handle your business.”

Lies. I wanted to bolt, but the sight glued me—his fist wrapping around the shaft, stroking slow from base to head, a low groan rumbling from his chest.

He didn't stop, eyes half-lidded as he pumped harder, thumb swiping over the slit. “Ah, shit, that feels good. Been thinking about this girl from the bar all night.” His voice was rough, breaths coming quicker.

But he didn't tell me to go. And I didn't. I edged closer instead, telling myself it was to make sure he was okay, but my gaze locked on the way his cock throbbed in his grip, skin sliding slick over rigid flesh.

Another groan, deeper, and he arched his hips, free hand fisting the sheets. The room filled with the wet sound of his strokes, his balls drawing up tight.

My own dick hardened painfully in my pants, traitorous, aching as I stepped nearer, knees bumping the bed, close enough to smell him—sweat and cologne and that underlying musk.

“Luca… man, you shouldn’t…” I whispered, but it wasn't a protest. Not a real one at least.

He looked up, hazy eyes meeting mine, and kept going, faster now. I sank to my knees without thinking, drawn like a magnet, my face inches from his lap. His cock jerked in his hand, pre-cum dribbling down the length.

I couldn't hold back. Leaning in, I parted my lips and took the head into my mouth, tongue flicking the salty tip. Luca hissed, fist stilling as I sucked gently, hollowing my cheeks.

“Fuck—Seb—What are you doing, man?” His voice was breathy, surprised, but he didn't pull away.

I hummed around him, sliding down further, lips stretching around his girth. He tasted bitter-sweet, hot velvet over steel. I bobbed shallow, savoring every inch, my hands on his thighs for balance.

Then his hand tangled in my hair. “Shit, man. Keep doing that. It feels so fucking good.” The words hit like lightning, encouragement laced with need.

I moaned, taking him deeper, throat relaxing as I swallowed around him.

That flipped a switch. His golden retriever vibe vanished; he gripped tighter, shoving my head down hard. His cock rammed past my gag reflex, bulging my throat, making my eyes water. I choked, sputtering, but he didn't let up—hips bucking up to fuck my mouth in short, brutal thrusts.

“Fuck, yeah, take it,” he growled, voice low and commanding, nothing like the playful drunk from minutes ago.

Tears streamed down my face, saliva dripping from my chin, but god, I loved it—the raw use, the way he claimed my mouth like it was his to ruin. My cock leaked in my jeans, untouched, as he used me, grunts punctuating each plunge. He held me flush, nose buried in his pubes, balls slapping my chin, until I gagged hard, lungs burning.

“Fuck… Seb…” Luca groaned, head tipped back against the headboard, one hand buried deep in my hair.

I moaned around the thick length filling my mouth, eyes watering but hungry, sucking harder every time Luca’s hips jerked.

“Yeah, just like that,” Luc growled, voice low and rough.

The straight guy who’d joked about “no homo” a thousand times was gone. In his place was someone starved and shameless. He tightened his grip in my hair, holding me steady as he started thrusting deeper.

“Shit, your mouth feels so fucking good.”

I gagged softly as Luca pushed past the back of my tongue, but I didn’t pull away. Instead, I relaxed my throat and let Luca use me, spit dripping down my chin while Luca fucked my face with long, rough strokes.

“Goddamn,” Luca moaned, the sound raw and shameless. His abs flexed with every thrust, hips snapping forward harder. “Never thought getting my dick sucked by a dude would feel this fucking perfect. You’re taking it so well, Seb. Fuck—swallow around me, yeah, like that—”

I whimpered, the vibration shooting straight through Luc’s cock. His head fell back again, a broken moan tearing out of him as he started losing rhythm, fucking my throat with messy, desperate snaps of his hips.

“Shit, I’m gonna—gonna cum down your throat if you keep—ah, fuck!”

He held my head in both hands now, fully face-fucking me, balls slapping against my chin with every deep thrust. My muffled, wet sounds only made Luca hornier, drunk on how filthy and willing his best friend was.

With a guttural groan that sounded almost surprised, Luca buried himself to the hilt and came hard, hips stuttering as he pumped thick ropes straight down my throat.

“Fuuuuck…” he panted, still shallowly rocking through the aftershocks, not pulling out yet. His thumb brushed over my stretched lips still wrapped around the base of his cock.

Hot spurts flooded my throat, thick and endless. I gulped it down, milking him with swallows, until he shuddered and went slack.

I pulled off slowly, gasping for air, lips shiny and swollen. Luca blinked down at me, chest still heaving, cock twitching at the sight, but the dominant haze cleared fast. His face crumpled—wide eyes, apologetic flush.

“Shit, Seb, I'm sorry. I didn't mean—fuck, are you okay? Here, let me get you a tissue—” He scrambled for the box on the nightstand, golden retriever back in full force.

I wiped my mouth, smiling through the ache in my jaw, tasting him still. “Don't even worry about it. I swallowed it, Luc.”

His cum sat warm in my belly, a secret I'd cherish. He stared, stunned, but I just leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to his thigh.

“Damn, bro,” he laughed. “Didn’t know you could suck dick like that… Jesus.”

“Shut the fuck up,” I blushed.

Luca leaned back against the headboard, still catching his breath, a smug grin spreading across his face as he looked at me.

“No, seriously. Look at you, man,” Luca said, voice low and amused. “Such a good little slut for me tonight. Took every inch down that pretty throat like you were starving for it. And swallowing it all? Greedy boy.”

I wiped the corner of my mouth with the back of my hand, rolling my eyes even as my cheeks stayed flushed. I shoved Luca’s shoulder.

“Yeah? Well this greedy boy made you bust in under ten minutes, champ. Real impressive stamina there, quarterback. What was that, eight minutes? Nine? I felt you twitching like a virgin halfway through.”

Luca barked out a laugh, grabbing me by the back of the neck and pulling me closer.

“Eight minutes of you gagging on my dick and looking up at me with those pathetic ‘please ruin me’ eyes? Of course I came fast, asshole. You were sucking like your life depended on it.”

I smirked, nipping at Luc’s jaw. “Next time I’m timing you properly. We’ll see if you can last longer than a quickie in the locker room.”

“Next time, huh? You already leaking for round two?” Luca asked, voice husky, a drunk, cocky smirk tugging at his mouth.

I planted my palm against his forehead and shoved him back into the bed.

“Back. Absolutely back off, idiot.”

He let out a laugh as he toppled onto the mattress, dramatic as ever, arms spreading wide like he’d been mortally wounded instead of mildly redirected. The bed springs squeaked beneath him.

“Sebastian,” he complained, squinting up at me, “that was violence against a local celebrity.”

“Good,” I muttered, even as my mouth threatened to betray me with a smile. “Maybe it’ll humble you.”

Luca’s laugh softened into something quieter as he stared up at me from the bed, hair fanned across the pillow, cheeks still pink from the alcohol and island heat.

And that was the problem.

Luca looked at everyone like they were worth knowing… But sometimes, late at night, with the whole island asleep and the ocean breathing through the windows, he looked at me like I was something far more meaningful than just a friend.

“Get some rest, man,” I said quietly. “I’ll be outside if you need anything.”

I turned before he could answer.

Coward.

The word followed me all the way to the doorway.

Behind me, the mattress creaked softly. For one horrible second, I thought Luca might say something real. Something sober enough to ruin me. My pulse climbed into my throat waiting for it.

Instead, his tired voice drifted through the dim room.

“Seb?”

I stopped.

“Thanks, man… For always taking care of me.”

Simple words. Friendly words. But Luca said them softly, like they mattered more than they should’ve.

I kept my hand wrapped around the doorframe, gripping the wood hard enough to ground myself against the stupid hope trying to bloom in my chest. Because that was the thing about Luca. He handed affection out like seashells collected on the shore, easy and bright and carelessly precious. A grin thrown across a crowded room. A hand at the back of your neck. A look that lingered one heartbeat too long.

Maybe he meant it.

Maybe he was just being Luca.

And I was far too terrified to find out which one would hurt more.

So I glanced back just long enough to see him half-asleep against the pillows, hazel eyes heavy but fixed on me like I was something worth holding onto.

Then I smiled the way best friends do.

Small. Safe. Harmless.

“Go to sleep, quarterback.”

I pulled the door mostly shut behind me and stood alone in the hallway while the island wind rattled the old windows and the ocean carried on pretending nothing in the world had changed.

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