Category: ATF - PWP
Warnings: Explicit locker room sex
Disclaimers: Characters from The Magnificent Seven belong to MGM and Trilogy Entertainment. All content is for entertainment only. No profits are received from the presentation of this material.
Thwack!Ezra Standish ducked his head as the little rubber ball went zinging past his ear. He spun, following its trajectory toward the back wall where it bounced off high and came sailing back at him. Raising his racket, he spun with it, attempting to capture and pound it home before it even had a chance to make the first bounce. In a millisecond's time, the frayed neuron's in his brain registered that if he let it make that first bounce, he would lose it completely.
He lost it anyway. It tipped the end of his racket, bounded off and rocketed up to the ceiling, slammed one of the fluorescent light plates, and came straight back down at him like a round green bullet.
"Holy shiiiiit!" Ezra slung his forearms up over his head for cover in the most graceless posture imaginable. His cry echoed around the room, off the floor. No doubt others in the building heard him. The ball landed right between his clamped elbows and wedged there with a sting. "Ouch," he hissed, his deep southern drawl stretching the word out. He raised his head, letting the incidentally captured ball bounce away. A bead of sweat coursed from his brow down over his left side goggle. He removed the lenses to wipe them off on the front of his sweat-stained tee. "Mr. Tanner," he griped as he straightened himself back out, "whatever gave you the idea that this was pinball?"
Vin had already collected the ball and was pacing inside the service zone. "Ten to two," he announced, unfazed by his teammate's suffering. "One more and it's a game."
Ezra shook his head disgustedly. He would love to be able to throw it out there that the Texan was cheating, but technically, you couldn't cheat at racquetball. It was a high intensity sport, one for which Ezra had just not been in the mood this evening, particularly when it was Vin Tanner who had challenged him.
Vin's advantage was just nimbleness and a quick eye for following that little ball all over the damned place. Clad in a black tank shirt and matching shorts, he didn't even bother with eye protection. His compact and muscled figure hunched as he bounced the ball up and down a couple times, savoring the echo of rubber on hard wood within the enclosure, and gauging how hard he needed to hit it for a good service.
His opponent's lack of eyewear drew Ezra's attention. Just once he'd like to see Tanner walk away from the court with a good shiner. The man played mean, and it was well past time for some retribution. But then, no sooner were he to sustain such an injury then Vin would be required to site down a real target on assignment. It made Ezra cringe to think of the repercussions. How did he let himself get talked into these things?
All right, here it comes, he thought now.
Then nothing. . .
He watched the ball bounce a couple more times, and then suddenly, just when he was expecting Vin to bounce it one more time, the other man decided to serve.
Whop!
The ball coursed toward the service wall, squeaked as it made contact and came back. It almost cleared the service line but failed. This completely faked out Ezra who dove for it, his right arm and racket extended to return the low, quick bounce.
"Short!" Vin snapped, "Do over!"
Too late to recover, Ezra hit the floor in a slide with a hollow, "Oomph!" on his belly. The cold hard wood skidded beneath his forearms and smarted worse than any broken bone.
Vin chased down the ball that his opponent had missed and jogged back to the service zone, threads of his longish hair matted to his glistening neck.
"Ya'okay?" he asked between excited breaths.
"Oh, yes, Ah'm just fine," Ezra muttered from the floor. "What say you just continue to play with yourself while Ah lie here and bask in my own defeat."
"Ha," Vin replied dryly. "Get up, Ezra. Next time you go after a long or short, it's a play, no more do overs."
The losing man took a deep breath and attempted to exhale the pain in his arms. Elbow pads would not have been a bad idea. Every time he played, he told himself that THIS would be the last time he took this kind of abuse, but every time. . . every DAMN time. . . Vin Tanner asked him to a game, he couldn't refuse. Maybe because he was addicted to winning in any other situation, cards or cons, but this was something he had yet to master. Hmmm, maybe if he went up against Josiah, whose favored game was golf, he might have a chance. And maybe. . . just maybe. . . it was because Vin Tanner was irresistible. He could talk Ezra into almost anything, from paying off other people's debts to throwing office parties, to taking THIS abuse.
"Come on," Vin insisted.
"Do you mind, too greatly?" Ezra said as he got his knees under him. "Ah'm slippin' in my own sweat here."
"Li'l sweat never hurt nobody."
Ezra's jade eyes glared back up from under firmly knitted ginger-brown brows.
Sighing in resignation, the sharpshooter trotted forward and reached down, offering Ezra a hand. They took firm hold of each other and with a hard tug, Vin hauled the other man up to his feet and waited for him to balance himself. Almost tenderly he reached up and dusted off the shoulder of Ezra's tee and smiled, soft jewel eyes twinkling back. "One more point," he reminded the weary con artist.
"Can't Ah just forfeit?" Ezra asked.
Vin's grin broadened, completely void of any mercy. Then he spun on his heal, sneaker scuffing noisily on the floor, and hustled right back to the service zone.
Grumbling, Ezra positioned himself at the back of the room, and gritted his teeth.
Vin bounced the ball a good three times before letting it rip. It ricocheted off the wall with a hard throb and a spin that sent it back at the perfect angle to clear the service line and bounce just right for Ezra to return service with a good solid hit off the center of his racket.
Spro-ing!
The ball sailed back to the front wall, bounced off left, hit the side wall, and met Vin's racket before it had a chance to even bounce. With what seemed like the same skill that he took out his targets, the sharpshooter effortlessly swatted the ball back to the service wall. It hit center wall and came back at Ezra aligned for another perfect return shot.
He sent it back with a grin on his face, eyes following the blur of green rubber as it hit not just the service wall, but a corner, which sent it back out at a diagonal path to the other corners in the room.
Vin's eyes tracked it, determining that it would hit too high and bound in one of two directions depending on the spin. In a second of uncertainty he jittered from one foot to the other, waiting for it. . . waiting. . . then the ball spun and bounded back to the left.
Ezra felt his heart stall on him that maybe he was actually going to manage a kill that would put him in service so he'd finally have a chance to gain points again.
Vin sprang at the ball, feet clearing long paces to get him to his destination. The ball continued toward the far wall where it would likely bounce back to mid floor, well out of Vin's range. He did the only thing one in his position could. With a flying leap that sent him into the wall, he kicked out, gaining traction on the surface with the ball of one foot, and propelled himself back out, racket rising to meet the incoming projectile like a Roman shield against an arrow. He came back down firmly on both feet, knees slightly bent in case he needed to spring for it again.
Ezra's smile melted away as the ball soared at mach ten back through the air, rammed the service wall with a clap of thunder, and streaked past his side hip before he could find the right means for a return hit.
"Kill," Vin announced between heavy breaths. He wiped at the sweat rivering down his temples and sniffled as he strolled toward his vanquished opponent. "Game three?"
Ezra looked incredulously for a few seconds, running that last maneuver through his mind again. "Mr. Tanner, when my rival proves himself equipped at manipulating The Matrix, Ah quit." He began to pry the glove off his right hand, racket tucked firmly beneath his arm, its handle jutting out awkwardly toward Vin like a warning that he not dare approach.
"The Matrix?" Vin blinked.
"Yes, Keanu, now if you'll excuse me, Ah'm goin' home to soak my undoubtedly bruised forearms in a vessel of Sportcream."
"Never saw it."
"Well then, you're missin' out. Good evening, Mr. Tanner." Ezra whimpered to himself as he dreamed of going home and soaking in the depths of the Jacuzzi tub he had recently installed until he completely melted away. This whole experience had, at least, given him good excuse to do just that.
"Hey, good game, Ez," Vin called after him. "Thanks."
Ezra turned to look at the other's beaming blue eyes and chiseled young face flushed and streaked with damp and veins of that lustrous hair. Vin had to be lying, since Ezra knew himself to be no competition at all, but the smile and the thanks were genuine.
With a nod, the southerner simply replied, "My pleasure, Mr. Tanner."
Yes, he thought as he left. Irresistible.
-7-7-7-
In the small observation room that overlooked the racquetball court, Chris Larabee had set aside the case files he'd brought with him, and lost himself in the heated competition. . . or lack of. . . below. Poor Ezra, he might have thought, except that that was his lover in there with the normally smooth-tongued southerner and watching Vin sweat in his tank and shorts provoked Chris' territorial instincts.
He had left the office later than Vin with plans of catching up with him at the gym. Time to do some bench presses and he needed a spotter, but it was already so late he decided to forego his workout until tomorrow morning. Damn paperwork just kept holding him up so he elected to cheat and just take some of it home with him.
Chris looked at his watch and found the hour rapidly approaching eleven PM. The gym was actually open until midnight, but most of its patrons had done their workouts and left long ago. Below, he watched Vin bounce the ball rather viciously off the far wall a few times, slamming it harder with the racket, practicing sending it off the back wall and across the entire court to the service wall. The ball thrummed and banged the walls relentlessly, and Chris admired Vin's corded arms stretching out the racket, his smaller, lean body bowing out toward the ball as it came spinning back at him at fierce speeds. It was almost a dance, and strangely brutal for a sport that was cousin to tennis.
After a while Vin grew tired of chasing the ball by himself. He slammed it, against the wall, and caught it neatly in the palm of his hand when it came back. That had to sting, Chris figured, but he found the act of catching the speeding object sexy, powerful. His groin began to heat on him and he felt the almost ticklish crawl of his prick taking notice beneath the zipper of his slacks.
He was certain Vin didn't even know he was here, as the game had already been in session when he arrived. Gathering up the files under one arm, he started to knock on the glass and signal his lover that he had arrived and would meet him outside. But he hesitated, just watching.
Below, Vin stood silent and alone for just a few seconds, letting his breath calm, before he turned and left the room through the almost hidden corner door.
Moments later the lights in the room shut down with an almost mechanical clatter, stealing half of the light that had illuminated the observation room.
Files gathered firmly in the nook of his arm, Chris stepped out onto the balcony that peered down into the well of the weight room and its impressive spread of machinery. Only one other patron, a hard-core body builder who was pushing himself to become Arnold was currently working out. The clink and clank of the aligned weights on the inclined press machine bore a lonely sound, as the pop tunes normally blaring in the establishment had been killed for the night. On the far side of the balcony, within an open second level room, the elliptical machines and stationary bikes sat still and in shadow on their sectional platform. It wasn't hard to deduce that Ezra had just pulled on his wooley and gone straight home to clean up, so the place was a veritable ghost town.
Chris waited, knowing the entrance to the racquetball court was beneath the strip of balcony on which he stood. As he anticipated, Vin emerged from under there and crossed the weight room wiping the back of his hand across his brow. The sharpshooter cut straight through the weight area, drawing some minor attention from Arnold, who was busy controlling his breath as he pumped a massive free weight in each hand.
Spying on Vin was a silly little thrill, Chris realized. Silly as hell, but it had been a long day and he needed some way to relax. He watched Vin's strong, V-shaped back disappear through the doors into the men's locker room and then turned to head around the balcony to the stairs. His loafer's whispered down the steps and he skirted the weight area under the balcony, circling the room until he reached the doors and eased his way through and down a carpeted ramp into the lower level that housed the bathrooms and lockers, all half in darkness now since the place was only an hour away from closing. He took the right and veered into the men's department, coming up short when he looked down the first row of lockers and saw nothing. That was because Vin didn't keep his locker there. It was right beside Chris' two more rows down. Chris padded over to the correct row and peered around the corner, down the alleyway of blue painted lockers centered with a path of several long, padded benches. The cool lights from the nearby shower room diffused over the low ceiling, and Chris could hear one of the showerheads emitting a soft drip on the tiles.
Tanner had already stripped off his shoes and was just shimmying out of his shorts when Chris approached, head cocked as he lusted over the smaller man's body sheathed only in that sticky black tank shirt. The sparse light contoured around the curves of toned shoulders and over one very narrow but shapely little ass, down corded thighs to calves.
"Let me help you with that," Chris said just as Vin's fingers curled under the edges of the tank and he started to lift it up over his head.
"Hey," Vin perked up at his visitor and dropped his hands back to his sides. "How long you been here?"
"Long enough to see you hammer Ezra into the ground again," Chris husked back. He paused long enough to open the combination to his locker and deposit the case files safely inside. He removed his shoes and socks and added them to the bin. Then he closed the door with a gentle clatter and eased over behind Vin, reaching up to run his callused hands down over the sharp plates of shoulder blades.
Vin immediately offered back a soft groan. "Ah, me," he whispered, leaning back into the massaging touch.
"That feel good?" Chris leaned in closer. They were not yet completely touching and yet he could feel the steaming heat rising off Vin's body from the intense workout. Stroking up with his palms, he gripped the other's strong shoulders and squeezed at tensed muscles, his thumbs stroking through little map lines of sweat crusted hair plastered to Vin's skin.
Vin's head fell back, tilting just to the side and exposing an inviting length of neck. Chris took the bait, stepping the rest of the way in and dipping his lips into the flesh, tasting fresh sweat, salty and tangy and musky. He drew his hands down Vin's back and around his middle, fingers crawling toward the little swirls of coarse, light brown hair that ran from Vin's navel, a perfect innie, down to the nest that surrounded a rapidly hardening cock. The goodie trail, Chris mused to himself as his fingertips toyed with the stream of hair then stopped just short of Vin's member. He pressed in on the taught skin that covered a pelvic bone, provoking little ticklish shivers from the smaller man.
"What is this, the YMCA?" Vin whispered with a chuckle, luxuriating in his lover's touch.
"You're so bad," Chris whispered. Suddenly he drew his hand back up, teasing lightly, knowing how nervy that lower belly region was. His fingers met the edge of the tank's fabric, caressed along its seam, just tabbing up underneath. Vin leaned more deeply into him, sweat from his body bleeding through the front of Chris' shirt. Beneath the crisp cotton, Chris felt his own nipples tingle and harden. One hand crept up under the tank, surfing over the ripples of taut abs, along the curve of a lower rib, and up to find one of Vin's nipples. Chris felt Vin's upper body bow out into his touch and he pinched and prodded gently at the little bud of flesh until it hardened. His other hand wandered down to cup one ass cheek and grip hard, pumping up, while his lips latched on to Vin's neck again, sucking, tongue licking, drinking up the taste.
Vin squirmed a little, his rump twisting around, pushing more deeply into Chris' hand. "Sh. . . shower," he whispered, too distracted to really mean it.
In a forced, quick motion, Chris slid his hands back to the edges of the tank, and jerked up. Vin's arms gracefully followed his lead and lifted to allow Chris to pull the stretchy cotton sheath off, up over Vin's head, lifting a tangle of long hair that cascaded free. Chris let the rumpled tank drop to the floor and in a rush of rising passion gripped Vin's shoulders, spun him about, and pushed him against the lockers, rattling the doors in their frames in a domino effect of clattering echoes.
The smaller body pinned beneath his own sinewy form, he pressed his mouth to Vin's and probed past lips that couldn't open fast enough. His tongue stroked against the other's, swept across the hard ridge of teeth. Vin's sapphire hawk eyes closed as he gave in willingly to the intrusion, his own hands finally able to probe more freely up Chris' tense arms and cup his face in a tender hold. Next thing Vin began to fiddle with Chris' tie, tugging roughly to get the knot loose and slip it out of the collar.
Chris persisted with the kiss, drawing it out, licking at the roof of Vin's mouth. He gripped the warm sac of Vin's balls and pumped upward, one fingertip probing deeper underneath to the silken canal of tissue between the scrotum and Vin's entry.
Vin thrust his hips out just so, allowing better access, while he fumbled to unbutton Chris' shirt only to lose patience and rip it open, popping free the last three buttons. The barrier of cloth came open, exposing the taller man's firm belly and chest. He helped Chris shrug the garment off without losing too much time on contact with that hand that was lodged firmly between his legs, teasing and caressing him to full mast.
Chris pulled his lips free and began to paint a path with his tongue down along the little jut of Vin's Adam's apple, to the hard rim of a collarbone, and all the way to one anxious nipple. He nipped at it, dug in his teeth just enough that Vin let out the weakest of moans and stiffened against him, head thrown back, eyes still closed.
Part of such thrill came from being in a public place. Both knew that at any moment the manager might do his rounds to begin closing the gym up completely for the night, or the janitor might arrive to clean. The anticipation sent a shared electrical surge through the lovers, an urgency to tame their passions quickly, and yet it seemed a waste to rush toward the end of such a beautiful moment.
Chris determined to drag it out as far as possible. The slathering tip of his tongue left a glistening trail down the middle of Vin's belly as he sank to his knees. Vin's fingers strayed to tangle in the waves of Chris' blonde hair, thumbs caressing his lover's temples.
First with little licks and kisses, Chris goaded the organ before him, then he took it into his mouth, savoring the petal-like skin, observing the other textures of veins and the little bud of circumcision scar beneath Vin's blood-engorged head.
Vin moaned and his breath hitched as he tried to look down, to watch Chris work on him with expertise, but the intense sensation of that skilled tongue circling the rim of his cock head seized him completely. He tried not to clench his hands into fists, thus pulling Chris' hair.
At the same time he sucked and licked, Chris gently began to press the tip of his finger up into Vin's entry, massaging in little circles, until the ring of muscle relaxed slightly. He wormed the anxious single digit up into the hot channel and hooked outward, knowing from experience where to find Vin's prostate. With little strokes he stimulated the slick wall, provoking a shudder from Vin who tossed back his head again, banging it on the locker door behind him. The noise wasn't too loud, nor did it sound like something to set off alarms, but all the same, nerve endings tingled up through Chris as he continued to stroke and stimulate, until abruptly Vin's hips jerked back, pulling his cock free of Chris' mouth.
Chris looked up through bleary green eyes at the set of intense blues boring down into him. Taking Vin's cue, he slid his finger free and stood, rubbing up against the other's naked body and to his feet until they were almost eye-to-eye.
"Your pants," Vin whispered hoarsely. "Out of 'em. . . now."
Chris cocked his head and gave a mock glare. "Excuse me, but last I heard I was the one in command."
"No, Sir," Vin replied breathily, still shivering from the inner massage Chris had given him. "You got no jurisdiction here."
Chris' glare grew just a bit more genuine. "What, I need a fucking warrant?"
"Exactly, a fuckin' warrant," Vin echoed then grinned back, leaning in, biting at Chris' lower lip. "Here it is." His fingers toyed with the zipper on Chris' slacks then pinched the little metal tab and slowly -- painfully for the organ still tucked inside -- pulled down, metal teeth hissing as they came apart, revealing the white cotton of Chris' briefs underneath stained with a darker little circle of pre-cum. The snap, zipper, and belt undone, the slacks dropped from Chris' legs and he stepped out of them.
Vin's fingers immediately pried down inside the briefs, cupping underneath the entire package of Chris swollen member and his balls. "This is your warrant," he crooned.
The world seemed to spin as Chris, overtaken by his lust, once more grabbed Vin's shoulders and spun him around, this time out into the main isle until he forced the naked sharpshooter to plant his ass firmly on the long bench. Vin stretched himself out along the cushion while Chris removed the briefs and stood silhouetted against the light coming from the shower room. For a short, and yet infinite, moment of silence, the sound of the dripping showerhead returned. . . a steady rhythm, actually fast enough to match the beating of both men's hearts.
Vin stretched his arms up languorously over his head, the vinyl cushion groaning beneath his subtle movements. Chris knelt at the end of the bench, reached out smoothly and gripped Vin's hips, pulled that perfect tiny ass to the edge of the cushion and situated Vin's legs up over his shoulders, giving him complete access to his lover's intimate regions. Gently he spidered his fingers up into the cleft between Vin's buttocks and spread the flesh open, revealing the little pucker of pick flesh. He leaned in, touched lightly at it with his tongue.
Vin's eyelids drifted to half-mast as he sighed. The warm wet appendage teased, tickled and left enough saliva to slicken the passage. Chris replaced it with a finger, pushing some of the saliva into the opening carefully, then more forcefully, then he worked in a second digit, stroking upwards, watching the results as Vin's rosen cock reached full hardness.
It was a tricky dance, but somehow Chris managed, without losing grace, to scoop his hands up under Vin's thighs, lifting the other man, who cooperated by lowering his feet to the ground for support then arching into Chris for balance so that the taller man could shift himself under his lover. Smoothly Chris slid onto the bench, straddling it, his member reaching up toward Vin who began to lower himself, pausing to allow Chris to position his head just right.
Moving again, sinking, Vin impaled himself.
The sharpshooter's body tensed, shuddering with that borderline shock that came with stretching those most tender of muscles, taking the organ deeply up inside him where it nudged against his pleasure wall with greater pressure than Chris' fingers could apply. His eyes glazed, losing focus as he stared toward and through Chris.
Gritting his teeth at the snug fit, Chris shuddered too, involuntarily flexing up inside his partner.
Air hissed through Vin's teeth as he draped his arms across Chris' shoulders and neck. "Now it's a search warrant," he murmured through the sliver of a grin while his bottom lip trembled.
Chris chuckled inwardly, the contraction in his middle causing him to thrust deeper. Vin's inner muscles massaged around him, absorbed him, calmed him. They sat that way in silence for a moment, each suppressing his shivers to keep from coming too soon, to hold onto that suspended moment right before the greater fall over the edge.
And then the bottom dropped out completely.
The sound of a heavy door opening and closing with a loud squeak of hinges sounded down the hallway ramp outside. Both men snapped out of their mutual bliss and straight into Def-Con 3. For a second they stared into each other's eyes, registering that the moment they were truly looking for had come.
Then Vin stood, pulling free with a grunt as Chris' cock head came loose from his anus. As if on cue he ran right into the shower room, feet clapping on the cold white tile. He all but smacked right into the wall as he reached for the spigots and spun them, shooting icy water over his head from above. It washed down over his sweat-sticky body, successfully and immediately deflating his arousal.
"Shit!"
The cry bounded off the tiles as clearly as if Vin had run head on into a cavern.
Chris shook his head to himself and got up, strolled over to his locker, and pulled out a towel which he secured around his waist to hide his remaining hard on. He gathered up his clothes and feigned that he had just started undressing and preparing to go into the showers as well. All the while, his blood ran hot, filling him with a euphoric lightheadedness which he knew Vin was feeling right now too.
A moment later, "Arnold" came down the ramp and into the locker room. As luck would have it, his locker was positioned right across from Chris'. Chris acted nonchalant, an easy thing since most of the men who passed through here were too self absorbed to really notice much else. . . like the lingering protrusion at the front of Chris' towel.
The huge body builder pulled a plastic bottle with a power drink out of his own locker and sipped it as he headed toward the showers.
After a moment, Chris followed, padding on into the expansive room where he hung his towel up on a hook near the entrance. There were six shower stations along the walls with a central drain, and Vin positioned at one station, pretending to be oblivious as he washed out his hair. Arnold was taking the installment one down from Vin, so Chris chose the furthest from them both, never mind that when Vin's face emerged out of the water, he and Chris kept shooting glances at each other, cracking smirks. It began to culminate in mutual suppressed giggles as the huge third man dividing them never took notice that something more had been going on here. After a short three minutes in, the body builder turned off the water, glanced only at Chris, then strutted out of the cavern, retrieving his own towel as he went.
Ten minutes later Chris and Vin had dried off and dressed and stood out in the parking lot next to Vin's old Jeep Wrangler. They hadn't said a word to each other after the interruption, the awkwardness having rendered their once skilled tongues in knots. It always did, but they got over it quickly.
The dam broke in a gale of laughter, mostly from Vin, while Chris smirked, still a little lightheaded, still reliving what it was like to have Vin in his lap and that urgency that fueled them both.
"Think that guy had a clue?" Vin asked.
Chris shook his head. "Nah, you were in the shower long before he came in."
Vin's eyes drifted playfully toward Chris' crotch.
The head of Team 7 caught the look and rolled his eyes. "Dammit, Vin, this is your fault anyway."
"MY fault?" Vin mused, cocking his head. "You're the one who jumped ME this time."
Chris shrugged and turned back toward the other man. "All that sweat, what did you expect?"
Vin sighed in resignation. Leave it to Larabee to blame everything, and everyone, else. "Okay, cowboy, tomorrow night then?"
"Where?"
"Dunno." Vin climbed into the Jeep, casually resting one denim-clad leg on the side runner as he propped an elbow on the steering wheel. "Look, eventually we're gonna finish what we start."
Chris cocked his weight casually on one hip as he arched one sandy brow wickedly. "How about here again?"
"The same place two nights in a row?"
Chris grinned. "Sure, why not? Let's up the stakes."
"Gettin' like Ezra and gambling," Vin grumped. Glancing back toward the blocky, factory-like structure of the gym's exterior bathed in streetlight, he scratched his head. "Okay, you're on." He pulled both feet into the Jeep and cranked the engine.
Chris hustled out of the way and headed toward his own car, smiling inwardly as all he could think about was how much fun it was going to be and the celebration they would have when they finally won the game.
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