The locker room smelled of sweat, grass, and the faint tang of liniment, the air thick with post-game adrenaline. Sean and Brody sat side by side on the worn wooden bench, their rugby uniforms half-shed, strewn across the floor like battle trophies. They were down to their jockstraps, skin still flushed from the match, their breathing settling into a quieter rhythm. The hum of distant showers and the clatter of teammates faded into the background, leaving just the two of them in their own pocket of space. Sean leaned back, one arm braced behind him, his broad chest glistening with lingering sweat. He tugged at the strap of his jock, adjusting it with a casual grunt. “Hell of a game, twerp,” he said, glancing at Brody with a lopsided grin. “You almost had me out there. Almost.”

Brody chuckled, shaking his head as he leaned forward, elbows on his knees. His dark hair was still damp, sticking to his forehead in messy strands, and his leaner frame carried the same raw energy as Sean’s bulkier build. “Almost, my ass,” he shot back, his voice low but carrying a playful edge. “I had you pinned in that scrum. You were gasping like a fish.” He flicked his eyes toward Sean, catching the glint of amusement there, but also something else—a flicker of heat that made Brody’s pulse kick up a notch.

The locker room’s dim fluorescent lights cast shadows across Sean’s jaw, highlighting the faint stubble and the way his grin sharpened into something less innocent. “Gasping, huh?” Sean said, his voice dropping, teasing but deliberate. He shifted on the bench, his thigh brushing against Brody’s, the contact brief but electric. “Funny. Thought I heard you making noises out there.” He didn’t move away, letting the space between them feel smaller, charged.

Brody’s breath hitched, but he played it cool, tilting his head to meet Sean’s gaze head-on. “You wish,” he said, though his smirk wavered as Sean’s eyes roamed over him, lingering on the taut lines of his shoulders, the way his jockstrap hugged his hips. The air felt heavier now, the banter a thin veil over something simmering beneath. Brody straightened, his own gaze dipping to Sean’s chest, the sweat-slicked muscle catching the light. “You gonna keep talking shit, or what?”

Sean’s laugh was low, rough, vibrating through the quiet. “Or what,” he murmured, leaning in just enough that Brody could feel the warmth radiating off him. The bench creaked under their weight, the only sound for a moment as their eyes locked, daring the other to break the tension. Sean’s hand moved, slow and deliberate, resting on the bench between them, his fingers grazing the edge of Brody’s thigh—not quite touching, but close enough to send a jolt through him.

Brody swallowed, his throat tight, every nerve aware of that almost-contact. “Careful, big guy,” he said, voice quieter now, teasing but laced with something raw. “You start something, you better finish it.”

“Oh, I finish what I start,” he whispered, the words curling through Brody like a spark. The locker room, the game, the world outside—it all faded, leaving just the heat of Sean’s presence, the promise hanging heavy between them.

Sean’s flannel hung open, the edges framing the hard planes of his chest, and Brody couldn’t help but notice the way his collarbone caught the light, a faint sheen of sweat still clinging to his skin. That unspoken something pulsed in the air, tugging at Brody’s gut, making his fingers twitch against the strap of his backpack.

Sean stepped closer, closing the gap between them with a single, easy stride. “You’re lookin’ awful serious all of a sudden,” he said, his voice low, teasing, but with a gravelly edge that sent a shiver down Brody’s spine. He didn’t touch Brody, not yet, but his presence was enough—broad shoulders filling the space, the faint scent of his cologne mixing with the musk of the game. “What’s on your mind, squirt?”

Brody’s lips parted, but the words caught, his usual quick wit faltering under the weight of Sean’s gaze. Those eyes, sharp and knowing, pinned him in place, stripping away the bravado. “Just wondering,” Brody managed, his voice quieter, rougher, “if you’re all talk.” It was a dare, a spark tossed into dry grass, and he felt his own pulse hammer as he said it, his body leaning forward just a fraction, drawn into Sean’s orbit.

Sean’s grin widened, slow and dangerous, like he’d been waiting for exactly that. “All talk?” he repeated, his voice a low rumble. He reached out, his hand brushing Brody’s backpack strap, fingers lingering there, tugging lightly—not enough to pull it off, just enough to make Brody feel the contact like a current. “You sure you wanna test that theory?”

The air thickened, every sound sharper—the soft rustle of Sean’s flannel, the faint squeak of Brody’s sneakers as he shifted his weight. Brody’s breath came faster, his chest rising and falling, and he didn’t back down, didn’t look away. “Try me,” he said, the words barely above a whisper, but they landed like a gauntlet, heavy with intent.

Sean’s hand slid from the strap to Brody’s shoulder, his grip firm but not rough, his thumb brushing the bare skin where Brody’s shirt had ridden up. The touch was warm, deliberate, sending a jolt straight through Brody’s core. Sean leaned in, his lips hovering close enough that Brody could feel the heat of his breath, the promise of something more. “Careful what you wish for,” Sean murmured, his voice a velvet growl, each word sinking into Brody like a hook.

Brody’s hands clenched at his sides, itching to reach out, to close the distance, but he held still, savoring the ache of anticipation. The locker room felt smaller now, the world narrowed to the space between them, to the way Sean’s eyes flickered with hunger, to the way Brody’s own body answered with a heat he couldn’t ignore.

Dressed now, they headed outside.  Brody shifted his bag, glancing toward the parking lot where a few cars still idled. “You ready for this, living with me?”

The question caught Sean off guard. He hadn’t planned beyond showing up, hadn’t dared hope for more than a handshake and maybe a number to call later. “If you’re alright with it,” he said carefully. “Could grab a burger or something. If you’re not sick of strangers for the day.”

Brody looked at him for a long moment, like he was weighing the offer against a lifetime of disappointment. Then he shrugged, a small gesture that felt like a door creaking open. “Yeah, alright. But you’re paying.”

Sean chuckled, the sound loosening something in his chest. “Deal.”

They walked toward the lot, Brody’s teammates hollering goodbyes as they passed. The sun was dipping low, painting the sky in streaks of orange and gray, and for the first time in years, Sean didn’t feel like he was running from something. Just walking, side by side, with a brother he might still get to know.