Follow the River

Of course, of fucking course.

As if losing tonight against Oregon in overtime wasn’t bad enough, Coach had to throw this cherry on top of a goddamn shit sundae.

Since the game was late and away, we have to stay the night up in Portland before flying home in the morning. But Jesus Christ, the moment he called out my assigned roommate’s name for the night, I was ready to start fucking walking to Colorado.

Yep, you guessed it.

I’m spending the night alone in a hotel room with River motherfucking Le

I don’t know what it is about him, but it’s like he gets off on making me uncomfortable or flustered with his witty comebacks and smartass comments. Sure, I know I brought it on myself a bit when I started acting like a douchenozzle once I found out he was bisexual.

But fucking really? The shit he pulls…it drives me insane.

Snatching the key from Coach while we’re still in the lobby, I turn to find River.

“Hey roomie,” he grins like the asshole he is.

Yeah, he’s fucking enjoying this way too much.

“Don’t call me that,” I growl, hauling my duffle over my shoulder and heading to the elevator with him in tow before smacking the call button.

“Okay, Rain. Whatever you say.”

I tense at the nickname only one other person has called me. Someone who meant the world to me, but like everything else, I fucked that up too. “Don’t fucking call me that either.”

The elevator dings before opening, allowing us to slip inside. I hit the button to our floor when he asks, “What should I call you then?”

Huffing out a breath, I turn a glare on him from across the miniscule elevator cab, begging for it to reach the tenth floor any faster. “Literally anything else.”

River nods, glancing around the interior as he processes this. He still hasn’t said anything when we stop at our floor. The doors to the hall begin to open, and that’s when the fucker decides to finally speak again.

“Okay, grump ass.”

This sonofamotherfuckingbitch.

I halt in the doorway with my back to him, perfectly aware the doors will try to close on me if I don’t move. Hell, I might wait for them to be shutting to step out of the way, sending him back to the lobby. I could do with a few more minutes of reprieve from his obnoxious tendencies.

“Uh, you go

My teeth close on my tongue so hard the familiar metallic taste of blood floods my mouth.

It’s one night. Eight hours. Do not kill him.

Just. Fucking. Breathe.

He takes my non-answer in stride, slipping past and heading down to room ten-oh-four, leaving me standing in the doorway of the elevator until it closes on my shoulder, alerting me to get out of the way.

Coming up behind River, I watch him swipe the key card and step into the room, flipping on the lights as he goes. It’s nothing fancy seeing as we’re only here to sleep for the night, a regular double queen room with a television and attached bathroom.

My gaze follows him as he waltzes over to the bed closest to the window, tossing his bag on the bed before unzipping it, digging through its contents.

“You mind if I shower quick before we hit the sack?”

Didn’t you just fucking shower at the stadium after the game?

“Because you need my permission?” I grumble, throwing my bag onto my own bed, directly next to the bathroom, searching for a pair of sweatpants. One thing I can’t fucking stand about college football is having to wear a suit to and from the stadium for away games.

I understand the concept, showing up looking our best for the reputation of the school. Hell, it’s what I’ll be expected to do if I ever get to play professionally. But I’ve spent the better part of my life in the damn things when I’d rather be in literally anything else than this monkey suit.

Unfastening my tie and removing my suit jacket, I drape it over the chair near the bed before begi

The door to the bathroom clicks behind him, the sound of a shower spray coming from under it not a moment later. Slipping into my sweats, I hang my suit on one of the provided hangers and flop onto the bed to surf the cha

Under normal circumstances, I’d attempt to fall asleep. I played a tough game today and my body is already feeling the effects of the beating it took. But staying in a room with one of the few people on this Earth I despise and actually falling asleep?

Yeah, not happening. He’d probably shave my fucking head or stick my hand in warm water, hoping I’d piss myself. When it comes to River Le

Or in this case, not sleeping at all.

It’s safer…for many reasons. The utmost being I don’t need him to have anything to use against me, and he’d most definitely gain a shit ton of ammunition if he knew what plagued my mind while I’m asleep.

At least this hotel has Netflix, so I decide to settle in with Silence of the Lambs because who doesn’t love a good mindfuck to keep them up at night?

Shit, maybe I’ll do a Ha

Loving the idea a little too much, I start scrolling for the first film in the franchise, Red Dragon, instead. Just as I’m about to click play on the remote, I hear a strange, low humming noise.

Assuming it’s the TV or some sort of static in the air, I hit play.

But then a couple minutes in, I hear a grunt I’m almost positive came from the bathroom. Where River has been in the shower for at least ten minutes now.

What the fuck is he doing?

Rising to my knees, I press my ear into the wall separating the bathroom and rest of the suite, waiting to hear the sound again…

But nothing comes.

Weird. Must’ve come from the TV too.

Settling back into my bed, I resume the movie…only to hear it again. And this time, I swear to fucking God, it’s from the bathroom. No way on Earth it isn’t.

Hopping off the bed, I make my way over to the door to the bathroom. The small gap from the bottom of the door the steam is pouring out of should allow me to catch the noise once more.

But I stand there for a good minute and nothing.

Just as I raise my hand to knock on the door, ready to tell him to finish off whatever self-love session he’s got going on in there, I hear it again.

Except this time, the grunt is followed by a low, throaty moan and holy fucking shit, he’s actually jacking off in there with me not five feet away from him on the opposite side of the wall.

Anger licks at me like a flame, but I make no move to distance myself from the door dividing me from a wet, naked River.

A wet, naked River, who is stroking his cock. Full of soap while his one hand is plastered to the shower wall to keep himself up. Water is pouring over his muscular back and shoulders, rivulets tracking down his body and—Jesus fucking Christ, what is wrong with me?