Shubman and His Dirty Little Secrets - Episode 7

**INT. CLIFFSIDE VILLA – NORTH GOA – MASTER BEDROOM – 1:12 AM**

Moonlight leaks through the half-open shutters in thin silver threads, catching on the rumpled sheets like spilled secrets. Virat Kohli lies on his back, one arm slung behind his head, the thin cotton sheet twisted low around his hips. Sleep won’t come. The memory of that morning in the kitchen keeps looping — Hardik’s hand wrapped around both of them, the slick heat, the way Shubman’s name had slipped out like a shared confession. His body is restless, cock heavy and insistent against his thigh, a slow throb that refuses to settle. He wants the weight of Hardik on his tongue. Wants to feel that thick length stretching him open, then turning the tables and doing the same right back. Wants to lose the grief for a while in something raw and mutual.

Down the hall in the guest room, Hardik Pandya is staring at the ceiling, sheets kicked aside, one hand resting low on his stomach. The same memory plays on repeat — Virat’s pulse under his fingers, the shared rhythm, the quiet desperation in both their breaths. He imagines the give and take, the way their bodies would test each other, push and yield in the same breath. The ache is deep, almost playful in its persistence.

Neither can lie still.

**CUT TO:**

**INT. VILLA KITCHEN – 1:47 AM**

Virat pads in first, barefoot on the cool terracotta, wearing only loose black trunks that ride low on his hips. The fridge light washes over him in cool blue as he grabs a bottle of water, throat working on a long swallow. He’s trying to play it cool, but the heat under his skin is winning.

Hardik appears in the doorway, shirtless, grey tracks slung dangerously low, the unmistakable outline of his arousal pressing against the fabric. He doesn’t say anything at first. Just leans against the frame, watching.

**VIRAT**  

(quiet, almost casual, but his voice is a little rough)  

Looks like I’m not the only one still up.

**HARDIK**  

(steps in slowly, a lazy half-smile tugging at his mouth)  

Couldn’t switch it off. Kept thinking about how that morning felt… your hand on me, mine on you. The way we both got a little lost in it.

Virat sets the bottle down. Hardik moves closer, rounding the island until they’re standing just a foot apart. The air between them feels thicker, warmer.

**VIRAT**  

(eyes flicking to Hardik’s mouth, voice dropping)  

Yeah… you were pretty worked up. Made me wonder what else might feel good if we stopped pretending we were just remembering him.

**HARDIK**  

(grin widening, playful but with heat behind it)  

You weren’t exactly playing it innocent either. I could feel how much you liked the idea of more. Bet you’ve been lying there thinking about how we’d fit together… how it might feel to push a little further.

Their chests are almost brushing now. Breaths mingle, warm and steady. Lips hover close enough that every word makes them graze — not quite a kiss, just enough to send little sparks racing under skin. Crotches brush lightly, a teasing friction that makes both men inhale sharply, but they don’t pull away.

**VIRAT**  

(voice low, teasing, a hint of challenge)  

Maybe I have. Maybe I’ve been thinking about how you’d feel… heavy on my tongue, filling me up nice and slow. Then letting you turn the tables and see how I take it.

**HARDIK**  

(eyes darkening, still playing it calm on the surface, voice husky with mischief)  

Careful, King. You say stuff like that and I start imagining you bent over this counter… me sliding in deep while you try to stay quiet. Then flipping you and letting you do the same to me. All that control we both pretend to have… gone.

The tension is electric now. They’re so close their lips brush with every syllable. Hands hover, not quite touching, like they’re both daring the other to make the first real move. Inside, both men are burning to tear clothes off and crash together, but they keep the surface calm — teasing, playful, dirty in the implications rather than the words.

Virat leans in first, tongue flicking out to trace the corner of Hardik’s mouth — slow, tasting, tempting. Then a soft, lingering kiss to the cheek, then the jawline, drawing it out.

Hardik’s control snaps in the best way.

He pulls Virat into a warm, crushing hug that melts straight into a deep kiss — tongues sliding lazy and filthy, exploring, tasting, slow and unhurried. Bodies press flush, arms locked around backs and waists, hands mapping muscle and skin. Hair tangles. Hips roll in deliberate circles, cocks sliding together through thin fabric, the slick drag of pre-cum making everything messy and hot. The kiss goes on, turns playful — little nips, shared breaths, soft sounds caught between mouths. When they finally break apart they’re both flushed, lips swollen, eyes glassy.

**HARDIK**  

(breathing hard, still grinning that cocky grin)  

Damn… you kiss like you’ve been saving it up for a while.

He bends, scoops Virat up under the thighs with easy strength. Virat’s legs wrap around him instantly. Hardik carries him down the hall, stealing small, teasing kisses the whole way, mouths brushing like they can’t quite stop.

**INT. VIRAT’S BEDROOM – CONTINUOUS**

Hardik lowers Virat onto the bed with deliberate care, then straightens. He peels his t-shirt off slowly, letting Virat watch every shift of muscle and ink. Tracks and trunks follow, pooling at his feet. He stands there a beat, letting the moment stretch — cock heavy and flushed, curving slightly, the head glistening.

Virat yanks his own trunks away. Naked now, they collide again — playful, hungry, still holding that teasing edge.

The sex that unfolds is a long, inventive game of give and take — passionate, lustful, and deliciously mischievous.

Hardik starts by pinning Virat’s wrists lightly to the mattress, leaning down to drag his mouth along collarbones and down the center of his chest. He pauses at a nipple, sucking gently, then nipping just enough to make Virat arch with a soft laugh. “You always this sensitive, or is it just for me tonight?” he murmurs, voice low and teasing. His hand trails lower, wrapping around Virat’s cock with a slow, firm stroke — thumb circling the head, spreading the slickness while he watches Virat’s face.

Virat twists them suddenly, flipping Hardik onto his back with a playful growl. He kisses down Hardik’s body the same way — open-mouthed and unhurried, pausing to suck a mark into the dip of his hip. When he takes Hardik into his mouth it’s slow and savoring: tongue pressing flat along the underside, swirling around the head like he’s learning every ridge, humming softly so the vibration travels deep. Hardik’s hips twitch, but he keeps his voice light, teasing. “Easy there… you keep that up and I might not let you stop.”

They roll again. Hardik spreads Virat open with both hands, tongue tracing lazy circles around the rim before pressing inside — slow, filthy, teasing strokes while his fingers dig into muscle. Virat pushes back, laughing breathlessly between moans. “You’re enjoying this way too much,” he manages, voice wrecked but playful.

When Hardik finally pushes inside it’s a long, deliberate slide — the stretch deep and perfect. He rocks rather than pounds, grinding in slow circles that hit every sensitive spot. “Feel that?” he whispers against Virat’s ear, voice husky with mischief. “That’s me taking my time… making sure you remember exactly who’s inside you right now.” One hand strokes Virat in time, thumb teasing the head with every roll of hips.

Virat flips them again, sinking down onto Hardik in one smooth motion. He rides with rolling hips, grinding in lazy circles, hands braced on Hardik’s chest while they trade slow, messy kisses. “Your turn to feel it,” Virat murmurs, clenching around him on purpose, grinning when Hardik’s breath catches.

They trade control back and forth like a game they both love winning — Virat eating Hardik open with the same patient hunger, tongue and fingers working until Hardik is trembling and laughing softly; Hardik bending Virat in half and sliding back in, whispering against his neck about how good he feels, how they’re both losing it in the best way. Every position feels fresh: a lazy side-by-side grind where they can kiss and stroke each other at once; a moment against the wall where Hardik lifts Virat again and fucks up into him while Virat’s legs lock around his waist, both of them grinning through the intensity; a playful wrestle on the floor where they roll and tease between thrusts, hands everywhere, laughter mixing with gasps.

The edge builds and recedes, teasing them until they’re shaking. When release finally hits it’s together — Virat on his back, Hardik riding him slow and deep, one hand wrapped around Virat’s cock. They come in long, shuddering waves, bodies locked, names and Shubman’s tangled on their tongues, sweat and cum mixing between them.

They collapse in a sticky, breathless heap, kissing lazily now — soft presses, little smiles against each other’s mouths, hands still roaming like they can’t quite stop.

**HARDIK**  

(voice soft, wrecked but warm)  

We really needed that.

**VIRAT**  

(smirking, tracing a finger down Hardik’s spine)  

Yeah… for him. And for whatever this is turning into.

They fall asleep tangled, hearts still racing, the ghost of Shubman hovering somewhere warm between them.

**CUT TO:**

**INT. VILLA LIVING ROOM – NEXT MORNING – 9:15 AM**

Sunlight floods the long wooden table. Coffee steams. Maps and burner phones lie scattered like pieces of a puzzle they’re finally ready to solve. The five men sit together — Ishan, KL Rahul, Hardik, Virat, Abhishek — eyes sharp, bodies carrying the faint, satisfied flush of the night before.

**VIRAT**  

(standing, pointing at the projected map of Delhi)  

We have the names. Aryan Sharma. Rohan and Vihaan Rathore. Kabir Oberoi. Arjun Khanna. Dev Malhotra. Six little princes hiding behind bodyguards and family money, thinking they got away clean.

**ISHAN**  

(voice cold but steady)  

We take them first. Quietly. Fake invites to a private memorial after-party for “close friends of Gill.” They’ll bite. Separate vans, separate safe houses. No mistakes.

**KL RAHUL**  

(precise, calm)  

Abhishek’s got the burners and fake profiles locked and loaded. We move tonight.

**HARDIK**  

(grinning, dark but satisfied)  

Then we make them feel every second of what they did to him. Slow. Creative. Unforgettable.

**ABHISHEK**  

(fingers flying across the laptop)  

Timelines set. Locations scouted. They won’t know what hit them.

The five share one long, loaded look — grief, lust, and cold vengeance braided tight.

**VIRAT**  

(quiet, final)  

For Shubman.

Chairs scrape back. They rise as one.

**TO BE CONTINUED…**

**FADE OUT.**