Reverand Maynard Warnings: PWP; Lemon; 6x3; OOCness; a pretty dumb premise, to be honest; I know nothing of Tennis Disclaimer: It's not what it looks like!! 6x3 Luv Zechs Merquise slung open the heavy door of the club's locker room, and stepped into its cool interior. "Un-fucking-believable." He told himself as he threw his sweat-soaked towel in the general direction of the hampers. "Just a fucking kid!" He stalked across the plush carpet toward his dressing area. He was hot and agitated, and he'd just lost the game of his life . . . to a seventeen-year-old! "Fucking brat," he mumbled as he toed off his tennis shoes and pulled his shirt off over his head. What he really meant was, ' fucking gorgeous brat' and 'incredibly sexy kid.' And that's what bothered him the most. He hadn't lost the game because the kid was better than he was. He lost the game because he'd been distracted, or more pointedly, aroused. His long, blond tresses were gathered into a multiple banded pony-tail, but it didn't stop it from sticking to his hot back, making him itch, making him even more irritable. He began pulling out the bands one at a time, mumbling heatedly. "That last serve! It was a simple backhand! I could have made that in my sleep!" He remembered the last few seconds of the match, that beautiful boy grunting as he swung his racket. Zechs had almost came at the noise. And that had been his downfall. 'I bet he's out there gloating right now! 'I beat the best! I'm better than that washed up old man!'' Zechs thought as he continued loosening his hair. The more he thought about what had happened the more his anger turned to disappointment. He looked at the white-clothed bulge between his legs, "And it's all your fault!" "Well, I can't say I'm sorry I won." Zechs's head snapped up at the sound of his opponent's voice. He hadn't heard him enter but there he was, Trowa Barton, glistening from head to toe with the product of his exertion. His face was slightly red and his lips full and pouty. "Actually, I wasn't talking to you. And I congratulate you on your victory." Zechs watched as the younger man sat down across the room, pulling off his shoes, his limbs long and spindly. He shifted uncomfortably, trying to accommodate, or suppress, he couldn't decide which, his raging hard-on. "Shouldn't you be talking to the press?" He asked, with only the barest hint of irritation. "Already did. They don't like quiet winners." The boy's voice was so soft that Zechs strained to hear it, and despite his recent victory, the boy seemed fairly impassive. "Well, who could blame them? You just won the biggest game of your career thus far, against a player with five titles behind him. Yet you look as if you'd just had a root canal." His words were calm but fully expressive of his inner disappointment. "Can you explain that?" Trowa didn't stop undressing. He pulled off his wrist and head bands, threw them aside, and stood to remove his shirt and shorts. Zechs sucked in an inaudible breath at the vision before him as Trowa nonchalantly pulled his shirt over his head, every inch of the tantalizing, bronze flesh screaming out Zechs's name, calling longingly to his cock. The boy then reached to his waist band, and shed himself quickly of the white material of his shorts. Zechs couldn't believe the sheer joy he was getting from watching the boy strip. He was throbbing now, aching uncontrollably. And once those tiny shorts were dropped completely, he found himself unable to not stare. Trowa's white briefs were no different from the ones he wore, but somehow, seeing them on that lithe, golden body, cupping the boy's healthy cock and scrotum . . . OH GOD!! "Honestly," Trowa was speaking and Zechs found it a struggle to listen as the boy's thin fingers slid into the band of his underwear, "I don't consider it much of a victory." And with that, the last barrier between Zechs and the boy's beautiful cock, besides twenty or so feet, was removed. Zechs watched in rapt admiration as a thatch of reddish brown curls appeared first, much the same color as the boy's hair. And then, as his briefs dropped to the floor, his cock came with it, falling out of its hiding place, accompanied by its velvety companion. Zechs shuddered and dropped his gaze, trying not to stare. When he heard the light footsteps padding to the showers, he lifted his head in time to watch a tight ass, white in the shape of his briefs, saunter into the showers. "Unghhhh . . ." he grunted quietly as he finally relented to the ache screaming from between his thighs and gave his erection a long squeeze. 'Why does he do this to me?' he asked himself as he watched steam wafting from the shower rooms. 'He's like walking sex! The way he moves, the way he plays, the way he looks and speaks . . .' And then it hit him. Trowa had spoken. Zechs had been so busy with his mind in his crotch, it had not yet registered what the boy had said. 'He said it wasn't much of a victory! He means I'm not a challenge!' "How dare he?" Zechs's anger and the recent wounding of his pride, made his mind as foggy as the room was becoming. No one insulted Zechs Merquise! Even if they are the best looking piece of ass he'd seen in years! He was a champion!!! Zechs rose quickly, wincing only slightly at the uncomfortableness he found in walking, and stormed into the shower room. The steam was thick and hung heavy in the air, making it difficult to see. He stepped cautiously, the hot air making his hair and shorts stick to him, and eventually felt the lap of hot water against his bare toes. The vapor before him seemed to part, and there, standing under a torrent of hot water, was Trowa. He was oblivious to Zechs's presence, or so it seemed, and Zechs lost all of his fury as he watched the younger man bathe. Water beat down on the top of his head, his shoulders, falling in thick rivulets over his chest and finally dipping into the crack between his firm bottom, or running down his shimmering shaft, dripping erotically from the tip, just as Zechs wished he could do. Zechs groaned unconsciously and Trowa's emerald eyes shot open at the noise. They were both quiet for a long moment, one staring in embarrassment, the other with unreadable eyes. Zechs finally found his tongue. He'd come in here for a reason, Dammit! Besides that! "What do you mean it wasn't 'much of a victory'! I'm 23 years old and tennis has been my life for thirteen of those years! You're just a kid. What would you know!?!" Zechs truly was angry now, his face was red and flustered from more than the heat of the room. Trowa didn't flinch, nor did he shy from the man's harsh stare. And when he spoke, his voice was as calm as ever, "I know who you are. You're Zechs Merquise, the greatest tennis player of my time. And today, you lost. And all of your fans, including me, are very disappointed in you." Zechs flinched at the words, "But you--" Trowa continued, "I won. And that's why your fans will hate me. But I don't hate me. I blame you." "But why--" he was cut off again. "Because you didn't lose that match Zechs. You could have beat me in your sleep." Zechs winced as his own words were thrown back at him, "You didn't lose, Zechs . . . your dick did." And with that, Trowa turned to face the shower head and continue bathing leaving Zechs stunned, mouth agape. How dare he!?! In a fit of angry stupidity, Zechs stepped under the spray of the water, and grabbed his opponent by the arm, turning him to face him, "What did you say?" Trowa only looked slightly alarmed, "I said your dick lost that game! You weren't concentrating on playing, you were thinking about your girlfriend or the strip club you were at last night!" Zechs was surprised by the anger in the boy's speech, though he had hardly raised his voice. "This was the biggest match of my life, but not because I was playing for a title. It's because I was playing against you!" Trowa's face turned from anger to disappointment, "And you weren't even there." He turned again, letting the water beat across his back, "I shouldn't have won." Zechs was burnt. Every word Trowa had said was true, well, all except the girlfriend and/or strip club part. Trowa had gone into the game, expecting to lose to someone he'd admired, and instead, he'd won. He could see why the boy was angry. But what do you say to something like that? What do you tell a fan after you've fallen right before their eyes? What do you say to the most beautiful boy ever, when he's standing naked and upset in front of you and all you have to show for it is the biggest erection of your life? "I--" Zechs began softly, "I don't have a girlfriend." 'What the FUCK???' He screamed at himself, 'Could you have thought of anything more dumbass than that?' But the boy didn't seem to find it odd. "Then who's that for?" he asked, unabashedly stabbing a finger toward Zechs's crotch without turning to look. Zechs looked down at the object in question, more than apparent through the white material now that he was drenched. 'Should I tell him?' he asked the quiet bulge, and as if in response, it ached more at the thought of the boy accepting his advance. Zechs looked back at Trowa and thought of the words he'd been muttering when the young man had first entered the room, "It's all your fault." It almost seemed as if Trowa hadn't heard the words at first, as it was a full minute before he responded, his voice once again soft and quiet, "Do you mean that?" Zechs smiled, "Do you want me to?" Trowa turned at the lust-filled sound of Zechs's raspy voice, and as he did, Zechs couldn't help but notice the half-hard cock that came with him. "Zechs . . ." Trowa said softly as he regarded the older man with darkened green eyes, and a beat later the couple was intertwined in a hot, wet embrace. Zechs had to bend to kiss those full, red lips and he gathered the boy against his chest, lifting him a little so as to crush their erections together. "AHHH!!" Two voices groaned simultaneously as the wriggling couple clashed with the ferocity of their first kiss, Zechs having to maneuver around a wet fall of bangs. He pulled Trowa's legs up to wrap around his waist, loving how boy's cock pressed firmly into his stomach. In each of his hands, he held a perfectly, hard globe of Trowa's pert bottom and he kneaded the flesh as he ravished the boy's mouth. If heaven were wet and steamy and full of naked boys, then this, Zechs thought, was the promised land! "Zechs," Trowa panted between kisses, "put me down and get those shorts OFF!" Zechs, hating to let go of that beautiful flesh, but all the more eager to be inside it, relinquished his hold on the smaller boy, and efficiently rid himself of his his last pieces of clothing, throwing the soggy items across the shower room. The water beating hot and hard against his abdomen and newly released cock only served to arouse him more as he stepped back into Trowa's embrace, pushing the boy against the wall. Trowa noted the other man's increased excitement and when their bodies clashed again, he took Zechs throbbing organ in hand, reveling in the thick solidity of it, "Well you're certainly concentrating now, aren't you Merquise," he teased, stroking lightly at the impressive length he held. "Mmmmm," Zechs moaned in agreement, mind fuzzy with sensation. But not quite all fuzzy. He reached an arm out, sliding it blindly across the wall until he found his target, he smiled. "And I will NOT lose this match." With that, he slung Trowa's left leg around his waist and squeezed a generous dollop of the recently acquired conditioner onto his hand. "You're sure you're okay with this?" he asked Trowa tentatively. The boy seemed eager enough but they were still little more than strangers. In answer, Trowa wrapped his arms around Zechs once more and kissed him furiously. A second later and he was moaning into Zechs's mouth as the other man's fingers pushed and danced inside him. At first, Zechs had to hold Trowa up as he fucked him with his thick and clever digits, as the boy's knees went weak and threatened to buckle. But soon, Trowa seemed to find his own initiative and began pushing back against those deliciously deft invaders. One at first, and then another, and another, until Zechs was afraid the boy would come without him and he slipped his fingers from inside the slick warmth, earning a small whimper of disappointment from his new lover. "No love," he said as he kissed Trowa's open and panting mouth, "you won't be disappointed this time. I promise." He watched as Trowa swallowed hard, obviously becoming parched from his exertion. He leaned his head back and caught a mouthful of water, carrying it to Trowa's mouth, kissing him. And the smaller man drank it eagerly. "Thank you," Trowa said, lapping at the water dripping down Zechs's face. "Now," he continued, grabbing the shower head above him and wrapping his other leg around Zechs's waist, "don't disappoint me." Zechs grinned devilishly before drenching his weeping cock in their chosen lubricant, and dropping the bottle onto the floor. He shifted his posture and moved Trowa's legs to drape over his shoulders, supporting the young man at the base of his back, and positioned his swollen head at Trowa's slick entrance. "Game point, Trowa . . . I win." And with that, he pushed inside. Trowa cried out immediately, and Zechs paused thinking he might have hurt him. But a beat later and Trowa was pushing against Zechs's invading member, wanting the pain and the pleasure so badly. "Again!" he yelled after Zechs's hesitance, and Zechs was more than eager to please. Trowa was so tight and welcoming, enveloping his thick cock. He pulled out partly before thrusting swiftly inside again. They began a wet and frantic rhythm, Zechs thrusting heartily into Trowa's tense body, Trowa's shoulders sliding against the wet tile wall. He couldn't believe this was happening! His opponent, his hero, the man he'd looked up to for the last several years of his life, was fucking him senseless in the shower room. But the feel of Zechs's fervent and healthy cock sliding gloriously in and out of him, brushing his most sensitive of spots and making him moan pitifully, reminded him that it was, in fact, happening. Zechs felt himself getting close now, as Trowa's ass slammed against him. He removed a hand from the boy's back and brought it to stroke at Trowa's bobbing and weeping erection. Trowa jumped and tightened around Zechs, as the other man deftly fisted his neglected cock and the sensation was becoming to much. "Zechs!" Trowa screamed, as he came in a hot flood over Zechs's hand, and a moment later, Zechs's shout bounced off the walls as he too found release inside his lover's taut body. They stood like that for a moment, trembling with the aftershocks of their orgasm, Trowa hanging limply from the shower head that still ran hot and heavy, washing away the evidence of their love-making, and Zechs with his back arched, impaled impossibly deep inside the smaller man. Finally, Zechs carefully pulled his softened length from Trowa's depths and gently lowered the boy into a standing position. They embraced. "God," Zechs began as he kissed Trowa's wet head, "If it's going to be like that from now on . . . I think I'd like to lose to you more often." Trowa smiled against the man's chest, their activities and the heat of the water making him impossibly sleepy. He snuggled against Zechs even more, squeezing him in a hug as he spoke, "And I, to you." end [back to the Reverand's fic]