Story cover for Sugar and Sin | Pt.2 Rome Series by XxredkarmaxX
Sugar and Sin | Pt.2 Rome Series
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    Reads 1,174
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    Parts 34
  • WpHistory
    Time 5h 51m
  • WpView
    Reads 1,174
  • WpVote
    Votes 67
  • WpPart
    Parts 34
  • WpHistory
    Time 5h 51m
Ongoing, First published Jul 17
Mature
"You and your girl need a tab?" he asked, voice smooth like he smoked cigars and drank bourbon for breakfast.

I looked over my shoulder at Zuri. "She's not mine. She's my brother's... whatever-they-are right now."

"Hm." He didn't push for details.

Micah turned his back to grab another bottle and I let myself study him-broad shoulders under a fitted black T-shirt, veins running down his forearms, the soft flex of muscle when he twisted open a cap.

Shit.

I took a long sip, letting the burn distract me.

I'd never been into men. At least, not in a real way. Never touched one, never even entertained the thought long enough to get hard from it. But sitting there, watching him work in silence, watching him exist like he didn't owe the world an explanation...

Something stirred.

He glanced back at me.

"First time here?" he asked, that low rasp curling at the end of his words.

"Yeah."

"You look it."

I arched a brow. "That supposed to mean something?"

"It means you're watching me like you're trying to figure something out." He tilted his head. "Like you don't know if you wanna buy me a drink or punch me for making you feel something."

My mouth parted-and then shut again.

What the fuck was I supposed to say to that?

Micah smirked slightly. It wasn't cocky. It wasn't even flirtatious. Just knowing. Confident in a way that made my throat dry up.

"I don't swing that way," I muttered, mostly to myself.

He leaned forward, bracing a tattooed arm on the bar. "Didn't ask if you did."

I stared at him. Heart thudding.

He straightened, tossed the towel over his shoulder, and moved on like he hadn't just thrown my entire identity off a cliff.

And that's when it started.

That quiet unraveling. That slow itch in my chest I couldn't scratch. That one moment I'd think about for weeks - when I'd catch myself glancing at other men and asking what the fuck is happening to me?

That night wasn't supposed to change anything.

But it did.

Because of him.

Because of Micah.
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The Art Class (MXM)

38 parts Ongoing Mature

Alex, a new student at Breakworth College studying art, struggles with being on time for class. With a lack of friends and no social groups, he finds himself alone and helpless. One encounter after another with Zack, he finds himself debating whether or not Zack is really homophobic and a downright asshole or is trying to hide something about himself; only time will tell. --- I had two options: Say yes or make this situation worse for myself, Deciding on option two, "Zack, you're acting pretty gay for someone who's homophobic," I said slyly. I knew this could only cause him to get angrier, but I knew it was true he was the one who called me a "fag" not even a week ago. "I'm not gay, unlike you; I just know how to get things I want, and you caught my eye. Being my friend is a blessing. You should take the offer," He said, still against my neck. "Aren't you cocky," I replied, trying to stand my ground. Gripping tighter on my waist, he hummed against my ear once again. "I'm getting impatient, Alex. Cut the crap. Say yes already so we can put this past us. I already know I can get you to say Yes," and in a barely audible voice, I heard him say, "I know your weakness". "Now, what weakness could that be-" I didn't even get to finish my sentence before a set of teeth sank into the sensitive flesh of my neck, sending an unexpected wave of pleasure through me. "W-wait, not there. Fine, fine. I'll be your friend. Just stop that shit." Zack paused, his breath hot against my skin as he chuckled. "That wasn't so hard, was it?" His tone was dripping with satisfaction, revelling in his perceived victory. He pulled back slightly, his eyes locked onto mine with a predatory glint. I tried to steady my breathing, my pulse racing from the conflicting sensations. "What is wrong with you?" I muttered, more to myself than to him. The fear and arousal mingled in a way that left me feeling disoriented and vulnerable.