Chapter Text
Warm water cascaded down his body, soothing the ache in his sore muscles after his hour-long solo practice. He had the championship game coming up and he’s been staying late every practice, his coach kind enough to lend the keys to the gym and the locker rooms to his star player. He sighed, enjoying the warmth of the shower, relaxed knowing he could take his time since he was alone.
Or at least he was, the faintest creak coming from the locker room door. It was one of those blink and you’d miss it moments, the sound soft beneath the sound of the water running. Steve turned, peeking out of the shower stall, but he didn’t see anyone. He shrugged it off, running his hands through his hair, working his shampoo through the slicked back strands, washing out the sweat and hairspray. He took his time, carefully washing each strand until it was slicked back and clean, then rinsed it out, reaching for his conditioner when he realized the bottle was empty. He frowned, remembering he had a new one in his bag that he’d forgotten to replace it with.
Stepping out from under the water, he tied his towel around his hips, not too keen on walking around naked even alone. He headed for his locker, slowing when he heard a soft sound. His brow furrowed, feeling cautious now, he crept closer, peeking around the lockers. His eyes widened when he realized exactly what he was seeing. He was no longer alone, a vaguely familiar head of curls stood in front of his propped open locker. He felt a surge of anger, thinking that Munson? Yea, with that outfit, it had to be Munson, was stealing from him. He was about to call out to him, when he realized that the Freak was holding his underwear up, his pile of discarded gym clothing on the bench beside him.
Embarrassed and not knowing why, Steve kept his mouth shut, watching with wide eyes as Munson brought them up to his nose and took a deep breath. Steve almost gasped, biting down hard on his lip, grateful he’d left the water running because if Munson turned around right now, Steve would just have to die on the fucking spot. He felt confusion burn through him, he’d heard rumors of course, who hadn’t, but he didn’t think he believed them, not until this moment. He was wondering what the fuck Munson thought he was doing, thinking this couldn’t be real as he heard the softest sound, a groan.
Steve closed his eyes, thinking he should walk away right now or confront the freak, but the sound of a belt buckle startled him right out of his decision making his eyes snap open. His breath caught, mind telling himself not to look, he didn’t want to know, but doing it anyway as curiosity burned through him. Eddie had undone his belt, tight black jeans tugged down past his hips. The tent in his boxers was noticeable even from this distance with how prominent it was. Steve was definitely feeling something, a rush of jealousy probably. How was the freak so big? He shifted back on his feet, knowing this was crossing so many lines. He shouldn’t be watching this, but Munson had started this little freak show and he felt dragged along for the ride.
Steve didn’t realize when Munson had stripped his jeans off, but soon he was standing there in his boxers, tugging his vest off, hellfire shirt pulled up and over his head. Steve’s breathing picked up, seeing Munson’s body for what felt like the first time, he’d never shown so much skin. Tattoos spread across his pale chest, catching Steve’s eyes and making him wonder when those had happened. His eyes trailed over him slowly, taking it all in. He was tall, long legs, a surprising amount of muscle for someone who always skipped gym class and claimed to hate sports. He felt like a creep, but.. but something kept his gaze locked on the guy as the boxers finally came off. Munson definitely had no ass, a shame, but the size of his dick surely made up for it. The guy was fucking hung.
Steve told himself it was just jealousy that made his stomach flip the way it did. He didn’t even realize he was blushing, unable to tear his eyes away as Munson stepped into Steve’s underwear, tugging the tight red fabric up, Calvin Klein stretched across his hips. Something about seeing Munson in his underwear was making the wires in his brain cross. He felt lightheaded, breathing shallowly so as not to get caught. He bit his lip harder, fingers grasping the row of lockers behind him, grounding him. Munson looked pleased with himself, slowly stroking over the soft red fabric, cupping his own ass, tracing his hips. Steve wondered if he really did just want to steal his underwear, but then the hand wandered closer to the thick outline of his cock. He stroked himself slowly, a tease, his breath stuttering. Munson looked sinful, touching himself through the fabric, moaning so quietly underneath the sound of the shower running.
Steve felt his mouth go dry, his thoughts screaming to him that this was so fucking wrong. He wasn’t looking because he wanted to, he was just curious what Munson wanted, that was all. The stirring between his legs said otherwise. He clenched his thighs together, refusing to acknowledge how this sight was doing something for him. It was just the idea of it, that was it. It had nothing to do with Munson, who was just being a creep. Soon enough Munson was fully hard, the outline of his cock even more prominent in the tight fabric, tenting it. His tip had slid out the top, red and wet, pressed against his hips by the elastic. He looked like a pornstar. Steve’s wandering eyes taking him all in. It was about to get worse as his eyes landed on the hand that reached into his locker and pulled out his letterman jacket.
Steve almost said something then, making an aborted movement. His letterman was his pride and joy, he didn’t want Munson’s hands on it. Still, seeing it tugged on, his name scrawled across the back of Munson’s shoulders was a sucker punch to the gut. His face went red, anger or something else, he didn’t know. He shakily breathed out, hand in a fist. His own cock stirring in interest. He told himself he wasn’t hard, but his body insisted otherwise, the tent in his towel growing even as he willed it down. Munson looked good, he couldn’t even deny it, he had eyes, but that’s all it was. It didn’t mean anything, even as Munson touched himself, jacket bunched up around his wrists where it was a bit too big. It enveloped him, making Munson look smaller than he actually was.
The hand dipped inside his underwear, rings and all, Munson moaning a little too loudly. They both froze, but eventually Munson seemed to think he’d gotten away with it as he started to move again. Hand wrapped around himself, pumping slowly up and down, the whisper soft slick sounds making Steve hot all over. Steve’s own hand wandered down, pressing down on the towel, trying to think unsexy thoughts, but he was rubbing himself through the fabric in no time at all. He hated this, but he couldn’t stop himself if he tried, already way too turned on and worked up. He swore it didn’t mean anything, two guys could get off in the same room, it’s not like they were touching so it wasn’t.. it wasn’t queer. He wasn’t queer.
Munson’s hips were moving along with his strokes, the center of Steve’s underwear growing wetter each slow drag. His head was tilted back, giving Steve a better view of his face. Cheeks flushed, lips slightly parted, curls moving around his face, as his eyes fluttered. He was so pretty, Steve thought, his soft features and doe eyes so different without his usual scowl or smirk. Steve worried his lip, his hand slipping under the towel to grip himself, just at the base, holding off what felt like an impending orgasm just from the sight alone. He refused to cum after just a few touches, he wasn’t some simpering virgin. He shuddered as he held himself, almost missing Munson tugging off his letterman and folding it carefully over the bench, straddling it.
Steve twitched in his hand, cursing internally. If Munson damaged his letterman there would be hell to pay, pretty or not. Munson’s hips started moving, grinding down against the bench, against his letterman, a broken moan falling from his lips as his underwear clad dick rubbed over Steve’s name. He was panting now, soft words falling from his lips that barely reached Steve’s ears. He blushed the moment he made out the words, Munson calling him Stevie, promising to make him feel so good, whispering how beautiful he looked underneath him. Steve knew Munson never shut up, but this was something else. He didn’t even realize he’d started moving his hand again, stroking himself with a soft gasp, hand moving over his cock, wishing he’d thought to bring something to slick the way, dry and quick, it was almost too overwhelming.
He couldn’t even think of anything except Munson, whispering Steve’s name as he got off on his letterman, eyes fluttering as his tip leaked, making the glide easier. “Fuck, Munson,” Steve mumbled, the name coming unbidden to his mind and past his lips. Thankfully Munson didn’t seem to hear him, Steve would never live it down. He’d rather die, but he was already thrusting into his hand at the sight of Munson so really, he should just do it anyway. He covered his mouth with one hand, silencing the urge to moan the other boy’s name, his breathing growing heavier as Munson’s thrusts became jerky and desperate.
“Steeeeve,” Munson moaned, low, and needy, causing Steve to flush red and cum harder than he ever had in his life. He trembled, grateful for the towel around his hips that stopped the worst of the mess as it dripped down between his legs and onto the locker room floor. Steve was panting, lightheaded and blissed out, watching as Munson tugged down his underwear as he came, head back, neck on full display, moaning as he cupped himself as if he was trying to keep from making a mess as his cum coated his palm, soaking in between his rings. Steve’s letterman got the slightest splash of cum and Steve twitched hard, his body more than ready for another round at just the sight of it. He cursed beneath his breath, as Munson licked his fingers clean of his mess. The sight doing something to Steve that he didn’t think he could ever forget.
It took a minute for his legs to stop feeling weak, enough time for Munson to peel off his underwear and drop it on the pile of his gym clothes. He grabbed his own shirt to carefully dab at the mess he’d made on Steve’s letterman before he hung it back up. He got dressed, Steve watching as his mouth watered and he wondered what the fuck was wrong with him that he found the sight almost as arousing as he had watching Munson strip. He wanted to smack the thought out of his head, before he realized that he’d get caught if he didn’t move. He turned on weak shaking legs to make his way back to the showers. He ducked inside the stall, standing under the spray of water with his head stuffed full of thoughts and yet registering not a single one.
The door falling shut just as quietly as it had opened was the final nail in this fucked up coffin as Steve fully sank to his knees and buried his head in his arms because what the fuck. What the hell was that?