Breaking In The Straight - Part 8

---------Alex’s POV----------

The locker room was quiet, save for the distant hum of the fluorescent lights and the occasional drip from a leaky showerhead. The heavy, musky scent of sweat and body spray clung to the air—a typical post-rugby stench. I have to admit the smell didn’t bother me, in fact I quite enjoyed it.

I leaned lazily against a row of lockers, arms crossed, watching Chad finish up his solo training session in the adjacent gym. His muscles glistened with sweat, the remnants of his extra drills and lifts, his body moving with the raw, unfiltered confidence that made him so infuriatingly attractive.

Chad had been the one to text this time. His turn, per our arrangement. That alone told me something was shifting.

I smirked as he walked in, grabbing a towel and wiping the sweat off his face, his chest rising and falling with each breath. He looked good.

“Enjoying the view?” he asked, tossing the towel onto the bench.

I shrugged. “Always. But mostly, I was just thinking about Brady.”

Chad tensed slightly, trying to play it off. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” I stepped closer, dragging a teasing finger down his chest, smirking at how his breath hitched. “I like how unapologetic he is. A proper gym bro, all confidence, no shame. He doesn’t pretend to be anything he’s not.”

Chad scoffed. “The guy just flat-out admits he likes getting fucked. That’s different.”

“Different how?” I tilted my head, my voice silk-smooth. “It’s just pleasure, right? He says it’s not about submission—it’s about what feels good. No excuses, no guilt.”

“I don’t make excuses,” Chad muttered, but his jaw tightened as I stepped even closer, pressing against him.

“No? Then what’s this?” My fingers traced the waistband of his shorts, feeling the heat of his skin beneath. “You called me, Chad. You want this.”

His breath was ragged now, and I could see it in his eyes—the war inside him. He wanted this, but the thought of anyone knowing terrified him. I knew it.

I didn’t let up, sliding my hand lower, teasing him through his shorts. “Come on, big guy. Relax. Enjoy yourself.”

He swallowed hard but didn’t pull away. Victory.

We were barely keeping quiet.

Chad sat on the wooden bench, legs spread wide, his body tense but desperate as I knelt between them. I pulled his shorts below his balls revealing that glorious 8 inches of jock-meat again.

I worked my mouth over him, slow and teasing, my hands gripping his thick thighs. He let out a choked groan, his head tilting back against the metal lockers.

“Fuck, Alex…”

I smirked against his skin, knowing exactly how much he was holding back. His hips twitched, his fingers curling into my hair. He loved this, no matter how much he fought it.

I took my time, letting my tongue swirl around the tip, teasing him with slow, deliberate strokes. His breath hitched as I sank lower, my lips stretching around him as I took him deeper. I felt his thighs tense beneath my hands, his muscles flexing as he tried—and failed—to stay quiet.

“Just like that, Alex,” he groaned, his voice barely above a whisper, his hand tightening in my hair.

I hummed in response, the vibration making his hips jerk involuntarily. I let my fingers trail up his stomach, feeling the sweat-slicked ridges of his abs as I set a steady rhythm, hollowing my cheeks and sucking harder. He was so close, I could feel it, the way his breathing turned shallow, his legs spreading just a little wider, like his body was giving in even if his mind refused to.

Then—a noise.

Footsteps echoed from the hallway outside. Voices.

Chad froze.

I pulled back, licking my lips as I looked up at him. His face was pale, his whole body rigid. Panic.

“Shit,” he whispered, hastily yanking his shorts back up, breath short and fast. “Hush—”

I rolled my eyes, standing up as I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. I wasn’t worried.

We waited, breathless, as the voices passed. Then silence.

Crisis averted.

Chad exhaled sharply, standing up so fast he nearly knocked over the bench. “We are never doing that again. Jesus fuck, we could have been caught.”

I scoffed, crossing my arms. “You wanted me to come here! What’s the big deal?”

“The big deal?” He turned on me, still flushed, but now angry. “Alex, my reputation matters. I can’t have people thinking—”

“Thinking what?” I cut him off. “That you like this? That you like me?”

His mouth snapped shut.

There it was.

I took a step forward, my voice sharp now. “That’s why we don’t work outside sex. You refuse to be honest. You dodge every question about me coming on your little ‘backbacking’ thing. You refuse to admit this is anything other than getting your dick wet.”

Chad clenched his jaw. “That’s not—”

“Do you like me?” I pressed, my heart hammering despite my calm exterior. “Because I think I like you.”

The air shifted.

Chad tensed, something unreadable flashing across his face. I watched his defenses rise, the walls slam back into place. And then—

“Yeah, sure, I like you,” he said, voice forced, arrogant. “Your hole is great.”

I froze.

The words stabbed.

I blinked, something sharp and painful tightening in my chest. Then I scoffed, stepping back. “No. Really like me?”

Silence.

Then, suddenly, Chad’s face twisted—anger, fear, self-loathing colliding all at once. And then he snapped—

“NO! I’m not a que—”

His voice cut off.

My stomach dropped.

Chad’s eyes widened, as if realizing what he had almost said. Too late.

The damage was done.

I stared at him, my throat tight, something breaking inside me. I swallowed, nodded once. “Fuck you, Chad!”

Then I turned and walked away.

Behind me, I heard him curse under his breath, his breathing ragged. Then—

A loud, furious punch against the locker.

Metal dented.

“Fuck!” Chad shouted, voice breaking, frustration exploding out of him.

I didn’t stop walking.

I was done.