This story features characters from the book BEARDING THE LION, by J. Mercury Jones and Sween McDervish. It is an entirely fictional work of adult erotic fantasy, copyright BoyMercuryX and BroodingMuscle 2018 (aka Mercury and Sween).
BEARDING THE LION is available at https://www.amazon.com/dp/B078TD236K/
Lyrics to Let Them Knock by Bosco Mann. The song appears on the album 100 Days 100 Nights by Sharon Jones & the Dap Kings. <3
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IN LIKE A LION by BoyMercuryX and BroodingMuscle
Even an outsider at the Triple Hit MMA Gym like David Levy knows when something is different. The cool March air is charged, and there are more guys than usual for any given weekend day. There's the hardcore trainers, heavy with muscle and more than a few of them with some wear and tear on their mugs, the young guys trying it out, and the tourists who are flirting with MMA because of something they saw on TV.
David feels more tolerated at the gym than accepted, but tolerated is a big step up from where he started. And even being tolerated is because of of David's friendship with Connor Ryan, up and coming MMA prospect and the gym's closest claim to fame. That tolerance is also due to the gym's owner Ken Kelly, Ryan's uncle. He's the one who made it all happen, in a way, by allowing David in to research a story on mixed martial arts and assigning his nephew to be shadowed for the story.
Reporters are close to the most undesirable types at a place like the Triple Hit, where the guys are by nature private and feel misrepresented in the media. In addition, no one wants how they train to be part of even an innocent story. They don't want to broadcast their techniques and risk giving some opponent an edge to use against them. That's the first rule David learned from Ryan: Never ever give up your moves.
But today David isn't at the Triple Hit as a reporter. He was mysteriously invited by Ryan for "something special", but as he is from time to time, the red-haired fighter is late. David is left milling about on his own and boredom makes him curious, even distracted as he is in the humid, testosterone-rich atmosphere of the gym, with every muscled man passing him as they outdo each other with their flexes and stretches. He's trying to not be a reporter, just one of the guys, but he can't resist asking a few questions.
"Hey, what's going on?" David asks Chad, one of the more approachable regulars at the gym.
"St. Patrick's Day," answers Chad, looking him up and down. "You did not wear any green."
Was he just checking me out, David wonders? "Ugh, Ryan didn't tell me anything. He said it was a surprise." He would have at least worn a green tie if he had one, instead of his usual skinny black tie. "So is Kelly going to serve up green beer or something?"
"No," Chad replies, shaking his head and smiling.
"REALLY?" David responds in shock. "Big old-school Irish guy like Kelly. I'd figure he'd be a hell of a partier on this day."
"Oh, there is beer. And also he makes a big meal for anyone at the gym," Chad explains. "But the main event is the arm wrestling."
"Is that a thing? Arm wrestling?" David asks. "I'm not Irish."
"Do I look Irish to you?" Chad asks, doubling down on his accent to make the point, then spreading his dark lips wide in a dazzling smile. "I think it is just his thing. Once a year, Kelly takes on all comers. When someone beats him or he is out of challengers, we get food and beer, but not before."
"Cool," says David, nodding. "Arm wrestling day."
After an awkward silence David asks, "How long have you been in the US?"
"Three years," answers Chad. "I am from Burundi."
"In East Africa?"
"You know Burundi? No one knows where Burundi is, it is so small. When I came here I did not know anyone till this gymnasium."
"Well," David shrugs, "I only know one thing. There was an '80s singer who used Burundi drums in his music. That's all I know."
Chad laughs, "The 1980s? I was born in 1995."
"Oh 1990 myself," David replies. "But old music is kind of a thing of mine."
"Our drums are famous in Africa," Chad says. "Who is the singer?"
"Uh, Adam Ant," David answers, embarrassed by the name and his esoteric knowledge.
Chad quizzically pantomimes a scurrying insect with his fingers, and asks "Ant?"
David nods yes and they both laugh.
They go back to longer silences, but they're less awkward. David knows more about Burundi than he let on, all of it terrible. He wonders what awful shit Chad has seen, and wonders if he would have had the balls to immigrate to the US alone and at such a young age as Chad.
"Where is Ryan?" Chad asks.
"He had a morning shift, but he's supposed to be here," David answers.
Even hearing Ryan's name at the gym tugs at David's balls. The fighter's jutting jaw and curling red hair get to David like no one else. In fact the only one who comes close is Kelly, who's really just a blond version of Ryan with an extra 20 years and about 50 more pounds of muscle.
"So what is with you two?" Chad asks in lower, more private tones.
David shrugs and says, "If you figure it out, let me know."
Kelly wears a threadbare green ringer T-shirt that looks to be half again as old as he is and says "Kiss me, I'm Irish!" in faded print stretched tight over his powerful chest. He's standing amidst the free weights and pumping out dumbbell curls while a mix of MMA fighters and spectators crowd him, cheering. Everyone is getting into it, pointing at his veiny arms as the muscle there bulges and ripples, taking pictures on their phones. Some of them look like they might have pre-drunk their green beer at home.
David approaches Kelly and nods at the t-shirt logo. "Get many offers?" he asks, wickedly.
Kelly drops the dumbbells with a clang and advances on him, his voice like gravel. "Lots. I'm like the Blarney Stone." David gapes and for a moment his mind goes blank as he unconsciously licks his lips. Then Kelly brings his right arm up in from of David's face and flexes, a giant bicep erupting upwards like Mount Vesuvius.
"O-Oh!" David stammers.
Kelly nods his head toward it. "Like I said, the Blarney Stone." He stands there expectantly, staring David down.
Chad whispers in David ear, "You are supposed to kiss it!"
"Uh, seriously?"
"Yes, it is tradition."
But David waits a fraction of a second too long, and Kelly moves on, moving toward the sparring ring. Ah well. Kissing the Blarney Stone is supposed to give you the gift of gab, and David has that in spades already. Still, it would have been something to press his lips to Kelly's bulging bicep.
David's jaw drops as one by one, tough-looking, tattooed MMA fighters line up to slap and kiss the hard peak of Kelly's massive arm. They all hoot and holler like it's the coolest thing ever. One bearded dude who looks like a biker gang enforcer takes a goofy selfie while he gives the muscle a big smooch.
David shakes his head in disbelief, "Yeah, that's not gay at all."
At the center of the gym is one of three sparring rings, one of which David knows intimately. It's the spot where Ryan first sparred with him, thinking to humiliate him into abandoning the story. He just didn't count on David's tenacity. It's also the spot where they later had their after-hours "bout". Every time David sees it, he's put in mind of their marathon first fuck there, and his briefs get contorted as his big cock goes stiff.
But today there's a table set in the center of the ring with two seats, one on either side. Kelly stands at the table and announces the rules, just as Chad had explained: all comers are welcome. When Kelly is beat or when there are no more challengers, they eat. Kelly gestures across the room to the party tins filled with corned beef and cabbage, and kegs of beer.
"Erin go Bragh," Kelly says and slaps a paw on his thick chest over his heart. "Today we're all Irish, boys!"
His first opponent is already seated, a Latino boxer David knows is called Guapo because the word is tattooed across his back. Kelly stretches his arms and rotates his shoulders. He shakes hands with Guapo, but subsequently doesn't speak or make eye contact, looking very focused.
The center ring is surrounded by spectators eager to watch the battle unfold. And, looking almost as out of place as himself, David sees a tall woman with a regal bearing. Jameelah, Kelly's lady. David uses the word lady deliberately. The first time he saw her he did a double-take, sure it was Angela Bassett on Kelly's arm, unlikely as that might be. They hadn't talked, but he'd been smitten by her commanding presence.
He walks up to her and says, "Excuse me, you must be Jameelah." He extends a hand. "I'm David Levy, a... friend of Kelly's nephew Ryan."
She takes a long slow look from his fingertips up his wiry frame to his long face and glasses, before she places her hand in his, saying, "Oh I know who you are."
Damn it, he thinks, noting how her hand feels like it could crush his. Why does this keep happening to me, here?
"Where is Connor anyway?" she asks.
"Morning shift at the factory," David explains, silently noting that she calls Ryan by his first name. The standard at the gym is guys go by their last name, like Ryan, or a nickname like Guapo. "He's supposed to be here any time."
"On the holiday? Kelly won't like that."
"I guess not, but he does equipment repair and they've got a problem." "Hmmm. Be a dear and fetch my chair, would you?" she asks in a way that's not a question at all, and David obliges.
The ring's bell sounds, cutting through the gym's chatter, and David turns to see that the match has started. Guapo is about Ryan's size and has some impressive lats that are straining, along with all his other muscles, as he pushes against Kelly's arm. Kelly's arm is tight and flexed--and completely immobile. After a full twenty minutes of this, during which Guapo's back gets shiny with perspiration, he wilts like a leaf and Kelly pushes his arm to the table smoothly. Guapo gets up silently, the expression on his face hardly changed as he descends out of the ring. He knew he didn't have a chance, David thinks.
Kelly pulls both arms up into an impressive double biceps pose and David swears he sees a few more threads pop on that thinly stretched shirt. He also hears the bearded biker let out a little girly moan, before flushing red and looking around, embarrassed.
"Who's next?" Kelly growls.
Chad appears again at David's side. "He always takes it easy on the first guy. He has to do that or else he would not get any more volunteers to start off--"
"That was him taking it easy?"
"--but now watch this!"
The next three matches are over in a flash as Kelly slams his arm down to the table like a spring-loaded bear trap. One guy with tattoos up and down his neck and arms is the first competitor who's appreciably bigger than Kelly, and when the gym owner crushes him, he bursts into tears.
"Aw, jeez--" Kelly swears under his breath, and looks uncomfortable. David is shocked, but then he remembers Ryan's take on some of the Triple Hit's clientele, that their tough-guy exteriors hide a lot of insecurities.
<Where are you?> David texts Ryan. <It's starting!>
<Don't worry Driver! It'll last a while!> Ryan responds.
<I don't know.> David insists.
<LOL. It is like lifting Thor's hammer.> Ryan replies. <It's not all about size.>
Thor's hammer, thinks David. There's got to be a way.
The next guy up is an eighteen-year-old with a gymnast physique who tries to get the crowd going by pulling off his shirt to show off a shelf of pecs carved with a t-square. He flexes his arms and does some pro wrestling-style grandstanding until Kelly yells at him. Whether it's because he's mindful of this guy's age or the fact he made his last opponent cry, Kelly takes some time to teach the dude some armwrestling technique about how to hold your wrist and how to turn around a difficult position.
David listens closely, and slides his tablet out of his day bag to write down a few notes. This could come in handy, he thinks.
When they finally get to the match, Kelly slams down his arm like it's made of cooked pasta, and the young guy does a head-over-heels flip and pitches himself into the fight ring's ropes, entangling himself comically. The crowd roars with laughter and even Kelly cracks a smile before shouting, "Get out of here, ya clown!"
In the third hour Chad goes in. So far nobody has even budged Kelly's arm from the vertical, and David notes that his strategy with the bigger, more muscled fighters is to let them exhaust themselves against his immovable might before crushing them with a dominating arm slam. A rare few have managed to halt the final destruction briefly, but all it seems to do is make Kelly mad. David saw one bodybuilder shake out his hand after his match, as if Kelly had crushed his fingers as punishment for his defiance.
"I hope they wore him down a little for me," Chad says to David.
"Good strategy," the reporter replies, trying not to look skeptical now that he has formed a bit of a kinship with the well-built fighter.
Chad laughs, rolling his shoulders and stepping into the ring.
Chad lasts ten minutes, which is twice as long as the guy before him. When he stands, David can see the sweat running down from his pits into the white tank top that barely cups his slab-like pecs.
"I gave you a hard time, yes?" Chad says to Kelly, laughing.
"You did okay," Kelly answers, and David think he sees a bead of sweat run down from Kelly's temple.
Thinking he's not likely to get a better chance, David steps up to the table. The guys laugh and a few hoot, but in his head David invokes the time he first got into the ring with Connor Ryan. He was knocked down three times then, but dragged himself up after each. You can do this, he tells himself. It's just Thor's hammer. Glancing over his shoulder he can see Jameelah take an interest, leaning forward and running a manicured nail along her juicy bottom lip.
As David takes the seat opposite Kelly his shirt sleeves are rolled up as they usually are, his lanky forearms bared displaying his two tattoos in typewriter script. Rarely pure, never simple inside his right forearm, 1/10,000 inside the left. He positions his hand and wrist just the way he saw Kelly demonstrate a few minutes earlier.
"Who taught you that?" Kelly asks, nodding his approval.
"You did," David says proudly, then takes a second to throw his tie over his shoulder.
"Worried you're gonna get that caught somewhere?" Kelly sneers with a raised eyebrow.
David looks at the steel muscles of Kelly's pumped right arm. With its ridges, striations and snaking hose-like veins it does indeed seem like some kind of hydraulic machine up close. "It could happen," David jokes.
David's own hands, like his feet, are bigger than ordinary, but in Kelly's meaty paw his palm feels insubstantial. At the same time, David squirms in his seat, his semi-hard cock angling for a place in his briefs. Fuck, Kelly looks so much like Ryan, and he even smells like him, and sitting there face to face in this ring of all places charges David up.
The whistle blows and David throws entire one hundred fifty pounds against Kelly's standing forearm, easily thicker than David's own upper arm. He almost twists himself out of his seat trying to angle for a position, while Kelly sits calmly still as if he's carved from stone.
"You're not even trying, are you?" David asks through gritted teeth.
"Not so much," Kelly answers, looking bored.
"Are you gonna--"
Kelly answers by slamming David's arm down flat, faster than the reporter can even see. Hell.
Everyone laughs around them but Jameelah, though even she has a sly side-smile.
"Again," says David, cracking his neck and shaking out his hand.
"Kid--" Kelly begins, but the reporter interrupts him.
"Two out of three," says David, thrusting his jaw in his best Connor Ryan impression, and setting his elbow in place, again per Kelly's earlier instruction.
The second round begins much like the first, David positioned against against Kelly's arm, as if he were trying to push down an oak.
"Funny to lose in this ring of all places," David whispers loud enough for just Kelly to hear, "I usually come out on top with Ryan here."
Kelly raises an eyebrow, and he mutters, "Get outta here."
"Five times in fact," David whispers through his grunts. "Right here. But don't worry. Unf! It's all after hours."
Kelly flinches and David immediately presses in hard, with the exact technique Kelly taught the young kid earlier. Kelly's arm falters, tipping without warning, just an inch before Kelly catches it.
"OH HO!!!" shouts Chad, the first to see it, and the rest of the guys hoot and lean in, while Jameelah arches an eyebrow and purses her lips.
Almost before the hoots are out of their chests, Kelly slams David's arm down as if he's made of wet paper.
"You're done here," Kelly says with pinched eyebrows.
There's something like applause as David stands up. Without thinking he raises his hands high punching the air, and shouts "LEVY IN THE HOUSE!"
Chad claps him on the back as he walks away and Guapo gives him a high-five as he passes. It was just an inch, but an inch more than anyone else got.
David's elated, having never expected to get that far. He only wishes Ryan had been there to see.
Filled with ridiculous energy, David steps into Kelly's office to text Ryan. It's too audacious to sit in Kelly's chair at his heavy oak desk, but he sets his daybag there.
David: <You missed my ritual St. Paddy's self humiliation!>
Ryan: <You tried to beat Kelly? LMAO! How bad was it?>
David: <I didn't try to beat him as much as not get destroyed. But listen - I made him twitch! His arm gave way a whole inch before he busted me!>
Ryan: <What? HOW?>
David:
Ryan: <Driver, you have balls. I'll give you that.>
David:
Ryan: <Dude I'm dying here missing the best day of the year. Grrrr. Let me see them.>
David: <The guys?>
Ryan:
David: <What? You dork.>
Ryan: <No YOU dork. And your dork. Come on, let me see those big armwrestling balls.>
Ryan asking this is almost more intoxicating than getting Kelly to falter. David steps to the office door and peers through the blinds out into the gym. There are more guys lining up to try their odds with Kelly, and Jameelah is crossing and recrossing her legs like a twitching cat.
With all eyes focused on the arm wrestling, it seems a safe bet David has the run of the office. Connor Ryan, he thinks as he his unzips his pants and pulls himself up onto Kelly's heavy oak desk, you really are making me into a ridiculous person.
David pulls his semi out of his briefs, which goes full on erect by the time he's got his balls out. He's been more or less hard since he got to the gym, awkwardly confined in his trim briefs, and it feel good to let his considerable cock stand free, his balls swaying below. He holds his phone out and snaps a photo and hits send.
Ryan: <Oh yeah, that's what I'm talking about. Send one so I can see your face too, stud.>
David writhes inside. He's been called smart, smug and even smarmy, but never a stud. Even if Ryan mean it ironically, it charges him. He carefully angles the phone with one hand, holds his erection with the other. He snaps a photo with his towering cock and balls in the forefront and his face behind, and hits send.
Ryan: <Oh damn! STUD! Tell me again. How much did you move Kelly's arm?>
David: <An inch. But don't make fun of me.>
Ryan: <Dude I'm not making fun. You're the man! You're moving me more than inch.>
David: <Oh yeah? Send me a pic. Let me see.>
A minute later a quick series of photos ping onto David's screen. The first is Ryan's handsome mug, looking over his shoulder at the factory. The second is a blurry shot into his jeans held open by his free hand. David can just make out the shape of Ryan's pale erection nestled into his fiery pubes. The third is Ryan looking straight into the camera with a huge grin. The last is not explicit, but the golden stubble and eyebrows against Ryan's flushed face gets David at his core just the same. He strokes his cock a few times, working up a glistening bead of precum and snaps another photo for the fighter.
David hears a roar outside the office and jumps off the desk, his erection and balls bouncing, and waddles over to the office door to see what's happening.
Kelly's taken down another contender, and it must have been something to generate a roar so many hours in. The guys look more intense now, and even Kelly's Kiss Me I'm Irish shirt is damp with sweat. David's own stomach is growling, and he assumes others' are too.
Without a word, Jameelah suddenly sets both feet down on her stylish heels, and rises straight up. Fuck, thinks David, she's more fit than half the guys who train here, and is more deliberate and self-possessed than all of them combined.
She walks through the guys as if she were passing through pampas grass, fighters spreading to clear the way for her to stand at the table, looking down at Kelly.
"We gotta be done soon," he says to her, "sooner or later, y'know?"
"I'm in town for exactly 36 hours," she says, "and not back for another three weeks. And this is how I'm spending my Saturday."
"It's St. Paddy's Day!" Kelly bellows. "It's tradition!"
"Do you know what one of my billable hours is worth?" Jameelah asks, invoking her costly attorney fees.
She turns slightly to fold into the seat opposite Kelly, crossing one leg over the other and resting her elbow on the table. "Let's do this."
"J, c'mon!" pleads Kelly. "Not you!"
"I heard this is all comers?" she asks, feigning shock.
"Aw crud--" Kelly grimaces, putting his arm up in place. His forearm is as big as three of hers at least, and after three hours of arm wrestling it's shot through with veins and ridged muscle. Hers is smooth, her nails lacquered in aubergine and flawlessly manicured.
Their palms slap together, pale skin against dark. Jameelah goes steely-eyed. Kelly frowns.
Whatever happens between them is in their eyes, not their arms or hands, as they silently stare off. Something is passing between them that no one else is party to, even surrounded by onlookers. David has never seen anything like it.
After a few minutes of this, Jameelah's lips curl at the corners, and her arm slowly takes Kelly's down in a smooth arc, his knuckles tapping the table surface with a soft thud.
Kelly rolls his eyes as Jameelah sits back, her handsome jaw held high.
"Well, I guess that's dinner time boys!" Kelly shouts. The crowd roars its enthusiasm.
<Oh my fucking God!> David texts Ryan
He curses himself for having not thought to record it, even from this distance.
The guys rush the food tables set against the gym walls, and lines form as two of the gym staff peel the foil off the party-size trays of corned beef and cabbage, while another opens the tap on a huge keg of beer. Kelly and Jameelah stand up.
<WHAT HAPPENED?> Ryan texts.
David is about to respond, but notices Kelly and Jameelah have turned and are walking straight to the office. To him. With his pants open and his erection standing free.
Oh fuck!
David ducks down to avoid being seen. Fuck, fuck, fuck!
Looking around he sees no other way out, and as they near the door he scuttles across the floor like an ant, and slides under Kelly's sturdy oak desk. He's 6'2" but thin enough to wrap around himself and to tuck into the small space.
"You didn't have to do that," Kelly groans, entering the office.
A damp wad of green is thrown to the floor, right at the edge of the desk. It's Kelly's shirt, now dark with sweat. David gapes. He wants to grab it, but doesn't dare. He can't help but wonder if there's a way to pull it under the desk without being seen.
"I was ready," she purrs.
"Shhhhhh," groans Kelly. "There's guys out there. They hear everything."
"Everything?" she asks, mischievously.
"Aw come on," Kelly gently laughs. David notes this is a voice he's never heard from Kelly before. "The guys, babe--"
"The guys what? You think they don't know you're the top man here? You just proved it, and looked damn good doing so."
"J...." Kelly protests feebly, as David hears Jameelah rest her weight up on the desktop. He can see the bottom of her heels as she pulls herself up one foot at a time.
"Best remind them all," she says a deep rolling voice, "the king only bows down to his queen."
Kelly drop to his knees with a thud, just inches from David on the other side of the desk.
<Driver? What's going on?> asks Ryan by text.
Jameelah's heels shift, up and down and side to side, and something silky smooth slides down one foot. A slight garment, plum color and silky falls to the floor.
Oh my God, thinks David, is that her PANTIES?
He can see Kelly come forward in three steps on his knees, stopping at the desk, between Jameelah's legs. He can hear a womanly sigh and a sound like tongue kissing, but based on where her heels are, there's no way it's her mouth Kelly is tonguing.
OH. MY. GOD! David thinks, throwing his hands over his ears.
As much as he doesn't want to listen, for his own reasons as well as his horror at invading their privacy, David can't keep himself from imagining Kelly eating out Jameelah's pussy. He even uncovers his ears from time to time. Certainly his boner isn't fussy.
Twenty minutes later, David's beginning to ache and twists around to find a better position, lying on his back, which gives him a better view under the desk's wooden back-slat. He can see Kelly's knees and barely suppresses a gasp as he spies the tip of a thick, massive prick straining against the stretchy grey material of Kelly's sweats. David feels his armpits and crotch get damp and sweaty. He ponders trying to contort himself further to get a better look at that cock.
Your curiosity is going to be the end of you, David thinks to himself, as Kelly rises up from his knees onto his thick scuffed sneakers.
Fuck it, I'm going for it. David darts his hand out and pulls Kelly's sweaty t-shirt under the desk.
<Driver?> Ryan texts, David slamming hard on the phone to turn off the buzz function.
Kelly's masculine scent is already filling the small space and David's cock is getting unbelievably hard. He can even feel his hole winking. Is this how Kelly beat all those guys? Was it alpha male pheromones wafting across the table? He thinks of the biker who moaned with lust and wonders how jealous he'd be of David's position, on his back under the arm wrestling champ.
Kelly's sweatpants drop to the floor, and his white cotton briefs, stray blond pubes in them and a barely visible piss stain.
David responds, suppressing a gulp.
As the desk begins to rock back and forth with Kelly's thrusts, David's eyes fall to his own erection and the sticky precum leaking out. He wonders how much damage Kelly could do to him if he finds him there there like that, and the thought of Kelly's hands on him prompts another surge of precum.
Even his hands over his ears can't dim Jameelah's gasps or Kelly's heavy groans, and his own erection is near painfully swollen, as the desk continues to rock. As the pounding intensifies and Kelly's thrusts get faster, David's phone rattles. David ducks low as the desk all around him rattles at peak intensity, and he can see Kelly's toes lift off the ground for one thrust that he thinks will flip the desk over.
<I'm coming!> Ryan texts, accompanied by a new gleeful pic of his handsome face.
As the sounds of post-cum gasps and heaving breaths fill the office, David responds <You're not the only one!>
Ryan asks.
<Nothing - get your ass here now!>
There's at least another fifteen minutes during which David keeps a hand around his oozing cock. He's terrified, but the thought of Kelly fucking has gotten so into his head, and the photo of Ryan is right there, so handsome with his coppery curls. David's hole is puckering and he's so close, all it would take is one more stroke.
"J," he hears Kelly say, "I hate to ask... I'm a little dehydrated..."
"You want your beer?" she asks.
"Would ya?" Kelly answers.
"You earned it," Jameelah says, as her slim heels touch down on the floor.
"J, take it right from the keg," Kelly chuckles, as she weaves out of the office. "Give the guys a thrill."
David waits hoping Kelly will leave also so he can make his escape, but instead he sees the sneakers plant themselves squarely.
"You gonna come out of there, or do I need to drag you out by your skinny tie?" Kelly asks.
Fucking Kelly, thinks David, as he struggles to tuck his erection awkwardly into his slacks and zips up. He crawls out and stands on numb legs, his briefs twisting uncomfortably. "This is not... actually it is. It is just what it looks like."
Kelly shuts him up with a raised eyebrow. He's still covered with dewy sweat. His pecs are thick and flushed, and the dirty blond hair in his pits is matted. There's a pale treasure trail leading down into the low slung sweats, tenting with Kelly's still half swollen cock.
"I didn't mean to--"
"Save it," says Kelly. "Only reason I didn't say nothing was to keep J from skinning you alive." He smiles wistfully and his manly chest rises as he inhales as if taking in her scent. "That one. She goes in like a lion."
David tries to keep his eyes off Kelly's thick, glistening body. He's seen him before without a shirt, but not like this. "Daddy AF" he can imagine his editor Jeff saying. The gym owner's right arm is still pumped huge from dominating a room full of tough guys with ease. David shuts his mouth to keep the saliva from escaping. I never got to kiss the Blarney Stone.
Kelly's bemused look fades into a grimace and he says, "You can go now. Your... bag is on my chair."
Well, thinks David, at least he didn't call it a purse.
Exiting the office, David's heart lifts at the sight of Ryan. The fighter is talking with the guys, so at ease in this setting, stuffing his mouth with corned beef and washing it down with beer. His green henley shirt reveals some of the spread of his chest and the light dusting of curling gold hairs against his ruddy skin.
Ryan spots David across the room. He winks with his green eyes, holding up a plastic tumbler in a mock toast and wrinkling his nose. They both chuckle, and David runs a hand over his chest, smoothing his tie.
It's crazy, David thinks, that for all his rough good looks and muscles, it's Ryan's coloring that gets David the most. And his completely goofy laugh. He wants to run to the fighter and kiss him more than anything in the world, but tells himself to play it cool.
"Why does he call you Driver?" David hears. He turns to find Chad at his side. "I thought it must be last name, but you said Levy earlier."
"Oh y'know--it's because I wear glasses. But I just need them to drive," David answers. "It's just a nickname, like Guapo. What about you? Is Chad a Burundian name?"
"In Burundi," Chad says, "names are not like here. We do not pass on father's last name. We pick names we like or that mean something. I picked Chad when I came to America. I like how it sounds, Chad. Clean, you know? I wanted to start over. I can decide who I will be."
Mmmm, David nods.
"So you guys are--a thing?" Chad asks, indicating Ryan across the room, knocking back a beer.
"He's my buddy," David replies. It's not perfectly accurate, but it's true enough.
Even though this is the one place David can't write about, not after his last story, his reporter instincts keep processing. A Mixed Martial Arts gym isn't what you'd think of as a den of progressive values, he longs to write. And in most ways the Triple Hit isn't. Your sensitivities will get no regard. There are no trigger warnings. At the same time, it's a peculiarly egalitarian place, where your value is in what you can do, how much you're willing to try, not who you are or where you're from. If you can do the thing, your race, your orientation, your sex doesn't matter. It's a little like St. Patrick's Day - if you show up, you're Irish. And it's not all physical strength. Strategy, strength of will and strength of character count just as much. As I have long maintained, the greatest struggles are fought in the silence of your own soul. And that's where the victories that count are won. At the Triple Hit, with the tone set by the Pater Familias, Ken Kelly, it doesn't matter if you're an immigrant, an attorney or even a skinny gay reporter... you might find a teacher, a role model, a friend. He glances at Ryan. Or something more. You might find a place here.
David sighs deeply. Fuck being cool. He needs so much to be near Ryan. He claps Chad on his broad back and nods as if to say Later. He makes his way through the crowd to the fighter's side and nudges his shoulder.
"I thought you left!" Ryan says.
"Before you even got here? Nah, just got a little distracted," David replies. They stand awkwardly close, resisting the urge to lock lips, until David clears his throat to break the spell. He picks up a tumbler of beer and taps it to Ryan's. "Happy St. Paddy's Day."
"I missed it all!" Ryan groans. "I missed the Blarney Stone! I didn't even get a shot a Kelly!"
"You look tired," David says, seeing Ryan's puffy eyes. "You okay?"
"Mmmm, worked the gym last night, the factory today, school yesterday morning. But I can't skip St. Paddy's dinner." He pops a potato into his mouth and his jaw rolls, continuing as he chews. "So Driver... how'd you beat Kelly?"
David prepares to boast, but looks across the room to see Kelly glaring at him as he leans against Ryan. Jameelah looks put-together next to him, poised and feline in her stance. Remarkably put-together, in fact, having just been thoroughly fucked on Kelly's old desk. He notes that their public life only hints at something much deeper between them, and they seem okay with that.
"I didn't beat him," David says shyly. "It was just an inch."
He wants to cower under Kelly's gaze, but recalls the admiring look in the gym owner's face was when he described Jameelah. She comes in like a lion, that one. Instead of cowering he juts out his own jaw and arches an eyebrow as he wraps an arm around Ryan's thick bicep. "Let's get outta here."
Ryan grabs another serving of food with his bare hand and dumps it onto his paper plate as he takes David's lead and they trail outside. They pass under the sign over the door, TRIPLE HIT MMA GYMNASIUM.
"Hey," Ryan says as they hit the street, his cheeks full of corned beef, "did you know `gymnasium' is Greek? It means to exercise naked, cause that's how the Greeks did it."
David shakes his head laughing, about to burst after nearly a day of sustained erections. "You don't say."
They weave their way to Ryan's apartment which like the Triple Hit is located in The Den, the city's worst neighborhood. It borders the more recently redeveloped neighborhood where David lives, with rent-controlled units intended for young single professionals.
Ryan's studio is brick-walled but small, and immaculately organized, with one wall of bookshelves he installed himself. At his makeshift desk is a tiny speaker, which David uses to plug into his own phone. He knows Ryan's playlist and cringes at the thought of Nine Inch Nails and Metallica. He nearly laughs as he imagines mischievously loading some Motown onto Ryan's phone.
He spins through his own music, looking for Sharon Jones. He cried miserably two years ago when she died, and it took almost a year before he could listen to her music without weeping. But this is something special to him. Something he wants to share with Ryan. He presses play.
Let them knock upon my door / Until their hands are black and blue / I'm not answering for no one / Until my man and I are through
Ryan wraps a strong arm around David, pulling him onto his mattress with mismatched sheets, his wobbly bedside table trembling, and the taped up paperbacks on it tumbling. Their lips meet and their tongues wrestle, wet and eager for each other.
David unbuttons Ryan's jeans and slides them down to expose his fat erection, not as long as David's but similar in girth. He pulls the jeans off one leg at a time and considers getting his mouth around that cock, but instead he pulls Ryan to edge of the bed and straddles him.
"Get in me," he says, and the fighter rises up on his arms to kiss him.
Ryan pries David's cheeks open as they kiss, fingers his hole and letting the head of his hard cock tease at it. David grinds his slim body against Ryan, smearing the golden hair on the fighter's belly with precum, and then back again for his pucker to meet the pink cockhead.
David sighs as the fighter opens him and slides into him, filling him. Ryan's arms gather him up and he wraps his own long fingers around Ryan's head, the ginger hair curling around them as their bodies rock together.
"You feel so good," David groans, his insides adjusting to accommodate Ryan's cock, the fighter's meaty hands pulling his lean torso tight.
"YOU feel so good" Ryan replies, working his hips to drive into the reporter.
People, they ask a lot of me / Alway want more than they got of me yeah / Let them say I'm hard to find/ I know what I've got to do / And bring it all home to you / It's your love I got on my mind
"Give me the Blarney Stone," David moans.
It takes Ryan a second to get it, but he lifts an arm and flexes a bicep nearly as big as Kelly's, the skin tight over the hard muscle. David kisses it and Ryan wraps his arm around the reporter's head, pulling him close and into his armpit. As they grapple, Ryan lifts David's arm, and pulls it in to a flex position. Ryan growls as he runs a hand over it and pleads, "Do it."
David flexes his own bicep, smaller than Ryan's, but firm and well shaped. "Fuckkkk," Ryan moans. He presses his flattened tongue against David's lat and runs it up into his pit, then up along his bicep, kissing the Blarney Stone. He licks and gnaws at the long arm as his balls issue a thick load of precum into David.
Let them wait, let them wonder / Where I go and what I do, oh yeah yeah / I'm not answering to no one / Until you and I are through
With the fighter's cock pushing into him, David finally strokes his erection. He's been hard so much of the day he won't last long. He pulls Ryan against himself, burying his nose in the fighter's curls. Oh God, he smells like Kelly. He feels his cock swell in his hand and his hole hungrily pull Ryan's cock deeper into him. In one hard surge his balls spew a hot load on Ryan's chest and belly, followed by another and another, leaving him gasping and trembling.
Ryan starts to slide out, but David stops him. "Finish in me--" he groans, his cum still streaming, lifting his ass just to slam back down again.
"Yeah?" Ryan asks, his tough guy jaw jutting out. "You want it in you?"
"Fuck yeah," David growls. "Cum in me."
Ryan pumps harder, his lips latching onto David's nipple as the reporter rides him.
"You should have seen it," David grunts, "the look on his face when I tipped that big arm."
Ryan looks up at David's face, caught off guard by the boast. His cheeks go scarlet and and his breath comes in a deep heave. He groans out loud as he thrusts up hard, shooting deep inside David. His arms buckle and he whimpers as his cum surges out of his balls and into David, filling the reporter and grinding in with all his strength.
Afterwards they lie in the bed, sweaty and intertwined. David runs his hands over Ryan's skin, tracing patterns in it and watching them go from pale under the pressure of his fingertips back to Ryan's warm color.
Ryan has David recount the day to him, from the guys kissing the Blarney Stone to who took Kelly on and Jameelah's victory. David keeps to himself the episode under Kelly's desk. He doesn't need to share everything.
"So how did you do it?" Ryan asks. "How'd you get Kelly?"
"I may have implied that I banged his nephew in his sparring ring after hours," David answers.
"NO!" Ryan laughs. "You goof! Oh my God. He's gonna make me clean the lockers with a toothbrush for that."
David can't resist smirking, feeling full of himself.
"You got lucky Driver," Ryan says, poking his ribs.
"Lucky my ass!" David boasts. "I had technique! Here, look, put your arm up." He positions his elbow on the mattress, and their hands meet, wrapping around one another. "I let him get comfortable with the usual guys, so defending against the usual moves was reflex. Then I made him think I wasn't serious. Then I surprised him. And just when he was off guard I made my move. See? Here's how you hold your wrist, and when your opponent gives an opening, you push like this,"
He applies some pressure and Ryan lets his much stronger arm glide down in one smooth motion with no resistance.
"Unf, you beat me," Ryan says, flopping onto his back in mock defeat.
"Oh yeah?"
"You act like you have no game, but you're all game."
"I might have little game," David says. "Reporter game."
"Just one thing," Ryan says slyly, "you just told me all your moves."
Fuck. Fuck the stupid Blarney Stone and its gift of gab. With his jock body, good looks and boyish demeanor it's easy to forget how fucking smart Ryan is.
"You got me," David answers, exposed. "But fair's fair. Guess I have to give it up," the fighter smirks and rolls over onto his belly, hiking his white as milk ass up. The mounds are rounded and firm, and the baby hairs are so pale as to be invisible until you get close.
David rolls his eyes as he climbs up on him and slides his long cock into the best place it knows.
As he builds up a rhythm, he takes in the sight of Ryan's strong back, and the hills and valleys of the muscles there. It's like a topographic map, and it turns David on so much. He grabs onto the yoke of Ryan's trap muscles and feels how hard they are.
"Fuck you're so sexy, Ryan. I'm gonna cum fast."
Ryan wiggles his butt back into David's pelvis and looks over his shoulder, his green eyes gleaming. "Do it stud--breed my Irish ass. Do it for St. Paddy."
The words catch David by surprise. He half doesn't realize why they turn him on so much, but he feels his cock and balls tighten and he suddenly floods Ryan's hole with hot cum.
Ryan's voice drops to a whisper, "Yeah bro, feels so good. Uhhhhh."
David rolls off and pushing roughly, flips Ryan over onto his back. He takes one look at Ryan's swollen pink cock and dives onto it, taking it right to the root. He can't get enough of the fighter in him, but knowing he'd blown a load into David earlier makes him want it even more.
Ryan's breath gets faster and his thick fingers tighten in David's black hair. He thrusts into David's long throat and moans like an Irish banshee as his cock swells. He pumps out a load that goes right down David's gullet, the reporter doubling down to take every drop. When he releases the hot dick, he has the taste of Ryan's cum in his mouth.
"Unnnh those fucking lips," Ryan moans, pulling David up.
When they kiss their mouths smack together with thick salty spit.
"We're one-one, we gonna go for a tie-breaker?" David asks, winking.
"Mmm, you bet," says Ryan. "Let me just close my eyes for a minute first."
David snuggles against Ryan's shoulder. It's solid and feels reliable. He thinks again how like Kelly the young fighter is. He flirts with the idea of being with Ryan at that age.
"Do you ever think about the future?" he asks. He pauses and adds, "Connor?" Using the fighter's first name is something new. It feels strange but good in his mouth.
He hears a gentle gasp and a wheeze.
"Connor?" he asks again. "Ryan?"
There's a light snore in response.
He looks up to see Ryan's eyes shut, the blond lashes pressed softly against his ruddy cheeks.
David sighs, knowing Ryan's been up twenty hours or longer. He's out like a lamb.
He kisses the gold stubble on the fighter's jaw, and settles in to sleep.
END