"Yeah. Fuck. Yeah."
His hips rolled against mine. Both of us hard now, the friction through thin cotton sending sparks up my spine. I grabbed his hips and pulled him tighter against me. He groaned into my neck—low, broken.
"I want—" he started.
"What do you want?"
He pulled back enough to look at me. Hair wrecked. Lips swollen. Eyes so dark the blue was almost gone. "I want to feel you. All of you. I want—" His throat moved. "I want us to take our time."
"Then let's take our time."
I reached between us. Palmed him through his sweats. He hissed—a sharp intake of breath, his hips pushing into my hand.
"Fuck, Liam."
"Yeah?" I squeezed. Felt the full length of him, thick and straining against the fabric. "Tell me how that feels."
"You know how it feels."
"I want to hear you say it."
His eyes locked on mine. Something flickering behind them—the old instinct to deflect, to calculate, to perform. Then it died. Replaced by something raw.
"It feels like I've been thinking about your hands on me since the bus," he said. "Since you sat next to me and your shoulderwas right there and I couldn't touch you and I wanted to so badly I could barely breathe."
My hand tightened on him. His back arched.
"Keep talking," I said.
"On the bus—" His breath caught as I stroked him through the cotton. "I was hard the entire time. Thirty teammates around us and all I could think about was this. Getting you alone. Getting my hands on you."
"Jesus, Alex."
"You asked."
I pulled his waistband down. Freed him. The sight of his cock—hard, flushed, leaking at the tip—hit me like a punch to the chest. I wrapped my hand around him. Skin on skin. He made a sound that wasn't a word.
"You're so fucking hard," I said. My voice rough. My own cock throbbing against my shorts.
"Because of you." His hand found me. Gripped me through the fabric and I bucked into his palm. "God, Liam—you feel—"
"Take them off."
He pulled my shorts down. My cock sprang free and his hand was on me immediately—firm, certain, his thumb swiping over the head where I was already wet. Both of us stroking each other now. Both of us breathing hard. The room shrinking to the space between our bodies.
"Shower," Alex said.
"What?"
"Let's shower." He kissed the corner of my mouth. Then my jaw. Then my ear. "I want to feel you under the water."
I didn't need to be asked twice.
We stumbled to the bathroom. Alex turning on the water—hot, the steam rising immediately, fogging the mirror. My hands on his waist. Kissing him while the water heated and the room filled with steam.
We stepped in together.
The water hit us. The urgency softened. Not gone—just transformed. Alex tipped his head back under the spray and I watched the water run down his neck, his chest, the ridges of his stomach. Following the lines the way my hands wanted to.
