⚠️ Author's Note:
The friendship starts to bend here.
A touch too long, a stare too deep, and a command Ishaan can't stop thinking about.
The descent begins--slow, hot, humiliating.
(Note: The characters now wear new names, Ishaan and Vikram. But the tension, the heat, the fall? Still exactly the same.)
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Goa, December 2020.
Goa hit them like a warm slap of freedom. The air smelled like sea salt and suntan lotion, the sky a washed-out blue, the December sun gentle but ever-present. The airport was crawling with mask-wearing tourists, but Ishaan and Vikram barely noticed. They'd timed it too well -- landed within minutes of each other, despite flying from different cities.
"Bro," Ishaan grinned, his sunglasses pushed up into his hair, "you look like you've been eating dumbbells during lockdown."
Vikram smirked and clapped him on the back. "And you look like you haven't touched one."
"Lean is the new shredded," Ishaan shot back, flexing dramatically. "Besides, I had eight girls who loved this body before March. What's your number again?"
"Don't start," Vikram said, rolling his eyes. "We're not even out of the airport yet."
They bumped shoulders as they walked out, laughing. It had been nearly nine months since they'd last seen each other -- college had gone online, hostels had emptied, and everything after March had blurred into one long, lonely scroll. But now? Now they were in Goa. A thirteen-day villa vacation, beaches and booze, and the first five days -- thanks to COVID travel delays -- were just them.
The cab ride to the villa was all noise. Old inside jokes. Updates on mutual friends. Trash-talking Tinder dates. Ishaan sat with his leg bouncing, buzzed just from being out again. "It's fucking surreal," he muttered. "Like, this... this is what life used to be like."
Vikram nodded, quieter, his hand trailing the breeze from the half-open window. For a second, he looked like he might say something deeper -- about how brutal the year had been, how he'd felt trapped in his head for months. But he just smiled and said, "Yeah. Feels good to breathe."
The villa was a ten-bedroom beast, tucked away near a quieter beach stretch in North Goa. High walls, a private pool, white-washed walls with turquoise trim -- it looked like it had been stolen from a Netflix series. Ishaan whistled as they walked through the gate.
"Bro," he said, spreading his arms. "If we don't get laid on this trip, I'm suing the universe."
"File the case after breakfast," Vikram muttered, but even he looked impressed.
They dumped their bags inside, explored the space -- ten bedrooms with balconies, a big living room with a sunken couch, an open kitchen, and a wraparound terrace on top. Ishaan picked a room on the eastern corner with a view of the pool. Vikram picked one on the opposite end. Like bros just spreading out -- but silently, they both enjoyed the idea of space. After a year of being stuck in tight quarters, privacy was a luxury.
The living room became their temporary base. Ishaan sprawled shirtless on the couch, sipping from a rum-and-Coke while Vikram flipped through the Spotify playlist on the speaker. Sunlight poured in through the open doors. It smelled like sea air and furniture polish.
Ishaan's body was lean, naturally golden-brown, smooth from the waist down -- no hair, not even on his thighs. He had the kind of cut most guys had to work hard for. Narrow waist. Defined abs. But the standout was his ass -- thick, muscular, and high-set. Slightly feminine, sure, but firm. Vikram glanced once -- quick, automatic -- then looked away. He didn't know why it stood out.
He focused on his own drink instead. No rum for him yet. He wanted to settle in.
Ishaan sipped lazily. "You actually got bigger," he said, nodding at Vikram's chest. "What, you hit puberty again during quarantine?"
Vikram gave him a look. "You saying I wasn't a man before?"
"I'm saying now you look like you could lift a car. Good thing you're still a virgin or you'd have broken someone."
It was an old joke. Ishaan had always been the one with stories -- eight girls before lockdown, a couple regulars, a few one-nighters. He liked to boast about being "the oral god," bragging about how he could make women beg with his mouth. With women, he was always the one in control. Never played the bottom. Never wanted to.
Vikram, on the other hand, was quieter about it all. Two handjobs, one awkward blowjob -- that was it. He liked asses. Obsessed, even. But nothing ever quite clicked with the girls he tried it with. Nothing ever felt primal.
They had brunch at the villa. Eggs, toast, local sausage. A staff member in a mask brought it out silently and left without a word. The world outside still felt strange. Inside the villa, though, it was easy to forget.
By noon, they were walking to the beach -- towels slung over shoulders, flip-flops dragging through the sand.
The beach wasn't packed, but it was alive. Locals. Some Indian tourists. A few foreigners. Ishaan peeled off his shirt, revealing his smooth torso, and dropped it on the sand. His swim shorts -- navy blue -- were a bit snug. Vikram wore darker trunks, looser.
"Yo, red bikini girl at 2 o'clock," Ishaan said, nodding toward a tall woman walking past. "Solid 8.5."
Vikram grinned. "I'm more of a 3 o'clock guy. That peachy one-piece? Great ass."
Ishaan gave an approving whistle. "Finally! The virgin speaks."
They rated women like old times. Wingman mode activated. "You take the café girl, I'll take the volleyball one." Ishaan was loud, grinning. Vikram laughed along, even if something inside him felt off. Not wrong -- just... distracted.
The water was cold at first, but refreshing. They waded in waist-deep, splashing, playfully shoving each other like kids. Ishaan tackled Vikram underwater. Vikram retaliated by lifting him and throwing him backward. Laughter echoed out toward the waves.
When Ishaan surfaced, his swim shorts had ridden up. The wet fabric clung to his skin, outlining the roundness of his ass, with the soft, almost girly skin just above that ass exposed. Vikram noticed -- just for a flash -- then looked away, brushing water off his face.
That ass was insane. Like, if a girl had that, guys would fight to get behind her.
Vikram clenched his jaw, shaking the thought off. Just a trick of the light. Just a year of no sex messing with his brain.
They lounged on the beach after, drying off under the sun. Ishaan downed another rum-and-Coke. His skin glistened, drops of seawater sliding over his abs. His head leaned back, a slight grin on his lips.
"You miss college?" he asked, suddenly.
"Yeah," Vikram said. "Miss the hostel vibe."
"Miss the girls, man. College was like a buffet."
Vikram smirked. "Still dry since March?"
Ishaan groaned. "Don't remind me. My dick's in therapy."
They both laughed. But under the humor, something sat between them -- a silent acknowledgment of the weirdness. The year had twisted everything. And now, it was just the two of them, surrounded by heat and water and silence.
Later, back at the villa, the sky was streaked with orange and pink. Ishaan leaned against the balcony outside the living room, towel around his neck. "Shower and massage?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Yeah," Vikram said. "Let's do it."
They turned away toward their opposite rooms, footsteps echoing in the hallway.
________________________________________
Dinner was still a couple hours away, and after the beach heat, the sticky saltwater, and the long morning of travel, both Ishaan and Vikram agreed they could use something relaxing to kick the evening off. There was a massage place attached to the restaurant they planned to eat at -- some plush, dimly lit ayurvedic joint that looked legit enough. Ishaan found a deal online.
"Bro, look at this," he said, holding up his phone. "Couples package. Way cheaper than two singles."
Vikram raised an eyebrow. "What, you tryna hold hands during the massage or what?"
"Shut up," Ishaan grinned. "Cheaper is cheaper. Don't blame me if they start lighting candles and playing love songs."
They booked it without a second thought. Locker keys handed over, soft sandals swapped in. The receptionist smiled at them without blinking when assigning them the couple's room.
Inside, the lights were soft, the air smelled like sandalwood, and there were two narrow massage tables laid out side by side. No divider. Just a serene, open space with faint instrumental music humming through the walls.
Two women entered -- young, attractive, dusky-skinned masseuses in beige uniforms with tight buns and confident smiles. Ishaan shot Vikram a smirk like alright, not bad.
"Undress completely, cover with towel," one of them said matter-of-factly. Then they stepped out, leaving the door ajar.
Ishaan and Vikram looked at each other for a second before awkwardly turning in opposite directions. Neither said a word as they each stripped fully and grabbed a small towel from the edge of the massage tables, quickly wrapping it around their waists. The towels barely covered the essentials.
They lay face down on the tables, arms by their sides. The towels shifted a bit as they settled in.
The door creaked open again.
The massage started slow -- oil warmed in palms, then spread in long glides across their backs. The women were skilled, moving with mechanical grace, kneading tension out of shoulders and lower backs. For the first ten minutes, there was silence except for the low music and the faint slap of oiled skin being worked.
Vikram closed his eyes and melted into the sensation. It had been months since anyone touched him like this. Hell, since anyone touched him at all. The firm fingers moved down his back and along the sides of his ribs, and he shivered lightly -- half from pleasure, half from the ridiculous vulnerability of it all.
He cracked one eye open, gaze drifting across to Ishaan's table.
Ishaan's towel had shifted slightly as the masseuse worked his thighs. The way Ishaan lay -- stomach down, one leg slightly bent -- made the curve of his lower back visible. Smooth. Completely hairless. His waist tapered down like a swimmer's, lean and tight, the small towel clinging to the swell of his ass.
Vikram blinked and looked away.
Damn. That's the kind of ass women would kill for.
The thought came uninvited. He ignored it.
Ishaan, on the other hand, had his eyes half-lidded, almost dozing. The strong hands on his thighs were pressing up, dangerously close to the towel line. The woman was good -- confident in the way she touched. But he found his focus drifting.
He glanced sideways when Vikram shifted slightly.
From the side angle, he could make out the silhouette of Vikram's towel. It rose higher at the center. Not outrageously, but enough. Enough to see the unmistakable shape of a thick, heavy bulge that didn't lie still. Semi-hard and twitching slightly as the masseuse worked his legs.
Jesus.
The shape looked formidable. Ishaan looked away immediately.
He wasn't sure why he looked. Or why it stuck in his brain even after he closed his eyes again.
The massage went on. Arms, neck, calves. At some point, they were asked to turn over.
Neither of them looked at the other this time. They moved fast, flipping under their towels with practiced precision, eyes locked on the ceiling.
The rest of the massage passed in a strange mix of peace and charged awareness. There were no stares. No talking. Just faint music, gliding hands, and thoughts they didn't quite want to acknowledge.
