Captain

The locker room was dead silent except for the rhythmic drip of water hitting the tiled floor. The rest of the team had cleared out after practice—loud, rowdy, laughing—and Alex had waited, as always, until he was alone.

Or so he thought.

“Still here, rookie?” The voice hit him from behind—low, steady, and laced with that mocking amusement Alex had come to recognize too well.

He stiffened immediately. “Yeah. Just… coolin’ off.”

He didn’t turn. He didn’t have to. He could feel the heat of Elias behind him. Captain of the team, striker with a temper, and every bit the dominant bastard that made Alex’s knees go weak and his throat dry.

Elias was still in full gear—jersey clinging to his skin, sweat darkening the fabric. His eyes were narrowed, hungry.

“You’ve been screwing up my drills on purpose,” Elias said, stepping closer. “You like acting out in front of the others?”

Alex’s stomach twisted, not in fear—but anticipation. “Wasn’t on purpose.”

Elias let out a low, dark chuckle. “You think I’m stupid, Alex?”

He took another step, and now Alex could see him in the mirror lining the far wall. Broad shoulders. Jaw clenched. And those eyes—black with fire, locked on Alex like a predator closing in.

“You show off in front of me. Act like a brat. Then hang back here like you’re waiting for me to punish you.” Elias’s hand came to rest on the locker beside Alex, caging him in. “You want me to break you?”

Alex’s breath hitched. “Yes.”

There was no hesitation. No shame. He said it like a prayer, like a plea.

Elias grabbed his jaw, forcing Alex to face him. “Say it louder.”

Alex met his captain’s gaze and said, voice ragged, “I want you to break me.”

Elias’s eyes darkened, and suddenly he shoved Alex back against the lockers with a thud that echoed. “Strip.”

Alex fumbled, pulling his training shirt over his head, breath already trembling. His fingers shook as he slid off his shorts, standing there in nothing but a sheen of sweat and anticipation.

Elias didn’t say a word. He just circled him slowly, like a wolf sizing up his prey.

Then, without warning, Elias shoved Alex forward—chest-first into the cold metal. A gasp tore from his throat as Elias pressed in behind him, hand sliding roughly down his back, across his hips.

“Hands on the wall,” Elias growled. “And don’t move.”

Alex obeyed instantly.

Elias’s fingers were unkind—exploring with no softness, only possession. He didn’t ask permission; he took. And Alex let him.

“You act like a good boy on the field,” Elias murmured near his ear. “But back here? You’re just my little plaything.”

A whimper escaped Alex, head bowed, back arching toward the contact.

Elias laughed. “So eager. So needy.”

The sound of a locker creaking open. The rustle of fabric. Then—crack—a sharp smack landed across Alex’s bare ass, hard enough to make him cry out.

Elias’s voice was low. “That one’s for messing up the drill.”

Crack. Another. “That one’s for talking back.”

Crack. Crack. “And those? Just ‘cause I want to.”

Alex trembled, knees weakening, body alight with fire and pain and desperate, simmering pleasure.

Elias leaned in, pressing his chest against Alex’s back, his breath hot against his neck. “You take it so well. You were made for this.”

Alex bit his lip, trying not to moan, trying not to beg.

“You want to be used?” Elias asked, voice dropping to a growl.

“Yes—yes, please—” Alex whispered, barely holding himself up.

Elias grabbed a fistful of Alex’s hair, yanking his head back. “Then beg like the filthy little bottom you are.”

“I need it,” Alex gasped. “Need you to use me, Captain. Please—I’ll do anything.”

Alex was trembling. Bent against cold metal, skin flushed, breath ragged—exposed, just like Elias wanted him.

Elias stepped close again, heat radiating from him. Gear still on. Cleats off. Gloves discarded. Belt? Gone.

One hand pinned Alex’s wrists high above his head. The other… slipped lower. Slow. Unapologetic.

Alex’s gasp echoed off the tile.

Click.

He stiffened. That familiar sound. Bottle top twisted off.

Then—

Slick. Warm.

Two fingers. No warning.

Alex’s knees buckled.

“Stay up,” Elias snapped, voice gravel-low. “You drop, I stop.”

That got him breathing again—fast, shallow, shaking.

The fingers moved deeper. Rough. Unrelenting.

Curl. Twist. Scissor.

Alex bit down on his lip until he tasted copper.

“Good boy,” Elias said. His tone wasn’t praise. It was a promise.

Then—

Shift of weight. Knees bracing. Zip dragged down.

And suddenly, Alex’s world narrowed to a single point of pressure.

Blunt. Heavy. Pressing.

He whimpered.

Elias growled. “Take it.”

The first push knocked the air out of his lungs. Not just the pain—the stretch, the invasion, the claiming.

There was no slow rhythm. No patience.

Snap of hips. Skin on skin. Deep. Brutal.

Alex’s cheek scraped metal, but he didn’t care. All that mattered was the drag, thrust, impact.

His voice was gone, replaced by helpless sounds—needy, broken.

Each motion knocked the thought from his head.

Each thrust drove him closer to the edge.

Grip on his hair. Teeth on his shoulder.

“You’re mine,” Elias breathed into his ear.

“Y-Yes—” Alex choked, body quaking.

Elias’s hand wrapped around him—tight, knowing, merciless. Pace matching thrust for thrust.

Alex’s legs trembled.

“Hold it,” Elias growled.

But Alex was unraveling—overstimmed, whimpering, twitching.

“Hold it.”

He tried.

He really did.

But when Elias shifted his angle—deep, perfect, ruthless—

Alex broke.

Body clenching. Heat spilling. Cry muffled.

Elias didn’t stop.

He kept moving.

Grunting. Breathing harder. Fingers digging into flesh.

And when he came, it was savage—deep growl, full-body shudder, final thrusts rough enough to bruise.

Silence followed.

Except for their breathing. Harsh. Staggered.

Elias pressed his forehead to Alex’s. Their sweat mingled.

“You took all of me,” Elias said. “And you’ll take more next time.”

Alex nodded, still shaking. “Yes, Captain…”

Elias spun him around, slamming him back against the lockers again. His mouth crashed onto Alex’s, all teeth and hunger, stealing his breath as his hands roamed—rough, claiming, relentless.

And when Elias dropped to his knees?

It wasn’t mercy. It was domination in its purest form.

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