After Hours

Chapter 1: After Hours

Elias

The stairwell smelled like chlorine and old concrete, and Asher’s mouth was on my neck like he owned it.

I had him pinned against the wall two seconds ago. Now I couldn’t remember how he’d flipped it.

“Careful,” he said against my skin. “Someone hears you, whole team’s gonna know exactly what you sound like.”

“Shut up.”

“Make me.”

I dragged him back by the collar and kissed him hard enough to bruise, just to shut down whatever line was coming next. It didn’t work. He laughed into my mouth, low and satisfied, like he’d won something.

His hand shoved under my waistband. I caught his wrist.

“Slow down,” I said.

“You’re the one who followed me down here, Kann.”

He wasn’t wrong. That was the worst part.

I let go of his wrist. His hand kept moving, wrapping around me, stroking with the kind of rough, practiced confidence that came from two months of doing this exact thing in empty corners of the facility. I bit down on the sound that wanted to come out of me, because if he heard it, he’d never let me forget it. I planted my palm flat against the wall to stay upright, and even that felt like losing.

“There he is,” Asher murmured, watching my face like he was reading something. “Mr. Untouchable. Wish they could see you right now.”

“Asher—”

“They think you’re so tough. Tell everyone to stay out of your lane. Funny how quiet you get the second I’ve got my hand on your dick.”

“I’m going to kill you.”

“After,” he said. “Kill me after.”

I shoved my own hand into his shorts and took him in the same grip, just to shut him up. It half worked. His breath went ragged against my ear, and for one second I had the upper hand again, felt him lean into the stroke instead of taunting me with it. I pushed my advantage, used everything I knew about exactly what made him lose his rhythm after two months of this, and for a few seconds he was the one biting back sound instead of me.

Then he recovered. Of course he recovered. He always recovered faster than I did, like his body refused to let him lose an argument even when his voice couldn’t keep up.

He tightened his fist and twisted on the upstroke, thumb dragging over the head in a way that made my knees threaten to give. “This the same mouth,” he said, voice wrecked but still needling, “that told the whole locker room to stay out of my lane this morning?”

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t, not with the two of us racing toward something neither of us would name out loud, both of us matching each other stroke for stroke, neither willing to be the one who broke first. He shifted his grip, pressed closer, and I lost whatever ground I’d gained. My forehead dropped against his shoulder because I couldn’t hold my head up anymore, and I felt him smile against my hair like it was a trophy.

“That’s it,” he said quietly. “There you go.”

I went first. I hated that I went first. I bit into his shoulder through his shirt to keep from making a sound and felt him shudder at that instead, felt him follow a few seconds later, quieter than I expected, spilling over my fist like even now he was holding something back from me.

For a second neither of us moved. The stairwell lights buzzed overhead. Somewhere above us a door opened and closed, footsteps crossing the floor, and we both went still like animals waiting out a predator.

The footsteps faded. Asher exhaled, and just like that the moment closed itself up like a fist.

We cleaned up in silence—shirts yanked straight, shorts adjusted, hands wiped on the inside of gym bags like nothing had happened. Two months of this and we still hadn’t crossed the line into anything more. Hands. Mouths sometimes. Grinding against each other in the dark until one of us gave in. That was the limit. That was the deal. No one had ever pushed further, and neither of us had asked.

“Move,” I said, already stepping back.

“Bossy.” But he moved too, quick and efficient, running a hand through his hair like the last five minutes had cost him nothing. Whatever had cracked open in his face for that one second in the dark was gone. He looked like he always looked. Bored. Amused. Like nothing had cost him anything.

I didn’t look at him.

“Same time Thursday?” he said, like we were confirming a lunch order.

“This isn’t a thing.”

“Never said it was.” He was already at the door, hand on the bar, not even glancing back. “Just benefits, Kann. You said it yourself.”

He pushed through the door first. I gave it a full minute before I followed, because the one rule we actually kept was that we never walked out together.

By the time I reached the pool deck, he was already three lanes down, toweling off like he’d been there the whole practice, laughing at something one of the sophomores said. Nobody looked at him twice. Nobody looked at me twice either, which was the point, which was the entire design of this stupid arrangement—invisible, deniable, over the second we walked back into the light.

“Kann.” Coach Reyes waved me over, clipboard in hand. “Glad you’re back, we’ve got the pairing announcement.”

“Pairing for what.”

“Relay lanes. New format this season, we’re doing partner drills, cross-training pairs, the whole thing. Locked in for the semester.” He flipped a page. “You and Hale.”

I heard Asher’s towel stop moving three lanes down.

“Come again,” I said.

“You heard me. Best two times on the team, we want you pushing each other. Starts tomorrow, six a.m.” Reyes was already walking off, already moving to the next name on his list, completely unaware he’d just handed me a life sentence.

I didn’t look at Asher. I could feel him looking at me, though, could feel the smirk forming from three lanes away without having to see it.

Six a.m. Every day. For a semester.

My whole body still remembered the stairwell—his hand on me, the rough drag of his fist, the way I’d come first again like I always did—and now I was going to have to stand next to him at the blocks tomorrow morning and pretend none of it existed. Pretend he hadn’t just gotten me off against a concrete wall twenty minutes ago. Pretend this was just rivalry, just training, just two guys who couldn’t stand each other trying to go faster than the other one.

I grabbed my bag and headed for the locker room without a word.

Behind me, I heard Asher laugh—quiet, to himself, the kind of laugh that meant he already knew exactly how this semester was going to go.