6

Luke

Grunting, I wipe my sweaty forehead and watch the soccer ball roll away behind me.

This isn’t working. Coach assigned a few solo drills for my two-touch passes, and I’ve been struggling to get through them, let alone do them well.

The training pitch is empty, fluorescent lights illuminating the turf under the night sky. I don’t know how long I’ve been out here, practicing until my thighs burn, but it feels useless. It’s like something’s blocking me from reaching the heights I know I can get to.

After our half-day of recovery, Coach had us in for a light training session. I blamed my distracted state on Spencer and the way he winked shamelessly at me every chance he got. Even Junseo had commented on it, grinning smugly. Assholes, both of them.

After brushing off Spencer’s offer to hang out after recovery—and firmly ignoring the way my stomach clenched at the look on his face—I took a lap around the swimming pool to calm down before heading out here. Now it’s just me, the open sky, and the ball. No Spencer in sight, and I’m still failing.

Heat prickles behind my eyes. I press my fists to them, willing myself not to cry. I’m not Spencer’s kid sister; I shouldn’t be spilling tears over stupid soccer drills.

The crunch of footsteps on turf cuts through my thoughts and I quickly rub a hand over my face. Hoping my eyes aren’t red, I whirl around to see a familiar tall figure in gray shorts and a tight black compression shirt.

He runs a hand over his buzzed hair, rings glinting, a slow smile spreading over his face. Even exhausted and stressed, Spencer looks good.

“What are you doing here?” I’m proud when my voice doesn’t tremble.

Spencer comes to a stop right in front of me. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere. Would’ve been here earlier but Coach dragged me into a meeting. You okay?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I don’t know.” He steps closer, frowning. “You’ve been off all day. If you need to talk about anything, I’m always here, man.”

“I should be asking you that. You’re the one who disappeared this morning.”

When he finally returned to our tiny kitchen, it was as if he'd left some part of himself somewhere else. For a moment, he’d looked… lost.

I want to know what’s wrong so badly, it’s like an itch I can’t scratch. Contrary to popular belief, I do care about him. Everything is more bearable when he’s around.

Spencer makes a face. “That was nothing, just my brain being all fucked up. I’m good now, but you’re clearly not.”

Damn him and his big stupid eyes, and his stupid concern, and the stupid, sweet way he’s looking at me. Something hot splashes on my cheek, and I don’t realize I’m crying until Spencer is suddenly in my space, a large hand cradling my face.

“Please don’t.” His touch is unbelievably gentle as he swipes away the tears. “God, you’re killing me.”

“Sorry, I don’t even know why I’m crying. This is so stupid, I didn’t mean—”

“Don’t be sorry.” He wraps his free arm around my waist, drawing me into a hug. “I’ve got you.”

We’ve hugged before, usually friendly bro-hugs or congratulatory chest bumps when we win a match, but this is different. He feels good and smells even better. All I want to do is melt against him and let my worries about everything—disappointing my dad, ruining the team synergy, messing up during the finals—fade away, until it’s just us. It’s the nicest hug I’ve ever had.

I sigh into his chest. “I keep missing easy passes.”

“You’re too in your head about this shit.” He presses a soft, closed kiss to my neck. “When you let yourself step back and enjoy the game, you’re amazing.”

Except how do I ‘enjoy the game’ when my brain won’t stop running through a dozen scenarios where I ruin everything?

“Maybe I should let Coach sub in Adams,” I say stiffly.

Vincent Adams is our newest attacking midfielder substitute, and he’s not bad. A bit eager to be the star player on the pitch, and doesn’t listen to instructions very well, but if there’s one thing he doesn’t have it’s a confidence problem.

Spencer draws back, shaking his head. “That’s how I know you’ve lost your mind. Adams, really? If the sport was ‘most likely to suck his own dick’, maybe.”

He makes a face and despite myself, I let out a laugh. Just like that, the tension dissipates. Spencer’s able to make me laugh even when I don’t feel like it. When we lost the regular season quarter-finals last year, he impersonated every player on the opposing team until I was coughing, my sides and cheeks aching from laughter.

“Come on, you just need a few tips.” Spencer lets go of me, hands lingering around my waist a little longer than they should, before jogging over to the cones and grabbing a soccer ball. “If you position your feet like this…”

He walks me through some one-touch drills, correcting my form until I finally feel something click. When I get my first perfect run-through, elation erupts through me.

Spencer sweeps me off my feet, pressing fluttery kisses all over my face.

“See?” he says, setting me down in the middle of the pitch. “I knew you could do it.”

“Thanks to you.”

His grin is wicked and I barely have enough time to brace myself before he places a hand in the middle of my back and bends me backward, capturing my mouth in a sweet kiss. My whole body lights up, and I grip his shoulders, licking into his mouth like I’m trying to swallow him whole.

I feel so good I could fly, could take on the Buccaneers with both my eyes closed, but all I want to do is stay here, kissing Spencer until my lips go numb.

*

The next day passes by in a whirlwind of strength and conditioning, watching highlights of the Buccaneers' plays, and talking through every possible strategy with the team.

The match is in two days and I barely have enough time to sleep my designated eight hours a day, let alone hang out with Spencer.

We haven’t talked much since he helped me yesterday, and I can tell it’s bothering him. I’d never admit it, but it’s bothering me, too. Even without the kissing and the sex, Spencer’s my best friend. Not hanging out with him feels like some cosmic rift in the universe.

The only time we get to ourselves is after dinner with the other guys. Our last practice game is tomorrow, so Coach lets us off earlier than usual.

I’m sprawled on the small loveseat in front of the TV, flicking through recordings of old Buccaneers games on YouTube and commenting on their play.

Spencer groans from his spot beside me. “You already mentioned their positioning three games ago.”

“If you were paying attention, I wouldn’t have to point it out.”

“You know what? Fuck this.” The remote is swiped away from me before I can grab it.

“Hey!”

“If I see another green jersey I’ll fucking throw up.” He curls a hand over the top of my thigh, and all the breath rushes out of me at once. “You need to relax.”

“I’ve never been more relaxed.”

“Yeah?”

Spencer licks his lips and spreads his legs, the picture of languid sexuality. I feel my mouth go dry at the sight of him and instinctively lean forward into his space. His hand slides upwards, long fingers brushing against my inner thigh.

“Come to the beach with me.”

It takes me a moment to understand what he’s saying, shaking away the fog of lust. “What? Like right now?”

“Like right now,” he says. “Come on, Howard, up you get. It’s time to have some real fun.”

It takes me less than five minutes to shove on a cropped band T-shirt and a pair of baggy skater shorts. Spencer is waiting for me in the hallway, dressed in his usual black ripped jeans, sword earring glinting in his ear.

Outside, he ushers me into a familiar cherry red Ford Mustang that I know he doesn’t own. It’s the same car we used to get to Washington in the first place. He wouldn’t admit it in court, but Spencer’s scared of flying. Like, refuses to down a few pills and sleep on the plane kind of scared. So, driving it was.

Spencer flips a pair of sunglasses over his eyes. “Junseo said we could use this beauty for the night, with strict instructions not to ruin it.”

How we could ruin a car by driving to the beach, I have no clue, but I lean back against the gorgeous seats and enjoy the ride.

The beach is tucked away off a dusty trail and looks more like a small stretch of sand followed by mounds of marram grass. At this time of evening, it’s mostly empty, save for a few dog walkers off in the distance.

Spencer stops in the stretch of gravel acting as a parking lot in front of a low stone wall looking out onto the undulating waves. He rolls down the windows, letting in the cool ocean breeze. We sit for a moment, and I force the tension to leave my shoulders, allowing myself to relax.

“Feel better?”

“Yeah,” I say, letting out a breath.

Evening sunlight spills into the car, illuminating Spencer’s face in a soft wash of pink. He’s so good-looking, it’s enough to take my breath away.

His nose is strong and pinches into a slight point, chapped lips cut by a sweet cupid’s bow, his jaw sharp and always covered in scruff. And he’s all mine. No other hook-ups, no casual sex, just us.

Something nibbles at the edge of my thoughts, something like worry. What the hell are we doing?

Before I can do something stupid like ask him, Spencer leans over the console and kisses me. His hand curls around the back of my head, guiding my movements, but I don’t even think about disobeying. I let him position me exactly how he wants, gripping the front of his shirt.

My body feels like it’s on fire and we’ve barely started. His free hand snakes underneath my shirt and up my chest, exploring. Cold, calloused fingers hit overheated skin, drawing a hiss from me. He pinches my nipple absently between two long digits, thumbing them into hard nubs and sending pleasure sparking through me.

I can’t help panting into his mouth, hips jerking wantonly. Before Spencer, I didn’t know sex could feel like this.

“Come here,” he says against my lips.

I climb over the console without a second thought and settle in his lap. This is quickly becoming my favorite place to be. He grips my waist and reclines the car seat until we’re almost parallel, then returns to undoing me with those skilled, gentle hands of his.

My cock strains against the fly of my shorts, stiff from arousal and anticipation. Spencer latches his mouth around a tender spot on my neck beside my jaw, and my head flings back at the sensation.

“Please,” I whisper, not even sure what I’m asking for. “Please, Spence.”

He cups me through my shorts and squeezes. “Please, what?”

“I want— damn —I want…”

My breath catches in my throat. He takes pity on me and unzips his own pants, taking out his cock. “You want this?”

The idea makes me hot all over. I nod frantically, gripping his shoulders to keep myself from reaching for him like an overeager puppy. He strokes over my back before his hands dip lower, gripping my ass.

“Take yourself out for me,” he says. His eyes are the darkest I’ve ever seen, the blue nearly replaced by black. “Let me see you.”

Scrambling to do what he says, I fumble with my zipper and manage to wriggle my shorts down my thighs. My cock is already weeping, red-hot to the touch. It’s embarrassing how easily he can get me going.

Spencer strokes my hip, gaze fixated between our bodies. “There you are, sweetheart. You really need this, don’t you?”

“Do you ever stop talking?”

“Someone’s embarrassed they’re dripping all over the place.” His smile turns wicked, sharp teeth glowing in the sunlight. “Where was this modesty when you were in my mouth?”

The way he speaks is enough to make me dizzy. Wanting to shut him up, I collapse against him, pressing our lips together again. My cock drags over his in the process, and I can’t help moaning into his mouth.

I love the way his tongue runs over my gums, how he nips my bottom lip lightly, the pain soothed over by a sweet lick afterwards.

“Hold on.” Spencer reaches behind me and into the glovebox, bringing out a small bottle of lube. “I knew he’d have some here, the kinky bastard.”

“What does it say about us that we’re the same as Junseo?”

He pours some lube into his palm, then mine, before tossing the bottle into the passenger seat. “It means great minds think alike.”

“Gross.”

“Oh, yeah?” He takes me in his hand and slicks me with lube, peppering my neck with kisses. “Is this gross, Luke?”

Pleasure explodes through me and my eyes roll back into my head, lashes fluttering at the sensation. His hot, tight fist. How he slides up and twists a little near the head, thumbing my slit and gathering slick precome.

I writhe in his lap, wanting to stitch our bodies together. He works me slowly, gently, a stark contrast to our first time on the balcony. Trying to think past the mounting heat in my groin, I take his cock in my lubed hand and follow his lead.

I must be good, because Spencer bites out a groan and throws his head back. I feel a rush of pride and tighten my grip just like he seems to like it, to the point of almost-pain. Gripping his thighs with mine, I pump my hips against his, sliding our cocks together.

“You’re perfect,” Spencer says, gasping a little. “I never thought—”

He cuts himself off, knocking away my hand and gripping us both in his. I keen against his neck, squeezing my eyes shut and willing myself not to come too early. Whatever he was going to say doesn’t matter, because I know how he feels. I never thought having sex—with my best friend of all people—could be like this, an overwhelming rush of soft, mushy feelings mingled with hot yearning. I want him so bad it hurts.

I’m almost shaking with pleasure, my mind and senses full of Spencer Hall. If I could meld into his skin and become one with him, I would.

Spencer cups my face, nosing my cheek before pressing a sweet kiss to the corner of my mouth. It’s almost too much. His hand feels amazing around both of us, thumb flicking over the head of my cock and running up a vein on the side.

“I’m close,” I say into his mouth.

He quickens his strokes until his hand is a blur over our lengths. All I can do is grip his shoulders and hold on, heat prickling under my armpits. The car smells of sex and sweat and the sweet orange of his cologne.

I’m so focused on the heightening pleasure I don’t notice the hand sneaking down the back of my shorts until a finger strokes over my entrance.

The shock is enough to send me over the edge. Spencer licks into my mouth, swallowing my loud, curling moans like water. I shake against him, rutting into the soft heat of his palm like a toy, chasing my orgasm.

He works me through it with a bruising grip, gaze intense as he watches me come undone. It only makes it hotter.

I collapse against him, spent, and watch languidly as he curls my hand around his length. He glances up at me, a question clear in his eyes. My heart clenches.

“Use me,” I say, nodding. “Fuck my hand, Spence. I want you to feel good.”

Those have to be the filthiest words I’ve ever spoken, but Spencer seems to appreciate them. He groans, deep and rumbling, and grips my thighs like they tether him to this world. I tighten my hold around his cock, greedily taking in the sharp snaps of his hips into my fist. He jostles me with each thrust, but I can’t find it in myself to care. Watching him unravel beneath me is all that matters.

Hot ropes of cum spill over my hand and I work him through his orgasm, gaze flicking from his open mouth to the way his eyes are squeezed shut. He settles against the car seat, chest heaving as he stares at me.

“Fuck, Luke.” He laughs at the car roof, shaking his head in a daze.

A smile plays on my lips. “I know.”

We sit like that for a moment, taking each other in, and all thoughts of soccer and the semi-finals couldn’t be further away from my mind.