Page 67 of Contested

Sebastian slid it aside with his foot.

Marcos’ gaze slipped over him.

For a moment, Sebastian wasn’t sure what he was going to do.

Then Marcos lifted himself back up. His hand brushed between Sebastian’s thighs, gliding against his balls and along his shaft, brief pressure before travelling higher.

As Marcos came to look down at Sebastian again, he let out a choked breath, a smile pulling at his mouth.

Sebastian returned it. He reached for the bodywash and squirted some into his hand. His pulse still hadn’t settled, but the action gave him something to do with the wanting. He rubbed the soap between his palms, then spread it over Marcos’ chest. His other hand found Marcos’ shoulder and ran down his arm.

Marcos stood motionless under the attention.

Sebastian’s palm glided in slow circles over Marcos’ chest, the bodywash turning the remaining streaks of dirt and grass into thin trails that the water carried away. His fingers worked through the sparse patch of hair in the centre, smoothing foam across skin that felt warmer than the steam around them.

Marcos’ breath came steady, and Sebastian could feel each inhale press against his hand. He leaned in and kissed him again, slower than before, letting his mouth settle and part just enough for their tongues to touch lightly. Marcos followed at once, hands finding Sebastian’s waist, then his lower back.

Sebastian’s thumb brushed over Marcos’ nipple, and the low sound Marcos made vibrated into the kiss.

It barely made it past his throat, but Sebastian felt it under his hand in the small tightening of Marcos’ body. Marcos’ fingers pressed into Sebastian’s waist, while the water moved over them both, and Sebastian kept his thumb there for one more pass before flattening his palm over Marcos’ chest again.

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.