The knot gave. Jason’s pants hit the wet tile with a slap that echoed off the steam-slick walls, and then his boxers were down too, the cold air hitting his cock before he could think about being naked in front of his captain. Marcus didn’t look away. Didn’t blink.
“Get in.”
Jason stepped forward. The spray hit his chest and he sucked air through his teeth—hot, almost too hot, needling his skin pink in seconds. He stood there with water sluicing down his stomach, dripping off the head of his cock, and Marcus was still watching him with those pale blue eyes that never seemed to move first.
Then Marcus’s hands found his hips.
Not rough. That was the part Jason couldn’t get his head around. The captain’s palms settled against his hipbones like they belonged there, thumbs pressing into the hollows just above his groin, and Jason’s whole body went tight. Marcus turned him—slow, deliberate, like he was positioning something breakable—and Jason’s back hit the tile.
Cold. The shock of it punched through the steam, and before Jason could react, Marcus pressed in. Chest to chest. Hip to hip. The wet slide of skin on skin, Marcus’s body hair rough against Jason’s smooth stomach, the captain’s cock—half-hard, thick—pressing against his thigh. Jason’s breath caught somewhere in his throat and stayed there.
“You’re shaking,” Marcus said. His voice was low gravel, quieter than the water.
Jason’s hands came up without permission, found Marcus’s waist. The muscle there was solid, scarred, slick under his fingers. He didn’t know if he was holding on or pushing away. Maybe both. Maybe neither.
Marcus’s hand rose to Jason’s throat. Softer than last time—the palm was warm, the pressure light, just enough to feel his own pulse hammering against the captain’s fingers. Marcus’s thumb traced Jason’s jawline, slow, from the hinge to the chin, like he was memorizing the bone structure underneath the skin. Jason’s lips parted. He couldn’t help it.
Then Marcus’s other hand closed around both of Jason’s wrists. Tight. Jason’s arms went up before he could process what was happening, pinned above his head against the tile, and the stretch pulled a sound out of him—something between a gasp and a groan.
Marcus’s eyes went darker. Hungrier. His mouth was close enough that Jason felt the words before he heard them.
“If you’re going to come apart,” Marcus said, his thumb still stroking Jason’s jaw, “you’re going to do it against me.”
Jason’s hips rolled forward. He couldn’t stop it—his cock, hard and leaking, pressed against Marcus’s stomach, and the contact made his knees buckle. Marcus caught him with his body, pinned him harder against the tile, and through the steam and the water and the impossible heat of it all, Jason heard himself make a sound that was almost a whimper.
His wrists strained against Marcus’s grip. Tested it. Marcus didn’t let go.
Jason’s eyes closed. He let his head fall back against the tile and just breathed—ragged, wet, his chest rising against Marcus’s chest, his cock aching between them—and waited for whatever came next.
Marcus's mouth found Jason's throat. The first contact was dry—lips pressing against the pulse point, the captain's stubble scraping raw skin—and Jason's whole body locked up, his wrists straining against the grip above his head. Then Marcus's lips parted. His tongue touched the hollow where Jason's heartbeat hammered, and the wet heat of it made Jason's hips jerk forward, his cock sliding against Marcus's stomach, leaving a slick trail.
"Don't move," Marcus breathed against his skin.
Jason couldn't have if he tried. The command went straight through his chest and settled somewhere deep, a string pulled taut. Marcus's teeth grazed his throat—not hard, not yet, just the edge of pressure, a promise of what could come—and Jason's breath turned into something ragged and high.
"You're going to hold still," Marcus said, his voice a low rumble against Jason's neck, "and you're going to take whatever I give you. Nod if you understand."
Jason nodded. The movement pressed his throat harder against Marcus's mouth, and he felt the captain's lips curve into a smile against his skin.
Marcus's teeth closed. Not hard enough to break skin, but enough to make Jason's whole body seize—a sharp, bright pain that shot through his nerves and landed straight in his cock, which throbbed against Marcus's stomach, desperate. Marcus held the bite for a long moment, his tongue pressing against the mark he was leaving, and when he finally pulled back, Jason could feel the heat of it, the shape of Marcus's mouth burned into his throat.
"That's so I know where to find you," Marcus said. His eyes were dark, pupils blown wide, and his voice had dropped to something barely audible over the water. "Now turn around. Face the tile."
He released Jason's wrists. The blood rushed back into Jason's arms, pins and needles, and for a second he just stood there, his hands hovering in the air where they'd been pinned. Marcus waited. His hand found Jason's hip again, a nudge, a direction.
Jason turned. The tile was cold against his chest, his cheek, his palms. He braced himself, his arms spread wide, his back arched, the water streaming down his spine and over the curve of his ass. He heard Marcus move behind him, felt the displacement of heat, and then the captain's chest pressed against his back, wet and solid, his cock—fully hard now—sliding against the cleft of Jason's ass.
"There," Marcus said, his mouth at Jason's ear, his hand finding Jason's hip, gripping hard enough to bruise. "There you are."