The gym smelled like rubber mats and stale sweat, the Sunday morning was quiet except for the hum of fluorescent lights overhead. Asher adjusted the waistband of his singlet, the navy-blue fabric clinging obscenely to his thick thighs, the outline of his cock pressing visibly against the front seam. Jake smirked beside him, rolling his shoulders in his own singlet, red this time, the material stretched taut across his freckled chest. "You keep adjusting yourself like that," he murmured, reaching over to flick Asher’s waistband, "and you’re just gonna draw more attention to that massive dick-print."
The door creaked open, and both turned to see Mateo Cruz, another freshman wrestler, stepping in. Lean, caramel-skinned, and standing an inch or two shorter than Jake at 5'10", he nonetheless carried himself with the confident swagger of a much bigger man. His dark curls were damp, like he’d just showered, and the black singlet he wore’s thin fabric did nothing to disguise the heavy curve of his cock, uncut and bulging against the constraints of the nylon. "Was hoping there would be some of the other freshmen practicing here I could join," he said in his deep voice, his eyes lingering a beat too long on Asher’s singlet-clad bulge before flicking to Jake. "Drills or sparring?"
Jake’s grin was sharp as he exchanged a glance with Asher. "Sparring," he said, stretching his arms overhead, the red fabric straining around his armpits. "Let's do a three-man king of the mat. Losers buy the winner lunch." Mateo’s lips curved as he stepped onto the mat, rolling his neck. Asher swallowed hard; the new guy moved like a predator, his lean muscles coiled. Then, Mateo dropped into stance, ready for the challenge. "Jake, right? Me and you first?"
Asher watched, arms crossed, as Jake and Mateo circled each other—Jake’s ginger hair damp with sweat already, Mateo’s dark curls catching the light. Their singlets clung to every flex and shift, the thin fabric riding up as they clinched. Mateo’s hand slid down Jake’s back, gripping his singlet at the waist, and Jake gasped when Mateo’s thigh pressed between his legs, the friction unmistakable. The scent of musk and rubber thickened the air. Asher’s pulse jumped.
Jake twisted, breaking Mateo’s hold, but Mateo pivoted smoothly—his singlet riding up his ass—and suddenly Jake was airborne, landing hard on the mat with a grunt. Mateo pinned him, knees bracketing Jake’s hips, his dark eyes gleaming. "Well that was fast. Lunch is on you, Riley." Jake’s laugh was breathless, his freckled chest heaving. Then Mateo’s gaze flicked to Asher, lingering on the strained outline of his cock in his navy singlet.
Asher’s throat went dry. Mateo rose, offering Jake a hand up, and Jake took it—their fingers lingering a second too long. "Your turn, Kovac," Jake murmured, voice low, as he brushed past Asher to take his place on the sidelines. The air buzzed. Mateo rolled his shoulders, stepping back onto the mat, his caramel skin gleaming under the lights. Asher exhaled sharply and moved forward, his singlet tightening across his thighs with every step.
Mateo grinned—sharp and knowing—as they circled each other. His dark gaze flicked downward, lingering on Asher’s straining singlet. "Heard you’re the one to beat," he murmured, stepping closer. The scent of warm skin and fresh sweat hit Asher’s nose. Their shoulders brushed; Mateo’s fingers ghosted over Asher’s waistband, gripping just enough to feel the heat beneath. Asher’s pulse hammered.
Then Mateo lunged—not a tentative prod, but a full-body commitment—his sinewy frame crashing into Asher’s solid mass. Chest to chest, thighs locked, their singlets clung and stretched as they grappled. Mateo’s fingers dug into Asher’s triceps, testing his resistance, while Asher countered by twisting his hips, trying to break Mateo’s stance. The mat squeaked underfoot. Mateo exhaled sharply through his nose, breath hot against Asher’s collarbone.
A sudden shift—Mateo’s knee slid between Asher’s thighs, leveraging his taller frame—and Asher grunted as his balance wavered, and then broke. Asher crashed into the mat with a surprised grunt. Mateo followed him down, pinning Asher to the mat with his body. Mateo’s forearm pressed against Asher’s throat, just short of discomfort. "Yield?" Mateo rasped, sweat beading along his hairline. His grip flexed—not cruel, but firm—as Asher’s muscles trembled with the effort to resist.
Jake’s whistle cut through the air from the sidelines. "Damn," he drawled, sprawled lazily on the mat, fingers drumming his thigh. His singlet had ridden up his freckled hips, exposing the faint freckles that dusted his upper thighs. "Thought you’d last longer, Kovac." His smirk was audible.
Mateo finally eased the pressure, stepping back—but his fingertips lingered on Asher’s waistband, tracing the elastic before pulling away. "Your turn to buy lunch," he murmured, dark eyes glittering. The singlet fabric clung to both their thighs, damp and obscene. Asher swallowed hard as they both rose to their feet.
"Bro." Asher exhaled roughly, rolling his shoulders. His singlet was soaked through now, the navy fabric sticking to every ridge of muscle. "You’re so much smaller than me—how the fuck did you pin me so quick?" His voice dropped low, fingers twitching at his sides. "Take me through it."
Mateo grinned, slow and knowing, stepping close enough that Asher could smell the salt on his skin. His fingers ghosted over Asher's hips—just shy of touching—before sliding behind to grip his ass through the singlet. "Your body announces your moves before you make em," he murmured, breath hot against Asher’s jaw. "Big guys always do." His knee nudged between Asher’s thighs again, pressing just enough to make him gasp. "You think with your muscles and definitely not your head."
Jake’s laugh was sharp behind them. "Show him," he drawled, stretching lazily on the mat. His freckled stomach peeked where his singlet had ridden up, still damp from sweat. "He’s a slow learner." Mateo’s fingers tightened—right over Asher’s bruised ass—before guiding him into the exact position where he’d lost balance. "Watch my grip," Mateo muttered, lips brushing Asher’s ear. Asher shuddered, every inch of him hyper-aware—of Mateo’s calloused fingers, Jake’s hungry stare, and his own cock straining against the singlet seam.
Mateo’s thigh slid higher between Asher’s legs, pressing firm against his trapped erection. "You lean into the clinch—" His palm smoothed down Asher’s spine, fingers digging into the waistband of his singlet— "but you don’t shift your weight." He twisted sharply, demonstrating, and Asher gasped as Mateo’s knee ground against his bulge. "See?" Mateo’s breath was hot against his neck. The scent of sweat and rubber clung thick between them. Asher’s pulse hammered where Mateo’s thumb traced his pulse point—slow, deliberate.
Mateo’s chuckle vibrated against Asher’s back as he maneuvered him again, this time pressing flush against him—chest to spine, his own bulge tucked against Asher’s ass. "Now feel this," he murmured, one hand sliding down to grip Asher’s inner thigh, yanking it wider. The stretch burned deliciously. "You’re top-heavy. Easy to tip." His teeth grazed Asher’s ear as he leveraged his weight, sending Asher crashing onto the mat beneath him with a grunt. The impact knocked the air from Asher’s lungs—Mateo’s body a furnace atop him.
"Dang," Mateo drawled, rolling off and hopping to his feet in one fluid motion. He smirked down at them both—Asher sprawled dazed on the mat, Jake still watching from his lazy sprawl. "You two are really rusty coming into the season." He wiped sweat from his brow with his arm, exposing the black hair that dusted the caramel skin of his armpit as his arm raised and flexed. "I’ve been drilling all summer to be ready for the fall. Coach is gonna eat you alive if he sees this."
Asher groaned, arching his back as he rolled onto his knees—his navy singlet was completely soaked through now, clinging like a second skin to his coiled muscles. The fabric outlined every ridge of his abs and the thick curve of his pecs, the damp nylon darkening where it stretched across his broad shoulders. Sweat glistened in the hollow of his throat, trailing down between his collarbones. His curls were matted to his forehead, his olive skin gleaming under the harsh fluorescents. The front seam of his singlet strained obscenely around his softening cock, the fabric plastered to every vein and contour.
Jake stretched lazily from where he lounged—his own red singlet was bunched up around his thighs and body, the fabric stretched taut across his freckled chest. The damp nylon clung to his lean frame, highlighting the definition of his ribs and the subtle curve of his biceps. Sweat had darkened his ginger curls at the temples, and his pale skin was flushed pink from exertion and potentially some arousal. His singlet’s shoulder straps framed his arms, revealing the faint spray of freckles across his shoulders. The outline of his cock was visible against the thin fabric—not as thick as Asher’s, but still straining against the seam, the tip pressing against the damp nylon.
Mateo hooked his thumbs into his own singlet straps, rolling his shoulders with a satisfied groan. The black fabric clung to every inch of his torso, soaked through with sweat—highlighting the sharp definition of his abs and the lean muscles of his arms. His caramel skin gleamed under the lights, the singlet stretched tight across his chest and shoulders. Dark curls stuck to his forehead, damp with sweat, and his throat worked as he swallowed. His singlet clung to his hips, exposing the sharp V of his pelvis, the fabric clinging to every contour of his thighs and the heavy curve of his cock. Jake’s gaze lingered there—just for a second—before flicking up to meet Mateo’s smirk.
"Yeah, yeah," Jake huffed, pushing himself up with a grunt. His ginger hair was matted to his forehead, sweat trickling down his temples. He swiped a forearm across his face, smearing dampness over his freckled cheeks. "Quit gloating, Cruz." His voice was rough, breathless, but his eyes were alight—dark with something hotter than exertion. His fingers twitched at his sides as he glanced at Asher, still sprawled on the mat, his navy singlet stretched tight across his chest. "C’mon, Kovac, get your ass up. We owe this guy a burger."
Asher groaned, rolling onto his side—his singlet fabric twisted around his waist, riding up his ass and the thick muscles of his thighs. Sweat darkened the fabric, sticking it to his skin, the navy material stretched obscenely over his cock. His curls were wild, sweat-slicked and sticking to his forehead, and his olive skin gleamed under the fluorescents. His broad chest heaved as he pushed himself to his knees, muscles flexing beneath the damp fabric. He exhaled roughly, scrubbing a hand over his face before glancing up at Mateo through his lashes—dark eyes flickering with something unreadable. "Fine," he muttered, voice rough. "But next time, I’m pinning you."
Mateo grinned—sharp and knowing—as he tugged the straps of his singlet down his shoulders, the fabric peeling away from his sweat-damp skin inch by torturous inch. His muscles flexed as he worked the singlet down his torso, revealing the trail of dark hair leading from his navel down into the bottom half of the uni. "Promises, promises," he grinned, stepping closer—close enough that Asher could feel the heat radiating off him, smell the salt of his sweat. His fingers brushed Asher’s shoulder as he leaned in, voice dropping low. "We'll see about that, Kovac. But I doubt it." His breath ghosted over Asher’s ear before he pulled back, turning toward the locker room with a lazy wave. "Now move your asses. I’m starving."
The locker room door swung shut behind Mateo with a heavy thud, cutting off the view of his retreating form—the way the black singlet clung to his ass as he walked, the fabric stretched tight between his thighs.
Jake exhaled sharply through his nose, fingers twitching at his sides before he turned to Asher with a slow, shit-eating grin. "So," he drawled, voice low as he stepped closer—close enough that Asher could see the sweat still beading at Jake’s temples, the way his freckled chest rose and fell. "He’s hot."
Asher’s entire body went rigid, his jaw clenching so tight his molars ached. "Dude," he hissed, scrubbing a hand over his face—his palm came away damp with sweat. "Absolutely fucking not." The words came out strangled, his throat tight. "We know nothing about him, and I still don’t even know what this—" He gestured wildly between them, the motion jerky, "—even is." His voice cracked on the last word, raw and too loud in the empty gym. "So behave yourself."
Jake just smirked, rolling his shoulders as he turned toward the locker room. His singlet stretched obscenely across his freckled ass with each step. "Relax," he tossed over his shoulder, fingers hooking into the straps of his singlet. "I’m just getting cleaned up." His grin widened, crooked and knowing. "Unless you’re worried I’ll do something stupid?"
Asher’s pulse hammered in his throat. "Jake—" His voice was rough, fingers curling into fists at his sides. "I’m serious, bro." The words came out sharper than he meant—too close to begging. His stomach twisted as Jake paused in the doorway, glancing back with a slow, infuriating wink before disappearing inside.
The locker room door swung shut with a heavy thud, leaving Asher standing alone in the gym—his singlet damp with sweat, his skin prickling with unease. His throat worked as he exhaled roughly, scrubbing a hand through his curls before stalking toward the locker room after them. His footsteps echoed too loud in the empty space, his pulse thundering in his ears. "Fuck," he muttered under his breath, fingers flexing at his sides. "This is not gonna end well."
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