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Steve groaned as he hobbled down the hallway of the hotel, his thigh still cramping hard despite the painkillers the medical team had given him. Of course, telling them it barely hurt and continuing to play through the ache and tug of the injury probably hadn’t been the smartest idea, but he wasn’t exactly the sharpest tool in the shed.
It took him too long to find the door of the room and he tapped his card to be let in, just glad that most of the guys on the team were on different floors and no one was there to see that he could barely move. It was fine, he knew all he needed was time and a good massage, but it still never looked good for your captain–who was already pushing retirement age–to go down like a lame horse.
The cramp was moving up into his hip now, and Steve just managed to flick the latch so that the door wouldn’t lock behind him (recognizing that this was idiotic behaviour, but unable to care to find a better solution) before he shucked off his shirt and hauled himself onto the bed, groaning in equal measure at the relief of having weight off his spasming leg, and at how much more it hurt now that he wasn’t powering through it. His wet hair flopped onto the pillow below him, still damp from the post game shower he’d rushed through.
Steve blinked his eyes shut and focused on taking long, deep breaths.
Time slipped away from him, and he was startled out of his reprieve by a hard knock on the door.
“Munson’s Massages and Rehab, here for a Steve H?” called a voice from the hallway.
Steve groaned and turned his head towards the door. “S’open,” he called, and managed to half prop himself up on his elbows.
The man stepped into the room with massage bed folded in half and carried by a handle on top. “Sorry I was a few minutes late, Steve,” he said, jovially, “somebody hella famous must be staying here tonight because security is like, insane. I’ve never had my ID checked in a hotel before. Any guesses who it is? I’m Eddie, by the way.”
Steve grunted, watching as Eddie set his folding bed down on the floor and then his bag on the bed beside him. It was hard not to take in the man standing in his hotel room. He was scrawnier than many of the massage therapists Steve had met before, but his forearms looked thick, strong and capable. He had a mess of curly black hair pulled into a bun on the top of his head, and Steve could see tattoos snaking down both arms and up from under the collar of his rolled up henley.
He was, unfortunately, exactly Steve’s type.
Still–he was surprised Eddie hadn’t put two and two together. Fancy ass hotel in Chicago with extra security, Steve H still in his classic post-game sweats. But the man looked oblivious as he dug through his bag and started to set things up.
“It’s the Red Sox,” Steve finally said, dragging it out a little, waiting for the moment. Waiting for it to get, well, weird.
Eddie wrinkled his brow and tipped his head to the side. “Red Sox… Red Sox… where have I heard… Oh! Sports! Basketball? No, that’s not right. Uh…” he trailed off and frowned again, putting his hands on his hips in a way that Steve definitely appreciated. “Oh! Fucking. Baseball. Yup. My uncle haaaates those guys. Who names their team after footwear anyways?”
Steve snorted a laugh, he couldn’t help it.
“You’re fucking with me,” he said, point blank. That was the only answer. Eddie obviously knew who he was. Hell, Nancy–his agent–had set this whole thing up. There was no way Eddie didn’t know. Every fucking person in America seemed to know who Steve was. How could Eddie be any different?
“The socks are part of the uniform,” Steve added, playing along. Just waiting. Surely, Eddie was going to break any second.
Eddie hummed, like he was thinking it over, and shrugged again. “If you say so, man. Never seen a game in my life. Cross my blackened heart. Only thing I know about baseball players is that they wear those slutty little tight pants and that they’ve got great asses-oh.” Eddie cut himself off with a hard swallow, and all of a sudden seemed to shutter into himself.
“Fuck, man. I’m so sorry. God, christ. You called me here for a massage and now I’m fucking rambling, and that was totally inappropriate, and. Look. I’ll call Gareth, he was off tonight but I bet he can get here in like twenty minutes, and–”
“What?” Steve said, feeling a little wrung out by how this conversation was going. Eddie clearly didn’t know who he was, and now he was going to leave? All because he made a comment about-
Oh.
Eddie was gay. Eddie was gay and he thought he’d offended Steve, who he didn’t know was also gay, because he didn’t follow any fucking baseball, and had thus missed out on Steve’s incredibly tragic and humiliating public outing some four years back, and.
Huh.
Steve felt, underneath his hips, his dick twitch to life.
“Don’t,” he said, a little more harshly than he intended. “I don’t give a fuck if you check out baseball players asses. They’re hot. They have good asses. I also love ass. Dicks, too.” Clearly, having been forced out in front of the world, Steve wasn’t very good at coming out himself, on the rare occasion he got the opportunity. Whatever–he was in too much pain to care. “Look. My leg is fucked, and I’m fucking desperate here. But also, there’s no way I’m getting up. Can you just. Can you help me? Especially if I don’t have to move?”
Steve watched Eddie’s face change, his frown returning, and then a smirk playing at his lips.
“Sure, handsome,” Eddie teased, and Steve felt the tension evaporate out of the room. “You stay right there and I’ll come to you.”
Steve nodded and dropped his head back down to the bed, turning it to the side so he was still looking in Eddie’s direction.
Eddie set a couple bottles on the table and then glanced down at Steve. “You said it’s your leg, right? Can you give me any details–location, type of pain, any history of issues in the area?”
Steve nodded and rambled off the list. Mostly strains and sprains, a torn ACL almost a decade ago. Eddie nodded along, appraising, poking softly at Steve’s leg as he went. And then he poked a spot up by Steve’s hip and Steve screamed , and half launched himself off the bed. Except Eddie’s large hand was there, pressing down on the small of his back, keeping him still.
“IT band,” Eddie noted, with clean efficiency. “Classic, especially with your history. Beer leagues will really get you, huh?”
Steve snorted and readjusted himself on the bed. Unfortunately, listening to Eddie was definitely too much for his overwhelmed system to handle. He was hard as fuck.
That said–when was the last time he’d had a good release?
“Okay, look. This is harder to do on a bed, though it’s pretty high up, we should be alright. but I agree you should stay put. Do you care if I take your pants off? I can leave your boxers on, though it’d be better if we lose them too. You’ll stay face down so it won’t be that indecent.”
Steve nodded, hastily, and was glad Eddie wouldn’t see the flush that was creeping up over his cheeks. For god sakes, he was nearly forty and here he was facedown in a hotel room, blushing over an only slightly horny masseuse. What was his life coming to?
“Take it all off,” he agreed, and tried to ignore the strain in his throat.
Eddie nodded and helped him lift his lips and slide the pants and boxers down and off. He wasn’t sure he did the best job of staying decent, as Eddie put it, and he also wasn’t sure he hadn’t heard Eddie inhale sharply when his hard cock had sprung free from his pants.
Still, though the tension in the room was rebuilding, a different sort now, all Eddie did above him was clap his hands together. “Right. I’m going to be in your glutes a lot. You just tap the bed if you need me to stop, okay?”
Steve shivered at that. It felt too much like a command, too much like that side of the world he’d left behind after the pictures leaked. Too much like temptation.
“Steve? Need you to let me know you heard me,” Eddie prompted.
“Make it hurt,” Steve said, words slipping out before he could grasp them and pull them back in.
And yup, that time he definitely heard the inhale.
And then he heard the click of a bottle–it sounded like lube and it took Steve a moment to remember that, no. It was massage oil. This was not going to be like that. And then Eddie started. His hands were warmer than Steve expected, digging blissful circles into Steve’s calves, then his thighs. Occasionally Eddie dug an elbow in and Steve groaned into the sheets below him, his eyes fluttering shut and open, drifting in a haze of pain that felt too much like pleasure. The oil was scented, clearly, vanilla and almond notes drifting up into his nostrils, lulling him further down.
“Steve?” Eddie mumbled, and his voice was low and gravelly. “Don’t worry, you’re doing great. I think I could get some more leverage if I climb up behind you. You might feel me on your thighs. You can say no, but–”
Steve’s brain was absolutely fried, because the only thing that came out was “please,” a little too whiny to be anything but turned on.
Eddie swallowed, audibly, and then the bed shifted under him as Eddie climbed onto it, one knee on either side of Steve’s thigh. “How’s the pressure been?” he asked, his voice low, just as affected as Steve’s.
“Good,” Steve agreed, and then paused to think. “You can go harder,” he added.
Eddie hissed through his teeth and then his hands were back, digging down into Steve’s glutes, hard. Steve moaned into the sensation, no longer able to stop himself from making noise, and it seemed to spur Eddie on, driving him deeper into the muscles, working his thumbs and the heels of his hands into Steve’s sore spots.
Flirtations aside, it was a great massage. Steve gave up on controlling himself and pushed back into Eddie’s hands, let himself moan as he needed, let Eddie work all of the tension free from his hip and glutes and thighs. He felt like a puddle by the time Eddie’s hands finally slowed their assault into him.
“Well,” Eddie said, careful. “I think that’s our time.” And then he started to shift to get off and instead something insistently hard bumped into Steve’s thigh, and Steve knew he was about to make the worst mistake of his night.
“Stay,” he husked out, hoarse voice in the sheets.
“Steve…” Eddie started, and Steve could hear the trepidation, the worry. “I don’t… I shouldn’t…”
Steve nodded into the pillow, and turned his head to the side. He couldn’t see Eddie, but he could see the bottle of lube. Read the word edible! stamped on the side.
“Me neither,” he admitted. “If it got out it could ruin me. Again.”
“Me too,” Eddie whispered, but Steve could feel his resolve loosening, the way Eddie was resting back down onto his thighs.
“You’re off the clock now, Eddie. I won’t tell if you don’t,” Steve promised, and pushed his hips up and back a little, trying to show Eddie how much he wanted it. “But I can tell you want me. Can tell you want to fuck me. Just for tonight maybe we could forget how monumentally stupid it would be if-”
Eddie brushed his thumb, still slick and oil covered, right against Steve’s hole, and Steve gasped and bucked up into the bed.
“If I fucked you into the mattress?” Eddie finished, and there was that mischief back.
Steve nodded, desperate. “Please,” he half begged, rutting forward into the mattress for his aching cock, back into Eddie’s thumb for his wanting hole, unsure what direction was better.
“Jesus, your ass is sinful,” Eddie groaned, rubbing his thumb in soft circles over Steve’s entrance. “Who needs a baseball player when you’ve got this?”
Steve huffed into the mattress, suddenly so desperate he wasn’t sure he could wait any longer, now that they’d decided they were doing this.
“You gonna talk all night or are you going to fuck me?” he asked, shifting his head so he could look back at Eddie, take in his flushed cheeks, his hair slipping loose from his bun.
“Hmm,” Eddie contemplated, and then pushed the tip of his thumb in, drawing a harsh inhale from Steve. “You were so responsive when I massaged you. Maybe I want to see if that’s true everywhere.”
Steve let out a shaky breath but couldn’t do more than nod as Eddie’s thumb popped in and out of his hole. He could feel himself trying to clench around it, but Eddie would slide it loose just in time.
And then Eddie shifted, the weight leaving his thighs, and Steve started to whine in protest but before he had the chance to ask for anything, there was something else up against him. A tongue, hot and strong, drawing a circle around him, dragging flat up and over his puckered flesh.
“Oh, fuck,” he gasped, at the new sensation, the lewdness of it all.
“Never thought the edible oil would come in handy,” Eddie murmured against him, and Steve shivered at the sensation.
And then he lost himself as Eddie’s tongue slid in and out, probing him open, teasing him until his cock was weeping up onto his stomach. Just as he was about to beg, about to say he couldn’t handle it anymore, Eddie’s lips were gone.
Things stilled for a minute, Steve gasping into the sheets, fingers tightening on them as he waited for what was next.
Above him, Eddie popped the bottle back open and then a drop of warm, silky oil landed directly on his entrance, and he moaned as Eddie used two fingers to push it inside all at once.
“Holy fuck,” he groaned into the blankets, the stretch so exquisite he wanted to die.
Eddie slid his fingers in and out, far too slow. Steve was ready to be fucked, ready to be broken, but Eddie took his time, his fingers insistent but just a little too gentle, working into him, working him open.
And then Eddie shifted his wrist and Steve saw stars, half shouting into the pillow at the sensation. “Oh my god, fucking, oh my god,” he babbled, and Eddie, above him, laughed.
“That’s it,” he hummed, his finger pads brushing over Steve’s prostate again and again. “Jesus christ you’re tight. So fucking hot, so fucking needy,” he said, and he was babbling too. “Bet you could come just like this, fucking your cock into the mattress while I stroke your prostate?”
Steve nodded, because he knew he could . “Don’t want to,” he admitted, panting. “Want you to fuck me. Has been so long,”
“Shh, Steve,” Eddie coaxed, still stroking, still insistent. “I’m going to fuck you, don’t worry.”
The sensation carried Steve away again, lost in the haze of arousal, and then, finally, Eddie pulled his fingers out. Steve whined at that too, hole clenching uselessly around nothing, but it didn’t matter. The squirt of the bottle one more time, the sound of a zipper that must be Eddie’s, and then, finally–a thick head bumping up against him.
“You ready?” Eddie asked, and Steve nodded, too lost for words.
And then–the push. Eddie entered Steve inch by inch, slow and steady, just like he’d been in everything else. One hand slid up to tangle his fingers–still silky from the oil–into Steve’s, the other propped beside him on the bed to keep Eddie up.
“Jesus fuck,” Eddie hissed, through clearly gritted teeth. “God, knew you were tight but fuck. You better be close,” he added.
Steve only nodded again, pushing his hips back, desperate.
“Good,” Eddie said, and pulled out nearly all the way, then thrust back in. He picked up a rhythm that was just like his massage, insistent and constant, not too hard or too soft. Just right.
Steve was getting delirious, knew he was drooling into the sheets, panting and whining and whimpering. Knew he if didn’t come soon he was going to die, maybe, and Eddie’s breath above him, Eddie’s belt pushing into his thighs–none of it was helping.
“Please,” he moaned out, and Eddie didn’t make him ask again. He let go of Steve’s hand and slid his own down the side of Steve’s body, wrapping it firmly around Steve’s cock.
That was all it took: two more thrusts and matching pumps, and Steve came with another hoarse shout against the pillow, Eddie following him over with a groan against Steve’s back.
Spent, exhausted, Steve gasped as Eddie pulled out and flopped down beside him.
“Jesus,” he mumbled, and Eddie laughed.
“You’re telling me. Wow. Got the stamina of a professional athlete there, Steve,” he teased.
Steve rolled his head over to look at him and raised a brow. “You said your uncle hates the Sox?” he half slurred, shocked at his ability to make cognizant conversation after such a perfect pounding.
Eddie nodded.
“Next time he tells them to get fucked… you can tell him you fucked their captain, if you think it’ll help,” he said, and then, Eddie’s look of utter shock in his eyes, Steve promptly fell asleep.