The locker room was bustling with energy, high off a win thanks to our extra incentive to play like machines. Guys laughed, busted balls as they all stripped their gear off and changed. Eli and I kept our heads down, waiting them out as both of us were too wound up, too tight, to risk anyone seeing what was about to spill over.
By the time the last door slammed shut, it was just us. And I forced my feet into motion before I lost the nerve.
The showers hissed back to life, steam already filling the air from the rest of the guys as I walked into the secluded room at the back of the locker room. I ducked under the spray, bracing my hands against the wall, letting the heat scald the adrenaline off my skin. Maybe I should have turned the water to ice to get my head back in working order before I did something I couldn’t take back, but dammit, I didn’t want to.
And then I felt it—Eli’s gaze.
I left him on the bench at his locker, the ball firmly in his court, but now he silently joined me.
And I could feel his eyes.
Slow.
Heavy.
Lingering.
“You’re staring,” I muttered without looking at him.
He chuckled low, stepping under the water, one faucet away, and let the water pour over his head before he finally replied, “And you aren’t.”
I turned my head just enough to catch him through the mist. Drops rolling down his chest, hair slicked back, eyes dark with the same hunger twisting in my own gut.
And maybe it was the steam, or the bet, or just her—always her—but I didn’t look away.
He moved first, turning toward me.
Then he gave me what I wanted. A deliberate stroke of his hand down his chest, lower, slow enough that it was meant for me to watch. To see.
He clenched his dick, stroking it while he stared at me. My body responded instantly, my cock hard again like we hadn’t just skated a whole fucking game of hell.
“Jesus, Eli,” I growled, dragging my own hand down to adjust my cock as it grew to life in response. I couldn’t believe I was getting hard watching him stroke himself.
Instantly, I remembered the way his hand felt around my dick last night, one steady stroke up and down to “prep” it for our girl, and then the way it felt when he pushed into her body, right up against me.
I’d stayed still, buried balls deep in Frankie as he fucked her ass, rubbing his cock against mine inside of her and came from it alone the first time.
“Are you trying to drive me insane?” I grunted, turning to lean back against the wall behind me, spreading my thighs to get the perfect tension in my body as I jacked off.
His smirk curved sharp, “I thought that was her job. Walking around our rink, her tits swayed with each step. Every man in the place could see the point of her nipples tonight.” He growled, “But only we get to fuck with them.”
“Damn fucking right,” I clenched my teeth, imagining our teammates staring at her chest right now, imagining they were the lucky bastards that got to play with those lush tits. No doubt they’d all go home, and jack off to the mental imagery of her body. “God, I’m fucked in the head over that girl.”
We were both breathing hard, caught up in the taboo appeal of it, not touching each other, but close enough it felt like we were already crossing lines we’d never go back from.
His eyes fell to my cock as his pretty boy face lit up with a flush he’d probably blame on the steam if I called him out on it. But I didn’t.
I’d never tip this in a way that made him feel guilty for it.
Never.
I’d never make him feel uncomfortable if I weren’t.
And I was the furthest thing from uncomfortable as we jacked off together.
Every groan, every stolen glance ratcheted the tension tighter.
“I won tonight,” he challenged, reaching down with his free hand to palm his balls, and my spine burned with the urge to come. “We both know it.”
