A groan, swallowed by sealed lips. A tongue, eagerly exploring his mouth. Hands all over his chest, abs... fingers diving into his hair, tugging him closer, holding him in place. A soothing touch on his sore shoulder. A hard yet soft body pressing, sliding against his own and he holds on to that body for dear life, overwhelmed, too surprised to react...
A voice inside his mind tells him to stop this, now, before it will end in a desaster, but that voice becomes faint under the impact of a wave of all kinds of good feelings as hands grab his ass and a thigh slips between his legs, giving just the right pressure to be delicious and with a helpless little moan he bucks his hips.
He is shoved against the wall with enough force to knock the breath out of him and those lips on his, they steal it away, this breath.
It is a tiny, begging sound and the feeling of those hands, slowing down, stopping their exploring, caressing that makes him move finally. He has no idea why this is happening, but fuck, what he knows is that he doesn't want this to stop.
Just as those hands pull away, as the body agaist his own draws back, he locks an arm around a slim waist to pull that body flush against himself. Hands, on his chest and in his hair again. The warm scent of sandalwood fills his nostrils and with every breath he takes he breathes... him.
If there has been a voice of reason left somewhere in his mind, it is silent now and his everything narrows on this very moment, on the man he is holding in his arms.
Deep green eyes, full of anxiety, determination, but there is also a soft glow lying in them and underneath there is a heavy longing.
For a long moment the whole world and them, too, seems to be frozen. All there is... is the body in his arms, those eyes and the feeling of those hands. And the question why. He wants to ask it, but just as he opens his mouth, he is silenced with a quick kiss.
„Don't." The word is said quietly and it is enough to stop him from asking. The fingers in his hair smooth to the back of his neck. „Stephen..." Nothing more like a breath against his lip, like a plea almost and it sends a tingling down his spine he has never felt before.
He lets his eyes roam the familiar face, maybe to find an answer to his unspoken questions there, but there is none. The raven hair falls unruly, asking to be touched. And he does it. Lifting a hand to it, he feels the dark strands slide through his fingers, before he cups the other man's face gently and he watches in fascination as those green eyes close.
This... this can't be real, he thinks. This must be some weird dream. Maybe he has hit his head during the match and is the the trainer's room now, not in his own locker room and this is just a hallucination.
The man in his arms is... Phil. Phil Brooks.
He doesn't come any further with his musing. The hand on his chest moves, trails down over his abs to his crotch, cupping it, palming him through his trunks. His mind... shuts down.
With a growl he claims Phil's mouth in a rough kiss which is responded with an equal fierceness. There is no tenderness left now, only a need for more. He wants to touch the other man, but the skin he longs to feel is hidden under a tee and so he grabs the hem of the shirt, bunching it on the way up and the kiss breaks just long enough to get rid of the offending piece of fabric. Their tongues battle for dominance while his hands are busy with those dark locks again, with feeling every inch of that soft skin and it is hot to his touch, as hot as the trails Phil's fingers leave all over his upper body... as goddamn hot as the hand on his already rock-hard dick.
There is a sharp pain on his side, fading off in a delicious burning as nails are scraped over his own skin with just the right pressure and it leaves him gasping into the kiss. That briefest of moments is enough for Phil to take the lead... and Stephen surrenders.
Heat pools between his legs and he has to hold on to the other man as a skilled hand unties his trunks and pushes them down his hips, only to close around his cock. With a strangled moan he breaks away from those addictive lips, his head falling forward onto the smaller man's shoulder as the hand begins to move expertedly, quickly settling for a steady stroking in a pace that makes his heart pound hard enough to steal his breath. His blood pounds in his ears, every beat fading off in a deafening buzzing and it gets stronger with every movement of Phil's hand. Waves of goose bumps chase the other as hot breath fans over his neck...
Being locked to the spot between the wall and the body in front of him, he can't do nothing but cling to Phil, finding himself reduced to what he feels. What Phil makes him feel. With helpless, stifled moans, groans he turns his head to bury his face into the crook of the other's neck. Breathing him. Hearing him breathe shuddering little breaths close to his ear. It sends sparks of heat spreading throughout his body, causing him to buck his hips hard, forcefully thrusting into the hand that feels so mindblowing good on his cock.
Within a ridiculous short time he is close to his release, his body shuddering under jolts of electricity and then Phil quickens the pace just a bit, whispers his name right into his ear and it is enough for Stephen to loose it.
With a shuddering, drawn-out groan on his lips he cums, pressing his face tightly against the soft skin of Phil's neck. The impact of his climax almost knocks him off his feet and it is Phil who holds mit up while the aftershocks roll through him in delicious little waves. Only slowly his heart and breathing slows down and with every breath he takes there is sandalwood... Phil...
A hand settles on his nape with an almost shocking tenderness and plays with the short hair there.
„I'm not coming back," Phil whispers right beside his ear, the words sinking very slowly into his still muzzy brain.
And then Phil pulls away from him, just like that, and leaves him standing there naked, with his trunks pooling around his feet and still shivering slightly from their little encounter. Leaves him standing there like an idiot and all Stephen can do is watching while Phil throws his tee back on and grabs his sweater, holding it on waist-height to carefully cover the traitorous spots on his jeans. His own cum. On Phil's jeans. Shaking his head to clear the fog his mind is engulfed in away, he seeks the other man's eyes, but his gaze is not answered.
„Wait... what do yer mean, yer are not coming back?" he asks a bit shakily and finds a humorless smile spreading over Phil's lips and then it comes back, that one question he has wanted to ask from the beginning. „And why... why are yer here?"
„I quit."
Those two words hang heavy in the air between them. The second answer though... remains unanswered. It is obvious that Phil isn't going to give him more information, so ge grabs him by the wrist as the raven haired man passes him to leave the room, but with a surprisingly forceful, almost panicked tug Phil frees his arm and closes the short distance to the door in quick strides.
„Phil!" Stephen calls, pushing away from the wall to follow him and almost trips over his own trunks. „Phil, wait!"
For the briefest of moments Phil stops, squaring his shoulders as if he wants to face him. But instead he opens the door. And leaves. The door closes with a quiet sound. A heavy quietness falls over the room.
„Phil!"
But he doesn't come back. Stephen leans back against the wall, scrubbing his hands through his face while a groan of confusion passes his lips, while he still tries to process what just has happened. His mind refuses to accept all this though.
Phil Brooks has come here, kissing the dear life out of him... giving him a hand-job for whatever reason and good God, he has actually enjoyed what the other man has done...
„God..." he exhales heavily.
And then he tells him he has quit, that he's not coming back and leaves without any kind of explanation.
„Holy... shit..."
This all... does something funny to his belly and as he looks up again, over to the door that stubbornly refuses to open and reveal Phil, there is one thing that shoves any other thought aside.
What now?
x
It is close to midnight as he steps up to the front door of Phil's house. He has never been here before and in a way he is surprised, disappointed almost that the house looks rather boring, totally normal, yet it is a house and how else should it look? Red stars all over the roof, a giant Pepsi logo on its front and Best in the world on the name plate? He snorts at the mere idea.
A soft light illuminates the windows and the dimmed sounds he can hear through the door indicate that Phil is quite busy in there. Ever since the second Phil had stepped into his locker room, Stephen feels like his whole world has been turned upside down. It has left him shaken to the core and although he knows that all of it has happened, he still can't believe it. Phil has kissed him. Phil has... it was practically having sex... in a way.
A thud close to the door shakes him out of his thoughts. Involuntary he takes a step back, feeling as if being caught out and suddenly he feels also nervous, scared almost by his own courage to come here to find out what this is all about. But he can't go now and act like nothing ever happened.
It has happened. Definiteley. He can't just scratch it out of his memory like an ugly spot and... he doesn't want to. Phil has often enough been irrational, but this time it was more than that. This goes far beyond being irrational.
And so he steps back to the door, lifts his hand and knocks, hoping that Phil will open the door, that he won't throw it close again after telling him to fuck off and because there is no reaction, he knocks again. And then he rings. Again there is a dimmed sound, now directly at the door and Stephen guesses that Phil looks through the door viewer, so he answers a stare he doesn't even really sees.
„Phil, please open the door. We need to talk," he calls, tilting his head a bit to the side while trying to keep a neutral expression on his face.
For a few seconds there is nothing.
Then: „Just go away, Farrelly."
The voice coming through the door sounds exhausted and defeated, causing an unfamiliar worry to stir in his guts.
„I'm not going anywhere," he replies, wiping a hand over his forehead.
Nothing.
„Brooks..."
Still nothing. And because he has no idea how to cope with the situation, he does the one thing he wants not to happen. He snaps.
Giving the door a kick, he roars: „Open the bloody door, Brooks, or I'll open it, yer bastard!"
Only a second later he curses himself. With a sigh he puts his hand flat on the door, hanging his head.
„I'm sorry," he says gently and means it. „Please, Phil. Please."
Again there is nothing. As much as he wants to, he can't kick the door open and it is too cold to sit down and wait until the man comes out eventually, so he does the only thing he can do. He turns around and begins to walk towards his car.
The sound of the opening door is so quiet that he almost misses it. Almost.
Hesitantly he turns around again, finding the door ajar. But there is no Phil. The nervousness grows as he makes his way over to the house with his hands shoved into the pockets of his pants, shoulders tense and his lips pressed to a thin line. He is here for answers, no matter what answers he will get. Rolling his head he takes a deep breath and steps in.
Phil sits on the second last stair with is forearms bracing on his thighs, his hands dangling between his knees and his eyes are fixed on the floor. Stephen closes to door, before he walks closer to the other man, noticing that the closer he comes, the more his heart speeds up. Pulling his hands from his pockets, he crosses his arms over his chest and curls his hands to fists, willing himself to stay calm. Phil looks as exhausted as his voice has sounded through the door.
„What do you want, Farrelly?" he mutters, not looking up.
The humorless smile Stephen has seen back in his locker room is there on Phil's lips... still or again, it's not important. Fact is, it is a much too cold one to be healthy. The question though makes Stephen want to laugh in disbelief.
„Yer can't be serious, Brooks," he huffs. „Yer are not really asking me tha?"
No eye-contact. No reply.
„I can't believe tha..." Stephen exhales sharply while tightening his fists. Annoyance begins to boil in his guts as he adds: „Why did yer come to me locker, huh? Why...? Phil, yer..."
There, he can't even say it aloud. The humorless smile on the other man's face becomes something that might be supposed to be a grin, but he looks very much like he's baring his teeth.
„It's not important."
The reply is not quite a huff, nor a snort or a sigh. It is an odd mixture of it.
„Fuck yes, it is!" Stephen snaps and his hands fall to his side, still clenched.
„No, it isn't, Farrelly. Not anymore," Phil states monotone. „I'm leaving and no one will know about it. And now you should go and forget the whole thing."
„Forget...?" A whisper, wrapped up in utter disbelief. „Yer are... yer are nuts! What the fuck goes on in tha crazy mind of yer's huh?! Forget? The hell I can forget tha a man has given me a hand-job!"
A chuckle, low and mirthless.
„You seemed to enjoy it."
„Tha's not the point! I want to fucking know why the hell yer did tha!" he thunders, closing the short distance between them to grab the other man by the collar, hauling him up until they are nose to nose. „Spill it!" he hisses and gives him a rough shake, trying hard to ignore how his heart hammers against his chest and he isn't sure if his heart is pounding like this out of anger or out of being scared about the answer... or because Phil is so close.
„You should go, Stephen," Phil says just above a whisper and the combination of the use of his first name, the way the words are spoken and the lack of resistance Phil is showing causes Stephen's breath to catch in his throat.
Something shifts in the depths of those green eyes, revealing a sadness, thick and heavy and Stephen lets go of him, reaching up to... he doesn't know, maybe to soothe the sadness away... but he stops himself at the last moment and backs away instead.
„I just want to understand it, Phil. I..."
He falls silent. Hopes for an explanation. And he knows by the look on the other man's face that he will get none.
„Look, you should go and let... it... be a thing of the past. Maybe you can't forget it, but at least you won't be reminded of it every time you see me," Phil says, dropping his gaze to the floor. „I quit and I'm not coming back."
„I stopped counting how often yer have said tha in the past, Brooks."
The raven haired man blinks once, furrows his brows and smiles again, a smile that is real... but it's heavy with the sadness that show in his eyes.
„I sold the house and... I'm going back to Chicago."
The funny thing about this very moment is, that Stephen finally knows how a schizo must feel, because here is a really pissed Stephen who is actually happy to hear that. But there is also a confused Stephen who still isn't sure how to feel about the whole thing. And not to forget about the overwhelmed Stephen who stands hidden behind all those other Stephen's, totally scared. And the Stephen who feels... sorry... to hear that Phil leaves, one-way to Chicago and out of his life.
Too many Stephen's...
He wants to say something neutral to defuse the situation a little, but what comes out is: „Oh, and giving me a hand-job was on yer bucket-list of what to do when quitting yer job? A random point somewhere between selling the house and packing yer stuff? Huh?!"
Before he even realizes what he's doing, his hand is back on Phil's tee, fingers twisting into the fabric to pull him close again and somewhere in is utterly confused mind he wonders if he just spat those words right into the other man's face to get a familiar reaction from him. A tart, snarky comeback. Something Punk-like, because the lack of biting comments is unsettling.
Phil's eyes are wide, but not because he's afraid, shocked or surprised. It's a completely different emotion and it confuses Stephen even more.
„You just can't let it be, huh? Okay then," Phil whispers and thin lines of sorrow appear on his face. „I came to you because there is something every time I touch you or you touch me, Stephen. It's like a weird kind of attraction. I feel it and it fucking haunts me and after leaving Vince's bureau I... I don't know. I thought that I need to do something about it and since I won't come back, it seemed like the best moment to..."
Stephen stares at him, stares into those green eyes in bewilderment, he knows that, but he can't not stare. He hears what Phil says, but his mind once again refuses to accept it. And he has run out of words to describe how he feels.
„Don't look at me like that. You shouldn't ask for the truth if you can't stomach it," Phil tries to snap, but it's very much audible that he isn't really pissed. „Maybe you're right and I'm nuts. Maybe even weird, sick or pervert. Whatever. I can't make it undone."
With that he settles a hand on Stephen's and peels it off his shirt, not meeting much resistance and Stephen wills himself so very hard to ignore the warm scent of sandalwood that fills his nostrils, now that Phil is so close again... now, that his mind is filled with words which are shocking, yet making him think. And he also tries to ignore his running heart, the tingling he feels at the other man's touch. He's shocked about himself...
„I want you to go now," Phil mutters as he steps away. „It's late and I gotta get up early."
With that Phil turns around and walks up the stairs, leaving him behind. It takes a moment in which his tongue seems to be glued to the roof of his mouth and his lips just won't let even one word pass, a long moment until he can shake the stupor off and when he eventually finds his voice again, the other man has already reached the top of the stairs.
„Phil..." he calls, uncertainty heavily lacing into the name, but he falls silent because he has no idea what to say.
„You wanted an answer and you got it," Phil replies wearily, without looking back to him. „Just go."
With that he vanishes out of Stephen's view. A thud as a door is closed. And then... silence. Torn between following him and leaving, he keeps gazing into the darkness of the upper corridor for a while, before his feet carry him out of the house eventually, back to his car where he slips onto the driver's seat and he realizes that his hands are trembling. He grabs the steering wheel tightly to stop it.
Half an hour? An hour? Longer? He has no idea how long he sits there while the weight of his utterly confused emotions weigh down on him, making it hard to breathe... to think...
When he looks back to the house long after he has left it, the windows are dark, making it look dead. Empty.
With a shuddering sigh he starts the car eventually, thinking that he has no fucking idea what to do now. Again...