Colleagues To Domination – Part 2

Arslan Pulls Rohan Close After Rainy Bullet Ride Hot Gay story

The client dinner was at a rooftop place in BKC. Too many people, too much noise, and free-flowing Old Monk and beer. The logistics team had closed a big account, so the boss was in a generous mood. By ten-thirty most people were loud and red-faced.

Rohan had only planned to have two drinks. He ended up having four. The third one was because Arslan kept refilling his glass without asking. The fourth one was because every time Rohan tried to say no, Arslan just looked at him with that half-smile and said, “Abe pee na yaar, handle nahi kar sakta kya?” in front of everyone. Rohan did not want to look weak.

Arslan himself was drinking slower, but heavier. Dark rum, neat. His eyes stayed sharper than they should have been. Throughout the evening Arslan’s hand kept finding reasons to land on Rohan. A clap on the shoulder when the client praised the team. Fingers curling around the back of Rohan’s neck for a second when someone made a joke.

Once, when a guy from sales leaned in too close to show Rohan something on his phone, Arslan simply stepped between them, arm sliding across Rohan’s shoulders like it belonged there. He did not say anything. He just stayed. Rohan felt every second of it.

By the time they left, the rain had returned with full force. Half the team took cabs. The other half disappeared into the night. Arslan’s Bullet was parked downstairs. He did not ask Rohan if he wanted a lift. He just handed him the helmet.

The moment Rohan climbed on, the alcohol made him bolder than usual. Instead of holding the side grips, his hands went straight to Arslan’s waist. Lower than last time. Fingers spreading slightly over the hard muscle under the wet shirt. Arslan did not react. He just kicked the bike to life and pulled out into the flooded roads.

Water sprayed up around them. The city looked blurred and golden under the streetlights. Rohan’s chest pressed fully against Arslan’s back now. He could smell the rum on Arslan’s skin mixed with rain and that familiar cologne. Every time the bike took a turn, Rohan’s grip tightened.

Once his fingers slipped under the edge of Arslan’s shirt and touched bare skin. Warm. Smooth. A thin trail of hair. He left his hand there for three long seconds before pulling it back to safer territory. Arslan’s voice came through the helmet, low and rough. “Hath hata mat.” Rohan’s stomach tightened. He put his hand back exactly where it had been.

They were halfway to Borivali when the roads started looking worse. Water reached the footrest. Traffic crawled. Arslan cursed under his breath and took a sudden left. “Tere ghar nahi pahunch payenge aaj. Mera flat closer hai. Thodi der ruk ja. Subah nikal jana.”

Rohan should have argued. He did not. The alcohol and the heat of Arslan’s body made the decision for him. Arslan’s 1BHK in Jogeshwari was small and lived-in. One bedroom, one hall, kitchenette. Clothes on a chair. Gym bag near the door. The smell of his cologne and something masculine and warm.

Both of them were soaked. Arslan threw his keys on the table and pulled his wet shirt over his head in one motion. Dark skin, broad chest, thick trail of hair disappearing into his jeans. Water still ran down the centre of his stomach. He did not bother hiding anything.

He just walked to the bathroom, tossed Rohan a dry t-shirt and shorts, and said, “Change kar. Main bhi kar leta hoon.” Rohan changed in the hall, heart beating too fast. The t-shirt smelled like Arslan. Soft and used. It hung loosely on his smaller frame.

When Arslan came out, he was only in grey shorts, towel around his neck, beard still damp. He looked at Rohan for a second longer than necessary. “Tera size chhota hai mere kapdon se,” he said, almost amused. Then he opened a bottle of Old Monk from the kitchen shelf. “Thoda aur? Body garam rahegi.”

They sat on the edge of the bed because the hall had no proper seating. The only light came from the bathroom. Rain hammered the window. The bottle passed between them. Conversation stayed light at first. Work. The client’s stupid jokes. How the boss got drunk and almost fell. But the silence between sentences kept growing heavier.

Arslan’s knee was pressed against Rohan’s. Neither moved it. After a while Arslan leaned back on one hand, the other holding the glass. His voice dropped. “Aaj poori raat tu mere peeche chipka raha.” Rohan’s ears burned. He took another sip. “Baarish thi.” “Pehle bhi baarish thi. Itna nahi chipakta tha.”

Rohan did not answer. He could feel Arslan’s eyes on the side of his face. The alcohol made everything slower and sharper at the same time. He became aware of how close their thighs were. How Arslan’s bare shoulder almost touched his. How the room felt too small.

Arslan put the glass down. Then he did something simple and dangerous. He reached out and fixed the collar of the oversized t-shirt on Rohan, fingers brushing the side of Rohan’s neck. The touch lingered. Thumb rested against Rohan’s pulse for a second. Rohan’s breath caught.

Arslan’s hand did not leave. It slid a little lower, fingers resting at the base of Rohan’s throat, feeling the swallow. Rohan turned his head. Their faces were suddenly too close. Rum on both their breaths. Eyes dark. The rain outside felt far away.

Neither of them moved for a long moment. Then Arslan leaned in the last few inches. The first kiss was slow and messy from the alcohol. Soft at first, almost careful, like both of them were still pretending it was not happening. Then Arslan’s hand came up to hold the side of Rohan’s neck and the kiss deepened.

Mouths opening. The wet sound of it filled the quiet room. Rohan made a small noise in his throat when Arslan’s tongue brushed his. His fingers curled into the bedsheet. It lasted longer than it should have. When they finally pulled apart, both were breathing harder. Foreheads almost touching. Arslan’s thumb stroked once along Rohan’s jaw.

No one said anything. Arslan just reached behind Rohan and switched off the bathroom light. The room fell into darkness broken only by the streetlight coming through the window. He lay down first, back against the wall, and pulled Rohan down with him without asking. The single bed was narrow. There was nowhere to go except against each other.

Rohan’s back ended up pressed to Arslan’s chest. One of Arslan’s arms slid around his waist, heavy and warm. Their legs tangled naturally. Rohan could feel everything. The hard line of Arslan’s body. The heat of his skin. The slow rise and fall of his breathing. Somewhere in the middle of the night, half-asleep and still drunk, Rohan felt lips press once against the back of his neck. Soft. Possessive. Then nothing.

Morning came with a grey light and a throbbing head. Rohan woke up first. His mouth was dry. His body was still locked against Arslan’s. The arm around his waist had tightened sometime during the night. One of Arslan’s thighs was thrown over his. And there was no mistaking the hard length pressed against his lower back.

Rohan stayed completely still. His own body had reacted too. He could feel it. Shame and heat mixed in his stomach. Slowly, carefully, he tried to ease away. The movement made Arslan stir. The arm around him flexed once, then loosened. Arslan’s voice came out rough and sleep-heavy. “Subah ho gayi?” “Haan.”

Silence. Arslan did not move away immediately. His hand rested on Rohan’s stomach for another few seconds, fingers spreading slightly, before he finally rolled onto his back and rubbed his face. Neither of them mentioned the kiss. Neither of them mentioned how they had slept. The air was thick with the things they were not saying.

Arslan sat up, back muscles shifting under his skin. He glanced at Rohan once. Eyes still heavy. A small, unreadable look. “Chai banata hoon. Phir tujhe drop kar dunga.” Rohan nodded. His lips still felt sensitive. He could almost taste the rum and Arslan if he thought about it too hard.

Parts of the night were blurry, but not blurry enough. The way Arslan had held his neck. The sound their mouths had made. The kiss on the back of his neck in the dark. He remembered enough. And from the way Arslan’s gaze lingered on his mouth for half a second before he stood up, Rohan knew Arslan remembered enough too.

They just were not ready to say it yet.

To be continued in the next part.