The trophy gleamed under the bus’s flickering interior lights, its polished surface smudged with fingerprints as it traveled from lap to lap. Someone had duct-taped a stolen cafeteria spoon to the top as a makeshift oar, and now it wobbled precariously with each handoff. At the back of the bus, Luke lounged shirtless across two seats, his hoodie wadded under his head, his joggers riding low enough to reveal the sharp V of his hips. Mark sprawled beside him across the aisle, one knee propped up, his own hoodie unzipped to expose the sweat-slick hollow of his throat. The bus smelled like men- sharp with Axe body spray, stale protein bars, and the musk of guys who’d rowed hard and celebrated harder.
"Pass it here, dickheads," Mark called, snagging the trophy midair when Matt lobbed it haphazardly backward. His fingers left damp streaks on the metal as he hefted it, grinning at the way the spoon-oar trembled. Luke’s laugh was warm across the aisle. Outside, the highway blurred past, streetlights streaking the windows with gold.
Someone cranked the volume on a phone speaker, and the bus erupted into off-key shouting as the chorus of Mr. Brightside drowned out the engine’s growl as he bus roared on into the day, carrying them home.
Mark grinned as he thumbed open Snapchat and angled the trophy toward the bus window, catching the late afternoon sun glinting off its surface in his phone’s frame. Luke leaned in from the adjacent seat, his sleep-mussed hair brushing Mark’s shoulder as he flashed a dimpled smirk at the camera. Mark snapped the photo- Luke’s bare torso a golden contrast against the dark bus seats and sent it to his story with the caption, Spoon squad takes gold. The notification dots erupted instantly, likes flooding in, but Mark barely glanced at them before lobbing the trophy across the aisle. "Catch, shithead," he called, and Josh fumbled it against his chest with an exaggerated grunt, his biceps flexing as he hefted it overhead like a barbell.
Josh’s tongue poked out in concentration as he tilted the trophy sideways, inspecting the metal. "This trophy’s seen things," he announced gravely, and the bus erupted into jeers and half-hearted applause. Someone chucked a crumpled wrapper at his head. Mark watched, elbow propped on the seatback, as Josh attempted to balance it on his head, the trophy tipping precariously until Matt lunged to rescue it with a laugh.
Outside, the highway signs blurred past, counting down the miles back to campus. The bus’s vibration hummed through Mark’s thighs, his body still thrumming with the residual adrenaline of the race and the memory of Luke’s mouth on him in the showers. His gaze flicked to where Luke sat, his sun-bleached hair damp at the nape from another morning rinse. The back of Luke’s neck was pink where Mark’s teeth had grazed it earlier, just below the collar of his hoodie. Mark swallowed, his fingers twitching against his knee.
The bus hit a pothole, jostling them all sideways. Josh whooped as the trophy nearly slid from his grip, catching it between his knees with a theatrical gasp. Mark smirked, but his attention was already drifting back to Luke, catching on the way his shoulders shifted under his shirt when he laughed at something Matt said, the curve of his jaw in profile.
Mark’s knee bounced once, then twice, before he shoved himself upright with a grunt, the bus’s movement swaying him sideways as he lurched across the aisle. He landed half on top of Luke, his thigh pressing hard against Luke’s, his palm smacking the seatback for balance. "Scoot the fuck over," he muttered, already wedging himself into the space before Luke could comply, their hips jammed together on the narrow bus seat.
Luke exhaled sharply through his nose, his shoulder blades digging into Mark’s chest as he shuffled sideways. "Christ, ever hear of personal space?" But his voice lacked bite, his elbow nudging Mark’s ribs in a way that felt more like habit than protest. Mark grinned, slinging an arm over the seatback behind Luke’s head, his fingers brushing the damp ends of Luke’s hair. The scent of Axe and sweat and something indefinably Luke filled his nostrils.
Outside, the highway blurred into a smear of green and asphalt, the bus’s tires humming against the pavement. Someone in the front yelled about a rest stop, the words lost under the chatter and the tinny thump of music from someone’s earbuds. Mark’s thumb traced idle circles on Luke’s shoulder, the fabric of his hoodie soft under his callouses. Luke didn’t pull away.
Josh’s voice cut through the noise, sharp with mock indignation. "Oi, stroke seat, you abandoning us for lightweight over there?" Mark flipped him off without looking, his fingers tightening imperceptibly on Luke’s shoulder. Luke’s knee jostled against his, the contact lingering a second too long to be accidental.
The bus’s AC kicked on, a gust of cold air slicing through the warmth between them. Luke shivered, his bare arm brushing Mark’s, the fine hairs standing on end. Mark leaned in, his breath hot against Luke’s ear. "Cold?" The word was low, just for him. Luke’s throat worked as he shook his head.
Behind them, Josh and Matt erupted into laughter over something on someone’s phone, the sound muffled and distant. Mark’s knee pressed harder against Luke’s, the heat of it searing through the thin fabric of their joggers. Outside, the sun dipped lower, painting the bus interior in gold and shadow.
The bus shuddered to a stop under the fluorescent glare of the rest area's parking lights, its hydraulics sighing as the doors wheezed open. Half the team bolted before the engine finished dying- a stampede of long limbs and flip-flops slapping pavement- shouting about Wendy's and who owed whom for gas station Red Bull. The driver stayed put up front, earbuds in, scrolling through his phone with the resigned air of someone who’d seen too many post-regatta piss stops.
Mark stretched his legs into the aisle, his knee brushing Luke’s as the last of the team’s chatter faded into the distance, leaving them alone with the bus driver. The bus’s interior lights flickered, casting their shadows long against the seats. Outside, a moth battered itself against the windshield, drawn to the glow. Luke watched it absently, his fingers drumming a restless rhythm on his thigh.
Mark’s voice was a rough whisper. "Bet you five bucks Josh tries to chug a Frosty and pukes in the parking lot."
Luke snorted, turning his head just enough to catch the way Mark’s smirk deepened the crease by his mouth. "Easy money," he murmured back.
Mark turned his head, his gaze dragging slow and deliberate over Luke’s sprawled form. The bus’s flickering lights caught the sweat-damp hollow of Luke’s throat, the way his collarbones jutted sharp beneath tanned skin. His chest was lean but defined- ropey muscle from years of rowing- the pecs firm but not bulky, the nipples peaked from the bus’s overzealous AC. A faint dusting of sun-bleached hair trailed down his sternum, disappearing into the low-slung waistband of his joggers, which clung to the sharp V of his hips. His abs were a tight grid of wiry strength, the obliques flexing as he shifted, the faint shadow of a vein tracing down his left side. His arms rested loose on the seatback, the biceps subtly rounded, the forearms corded with tendons that stood stark when he flexed his fingers.
Luke exhaled through his nose, catching Mark’s stare, and arched one eyebrow. Mark’s own body was a study in contrasts. Broader, denser, his shoulders straining the seams of his unzipped hoodie. His pecs were thick slabs under the fabric, the nipples dark and pebbled against the chill, the trail of hair leading down his stomach coarser than Luke’s. His abs were layered, the kind built for power, not speed, the obliques heavy where they framed his waist. His thighs spread wide on the seat, the quads massive even at rest, the fabric of his joggers pulling tight over the swell of his hamstrings. His arms were furred with darker hair, the biceps bulging when he gripped the seatback, the veins in his forearms standing like topography under his skin.
Mark's fingers drummed once, twice on the seatback before his hand slid casually into Luke's lap, fingers curling around the outline of his hardening cock through the thin fabric of his joggers. Luke inhaled sharply, his thigh tensing under Mark's touch. "Fuck's sake," Luke muttered, hips jerking involuntarily into the contact even as his hand clamped down on Mark's wrist. "Driver's right there."
Mark's thumb rubbed slow circles over the head, the friction delicious even through fabric. "Deaf as a post," he murmured against Luke's ear, breath hot. "And the team's still in line at the fucking Wendy's." His fingers worked the waistband downward in one fluid motion, the elastic snapping against Luke's hipbones as his cock sprang free, already flushed and leaking against his stomach.
Luke's knuckles whitened on the seatback. "Christ."
"Freeballing," Mark noted with a grin, thumb swiping through the bead of precum gathering at Luke's tip. "Bold choice." Then he was sliding down between the seats, shoulders broad enough to block any stray view from the front as he took Luke into his mouth in one smooth motion, tongue pressing hard against the vein running along the underside.
Luke's head thudded back against the window, the glass cool against his scalp as Mark's lips sealed around him, the wet heat a stark contrast to the bus's stale AC. Outside, a car horn blared distantly somewhere near the gas pumps, but all Luke could focus on was the way Mark's tongue circled his frenulum with military precision, the bastard clearly putting all those fucking flexibility drills to creative use.
Mark hummed around him, the vibration shooting straight to Luke's balls as his fingers dug into the meat of Mark's shoulder. The bus's engine idled, a steady thrum beneath them, masking the wet sounds Mark was making as he worked Luke deeper, nose pressing into the wiry hair at the base. Luke's hips jerked instinctively before he forced himself still, hissing through his teeth.
"Easy there," Mark pulled off just long enough to rasp, lips slick and swollen, before swallowing him down again, throat opening around the head in a way that made Luke's vision blur at the edges.
Luke's fingers tangled in Mark's damp hair, tugging just shy of painful as his hips jerked forward involuntarily. The bus seats creaked under their shifting weight, the vinyl sticking to Luke's bare thighs where sweat had gathered. Mark's groan vibrated through him, lips stretched taut around Luke's cock, his tongue pressing insistently against the sensitive spot beneath the head.
Luke’s fingers clawed into the seatback vinyl, his knuckles bone-white as Mark’s mouth dragged another ragged gasp from his throat. The bus’s engine idled like a panting animal beneath them, masking the wet, rhythmic sounds but doing nothing to drown out the blood roaring in Luke’s ears. His hips stuttered forward, a reflexive jerk he couldn’t suppress, and Mark’s hands clamped down on his thighs, blunt nails biting into skin as if to say stay still, but his lips only took Luke deeper, swallowing around him with a filthy, practiced ease that made Luke’s spine arch off the seat.
Outside, a car door slammed. Luke’s head snapped toward the sound, his pulse rabbiting in his throat, but Mark didn’t even pause, just hollowed his cheeks and sucked harder, his tongue swirling around the head in a way that had Luke’s toes curling against the floor. Precum dripped onto Mark’s chin, glistening under the flickering rest area lights, and Luke had to shove a fist against his own mouth to stifle a groan when Mark’s thumb brushed over his balls, rolling them heavy in his palm.
The bus driver coughed up front, adjusting his earbuds, and Luke’s entire body locked up, except Mark chose that moment to drag his teeth just shy of too hard along the underside, and Luke’s hips bucked violently, his cock hitting the back of Mark’s throat with a choked-off sound. Mark’s laugh vibrated through him, dark and knowing, before he pulled off just long enough to murmur, "Told you. Deaf," against Luke’s inner thigh, his breath scalding hot on oversensitive skin. Then his mouth was back, relentless, his fingers digging into Luke’s hipbones as he worked him toward the edge with single-minded focus.
Luke’s thighs trembled, sweat beading along his hairline as he fought to keep silent and still, but Mark’s tongue was a fucking weapon, his lips tight and slick.
Outside, the distant chime of a convenience store door echoed across the parking lot.
"Fuck bro, they're coming back," Luke gasped, heels digging into the floor as he tried to pull Mark off. But Mark only sank deeper, swallowing around him with a filthy wet sound that punched the air from Luke's lungs. His hands scrabbled at Mark's shoulders, blunt nails digging into muscle as the first shout of returning teammates cut through the night air.
Mark pulled off with a wet pop, Luke’s cock glistening under the flickering bus lights, the head flushed dark and leaking. “We have plenty of time,” he growled, spit still slick on his lips, before his fist closed around Luke’s shaft in a brutal grip. No teasing now. Just rough, efficient strokes, his thumb swiping over the slit with every upward jerk. Luke’s hips arched off the seat, his breath coming in punched-out gasps as Mark worked him toward the edge with relentless precision.
The first spurt hit Luke’s collarbone, hot and thick, before the next striped across his chest in a glistening arc. Luke’s thighs shook, his abs clenching as his release painted the back of the seat behind him. Tope after rope splattered against the vinyl with muted thwacks. Mark didn’t let up, milking him through it with rough twists of his wrist until Luke was swatting weakly at his forearm, oversensitive and spent.
Mark smirked, wiping his palm on his own joggers before sliding back into his seat across the aisle like nothing had happened. “Cleanup’s on you, lightweight,” he muttered. Luke's cock twitched against his stomach, still hard and glistening in the flickering bus lights. He fumbled with his joggers, pulling them back up and hastily using his hoodie to sop up the cum streaked across his chest and the seat just as the bus door screeched open and Josh's laughter boomed from the steps, Frosty cup already half-crushed in his fist.
"Dude, you look chopped as fuck," Josh slurred, collapsing across the aisle. His breath smelled like vanilla and artificial sugar. "Nap time for lightweight, huh?"
Luke’s pulse hammered against his ribs, but the team’s chaos swallowed any trace of what they’d done. Josh was already chanting chug at someone holding a Frosty while Matt tripped over an outstretched leg, his arms full of fast-food bags. Mark lounged back as if nothing had happened.
The engine roared to life, vibrating through Luke's bones as the bus lurched forward. Outside, streetlights strobed through the windows, illuminating the smug curve of Mark's mouth in flashes. Gold, then shadow, then gold again.
Mark wiped his palm casually on his thigh again, grinning like he'd just won another race. Luke slumped against the window, the cool glass a relief against his flushed cheek, and watched the highway blur into nothing.
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