AN For a fic with the moniker 'Smutty Cricket Fic' there certainly hasn't been much smut so far. What's that? Oh. Be warned/enjoy :D

Thanks for all reviews and comments so far, I really appreciate them.


I enter the bathroom, blinking through the steam that is fogging up the mirror and filling my lungs. I leap under the shower, displacing the steady stream of hot water as I do so, sending splashes falling onto the floor, and leaving droplets lying heavy on Syed's lashes. He blinks them away and smiles slowly, stretching his hand out towards me, and I grab his hips as I let myself be pulled into his embrace. We find each other's lips as the water falls and pounds onto our bodies, my tongue lapping to find the traces of salt still lingering at the edges, those precious remains that the shower has not yet obliterated and cleansed away. He moans and pulls me nearer, his hands grasping the wet skin on my back, nails digging in to gain further purchase, and his mouth opening, drawing my tongue into the warmth of his mouth. We kiss with our whole bodies, our tongues colliding, our lips pressing, our hands caressing clammy flesh as slippery and desperate, we find ourselves lost again in our familiar private duet of love. I let my fingers follow the trail of water down Sy's back, every nail lightly stroking a path of shivery delight, whispering moans into his mouth as he flexes and grinds back into me. Our mouths finally break for air, but our bodies refuse to part, even as I feel our chests both gasping through the fog of damp air.

"It's been a long week," I murmur into his ear as my mouth wanders over his cheek and his neck, lapping up the tiny pools of water that nestle in the hollows of his collarbones. My hands go wandering too, grasping his arse as we slide together, gasping as my desperately aching cock hits against his, our hardness pressing almost painfully into our stomachs, demanding our attention but not yet, I tell myself, not yet. And as I suck at the pulse in his neck, and listen to his half uttered words, I run my hands further down, reaching the muscles in his thigh that are still tense and rigid. I can feel their ache, their unpleasant tightness, their pain from the unfamiliar pulls and commands of this evening. I wonder momentarily if I know this because of work, because of my daytime routines of second guessing the trials and inflictions of other people's bodies, but as I hear the low groan emerge from Syed's throat I know for sure that it is the night-time knowledge of Syed's body that brings me such heightened awareness of his every wordless flinch and whispered utterance.

"Is it sore there baby?" I ask quietly, stroking my fingers along the ridges of his taut muscles, pressing gentle kisses into his neck.

"Mmmm, a bit. It's all just a bit tight." He laughs quietly. "Guess I really am out of shape. At least it's still a couple of months of training before the season starts."

"You need a personal trainer," I smirk, pushing my thumbs into the top of his thighs, digging out the knot there the way that Sy has so often done for me. "Seriously though, we could go running together sometimes, wouldn't that be great?"

"Yeah…maybe." The hesitation in his voice is apparent and I pull back slightly, moving my hands to his hair and pushing the sodden locks back behind his ears, so I can look fully into his eyes.

"We'll see, eh. But right now," and I push him back away from me, laughing as he splutters with indignation and inhaled water, "right now, you need to stretch."

"Christian, I already have," he grumbles as I twist him round till he faces the wall, his arms out stretched, his hands resting on the tiles.

"Well apparently not very well. Come on you, get those quads properly stretched out otherwise you'll be no fun for me later."

He laughs and obediently leans against the wall, one lean leg in front of the other, stretching out the taut muscles as hot water drips onto his body and glides down, kissing every inch with its consistent, impersonal caress. I watch him, his skin somehow seeming to glow and blossom even under the flicker of the fluorescent light, and my desire swells even greater. I follow the path of water stroking along the curve of his back, nesting into the slight hollows at the base of his spine, trailing along the smooth skin of his arse before becoming tangled and lost in the rough hairs of his thighs. And oh fuck his legs, stretched like that, begging for the attention of my licentious eyes and the touch of my fingers, my nails, my mouth, my tongue, my legs, my cock. He swaps legs, moaning slightly as the muscles release and re-tense, and he shakes his head to rid his locks of the errant droplets that hid within. My eyes feel drunk with sensation, with the vision in front of me providing such perfect contrast to the surroundings; his tanned skin resting against the bright white wall, the soft angles of his skin as it presses against the harsh lines of the tiles, the sweet low hum of his voice whispering of soreness against the loud persistent drumming of the water on the floor. And then there is the way he stands here, so open to my eyes, letting me see all of him, his pain, his beauty, the strength in his lithe body and in his tender heart, his openness here to me in private against the way he covers himself up in public, letting his heavy desire and spirited pleasure rest only in shadowed eyes, allowing no-one else such a luxury as this, such a luxury as him.

He makes me impossibly greedy. I want to stare at him until my eyes forget about the existence of other sights, until the image of him is forever burned into my retinas. I want to touch him, to cover him with my body, feel his skin pressed tightly into mine, let him find the parts of me that send me to a place I never knew existed. I want to taste him, to feel him quiver and shake under me, to fill myself with him until I fall, so drunk on him I cannot stand. I want him here, naked, private, mine and I want him outside, sitting next to me in the pub, walking next to me in the street. I want him to stand with friends and with family, exchanging mock exasperated glances with me as those he love talk to him, tease with him. I want him everywhere and all the time, and sometimes I wake in the night and can't truly believe that he is there until I rest my hand on his heart and listen to the steading beats as I lull back off to sleep.

But he is mine and he is here, in our shower, alone.

He leans back slightly and rolls his head round his neck, shrugging his shoulders loosely as he does so. "Definitely out of shape," he mutters.

"I can help," I reply, pouring a generous dollop of shower gel onto my hand as I move into his proximity, my hands pressing into his skin at the top of his back, kneading the muscles while my mouth nibbles eagerly at the wet skin on top of his shoulders. "Okay?"

"Mmmmm….you are very good at this you know. Maybe it should be you doing the course instead of me."

There is a touch of pained doubt in his tone and I try to dampen it down the only way I know how, with slicked up hands stroking over his slippery chest, damp lips punctuating whispered words with sloppy kisses. "Sy, stop this. Where does it come from eh? Listen to me, you're the best damn masseuse in the whole of London. Fuck that, the world."

"And you've checked out all the competition have you?" There is a laugh in his voice that wasn't there before, and then a hitch in his breathing as my hands wander further down his stomach, and I press harder into his back, my cock rubbing between our wet skin as he falls forward onto the wall, his head resting back on his hands.

"No need. I know I've got the best…right…here." And I reach for him, my hand around his erection, running my fingers up and around, smearing gel and water as he moans and thrusts into my fist. I move faster, my knuckles scraping against the smoothness of the tiles and roughness of the grout, my cock grinding into the soapy sleekness of his back and his arse. It is familiar and good and hot and messy and fast. We don't last long, our need too long delayed not to chase immediate satisfaction and there are sudden shakes and cries reverberating around the small foggy room as we come. Syed collapses back into my arms, the sticky mess of semen rubbing into his back as he shifts to rest his head on my shoulder, turning to place a solitary kiss onto the skin of my neck.

"Nice," he sighs, and I nod in agreement, my hands now smoothing gel back over his stomach but with more casual, gentle strokes, cleansing, soothing. We stand in silence, our bodies as one under the steady pressure of the shower. I feel the rise and fall of his chest, the pulsing of his heart through his body, the ease as his muscles finally relax and calm. Wordlessly, we wash each other with hands and mouths and hearts alike until the water starts to run cool and goosepimples start to appear on our shivering skin.

"Bloody hot water," I mumble, moving away from Sy to turn off the taps, all the time mentally cursing Ian for his stinginess and refusal to agree to a newer boiler.

"I was beginning to get all pruney anyway," Syed replied, presenting a finger to my face with a kind of solemn earnest, laughing as I pulled it into my mouth, then moaning as I sucked harder on it, my eyes meeting his heated gaze. He bites his lip and steps nearer to me, ruffling my short hair with his free hand. "So, I was thinking…" and he looks so desperately delicious, I feel the sudden anxious need to bite him, suck him, inhale all of his newly fresh scent.

"Yeah?"

"I'm just not sure if that was enough of a thank you?" He gazes up at me from half shaded lashes, his eyes speaking of a thousand filthy images.

"Well you know much I hate arguing with you. So?" I grin, my mind working overtime and my body preparing itself eagerly for the promises implied.

"So….what do you think would be an adequate thank you?"

I swallow, and stare again at Syed standing in front of me, at his supple strength lying within lean muscles, and the thoughts that had regularly occupied my mind since that night a few weeks ago, the images of him in my mind, of him striding forth, fierce, determined, graceful in his control and ability, and they culminate into one desperate, urgent need.

"Fuck me Sy, I want you to fuck me."

We don't often do this, but judging by the expression that flashes over Sy's eyes, the sudden burst of fierce flame that takes over and burns my skin with its intensity, and by the way his knuckles whiten as they grab my wrist and pull me out of the shower, rushed, possessive, eager… Well I'm guessing that right now Sy is not needing much convincing.

Mouths fighting with mutual desire, hands roaming with frantic pace, we half stumble our way out of the bathroom, not stopping to grab a towel or make any concessions to our sodden state in our wintery flat. As we fall onto the bed, I am hit by the chill breeze that creeps in through the windows and sends cold shivers over my body, but Sy is there, rubbing warmth through the caress of his fingers, his lips leaving my mouth to cover my body with his tongue, replacing the drops that are rapidly turning to ice with his perfect searing heat. Our wet skin soaking into the sheets, he grabs the duvet and pulls it completely over us, covering us in a blissful cocoon of warmth, pleasure and love. I blink to attempt to adjust to the sudden darkness, but before I can see properly I gasp with sudden delight as I feel Sy begin to slide his wet and slick finger inside me.

"It's okay?" he asks, and I feel the movement of his lips and the imprint of the words against the damp skin of my neck as he speaks.

"Fuck yes. Just like that Sy. Just…shit." And then I feel those same lips curve into a smile, his tongue now stroking a line back and forth along the length of my neck, working to the same pace as his finger inside me, the dual sensations sending electric shocks sparking out of my every nerve ending. I feel his hot breath hit my skin in pants and gasps as he moves more rapidly, letting another finger join, as he then ghosts my neck, my chin, my cheeks, my mouth in what feels like hundreds of feather-light kisses. I can't kiss back, I haven't enough breath to kiss. I try to speak, to tell him how good he feels, how much I love him, how much I want him, right now and always, but all I can find are incoherent cries of delight and incomprehensible murmurs of pleasure. All I can do is to reach for him and cover his skin with my hands and run my fingers through his hair and over his scalp, letting their silent caresses tell all that my failing mouth cannot. This isn't usual, normally lust serves to loosen my tongue in more ways than one, especially with Sy, especially when I can see the way his body reacts and his eyes flash when I tell him exactly what he does to me, and then what I want him to do. But this is different. This is just ours. Sy has never been with another bloke like this, and God, it's been a long long while since I've had anyone else fuck me, and so the few times that he has let me feel him inside me have all been tinged with this sense of awareness, of being special, of belonging to us. As my body shivers with the feel of his possession, my mind trembles with the knowledge that no-one else knows exactly of this Syed, no-one else is aware of just how he can bring me to my knees with a look, with a word, with a touch. It makes the blood pump faster and harder through my body until all I can hear is it rushing through my ears, my mouth running dry as my brain falls into dizzying fits of desperation.

"Sy...please…now," I manage to gasp out the words and I feel the movement of his Adam's apple against my neck as he swallows.

"Side," he whispers breathlessly into my ear, "my thighs…" and I find a slight laugh, which turns quickly into a drawn-out moan as I feel his fingers slide regretfully from me.

I roll over onto my side, pushing myself back into Syed's chest as I do, his teeth and tongue marking the skin on my back, his nails scratching my chest as he runs his hands down my body before reaching to himself and then pushing gently, firmly, slowly inside me. He takes his time, moving with a control that I struggle to find, edging and resting, each movement causing my eyes to flicker shut until I catch a desperate breath again. My body is shaking with anticipation. I've never been too good at waiting and knowing that Sy is so controlled and so perfect behind me tips me over the edge. I can't take any more and so reach behind me, to grip what I can find of his arse as I push myself back, gasping as the breath expels from my lungs with the shock and pleasure of him fully inside me.

"Christian…oh fuck…you feel…you're so…fuck…" Sy's low voice purrs in my ear, cracking at the end and dissolving into the kind of curses that only fall from his lips when passion drives all sense from his mind.

My own senses are overwhelmed by him, the feel of him inside me, fitting so perfectly, moving so perfectly, every movement igniting sparks of fire all through my body. My flesh is shivering but burns hot with every flick of his damp hair onto my skin, the slide of his legs against mine, the coarse stubble of his chin scratching a searing blissful path over my shoulder. I shut my eyes, letting the waves of pleasure fall over me with the sound of his low voiced whispers, letting the multitude of visions of Sy flood my brain; the way he looked, stretching in the shower, his divine body on show for my eyes alone, he way he looks whenever I enter him, the way his pupils widen and he bites his lip, the idea of him performing on a sports pitch, everyone's hero but my man at home. Thoughts suddenly enter my mind, of grabbing him, sweaty and muddy, dragging him to a locker room, behind a stand, fuck anywhere and just taking him there and then, clothed, glowing, gorgeous, mine. Loud desperate keens fall from my mouth and I grab his hand, moving it to pump my already wet cock, letting dreams and reality combine as I fuck his hand and feel him thrust ever stronger into me. And now, now words can flow freely as I find myself coming nearer to the edge, displays of my passion cascading helplessly from my mouth.

"You are so fucking amazing Sy, d'you know that? Do you have any idea how hot you are? How much I want you, always, always? Feel baby, feel how hard you make me. Sexiest fucking man I've ever seen, ever felt. You drive me fucking wild. You, always you…"

Syed's moans grow louder, his hand working faster as his movements grow more erratic, leaving me breathless, scrambling to keep a hold on myself, beads of sweat falling from hair and adding to the sodden sheets.

"So..close, oh shit…oh Christian I'm gonna…" and I felt Sy collapse into me, his body shuddering as his release pulses through me, his heartbeat thundering heavily through my body, overshadowing my own racing pulse. "Come for me baby," he breaths huskily into my ear and that is enough to really make me lose it, to leave me convulsing with breath-taking ecstasy as my nerves shatter into a thousand splinters of love.

Finally we lie in each other's arms, tired and sated, aching and tender, an unstoppable smile filling both of our faces.

"I think I missed my ideal window for repairing muscles," Syed muttered into my chest.

"Hmm…" I pause, stroking back his curls one by one, peering over his body at the plates of cold congealed mess that was our dinner. "Yeah I think the dinner is pretty much fucked. On the plus side, you've just had another workout so you have another ideal opportunity to refuel. And you know what else is provides an perfect mix of carbs and protein and doesn't involve moving very far from the bed?"

"Pizza?" asks Syed, his hopeful tone apparent even as his words were muffled by my chest.

"Exactly. Pass us the phone in a sec and I'll get calling."

"Yeah…in a sec," he replies lazily, his fingers tracing over my biceps.

"And then we can put new sheets on too," I laugh, flincing slightly at the feel of the cold dampness that lies beneath me. I continue to stroke Syed's hair, listening to his gentle purrs of encouragement, thinking of this evening with a grin, until a sudden thought invades my mind. "Sy?" I ask, tentatively, not wanting to disturb our peace, but curiosity driving me on, "did they not have showers at your training place? Not that I'm complaining in the slightest," I add quickly.

Sy fidgets on top of me, and then raises his head slightly to look into my eyes. "They did. I just didn't use them. I didn't want to risk…" he trails off until he gathers himself again and swallows. "I know it's stupid, but everything went so well I just couldn't bear the thought of having to relive all those memories from school. Trying too hard not to look at anyone in case they thought I was looking at them, in that way, and said something. I'd felt so good, like I fitted in and I didn't want to risk ruining all of that."

I hug him tightly again, and kiss his head, my next question hurting me even as I think it. "Would it be easier if I didn't come to watch? To avoid anyone saying anything to you?"

His head snaps up again. "No! Shit, no Christian, no." His reply is immediate and adamant. "You saying you'd come and watch is one of the nicest things anyone has ever done for me. Ever. And I will be so proud to have you there in the crowd." He grins and leans up to kiss me on the lips, softly, lovingly. "So no getting out of it I'm afraid. You signed me up, you have to watch."

"I can't wait." I reply honestly, my beaming smile now matching his as I lean across to grab the phone.