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Locker room showers never got hot enough to wash off the shame of tennis practice and Seonghwa never got through tennis practice without the intense need to scrub off a layer of his skin.
He rubbed a rough washcloth over his chest until it gleamed pink under the lukewarm water. He felt dirty. He always felt dirty after tennis practice.
Seonghwa squeezed his eyes shut and saw his coach with those pleated shorts that hit mid-muscular-thigh and those toned arms that popped veins when he gripped the racket. He saw his coach’s teasing smirk and heard the edge of his accent that only leaked through when Seonghwa had him on the ropes.
It was wrong. Seonghwa knew it was wrong. For many reasons and in many ways. But he still gasped lightly when he wrapped his hand around himself, already half-hard. The spray of lukewarm water on his back didn’t still his racing heart, and bracing his free hand on the shower wall didn’t keep the images of his coach out of his head.
The way he guided Seonghwa’s swing with the warm weight of his hands on Seonghwa’s shoulder and wrist. The way he jumped to reach the ball when Seonghwa hit it wild. The way he wiped sweat off his temples and swept his thick hair back. The way he sat when he watched Seonghwa do his drills; reclined, one leg up on the bench bent to show off his calf and thigh, the other spread casually, head tilted to watch Seonghwa’s movements with sharp, feline eyes.
Seonghwa bit his lip and moved his hand faster. If he could just work it out of his system…
His coach might touch him gently, like he did when he corrected Seonghwa’s form. He might trace his fingers down the center of Seonghwa’s chest, and down, and down. He might tease. He would probably tease.
“Coach Choi,” Seonghwa whispered under the lukewarm spray of water. “San, please.”
He might tell Seonghwa how pretty he looked, how good he felt, how perfect. He might say dirty, filthy things. He might touch Seonghwa like he would break; delicate and soft. Or he might bite and scratch. He might leave his mark. He might be possessive, he might call Seonghwa “mine” and hold him after like he meant it.
Seonghwa shivered under the lukewarm water. “San,” he pleaded softly. “San.” He was close, almost to tumble over the edge. “San,” his voice broke a bit on the forbidden word.
“Seonghwa? Are you alright?” San’s voice echoed through the locker room, just outside of Seonghwa’s shower stall.
Seonghwa froze, breathing hard, hand tight around his leaking cock. San never came into the locker room. “Yeah,” Seonghwa sounded out of breath and shaky, like he might have been crying. He swallowed thickly. “Yeah, I’m fine.”
“Seonghwa,” San used his patient, gentle voice. His encouraging coach voice. “You said my name just now. You don’t usually call me ‘San’ and you sound upset. Can we talk about it?”
Seonghwa would rather eat his entire bar of soap. He took a deep breath and shut the shower off. The sudden empty silence in the locker room crushed him with its weight. “I’m not upset,” he said to break the silence, but his short breaths and the shame leaking through his tone belied the words.
“Seonghwa, please talk to me.” The door rattled as San leaned against it. “Did I say something? Did I do something to make you uncomfortable?”
Seonghwa toweled his hair dry roughly. “No, coach. I’m fine.”
“You’re obviously not fine if you’re crying in the shower.”
The rough towel scratched Seonghwa’s skin as he dried himself. His dick twitched at the thought of San seeing him helpless and desperate and crying for him. If San knew how much Seonghwa wanted him... He immediately felt sick to his stomach with guilt for the thought.
“Seonghwa,” San spoke softly through the door. “Can you tell me why you said my name?”
“No,” he said helplessly. He wrapped the towel around his waist, holding the bulk of it to cover his lingering erection. “I can’t.” He rested a hand on the door, but didn’t unlock it.
A moment of silence passed. “If you can’t tell me, I’ll guess.” San’s voice sounded close to the door. Right up against it. “I’ll guess that you don’t want me as your coach anymore.”
“No,” Seonghwa protested. “You’re a wonderful coach. I don’t want anyone else to coach me.” The truth, even if it was colored by the wrong reasons.
San exhaled a short laugh. “Then I’ll guess you feel overwhelmed with the schedule and we should cut back on practices-”
“No.” Seonghwa sounded too heartbroken at the thought of seeing San any less than three days a week. “No,” he repeated, more collected. “The schedule is fine. I haven’t had any trouble completing my classwork.”
San sighed through the door. “Are you sure you don’t want to tell me?”
Seonghwa’s hand hovered over the lock, but he couldn’t make himself unlatch it. “I can’t,” he said honestly. His gut twisted with the thought of confessing.
San sighed again. “Alright. But I want you to know you can talk to me.”
The rough towel around Seonghwa’s waist sagged as he leaned against the door and wished he were brave.
-----
The lights flickered in the bathroom after Seonghwa's first match of the day. San had shouted over the spectators, glowing in the sunlight. His shorts were always just this side of too short, the third button of his polo open, and his hair falling into his face as he followed the ball back and forth.
Seonghwa felt overheated and tense. He closed himself in a stall and unzipped his shorts.
San touched him after the second set. Ran his hands over Seonghwa's arms and told him to loosen up. Placed his palm over Seonghwa's chest and told him to trust his instincts. Drifted those same warm hands over his sides and back to fix his posture and over his wrist to fix his grip on the racquet.
A soft breath fell from Seonghwa's lips and he squeezed his eyes shut when his hand wrapped around his length. He shouldn't be here. Shouldn't be doing this. It had gone far past "working it out of his system."
He bit the inside of his cheek and leaned against the wall of the bathroom stall. But San's hands were so soft and so sure. Never afraid to push, but never going past the point of comfort. And how might they feel on his bare chest? On his bare back? How might they touch him, tease him?
It wouldn't take much. Seonghwa already felt desperate enough to jerk off in the bathroom between tennis matches. Hot embarrassment twisted in his gut, somehow magnifying the sensation of his hand.
"San," he breathed, barely audible against the buzzing of the light. His hand moved faster, another soft noise in the empty bathroom.
"Seonghwa?"
Not so empty then. Seonghwa froze, mortified.
"Are you alright?" San asked. "They're setting up for your next match."
"I'm fine, sorry." Seonghwa cleared his throat. "I'll be right out."
San clicked his tongue. "I told you not to eat that at that food truck for lunch."
"No, it's not-" Seonghwa stopped before he admitted anything and tucked himself away, doing his best to hide his erection in the waistband of his boxers. And trying to ignore the fact San almost catching him didn’t make him any less aroused. "It's fine, I'm fine. Really."
He flushed the empty toilet and opened the stall door. San waited for him, patient concern on his face. "If you don't feel well, I can get them to postpone your match."
Seonghwa realized he should wash his hands, and turned the water too cold. "No, I'm good to play."
San's hand on the small of his back made him stiffen and leave his fingers under the freezing water. "Are you sure? Food poisoning is no joke. We can reschedule if you need to-"
"I don't have food poisoning," Seonghwa protested. "I'm fine, I was just- I needed-" He could feel his face burn under San's watchful gaze. He shook his head. “It’s nothing.”
San patted his back and stepped away as Seonghwa dried his hands. “You know you can talk to me. If something’s bothering you.”
Seonghwa forced a laugh. “I know, coach. Thank you.”
He couldn’t tell him. What would San say if he knew?
-----
Seonghwa rushed to the locker room after tennis practice. He didn’t grab any of his things before he tore his clothes off and set the water as hot as it would go in the public club’s shower. These only had a plastic curtain to separate the showers from the rest of the room, but the locker room was empty and Seonghwa passed the point of caring long ago.
San’s voice.
A heavy shiver ran down Seonghwa’s spine as he dipped his head under the lukewarm water. He hadn’t performed his best today and San called him out on it. “Watch your form,” “Move your feet,” “Come on, Seonghwa, serve like you mean it!”
The way his voice growled, frustrated, while he rolled his shoulders in his sleeveless polo with the third button undone and his tiny shorts. Strong arms and muscular thighs. Warm, sure hands. A rough edge to his voice.
Seonghwa’s hips bucked into his hand and he gasped as lukewarm water rolled down his back. “San,” he whispered, and the thought of how San would react if he knew how desperate Seonghwa was for him sent heat through his chest. “San, I need--” he twisted his hand around himself and leaned against the shower wall so the water ran from his shoulder down his arm to ease the slide. “I need,” he whispered again, lost in the wrongness of it, but needing it all the same. “San,” he pleaded.
A noise outside the shower made him look up through the gap where the curtain didn’t quite meet the wall. He made eye contact with his coach, who didn’t look very surprised or disgusted, or embarrassed. “Seonghwa,” he spoke calmly. “I think we need to talk about this.”
Seonghwa leaned back against the divider wall, hand still wrapped around himself, but motionless. “I’m sorry,” he started. “Coach, it’s not- I’m just--” but there wasn’t an excuse.
San glanced around before walking up to the curtain and pulling it back. “Why don’t you tell me what you need, baby?” He closed the curtain behind him and toed his shoes off in the space outside the stream of lukewarm water. “Tell me what you think about when you do this.” His voice sounded just a touch too airy for him not to be affected.
Seonghwa’s lungs forgot how to hold air. “I’m sorry,” he repeated. “I shouldn’t- I know I shouldn’t--”
San raised his eyebrows, untucking his polo. “No you’re not. You’re not sorry.” He paused. “Tell me to leave and I will. You can find a new instructor or we can go back to pretending I don’t know you jerk off after every practice.”
Seonghwa shuddered under the shower. He knew the whole time. Of course he knew. Seonghwa swallowed thickly. “Don’t leave,” he whispered.
San’s smile took Seonghwa’s breath again. He pulled his shirt over his head and stepped out of his tiny shorts to join Seonghwa under the water. “Come here, baby.” Standing up from his place in the corner of the stall took more effort than it should have. San touched his arm carefully. “Tell me what you think about.”
Seonghwa leaned into the light touch. “You,” he forced himself to admit. “You always wear those tiny shorts and your thighs… They’re just--”
He couldn’t finish the thought, but San took his free hand and pressed it against his bare thigh. “My thighs?”
Seonghwa couldn’t believe any of this, but he’d never been one to look a gift horse in the mouth. He squeezed his coach’s firm thigh and stroked the warm skin, smooth under the running water. “You’re so hot,” he said. “You’re so sexy. Your voice, your body, your attitude.” He couldn’t stop once he started. The words flowed out in a rush. “I think about what you’d be like. I think about how you would touch me, how you would talk to me.” Seonghwa’s hand moved around his dick without him being totally aware of it, but it made him whine a little.
Fascination sharpened San’s features. He stepped closer and spread his hands over Seonghwa’s chest. “You’re incredible.” He flicked his thumbs over Seonghwa’s nipples which made him whine again, high and needy. “How do you like to imagine me? What do I do?”
“You fuck me,” Seonghwa admitted with a short sigh. “You tell me I’m good. Tell me I’m hot. Tell me I’m yours.”
San touched Seonghwa’s wrist to stop the hand working over his dick. “Let me help, baby.”
Seonghwa removed his hand and made a desperate sound when San touched him. “Please, San,” he shuddered. “Please- oh fuck.”
Soothing fingers through his wet hair hushed him. “It’s alright, baby, I’m right here. I’ve got you.” San’s hand twisted just right, just enough pressure, just fast enough to drive every thought from Seonghwa’s head. “Keep talking to me. Tell me how I fuck you.”
The low rasp of San’s voice against his ear made Seonghwa buck into his hand. “Fuck,” he breathed. “You shove me up against the wall. You push me and pull me just how want.” San’s other hand smoothed down Seonghwa’s back to grip his ass. “You kiss my neck.”
“You like kisses?” San interrupted. When Seonghwa nodded yes, he leaned in to drag his lips over the sensitive skin of Seonghwa’s neck. “Like this, baby?”
“Yes,” Seonghwa shuddered and his hips bucked into San’s fist again. “Yes, fuck.” Nothing he ever imagined could have felt this good. Warm and wet from the shower, warm and wet from San’s body and his mouth. Seonghwa must be dreaming.
San’s mouth traveled the column of Seonghwa’s neck, kissing and licking and scraping his teeth over the skin. “What else?” he whispered against Seonghwa’s ear. He squeezed the meat of Seonghwa’s ass and dragged a finger down the cleft to make Seonghwa whine again. “Tell me what else.”
Seonghwa thought he might combust from the knowledge that San was actually touching him. He also knew he wouldn’t last much longer. “You go slow at first.” Seonghwa clawed at San’s back desperately when he pressed a finger lightly against Seonghwa’s hole. “Please, fuck San, please. I need- I need it.”
A breathly laugh against his ear, and the fingertip pushed gently inside under the lukewarm spray of the shower. Seonghwa moaned softly and rocked his hips between Seonghwa’s hands. “I go slow at first?” San encouraged.
“You’re careful with me,” Seonghwa dropped his head into the curve of San’s shoulder, unable to hold it up. “You tell me how good I feel.”
“You do feel good.” San nipped at his ear. “You’re so sexy, Seonghwa. You’re so hard for me.” He squeezed the hand around Seonghwa’s dick for emphasis. “And so nice. Just sucking me in.” He wiggled his finger a knuckle deeper. “So pretty like this,” he mouthed up Seonghwa’s neck. “So pretty for me, so good.”
Seonghwa’s legs threatened to give out. “San,” he whined, hips jerking between grinding back on San’s fingers and thrusting forward into his fist. “San.” He wanted more. He already felt too close to the edge.
“I’m here, baby,” San soothed and seemed to understand. He moved his hand faster around Seonghwa’s dick, twisting at the head, pressing just right in all the most sensitive places.
A soft, broken moan fell from Seonghwa’s lips. “San, I’m- Please,” he begged.
San didn’t stop, he kept kissing Seonghwa’s neck, sweet murmurs sinking into Seonghwa’s skin. All at once, it became too much and Seonghwa would have collapsed if San didn’t hold him upright. Thick ropes of white painted San’s hip, then washed away under the water. Seonghwa couldn’t think a single thought, floating in the warmth of San’s arms and breathtaking pleasure. Relief he never found in his own fist.
“There, baby.” San stroked his back. “Is that better? Is that what you needed?”
Seonghwa whined softly, coming back to himself. “Yes. Yes, thank you.”
A fond laugh echoed off the yellowed plastic dividers. “Will you be more focused at practice now?”
Seonghwa turned his face further into San’s neck. “I’m sorry.”
“No you’re not.” San lifted Seonghwa’s chin between two fingers and forced him to meet his eyes. “I need you to focus at practice. You’re a good tennis player and I need you to win more matches so I don’t look like a bad coach.”
Seonghwa could only nod. San’s smile crinkled his eyes. He leaned in and kissed Seonghwa’s mouth as he turned the water off.
“Dry off. Make sure you’re eating enough. When I see you Wednesday, I want a marked improvement.” San backed away and Seonghwa missed his warmth.
“Yes, coach.” Seonghwa bowed his head, still reeling, but satisfied. The itch had been scratched. Maybe he worked it out of his system after all. He shivered in the cool air. The locker room showers never got hot enough anyway.