...Keith looked at him for another long moment before turning away to set down his backpack on his desk, and Greg took the time to quickly pull on his clothes.

“Want some company?”

Greg’s head jerked up in surprise. No, honestly, he didn’t, but he couldn’t think of a way to say it that wouldn’t come across badly. The truth wasn’t even in the realm of possibility.

“I didn’t know you played,” is what he finally settled on.

Keith grinned. “I wouldn’t say I’m any kind of expert, but I can dribble without kicking the ball off the court, and I’m a pretty decent shot. Haven’t played in a while, though.”

Greg considered. An hour on the basketball court with Keith in shorts and a tee, bodies brushing as they guarded each other, working up a sweat? Damn. It might kill him, but he couldn’t say no.

He smiled and cocked an eyebrow. “Hope you know what you’re getting yourself into, Hardison.”

Keith returned the expression. “What I might lack in skill, I make up for in brute force.”

Greg had to laugh, and he turned back to dig into the back of his closet for his basketball. “Get changed, and I’ll go on down and see if I can snag a free goal. The weather’s so great it might be a fight for a spot.”

He turned just in time to see Keith’s bare back again as he shed his usual layered shirts and reached for a tank top. “Okay, I’ll see you there,” Keith said, and Greg shook himself out of his stupor, grabbed a bottle of water from the side of his desk where he kept a supply, and headed out.

Damn, Keith thought. He’s good.

They were twenty minutes into their game of one-on-one, and Keith was drenched with sweat despite the cool fall breeze. Greg had him running from the second he set foot on the court, barely giving him time to warm up before diving into the game. Keith had been holding his own so far, only two baskets behind, but Greg was wearing him down, and Keith could tell he knew it.

Greg grinned and faked a shot, then stepped back and dribbled slowly, walking back and forth in front of Keith. “Had enough?” he asked, his breathing still slow and steady, even though he was just as sweat-soaked as Keith.

“Giving up so soon?” Keith’s eyes never left the ball, but he kept up the trash-talk banter they’d had going almost the entire time. His body was on high alert, poised to spring into action the second Greg made his move, but even then he reacted too slowly. Greg darted his direction, spun around so his back was to Keith’s front, and leapt up, twisting his body to make a hook shot that dropped neatly through the basket.

Unfortunately—or fortunately, as Keith thought a few minutes later—Greg didn’t seem to have calculated the follow-through from his fancy move properly. He came down awkwardly on one foot, letting out a pained sound and falling over, crashing into Keith, who managed to keep his own footing so they wouldn’t both end up hitting the concrete. He wrapped both arms around Greg, trying to steady them, and they both froze in place.

Holy shit, Keith thought. He’d been half-hard for half the game, from the combination of Greg’s nearness and the workout, but he hadn’t realized the same could be said for Greg. As they stood there, still slightly off balance, pressed together from chest to hips, Keith felt them both go from half-hard to fully hard in about ten seconds.

Greg’s head turned up and his gaze brushed over Keith’s lips before lifting to his eyes. Keith could no more help what he did next than he could’ve stopped the sunrise.