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Due to his earlier embarrassing outburst, Victor Grosu stuck around in the showers for longer than everyone else. He just wanted to sit there and think about what his next decision would be. Go back home to live with his mom and her weird second husband? Maybe he just should’ve stayed with his ex-fiancée Joan. But she was getting in the way of his tennis… and now he’s here. Nothing to be in the way of.
Why did he even break his racket back there? That Patrick Zweig… Well, to be honest, he didn’t do anything. It was that German bastard who kept on egging him on. Patrick was just sitting there, doing god knows what on that beat up phone. Why was he just sitting there stewing in his own sweat? Fucking weirdo.
Victor’s decided that his next big life decision is to stand under the showers and just drown in the white noise. At least he’s lucky to have access to showers. Cheers to that.
Now he’s finally alone.
Shhhk! The curtain next to his shower opens and closes. Fuck, who is that?
Victor moves his head out of the stream of water to listen. He hears a nasally humming, then a boyish and similar voice singing, “yeah” ten times. Sounds made up. Sounds fucking annoying. He puts his head back under the stream.
The room isn’t that big and the place is echo-y as hell, of course he still hears it.
Maybe it’s time to leave.
Victor abruptly turns the shower off, passes his towel mindlessly over his body then ties it at his hips. As he’s walking away to get dressed, he maybe subconsciously looks up at the shower with the guy singing in it. Well, this guy is so moony that he left a small but large enough crack between the curtain and wall through which Victor can see his ass, and side of his face. Fuck, it’s Patrick Zweig.
Once again, his mind somehow takes over and he freezes.
That was a nice ass, huh?
Patrick didn’t notice him at all. Maybe he won’t notice if he looks back to take a second peak.
Then his fucking sandal squeaks.
Big brown eyes flicker up as he’s using soap on his calf. Instead of moving away as soon as possible, Victor keeps his eyes locked on Patrick’s.
Then that fucking smirk.
“What are you still doing here, Victor?”
“You didn’t pick on me earlier, don’t do it while you’re bent over and naked.”
“Is that a threat?” Patrick chuckles.
“What?”
Patrick has straightened his back by now. He slowly starts turning around, hiding his body behind the curtain while his head looks through the gap. Slowly the curtain rings scratch at the metal pole. Victor looks at them move, then back at Patrick.
“Wanna come in?”
What kind of proposition is this? Who is Zweig to think he can invite Victor in? Does he think Victor is as much of a whore as Patrick is? All the other times Victor’s fucked his opponent, he’s at least gotten to know them a bit better first (if buying drink or two count).
–
Patrick takes Victor’s towel off for him, putting it on the ground as a pillow for his knees. Victor will worry about that later.
Now his big brown eyes are looking up at him, mouth slightly open, tongue wet with excitement. He slowly sinks his mouth onto Victor’s cock, and Victor has to stifle a moan.
Then a sudden removal.
“Um, just letting you know when they were making fun of you earlier, I wasn’t trying to do the same.”
“It’s okay…” Victor sighs, trying not to yell at him to continue. Or he can just fuck off from there.
“Honestly when you first caught me looking at you, I was checking you out…” Here, Patrick slowly starts jerking Victor off. A breathy moan comes out of Victor’s mouth.
“I mean, that bright red underwear? Drew my eyes in.” Here, Patrick lets out a chuckle and another smirk forms on his face.
“Fuck, are you going to suck my dick or should I just get out of here?”
“Shush, you know you should be sucking my dick. Just be happy I’m feeling sorry for the loser.”
Before Victor can yell at him to fuck off, he sucks down his cock to the hilt, hitting the back of his throat with a wet hum. Victor moans, tilting his head back and letting it rest on the cold tile. Patrick slowly starts pumping his head back and fourth, exponentially increases his pace to the point of driving Victor insane.
Victor’s about to come and feels he has to hold onto reality or he might fall off. This just might be the best head he’s gotten. Or maybe it’s also his circumstances that are making this seem like the best thing in his life right now. He grabs Patrick’s curls with both hands and starts slowly humping, trying his hardest not to absolutely slam into the bliss of Patrick’s mouth.
Patrick lets out a moan in the form of a hum, so Victor increases his pace.
“Oh fuck, ‘m cumming…” says Victor breathlessly, while trying to pry Patrick off his dick.
He always assumes, by default, that his hook-ups don’t want his cum down their throat. But Patrick holds on the exact same way he was before.
Victor orgasms with a yell, tightening his chest and flexing his arms that are still holding onto Patrick’s head.
After a few moments, their breathing has slowed, and Patrick has swallowed. He wipes his mouth.
“You yelled just like on the court.”