Chapter Fifteen #2
They stayed close, bodies aligned through nothing but warm water and the slick of soap. Sebastian felt the firm line of Marcos’ stomach, the shift of his thighs when he adjusted his stance, and the hard press of him when their hips came too close before Marcos corrected by half an inch.
Sebastian noticed the care in it, the way Marcos seemed to measure each touch now, not because he didn’t want it, but because he did and was still figuring out where to go with it.
His hands were steady across Sebastian’s shoulders and ribs, then less certain whenever the touch slid lower.
Sebastian didn’t rush him. He didn’t take his hand and guide Marcos around his body. He let Marcos set the pace.
Marcos’ hand continued down, following the line of Sebastian’s ribs, then across his stomach, fingers spreading wide as they rinsed the last of the dirt from the game.
His palm glided through soap and water, slow enough that Sebastian felt the path of every finger, and the last of the grass marks shifted under the touch before disappearing down his body.
When Marcos’ knuckles brushed Sebastian’s cock, the touch was accidental or close enough to it that neither of them said anything.
Sebastian sucked in a breath, and Marcos paused, his hand pulling back a fraction. His gaze lifted to meet Sebastian’s.
Sebastian didn’t move. He kept his own hand against Marcos’ shoulder and let him have the choice.
After a second, Marcos’ fingers continued, sliding past with a lightness that made Sebastian’s knees feel less reliable than the match had.
It wasn’t a stroke or a grip, only a passing acknowledgment, enough to say he knew what he was doing.
Sebastian’s hand tightened once on Marcos’ shoulder before he eased it again.
Marcos’ mouth parted slightly, and Sebastian kissed him before either of them could turn the moment into words. The kiss was brief, water pouring over their faces, their mouths slipping apart once before finding each other again.
Then a clatter came from beyond the shower.
They broke apart at once, Sebastian stepping back until his shoulder hit the wall and Marcos moving out from under the stream with one hand half lifted, as if he’d forgotten what he meant to do with it. Both of them turned toward the doorway.
The sound had come from the changing room.
Something plastic hitting the floor, followed by a dull scrape across a bench.
Not close enough to be in the shower room, but close enough to remind Sebastian there was no lock between this and the rest of the club, no real barrier at all beyond steam, running water, and the stupid assumption that everyone else had gone.
Neither of them said anything.
Another sound followed, softer this time. A laundry bag being moved, maybe. A footstep. Someone muttering under their breath, too low to catch properly over the shower.
Marcos watched Sebastian, and whatever had been building between them thinned under the sudden return of where they were. It wasn’t regret on his face, and not panic exactly, but the moment had been cut through too cleanly for either of them to pretend it hadn’t changed.
Marcos acted first, grabbing his drenched underwear and towel from the tile floor before heading for the locker room. He glanced back once, then disappeared around the corner.
Sebastian stayed under the water. It kept running over his shoulder and down his chest, over skin that still felt marked by calloused hands.
His pulse was everywhere, hard in his throat and ribs, and in the places Marcos had touched him with that careful, unfinished pressure.
He stared at the empty doorway and tried to steady his breathing.
The changing room stayed quiet for a moment, then came the faint rustle of fabric, a low murmur of voices, a soft thud, and the sound of someone walking away.
Sebastian pressed his palms against the wall and exhaled through his nose.
Eventually, he turned the shower off.
The sudden quiet made the room feel wider.
Water dripped from the showerhead in uneven beats, hitting the tile near his feet while Sebastian bent to grab his underwear and towel.
The towel was useless by then, but he still wrapped it around his waist, his underwear hanging by his side as he made his way out of the showers.
When he stepped out, Marcos was still there.
He was dressed now, sitting on the bench in front of his locker with his bag between his feet.
His hair was damp, and his shirt clung slightly at the shoulders where he hadn’t dried properly.
He had changed too quickly; Sebastian could tell from the uneven twist of one sock and the way the collar of his shirt sat wrong.
Marcos’ hands were clasped loosely in front of him, elbows on his knees, eyes fixed on the ground between his feet.
There was no one else there.
Sebastian stopped at the edge of the locker bay, listening for another sound before crossing to his own locker. He dried himself properly with a clean towel from the locker, pulled on his clothes, shoved his wet underwear into a side pocket, and sat on the bench opposite Marcos.
For a while, neither of them spoke.
The room was too bright after the shower, too open around the benches, lockers, and half-packed bags. The air against Sebastian’s skin was cooler now, and his pulse still hadn’t settled.
“Someone came to grab the towels,” Marcos said, his voice low, eyes glued to the ground between his feet.
Sebastian nodded, staring at Marcos but not saying anything.
He wanted to ask what Marcos was thinking, whether he was about to go quiet again, or if this would become another thing they didn’t talk about for weeks.
The questions pressed hard against the back of his teeth, but Marcos was still sitting there with his bag between his feet, dressed and tense and clearly not fine, and he hadn’t used the interruption as an excuse to disappear.
Sebastian held onto that.
After a minute, he cleared his throat and pushed to his feet, grabbing his bag as he did.
Marcos glanced up. “Hey.”
Sebastian paused, hand gripping his bag’s strap. “Yeah?”
Marcos’ eyes stayed on him this time. Not easily, and not without something guarded pulling behind them, but they stayed.
“What if I came to your apartment later this week?”
The question took Sebastian by surprise.
For a second, he just stared at him. Marcos’ face still held hesitation—the guarded mouth, the tension in his jaw, the faint crease between his brows that said part of him was already working out if he actually meant what he asked.
But it was different than it had been last time. It was more settled.
“Yeah. Yeah, that’s cool,” Sebastian said, nodding too many times.
Marcos didn’t say anything else. He just pulled his mouth tight and let his eyes fall back to the ground.
Sebastian watched him for a second, then swung his bag over his shoulder and walked out of the room.