Shubman and His Dirty Secrets - Episode 10

**INT. ABANDONED TEXTILE MILL – CENTRAL DELHI – 4:07 AM**

Rain hammers the broken roof like a thousand accusations that refuse to end. The single bare bulb swings on its rusty chain, throwing long, jagged shadows across the oily concrete. Six metal chairs are bolted in a tight circle under the harsh yellow light. The six teenagers — Aryan, Rohan, Vihaan, Kabir, Arjun, Dev — remain zip-tied to them, faces swollen, lips split, clothes soaked in blood and rain. Their heads hang low, breathing shallow.

The five men stand just outside the circle, masks off, faces carved in stark relief. No one moves. The air is thick with the metallic smell of blood and the steady drip of water.

Dev’s broken whisper still lingers in the rafters.

**DEV**  

(voice raw, trembling, every word costing him)  

It’s correct… we used him. We abused him. That’s all we did. We passed him around like a toy. Double-teamed him. Triple-teamed him. Spit on him. Slapped him. Kicked him in the balls. Pissed on him. Choked him until he blacked out and woke up again. Everything you already know from the videos. But we didn’t kill him.

The bulb swings once. The five men freeze.

**VIRAT**  

(voice dangerously quiet, almost a whisper)  

Say that again.

Dev lifts his swollen face. His eyes are nearly shut, but the honesty in them is absolute.

**DEV**  

We left the guest house around 3 AM. You can check with the security guard — he logged us out. Timestamped. Cross-check it with the postmortem report. The coroner said time of death was between 4:30 and 5:15 AM. We were already home by then. We promise… we liked him. He was a perfect slave for all of our dicks. Even thinking of that night still gives us erections. We swear on our mothers — we didn’t kill him. When we left… he was alive. Breathing. Crying. But alive.

Silence crashes down like a physical blow.

Virat’s fists unclench slowly. Blood drips from his raw knuckles onto the floor — *drip… drip… drip…* louder than the rain. His eyes are glassy, unfocused, like a man watching his entire world collapse in slow motion.

Ishan takes one stumbling step back, hand flying to his mouth. His knees buckle. He catches himself on a rusted pillar, breathing hard, eyes filling with tears that spill over instantly.

Hardik’s mouth opens, but no sound comes out. His massive frame seems to shrink, shoulders slumping as the weight of what they’ve done hits him.

KL Rahul’s hands begin to shake violently. The clipboard he’s been using slips from his fingers and clatters to the concrete. The sound echoes like a gunshot.

Abhishek stands perfectly still, face blank with the same shock as the others, but his fingers twitch once at his side — unnoticed by everyone.

**ABHISHEK**  

(whisper, barely audible)  

…what?

**DEV**  

(voice cracking but steady now)  

When the news broke the next morning… we were all shocked. We thought it was a joke at first. Someone else got to him after we left. Someone moved the body. We didn’t kill Shubman Gill.

The words hang in the damp air like smoke that will never clear.

Virat turns away, rubbing his face with bloody hands. The decision comes in a single heartbeat.

**VIRAT**  

(voice hollow)  

Cut them loose.

Abhishek pulls out a knife. One by one the zip-ties are sliced. The six boys stagger to their feet, legs shaking, eyes darting between the five men like they expect another blow.

**VIRAT**  

(quiet, final)  

Go home. Tell no one. If you speak… we will know.

The six teenagers limp out into the rain without a word, disappearing like ghosts.

The mill falls silent except for the rain.

**EXT. MILL – DAWN**

The five men stand in the downpour beside their vans. No one looks at each other.

Virat suddenly walks to his black SUV, gets in, and slams the door. The engine roars to life.

**KL RAHUL**  

(soft)  

Virat—

The SUV peels away into the gray dawn.

Rahul doesn’t hesitate. He jumps into his own car and follows.

Hardik looks at Ishan. Ishan’s eyes are red, shoulders shaking with silent sobs.

**HARDIK**  

(quiet, gentle)  

Come on. I’m taking you home.

He guides Ishan gently into the passenger seat. Ishan’s head rests on Hardik’s shoulder as they drive off. Abhishek watches them go, then gets into his own car alone.

**EXT. MOUNTAIN OVERLOOK – DAWN**

Rain falls softer now, mist rising from the valley far below. This is their secret place — the cliff road where Virat and Shubman used to escape after late-night matches. City lights twinkle like distant stars that don’t judge.

Virat’s SUV is parked at the edge. He sits in the driver’s seat, hands on the wheel, staring at nothing. Rain streaks the windshield.

KL Rahul’s car pulls up behind. Rahul gets out, walks through the rain, and opens the passenger door. He slides in without a word.

For a long moment they just sit, rain drumming softly on the roof.

**VIRAT**  

(voice cracking, raw)  

We used to come here after every big win. He’d laugh and say, “Bhai, the world thinks I’m the golden boy… but up here I’m just yours.” I promised I’d always protect him. Always.

Rahul reaches over, places a hand on Virat’s shoulder. Virat turns. Their eyes meet — exhausted, full of everything they’ve lost, everything they still feel.

The hug begins as comfort. Rahul pulls Virat across the console into his arms. They hold each other tight, foreheads pressed, breaths mingling. Hands stroke backs, fingers thread through wet hair, tracing familiar lines of muscle and bone. The hug lingers… then slowly, tenderly shifts.

Virat’s mouth finds Rahul’s — soft at first, almost hesitant, tasting rain and salt and shared grief. The kiss deepens gradually, full of longing and love, tongues sliding slow and sweet, exploring with aching patience. No rush. Just two men remembering they are still alive.

They climb into the back seat together. Clothes are peeled away with gentle hands — jackets, shirts, pants — skin glistening with rain. Virat pushes Rahul down carefully, kissing down his chest with reverent lips, lingering at the hollow of his throat, the dip of his pelvis, sucking soft marks that bloom like promises. Rahul’s hands cradle Virat’s head, fingers threading through his hair, guiding with tenderness.

When Virat takes Rahul into his mouth it is slow and worshipful — tongue swirling, lips sliding deep, eyes locked upward the entire time, full of quiet devotion. Rahul moans softly, hips rolling in gentle waves, whispering Virat’s name like a prayer. They flip. Rahul returns the favor with the same loving patience, taking Virat deep, savoring every sound, every tremble.

Rahul enters Virat face to face in the cramped back seat, legs wrapped around each other. The thrust is slow, deep, full of emotion — grinding strokes that let them feel every inch, every heartbeat. Foreheads stay pressed together, eyes open the whole time, never breaking contact. Every movement is deliberate, full of love and shared pain and the desperate need to feel something good again.

**KL RAHUL**  

(whispering against Virat’s lips, voice thick)  

I’ve got you… I’ve got you.

Virat’s nails trace gentle lines down Rahul’s back, leaving faint red trails. They kiss through every moan, every gasp, every broken “I miss him.” Bodies move in perfect rhythm — slow, deep, passionate — sweat and rain mixing on their skin. Rahul’s hand wraps around Virat, stroking in time with every thrust, thumb circling with loving care.

They come together in long, shuddering waves — bodies locked tight, hearts pounding against each other, names whispered like vows. Cum spills warm between them, but neither pulls away. They stay tangled, breathing each other’s air, rain still drumming softly on the roof like a lullaby for the living.

Virat presses a soft kiss to Rahul’s temple, then his lips again — lingering, full of quiet love.

They hold each other as the dawn light slowly filters through the rain-streaked windows.

**TO BE CONTINUED…**