The Hockey Captain’s Obsession

Alexander waded closer, the water swirling around his waist. He looked up at Oliver, his grey eyes burning with a desire he had hidden from the world for twenty-eight years.

"The manager," Alexander growled, "doesn't know what I think about when I'm alone in the shower."

He reached a wet hand out, grabbing Oliver's ankle. But this time, the grip wasn't to hurt. It was to pull.

"Come in," Alexander commanded.

Oliver jumped.

The water was warm, like a bath, but Oliver shivered as soon as it soaked through his jeans.

Alexander didn't let go of his ankle. His grip was iron-tight, pulling Oliver deeper until the water lapped at his waist. They stood chest-to-chest in the shallow end of the St. Regis penthouse pool, the city lights of New York glittering below them like a carpet of diamonds.

"You're fully dressed," Alexander murmured. His voice was rough, a low rumble that vibrated against Oliver's ribs. "This is a private pool, Oliver. We don't do clothes here."

Oliver looked up. Up close, without the hockey gear or the "Captain" persona, Alexander was devastating. Water droplets clung to his long, dark lashes. His chest heaved with every breath, the muscles defined by shadows and the blue underwater lights.

"I didn't think I'd be swimming with the Ice King," Oliver whispered, a playful smirk touching his lips despite his racing heart. "Does this count as overtime?"

Alexander didn't laugh. His grey eyes were dark, dilated, scanning Oliver's face with a hunger that was almost frightening.

He looked like a starving man presented with a feast he knew he shouldn't touch.

"You shouldn't be here," Alexander said, his voice straining. "If anyone sees us... if the team finds out..."

"No one is here, Alex," Oliver interrupted softly. He reached out, placing his hands on Alexander's wet shoulders. The skin was hot, scorching even through the cool water. "Just us. No captain. No assistant. Just... friction."

He pressed his thumbs into the tense muscles of Alexander's neck. It was a professional move, a massage technique, but the intent was anything but professional.

Alexander groaned, his head falling back slightly. "You're dangerous, Hartley."

"I'm just a guy who needs to pay rent," Oliver teased, moving his hands down Alexander's chest, tracing the line of hair that disappeared into the waistband of his swim trunks. "And you look like a guy who needs to break something."

Alexander's breath hitched. He grabbed Oliver's wrists, stopping him. "I'm straight. Everyone knows I'm straight."

"Is that what you tell yourself in the shower?" Oliver challenged, stepping closer until their hips bumped underwater. "Because earlier today, in the locker room... your body disagreed. Loudly."

Alexander squeezed his eyes shut. The conflict on his face was painful to watch. He was fighting twenty-eight years of repression, of being the perfect Montgomery heir, the perfect athlete.

Oliver decided to end the fight for him.

"Let go, Alexander," Oliver whispered against his wet skin. "Just for tonight. No names. No labels. Just feeling."

He leaned up and brushed his lips against Alexander's jaw. It was a feather-light touch, a question.

Alexander snapped.

With a growl that sounded more animal than human, Alexander released Oliver's wrists and grabbed the back of his neck. He crashed his mouth down onto Oliver's.

It wasn't a gentle kiss. It was a collision. It was desperate, messy, and consuming. Alexander kissed like he played hockey, aggressive, dominant, and terrified of losing.

Oliver gasped, opening his mouth, welcoming the invasion. Alexander's tongue swept inside, tasting of chlorine and mint. His stubble grazed Oliver's cheek, burning him in the best way.

"fuck," Alexander cursed against Oliver's mouth, breaking the kiss for a split second to breathe. "You taste like trouble."

"Then get in trouble," Oliver panted.

Alexander didn't need to be told twice. He grabbed the front of Oliver's soaking wet t-shirt and ripped it. The fabric tore with a loud rip, exposing Oliver's pale, slender chest to the cool air and the hot water.

Alexander's hands were everywhere, mapping Oliver's ribs, squeezing his waist, sliding down to cup his ass through his heavy, wet jeans. He lifted Oliver effortlessly, pinning him against the smooth tiles of the pool wall.

Oliver wrapped his legs around Alexander's waist, the friction of denim against skin creating a delicious drag. He could feel Alexander's hardness pressing against him, demanding attention.

"Take them off," Alexander ordered, his voice thick with lust. "Now."

Oliver fumbled with his belt, his fingers shaking. He kicked off his jeans, letting them sink to the bottom of the pool. Now, there was nothing between them but thin layers of fabric and boiling heat.

Alexander buried his face in Oliver's neck, biting down on the sensitive cord of muscle there. Oliver threw his head back, a moan escaping his throat that echoed in the empty penthouse.

"Alex... please..."

"Please what?" Alexander growled, his hand sliding between them, gripping Oliver's length through his briefs. "Please stop? Or please ruin you?"

"Ruin me," Oliver begged. "Make me forget my name."

Alexander looked up, his grey eyes blazing. "Done."