The word hung between them in the steam, and Jason couldn't tell if it was praise or a claim or both. His cock throbbed against the tile, untouched, leaking a thread of pre-cum that the water caught and washed away. Behind him, Marcus shifted his hips, and the head of his cock dragged lower, finding the spot, pressing with a pressure that wasn't a question.
"Been thinking about this all day," Marcus said, his voice a gravel scrape against Jason's ear. "Every drill you half-assed. Every time you looked at me across the ice." His hand tightened on Jason's hip, fingers digging into the bruise that was already forming from before. "Knew I'd have you here."
Jason's mouth opened against the tile, but nothing came out except a sound that was more breath than voice. The pressure built, and his body fought itself—the instinct to push back warring with the animal need to brace, to protect, to not let this man see how badly he wanted it.
Marcus pushed.
Just the tip. The head of his cock stretching Jason open, and the burn was sharp and immediate and nothing Jason had ever felt before. His palms slid against the wet tile, scrambling for purchase, and his forehead pressed so hard against the cold surface that he felt the grout lines digging into his skin. A sound crawled out of his throat—low, broken, a noise he'd never made in his life.
"Breathe," Marcus said, but his hand was already sliding up Jason's stomach, fingers spread wide over the lean muscle, and there was nothing soothing in his voice. It was a command. Another thing Jason had to obey.
Jason sucked in a breath that felt like it had edges. His hole clenched around the intrusion, and Marcus groaned, a low vibration against his spine. The hand on Jason's stomach kept moving, up over his ribs, and then Marcus's fingers found his nipple and pinched.
The pain was electric. Jason's hips bucked back without permission, without thought, and the head of Marcus's cock sank deeper—not all the way, but enough that Jason felt the stretch turn into something that bordered on too much. His mouth fell open against the tile, and a wet, desperate sound spilled out.
"That's it." Marcus's laugh was a breath, hot and satisfied, right against the shell of Jason's ear. "That's my boy."
His thumb circled the abused nipple, and Jason's cock leaked against the tile, his whole body trembling with the effort of not moving, not pushing back, not begging. The water beat against his shoulders, and the steam was so thick he could barely breathe, and Marcus was inside him—not all the way, not yet, but inside—and Jason's mind had gone white and empty of everything except the weight of the man behind him.
Marcus's hips rolled, a shallow thrust that didn't push deeper but made Jason feel every inch of what was already there. "Look at you," he murmured, and his other hand came up to grip Jason's jaw, tilting his head back from the tile. "Wanted this since the first time you mouthed off in my locker room. Didn't you?"
Jason's green eyes were wet, his lips parted, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps. He couldn't lie. Not with Marcus's cock stretching him open and the captain's grip on his jaw and the word *boy* still burning in his chest. "Yeah," he whispered, and the word cracked. "Fuck. Yeah."
Marcus pulled out.
The emptiness was worse than the stretch. Jason's hole clenched around nothing, and the sound he made was animal—a raw, punched-out noise that he didn't recognize as his own. His forehead stayed pressed to the tile, his body shaking, his cock still leaking against the cold ceramic while the water beat a rhythm on his spine that felt like punishment for every smartass thing he'd ever said.
Then Marcus's hands were on his hips, and the world tilted.
Jason's back hit the tile, and the shock of cold against his shoulder blades made him gasp. Marcus was there—right there—chest against chest, scarred hands pinning Jason's wrists to the wall on either side of his head, and those pale blue eyes were inches away, looking into him with an intensity that stopped Jason's breath in his throat.
"Want to see your face," Marcus said, and his voice had gone rough in a way that wasn't about anger anymore. His cock pressed against Jason's stomach, slick and hot, and Jason could feel the throb of it through his own skin. "Want to watch you take it."
Jason's green eyes were wet, his dirty-blond hair plastered to his forehead, and he couldn't look away. Couldn't blink. Couldn't do anything but breathe in the steam and the heat of the man who had him pinned like a butterfly to a board. Marcus's thumb traced the bite mark on his throat, pressing into the bruise, and Jason's cock jumped against his stomach.
"You're shaking," Marcus said.
"Yeah." Jason's voice cracked on the word. "Fuck. I know."
Marcus lowered his head, and for one fractured second Jason thought he was going to be kissed—but Marcus stopped an inch from his mouth, his stubble scraping Jason's chin, his breath hot and slow. "You want this?"
The question landed in Jason's chest like a puck to the sternum. Want didn't cover it. Want was what he felt when he saw a clean breakaway or a cold beer after a win. This was something else—something that had his hips tilting forward without permission, his ass grinding against the tile as he tried to get friction on nothing, tried to get closer to the heat of Marcus's body.
"Say it," Marcus growled, and his hand dropped from Jason's wrist to grip his jaw, forcing their eyes to lock. "Look at me and say it."
Jason looked. He saw the tightness in Marcus's jaw, the way the captain's control was fraying at the edges, the hunger that had been living in those pale eyes since the first time they'd clashed in the locker room. And he saw something else, too—something that made his chest ache even as his cock throbbed.
"I want it," Jason said, and the words came out steady even though nothing else about him was. "I want you. Marcus. Fuck. I've wanted you since—"
Marcus kissed him.
Marcus's mouth broke from his, and the loss of heat was a physical ache. His thumb dragged across Jason's bottom lip, slow and deliberate, pulling it down until the wet inside showed pink against the steam. Jason's breath stuttered out, warm against the calloused pad of that thumb, and his green eyes were wide, wet, fixed on the pale blue of the man who had him pinned.
"Look at you," Marcus murmured, and his voice was sand and gravel, low enough that Jason felt it in his chest more than he heard it. The thumb pressed harder, opening his mouth a fraction, and Jason's tongue touched salt and skin without permission. Marcus's jaw tightened, and something dark moved behind his eyes. "Can't stop talking back, but you've got nothing to say now."
Jason swallowed, and the movement of his throat shifted the bite mark Marcus had left earlier—the bruise pulling, a dull ache that reminded him exactly who he belonged to in this moment. His cock was still hard against his stomach, leaking against the tile, and every breath he took pressed his chest against Marcus's, skin to skin, the water sluicing between them and making the contact slick.
Marcus's hand slid from Jason's jaw to the back of his neck, gripping hard, and the shift pulled Jason's head back until his throat was bared. The stretch made him gasp, and Marcus lowered his head, his mouth stopping just above the bruise. His breath was heat and want, and Jason's hips bucked forward without permission, his cock sliding against Marcus's stomach.
"Still so desperate," Marcus said against his skin, and the words vibrated through Jason's throat. His other hand dropped to Jason's hip, fingers digging into the bone, holding him still. "Haven't even given you what you need yet, and you're already grinding on me like a—" He stopped, and Jason heard the word he didn't say hanging in the steam like it had been spoken aloud.
"Like a what?" Jason's voice came out cracked, raw, and he didn't know if he was asking or begging. His hands were still pinned, and his fingers curled into fists against the tile, the cold seeping through his knuckles. "Say it."
Marcus's laugh was a low rumble, and he pulled back just enough to look at Jason's face. His eyes were hungry, the control that usually lived there frayed at the edges, and Jason could see the pulse jumping in his throat. "Like a slut who's been waiting months for someone to put him in his place."
The word hit Jason in the gut. His cock throbbed, and pre-cum smeared against Marcus's stomach, and the sound that came out of his mouth was something between a moan and a whimper. His cheeks flushed hot, the shame and the want tangling in his chest until he couldn't tell them apart. "Fuck," he breathed, and his hips rolled again even though Marcus had him pinned. "Fuck, Marcus."
"That's it." Marcus's thumb found the bruise on his throat and pressed, and the pain was sharp and perfect and grounding. His cock was still hard against Jason's hip, and he shifted his weight, dragging the length of it across Jason's skin, leaving a slick trail. "That's the sound I wanted. Not the mouthy rookie who thinks he runs the ice. The one who knows what he's good for."
Jason's eyes stung, and he blinked hard, the steam and the water and the impossible weight of Marcus's attention combining into something that felt like drowning. His voice cracked on the words he couldn't stop. "Is that what I'm good for?"