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Theo’s apartment is always neat and clean. The chimera takes much attention to that. He hates a mess and can’t have the trash, dirty clothes, or undone dishes stink up his place. It reminds him too much of places he used to live. And Theo’s starting a new chapter of life.
So, normally, Theo’s apartment smells like cedarwood soap and bitter coffee, and everything he owns—not much, but enough for him—in the right place. But tonight, it smells faintly like takeout and barely contained frustration.
There are shoes at the door that Liam has kicked off with a little more force than necessary. A gym bag lies against the wall, water bottle rolling out, and Theo hasn’t said anything about it. Not when he can smell the fire bubbling under Liam’s skin.
The chimera stands at the sink, rinsing out their bowls, tracking the aggression like a bloodhound. Like the boy standing in his living room is either a bomb about to go off or something precious about to break.
“You want the rest of the dumplings?” Theo asks as he wipes his hands on a towel and pretends he doesn’t know Liam is fuming.
“No,” Liam mutters, flopping onto the couch and grabbing the remote like he wants to snap it in half. “I’m full.”
“You barely touched your noodles,” Theo notes, walking over to the couch with a smirk that doesn’t quite reach his eyes, trying to play it casual.
“I said I’m fine.” Liam flicks through a few menus before settling on some action movie he isn’t particularly interested in. He’s not fine. But he’s not gonna make this easy for Theo. “It’s whatever.”
Theo exhales slowly, and drags a hand through his hair. Leaning against the back of the couch, he asks: “Alright. Let’s just skip this part—are you mad at me?”
Liam doesn’t answer right away. He watches the movie intro, jaw clenched, eyes narrowed. It’s a stupid question. They both know the answer to it.
“You said you were gonna come.”
“I know.”
“You promised you’d come.”
“I know.”
“Deaton would’ve let you go if you asked. He literally texted me good luck before the game. Don’t act like he had you chained to the clinic.”
Theo finally walks around to stand in front of the TV, blocking Liam’s view, arms crossed. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I got caught up and I didn’t manage my time well. But I didn’t forget, Liam. I swear.”
Liam tilts his head back to look up at him, eyes sharp with something unspoken. Hurt. Disappointment. A mix of both. “Yeah, well. It was the last home game of the season.”
Theo feels that one like a punch to the ribs. “I know,” he says again, quieter. “I wanted to be there. I’m sorry.”
Liam doesn’t respond. He just reaches for the remote and turns the volume up a bit, shoulders sinking into the cushions like he’s trying to disappear.
He hates this. Hates how Theo promised to show up, and how Liam had believed him. How Theo didn’t show up even though he clearly could have. Hates that maybe Theo didn’t want to show up. And most of all, Liam hates how he still showed up to Theo’s apartment after the game like some desperate puppy, hoping for attention instead of going out to celebrate with his team.
The movie plays for a few minutes in silence. Theo sits down on the other side of the couch, sneaking glances at Liam out of the corner of his eye. Liam ignores it.
Eventually, a sigh escapes him and he drags a hand through his sweaty hair. “My back’s killing me,” Liam mutters. “You’d think being a werewolf would make muscle soreness go away, but nope. Still hurts like hell.”
Theo perks up, almost as if sensing an opening. “You want me to help?”
Liam squints at him. “Help how?”
“A massage.”
“A massage? Here?”
Theo shrugs. “Yeah. I know what I’m doing. Learned all about pressure points with the Doctors, remember?” He smirks, cocky but not teasing, actually serious. “I know how a body works.”
“Oh. Okay. I mean… I guess.” Liam shifts, still wary but visibly tempted. His back does hurt and if Theo offers… “So I just… strip my shirt and lay on the couch?”
“No,” Theo says, already standing. “If we’re doing this, you need to lose the sweats too. I can’t do a full-body massage with you in a bunch of clothes.”
Liam stares at him, feeling heat crawl up his neck at the idea of being half-naked with Theo over him.
“Dude.”
Theo raises his brows. “Don’t be a prude now. You see your teammates naked all the time.”
“That’s… that’s different.”
“It’s just me, Liam. And you’re not even gonna be naked. Boxers stay on.”
“That doesn’t exactly make it better,” Liam mutters, looking away. His cheeks are a little pink, ears burning. But he still doesn’t say no.
“The massage will,” Theo replies smoothly, already pulling the throw pillows off the couch to make room. “You’ll thank me in five minutes. Maybe ten.”
Liam still sits on the couch, wondering how some takeout and passive-aggressive comments lead to this.
“The offer’s there,” Theo says, softer this time. “You’re sore. I can help.”
Liam hesitates a second longer, but then lets out a quiet groan of defeat and stands up. He tugs off his Beacon Hills hoodie. His shirt underneath clings with sweat, so he peels that off too, revealing flushed, post-game skin. His muscles tight and shoulders rolled with tension.
He avoids Theo’s eyes as he shoves his sweats down and off, leaving only a pair of soft, dark boxers. He mutters something about “feeling like a damn spa client” but climbs onto the couch anyway, flopping face-down against the cushions.
“I’m not putting on ocean sounds,” Theo teases lightly, already shifting behind him.
“Shut up.”
The older boy kneels on the couch, straddling Liam’s thighs gently but firmly, and settles just above him without letting his full weight rest down. He plants his hands on either side of Liam’s spine and looks down at him, his mouth twitching slightly.
Liam’s tense. So tense he might snap in half. His shoulders are hunched, his neck stiff, his arms curled under his chest.
“Relax,” Theo says, voice low. “Just gonna start.”
And then he does.
Theo’s hands aren’t exactly soft, but when they press into Liam’s back, they move like he’s been trained for this. Like he knows Liam’s body and how to pull tension from it like thread from a tight knot.
He starts slow with his fingers splayed wide, and the heels of his palms pushing into the thick muscle of Liam’s shoulders. Liam hisses quietly through his teeth.
“Too much?” Theo asks, voice low and right by his ear.
Liam shakes his head against the cushion. “No. Just… sore.”
Theo smiles, unseen. “Good.”
His hands begin to move again, a slow, rhythmic cadence of press, glide, knead. Each touch drags heat into Liam’s spine, gliding up into the slope of his neck, pulling the ache from his muscles. Inch by inch, the tension drains out of him. Liam exhales, eyes fluttering closed as his shoulders finally begin to loosen.
It feels good. More than good. It feels necessary. Nice, even.
Theo leans in closer, just slightly. The warmth of his body lingers at Liam’s back, and when his knuckles graze lightly down Liam’s sides, Liam lets out a sound he didn’t mean to make. Something quiet. Uncontrolled. A breathy, half-swallowed moan that slips out like it’s been waiting there.
It slips out before he can catch it, and the second it does, Liam’s eyes widen in horror.
Theo doesn’t react. Doesn’t even pause for more than a heartbeat. He just keeps going. Keeps pressing, deeper this time, rolling his thumbs into the notches beside Liam’s spine like he’s searching for more of those vulnerable little sounds.
And he gets one. Liam’s lip caught between his teeth does nothing to muffle the next one, because Theo’s hands are unfair. Cruel, even. Every place they touch feels like it was built to be touched like this. It’s dizzying—how fast his soreness has turned into something heavier.
Something hotter.
There’s a new weight in his gut now, coiling low and slow. A heat that curls through him and sets every nerve on edge. He doesn’t want to name it. Doesn’t want to admit it. Especially not when Theo’s hands start sliding lower, fingers skimming down Liam’s ribs in a slow, maddening drag that feels nothing short of intimate.
Liam jolts slightly, the sensation somewhere between ticklish and intimate, and Theo makes a soft hum behind him.
“You’re tight here too,” he murmurs, pressing carefully into Liam’s sides, fingers spreading wide.
Another sound escapes Liam. Sharper this time. Breathless.
His whole body is betraying him.
Fuck, this is bad.
He’s half-naked, draped over Theo’s couch in his boxers, and being currently touched by the one person he probably shouldn’t want to be touched by. But his body has clearly made its choice before his brain could catch up.
Because he’s getting hard.
Liam bites his forearm to muffle a groan of frustration, but it doesn’t matter. He’s a werewolf. And Theo’s a werewolf, or something close to it. Which means…
Theo has to know.
Liam squeezes his eyes shut, mortified. He’s sure his scent has changed. There’s no masking that particular cocktail of heat and want. His face burns, every inch of his skin prickling with shame and electricity, but Theo still says nothing.
Nothing at all.
Instead, his hands just keep moving.
And if anything, he’s moving slower now. Like he doesn’t want to miss a thing.
Liam feels every second of it. The strength in Theo’s touch. The way he adjusts his weight behind him, straddling Liam’s thighs with practiced ease, settling closer. The firm warmth of hands kneading into the base of Liam’s spine, thumbs working in tandem, coaxing soft tremors from muscles that won’t stop reacting.
And then Theo dips lower.
Just above the waistband of Liam’s boxers, his thumbs brush the curve of his hips, before his fingers fan out, gliding over the tops of Liam’s thighs.
Liam stops breathing for a second. His body stills. Every nerve goes taut.
Theo’s hands knead into the soft flesh of Liam’s upper legs with reverence now, not detachment. There’s care in it. Hunger, too—if Liam’s reading the trembling breath above him right, if the warmth of Theo’s palms is anything to go by.
He knows. He has to know.
There’s no way he doesn’t. Liam can smell his own arousal heavy in the air, and Theo’s always been faster at picking up chemosignals. It should be mortifying. It is mortifying. But Theo’s still silent. Still calm. And his hands…
His hands just won’t stop.
Theo’s thumbs slide along the inside edge of Liam’s quads—slow, careful, and devastatingly precise. Not crossing any lines.
But close. So close.
Close enough to make Liam’s breath stutter and his back arch without thinking, his thighs going taut beneath Theo’s hands. The heat that had been pooling low in his stomach now surges, heavier, deeper, impossible to ignore.
And then Theo’s voice, low and quiet, barely above a breath and right at Liam’s ear:
“Tell me if you want me to stop.”
Liam’s breath catches hard in his throat. But he shakes his head. He can’t speak, not yet. Can’t form the words. He just knows he doesn’t want it to end.
So Theo doesn’t stop.
He keeps touching him, feather-light over the tender inside of Liam’s upper thighs, a maddening tease of warmth and pressure, before gliding back up again, retracing the curve of Liam’s lower back. They’re getting closer, dangerously closer, to the waistband of Liam’s boxers.
Liam’s hips twitch. His cock pulses where it's pressed against the couch. He's getting harder with every pass of Theo’s hands. Every warm, grounding touch has his body straining, trembling, wanting.
Then Theo’s hands leave him.
Just for a breath.
Just long enough for Liam to feel the absence like a gust of cold air rushing in. He nearly whines. His body aches with it. And then those hands return, but not settling on bare skin, but over the thin, soft fabric of his boxers. Right where they stretch over the curve of his ass.
Theo doesn’t press. Doesn’t knead. Just let his palms rest there. Heavy. Warm. Intentional.
The contact, even through fabric, makes Liam shiver.
Theo’s voice breaks the silence again. “Now, technically… your glutes are muscles too,” he murmurs, just barely above a whisper. “And if we’re being thorough… I should probably work a bit here. Loosen it all up. But…”
His thumbs shift slightly, tracing slow, careful pressure over the boxers.
“I don’t have to,” he adds. “Only if you want.”
It’s not a line. Not a tease. Not manipulation. It’s an offering, soft and real. A way out, if Liam wants it.
But Liam’s pressed hard into the cushions, breath caught, cock aching, cheeks flushed with heat. And this—this feeling of being under Theo’s hands, of Theo choosing him, touching him like this—makes something in Liam go primal.
“…It’s okay,” Liam mumbles, voice hoarse and low, almost lost in the pillow. “You can keep going.”
This time, Theo’s hands don’t hesitate.
His thumbs begin to press into the firm muscle beneath the fabric in a slow, exploratory pressure that molds the material against Liam’s body. It’s not skin-to-skin, but it’s enough to make Liam twitch, breath catching, thighs tightening all over again.
Theo kneads carefully, his palms dragging over the fabric of Liam’s boxers, following the curve of muscle with reverence. The cotton stretches under his hands, soft and damp with body heat, and Liam melts into the rhythm, every touch leaving a trail of heat in its wake.
His spine curves under Theo’s touch, and his face stays half-buried in the pillow, mouth open in a breathless moan. His fingers curl into the couch cushions. His hips shift. His entire body a live wire, trembling under every slow, deliberate motion.
He didn't know it could feel like this.
Massage, sure. But here?
“You’re really tense,” Theo says, voice strained like he’s trying to stay clinical—but Liam hears it. The tightness. The hunger beneath the words.
They both know exactly what this is now.
Theo’s thumbs move in tandem, pushing deeper into muscle, still through the boxers, still over fabric, but Liam feels every ounce of it. It burns. It aches. It’s too much and not enough.
Then one hand slips lower. Still over the fabric. Still careful. But it brushes the place where the curve of Liam’s ass meets the top of his thighs. Where the cotton stretches thinner, sticks a little from sweat and heat, and every nerve there is sharper. More sensitive.
That’s when it happens.
A stroke.
Not hard. Not obvious. Just a soft, deliberate pass of Theo’s thumb right over Liam’s cleft, a faint almost touch over his hole.
And Liam gasps.
A sound, a choked, breathless moan. He buries his face in the pillow to stifle it, but it’s too late. His body reacts, back arching, hips twitching. The friction of fabric, the warmth of Theo’s thumb even through the cotton, is too much.
Theo freezes for the briefest moment, like he’s touched something electric. Then he exhales sharply, and instead of pulling away, his hand passes over it again. Slower this time. Intentional.
Liam’s hips buck up slightly, instinctive, the tension in his body tightening. His cheeks are flushed, his skin damp with heat, and he doesn’t even try to hide the way he’s panting now.
There’s no point hiding it anymore.
Even through the thin cotton of his boxers, Theo’s hand on him is doing something Liam never knew he needed. Touching places he’s never even thought about, in ways he never imagined feeling. And the worst part—or the best part—is how good it feels. How impossibly, dangerously good.
Everything narrows down to this. To Theo. To the press of his hand on Liam’s ass, the slow, maddening drag of his thumb.
“Maybe…” Theo murmurs, voice thick and quiet and full of something Liam can barely handle, “maybe you should lose the boxers. Just so I can get a better feel… For the massage.”
He lets the words hang there.
Liam doesn’t speak at first. His mind clouded with want and need. Then, he nods. Just once. A little shaky, but definite.
Theo moves with something like urgency now, but still careful. His fingers catch the waistband of Liam’s boxers and ease them down slowly, giving him time, giving him space to change his mind.
The fabric slides down just enough to bare him—just enough to expose the soft, flushed curves of his ass. The boxers bunch loosely beneath the swell, clinging to the tops of his thighs, stretched and awkward.
Theo swallows hard. Liam can hear it.
Then his hands return. No longer cushioned by cotton. Just warm, bare palms over bare skin.
A whisper leaves him. Low. Barely audible.
“Fuck.”
It sounds like it’s been punched from his lungs, not meant to be said out loud. But Liam hears it… feels it. It isn’t a groan, not quite. It sounds like… awe. Disbelief. Something raw and helpless, like Theo’s trying not to lose it.
All because of him.
Because he’s spread out on the couch, back curved, shoulders and thighs bare, boxers pushed down just enough. Because Theo can see him now. Touch him. And it’s enough to unravel them both.
Liam hides his face deeper in the pillow, chest tight with nerves and heat and something terrifyingly close to need.
Theo exhales again, all slow, measured. And then places both hands on Liam’s now-bare ass, pressing down with firm, deliberate pressure.
His palms glide and press and knead, dragging heat into Liam’s skin, molding him like something precious. Like something he wants to learn by hand. Every deep squeeze pulls another sound from Liam’s throat. Every long, slow drag makes Liam shudder beneath him.
He’s completely gone.
His dick throbs, pressed hard against the cushion, leaking steadily now. He’s probably soaking through the fabric, leaving a wet patch behind. But he can’t bring himself to care. He can’t. Not with Theo’s hands on him like this. Not with the way every touch shoots down his spine like sparks trailing gasoline.
Then Theo’s left hand slips lower, fingers curling under Liam’s thigh, steadying him, anchoring him in place. His right thumb moves with agonizing slowness, trailing along the cleft of Liam’s ass.
Bare skin to bare skin now.
Liam twitches violently, unable to stop it. His body just moves, hips stuttering forward, thighs clenching.
Theo keeps going.
His thumb circles lazily, barely grazing down, slow and exploring. Liam’s thighs try to close on instinct, but Theo presses one knee gently between them, guiding him open again. Keeping him right there.
And then… The pad of Theo’s thumb brush lower.
Closer.
Liam whimpers. He shudders, muscles trembling like plucked strings.
Theo leans forward, his voice so quiet it barely registers.
“Tell me to stop.”
The words ghost over Liam’s skin like smoke.
“Please don’t,” Liam whispers, voice cracking with want. “Don’t stop.”
Theo’s breath hitches. One hand leaves Liam’s body, and for a second Liam almost panicks, afraid Theo will stop despite Liam’s pleading. That is, until he hears it.
A soft, unmistakable sound.
A sucking sound.
It takes Liam a moment to realize what it means.
Theo.
Theo has brought his own thumb to his mouth and…
Liam's breath stills completely.
Then that hand returns.
The same thumb.
Wet now. Slicked with spit. Warm and intentional.
It settles again between Liam’s cheeks, and Liam can’t breathe.
Theo's thumb circles, slow and deliberate, right around his rim.
Gentle pressure. Not pushing. Just tracing.
Liam moans, helplessly, brokenly. He’s never felt anything like this. He hasn’t even known he could. Every nerve ending lit up like Theo has flipped a switch in the very center of him.
Theo’s other hand keeps massaging, grounding him, holding him steady.
And the wet thumb circles again.
And then Theo’s thumb pushes in. Not all at once, not even deep, just enough to breach Liam’s body and press into heat.
He groans softly, like he can feel it just as much as Liam does.
And Liam loses all the ability to think.
The stretch is strange, new, and so good it makes him gasp. His fists clenche into the cushions. His body goes tight with the effort of holding still, and his hips rise off the couch just slightly before Theo’s other hand presses him gently back down.
“It’s okay,” Theo murmurs. “Just breathe. You’re doing so good.”
His voice is low, and so real that Liam almost moans again just from hearing it. Theo’s thumb doesn’t go deeper yet. It just moves—slow circles that press and ease, pulling back a little only to push in again, a maddening rhythm that teases and coaxes Liam open.
Each drag makes Liam shudder. His cock throbs. He’s flushed from head to toe, body shivering with the intensity of sensation, hips fighting instinct, trying to keep still when all he wants to do is move.
Theo’s thumb begins to curl with more intent now. Pressing a little deeper now, circling again, then dipping with more intent. It’s not just teasing anymore. It’s fingering.
Liam bites down on his forearm to muffle the helpless cry that breaks free, but it’s no use. His body rocks back on instinct, trying to take more, trying to keep Theo inside, to hold onto the sensation.
He’s losing it.
Theo leans forward, chest brushing Liam’s back, and then—a kiss. Just barely there. Lips pressed soft and deliberate between Liam’s shoulder blades. Not sexual. Not demanding. Grounding.
He stays like that for a second, breathing with Liam, against him, as if trying to slow the unraveling.
Then:
“Tell me if it’s too much,” Theo whispers. “Tell me if it’s bad.”
Liam makes a strangled sound in his throat. Bad?
How could this be bad?
He can’t even speak. His entire body is a raw, pulsing nerve, open and trembling. Each press of Theo’s thumb lights him up from the inside, the slick heat of it curling deeper, working him loose in the most maddening way.
This isn’t bad. It’s too much. It’s not enough. It’s everything.
A breath. A desperate sound. “Theo—” Liam chokes out. “Please. Don’t stop.”
Behind him, Theo groans—soft, low, like Liam’s voice just did something to him he hasn’t planned for.
And then he presses deeper.
The thumb slides in slow, curling just enough to make Liam jolt. His hips buck and grind back without thinking, his body answering for him. There’s no stopping the way he begins to move now—little, stuttering thrusts, desperate for more. He’s flushed and panting and shaking, fucking himself back onto Theo’s hand.
It’s filthy. And humiliating.
And perfect.
His whole body burns for more. For Theo.
And then Theo pulls his thumb out.
A gasp leaves Liam at that. A helpless, wounded sound, too raw in his throat. His hips chase the touch instinctively, like the sudden emptiness is something he physically can’t bear.
“No—” he breathes. “Theo—”
But Theo is already there.
Before Liam can spiral into that loss, Theo’s hand is back and this time, two fingers. They’re slick and warm,more sure of themselves than before. They press in slowly, purposefully, stretching him wider.
Liam takes them greedily, like his body’s been waiting for this, needing it.
But Theo doesn’t rush. He slides in deep and smooth, fingers curling as they push forward, deliberate in their path. He strokes, explores, learning Liam’s body like he’s reading it by touch, memorizing the shape of every moan, every twitch.
And Liam gives him everything.
He’s moaning shamelessly, too far gone to be quiet now. His hips jerk forward, grinding into the soaked cushion beneath him, dick leaking and swollen, then rock back again, trying to bury Theo’s fingers deeper inside.
Theo curses softly behind him. “Fuck—Liam.”
He’s breathing harder now, low and uneven, close enough that Liam can feel it. The warm gusts against the damp skin of his back.
He chokes on a sound—half sob, half moan—and digs his fingers into the cushions. His thighs tremble. His cock grinds helplessly into the pillow, each movement pushing him closer to the edge.
And Theo’s right there with him.
Behind him, pressing forward, fingers moving with a kind of reverent greed. One hand trails up Liam’s thigh, then over his hip. Every touch is electric. Tender. Worshipful.
And then, Theo shifts forward. Just enough for his hips to press against Liam’s ass and rest there. And Liam feels it.
The hardness of Theo’s dick through his sweats
Liam stills for half a second, breath caught in his throat. Then he gasps again—this time, softer. Shocked.
He tries to look back, tries to see Theo’s face, but before he can twist, Theo leans down.
And kisses him.
The softest brushes of lips along his spine, at his waist, over the edge of his hipbone. Like he can’t help himself.
“You’re so gorgeous,” Theo whispers, voice hoarse. “You don’t even know.”
Liam shudders.
Theo moves closer, chest against Liam’s back now, hand trailing higher to rest over Liam’s ribs. His mouth hovers near Liam’s shoulder, breath hitching as he works his fingers deeper.
The rhythm changes. It’s not exploratory anymore. It’s possession. Intent.
Theo knows exactly what Liam needs.
He finds that spot again—perfect and punishing—and begins to grind into it, each curl of his fingers making Liam’s body sing.
Liam whines. Loud. Open.
He thrusts forward, rutting into the pillow, then shoves backward again, grinding down onto Theo’s hand.
He’s not moaning anymore. He’s whimpering, whining, spine arched high and trembling with the pressure building under his skin like static.
And then Theo breathes it, soft and broken:
“Oh, fuck, Liam, you’re so good—so gorgeous—”
That’s all it takes.
Liam shatters.
His whole body seizes. His muscles tighten until they’re ready to snap, his toes curl and his mouth drops open in a wordless cry as his orgasm slams into him, fast and hard. His dick jerks against the pillow and spills, soaking the couch beneath him.
He trembles violently. His hole clenches down on Theo’s fingers as his thighs spasm and his hips jolt uncontrollably as wave after wave hits him. Behind him, Theo groans. The sound deep, guttural sound that it borders on reverent.
“Fuck—”
Liam barely registers it until he feels it—Theo grinding forward. Once. Twice.
A sharp, helpless press of Theo’s hips against his ass.
And then Theo stills.
Breath held. Body trembling.
Liam doesn’t have to see to know.
Theo came.
In his sweats.
Just from this.
Just from him.
The thought makes Liam’s knees weak, his heart slaming against his ribs.
Cheek pressed against the cushion, body still trembling from aftershocks, he feels heavy, boneless. He wouldn’t have been able to move if he wanted to.
ButTheo hasn’t moved either, if his fingers inside Liam are anything to go by.
Their breathing is the only sound in the room now. Rough, uneven breaths that tangle in the thick air. The scent of sex hangs between them. Liam feels it clouding his head. The sharp smell of it mixing with the scent of sweat, spit and cum.
And then with a slowness that borders on care Theo begins to withdraw. The fingers slide free, and Liam shudders. Not just from the physical sensation, though that alone makes him suck in a breath, but from the absence. The sudden emptiness where Theo had been.
He doesn’t know what to say.
Or do.
Or even be.
He just stays there—quiet, still, face half-buried in the pillow, chest heaving. He can still taste the edge of his own voice, the echo of his moans haunting the back of his throat. The wetness beneath him clings to his skin, warm and sticky, staining both the couch and whatever’s left of his pride.
He flushes darker.
Theo doesn’t touch him again, but he doesn’t go far either.
Liam can feel the heat of him nearby, hovering. The weight of Theo’s gaze lingers, but his hands are gone now, and somehow that’s worse.
Eventually, the couch creaks as Theo pushes himself off it and steps away. The air shifts.
For a moment, everything is silent again.
Liam doesn’t dare to move yet.
Part of him wants to stay like this—head down, invisible. Maybe disappear into the cushions and never have to deal with what just happened. But… he wants to see Theo. Needs to.
So, slowly, he turns his head and peeks toward the TV.
Theo stands in front of it, backlit by the frozen frame of the paused action movie. His chest rises and falls in shallow, uneven breaths. And there, plain as day, a dark wet patch stains the front of his sweatpants, clinging to the fabric just below the waistband.
Liam’s stomach lurches.
His face goes scarlet.
Theo had come. Just from Liam. Just from touching him, from hearing him. And now it feels real. Too real. The weight of it settles over Liam like heat and ice all at once, dizzying and confusing and too much.
Theo glances over, catches him staring and their eyes meet for the briefest flicker of time.
Then Theo clears his throat and rakes a hand through his hair. He looks thrown. Liam doesn’t think he ever saw Theo looking this unsure, this disarmed.
“You, uh…” Theo gestures vaguely toward the cushions. “You totally ruined my couch.”
Liam stares.
And, somehow, he laughs because sure, let's talk about the couch instead of whatever just happened.
“Yeah, well,” he mutters. “I didn’t mean to.”
Theo’s mouth twitches, the ghost of a smile visible.
Finally, Liam pushes himself up. His thighs feel like jelly, and he’s still leaking a little. Embarrassed, he reaches for his boxers—still bunched at his thighs—and pulls them back up. Bad idea.
They cling to his skin immediately. Humiliation swells in his chest again. He doesn’t dare look at Theo as his eyes flick to the couch cushion which are clearly spotted and sticky. His gaze flings over to the pillow, which looks just as bad.
His discarded shirt lies nearby, and in a burst of panicked energy, he grabs it and starts blotting at the cushion, trying to clean up the mess like that might erase what just happened.
His hands move fast. Too fast. Like maybe if he just wipes hard enough, he can rewind time.
“I’ll clean it,” Liam mumbles. “I didn’t—I mean, I didn’t know— I didn’t think it was gonna—”
He trails off as Theo steps closer. He can see the shadow approach before he feels the warmth of Theo’s hand rest gently on his arm.
“Liam.”
Theo’s voice is soft. Gentle in a way it almost never is.
Liam’s movements stop, as he looks up.
Theo doesn’t say anything yet. He just looks at him. His whole face is open and flushed and kind of wrecked, and Liam doesn’t know what to do with that. So for a moment, they just breathe.
Then, finally, Theo says, “Uh… do you, uhhh… maybe, wanna shower?”
Liam swallows. His mouth is dry. His heart is doing something stupid in his chest. His legs ache. He’s covered in sweat and come and something else he still doesn’t know how to name.
But there’s warmth in his chest. A strange, aching kind. The kind that started the second Theo called him gorgeous.
“Yeah,” Liam says quietly. “Yeah, okay.”
Theo leads the way, Liam trailing after him, staring at the back of Theo’s head like he might find an answer to what the chimera is thinking.
Flickering the bathroom light on, Theo moves toward the cabinets besides the sink. “Towels are here,” he says, as if Liam hasn’t showered in his apartment several times by now, and knows exactly where the towels are.
“Yeah, I know.”
Theo grabs a clean one and hands it to Liam, looking flustered, “Uh…yeah, I guess you do.”
Liam gives a weak laugh. Theo is still standing here, hoovering in the space like he doesn’t quite know what to do with himself. It’s a bit awkward.
And then Theo steps back, like he’s about to leave, giving Liam space. Maybe to shower, maybe to figure out what the hell just happened, and maybe… maybe because Theo doesn’t trust himself to stay.
Just as he makes his way to bypass Liam, Liam’s voice makes him stop.
“Can you… stay?”
It’s quieter than he means to, and he’s surprised he got the bravery to say them at all.
Theo pauses, shoulder to shoulder with Liam. His back straightens slightly.
“Stay?”
Liam feels heat flood his face, and Theo turns to be able to look at him. They’re almost chest to chest in the small bathroom.
“I—shit, no, I mean—yeah, I guess I do mean that, I just—” Embarrassed, he rubs the back of his neck, “I didn’t plan to say that. I just—”
Theo’s expression is unreadable. His eyes are dark and locked on Liam’s as he carefully asks, “Stay with you… in the shower?”
Liam stares at him, his heart hammering in his chest, his mouth dry.
He wants this—he wants this so bad—and this thing on the couch just made it impossible for Liam to dismiss. He came here after game-day, seeking validation like some love sick fool, and maybe that’s exactly what he is: a lovesick fool.
Taking a small step forward, he closes the rest of the distance between them.
“Please tell me if I misread this,” he whispers.
Theo doesn’t reply, his gaze still solely fixed on Liam.
He keeps looking at him. Looking through him. Like maybe he sees all the versions of them stacking on top of each other—enemies, allies, friends, almost-lovers, wrecked bodies on a couch.
The moment stretches forever until Theo’s eyes seem to finally have found something because they flick down to Liam’s lips.
And that’s all Liam needs to lean in and kiss him.
Their teeth bump and noses brush and Liam isn’t sure what to do with his hands, but when he feels Theo exhale against his lips, and start kissing him back, all that fades to the background.
They fall into each other, mouths moving like they’ve been craving this for far too long. Theo’s hands catch Liam’s hips, fingers splaying out possessively, and Liam’s hand curls at the back of Theo’s neck, feeling the soft strands of hair.
It’s when they break apart, gasping for air, foreheads against each other that Theo whispers, “Okay. I’ll go under the shower with you.”
And then they begin stripping.
Granted, Liam doesn’t do much more than take off his boxers, while Theo gets rid of his shirt, socks, sweats and then also his underwear.
Liam doesn't let himself stare. Not really. A bit, maybe.
Theo’s body is all muscle and sharp lines, his body scattered with faint scars as the evidence of the shadows he carries. Liam has always known Theo is gorgeous. He had been too aware of it, honestly. But still, it’s different seeing someone all naked and bare, vulnerable and quiet.
This isn’t just hot. This is Theo.
“Coming?” Theo asks, snapping Liam out of his thoughts.
“Uhh, yeah,” Liam replies, ignoring Theo’s smirk, and stepping into the shower.
Theo turns the water on with practiced ease, adjusting the temperature with a twist of his wrist. Steam curls up immediately, thick and warm, wrapping around them like a blanket.
Liam takes the lead, stepping into the stream first. He lets the water hit his face, soaking his curls, dripping down his chest and washing away the sweat, the come, the tension still clinging to his skin. It feels good. Grounding.
He closes his eyes. Breathes.
And when he opens them again, Theo is there. Close. Still. Watching.
It should be awkward.
They’re naked. Wet. Standing in the tightest room in the apartment, surrounded by the echo of everything that just happened on the couch. Every touch. Every sound.
But somehow, it isn’t awkward.
It’s curious.
They finally look at each other—really look.
Theo’s eyes trail down Liam’s body, slow and thoughtful. Liam knows how he looks—broad shoulders from lacrosse, strong arms, lean muscle stretched tight over llimbs. But there’s still a flush rising under his skin, like he’s nineteen and nervous, like he’s never been looked at like this before.
Liam tries not to stare back.
Fails.
His eyes trace the water sliding down Theo’s chest. He follows the slope of his collarbones, the long line of his torso, the dip at Theo’s waist where lean muscle curves like it was carved by hand.
Without thinking, Liam reaches out.
Just… touches.
His fingers trail lightly across Theo’s chest, not to provoke, not to tease—just to feel. The heat of him, even under the water. His thumb brushes gently over the edge of a scar on Theo’s side. His skin twitches under the touch, but Theo says nothing.
Instead, he mirrors the gesture.
Theo’s hand rises slowly, fingertips brushing over Liam’s shoulder, then gliding down the slope of his arm. Wrist to elbow. His other hand finds Liam’s waist, settling there. A soft, grounding weight. His thumb moves in slow, steady circles over Liam’s damp skin, like it’s familiar already.
Theo lifts his hand again, brushes a damp curl back from Liam’s forehead, then lets his fingers rest along Liam’s jaw.
And then, oh so softly, he asks, “Was it okay? On the couch?”
Liam blinks at him, caught a little off guard.
He swallows. “Yeah,” he whispers. “It was… more than okay.”
Theo doesn’t look away.
“You sure?”
There’s a pause.
Then Liam nods, slower this time. “I’ve never done that before,” he admits. It’s embarrassing to admit, but he wants to. He wants Theo to know he’s the first.
Silence settles between them for a beat.
Theo’s gaze softens. “Me neither,” he says.
Liam looks down, the feelings in his chest almost overwhelming him. Theo steps forward, bridging the last inch between them, hand still gentle on Liam’s jaw.
“You were amazing,” he says.
Liam lifts his eyes, caught in something between disbelief and hope.
Theo leans in and kisses him.
It’s less about want and more about being here. It doesn’t burn so much as glow. Liam sighs into it, body melting into Theo’s as his hands find Theo’s waist again, palms smoothing just above his hips.
When they part, they smile quietly, a little crooked.
“So,” Theo murmurs, his thumb grazing Liam’s cheekbone. “Am I forgiven? For missing the game?”
Liam exhales. He almost says yes.
But instead, he tilts his head, pretending to consider. “I’m not sure,” he says, tone half-playful but still honest underneath. “Maybe. If you show up for the last game of the season.”
Theo raises an eyebrow. “Only maybe?”
Liam’s smile turns shy. “Well… maybe if I get to kiss you again.”
Theo huffs a low, amused breath—then leans in and kisses him again. His mouth warm despite the water, the feelings in Liam’s chest blooming into a chant of I love him I love him I love I love him.