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I close the bathroom door behind me and softly shut it. Turn the shower knobs and wait until the water is almost scalding hot.
Vance always laughs at me for taking such hot showers. He can't believe that I'm able to stand it – because after I'm done, the bathroom is like a sauna, the mirror totally fogged, my skin bright red.
The first time he saw it, he touched my pecs. His hand prints appeared, on my breast, stamped into my flesh. Like I was branded by his palm, his fingers.
“Look at your chest, man! It's bright red! How can you even stand that!”
Truth is, I dunno. I don't know how I could stand to have his hands on my chest, either – not without grabbing his side and pulling him closer, and finally doing what I can't stop thinking about doing ...
But it's just something I have to do, I guess. And the shower is the only place I feel like I can let go.
Hey, it's hard. It's hard rooming with Vance. It's hard being around all those guys and pretending to be something I'm not. The one place I can actually let go for a little ... and not worry about someone watching me ... is in that shower. And yeah, the water is burning hot, and maybe it even stings a little as the scorching spray raps at my skin. So what? I like it.
It's also where I, uh, unwind after a long day.
But even then I gotta be careful. 'Cause I know Vance is just outside that door, and could easily hear any, ahem, suspicious sounds.
Like fap fap fap.
Or unghhh!
So I try to keep it as quiet as I possibly can.
But, because I'm so sensitive? I can sit there and do it again and again and again. Until the water gets too hot on my skin and I gotta get out.
Otherwise I might stay all day. Ha.
That's exactly what I was up to in Dallas. I went into the bathroom, climbed into the shower. My cock was already at half-mast. I watched Vance do his push-ups just long enough. I love it when he does that – that's what he does when he wakes up, and what he does before he goes to bed, too. And it's the same thing every day.
A hundred push-ups. His sweet moans and groans. They sound sexier as he gets closer to his hundredth push-up. His voice wavers. His muscles turn red, swollen. They tremble when he pushes up.
Of course, all I can see when he does those push-ups is myself ... under him. How I'd wrap my legs around his rear and pull him in. Make him sink that cock into me. And his voice would waver.
Eighty seven ... eighty eight ... ohhhh! God, yes!
“Unh,” I groan, my throat aching, as I tug my rod faster and harder. I've already sprayed my load twice in here. Hopefully third time will be the charm – when I can finally muster up some will-power and shut the water off.
Vance works up a light sweat while he's cranking out his push-ups. Soon, his smell pulses through the room, radiating from his skin in waves of heat.
After a few weeks of being on the road with Vance? I'm well-acquainted with his smell. It fills the room when he sleeps. I'll wake in the middle of the night, and I'll smell him all around me. He must be a guy that sweats in his sleep. The thought makes me wanna climb into his bed, rub my hands over his sweat-slicked back, and bury my nose against his neck and shoulder. And just smell him the way I want to.
His scent is savory, but with spicy and charred notes. Like ginger, pepper, and a warm camp fire on a chilly fall evening. I have no idea how he smells that way. I've never seen the guy put any cologne on – it's just his body's natural smell. His pheromones, I guess – emanating from his every pore, designed to attract a mate.
So whose luck would it be that his straight-guy pheromones end up driving me crazy? Who has it worse?
Good question. It's like an ancient paradox.
But I swear his scent is all around me, like it's been permanently etched into my mind. Hell, I can even smell it right now, while I jerk myself off in the shower ... I'm hopeless.
I tug myself faster and faster until I bust all over the glass shower door for the third time this session alone.
“God damn,” I mumble. “I gotta stop.”
I gotta stop doing a lot of things.
At least I've held true on my vow so far this season. I haven't been with any other guys. Not since the last hook-up, back when I was with the Jets.
Problem with that is? I don't even want to. Because there's only one guy on my mind right now.
And that's fucking crazy. Because not only is Vance a teammate of mine, and my captain, and my roommate ... but he's also straight. So this stupid little crush is not doing me any good. And I like him ... a lot. I dunno how much exactly, but it scares me. More than I should, that's for sure.
I take a few moments to catch my breath. Then I wash up for real. I wash the seed off my hands, off the glass shower door. And while I soap up, I think about the week ahead.
Tomorrow, we're heading back to Chicago. We've got a stretch of home games coming up to close out the season. It'll be nice to be back home again, right before the playoffs start.
At least when we're at home, I've got some space from Vance. Even though he's right down the hall.
I rinse myself off. Take a deep breath.
“Okay,” I mutter to myself.
Once I climb out of that shower, I'm 'me' again, ready to face the world. I'm Callan Jones, Pro Hockey Player, Pest Extraordinaire and All-Around Straight Guy. Woooo!
I open the shower door and reach for my towel.
And it's not there.
“What the fuck?” I mumble to myself. I look all around. I don't see my towel anywhere. I don't see my clothes, either. “Uhhhh.”
I hope and pray that somehow, I forgot my things. But I know it's impossible – I remember setting my clothes right here, and my towel right there.
There's only one possibility.
Vance.
My heart pounds in my chest.
“Oh no ...”
Please, please, tell me I'm crazy here.