The bathroom filled with steam so quickly it felt like stepping into another world. Water poured down my back in steady sheets as I moved the soap across my skin, slow and deliberate, letting the heat loosen something deeper. I wasn’t really trying to relax, I was washing off the dust of the street, the grime of the train, and the lingering trace of him that still clung faintly to my lips. That taste hadn’t gone away, and I wasn’t sure I wanted it to.
Then, something shifted in the atmosphere.
The water stayed hot, the pressure unchanged, but the room felt altered. A thickness settled into the air, curling at the base of my neck like a whisper of instinct. I turned slightly, eyes scanning the condensation on the glass, my breath slowing while I tried to make sense of it.
Movement registered just beyond the shower. At first it seemed like a trick of light and steam, but then it resolved into a shape I couldn’t ignore. A tall, familiar figure stood just beyond the glass, unmoving.
The hoodie appeared first, then the tilt of his head, angled as if he were studying me. Fog obscured his face, but there was no attempt to hide. He stood there watching, saying nothing.
Neither of us broke the silence.
His hand rose to the hem of his hoodie, pulling it upward in one smooth motion. Our eyes stayed locked the entire time. The shirt underneath came off next, exposing flushed skin glistening with sweat and steam. Shorts slid down in a single motion, followed by his underwear, both falling into a damp pile at his feet with no ceremony, only purpose.
He opened the shower door and stepped inside. His gaze held steady.
That was when it hit me. He’d been watching long enough to know the exact moment to come in.
His cock was already hard, flushed and pulsing. He didn’t leer, he simply watched, silently and steadily. Unblinking.
We stood inches apart, body heat colliding but still not touching. I didn’t move. There was no reason to. He reached out and took hold of my cock, his grip steady, neither rough nor gentle. Another hand cupped my balls, fingers working in slow, deliberate motions that tested and teased. My breath caught as I leaned into the tile.
He lowered himself to his knees with total composure.
Without breaking eye contact, he let the water pour over his face as he leaned forward. Just before his mouth closed around me, I saw the water gather on his lips. Then he swallowed me whole, his lips parting to take me in with practiced intent. My hands found the walls instinctively, searching for balance.
His mouth gripped tighter than I remembered. More controlled. More purposeful.
Eyes stayed on mine as he settled into a rhythm. Wet. Slow. Precise.
He reached up, gesturing silently. After a pause, I understood and handed him the soap.
While his mouth kept working, his hand slid between my legs, coating the crack of my ass in lather. Every movement was careful, calculated, and exact. He wasn’t just preparing me. He was claiming me.
My legs widened instinctively.
A finger slipped in, slow and assured, stretching me with soap and water. Another followed. Still, his mouth remained focused. Tongue circling. Lips pulling tight.
The only sounds were water, suction, and the growing irregularity of my breathing.
He controlled the moment completely.
And I let him.
When he finally released me, his lips parted with deliberate care. His hand lingered between my legs, fingers ghosting over skin, and then he spoke. His voice emerged rough and low, shaped by heat and the weight of everything left unspoken.
"You ever make a move on one of your boys, coach?"
I didn’t respond, didn’t flinch, didn’t break the rhythm of what was building. My hand ran through his wet hair as I guided him to his feet. Water poured over us as I pressed our bodies together. My cock brushed his thigh while my chest met his. One hand rested at his neck with subtle pressure. The other settled at his hip, fingers curved just enough to mark possession.
"If you’re one of mine," I whispered at his ear, "you follow my lead."
He gave a subtle nod, offering consent without words.
Kneeling again, I kissed down his stomach before taking his cock into my mouth. It was already hard, glistening with moisture, and he inhaled sharply as my lips closed around the head. My tongue pressed along the underside while my hand steadied the rhythm. His hands rested on my shoulders, providing contact but no direction.
After a few moments, I stood and turned him to face the wall. His palms braced against the tile while I positioned myself behind him. My hand guided myself as I studied the way water ran down his back and into the curve of his ass.
I leaned forward and kissed the back of his neck. My breath lingered there, warm and deliberate. My fingers returned to his hole, now slick and loosened. Pressing my cock against him, I let him feel the weight of what was coming.
"You want your coach to fuck you," I said. Not a question. A directive.
He nodded, slower this time, hips shifting back.
I entered him gradually, the head pushing past resistance. A sound escaped him. Some blend of breath and need. I paused, letting his body adjust. My hands held his hips as I sank deeper. The water muffled everything except sensation.
Once buried to the hilt, I waited a moment longer, then began to move. The pace was slow. Not tentative. Measured. Each thrust reminded him who I was.
His body began to give way, each movement easier than the last. I leaned closer and skin met skin as the heat swelled. Thick. Close. Until we couldn’t tell the steam from our skin.
"You don’t speak of this," I murmured.
He tensed slightly, but didn’t respond.
"This stays between us. No one else needs to know."
He nodded once.
"You understand what I’m saying?"
"Yes."
I pulled back and slid in again, using the rhythm to underscore the words.
"If anyone finds out, you’ll have to explain everything. How you asked for this. How much you liked it. How you let it happen."
His groan came quietly, caught between shame and desire.
"You're mine now. This isn’t for anyone else."
My movements deepened. One arm looped around his chest. The other returned to rest near his throat as a reminder, not a threat.
He leaned into it, this wasn’t surrender in the usual sense. He was choosing this.
His cock jumped under my hand. I gripped it and he moaned, loud and needy. The sound echoed off the tile and I kissed his shoulder to quiet it.
"This is our secret."
"Yes."
"No one else."
"No."
"You liked it."
There was a pause. His body stiffened.
"I won’t tell," he said finally.
I kissed the curve of his neck again, then bit down lightly, marking him.
"Good."
His breathing fractured as my hand stroked him in rhythm. Pressure built between us. His body jerked and I felt him come, hot and sudden, against the tile. I kept moving through it, slower now.
My hips pushing into his muscular butt, my cock deep within him ready to explode.
Then I erupted inside him. My face pressed to his neck as I came. We stayed there, locked in heat and steam, unmoving. It seemed to go on forever. He pushed back into me as I came.
When I finally pulled out, I turned him gently to face me. His eyes looked heavy. His lips parted slightly. There was something raw in his expression. It wasn’t broken, it was honest.
We washed off quietly and dressed in silence.
"So you like roleplay," I said.
"Roleplay?"
"Coach and player."
He blinked.
"No idea what you’re talking about, coach."
I studied him.
He zipped his hoodie and met my gaze in the mirror.
"You really don’t remember me, do you?"
My pulse faltered.
"You used to work at the Midtown gym. You trained high school athletes."
A soft smile curved his lips.
"I was one of them."
He turned and walked to the door. Before leaving, he looked back.
"Don’t worry. I won’t tell."
Then he was gone.
And I stood in the steam, realizing I had no idea what I’d just done. I wasn’t sure if I’d just been seduced or exposed.
The door clicked shut. The silence was louder than anything else.
