Sunlight sliced through the curtains in thin, dusty lines. The clock glowed 7:14. My body felt heavy, sunk deep into the mattress, the kind of rest you only get after dumping every last bit of load. Connor was still behind me, his back to mine. Our asses pressed together through the boxers, warm and steady, like neither of us had moved an inch since we rolled apart in the night. I stayed still. So did he. For a minute, anyway.
The replay from last night wouldn’t quit. The mattress dipping hard under his weight. His arm flopping over my waist because there was nowhere else for a big guy like him. The slow, accidental rock of hips when we both got hard. Then the decision to just do it; side by side, sheet tented, elbows brushing while we stroked ourselves. His low grunt when he came, the sharp, thick smell that hit the air right after. The way our backs found each other again afterward, asses slotted together like the bed had its own opinion. I told myself it was practical. Just bros handling business so we could sleep. Just circumstance.
Morning light made the excuse feel paper-thin. I’d always noticed guys. The way traps flexed under a tight shirt, the heavy swing in gym shorts after practice, the casual confidence in the locker room. I shoved it down. Never gave it air. Last night I pried the lid off. Now the thoughts kept coming. What if I’d reached over? Wrapped my hand around his cock, felt the heat and the pulse. What if he’d done it to me. What if I’d slid lower, taken his dick in my mouth. Let him do the same. The fantasy settled low in my gut, made my dick twitch. I clenched everything and breathed slowly.
Connor stirred. Rolled onto his back with a long, rough groan. Arms stretched overhead. The sheet slipped down to his hips. “Fuck, bro,” he muttered, voice thick with sleep. “I slept like a rock after busting that nut last night. Head’s clear as hell now.”
I turned my head just enough to catch his profile. “Yeah. Same man. Feels good to actually rest before the game.”
He grinned, lazy, scratched his abs slow. “Still wish it was a mouth though. Some chick taking her time gagging on my dick. Would’ve been perfect.”
I forced a laugh, kept it easy. “No kidding. One of those sorority girls from the mixer on her knees? Game over.”
Connor chuckled, deep and loose. “For real. Maybe we’ll spot some today on campus. Play hard, win dirty, then find some fun to cap it. These rival punks aren’t ready for what we’re bringing.”
He swung his legs off the bed, stood, stretched tall. Boxers rode low on his hips. I caught the heavy outline before he turned to grab his tank from the chair. My throat tightened. I looked up at the ceiling instead.
“Bus in twenty,” he said, pulling the shirt on. Fabric stretched tight across his chest and shoulders. “Don’t drag ass, Marco. We got a W to steal. Let’s bury these motherfuckers.”
The door clicked shut behind him. The room went quiet except for the low drone of the AC.
I stayed on my back a beat longer. Dick half-hard again. Not from sorority girls. From him. From the memory of his heat still clinging to my skin. From the voice in my head asking what happens if we crash together again tonight.
I sat up, swung my legs over the edge, and stood. Cold water on my face in the bathroom. Deep breath. It’s just tournament adrenaline. Just leftover horniness. Nothing real.
The thoughts followed me out the door anyway. The day had barely started.
By 8, we rolled onto the rival campus in the team bus. The place looked sharp: fresh turf, tall bleachers, banners flapping in the breeze for the showcase. Our guys piled out, gear bags slung over shoulders, already talking shit about the home team. Warm-ups were in full swing on the main field. Dudes everywhere stretching, throwing, taking swings in the cages. Sweat already gleaming on skin under the morning sun.
I tried to focus. Grabbed my glove, jogged out to short for drills. Grounders came hot, I fielded clean, fired first. Coach barked adjustments. Normal shit. But my eyes kept drifting. A group of their players ran sprints along the baseline. One guy peeled off his shirt mid-stride, tossed it to the side. Lean, cut, abs popping with every step. Blond hair cropped short, catching the light. He dropped into a deep lunge stretch, back arched, happy trail running straight down into low-slung shorts. The V lines dipped low enough to show the faint shadow of pubes. My cock stirred in my compression shorts. Thickened quick. I shifted my stance, adjusted myself under the pretense of fixing my cup. Fuck. It was like my dick had already decided what it wanted this morning. No debate. Just hard, insistent, pressing against the fabric.
I glanced around. No one noticed. Teammates were locked in, yelling encouragement, laughing at missed throws. I forced my eyes back to the dirt, scooped another grounder, threw it hard. But the image stuck: that blond guy's body moving smooth, sweat tracing the lines of his torso. My mind flashed to Connor's chest last night, the way his pecs flexed when he stretched. Then back to the shirtless stranger. Then Connor again. Cock throbbed once, leaking a little. I bit the inside of my cheek and told myself to chill. This was not the time to think about shirtless men.
Practice wrapped around eleven. Coach gave us an hour break before the first game slot. Most guys headed to the visitor locker room to change, hydrate, bullshit. I hung back. Told the trainer my cleat felt off, needed to check the laces. They bought it. Locker room emptied out fast. Just me and the hum of the vents.
I sat on the bench, phone in hand. Heart kicked up. Why the fuck couldn't I stop thinking about Connor? Or a shirtless dude? The locker room smell hit me hard: sweat, liniment, rubber. Always made me half-hard after practice anyway. Now it felt different. Loaded. My cock was still swollen from earlier, sensitive against the jock. I shifted, felt the head rub the pouch. Pre-cum smeared. Fuck it.
I opened the app store. Typed "Grindr." I'd heard about it before. Willie, our left fielder, joked about it once after a road trip. Said some guy in his hometown kept popping up on it, "gay hookup apps are wild, bro, stay off unless you want trouble." Everyone laughed. I laughed too. But the name stuck. Now my thumb hovered. Download.
The app installed quickly. I made a profile. No face pic. Just stats: 6'1", athletic, 180, curious first-timer. Blank headline. Location on. The nearby grid lit up fast. Dudes close. Real close.
I swiped. Profiles blurred past. Then one stopped me cold.
Early twenties. Lean athletic build, swimmer's shoulders tapering to a narrow waist. Blond hair, short on the sides, longer on top. Sharp jaw, green eyes, easy smirk in the main pic. Shirtless torso shot: smooth chest, defined pecs, abs carved clean. Happy trail started just below his navel, blond and thin, disappearing into gray gym shorts that hugged a visible bulge. Username: campus_quickie.
My cock jumped. Full hard now, straining. I tapped the chat.
Me: Yo. I am new to this. Never done guy stuff before but... fucking horny right now.
Sent. Heart hammered.
He replied fast.
campus_quickie: No worries bro. Lots of first-timers hit me up. It's just fun. I'll suck you off clean, no strings. Unless you wanna fuck me, up to you.
I stared at the screen. Swallowed. Fingers shook a little.
Me: Nah. Just a blowjob for now. Sounds... good.
campus_quickie: Cool. You on campus? Library stairwell, third floor, east wing. Quiet spot. Meet me in 10?
I checked the time. Break still had forty minutes. I could slip out, be back before anyone noticed.
Me: Yeah. On my way.
I stood. Adjusted my cock again. It hurt now, trapped and leaking. I threw on a hoodie over my practice jersey, grabbed my phone, and walked out fast. Head down through the halls. Campus buzzed: students milling, music from somewhere. I found the library. Big glass building. East wing stairs were tucked behind a vending machine alcove. I pushed through the door, climbed to the third floor. Empty. Just concrete steps, dim overhead lights, faint echo of my sneakers.
I leaned against the wall, hands in pockets, staring at my phone like I was checking messages. Sweat beaded on my neck. Cock still hard, throbbing with every heartbeat. What the fuck was I doing? This was insane. But the thought of a mouth on me, any mouth, made my balls ache.
Footsteps echoed up the stairwell. Slow. Confident.
A dude appeared around the landing. Same blond hair, cropped short on the sides, a little longer and messy on top. Same easy smirk that had hit me like a fastball when I first saw his profile pic. Taller than the photos suggested, maybe six two, broad shoulders filling out a faded rival team baseball jersey, number 12 across the chest. Black athletic shorts hung low on his hips, waistband sitting just below the cut of his obliques. Green eyes locked on me right away, sharp and amused. He stopped a couple steps below, tilted his head, took me in slow from sneakers to face like he was sizing up an opponent at the plate.
It clicked then. The shirtless guy from warm-ups this morning. The one who peeled off his tee mid-sprint, abs flexing, happy trail catching sunlight while he dropped into stretches. The one my cock had zeroed in on without asking permission. Same dude. Right here. In front of me.
"Yo, wassup," he said, voice low, chill, like we were just two guys bumping into each other at the gym.
I nodded, my throat dry as sandpaper. Still in shock. "Uh... hey?"
He climbed the last steps, closing the distance. Stopped close enough that I caught the faint scent of his cologne, something clean and woodsy, layered over the fresh sweat still clinging to his skin from morning practice. Warm. Male. Made my head spin a little.
He grinned wider. "It's me, lol. Campus Quickie."
My face burned hot. Cock pulsed hard in my shorts, trapped and aching. I shifted my weight, hands jammed deeper into my pockets to hide the obvious tent. Avoided his eyes at first, staring at the concrete step between us, then forced myself to look up.
He was handsome. Really fucking handsome. Sharp jawline, full lips curved in that same knowing smile from the app. Blond stubble shadowed his chin.. The happy trail I remembered from his torso pic peeked above the low waistband of his shorts, blond and thin, leading down to where the fabric hugged the thick outline of his bulge. Same happy trail I'd watched trace sweat down his abs on the field this morning. The one I couldn't tear my eyes off while pretending to focus on grounders.
He stepped half a pace closer. Heat rolled off him. My breath came shallow. Cock throbbed once, heavy and insistent, pre-cum already soaking the pouch of my jock. No words left in my head. Just the pounding in my chest, the electric hum between us, and the slow, hungry way his gaze dropped to my mouth, then lower.
He didn't say anything else.
Neither did I.
The stairwell stayed quiet except for our breathing.
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