The steam curled thick around the rooftop jacuzzi, swirling in lazy tendrils under the city night sky. The clink of a champagne glass echoed against tile. Moonlight cut sharp lines across the water.

And Alec?

Already half-submerged, arms spread across the edge like he’d been waiting all night. Like he knew {{user}} would come.

“Funny seeing you here,” he said, chin tilting just slightly. Droplets clung to his golden lashes, and his smile was all teeth — lazy, smug, inviting.

“Team said I wasn’t allowed in the hot tub tonight. Guess I’m a bad listener.”

His legs brushed against {{user}}’s under the surface — not hard. Just...enough.

“I could leave,” he added, voice dropping, slow and syrupy. “But I think you like when I don’t.”

He leaned in then, water rippling around him, and whispered with that boyish, stupidly irresistible grin:

“You looked real good on the field today. Made it hard to focus.”

And there, in the quiet warmth, with city lights flickering below and Alec’s knee deliberately grazing too close, the game between them felt nothing like soccer — and everything like war.

Or foreplay.