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I had a really good night hanging out with you and an even better morning

But?

But nothing

It could be one really good morning with a teammate or…

Or?

Or I can get us some coffee and breakfast

Something greasy in case you’re feeling hungover

We can enjoy said breakfast and coffee

And go for round two

Round two

Yeah if you want

Sorry that wasn’t a question

That was agreeing. Yes. Round two. Now.

Fuck the coffee and breakfast

Yes sir I’ll be back in five

:)

Dylan was barely through the door and he surged into Henri’s arms. His mouth tasted like toothpaste and he smelled like body wash, and now that Henri was more awake, he did his best to catalogue every sensation.

“Mmm, you didn’t get dressed,” Dylan said as he pushed Henri against the nearest wall and trapped him there. Henri had rarely been with men, and none of them had been as big as him; Everett was bigger, could actually hold him in place if he wanted, and Henri thrilled at that thought.

“Well,” Henri said, “I was promised more sex, so I didn’t see the point.”

“You’re so smart.” Dylan’s left hand caressed up Henri’s bare side before resting on his pec, thumb brushing over his nipple. “So efficient.”

The praise, teasing as it might be, made Henri’s chest ache. Instead of addressing the words or the feelings they elicited, Henri reached for the hem of Dylan’s shirt and pulled. When Dylan took over, he left his palm against the hard plane of Dylan’s abs. Then their chests were pressed together, no shirts or sheets to hide behind, and Henri just about died.

“This okay?” Dylan asked, misreading the strangled sound that escaped.

“Very okay,” Henri assured him. He ran his hands up Dylan’s arms, squeezing his biceps along the way to rest around his neck. Loose hair tickled his fingers, the strands bronzer in the morning light. This close and with permission to look openly, Henri noted a slight dusting of freckles along his cheeks, so faint they were hardly noticeable. They stood no chance against those cornflower-blue eyes, or the almost-red beard, or the perfectly symmetrical features of those cheekbones, that brow, that chin, those plush lips. Everyone always talked about how in-shape Dylan Everett was, how he was in peak athletic condition, which seemed a shame. They missed all the best parts.

Dylan smiled. He traced the line of Henri’s nose, watched his finger move, then kissed the bridge of his nose. He looked so happy to be here, pressed against Henri of all people, and Henri really couldn’t account for it.

“I had fun in bed earlier,” Dylan said, with all the same bravado he brought to games. “But I would really love to get my hands on your dick this time.” He hooked his thumbs around the towel, damp and barely holding on where it was slung low on Henri’s hips. “May I?”

There was very little Henri wouldn’t let Dylan do to him, but he appreciated the check-in.

“Please.”

And that was all the invitation Dylan needed. He stepped back just enough to pull the towel loose and let it fall to the ground, his strong hands immediately finding Henri’s ass.

“Fuck. Do you know how long I’ve wanted you?” Dylan squeezed and groaned in appreciation.

Henri was too busy staring down at where his exposed dick was pressed between them, pre-come spreading onto Dylan’s shorts. It was ridiculously hot.