Chase hit the football field at exactly 6:15 PM, and damn if the timing wasn't perfect. The sun was doing that thing where it painted everything gold—the kind of lighting that made even the most ordinary moments feel cinematic. Not that there was anything ordinary about Washington High's football facility. The place screamed money, from the pristine bleachers that looked like they belonged in a college stadium to the lighting system that could probably be seen from space.
The whole setup was a not-so-subtle reminder that football wasn't just a sport here—it was a religion, and Chase was about to find out if he was worthy of worship.
His UnderArmour tank clung to his torso like a second skin, the fabric doing absolutely nothing to hide the results of years spent perfecting his body. The five-inch shorts should have been illegal—they showcased his powerful thighs and left very little to the imagination. He could feel eyes on him from the bleachers, a mix of appreciation and hunger that made his skin prickle with awareness.
Focus, Huxley, he told himself, even as a part of him enjoyed the attention more than he probably should have.
"Yo, Chase!" Bull's voice cut through his thoughts like a blade through butter.
Chase turned to find his friend—and that term was getting more complicated by the day—standing near the fifty-yard line like he owned the place. Which, let's be honest, he kind of did. Bull's presence was magnetic in the way that natural leaders commanded attention without even trying. His smile was all confidence and challenge, the kind that made Chase's competitive instincts sit up and take notice.
"Ready to crush it?" Bull's question carried an undercurrent that had nothing to do with football and everything to do with the tension that had been building between them for weeks.
"Always," Chase replied, accepting the bro hug that followed. For a split second, their bodies pressed together—all muscle and heat and the kind of contact that lasted just a beat too long to be entirely innocent.
Mason's laugh broke the moment before it could become something they'd both have to pretend didn't happen. The redhead was already in full goofball mode, tossing a football into the air with the kind of easy athleticism that made his smaller frame deceptive. His freckled face was split by a grin that could power half of Texas.
"Chase! My man!" Mason jogged over with infectious energy. "You ready to join the varsity squad and show these guys what's up?"
There was something endearing about Mason's enthusiasm—the way he wore his heart on his sleeve and made no apologies for it. It was refreshing in a world where everyone seemed determined to play it cool.
"You bet, Mase." Chase found himself grinning back. "You ready to catch some passes?"
"Always ready, dude. Just don't let Bull throw any of those wobbly spirals at me, huh?"
Bull's indignant protest was immediate and predictable. "You wish, Mason. I've got a perfect spiral and you know it."
The banter was comfortable, familiar—the kind of easy friendship that Chase had always valued. But underneath it all, he could feel the weight of expectation, the pressure of proving himself worthy of a spot on the team that every guy in school would kill for.
The bleachers weren't empty either. Groups of girls had gathered to watch practice, some there to support boyfriends, others clearly just enjoying the view. Chase caught a few appreciative glances and felt that familiar mix of flattery and discomfort. He'd never been entirely comfortable with the attention his looks brought him, even as a part of him craved the validation.
"Go get 'em, Chase!" one particularly bold group called out, and he managed a polite wave in return.
Bull, naturally, preened under the attention like a peacock showing off his feathers. "Looks like we've got some fans, boys," he said with a cocky grin that made Chase roll his eyes.
"Yeah, no pressure," Chase muttered, but he was smiling as he said it.
As they made their way to join the other hopefuls for warm-ups, Chase felt that familiar surge of adrenaline that came before any major challenge. The air was electric with anticipation and barely contained testosterone. This was it—his shot at proving he belonged with the best players in the school.
Game time, he thought, and let himself get lost in the rhythm of preparation.
As the players assembled on the field for the start of tryouts, all eyes were drawn to the new head coach: Max Miller. Standing at an imposing 6'5", he was a mountain of a man, his physical presence commanding immediate attention and respect. His body was a testament to years of hard work and discipline; his muscles were well-defined, rippling beneath his fitted black polo shirt. The shirt was stretched tight across his broad shoulders and chest, showcasing the formidable physique that lay beneath. His arms, adorned with a few visible veins, bulged as he gestured with the intensity of his speech.
Coach Miller’s short brown hair was neatly trimmed, a few strands of stubble accentuating his strong jawline. His face was a study in sharp angles—high, prominent cheekbones, a chiseled jaw, and a pronounced brow that gave him an air of constant intensity. His deep-set eyes, dark and focused, seemed to penetrate through anyone who met his gaze. He effortless commanded repect in a way that few other men in their early-30s could, no matter how hard they tried.
He walked with a deliberate, purposeful stride, every step exuding confidence and authority. There was nothing casual about his movement; it was all measured, driven, and commanding. As he approached the group of players, the air seemed to thicken with anticipation. He stood tall and unyielding, his sheer presence making it clear that he was not just a coach but a force to be reckoned with.
“Alright, listen up!” Coach Miller barked, his tone brooking no argument. “You’ve all come here to try out for this team, and I’m here to tell you what’s up. I don’t care about your stats from last year or what you think you know about football. What matters now is what you show me out here. We’re not here to mess around. You want to be on this team? You better be ready to put in some serious work. I’m talking sweat, grit, and a whole lot of pain.”
He took a moment to let his words sink in, his eyes scanning the faces of the players before him. He stood with his hands on his hips, his stance wide and unapologetically dominant. “This ain’t no place for weaklings or slackers,” he continued, his voice rising with each word. “If you’re here to be coddled or pampered, you’re in the wrong place. You want to be a part of this team? Then you better have the heart of a lion and the drive of a freight train. You think you’re tough? Show me.”
He flexed his arms slightly, a subtle but deliberate display of muscle that wasn’t lost on anyone in the group. His body language was assertive and aggressive, a physical embodiment of the tough-love philosophy he intended to enforce. “I’m not here to hold your hand. I’m here to make you better. I’ll push you harder than you’ve ever been pushed, and if you can’t handle it, you can walk off this field right now.”
Coach Miller’s words were laden with a brand of toxic masculinity that was both intimidating and galvanizing. “We’re not gonna be a bunch of softies here,” he said, his eyes blazing. “You want to whine or complain, you can do it somewhere else. On this field, it’s all about being the best. And if you can’t handle that, then get lost. Simple as that.”
He walked up and down the line of players, his gaze critical and unwavering. “I expect you to be warriors out here. If you can’t fight for every yard, then you don’t belong here. We’re not gonna be friends, we’re not gonna be family. We’re gonna be a team, and that means you work your ass off or get out.”
As he spoke, his deep voice carried an edge of condescension, making it clear that he saw himself as the ultimate authority. His macho demeanor was all about pushing boundaries, breaking down egos, and forging a team of hardened players. He radiated a tough-love attitude that bordered on harsh, but there was no denying that it was effective.
Coach Miller’s impact was immediate and undeniable. The players, unfamiliar with him but awed by his imposing figure and intense persona, listened with a mix of awe and apprehension. His presence alone set the tone for the tryouts, establishing a standard of toughness and commitment that left no room for excuses. As he finished his speech, he stepped back, folding his arms across his chest. “Let’s see what you’ve got. Show me you’re not just another wannabe. Prove you deserve to be here.”
The boys gathered on the pristine field, the setting sun casting long shadows as they began their warm-up routines. The air was warm, and a gentle breeze rustled the leaves of the nearby trees, adding a serene backdrop to the intensity of the tryouts. The warm-up began with dynamic stretches: high knees, butt kicks, and leg swings. Chase moved with fluidity, his muscles well-defined under his sweat-soaked tank. Bull, ever the showman, took a moment to flex his wide lats in an exaggerated “Zeus” pose, earning a few catcalls from the girls in the bleachers. “Lookin’ good, Bull!” one of them shouted, making him grin and strike a double-bicep pose.
“Quit posing and focus!” Coach Miller barked, his voice carrying across the field. “You think this is a beauty contest?”
The players moved on to the agility ladder drill, where quick footwork was key. Chase’s feet were a blur as he navigated the ladder with precision. The turf beneath his cleats felt springy and firm, a testament to the school's investment in their football program. Mason, ever the jokester, stumbled on purpose, causing laughter among the group. “Oops, I guess I’m just too fast for my own good,” he quipped, earning a playful slap on the butt from Chase.
Jake, a tall, muscular player with a serious demeanor, also performed well, his footwork smooth and controlled. Diego, a handsome Latino guy with a bright smile and infectious energy, kept pace with the best of them, his agility earning nods of approval from the coaches.
Next, they tackled the cone drills. The W-drill, involving sharp cuts and explosive acceleration, was a test of both speed and agility. Chase darted through the cones, his movements sharp and decisive. Bull followed, his larger frame moving with surprising grace. Diego, with his natural athleticism, moved like a dancer, his cuts precise and powerful.
“Faster! Move like you mean it!” Coach Miller shouted, his voice tinged with machismo. “You’re not dancing, Diego! This is football!”
Diego flashed a grin and picked up his pace, earning a grunt of approval from the coach. The dirt flew up as players' cleats dug into the ground, creating a mix of dust and sweat that clung to their legs.
During the passing drills, Chase lined up as a running back, ready to catch some throws. He ran precise routes: slants, curls, and wheel routes. Bull, the quarterback, threw spirals that cut through the air, and Chase’s hands were like glue, catching every pass with ease. Mason, as a wide receiver, ran his routes with a playful flair, catching passes and making exaggerated showboating moves, much to the amusement of the others.
“Nice hands, Chase!” Mason called out, giving him a playful slap on the back.
“Keep it tight, Mason! We’re not here to clown around!” Coach Miller snapped, though there was a hint of a smile on his face.
Jake, playing as a wide receiver, showed his prowess by making difficult catches look easy, while Diego’s speed allowed him to create separation from defenders with ease. The turf, now starting to show signs of wear from the intense drills, was littered with patches of dirt and sweat.
The blocking drills were a test of strength and technique. Chase squared up against defenders in one-on-one scenarios, his stance low and balanced. When the whistle blew, he used proper hand placement and footwork to hold off the rush. Bull, demonstrating his leadership, encouraged his teammates with every successful block. “That’s how it’s done!” he shouted, giving Chase a solid high-five.
Jake, with his imposing size, proved to be a formidable blocker, while Diego’s quickness made him a challenge for any defender. The dirt and sweat flew up as players collided, each one pushing themselves to the limit.
“Come on, you pansies! You call that blocking?” Coach Miller’s voice boomed across the field. “Put some muscle into it! My grandma could block better than that!”
The players pushed harder, spurred on by Coach Miller’s tough-love approach. Chase, feeling the adrenaline, executed a perfect block, sending his defender stumbling back. The golden light of the setting sun cast a dramatic glow over the scene, highlighting the intensity and effort of the tryouts.
The grass, though meticulously maintained, had patches where the dirt showed through, kicked up by the players’ cleats. Sweat glistened on their skin, dripping down as they worked through each drill. The air was filled with the sounds of grunts, the smack of pads, and the occasional cheer or catcall from the bleachers.
“Go Chase! You’re killing it out there!” a girl shouted, her voice carrying over the field.
At one point, as the players took a brief water break, Bull caught Chase’s eye. “You’re killing it out here, man,” he said, giving Chase a friendly slap on the butt. “Keep it up.” Chase nodded, feeling the camaraderie and the competitive spirit that defined the team. They had only just begun, but the first half of tryouts had already set a high standard. Chase felt a surge of confidence. He was ready to prove himself and earn his place on the varsity squad.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm orange glow over the field, Coach Miller blew his whistle and called for the scrimmage. It was time for shirts versus skins. The shirts teams would wear jersey’s over their pads, while the skins team would strip down completely and then put their pads back on over their nude skin. It was a strange and seemingly pointless tradition at Washington High, since they easily had enough funding for multiple sets of practice jerseys. But the tradition was started years ago, and the boys kept it up, proudly stripping off their clothes and showing off their toned, teenage bodies before slowly putting their pads back on.
Chase, Bull, and Mason were assigned to the "skins" team. “Alright, skins, strip down,” Coach Miller barked, his tone as commanding as ever.
The boys began to peel off their shirts, their muscles glistening with sweat in the fading light. Chase’s well-defined abs and sculpted arms were a sight to behold. His sweat-soaked skin shimmered under the field lights. Bull, never one to miss an opportunity to show off, did a playful, slow strip tease, rolling his shirt up slowly and flexing his muscles. “Enjoying the show, Chase?” Bull teased with a wink, throwing his shirt to the ground.
Chase chuckled and shook his head, but couldn't help but admire his friend's confidence. Mason, always the jokester, struck a pose, earning laughs from the team. “Take it off, Mason!” one of the girls in the bleachers shouted, her voice mixing with the giggles of her friends.
Jamie Jackson, a blonde gay twink who had recently arrived at the bleachers, whistled appreciatively as Chase stripped down. Jamie's eyes were glued to Chase, his crush obvious.
As the boys put their pads back on and lined up for the scrimmage, Coach Miller's voice boomed across the field. “Let’s see some real football out there! No slackin’! Show me what you’ve got!”
The scrimmage began with a kick-off. Bull, the quarterback for the skins team, quickly took control of the game. Chase, playing as running back, lined up behind Bull, ready for action. Mason took his position as wide receiver. Bull barked out the cadence, and the ball was snapped. He dropped back, scanning the field with the confidence of a seasoned pro. The offensive line held strong, giving Bull time to find an open man. He saw Mason sprinting down the sideline and launched a perfect spiral. The ball sailed through the air, landing squarely in Mason’s hands. Mason tucked the ball and sprinted towards the end zone, dodging defenders with ease.
“Nice catch, Mason!” Bull shouted, pumping his fist in the air.
The crowd erupted in cheers as Mason crossed into the end zone. Coach Miller, however, was less impressed with the defense. “You call that coverage?” he yelled. “Get your heads in the game!”
On the next play, Bull handed off to Chase. Chase took the ball and exploded through the line of scrimmage, his powerful legs churning up the turf as he barreled down the field. He dodged one defender, then another, his agility and speed leaving them grasping at air. He cut to the outside, sprinting down the sideline, and with a final burst of speed, crossed into the end zone.
“Touchdown, Chase!” Mason cheered, giving Chase a congratulatory slap on the butt.
Bull grinned and struck a Usain Bolt pose. “That’s how we do it!” he shouted, his voice filled with pride.
The skins team continued to dominate, with Bull and Chase leading the charge. Bull's passes were on point, threading the needle between defenders with pinpoint accuracy. Chase, with his natural athleticism, found holes in the defense and exploited them with ease. The offensive line held strong, giving Bull and Chase the protection they needed to shine.
Coach Miller’s voice echoed across the field, a mix of praise and insults. “Nice throw, Bull! But don’t get cocky! And you, Jenkins, you call that tackling? My grandma hits harder than that!”
Diego, playing on the shirts team, tried his best to keep up, but the skins team was relentless. Jake, also on the shirts team, managed a few good plays, but it wasn’t enough to stop the onslaught.
Dirt and manly sweat flew up as players collided. It was fucking hot.
As the scrimmage wound down, the skins team had clearly dominated. Bull and Chase’s performance had blown everyone else out of the water. The team gathered around, sweat dripping from their bodies, their muscles aching but their spirits high.
Coach Miller approached, his presence commanding. “Good work out there, boys,” he said, his voice gruff but approving. “But remember, this is just the beginning. You’ve got to keep pushing, keep fighting. We’ve got a long season ahead.”
Chase and Bull exchanged a satisfied look. As they walked off the field, a few whistles from the bleachers following them, they felt a sense of camaraderie and determination. The two studs were ready to seize their senior year.
The parking lot felt like a decompression chamber after three hours of brutal tryouts. Chase's body was still humming with adrenaline, every muscle singing with the kind of exhaustion that came from pushing yourself past your limits. The night air was a blessing against his overheated skin, cool and crisp in that way that made him want to just stand there and breathe for a minute.
"Man, I'm beat," he said, running his fingers through his sweat-dampened hair. "But I'm so ready for some FIFA. You ready to get destroyed?"
Mason's laugh was pure sunshine, even in the dim parking lot lighting. His face was flushed from exertion, freckles standing out against his pale skin, but his grin was infectious. "Fuck off, Chasey-poo. You're about to get absolutely demolished. It's my birthday, so I'm bringing zero mercy."
The nickname made Chase roll his eyes, but he was smiling as he said, "You're ridiculous."
Mason's house was exactly what Chase expected—cozy and welcoming, the kind of place where you automatically felt at home. They kicked off their shoes with the practiced ease of guys who'd been doing sleepovers since middle school, heading straight for the living room like heat-seeking missiles.
"I still can't believe you're spending your birthday playing video games with me," Chase said, collapsing onto the couch with a grateful sigh. "We should've thrown you a proper party."
"Nah, man." Mason handed him a controller, their fingers brushing for just a second longer than necessary. "We already did the rager thing last weekend. Besides, this is perfect. Just us, no drama, no distractions."
There was something in Mason's voice—a warmth that made Chase's chest tighten in a way he wasn't quite ready to examine. Instead, he focused on the game, letting himself get lost in the familiar rhythm of trash talk and competition.
"Your FIFA skills are as tragic as your taste in music," Mason teased, his fingers flying over the controller with surprising dexterity. "You're about to get bodied, bro."
"Big talk from the guy who unironically loves boy bands," Chase shot back. "I'm about to send you back to One Direction where you belong."
"Don't hate on the classics!" Mason's blue eyes were sparkling with mischief. "Harry Styles is a whole vibe and you know it."
The banter was easy, comfortable—the kind of friendship that had weathered years of shared secrets and stupid jokes. But underneath it, Chase could feel something shifting, an undercurrent of tension that hadn't been there before. Or maybe it had been, and he was just finally brave enough to notice it.
By the time Mason scored the winning goal, they were both laughing so hard they could barely breathe. The redhead threw his arms up in victory, his whole face lighting up with triumph.
"How's it feel to get smoked by the birthday boy?" Mason crowed, and Chase couldn't even be mad about losing.
"Alright, alright, you got me," he conceded. "Happy birthday, you absolute legend."
Upstairs, Mason's room felt smaller somehow, more intimate. They'd shared this space countless times before, but tonight something was different. Maybe it was the way the dim lighting cast shadows across Mason's freckled skin, or the way Chase's silver chain caught the light as he stretched out on the bed. Maybe it was just that they weren't kids anymore, and pretending otherwise was getting harder by the day.
Mason settled beside him, close enough that Chase could feel the warmth radiating from his skin. For a moment, they just lay there in comfortable silence, the kind that only came with years of friendship.
Then Mason turned to face him, propping himself up on one elbow. His expression was serious in a way that was unusual for him, those bright blue eyes searching Chase's face like he was looking for something specific.
"Can I ask you something?" Mason's voice was softer than usual, almost hesitant.
Chase felt his heart rate pick up, though he couldn't say why. "Sure, man. What's up?"
The question, when it came, shouldn't have been a surprise. The rumors had been circulating for weeks now, whispered conversations that died the moment he walked into a room. But hearing it from Mason—his best friend, his safe space—made his throat go tight.
"So, uh, there've been these rumors going around... about you being gay. Are they true?"
For a split second, Chase considered deflecting. Making a joke, changing the subject, doing anything other than having this conversation. But this was Mason. If he couldn't be honest with Mason, who could he be honest with?
"Yeah," he said simply. "They're true."
Mason's face didn't change, no judgment or shock, just quiet acceptance. "What's it like? Being with a guy, I mean."
The question was innocent enough, but the way Mason asked it—like he was genuinely curious, like it mattered to him personally—made Chase's chest tighten with something that felt suspiciously like hope.
"It's different," Chase said carefully. "In a good way. More real, somehow. Like you don't have to pretend to be someone you're not." He paused, then added, "But it's scary too. Never knowing how people are going to react."
Mason's hand found his arm, warm and reassuring. "Thanks for telling me. I know that wasn't easy."
The touch sent electricity racing up Chase's spine, and suddenly the air between them felt charged with possibility. Mason was looking at him with those impossibly blue eyes, and Chase could see something there—vulnerability, curiosity, maybe even longing.
"Can I tell you something too?" Mason's voice was barely above a whisper.
Chase nodded, not trusting his voice.
"I'm... I think I might be attracted to guys too." The confession came out in a rush, like Mason had been holding it in for so long it physically hurt. "I've never been with anyone. Never even kissed anyone, actually. Catholic parents and all that."
The admission hung between them, raw and honest and brave. Chase felt something shift in his chest, a door opening that he hadn't even realized was closed.
"That's okay," he said softly. "There's no timeline for figuring yourself out."
But even as he said the words, he could feel the tension building between them, thick and electric and impossible to ignore. Mason was so close he could count the freckles across his nose, could see the way his chest rose and fell with each slightly unsteady breath.
"What's it like?" Mason asked again, but this time the question felt loaded with something deeper. "Physically, I mean."
Chase's mouth went dry. They were treading dangerous ground now, the kind of conversation that could change everything between them. But looking into Mason's eyes—seeing the genuine curiosity there, the trust—he found himself wanting to answer.
"It's intense," he said honestly. "Personal. Hard to describe without..."
He trailed off, but the unfinished sentence hung in the air between them like a challenge. Mason was still watching him, still close enough to touch, and Chase could feel his resolve crumbling with every heartbeat.
This was Mason. His best friend. His safe harbor in a world that often felt too complicated to navigate.
And right now, Mason was looking at him like he wanted to be more than just friends.
Mason, sensing Chase’s discomfort but too curious to stop, pressed on. “But like, doesn’t it hurt? I mean, how do you even...you know.”
Chase felt a wave of embarrassment and irritation. “Mason, it’s not like that. It’s about trust and connection. It’s not just about the physical stuff.”
Mason rolled his eyes, his tone shifting. “Yeah, but still. Doesn’t it feel weird? Like, having another dude...you know, inside you?”
“I mean not if he’s gentle and eases in pretty slowly…you kinda just like take deep breaths and treat it like you’re…I dunno…taking a dump or something…” Chase and Mason both chuckled a bit at the crude description. “Okay, okay it’s better than I described it…when it’s good and it slips in it’s kinda like a nice kiss…like when someone slips their tongue into your mouth…”
Mason looked Chase in the eyes, a strange, testosterone-fuel courage swelling inside him. “Like this?” Mason asked, as he pressed his lips against Chase’s and then firmly inserted his tongue, surprising his friend.
The room was bathed in the soft glow of the bedside lamp, casting gentle shadows that danced across the walls. Chase broke the kiss of and looked at Mason, his blue eyes searching his friend’s face for a moment.
Chase’s heart raced as he leaned back in, their faces inches apart. He could feel Mason’s breath on his skin, warm and inviting. With a gentle, almost tentative movement, Chase closed the remaining gap, pressing his lips softly against Mason’s.
The kiss was tender, a delicate exploration filled with both uncertainty and a growing sense of rightness. Chase’s lips were warm and soft, moving gently against Mason’s. Mason responded in kind, his lips parting slightly to deepen the kiss. The world around them seemed to fade away, leaving only the two 18-year-old jocks in that intimate moment.
Chase’s hand found its way to Mason’s cheek, cupping it gently as he felt the slight stubble under his fingers. Mason’s hand rested on Chase’s waist, their bodies drawing closer together. The kiss was a beautiful blend of tenderness and passion, a silent affirmation of their bond and the feelings that had been simmering beneath the surface.
As they finally pulled back, their eyes locked, breaths mingling in the quiet room. Both boys were left breathless, their hearts pounding in unison. Mason’s blue eyes were wide with wonder, a shy smile playing at the corners of his lips.
“Wow,” Mason breathed, his voice barely audible. “That was...amazing.”
Chase nodded, his own smile mirroring Mason’s. “Yeah, it was. Here, I wanna give you a present.” Chase began kissing Mason’s collarbone, then tenderly making his way down to the ginger-haired teen’s toned chest, flat abs, and treasure trail. Chase slowly slipped Mason’s pajama pants down, then kissed the head of Mason’s 6.5 inch cock. It stood perfectly erect, surrounded by a wild, untrimmed bush—a telling sign that Mason was indeed a virgin.
Mason, having never experienced any sexual intimacy before, was leaking precum like a faucet and felt like he could cum right then and there. He needed Chase to hurry up and suck his cock, giving him desperately-desired release, but instead, Chase moved further down and began flicking his tongue on his friend’s ballsack. Chase then licked at the pit between Mason’s balls and his thigh, inhaling a lingering scent of sweat, even though the boys had both showered recently.
Mason moaned loudly. He was in heaven, scarcely able to believe that his friend, maybe the hottest dude in their entire school was worshipping his junk. “Shitt dude, that feels so nice…”
“Yeah, you like, buddy?” Chase then confidently took the ginger jock’s cockhead into his mouth. He massaged and sucked at the very tip for several seconds, then in a sudden, abrupt movement, vacuumed the entire 6.5 inches into his mouth. Mason gasped in shock and pleasure. Chase began using his tongue, inside cheeks, and throat to expertly massage the virgin boy’s throbbing cock.
Within 30 seconds, Mason lost it. “Chase, st—stop for a second…you’re gonna make me…mhhh…of fuck! Shit! Shit SHIT!!” Mason shot volley after volley of virgin cum into Chase’s throat, as the wrestling star continued to suction every last drop of seed out of his friend.
Chase slowly made his way upwards, using his hands to grope at Mason’s abs and nipples. He then placed his lips over the wide receiver’s mouth and commenced a cummy French kiss. Though he had just cum, Mason was turned on by the taste of his cum in Chase’s mouth. He’d fantasized about Chase sooo many times in the past, but couldn’t believe that the studly adonis just let him shoot his load in his mouth.
After letting a wad of cum drip into Mason’s willing mouth, Chase broke the kiss off. “Happy Birthday, bro.” Still straddling the ginger jock, Chase slipped off his pre-cum-stained boxer briefs and his 6inch cock sprung to attention. “Mind if I jack off real quick?”
“Uh…sure bro…course you can…” Chase straddled has buddy has he spat on his hand and lubed up his cock. He began stroking, slowly at first before quickly picking up the pace. It was getting late and Chase wanted to finish quick so they could go to bed soon. It was kinda awkward seeing Mason ogle and eye-fuck him, so Chase closed his eyes and began thinking about the day his stepbro, Brad took his virginity. He thought about the 6’4” quarterback’s strong, hairy arms and thick, 8-inch cock. Chase got closer to the edge as he remembered how Brad dominated him, pinning him down and verbally degrading him with taunts that inexplicably turned him on so much.
As Mason lay on his back with Chase straddling him and stroking off, he felt a strage temptation come over him. He stuck his middle finger deep in his mouth and lubed it up with a copious amount of spit. He then spread Chase’s ass-cheeks with his other hand. Unable to resist, Mason pressed his middle finger onto Chase’s splinchter, teasing it a bit.
Chases eyes snapped open, and he exclaimed, “Fuckkkk, that feels good. You wanna tease my hole, bro?” Chase relaxed his opening and Mason’s finger slipped right in. “Ohhhh fuck yeah. Yeah finger fuck my hole, bro.”
Mason, completely inexperienced, proceeded cautiously, gingerly wiggling his finger around. As his finger slipped in deeper, he felt a subtle round spot. Judging by the sound of Chase’s pleasured moans, it must’ve been his prostate. Mason focused on gently rubbing against the sexy 18-year-old jock’s g-spot.
This drove Chase over the edge. “FUCK. Open your mouth bro. Come on, just do it…ugh..quick. FUCK! SHIT! YEAH, take my load bro! MHHHH!!!!” Chase expertly aimed each volley of hot cum into Mason’s wide-open mouth. He didn’t miss a drop. As his orgasm subsided, Chase scooted closer, letting the final drops of jizz drizzle onto Mason’s lips. “You took that like a champ, brutha,” Chase stated as Mason extracted his finger from Chase’s hole. The two boys went to the restroom to quickly wash their hands, faces, and cocks before calling a night—for real this time. It was 11:30pm by then and the two 18-year-olds, exhausted from three hours of tryouts, quickly dozed off.
-*-*-
The Vanderbilt estate was the kind of place that made you feel underdressed even when you weren't. Rolling lawns that probably cost more to maintain than most people's salaries, marble statues that belonged in a museum, and a fountain that seemed designed specifically to remind visitors that they were playing in a different league entirely.
Ryan pulled up the circular driveway in his SUV, feeling every inch the small-town country club manager he was. His light blue polo and khaki shorts were perfectly respectable, but next to Vanders' effortless sophistication, he might as well have been wearing a burlap sack.
Atticus Vanderbilt—because of course his name was Atticus—stood beside an outdoor billiards table like he was posing for a lifestyle magazine. At 6'2", he had the kind of presence that commanded attention without trying, all sharp angles and expensive taste reminiscent of Tom Ford himself. His impeccably styled dark hair caught the afternoon light, and his navy polo and crisp white shorts looked like they'd been tailored specifically for his lean frame.
"Ryan!" Vanders' voice carried across the manicured lawn, smooth as aged whiskey. "Good to see you, buddy."
The greeting was warm enough, but Ryan could feel the undercurrent of anticipation. They both knew why he was here, even if they were going to dance around it for a while first.
Then the twins appeared as if summoned—and Jesus, they were something else entirely.
Austin and Dustin were identical in every way that mattered, standing at 5'11" with the kind of strikingly handsome features that belonged in magazines. Their brown hair was perfectly styled, catching the golden light as they moved with practiced grace across the manicured lawn. Broad shoulders filled out their crisp black uniforms, and even through the professional attire, Ryan could see the evidence of serious gym time—well-defined chests, sculpted arms, and the kind of confident posture that came from knowing exactly how attractive you were.
Their tan skin had that healthy glow that spoke of active lifestyles and careful maintenance, and when they smiled—which they did often—it was with the kind of mischievous charm that probably got them into trouble on a regular basis. Everything about them screamed expensive, from their perfectly white teeth to the way they carried themselves like they owned the world.
"Gentlemen," one of them said—Austin, maybe?—his tone perfectly professional with just a hint of something else underneath. The way his eyes lingered on Ryan a beat too long suggested this was more performance than simple service.
Ryan accepted the bourbon gratefully, hoping the alcohol might settle the nerves that were already starting to flutter in his stomach. Up close, the twins were even more impressive—their muscular builds evident despite their uniforms, prominent biceps and strong chests that spoke of hours spent sculpting their bodies into works of art.
Vanders raised his Old Fashioned in a toast that felt loaded with meaning. "Cheers to new ventures."
The billiards game was a masterclass in subtle interrogation, made more distracting by the twins' constant presence. They moved around the pool area like dancers, their identical faces animated with shared expressions that made Ryan wonder what private joke they were constantly sharing. Their confident, almost mischievous glints never wavered as they watched the game, and Ryan found himself stealing glances at the way their muscles moved beneath their clothes.
"Sheryl's really thriving," Ryan found himself saying, leaning against his cue stick and trying not to notice how Dustin's eyes tracked his every movement. "Always been driven, that one. Probably enjoying having some space from me, if I'm being honest."
Vanders' laugh was knowing, like he understood exactly what Ryan meant. "Long-distance relationships are challenging. Must be lonely."
As the sun began to set, painting everything in golden light that made the twins' already perfect features look almost ethereal, Vanders finally cut to the chase.
"I think it's time we addressed the elephant in the room," he said, setting down his glass with deliberate precision. "Your... situation. What happened this summer."
Ryan felt his cheeks flush, the memory of being caught on Vanders' security cameras still mortifying weeks later. The agreement they'd hammered out was unconventional, to say the least—six months as one of Vanders' OnlyFans performers, face blurred for privacy, as penance for his indiscretions with Joaquin.
Later, standing poolside in nothing but a silver speedo that left absolutely nothing to the imagination, Ryan wondered what the hell he'd gotten himself into. The fabric clung to every curve and angle of his 6'4" frame, and under the warm pool lights, he felt simultaneously exposed and powerful. His physique—years of rigorous training evident in every defined muscle—looked like something carved from marble.
The whiskey Vanders had pressed into his hands was helping with the nerves, but nothing could quite prepare him for the way Austin and Dustin were looking at him now. They'd shed their professional uniforms for tight-fitting gym shorts and tank tops that showcased their impressive bodies in all their glory. Their 5'11" frames were perfectly proportioned, all lean muscle and golden skin, with sexy chisled abs.
"Looking pretty good, if I do say so myself," Austin said, his strikingly handsome face split by a flirtatious grin as his hand found Ryan's shoulder with practiced ease. The touch lingered longer than necessary, fingers trailing across skin that was already heating under the attention.
Dustin stepped closer, his equally gorgeous features animated with obvious appreciation. "Yeah, man, you're like a Greek god or something. Pretty impressive." His own hand brushed against Ryan's arm, and Ryan could smell his cologne—something expensive and intoxicating that made his head spin.
These boys—because that's what they were, really, despite their obvious experience—knew exactly what they were doing. Their confident gazes roved over his body like they were already planning their next move, and their subtle touches made Ryan's skin flush with more than just embarrassment.
"Alright," Vanders called out, camera ready, his professional intensity gleaming in his eyes. "Let's make some magic."
As the cool water lapped at his feet and the twins closed in with those matching predatory grins, their brown hair catching the pool lights and their muscular bodies practically radiating sex appeal, Ryan realized there was no going back now. Whatever happened next, he was committed to seeing it through.
God help me, he thought, and stepped deeper into the pool.
Austin and Dustin stripped down completely and followed him into the water, their own bodies glistening as they joined him. They stood close, their muscles gleaming under the water’s surface.
“Look at you,” Dustin said, his voice low and teasing. He gave Ryan’s bulge a quick squeeze, noticing that the embarrassed stud was now rock hard. “You’re really rockin’ that speedo.”
Austin added, “Yeah, dude, you’re totally killing it. Fucking sexy DILF.”
Ryan tried to ignore the heat rising in his cheeks. “Thanks, I guess. I’m just doin’ my best.”
“You should come hang out with us alone sometime,” Austin said with a wink. “We’d love to get to know you better.”
Ryan chuckled awkwardly, his face still hot from the embarrassment at the twins’ obvious advances. “Well, thanks, y’all. I appreciate the offer.”
Vanders directed Ryan to various poses in the water, capturing images of him in different angles. Austin and Dustin kept up their friendly, flirtatious banter as they draped their nude bodies around Ryan in various suggestive poses.
“Alright, Ryan,” Vanders said as he took a few final shots before switching to filming, “You’ve been fantastic. We’re almost done here with the stills.”
Ryan sighed with relief, though his cheeks were still flushed. “Well, I reckon I’m ready to be done.” Vanders walked back towards the house, saying he was gonna fetch his filming camera.
As he turned around to swim to the edge of the pool and dry off, Ryan felt a pair of hands grab at his speedo, then quickly pull them down. Austin and dove down and pantsed him like he was a nerd in high school locker room or something. Ryan was too surprised to even react, when suddenly, Austin took Ryan’s hard cock into his mouth and began expertly sucking. Ryan gasped, but he was quickly muffled by Dustin’s mouth, forcibly making out with him.
Ryan had agreed to flim his first scene for Vanders after the pool photoshoot. He agreed to let Vanders handcuff him to a chair while Austin and Dustin took turns sucking his cock. Ryan figured that being handcuffed would make things feel less awkward and he’d feel less selfconcious if he’d only have to play a passive role. But the twins decided it’d be funner and sexier to surprise the handsome DILF and handcuff him while he was still in the pool.
Austin did just that, retrieving a pair of rubber handcuffs he’d set at the bottom of the pool and expertly using them to restrain Ryan’s wrists. Ryan tried to pull away, but Dustin aggressively made out with him, holding his head still, while Austin started rubbing his 7” cock against Ryan’s granite ass.
Ryan was undeniably turned on by this and the sexy dad began giving in and kissing Dustin back. Austin wrapped his hand around Ryan’s 8 inch cock and began stroking as he licked around Ryan’s stubble and earlobes. Unbeknownst to Ryan, several cameras were already set up in the pool area and filming every second of this.
The whiskey had set in and Ryan was now pretty drunk. The twins continued groping their hands over the handcuffed stud as they led him up the pool’s beach-style entry. Ryan started feeling incredibly turned on by the situation and he willingly let them guide him out of the pool. Ryan had to admit—it was hot as fuck to let two sexy twins manhandle him.
They threw Ryan down on a giant beanbag chair surrounded by camera. Ryan landed on his back with a thump, wondering what the boys were gonna do to him. Austin and Dustin smiled mischievously, their perfect white teeth glistening in the pool area lighting. Dustin ran a hand through Ryan’s messy, damp hair and said, “So, stud, ready to become a porn star?”
Thanks everyone for reading and commenting. For story updates, reader polls, and AI renderings of characters, feel free to check out my Twitter. I’ve released chapter 2 of Chase’s Senior Fall just a couple of days ago, and in the past people have told me they’ve accidentally skipped chapter when I relase them too quickly in succession. So if anyone happened to miss it, make sure to check out the previous chapter here.
This chapter addresses a plotline that started in Turning Chase. For the scene that went down between Ryan, Brad, and Joaquin in Vander’s house (that got Ryan in serious trouble), check out Turning Chase Chapter 9.
I’m encountering some writer’s block on how the chapters covering the football hazing are going to go. If anyone has ideas about any good hazing rituals (sexual or nonsexual), please do let me know.
