Grunting, Raul followed suit, loosening enough buttons to get his hand in and moving more quickly as his tongue and teeth feasted on the pale neck. The sound of the throbbing hum made his cock jump, and he thrust into the fist around him, moving to grasp the man’s chin with his fingers for another consuming kiss in the darkness.
Tongues fighting against each other, the kiss was messy and wet and perfection. Cris pumped harder, reveling in the feel of the soft, hot skin sliding over the snub, swollen penis in his hand. At the same time, he bucked back and forth between the wall and his partner’s body.
“Fuck…” Raul hissed as he felt his balls draw up. He thrust harder into the fist and leaned over to bite into the neck presented so nicely to him just as he shuddered all over. His own hand gripped the other man’s cock tight and firm, and then Raul gave it up, spurting his come in thin streams.
Cris cupped his fist over the end of the other man’s thick cock, catching each burst of come and then rubbing it over the tanned, sweat-streaked flesh of his belly. He gulped, biting his lip again as the sweet pain of teeth marking his neck made him explode and mark them both with sticky jizz.
Shivering, Raul licked his lips and the bite marks he’d left behind as he caught the come with his palm and added it to his own, spreading it over his belly and rubbing some back onto the man’s own cock, working him through his climax. He set one forearm against the wall to brace himself, leaning his whole body over his dance partner, just breathing as the music continued to swirl around them.
Hot, sweet breath against his face pulled Cris’s eyes open, and he looked up to see sparkling green eyes. Still panting from the force of his climax, he smiled instead of speaking. The action would have to suffice, considering the volume of the music.
Raul smiled in return, slowly and carefully tucking the other man away and buttoning his fly, hand smoothing over the sheer shirt covering Cris’s chest. Cris returned the favor, barely managing to fit the sizable flesh into the tight trousers. When he finished the job, he patted the bulge fondly.
Chuckling, Raul wiped his sticky hand on the man’s shirt, dropped his head to kiss him soundly, then turned and disappeared into the crowd still moving on the dance floor.
Cris straightened and tugged at his shirt, a grin on his face. He left the confines of the club with a satisfied swagger. He’d got what he’d gone for, after all.
Some minutes later, a large chrome motorcycle pulled around the corner of the club, stopping in front of the door where several people waited for cabs. The rider was totally covered in black leather, including a full-face helmet and gloves. The reflective helmet turned to look over the people who stood and talked.
Cris glanced idly at the anonymous cyclist and admired the bike for a moment before turning back to the curb and sucking at the cigarette he held pinched between his fingers.
Pulling off his helmet, Raul had his hair pulled back into a tail, and he grinned toward the man standing on the sidewalk. “Wanna ride?” he offered in a low rumble.
Glancing up, Cris blinked and slowly smirked. He took a final puff before flicking the cigarette to the gutter and grinding it beneath his boot. He stepped toward the sexy stranger, letting the smoke filter through his nostrils, and climbed silently onto the back of the motorcycle, arms wrapping around the leather-clad form of the taller man.
Eyes flashing with promise, Raul pulled his helmet back on, and the biked peeled away from the curb to disappear into the night.
Power Struggle
Anais Morten
“WHY do I always have to do the donkey work for you, no matter
which positions we play?” The intonation is sharp, attacking, and by the look in Jason’s provoking green eyes, Gero can tell the tension that smoldered throughout the day is about to go up in flames.
After the coach finishes the training and dismisses them until the game the next day, Jason and Gero sit on the grass in the little garden in front of Gero’s terrace, drinking beer and discussing soccer politics like so many times before. Gero has invited his friend – who also became his team mate recently – in order to relax the atmosphere. But soon an edgy undertone creeps into their conversation.
And now this question. “Why?” Gero shrugs, casting intrigued looks over Jason’s face. “It’s all just about tactics. You see any problem? Haven’t you been the one who always stated that personal vanity has to stay back for the sake of the team’s success? Or wasn’t that totally honest? It doesn’t count as soon as you are involved?” Gero knows he’s aiming at Jason’s most sensitive spot.
Jason shifts in his seat, unconsciously licking his lips. “I never lie.” Pride and indignation add a metallic color to his voice. “But it’s not fair. Besides, the coach high-handedly made you the captain of the team. He didn’t even allow an open competition to find out which of us might be better suited for the job. You got the leading position from the start, only to avoid the conflict.”
“What?” Gero is astonished at the passion he hears in Jason’s voice. He’s usually not one of those who are constantly muttering about the coach’s decisions. And Gero always thought official titles like “Captain” wouldn’t matter to Jason. “You used to say it’s destructive to criticize the coach as long as we’re winning. And we’ve been winning for weeks, haven’t we?”
“Come on, man, what would you say in my place?” Jason growls, waving away whatever comments Gero had poised on his lips. “I didn’t imagine it would be like that when the club brought you in. I thought it would be a chance to increase my capability and effort due to inspiring concurrence with you, but instead I’m pushed aside to a marginal position and might sit on the bench sooner or later, just because I get no chance to show what I can do.”
Gero never noticed before how dark the vocals are rolling in “concurrence,” threatening like the rumble of thunder. And again the defiant look, forehead high. “I did support your transfer to us,” Jason continues. It’s true. They had both been looking forward to playing on the same team, and secretly Gero had even hoped for more. “But we both knew that meant we had to carry out this rivalry in honor,” Jason explains with grim determination.
Gero chews at his lower lip and swallows down the remark that this hadn’t been so clear to him. Ironically, it seems they had been less of opponents to each other as long they were still playing against each other.
“But now the confrontation is cowardly avoided, and I must bite the bullet.” Jason snorts with contempt and cools his heated tongue with a large gulp of beer. “You know I strictly separate private life and career. It has nothing to do with personal envy. I only think the team should be led by the one who is best for the task and, with all friendship and respect, I think that’s me. We have agreed to openly talk about such issues,” he adds justifyingly, and Gero nods. Jason’s honesty is one of the qualities he especially appreciates in his friend.
“If that’s the way you see it, I’m not surprised you simply couldn’t bring yourself to pass the ball over to me today.” Gero grins; Jason frowns and grumbles. Every time Jason was expected to cooperate with Gero, the action went wrong. Jason’s an extraordinarily talented soccer player, and his failure is clearly not the result of a lack of ability but of his inner resistance against his seemingly subordinate role.
“Or…” Jason doesn’t answer, and Gero proceeds further on dangerous terrain, “… has there been another reason for your problems today?” A sneaky whisper enters Gero’s voice; Jason swallows. Gero smiles, his tongue plays behind his teeth, wily crinkles curl around his eyes.
Gero knows he can’t exactly expect an answer other than growling and grumbling. His remark hints at the hard bulge he felt between Jason’s legs during the partner exercises, when he repeatedly, deliberately but discreetly rubbed against him. His own erection blossomed right from the start when the coach assigned Jason as his partner, who at that point lay on his back, panting fast and heavy, still exhausted from the hard jogging training.
It was
an integral part of the coach’s innovative methods to encourage the team mates to help each other with the stretching exercises as well as to apply mutual massages for muscle relaxation. Besides the physical aspects, the coach expects it to facilitate the bonding of the team, and today he certainly had chosen Gero and Jason as partners for each other intentionally, after becoming aware of the aggressive undercurrents in their interaction.
“Ow!” Jason complained because Gero’s hard knee hit his inner thigh as he knelt down between Jason’s legs, getting in the starting position for some gymnastics to increase general flexibility.
“Spread your legs wider,” Gero admonished, and in an instant he saw flying red spill all over Jason’s cheeks, and his eyes blinked with awkwardness.
Long before Gero’s brain could grasp the meaning of this reaction, his cock had its own interpretation ready and stretched out, curious for more.
During each of the following exercises – and thankfully there was a whole long series of them – Gero took more and more advantage of his position. Having Jason’s body before him and almost beneath him like this allowed him to lightly stroke Jason’s thighs, press his abdomen close to Jason’s… Jason’s scowl deepened when this intrusive behavior got approval, the coach being quite content with Gero’s enthusiasm for the partner gymnastics after all the quarrelling during the game.
There was no way that Jason could have missed the intent behind his teasing, and his increasingly bad temper had much to do with Gero’s shameless delight while he touched and cuddled Jason. Before the change of positions was announced, Jason managed to get away under a transparent pretext, something along the lines of having to make an urgent call.
Gero almost didn’t dare hope that Jason would accept his invitation after that. But he simply had to try. Since he had changed from his old club to Jason’s, he had waited for more signs that Jason’s feelings for him exceeded mere friendship, signs which had been relatively frequent before, and a hard cock seemed to be a reasonably reliable hint.
When he asked Jason to join him for a beer, Jason just murmured, “Why?” “We should talk it all out,” Gero said awkwardly. Jason grunted agreement. But obviously he had a different topic in mind than Gero…
Jason is clearly not in the mood to comment upon Gero’s remark now. Instead, he snaps, “Who wants you as captain? People here know me. I’ve played for this club since youth B-league, in good times and bad, while you went from team to team abroad, only looking for whichever club was willing to pay you best! Do you believe the people here would think it’s okay that the coach chose a stranger as captain and prefers you to me, who they know and respect?”
Silently, Gero partially agrees with him, but Jason’s arrogance is beginning to rub him the wrong way. “You’re forgetting that soccer games aren’t decided by democratic elections, Jason,” Gero replies matter-of-factly. “The wishes of the people don’t matter, and if you ask me, that’s fine, especially if you look at the delusional psychotic they elected for president.”
He hears the sharp intake of breath and knows Jason takes the last remark as a comparison. It wasn’t meant that way, but that doesn’t matter anymore now. Gero’s blood slowly starts to boil. “It’s not your popularity with the masses that makes a good soccer player, but speed, technique, intelligence, and strength.”
“I’m faster than you and my dribbling is better.” “And I’m stronger than you.”
“Ahhh – is that so?”
“May I suggest we don’t let people vote to decide that question, but settle this between ourselves?” “And how, pray tell?”
“With a fair wrestling match.”
He is ridden by the devil to suggest it. But his desire to feel Jason pressed up against him once more, to roll over the ground with him, and the increasing want to try his strength and fighting skills with Jason, tempts him to challenge the other man.
“So, you want to fight?” Jason stands up and begins to rid himself of his T-shirt.
“Okay!” ”Might as well take off the belts, too,” Gero says, facing a half-naked Jason with complete nonchalance. “You could cut yourself with the buckle.”
Jason shrugs as he removes his belt. He’s eager to put the arrogant captain in his place once and for all. “Wrestling only,” Gero reminds him. “No kickboxing. No knife fighting. No running amok…” he adds slightly worried, a little intimidated by the murderous look on Jason’s face. A memory flickers in his mind, standing alone against a schoolyard bully, ‘Biting and kicking don’t count!’
A blue-black glance slides over Jason’s well-built body. Not that he hasn’t seen him stripped to the waist before, but now, tensed in anticipation, his swelling pectorals rising and falling with the rhythm of his fast and deep breathing, skin flexing above the clearly defined six pack, Jason is more beautiful than any sculpture Gero has ever seen.
Gero tears his eyes away from him, tries to lock up the secret admirer and set free the warrior in him. Holy shit, this nonsense was his idea! Now there’s no chickening out without serious damage to his honor.
Gero undoes his own belt, draws in a breath, and then sends a silent signal of readiness. At once, Jason flings himself onto him. Shit, Gero thinks as the breath is knocked from his chest, the man has experience with punches and a store of dirty tricks. His grip hurts right from the start as he bends Gero’s arms to positions his joints refuse to accept, digging his fingernails into Gero’s skin so painfully that a high-pitched grunt escapes his lips.
Jason’s aggressive onslaught takes Gero by surprise, but he defends himself as best he can, wiggling like a snake. Both end up clinging to each other in a fierce clutch stronger than steel, intertwined like an inextricable knot.
Jason’s sweat mixes with Gero’s, fusing them together; Gero clings to Jason like someone drowning, and they stumble across the grass in a zigzag pattern like drunken Siamese twins until they fall. Gero knows seconds before it happens that Jason will bear down upon him far too hard, and then abstract paintings shimmer in front of his eyes until a vibrating black screen blinds him.
Gero successfully remembers how to breathe, but finds himself in a position less than preferred during a wrestling match, flat on his stomach with Jason hovering above him. His arm is wrenched painfully behind his back, and Jason’s hand clasps around his throat. Jason’s hand glides up to Gero’s chin, then pulls the other man’s head back roughly, shoving his arm higher up his back till he’s arching like an Olympic gymnast.
Jason bends down, his lips slightly stirring Gero’s hair. “Now… Captain,” Jason says, sarcasm dripping from his voice. “What do you think I should do with you now?”
Jason’s lips are tickling his earlobes. Gero sighs and lets his shoulders sink in what Jason thinks is capitulation. Enjoying the fruits of his victory, Jason feels too secure and pays little attention to his captive’s now-relaxed posture. The second Jason lowers his defenses, Gero smiles to himself. He can always rely on Jason to react impulsively, never seeing through Gero’s much more calculating mind.
Gero shoots up, bursting out of Jason’s grip.
“No need to worry about that,” he hisses, out of breath. “That’s a waste of time, because you will lose!” He’s above Jason now, wrapping his arm tightly around his neck, taking him into a clinch hold and sending him in a throw that without question would have sent Jason to the ground, but one accurately placed blow hurls Gero back in circles.
Gero squirms and stares at Jason with shock-wide eyes. The next blow crashes against his ribs and Gero staggers back, finally caught against the fence like a fly in a spider’s net.
It’s unfair, but Jason doesn’t look like he’s willing to negotiate the rules any longer at this point. And suddenly Gero understands the genesis of Jason’s seemingly senseless violence towards him. If Jason was stronger than Gero, their fight would have been Jason’s chance to deal with his frustration and get over it, to let out his rage and disappointment at being robbed of the leading position on the te
am. It’s finally clear why Jason has resisted every attempt at flirtation since Gero joined his team, even though Jason’s desire for Gero was visible to anyone familiar with the body language of intimacy. Of course Jason must fight his feelings of being drawn to Gero as long as he considers him a rival to his career.
Gero almost laughs, but it turns into a tortured cry after Jason’s next attack. Supposedly, Gero is an ambitious bastard who chooses even his private contacts by measuring up their usefulness for his career, while Jason is known as the simple soul to whom friends mean more than success. But now it’s Jason who is unable to differentiate between private life and career. That is all more than obvious, but he hadn’t expected it from Jason of all people, and therefore had been blind to it up to this moment.
Unfortunately, enlightenment arrives somewhat too late. And it’s rather useless to contemplate complicated psychological complexities while well-aimed blows hail down on him.
He is stronger than Jason. And that’s the problem, because if Jason can’t win by regular means, there’s no doubt he’ll use whatever means he can, striking in the heat of the moment.
Gero reviews his options. He can’t defeat Jason by playing fair when Jason ignores the rules, but he’s not prepared to let the fight get out of control, to strike back with the same violence and risk hurting Jason severely.
Gero dodges away from a punch aimed at his chin. Is he willing to let Jason win?
That might be a good idea. There’s a lot less risk in that – and again Gero ducks under a fist. His friend would calm down, would probably be satisfied and able to overcome his inner tensions and contradictions.
Gero locks eyes with Jason. He sees a green-eyed wolf, snarling and struggling for first place in the order of ranks. An alpha male, demanding submission from his opponent – from Gero.
Let him win?
NO.
Not on your fucking life.
Mr. Right Now Page 20