Luke heard the footsteps pounding behind him before he heard Mark’s voice, a heavy rhythm the same cadence as his strokes on the water. He didn’t slow down. The gravel path crunched under his sneakers, the late afternoon sun baking the sweat into his skin, his damp shirt clinging to his shoulders.
"Luke. Bro. Wait up."
Mark’s voice was rough from exertion, closer than Luke expected. A hand clamped onto his shoulder, fingers digging into the tense muscle there, and Luke finally jerked to a stop, spinning around so fast gravel skittered under his heels.
Mark was breathing hard, his chest rising and falling under his soaked tank, the fabric translucent where sweat had plastered it to his pecs. His curls were damp and sticking to his forehead, his cheeks flushed from practice. He dropped his hand from Luke’s shoulder but didn’t step back, crowding into his space like he always did.
"Stop avoiding me," Mark panted, swiping his forearm across his mouth. "Dude. We haven’t talked in like a week."
Luke’s jaw tightened. The late afternoon sun painted Mark’s throat gold, highlighting the tendon flexing there as he swallowed. "We talked yesterday," Luke muttered, shifting his weight. His own shirt was sticking to his ribs, the fabric clinging uncomfortably where sweat had pooled at his lower back. "At practice."
Mark snorted, rolling his eyes. "Yeah, riveting conversation." He mimed a yawn, stretching his arms overhead until his tank rode up, exposing a strip of sun-darkened skin above his waistband. "Stroke rate looks good, Mark." His voice dropped into a deadpan imitation of Luke’s. "Watch your form on the recovery, Mark." He dropped his arms with a huff. "Yeah, real deep stuff."
Luke exhaled sharply through his nose. He could smell the river on Mark. "What do you want me to say?" he challenged, crossing his arms. His biceps flexed under the strain, still pumped from the workout.
Mark exhaled sharply, scrubbing a hand through his damp curls. His fingers lingered at the back of his neck, kneading the tense muscle there. The late afternoon sun caught the sweat still gleaming along his collarbones, the fading light turning his skin golden. "I don't know, dude," he muttered, voice rough with something that wasn't just exhaustion. His dark eyes flicked up to meet Luke's, uncharacteristically hesitant. "But I miss my bud. I fucked around with Josh, so what?" He shrugged, the motion deliberately casual, but his shoulders stayed tight. "Can we just be chill again?"
Luke's throat worked. The gravel beneath his sneakers shifted as he rocked back on his heels, the small stones grinding together. Mark smelled like river water and sunscreen, the sharp tang of sweat cutting through the heavier scent of algae clinging to his skin. His tank was still damp from practice, the fabric clinging to the thick muscle of his chest, the outline of his nipples visible through the thin material. Luke forced his gaze upward, catching the uncertain tilt of Mark's mouth- uncharacteristically soft, almost vulnerable.
The silence stretched too long. Mark's fingers twitched at his sides before he shoved them into the pockets of his shorts, his biceps flexing with the movement. "Look," he started, then stopped, jaw working. He exhaled through his nose, shoulders slumping slightly. "If you're pissed, just say it. Don't fucking," he waved a hand between them, the gesture impatient, "do this weird avoidance shit. It's annoying."
Luke was silent for a beat, then shoved Mark hard. His palms slammed into Mark’s sweat-damp chest, sending him stumbling back three steps on the gravel path.
Mark caught himself with a sharp inhale, his sneakers skidding on loose stones. “What the fuck, Luke?” His voice was rough with disbelief, dark eyebrows shooting up toward his hairline.
Luke didn’t answer. He stalked forward and shoved Mark again, this time with both hands planted squarely on his shoulders. The impact rocked Mark back another step, his heavier frame absorbing the force like a fucking oak tree.
Mark’s hands came up, not shoving back, just bracing against Luke’s wrists. “Bro Bro, stop.” His fingers tightened, callouses scraping skin. “I’m way fucking bigger than you.”
Luke snarled something unintelligible and twisted free, driving forward again, but this time Mark sidestepped, catching him around the waist in a rough tackle that sent them both crashing into the gravel. Dust plumed around them as Mark rolled, pinning Luke beneath him with a grunt, his thighs bracketing Luke’s hips.
"Dude, calm the fuck down-" Mark's words choked off as Luke's knee drove hard into his ribs, the sharp crack of bone against bone punctuated by Mark's ragged exhale. Gravel scattered as Luke flipped them with a snarl, his thighs clamping around Mark's torso, pinning him flat against the jagged stones. Mark wheezed, his chest heaving under Luke's weight, the thin fabric of his tank riding up to expose scraped-red skin where gravel had bitten into his back.
"I'm pissed," Luke growled, the words scraping raw against his throat. His fingers dug into Mark's shoulders hard enough to bruise, his knees pressing relentlessly into Mark's ribs. "And I don't know how to get over it."
Mark gasped, his chest straining against Luke's weight. His curls were dark with sweat, plastered to his forehead where they'd come loose from his ponytail. "Fuck okay," he coughed, his palms coming up to brace against Luke's thighs. "Come on, what, what can I do?"
Luke's breath hitched. The late sun caught the sweat streaking down Mark's throat, pooling in the hollow of his collarbones. His pulse hammered visibly beneath his skin, rabbit-quick and uneven. Luke leaned down until their noses almost touched, his voice dropping to a vicious whisper. "You could stop being such a fucking selfish prick."
Luke’s grip tightened around Mark’s throat, his fingers digging into the sweat-slick column of Mark’s neck just shy of bruising. The late sun caught the panicked flutter of Mark’s pulse beneath his thumb, the rhythm frantic against his palm. “Selfish pricks get punished,” Luke murmured, his voice low and rough, “don’t they?” His knee pressed harder into Mark’s ribs, the sharp jut of bone threatening to crack under the pressure.
Mark gasped, his chest heaving against Luke’s weight. His fingers scrabbled uselessly at Luke’s wrist, nails dragging red lines through sweat and grit before his hands fell limp at his sides. His throat worked under Luke’s grip, his lips parting on a ragged exhale.
Luke leaned closer, close enough to taste the salt of Mark’s breath. “I said,” his fingers flexed, just enough to make Mark’s eyes widen, “don’t they?”
Mark’s nod was frantic, his chin jerking against Luke’s palm. His lips shaped the word yes without sound, his chest rising in shallow, desperate hitches.
Luke held him there for a heartbeat longer and then released him with a shove, rolling off to crouch on the gravel beside him. Mark coughed, rolling onto his side with a groan, his fingers pressing to the reddened skin of his throat. The late sun painted the sweat streaking down his collarbones gold, the rapid flutter of his pulse visible even from a distance.
“Fuck,” Mark rasped, his voice wrecked. He pushed himself up on shaking arms, his curls matted with dirt and sweat. His tank was torn at the shoulder, the fabric hanging loose where gravel had shredded the seam. “You’re such an asshole.”
Luke pushed himself up from the gravel, dust clinging to his sweat-damp skin. His ribs ached where Mark had landed on him, the sharp sting of scraped knuckles throbbing in time with his pulse. He jerked his chin toward the boathouse, his voice rough. "Go. Now."
Mark blinked up at him, his dark curls matted with dirt, throat still flushed red from Luke's grip. "What?"
Luke's jaw tightened. He leaned down, grabbing a fistful of Mark's torn tank, hauling him halfway up. "You fucking heard me."
Mark's breath hitched, his hands coming up to brace against Luke's wrists. His throat worked as he swallowed, Adam's apple bobbing against the fading pressure marks. "Okay," he rasped, voice wrecked. "Okay, dude."
Luke released him with a shove, sending Mark stumbling back a step before catching himself. The gravel crunched under Mark's sneakers as he righted himself, his fingers flexing at his sides like he wasn't sure what to do with them. He swiped a hand over his mouth, smearing dirt across his cheekbone, his dark eyes never leaving Luke's face.
Luke turned on his heel and stalked toward the boathouse without waiting, his shoulders rigid under his sweat-damp shirt. Behind him, Mark exhaled sharply before following, his footsteps heavier on the gravel, the rhythm uneven as he nursed his ribs.
The boathouse door groaned when Luke shoved it open, the wood sticking in its frame from years of river humidity. The interior smelled like old wood and drying oar handles, the late afternoon light cutting through the dusty air in slanted beams. Luke didn't look back, just walked straight to the bench where they kept spare rope, his fingers curling around the familiar texture.
Mark paused in the doorway, his silhouette blocking the light briefly before he stepped inside. The door creaked shut behind him, sealing them in the thick, familiar silence of the space. His breathing was still uneven, his torn tank clinging to his torso where sweat had plastered the fabric to his skin.
Luke finally turned, his jaw tight. "Face the beam and hands above your head," he said, voice low.
Mark's eyebrows shot up. "What?"
Luke stepped forward, crowding into Mark's space until their chests almost touched. His fingers hooked into the torn neckline of Mark's tank, the fabric stretching dangerously. "You fucking heard me."
Mark exhaled sharply through his nose, but turned without protest, his shoulders squared as he faced the heavy wooden beam that ran through the center of the boathouse. His arms lifted, fingers flexing once before he clasped his hands together above his head, his biceps tensing under the strain. Luke moved behind him, the rope rough against his knuckles as he wound it around Mark’s wrists with deliberate precision. The fibers bit into skin already reddened from their scuffle, pulling tight enough to make Mark hiss when Luke cinched the final knot.
Mark’s throat worked as he flexed his fingers to test the give. The rope held firm.
Luke’s palm flattened between Mark’s shoulder blades, pressing him forward until his chest met the beam. The wood was cool against Mark’s sweat-damp tank, the scent of old varnish and river water sharp in his nose. Luke’s fingers trailed down the length of Mark’s spine, slow and deliberate, before catching on the torn hem of his shirt. With one sharp tug, the fabric split the rest of the way, baring Mark’s back to the humid air.
Mark inhaled sharply when Luke’s teeth grazed the knob of his spine. His hips jerked forward instinctively, only to be stopped by the unforgiving beam pressing into his pelvis. Luke’s chuckle was dark against his skin, his fingers skimming the waistband of Mark’s shorts before dipping beneath, calloused fingertips tracing the divot at the base of his spine.
“You ever been tied up before?” Luke asked, his voice rough.
Mark exhaled a shaky laugh. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”
Luke’s knee slotted between Mark’s thighs, pressing insistently against the growing heat there. “Answer the question.”
Mark’s breath hitched as Luke cinched the rope tighter, the fibers biting into his wrists. “No,” he admitted, voice cracking. “Not like this.”
Luke hummed, low and considering, his fingers trailing down the tense line of Mark’s arms. He lingered over the flex of Mark’s biceps, tracing the ridge of muscle before dragging his nails lightly over the sensitive skin of Mark’s inner elbow. Mark shuddered, his fingers twitching uselessly in their bonds.
“Good,” Luke murmured, pressing closer until his chest brushed Mark’s back. His lips grazed the shell of Mark’s ear.
Luke stepped back, the sudden absence of contact like a physical blow. Mark tugged on the rope. It held firm, the rough texture rubbing his skin raw with every shift of his weight. Behind him, Luke’s footsteps were deliberate, circling him like a predator sizing up prey.
Luke’s palm slapped against Mark’s ass without warning, sharp enough to make Mark jerk forward, his breath punched out in a startled gasp. The sound echoed in the boathouse, followed by Luke’s quiet chuckle. His fingers kneaded the stinging flesh, possessive and rough. “Stay still,” he ordered, voice thick with something dark.
Mark clenched his jaw, as Luke’s fingers dipped under the waistband of his shorts, dragging the fabric down his thighs in one slow, torturous motion. Cool air ghosted over his exposed skin, raising goosebumps along his spine.
"Oh, I'm gonna enjoy this," Luke murmured against the flushed skin of Mark's shoulder blade, his voice dripping with dark amusement.
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