"Bro, you're pulling too hard on the left oar. That's why we keep veering into the reeds."
Mark's voice was hoarse, still warming up in the pre-dawn of the morning. Across the narrow shell, Luke exhaled sharply through his nose but didn’t answer. His shoulders burned from the strain, sweat trickling down the dip of his spine. The river smelled like wet grass, fresh air, and a slight mineralic tang.
The two-man scull wobbled as Luke adjusted his grip, his knuckles whitening. The aluminum oars clicked in their locks, out of sync. Mark didn’t glance back, just kept his eyes fixed on the bend ahead where the water darkened under overhanging trees.
A duck startled from the reeds, wings slapping the surface as it fled. Luke watched it go. "I’m not pulling harder," he muttered. "You’re just late on the catch."
Mark’s shoulders tensed, barely perceptible. The shell glided past a half-submerged log, its bark peeling like sunburned skin. The silence between them stretched, filled only by the rhythmic drip of water from lifted oars. Luke could feel Mark’s patience thinning; early morning rows always set their nerves on edge.
Mark wore a black speedo beneath a faded university hoodie, the fabric loose enough to flutter when the wind caught it. His sleeves were pushed up to his elbows, revealing forearms corded with muscle from years of pulling against currents. In contrast, Luke’s navy blue training uni clung to his torso, the dark blue fabric streaked with sweat. The singlet’s straps dug into his shoulders, accentuating the sharp definition of his deltoids.
A bead of sweat rolled down Mark’s temple, catching in the stubble along his jaw. His dark hair was damp at the roots, sticking in odd directions where he’d shoved a hand through it earlier. Luke had the leaner build of the two, his ribs faintly visible under his singlet when he twisted to check their alignment. His fingers twitched on the oar handle, the callouses rough against the smooth carbon fiber.
The boat lurched slightly as Mark adjusted his posture, his breath fogging in the crisp air. Luke could see the edge of Mark’s speedo peeking out from beneath the hem of his hoodie, a flash of black against his tanned thighs. It was distracting, unnecessarily so. Luke exhaled sharply and forced his gaze back to the river ahead.
His grip tightened imperceptibly on the oar handle as they entered the next stroke, the familiar burn of exertion radiating through his arms. But a different warmth coiled low in his gut, insistent and undeniable. The way his singlet clung to him didn’t help. The fabric dragged against his skin, the seam pressing just enough friction where it shouldn’t. On the recovery, his hand brushed his thigh, knuckles grazing the growing swell beneath the navy fabric.
Luke’s jaw clenched. He could feel every inch of the stretch in his legs, the way the uni pulled taut across his quads as he drove into the next stroke. The damp fabric left little to the imagination. The outline of his cock was unmistakable now, pressing insistently against the spandex with every shift of his hips. He adjusted his stance slightly, thighs flexing as he tried to focus on the rhythm of the oars instead of the heat pooling under his waistband.
On the recovery, his knuckles skimmed his thigh again, higher this time, brushing the swollen curve beneath the fabric. His breath hitched. It was stupid, reckless, but the thrill of it sent another jolt through him. The glide of the oar in his palm mirrored the way his cock strained against the uni, friction and restraint in equal measure. He could see Mark’s shoulders working ahead of him, the flex of his traps as he pulled, and fuck, why did that make it worse?
The shell rocked as they took the next stroke in unison, water sloshing against the hull. Luke’s grip on the oar was slick now, sweat making his fingers slippery. His cock twitched under the fabric, the outline growing more defined with each stroke. A blatant, undeniable arc where the navy blue clung wetly to his skin. He could feel the seam of the uni riding up, the pressure just shy of too much, and his thighs trembled with the effort of keeping his rhythm steady.
Mark’s voice cut through the haze, sharp as the oar slicing water. "You’re lagging on the drive." Luke barely registered the words. His pulse roared in his ears, his entire body thrumming with the dual burn of exertion and arousal. He swallowed hard, forcing his eyes away from the way Mark’s hoodie rode up with each stroke, revealing the dip of his spine above the black speedo. The shell veered left, oars out of sync again, but Luke couldn’t bring himself to care. Not when every slide of fabric against his cock sent a shiver down his body.
Mark twisted slightly, shoulders tensing as he craned his neck to glance back. "What the hell is up with-" His eyes flickered down, and Luke saw the exact moment they registered the tenting fabric between his thighs. Luke jerked the oar instinctively, a panicked snap of his wrist that sent the blade digging too deep. The scull lurched violently, balance shattered. Water rushed over the side as the boat capsized, flipping them both into the river’s icy embrace.
The shock of cold ripped through Luke like a slap, the river swallowing his gasp. His body seized, muscles tightening against the sudden plunge, but the frigid water did nothing to douse the heat coiled low in his gut. He surfaced spluttering, wiping water from his eyes just in time to see Mark’s dark head break the surface a few feet away. Droplets clung to his stubble, his hoodie plastered translucent against his shoulders.
Mark swore loudly, staggering upright in the waist-deep water. His hoodie sagged like a second skin, clinging to every ridge of muscle as he wrenched it off in one furious motion. The fabric peeled away with a wet slap, revealing shoulders broadened from years of rowing, his chest thick with the kind of definition that came from relentless training. Water sluiced down his torso, catching in the dark trail of hair leading from his navel to the waistband of his speedo as he slung the hoodie over the upturned shell. The black fabric clung obscenely now, riding low on his hips and doing nothing to hide the powerful cut of his thighs.
Luke couldn’t look away. The cold should’ve killed any lingering arousal, but god, Mark’s body was a goddamn distraction even now, water beading on his collarbones, his pecs tightening as he shoved a hand through his soaked hair. His abs flexed when he twisted to grab the overturned shell, the motion pulling the speedo even tighter across his groin. Luke’s mouth went dry. His own uni was sheer with water, clinging in ways that left nothing to the imagination, but he couldn’t tear his eyes off the way Mark’s biceps strained as he righted the boat.
Mark was broader, heavier with muscle, 21 with dark eyes and stubble that wasn’t just morning shadow. His chest was thick, the kind of build that came from years of pushing past limits, and his thighs strained the fabric of his speedo with every step in the current. The black fabric left nothing to the imagination, the outline of his cock heavy against his thigh.
Luke, leaner and a few months younger, stood chest-deep in the river, the water lapping at his collarbones. His hair, wet now and darker than its usual sun-streaked brown, clung to his forehead in messy strands. At 21, his body still had the wiry tightness of youth, all coiled tension and long lines from clavicle to hip. His chest was sculpted but not thick. It was defined from rowing, yes, but without the bulk Mark carried. His abs flexed visibly as he shifted in the current, the river’s chill doing nothing to hide the way his uni clung to every dip and ridge of muscle.
The navy fabric of his singlet was sheer with water, suctioned to his torso like a second skin. It rode up his thighs, the seam digging just enough to outline the swell of his cock, which was half-hard still, despite the cold, and unmistakable in the wet fabric. His legs were all tight cords of muscle, the quads sharply defined under the spandex, his calves cut from pushing off the foot stretchers stroke after stroke. The river tugged at the fabric between his thighs, the drag of current against his cock making him bite his lip.
Mark’s gaze flicked down once, then twice, before he jerked his chin toward the overturned shell. "Grab the other side," he muttered, voice rough. Luke swallowed. The water between them shimmered with tension, heavy as the drag of soaked fabric against skin.
Luke surged forward, fingers brushing the aluminum edge just as Mark reached for it. Their hands collided and they both froze. Luke’s breath hitched. Mark’s eyes were darker brown up close, pupils blown wide despite the morning light, lashes spiked with river water. His mouth was slightly parted, lips chapped from the wind, and Luke couldn’t stop staring at the way his chest heaved with each breath, the wet speedo clinging to every contour.
Mark exhaled sharply, his grip tightening on the shell. "Luke-" His voice cracked. Water dripped from Luke’s hair onto his own wrist, the droplet tracing the veins of his forearm before disappearing into the river. The current tugged at their legs, pushing them closer, and Luke’s pulse hammered against his ribs. The shell rocked between them, forgotten.
Somewhere downstream, a branch snapped under the weight of the river’s pull. Neither of them moved.
"Do you remember," Luke said, his voice lower than he intended, "that night in the dorm freshman year? When we were-" His throat clicked. "-when neither of us was getting any play?" Mark’s fingers twitched against the aluminum shell. A droplet fell from his lashes onto Luke’s wrist, warm compared to the river’s bite.
Mark’s exhale was ragged. "You woke me up at 2 AM to ask if I wanted to split a pizza." The corner of his mouth lifted, barely, and Luke could suddenly taste the ghost of cold pepperoni, the way the fluorescent hallway light had cut across Mark’s bare shoulders when he’d opened his door shirtless. How they’d sat hip-to-hip on Luke’s twin bed, grease smearing the takeout box between them, knees knocking every time one of them reached for another slice.
Luke swallowed. "You said no one else was putting out for you either, and we-" The shell creaked as Mark shifted his grip. The current pushed Luke’s thigh against his, spandex sliding on wet spandex, and Mark’s breath caught audibly. His thumb brushed Luke’s knuckle, rough with callouses. The river carried the sound of their breathing downstream.
Mark’s voice dropped to a rasp. "We jerked off in the showers together after." His pupils swallowed the brown of his irises, gaze locked on Luke’s mouth. The confession hung between them, heavier than the overturned boat. Luke’s pulse thundered in his wrists, his cock twitching against the wet uni, remembering the steam and the stolen glances under dripping water.
The shell scraped against Luke’s hip as Mark stepped closer, chest to chest now. River water sloshed between them, but Mark’s skin was furnace-hot where their forearms touched. Luke couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, as Mark’s free hand hovered near his waist, fingers trembling. "Tell me to stop," Mark murmured, but his lips were already brushing Luke’s jaw, stubble catching on damp skin.
Luke’s grip on the shell slipped. His hand found Mark’s hip instead, fingers digging into the soaked fabric of his speedo. "Don’t," he gasped, and crushed their mouths together. The river roared around them, but all Luke tasted was coffee and the iron-sharp tang of the oar handles, Mark’s tongue hot against his as their bodies aligned in the current, relentless and perfect.
Mark groaned into it, hands wrenching free from the shell to fist in Luke’s uni, dragging him closer. Close enough that Luke could feel the hard line of Mark’s cock straining against his thigh. The aluminum hull scraped against Luke’s ribs, forgotten, as Mark bit his lower lip hard enough to hurt, then licked away the sting. Water sloshed over their shoulders, lapping at their necks, but Mark’s skin burned wherever they touched, fever-bright against the river’s chill.
Luke’s back hit the overturned shell as Mark pressed him into it with the full weight of his body, hips grinding in a rhythm that mirrored the stroke of their oars earlier: deep, relentless, perfectly synchronized. The grip on Luke’s uni tightened, yanking the neckline down until the fabric caught on his nipples, exposed to the morning air. Mark’s mouth followed, teeth scraping skin, and Luke arched into it with a broken noise.
Somewhere downstream, the duck flapped its wings, startled all over again. Neither of them heard it.
Mark’s palms slid under the soaked fabric of Luke’s uni, the wet spandex dragging over his nipples in a way that made Luke’s hips jerk forward reflexively. Their cocks pressed together through layers of clinging fabric, the friction so maddening Luke nearly bit through his own tongue. He could feel every ridge of Mark’s abs against his stomach, the hot, panting breaths against his throat as Mark muttered something filthy and incoherent against his skin.
Then Mark was peeling the uni down Luke’s shoulders and hips with rough urgency, the fabric resisting for an excruciating second before giving way and springing down with a wet slap against his thighs. Luke’s cock sprang free, flushed and bobbing, the head gleaming under the pale morning light. He was uncut, the foreskin pulled taut over the swollen crown, the shaft thick and veined, jutting up against his stomach a full six inches with an almost obscene hardness. A pearl of precum smeared across his lower abs as Mark exhaled sharply, his fingers digging into Luke’s hipbones.
Mark’s grip tightened, callouses scraping against Luke’s sensitive skin, and then he was wrapping his fist around Luke’s cock. It was hot, rough, and perfect. Luke gasped, his cock twitching violently in Mark’s grasp, the foreskin sliding back to expose the slick head completely. Mark thumbed the slit, smearing the wetness down the shaft, and Luke’s thighs trembled, his toes curling in the riverbed silt.
Luke’s gaze flicked to Mark’s body- the carved ridges of his abs flexing with every breath, the black speedo clinging low on his hips, soaked through and stretched obscenely tight around the thick outline of his cock. A flush crept up Mark’s chest, his breathing ragged as he fisted Luke's dick with rough, uneven tugs. Luke could see the swollen head of Mark’s cock pressing against the fabric, the fabric damp with river water and precum. The outline was unmistakable, heavy and jutting against his thigh.
Slowly, Luke reached out, his fingers skimming the waistband of Mark’s speedo, the elastic snapping slightly under his touch. He hooked his fingers into the fabric and pulled, peeling it down Mark’s hips in one deliberate motion. The speedo clung for a split second before surrendering, springing free with a wet snap, and Mark’s cock surged out, slapping hard against his stomach. It was thicker than Luke’s, uncut like him but darker, flushed a deep red at the tip where precum gleamed. The shaft was veined and heavy, curving slightly upward, the foreskin pulled taut over the swollen head. A bead of fluid welled at the slit, trailing down in a slow, obscene drip.
Mark groaned, his hips jerking forward instinctively, his cock twitching against his stomach. His thighs flexed, massive and sculpted from years of power strokes, and Luke couldn’t help but stare, his own cock throbbing in response. The contrast between them was brutal- Mark’s body thicker, rougher, his cock jutting proudly from a thatch of dark curls, while Luke was leaner, all coiled tension and desperate need. Mark’s hand tightened, his thumb circling the leaking tip of Luke’s cock, and Luke gasped, his back arching off the overturned shell.
Mark gasped, low and graveled, as Luke wrapped his fingers around his cock, fingers barely meeting around the girth. He groaned deep, his abs flexing as Luke stroked him once, slow, fingers sliding through the slickness already gathered at the tip. The thick vein on the underside pulsed against Luke’s palm, and Mark’s breath hitched, his shoulders tensing as he fought to keep his hips still. His cock was hot and heavy in Luke’s grip, the skin impossibly smooth beneath his calloused fingers.
Mark’s grip on Luke’s cock tightened hard enough to make his thighs shake, and Luke groaned, his hips bucking into the friction. His fingers tightened around Mark’s length in against the frenulum, and Mark cursed, his head dropping forward, forehead pressing against Luke’s shoulder. The river lapped at their waists, the cold forgotten against the heat of their bodies, the slick slide of skin on skin. Mark’s breath was hot against Luke’s throat, his lips brushing Luke’s pulse point as he gasped again- low, ragged, unbearably masculine.
Luke tightened his grip, twisting his wrist slightly on the upstroke, and Mark’s hips jerked forward with a groan, his cock pulsing in Luke’s hand. He was leaking freely now, precum smearing between Luke’s fingers, the slickness making the slide effortless. Mark’s breath came in ragged bursts, his thighs trembling as Luke worked him faster, his thumb circling the swollen head with every stroke. The sound of their breathing mingled with the rushing water, both of them panting, their cocks throbbing in each other’s grips, the pre-dawn sun casting dappled shadows across their tangled bodies.
Mark’s free hand tangled in Luke’s hair, tugging sharply as he ground against him, their bodies pressed together from chest to thigh. His lips crashed against Luke’s again, teeth scraping, tongues sliding hot and desperate. Luke could taste the salt of Mark’s sweat, the bitter tang of river water, the faintest hint of coffee, everything achingly familiar and intoxicating. Mark’s grip on his cock tightened, his thumb pressing insistently under the head, and Luke gasped, his hips stuttering forward as pleasure coiled tight in his gut, threatening to snap.
The overturned shell rocked against them as Mark shifted, his knee nudging Luke’s thighs wider, the rough drag of his calloused fingers sending sparks up Luke’s spine. Mark’s mouth moved to Luke’s throat, biting just hard enough to leave a mark, sucking a bruise into the tender skin as his hand worked Luke’s cock with rough, uneven strokes. Luke arched into it, his fingers digging into Mark’s hip, his other hand still fisted around Mark’s length, their rhythm faltering as pleasure built, relentless and overwhelming.
Mark’s voice was rough against Luke’s ear, his breath hot. “Fuck- Luke-” His hips jerked erratically, his cock twitching in Luke’s grip, and Luke knew he was close, could feel it in the way Mark’s thighs tensed, the way his fingers trembled against Luke’s skin. Luke tightened his grip, his thumb swiping over the leaking slit, and Mark’s groan was raw, his body bowing forward, forehead pressed to Luke’s shoulder as his orgasm ripped through him, hot and unchecked. Luke felt the first pulse as he stroked Mark, and then Mark was shuddering, his release spilling between them, his cock throbbing in Luke’s fist.
Luke didn’t slow. He kept stroking Mark through it, fingers slick with his cum, and then Mark’s hand tightened on Luke’s cock again, pulling a ragged gasp from him. Mark’s fingers were sticky, his grip relentless, and Luke was right there- his hips bucking forward, his cock straining against Mark’s touch. The pleasure coiled tight, burning through him, and then- fuck- he was coming, his release spilling over Mark’s fingers, his thighs shaking as he gasped Mark’s name into the morning air.
The river lapped at their waists, cooling the sweat on their skin as they slumped against the overturned shell, their breathing ragged and uneven. Mark’s thumb brushed absently over Luke’s hipbone, his lips pressed to the damp skin beneath Luke’s ear. Neither spoke, they didn’t have to. The sun broke through the horizon, casting long shadows across the water, and somewhere upstream, the ducks flapped their wings, undisturbed now.
Mark let out a slow exhale, his fingers trailing down Luke’s stomach, tracing the smeared mess between them. His voice was rough, quieter than before. “We’re gonna have to flip the shell back.”
Luke nodded absently, his gaze drifting downstream where the faintest traces of them swirled in the river’s current, flecks of white dissolving into the water like disappearing ink. He swallowed, his throat clicking. “Need to wash off first,” he murmured, already stepping back, the river’s chill biting at his oversensitive skin.
Together they sank beneath the surface, the cold closing over them in a sudden hush. Luke opened his eyes underwater, watching the way Mark’s dark hair fanned out like ink, his limbs drifting weightless for a suspended second. The last remnants of their release floated between them, carried away by the pull of the river, a silent confession dissolving into nothingness.
They broke the surface in unison, gasping, water sluicing off their shoulders.
Mark dragged a hand down his face, wiping river from his stubble before reaching for his speedo, the black fabric clinging to his thigh like a second skin as he worked it back up over his hips. The elastic snapped taut against his waist, the outline of his softened cock just visible beneath the wet fabric, his abs flexing as he adjusted the fit. Water beaded in the divot of his collarbone, tracing the thick muscle of his pecs before dripping onto the speedo’s waistband.
Luke’s fingers trembled as he grabbed the sopping uni pooled at his thighs, the spandex resisting for a heartbeat before yielding. He dragged it up slowly over the sensitive head of his cock, the fabric catching momentarily before sliding into place. Then over his hips where the seam pressed snugly into his body. By the time he pulled the straps over his shoulders, the cold had seeped back into his bones, but the memory of Mark’s hands burned beneath his skin like a brand.
Mark was already heaving the shell upright, biceps straining as water cascaded from the hull. The sun climbed higher, bleaching the sky pale, and the river carried the last traces of them away.
---
The dock groaned under their weight as they hauled the shell ashore, their hands brushing briefly, once then twice, before they both jerked away. Luke could still taste the river on his lips, sharp and metallic, but it was nothing compared to the phantom pressure of Mark’s mouth, the sting of teeth on his jaw. Coach’s SUV crunched over the gravel lot, tires kicking up dust as he rolled the window down. "How’s my favorite pair of masochists?" he called, grinning through his salt-and-pepper stubble.
Luke opened his mouth, but it was Mark who answered first, his voice rough from exertion or maybe from the way Luke’s fingers had dug into his hips twenty minutes ago. "Fucking perfect," he said, too quick, and Luke choked on a laugh, ducking his head to hide the flush creeping up his neck. Coach’s laugh boomed across the water, oblivious, but Luke caught the way Mark’s knuckles whitened around the edge of the shell, his biceps flexing under the damp hoodie sleeve.
"That’s why you’re D1 athletes, boys," Coach hollered, shifting the car into park. "No quit in you. Now get that shell racked. Whole team's got the ergs booked for the next two hours." The window rolled up, tires crunching away, but Luke barely heard it. Mark was staring at him, eyes dark under the morning sun, his lips parted like he wanted to say something.
Then Mark’s face broke into a grin, sudden and reckless, and he laughed, low and rough. "That was fun," he said, hoisting the shell higher. "Dude, I don’t know why we never jerked off together after that first time. This was great."
Luke snorted, shaking his head as they settled the shell into the slings, his fingers lingering on the cool aluminum.
"Dude," Luke grinned, reaching out to cuff Mark's shoulder and then abruptly dropping his hand to palm himself through his uni with exaggerated bravado. "Yeah, bro, maybe we should make it a thing."
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