Scomiche Smut (And Sometimes Fluff)

The Closet

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Warning: piss play/watersports

I don't like watersports smut, but this has been a highly requested thing for quite some time now, so here ya go ya pervs lmao.(I'm not actually kink shaming I'm kidding don't h8 me)

This is high school/pre sing off Scomiche, but you can imagine it however you want.

Also it's in a different tense than I usually write, I'm experimenting.

~~~

"C'mon, Scott. We're going to be late for practice at Kirstie's!"

Scott pants harshly in response to Mitch's comment.

Scott can feel his loose tank top sticking to his chest, sweat coating the undersides of his arms. Beads of moisture roll down his forehead and into his brows. They've been jogging for almost two hours.

"At least I have more upper-body strength than you," Scott retorts.

"But I have more lower-body strength. Your point?" Mitch wiggles his brows, and running ahead of Scott, taunting him.

Scott groans, trailing behind him, and stops to bend over and put his hands on his thighs. He takes a moment to catch his breath.

"Why do you insist on running anyway?" Scott groans.

Mitch giggles "Momma's gotta look good for the boys Scoot!" He winks.

"Let's go," scott says, rolling his eyes, and started heading to the gym Closet, Mitch close behind.
The staff got mad when they left towels and such just lying about, so they both knew they'd better clean up before heading home. Plus, they had permission to leave their things in the closet, because they came so often.

The indoor track and the remainder of the gym was deserted, as everyone left hours ago. Scott and Mitch were the only two in the building.

Mitch opens the door to the supplies closet and flicks the light switch on, walking to the back of the small space where the shelves are located. Scott follows him inside, letting the door close behind him.

It clicks shut.

Mitch turns just as he sets his bag in the rack.

"The auto lock!"

Scott freezes.

"What?"

Mitch stares at him intensely. "You forgot? The closet locks you inside if you don't prop the door open!" He brings his hands to his face, exasperated. "It only takes one person to put a bag on a shelf!"

"I'm sorry," Scott says belatedly. His voice sounds hollow in the closed room.

"Now we're stuck in here until evening, if we're lucky. Tomorrow morning, if we're unlucky." Mitch looks at him pointedly. "Either way, we're shit out of luck."

Scott sighs, his shoulders drooping. Morning? What will they do for food? He always gets hungry after practicing.

They can't call anyone to let them out because they left their phones and other belongings in the locker room. All they can do is wait until someone comes along and needs something. Scott will just have to stomach it.

Mitch retreats to a corner, taking a soccer ball off the shelf and plopping down on it. He rocks back and forth listlessly, chin on his hands and elbows resting on his knees.

Scott lingers, still standing in the middle of the room. He feels awkward and guilty. How was he supposed to remember that the door auto locks? He knows Mitch is mad at him, so he won't try to fish for his forgiveness so soon. He'll let him simmer for a while.