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It's not that Trent didn't enjoy media day, it's just all the cameras and flashing lights shoved into their faces as they repeated their names and celebrations three times over until the photographers were satisfied got pretty tiresome after an hour or two of it. It always feels strange being dressed head to toe in his full kit - makes Trent’s body ache with the familiar need to play but with no outlet for it. He skakes the feeling off and focuses instead on posing, and being ushered from station to station.
He sees Jude, just a few stations ahead of him, disappear off in the direction of the changing rooms once he's done. He thinks it's a bit odd since everybody else had headed straight back to their rooms or to the dining hall instead but brushes his curiosity aside. It only lasts so long before his urge to follow where Jude went got the better of him. Once he was done with all the touch ups and perfectly angled shots, he finds himself wandering after through meticulously painted white and blue corridors and finally past the changing room doors.
And there he is, one leg propped up on the bench, slouching against Trent’s locker with both eyes closed and a hand over his forehead. The slight blue tone in the air makes him appear slightly more tired, slightly more aged than usual.
“You alright?”
Jude startles, sitting up straight and eyes blinking against the low sunlight from the high windows before he sees Trent and relaxes some.
"Fuck's sake mate. Coulda knocked you know?"
He rubs one tired hand over his face, still strung up while Trent's face morphs into one of confusion.
“What would I go doing that for?”
“What if I was naked?”
Trent finally comes to a halt in front of him and raises his eyebrow as he tries to comprehend the stupidity of his question.
“I’ve already seen you naked. Several times.”
“Yeah but,” Jude starts, fumbling for words before huffing loudly and falling back against the cold, blue metal. “That’s different.”
Trent feels his face pull into a frown as he takes a step between Jude’s stretched out knees.
“What’s with you?”
He nudges his leg into Jude’s, trying to gauge his non-reactive mumble of, “nothing, just tired ‘s all.”
The skepticism maintains its hold on Trent’s face and he wants to prod further but Jude could be elusive when he wanted to be and Trent figured this was one of those moments.
“You wanna eat?” He asks instead.
Jude contemplates the proposal for a few seconds before standing sluggishly, chest bumping up against Trent’s as his breath fans lightly against the bridge of Trent’s nose.
“Yeah, sure,” he says but makes no other move after besides keeping his hazy gaze fixed to Trent’s eyes that were trying quickly and failing dismally to decipher him.
For a second, the atmosphere seems to shift to something more volatile and Jude takes a move towards Trent with his lips parted as though to kiss him, but he only gives him a smile before side stepping Trent and walking away towards the large heavy oak table in front of the lockers. Trent feels as though something has been stolen from him just from the simple minimal proximity, the heat of Jude’s body a mere centimeter away from his. He turns slowly, towards Jude who was leant against the table, already facing him, and the steady grip he had on it's edge too.
“You sure you’re okay?” Trent breathes out.
Jude casts his gaze skywards, eyes closed once more as though in prayer and the morning sunlight glazing the subtle designs on his kit with an iridescent sheen. He looks pretty like that, Trent thinks to himself, bathed in white and blue. His fingers tap softly on the underside of the table and Trent can only wait, feeling impatient for an answer when quite abruptly, he hops up to sit on the table, gaze now back on Trent and even deeper in thought than before.
“Trent,” he starts and Trent gives a small yeah? in response. “I want you to kiss me.”
It feels an odd request simply because he’s never had to ask Trent to do so and Trent suddenly feels he has done something incredibly wrong to warrant such a demand.
“Why?”
The answer is so simple it fills Trent with a simmering coyness he’s too embarrassed to admit to; threatens to strike him down right there with it.
“Because I want you too.”
The soft okay that falls out of his mouth is drowned out by the scuffling of his boots against the hardwood floor and in two long strides, he’s nestled between Jude’s legs and his lips find his with ease. It comes to him by instinct, with too many years of practice to count. Trent recognizes him by the softest sigh that runs through his chest, by the wave of calm that he passes through to Trent with a familiar hand against the exposed skin of his neck. It’s a light embrace that catches onto Trent’s hip, steady enough to keep him still but loose enough to let him leave if he wanted to, not that Trent would; he never could.
His own fingers, aching to be anchored to something, curl around the back of Jude’s neck, mirroring him. While the other comes round to grip tersely into the number 10 glossed over the back of his jersey. His hold tightens when Jude’s tongue licks softly at the edge of his lip, pushing in as Trent lets him take as much as he wants. Trent feels lightheaded as Jude's grip on his neck tightens, matching the uptick in urgency from Jude, but before anything further can become of the otherwise innocuous kiss, Jude pulls away abruptly. He rests his forehead against Trent’s, eyes still closed and seemingly weathered and weary. The light grip he’d had on his hip curls into a fist, tight around the hems of Trent’s kit and he sighs softly.
Trent lets him stay with their faces pressed together for a few seconds longer before he pulls away to look into Jude’s now visibly tired eyes. Those fingers, still warmed by the heat of Jude’s nape, cup the side of his cheek, trailing over the touched up spots of makeup on Jude’s face and he gives them a swipe, smearing it against his cheekbone.
“What’s wrong?”
“I don’t know. Guess…” he trails off for a bit, turning his attention to his hand in Trent’s kit and he brings it to the front of his shorts, playing with the bit of drawstring sticking out from the inside of his shorts. “I guess I just needed you close.”
Something softens inside Trent as a wave of understanding washes through him and he takes a step further into Jude’s space. He watches Jude’s tongue quickly flicker past his lips then finally catches his gaze. The look in his eyes quickly comes undone and he yields to Trent entirely. His heartbeat rabbits under the tips of his fingers and Trent simmers as Jude arches his head back ever so slightly, daring and inviting.
He places his palm against the warm golden column of Jude’s jutting Adam’s apple, clinging to the pulse of his throat - the way it feels ready to split open with each strum. He squeezes him ever so gently, reveling in the lustrous gaze fixed on him as much as the light gasp that falls from his lips. And with Jude’s dazed eyes fixed on him, begging do it, do it, please, for me, Trent bows his head into the alcove of his beating flesh and replaces the touch of his hand with the softest brush of his lips, kissing him there slowly, listening to the quiet tremor of Jude’s body in the silence of the dressing rooms.
It seems to inflict more damage on Jude than usual. His grip tightens into Trent’s shorts, pulling the material taut between a set of hands Trent knew all too well and his breathing heaves out of him, trying to regulate the wildfire spreading through him at the gentleness of Trent’s lips.
He ought to have locked the door, or at least chosen a more hidden section of the room to sample Jude rather than smack dab in the middle of the changies, but it doesn’t matter now. It all flitters away from him as Jude’s hands spur into action, tracing upwards and wrapping around the sides of his waist, digging softly into the material of his jersey once again as Trent wraps his hand deep into the curls around the back of his head. He draws him in closer to allow the careful press of his tongue right under the clean branch of his jawline.
“Trent,” Jude whispers into the quiet, body starving for a breath not easily taken and at the onset of his name so delicately pleaded, Trent feels overwhelmingly ravenous, heart-achingly so.
It’s only a seconds hesitation, the skip of a beat, before Trent has wrapped his mouth around hia carotid. And, trailing after the tender sweetness of his lips comes the blades edge, biting softly like a hot knife to butter. He marks out the area, moulding that pulse to the buds of his tongue and to the jaggedness of the pearls in his mouth.
“Slow down,” Jude pants, “what if somebody sees?”
His neck creaks as he chances a glance at the door but he’s already pressed one ankle now to the back of Trent’s thigh and his hands are making quick work of drawing him in closer.
“Who cares,” Trent rebuts but even he knows it wouldn’t exactly bode well for either of them to disappear off together before showing up half an hour later covered in bite marks. Although, he’s pretty sure majority of the team knows by now anyway but simply don’t want to be bother with the mess of outright asking.
He diseangages from Jude’s neck with one last drag of his tongue against his skin. On his tongue, he can taste his cologne which had warmed to Jude’s body, replacing its chemical smell with something real, something recognizable, and the several blue shades painted on every surface reverberate against Jude’s skin with the morning sun, setting him in in the most discreet cyanic dusting.
Trent thinks he looks pretty like this, heart open and out to Trent, full trust in his eyes with his skin glowing like moonlight. It’s then, overcome by a sense of adoration, that Trent comes crashing in like high tide onto Jude’s lips. They move like water, fluidity shared as Jude melds into his hold. It’s all skin and the wetness of their mouths and the feel of Jude coiled tight around him lightning.
Trent’s hands cradle the sides of his face between his, gripping hard to piece him together and give him back whatever else he was missing. Jude’s hands follow, cupping Trent’s against his face and his shoulders shake with the pressure of being encased entirely like this. Trent can’t let go, doesn’t want to, even less so when Jude laces his fingers over the back of his. He’d do this every day if he could, piece him back together every day if he only asked him to.
It’s with stuttered breaths and blushed faces that they finally pull away, eyes searching the others. Those eyes, that Trent has committed to memory finally clear, letting the calm part through easily.
“Better?” He asks.
Jude's eyes glimmer as his lips begin to curl into a smile.
“Yeah,” he says, hiding the stupid grin away and Trent feels a similar one start to creep up the corners of his face.
Trent holds out his hand to him and helps him hop off the table before checking they both look presentable - save for the smiles of a secret shared on their faces - then one after the other, they trail out of the changing room.