Sweat Read online

  Touché by James Buchanan

  Yells and grunts echoed through the gym. We had three fencing strips going, two of them with borrowed equipment. Our team captain, Janice Ray, hooked me up to the reel. It always made me feel like one of those little wind up toys tethered back by a spring. You could hear the zipping of the cord from the other piste. Beneath that the faint metallic crinkle as rubber soled shoes danced across the copper, only stopped by a cry of “E-la” followed by the buzzer and the director's shout.

  I was in the day's only pool for Epee. Not enough fencers in that weapon had shown up to set up more than one round. Everyone would fence everyone and then points would be tallied, winner take all. I'd already fenced one bout and won that 5-2.

  Epee, my weapon, is dominated by tall, Nordic gods. I'm short and Hispanic so I compensate with attitude. In dry bouts, I've scored touches just by acting like I did. This was full blown collegiate electric competition though. Not that that was particularly glamorous or even recognized. Hell, our club was officially USFA, and under the Border Fencers in El Paso. Fencing didn't make the school money. Then again, neither did our football team. At least the Fencing Team had a winning record.

  "Watch this guy, Mario,” Janice whispered at my shoulder as she clipped the reel stop to the ring at the back of my jacket. I straightened my arm to make sure the wires running from the socket beneath the bell guard into my glove, and under my jacket, weren't bound up anywhere. Sweat made everything slick and uncomfortable. “Coach D says he's got a nasty coupé."

  I'd caught that as well. “Yeah, it's quick.” This guy'd cut over the blade two, sometimes three times, before landing a sweet, clean touch.

  Whenever I got the chance, I watched my upcoming opponents in their bouts. Watched what they did, burned it into my brain, and figured out how to counter it. Fencing is physical chess. Of course, I often watched just to watch. There's nothing quite like a fit guy in tight, white nylon pants. Muscles coiled, everything held in check, until the explosion sent the point just to the right spot.

  Thank God for cups, because I usually got a hard on at my first bout.

  Mask tucked under my left arm, I nodded to Janice that I was good. She pounded my back, whispering, “Kick his ass, Mario,” before heading off to see to someone else.

  Chaos faded to white noise as I walked to my on-guard line. I was to the director's left. My opponent sauntered up to his line on the right. Both of us were about a meter back from center. The moment we hit that line our feet went automatically to fifth position ... ballet dancers and fencers are the only two types of people who feel natural in that stance. The director approached me first, so I dipped forward, my weapon pointed straight at the ceiling. He dropped a weight on the button, checking for the correct resistance. Then he checked my mask to make sure it was marked as having been punch tested in this tournament. With a grunt, he signaled that everything was good and headed toward my competition.

  For this bout, I was up against a NiMMI brat named Davis ... Jed or Jeff or Jim. I'd only had a quick glance at his full name during registration. New Mexico Military Institute was one of the few funded college teams in the region. They swept into tournaments en-mass, wearing brilliant white and two hundred dollar Adidas Asymmetrical shoes. The red and black shield-eagle-sword logo flashed proudly on the off-hand shoulder of each member. Even the girls had crew-cuts.

  Me, I wear a cheap ass pair of Chinese knock-offs bought off the web for nineteen bucks. Except for fencing, I'm your standard issue comp-sci major. A gay comp-sci major, but all scruffy computer geek on the outside. Our school logo is a freaking bow-legged cowboy. Makes you really feel marshal with that on your arm. At least I was good with the bow-legged part.

  My opponent was standard epee issue: tall, lean and arrogant. What the Hell, we're all arrogant or we wouldn't be fencers. The guy went through the drill: leaning forward so the director could test his blade and handing over his mask for inspection. As he bent, his hazel eyes found mine. From here I couldn't tell whether he was dark-blond or light-brunette. A lot of that was due to a short hair cut plastered down with sweat. Davis smirked like everything was already over. Mind fuck games ... the stock and trade of fencing. My eyebrows drifted up and I snorted my contempt.

  "Gentlemen!” The director's voice yanked me up short. “Please advance to the center and test your weapons.” Masks held loose in front of our faces, we got our only free jab at each other. Both buzzers went off like they should. Another order came. “Shake!” We held out our hands for the awkward left handed grasp of people with rights otherwise occupied. Davis’ grip was firm but damp. He used the touch to pull me in a bit. Looking down on me, military-boy had at least five inches in height, he smirked again. Our eyes locked. “Good, luck.” Each word got separate emphasis.

  Testosterone was already running high. Up close, Davis smelled like guy soaked in heat. Exertion, trapped under thick padding, drowned my senses in spice. My cup got tighter. Oh, yeah, I loved this sport.

  We stepped back. Even as we donned our masks, my gaze never left his. From my right came a snapped, “Salute!” Both of us gave the director our attention, but not our focus. Blades snapped to our masks then whipped to the side with a whine. Identical salutes were for each other. “En Guard!” I dropped back into a good technical stance: feet spread to shoulder width, knees bent and my shoulders in line with my opponent. My left hand fell into the classic dying swan position. The right held my pistol grip with the blade sighted just above his heart. His point was aimed at my heart too.

  "Alle!” The director barked and we danced.

  I could still smell Davis. I could feel how he moved. Bounces instead of advances probably drove his coach nuts. Mine bitched about my own habit. Even that wasn't wasted movement. Everything coiled, and I was ready to strike. With no right of way in an epee bout, I was as close to a duel as I'd ever get. And I fought like my life was on the line.

  The secret to being a short epeeist is to get inside your opponent's distance. You have to destroy the comfort level of long arms and long legs. Really sexy long arms and legs on Davis ... I shook the thought out.

  My technique fazed him for all of five seconds. Oh, shit, he was good. Roaming over the strip, we traded attacks, parries and disengages. I managed to avoid his killer cut-over once, but Davis nailed me with it another time. Lightening fast attacks kept me off balance. I only managed one clean hit and I had to do a full out lunge to get it. The move nearly split my groin. Both of us got three points on simultaneous touches. Of the three the last was embarrassing for both of us. I got his toe. He hit me on the top of my mask. Both of us should have had better guard up.

  Four to four: la belle. We took our lines and saluted each other again. The director's command came. Advance, retreat, the first coupé came. I dealt with it by parry. He avoided my parry with another cut-over. I rolled my wrist to catch his blade with mine. Again he popped his blade up, over mine and down. A split second too late, I reacted and bam there it was. Davis’ blade made a perfect arch from the inside of my elbow to his hand.

  My grip spasmed. I dropped my weapon where it dangled from the cords tethering it to my wrist. It hurt like hell. That was it for us ... his five touches won. We shook and we moved on. I did four more bouts, but my concentration was off. Davis had caught me right on a nerve. Every time I moved my arm it stung.

  After my final match, the last of the epee for the day, Janice caught up to me. “Hey, Mario, Coach D says that guy got you good. He wants you to knock off and go ice up your arm.” Because we were short, I'd entered in foil as well and made the second round out of my pool. No way was I going to forfeit. Before I could even start the protest, she cut me off, “No. Just go take care of yourself. If you want to be useful, you can tally saber."

  Defeated and dismissed, I yanked the front closure of my jacket. Velcro hissed as it gave way. Then I hissed as air hit my overheated skin. Reaching under to pull out the cords, I groused, “Okay, whatever.” I kept up the front
of a good loser, but I hated it. When the three pin plug hit my inside elbow, my knees nearly gave way. Jesus it still hurt. Heavyweight nylon slid to the floor. Nice and purple with the little red welt, the bruise bloomed across my arm. Ice would be a good thing.

  As I grabbed the sheets from the judges’ table, I found myself looking for that tall, sexy form. Lots of those around, just not the one I wanted. Really, I didn't even know why I did it. Okay, he was cute. Davis wasn't anywhere I could see. Shoving the forms under my good arm, I cut out the side door.

  The hall to the faculty offices was dark. Pretty normal for a Sunday. Only a sliver of light from Doctor D's office broke the shadow. Two steps in to the hall, “That,” a disembodied voice issued from the floor near my knee, “Was a good bout."

  I stopped short.

  Blinking to adjust my sight to the weak light, I looked down. Expensive shoes and legs sheathed in white jutted across my path. Davis sat propped against the wall. The white, side-zip jacket was gone and his suspenders hung down around his waist. No t-shirt, but the protective band of the fencing trousers came up just under his ribs. He took a swig of some sports drink, dropping the empty bottle beside him. A tiny bit dribbled down his chin and Davis caught it with his tongue.

  "Thanks.” My eyes tracked the movement and I realized I unconsciously mimicked it. Sucking my tongue back into my mouth, I mumbled, “Congrats on the first."

  Pushing himself off the wall, Davis gained his feet with a grunt. “They haven't tallied yet. They won't announce winners until this afternoon."

  Dark nipples and tan skin was tantalizing in the almost shadow ... I couldn't get any harder than I was, but my cock tried like mad. “You skunked everybody.” I shrugged, trying to keep the desire out of my voice. There was none of the tournament chaos to cover it. Nervous, I swallowed: time to ice my arm, tally the scores then go jack off in the shower to thoughts of sexy guys in white. Escape was the only other thing on my mind. “You won.” I tossed the comment over my shoulder as I walked away.

  His footsteps dogged me. Shit, shit and shit. Davis fell into step next to me. “You're not upset about the match?"

  Me, no, I was fucking annoyed at myself and turned on as hell. “Fool me once,” the growl slid between my clenched teeth, “shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me.” Still, Davis was damn good looking and a damn good fencer. A guy could hope. I twisted the last part of the adage. “Fool me three times and you owe me dinner."

  The smirk was evident in his voice. “I could do dinner."

  I stopped and turned back toward him. “That's, like, four hours from now."

  "Then we got four hours to kill.” Davis was still loose, grinning and half-naked.

  "You're hitting on me."

  "Naw, I already hit on you.” He stepped in. “Now I'm trying to pick you up.” Active guy warmed by exertion was his current cologne. It crawled up into my senses robbing me of my ability to think straight. When I didn't step back, he teased, “If that's a yes, everyone calls me JD ... if it's not, I'm Paul Cox and I fence Saber."

  That made me laugh and I barely managed a sputtered, “Mario."

  "I know, I checked.” JD started off down the hall, “What you up to?"

  Shit, I hadn't been this lucky in ages. And not with anybody who looked anything like JD. I had to jog to catch him. “Coach D wants me to ice my arm and tally Saber.” Passing him up, I hit the door marked Arshavir Dekermandjian, PhD. “Wanna help?” As I pushed open the door, JD pressed hard up against me. It wasn't just his cup grinding into my side.

  "Depends,” he teased and snapped my suspenders into the middle of my back, “on what the incentive for getting it done is."

  Oh God, I was in so much trouble. I pulled him into the windowless office and handed him the forms. I had to shut the door to get to the first aid kit. Someone had wedged it between textbooks. “Put those over there,” I indicated the general direction of the desk with a wave. Sandwiched between the desk and door was an old, faux leather couch. The rest of the space was crammed with bookcases.

  "Why is there a bucket of rubbers over here?"

  "Student health fair leftovers.” I braced my palm on a shelf and grabbed a handful of red nylon. “No place else to store ‘em.” Two tugs loosened it. Another yank and the bag came free. Gauze, ace bandages and ammonia capsules exploded. Supplies rained about my legs and rolled across the floor. “Fuck!” Whoever hadn't put the kit away right was going to die. Dropping to my knees next to the couch, I scrounged and came up with an instant cold compress in one hand and a bunch of ointment packs in the other.

  JD knelt, plucking one of the packs from my fingers. “Glycerin gel, that's handy.” His hand ran up my side. Then he tugged at the wide band on my fencing pants. The rip of the Velcro shredded the nerves up my back. He pressed against me, legs spread to either side of mine, and rubbed his crotch against my thigh.

  Swallowing hard, I asked, “Not much for foreplay, huh?” All I could think was get the fucking plastic out of the way and let me feel him.

  "I thought,” JD growled as he licked fire along my jaw, “the bout was foreplay.” When he found my mouth and shoved his tongue between my lips, I lost it. I needed him out of his pants. I pushed and pulled until they dropped around his knees. My hand dove into his cup to find him. His prick was hot, moist, and solid, all trapped in his jock.

  JD worked the same on me. One hand snaked up under my damp t-shirt, the other shoved my trousers and strap down. The plastic yanked on my cock and I hissed. Then I burst free only to be wrapped up in a warm hand. Twisting and pulling on each other, we shed pants and shoes. Somehow we managed to lurch up onto the couch. JD rolled beneath me, pulling me on top. Our tongues fought the entire time.

  Awkward as all Hell, I managed to rip open some gel. I got it on my thigh and his stomach and the couch when I squeezed. Most of it went where it needed to go. His ass sucked on my slick fingers. My cock jumped as he rolled one of those stupid Aggie logo condoms over me. I tossed the empty packets aside and ran my hand up his dick. We still hadn't come up for air.

  Hands behind JD's knees, his ass hanging half off the couch, I reared back and pushed inside. Short, slow strokes worked past his resistance. Each thrust was a little hotter, a little more intense. Damn broken down couch, the thing screeched like an accordion. But oh, Jesus he was tight. Finally, my cock sank deep inside. “Ah, fuck I'm in."

  JD lay beneath me, spread wide with his thick prick hard against his stomach. I could smell his lust. He drove me nuts with each roll of his hips. Every little movement reverberated through me. Fire coiled in my balls, set to strike up my prick. Listening to him breathe, “Oh, shit. Oh shit,” as we moved, I couldn't believe I was fucking him in Coach D's office. I'd be nine kinds of dead if anyone caught us.

  My cock was swallowed again and again by his body. “You're so tight.” I slid out, almost all the way, and then shoved back in. “Like that?"

  His hand wrapped behind my neck. “Yeah it's so good.” As he pulled me down, JD's legs laced over my thighs. Tongue teasing my lips, he laughed. “I want you to fuck me hard."

  "Hard?"

  "Real hard."

  I dragged JD back to the edge. Grabbing his ankles, I spread his legs wide and leaned over him. JD's hips rolled toward the ceiling as I rammed down. Hands roaming over our bodies, we traded frantic touches. Like lightning strikes, his fingers sparked on my skin. Each caress threw me farther off balance until I was nothing more than a twitching mass of nerves. I pulled all the way out then dove back in. Then I did it again. He gasped and jerked as I pegged him right. The way he shook nearly killed me.

  His hands clawed my thighs. “Shit,” he groaned, “if this is what happens when you get beat ... what would you do if I let you win?"

  "What do you mean,” I panted, rearing up and slammed him hard. JD threw his head back and moaned “Let me win?” After that we were beyond talking. Sweat dripping off my body and soaking my shirt, I plunged over and over into his tight heat. JD's
hand franticly stroked his own prick. Half-lidded green eyes stared up at me. My blood smoked with that glare.

  Body bearing down on my cock, JD came. Thick cream shot over his belly. Damn it was pretty. I bent down. My cock slid from his body, but I didn't care. Tasting him, I licked skin. Thick musk ran across my tongue. My hand toyed with the slick shine on his head. I mouthed his stomach and his prick. Each time I hit a sensitive spot JD shivered. Finally, I sucked JD into my mouth, getting every last drop that I could.

  His fingers played in my damp hair. “Shit, Mario, it's been a long time."

  That whisper seared into my spine. My whole body shook from it. I leaned in to find his lips. Slowly, I pushed back in. He was still tight. He was even hotter than before. One more kiss and I began to pound. Push in, pull out, the first shockwave came. I bit my lip and backed it down for a second. His hips rolled and I began to tremble. Back arching into my hips, JD was perfect. Again he bucked beneath me, bearing down. A split second later there it was. My whole frame spasmed.

  Too sated to move, I slid to my knees and dropped my head on his chest. One of JD's legs wrapped around my thighs. My fingers played along his ribs. He traced patterns of heat on my back. This was really good. JD had caught me right on a nerve. Every time I shifted, aftershocks crawled up my back. I knew we there was a reason to stop being a lazy bum, but my mind couldn't wrap around it. Closing my eyes, I just let his scent flow through me.

  "Mario?” JD's voice sounded off and distant somehow.

  My tongue drifted out to lick salt off his skin. “What?"

  Twitching, JD laughed, “What yourself?"

  "I don't know.” I breathed over his nipple and got another shudder, “you said my name."

  "No I didn't!” Lazy, he pushed my shoulder. Just under his tone I heard the snick of the door. Oh, shit, we hadn't locked it!

  Both of us jerked toward the noise. “Aw fucking-A!” Score sheets clutched to her chest, Janice stood slack jawed in door way. None of us breathed. Then she let out a strangled, “Gah!” and the door slammed shut. “I so did not need to see that!” echoed from the hall.