Page 12 of Strong Side

8

Cold Shower

Rockwell

We could’ve had this bagged in two sets, but because of my temper tantrum, we lost the first one. After Clay chewed my ass, we tried to make a comeback but there just wasn’t enough time. I won’t say I didn’t deserve his anger either.

I did.

I was sulking and trying to process how feeling Clay’s dick rubbing against my ass affected me earlier. It shouldnothave stirred up the feelings it did. My goddamn stomach flipped, and it may as well havefallen out of my ass.

However, as the sets have gone on, both our playing and our attitudes seem to have improved.

Clay has his fingers up behind his back, signaling for me to hit right in between where our opponents are on the other side of the court. But instead of focusing on the hand signal like I should be, what am I doing?

Staring at his fucking juicy ass in those shorts.

He’s a man, and my cock is stirring. In the middle of a scrimmage. Is this some kind of crisis?

I toss the ball up with the perfect spin, make my approach, and it hits my hand perfectly. The ball flies through the air and lands with a thud in the sand right in the middle of both the opponents, exactly where Clay wanted it.

Ace.

1 He looks over his shoulder, giving me a wink, pretty much saying I told you so. And fuck, if my cock wasn’t already hard, it sure as shit is now. I’m sure this could be an ad for the brief brand I’m sponsored by.

Board Briefs: they’re great at keeping sand out and boners in.

I do the same thing five more times before the ref blows the whistle to tell us to switch sides forthe last time. Clay runs up, slapping me on the ass—nothing sexual, just telling me that was a hell of a job. That many aces in a row in college is unheard of.

When we make it over to the bench, I grab my water bottle and spray some into my mouth, ignoring the water dribbles down my chin. I look up at Clay, but he’s too busy staring at what I’m guessing is the water running down my chin and neck. “You okay there,Garotão.” He’s full-on blushing now. “We’ve almost got the win.” I spray a little more water in my mouth. Clay turns away from me, so I slap his ass back, just like he did mine earlier. “Get your head in the game, Clay.”

I jog back onto the court with a smirk on my face, because I know that’s going to fuck with his head. I shouldn’t find joy in this, especially in the middle of the game, but I can’t help myself.

As I get back behind the line to serve again, all I can think about is pissed-off Clay and the way he looked when he was in my face earlier. I may have been sulking, but my body responded in a way it never has to anyone else besides him. Just that little brush against me…Cock, rock hard.

As strange as it made me feel, he did pull me out of the funk I was in, reminding me that we have a goal. We play off of one another; our energy, our communication, it’s all in sync. He knew exactly what to say to get my headback in the game. The cherry on top is a pissed-off Clay may just be one of my favorite versions of him. I’ve never seen him like that before, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want to see it again.

Making a note to keep pissing him off.

We’ve rallied back and forth a couple of points, but I’ve kept serve the whole time. It’s fourteen to zero. We’re sweeping them like we should’ve been this whole time, but we had to get that first set out of the way—bickering like a couple of teenage girls.

I’m sure we’re going to be the talk of the sand with how we were acting with one another earlier. And we’ll probably get an ass chewing from Coach when he hears about it. Clay grabbing my shirt like the fucking caveman he’snot. Why do I like caveman Clay, though? Someone sedate me.

I’m not into men.

I’m not into men.

I’m not into men.

The ref blows her whistle, and I toss the ball for what will be my last serve of the game. They get a pass, setting it up, and their big guy goes up for an outside hit. I read his body angled to the center of the court, but Clay’s up there like the brick wall he is. The guy swings right into his hands, and his hit doesn’t stand a chance. Clay blocks it and it bounces straight down.

“FUCK YES, CLAY!” I’m running to him at the net and wrapping my arms around his chest, picking him up in an all-consuming hug. He’s holding around my neck, and I’m spinning us around like we just won the goddamn Olympics. It’s nothing more than a scrimmage, but it’s our first win as partners.

The longer I hold onto him, the more I think about what this is and what it must look like. I love the way his muscular body feels against mine, the sweat from the game we just played, and the sand in between us.

I’m loving it too much.

Fuck, I can’t do this.

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