Chapter 2: Shower fiasco
The hot water hit Ethan’s shoulders like a physical blow, momentarily stealing his breath. He stood under the spray, eyes squeezed shut, trying to wash away the chlorine sting and something else, something deeper, stickier. The communal shower echoed with the hiss of water hitting tile, amplifying the emptiness. He was alone. Utterly alone.
He’d lingered in the pool water longer than necessary, the coolness a feeble shield against the heat still radiating from his core. The phantom sensation of Chase’s hand – firm, demanding, knowing – lingered beneath his Speedo, a brand on his skin and his memory. Punished. The word echoed, twisting in his gut. Was it assault? Was it initiation? The confusion was a physical ache, tangled with the undeniable, shameful spark of arousal that still flickered low in his belly.
He scrubbed furiously at his arms, his chest, as if he could scour away the encounter. The harsh fluorescent lights of the shower bay reflected off the wet tiles, making everything feel stark, exposed. He kept glancing towards the entrance archway, half-expecting, half-dreading to see Chase’s silhouette. Where was he? Practice had ended ages ago. The locker room beyond the showers had been silent when Ethan entered, just the dripping taps and his own frantic heartbeat.
Disappointment warred with relief. Part of him, the treacherous, newly awakened part, had craved seeing Chase here. Naked. Steam curling around those powerful shoulders, water sluicing down the defined planes of his chest and stomach, lower… Ethan groaned softly, leaning his forehead against the cool tile wall. The water beat down. He was hard again. Just the thought of Chase, of his confidence, his smirk, his scandalous blue Speedo barely containing… Ethan squeezed his eyes tighter. This was insanity. Chase was his instructor. He held Ethan’s scholarship hopes in his hands. And after what happened in the pool… Ethan shuddered, the conflicting emotions a whirlpool threatening to pull him under.
He stayed under the punishing spray until his skin felt raw and his mind was numb. Finally, he twisted the knob. The sudden silence was deafening. Water dripped from his hair, his eyelashes, pattering onto the wet floor. He stepped out of the stall, the cool air raising goosebumps instantly on his damp skin. He padded across the slick tiles towards the bench where he’d left his towel and gear bag.
The bench was bare.
Ethan blinked. He scanned the area – the row of hooks above the bench, the floor beneath it. Nothing. Just damp concrete and gleaming tile. A cold prickle, different from the air chill, started at the base of his spine. He turned slowly, checking the other benches. All empty. His black Speedo, his towel, his bag with his street clothes and phone… gone.
Panic, sharp and sudden, sliced through the lingering fog of confusion and arousal. He was naked. Dripping wet. Stranded in the echoing, empty shower bay. "What the hell?" he muttered, his voice bouncing strangely off the walls. He spun around again, a futile gesture. Had someone taken it? A prank? But who? Everyone else had left.
A low chuckle echoed from the arched entrance to the locker room proper.
Ethan froze. Every muscle tensed. He knew that sound. Slowly, heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird, he turned towards the archway.
Chase leaned against the tile frame, arms crossed over his bare chest. He wasn't wet. He hadn't showered. He wore only his electric blue Speedo, the fabric dark and dry against his skin. His expression was pure, unadulterated amusement, his blue-green eyes gleaming with predatory satisfaction. He looked Ethan up and down, slowly, deliberately, taking in every inch of his nakedness, the water droplets clinging to his lean frame, the flush still high on his cheeks.
"Looking for something?" Chase asked, his voice a low purr that vibrated in the damp air.
Ethan instinctively covered himself with his hands, humiliation burning hotter than any arousal. "My stuff," he managed, his voice tight. "Where is it?"
Chase pushed off the wall and took a step forward. Just one. It felt like an invasion. "Stuff?" He tilted his head, feigning innocence. The smirk was back, wider than ever. "You mean…" His gaze dropped pointedly, lingering between Ethan’s legs before snapping back up to his face. "...that?"
Ethan flinched. "My towel. My clothes. My bag. Everything." He hated the tremor in his voice.
Chase took another step closer. The distance between them shrank alarmingly. Ethan could smell the faint scent of chlorine still clinging to him, mixed with something warmer, muskier – pure Chase. The instructor’s eyes held Ethan’s, pinning him in place more effectively than any grip. "Maybe I got tired of waiting for you to finish sulking under the water," Chase murmured. His gaze drifted lower again, openly appreciative now. "Or maybe… I just wanted a better view."
Ethan’s breath hitched. He wanted to back up, but the cold tile wall was behind him. Chase was close enough now that Ethan could see the faint stubble along his jawline, the pulse beating steadily in his neck. The blue Speedo seemed impossibly tight, outlining every contour, leaving nothing to the imagination. The same Speedo that had started this madness.
Chase reached out, not touching Ethan, but tracing a finger slowly through the air just inches from his damp collarbone. "You look good like this, Ethan." His voice dropped, becoming intimate, conspiratorial. "All… exposed. Vulnerable." His finger dipped lower, hovering near Ethan’s sternum. "After what happened in the pool… figured we could skip the formalities."
The mention of the pool sent another jolt through Ethan – shame, fear, and that treacherous, unwelcome heat flaring back to life. Chase’s proximity, his scent, his overwhelming presence, was short-circuiting Ethan’s ability to think. He was naked, trapped, and Chase… Chase was looking at him like he was something to devour.
Chase’s hand finally made contact, not where Ethan expected. His fingertips brushed lightly, almost reverently, against Ethan’s hip bone. The touch was electric. Ethan gasped, a small, involuntary sound. Chase’s eyes darkened, the amusement shifting into something hotter, more intense. His thumb stroked a slow circle on the sensitive skin.
"Scared?" Chase breathed, leaning in closer. His lips were inches from Ethan’s ear. Ethan could feel the heat radiating from his body. "Or excited?"
Ethan couldn’t speak. His body was betraying him utterly, responding to Chase’s touch, his voice, his sheer dominance. He was trembling, but not entirely from cold or fear. Chase’s other hand came up, mirroring the first, settling lightly on Ethan’s other hip. He pulled Ethan forward, just a fraction, closing the last bit of space between them. Ethan’s bare chest brushed against Chase’s, the contact sending sparks across his skin. Chase’s Speedo felt rough against Ethan’s thigh.
Chase dipped his head, his lips grazing the sensitive spot just below Ethan’s ear. Ethan shuddered violently, a moan escaping before he could stifle it. Chase chuckled, a low, dark sound. "That’s what I thought," he murmured against Ethan’s skin. His hands slid around to Ethan’s lower back, pulling him flush against him. Ethan could feel the hard press of Chase’s arousal through the thin blue fabric, undeniable and massive. The reality of it, the sheer physicality, was overwhelming.
Chase kissed him then. Not gently. It was a claiming. Demanding. His lips were firm, insistent, his tongue sweeping into Ethan’s mouth with possessive confidence. Ethan melted into it, his hands, which had been pressed defensively against Chase’s chest, now clutching at his shoulders, pulling him closer. The taste of chlorine, the heat, the sheer rightness of it momentarily obliterated every doubt, every fear. His own body surged against Chase’s, desperate for friction, for more.
They stumbled back slightly, pressed against the cold tile wall. Chase’s hands were everywhere – sliding down Ethan’s spine to grip his ass, pulling him tighter, grinding against him. One hand slid between them, fingers tracing the line of Ethan’s hip again, dipping lower, brushing against his straining erection. Ethan cried out into Chase’s mouth, arching into the touch.
Chase broke the kiss, breathing heavily, his forehead resting against Ethan’s. His eyes were dilated, dark with lust. "Fuck, Ethan," he rasped, his voice thick. "You have no idea…" His hand closed around Ethan’s cock, firm and sure. Ethan gasped, his head thudding back against the tile. Chase stroked him slowly, deliberately, his thumb rubbing the sensitive head. "Been wanting this… since the first time I saw you push off that wall…"
Ethan could only moan, his hips thrusting helplessly into Chase’s grip. The sensations were blinding – the expert hand, the hard body pressed against him, the rough tile, the scent of steam and Chase. He was lost, drowning in it.
Chase suddenly stilled. He pulled back slightly, his hand stilling on Ethan’s cock, though he didn’t let go. A different kind of intensity flickered in his eyes – something wilder, more reckless. He glanced over Ethan’s shoulder, towards the far end of the locker room where a high, narrow window was propped open a few inches, letting in the cool night air.
A slow, dangerous grin spread across Chase’s face. "Got a little… carried away earlier," he confessed, his voice rough with arousal and something else – mischief? Madness? He nodded towards the window.
Ethan, dazed, followed his gaze. Understanding dawned slowly, horribly. Scattered on the dark asphalt far below, illuminated by the security light outside, were indistinct shapes. A crumpled towel. A dark bundle that could be a Speedo. The unmistakable outline of a gym bag.
Chase chuckled, a low, dark sound that vibrated through Ethan’s body. "Yeah," he breathed, his grip tightening almost painfully on Ethan for a second before relaxing into another slow stroke that made Ethan whimper. "Threw it all out. Towels too." He leaned in, nipping at Ethan’s earlobe. "Every damn scrap."
The reality crashed over Ethan like icy water. Naked. Both of them. Trapped. In the empty, echoing building. No clothes. No towels. Nothing. The frantic heat of moments ago warred with a fresh wave of panic.
Chase’s grin widened, feral and bright in the harsh light. He pressed his forehead against Ethan’s again, his breath hot. "Guess we’re stuck," he murmured, his voice thick with promise and pure, unadulterated recklessness. His hand resumed its devastating rhythm. "Just you… and me…" He ground his own hardness against Ethan’s hip. "...and absolutely nothing to get in the way."