If anyone asked, Clark was just my work friend. A really good one, okay? The kind who always had a granola bar when you forgot lunch, sent the spiciest memes during meetings, and could make the printer work without violence.
He also sat next to me. Which meant I saw a lot of him, literally and metaphorically. I knew the smell of his cologne. I knew the way he tapped his fingers when he was deep in thought. I knew that he always left his top button open, and sometimes, when the afternoon sun hit just right, I caught glimpses of a tan line just beneath his collarbone.
Not that I noticed. I mean, not really.
So when we got sent to a seminar in another city, two days, all expenses paid, very corporate, very beige, I was excited. Time away from our annoying team lead. A free hotel buffet. And Clark. Chill, funny, impossible-to-be-bored-around Clark.
The room was bigger than I expected, with one king-sized bed sitting in the middle like it owned the place.
Clark stepped in beside me, dropped his duffel, and whistled low. “Wow. Fancy.”
I laughed. “Yeah. Super romantic.”
“Oh no, did I forget the rose petals?” he deadpanned. “God, I always do that.”
I shook my head, grinning. Same old Clark, flirty by default, always joking. No butterflies. No stomach flips. Just warm friendship and sarcastic banter.
And then he started unzipping his hoodie.
And… didn’t stop.
He peeled off his T-shirt like it was nothing, and suddenly, I was very aware that I’d never actually seen Clark shirtless before. I mean, not really.
His body was… well, unfair.
Lean muscle, sculpted like he jogged in the mornings and had angry gym sex at night. A trail of dark hair led from his abs downward, disappearing into the waistband of his jeans like it had secrets.
My throat went dry. Oh.
“Dude,” Clark said, catching me mid-stare. “You okay?”
I blinked. “Yeah. Yeah. Just surprised you strip the second you see a bed.”
He grinned. “Can’t help it. Something about hotels just makes me feral.”
It was a joke. It had to be. But my ears felt hot.
He turned away, digging through his bag for fresh clothes, and I finally breathed again. Okay. So Clark was hot. Objectively. Big deal. I could handle this. We were just friends.
I pulled off my sweater and jeans, swapping them for the only clean shorts I had, soft cotton, kind of short. Whatever. I was mid-way through tugging them up when I heard a low whistle behind me.
“Jacob,” Clark said, his voice like a smirk. “Didn't know you were packing a monster.”
“What?!”
I spun around, and there he was, shirtless and smug, eyes unapologetically fixed on the bulge in my shorts.
“I—what—no—it’s just the fabric,” I stammered.
He raised an eyebrow. “Sure, man. The ‘fabric.’ That’s what they all say.”
I wanted the ground to eat me. Or at least offer me a supportive hoodie.
“You’re such a dick,” I muttered, tugging at my waistband.
Clark leaned casually against the dresser, still shirtless, still impossible. “I mean, if I’d known what was under those khakis, I might’ve flirted harder at work.”
He was joking. Probably. But it landed differently this time.
My heart thudded. Not in panic. Not quite.
“You flirt with everyone,” I said, arms crossed. “It’s, like, your brand.”
He tilted his head. “True. But I don’t always mean it.”
“And now?”
A pause. A beat longer than friendly.
“I don’t know,” he said slowly, eyes tracing my face. “Something about this room. Or maybe just seeing you out of your accountant-core clothes.”
“I’m not an accountant,” I muttered.
“But you dress like one. A hot one, apparently.”
I laughed despite myself, too flustered to be annoyed. Clark’s gaze lingered, heat in it now, and not the fake kind he used at happy hour.
I suddenly noticed how close we were. Just a few feet. One bed between us. No cubicles. No office air conditioning to cool the tension curling between us like steam.
“You wanna check out the hotel steam room?” Clark asked, voice low and casual. Too casual.
“What?”
“There’s one downstairs. I saw it in the brochure,” he said, already walking toward the bathroom to grab a towel. “You look like you need to sweat some things out.”
I should’ve said no. I should’ve made a joke, deflected, laughed it off like we always did.
But instead I nodded. “Yeah. Sure. Sounds good.”
As he disappeared into the bathroom again, I caught myself in the mirror. My cheeks were flushed. My chest tight. And somewhere beneath the nervous energy, a thrill I hadn’t expected.
Clark was my friend.
But maybe, just maybe, tonight he was something else.
We found the locker room tucked behind the hotel’s deserted pool. It was modern, tiled in sleek gray and silver, the air already warm from the steam filtering in from the adjacent door.
Clark was in front of me, tossing his gym bag onto the bench with a thud. He stretched his arms overhead and yawned. His T-shirt rode up just enough to reveal a sliver of skin, the ridged lines of his lower abs peeking out like an accident I was never supposed to see.
“You ever been in one of these steam rooms?” he asked, kicking off his sneakers.
“Nope,” I said, trying to sound casual and not distracted. “First time.”
“You’re in for a treat. Hot, wet, slippery. Just like your search history, I imagine.”
I rolled my eyes, but my laugh came out a little too breathless.
We started undressing. I peeled off my shirt quickly, then hesitated with my shorts. I glanced sideways. Clark had already taken off his shirt and stood there in just his black boxer briefs, his back turned as he rifled through his bag.
His body was… yeah. It was a whole thing.
Broad shoulders. Tapered waist. That clean line from his ribs to his hips. A strong, sculpted back that looked like it could carry emotional baggage and lift heavy boxes.
I turned toward the lockers, facing away, and wrapped the towel around my waist before sliding off my shorts and underwear underneath. Quick, clinical. The towel was secure before I stood straight again.
I turned. And instantly regretted it.
Clark had already stripped. Completely. He stood facing me, nude, towel still in his hand, not even pretending to cover up. I blinked hard.
“Seriously?” I said, voice cracking like a preteen.
“What?” He smirked, that insufferably confident grin on his face. “You changing in the towel like a shy boy at summer camp?”
I tried not to stare but that was like trying not to notice a meteor crashing through your living room. His chest was lightly dusted with hair, thick in the middle and tapering down in a line over abs that looked ridiculously tight. His cock hung thick and soft between his thighs, swaying a little as he moved, completely unbothered. Confident. At ease in his skin in a way I had never been.
He slung the towel around his hips eventually, but not before I got an eyeful. Or five.
“Ready?” he asked, already heading toward the steam room entrance.
I cleared my throat. “Yup. Super ready. Very ready.”
He pushed open the door and a thick wave of heat rolled over us. It was like stepping into fog that wanted to flirt with you. Warm, heavy, humid. Visibility dropped almost instantly, but the interior was softly lit with a golden glow behind the mist.
We were alone.
The room had wide stone benches lining the walls and a faint eucalyptus scent hanging in the air, clean and sharp beneath the sweat-heavy heat. Clark walked to the far side and sat down, legs apart, arms resting over the back of the bench like a sun-drenched Roman god.
I sat across from him, doing my best to keep my towel in place and my eyes higher than his shoulders.
“You’re tense,” he said after a moment, steam curling through his hair.
“I’m not tense,” I lied, my voice slightly strangled.
“You’ve got a death grip on that towel like it owes you money.”
I glanced down. My knuckles were white.
“You’re so chill about all this,” I muttered.
He shrugged. “Nudity’s natural. So is staring, by the way.”
“I’m not staring.”
“Sure you’re not.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, which did exactly nothing to keep my eyes from drifting lower. His towel rode up slightly and I looked away so hard my neck cracked.
“This is fine,” I said out loud. “Totally normal work trip behavior.”
“You’re the one who booked the spa suite,” he said with a wink.
I laughed despite myself. “I literally did not.”
“Details.” He stretched again, arms long, chest rising. Sweat glistened on his skin and I hated how much I noticed every single drop.
“You ever… uh…” I hesitated.
He arched a brow. “Spit it out.”
“You ever… done anything with a guy?”
He tilted his head. “Yeah. A few times.”
My heart kicked a little harder in my chest. “Oh.”
“You haven’t, I’m guessing?”
“No.” My voice was soft now. “Not really.”
“You curious?”
I hesitated. Then nodded.
“That’s hot,” he said, completely serious, and leaned back against the wall, stretching again. “You can say that, you know. You’re allowed to want things.”
“Like what?” I asked, genuinely unsure.
He smirked. “Like… seeing me without the towel again.”
“I saw you already.”
“And you’re still blushing.”
“I’m not blushing.”
“You so are.”
I shifted in my seat, trying to discreetly adjust my own towel, which was now feeling a bit too tight, and not in a good way.
Clark looked down at my lap, then back up with a raised brow. “That towel hiding a monster bulge again?”
I groaned into my hands. “Can you not?”
He laughed. “No. It’s adorable. And very flattering.”
“Stop saying things like that.”
“Why? You’re hot. Own it.”
He said it so plainly. No teasing this time. Just truth, wrapped in steam and heat and something that made my skin buzz.
The room went quiet for a moment. Just the hiss of the steam, the steady drip of condensation, the sound of my heart trying to beat its way out of my chest.
Then Clark sighed, dramatically wiping sweat from his chest. “Shit. It’s getting too hot in here.”
I glanced up. “Yeah, it’s kind of the point.”
“No, like… really hot.”
He looked me dead in the eye.
Then undid his towel.
And dropped it.
Just like that.
He stretched again, arms behind his head, letting it all hang loose like it was the most normal thing in the world. His cock lay heavy across one thigh, thick and perfect, glistening with moisture. He sat there, completely at ease, completely naked, and completely infuriating.
I stared.
I couldn’t not.
Every inch of him was beautiful. Legs spread wide, skin gleaming, muscles relaxed but present. He looked like a sculpture that had gotten bored of standing still and decided to stretch out and start flirting with the artist.
And the whole time, he just kept talking like we were still in the locker room.
“You think they use real eucalyptus oil in here or just some spa-scented chemical spray?” he asked.
I blinked at him. “What?”
“Smells good, right?”
“You’re… you’re naked.”
“Yup.”
“And talking to me. Like… like this is normal.”
He looked around. “It kind of is.”
“This is not normal, Clark.”
He grinned. “You want it to be?”
I swallowed. My towel was suddenly very inadequate. Every part of me was lit up. Curious. Nervous. Insanely, helplessly aroused.
And he knew it.
He didn’t move closer. Didn’t pressure. Just sat there, letting me look, letting me want, letting me feel.
It was, somehow, the most seductive thing I had ever experienced.
“I don’t know what I want,” I admitted.
He smiled. “That’s fine.”
And somehow, I believed him.
The steam clung to my skin like a secret. It blurred the edges of the room but sharpened everything between us.
Clark sat there, naked, sprawled like sin on marble. His chest rose and fell with the lazy rhythm of someone who knew exactly how he looked and didn’t care that I was staring. Or maybe he did. Maybe he wanted me to.
My eyes traced him helplessly. The lines of his thighs. The sweat on his collarbone. The slow twitch of his fingers against the bench. I was trying not to look at his cock, but God help me, it was right there, thick, relaxed, resting against one thigh like it belonged in a museum behind velvet ropes and armed guards.
And then, movement.
Slow. Subtle.
But unmistakable.
It started to swell.
I blinked. Looked up, heart hammering.
Clark hadn’t stopped watching me. His gaze was easy, almost amused. His lips parted slightly, like he was just about to say something casual. Something friendly. Something that would make me laugh, except now my pulse was doing backflips and I was suddenly very aware of my own towel. Or rather, the very obvious situation underneath it.
Panic fluttered in my chest. I blurted out the first thing I could think of.
“So, uh… did you notice that eucalyptus is in everything lately? Like, even toothpaste. I mean, I guess it’s refreshing, right? But also weird. I’m not sure I want to brush my teeth with the same thing they use for koalas.”
Clark blinked slowly. A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
I kept going. Desperate.
“I once bought shampoo that had eucalyptus and mint. My scalp felt like it had frostbite. And not in a fun way.”
“Jacob,” he said quietly.
“Yeah?”
“Shut up.”
And then he kissed me.
It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t shy.
His mouth found mine like it had been waiting, like it had been planning this since the elevator ride, since the moment we opened the door to the one-bed room, since the second he caught me looking at him like I didn’t understand why my heart skipped when he touched my shoulder.
His hand cupped my jaw, firm and warm, fingers threading into the hair behind my ear. He tilted my head like he owned it and pressed in, lips soft but demanding.
My towel slipped.
I didn’t care.
Every part of me buzzed, lit up under his touch. His mouth moved against mine, slow at first, tasting me. He explored with intent—tongue teasing the seam of my lips, pulling a shaky sound from my throat. I opened for him, helpless. Surrendering.
His other hand slid down my chest, fingers splayed over damp skin, and I shivered. I could feel his arousal now, brushing against my thigh as he leaned closer. He was hard. So was I. Our bodies fit together in the steam, sticky and slick and perfect.
I pulled back just enough to breathe, eyes wide.
“Clark,” I whispered. My voice cracked.
His hand stayed on my chest. “Still think this is just a normal work trip?”
I laughed softly, then bit my lip when his fingers traced down, feather-light, over the center of my belly. His thumb skimmed the line of hair leading lower, and I felt my cock twitch, aching now, pressed against his leg.
“Tell me to stop,” he murmured, lips brushing my jaw.
I didn’t.
Instead, I kissed him.
Harder this time. Fiercer. My hands found his shoulders, then slid down the wet, muscled lines of his back. His skin was slick with sweat and steam. He tasted like heat. His tongue tangled with mine and the kiss deepened, messy now, urgent. Our hips pressed together and I moaned into his mouth when I felt how hard he was against me.
“Jesus,” I gasped, breaking the kiss.
Clark leaned back just enough to look at me. His pupils were blown wide, lips red from kissing. “You okay?”
I nodded. Then shook my head. Then nodded again. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”
“You’re doing great,” he said, smiling. “You’ve got a natural talent.”
“I’ve never kissed a guy before.”
His hand slipped to my thigh, gripping it gently. “You want to stop?”
“No,” I said, faster than I meant to. “God, no.”
He leaned in again, slower this time. His lips brushed mine, softer now, coaxing. Like he was showing me how. His hands never stopped moving—sliding over my chest, my hips, teasing the edge of where I wanted him most.
Every nerve in my body screamed for more.
I reached for him, letting my fingers roam across his chest, over the hard plane of his stomach. He shuddered when I touched him, hips twitching forward. Our cocks brushed and we both gasped.
“Fuck,” he whispered. “You feel good.”
“So do you,” I murmured.
The kiss that followed was slower, deeper. Tongue and teeth, lips dragging. He sucked gently at my bottom lip and I moaned, helpless. My hands clutched his back, sliding down to his ass, pulling him closer until our bodies were flush, cocks pressed together, hard and slick between us.
“I’ve wanted to do that all night,” he whispered.
“You could’ve warned me.”
“Would you have handled it better?”
“Nope.”
He laughed, pressing kisses down my neck now, each one hotter than the last. I tipped my head back, giving him access, the steam wrapping around us like a second skin. My heart was racing. I didn’t know where this was going but I didn’t care. I just wanted more. I wanted him.
And from the way he touched me, he wanted me too.
No hesitation. No pretending.
Just heat. And breath. And the beginning of something I hadn’t expected but was no longer afraid of.
Not with him.
Clark kissed like he wanted to learn everything about me through my mouth. Like every brush of his lips was a question and every gasp I gave was the answer he’d been hoping for. I’d kissed people before—drunken hookups in college, messy first dates—but nothing like this. This felt like melting and blooming at the same time. Like the steam around us had worked its way into my skin and was now pulsing through my veins.
We were still on the stone bench, slippery with sweat and heat, our bodies sliding together in fits and starts as the kiss deepened. His hands were everywhere—palming my chest, grazing my neck, skimming low along the curve of my back. Each touch sent a shiver through me, even though the air was thick and boiling.
“Fuck, Jacob,” he murmured, lips brushing mine. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this.”
“You’re not… just messing with me?” I asked, breath catching as he kissed my jaw.
His hand came up to cup my face. “Do I look like I’m kidding?”
He didn’t. He looked intense, focused, wild in the best way. His pupils were wide and hungry, his skin glowing with heat and desire. Every inch of him radiated want—not just lust, but something deeper. Something that wrapped around my ribs and squeezed.
His lips moved again, trailing down my throat, slow and deliberate. He kissed along the edge of my collarbone, tasting the sweat there, and I groaned softly, gripping his shoulders for balance.
“Clark,” I whispered, barely holding onto language. “What are we doing?”
He looked up, kissed the tip of my nose. “We’re figuring things out.”
And then his mouth was on my chest.
My head dropped back with a thud against the wall as his lips found my nipple, sucking gently, his tongue circling until I gasped. No one had ever done that to me before, not like this, not with such focus. His hands slid down my sides, kneading the flesh just above my hips, pulling me closer.
Our cocks brushed again, both of us hard and leaking now, the sensation sending sparks up my spine.
I ran my fingers through his wet hair and pulled him up to kiss me again. Our mouths crashed together, messier now, our teeth clacking a little before our lips found rhythm again. His hands roamed lower, over my ass, gripping me firmly, tilting my hips against his.
“Feels so good,” I breathed into his mouth.
He chuckled. “I told you the steam room would be fun.”
“It’s basically illegal how good this feels.”
He leaned in close, his forehead pressing against mine. “Then I guess we’re committing a felony.”
And then we weren’t talking anymore.
Clark pushed me gently back against the bench, sliding down to his knees in front of me. His eyes didn’t leave mine, not even as he kissed down my chest again, his tongue following the center line of my body like a map. My legs opened instinctively, breath catching as he kissed the inside of my thigh, hot and wet and so close I could feel the heat of his breath against my cock.
I reached for him, not sure if I was going to pull him up or beg him to stay where he was.
He answered for me.
His mouth wrapped around me—slow, warm, deep.
My vision went white for a second.
“Jesus Christ,” I gasped, my head rolling back.
He took his time, mouth sliding down the length of me with practiced ease. His hands gripped my thighs, holding me steady, and he moaned softly as he moved—like he enjoyed the taste of me, like this was something he’d been craving.
The sounds alone were enough to make my knees weak. The wet, rhythmic suck of his mouth, the slow drag of his tongue, the slick slide as he bobbed his head, all of it echoing in the steam, amplified by heat and want.
My hands found his shoulders, then his hair, fingers curling tight.
“I’m not gonna last if you keep doing that,” I warned.
He pulled off with a wicked grin. “That’s kind of the idea.”
“I want—” I swallowed, panting. “I want more.”
He stood and kissed me again, slower now, letting me taste myself on his tongue. My hands roamed his body, finally bold enough to explore—his broad chest, the curve of his waist, the sharp line of his hipbones. I reached down between us and wrapped my hand around his cock, hard and slick and heavy in my palm.
He groaned into my mouth. “God, Jacob…”
I stroked him gently, watching his face twist with pleasure, feeling the power of it in my chest. He rolled his hips into my hand, eyes fluttering shut, then opened them again—dark and full of fire.
“You sure about this?” he asked, his voice a low rumble.
I nodded, heart pounding. “I’ve never been more sure of anything.”
We shifted, finding space on the long bench. Clark guided me down, lying beside me, his body covering mine, our legs tangled together. We kissed again, slower now, deeper, our hips rolling against each other in time with the heavy breaths we shared.
His hand moved between us, slicking us with spit and sweat, stroking us both together. Our cocks pressed, rubbing in sync, the friction maddening. I moaned into his mouth, my hands gripping his back, nails dragging down the curve of his spine.
“Want you,” I whispered. “All of you.”
He paused, just for a moment, forehead resting against mine. “Are you sure? I don’t want to rush you.”
I looked into his eyes. “I’ve been waiting my whole life to feel like this. I want it. I want you.”
That was all he needed.
He moved slowly, deliberately, reaching into his towel for a small bottle I hadn’t seen. He smiled sheepishly. “Just in case.”
“You brought lube to the steam room?”
“Boy Scout motto: be prepared.”
I laughed, breathless.
And then I stopped laughing, because his fingers were slick now, sliding gently between my thighs, teasing, circling. I spread my legs for him, heart racing, nerves electric. He kissed me while he touched me, soft and steady, helping me open up to him with slow care. Each motion was met with a whispered word, a kiss, a look. I felt safe. I felt seen.
And when he finally eased into me—slow, steady, careful—I felt everything.
There was a stretch, a sting, and then a fullness that made me moan low in my throat. He paused, giving me time, brushing his lips over mine.
“You okay?” he whispered.
“Yeah,” I breathed. “Keep going.”
He moved slowly at first, rocking into me with gentle rhythm. My hands clung to him, gripping his shoulders, my eyes locked on his. I saw the tension in his jaw, the reverence in his expression, the awe.
“You feel so fucking good,” he groaned, moving deeper.
I wrapped my legs around his waist and met him thrust for thrust. The heat around us mirrored the heat inside me. The steam swirled like a veil, making everything more intimate, more dreamlike. We moved together, bodies slick, breath tangled, sweat dripping from his forehead onto my chest.
His cock hit that perfect spot inside me and I cried out, fingers clawing at his back.
“Right there?” he whispered, breath catching.
“Yes. Fuck, Clark…”
He kissed me again, harder, driving into me with more urgency. Our bodies slapped together, wet and desperate, each thrust winding me tighter, making the pleasure rise fast and sharp. I felt him everywhere. Inside me, over me, against me. He was the air and the fire and the gravity keeping me grounded even as I unraveled.
“I’m close,” I gasped.
“Me too,” he groaned.
One more thrust. Two.
And I shattered.
I came hard between us, moaning his name into his mouth, my body convulsing under him. He followed a second later, with a deep groan, hips jerking as he spilled inside me, his whole body trembling with release.
We collapsed into each other, gasping, clinging. The heat cocooned us, but I didn’t care. I could barely think. All I could do was feel—his breath on my neck, his hand on my chest, his heart pounding against mine.
He kissed my forehead. Then my cheek. Then my lips.
“Still think this isn’t a normal work trip?” he murmured.
I laughed, exhausted and euphoric. “If this is what happens on company seminars, we need to go to more of them.”
He smiled. “I’d share a single bed with you anywhere.”
And wrapped in the warmth of the steam and his arms, I believed him.
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