Playing Boyfriends 💋 | Season 2, Episode 12: Sweet Cream, Quiet Lies (Patreon)

All characters depicted in this story are fictional and 18 years of age or older. Everything portrayed is safe, sane, and consensual.

Matteo came back with a paper bag that already had a small grease stain on the bottom. He set it on the little balcony table next to the two cups of coffee, steaming in the morning air. Before I could say anything he leaned down and kissed me like he had been gone for hours instead of twenty minutes. His mouth was cool from the outside and tasted faintly sweet, as if he had already stolen a bite of something on the way home.

“Miss me?” he murmured against my lips.

I smiled into the next soft kiss. “You were buying pastries, not going to war.”

He grinned and dragged the second chair closer with his foot until our knees touched under the table. The paper bag rustled as he opened it. Inside, the pastries were still warm. He lifted one carefully between two fingers, pale cream already threatening to spill from the side, and held it up between us like an offering.

“I might have added something extra on the way over.”

I narrowed my eyes at him, trying not to smile. “Matteo.”

“What?” His face was the perfect picture of innocence, except for the way his eyes stayed locked on my mouth. “I thought my American boyfriend likes creamy pastries.”

The breeze moved across the balcony and carried the smell of sugar and butter between us. I glanced at the pastry, then back at his face.

“Did you actually put your cum on these?”

He didn’t answer right away. He just smirked, slow and deliberate, and brought the pastry a little closer to my lips. A small drop of cream gathered at the edge and threatened to fall.

“Eat it and find out.”

I held his gaze. He held mine. Neither of us looked away. The city moved quietly below us. Somewhere a scooter started. The coffee beside my elbow sent up a thin curl of steam. Matteo’s knee pressed more firmly against mine under the table, warm and steady, while he waited to see what I would do.

I stared at him.

He stared back, completely unreadable, the corner of his mouth only barely threatening a smile. The balcony was quiet except for the distant sound of scooters below and the soft clink of the coffee cups when the breeze moved the table a fraction.

I took the pastry from his fingers, still watching his face, and slowly brought it toward my mouth.

“I’m going to kill you if I taste your cum on these pastries.”

Matteo’s grin finally broke. He laughed, low and warm, eyes creasing at the corners.

“Then I guess you better take the risk, Cole.”

I kept my eyes on him as I bit into it. Sweet cream spilled over my tongue, rich and perfectly ordinary. No salt. No tell. Just sugar and butter and the faint warmth of something freshly baked.

I chewed, swallowed, and raised an eyebrow.

“It tastes sweet. Totally normal.”

Matteo leaned in, still grinning like he had won something.

“That’s because my cum is sweeter than the frosting,” Matteo said, still watching me closely. “So you wouldn’t really know the difference.”

I almost choked. “Matteo.”

His grin softened into something warmer and more honest. He reached out and brushed his thumb across my lower lip, wiping away a small streak of cream.

“I’m kidding, baby. I wouldn’t do that. I’d rather just feed my cream directly into your mouth than waste it on pastry.”

I let out a short breath that was half laugh, half exasperation. “You’re disgusting.”

Matteo leaned in, eyes bright with amusement. “And you ate the pastry wishing it had my cum on it.”

Before I could answer he closed the last bit of space between us and kissed the corner of my mouth where the cream had been. I kissed him back harder than necessary, smiling into it, and for a few seconds the morning felt easy again. The journal was still closed on my lap. The closed door down the hall felt far away.

Then the balcony door slid open behind us.

Jessica stepped out in a wrinkled t-shirt and soft shorts, hair still messy from sleep. She was no longer wearing Nicolás’s shirt. Her eyes went straight to the bag.

“Oh my god. Are those from that place near the corner?”

Matteo’s whole posture changed. He pulled the bag a little closer.

“They’re for my boyfriend.”

I kicked him lightly under the table. “Shut up, Romano. Let her have one.”

I held a pastry out to her. She took it without hesitation and bit in. A streak of cream ended up on her lower lip. Matteo and I looked at each other and both lost it at the same time. The laughter came out sharp and helpless. Jessica wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and frowned.

“What is wrong with you two?”

“Nothing,” we said in unison, still grinning.

She kept eating, clearly deciding we were idiots, and then spoke around a mouthful.

“I was wondering if Nicolás could borrow a pair of shorts. From either of you.”

Matteo’s smile faded. “Why does he need our clothes?”

Jessica swallowed and licked a bit of cream from her thumb. “He’s going to be staying a little longer today. Those tight pants he showed up in make him look really fucking hot, but they’re not exactly comfortable for hanging around the house.” She glanced at me when she said ‘tight pants make him look hot’’. It was deliberate.

Matteo leaned back in his chair. “He seemed perfectly comfortable walking around in his underwear this morning.”

“Yeah.” Jessica’s voice softened into something that was almost an apology but not quite. “Sorry about that.”

Matteo stood up. “You’re not sorry.”

He walked inside without waiting for an answer. Jessica stayed on the balcony with me, still working on the pastry. The silence stretched for a few seconds before she spoke again.

“He’s hot, right?”

I looked at her. “Excuse me?”

“Nicolás. He’s half Italian, half Spanish. His mother is from a town near Palermo. Father’s from Valencia.” She said it like she was sharing fun facts. “And he’s amazing in bed.” “You know what they say about tall guys.”

I kept my voice flat. “No one says anything about tall guys.”

Jessica laughed. “Oh come on, Adrian. You should know all about tall guys and big dicks.”

The comment landed harder than it should have. A memory surfaced without permission: Nicolás above me, dark hair falling forward, the exact way he used to say my name when he was close. I pushed it down immediately. Matteo’s footsteps returned before Jessica could say anything else.

He handed her a pair of black shorts without ceremony.

“I want them washed before they come back.”

Jessica took them with a small smile. “Don’t be an asshole, Matteo. This is the least you can do for your ex-girlfriend.”

“I’ve done a lot for you, Jess.”

She didn’t answer. She just turned and went back inside, shorts in one hand and the last of the pastry in the other. The balcony door slid shut.

Matteo sat back down and immediately reached for me. His fingers curled around the back of my neck and pulled me into a slow kiss that tasted like cream and possession. I kissed him back and tried to stay in the moment. For a while it worked. We finished the pastries. We drank the coffee he had brought. Every time my eyes drifted toward the living room, he kissed me again, like he could sense the distraction and refused to let it settle.

Later we ended up on the couch.

The television was on. Some over-the-top soap opera neither of us cared about. Matteo had claimed the corner and pulled me into his side so my back rested against his chest. His hand moved absently up and down my arm.

Nicolás walked out of Jessica’s room wearing his white shirt and Matteo’s black shorts.

Because he was taller, the shorts sat higher on his thighs and stretched tighter across leaner, longer muscle than they ever did on Matteo. The sight landed like a quiet punch. My ex-boyfriend, standing in my boyfriend’s clothes, looking completely at ease in the middle of the living room.

Jessica followed a few seconds later. She dropped onto the other side of the couch and patted the empty cushion beside her.

“Come sit, baby.”

The space she indicated was right next to me.

Nicolás’s eyes flicked from the cushion to my face, then back again. A short, almost invisible hesitation. Then he moved.

“Ah. Sí.”

He sat. The couch dipped under his weight. His leg came to rest against mine, warm and solid through the thin fabric of the shorts. The contact was light. It still felt like too much. I kept my eyes on the television, but my whole body had gone aware of the exact place where we touched.

“Thanks for the shorts,” Nicolás said, looking over at Matteo. His accent made the words softer. “They might be a little tight, but they’re better than the alternative.”

Matteo’s arm tightened around me. “No problem.”

We all faced the television. Jessica immediately started commenting on the show, spoiling small plot points with the confidence of someone who had seen it before. Her hand settled on Nicolás’s thigh and stayed there, fingers moving in slow, absent strokes. My eyes kept drifting from the screen to that hand, then to the line of Nicolás’s leg, then back again. Every time our eyes met he held the look a second longer than necessary.

I finally snapped.

“Don’t spoil the show if you’ve already watched it,” I said, more annoyed than I had any right to be. “Some of us are still trying to follow.”

I didn’t actually care what was happening on the screen. I just needed her to stop talking.

Jessica raised both eyebrows. “Okay, okay. Didn’t realise we were taking it so seriously.”

The sarcasm was light, but it landed. Matteo’s fingers pressed a little more firmly into my arm. I forced myself to look back at the screen and keep my breathing even. The four of us stayed like that for the rest of the afternoon. Polite on the surface. Too close for comfort. And completely wrong.Eventually the couples drifted apart. Jessica pulled Nicolás back toward her room with a quiet smile. Matteo and I ended up in his bedroom with the door half closed. I tried to read. He scrolled through his phone. Every time I stepped out into the living room, I crossed paths with Nicolás in the hallway. The eye contact was brief and heavy. Neither of us looked away first.

Early evening Matteo laced up his running shoes.

“Come with me,” he said, already stretching. “Short loop. We’ll be back in thirty minutes.”

I shook my head. “Not tonight. I’m staying in.”

He kissed the top of my head, promised he wouldn’t be long, and left. I heard the front door close.

I stayed in Matteo’s room for a long while after that. The apartment settled into a deep, unfamiliar quiet. No television. No voices. No movement from Jessica’s side. I tried to read. I scrolled through my phone without really seeing anything. Time stretched. The light outside the window shifted into something softer and dimmer.

A few minutes later the sound of the shower started in Jessica’s bathroom.

I stayed where I was until the quiet became too loud, then walked out to the kitchen for water.

I drank half the glass standing at the sink. When I turned, Nicolás was already there.

For a second we just looked at each other.

“Jessica’s showering,” he said.

I let out a short, humourless breath. “Matteo’s out for a run.”

Awkward silence settled between us. Nicolás stepped closer and rested one hand on the counter, not quite closing the distance but making it smaller.

“I missed you, Adrian,” he said quietly.

The words were simple. They still knocked the air out of me.

“Don’t do this, Nic.” The old nickname slipped out before I could stop it. “Not here. Not now.”

He studied my face. “I didn’t expect to see you. All of this is just—”

“Why are you here, Nicolás?” I cut in. My voice came out tighter than I wanted. “Why are you back after all these years?”

He kept his hand on the counter. The white shirt was open one button lower than it needed to be. Matteo’s shorts sat low on his hips.

“The project in Madrid ended. They offered me the Palermo office. I took it.” He paused. “I didn’t know you would be here. In this apartment. With him.”

“I’m in love with him, Nicolas.”

Something shifted in his expression. Soft. Pained. Certain.

“And I’m still in love with you, Adrian.”

“No.” I shook my head. “You don’t get to walk out of my life and then come back years later like nothing changed.”

“I asked you to come with me,” he said. “You said no because you were in love with someone else.”

The realization landed on his face slowly. His eyes narrowed just slightly.

“It’s him, isn’t it? Matteo Romano. You loved him even when we were dating.”

I didn’t answer.

I didn’t have to. The silence said everything for me.

“When did you even get back?” I asked instead, the words coming out more emotional than I intended.“A few days ago.” His eyes stayed on my face. “Jessica and I met at a bar. I didn’t go looking for you. But I also didn’t walk away when I realised who her roommate was.” He let out a quiet breath. “Matteo Romano. I knew I’d find you somewhere near him eventually… but in his bedroom?”

I set the glass down harder than I meant to. “You need to leave this alone.”

Nicolás’s voice stayed calm. Almost gentle.

“I never stopped loving you. Lo sabes, ¿verdad?” (You know that, right?)

The way he said it — soft, certain, carrying every unfinished thing between us — hit harder than the words themselves. My chest tightened.

Before I could answer, Jessica’s voice floated down the hall, bright and deliberately flirty.

“Nicolás? I hate showering alone. Come in, baby.”

He held my gaze for one more second. Something shifted in his expression, like he was about to say more, then he stopped himself. He pushed off the counter and walked away without another word. A moment later I heard the bathroom door close. The water sound changed as Nicolás stepped under the spray.

I was still standing in the kitchen trying to process what had just happened when Matteo came through the front door.

His dark t-shirt clung to his chest and stomach with sweat, the fabric stuck to the hard lines of his body. His hair was wet and messy from the run. The loose shorts sat low on his hips. He kicked the door shut behind him, still catching his breath, and then he took one look at my face and his expression shifted.

“Hey. What’s going on?”

I reached for the easiest deflection.

“Jessica’s being a bitch again.” I leaned back against the counter, forcing my voice into something lighter. “Loud. Performative. Like she’s trying to prove something.” I gave a short laugh that didn’t sound convincing. “Reminds me of how we were in the beginning. All over each other every five minutes. Like the honeymoon phase.”

Matteo’s mouth curved. He walked toward me slowly, the damp t-shirt still stuck to his skin, the loose shorts doing very little to hide how hard he already was. One of his hands drifted down and rested over the obvious bulge, adjusting himself without any real attempt to hide it.

“Who said we aren’t still in the honeymoon phase?”

He stopped in front of me, close enough that I could feel the heat coming off his body and smell the clean sweat on his skin. He leaned in until his mouth was near my ear, still holding his cock through the shorts.

“You want some fresh cream, baby?”

The words were playful. Filthy. Completely trusting.

I looked at him. At the wet t-shirt molded to his chest. At the open, hungry way he was watching me. The secret sat in my throat like something sharp. I wanted to tell him. Right then. Before the day got any older. Before Nicolás said anything else. Before Jessica found another way to twist the knife.

Instead I turned and backed him against the kitchen counter.

His eyes flashed with surprise and heat. I kissed him hard, hands sliding under the damp hem of his t-shirt. When I pulled back I kept my voice low and certain.

“Get on the counter.”

Matteo’s breath caught.

“Oh…” The sound was half laugh, half groan. “Fuck, Adrian.”

He planted his hands behind him, triceps flexing hard as he pushed himself up onto the counter. The loose shorts tented heavily between his legs. I stepped between his thighs and reached for the waistband, fingers slow and deliberate as I began pulling the fabric down.

Outside, the apartment remained quiet. Jessica and Nicolás were still behind a closed door. The shorts Matteo had lent him were somewhere in that room. The journal with the old entries was still on the bed where I had left it.

Matteo watched me with dark eyes, completely unaware of any of it.He looked down at me with pure heat and absolute trust, waiting.

I reached for Matteo’s waistband, fingers curling into the fabric, and met his eyes one last time.

I could have stopped. I could have told him everything right there.

Instead I stepped between his thighs, tugged the shorts down just enough to free him, and leaned in.

────────────────Playing Boyfriends 💋 | Season 2, Episode 13: Fresh Cream on the Kitchen Counter