One-shots! {Gay NBA}

(5) Rookie week (Kyle x DeMar) (Kyrie x Gordon) (CP3 x LeBron)

*Chris Paul POV*

I let in a sharp breath as I watch some blood get mopped off the shiny floors. After the incident, the court was to be inspected to make sure everything was followed out of the safety protocols book. A referee walks up to me, straightening himself up as he curtly nods, "Mr.Paul, I'd like to inform you that the events for today are canceled." I cross my arms and scan the court, my eyes fall back on the ref. "Yeah, I'd be concerned if it wasn't," My eye twitches, "But uh, what do we do now?" The ref shifts his feet, awkwardly, "Well, there's a nice ice bath/steam room place nearby, you guys do need to blow off some steam," he states. I gingerly place my hand over my mouth, "Huh, I guess so, I'll tell the others." 

I discreetly step into the locker room where the atmosphere suddenly drops to a sad, grey moody mess. My voice almost gets caught in my throat as I hesitate to even start a conversation in the dark brooding atmosphere of the room. "U-Uh, there's nothing to do now, did you guys wanna go across the street to that steam room...?" I clumsily ask. Steph slowly pulls the towel off of his head and glances at me, "Man, I do need to get my mind off this, count me in," he stifles. LeBron is quick to his feet as he jumps up and makes his way beside me at the door of the locker room. "It's a good idea, let's go," Bron thundered. The silence of the area seems to break as murmurs of approval ripple through the air. The guys begin to pack up their duffle bags and slip off their jerseys. Kyrie rips off his weights, "Ahhhg, that was heavy," he huffs, earning a laugh from Simmons. Butler springs off of his seat as quickly as the speed of light then stumbles forward, I look at him an eyebrow raised. He blinks a couple of times, regaining his balance and shakes his head, "Stood up too fast," he heaved. Hayward gasps from the other side of the locker room, "Man, I hate when that happens!" Kevin rolls his eyes, unamused, "Doesn't that only happen to people who don't consume enough iron?" I nod in agreement, chuckling, "So much for being healthy." Gordon slumps, defeated and Jimmy scoffs, "Chris, you're literally on a plant-based diet, you're one to talk."

"Yeah well, why do I get a better amount of iron than you?" I challenge, smirking playfully.

LeBron wraps his arm around my shoulders, and bends down to match my height, "That's because your tiny ass doesn't need as much iron as the rest of the players," he chimes in. I glare at him giving him a face that says, 'really Bron?'

I give LeBron a shove, which to my disappointment, doesn't really do much. He shoves me back playfully but I fall over, he catches me by the wrist with a strong grip. "Whoa, sorry about that Chris, didn't think you were THAT small." I grumble at his comment crossing my arms, my eyebrows narrow and I frown.

"Oh come on, don't give me that," he pleads, I look away, blushing. He tickles me and I crack a laugh, "Stop it, you suck you know!" I fuss in between laughs, pushing him away. LeBron leans his arm on my head, and I grunt in frustration. Why does he have to be 9 inches taller than me? It's not even funny at this point. "It's weird, you get into more skirmishes and fights than me, yet you're so small. You've got so much fire in you." I scoff at that, half smiling.

*Gordon Hayward POV*

I've been kind of quiet for the whole trip, but what can I say? I'm distracted. The group decided we'd just walk since the destination is just across the street. The pedestrian sign flashed on and we all stepped onto the scathed cement of the road. Walking ahead of me is Bradley Beal, John Wall, Joel Embiid and Kyrie Irving making conversation. I hear a screech of the tires of a car, the sound whirring closer. I quickly glance at the trails of the road and was a flashy silver skidding towards us.

I grab Kyrie by his small waist and move him away as John jumps back beside me and Joel grabs Beal. Bradley immediately raises his middle finger at the driver as the car swerves away. I lose my grip on Irving's waist and he rolls onto the floor, grazing his knees. Kyrie's chest is heaving shallow quick breaths as he struggles to get up from the cement road. Bradley rubs a purple, red scrape on his arms, obtained from barely grazing the car. I offer Kyrie a hand, and we lock eyes, a history of our time in Boston flashes through my mind. He accepts my hand, and I pull him up with ease. He gasps in pain as blood drips down his knees, "I am so so sorry Ky-" I stutter. He shakes his head, "No, it's fine, it was either this or my life," he shakily replies, hands pressed on my chest for support.