Tales of Jason Pt. 02 Ch. 10

*****This story is a work of fiction. All characters depicted are 18 years old or older.*****

Tales of Jason 2

Chapter 10:

New Blood on the Mat

I rubbed the bridge of my nose and flipped the page of my textbook. Mental exhaustion had settled in after hours of studying. Earlier I'd spent some time sending out job applications, in an attempt to keep the promise I'd made to Steven. It felt good to be doing something normal again. It also wasn't fair that he kept covering everything by himself.

I closed the book and leaned back in the chair. The Halloween party still lived under my skin. Lance's closeness in the basement. What Conrad had said. Zach's warning. It all sat heavy, like I should just leave Lance alone. Yet, the pull towards him was still there, steady and stubborn.

The door to my room swung open.

Steven stood in the doorway in his blue Best Buy shirt tucked into snug black slacks. "Jason," he said, "I've been thinking. I want to join the wrestling team."

I raised an eyebrow. "Is that so? What happened to never getting caught dead wearing a wrestling singlet?"

He sat on the edge of the bed, hands on his knees, "I know. But it actually looks like fun."

"It is. Bruno got to you, didn't he?"

He grinned, "You know me too well, primo. Yeah. It would feel real good to take him down a peg. But also... it would be nice to be in a sport again. And I get to spend more time with my cousin."

The last words hit me square in the chest. Steven and I had grown up like brothers. Even though I had a real brother, Steven had always filled that space. We did everything together. He only had sisters, so it made sense that we clung to each other the way we did.

I was genuinely happy he had decided this.

"Tomorrow's training," I said, "You could come try out."

"Tomorrow? That's a little too soon, don't you think? Fuck it. I want to try it," he dropped his shoulders, "But I don't have a singlet."

I glanced at the clock. 6:02. "The night is still young. We could hit the sports store down the street."

He stood up fast, "Okay. But before that, run me through some stuff so I don't look like a complete idiot tomorrow."

"Where?"

He looked around, "How about the living room? Like when we were kids."

I shoved the textbook away, "Sure, I can use a break from this."

While Steven changed out of his work clothes, I moved the coffee table and pushed the furniture back to clear space. I had never trained anyone. I tried to remember the things Lance and the other coaches had taught me in the early days of training.

Steven walked out in a pair of athletic shorts and a thin undershirt. We stretched. I walked him through stance, level changes, and basic tie-ups. He had picked up more than I expected from sitting with Becky that one time. Once the basics felt solid, we started live.

We circled the carpet. Steven shot for my head. I ducked, drove my shoulder into his stomach, and reached for the back of his legs. He was stronger than I remembered and managed to sprawl just enough to stop the takedown. Then he locked his arms around my waist, lifted, and dumped me onto the carpet. Before I could get a chance to recover, he was already on top of me, riding me, hips heavy.

The thing I noticed immediately was the hard line of his cock against my ass through the fabric of his shorts.

I felt my own dick thicken in response.

"Okay," I said, a little breathless, "That's good. Get off me, Steven."

He rolled off, "Not bad, right?"

"Not bad at all," I glanced down, "And you've got a woody."

Embarrassment flooded his face, "I do not."

"Dude, its fine. It happens."

He huffed a laugh, "Whatever. Another round?"

This time I didn't hold back.

I went in hard.

We circled again. When he came in, I met him clean, changed levels, and drove through. My shoulder hit his hips, my hands locked behind his knees, and I finished the takedown hard. Three points. He hit the carpet flat on his back with a solid thud. I stayed over him for a second longer than necessary, both of us breathing hard and clearly hard. His cock outlined against the thin shorts. Mine was doing the same through my shorts. The air between us felt charged the way it used to, back when we had sex.

It was familiar; manageable. The kind of heat that I knew how to shut down when needed.

It wasn't the same sharp, destabilizing pull I had felt in the basement with Lance. The one that still lived under my skin and made everything quieter by comparison.

I could have leaned down. I could have closed the distance the way we used to.

I didn't.

I pushed off of him and sat back on my heels, "You're a quick learner, cousin. We've got a real wrestler on our hands."

Steven sat up, chest rising and falling quickly, "That was actually fun."

We called it there. Both of us took separate showers, then headed to the sports store.

It didn't take long for Steven to find what he wanted. A deep green singlet, the same shade as the Mexican flag.

"I love this one a lot," he said, holding it up, "Reminds me of our roots."

"I can see it now; you're going to look good in it."

He grinned, "I look good in anything."

I rolled my eyes.

We paid and drove home.

The second he walked in; Steven went straight to the bathroom with the bag. A few minutes later the door opened and he stepped out.

My mouth went dry.

The singlet was snug in every place that mattered. The fabric clung to the thick muscle of his thighs and the solid curve of his ass. When he turned slowly so I can see the back, the material disappeared between his cheeks. He reached back, hooked a finger under the edge, and tugged it free with a grimace.

"This thing keeps giving me wedgies."

"You'll get used to it, trust me," I said. My voice came out lower than I meant it to, "Jesus, Steven. You look so fucking good in that."

He faced me again. The front of the singlet was just as unforgiving. Even with underwear underneath I could make out the heavy shape of his cock and balls. Heat pooled low in my stomach. Part of me, the old part, wanted to cross the room and put my hands on him the way I used to. I could already feel precum starting to dampen the inside of my briefs.

I didn't move.

"Wow. Okay," I said, "How about you take that thing off before you give me a real problem."

Steven grinned and pointed to the front of my jeans, "Too late, primo."

I closed my legs shut, "Shut up!" my cheeks flushed red.

He undid the straps, peeled the singlet down to his waist, and dropped to the couch beside me. Which didn't make my issue better. For a second neither of us spoke, then he glanced sideways.

"Hey, not to be weird, but... when's the last time you actually jerked off?"

The question caught me off guard. I thought about it for a second. The last time had been weeks ago, months really, after seeing Lance in the showers. Everything since then had been noise and recovery and other people's bodies.

"It's been a few months," I admitted.

Steven nodded like he had already known, "Maybe you should. You know. I doubt your hand is going to give you nightmares."

I stared at the blank TV screen. He wasn't wrong. I had been so caught up with Bruno, in Lance, in trying to keep myself from falling apart that I had stopped touching myself entirely. The idea of it felt almost foreign.

"Yeah," I said quietly, "Maybe I will."

Steven's arm came around my shoulders. The weight of it felt familiar and steady.

"I love you, primo. You know that, right?"

My throat tightened, "Yeah, I love you too."

"I like having you here. A lot, actually. You're the brother I never had."

Tears stung the corners of my eyes, "Likewise, Steven. Even though I already have one. But what you and I have is different."

"Very different," Steven's voice softened, "Do you miss him?"

"Richie?" I said. My younger brother. "Yeah, I do. I wonder how he is dealing with all this. With me gone. With my mom and dad."

Steven's hand settled on my thigh, not sexual, just present. "Maybe you should try to reach out to him. It could be your way back to your parents."

I swallowed. It had been months since I had seen them; right after graduation. It felt like another life. So much had happened since then. Some nights I still wished they would've just accepted me. Maybe I never would've never met Eric. Maybe I never would've ended up in the mountains with that bear. Even with everything they said, I still missed them. I just couldn't make myself be the one to call first.

"Jason."

I looked at him. My eyes were wet.

"I think it's time I told you," Steven said, "Your mom has been texting me."

The words landed like a quiet punch.

"What?"

"Don't get mad. She's just been asking how you're doing. I didn't tell her about Eric or the bear. I know she would lose it. But she cares, Jason. She misses you. She wants to fix things between you two."

I looked down at my hands. A tear dropped into my palm. I could almost feel her arms around me again, the way she used to hum against my temple when I couldn't sleep, the way she made my favorite food every week without being asked, the lipstick kisses she left on my cheek that I used to wipe off and now would give anything to have back.

My mother still cared about me.

But my father...

I didn't know if I was ready to find out.

The fluorescent lights of the gym pressed down on us as we walked in. Steven had the green singlet under a pair of loose shorts and a sleeveless shirt. The fabric of the shirt clung to the thick muscle of his shoulders and the defined cut of his arms. Under the bright lights the shadows sat on the ridges of his biceps and forearms like they had been carved there.

The team was already gathered near the center of the mat when Lance and Jeremy walked over.

Lance's eyes flickered to me first, for a second, before he looked at Steven. His face was calm, almost blank, like the basement and the almost kiss never happened. Only the smallest tightness around his eyes gave anything away.

"So," Lance said, "You decided to try out."

"Yeah," Steven answered, rolling one shoulder, "Figured I'd come outshine you guys."

Jeremy laughed, "Wrestling is more than pure strength, my friend. But we're always looking for new bodies."

They brought us over to the rest of the team. Lance raised his voice just enough to cut through the chatter.

"We got a new tryout; his name is Steven."

A scattered round of 'hellos' answered him. Bruno didn't say anything. He just stared at my cousin with a focused, almost hungry intensity that made the air between them feel tighter than it should have. The rivalry was already there, and it was more than competitive.

Jeremy clapped his hands once, "Steven, it's a simple process. You'll go toe-to-toe with one of the guys to see what we're working with. You're on the team anyways, this is just to know where to put you."

"Sounds good," Steven said. He reached over and ruffled my hair like I was twelve, "My cousin has been showing me a few things."

"Jason's solid," Jeremy said with confidence, "Hopefully he taught you well. Today you're going to face Takeshi."

Takeshi stepped forward and gave Steven a short nod. It was calm, measuring.

Lance looked at Steven, "You bring a singlet?"

Steven pulled the shirt over his head and shoved the shorts down. The green singlet sat tight across his chest and the heavy muscle of his thighs. The front pouch was already snug. A couple of the guys made low appreciative noises. Bruno's jaw flexed once.

Lance's mouth twitched, "Dedicated, I love it. Now let's see it on the mat."

Takeshi and Steven stepped onto the mat and circled.

Steven's strength was obvious, but Takeshi was quicker, cleaner. Every time Steven shot, Takeshi would sprawl or angle off and made him pay for the overcommitment. Steven was thinking too much, trying to remember the move instead of feeling them.

"Stop thinking!" I called from the side.

Steven's eyes flicked towards me, then back to Takeshi. The next exchange was better. He kept his level lower, his hands tighter. Takeshi still took him down with a clean head-and-arm, but Steven fought back to his base faster than before. Around the edge of the mat Bruno watched without blinking, arms folded, the muscle in his forearm standing out.

They went again.

Steven started trusting his body more. He sprawled hard on one of Takeshi's shots, turned the corner, and almost got behind him. Takeshi smiled when Steven broke a front headlock with pure force. The coaches nodded. My cousin was a quick learner, always had been. Growing up it had been a quiet, constant comparison. My parents used to talk about how smart he was, how good at everything he touched. I never hated him for it, I just noticed.

My parents.

I wonder if my father would even care that I was wrestling. He used to watch WWE every Monday with the volume too loud. Sometimes he'd come outside and watch me and Steven go at it on the grass until one of us got too many grass stains down our backs.

A hard slap of bodies on the mat snapped me back.

Takeshi had finished a clean double-leg. Three points. Steven's shoulders hit the mat and Takeshi rode him for a second, both of them breathing hard. The green and darker singlet stretched tight across their backs. Jeremy blew the whistle.

"I've seen enough," he said, "Welcome to the team, Steven."

The guys clapped. Even Bruno brought his hands together, slow and deliberate, the same burning stare never leaving my cousin's face.

Bruno walked over and held out a hand. Steven, still catching his breath, took it without protest. Bruno pulled him until their chests almost touched and their faces were inches apart.

"Not bad," Bruno said, voice low, "For a newbie."

Steven's grin was sharp as a blade, "Don't worry. I'll have you face down on the mat soon enough."

Bruno's grip tightened. Something heated and unspoken passed between them before Anton stepped in with his usual wide smile, sliding an arm between their bodies.

"Okay, bros. You settle it on the mat later. Bruno is very... enthusiastic. But we are all teammates, yes? Be kind."

The handshake broke. Steven took a step back, tongue briefly touching his lower lip, eyes still locked on Bruno.

Lance moved up beside me, arms folded, watching the two of them.

"Not bad, Jason," he said.

I kept my eyes forward, "He's always been a quick learner."

"You did good with him. That ego of his is going to crash into Bruno's though. It could get messy."

"You should've seen them at the party."

"Yeah?" Lance's voice stayed even, "Bet that was a fun sight."

"It was," I turned my head just enough to look at him, "The party was full of surprises."

Our eyes met. He knew exactly what I meant. For a second the coach mask slipped and something tighter, more private, showed underneath. Then he drew a slow breath and looked back toward the team.

"We've got training to do, Jason."

That was it. No acknowledgement. No crack in the surface. Just the same controlled voice he used when he was running practice.

I stood there with my jaw set, watching him walk away.

Who almost kisses someone, tells them he can't stop thinking about them, and then acts like none of it ever happened? Part of me still wondered if the whole thing had been some kind of drunk game. Like if he knew that I wanted him and decided to play with it. But that didn't feel like Lance. Lance didn't seem like the type to be that deliberately cruel.

He was just scared.

And right now, scared looked a lot like indifference.

After training we headed for the locker room. Steven dropped onto the bench beside me and peeled the green singlet down to his waist, still breathing hard.

"That was actually fun," he said, "Takeshi's quick as hell."

I nodded, unstrapping my own singlet, "You looked hella good out there."

Steven glanced down at himself, then at me with a small, almost embarrassed grin, "I didn't even get hard. Weird, right? After last night."

"It doesn't happen as much as people think," I said, "In wrestling, you're locked in on the other person. Blood's going to the muscles. Sometimes it still happens anyway, but a lot of the time the focus keeps it down."

He huffed a quiet laugh, "Good. The last thing I needed was to pop a boner in front of the whole team on day one."

I forced a smile, remembering my first day where that happened to me.

We finished changing in comfortable silence. Steven headed for the main shower bank. I took the longer way around, toward the quieter aisle in the back.

The warm water felt good after a few live rounds. I stepped out, towel around my waist, and opened my locker. My underwear was still there. Bruno had kept his word so far, but I still checked every time.

At the far end of the aisle, I caught movement. Lance stood with a deep-blue towel riding low on his hips. Water tracked down the lines of his chest and stomach. He hadn't looked my way yet, or he had and was choosing not to show it.

My pulse kicked hard. The basement memory came back in a rush: the heat of his skin, the way his mouth had hovered over mine, the words he had said like they cost him something.

"Hey," I said.

Lance turned. The smile he gave was easy, practiced. "Hey, Jason. Had a good shower?"

He let the towel fall. Underneath he wore a pair of dark-blue Nike trunks, the fabric already damp and clinging. Of course they were blue. Everything with him was.

I swallowed, "Yeah, it was great. I needed it. Practice was pretty rough."

"It was," he glanced down the empty aisle, then stepped closer. The clean scent of his body wash, woody and sharp, hit me first. Then the heat of him, "Listen... I think you should start competing more. Seriously."

I blinked. "I thought we all did."

"Well, you do and you don't. But a lot of guys just like training and being part of the team. You've definitely got the motor for it. You should use it."

A bead of water ran from the side of his neck, down the slope of his pec, and disappeared into the waistband of his trunks. I tracked it before I could stop myself.

"I will," I said, "Thanks."

Lance's hand settled on my shoulder. His thumb pressed into the muscle there, slow and absent, like he didn't realize he was touching me. His eyes, that clear, impossible blue, stayed on mine. The air between us went tight and warm.

"Lance..." my voice came out lower than I meant it to, "The party. You said something..."

His hand left my shoulder. He rubbed the back of his neck and looked away, "It was nothing. Just drunk talk, Jason. Horny college bullshit."

"Horny?" I stepped half in pace, "You don't act like someone who is just horny. Lance, we almost..."

"Jason," the word was sharp, "I told you, it was nothing. Shit happens when people are drinking and partying. It doesn't mean anything."

I could hear it underneath the irritation, the fear, the regret. The same wall he had built up the second his phone rang in the basement. He was trying to bury it. I wasn't going to let him.

I reached up and caught his chin with my fingers. He froze. For a second, neither of us breathed. I leaned in. Our mouths were close enough that I felt the warmth of his breath.

He didn't pull away at first.

Then his hand hit my chest and shoved. My back struck the lockers hard enough to rattle them. The towel slipped and hit the floor. I was bare in front of him, already half-hard from the proximity alone.

Lance's eyes dropped, then snapped back up, "Shit. Jason... I didn't mean to..."

"Mean to what?" My voice shook, "Lead me on? I've felt this way since the day I met you. That gravitational pull, and I know you feel it too."

I dragged the towel back around my waist and held it there.

"You're just scared."

"I'm not scared," his voice flat.

"Bullshit. That phone call in the basement scared the hell out of you."

Silence. His jaw worked, then he looked at me like he wanted to argue, but couldn't find the right words.

"You don't have to be, though," I said, quieter, "Not with me, Lance."

He still didn't speak.

I don't know what made me do it, maybe the silence that hung in the air, maybe the way he was still standing there instead of walking away. I reached out and cupped him through the blue trunks. The shape of him filled my palm, already thickening. He didn't knock my hand away. He just froze, eyes locked on mine, breath gone shallow.

I rubbed once, slow, feeling him swell under the damp fabric.

His hand closed around my wrist and pulled it off him hard.

"Jason. Stop," his voice was rough, "I'm not gay. You're my teammate. Don't pull this gay shit."

He turned, yanked his clothes out of the locker, and dressed like the room was on fire. Perhaps it was. The room was hot. A minute later the door to the locker room banged shut behind him.

I saw down on the bench in the empty aisle. My hands were unsteady. A hot pressure built behind my eyes. Part of me still wanted it to be real, wanted the almost-kiss and the words in the basement to mean what they felt like they meant. Another part of me was already inventing reasons it had all been in my head. A drunk joke. A mistake. Me reading too much into someone who was never going to meet me there.

I let out a long breath and stood up to finish getting dressed.

Something dark caught my eyes under the far end of the bench. I bent over and picked it up.

A pair of underwear. Teal-blue, still faintly warm, the scent of him rising off the fabric the second it was in my hand.

Lance's.

I stood there holding them, heart still stammering. Had he dropped them on purpose? Or had he just been in that much of a hurry to get away from me? Either way, the old impulse rose up, the same one Bruno used to ride. Take them. Keep them. Have one piece of him even if the rest stayed locked behind that wall.

I felt the guilt and the thrill at the same time.

I shoved the underwear into my bag, finished dressing, and walked out.

I needed to talk to someone who wouldn't look at me the way Lance just did. I pulled out my phone and texted Becky.

We took one of the window booths. Outside, the light was already going soft and gold. Becky stirred her coffee, watching the cream spiral into dark and turn into the color of caramel. I wrapped both hands around my own cup to have something to do with them.

"You said you needed to talk," she said.

"Yeah, it's about Lance."

She gave a small, knowing breath, "Of course it is. What did he do now?"

I leaned in a little, "It's mostly what he almost did."

Her eyebrows lifted, "Okay, do tell, Argonaut."

I told her about the basement. How drunk he had been. How close he had stood from me. The exact words 'I can't stop thinking about you,' and how he had started to close the distance before the phone rang. I kept my voice low, since the café is frequented by a lot of college students.

She almost knocked her cup over, "Jesus, Jason."

"Today, I brought it up in the locker room. He quickly shut it down. He called it drunk college shit. Fraternity shit, even though he's not in one."

Becky frowned, "He's not."

"I know. I think he just meant... people do dumb things when they're wasted. But it didn't feel dumb when it was happening. And the way he looked at me after," I stopped. The locker room was still too close. The shove, the way he had frozen when I touched him, the hard edge of his voice when he told me to stop, "He's scared, Becky. I think it's his dad."

She went quiet for a second, turning her spoon between her fingers, "I don't really know anything about his father. Only that he used to wrestle. Lance never talked about family when we were together. He kept that door shut."

"Yeah, that's the feeling I get."

Becky reached across the table and raised her hand over mine. Her voice softened, "Some people just aren't ready, Jason. You've already been through hell, the relationship with Eric and everything that came after. Lance is a good guy, but he might not be in a place to accept what he wants, let alone act on it. And that timeline isn't something you can control."

I stared at the swirl of my coffee, "what are you saying?"

"I'm saying to be careful with how much of yourself you put in his hands while he's deciding. You deserve to feel safe. You've earned that, Jason."

Heat pricked behind my eyes, "I know what it's like to be on the other side of that. My own family still treats me like I died. I just... I keep thinking maybe I can make it easier for him. Like if I'm patient enough, he'll stop being so afraid."

"That's a kind instinct," she said, "but you're still healing. Lance is dealing with his own shit. Just don't let his fear become another thing that hurts you."

I let out a slow breath. The anger drained from me, leaving a familiar ache behind.

"You're right. I like him. It's not even just wanting him, there is this pull. Like gravity. But I will be careful."

Becky squeezed my hand once and sat back. A small smile pulled at the corner of her mouth.

"We always end up talking about him. His ears must be burning."

I let out a quiet laugh, "Yeah, we do, huh?" I turned the cup in my hands, "Okay, Becky, your turn. How have you been?"

Later that night I lay on my back with the window cracked open. A thin breeze moved across my skin. I was down to just my briefs. In my right hand I held the pair of teal-blue underwear Lance had left under the bench.

I turned them over slowly between my fingers. The fabric was still soft, still faintly warm from being shoved in my bag. I had never taken another man's underwear before. The wrongness of it sat right next to the thrill and somehow made both stronger.

I brought the garment to my face and breathed in.

It smelled like him. Clean body wash underneath, but mostly deeper, saltier scent of his sweat and skin. The smell of the locker room and the basement and the way he had stood too close to me. My cock twitched hard inside my briefs.

I closed my eyes and let the picture form.

Lance standing in front of his locker, towel gone, the blue trunks pushed down his thighs. The same body I had watched water run down earlier. The same thick cock I had cupped through the damp fabric and felt swell in my hand.

My free hand slid down and rubbed over the bulge in my briefs. The pressure made my breath catch. I had not touched myself like this in months. Everything felt hypersensitive, almost new.

I pushed the waistband down and freed my cock. The cool air hit the wet head and I hissed. Precum was already sliding down the shaft. I wrapped my fingers around myself and stroked once, slow, dragging the foreskin up and over the slick head and back down again. The sensation shot straight up my spine.

I pressed Lance's underwear harder against my nose and mouth and breathed him in while I stroked.

The fantasy shifted to the basement. The dim light that hung over us. The way he looked at me right before the phone rang. I imagined that this time the phone never rang. This time he finished the distance. His mouth on mine, hot and a little desperate. His hands on my waist, pulling me in until our cocks dragged against each other through the costumes.

I stroked faster, twisting my wrist on the upstroke the way I used to when I was younger and still let myself be greedy about it. Wet sounds filled the quiet room. I didn't care.

In my head I turned to him and pushed him back against the concrete wall. I dropped to my knees on the cold floor, yanked the front of his costume open, and pulled his cock free. Thick, heavy, already leaking before me. I looked up at his face while I dragged my tongue against the head and tasted him. The sound he made was wrecked.

I moaned into the stolen underwear and fucked my fist harder.

I took him into my mouth in the fantasy, slow at first, then deeper, until my nose pressed into the dark hair at the base of him and my throat flexed around the head. I imagined the weight of his hand on the back of my head, not forcing, just guiding. The way his hips would twitch when I hollowed my cheeks and sucked.

My own cock was soaked now. Precum ran over my knuckles and down onto my stomach. I was already stroking in a steady, filthy rhythm, hips lifting off the bed to meet my hand. The scent of Lance's underwear filled every breath. I let myself be exactly what I had been trying to not to be for months, hungry, shameless, focused on nothing but getting off.

The fantasy changed again. Lance pulled me up and kissed me hard, tasting himself on my tongue. His hands slid down my back, gripped my ass, and turned me around. I felt the leather of my costume and then my own briefs being shoved down. The blunt head of his cock pressed against me, slick and insistent. He pushed in with one slow, continuous thrust until he was buried and I could feel every ridge of him.

I bit down on the soft fabric of his underwear to keep from getting too loud.

In my head he fucked me with long, deep strokes, one hand on my hip, the other braced on the wall beside my head. I watched us in some imagined mirror, my back arched, his stomach flexing, the wet shine of his cock disappearing into me over and over. The sound of skin and the low, broken noises he made against my neck.

My hand was flying now. The bedsprings gave tiny protesting sounds. My thighs started to shake. I was so close the pleasure felt almost painful.

"Fuck," I choked the word into the underwear.

The orgasm hit hard. The first thick rope of cum streaked across my stomach and up onto my chest. My back bowed off the mattress. I kept stroking through it, milking every pulse. My hips jerked and the stolen underwear remained crushed against my face so I could smell him while I came. More cum spilled over my fist and onto the sheets. I didn't stop until I was oversensitive and shaking.

For a few seconds the only sound in the room was my breathing.

I lowered the underwear and looked at the mess I had made. Cum cooled on my skin. A few drops had landed on the teal fabric itself. The sight sent a fresh, complicated twist through my gut. It was guilt and satisfaction tangled so tightly I couldn't even try to separate them.

I had let myself be that version of me. The one who took what he wanted and got off on it without asking permission. It had felt necessary; it felt good.

But for tonight I let the relief settle over the guilt and closed my eyes with Lance's underwear still in my hand.

The next training session felt different the second we walked into the gym.

I dropped our bags near the wall.

Across the mat Lance was already talking Steven through a stance correction, one hand shaping the angle of my cousin's lead foot. He didn't look at me at first. When he did, the glance was brief and careful, like he was checking whether I was still going to push.

I sat on the edge of the mat and started with the stretching of my hamstrings, eyes on him the whole time.

He knew.

Practice moved the way it always did, drills, five rounds, Lance and Anton running the room. Steven kept improving in real time. Every exchange he looked more comfortable and a little less overthinking every move. The team noticed quickly. Bruno noticed most of all. He watched my cousin with that same hard, focused stared from the tryout, only now there was something approving under the challenge.

After one of Steven's rounds, Bruno walked over while Steven was still bent over, hands on knees.

"Not bad," Bruno said.

Steven looked up, grinning through the fatigue, "Thanks."

"It could've been better. But that's expected though, you're still a newbie."

Steven straightened. The grin sharpened, "Relax, buddy. I'm getting there. With enough training, one day I'll be as experience and pretentious as you."

Bruno's tongue briefly touched his lower lip, "I'll pound you into the mat."

Lance appeared between them before the temperature could climb any higher. His voice stayed even, almost light, "Alright, that's enough. I actually want to see you two go at it eventually. But not today. We have rules, same team, act like it."

His eyes flickered to me for half a second, then back to them.

Steven nodded, "Yeah, he's right, Brunito."

Bruno's eyes narrowed, "Stevie-poo."

I muttered to Bryce, who was sitting next to me unwrapping his wrists, "Great. They gave each other nicknames."

Bryce laughed, "It's kind of entertaining. The two giant egos clashing against one another. It's like watching the Rock and Jason Statham arguing in a bar."

"Don't ever tell that to my cousin."

Lance kept his distance from me for most of the session. He ran the room, corrected footwork, called out positions, but every time I looked up I found his gaze already on me. The locker room still sat between us, the shove, the way he had frozen when I touched him, the hard line he had drawn afterward. I could see it bothering him, he just refused to cross it.

I wasn't going to chase him in front of the team. But I also wasn't going to pretend the basement and the locker room had just been nothing.

When the final whistle blew, Steven dropped beside me, sweating and satisfied. I locked my arm around his shoulders the way we used to when we were kids walking home from somewhere we weren't supposed to be.

Across the gym Lance was coiled up in a resistance band, head down. For a moment he looked older than nineteen.

I watched him and felt the same stubborn pull that had been living in me since the party.

I wasn't going to force the walls down.

But I wasn't going to walk away from them either.

I would still be there when he was ready to stop hiding.