When Fidelity Sleeps

Author's Note

This is an

erotic

story.

That should be clear by now--but let me say it again:

This is a story about

desire

, in its many messy, electrifying, unapologetic forms.

Yes, it's told through the lens of relationships, emotion, and daily life. But at its core, this story was built to explore the spaces where fantasy and reality collide--where inhibition melts, and where choices are made not for safety, but for sensation.

If you find yourself here expecting moral purity, emotional predictability, or traditional romance arcs, you may want to pause.

This story includes themes of

cheating, group sex, domination, emotional conflict, and social pressure

--

If those elements disturb you, or if you're reading with the hope that everything stays neatly in place...

This probably isn't for you. And that's okay.

There are other stories that will take better care of your heart.

But if you're here to feel--everything--

To question, to ache, to burn, to let go...

This story is told

in chapters

, each titled to give you a clear idea of what's ahead.

Feel free to skip around.

Follow the story in order--or dive straight into the moments that speak to you.

Curiosity is welcome here.

This story begins with the emotional and relational foundation between the characters--how they met, what shaped them, and what brought them together. But if you're here for the fire, the tension, the breaking of limits--

Start from Chapter 7.

Note: The space between lines is intentional. It's meant to slow you down--to let the story breathe, and to let you breathe with it.

Chapter 1 Beginnings

James was a 21-year-old Mexican student who had left his hometown to study in the United States. It had been two years since he started college, and though he still felt a bit like an outsider, he was slowly finding his place. He played as a kicker on the college football team--not the most glamorous position, but one that suited him. He was fit, though not particularly tall, and there was something quiet and unassuming about him that often made people underestimate him.

James wasn't the type to dominate a room. He was soft-spoken, slightly shy, the kind of guy who'd rather listen than talk. But behind that reserved nature, there was depth--a mix of longing, curiosity, and a subtle hunger he didn't fully understand yet.

He shared a dorm with Leo, his complete opposite. Where James was modest, Leo was loud. While James budgeted every meal, Leo had money to burn. And when it came to women, Leo moved like a storm--confident, shameless, and always surrounded by attention. The contrast between them was striking, and sometimes James wondered if it was fate or punishment that had paired them together.

The dorm wasn't typical by campus standards--it was one of the better setups. A small apartment-style space tucked away in the quieter wing of the building. Two modest bedrooms branched off from a shared living area, where a worn gray couch faced a wall-mounted TV. A small table stood nearby, cluttered with textbooks, keys, and an empty pizza box. The kitchenette in the corner was barely big enough for two, but it did the job: microwave, stovetop, and a fridge that buzzed louder than it should.

James sat on the couch, legs stretched out, a paper plate balanced on his lap. He had just gotten back from practice, still in his shorts and compression shirt, the fabric clinging to the last bits of sweat. His cheeks were flushed, his dark hair damp, eyes half-lidded from physical exhaustion.

Across from him, Leo was sprawled sideways on the armchair, one leg hanging over the side. Shirtless, as usual, showing off the sculpted tan he'd picked up lounging around the fraternity pool all weekend. In one hand, his phone; in the other, a greasy burger from his favorite downtown spot. He didn't bother using a plate.

"So," Leo said between bites, smirking, "did you catch the girl in red leggings at the gym today?"

James didn't even look up. "Nope. Was kicking."

Leo chuckled. "Of course. Focused. You and your monk mentality."

James shrugged, nudging a piece of broccoli around his mac and cheese with his fork. "Kicking well is kind of the point."

Leo tossed a crumpled napkin at him. "Dude. You could kick ass and get laid. You've got that quiet, tortured artist thing going on. Girls eat that shit up."

James lifted an eyebrow, deadpan. "Yeah, nothing screams sexy like sore thighs and a roommate who yells through the walls."

Leo grinned, unbothered. "Come on. You're in college, man. You're supposed to be making mistakes."

"I make mistakes," James muttered. "I just don't film them for Snapchat."

Leo barked a laugh. "Touché. Still, you're wasting prime time. You've got a decent face, a good body, and--okay, fine--your cock's probably not doing you favors, but some girls like underdogs."

James snorted, half-amused, half-annoyed. "You're an asshole."

"Yup," Leo said proudly. "But I'm an honest asshole."

They fell into silence, the TV flickering in the background, neither one really watching. It was a rhythm they'd settled into after nearly a year of sharing the space--James with his inward quiet, Leo with his extroverted chaos.

Somehow, it worked.

It was almost 9 p.m. when the knock came at the door--three quick raps, familiar and impatient.

Leo didn't even look up from his phone. "It's Dre."

James raised an eyebrow. "You gave him a key?"

"Hell no. That guy loses everything." Leo stood up, stretched lazily, and padded barefoot to the door.

As expected, Dre walked in with a grin and a six-pack under one arm. He was taller than both of them, with a warm, easy energy. A blend of street charm and college smarts. He had grown up with Leo, though he wasn't in school anymore--he worked part-time and made money hustling side gigs downtown.

"Damn, it still smells like gym socks in here," Dre said as he dropped the beers on the table. "Y'all ever clean?"

"James does," Leo said, grabbing one of the beers. "I just supervise."

James, still lounging on the couch, raised his middle finger without looking away from the game he was navigating on the screen.

They hung out for a while, music playing low from Leo's speaker, the three of them talking shit, trading stories, and laughing like they had no real responsibilities. The kind of night that made time slow down just enough to feel real.

At some point, Leo stood up and clapped his hands once. "Alright, listen up. Tomorrow night--club downtown. Some girls I know are throwing a birthday thing. It's gonna be wild."

Dre smirked. "You already promised them we'd be there, didn't you?"

Leo shrugged. "Maybe."

James gave him a skeptical look. "Not really my scene."

Leo rolled his eyes. "It's never your scene. But I'm dragging your ass out anyway. Both of you. No excuses."

Dre grinned. "Fine. But you're buying the first round."

"Done."

By 11, Leo was already dressed--black shirt open just enough to show his chest, gold chain resting on his collarbone, expensive cologne trailing behind him as he walked out the door like he owned the night.

"You guys are boring as fuck," he called out with a wink. "Try not to fall in love with each other while I'm gone."

The door slammed, and the apartment went quiet again.

James and Dre exchanged a look.

"So... FIFA or Mortal Kombat?" Dre asked, cracking open another beer.

James smirked. "FIFA. You still owe me a rematch."

They settled into the couch, controllers in hand, half-focused on the screen, half-lost in their own thoughts.

It was past 2 a.m. when the apartment finally quieted down.

James had lost the rematch. Twice. The six-pack was long gone, and Dre had left about an hour ago with a lazy, satisfied smile and a half-hearted promise to come back for the club night. James rinsed the last cups in the kitchenette, stretched, and slipped into his bedroom.

The small space was dimly lit by a single desk lamp. A couple of books were stacked neatly by his bed, and his phone charged on the nightstand. He pulled off his shirt, tossed it onto the chair, and climbed under the covers. The sheets were still cool. A breeze from the cracked window moved the curtain gently.

He lay there, staring at the ceiling, half-lulled by the soft hum of the fridge in the living room.

Then--the faint sound of the front door opening.

Voices. A girl's laugh. Low, playful.

James didn't even need to check.

Leo.

He exhaled slowly and turned his head toward the wall.

Again?

He recognized the familiar rhythm--Leo's flirtatious tone, the soft thud of heels being kicked off, the creak of the couch. It wasn't the first time, and it probably wouldn't be the last.

James pulled the sheet over his head, already trying to block it all out. The giggles, the whispers, the couch shifting as bodies moved closer.

Classic Leo,

he thought.

Guy never sleeps alone.

James lay still in the dark, eyes half-open, chest rising slowly beneath the sheet. He could hear everything.

The muffled thump of Leo's bedroom door closing... followed by laughter. Then voices--low at first, playful. The girl's voice was high-pitched, slightly breathy. She was giggling, teasing. Leo said something James couldn't make out, and then she moaned--soft at first, but growing louder, more open.

James shifted under the covers, his heart ticking a little faster.

She's loud.

Another moan, this one sharp and breathy. "Oh my god, Leo... fuck, right there..."

James exhaled, biting the inside of his cheek. He stared at the ceiling. He

shouldn't

be listening. He

didn't

want to.

But he didn't move.

The sounds were impossible to ignore. The slap of skin. The rhythmic creak of the bed. And her--gasping, moaning, whimpering Leo's name like it was a prayer.

"Oh fuck--yes--yes... Leo, your cock feels so fucking good..."

James blinked. Heat was building between his thighs. His hand moved without thinking, sliding beneath the sheet, fingers wrapping around his hardening cock. He closed his eyes.

The wall between them felt paper-thin.

She was so vocal--raw, shameless, wild. "Harder... fuck me harder--don't stop--

please don't stop

..."

James stroked himself slowly, syncing to the rhythm he imagined Leo was thrusting at. The wet slap of pussy against hips, the hungry pace of it, the way she cried out as if she wanted the entire building to hear.

"You're so fucking deep--fuck, I'm gonna--shit--I'm gonna cum--"

James's breath hitched. His grip tightened. He imagined her on her knees, back arched, Leo grabbing her hair, shoving himself inside her again and again while she screamed into the pillow.

"Oh god, Leo--I'm cumming--I'm--FUCK!"

James groaned, biting into his own forearm as his body tensed. The heat spread from his core, rising fast, his strokes messy now, urgent. The sound of her climax--the way she practically sobbed through it--pushed him over the edge.

He came hard, silent but shaking, hot cum spilling onto his stomach as he gasped against the sheets.

For a moment, all he could hear was the pounding of his own heartbeat.

Then more laughter. More moaning. They weren't done.

James lay there, eyes wide open, breath still catching in his throat.

Fuck,

he thought.

What the hell is wrong with me?

The apartment was dark and quiet now. At least, it sounded like it.

James shifted under his sheets, throat dry, sweat clinging faintly to his skin. He'd been tossing for nearly an hour, trying to ignore the lingering arousal that refused to fade even after he'd finished. His body was still humming. Mind racing. That girl's moans--Leo's name--her

desperation

--it had all imprinted itself on him like a brand.

He sighed, finally giving up on sleep.

Slipping quietly out of bed, he padded barefoot down the short hallway to the kitchenette. The cold tile floor grounded him. He grabbed a glass, filled it from the filtered pitcher in the fridge, and leaned against the counter, drinking slowly, letting the coolness cut through the heat that still lingered in his chest.

Then--

Soft footsteps.

Before he could even turn, he felt arms wrap around his torso from behind.

"Mm... there you are," a sultry voice whispered against his back. Her body pressed into him--bare skin brushing his. She was only wearing a loose t-shirt, panties... maybe.

James froze.

"Couldn't sleep either?" she cooed, nuzzling her face against his neck. Her hands slid down his stomach--slow, exploring.

He opened his mouth to speak, to stop her--but the words didn't come. He was too stunned. Too curious. Too caught in the heat of her touch.

Her lips grazed his shoulder as her fingers dipped under the waistband of his shorts. He sucked in a breath, his cock already stirring from the contact.

Then--her hand wrapped around it.

She paused.

"...Wait."

A beat of silence. Then a small, breathy laugh.

"Ohhh..." she said, half amused, half teasing. "You're

not

Leo."

James swallowed hard, his heart punching in his chest.

She let go of him and took a step back, her giggle echoing in the dim kitchen. "Shit. Sorry," she said with zero remorse. "Guess I should've known... it

felt

smaller."

She gave him a playful pat on the back, then turned and walked back down the hall without another word, hips swaying like nothing had just happened.

James stood there, frozen, the glass still in his hand. His pulse thundered in his ears. He looked down at himself, still half-hard, suddenly ashamed, humiliated, raw.

Her voice echoed in his head on repeat.

"It felt smaller."

He slowly brought the glass back to his lips, drank the rest of the water, and set it down with a quiet clink.

Then he returned to his room, crawling into bed without a sound.

Chapter 2 Meeting Pauline

The sun filtered in softly through the blinds, painting warm stripes across the floor of the dorm's common room. The air smelled like coffee and toasted bread. James stepped out of his room, trying to act casual, though sleep still clung to his eyes and a tightness curled in his stomach.

He froze when he saw them.

Leo sat at the small table, shirtless, lazily eating scrambled eggs with hot sauce. Across from him, Jess--

the

Jess--perched barefoot on the edge of the counter, swinging her legs gently and sipping coffee from James's favorite mug.

She was wearing one of Leo's oversized T-shirts, the neckline slipping off one shoulder, revealing smooth skin and a dark bra strap. Her toned legs were bare, crossed just above the knee, and the shirt barely covered her thighs. Her hair was messy, but in that effortless, post-sex way that somehow made her even hotter.

James looked away.

"Morning, lover boy," Leo said with a smirk, not looking up from his food.

Jess giggled behind her mug.

James walked to the fridge, pulled out the milk, and tried to keep his face neutral. He could feel Leo's grin from across the room, like heat against the back of his neck.

"So..." Leo drawled, "did you sleep okay? Or did something...

interrupt

you?"

Jess snorted, nearly choking on her coffee.

James froze mid-pour, the milk nearly overflowing his bowl of cereal. His face flushed, ears burning.

"I--I slept fine," he muttered, keeping his eyes down.

Leo laughed, clearly enjoying himself. "Hey, don't be shy, bro. You got a little action too, right?" He raised an eyebrow toward Jess. "She told me you're a gentle soul."

Jess slid off the counter and walked over to James, barefoot and still grinning.

He tried not to look at her legs. Or her lips. Or remember the way her hand had wrapped around him hours earlier.

She leaned in close, her perfume soft and teasing, and whispered, "Don't worry about it."

Then, still holding his gaze, she smiled and kissed his cheek.

"At least you're cute."

James stood there, frozen with the spoon in his hand, not sure if he wanted to run back to his room or melt into the floor.

Leo just raised his coffee like a toast. "To unforgettable nights, huh?"

James didn't respond.

He just sat down slowly, stirred his cereal, and tried not to think about the way his heart was still racing.

The day passed in a blur.

James went through his football drills like a machine--silent, focused, detached. He barely registered his coach's comments or the sting in his thighs from the extra kicks. His mind kept drifting--back to the kitchen, to Jess's voice, her laugh, that kiss on the cheek. He couldn't shake it. Couldn't shake the way Leo had smirked.

By the time evening rolled in, he still wasn't sure if he wanted to go out... but he dressed anyway.

Black jeans. Clean sneakers. A fitted dark-blue shirt that hugged his chest just enough without trying too hard. He checked himself in the mirror twice, ran his fingers through his hair, and tried not to look like he was overthinking every detail.

At around 9:40, Dre knocked on the door with his usual swagger, dressed sharp in a black bomber jacket and gold chain. "Damn, James. Lookin' like you might actually get laid tonight."

James gave him a crooked smile, shook his head. "Not the goal."

"Sure it's not," Dre said with a wink.

Leo was already ready, of course--ripped black jeans, designer sneakers, a crisp white shirt with the top three buttons undone. His cologne hit like a statement.

The three of them headed down to the parking garage and climbed into Leo's matte black SUV. Music pumped from the speakers as they cruised through the city, the night already thick with promise.

They pulled up to the club just before eleven. A long line of people stretched down the sidewalk--girls in short dresses and heels, guys in designer jackets trying to look important. Bass pulsed from inside the building like a heartbeat.

Leo didn't even blink. He walked straight up to the entrance, greeted the bouncer with a dap and a grin.

"Wassup, Ricky? Brought some friends tonight."

The bouncer smiled and lifted the velvet rope without hesitation. "Go ahead, boss."

James felt the eyes of people in line follow them as they walked in, the privilege of being with Leo like an invisible pass into a different reality.

Inside, the club was alive.

Deep red and blue lights painted the space in waves, shifting to the rhythm of the music. A DJ worked the booth above the dance floor, blending heavy beats with seductive vocals. The air was thick with heat, perfume, and anticipation. People moved like shadows, pressed together on the dance floor--grinding, laughing, lost in each other.

To the left was the bar, glowing with soft golden light. Bartenders in tight black shirts moved fast, pouring drinks, tossing shakers in the air, sliding cocktails down the counter. High tables surrounded the perimeter, already crowded with groups--girls in glittering outfits, guys with hungry eyes.

Leo looked around, pleased. "This is it. Let's have a night."

The three of them had claimed a high table near the edge of the dance floor. Leo, of course, was already in his element--one arm slung around a brunette in a tight champagne-colored dress who clung to him like she'd known him forever. She laughed at everything he said, fingers tracing slow circles on his chest.

Dre leaned back on his stool, drink in hand, eyes scanning the crowd with practiced ease.

James nursed a gin and tonic, eyes drifting absently over the sea of bodies moving to the music, the pulse of the bass shaking his ribs. The atmosphere was intoxicating--heat, light, energy. Still, he felt a bit like a spectator.

Until Leo turned to him with a grin.