The door to the cozy apartment creaked open, revealing the dimly lit haven tucked away from the prying eyes of Sprunk Academy. Oren dragged himself inside, his gym bag slung haphazardly over a broad shoulder, muscles screaming from a brutal day of coaching. Sweat clung to his brow, his dark hair matted against his forehead, and his t-shirt stuck to his chest like a second skin. He was a walking disaster, and he knew it—but damn, did the scent of something savory hit him like a lifeline.
He kicked the door shut with a grunt and shuffled toward the kitchen, where the aroma of garlic and herbs grew stronger. There, framed by the soft glow of overhead lights, stood Simon—apron tied snug around his waist, a wooden spoon in one hand, looking like some kind of domestic deity. His blond hair was slightly tousled, and the way his tight shirt hugged his frame made Oren’s exhaustion momentarily irrelevant.
“Well, well, look who dragged himself in,” Simon drawled, his voice dripping with playful mockery as he turned, a cheeky grin splitting his face. “You’re a sweaty mess, Oren. Did you wrestle the entire team today, or just roll around in the mud for fun?”
Oren snorted, dropping his bag with a thud. “Hilarious, Si. Keep talking, and I’ll make you clean me up yourself.” He tried to sound gruff, but the corner of his mouth twitched upward as Simon sauntered over, a cold glass of water in hand.
“Oh, darling, don’t tempt me with a good time,” Simon shot back, handing over the drink with a wink. His green eyes sparkled with mischief, and Oren felt a familiar warmth curl in his chest. “Drink up before you pass out on my clean floor. I’m not mopping up after you again.”
They settled at the small dining table, which Simon had set with surprising care—mismatched plates, a flickering candle, the works. Oren dug into the steaming plate of pasta, groaning at the first bite, but his eyes kept wandering. Simon’s shirt clung to his chest in all the right places, the outline of hardened nipples catching the candlelight in a way that was downright distracting. Oren’s fork paused mid-air as he stared, just for a second too long.
“Eyes up here, perv,” Simon snapped, though his smirk betrayed any real annoyance. He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms with an arched brow. “I didn’t slave over this meal for you to ogle me like I’m the main course.”
Oren choked on a laugh, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Can you blame me? You’re practically serving yourself up on a platter with that apron.”
Simon rolled his eyes, but the glint in them was pure trouble. “Flattery won’t get you out of doing dishes, big guy.” Then, without warning, he leaned across the table, his fingers brushing Oren’s chin as he swiped a bit of sauce from his lip. The touch lingered, deliberate and bold, sending a jolt straight through Oren’s tired body. Simon’s thumb grazed just a little too long before pulling back, popping it into his own mouth with a hum. “Messy boy. What am I gonna do with you?”
The air between them crackled, charged with a tension that had been simmering all evening. Oren’s throat went dry, but he managed a crooked grin. “Keep that up, and I’ll show you messy.”
Simon’s laugh was low, almost a purr, as he leaned closer, his voice dropping to a suggestive murmur. “Oh, sweetheart, you’d better keep up with me if you’re making promises like that. Finish your damn dinner—I’ve got plans for dessert, and I don’t mean cake.”
The challenge hung between them, and Oren felt his pulse kick up a notch. He shoved another bite into his mouth, barely tasting it, as Simon watched with a predatory smirk. The moment his plate was clear, Oren reached out, his calloused fingers brushing Simon’s cheek with a tenderness that belied the hunger in his eyes. “I need you, Si,” he whispered, voice thick with longing. “More than you know.”
Simon’s gaze darkened, desire flashing across his features. He didn’t hesitate, grabbing Oren’s hand with a firm grip and yanking him out of his chair. “Let’s go, slowpoke,” he commanded, his tone leaving no room for argument as he tugged Oren toward the bedroom. “I’m not waiting all night for you to catch up.”
Inside the small, dimly lit room, Simon took charge without missing a beat. He pushed Oren against the wall with a force that made the coach’s breath hitch, capturing his lips in a searing kiss. His hands roamed over Oren’s tired frame, firm and possessive, mapping every inch of sweat-slicked skin. Oren melted under the intensity, letting Simon peel off his damp shirt with a swift tug.
“Finally getting a good view,” Simon muttered, his tone dripping with sass as he tossed the fabric aside. His eyes raked over Oren’s bare chest, unapologetic and hungry. “You clean up nice when you’re not covered in gym grime.”
Oren chuckled breathlessly, his hands itching to touch, but Simon was already guiding them, pressing Oren’s palms against his own body with a demanding arch. “Don’t stop, idiot,” Simon ordered, his voice a heady mix of authority and need. “I didn’t drag you in here for a nap.”
Clothes hit the floor in a frenzy, a tangle of fabric and hurried hands. Simon’s confidence was a force of nature as he straddled Oren on the bed, setting the pace with a wicked grin. “Keep your hands busy, or I’ll do it for you,” he teased, his sharp instructions cutting through the haze of desire as he moved with deliberate intent.
The room filled with their shared gasps, the air thick with heat and Simon’s relentless teasing. “Come on, coach, don’t tap out now,” he taunted, pushing Oren to the edge with every calculated touch, his dominance both playful and intoxicating. Oren was helpless under his control, every nerve alight as Simon orchestrated their rhythm with ruthless precision.
When they finally collapsed together in a tangle of limbs, breathless and spent, Simon’s smirk hadn’t faded. “Pathetic stamina, Oren,” he muttered, though his voice was softer now, laced with a warmth that undercut the jab. His arms tightened around Oren, pulling him close in an embrace that spoke louder than any insult. Oren buried his face in Simon’s neck, a tired smile tugging at his lips, knowing full well he’d take the teasing a thousand times over for moments like this.
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