Work Text:
All Drew can see is red before the water rushes from the showerhead and clears the blood from his eyes. He hears a soft hum, and his shoulders sag immediately as he instantly recognizes the voice. He doesn’t bother to turn around as he feels a warm, rough hand touch his shoulder. Drew refuses to flinch as the hand palms over his fresh cuts and rests on his lower back.
“Move over,” the voice says, low but with no bite.
Drew steps further into the shower and lets the large body take up the remaining space. He flutters his eyes open, his eyelashes still thick with blood. He’s greeted by Chris’s angular face and soft down-turned eyes. His pink lips stretch into a gentle smile as he brings one hand to brush Drew’s wet hair from his forehead.
“Bit of a messy one, yeah?” Chris asks, raking his eyes over Drew’s nude form, settling on the mini cuts littering his chest.
“A bit,” Drew answers, and he's embarrassed by how pathetic it sounds. His voice is hoarse from the screaming, and now it comes out barely louder than the rushing water. He lets the hot water envelope him as he steps closer and buries his head in Chris’s broad chest.
The taller man wraps one arm around Drew’s shoulders before reaching behind him to get a pump of shampoo. The shorter man barely notices Chris moving, too focused on the feeling of his coarse chest hair tickling his cheek. That is, until he feels those rough fingers dig into his scalp, firmly massaging the shampoo into his hair until the soap turns a light shade of pink. He keeps his body close and arms wrapped loosely around Chris’s waist, feeling not unlike a koala. A low moan threatened to spill from his throat as those fingers brushed over the small abrasions hidden by his hair. The pain trickled down from his scalp to his groin, adding to the warmth pooling there. To say this isn’t turning Drew on is a lie, but who could say if it is the tender show of affection or the way Chris seems to intentionally dig his fingernails into his cuts. Either way, Drew couldn’t help a small sigh leave his lips.
Chris doesn’t seem to notice, or at least he doesn’t comment on it. Gently, he cups the back of the smaller man’s head and dips him backwards into the spray of the shower. Drew’s eyes close lazily as Chris’s hands continue their soft yet cruel massage. Once he brings Drew’s head back up, he immediately falls back into Chris’s tall form. Although he was tired, he was mostly feigning it to be able to use the wide body in front of him as a crutch.
The smell of black cherry fills the moist air as Drew opens his eyes again to see Chris’s sudsy hands reach down to massage his upper body. Drew’s breath hitches as the taller man’s hands cup his chest, his chest hair catching the foaming soap. His hands linger to circle his fingers, once, twice, three times over his nipples before dropping down to swipe his hand down his furry belly. Drew’s eyes spring open to watch Chris’ hand make the descent toward his quickly hardening dick. His jungle of pubic hair floods with soap as Chris’s hand gently combs through the hair. He pauses. Slowly, he slides his hand away from Drew’s hardening shaft and instead gets another handful of soap.
A small whine bubbles up from Drew’s throat before he can stop it. Chris makes no notice as he lifts one of Drew’s arms to massage soap into his armpit. The cherry smell mixes with the sharp metallic scent of his blood, creating an intoxicating cloud that fills his senses; he squeezes his eyes shut. His cock stands hard, wet, still slightly soapy, and red. Admittedly, he almost always needs to jerk off after a deathmatch, and today is no different, and he didn’t plan to have company in the shower. Not that he minds company, but Chris is blatantly ignoring his cock. And it isn’t like Chris isn’t hard, quite the opposite, every time he moves, Drew can feel the slick slide of his cock against his thigh. But instead of finally pushing Drew against the tiled wall of the shower and fisting both their cocks in his soapy hand, he’s taking his sweet, sweet time. If Drew were less exhausted, he might put up a fight, force Chris to acknowledge his need, maybe even force him to use that pretty mouth of his. But Drew is weak, not just physically, but that sweet look in Chris’s eyes is telling him to stay still. Be good. Take only what you’re given. Don’t be greedy.
So, Drew lets Chris wash his back and does not beg. Not even with his eyes. Even when the taller man drags his nails over his open wounds, slow and deliberate. But when that teasing hand drops down to his ass, a feather-light touch at the cleft. Drew stiffens, his jaw drops, and he lets out a desperate, pitiful noise. His hips involuntarily buck, chasing after Chris’ touch.
“Touch me,” he says, intending it to sound like a demand, but his voice wobbles and he has to tilt his head up to make eye contact.
Chris’s eyes are dark, his blonde fringe curling at his brow. His tongue darts out for a second before he bends his head down into the wet crook between Drew’s muscular shoulder and his head full of waves. He presses a soft kiss there before digging his canines into the tough skin. As he bites down, his hand lightly squeezes Drew’s asscheek. Letting out a soft groan, Drew pushes himself further into the wall-like body in front of him. Finally, finally, finally. Slotting one leg in between Chris’s, he slowly drags his cock against his thigh, letting a soft hiss escape his clenched teeth. The bite turns back into a kiss before trailing up to catch the scruff on his cheek. Lightly, he bites at his earlobe, taking the delicate skin between his teeth. Drew’s cock twitches at the contact.
Finally, his molasses lips find Drew’s, immediately sucking in his lower lip, digging his teeth in.
The shorter man whimpers as he hungrily kisses back, shooting his tongue out to meet the other’s. Their lips clash together in a mess of teeth, tongue, and breathy moans. One hand strokes at the small of Drew’s back while the other fingers at the base of his neck, pulling lightly at his locks of black hair. With every pull, Drew’s hips grind into Chris’ thigh, his cock head rubbing almost painfully against the taut muscle.
When Chris finally wraps a hand around where Drew most wants him, it’s with another handful of soap. With little to no dignity left, Drew attempts to fuck into that tight wet circle formed by his hand, but Chris pulls away too quickly. Before he has time to complain, the hand drops down to his balls, cupping them and squeezing. Fuck. Drew’s knees buckle from under him, his face falling forward into the side of Chris’ chest. Caught between Chris’ pec and his armpit, Drew trys to focus on breathing as his hand abuses his lower half. The sharp smell of sweat mixing with Chris’ unwavering hand on his balls--
It is nearly enough.
Almost too much.
Choking out a whimper, roughly translating to please, I’ll be good, I need it, Drew stares up with eyes that he knows are glazed over and fucked out. He knows what that look can get him.
Chris smiles and moves his hand in order to let the warm water hit Drew’s cock and wash away the foam. “I think you’re clean now,” he says, his voice breaking through Drew’s daze. Chris roughly pulls once more on Drew’s balls before reaching over and turning the shower-head off. Groaning at the loss of contact, Drew squeezes his eyes shut, breathing in deeply. The silence is palpable; the steamy air full of Drew’s gasping breath. The only sound in the shower room is water running in another cubicle and the squeak of flip-flops as people walk in and out. The water trickles, lightly plinking off the metal faucet. He whines softly as he watches Chris pick at his clothes before flinging his towel toward him. Barely catching it in his hands, Drew holds it awkwardly in front of his crotch.
“Dry off and we’ll get you patched up,” he says with an easy smile as if he didn’t spend the last 20 minutes torturing Drew.
“But,” Drew starts, intentionally shifting the towel to outline his erection. It’s an embarrassing sentence to finish– But what about me? And it makes him feel small. And needy.
Chris smiles knowingly before taking Drew into his arms, still sopping wet. As he rests his face in the meat of his pec, he feels like crying, and he isn’t sure why. Whether it be the emotions left over from the match or the extreme want filling his body like a symbiote, something in him is building, and it will inevitably explode.
“C’mon, I got some bandages with your name on them.”
The towel is taken from his hands, and he feels the scruffy texture enveloping his torso. Chris drags the towel across his skin, over his chest, arms, stomach, scrunching his hair. When he’s done, he watches as Drew pulls his cotton boxers over his stubborn, neglected cock.
Chris pets his wet hair sympathetically, his smile saying anything but. Once he dresses himself, he grabs Drew’s waist and pulls him out of the shower room like a dog. And Drew prepares himself to beg like one, too.