The hands paused on his shoulder blades. “What kind of question is that?”
“A simple one,” Tristan said, without opening his eyes.
“You know you’re attractive,” Zach said with some irritation in his voice. “And I answered the question yesterday.”
“I’m not asking about your professional objective opinion. Do you find me attractive? What one finds attractive is subjective.”
A long silence.
“I’m straight,” Zach said, as if it was an answer. Before Tristan could tell him that it wasn’t, Zach continued, a hint of a smile in his voice, “And I’m sure I wouldn’t find you attractive if I were gay. Gay men probably don’t like feminine guys.”
“Feminine?” Tristan spluttered, outraged.“There’s nothing feminine about me! Does this body look feminine to you?”
Zach actually had the nerve to laugh. “I’m talking about your face. You’re too pretty for a man, dollface. Men aren’t supposed to have eyes and lips like that.”
“Oh yeah? You seem to have given it a lot of thought.”
But once again, Zach didn’t rise to the bait, and his voice was calm as he replied, “You have the sort of face that draws attention, and my job is to pay attention to the details. Your body is my job. I study it, I learn it, and then I improve it. Nothing more, nothing less.”
Tristan pursed his lips.
Zach’s hands moved to his lower back and started kneading there. Oh. Had he just got used to Zach’s hands? They didn’t seem that rough anymore. They felt…they felt good. Strong, capable, a little rough…just perfect.
Zach removed the towel and laid his hands on his buttocks. Tristan tensed and opened his eyes as Zach’s hands started stroking and kneading his cheeks.
Tristan stared at the wall. It was just a massage. Just a massage. As usual, Zach’s touch was absolutely impersonal and professional. It was no different than getting a massage from Ron or Gary, the team physiotherapists who usually rubbed him down after a long match.
It should have been no different.
Tristan’s eyes closed again. He had to swallow back a moan. He hadn’t lied yesterday: his skin really was extremely sensitive, especially down there, but it was usually easy to keep his arousal at bay when he was massaged. He was puzzled and annoyed that he didn’t seem to be able to do it now.
Finally, Zach moved lower, but it helped very little. If anything, those big hands, stroking and kneading his thighs, only made his problem worse. His cock was fully hard now, his body tingling all over, his nipples tight and aching. Tristan swallowed another moan, more than a little bewildered. He couldn’t remember ever being so turned on by an impersonal sports massage.
There was a simple explanation, though. He’d gone too long without a nice, thick cock in him. He just needed to get laid—discreetly—and then he would stop reacting so ridiculously to a simple massage from a man he didn’t even like.
“On your back,” Zach said.
Explanation found and decision made, Tristan relaxed and rolled onto his back. He could meet Zach’s eyes when Zach saw his erection.
They stared at each other.
Zach snorted and started working on his shoulders. “It’s a physiological response to touch. It happens all the time and it’s nothing to be embarrassed of.”
“I’m not embarrassed,” Tristan said. Being embarrassed implied having something to be embarrassed of, which he most definitely didn’t.
“Then why are you blushing?”
Great. He was blushing now? He never blushed.
“Just imagined having your cock in me.”
Zach’s eyes snapped to him, his hands going utterly still. It would have been comical if Tristan didn’t feel like cutting his own tongue. Where the fuck had that come from?
The silence stretched.
Tristan smiled and forced out a laugh. “Ha ha! You have no sense of humor.”
“And you have a very strange one,” Zach said after a moment, returning to the task at hand. He finished the massage quickly, ignoring Tristan’s erection, and stepped away. “Tomorrow we might add a few more exercises,” he said, washing his hands, his back to Tristan. “Maybe a very gentle static ball squeeze—”
“Can I have sex?”
Zach paused before turning around. “Absolutely not,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest. “Sex is off-limits.”
“You’re so bloody predictable,” Tristan grumbled, reaching for his clothes.
“If you want to recover as soon as possible, you must lay off sex.”
“Tell that to my dick.”
“You have a functional right hand,” Zach said. “Have a wank.”
Tristan threw the wet towel at his head.
Zach ducked. “It’s a wonder you score any goals,” he said, his lips twitching. “Your aim is incredibly poor.”
Tristan grabbed the massage oil.
This time he didn’t miss.
* * *
“You could have maimed me.”
Tristan rolled his eyes, pressing the ice pack to Zach’s right eye. “And you call me a drama queen.”
Zach’s left eye glared at him. He didn’t look amused at all. “That bottle weighs half a pound, Tristan,” he gritted out. “And you threw it at my face.”