So he stands outside and smokes and taps his foot waiting for them to get the fuck out of the showers already, and it's not always just him; Casey's taken to photographing the football team for the yearbook, and sometimes he'll come and hang out until Zeke heads in to shower. Once he'd asked for a drag off Zeke's cigarette and nearly brought up a lung coughing; Zeke hadn't meant to laugh but he did, and Casey had been bent over double clutching his chest and trying to cough and laugh and spit the taste out of his mouth at the same time, and Zeke had still been chuckling when he scrubbed off the soap and turned off the shower. That had been a good day. He can't remember particularly why now, but he remembers it being good, and remembers the way the light slanted through the trees.
No Casey today. Zeke grinds out his cigarette on the asphalt, watches the last of his teammates get into their cars, and heads in to the shower.
Once he's stripped he goes through the shower room turning all the showerheads but one all the way on hot, filling the room with steam. Hooking his towel up on the pipe where it won't get wet, he turns on the last showerhead and steps under it, reaching for the soap. Thinking vague thoughts about offensive and defensive positions, car parts, and what was likely to be on the upcoming test over Lord of the Flies, he lathers up, sluicing his hands absently over his torso and down his arms. The warm water is nice and relaxing, lulling him into sleepiness.
"Zeke?"
The sudden voice snaps him back to awareness and he squints through the thick fog of steam. "Casey? That you?"
"Yeah." A smallish Casey-shaped blob starts heading through the steam toward him, skirting the streams of hot water. Zeke hopes he left his camera outside. "Damn, you like it steamy in here, don't you?"
Zeke almost chuckles at the double-entendre. "Good for the pores. You missed practice. No yearbook photos today."
"Yeah, I was running late." He's close enough that Zeke can see him clearly now, standing with his arms folded and not quite looking at Zeke. "Honest to God, man, I don't see how you can shower in here by yourself. I'd always be thinking about what Stan told us about Mrs. Brummel."
"Yeah, well," Zeke says, and scrubs the sweat off the back of his neck, "if it comes down to choosing between decaying teachers and Dave Osborne telling stupid hooker jokes, I think I'll go with the teachers. They probably smell better."
"Are you sorry?" Casey moves a little closer.
"Watch out, man, you're gonna get wet." Zeke warns absently, then thinks for a minute. "No, I don't think so. I mean, if I had it to do over I don't think I'd join the damn football team again, but I'm not sorry I gave it a shot, you know?"
"What would you do instead?" Casey asks, and takes another step. Out of sheer reflex Zeke glances suspiciously at him, but the thing about people possessed by aliens is they don't look like they're so antsy that they're about to start fidgeting like a six-year-old on a sugar high, and that's what Casey looks like right now. Zeke frowns thoughtfully and runs a soapy hand through his hair.
"I dunno. Join the chess club and listen to their stupid hooker jokes, maybe." He tilts his head back and closes his eyes against the water running into his face, shaking his head and sending droplets flying everywhere. "How about you? Would you do something different?"
"Yeah," Casey says softly, and his hands are resting lightly on the line of Zeke's waist and sliding up his sides in a soap-slippery line, and suddenly Zeke's sinuses are full of hot water and lather and fuck if he knows which way is up. "Yeah, I think I would."
Zeke chokes the water out of his respiratory system and turns around to see Casey standing nearly on top of him, looking incredibly nervous, and there's a droplet of sweat sliding down his throat from the heat of the steam and his clothes are getting plastered to his body by the shower spray, and it occurs to Zeke that at this moment Casey is quite possibly the hottest thing he has ever seen.
"Man, you are getting wet," he says in a voice that doesn't sound like his own, and damn, that was a really stupid thing to say, and maybe the thing to do is to distract Casey so he'll forget Zeke said it, so Zeke pulls him closer and kisses him.
There's water on both their mouths, falling onto their tongues like rain, sharp metal taste against the smooth underlying note that's indefinably Casey, and Zeke's hands run over water-drenched cotton to equally soaked denim, hot and wet against his skin like a New Orleans summer. And that's certainly an interesting feeling but all things considered Zeke believes that they could be more comfortable; so he unbuttons Casey's shirt, fingers slipping on wet buttons, and tosses it onto the bench at the side of the room. Casey hums his approval and slides his hand down, getting more adventurous but not quite as much as Zeke might like, and Zeke's cock is getting fairly insistent in its demands for attention but there's no way in hell he's going to grind against wet denim. Casey shifts in his arms and there are a pair of thunks that Zeke correctly identifies as shoes being kicked off, and damn, he hadn't though Casey was that coordinated but that's all right because now he can proceed with the unzipping and getting the jeans out of the way. It's exasperatingly difficult the jeans snag and cling on wet skin and don't want to loosen up and come down, and Zeke doesn't dare yank on them like he might with a girl but Casey pulls back a little and wriggles out of them, tosses them and his socks to land with his shirt, and is back with his mouth on Zeke's like he doesn't want to give Zeke time to change his mind.
Well, no damn fear of that. Casey is lithe and wiry in his arms, urgent and demanding, and his hands leave Zeke for a moment and come back covered in soap. He runs them over Zeke's chest, making both of them slippery, fingertips playing over Zeke's nipples and down, and Zeke smiles to himself, bends to nip at Casey's throat, and reaches back for a handful of soap of his own. He runs a hand down over the soft swell of Casey's ass, caressing, letting him know what's coming, and then grinds against him from the front and slips a finger into him from the back, and Casey gives a constrained yowl that at first makes Zeke wince and wonder if the soap was maybe best not used on sensitive tissues; but then Casey is rocking against him, pushing back as enthusiastically as he pushes forward, one hand moving downward to grip their cocks together as best he can given the difference in their height. And damn, that's wonderful, the slick pressure of Casey's hand around him and the feel of that hardness pressing against him, and Zeke hopes to God that the water doesn't go cold anytime soon because he's going to fuck Casey right here in the shower and definitively answer that question about the safety of school athletic shower soap for nonstandard uses.
There's water in his eyes, and a damn good thing too because otherwise he'd be gritty from sweat and steam, and Zeke pulls back his head and shakes it out in time to see Casey sluice water over him, rinsing off the soap, and slide to his knees. The water is pouring off Zeke and around him and into Casey's face, and Casey's eyes are closed against it as he leans forward, hair streaming into his eyes, and takes Zeke's cock in his mouth with enough enthusiasm to make Zeke's toes curl.
And fuck, that's wonderful, all heat and suction and the curling-flicking of Casey's tongue, but it seems from the little cat-sneeze noises he's making like the ultimate result of this blowjob might be Casey drowning right there in the shower, so Zeke after a minute of willpower-gathering pushes him back and steps around to kneel behind him. The shower's blasting on top of both their heads now and Casey raises a hand to shield his eyes from the spray, tilting his head back to lick the underside of Zeke's jaw. Fortunately they dropped the soap at some point, so Zeke recovers it and lathers up, slipping one hand down between them and the other around to stroke Casey in a slow, strong rhythm. Casey squirms and swears and splutters out water, and Zeke slides another finger in and reaches down to guide Casey's knees apart.
"Want this?" he whispers, licking a stream of water from Casey's ear.
"Yeah, um," Casey pants, sliding his hands along Zeke's arms. "Should I be on my hands and knees, or "
Zeke surveys the logistics with a tactician's eye, or with as much of one as he can muster with shower spray in his face. "No, this is here " He pushes a fraction of an inch into Casey and then stops, because Casey's given a pained yelp and tensed in his arms. "Shh," he whispers, and strokes Casey until Casey's melting again, and then it's easier going until he's sheathed to the hilt in Casey's unexpectedly mouthwatering ass and Casey is whimpering and pushing back against him. Zeke murmurs reassurance and runs a hand up to circle Casey's nipple, one or the other of them too slippery for him to get a grip.
"Fuck, Zeke," Casey says between his teeth, and nudges imperatively back against him, and far be it from Zeke not to do what he's told so he tucks Casey more firmly back against him and fucks him slowly, running his hand back down to wrap around Casey's cock. But the slow doesn't last long, because Casey is moving against him and locking his hands around the back of Zeke's neck and there really is serious danger of them either drowning or getting stuck under an ice-cold blast so Zeke hauls back and slams into him, and Casey gives a muffled cry and yes, yes, fuck yes, and that's it, and Zeke doesn't care about the water in his face at this point and Casey is wonderfully hot and tight around him and slick from the steam and moving with a breathless determination that Zeke should have expected and somehow didn't, and God he wants this to last but it's not going to, Casey's already tensing and struggling to keep the rhythm going and then he arches against Zeke and comes with a yowl that echoes down to the far end of the locker room, and Zeke wonders if anyone heard and that's it, he's burying himself in Casey and coming so hard that it leaves him shaking and breathless.
It's possible, Zeke realizes as he sits back on his heels and tugs Casey with him, that he's going to have to rethink a few things about his own sexuality.
"Um," Casey says after a while. "That was good."
"Damn straight it was," Zeke answers, and then dubiously rethinks his word choice.
Not making a move to disconnect himself, Casey peers around Zeke's shoulder at his clothes. "Fuck. Maybe I should've taken off my clothes before I got in the shower with you."
Zeke snickers into Casey's hair. "Hindsight, man."
Casey reaches tentatively to lace his fingers through Zeke's. "Got practice tomorrow?"
"Not until Tuesday," Zeke tells him. "You can wear my clothes home. I'll wear my uniform, I'm driving anyway."
"Your clothes won't fit me."
"Sure they will. You'll just have to roll them up. Everywhere. And tuck in the shirttails so you don't trip," Zeke says, and Casey reaches back and smacks him.
Smiling, Zeke nuzzles the curve of Casey's neck. "And you can bring them back tonight, how does that sound?"
"Like a plan," Casey says, sounding pleased and oddly shy, and tilts his head back to find Zeke's mouth with his.
It's a few more minutes before Zeke realizes that the water's getting cold.
