Chapter Text
Calum hadn't seen Luke in seven years.
He'd had full intentions of keeping it that way. He never wanted to see him again.
That's what he'd been telling himself, anyway.
But now, he had a responsibility to uphold as Sydney's soccer captain. And so did Luke, as the rugby captain.
Both teams had launched a dual campaign, raising money for children in low-income households lacking the proper resources to play sports.
Allegedly, Luke had been the campaign's biggest supporter, which was no surprise, given how close the mission was to his own childhood. Calum found it equally infuriating and inspiring, which was how he'd always felt about Luke.
For the next two months, both teams would donate twenty-five percent of their game proceeds to the campaign. And at the end of the campaign, in celebration of the total amount raised, there would be one last, major game, hosted by both teams.
Today was the official start of the campaign. Which meant Calum had to see Luke, face to face. Which meant so many complicated feelings. Mostly that Calum wanted to scream at him. Or tear his clothes off. Both sounded equally appealing.
Once he arrived at the stadium, he scanned in, getting past security. Then he was led through the tunnel to the locker room, where he'd been told to change into his uniform. Today, they'd be taking photos, as well as action shots on the field.
Luke was, without a doubt, going to be a showoff. Calum couldn't stand the thought.
Once he entered the locker room, he found his uniform waiting for him, along with cleats, and matching socks. Beside his uniform hung an empty hanger.
Luke was already here. Already dressed.
Calum sighed, glancing behind him before he stripped down, changing into the fresh, crisp uniform. He sat on the bench, pulling his socks on.
"Hood."
Calum tensed, slowly lifting his head. Luke stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame. His jaw was set, his broad shoulders and tall, bulky frame casting a looming shadow.
He looked exactly the same. Same blond curls. Same slightly crooked teeth. Same scars decorating his pale, bare skin. Same silver chain around his neck. No new ink. No piercings. Absolutely nothing to show for.
Without responding, Calum turned his attention to his cleats, sliding them on.
Luke slowly approached, closing in on him with that same quiet intimidation.
But it didn't work on Calum. It never had.
He laced up his cleats, tightening them restlessly.
"You've changed," Luke said, his tone bitter. "I hardly recognize you."
Calum huffed a humorless, angry laugh, shaking his head.
Luke kicked his rugby boot against the bench, making it rattle. "What?"
"I grew up, Luke." Calum finally looked at him, his eyes piercing. "But you wouldn't know anything about that, would you?"
Luke exhaled a sharp breath, shoulders squaring. "Bold."
Calum stepped in front of him with zero hesitation. "True."
Luke's eyes darkened, both with lust and fury. "Fuck off."
"Make me."
Calum breathed him in, smelling the same aftershave, the same body wash.
Luke cocked his head, gaze dragging from Calum's lips to his eyes. "Is that a challenge?"
Calum shoved past him, though Luke didn't budge. "You wish."
Luke trailed him, his presence daunting. "Bullshit."
Calum laughed, walking a little faster. "God. You're so fucking easy."
Luke fell silent, huffing an angry breath out of his nose.
They barely composed themselves by the time they reached the field. They stood a few feet apart, not daring to get any closer.
They spent the next two hours taking photos and videos. Every moment spent together, pretending that they were fine, that this was fine, was pure agony. Every brush of skin set them aflame.
So they did it again. And again. And again. Pretending it was an accident. Knowing it wasn't.
Once they started solo shots, it became a silent game of desire. Calum worked the ball in front of the camera, launching it into each corner of the net with precise rhythm. He kicked the ball back and forth from foot to knee, foot to knee, brows knit in deep concentration as his muscles flexed.
And Luke watched, drinking him in, memorizing every movement, every change of expression, every lift of fabric.
Then, it was Luke's turn to show off.
He launched the ball through the goalpost over and over until they'd gotten the perfect shot. Calum watched his biceps flex, bulging beneath the fabric as his large, strong hands gripped the ball. Then, Luke ran through a series of different kicks, each one precise, each one deadly.
Once they'd wrapped up for the day, each spent and sweaty, they returned to the locker room, arms brushing. While they got undressed, they snuck charged glances, eyeing what they'd missed after all this time.
Luke slipped on his sweats, fixing his hair. He licked his lips, watching Calum pull on his boxers. "You doing anything after this?"
Calum looked at him, brows raised. "Are you fucking serious?"
"Well, yeah," Luke replied, seemingly unbothered. "That's why I asked."
"I—" Calum huffed a laugh, shaking his head in disbelief. "God. You're such a prick."
Luke gave a crooked smile. "So?"
Calum hesitated, jaw clenched. He looked down at his watch, biting his lip.
"You have an hour," he said, meeting Luke's gaze. "Understood?"
Luke grinned, visibly satisfied. "I can work with that."