Three Days in May
by Toby Johnston
Chapter 10
Two-A-Days, are fun…
Ash started getting frisky the very second mom and the littles pulled out of the driveway. Unfortunately, I had to disappoint him.
"Get your cleats," I told him, reluctantly cutting off a particularly promising kiss. "We're going to see someone."
He was instantly on alert, his shoulders tensing up as the easygoing mood vanished. "What did you do?"
I gave him the biggest, most reassuring smile I could muster, secretly praying this would turn out to be a massive win and not a total disaster. "I just texted my swim coach. He put me in touch with the varsity football coach, who is currently driving to the high school to test out that rocket arm of yours."
"No way."
"Yes way. He's meeting us in twenty. Our babysitters are actually driving us—they insisted on taking the wheel rather than just tailing my car. They muttered something about a combat defensive driving course, firing shotguns through the windshield, doing one-eighties, and driving backward. Honestly, I think I could easily handle all that. I have skills."
All of a sudden, I saw Ash's jaw set. His game face was officially on. It was the exact same fierce look of absolute determination I'd seen on his face yesterday. "You got a varsity head coach, on the Monday of Memorial Day weekend, to come meet a random kid with zero notice?"
"Yep," I grinned, feeling thoroughly impressed with myself. "I texted him while you and mom were locked in that epic battle over undergarments. I told him what you could do. He agreed to meet up right away."
"He must be desperate," Ash countered, his eyes narrowing as he analyzed the play. "That's the only reason a coach agrees to that so quickly. It means he doesn't have a starting quarterback. Or at least, not a good one."
"Okay, I guess it could be that..." I agreed, suddenly feeling a lot less impressed with my own texting powers of persuasion. "So, you're good with this? You'll go?"
"Good with it?" he asked in pure disbelief. "Gray. You're brilliant! This is incredible. A real opportunity. Hell yes, I'm good with it. If I didn't love you to bits already, I love you even more right now!"
Love. I'll take that to the bank any day of the week.
Ash immediately started yanking off his clothes in a frantic rush. For one wild second, I thought he was actually going to jump my bones right then and there, but he was just scrambling for his gear. He threw a loose, sleeveless t-shirt and his cleats onto the mattress, then hauled out a pair of those gray, heavy cotton Champion t-shirt material shorts—the soft kind that cling ruthlessly to everything. He tossed them onto the pile on the bed and started rummaging through the bottom of his bag, swearing under his breath. "No jock. Shit."
"Umm," I smirked, leaning against the doorframe. "You could always borrow one of mine. They're completely clean...though, full disclosure, I might have leaked a little pre in them from time to time..."
"That will give me just the edge I need," he grinned, his eyes flashing with that playful spark. "Go ahead and pick it out for me."
I walked over to my dresser, grabbed a fresh white jock from the drawer, and sailed it across the room. It landed right on top of his gray shorts. Ash didn't hesitate—he stripped right out of his underwear, leaving himself completely naked for a brief, heart-stopping second before stepping into my jock and pulling the elastic straps up over his hips. His ass looked stunning, those white straps cutting down across his side dimples.
Once he was locked in, he grabbed those soft gray shorts off the bed and slid them up. They hung low on his waist, framing the white waistband of my jock perfectly and molding to his thighs and butt every time he shifted his weight—I could still clearly see the outline of those stunning dimples.
A few minutes later, we trotted out to the idling black Suburban for our chauffeured ride to Colonial Forge High School—home of the Eagles. We were a perennial regional powerhouse with a massive, three-million-dollar state-of-the-art turf stadium, elite facilities, and a long track record of sending players straight into Division I college programs. The local fans demanded it; the fans supported it.
We didn't talk at all on the ride over. Ash was completely locked in, his focus vibrating through the quiet space between us. I knew him well enough by now to know I just needed to be there; that was all. The FBI detail pulled us right past the gates and onto the asphalt surrounding the stadium, slowing to a stop next to the coach's car. He was the only one waiting for us.
I didn't even have a chance to consider introducing Ash. The second the heavy door unlocked, he was out of the car. He was standing directly in front of the coach and firmly shaking his hand before I could even get two feet on the ground.
I moved in close while they stood on the edge of the turf talking shop. Coach was asking; Ash was telling—calmly, authoritatively, and completely decisively. He talked strategies, defensive coverage adjustments, complex playbooks, and what-if scenarios. I watched the coach's expression shift from simple curiosity to excited engagement.
I figured they would inevitably need me to step in at some point. If the coach was out here to watch Ash throw, someone was going to have to run routes and catch the heat.
I was entirely wrong.
In my defense, the coach was wrong too. He looked over at me, shading his eyes from the sun. "Gray, I'm used to seeing you in history class. I assume you're catching for us today?"
I grinned, raising my hands defensively. "Walk-on candidate at best, Coach. Honestly, I'd be a lot happier if we were doing this over at the aquatic center. That's way more my element."
That's when one of our stone-faced FBI babysitters stepped forward, his heavy tactical boots crunching on the gravel. "Coach, I'd be happy to run some patterns for you if that would help. Shorts, intermediates, deep—whatever you want to see. I can give you a slant, a hitch, a comeback, a down-and-out, and then maybe a go and a corner route to test his distance."
Coach's eyes widened, a slow grin spreading across his face like a Cheshire cat. "You've played before."
The agent offered a rare, sharp smirk. "Penn State. Wide receiver."
"You're hired," Coach barked, completely delighted. "I'll call the plays. Sorry, Gray—no aqua-football today."
I didn't even get to hold the agent's weapon while he ran; he unholstered his gear and handed it all over to his partner before stepping onto the turf. Not that I minded the demotion. It meant I got to just stand back and watch Ash in action. They started close, the agent dodging right and left as he broke into his routes. His feet were moving so fast it was seriously hard to follow, like watching one of those street games with the three cups and the hidden ball. It didn't faze Ash at all; every single ball was thrown right on target, hitting the agent perfectly in stride.
I was rock hard by the second pass, and completely leaking by the fifth.
Whatever those patterns actually were, Ash hit the agent perfectly in stride, again and again. Even when Coach Allen threw a wrinkle into the play and called a late bait-and-switch to test his adaptability, Ash didn't blink. I knew Coach Allen well enough from history class to read his poker face. I could tell exactly when he was getting excited, and right now, he was completely over the moon.
Watching them, I was so overwhelmingly happy that my eyes actually got a little teary. People always talk about poetry in motion, but standing on that sideline, I finally truly understood what that meant. It was my boyfriend in action—stepping up in the pocket, dropping back, effortlessly dodging an imaginary tackle, and launching that ball downfield with total precision. He wasn't just beautiful. He was brilliant, and he was elite.
I had figured we'd get a half hour out here, maybe an hour at most. Instead, Ash held Coach Allen completely spellbound for a solid two hours. By the time the coach finally called it quits, blowing his whistle and waving everyone in, even his former Penn State wide receiver was huffing and puffing, completely spent. I was standing on the sidelines, grinning from ear to ear.
Coach reached out and gave Ash's hand a firm, ringing shake. "Formal tryouts are in mid-August, son, but the position's yours if you want it. You clearly have the skills and the engine for it. You'd be seriously helping the program out, and making my current, reluctant quarterback very happy. He's a natural running back and was only stepping under center because we had zero other prospects."
I was watching a whole new Ash in action. As he talked with the coach and the receiver, he started asking highly specific, tactical questions about the rest of the roster—stuff I wouldn't have even thought to ask.
Granted, my actual knowledge of football mechanics was almost non-existent. Sure, I went to all the high school games, everyone did; the football guys even came to our swim meets. We'd even shown up in our Speedos once, putting on a choreographed cheering show for the crowd. But seeing Ash the quarterback—not just execution of the throws, but the brilliant strategy discussion behind the action—was a revelation.
I kept having to remind myself we'd only known each other for a little over two days. Even so, a sudden, powerful thrill sparked straight through my chest. I knew that look in his eyes. I knew that relentless, calculating focus. I was elite in the pool; my boyfriend was elite on the turf. We operated on the exact same frequency, just in different venues. We were cut from the very same cloth.
Coach turned to head out, but paused, looking over at me. "Nicely done, Gray. I'm damn glad I agreed to come out today." He tapped his chin, thinking for a second. "Tell you what. Capstone Project, next semester. You can choose whoever you want to work with."
My jaw dropped. I get to choose?
Coach Allen's Senior Year Capstone Projects were legendary, but you never got to choose your own partner. He always assigned them, which usually meant being saddled with someone who would coast on your grade—a total disaster. If watching Ash dominate the field wasn't reward enough, this was the ultimate icing on the cake.
"Yes, sir," I beamed, standing a little taller. "Thank you, sir."
"No, thank you ," Coach smiled, giving us a final nod. "You two just saved our season."
To say Ash was stoked on the ride home would be a massive understatement. He buzzed with pure, high-voltage adrenaline the entire trip, his Nittany Lion receiver happily chiming in from the front seat. I got a word in here or there, but that was about it. I didn't mind at all. I didn't need to talk; I was just perfectly content to sit back and soak up my boyfriend's relentless enthusiasm about the day and his upcoming fall season with the Eagles.
The second the front door closed behind us, Ash's arms were around me. He lifted me right off my feet, swinging me around the hallway in a dizzying circle.
"Gray! I love you! That was amazing… what an opportunity…did you see my spirals? Hit him in the numbers every time…do you think Coach was really impressed? He seemed to be…he did say the position was mine…but not officially yet…tryouts…oh my God, Gray, we need to practice!"
I just laughed, buried my face in the warm curve of his neck, and held on for the ride. I didn't think he actually expected me to try and answer any of those questions—if you could even call them questions. He was just overflowing. Ash was happy. Ash had football coming this fall. Right then, that was the only thing in the world that mattered.
When he finally let my feet touch the floor, his whole face was lit up, his eyes glowing with pure excitement. He was still panting. I wrapped my arms around his neck and pulled him right back in, resting my forehead against his.
"So…my boyfriend is happy?" I chuckled softly. I already knew the answer; I just wanted to give him another excuse to celebrate his performance.
Oh, he celebrated—just not verbally. He leaned in and captured my mouth in a deep, breathless kiss. Another. More. An encore. Backing me up until my shoulders hit the wall, and we were practically molded together. Finally, he pulled back just a few inches, his chest still heaving against mine.
"Gray…I'm so happy. You've given me…" He paused, his dark eyes searching mine as he tried to find the right words. "Football. But not just football. An opportunity. A place...a real place for me at this school."
Okay. Now he was making me cry. It was happy crying, but my eyes were welling up all the same. I smiled brightly, a few stray tears slipping down my cheeks.
"I just sent a couple of texts, Ash. You did all this. Your talent. Your focus. You're elite, just like me in the pool," I laughed, reaching up to wipe my cheek before shooting him a wicked, teary grin. "Plus, I got so incredibly hard watching you nail those passes over and over again."
He answered by deliberately grinding his hips against mine. He was completely hard.
I dropped my hands to his waist, my fingers slipping just under the waistband of his sweaty gym shorts to trace the thick, raised elastic straps. I followed the rough lines of them where they angled down along the sides of his ass. His jockstrap—or, actually, my jockstrap that he was wearing.
A slow, incredibly sweet smile spread across his face. "I like that," he murmured. " Our room."
We practically tripped over ourselves getting up the stairs, hands eagerly roaming and grabbing the whole way down the hall. It was like we physically couldn't stop touching each other. The second we crossed the threshold into the bedroom, Ash grabbed the hem of his t-shirt to yank it off, but I reached out and caught his wrists.
"Wait," I whispered, my voice dropping. "Let me do that...please."
He froze, a sudden, beautiful flush of pink rising on his cheeks. He licked his lips and gave a small, breathless nod.
Taking control, I slowly raised his hands in the air, guiding his arms up and resting his hands securely behind his head. That sleeveless t-shirt drove me absolutely crazy. It left his broad shoulders completely exposed, and with his arms pinned back, it gave me perfect access to his damp armpits, dark with wet hair. I leaned in and buried my face against his left side, inhaling the sharp, clean, distinctly Ash scent of his athletic sweat.
I had to taste him. I couldn't resist. I dragged my tongue up the center, bathing the sensitive, salty skin. A ragged shudder ripped through his body, and he instinctively pushed forward, pressing himself firmer against my face.
Leaving his sweat glistening on my own skin, I trailed a hot, wet path right across the damp cotton of his shirt where it clung tightly to the firm planes of his chest, making my way over to thoroughly worship his other side. Only when I was completely satisfied did I grab the hem of his shirt, dragging it up and over his head and tossing it to the floor.
Leaving him standing there bare-chested, I dropped to my knees. I carefully unlaced and removed his cleats, then peeled away his damp turf socks. Even his bare feet were warm, sweaty, and perfectly him.
I rocked back on my heels and let my gaze travel slowly up the lean, muscled length of his legs and torso, finally locking onto those deep baby blues. "Uh oh," I chuckled softly, flashing a wicked grin. "Those are some seriously lustful eyes, Quarterback . I think I'm in trouble…"
His breath caught in his throat, his chest rising heavily as a slow swipe of his tongue dragged across his bottom lip. Again.
That lip-licking was definitely becoming one of his signature things —a subconscious little habit I so loved watching. The meaning behind it was always glaringly obvious. Pure, hungry anticipation.
I slowly dragged his gym shorts down his legs and off his feet, leaving him standing there in nothing but his—well, my —jockstrap. I leaned in, pressing a deliberate trail of soft kisses up the sensitive skin of his inner thighs, stopping right at the thick elastic edges of the deeply swollen pouch. Even down here, his skin was damp with sweat, radiating that wonderfully intoxicating, heavy athletic scent that was purely Ash . I breathed him in, already completely addicted to the taste and smell of him.
Grinning up at him, I hooked my fingers firmly under the waistband. "I'm going to need this back," I chuckled. I pulled the jock down and away, and the second the tight fabric released him, his heavy cock instantly sprang free, smacking audibly up against his tight abs.
I stood back up to my full height, holding the damp gear out to him. "Need you to hold this, just for a sec."
He blinked, looking beautifully confused, but he obediently reached out and took it.
I stepped right up into his space, my voice dropping to a low, reassuring murmur. "Don't worry, Ash. You're going to love this...just have a little patience."
If I'd had the superpower to snap my fingers and make my clothes instantly disappear, I would have used it right then. Lacking that, I stripped off my own clothes as fast as humanly possible, sending my shirt and shorts flying in every direction.
Grinning, I plucked the damp jockstrap right back out of Ash's hands and stepped into it. I smirked, watching his baby blues go perfectly wide as I pulled it up my thighs. I deliberately took my time adjusting the thick side straps to make sure they sat just right along my ass. A deep, heavy shudder rolled through my body as the pouch—still hot and thoroughly damp with his sweat—cupped firmly against my own cock and balls. The feeling, the scent of him clinging to the fabric, was utterly intoxicating.
Suddenly, it was my turn to blush. I looked at him, a sudden rush of heat rising in my cheeks. "I've always had a little bit of a jockstrap fantasy, Ash," I admitted, my voice dropping to a husky whisper. "So...I figured, to reward my elite quarterback for his incredible performance today…I want you to bury yourself inside me...while I'm wearing this."
Ash gasped, his entire frame hitching with the sudden, sharp intake of breath. "Damn," he whispered, his eyes dark with an intensity I'd never seen before. "Oh, Gray. Yes. I like that. I want that."
A small, giddy laugh bubbled out of him, mirroring my own earlier playfulness. "Your jockstrap fantasy, and mine...the perfect team."
Cleared in hot, as they say, Ash instantly took charge. He slid his strong, muscled arms around me, his hands dropping down to cup my completely exposed cheeks. He pulled me hard against his frame, his heavy shaft grinding insistently against mine through the damp cloth of the jock. He nuzzled my chin up, his mouth moving in to hungrily kiss and lick across my exposed neck.
I just purred, completely giving myself over to him. As he kissed his way up to my jaw, I ran my hands through those stunning, spiky locks of his hair. I arched my back as his strong fingers began to gently knead my muscled cheeks, each slow pass coming closer and closer to my tight cleft.
Anticipation. Pure and agonizing.
And then he was in, firmly pulling my cheeks apart as his fingers dove deeper.
"Ohh, Ash," I murmured, a violent shudder ripping through my entire body. "Yes…"
"You want it, don't you?" he hissed against my skin. He already knew the answer, but he was demanding to hear it.
"You know I do," I growled back, matching his heat. "I miss your thick cock…deep inside me. Just like our first night together..."
From both sides, his fingertips grazed my sensitive pucker—circling, pressing, and pulling me open. "Turn around," he whispered huskily against my ear.
I obeyed instantly, turning to face away from him. Ash stepped up tight against my back, wrapping one powerful arm securely around my waist, his hand gently caressing my fluttering abs. I knew exactly where his other hand was going, and every nerve in my body screamed as I waited for it…
Then, I felt the slick, heavy heat of his wet finger pressing directly against my opening. He pushed in, and I instinctively pushed back against the pressure. With a soft gasp from both of us, he slid in easily, sinking all the way to the knuckle.
He began to move—curving, twisting, intentionally searching. When he finally hit the exact spot, pressing firmly against it, my entire body went taut. My cock surged violently inside the tight pouch of the jockstrap, instantly unleashing a heavy wad of pre-cum that soaked right into the fabric.
My elite quarterback was firmly in control. He nudged the back of my leg with his knee, guiding me over to the edge of the bed. "Bend over, on your elbows, and spread 'em," he chuckled huskily in my ear.
Trembling with sheer excitement, I obeyed, leaning forward onto the mattress, my forehead resting against the cool sheets. My cock, still barely contained by the sweat and pre-cum soaked pouch, pressed directly against the corner of the mattress, the tight mesh pouch stretching torturously across my swollen head.
I heard the drawer of my side table slide open…the unmistakable pop of the lube cap. A second later, two slick fingers penetrated me at once. I gasped as he began swiveling, scissoring, and searching all over again.
"Oh, Ash," I whimpered, as he ruthlessly massaged my spot again and again. I squirmed helplessly against the mattress—not trying to get away, but simply unable to stay still under the onslaught. It was almost too much to handle, but I wanted more. I needed more.
Looking back between my arms, I could see even more pre-cum oozing heavily through the taut, strained fabric of the pouch.
Then, I felt it. The slick, massive heat of Ash's swollen head sliding up and down my cleft, deliberately catching against my stretched pucker. I couldn't see him from this angle, but he was clearly holding his shaft, working it back and forth, angling himself for maximum effect. The tease was driving me insane.
"Are you ready, Aquaboy ?" he chuckled thickly, standing between my outstretched legs.
"More than ready, Quarterback ," I shot back, a fierce growl in my chest as I eagerly pushed my butt back toward him for emphasis.
Ash was panting heavily as he entered me—his second time ever. He was powerful and insistent, yet incredibly gentle, driving forward with one excruciatingly slow, steady push. I huffed, instinctively pushing back to meet him, my eyes flying wide as I felt his thickness completely filling me.
Then, he leaned all the way down on top of my back. The sudden, heavy addition of his athletic weight pinned me harder against the bed, forcing my swollen cock and its taut, wet mesh pouch to grind directly into the corner of the mattress.
I gasped at the intense double-onslaught of friction as I felt the coarse brush of his pubes against my cheeks. Ash kissed the edge of my ear, sounding totally giddy. "I'm in. I'm all the way inside you, Gray. So tight...oh wow...and warm...soft...feels so..."
"Feels so good," I finished his thought, panting. I flexed internally, tightly squeezing his shaft.
Ash groaned heavily against my neck, and then he began to move.
Our first time, he'd gone from tentative, to exploring, to a jackrabbit—figuring it out and reveling in the incredible, wonderful newness of it all at the same time. It had been an intense experience for both of us, physically, but more importantly, emotionally. This time, he had a plan.
He didn't start slow. He was a quarterback in the pocket, locked in and driving—fourth quarter into the Red Zone. He established a fierce, relentless rhythm, his hips smacking against my butt with a steady, rhythmic slap. With every single thrust forward, his athletic weight pinned me down, wonderfully grinding my trapped, swollen cock against the mattress. The taut, pre-cum-soaked mesh of the pouch dragged torturously across my sensitive head with every stroke. It was an absolute onslaught of double-sided friction—Ash stretching me open from behind, while the coarse fabric of the jockstrap pushed me closer and closer to the edge in front.
"Ash... Ash ..." I whimpered, my fingers clawing into the cool sheets as my head arched back.
"I've got you," he panted huskily, his hands shifting to grip my hips, anchoring me so he could drive even deeper. He was breathless, his mind completely short-circuiting as a massive wave of pure, blinding pleasure flooded his body and rushed straight to his brain. "You're taking it...oh, Gray...yes...jeez, it's...everything...incredible...can't think..."
He lasted way longer this time. He was learning, understanding. I'd hear the whimper, he'd pause, relaxing, coming back down. Then he'd restart the clock and drive again. Eventually, the white-hot tingling under my balls grew into a raging fire. The friction became too much to handle; the wet, strained mesh was practically blistering against my head as Ash hammered into me, hitting my spot over and over with unwavering precision.
"I'm gonna...soon...Ash!" I choked out a frantic warning, my entire body going rigid.
"Go, Aquaboy ," he hissed in my ear, his own pace turning frantic, his chest heaving weightily against mine. "Come for me."
That was all it took. I broke.
My climax ripped out of me with violent force. I screamed into the mattress as my cock surged in a desperate, machine-gun rhythm, unleashing thick, heavy ropes of cum that shot straight through the taut fabric of the jockstrap, completely soaking the gear as it oozed through the mesh.
As the orgasm consumed me, my helpless pucker clamped down, convulsing and spasming violently around Ash's shaft in tight, involuntary waves.
Ash let out a cracked, breathless gasp. The sudden, crushing grip of my spasming walls instantly triggered him, shattering his control.
"Gray... oh, Gray ...yes...I'm..." he whispered against my ear, his voice completely breaking.
He drove himself in all the way to the hilt, pinning me flat against the bed as his own body went entirely taut. He shuddered violently, his hips locked tight against mine as he buried his face in my neck, pouring his hot release deep inside me in heavy, pulsing waves.
Still buried deep inside me, Ash collapsed onto my back, his chest heaving and his heart pounding hard against my spine. His weight felt incredible—heavy, sweaty, and completely safe. He reached up, threading his damp fingers through mine and squeezing tight, leaving a trail of soft, lingering kisses along the side of my neck.
"God, I love you, Gray," he whispered, warmly nuzzling my ear. "That was so intense. You bent over like that...the jock...amazing. Sorry if I went a little too out of control…"
I let out a breathless, giddy chuckle. "You were perfectly out of control. I loved it. I love you. Like you said—intense. It was exactly what I wanted, and you absolutely delivered. We're definitely doing this again."
I felt him flex hard inside me at the praise, a soft, involuntary moan escaping his lips.
"You're still hard," I whispered, feeling the thick, stubborn ridge of him stretching me all over again.
He flexed a second time, a playful grin in his voice. "I am..."
I hadn't expected us to pull off a repeat performance quite so quickly, but my quarterback rallied, called a brand-new play in overtime, and we did.
Voting
This is part of a multiple chapter tale, created for a Writing Challenge. To vote, please read to the end, where you will find the survey
Authors deserve your feedback. It's the only payment they get. If you go to the top of the page you will find the author's name. Click that and you can email the author easily.* Please take a few moments, if you liked the story, to say so.
[For those who use webmail, or whose regular email client opens when they want to use webmail instead: Please right click the author's name. A menu will open in which you can copy the email address (it goes directly to your clipboard without having the courtesy of mentioning that to you) to paste into your webmail system (Hotmail, Gmail, Yahoo etc). Each browser is subtly different, each Webmail system is different, or we'd give fuller instructions here. We trust you to know how to use your own system. Note: If the email address pastes or arrives with %40 in the middle, replace that weird set of characters with an @ sign.]
* Some browsers may require a right click instead
