Rugby Boys: Addicted to Connection but Allergic to Vulnerability — Chapters 1-3

We’re back from patreon jail!

Note: Here's a slightly different story than normal. I posted all three chapters since they were all done, and I know my readers would appreciate the climax of it. Enjoy!

Everyone is 18.

Chapter 1: Bro Cuddles

I could’ve gone to therapy, but something held me back. Pride maybe. Or fear. Or some quiet belief that I didn’t deserve to be helped. Whatever it was, I never walked into that office. Instead, I kept doing what I’d always done: killing it on the rugby team, getting into an Ivy League college, hooking up with girls that other guys liked, working out too much, pretending it all made me feel full.

On the outside, I was kind of a stud. That sounds arrogant, but it’s just the truth. I’d been popular since high school. Girls liked my body, and guys liked my energy. I had always had someone to text. My family was one of the richer ones in the neighborhood. We had a pool, and my older sister was very popular, paving the way for an easy social life by the time I had arrived. There were always plans and things to do, and yet I’d lie in bed at night feeling like there was a whole other world behind a locked door I didn’t have the key to. I resented other people’s happiness, but put on a facade of euphoric conformity on a daily basis.

Freshman year, I told my roommate once. Just blurted it out one night after we’d both been studying in silence for hours. I said something like, “Do you ever feel like life, the world, girls, sex… is all just... hollow?”

He blinked. “Dude, you have girls over like every weekend.”

“Yeah...”

He shrugged. “You’re lucky. I’m over here wanking it every night.”

That was true, by the way. He had developed this habit of not even trying to be discreet about it. I’d hear the rhythmic shifting of his sheets, the occasional grunt. And worst of all, the crusty, ever-present cumrag he left on the floor between our beds. It always made me feel more alone, for some reason. He wasn’t a deep person. There was nothing under the surface with him. I didn’t bring it up again.

—[]—

Fast forward a couple years, and I’m still the same guy on paper. I even had the same roommate. Thought it was a safer bet than going with one of my Rugby mates, since they can be fucking slobs. I was still crushing it at parties, still pretending I didn’t want to be held more than I wanted to be touched. And that’s when I started hanging out more with Cam.

Cam was on the rugby team with me. Built like a truck, loud as hell, always grinning. Everyone loved him. But when it was just the two of us, I could tell there was something more to him. He made me feel comfortable, just by having a certain attitude. Everything was ok to talk about. Nothing was off limits, and he literally didn't judge anyone for anything. He was like me, I think, but somehow had it figured out.

One day we had an especially competitive game, in which we had really put in our all. The whole team was bruised, muddy and sweaty. When we won, the elation was instant. Cam came up behind me and lifted me in the air before letting me drop down onto his strong chest, and kissing me right on the mouth. Rugby teams always hug. We even grab ass, kiss on the face, and everything else, but it was always superficial, a mix of jokes, good-luck superstitions and camaraderie that leaned more toward dutifully gay horseplay than actual male intimacy. 

But a few minutes later, Cam and I were the last ones left in the showers, while the rest of the guys were changing at the lockers. We met eyes wordlessly, and he sort of smiled at me, just a little. We rinsed our rugged, big-shouldered, sore, tired, and energetic bodies next to each other. When I turned off the water, I found Cam had come closer to me, his smile having widened. There was something else there behind the look on his face, something genuine. I smiled back, not really sure what the meaning was, but enjoying the feeling.

"Great job today," he said.

"You too, man," I said back.

He quickly flicked a finger under my balls, and made my junk bounce in the air lightly. Normally, when a guy touches another guy’s dick or balls, the intent is pain, a “sack tap” or something similar, but he was just having fun. I flinched and pulled away, but laughed when I realized all was well. He laughed too, then reached out with both arms and pulled me into a bear hug. I was taken by surprise, since we were both naked. His hands found my back, and held me tightly, with no inhibitions about our nude bodies embracing, our dangling manhoods even touching a bit. I knew he sensed something in me that I had never really let out of the box. He sensed that I needed a hug. A real hug. 

We separated without words and I watched his bare form as he walked away into the locker room. I was a bit stunned, not knowing what had really just happened, but feeling like it had changed something in me in an instant.

—[]—

Later that night, after the party was over, Cam and I were sitting on the floor of his room with some bad pizza, half-watching a new action movie. He turned to me, and he must have noticed the look on my face.

"You alright?"

“I’m burnt out,” I said quickly. I don't know exactly where the words came from, but my brain said them before I could filter it.

He tossed me a Gatorade. “From what?”

I stared at the ceiling. “I don’t know. The game. The girls. Life. Everything.”

He leaned back against his bed. “Yeah. I get that. Ennui can affect us all. You’re a human.”

I looked over at him. “Ahn Wee?”

He nodded slowly. “Yeah, like, the blaring pain of ordinary life. I mean, I go through girls like water and I’m still thirsty.”

I let out a small laugh. “Exactly.”

He didn’t say anything after that. Just stood up and said, “You can crash here tonight if you want.”

“Aight,” I said, pulling off my shirt and shorts and tossing them into a corner. I figured I’d curl up on his couch like I'd done before, ride out the nightly wave of existential dread until morning.

But then he said, “No dude. Here.” And he patted the empty space in his bed.

I hesitated.

The look on his face was nothing more than a kind smile, but that’s what broke me. That someone had connected with me. That someone had seen me. The simplest exchange of words, and someone understanding what I had said. It might sound like the most trivial emotional exchange in existence, but for me, it was the first brick coming down from a powerful wall.

I slid into bed next to him, careful not to touch too much. But then I felt him shift behind me, his arm sliding across my chest, his body pressing into mine. Strong, warm, solid. His hips met mine from behind, and a wave of unfamiliar calm rushed over me.

I melted into him under a thick comforter. I could smell him intensely up close. He radiated masculinity, comfort and warmth. I curled my body in toward his, like a little kid. Like something broken inside me had just found its missing piece.

It was quiet.

Then I felt it. A tear. Just one. Sliding down the side of my face and onto the pillow.

We didn’t talk again that night. We just laid there together. He held me, instinctively, naturally. I felt his breath against my neck, and I knew the moment he fell asleep, when the movements of his chest became uniform.

—[]—

The next morning, I woke up in his arms. I felt his morning wood lazily throbbing on my hip. It made me more aware of my own, which ached as usual. I could’ve pulled away and made a joke about it. But I just laid there, memorizing the rhythm of his breath, of every sensation of the moment. I noted the warmth of the comforter and the soft mattress. The smell of him after sleeping, not bad, just human. The sight of the sloppy window blinds letting in just a bit of morning sun. The pleasant, pale blue wall paint.

He eventually stirred, slowly rolled away from me and rubbed his face. He looked in my direction. “You drooled.”

I smiled. “You snored.”

He smiled back at me.

He didn’t press, and we didn't talk about it. I chatted with him about classes and practice while I dressed, then headed back to my dorm. I felt deeply happy on the way home. The colors of the sky literally seemed brighter to me, like I'd never seen them before. I felt like going for a 5,000 mile run, even though I hated running. When I popped into my dorm, of course my roommate was in there, and I had caught him in a moment of self pleasure, a regular occurrence.

"Woops," I said, turning to leave the room.

"Nah it's chill," he said loudly, "I'm almost done." I rolled my eyes and chuckled.

A minute later, his underwear was back on.

"So," he said to me casually, "You were out all night and you're all smiles. You get laid?"

"I just crashed with Cam," I said.

"Ah. Ok. How's he doing?" he said nonchalantly, scrolling through his phone, losing interest in our conversation if I didn't have anything spicy to share with him.

"He’s chill," I said, smiling, turning to my computer to begin some work.

Chapter 2: Rinsing Away the Soreness

When I left for practice later that day, I took the long way. I wanted to walk by Cam's frat house, just in case. Just as I passed by, he was walking out, wearing a hoodie and gym shorts, his bulky shoulders and athletic frame partially concealed, but his sharp, wide jawline and his confident smile letting everyone know that he was a positive force of energy in the world. I nodded casually to him, and he did the same back. As we walked to practice, he acted normal. We talked about the upcoming match, about some new girl who texted him that day. There was no difference in our comportment, and I was happy about that.

But that night, he sent me a message.

“If you ever wanna crash again, you know where I’m at.”

"How about tonight?" I said quickly, partially aware that I might sound desperate, but pleasantly unburdened about it.

"Better hurry I'm crashing already."

I made the five-minute walk in two minutes, practically jogging along the way. 

I went back the next night. And the next. It became a thing. Not every night, but often enough that I didn’t even have to check in with him. I’d just show up.

Sometimes we talked. Sometimes we didn’t. Sometimes his hand would rest on my stomach or his foot would brush against mine, and I wouldn’t move away. He never called it anything, never labeled it, and neither did I.

But one night, I whispered, “Why do we do this?”

He was half asleep, voice heavy. “It feels good.”

I didn’t sleep much after that.

—[]—

One night, after a brutal practice, we hit the showers in pain. Most of the guys were already gone by the time we got in. Cam peeled off his compression shorts and stood under the hot water as he tried to steam the soreness out of his bones. His back muscles twitched. His head hung low. I took the shower next to him, close enough that I could hear his breathing. I was looking at him now. I compared my relatively hairless body to his. We had similar muscles, but he had a more imposing shape to him. I had bigger pecs, but he had bigger arms and shoulders. His ass was firm, and perched out like he had two melons under his skin. I had narrower hips, and more defined quads. Our dangling dicks were similar, bigger than other guys, at least when soft. Thick, even when flaccid, like a rubbery tidepool creature. I thought about the times we had collided against each other in practice, how much energy we had put into dominating each other, only to end up holding each other tightly in bed, re-defining what male friendship can be.

Neither of us said anything for a while. I was watching the water drip off his collarbone when he looked over, casual as ever, and said, “You ever feel like you’re just stuck in your own body?”

I blinked. “All the time.”

—[]—

Later that night, Cam was already in bed in his boxers. I stood by the edge of the bed, stripped off my shirt, then my shorts, then I paused. After a moment, I slipped off my boxers too. I didn’t fold them. I just let them fall to the floor. Letting myself hang out wasn’t itself an unusual thing, but outside of the context of locker rooms, or drunken games, or obscene jokes among the boys, it was new to both of us.

Cam looked at me for a second, then pulled back the blanket without a word. I climbed in.

I became more aware of every part of him touching me. His manhood, partially hard and resting against me through his boxer briefs, let me know that there were no inhibitions between us. His strength made me feel safe and secure. We settled into the usual position, my back to his chest, his arm across me. But this time his hand drifted lower and rested on my bare thigh.

I felt his energy in that simple touch. Not in a flexed or performative way, but in the steadiness of him. The quiet weight of someone who could hold me up. There was nowhere I’d rather be in the world, and that scared me a bit.

Why was this the only time I’d felt “ok” since I was nine years old, curling up in bed next to my mom after a bad dream?

He shifted slightly behind me, his hand sliding just a little further, his fingers splayed across my hip, his thumb lightly pressing into my bare butt.

“You alright?” he murmured.

“Yeah,” I whispered.

I could feel my whole body vibrating. It felt charged. Like an electric wire under the surface of the desert, humming with tension, until I broke it. I reached back to his hip, stuck a thumb under his waistband, and slowly pulled his underwear down. I felt his butt under my hand as I peeled it off his smooth skin. He didn’t say anything, just lifted his hips until I could get them all the way down to his ankles. I lay back down in front of him as he kicked them away, and when he resumed the position, I felt some stiffness when his hips met my back. He was showing me how he felt, comfortable and unburdened, relaxed. With me.

We lay there like that, naked. Skin against skin. His breath against the back of my neck. My hand found his, our fingers lacing together like it was second nature.

That night, I didn’t cry. I didn’t overthink. I just let myself feel it.

The warmth. The weight of him.

The strange, almost sacred closeness of it all.

—[]—

Come Thanksgiving break, I was looking forward to a few days off school, but part of me dreaded it too. I knew I’d enjoy the break from classes, the excuse to sleep in, the meals I didn’t have to make. But more than that, I dreaded sleeping alone again.

The first night home, I lay in my childhood bedroom staring at the ceiling, phone glowing softly in my hand. The house was quiet except for the fridge cycling and my stepdad’s snoring down the hall.

I texted Cam.

"Yo. Survive the flight?"

A minute passed.

"Yeah. Barely. Middle seat hell."

I smiled.

"You home?" 

"Yeah. You?" 

"Yup. Feels weird."

I wanted to say I miss you, but I wanted to use the right words.

"Miss your heater-ass body lol"

"Same," he wrote, two minutes later. "My bed’s cold as hell without you."

“Gay,” I said. He reacted with a laughing emoji.

That was all we said. It was enough.

Each night, I’d send a line or two. Sometimes just, "yo," or "you up?" or "my room’s freezing." Always with a thread beneath it, taut and quiet. Just enough between the lines to let him know how I felt. And he’d answer. Not with anything dramatic. But always just enough to keep the thread from snapping. In person, it was all physical connection. We didn’t have a vocabulary yet for whatever our connection was. So, this would have to do.

One night, my mom came into my room to say goodnight, like she used to when I was a kid. She looked at me, brow furrowed.

"You okay, hun?" she asked.

I nodded. "Yeah. Just tired."

She looked unconvinced but didn’t push. "Alright. Get some sleep."

When she left, I stared at the ceiling again. I thought about Cam’s hand on my thigh, the way he’d curl around me like it was instinct. The warmth. The quiet. The feeling that someone knew I was there, and didn’t want me anywhere else.

That night, I didn’t text him. But around 1:45 a.m., my phone buzzed.

"Hey. You good?"

I stared at the screen for a long time before typing:

"Not really."

There was a pause.

Then: "Same."

Chapter 3: Back from Break

I made it back to campus the Sunday night before classes resumed. I didn’t even bother going to my place first. I walked straight to Cam’s.

He texted back quick: "Door’s open."

It was after midnight, and he was already in bed when I got there. One arm behind his head, TV on mute. I didn’t say anything. Just peeled off all my layers and climbed in.

I was halfway under the blanket, sliding in beside him, when his housemate barged in.

"Yo—" He stopped. His eyes bounced from my bare ass to Cam, then back to me.

A beat.

Then he smirked. "Okayyy. Damn. We got the full moon in here tonight."

Cam didn’t flinch. "What do you need, Brett?"

"Just grabbing my charger. Didn’t realize I was walking into a gay porn scene. You guys spooning now? That’s cute. You two queer in general or just gay for each other?"

I opened my mouth, but Cam beat me to it. "It’s for the body heat. Don’t knock it til you try it."

Brett chuckled, grabbed his charger, and before shutting the door, muttered, "As long as you don’t make eye contact." He winked, then was gone, the door clicking closed behind him.

We lay there in silence.

Cam let out a soft whistle. "Jesus."

"He’s not wrong," I said. "I haven’t slept in my own dorm in like two weeks. It is kinda gay at least."

Cam rolled onto his side to face me. "Well, I still hook up with Brittney sometimes. Afternoon delight style. And Tara booty calls me after class once a week or so. And last weekend at a party I got a BJ from this volleyball chick, the new girl, and—"

"Okay," I chuckled, cutting him off. "I get it. You’re still king of the rotation."

He grinned. "Just saying." He didn’t have to say what he meant: I’m not gay, our sleeping arrangement notwithstanding.

"Yeah. I mean, I don’t know what I am, actually. Is that bad, dude?"

He paused. "I don’t know. I never cared if someone was gay. Doesn’t really matter."

I looked up at the ceiling.

"This is better than what I’ve had with any girl though," I said.

"Same," he repeated, this time quieter.

I shifted slightly so our legs touched, skin to skin.

"Are we just lonely?"

"Maybe," he said. "But I don’t feel lonely right now."

I turned toward him, our foreheads inches apart.

"This feels like the cure to loneliness," I said.

—[]—

I woke up to heat.

Cam was pressed tight against me, chest to back. His body was hot, literally radiating against me. There was moisture between us, and he was moving in his sleep. At first I thought he was just adjusting, but then I felt it. His hard girth pressed between my cheeks, the sweat lubricating our skin, letting it glide against my body. His hips, moving. Slow. Rhythmic. Grinding into me.

I froze.

He kept going, his breath heavy, his thigh snug against mine. It wasn’t rough. It wasn’t frantic. It felt almost mechanical, like an instinct, but also... intimate. Thoughtless. Natural. It made my heart pound.

I didn’t move. I liked it, and clearly he did too. His pace stayed steady, and then I felt it. A jerk in his hips. A tight exhale. Then stillness, except for the pulsing of his firm girth against my ass. I felt wetness on my back.

He shifted away and rolled onto his back with a sigh, already slipping deeper into sleep, his breath sort of loud.

I stayed frozen. My back was dripping. I reached back and felt it, pinching a bit of it, rubbing it between my fingers.

I turned to my back and stared at the ceiling, playing with the sticky slime between my fingers, the room still and quiet. I didn’t know what to feel. I finally brought myself to look down at my hand. The clearish white fluid from Cam was familiar. It was just like mine, nothing special. It wasn’t weird, rather it was just his body doing what male bodies do. It was somehow comforting, even if it was a random sleep-time instinct of his, and not an actual act of intimacy.

I lay there, not moving, not breathing too loud. Wondering if his body had just said something that our mouths couldn’t. It had just made the inevitable decision for us that we had yet to acknowledge in the daylight. And, if mine had already answered back.

—[]—

When we got up, I didn't say anything about the incident in his sleep, but I couldn't deny it had ignited something in me. It was a natural progression of our intimacy. For weeks, it had felt like all I needed in life was his presence. Since we had started our sleep routine, I had become a better person. I was more joyful, a bigger presence at parties, doing great in classes. Finally, nothing was missing in my life, even if I wasn't dating or hooking up with girls as much.

That night, I showed up back at his place after a late class I was in. I didn’t even have to check in with him before I came anymore. He just expected me. When I walked in, he had just gotten back from a workout, and he was sweaty. The smell hit me differently than it had before. He had a unique scent. It wasn’t even bad, it was just strong. I looked at him in a new way as well. I was curious about what other secrets his body held. We chatted for a bit, and he said he was going to shower. 

“Why?” I said, quietly.

“I’m gross,” he said with a chuckle.

“No you’re not,” I said, matter-of-factly.

He looked at me from the side with a raised brow, then his mouth curled into a smirk.

“Maybe I’ll just let the sweat air-dry then…” he said, hesitantly.

An hour later, we were chilling in his room, scrolling quietly on our phones, when he said he was ready for bed.

“Me too,” I said, then I stripped and got in next to him, laying my head on his arm, which wrapped around me and rested on my chest. I was engulfed in his body smell. He hadn’t showered, and his natural musk was more pungent than it had ever been. It added to my feeling of safety in his arms, somehow.

“So,” I started, hesitantly, “Did you know you had a wet dream last night?”

He chuckled. “What?? I haven’t had one since I was like thirteen.”

“Yeah,” I said, “It was all over my back.”

“Oh my god,” he said, cringing, “I’m so sorry dude.”

“Nah, it’s all good man,” I said, “I think you were backed up, even if the girls keep you busy.”

“It’s true dude. I used to crank it every night before bed,” he said. The implication hung in the air, that what we had started was better than sex, better than wanking routines. But still, male needs can’t be ignored.

“Maybe we should, like, crank one out before bed,” I said tentatively, pulling away from him, creating a space between us to allow us to breathe in the idea. I knew he was thinking the same thing, but it was weird to hear myself say it.

“Actually a great idea,” he said. We froze for a moment, before he made the next move. He closed his eyes and reached down under the comforter, and I saw the early stages of a wank sesh begin. Gentle movement, blanket ruffling. Soon, there was a bulging tent in the blanket, and slow, rhythmic up and down strokes.

My heart started to race, and I was quickly hard as a rock. I lay on my side, looking at him, while I started to gently rub myself.

He lifted his arm. “You should be right here, bro.” 

I knew exactly what he meant. I didn’t cuddle in like I normally did, rather I brought my face to his arm pit, and took a big whiff. His scent was overwhelming. It wasn’t just sweat. It was primal pheromones, and it made my stomach tighten and my pulse quicken. I inhaled again, deeper this time, letting the warmth of his body and the rawness of his smell fill my lungs. His muscles tensed under my palms. We were both intoxicated by the flood of sensations, like a drug I didn’t know I needed until that moment.

Cam didn't speak, but I could feel his chest rise and fall faster, his breathing get louder as I pressed my face firmly into his arm pit. His hand kept moving under the blanket, the rhythm steady but growing more urgent. I could hear the soft, but quick rustle of the fabric, the faint sound of skin on skin getting slicker as he no-doubt released globs of pre-cum down his shaft,  a sight I’d gotten used to in our mornings together. My own hand moved instinctively, matching his pace, but my focus was entirely on him, on the way his scent rattled my brain, the way our firm bodies felt when pressed together.

I shifted slightly, and stuck our my tongue bathing the damp hair of his armpit with my spit as I cleaned his sweat off of him, and I felt him tense for a second before relaxing again, then tensing again in cycles. His arm tightened around me, pulling me closer, essentially holding my face in his arm pit like a headlock while my body held him, gently humping aimlessly. I wanted to stay there forever, lost in the warmth and the smell and the quiet rhythm of his body.

I moved my mouth to his chest. Both our hearts were pounding so hard that I could feel both of them as I roamed his pecs and nipples with my lips and tongue. I could feel the tension building in him, and I knew I was pushing him closer to the edge of climax.

His breath caught as I sucked firmly on his nipple, the saltiness of his sweat sharp on my lips, and I watched his pace quicken as I threw the blanket off of his body. I groaned, my hips moving against him without thought, without rhythm, just a desperate need to be closer. I pressed my body so hard against his, it was like I wanted to put my entire body inside him and become one. My hands roamed his chest, his biceps, my mouth following, kissing and licking every inch of muscle I could reach. I was lost in him, a zombie for his body, for the way it felt under my hands and lips and tongue.

Cam’s arm tightened around me, his other hand leaving his shaft and sliding down to mine. He jerked me off with a firm, steady stroke, and I let out a sound I didn’t recognize, a guttural response to the overwhelming sensual touch. I came instantly, my release spilling onto his stomach, hot and messy. Without hesitation, I leaned down and licked it off him, my tongue dragging across his skin, tasting myself mixed with his body sweat.

Then I moved lower, my hands trembling as I reached for his cock, which jutted out, thick and red, against his trimmed pubes. It was heavy in my hand, the same one that had pressed against me night after night, and spewed its load onto me that morning. I quickly took him into my mouth, and he moaned deeply, like he was shocked. My hands continued their journey across his firm body, grazing the light hair on his stomach, squeezing his pecs, tugging at his smooth, large balls, while I bobbed my head, fast and relentless. I started jerking off again, rubbing the wet head against his leg, which tensed with the rest of his body as I pleasured him. He started to move rhythmically, his hips meeting my pace as I bobbed faster and faster, memorizing every vein of his steely meat pole with my tongue.

He came without warning, his hips jerking as he pulsed in my mouth. I pressed him deeper, feeling his thickness stretch my lips, his release flooding my throat. I swallowed every drop, the sensation of jizz in my mouth lingering as I pulled away, panting.

We didn’t clean up. We didn’t wipe away the sweat or the spit or the cum. We just curled up together, our bodies sticky and warm, and fell into the calmest sleep I’d ever known. 

We can worry about cleanup tomorrow. It’s bed time.