Chapter 11: Chapter 11
Steam curled thick as smoke, swallowing the cedar-paneled walls of the sauna whole. The air was a wet, heavy blanket, smelling sharply of eucalyptus and the deeper, muskier tang of exhausted bodies. Sweat rolled freely now, no longer the sheen of controlled exertion on stage, but a river soaking into towels. Klaus sat slumped on the highest bench, a mountain of muscle gone slack, his head resting back against the hot wood. Rohan lay flat on his back a tier below, towel bunched beneath his hips, eyes closed. Jian perched on the lowest bench, elbows on knees, face buried in his hands, the rapid rise and fall of his shoulders the only sign he wasn't asleep.
The silence wasn’t peaceful. It thrummed with the memory of grinding bodies, choked cries, and the obscene splatter of release on the stage floor. The heat seemed to amplify the ghost-sensation of Klaus’s thick cock pulsing against Jian’s, of Rohan’s heavy length rutting against Klaus’s sweat-slicked spine. Jian shivered despite the swelter.
The door hissed open. Marco stood silhouetted against the cooler light of the changing room, a towel slung low on his hips. He stepped in, letting the heavy door thud shut, sealing them back into the steam chamber. His eyes, sharp and predatory even in the gloom, scanned them.
"Still breathing?" Marco’s voice was a low rasp, cutting through the humid silence. He moved with deliberate slowness, his bare feet slapping softly on the wet tiles. He paused beside the lowest bench, near Jian’s feet. His gaze lingered on the puddle glistening on the cedar planks beneath Jian’s towel. Not sweat. Thicker. Milky-white ropes and viscous strands, mixed with water droplets, pooling where Jian’s own release had dripped onto the bench after they’d stumbled in. Klaus and Rohan’s contributions were smeared across their own towels, but this puddle was mostly Jian’s desperate, post-stage spillage.
Jian flinched, pulling his feet back slightly. He didn’t look up.
Marco chuckled, a low, dirty sound. "Little late for modesty, pretty boy." He nudged Jian’s knee with his foot. "Looked good on stage. Real good. Especially when you were grinding that tight ass against Klaus’s fat cock." He turned his attention to Klaus. "Enjoyed your filling, big man? Felt that Taiwanese ass clench?"
Klaus grunted, a non-committal rumble. He kept his eyes closed, but his jaw tightened.
"Rohan?" Marco continued, moving towards him. "Bet you liked rutting against that German mountain. Get a feel for what a real piece of meat feels like pressed against you?"
Rohan cracked one eye open, his expression unreadable. "It was intense, Sir."
"Intense," Marco snorted. He stopped walking, standing directly over the puddle on the bench near Jian. His towel was tented obscenely. "Intense doesn't cover the fucking mess you animals made." He looked down, his shadow falling over the milky pool. "Looks like someone couldn't hold it all in, even after the main event." He deliberately tapped the puddle with his big toe, swirling it slightly. The thick fluid clung to his skin.
Jian made a small, choked sound. His knuckles were white where he gripped his hair.
Marco crouched down, bringing his face level with Jian’s hunched form, though his gaze remained fixed on the viscous puddle. "This yours, slut?" His voice was dangerously soft. "This little pool of wasted spunk? Couldn't even wait to get off the fucking stage, could you?" He dipped his index finger slowly into the center of the puddle. The thick cum, mixed with condensation, coated his finger easily. He lifted it, watching the white fluid stretch and sag in a thick, glistening strand. "Still warm."
Klaus shifted, the bench groaning under his weight. "Marco, come on. Leave him."
"Leave him?" Marco didn't look up. He brought the cum-coated finger close to Jian's face, forcing him to smell it. The salty-sweet musk was overpowering. Jian recoiled violently, almost falling off the bench. "Why? He made it. He should appreciate it." Marco’s eyes finally locked onto Jian’s. "Taste it."
Jian shook his head, panic flaring in his dark eyes. "No... please..."
Marco’s expression hardened. "Didn't ask." He moved with terrifying speed. His free hand shot out, tangling roughly in Jian’s damp hair, yanking his head back. Jian cried out. Marco shoved the cum-smeared finger past Jian’s parted lips, deep into his mouth. "Suck it clean, you fucking leaky faucet."
Jian gagged, eyes watering, but Marco held him fast, grinding the finger against his tongue. Tears tracked through the sweat on Jian’s cheeks as he was forced to suck his own spend from Marco’s finger, the taste flooding his mouth – salty, bitter, shameful. Klaus sat up fully now, tension radiating off him. Rohan watched, propped on an elbow, his gaze dark and unreadable.
Marco pulled his finger out with a wet pop, Jian panting, saliva and traces of white glistening on his chin. Marco then turned his attention back to the puddle on the bench. He studied it, breathing heavily, his own arousal obvious. Slowly, deliberately, he spread the fingers of his right hand wide. Klaus tensed, a low warning growl starting deep in his chest. "Marco, don't–"
But Marco was already moving. He drove his right fist straight down into the thick center of the puddle with brutal force. Splurch. Cum and condensation splattered upwards in thick droplets, hitting Klaus’s leg, Rohan’s towel, Jian’s bare knee. Marco’s fist sank knuckle-deep into the sticky mess. He ground it in, twisting his wrist, forcing the thick fluid up between his fingers, coating his hand in a glistening white gauntlet. He pulled his fist out slowly, the obscene slurp echoing in the steam-filled silence. Thick strands of spunk stretched and snapped back to the bench. The puddle was now a shallow, smeared crater.
He held his glistening fist up before Jian’s horrified face. Cum dripped thickly from his knuckles, down his wrist. "See that?" Marco hissed, his voice thick with dark triumph and need. "That's your mess. And it’s fucking perfect." He stared at his cum-slicked fist, breathing raggedly, the heat in the sauna amplifying the primal scent. Jian stared, frozen, the taste of his own shame still coating his tongue. Klaus’s fists clenched on his thighs. Rohan’s breathing hitched, his eyes fixed on Marco’s glistening hand, a flicker of something raw and dangerous in his gaze. Marco curled his dripping fingers, the thick white fluid clinging stubbornly. "Perfect."