Spring Training

Michael Wayne pounded the pavement on his morning run, sweat slicking his skin under the relentless sun. He slowed at Rick Turner's driveway, grabbing his bike from the garage. Rick, ever the gracious host, clapped him on the back. 'Sauna's fired up,' he said with a grin. 'Come unwind before you pedal off.' The wooden door creaked shut behind them, sealing in the humid heat. Steam curled like a lover's breath as they stripped down, towels slung low on their hips. Michael settled on the bench, muscles loosening in the warmth. Rick's eyes lingered, bold and unapologetic. 'Ever let a guy wrap his lips around you?' he asked, voice low over the hiss of water on stones. Michael shook his head, pulse quickening. No, he hadn't. But when Rick leaned closer, towel slipping away, and murmured, 'Mind if I taste you?'—the words polite, almost tender—Michael didn't pull back. He spread his legs instead, cock stirring to life as Rick dropped to his knees. Hot mouth enveloped him, slick and insistent, tongue swirling with expert hunger. Michael groaned, fingers threading through Rick's damp hair, hips bucking into the wet rhythm. Rick sucked deep, hollowing his cheeks, drawing out every gasp until Michael's release hit like a thunderclap, spilling hot and thick down that eager throat. They emerged flushed and spent, steam clinging to their naked forms. In the bathroom, Rick twisted the shower knob, water cascading in a steamy veil. He grabbed the hose attachment, eyes gleaming with mischief. 'Let's rinse proper,' he said. Michael bent forward, bracing against the tile as Rick eased the nozzle in, filling him slow and full with warm water. Pressure built, a delicious ache, until Michael clenched and released, spraying it out in a forceful gush. Rick took his turn next, moaning softly as the flow stretched him, then erupted in a wild, cleansing rush. Laughter mingled with their heavy breaths, the air thick with shared secrets.