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heaven sent you to me

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The first time it happens, Team doesn’t realise what it actually means.

They’re at another beach attending a training camp for the swim club, and one of the activities is wrestling. 

Somehow, Team gets picked to go up against Win, who is grinning at him across the crude circle someone drew in the sand with a stick. 

“Please go easy on your senior,” he says, sending him a deep dramatic wai.

“You wish,” Team replies, and then they get into starting positions.

Their matchup is pretty equal at first; Win may be taller with more experience but Team is built a little thicker, arm muscles toned from the hundreds of extra laps Win forces him through each week.

At one point, Win catches him off guard and manages to get him onto his back, but before he can pin him, Team grabs him by the arms, wraps his legs around his waist, and then flips him over onto his back. He pins Win’s arms either side of his head, using his full body weight to stop him from moving. 

He grins down at him, their faces inches from one another. Win’s eyes are wide as he stares dazedly up at him, cheeks a high point of colour on his face. He tests the strength of his grip but Team holds him steadfast, making him unable to move or get free. 

“I win,” Team says happily, after Dean calls the result. 

He releases Win’s wrists and stands up, offering out a hand to help him up. Win blinks up at him before slowly taking it. 

He accidentally pulls him up too hard, a little enthusiastic from the thrill of the victory, and Win almost stumbles into him from the strength of it. He catches him firmly around the forearms, steadying him. 

“Sorry, hia,” he apologises quickly. 

Win is staring down at where his hands grip him. When Team lets go, he seems to snap out of it and avoids eye contact. The tips of his ears are pink beneath the silver of his piercings.

“It’s fine,” he says quietly, swiftly moving away to head back to his spot beside Dean. 

He assumes that Win is flushed due to embarrassment from losing to him in front of the other juniors. He won’t look Team in the eyes for a while after. 

Occasionally, when Team glances sideways at him, he finds Win already watching him, something unreadable in his face, before he quickly looks away. 

Win had returned back to normal shortly after, and Team hadn’t thought anything of it.


About a week later, well into the evening, Win watches from the side lines as Team heaves himself out of the pool, the other club members having already left for the day. He can feel Win’s eyes on his arms and chest as the water drips down them in rivulets, but he ignores him in favour of heading to the locker room. 

Once there, he fishes a bottle of water out of his bag and drinks greedily, aware of Win approaching him in his periphery. When he pauses to watch the movement of Team’s throat as he swallows, Team stops drinking to look at him suspiciously.

“What’s wrong?” 

Win seems to snap out of his daze. “Nothing,” he says quickly, then steals the bottle from him and takes a swig.

“Hey!” He tries to swipe for the bottle in Win’s hand but he moves out of reach, toward the wall of lockers. “Hia, that’s mine,” he whines. “I’m thirsty, go get your own.”

Win pouts dramatically. “But I want this one.”

He feels his face darken. He hasn’t received this level of teasing from Win since the very beginning of their time together. After they admitted their feelings, Team worked out the reason Win teased him so much was because it was a sure-fire way to get his attention. He’d mellowed since they’d had the security of their official relationship, so Team has no idea what has suddenly brought this side of Win back out. All he knows is that he’s exhausted and thirsty and he wants his bottle back.

He takes a step forward. “Give it back or else.”

Win shifts at the threat, and Team watches in fascination as his throat bobs in a swallow.

“Or else what?”

Within two strides, Team has Win’s back pressed to the wall of lockers, a thigh shoved up between his legs and arms pinned flat to the metal either side of his head. His grip loosens in shock and the bottle falls to the ground, but they both ignore it, their faces inches from each other. From the way he’d shoved him back, Team is at a slightly higher vantage point than Win, bearing down onto him. Win’s eyes dart between his own, breathing picking up as Team squeezes his wrists.

“Team,” he breathes, and Team’s eyes flick down to his pink plush mouth, still open slightly with shock.

He gently presses up with his thigh, making Win gasp, and begins to close the gap toward his mouth. Win’s eyes flutter shut, going languid in anticipation, and then the locker room door crashes open as Pruk comes barrelling in. 

Team springs away, hastily releasing Win and moving away to the opposite side of the room. He notes the way Win’s face seems to drop into disappointment, before it’s wiped away and replaced with an overtly neutral smile that he sends Pruk’s way.

“Sorry guys,” Pruk says quickly, looking even more embarrassed than Team feels. “I forgot my laptop here and came to grab it.” He pulls it out of his locker and retreats, but before he can get to the door, Manaow appears. She must have been waiting outside for Pruk and heard their voices.

“Oh, hi P’Win, hi Team!” She looks at them in confusion. “Why are you here so late?”

They share a glance, and then Team quickly says, “Extra swim practice.” 

It’s not even a lie, so he has no idea why it makes him flush further.

She hums in acceptance. “Since you’re here, do you want to get food with us?” Pruk looks pained, mouthing ‘sorry’ at them from over her shoulder. Team resolutely does not look at him. “We were going to head there after picking up P’Pruk’s laptop.”

“Sure,” Team says hastily, wanting this to be over with. “Sounds great.”

“We’ll wait outside for you to shower,” she says happily, dragging Pruk out by his arm.

He chances a glance at Win, whose back is still pressed to the lockers, head tilted back and eyes closed. His breaths are even, perfectly so, like he’s consciously keeping them that way. Team silently moves closer, tentatively reaching out a hand to touch his wrist.

Win jumps at the touch and turns distracted brown eyes on him.

“Are you okay, hia?”

Win smiles, but it looks tight. “I’m fine,” he reaches up to run a hand through Team’s chlorine-wet hair. “You should go and shower so we don’t keep them waiting.” 

Team wants to push, but the dismissive way Win says it tells him he shouldn’t.

“Okay,” he says instead, moving away to collect a towel and a change of clothes.

Just before he rounds the corner out of sight, he sneaks a peek back at Win. He still hasn’t moved from his spot at the lockers, staring down at where one of his hands is wrapped around his wrist. 

He thinks about the way Win had gone soft and malleable against his hold when he’d grabbed him. Something nudges at the edge of his mind, like he’s on the precipice of a realisation, but he can’t quite grasp it, so he shakes it off and heads to the showers.


A couple of days later, Team blissfully emerges from the shower in Win’s room. It was a rare Saturday that they didn’t have plans or obligations, and he was looking forward to having some alone time with his boyfriend. When he’d woken, Win had already been in the shower, taking such an inordinate amount of time that eventually Team had to bang on the door to remind him not to use all the hot water.

After wrapping a towel around his waist, he heads back out and notes with confusion that Win is still only dressed in his black boxers, sitting on the edge of the bed almost expectantly. His hair is dry but hangs loose, framing his face perfectly, making him look softer. Before he can get distracted by the way his tattoos disappear under the waistband, he cocks his head slightly.

“You’re not dressed,” he states.

“Well observed,” Win retorts, standing up to face him. Quick as a flash, he whips Team’s towel away from his waist. “Neither are you.”

Team always wears boxers underneath his towel, a habit formed from living at home that he still can’t shake. But Win knows that by now.

Win’s eyes track appreciatively down his bare torso, and Team feels heat prickle underneath his skin. He stretches a hand toward the towel, but Win holds it behind him out of reach. There’s something in his expression that Team can’t quite place, but the air around them feels different, charged with a sudden suspense, like something about to come to completion. Their eyes stay locked on one another, and Team refuses to back down.

“Give it back to me, hia,” he says lowly.

“Come and take it,” he challenges, eyes dark and expectant. There’s something else brewing just beneath the surface, a tension suddenly rising between them, sending anticipation down his spine.

Team tackles him to the bed.

Win’s back hits the sheets along with a small noise of surprise, towel still held aloft out of reach. When Team pins down his free arm and reaches for the towel, Win seems to come to a quick decision and flings it across the room. Team watches it go, then turns his attention back to the fidgeting brat underneath him. 

“You—” he cuts off as Win tries to get free, preventing him from doing so by grabbing him by the waist, hauling him further up the bed and then rolling so they’re both on their sides.

He forces Win’s wrists together between their chests and grips them in one hand. Win has bigger hands, but his wrists are delicately thin, so holding them in one hand isn’t difficult. 

Win seems to freeze all at once, flexing his hands to test Team’s strength. He starts to squirm slightly, but it feels weak and just for show, like the last thing he wants to do is get away. 

“Why are you being such a—” Team trails off in frustration. 

He can’t describe it, but the way Win is acting is making desire flare in his blood, the urge to pin him down and keep him there overwhelming. It’s like Win is acting out on purpose, trying to get under his skin, like he wants Team to— 


All at once, all the pieces of the puzzle seem to fall into place. 

Team squeezes his wrists and Win’s eyes fly up to his. They’re blown wide in arousal, simmering with a touch of desperation.

“You’re being a little brat on purpose,” Team realises.

Win stares at him, eyes wide, caught out. With his spare hand, Team slides his hand down Win’s bare torso and over the front of his boxers, finding him completely hard. He cups over the full length of him, and Win’s eyes flutter shut, trapped hands curling into fists as he arches into his hand. 

“Is this what you want, hia?” 

Team rubs his thumb over the sensitive tip of his cock through the fabric, the growing wet spot spreading across the material. Win gasps and bucks into the touch, but then he shakes his head, hiding his warm face in the crook of Team’s neck. 

“More,” he murmurs into the skin, hips circling in a small rotation against his hand. 


Team has an idea where this is leading, the way Win is curling into and deferring to him, allowing him to set the pace. He’s giving himself over to Team, trusting that he’ll be taken care of.

He releases his hands and cups the back of Win’s head with one hand, keeping him still against his neck, then with the other he slides around his back and down under the waistband of his boxers, squeezing a handful of his ass. Win gives an encouraging noise, so he runs one finger down the cleft of his ass and grazes over his entrance.

The reaction is instantaneous. Win practically jolts in his hold, gripping onto Team’s bicep and pushing back wantonly against his finger. 

“Please,” he breathes.

“Fuck,” Team whispers, and then he’s gripping Win by the hair and gently coaxing him to look at him. 

He looks dazed and turned on, with a flush of colour high on his cheekbones. Team studies him intently, but finds no sign of hesitation in his face. 

“Are you sure, hia?” 

Win nods. “I’ve been thinking about it for a while,” he adds quietly.

Team makes a small noise in the back of his throat, no longer able to resist leaning in and capturing his lips in a kiss. Win opens up to him with no hesitation. 

He rolls so he has him pressed to the bed, arms pinned either side of his head. Their cocks rub against each other through their underwear as Team grinds down, letting Win feel the full weight of him as he gasps into his mouth. 

He releases Win’s wrists and Team notes with a bolt of pleasure that he keeps them where they are, obediently curling them into the pillow above his head. He moves down and noses under Win’s earlobe, pressing a kiss to the skin where he’s sensitive. He feels Win shiver beneath him, spreading his legs automatically, and Team moves down to bite into his neck then soothe over the mark with his tongue. 

“Team,” Win breathes.

He pauses and pulls back, looking down at the image his boyfriend makes, hair spread out across the pillow, cheeks flushed, begging to be touched. He thinks about all the things he wants to do to him, to make him fall apart underneath his hands the same way Win does for him. 

Win is trusting him with everything, and Team is going to wreck him in all the ways he’s taught him how. 

He leans down to press a tender kiss against his lips, and mumbles, “I wanna eat you out.” 

Before Win can choke out a reply, he flips him onto his stomach and tugs his boxers down and off, flinging them over the side. 

“Ah, you don’t have to if you don’t—”  As Win makes to squirm, Team pulls his cheeks apart with both hands then leans in to lick a stripe from his balls up over his pink hole. 

“Team,” Win gasps, and it’s supposed to be a protest but comes out more like a moan as he pushes back onto his tongue. 

Team grabs him by the waist and hauls him up onto his knees, presses his upper body down into the sheets with a hand to the centre of his shoulder blades, directly over his tattoo. 

“Don’t move,” he says, barely recognising the rough tone as his own. 

Win nods as well as he can with his face buried in the sheets, head tilted just enough to breathe. When Team licks into him again, wide swipes of his tongue over his hole, his hands twist into the fabric below as he cries out. 

When Win had first done this to him, he’d had to teach Team how to relax into it, carefully coaxing him open with a skilled mouth and tongue. But Win practically melts into him, body going languid as he spreads his knees even further to give him better access.

Team is so hard it hurts, having to hold Win open with one hand and press the other against himself to get some relief, as Win makes frantic little noises against the bed. His hole is now relaxed enough that he can stiffen his tongue and fuck right into him, making him wet and open. 

He pulls back to a noise of protest, placing a kiss on the nearest cheek in apology. 

“Get the lube,” he says. 

Win looks over his shoulder, eyes dazed and completely out of it, like he can’t comprehend what Team is saying. 

Cute, Team thinks.

“Grab the lube from the drawer,” he repeats, hand now soothing over his lower back. 

Win stares at him for a beat then drops his head into his arms. 

“Asking me to have the coordination to move when your tongue was just in my ass is mean,” he complains. “You’re mean.” 

Team can’t help but laugh a little, and he can see the tiny smile Win is hiding beneath his arms. 

“If you want more,” he reasons, sliding a finger to his entrance, glistening with his spit. He pushes the tip in and it’s an easy slide, Win opening up for him perfectly. Win gasps into his arms and tries to fuck back onto his finger, but Team pulls away so he doesn’t hurt him. “You have to get me the lube.” 

Win pushes himself up on shaking arms and leans across to the nightstand, rummaging in the top drawer for the bottle. Just as he finds it, Team reaches out to touch his neglected cock, flushed pink and hanging hard between his legs. Win drops the bottle to the bed at the unexpected touch, head dropping back down onto his arms as he makes a low sound. Team collects the pre-come glistening at the head and spreads it down his length. 

“So mean,” Win complains again, and Team takes pity and releases him, reaching to grab the dropped lube. 

Win fidgets as he coats his fingers liberally. He reaches his index finger out to gently coat his hole with lube, and Win’s hand flies back to clamp down on his wrist. When Team glances up, Win is looking back at him, something terribly vulnerable colouring his face. Team’s chest tightens with adoration. 

“Slowly, okay?” He says soothingly, pressing a kiss to his hand. “I’ll go as slow as you need.” 

Win’s eyes flutter shut as he releases his wrist, turning his head to bury into his arms again. He gives a tiny nod in response. 

He starts off with one. Win has done this to him so many times that he knows mostly what to expect. Win barely reacts save for a small tensing of his abdomen, his hole already relaxed from Team’s mouth. 

Win makes a tiny noise into his arms. “Another, please.” 

He pushes straight back in with two, and this time Win feels the stretch.

“Oh,” he breathes, as Team begins to carefully fuck them in and out. “I forgot how it feels to be…”

“Full,” Team finishes, and Win nods into his arms. 

“I didn’t realise how much I’d missed it until—” he cuts off as Team crooks his fingers down and must find his prostate, the pleasure bolting through him rendering him silent. 

“There?” Team asks hoarsely, not taking his eyes off the way Win’s rosebud mouth drops open as he does it again. 

“There,” he breathes. “Do it again, please.” 

Team complies and speeds up the motions of his fingers, aiming for his prostate on almost every stroke in. Win is squirming now and making plaintive little noises, his angel wings rippling across his back as he moves. Team feels like he’s corrupting something pure, even though he knows that’s impossible. 

“Another,” he begs. “Team, give me another—,” Team presses three fingers in slowly, and Win’s hole swallows them beautifully. He watches in awe as he goes boneless, surrendering himself over as Team speeds up, fucking into him over and over. 

Team is so used to cocksure Win, the vice president of the swim team, beloved senior and perfect student, the person who teases him relentlessly just to see him blush. He’s currently trying to link that Win up with the person he has pinned down on his fingers, fucking back desperately and whining into the pillow. 

It makes desire burn in his gut, finally being the one to make Win fall apart so beautifully, the switch in roles sending a heady rush to his head. As much as he loves being the one held beneath Win, he can’t deny the appeal of seeing him like this either. 

Team glances between Win’s legs, spots the wet patch forming on the sheets from where his cock has been steadily dripping precome, the tip flushed pink and glistening. 

“You’re so wet,” he says, awed and reverent. He doesn’t mean it to affect him, he’s just stating a fact, but the words make Win keen and push back again onto his fingers, hiding his flushed face in the bed. Team looks down at him like he’s never seen him before, wide eyed and so, so hard in his boxers. 

“You really like this, don’t you?” 

Win can only nod in response, cracking open one eye to look back at him. The desperation he sees there has him soothing his other hand up Win’s back, even as he continues to fuck his fingers in steadily. 

“You should have said something sooner,” he admonishes gently. He pulls his fingers out, to an answering noise of complaint from Win, then drizzles more lube onto his hole and fucks them back in, crooking downward. “You didn’t have to bait me into it.”

“I didn’t want to pressure you into— ah!” Win cuts off with a moan as Team grazes his prostate, hands curling into the sheets. Team eases off slightly to give him a chance to speak. “Into something you might not want to do.” 

Team stills completely in shock. Win pushes back slightly in protest, but in the answering silence, turns his head to look back at him. His eyes are still glazed with arousal, but now he looks a little worried.

“Team?” His voice is small and unsure.

“I cannot explain to you,” Team says hoarsely, “just how much I want to fuck you, hia.” 

Win makes a small punched out noise before he gently removes his fingers and coaxes him onto his back, suddenly needing to see his face more than anything. He cages him in with his arms and looks down into his eyes. 

“Hi,” he murmurs. 

“Hi,” Win breathes, blinking dazedly up at him. 

Slowly, he rolls his hips to drag his aching cock along the soft seam of Win’s ass, listens to the way his breath hitches in response.

“You haven’t even had to touch me,” he says roughly. “And I’m already like this.” 

Without breaking eye contact, Win pushes under the waistband of his underwear and grips his cock. Team makes a low noise as he fucks forward into his fist automatically, chasing the stimulation.

Win jerks him off slowly, swirling his hand expertly around the sensitive head to collect the precome from the tip, then gliding back down. Something hot tightens in his lower belly, and he grabs Win’s wrist to still him. 

“You need to stop,” he says tightly. “Or I’m going to come.” 

Win manages to swipe his thumb over the slit, and Team wrenches his hand out of his underwear and presses it back down next to his head. 

“You’re being a brat again,” Team observes. 

Win smiles, slow and feral. “You like that I’m a brat.” 

The hot, molten feeling from earlier spreads through his veins, wanting to pin Win down and fuck him until he can’t tease anymore. Everything he’s doing has been to bait Team into it, and it’s working. 

He presses both of Win’s wrists down with his left hand, then fucks three fingers back into him as deep as they will go. Win’s smile is wiped off as his face twists into pleasure, starts rocking his hips to fuck himself onto his fingers. Team holds them still and let’s him, makes him work for it. 

“Stop teasing,” Win pants, arms still helplessly pinned. 

“You want me to stop teasing,” he moves his thumb up to Win’s perineum and starts to massage as he fucks in, stimulating him from the outside and inside. Win keens and tries to squirm away, but Team holds him steady. “But this is what you love to do to me, hia. You taught me everything you know.” He continues to fuck his fingers in, the squelch of the lube obscene around his gasps.

“Team,” he says desperately. “If you don’t fuck me soon, I’m gonna come.” 

Team wants that, wants to see his bratty teasing boyfriend fall apart on just his fingers and make a mess all over himself. But more so than that, his cock aches to be buried inside him. 

Regardless, he can’t resist teasing for a little longer. 

“I thought I was fucking you,” he replies, fingers moving faster as Win moans, arching desperately against his hold. 

“Team, baby,” he whines. “Put your cock in me already.” 

Team makes a strangled noise and stills his hand, staring wide-eyed down at him. 

“Your mouth, hia, I swear—” he complains, releasing Win’s wrists and drawing his fingers out.

As soon as he’s free, Win tugs him down into a kiss with a hand on the back of his neck. He huffs a tiny laugh against Team’s mouth. 

“You love it,” he teases, to which Team responds by nipping lightly at his lower lip, then kissing him deeply. 

Win pulls back dazedly. “Before you ask me to get a condom, I don’t think I can move my legs.” 

Team can’t help but smile, leaning over to grab one himself. Win frantically divulges him of his boxers, ripping open the foil packet and rolling the condom down his cock. Team slicks himself with lube and tries not to groan, wiping off the excess on the ruined sheets. 

Win tugs him down toward him desperately, and Team once again has to pin his wrists together between their chests to get him to stop moving.

“It’s the first time I’m topping,” he says, while Win squirms below him like a kitten. “Shouldn’t I be the eager one here?”

Win’s eyes are molten with arousal, his cock swollen and wet against his stomach. “Team, you just spent twenty minutes rimming and fingering me open,” he draws his knees up to his chest. Team lets go of his wrists in shock, and Win holds them spread at the back of his knees. “If you don’t fuck me right now, I might lose my mind.” 

Team swallows at the site of him, spread open and waiting. When he finally holds the base of himself and presses in, he doesn’t know which is better, the feeling of hot, squeezing pressure around his cock, or the way Win’s head drops back with a desperate choked off noise.

He bottoms out gradually and has to bury his face in Win’s neck to catch his breath, letting out a helpless little sound. He wants to move, wants to drive into Win’s body as hard as he can go, but he has to wait until Win has adjusted. The last thing he wants is to hurt him. 

Win threads a hand through the back of his hair and squeezes. Team gasps, and his hips fuck forward involuntarily in response. Win winds his legs around his waist and crosses his ankles at the small of his back, heels digging into the skin.

“I thought you were going to fuck me,” he punctuates the word by squeezing his legs, Team sliding deeper into him at the small change in angle. They both gasp, and Win does it again. Team’s arms are trembling over him as he tries to resist the urge to thrust. 

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he says tightly. 

“Team,” Win’s eyes are dark, half desperate and half turned on. “I’ve wanted this since you first put me on my back at the beach.” He winds his arms around his neck, their faces so close that their noses brush. “I’m not going to break,” he murmurs. “ Fuck me.” 

Team pushes up onto his knees, pulls out until only the tip is in, then drives back in as deep as he can. The noise that punches out of Win is obscene. 

“God, yes, finally,” he sighs out, eyes closing and head falling back onto the bed.

It’s the only encouragement Team needs before he’s fucking in ruthlessly, hands spread either side of Win’s narrow hips to tug him bodily back onto his cock. 

Win can’t do anything but lie back and take it, with Team practically lifting his hips into his lap to fuck into him over and over. He’s making plaintive little noises with each thrust in, and his hands move to grip his biceps, feels them flex with power as he drags him back into the cradle of his dick.

Win’s cock hits his stomach with every jolting thrust, leaking precome onto the skin. 

“I’m not gonna last,” he says desperately. “Team, I want—,” his hands tighten on his arms. 

Team knows what he wants. He stills but doesn’t pull out. 

“Give me your wrists,” he orders, waiting for Win to shakily comply. 

He once again grabs them in one hand and pins them down above his head. As he leans over, he practically folds Win in half and drives into him again, the new angle so deep that Win almost chokes on it. 

This is what Win wanted all along, to be pinned down with Team completely over him and inside him until it’s the only thing he can think about. The noises Win is making go straight to his cock, and he can feel the tell-tale twisting pleasure of his impending orgasm as he fucks down into him. 

With his spare hand, he reaches down to Win’s neglected cock and jerks him off in time with his thrusts, the wet slide aided by the copious amounts of precome. Win twists as best he can while pinned, desperate noises getting higher and higher. 

“Team, I’m gonna come,” he whines. “I’m gonna—,”

“Come on, hia,” he breathes, tightening his hold on Win’s wrists. “I’ve got you.” 

His body arches beautifully as Team keeps his arms still, letting out a long frantic sound as he comes in wave after wave all over his chest. Win clenches down around him fiercely, before going completely limp and letting Team fuck into him, allowing himself to be used to chase his orgasm.

The pleasure in his navel builds and builds until he snaps his hips forward and his orgasm rips through him, burying his face into Win’s neck and coming with a desperate noise into the condom. 

Eventually, his hips still and he slumps down into Win, who hums a satisfied noise and wraps his arms around him. As he nuzzles into Win’s neck happily, he feels him laugh gently beneath him. 

They catch their breaths for a couple of minutes in a sated and contented silence. 

“You wore me out,” Win eventually says around a satisfied smile. 

Team lifts his head to give him a deadpan look. “Who exactly did most of the work here?”

Win raises his eyebrow. “Are you calling me a pillow princess?”

“I notice you’re not denying it,” he teases back. 

Win pretends to think about it, then grins. “You’re right,” he says happily, wiggling slightly where Team is still inside him. 

Team hisses and clamps both hands down to still him, then carefully pulls out. Win makes a tiny noise of complaint, to which he apologises quietly, then stretches out languidly as Team climbs off the bed.

He busies himself tying off the condom, padding to the bathroom to discard it. He sets the shower running to warm up the water, places their last two remaining dry towels out on the side, then heads back out to his boyfriend. 

He’s still starfished out on the mattress, staring up at the ceiling contemplatively.

Team reaches down to grab one of his wrists and tugs once. “Up.” 

Win makes a noise of protest and stubbornly stays where he is. 

“We need to shower again,” he says firmly, and Win gives a tiny whine in response. His hand drops back down to the mattress with a soft thud when Team releases it. 

Team crosses his arms over his chest. “You always make me shower after we’ve had sex,” he points out. 

“That’s because I know you’ll wake up sticky and cranky,” Win grumbles. 

He looks down at him pointedly. 

Win huffs. “Fine,” he lifts his arms up. “Carry me.” 

“Your strength kink is getting out of control,” he replies, but he obediently scoops Win up beneath his knees and back and carries him into the bathroom. “I suppose I should get used to it though.” 

He feels Win go tense in his arms before he sets his feet down on the tiles. Win quickly steps into the shower and Team follows him after a moment’s pause, frowning a little at his reaction. 

Once in, Win busies himself washing his hair, eyes closed and head tilted back. He doesn’t say anything, so Team doesn’t either, silently washing his hair beside him. Once they’ve both rinsed, Team grabs the shower gel and soaps up a shower puff into a gentle lather. 

“Turn around,” he tells Win, and he obediently complies, turning to face the glass door. He starts to gently lather across his shoulders, waiting patiently for whatever is on his mind. 

“Team,” Win starts quietly. Team hums in question, gliding his hands across his tattoo to soap up his back. “Did you… like having sex this way?” 

Team pauses for only one second, then carries on cleaning him. “Of course I did, hia,” he replies, as if the question was absurd. “You saw me practically come my brains out.” 

Win doesn’t respond, still staring out at the glass door, which by now has fogged up with steam. 

The silence unnerves him. Team is usually the one who is softer and more mellow after sex, so this quietness from Win seems wrong, like there’s something he’s not telling him.

“Hia,” Team calls. He gently turns him around by the shoulders so he can catch his eye. “What’s wrong? Did you not like it?”

Win looks mildly horrified at the thought. “I loved it,” he says quickly. “It was everything I needed, Team, I just—,” he pauses, looking hesitant and apologetic. Team watches him expectantly. “I just… don’t always want to do it like that,” he finishes quietly. “I’m sorry.” 

He doesn’t understand why Win looks so crestfallen, watching him warily like Team is going to break up with him on the spot. 

“Okay,” Team says slowly. “I’m sensing we’re not exactly on the same page here.”

Win’s face falls, and he looks so heartbroken that Team immediately panics a little. 

“Not for the reason you’re thinking,” he hurries to say, desperate to wipe that look off his face. 

Win looks slightly confused, but at least that look of misery has receded. “What do you mean?” 

Team fiddles with the shower puff in his hands, not looking at him. “You know how I feel about talking about this kind of thing,” he glances briefly at Win, then back down. “I know that’s probably partially the reason you baited me into what we just did, rather than trying to talk to me about it. Actions speak louder than words and all that.” 

Win eases the shower puff out of his hands and drops it behind him to the floor. He pulls Team a little closer with two hands on his lower back. Team’s hands come up to rest on his chest. 

“I think right now I need your words, Team.” 

Team lets out a breath, squeezing his eyes tight in embarrassment. “I like it when you—,” he cuts off, the words failing him despite everything they’ve just done. “I like it when you’re on top,” he manages quietly. “It makes me feel safe, like I don’t have to think anymore and I can just let go because I know—,” he swallows. “I know you’ve got me.” 

Win’s arms tighten around him, but he doesn’t dare look at him just yet. He hides his face in the warm, wet skin of his neck. 

“But I also enjoyed what we just did,” he adds. “I liked taking care of you, and watching you fall apart under me.” There’s a beat of silence. “I just don’t see why we can’t have both,” he finishes softly. 

There’s silence from above him. Finally chancing a peek at him, the look of awe and adoration on Win’s face almost takes his breath away. 

“God, you’re perfect,” Win says desperately, unable to resist kissing him. Team melts into him in relief. “Of course we can have both, baby,” he smiles at him, completely smitten. “It didn’t occur to me until afterwards, but I was worried you would only want it one way from now on,” Team shakes his head quickly, and he huffs a laugh. “I know that now. I don’t want to be defined by the roles we take during sex. I’m really happy you feel the same way.” 

“What we like in bed is nobody’s business but ours,” Team grumbles.

Win smiles fondly at his expression, reaching out to massage the little crease between his eyebrows until it smoothes out. Team’s face eases out into a small smile, and they finish showering in a comfortable silence.

After they climb out, Team makes a tiny noise of pain as he reaches for one of the towels. He hands it off to Win, who thanks him, then rubs his aching arm with a hiss.

“Do your arms always ache this much after?”

“Pretty much,” Win replies, securing the towel around his waist. He looks down contemplatively and shakes one of his legs, like he’s trying to aid circulation. “Do your legs usually feel like jelly?”

“Jelly?” Team asks, pausing as he wraps the other towel around himself. “I usually can’t feel them at all,” he looks down at Win’s legs like they’ve personally betrayed him.

Win huffs a laugh at him. “That’s okay,” he cups his jaw and leans in to kiss him. “We can aim for numb legs next time,” he murmurs against his mouth.

Team hums, kisses him once, dry and chaste. “Maybe you could demonstrate how it’s done.”

Win grins, slow and pleased. “You have the best ideas.”