It has been a particularly grueling day at practice and all Yifan can think about is a nice hot shower soothing his sore muscles. A big meal and an early night sounds good too, even though he knows that he’s got too much homework to slog through to indulge in that.

“Good practice today,” Yifan tells his team, all of who look as exhausted as he feels. “Hit the showers and get out of here.”

They give him weary, thankful smiles and head down to the locker room beneath the gymnasium, wiping sweat from their streaming brows. Yifan wants to follow them down, but, as the team captain, it’s his duty to make sure all the equipment has been put away properly and the air conditioning unit has been shut down. It takes him all of ten minutes to make sure these tasks are done, but those are ten minutes he would rather be doing anything else.

Sighing, he traipses to the far corners of the gym, collecting the basketballs that had bounced out of bounds that no one had bothered to pick up at the time. Once they’re all back on the basketball rack and he’s wheeled the rack into the equipment closet and locked it up, he switches off the air con and finally, finally, heads down into the locker room.

Even though it had only taken him an extra eight or nine minutes today, most of the team has already rinsed off and is dressed in their uniforms again, calling goodbyes to their friends as they head out into the May evening, going to eat dinner in the cafeteria or work on homework. There are only a handful left as Yifan goes over to his locker, pulling his practice jersey over his head as he goes.

There is muffled chatter as the boys discuss an upcoming scrimmage against another school, but it’s fairly muted and Yifan is able to tune them out until they are calling goodbyes to him and he’s left blissfully alone in the locker room.

He finishes stripping off his sweaty practice uniform and tosses it haphazardly into his locker – it’s laundry night tonight anyway – then grabs his towel and soap and heads into the shower room.

Only it’s not quite as deserted as he’d thought.

One person remains, standing underneath the steaming spray of one of the showers, head bowed as water cascades over dark, rippling muscles, black hair plastered to a long, elegant neck.

Yifan stops in his tracks, an uncomfortable lump suddenly forming in his throat.

In the three months since Yifan had officially been introduced to the tall, dark-eyed first year, they have become pretty good friends. They are the only Chinese members on the basketball team for one thing, which automatically drew them together. They also get along well, despite having opposite personalities. They had bonded early on over fashion and Chinese television dramas, so Yifan would definitely consider Zitao a good friend.

What he hasn’t considered before is just how hot Zitao actually is. Sure he’s seen the kid a few times before – the whole basketball team showers together on many occasions – but this…this is different.

Zitao looks up and catches Yifan staring. Instead of pulling a disgusted face, however, his mouth splits into the cute little grin that Yifan knows is reserved solely for him.

“Ge,” he calls, waving Yifan over. “Come shower with me.”

Though Yifan has never been what one would call modest, he’s suddenly acutely aware of how he is and just how his body is responding to Zitao’s innocent invitation. “I-I thought everyone else had already gone.”

Zitao blushes and flashes another of those grins, half-turning towards the elder. Yifan is alarmed – and more than a bit excited – to discover that Zitao is half-hard himself. At least he’s not the only one. “I’m slow,” he admits. “I like to take my time, I guess.”

And, because Yifan does need to shower and it’s not like he can just turn around and walk the other direction stark , he chooses the shower beside Zitao and turns the taps towards hot.

Though all he could think about half an hour ago was this exact shower, washing away a day’s worth of grime and stress and muscle cramps, now all he can think about is Zitao lathering up beside him.

At first he thinks Zitao is completely oblivious to the effect he’s having on Yifan. He’s humming softly to himself, corners of his lips quirked up in a mysterious little smirk. And then Yifan realizes. He can’t believe he’s so stupid that it took him this long to realize.

Zitao is putting on a show for him. And what a show it is. It’s not pushy or gaudy. It’s subtle, with just the right amount of y to turn Yifan on. It’s little things, like pushing his out just a little too much or spending just a minute too long between his legs or letting out breathy little gasps when he touches himself.

Not surprisingly, it isn’t long before Yifan is sporting a full-on , and, being and in the shower, it’s pretty impossible to hide it. Not that he’s even sure he wants to. This is new territory for him and, sure Zitao is a couple years younger than him, but they get along well and he’s hot. He wonders what Zitao expects to come of this little show.

But then Zitao is turning the water off with another little smirk. “Okay, I’m finished,” he says, even though he’s definitely sporting a semi-hard on himself. “I’ll see you tomorrow, ge.”

Yifan has him pinned to the shower wall before he’s even aware of what his body is doing. “You’re a little tease,” he accuses, his voice huskier and deeper than usual.

Zitao’s smirk widens and he subconsciously his lips. “So you noticed.”

“How could I not?” Yifan demands, reaching down to palm Zitao to full hardness. “With all this on display?”

Zitao tries to bite back a moan, which makes him all the more endearing to Yifan. He nips lightly at Zitao’s lips. “None of that,” he teases. “I want to hear you.”

And that’s all he has to say for Zitao to let loose.

It’s probably a good thing they’re the only ones left in the locker room at this point. Yifan is pretty positive nobody else needs to hear just how delicious Zitao sounds while he s him into oblivion.