Before Goa - One Last Sleepover

⚠️ Author's Note:

Before Goa, before the beach and the bruised hips and the moaning--there was a night in Delhi where something shifted, quietly, dangerously.

________________________________________

February 2020.

Third year of college. The world still felt wide open.

Classes were done for the week, and Delhi had begun to flirt with spring. The worst of the winter was behind them, but nights still had a bite. Samay's roommate Kunal had packed up after their Friday morning lecture, mumbling something about a cousin's wedding back home. He'd barely changed out of his jeans before hauling his backpack over one shoulder and heading out.

Which meant Samay had the dorm to himself. A rare luxury.

By late evening, Shubham landed up at Samay's room after lab, like always. Kunal wasn't around, so he just kicked off his slippers and stretched out on the other bed without saying much.

Samay didn't even pretend to be surprised when he opened the door and saw him standing there.

Samay barely glanced up. "Lab run late?"

"Yeah. Too lazy to walk back."

"So you are crashing here?" Samay asked, stepping aside without waiting for an answer.

"Obviously," Shubham said, walking in and tossing his phone and keys onto Kunal's empty desk like he owned the place.

They'd known each other almost since day one -- the two hottest, most visible freshers of their batch, always introduced at parties like a matching set. "You know Shubham, right? Oh, you have to meet Samay." One from Delhi, the other from Chandigarh. One wiry and fast-talking, the other broad and still. Where one led, the other followed -- and sometimes, it wasn't clear who was doing what. That first semester, they'd sized each other up like rivals. But somewhere between hostel ragging, late-night chai, and gym sessions that turned competitive, they just clicked.

Now, halfway through college, they were just... a unit. Room or no room, they'd shared too many nights together already -- post-party crashes, late assignment grinds, nights they couldn't sleep and just talked till morning.

This was normal. Expected. Easy.

Samay flopped back onto his bed, flicked on his laptop, and shoved aside a half-finished packet of Uncle Chipps. "I swear to God, if Netflix keeps showing me this scammy 'Top 10 in India' bullshit..."

"You're the idiot who watches everything halfway," Shubham said, already toeing off his sneakers.

"You wanna pick?"

"I'll judge everything you pick."

Samay grinned. "So what's new?"

They scrolled aimlessly for a bit, half-mocking trailers, until Samay gave up and switched tabs. "Fuck it. Let's just watch something dumb."

He pulled up a loud cricket highlights compilation on YouTube -- a throwback to Dhoni's last glory days. It turned into them yelling over stats, mocking commentators, and taking turns mimicking Ravi Shastri's voice. At one point, Samay tried to pause the screen to prove Kohli's foot was clearly behind the crease; Shubham insisted otherwise just to piss him off.

Soon, the verbal sparring turned physical.

Shubham lunged--forearms crashing, their muscles grinding under the strain. Sweat had already begun to film on their skin.

Samay's breath hitched as Shubham shifted his weight, pinning him down harder.

"You're done," Shubham grunted.

"You wish," Samay gritted, muscles tensing.

For a second, they were locked in position -- forearms flexed, breath held, each waiting for the other to give in.

Samay, straining, managed to twist and pull Shubham toward him instead, toppling him sideways onto the mattress with a victory laugh. "Gotcha, bitch."

"Oh really?"

That's when it escalated.

They wrestled. Not the kind of childish horsing around you outgrow in middle school, but the kind that still happened between guys who weren't afraid to throw their weight around. Shirtless, breathless, tangled -- it wasn't playful so much as competitive, like a secret scoreboard was always running in their heads.

Samay climbed on top, trying to pin Shubham's wrists down.

"You're not stronger than me," he huffed.

"Yeah?" Shubham smirked. And in one sharp, effortless movement, he bucked upward, tossing Samay off like he weighed nothing.

Samay landed with a thud on the other side of the bed, winded, blinking up at the ceiling.

For a second, there was only the sound of their breathing, rough and uneven.

"You been getting soft?" Shubham asked, amused, lying back with his hands behind his head like nothing had happened.

Samay rubbed his ribs, half-laughing, half-impressed. "Bro. You could probably crack a man's spine."

Shubham shrugged. "Leg day."

Eventually, the adrenaline wore off. Samay got up and started digging through his drawer for his sleepwear.

Samay stood now in just his black boxers -- lean, lithe, skin smooth like he didn't even grow body hair. He bent to fold his jeans, and Shubham, without meaning to, glanced over.

It was just a moment.

But the curve of Samay's ass caught his eye -- firm, round, too shapely for his otherwise sharp, masculine frame. That slim waist didn't help.

Shubham looked away. Thought nothing of it. Or told himself he didn't.

He stripped to his own boxers too -- grey ones that sat snug over his thicker thighs and heavier frame. As he folded his shirt and tossed it onto the chair, Samay gave a mock-wince.

"Bro, you're built like a gym instructor."

"Because I actually lift."

"Shut up."

"You still taking the right?" Samay asked, already moving toward the bed.

"Obviously."

"Good. Kunal's blanket's in the wash -- still damp."

"So we're sharing?"

"Unless you want to freeze."

Shubham snorted. "What a delicate princess."

"Say that again when you're clinging to me at 3 a. m.," Samay muttered, flipping the double blanket open.

They slid under the shared blanket, careful not to touch. The bed was technically two singles pushed together -- not unusual in hostels -- but still narrow enough to keep things close. The air was cool, the ceiling fan rotating lazily overhead. Outside, faint chatter drifted up from the corridor.

It was late. They should've just slept.

But they never did.

________________________________________

At some point, the noise of the city slipped into the background. The room settled into a hush, the kind that arrives only when night has truly taken hold.

"Man," Samay said, adjusting his back against the headboard, "I could've been at eight by now."

Shubham turned his head lazily. "Eight?"

"Yeah. That NRI chick from last week? The one who wore the thigh-highs."

Shubham nodded. He already knew this--he'd seen the DMs and the picture Samay had triumphantly shared in the hostel group. But Samay kept going.

"Would've been eight if her roommate hadn't come back early. Had my pants halfway down, bro." He gave a regretful chuckle. "Fucking ruined it."

Shubham shook his head, grinning. "Your life's a porno."

"Nah, man. It's just Delhi University. Girls are horny too, we just put in the hours."

"You say it like it's a job."

"It is. You clock in, do the foreplay, pray her flatmates stay out, and boom--one more body for the tally."

Shubham laughed quietly but said nothing. Samay glanced at him.

"You still stuck at... what, one and a half?"

"Not stuck," Shubham replied. "Just not desperate."

Samay raised an eyebrow. "Wait, when did it become one and a half?"

Shubham shrugged, eyes half-lidded now. "Didn't I tell you about that girl from the Lit Fest? Quick blowie behind the auditorium. Wasn't much."

"Damn, okay, mister mysterious. When did that happen?"

"Two months ago. You were in Manali with your cousin."

"Fuck, you really don't give updates anymore," Samay said, mock-offended. "I thought we shared everything."

"We do," Shubham said, sitting up slightly. "But it was over in like, twenty seconds. Felt weird bragging."

"Still counts, bro. Half-point at least."

They both smirked, letting that hang for a beat.

The silence turned thoughtful, and for a moment it wasn't about the numbers. They both knew each other too well--past hookups, failed crushes, the silent rules of when to brag and when to just listen. In the glow of three years of friendship, their differences felt less important. Samay moved quick, bragged loud, chased risk like it was oxygen. Shubham played it close to the chest, calm, slow, more deliberate. But they'd always balanced each other out.

"You jerked off after?" Samay asked suddenly, voice low.

"After what?"

"The Lit Fest thing. I mean, did you finish later?"

Shubham gave him a sideways look. "Yeah. Hostel loo. Why?"

Samay laughed, then stretched--arms up, abs tightening under his brown skin. "Nothing. Just curious. I always gotta clear it out if I don't nut. Feels incomplete otherwise."

"Yeah, same."

There was a pause. A flicker in the air. A ripple neither of them acknowledged aloud.

"You ever," Samay began slowly, voice more casual than it should've been, "jerk off with someone else in the room?"

Shubham raised an eyebrow. "Like now?"

Samay looked over, smiled. "Maybe."

Shubham gave a quiet scoff. "You serious?"

"Just saying. Lights are off. Blankets on. No one's gonna know."

Shubham rolled his neck. Thought about it.

They weren't kids anymore. They'd shared almost everything--food, dorm rooms, advice, late-night truths. This wasn't the most outrageous thing Samay had ever suggested.

"Whatever, man," Shubham muttered, lying back and closing his eyes.

Seconds passed.

And then, from the other side of the bed, a sound. Soft, unmistakable. Skin on skin, slow and hesitant.

Samay.

Shubham's chest rose, stilled. Then, quietly, without looking over, he let his own hand slip beneath the blanket.

They didn't speak.

The room filled with the quiet rhythm of breath and friction, two separate motions tethered by the same heat. No moans, just low exhales and the occasional shift of weight against cotton sheets.

They weren't looking at each other. Not directly.

But in the dark, with only the faintest gold outline from the corridor light, they were aware.

Shubham's blanket rustled more than once, and at some point, maybe by accident, maybe not, it slipped. Just enough.

Samay turned his head.

What he saw wasn't explicit--not really. Just the outline of Shubham's body, long and broad and muscled. The faint rise of his cock in the dark, caught for a second in the angled light.

His breath hitched.

Shubham didn't seem to notice.

Samay looked away fast. But not before the image burned itself into memory--an intrusive, primal reaction he couldn't name. All he could think, absurdly, was: How the fuck is it that thick?

And then, just like that, it changed.

The mood shifted. Not out of discomfort exactly, but some silent understanding that they'd pushed close to a line.

Samay let go first. "We should sleep," he said into the dark.

Shubham didn't respond immediately.

Then: "Yeah."

They rolled over, facing away from each other, as if the space between them had grown.

The room still smelled faintly of sex.

But neither of them had come.

Not fully.

Not yet.

________________________________________

The fan above creaked in lazy circles. Outside, a dog barked once, and then nothing.

Samay lay on his side, face half-buried in the pillow, eyes open in the dark.

Sleep wasn't coming.

He could still feel the shape of Shubham beside him--broad shoulders, the way the bed dipped slightly on that side. The blanket was back in place now, but the glimpse he'd caught before--just a slant of hip, the dark rise of something unmistakably male, thick--refused to dissolve from his mind.

It wasn't desire. Not in any way he could name.

Just surprise. That's all.

He hadn't expected Shubham to look like that. Something about the contrast--how reserved he always seemed, how composed--and then suddenly, in that shadow, that body: heavy, muscular, primal.

Samay shifted on the mattress, suddenly too aware of his own skin. The boxers clung awkwardly to him. His dick had gone semi-soft but wasn't quite done.

He let out a breath, long and slow.

Shubham, still facing the wall, spoke without turning.

"You awake?"

"Yeah."

Another pause. The air between them felt heavy.

"Same," Shubham muttered.

They didn't say anything else for a while. Samay listened to the rhythm of their breathing--how it had slowed, how it aligned. The room wasn't built for two people to sleep this close. The mattress was two singles pushed together, but tonight it felt like one too-small island.

Samay kept his eyes shut. He didn't want to know if Shubham was still hard.

"You ever think this is weird?" Samay asked, voice casual but low.

"What?"

"Like, two guys. Same bed. Jerking off."

Shubham let out a short exhale. "Not really."

"You sure?"

"Bro, we've slept in the same room a hundred times."

"Yeah, but this was... kinda different."

A beat.

"Yeah," Shubham said.

Silence again. Not awkward. Just... thick.

Then Shubham turned. Just slightly. Not facing Samay fully, but enough to shift the air.

"We didn't even finish," he said, like it was some shared fact that needed acknowledgment.

Samay gave a soft laugh. "Kinda ruined the flow, didn't it?"

"You looking over didn't help."

Samay tensed slightly. "You saw that?"

"Obviously."

There was no malice in his voice. Just a flat, amused sort of honesty.

Samay didn't defend himself. He didn't even blush. He just muttered, "Blanket slipped. Not my fault."

Shubham turned more now, propped up on one elbow. In the dim light from the corridor, his outline was visible--biceps taut, chest broad, one side of his face in partial shadow.

"You looked... curious."

Samay met his gaze, just briefly.

"You looked... huge."

Shubham snorted, genuinely laughing now.

Samay grinned. The tension thinned for a moment, dissolving into something more familiar. They were back in their rhythm again--boys ribbing boys, pushing just enough without saying too much.

Then Shubham lay back again.

"You got a weird ass, by the way."

Samay blinked. "What?"

"When you were undressing earlier. That bend over move?" A pause. "Too perfect."

Samay stared into the dark. "You checking me out now?"

"No homo," Shubham replied immediately, smirking.

Samay burst out laughing, pillow muffling the sound. "Bro, you're the one noticing my ass."

"I was looking away. It was right there."

Samay grinned to himself. "You could've just said it's firm."

"Too round," Shubham replied. "You sure you're not doing squats on the sly?"

"Maybe you're just jealous."

"Maybe you're built like a girl back there."

Samay mock-punched him under the blanket. Shubham shoved back, and for a second they almost started again--this playful, primal energy that always simmered close to the surface between them. But it didn't boil over this time.

This time, they let it sit.

Both lay on their backs now, the ceiling fan turning above them like a slow clock.

Samay stared up.

Something had shifted. Not drastically, not in a way that would be obvious to anyone else. But he felt it. So did Shubham, probably. Something in the space between them--tenuous, electric.

They didn't touch.

They didn't talk more.

Eventually, the room gave way to sleep.

In the dark, Samay's hand brushed too close to Shubham's under the blanket. Neither moved. Neither spoke.

In a few weeks, the world would shut down. Campuses would close. Flights would be cancelled. Samay would head back to his family for the lockdown, and Shubham would go back to his place. For months, they wouldn't see each other in person. Wouldn't talk quite like this, either.

But one day, they'd meet again.

And when they did--on a humid afternoon in Goa, with beers sweating on a beachside shack table--everything would be different.

Neither of them would say it.

But both would remember this night.

The one where something almost happened.

And maybe already had.

________________________________________

???? Let me know what you think.

This is where it all started.

The sleepover that changed everything.

Goa Nights picks up months later--when Shubham and Samay, older and more open, meet again and finally give in to what they've been denying.

But it doesn't end in Goa.

Not even close.

I'm now working on the sequel to Goa Nights--a darker, filthier return. Same boys. More secrets. A destination wedding that brings them back to each other 8 years later... and back to the edge.

Want to see how far they'll fall?

Tell me what you'd make them do.

Because they're not done with each other yet.