Sweat (Like Teammates, #1)

by Jonah Yorke

At the same time that I chirped, “Good game,” he snarled, “Suck my dick, faggot.”

He’s shirtless, lean, cut and glistening, chest heaving, lips parted.

“How old are you? There’s no used to. Either you play or you don’t.” “Yeah, I play.” He sizes me up slow. “Tommy, right?” My name in his voice is disarming. There’s no reason he should know my name.

“We got a problem?” Rowan asks. “Yeah, we got a problem.” “Think good on it. Just ‘cause you’re built like Captain America doesn’t mean I can’t fuck you up.”

Next time Rowan’s back is on the ground, it’s right after I drive my fist into the side of his face. It’s the first time I’ve socked someone since middle school. It feels damn good. Rowan is a groaning mess on the grass by the time I step over him and march back to my truck. So much for being able to fuck me up.

I must be real goddamn pathetic, because as badly as I want to hate his guts, I just can’t. I couldn’t hate him when I was twelve, and I can’t hate him now. Why? Because he’s Rowan Hughes, and he was right about what he said all those years ago. I am a fag. At least, sort of.

“I don’t know if it’s erectile dysfunction or depression, but I never woulda stepped out if your fucking dick worked right.” Yeah, well, you give trash head, I almost say, but what’s the use? I let her go, and it’s the easiest thing I’ve done in a long time.

Every time I failed at maintaining an erection for Lese, I could’ve flung myself off a tall building. But it’s not because of E.D. or depression. It’s because the only thing that’ll keep me rock solid is something Lese doesn’t have.

Yeah, I’m a fag alright, and maybe that’s not Rowan’s fault, but I’ve gotten pretty good at blaming him over the years, and that’s not about to change tonight.

Only difference between Tommy at night and Tommy in the daylight is that the sun makes his hair glow golden on the ends, and it’s easier to see how blue his eyes are and how smooth his face is.

The fact Rowan Hughes is taking any sort of interest in me at all has my inner fanboy reeling. The fact he’s still shirtless is doing things to me too.

“Only thing your current workouts are good for is looking fuckable, but for soccer, you’re out of shape, and you’re never going to make the team unless you shed bulk.” Looking what?

“Guy I used to know wouldn’t have lied down for anything. Definitely didn’t peg him for a quitter.” “You didn’t know me. You never said more than four words to me.” Suck my dick, faggot, to be specific. “I knew you on the field. I remember playing against you in high school. Season before I graduated, you were a sophomore, right? You may have looked like a kid, but you didn’t play like no kid. You were a pain in my ass every time we were on a field together. In a good way. In the way I wished you were on my team instead.” Am I high? Was there something in the grass I huffed up through my desperate heaving? “Really?”

I stand, wipe my face, and remind myself that no matter what Rowan puts me through, I’ll always be taller than him.

“I was sorta drunk and kinda out of it. She went down on me for like two minutes, but I wasn’t feeling it, so I dipped. Didn’t even nut. That’s it. That’s the truth.” “You weren’t feeling it?” “I was drunk.” Not that drunk, though. Three beers alone in a room with Tommy, and I’d never go soft.

I look at my left hand and notice Rowan’s hand lying limp an inch away. If I only had the courage to stretch my finger out, I’d be touching him right now instead of just thinking about touching him. I want to savasana on top of him. I’ll breathe deep for him, and he’ll breathe deep for me. Maybe we’ll meld together and become one. Tommy and Rowan.

His dark eyes flit down my body. A black brow quirks, and his mouth screws into a funny smirk.

His dark stare trails down between our bodies, and I have a sinking feeling of what he sees. Turns out, pressing my body against the body of the boy I’m obsessed with is a surefire way to pop a massive boner.

“That’s it, baby boy,” Rowan murmurs. How can this not be gay?

He’s got the soft floppy hair, the blue eyes and plump lips, and abs that would probably turn me gay if I were ever straight to begin with.

What’s a straight boy doing getting hard over me and my bullshit?

Last time I touched Tommy, it was out of anger and self-loathing. This time, I glide my palm over his bulge and hug it gently, feeling how thick he is. I stroke him slowly, feeling how long he is. Even restricted, he feels massive.

“Fuck,” I moan, watching my ministrations while reveling in the pleasure his gives me. “Holy fuck, baby boy. Don’t stop.” Tommy moans through his hard breaths, and he changes the game on me, stroking fast and gripping firm.

Why the hell would that Annalese chick need to step out on Tommy and his massive, insatiable cock? If I were Tommy’s girlfriend, I’d never want to leave his bedroom. That’s not true… I’d want to leave his bedroom, but only to play the game we both love. Together. Maybe even on the same team.

tchotchkes.

Whaaaaaat?

“I played at Johnson for four years. Varsity for three. Captain my senior year. I actually had a scholarship to play at San Diego, but I had some family stuff come up and had to put soccer on the back burner for a minute.” A scholarship to play in SD? It makes sense with how good he was at Johnson, but why the fuck would he give that up? I know why I stuck around in the ball-sac of California, but why did he?

Watching him lift his shirt up to clear the sweat from his face, I realize what a tragedy it is that he should have to lose an ounce of weight. Not sure I’ve ever seen a more perfect body.

“You looked good out there,” I tell him. He smirks a little, says “Thanks, man,” and tugs on his cock a few times before slipping into the first shower stall. Don’t fall into the trap, Rowan.

“You may need to slim down for soccer, but your body is perfect to me. So fucking beautiful. Makes me hard just looking at you.”

Took nearly a week of him ghosting me to accept he’s done with me. I hated myself for crying over him. I just don’t know how he can do and say all of that only to give up on me at the drop of a hat.

Over the sound of my own grunts and whimpers, I hear Rowan’s throat at work, swallowing around me in a feeling that is wholly indescribable. It’s so intense, I have to grab Rowan’s shoulders and push him off before he gives me a literal heart attack.

worm can

Can of worms? Lol I've never heard of opening a worm can!

As a trainer, Rowan is half-neurotic drill sergeant and half-mischievous fuckboy.

“You’re so fucking wet,” he murmurs behind my ear.

Above his head is a small stain from when I came so hard I shot a glob onto the ceiling.

It’s the first time I’ve been around Rowan when he’s this put together and my cock is swelling because of it. When we’re both filthy with sweat and grass stains, the fact we’re hooking up doesn’t seem super shocking, but right now, I’m dumbstruck to think someone as cool as Rowan has literally sucked my dick.

Jealousy. It’s not a feeling I’m accustomed to. With Lese, I felt anger, resentment, even possessiveness, but never anything like this. Like I’m watching someone take something precious right out from under me.

“I overreacted. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I kissed Eve.” “You should kiss her. You should kiss whoever you want.” “I only wanna kiss you.”

He sniffles and swipes at his cheeks with the hand not secured beneath mine.

I eat this Oreo Blizzard with my ass on the hood of the Legacy, eyes on a brick wall while Tommy smiles at me like I’m not just a high functioning train wreck. “Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?” he asks. I scoff, but with how warm my face is in the cool air, I’m sure I’m blushing like crazy.

“I’m sorry about Rebecca. I didn’t realize I was making you jealous. I didn’t really think I could.” “It’s okay, Row.” “You’re the only person I like touching me.” He smiles like I complimented him. “You’re the only person I wanna touch.”

I love doing gay shit with Rowan more than I ever liked having straight sex.

“Well, you can talk to me if you want,” he says, eyes on the path ahead of us. “I got you.”

He’s only two years younger than me, but that baby face gets to me sometimes. So pretty and flawless. Coming in his hand is one thing, but coming in that perfect face is a game changer.

“You wanna suck my dick, baby boy?” I murmur, wagging my cock a little.

Blinking up at his drowsy face, I ask, “So, what do you think? Feeling more gay now, or less?” He hums. “Definitely more.” I don’t know why, but I smile like that’s a good thing. It’s a good thing for me, I guess, since the gayer Tommy feels the more likely he is to keep wanting to waste time on me. “It was good?” “Crazy good. Wanna give you head again. Just give me a minute.” When I realize how wide I’m grinning, I suck my bottom lip into my mouth to rein myself in.

“What’s going on?” I ask from the center of the field while he passes me at a strained sprint. “What happened? Are you pissed at me? Did I do something? Is this about your boss? Are you okay?” Nothing. Like I’m talking to thin air.

In my arms, he feels smaller than he is, like I could carry him around with me forever.

“How did you sleep?” His eyes drift shut as his hand comes to lie upon mine, stilling it above his navel. “Good. I think I held you all night.” “It’s okay,” he says, like I had apologized for it. “How’d you sleep?” “Surprised I slept at all with your horse cock stabbing at my ass all night.” “That’s completely out of my control,” I chuckle.

“It’s not just about soccer for me. Even when we first started training together, it wasn’t. I think it’s always been about him for me.”