Vik walked into the gym just before 5:00am on a Monday in August, the start of training camp going into his senior year. He’d worked his ass off for three years at the state D1 college, challenging for championships in the 165 pound weight class, always coming up just short, second place his usual landing spot.
His team on the other hand barely competed for last place. Vik was their star and his teammates were in a completely different tier below him. He spent those three years constantly falling short, especially to the athletes at the nearby Buckton University, a private college known for its pristine wrestling program that failed to offer Vik a scholarship when he was in high school. He knew he was at a level to now compete individually against Buckton’s very best, but at the team level, it was like an ant vs. a rhino.
Finally, after three years of him standing out amongst competitors at mid-level colleges, Buckton came calling. This past Spring, Vik had transferred for his senior year, eager to truly compete for a championship for the first time in his college career. He was excited to learn and develop with and from the best, ready to see how Buckton was able to dominate in the wrestling world. And here was on day one, first one in the door, ready to hit the mats for his first practice.
The door opened again five minutes later, team captain John, who Vik knew only from afar at previous meets, entered, duffle bag in hand.
“Yo.” John nodded. “Welcome to Buckton.” He moved towards Vik, holding out his hand.
Vik took his hand, firmly, and shook it. “Thanks, man. Stoked to be here.” He knew he belonged and was ready to prove it.
They still eyed each other like competition despite now wrestling for the same team. Vik stood at 5’11”, with broad shoulders, dense forearms, a light beard, and wavy medium-length hair, a strong bull of Danish descent.
John knew Vik from three years of competitions and had vouched to his coach last Fall that he thought Vik had what it took to help Buckton get back to the top. But he’d never let on to Vik the role he played in advocating for his recruitment. John looked back at him, standing 6’1”, slightly taller and leaner, but his height giving him more weight. He was stoic, the quiet, stern leader of his fellow teammates, and fully embracing his role in protecting Buckton’s prestigious tradition. John competed in the 174 pound weight class.
“Where is everyone? Wasn’t practice at 5:00?” He looked up at the clock ticking to 5:02 now, guessing there was no way Buckton won so many championships with their team showing up late.
“Change of plans.” John said, dropping his bag and taking off his shirt, revealing a ripped chest, cut abs, and a dark, tan, complexion from his Mexican heritage. “Coach wanted me to meet up with you today alone. Make sure you understand how we practice before full camp starts.”
Vik eyed him curiously, confused, but excited to learn Buckton’s training scheme that could take his skill to the next level. “Sounds fine. I’m ready to go.” Vik returned John’s move and removed his shirt, leaving behind a pale, wide, muscular build, hair dusting his chest and abs.
“Let’s spar a bit and warm up,” John walked to the nearby mat.
Vik followed John onto the worn mat, the familiar scent of rubber and sweat filling his lungs. John circled him slowly.
“Alright,” John said, meeting his gaze. “Just feel it out. Get the blood moving.”
They squared off, hands coming up and fingers intertwined in a tie-up, thumbs pressing into the back of the other’s hands. Vik felt the immediate warmth radiating from John's skin. It was warmer than he expected for so early in the morning, a quick-burning heat that seemed to rise off him. John’s grip was relaxed but firm, controlled.
They started moving, just basic pushes and pulls to loosen up. Vik felt the lean strength of John’s frame against his own broader one. John moved with grace, gliding where Vik felt he muscled through his steps. As they shifted, their chests brushed. John moved on Vik to test out his response, pushing their torsos together briefly.
John’s breathing was steady, audible in the quiet gym. Vik found his own breath hitching slightly. They disengaged then came together again, John ducking under Vik’s tie-up to work for inside control. His shoulder pressed against Vik’s solid chest. Vik felt the faint scent of John – something clean but masculine, maybe just his natural smell mixed with sweat.
Their hips bumped as they pivoted. John leaned into him, applying just enough pressure to test Vik’s base. Vik countered, pushing back, feeling the defined lines of John’s abs.
John shifted his weight, forcing Vik to adjust. His forearm brushed against Vik’s ribs, lingered for a second too long – or maybe it just felt too long. Vik met John’s eyes. John’s expression was calm, focused on his opponent.
They broke apart again, this time backing off, ready for a break. The silence stretched, filled only by their breathing and the faint hum of the gym’s lights.
“Good,” John panted. “Really good. 165 was a weak spot for us last year, you’ll really help us.”
Vik heaved, hands on his knees. Practice at his last college was too easy at times, none of his teammates able to challenge him enough to really tire him out. Even just sparring with John was a different tier of push, he loved the opportunity to develop his skill set.
“So I have to break something to you.” John stood tall, hands on his hips.
“Okay?” Vik squinted back.
“Remember you signed up to be here and you want to win, right?”
“100%.” Vik was open to anything that could get him to the top spot.
“We train an ‘old’ way. Like the 3000 years ago kinda old. No singlet, no clothes, nothing. Forces you to be comfortable with anything that can happen during a match.”
Vik stared at John, waiting for him to break out in laughter, clearly fucking with him. Silence stretched.
“You’re serious…?” Vik drew out, curious more than weirded out.
“Deadass. You feel a hand hit your bare dick or a foot about to be up your ass and still maintain your composure? Makes you ready for anything on game day.” John pulled his shorts off, now just in dark tight briefs.
Vik looked at him, still wondering if he was being punked, looking around for his new teammates, probably watching them with laughter. Nothing. No one but the two of them.
He thought about John’s explanation and considered the concept. It…made some sense. And who was he to question what clearly had produced more championships than any other school in the Midwest?
Vik followed suit and dropped his athletic shorts, white short briefs underneath.
“Cool.” John pulled his briefs down and off his legs. He was uncut, with a patch of dark hair above his dick and coating his olive toned balls. His package hung a bit off his skin, room to sway with his lean, taller frame. He walked to the mat, Vik glimpsing at his smooth, toned backside.
Not one shy with nudity, Vik dropped his remaining clothes and walked to the mat. At this point in his college career, John had seen countless of his teammates like this and was unfazed by it, the entire point of Buckton’s long standing practice tradition. What he hadn’t yet shared and what he always found best to be experienced rather than explained, was the other way teammates pushed each other during practice.
He made a mental note of Vik’s package, well-trimmed pubes and compact, cut, close to his body, and seemingly average, at least soft. He assumed from Vik’s coating of hair on his upper half, that he likely had a furrier backside.
They settled into a crouched position and John nodded to signal to begin. There were no singlets to grab, no grip. It was just skin on skin, muscle against muscle.
John moved first, circling, his stance wide and low. Vik stayed with him, maintaining the distance. The initial cautious dance felt amplified, the vulnerability of their bare bodies adding a layer to the physical chess match.
John shot in, a quick, low single leg attempt. Vik reacted instantly, sprawling, his body hitting the mat with a soft thud. John’s arms snaked around his leg, his chest pressing against Vik’s thigh. Vik felt the defined lines of John’s abdominal muscles against his skin, the heat radiating from him intense. It was intimate, but in the moment, the competitive instinct kicked in, overriding everything else. He focused on his defense, fighting John’s grip, keeping his hips heavy.
John adjusted, driving forward, his head tucked low, pressing into Vik’s side. Vik could feel John’s penis brush him and tried to ignore it, focusing on victory. John grunted with effort, trying to elevate Vik’s leg. Vik countered, using his free leg to create distance, his hand finding John’s back, the skin damp and warm.
They disengaged, scrambling back to their feet in one fluid motion. Breathing hard now, Vik wiped sweat from his brow, his eyes meeting John’s across the mat. He looked down at himself, reminded of his own nudity, and saw his dick jutting out slightly, semi-hard from the friction and intensity. John offered a small, tight-lipped smile.
“See?” John said, his voice slightly breathless. “Nowhere to hide.”
He was right. Every slight adjustment, every moment of hesitation, felt exposed. Grips that would slide on fabric held on damp skin, creating friction that burned in a different way.
They tied up again, chest to chest. Their forearms pressed together, testing each other. Vik felt the bone and muscle, the give and take of their bodies. As they fought for control, their hips bumped, their thighs pressing together. There was no awkwardness for John, just focused intensity, treating it like any other wrestling tie-up, albeit with significantly more skin contact. Vik found himself following suit, the initial strangeness fading slightly under the physical demands and competition.
John transitioned smoothly, slipping an arm inside, working for an underhook. His hand clamped onto Vik’s upper back, fingers digging slightly into the muscle. Vik felt the direct pressure, the strength of John’s grip unimpeded by a singlet. John drove into him, forcing Vik back a step. Their chests were fully pressed together now, bare skin against bare skin. Vik felt the steady thump of John’s heart against his own ribs and thought he felt their penises brush. John’s breath was warm on his ear as he spoke quietly, giving instruction.
“Stay low. Don’t just muscle your way through, use the details of my body to your advantage.”
John shifted. As he drove for a deeper underhook, his arm slid down Vik’s side, his hand brushing against Vik’s hip, then lower and around his ass, fingers stretching into Vik’s hairy crack. It wasn’t a wrestling move, not exactly.
Vik stiffened for a split second, a jolt of surprise going through him that had nothing to do with wrestling pressure. He glanced at John’s face. Still stoic, still focused.
John didn’t pause. He continued working, switching his weight, forcing Vik to move. But as they continued to grapple, he began to understand what John meant.
Again they backed off, circling. Vik now realized he was completely hard, 7 inches pointed at John.
“It’s normal with all the contact.” John said, ignoring Vik’s unexplainable, raging boner. Vik noted John’s slightly stiff, uncut dick, slowly rising.
John moved on him again and Vik felt the heat of John’s body.
“Understand your opponent’s body,” John murmured, his voice low and steady, right next to Vik’s ear. “Every point of contact. Use it. Don’t let it distract you. Let it fuel you.”
With his best move, Vik flipped John to his back, straddling across John’s face, his sweaty ass on John’s chest, Vik’s dick pointed out an inch above his captain’s face. Vik looked down and saw John’s face silhouetted below his hard-on, fighting back the urge to apologize for the demeaning position he put his captain in.
John struggled to break the hold, with Vik’s full weight on him. He stretched his neck up and took Vik’s cock into his mouth, sucking and lapping the head furiously. Vik immediately jumped off of him, standing up and backing off.
“Dude, what the fuck!?” Vik was shocked.
John jumped to his feet, wiping his mouth where Vik’s cock had just briefly entered it. “You backed off, didn’t you? If you’re not thinking outside the box, you’re not trying hard enough.”
Vik shook his head and returned to a crouched position. This time, John charged and kicked Vik’s leg out from under him, flipping him onto his back. John spun around and pinned Vik down with his heavier weight and held his ass just above Vik’s neck area.
“Fuck! Yield yield!” Vik yelled.
“Why!” John snapped back, unmoving. “Can you actually not fight back, or are you just uncomfortable?”
“Shut the fuck up!” Vik yelled, his view being John’s tanned and spread muscular cheeks hovering just above his face, his asshole on display.
“You have to learn to push through.” John said, sitting back and pushing the weight of his asshole down straight onto Vik’s face.
“Aahhhmmmhmhm,” Vik struggled to talk as John’s sweaty ass bared down on his face. He tried as long as he could to hold his breath, but eventually was forced to inhale deeply for air, breathing in his captain’s hole, sweat, musk, and pure man.
“Let this be a lesson, man. Don’t ever allow yourself to have weakness, your opponent will exploit it.” John said. He flipped over, weight still on his chest, and still holding Vik down by his arms. Vik realized now that John had been testing him this entire time, easily capable of controlling the Danish transfer. Vik was in awe of John’s strength. He would do anything to get this good.
“You lose.” John said, backing off and sitting back onto the mat in between Vik’s legs. Vik sprang up, ready to show his captain how badly he wanted to learn from him.
He leaned in forward onto his knees and dove in for John’s now fully hard 7 inch dick. Primal instinct took over as he sucked onto John’s cock, worshipping it with every ounce of strength he had left. He sucked and sucked, tasting sweat, precum, and pure strength.
John closed his eyes and let out a low groan, moving his hands to Vik’s hair, massaging his scalp and guiding his head up and down.
“That’s good, man, just like that. Use more tongue.” John was still coaching. Vik lapped at his cock head with his tongue like a dog drinking water as he sucked for dear life.
John pushed Vik off of him and onto his back onto the mat. Vik was confused as John moved to hover over his body, before straddling him. John took Vik’s hands and placed them on each cheek, Vik feeling the glutes that’d been toned by 3 years of experience training like this. He kneeded and massaged his captain’s powerful base from behind as John spit on his hand and gripped the Danish cock under him, jerking it a few times before lowering his ass down and over Vik’s cock, sliding it into his hole with spit and sweat as lube.
“Holy fuuuuck.” Vik groaned out as he felt the tight, warm, insides of a guy’s hole for the first time strangling his cock.
Vik’s hands, still gripping John’s sculpted ass cheeks, instinctively tightened, fingers digging into the firm muscle. He felt the dampness of sweat where his palms met skin, the texture of a man’s ass alien but intoxicating.
John began to move, a slow, deliberate rocking motion, riding Vik beneath him. Vik began to thrust upward, the two of them moving in sync, his cock moving in and out of the national champion’s hole.
John paused, holding Vik impaled beneath him. “You feel that?” he murmured. “Even now, you’re not in control. You have to learn how to always be in control, even if you’re in a submissive position.” He shifted his weight, settling deeper, a heavy, full press that made Vik let out a choked sound through gritted teeth, hands still on John’s ass, hungry to jackhammer into it. He wanted to dominate, to take control, but he was powerless to resist the pleasure that was building inside him.
John's eyes never left Vik's as he began to move again, his hips rolling in a slow, maddening rhythm. Vik's cock, still buried deep inside John, responded to the motion, fighting to push deeper inside of the hole it was stretching .
Vik's fingers tightened, scraping into each cheek, as he struggled to thrust upwards. The sound of their bodies slapping together echoed through the empty gym, a raw sound that only served to fuel Vik's desire. John was milking the transfer with the clenches of his hole and Vik knew he wouldn't be able to hold out much longer.
With a primal roar, Vik came hard, his cock pulsing as he emptied his seed inside John's slick, sweaty hole. He groaned deep sounds as he felt the tension in his body from their match finally release as he pumped inside his captain. As Vik's orgasm subsided, John continued to move, his hips rolling, his body still enjoying the pressure against his prostate. He reached down, gripping his own cock and stroking it in time with his movements.
Vik watched as John worked himself on his spent dick like it was a sex toy, his hand moving up and down his shaft with practiced ease.
With a final, desperate seat all the way down on Vik’s semi-hard dick, John came, his cock twitching as he shot ropes of cum all over Vik's face. The hot, sticky fluid landed on Vik's cheeks, his lips, his eyes, blinding him for a moment.
John collapsed onto Vik, his breathing heavy and uneven. Vik wrapped his arms around the other man, holding him close as they both came down from their high.
"See?" John said, his voice soft. "Even when you're on the bottom, you can still be in control."
Vik nodded and pulled John’s face in for a deep, passionate, kiss that John happily returned. They laid there for a moment longer, their bodies slick with sweat and cum, before slowly disentangling themselves. They dressed in silence, their movements automatic, before heading out of the gym.
As they stepped out into the cool morning air, Vik felt deeply satisfied. He would develop his skills here, undoubtedly. And his new friend may teach him a thing or two more along the way.
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