The Team

Soaked in sweat, Landon Willamette slowed to a walking pace in the mountain road's shade. He put his hands on his hips, but his skin was too wet—his palms slipped, so he raised his arms and laced his fingers behind his head, into his hair, and soon he came to a stop at one of his usual stretching spots: a narrow trailhead, right beside Artie Bell's house. You could see Artie's bedroom window through the trees.

Landon unlaced his fingers and pressed his hands into his pectorals. He felt the taut muscles rise and fall with his heavy breath and then let his hands run down his abdominals, hard and slick. When his fingers pushed against his waistband, he spread his legs, and he rubbed his thighs as he lowered into a long lunge. His new running shorts were even skimpier than his track uniform. Inches shorter than his hands and nearly thin enough to see through, they were helpless against his hardon. He slid one hand into his shorts—it was hot to the touch. Tugging it, he adjusted his bulge to make a tight tent, and the pressure of the fabric sent a quiver through his hips. He looked up through the trees at Artie's window. There he was in his little ball cap, watching. As usual.

Coach Trenton was always saying that running in as little clothing as possible made you aerodynamic, like a bullet. Maybe, sure—but it mostly made Landon horny. Running through town just shy of naked, sweating while people stared at his wet skin, his tight abs and hard nipples, his cock almost bouncing loose from his shorts—he wanted to be watched. After four years of track, baseball, and soccer, Landon wasn't just some lanky, quiet nobody anymore. Well, he was still pretty quiet. But when he ran, he could show everyone he had what they wanted.

Sometimes he ran with other boys who followed Coach's advice—usually Alec Harlow and Johnny Zhou, sometimes Dovener Burrows and Mike Korll. They'd make their way through town, watching each other's pecs bounce and grinning to each other when they noticed someone staring at their passing bodies. They'd finish with a few laps in the cemetery so they could watch each other's hardons grow, and eventually one of them would come to a stop and tug his cock out from his shorts. When Landon ran with Dovener and Mike, they'd just jerk off in the trees together and be done with it. But with Alec and Johnny, jerking off would turn into Alec on his knees, sucking Landon and Johnny's cocks until he swallowed their cum.

When Landon ran alone, he had to settle for teasing. He'd plan his route around the boys he dreamed of fucking, and he'd stop to stretch where they could watch him rubbing his sweaty skin from afar. But every time he stopped in front of some boy's house, every time he winked into a bedroom window while jostling a semi in his shorts, it was just a warm up for Artie Bell. Artie was the smallest guy on the track team; the soccer team too. Smallest guy in Colton Unified’s senior class, probably. He was so shy it hurt, but so sweet and earnest it made Landon want to swipe him up and hold him tight every time he saw him. Sometimes, in the locker room, Landon would catch him staring while he undressed. And now and then, on the track, Landon would fall into pace beside him for a bit, just to watch his cheeks start blushing. Landon had never invited Artie to join an after school run. He just dreamed of him most nights—naked and smooth in his hands, mousy schoolboy gasps jumping from his lips.

So Landon watched Artie through the trees now, trying to lock eyes with him as he pictured it: creeping up behind him in the lockers and peeling his shorts down; covering his little mouth and pressing his hardon against his raw hole.

Landon’s cock twitched, and his muscles rushed with dumb, hot excitement. He shifted his hips to point his hardon right at Artie's window, and he made a few slow thrusts. He closed his eyes as he pictured his cock finally popping into Artie's hole—he could almost feel it tightening up, warm and wet around his tip.

When he opened his eyes, his heart pounded—up in the window, Artie was stripping off his shirt. He tugged it over his head and tossed it away, knocking off his baseball cap in the process. Landon's hand darted instinctively to his dick. It wrapped around the tent in his shorts, then fumbled to reach under the waistband—barely thinking, he shoved his cock out into the open through a leg hole.

As Landon’s fingers closed around his bare shaft, he saw Artie starting to touch himself in his window—his hands drifting to rub circles into his chest and stroke over his faint abs.
A gritty rumble rose up in Landon’s ear: a car was coming up the hill. He froze.

He almost wanted whoever was coming to catch him like this, raging hard and sweaty and exposed—but he glanced down the road to see where the car was. Landon couldn't see it yet; he dripped a wad of spit onto his dick, and he thrusted hard into his hand.

The car rumbled louder, closer—he glanced away from Artie's window again, and he saw it rounding the bend. A mom-SUV, just a few hundred feet away. Whoever was inside could probably already see him gripping his cock.

Landon only felt more heat rush his muscles—but when he looked back up at the window, he saw Artie’s back. It bobbed down, then back up, as if he were taking off pants. Then it slid out of sight somewhere, leaving the window empty. The car roared past Landon without acknowledging him.

He shoved his hardon back into his shorts. Kicking off onto the trailhead at a racing, frustrated pace, he headed for the tiny glade where he liked to shoot his end-of-run load.
Landon slowed his pace to a stroll just before the glade. He was rounding the bend in the trail that curled right behind the Bells’ backyard—soon there'd be a glimpse of their chicken coop through the trees, and across the trail would be Landon's little clearing. Just a patch of ferns and moss soaking up two or so years of Landon's cum.

Usually it was where Landon felt calmest, completely undisturbed. But right now, he felt like he'd never be calm again—he wanted to kneel into the moss and howl while fucking holes into the ground. His cock had never been this hard before; his hips had never ached to thrust so much. He wanted to fuck the trees around him till they fell to the ground and rotted new holes for him to fuck—he felt crazy.

He couldn't quite believe what he'd just seen. He'd imagined it plenty before: Artie finally stripping for him up in his window, silently begging for what Landon had dreamed of giving him for years. Just like it had happened. But seeing the real thing—it seemed too lucky. Too unlike shy little Artie. It must have been a fluke.

Landon looked down at the tent in his shorts. Sweat beads dripped from the tip of his nose and landed on his hardon; each drop sent a quick shock through his hips, like someone's fingertips. He laughed to himself—maybe he would fuck the ground today. Or whatever leftovers were in the fridge at home. And his little sister's stuffed animals.

When he stepped out of the shade and into the clearing’s sunshine, he watched the light glide over his chest and abs in glassy gold. He was drenched in sweat. Every inch of his skin was shining with it. His sweat had even soaked through his shorts, darkening the thin fabric and pasting it to his hips. He hooked his thumbs into the wet waistband, about to pull the shorts right off—but he stopped dead.

He had just now glanced up to see it: Artie was there. Sitting in the middle of the clearing, just a few arms away. He was in his ratty, hand-me-down jockstrap. Nothing else.

They stared at each other for a moment, or a minute, both wide-eyed. But at some point Artie lied back into the moss, and he tucked his hands under his knees. He pulled them up toward his chest, and his calves and feet rose slowly into the air. He held himself like a porcelain doll—something rare and kept in a cabinet, barely ever fondled.

Landon’s mouth creaked agape as he watched from the trail. Suddenly he was useless, weak in every limb— he thought he was trying to move toward Artie, but he stood dumb, just watching the naked boy settle into place on the moss. As Artie’s legs rose, his little hole came into view, blushy pink and delicate. It looked so breakable to Landon—heat started to quake through his hips again.

Artie's hole tightened to a pinprick, then relaxed—and again, his opening moving like an iris. Landon nearly moaned when he saw it. He could almost hear it: Artie’s body was begging.

Landon felt his legs lurching forward like tired animals. He locked eyes with Artie as he came closer. Without a word, Landon lowered himself over Artie's body until his hips met his soft buttcheeks and settled there like heavy stone. His soaked running shorts were sticky between them.

Landon gripped Artie's thighs and loomed over him. He started rocking his hips into Artie, clasping tight to his ass and slowly leaning lower over him until their faces were just inches apart. Landon could feel Artie's hole through his shorts. The head of his cock rubbed back and forth over it, throbbing to push through. His hips were trying to move without him. Every few seconds he felt himself thrust harder than he wanted into Artie's softness. The force pushed a weak blush into Artie's cheeks, made his hands trail up paw to at Landon's chest or shoulders— but Landon kept slowing himself down, holding himself to the light rhythm he had started with. He wanted to stay gentle until he couldn't bear it anymore. He wanted to work Artie's little body until it opened for him; watch his cheeks blush redder and listen to his breath get shorter.

A few drops of sweat fell from Landon’s face to land on Artie's. They speckled his cheek and his lips; he seemed to like it. He made a tiny, hushed moan—the only sound from either of them so far—and he licked the droplets on his lip away.

Landon couldn't help his body's hungry response: His hips drove a real thrust into Artie, pushing his body down into the moss beneath them.

Another thrust, and another. Artie was pressing his hands into Landon's pecs, kneading his fingertips into Landon's muscle and letting his thumbs trail around his nipples. Landon heard him moan again, just barely louder than before—but Landon reigned himself back in. He sank his hips into Artie and stayed there, just barely grinding his cock against his hole.

He let a few moments pass like that, and then he thrusted hard—a little gasp breezed from Artie’s lips. And suddenly Landon felt fingertips on his cock, and then a palm, wrapping cool and electric around the heat of his stiffness. Artie had reached into Landon's shorts; he took hold of his dick and tugged it free.

Landon held still as Artie's fingers tightened around his shaft. He felt the veins there pulsing, shooting a deep ache through his body—he watched Artie's eyes soften with shy need as his fingers traveled the length of his dick. Every inch felt like red hot metal to Landon now. Artie's thin, careful fingers made his raging cock seem monstrous, uncontrollable—but Artie tugged it toward himself. Landon felt his tip graze against smooth skin, then it pressed into something delicate, perfectly silky—but resistant.
Artie had guided Landon's aching cock right to his hole. He was rubbing the tip there now—Landon could feel Artie relaxing for him. His hole was already wet with Landon's sweat. So Landon pushed.

Artie winced as the head of Landon’s cock popped through his hole. But with all the sweat, Landon’s cock slid deep. And he kept pushing, sinking deeper and deeper inside until the last inch of his shaft filled Artie’s pussy. When he hit that deepest spot Artie’s back arched up, and a long, gritty moan crawled up from his throat. He clutched Landon’s shoulders, his toes curling.

Landon started thrusting slow and hard, pounding his cock into Artie's G-spot over and over. Every deep thrust forced that animal moan out of Artie, and each moan drove Landon a little wilder. It wasn't long before he felt his body tightening up, about to go over the edge—he couldn't stop it. He slammed as hard he could into Artie and started grinding as a tremor shook through his hips and into his cock.

He tried to keep pounding as he started to come, but he lost control—he could only feel Artie's pussy, small and soft and tight all around his shaft as it pulsed. He kept himself quiet as his cum shot deep into Artie; his body shuddered, still caught in the orgasm, and he buried his face in Artie’s chest to from groaning, hissing, growling through the intensity. He felt another load of cum shoot free, and a third—he pictured Artie’s pussy filled with all his cream now, the head of his cock resting in the mess. He was still rock hard inside him. Raising his head up from Artie’s chest, Landon saw the blush spreading hot and scarlet in his cheeks. His eyes raked over Landon’s body, bright with thrill yet somehow deeper than before, needier. Landon knew he was aching to take more cum—they locked eyes, and Landon felt his own dumb, warm ache in his core. He leaned closer over Artie, and he let their lips drifted together.

Artie kissed hard and hungrily, and Landon kissed harder, trying to show that he knew what Artie needed.

He started thrusting again. Slowly, but steadily deeper, heavier. And when Artie started moaning Landon kissed him harder, greedy to swallow up the sound. With no warning he doubled his pace, pushing himself to ram as fast and hard into Artie's G-spot as possible. He tried to ignore the sound of their bodies clapping together and the wet sucking of Artie’s cum-filled pussy around his shaft—he only wanted to hear Artie’s muffled moans escalate, to take them with his lips and soothe them with his tongue. Artie was starting to lose control of himself. His moaning grew louder, more ragged, helpless against Landon’s cock thrashing inside him.

But Landon was sure he could take even more. Twice, his cock slipped out of Artie’s hole in mid-thrust, but Artie's hand darted out to pull it back inside him. So Landon kept pounding wildly; he kissed with more command, let his tongue roam forcefully through Artie’s mouth.

His pounding became ruthless. He railed his cock through Artie’s hole and slammed the heart of his pussy like a rogue piston. Artie’s moans became long and desperate, sometimes unraveling into whimpers or weak gasps. Landon could feel Artie’s muscles starting to contract under him—and his pussy tensing up, tightening while Landon’s rod slammed through it.

Artie threw his arms around Landon’s shoulders. His body started quaking; he gasped uncontrollably through Landon’s kissing as his back arched and his hips bucked.
Landon kept slamming into his pussy, hoping he could force Artie’s orgasm to last as long as possible. And he felt his own muscles starting to quiver and spark—there was no holding it off. The orgasm thundered up in him while he pounded Artie, rattling his body harder than the first had. He convulsed when the peak hit, nearly crying out as his cum surged and flooded into Artie’s pussy again.

He let himself collapse over Artie, resting his face in the moss. They were both breathless. He felt one of Artie's hands rubbing up and down his sweaty back, then the other reaching to feel his sticky cock, still thick and deep inside him.

“Hi Landon...” said Artie.

Finally hearing Artie’s little voice after all that sent a shiver down Landon’s spine. He laughed tiredly, and he slid his arms under Artie's back to hold him tight.

“Hi Artie,” said Landon. He made a slow, teasing thrust into Artie's hole, and he stayed holding pressure into him for a few moments. “...Tired?” he asked.

“I dunno,” said Artie. “I... really like when you cum inside me. I just want more.” 

“I never wanna stop cumming in you, Artie” said Landon.


“...Do you wanna stay the night? My parents won't care.”

Artie led Landon through the trees into his yard; he had to stop behind his chicken coop to slip on the running shorts he had left there. Inside the house, they crossed paths with Artie's dad in the kitchen. He was a drunk old hippie. Serving them spaghetti at the kitchen table, he shrugged off Artie's explanation for the sudden sleepover without a care. He lent Landon one of his flannel shirts before the boys went upstairs; Landon wore it while he bred Artie.

He pumped three more loads into Artie before he had to rest. They watched amateur porn while he recovered. Videos of boys like them; of tall, athletic types pounding smooth little bottom boys, and young couples kissing, fucking, and breeding like their lives depended on it.

And then, a bit hesitantly, Artie showed Landon a secret: his own amateur profile. He pushed his laptop toward Landon, timidly asking him to explore.

For a few moments he could only gawk in silence at Artie's videos. There were dozens of him all alone, naked in his room or out in the forest—but Landon latched onto the only clip with another person in it. It was barely two minutes long; Artie had titled it “Me taking Daddy’s load.”

Landon watched it twice. The daddy never showed his face. There were a few glimpses of his cock half- buried in Artie's pussy, thick and wet. But he kept the camera on Artie’s tight little body. As he came inside him he zoomed in on Artie's face, capturing almost the same look of grateful, shy ecstasy that Landon saw with each new load he buried.

Landon looked to Artie lying on the bed beside him. He wanted to ask who the daddy was, but in his head the question had a jealous ring to it. Instead, he went for the thought that had been making his cock ache since he saw Artie's profile:

“Can we make a video?” he asked.

They set up Artie's camera on his desk, just far enough from the bed for full, clear view of them together, faces and all. When Landon started smacking the tip of his cock against Artie's sticky hole, a creamy wad of his cum dribbled free. He paused to grab hold of Artie's ass, shift it toward the camera, and get a long shot of his earlier loads oozing out.

Landon fucked as hard as he possibly could. He was charged with the thought of strangers watching and people he knew finding the video, recognizing him—and with that pinch of jealousy he had felt while watching Artie's ‘daddy’ breed him. His slams and Artie's moans filled up the room, loud enough for the whole house to hear—Landon refused to let up. Still wearing Artie's dad's flannel, he started sweating through it when he heaved his first load inside Artie.

By his second load he was sweating as hard as he had that afternoon—he tugged the damp flannel off while his cum shot right against Artie's G-spot. Wrapping his naked body around Artie's, Landon held him close as he kept pounding, and Artie started to come, crying out louder than ever.

As soon as they finished, Artie sat at his desk and uploaded their video to his profile. He lingered there, replying to the comments that started trickling in while Landon rested on the bed.

“Hey...” He looked over his shoulder to Landon. “Um... That guy from my Daddy video just messaged me. He says we look great together. And he, uh... He wants both of us to come over tomorrow.”

“Huh? Well... Who is he?” 

“...Coach Trenton.”

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