Ishan went into the kitchen to grab a snack but instead, ishan became snack to virat kohli
Category: Stories
The hotel suite stayed dark and quiet. Only the soft hum of the air-conditioner moved through the air. Ishan woke with a dry throat and a restless feeling low in his belly. He pushed the thin sheet aside and sat up slowly. The digital clock glowed 2:47 a.m. Virat’s side of the bed was empty, the sheets still warm where his body had been.
Ishan stood on bare feet and walked toward the kitchenette, wearing only soft grey shorts that hung low on his hips. The fridge light spilled over his skin when he opened the door. Cold air kissed his chest and stomach. He reached for a packet of chips, but a low voice stopped him.
“Couldn’t sleep either?”
Ishan turned. Virat stood in the doorway, shirtless, dark hair messy from the pillow. A thin line of hair ran down the middle of his hard stomach and disappeared into black shorts. He leaned one shoulder against the frame, eyes moving slowly over Ishan’s body.
Ishan’s voice came out soft. “Just… thirsty. And a little hungry.”
Virat’s mouth curved. He stepped closer, unhurried, like he had all night. “Hungry,” he repeated, tasting the word. “What are you craving, Ishan?”
Ishan’s fingers tightened on the fridge door. “Something light.”
Virat stopped a step away. Close enough that Ishan could feel the heat coming off his bare chest. “You’ve been tossing all night,” Virat said, voice low and warm. “I felt every time you shifted. Restless. Needy.”
Ishan swallowed. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to wake you.”
“You didn’t.” Virat’s eyes dropped—over Ishan’s smooth chest, the soft line of his stomach, the way the shorts sat low enough to show the V of his hips—then came back up, darker. “I was already awake. Thinking about you.”
“About what?”
Virat reached past him and closed the fridge gently. The light vanished. Now only the faint glow from the living-room lamp touched them. “About how quiet it is when it’s just us,” he said. “No cameras. No team. No one knocking. Just you… looking like this.”
Ishan’s heart beat faster. He stayed still as Virat’s hand came up and brushed a strand of hair from his forehead. The touch was light, almost careful, but it lingered.
“You’re warm,” Virat murmured.
“The air-con is strong,” Ishan answered, but his voice had gone quieter.
Virat’s fingers trailed down the side of Ishan’s neck, slow, mapping the pulse there. Then lower, across his collarbone, down the centre of his chest. “You came looking for a snack,” he said. “But maybe what you need is something else. Something hotter. Something that fills you properly.”
Ishan’s breath caught. “Virat…”
“Shhh.” Virat stepped fully into his space. Their chests almost touched. “I’m not rushing you. I just… like looking at you like this. Soft. Sleepy. Open for me.”
Ishan’s hands hovered, unsure. Virat took them gently and placed them on his own waist. Skin to skin. Warm. Solid. The hard muscles under Ishan’s palms flexed when Virat breathed.
“Feel that?” Virat asked. “How still everything is when it’s just us. How hard I already am for you.”
Ishan nodded, throat tight. He could feel the thick shape pressing against his own stomach through the thin fabric of their shorts.
Virat leaned in until his mouth was near Ishan’s ear. “I’ve watched you for a long time. The way you move in the dressing room. The way you laugh. The way you look when you think no one is watching.” His lips brushed the shell of Ishan’s ear, then the soft skin just below it. “Tonight I don’t want to just watch. Tonight I want to taste every inch of you. Slow.”
Ishan’s fingers pressed into Virat’s sides. “What do you want then?”
Virat pulled back just enough to look at him. His eyes were dark, patient, full of heat. “I want to take my time with you. I want to hear every soft sound you make when I touch you. I want you to tell me what feels good… and what makes you lose your words and just moan for me.”
He kissed the corner of Ishan’s mouth—soft, testing. When Ishan didn’t pull away, Virat kissed him properly. Slow. Deep. Their tongues met in a lazy, wet slide. Ishan made a small sound into the kiss, and Virat answered with a low, hungry hum. He sucked gently on Ishan’s lower lip before deepening the kiss again, tasting him thoroughly.
When they broke apart, both were breathing harder.
“Still hungry?” Virat asked, voice rough now.
Ishan’s answer was barely a whisper. “Yes… very.”
Virat’s hands slid down Ishan’s back, under the waistband of the shorts, palms spreading over bare, smooth skin. He squeezed the soft flesh of Ishan’s ass, pulling him closer so their hard cocks pressed together through the fabric. “Good,” he said. “Because I’m going to feed that hunger… very, very slowly.”
He guided Ishan backward until his hips met the edge of the kitchen counter. Then he lifted him easily, setting him on the cool surface. Ishan’s legs parted without thinking, and Virat stepped between them, pressing close.
“Look at you,” Virat murmured, eyes roaming hungrily. “Sitting here for me like this… legs open… already breathing hard.” His thumbs stroked the insides of Ishan’s thighs, higher and higher, until they brushed the soft fabric covering his cock. “Tell me if you want me to stop.”
Ishan shook his head. “Don’t stop. Please.”
Virat smiled—slow, dirty, full of promise. He leaned in and kissed down Ishan’s throat, open-mouthed, tasting the warm skin, sucking lightly until a soft mark appeared. One hand slipped inside the shorts and wrapped around Ishan’s cock, firm and sure. The first slow stroke made Ishan’s head fall back with a soft gasp.
“Sensitive already,” Virat said against his collarbone, voice thick with lust. “I like that. I like how your cock jumps in my hand when I touch you like this.”
He stroked him slowly, watching every reaction, listening to every shaky breath. His thumb rubbed over the wet tip, spreading the precum, making the slide smoother. When Ishan’s hips started to move, chasing the touch, Virat tightened his grip just a little and whispered, “Not yet. We’re going to take our time. I want you aching for it.”
He pulled the shorts down and off, then dropped his own. Skin met skin. Heat met heat. Virat’s thick cock pressed against Ishan’s, both hard and leaking. He rolled his hips in a slow, dirty grind that made Ishan’s fingers dig into his shoulders.
“Feel how hard you make me?” Virat asked, voice low and rough. “All because of you sitting here looking like this… soft… open… ready to be filled.”
Ishan could only nod, lost in the slow friction, the wet slide of their cocks rubbing together.
Virat reached for the small bottle of oil they kept in the kitchen drawer. He poured a little into his palm, warmed it between his hands, then reached between them. His fingers slid lower, past Ishan’s balls, circling the tight hole, pressing gently.
“Breathe for me,” he said. “Just breathe. Let me open you up.”
Ishan did. The first finger entered slow, careful, thick and slick. Virat kissed him through it—deep, steady kisses that kept him focused on the pleasure instead of the stretch. He moved the finger in and out, curling, finding the spot that made Ishan’s thighs tremble and a soft moan spill out.
“There,” Virat whispered against his mouth. “That’s the place. I’m going to make you feel it over and over until you’re shaking.”
A second finger joined, stretching him wider. Virat scissored them slowly, working him open, oil dripping down onto the counter. Ishan’s cock leaked steadily onto his own stomach. Virat’s free hand stroked it in the same slow rhythm, never rushing.
“You’re so tight,” Virat murmured, voice thick with hunger. “So hot inside. I can’t wait to bury my cock in this sweet hole and feel you squeeze me.”
By the time Virat finally pushed the head of his thick cock inside, Ishan was open and aching for it. The first slow thrust drew a long, broken moan from Ishan’s throat. Virat held still, buried deep, forehead pressed to Ishan’s, breathing hard.
“You take me so well,” he murmured. “So tight. So warm. Look at you… stretched around my cock like you were made for it.”
Then he began to move—long, deep strokes that filled Ishan completely each time. The counter creaked softly under them. Ishan’s legs wrapped around Virat’s waist, pulling him closer, needing more.
“Talk to me,” Virat said, voice strained with control. “Tell me how it feels having my cock so deep inside you.”
“Deep,” Ishan gasped. “So deep… so thick… don’t stop… please… fuck me slower… yes… like that…”
Virat’s hands gripped his hips harder, holding him in place as he drove in even slower, deeper, angling just right until Ishan’s back arched and a helpless, needy moan spilled out.
“That’s it,” Virat growled. “Let me hear you. Let the whole floor hear how good I make you feel. How much you love taking this cock.”
He kept the pace deliberate—never rushing, never losing the slow, heavy rhythm that made every thrust feel like a claim. Sweat shone on both their bodies. The wet sound of skin meeting skin filled the quiet kitchen. Virat’s thick cock dragged over that sweet spot again and again, making Ishan’s toes curl and his cock bounce against his stomach.
“You’re so fucking sexy like this,” Virat said, voice rough. “Legs spread… hole stretched around me… eyes half-closed… moaning for more. I could fuck you like this for hours.”
When Ishan’s body started to tighten, Virat reached between them and stroked his cock in time with the deep thrusts, thumb rubbing over the wet head.
“Come for me,” he said against Ishan’s mouth. “I want to feel you cum while I’m buried inside you. Squeeze my cock. Show me how good it feels.”
Ishan broke with a loud cry, spilling thick ropes over Virat’s hand and his own stomach, body clenching hard around the thick cock inside him. The tight, pulsing heat pulled Virat over the edge. He buried himself to the hilt and came with a low, guttural groan, filling Ishan in long, hot pulses, flooding him deep.
They stayed locked together, breathing hard, foreheads touching, bodies still joined.
After a long moment Virat kissed him softly—gentle now, almost tender—but his cock was still hard inside him.
“Still hungry?” he asked, a small, dirty smile in his voice as he gave one slow, deep thrust that made Ishan whimper.
Ishan laughed weakly against his shoulder, voice hoarse. “Not for snacks…”
Virat’s arms tightened around him. He lifted Ishan off the counter without pulling out, carrying him toward the bedroom, still buried deep inside.
“Good,” he said against Ishan’s ear, voice full of dark promise. “Because I’m not done with you yet. Not even close.”