A Helping Hand
RATING: Explicit
CATEGORIES: M/M
FANDOMS: Rose City Roasters RPF
CHARACTERS: Peter Diaz, Matty Miller
ADDITIONAL KEYWORDS: Shower Sex, Voyeurism, Mutual Masturbation, Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, Team Locker Room, Baseball Players, Slight Dom/Sub Vibes, #MIAZ
SUMMARY: After practice, the locker room showers are empty except for Matty and Diaz. What starts as a shared glance turns into something much hotter . . .
The locker room showers were empty except for the two of them. Steam curled thick in the air, water cascading down tiled walls as Matty and Diaz stood under adjacent heads, the rest of the team long gone.
Diaz leaned one shoulder against the cool tile, water streaming down his shaved head and chest. His eyes were locked on Matty, on the way soap suds slid down the defined lines of his abs, over the sharp cut of his hip.
And lower . . .
Matty’s hand was already wrapped around his cock, stroking slowly, deliberately. His hazel eyes flicked up to meet Diaz’s, dark with heat.
“You just gonna watch?” Matty asked, voice breaking through the running water.
Diaz’s lips curved. “For now.”
He wrapped his own fist around his thick, hardening length and gave it one lazy stroke, thumb swiping over the leaking head. Matty’s breath hitched at the sight.
“Fuck,” Matty muttered, his hand speeding up. “You look so good like this.”
Diaz groaned. He matched Matty’s rhythm, pumping himself in quick, firm strokes while water sluiced over his aching muscles.
“You like watching me jerk off for you, tesoro? Like seeing how hard you make me?”
Matty nodded, lips parted. “Love it.”
“You want to see me come?”
“Yesss.” Matty groaned. “I want to watch you lose it while you look at me.”
The air between them grew thicker than the steam. They stood just a few feet apart, eyes locked, hands working their cocks in perfect sync. The wet sounds of skin on skin mixed with their heavy breathing and the steady spray of the showers.
“Shit, Matty . . .” Diaz’s voice was strained. “Look at you leaking for me.”
Matty moaned, hips jerking into his fist.
“I’m gonna come, Peter—”
“Do it,” Diaz growled, stroking himself faster. “Come for me. Let me see it.”
Matty came first with a choked groan, thick ropes of cum spilling over his fist and onto the tiled floor, washed away instantly by the water. The sight pushed Diaz over the edge right after him. He came hard, groaning Matty’s name as he pulsed over his own hand, hips stuttering.
They stood there afterward, breathing hard, water still pouring down on them. It was Diaz who made the first move, pulling Matty in for a deep, hungry kiss under the spray.
“Next time,” he murmured against his lips, “I’m fucking you right here against this wall.”
Matty smirked with satisfaction. “Can’t wait.”