...the hot water rained down upon his bowed head, stroking a path over the slump of his shoulders as stood beneath the heavy spray of the shower. Steam rose up around him as he braced his arms against the wall. He was alone now. Alone here with his hopes dashed. Dreams of a second World Cup victory smashed by the might of the South African Springboks. It had been a disappointing match. All in all. A good one, he supposed, and the winners deserving, he conceded, but ultimately a disappointing one.
"You played a good game," Johnny pressed his eyes closed, his body tensing in recognition to the strong purr of an accent. A South African accent. He felt a wave of anger at the arrogance, at the egotism that allowed these men to think that they could roam where they pleased just because they had won.
Johnny pushed away from the wall, turning his body enough to shoot a look of utter contempt over his shoulder.
“This cannot wait until I’m finished?” he growled. His eyes narrowed on the athletically built player that stood only paces away from him, leaning far too casually against a row of lockers overlooking the wet-room. The trademark curl of blonde hair gave him away as Percy Montgomery, the pretty boy of the South African side. The man who could play a whole match, get himself into however many scraps and scrums, and come out of it all without so much as a hair out of place.
Johnny waited with frayed patience for a response. The Sprinkbok smiled lazily at him, shifting against the lockers as he folded his arms loosely across his chest. He was dressed in a dark green tracksuit, the zip of the top lowered enough that Johnny could tell he wore nothing beneath the thin fabric.
“It could,” Percy agreed, his eyes roaming freely across the planes of Johnny’s body, drinking in the sight of his broad shoulders and pert backside with an openness Johnny found more intriguing than alarming. He straightened, turning more fully, and brushing the sodden strands of his hair from his face.
He enjoyed the colour that suffused the other man’s face for the moment. Watching with rapt fascination as Percy drank in the sight of his naked body. That is, until the South African looked up, his eyes dark and intent as they met his fully with an intent that was only too clear.
“...but I couldn’t wait.” It took him a moment to realise that Percy was finishing his earlier sentence, answering his initial question as to why he felt the need to slip into the English locker rooms to offer his opinion on the match.
“What’s stopping you now?” Johnny asked. His tone far more plucky than he himself actually felt. Percy’s smile was predatory. His stride long and purposeful as he accepted the challenge in Johnny’s words to advance the remaining few paces separating them. He ignored, for the moment, the spray of water from the shower as he pressed on, forcing Johnny between the spread of his arms as he cornered him up against the wet tiles of the wall.
Percy leant in, close. Close enough that so much as a hitch in his breathing would have their chests touching, or that a slip against the slick floor would bring their lower bodies into immediate contact. For some reason Johnny felt heady at the very notion.
“I’m not sure,” Percy answered, lowered his mouth to hover just above Johnny’s. “Are you going to stop me?” He asked…