The storage room smelled of dust and old rubber. Dawn light bled through high, grimy windows, casting stripes on the mats Jake had unrolled. Asher stood rigid by the door, key clutched in his palm. Jake faced him, already stripped to just his white jockstrap. "Coach’s orders," Jake said, peeling the strap down until he was fully exposed. His cock hung thick, flushed pink in the cool air. "No gear."
Asher stared at Jake's exposed skin. "Dude," he choked out, knuckles white on the doorframe. "This is not at all what he said." Sweat prickled his temples despite the chill. "What the fuck is up with you lately?"
Jake stepped closer, bare feet silent on vinyl. "Coach said fundamentals," he murmured, voice low and steady. "Skin-on-skin contact. Instinct." He tapped his temple. "You heard him." His gaze dropped pointedly to Asher's khaki shorts. "You gonna wrestle in those?"
Asher swallowed hard. Jake’s hand closed over his wrist—calloused fingers pressing tendon and bone. "Trust me," Jake breathed, pulling Asher away from the door. "This works." His thumb traced the elastic edge of Asher’s shorts. "Lose the shorts dude."
Asher jerked his arm free. "Fine," he muttered, voice tight. He kicked off his sneakers, socks, and shirt. He hesitated, fingers hovering over the waistband of his shorts, until he finally tugged the shorts down slowly, fabric catching on dense muscle. It slid past his hips, revealing thick thighs coiled tight. His jockstrap today was light blue nylon, stark against his olive skin. Jake watched, silent, green eyes tracking every movement. The air tasted stale, thick with dust drifting in the pale dawn light.
Goosebumps prickled his bare skin. Jake’s gaze lingered—a slow sweep from Asher’s broad shoulders down to his thick calves. "Blue’s better," Jake murmured, stepping closer. "Still not black."
Asher stiffened. Jake’s chuckle echoed softly. "Looks like you borrowed it from a lifeguard," he added, flicking the taut blue nylon pouch. The snap stung Asher’s skin. "Or maybe a Smurf." His grin sharpened. "Hope Coach doesn’t see. He’ll think you’re trying out for synchronized swimming."
Asher shoved Jake’s shoulder. "Shut up," he growled, heat flooding his neck. Jake’s fingers clamped around his wrist—calloused and strong. His freckled chest brushed Asher’s bare arm. Heat radiated off him. "Ready?"
Before Asher could answer, Jake exploded forward. Chest slammed against chest—skin slick, sweat already blooming. Jake’s knee hooked behind Asher’s thigh. They crashed onto the mat, Jake’s hips grinding down hard. Asher gasped, trapped beneath Jake’s lean weight. The blue nylon dug into his groin, fabric straining against his thick cock. Jake pinned Asher’s wrists above his head. "Yield?" Jake rasped, breath hot against Asher’s ear. His own cock pressed flush against Asher’s hip, rock solid from the friction of the bout.
Asher bucked violently. Jake grunted, thighs clamping tighter. Their bodies slid—sinew against sinew, sweat-slick and desperate. Dust motes danced in the dawn light. Asher hooked a leg behind Jake’s knee, leveraging raw strength. They rolled, a tangle of straining limbs and blue nylon. Jake landed hard on his back, Asher’s forearm pressing into his freckled throat. Jake’s cock pulsed thick against Asher’s hip, trapped beneath him.
Jake’s eyes widened—surprise, then fierce approval. "Better," he rasped. Sweat dripped from Asher’s chin onto Jake’s bare chest. Jake’s gaze dropped pointedly to the blue fabric stretched taut over Asher’s groin. "Still looks like you raided a kiddie pool," he choked out, grinning despite the pressure on his windpipe. His thumb scraped the elastic waistband. "Seriously, Ash. First pink, now baby blue?" His hips shifted subtly upward, grinding the hard line of his cock against Asher’s trapped thigh. "Coach sees this? He’ll demote you to water boy."
Asher shoved harder, knuckles digging into Jake’s collarbone. "It’s navy," he hissed, heat flooding his neck. Jake laughed—a rough, breathless sound. "Navy?" He snapped the waistband hard. "Looks like melted blue popsicle." His eyes locked onto Asher’s. "Or maybe you were hoping I’d pick on 'em." He arched his hips again, deliberate. The friction ripped a gasp from Asher’s throat. "Admit it. You picked this color for me."
Below them, Jake’s cock swelled impossibly harder against Asher’s hip, a flushed, insistent curve. Asher scrambled backward, breaking contact. Cold vinyl stung his palms. "Screw you," he panted, chest heaving. Jake pushed himself up, naked and unashamed. His gaze didn’t leave the blue nylon clinging obscenely to Asher’s thick outline. "Face it," Jake murmured, voice low and teasing. "You’re obsessed with giving me a show."
Asher laughed. Slowly, deliberately, he hooked his thumbs under the elastic waistband. "Fine," he breathed, teasing his friend. "You want a striptease?" He peeled the nylon down inch by torturous inch—past the sharp V of his hips, over the dense swell of his thighs. The fabric clung briefly to the flushed crown of his cock before snapping free. Jake’s breath hitched audibly.
Asher stood fully exposed: olive skin gleaming with sweat, dense muscle coiled beneath smooth planes. His cock hung thick and heavy—six inches soft, a veined curve resting against heavy balls. Dark curls framed the base, stark against taut skin. Every detail lay bare: the broad shoulders tapering to a narrow waist, the dense slabs of his wrestler’s thighs, the deep indentations above his hip bones. Jake’s green eyes widened, tracking the slow drip of sweat down Asher’s abdomen.
Asher kicked the discarded blue fabric aside. It landed near Jake’s discarded white jockstrap—a twisted pile of nylon. "Happy?" Asher growled, planting his feet wide on the mat. Jake’s gaze dragged upward, lingering on the thick shaft already thickening further in the charged silence. "Ecstatic," Jake whispered, voice rough. He licked his lips. "Now that’s wrestling gear."
Jake pushed himself up slowly, eyes locked on Asher’s exposed body. He circled him, bare feet silent on vinyl. "Christ, Ash," he breathed, stopping directly in front of him. His knuckles brushed the dense muscle of Asher’s abdomen. "I knew you were big." His gaze dropped, tracing the heavy curve resting against freckled thighs. "But fuck..." Jake’s throat worked. "I didn’t realize you were that big." His fingers hovered, trembling slightly, above the flushed crown. "What is that, like six inches soft?" He let out a shaky laugh. "Coach wasn’t kidding when he called you a heavyweight."
Asher didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. Jake reached forward, his fingers closed—not around flesh, but around Asher’s wrist. Calloused skin scraped tendon. "Try to pin me," Jake commanded, voice low and rough as gravel. He stepped back, planting his feet wide. Sweat traced the lean lines of his freckled shoulders. "Show me what that heavyweight can really do." His grin was sharp, challenging. "Unless you’re scared."
Asher lunged. Skin slammed against skin—chest to chest, hip to hip—in a collision that echoed off the storage room walls. Jake grunted, muscles corded beneath freckled skin as he absorbed the impact. Their bodies slid, slick with sweat, torsos grinding. Asher drove forward, forcing Jake backward step by step. Jake’s cock brushed Asher’s thigh—a hot, insistent pressure. Below, Asher’s own thickened, heavy and unmistakable against Jake’s hip. The friction was electric. Raw. Asher gasped, fingers digging into the dense muscle of Jake’s back. "Try harder," he rasped.
They crashed onto the mat, limbs tangled. Jake twisted, hips rolling upward, trapping Asher’s thick shaft between their stomachs. The contact ripped a choked sound from Asher’s throat. Jake’s cock pressed flush against his hip—rock-hard, leaking. Asher bucked, desperation lending him strength. Jake’s thighs clamped tighter, pinning him. Their bodies strained, chests heaving, sweat dripping onto vinyl. Jake’s breath hitched as Asher’s cock slid against his own—a thick, veined weight dragging against freckled skin. "Yield?" Jake panted, voice cracking. Below, both cocks stood rigid, flushed and throbbing against each other’s skin.
Silence fell, thick and charged. Only their ragged breaths filled the dusty air. Jake’s gaze dropped—locked on the swollen, leaking crown of Asher’s cock pressed against his own. His throat worked. "Ash..." he whispered. His hand trembled where it gripped Asher’s shoulder. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, Jake shifted his hips. The movement dragged Asher’s thick shaft along his own, a slick, shuddering slide. Asher froze. Above him, Jake’s eyes were wide—green and unblinking—fixed on the place where their bodies met.
Then, footsteps echoed beyond the door—slow, deliberate. The lock clicked outside. Coach Miller’s shadow darkened the frosted glass panel, feet blocking the thin strip of light beneath the door. The knob rattled sharply. Miller’s muffled voice cut through the dusty silence: "Riley? Kovac? You guys in there?" The shadow shifted, leaning closer. "Open this door. Now."
Panic seized Asher. He shoved Jake backward with frantic strength, scrambling sideways across the cold vinyl. Jake rolled away, chest heaving, eyes darting wildly toward the locked door. Asher snatched blindly for his discarded blue jockstrap near the wall. His fingers closed on empty air. Jake lunged for his own white strap, tangled near the mats. The knob rattled again, harder this time. "Boys?" Miller’s voice hardened. "Last warning."
Jake froze, crouched naked on the mat, white nylon clutched uselessly in his fist. Asher pressed himself flat against the cold cinderblock wall, heart hammering against his ribs. The shadow beyond the glass darkened further. Miller’s silhouette leaned into the doorframe. The lock clicked a final time—the sound echoing like a gunshot in the silent room. The door groaned inward.
Coach Miller stood framed in the doorway, eyes sweeping the scene—discarded robins-egg blue jockstrap near Jake’s bare feet, Jake’s jock half-clutched in his own freckled hand, Asher’s bare legs pressed against the wall. His gaze lingered on the tangled pile of nylon, then snapped up, sharp as flint.
"What drills," Miller asked, voice inscrutable, "were you boys doing?" His knuckles whitened on the doorframe. Jake scrambled backward, clutching the white nylon to his groin. Asher stayed frozen against the cinderblock, olive skin prickling under Miller’s scrutiny.
Both boys were still achingly hard—Jake’s cock flushed pink against freckled thighs, thick shaft curved upward and straining toward his navel. Asher’s hung heavier, a dense nine-inch weight resting against dark curls. Neither dared move, breaths shallow and ragged. The light from the hallway striped Jake’s trembling thigh and the damp head of Asher’s cock.
Asher cleared his throat. His voice scraped out, low and rough. "Fundamentals, Coach." He kept his eyes locked straight ahead, knuckles white against the cinderblock. "Like you said." Jake’s gaze snapped to him, green eyes wide with disbelief. Asher swallowed, forcing the words. "Old school. Like the pros used to." He paused, the silence thickening. "Naked."
Miller’s expression didn’t flicker. His knuckles stayed bone-white on the doorframe. Slowly, he stepped fully into the room. The door clicked shut behind him, sealing them in dusty silence. His shoes echoed on the vinyl as he circled them—slow, deliberate steps that scraped against the quiet. He stopped directly in front of Jake, who clutched the white jockstrap tighter against his groin. Miller’s gaze traced Jake’s freckled shoulders, the lean muscle trembling beneath sweat-slick skin, then dropped to the strip of flushed cockhead peeking above the crumpled nylon.
"Why," Miller asked, voice soft, "are you hiding that, Riley?" Jake’s throat bobbed. He squared his shoulders, knuckles whitening around the fabric. "I’m not hiding anything, Coach," he shot back, chin lifting. Green eyes flashed defiance. "Just grabbing my gear." Miller’s gaze shifted to Asher, pressed motionless against the cold cinderblock wall—bare legs planted wide, thick cock pointing straight up and fully exposed against dark curls. "And you?" Miller’s tone sharpened. "Nothing to cover?"
Asher didn’t flinch. His eyes stayed locked on Miller’s face. "Nothing to cover," he echoed, voice low and steady. The blue jockstrap lay crumpled near Jake’s feet—too far to reach without moving.
Miller’s lips thinned. He took another step, closing the distance. The scent of old sweat and rubber thickened. His eyes raked over Asher’s body—the dense olive muscle, the thick shaft resting against heavy balls, the dark trail leading down from his navel. Then he turned back to Jake, still clutching the white nylon like a shield. "Brave words," Miller murmured, almost to himself. "For a boy clutching his underwear." Jake flushed crimson, fingers tightening. Miller’s gaze slid back to Asher. "At least Kovac owns it." He paused, letting the silence stretch taut. "Even if it's because his choice in underwear looks like he raided a damn candy store."
Jake’s jaw clenched. He stared at his coach, then at Asher—naked, defiant, impossibly thick. With a sharp flick of his wrist, Jake tossed the crumpled white jockstrap across the room. It slapped against the cinderblock wall beside Asher. Jake stood tall, shoulders squared, freckled skin gleaming under the fluorescent lights. His cock jutted upward, rigid and flushed—five inches of hard, smooth shaft curved toward his belly button. A bead of precum glistened at the tip. "Happy?" Jake growled, voice raw. His green eyes burned into Miller’s. "Fundamentals, Coach. Skin-on-skin. Like Kovac said."
Miller didn’t move. His knuckles relaxed slightly on the doorframe. His gaze traveled slowly down Jake’s lean frame—the corded muscle of his abdomen, the flushed head of his cock straining upward, the ginger curls damp at the base. Then he looked at Asher—the sheer bulk of him, the heavy nine-inch length hanging thick against dark hair. A muscle ticked in Miller’s jaw. He exhaled slowly, the sound harsh in the stillness. "Skin-on-skin," he repeated, low and flat. His eyes lingered on the damp streaks glistening on both shafts. "Looks like you’ve already started drilling." He took another step forward, the vinyl creaking under his weight. His shadow fell over Jake first. "Show me."
Jake didn’t hesitate. He lunged at Asher, bare feet slapping vinyl. Skin slammed against skin—chest to chest, hip to hip—in a collision that echoed off the walls. Their cocks pressed together, hot and rigid—Asher’s thick cock grinding against Jake’s upward angle. Jake hooked a leg behind Asher’s thigh, driving him backward. Asher grunted, fingers digging into Jake’s freckled shoulders as they stumbled.
They crashed onto the mat. Jake straddled Asher’s waist, thighs clamping tight. Sweat dripped from his chin onto Asher’s chest. "Yield," Jake rasped, pressing his palm hard against Asher’s throat. Below, his cock pulsed against Asher’s abdomen, slick with precum. Asher bucked, desperation lending him strength. He shoved Jake’s hips upward—forcing Jake’s torso higher, legs scrambling for purchase.
In one swift motion, Asher twisted his hips and rolled. Jake’s eyes widened as he flipped backward. Asher landed on top, pinning Jake’s wrists above his head. His knees drove Jake’s thighs apart, spreading him wide. Jake gasped, back arching off the mat. Asher’s thick cock—fully hard now—slid against Jake’s freckled stomach, leaving a glistening trail.
Jake bucked wildly. Asher drove his hips down harder, grinding his shaft against Jake’s sternum. The friction ripped a choked groan from Jake’s throat. His legs kicked uselessly as Asher inched forward—slow, deliberate—until his knees bracketed Jake’s shoulders. Below, Jake’s cock strained upward, flushed and leaking against his own abdomen.
Asher leaned into the pin. His hips lifted slightly—just enough. The swollen head of his cock brushed Jake’s chin. Jake froze, green eyes locked on the veined shaft hovering inches above his mouth. Precum glistened on the flushed crown. The scent—musky, sharp—filled the air between them.
Without breaking eye contact, Jake opened his mouth. His lips closed around the tip—wet heat enveloping Asher’s cockhead. Asher gasped, hips jerking forward instinctively. Jake sucked hard, tongue swirling. A shudder ripped through Asher’s body. His grip on Jake’s wrists slackened.
Jake let the cock fall from his mouth and twisted violently—hips bucking, legs scissoring. Asher’s gasp turned into a grunt of pain as Jake flipped him. Momentum slammed Asher onto his back. Jake straddled his chest, thighs locking Asher’s arms. He drove downward, pinning Asher’s shoulders with brutal force. Below, Asher’s cock—still slick from spit—slapped wetly against his heaving abdomen.
"I win," Jake crowed, breath ragged. Sweat dripped from his jaw onto Asher’s face. Asher stared up, dazed. Jake’s lips glistened. The taste—salty, thick—still lingered on Jake’s tongue. Miller hadn’t moved. His shadow stretched long across the mat.
The coach’s whistle cut the air—sharp, commanding. "Enough!" Miller strode forward, clipboard clutched like a weapon. His gaze swept Jake’s naked dominance, then Asher’s dazed submission. A slow, approving nod. "That’s it, Riley. Win-at-all-costs mentality." Miller jabbed a finger toward Jake. "He gets it. You choke? He exploits it." Asher stared, breath ragged. Emotions at war. Jake slid off him, smirking. "Just strategy, Ash. For the win."
Miller circled them. His polished shoes stopped inches from Asher’s bare shoulder. "Exploiting hesitation," he murmured, eyes tracing the spit-slick trail on Jake’s chin. "That’s instinct." He nudged Asher’s thigh with his toe. "Stand." Asher rose slowly, olive skin flushed. Miller’s gaze didn’t linger—it sliced downward, taking in the thick curve of Asher’s cock, still rigid against his thigh. Jake stood beside him, naked and unashamed. Miller’s knuckles whitened on the clipboard. "Lesson learned?" His voice rasped like sandpaper.
Jake grinned. "Yes, Coach." Miller’s eyes snapped to Asher. "Kovac?" Asher swallowed. His throat felt raw. "Yes," he managed.
Miller unzipped his navy windbreaker slowly, the sound sharp in the silence. Beneath it, a crisp white polo clung to thick shoulders. "Watch and learn, Kovac." The fabric peeled away, revealing dense pectorals dusted with dark hair. "I’ll show you what wrestling a pro looks like." His stomach was slabbed muscle, etched with deep grooves that caught the fluorescent light.
Jake crossed his arms, freckled skin gleaming. "Playing field’s uneven, Coach." He gestured at Miller’s pants. "Strip. Skin-on-skin." His grin turned sharp. "Otherwise it’s unfair." Miller paused, knuckles tightening on his belt. Then he nodded once. Khakis hit the vinyl. Beneath, a classic black jockstrap hugged powerful hips, the pouch straining against thick thighs. Heavy outline unmistakable.
Miller stepped onto the mat, bare feet slapping vinyl. He moved toward Jake, who scrambled backward. "Pin me," Miller commanded. Jake remained seated, legs sprawled. "Field’s still not even, Coach." He gestured at Miller’s black jock. "Skin-on-skin. Remember?" Miller’s jaw tightened. Silence hung thick.
Then, slowly, Miller peeled the black nylon down, revealing dense muscle and dark curls. His cock hung flaccid—a thick, uncut four inches resting against powerful thighs. Veins traced the shaft beneath olive skin, the foreskin hooding the tip. "Satisfied?" Miller’s voice grated as he kicked the jock aside. He stood fully naked now, his body a landscape of hard angles and coiled strength.
Jake gaped, his own length was smaller—uncut, pale pink beneath freckled skin, a throbbing five inches. "Respectable, Coach," Jake gasped, "But check out Kovac," he taunted, nodding at Asher’s exposed groin. "Dude’s packing a fucking python." Asher flushed crimson. His cock still stood at attention, long and thick and easily nine inches, the foreskin pulled behind over a prominent head. Veins snaked down the shaft, olive skin stretched over impressive girth.
With that, Jake lunged—a flash of freckled skin—but Miller pivoted smoothly. His palm slammed Jake’s chest, driving him onto his back. Miller’s knee pinned Jake’s hip, grinding down. Jake gasped, legs splayed. "Harder to surprise me," Miller growled, leaning close. His flaccid cock brushed Jake’s abdomen. "Like you did to Kovac." his weight, grinding his knee harder into Jake’s hip. Jake gasped, arching off the mat. Miller’s flaccid cock slid against Jake’s abdomen, smearing a bead of precum across freckled skin.
Jake bucked, muscles straining. Miller adjusted his weight, shifting hips to crush Jake’s ribs. "Stop wasting energy," he hissed, forearm flexing. Jake’s neck veins bulged. He twisted, hips lifting desperately. Miller slammed him back down, knee driving into Jake’s spine. "Feel it? That’s helplessness." Jake gasped, eyes wide. Miller leaned closer, voice a low rasp. "Now yield." Jake’s jaw clenched. He shook his head once, sharp. Miller increased pressure. A choked gurgle escaped Jake’s lips. Finally, Jake tapped the mat twice, frantic. Miller released him instantly, rising with fluid grace. Jake rolled onto his side, coughing, sweat pooling beneath him.
"Again," Jake rasped, pushing himself up. He spat onto the vinyl, wiping his mouth. "I slipped." Miller’s eyes narrowed. "You charged like a bull. Predictable." Jake circled, bare feet silent now. He feinted left, then shot for Miller’s lead leg. Miller sprawled back, hips shifting to avoid the takedown. Jake followed, driving forward. They grappled, limbs tangling. Miller trapped Jake’s arm in a vice-like grip, wrenching it behind his back. Jake hissed, back arching. Miller forced him face-down. "Control your movements," Miller grunted, knee pressing between Jake’s shoulder blades. "You’re letting your ego drive you." Jake’s fingers scrabbled at the mat. He tried bridging, hips lifting. Miller drove down harder, grinding Jake’s cheek into the vinyl. "Yield." Jake went limp, breath ragged. Tap. Tap.
Miller stood, breathing steady. Jake stayed down, chest heaving. The coach turned to Asher, still frozen by the door. "Your turn."
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