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It wasn’t that he had any modesty to speak of—quite the opposite, really—but the worst of his scars were on his front. His back was still marked extensively, the skin shiny and tight, even beneath the warmth, but people were much less likely to ask him about them if he was looking away.
Facing them, he could see the pity in their eyes—the sadness. “That must have hurt so much.” Or, his personal favorite, “You poor thing.”
That was one thing about kinksters. They all had scars—some more visible than others. It was rare to see someone without a mark from a past scene or even a bit of red skin on their ass or bruises on their knees from kneeling. Some, like Shelvin and Elliot, had their scars buried well beneath their skin, but they were still there. Clint could see them in the way Elliot would flinch from the sound of a belt or the way Shelvin had fainted from lack of food.
He flinched when he felt warm hands on his shoulders, pulling him from his thoughts.
“If your name isn’t Scotland, be prepared to have your ass kicked,” said Clint, shivering as those hands went from his shoulders to his wrists, pinning him in the same way he’d been in the ring. A cock pushed against his ass at the same time he was shoved into the tiled wall, his cheek pressing against the limescale-covered squares.
Closing his eyes against the water spray, he sucked a breath through his mouth, choking on a bit of water that managed to seep through his lips. The hands never let up, not even as the person ground against him, their cock coming dangerously close to penetrating him.
“Water doesn’t make good lube,” Clint choked out, turning his face into the tile so he could breathe better. Lips against his neck were his only answer, then teeth dragging over his skin. The grip on his wrists tightened, two hands becoming one and holding him with utmost strength.
“I thought you said we had to keep things from getting dirty,” said Clint, flinching as that cock breached him the barest amount. It fucking stung, dragging against him in a way that he absolutely loved and hated at the same time. He was persistent, too, returning with even pressure as he tried to squirm away.
“Scotland?”
Teeth snagged his ear, dragging the same spot that he’d pieced years ago. He rarely wore piercings anymore, but the skin was still extra sensitive, the bit of scar tissue, making him shiver.
“Not even going to ask me my color?” asked Clint, tugging at his wrists. The grip was too steady and completely unbreakable. He hadn’t realized Scotland was that strong.
Unless. His heart pounded as he twisted, the ruthless cock coming way too close to penetrating him again. Scotland had planned to talk to Maxim about something. Maybe it wasn’t him at all, but someone else who had slipped in, hoping for a quickie after the show. There had been a lot of guys bigger than Clint with rippling muscles, and Clint had made it very clear he was looking for cock.
“Lube or I safeword,” said Clint, hissing as his hips were forced into the tile, water momentarily slamming into his face as it pounded down on them. He spluttered, struggling to turn his face away and choking as some made it into his nose.
With a squeak of a nob, the water disappeared, a single drip echoing in the room. His breath was loud in his ears, water sliding down his chin to his throat.
He blinked his eyes open, squinting against the water that instantly stung. The sound of Scotland spitting had him instantly on guard. And it was Scotland. Without the water he could catch the scent of his body wash and that clinging bit of donkey that never faded.
“Close enough,” said Clint, relaxing against the wall and spreading his legs. “So much for keeping out of trouble.” His cock throbbed, scraping against the wall in an aching dance. It was more friction than he’d had in a while and he bucked into it, seeking the way the rough wall scratched against his sensitive skin.
“Baby, you’re so fucking dirty that I never stood a chance,” said Scotland, his voice rumbling next to his ear.
Fuck, he sounded good. It was strange to think that it hadn’t been that long since Clint refused to even think of Scotland as anything more than a pest. Attractive hadn’t even been on his radar. God, I want to come.
But someone walking in on them was a distinct possibility. In theory, it was fun, but Scotland seemed to like this gym. He didn’t want to get him kicked out. That, and Maxim had made it pretty clear on the no fucking part. This was the gangster’s territory, not Clint’s.
“Did you lock the door?” asked Clint, tugging against the grip on his wrists. Scotland was digging bruises into his wrists, and he trembled at the possibilities. One look, and everyone would know exactly how rough he’d been fucked. Their minds would race, picturing every scenario, but none of them would get it right. The real thing was just for him.
He could already picture himself staring at the bruises and poking them once he crashed in his cottage for the night, Scotland only a few steps or a text away. Or maybe Scotland would take him back to the house and let Clint toss and turn in the bed as he stood guard on the couch outside.
“I’ll be quick,” said Scotland. “I’m close already. Tossing you around is like fucking foreplay.”
“Yeah, but.” Clint tried to look over his shoulder, but his neck couldn’t twist that far in his position, especially when Scotland scraped his teeth over him. “Maxim…”
“Will probably kick my ass, yeah. But not before I get some ass myself. Relax, baby, or this is gonna hurt.”
He didn’t get more warning than that before Scotland slicked up his cock with another layer of spit, slowly pressing inside. Clint cried out, slamming his mouth shut when his voice echoed off the walls. They could definitely hear him in the gym, if they hadn’t heard him on another floor already. Nothing carried farther than the sound of something explicit.
“Fuck.” Clint scrambled against the tile, trying to find purchase. “They probably heard that. If you pull out now, we could play it off that I slipped in the shower.”
Scotland chuckled, not stopping until his groin was settled against Clint’s ass and sticking together from the dampness between them. “I’m sure you heard that all the time when you were a nurse. How many people slipped in the shower and managed to accidentally get a shampoo bottle jammed up their ass?”
Squirming, Clint tried to angle away so Scotland’s cock would slip free. He only managed halfway before Scotland caught him by the hips, easing home again with a sharp thrust. It pushed more than one of his buttons, filling him to the brim.
“But no one is going to mistake that gape, even if you tell them that. You’re so beautiful all fucked open. I love it.”
Fuck. Clint bit his lip to stifle his moans, but when Scotland picked up the pace, there was no mistaking the sound of skin slapping skin, the dampness from the shower making it so much worse.
