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When Marty walked into the locker room, he thought it was empty. It wasn't until he heard the clink of metal on tile that he turned and saw Shawn, still in his gear and pressed back against the wall like he was hiding.
Unconsciously adjusting the IC strap on his shoulder, Marty stood rooted to the spot. Maybe the urge to grab Shawn by the shoulders and shake him until he told him why and took it all back was just never going to go away.
He was mad that he could still read Shawn, mad that what he saw was that Shawn was scared Marty wanted to fight, mad at himself for not wanting to, and mad at Shawn for not knowing he didn't. You're the one who changed, Shawn, so how come you don't know me anymore? He turned away, good mood ruined, and tried to ignore Shawn's eyes on him as he went about his routine.
Marty knew Shawn was staring holes in his back as he undressed. That was what seven years would do for you. By now, Shawn would be just about over being scared Marty was going to kick his ass again, and more than a little pissed at Marty for making him scared. He took a quick glance at the mirror across the room, just in case he was about to be ambushed. Shawn was still in his little corner, now pouting instead of cringing.
Fine. Let Shawn pout. Marty was done with him. That was what he kept telling himself and that was how it had to be.
He walked into the shower without looking back. By the time he stepped under the spray, he heard Shawn's footsteps. Despite the fact that they were the only two there, Shawn just had to pick a showerhead next to him.
God. He ought to leave right now. There were two things Shawn could be angling for and they were both better left in the past. "Want me to wash your back, Marty?"
"No." Did Shawn want to seduce him or get the jump on him? Either way, Marty wasn't playing his games today.
Shawn sighed theatrically. "Well, I tried. I tried to be the bigger man and bury the hatchet. But if you're going to be a sore winner...."
Marty felt his fists clenching despite himself. Don't take the bait. Don't give him the satisfaction. Easier said than done.
"Don't."
"What?" drawled Shawn, drifting closer. "You wanna hit me?" His eyes slid down Marty's body conspicuously. "You want something else?"
Hoping for a hard-on, Marty knew. He was happy to disappiont him. "I don't want anything to do with you, Shawn. Not anymore."
Shawn made the kind of playfully dissppointed noise he used to make when Marty was teasing him in bed and Marty's stupid cock bobbed up eagerly. He kept his eyes on the wall and soaped up roughly, trying to pretend he wasn't sporting a half chub in front of his worst enemy, the love of his life, the man who was one unlucky fall of glass away from being his murderer.
He could hear the slide of skin on skin. "Marty," sighed Shawn. Marty could see him out of the corner of his eye, wet and gorgeous, hands running over his chest. He tweaked his nipples with an open-mouthed gasp, then slid his hands down to fondle his cock. Marty's cock was more than half-hard now, it was drooling like a dog that knew it was getting dinner. "Oh, Marty."
What was worse was that he knew Shawn well enough to hear the wheedling fear under the seduction. He'd broken Marty's heart and put him out of action for months, but here he was, scared that he couldn't make Marty want him anymore. Oh, Shawn.
His restraint slipped and he looked at Shawn, feeling the way he did when he dreamed about waking up next to Shawn, that awful, scraping hope that offered new skin under every oozing scab. What did he want to see? If he somehow saw the Shawn he'd fallen so hard for back in Central States, what would he do?
Shawn took his glance as victory, moving in close. "You never could resist me, Marty."
Marty kissed him to shut him up. There was a miserable ache in his chest but, God, God, he'd missed this. He couldn't keep his hands off Shawn, even though every happy little gasp as his fingers gravitated to the spots he knew so well felt like another little cut.
Shawn kissed like he remembered and Marty moaned, hotter than he had been since their last time even though he felt like crying. His touch was just as familiar, playing over his back. One hand slid under Marty's thigh, lifting his leg up to wrap around his waist.
It was awful how easy this still was. Shawn grabbed the shampoo to soap up his cock and Marty reached between them to guide him in. They couldn't stop being a team, not even now. They could probably get into a ring and throw double dropkicks tomorrow.
He couldn't relax but that was fine, he wanted it to hurt. It was probably a little rough on Shawn too, but he didn't complain, just slid home slowly until their bodies were flush against each other. Marty's cock was sandwiched between their bellies, dripping and desperate, but he didn't move. Just for a little while, he wanted to stay pressed as close as they could get.
"Marty?" There was a hitch in Shawn's voice that he just couldn't bear, so he combed his fingers through Shawn's hair and urged him down for more kisses. He didn't want to comfort Shawn any more than he wanted Shawn to comfort him.
He pulled back, giving himself a couple inches to thrust himself onto Shawn's cock. It made him moan, pleasure just the distraction he needed. He gripped Shawn's hips and hoped that was all the begging he'd need to do.
As always, their minds were in sync. Shawn clung to him and fucked him, moaning and nuzzling his cheek like he always did when he was overwhelmed like this, when they'd been apart for a few days. "A few days," that was the point of reference they had, and the only times they'd touched in the last year were to hurt each other.
There was no way either of them could last. Shawn reached between them to take Marty's cock in hand, thumb working over the head while he squeezed in waves with his fingers. That wasn't how Marty touched himself, that was how Shawn touched him, when he was inside him just like this, fucking Marty just right to make him wild, and there wasn't room to move his hand. Marty came hard, seeing white and feeling tears sting his eyes. A couple jerky thrusts more and Shawn followed, muffling a hitching moan in Marty's hair.
Before they hated each other, Marty would have held him, stroked his hair. Shawn would have been in a sweet and sappy mood, even if he was being a little maudlin.
Now they detached themselves efficiently and Shawn picked up his things and moved swiftly to a shower across the room, no longer making any moves to get Marty's attention. For his part, Marty kept his eyes on the wall and tried to go back to business as usual. The first thing he did was let soap get in his eyes so he could stop fighting the tears. Now at least he wasn't crying over Shawn or the seven good years they'd had before he'd decided Marty was deadwood to be jettisoned.
He rushed though his shower, trying to ignore the bile in his throat and the soft, unmistakable sounds of Shawn trying not to let Marty hear him cry.