Ground and Pound
The silence in my truck overwhelmed me, even though I wasn’t alone. I felt suddenly giddy, excited, but at the same time I was shaking. My mind swirled in the memory of that soft kiss, the feel of his tongue, our talk, the feel of his shoulder pressed against mine, my big leg doubling his, lightly touching as we sat on the garage floor, side by side.
And here he was again, at my side.
I drove. My hands were tight on the wheel. I could feel him looking at me, sitting there beside me, but I kept my eyes on the road. Maybe I should have let him bring his own truck. I just figured this was better, like I was sneaking him over so no one would see. My heart was hammering in my chest.
What was I doing?
I was bringing him home: the one place I never brought anyone; my other sanctuary; my own place, where I was alone and just… me. A “me” I didn't let anyone see. Ever.
I pulled up to my simple, single-story house. It was dark. It was always dark.
"Come on," I said, my voice rougher than I intended. He followed along quick enough, and I wondered what he was thinking.
I unlocked the door and led him inside. I flipped on the kitchen light. It felt too bright, and looked around quickly, trying to see what he saw. The place was clean, but sparse. A few hockey trophies on a shelf which I saw him notice right away, a stack of car magazines strewn on my coffee table, a functional couch that took the weight of me easily.
I suddenly saw my own place as the home of a lonely single man, who didn't know how to live in it properly.
Troy didn't say anything. He just looked around, his gaze taking it all in. Not judging. Just quiet, standing there with his hands in his pockets, looking suddenly cute as hell.
Then he turned to me and he suddenly looked younger, smaller than he was normally now standing next to my taller figure. He looked up at me and seemed more vulnerable. The bravado and the charm were gone. It was just him, his hands in his jeans pocket. Looking incredibly attractive and so fucking hot I wanted to mount him right at my front door.
"It's a good house, Ivan," he said softly.
The simple way he said my name cracked something in me. He didn’t call me boss. He called me Ivan.
I moved to him without thinking, and this time I didn't stop, I didn't rest my forehead against his. Instead, I grabbed his face with my hands, that beautiful jawline held in my massive paws, and I leaned in and kissed him.
Open mouth and all. His tongue sliding right alongside mine, in a hungry kiss.
I closed my eyes and thought about every little look I gave him, and how many times I spent alone every night jerking my cock to the imagined pleasure I ever fantasized about now happening in real life. I poured everything into that kiss. My mouth opened along with the floodgates. I can’t remember the last time I kissed someone like this, REALLY kissed someone. My tongue sliding into his warm mouth with a feel that felt like home. It felt like there were firecrackers going off above me as I breathed in deeply, tasting him at last.
And he kissed me back. Not just allowing it but meeting me, matching me. His hands fisted in my shirt, pulling me closer, his body aligning with mine. His tongue wrestled with mine in an equal, passionate hunger. I wondered for a flicker if he had ever kissed his coach like this but then shoved that image far from my mind. He inhaled with me, and we kissed like there was nothing else that matter in the world. A low sound escaped his throat, and it was the most beautiful thing I'd ever heard.
When we finally broke apart, we were both breathing like we’d just run a marathon.
He looked up at me, his lips swollen slightly from my assault, his eyes suddenly dark. A slow, dazed smile spread across his face.
"Wow," he breathed.
A sound I didn't recognize came out of me. It was almost a laugh. It was definitely relief. Thank God I still knew how to kiss. I suddenly wanted to impress the hell out of him.
I rested my forehead against his, finally, in the safety of my own home.
"Stay," I asked, but it didn’t sound like a question.
He didn't hesitate. "Yeah," he said, his voice steady and sure. "I’m not going anywhere."
“Good.” The word echoed in the quiet of my kitchen. Good. I thought again as my brain kicked into panic mode.
I didn’t know what to do next. The plan had been to get him here. The plan had not extended beyond that. My mind, usually so good with plans and details and sequences and logic, was suddenly racing wildly at what to do next.
“You want a drink?” I asked, because it was the only thing I could think of. A normal thing. A thing a host does.
“Sure,” he said, his voice a little husky. “Anything but an old fashioned.”
I hesitated, frowning at him.
He gave a cute little shrug. “Bill drank old fashioneds. I can't stand them.”
I couldn’t help but smile at him. “Do I look like the old fashioned type? I’ve got beer.”
“Thank God.” Troy breathed out. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have mentioned my coach. I guess I’m nervous.”
I went to the fridge, grabbing two bottles. When I turned, he was still standing by the door, but he’d taken his boots off, the sight of his nicely shaped feet in his thick wool socks a sudden twinge of desire in me I never knew existed. The simple, domestic act of it hit me right in the chest. He was making himself at home. In my home.
I handed him a bottle. Our fingers brushed, and I actually held mine there, feeling the electricity. The air crackled, I think.
“It’s okay to be nervous. I am too. I don’t normally do this.” I heard myself saying as I clinked his bottle with mine in a move I’ve only seen on TV.
We stood there, drinking our beer in the middle of the kitchen. I leaned on my counter. He shoved a hand back in his jeans pocket. It was awkward and perfect.
“I, uh… I should probably shower. It’s been a long day,” I said finally, gesturing at my grease-stained clothes. “The guest bathroom is down the hall. You can use that one.”
He just looked at me, a small, knowing smile playing on his lips. I think he saw right through me, at my own nervousness, and recognized the out I was giving him in a panic move.
“Ivan,” he said, putting his bottle down on the counter. There was the sound of my name again and it made me breathe out in a sound I didn’t recognize. He took a step toward me and my heart skipped a beat. “We just kissed like the world was on fire. You don’t have to give me the guest bathroom tour.”
He was right in front of me now. He placed his hand flat on my chest, right over my pounding heart.
“Your shower,” he said, his voice low and steady. “Is it big enough for two?”
Suddenly I wasn’t nervous anymore. He had given me a little seductive purr, as if it was a challenge. An invitation to relax, and realize this was going to happen. We could stop hiding. We were alone.
I preferred this direct flirting than what he was doing with Ray. I looked down at him. My giant hand came up and covered his, pressing it harder against my chest so he could feel my heart thumping wildly.
“Yeah,” I managed, my voice gravelly, my dick now fully erect in my jeans. “It is big enough for two. Two normal sized people.” I heard my own attempt at a laugh but his face lit up.
“Well then let’s see if we fit.” And he gave me a wink that set something on fire inside me.
I took his hand in mine and led him down the hall to my bedroom, gently pulling him behind me. My bedroom was nothing fancy, just a plain room: a bed, a dresser, a lamp. But I felt like I was a kid bringing a very special person into my private space. First, I let him into my garage, my sanctuary, my home away from home. Now I was showing him my real home. I was showing this other side of me – the REAL me.
I turned on the light. He looked at the big, simple bed, then back at me. His smile was softer now. Understanding.
“Ivan,” he said quietly. “We don’t have to… do anything. We can just, talk some more, or have another beer.”
He was giving me an out this time. But for the first time, I didn’t want one.
“I know,” I said. I reached for the hem of my shirt, pulling it over my head. I tossed it on the floor, standing there in just my jeans. I felt suddenly brave, exposing myself to him literally, something I never did to anyone. Not since the locker rooms.
His eyes traveled over my chest, my shoulders, my arms. I saw him pause on scars I had, on my flat stomach, on my perfectly round nipples poking out from my hard pecs, and the thin spread of dark hair covering my chest that suddenly made me look like a beast compared to this golden eyed blonde beauty in front of me. But there was no judgment in his gaze, just a small sound that escaped his mouth which made me grin.
He licked his lips, his blue eyes raking over my chest when he made the sound. I looked down at my pecs, still impressive and hard, muscled from good genes and hard gym time. I made them flex, then dance and he let out a soft “Fuck me.”
While my brain screamed I will, I managed to speak. “Your turn.”
He didn’t hesitate. He pulled his own shirt off, revealing the lean, sculpted torso I’d only imagined in my jerk offs. The former quarterback’s body, now a mechanic’s like me. But he was beautiful, smooth, like the guys in the ads, like the way I pictured him, rippling and perfect and so unreal I needed to make sure he was.
I reached out and let my big hand touch his left pec, feeling the hard muscle and the thump-thump of his heart. He involuntarily flexed, before I slid my mitt right down those washboard abs of his I had pictured in my grunted fisting pleasures at night. Before I got any further, I moved my hand sideways to his hanging arm and took his hand again. I didn’t say another word. I just led him into my bathroom, to my shower. I turned on the water, letting go of his hand finally and as it began to steam. I found my courage at last, and I started to unbutton his jeans as he stood in front of me.
The only sounds in the room was the water running, splashing along the tiled floor as it drowned out our breathing. I took my time, pulling on his jeans, pushing them down to his socks, watching his legs work as he lifted one leg out, then the other from the confines of his jeans. His bulge was already apparent, like mine hidden behind my own jeans, and it took everything in me not to look or grab it. I calmed myself, and knelt down at his socked feet, taking in the sight of his lean sculpted blonde haired legs and the outline of his muscular calves as I took one sock off, one at a time.
He had beautiful feet, all shaped perfectly, angular and smooth, thick veins running along the top, a curve underneath his sole. My hands moved gracefully upwards as calloused as they were, sending goosebumps over his thighs as I saw his cock throb behind the black boxer briefs he was wearing. Hugo Boss I saw, which made me smile. Boss.
I stood up and saw his eyes finding mine and before I knew it we were kissing again, his bare body now squishing against mine, his hard cock pressing against my jeans as my hands moved over his bare skin, making me harder than a fucking rock. His hands moved around me, feeling my broader back and gripping my ample ass, till they worked their way around to the front of my jeans.
“Your turn.” He said with a grin I suddenly loved even more, this close up, all dirty looking and sinful. This was going to be the best night of my life.
I stood there, all hulking 270 pounds of my 6’5” body, completely still as he worked my worn jeans over my protruding bulge. The head of my cut cock was already sticking out the end of my rather tight fitting simple white Reebox bikini briefs I had on. I looked down, seeing the one-eyed monster begging to be freed.
He pulled my jeans off with the same meticulous restraint as I had shown, peeling off my own wool socks from my size 14 feet. With the grace of a dancer, he moved his body upwards to mine, and embraced me again, the fabric of our contrasting black and white underwear the only thing now between us.
“I never pegged you for a briefs guy. Sexy.” He moaned right into my lips.
I let out a small laugh as our mouths hung open in the middle of a kiss as I shrugged. “Keeps everything in place, tightly, when it needs to be.”
And with that, his fingers dug into the waistband of said briefs, and he pulled them down, my 9-inch erection popping out with its musky scent as I returned the favour and shucked his boxer briefs down. He was smooth, even down there, shaved like the rest of him which made me groan as I pulled him into the shower with me.
This wasn’t a frantic, secret thing in the dark I normally did. Not this naked. Never under a shower. So this was new to me, and I wanted to take my time. I wanted to see him, touch him, feel him. Under the spray of the hot water, with the grime of the day washing down the drain, I finally, finally let myself touch him. My hands now lathered with soap had danced all over his body, even daring to caress his muscular hard ass. He had done the same, taking the soap from me in a quiet “Let me” voice. He worked my entire body over, even squeezing the meat in my round bubbled ass. But then, when he stood up, my fingers brushed around his lower abs, and I couldn’t wait any longer, letting my hand first glide over the length of him, until I wrapped my hand around his cock completely, forcing a low groan from his lips that was soon swallowed up in my mouth. He was thick, and hard for me, and throbbing in my grip.
And I let him touch me. He reached for mine right after, mimicking the grip and the shocked amazement. I was bigger than he was, in length maybe but not by much. Just as thick. I’m not sure how he tucked his monster into those tight football pants of his. Mine I could hide behind hockey gear. But this: I stared down at his smooth cut cock and gave it a shake. How the hell did he hide this fucking tool with a crowd of people watching him in those tight fucking pants?
He was the one who knelt down first. Trying me out for size. He did his best, gagging on it, and trying to bury his nose into my body but there’s only so much you can swallow, especially as water is pouring down on you.
I on the other hand, for the first time in my life, allowed myself the pleasure of making another man feel good. And he tasted so good. I enjoyed it just as much as he did I think.
It felt natural, normal, and like I should have been doing this to him for a long, long time.
Between turns under the water of sucking each other off, Troy became more and more vocal, as if he too was shedding things. As our soapy bodies glided over each other and our mouths just couldn’t seem to stop making out, it was Troy’s body that made me say it, writhing against mine in a way I knew I would not be able to control much longer.
“I want to fuck you in my bed.” I was if nothing, direct.
And I’ve never dried myself off so fast in my life.
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