Chris very nearly dropped his marker in shock, then lifted his hands.
Stefan turned his head and looked right at Frank, like he knew exactly where Frank was hiding. In spite of the glare on Stefan’s visor, Frank was sure Stefan winked at him. First capture of the day, what, ten minutes into the first game? The man was a bloody wizard on the field.
Stefan kept a hand on Chris’s shoulder and walked him out. Captured fair and square, and for all his bluster and ego, Chris was likely completely okay with it. Plenty of guys tried to catch him, but Frank suspected Chris pretty much chose the men he wanted to be captured by.
They moved beyond the yellow line and a little further behind some raised earth that would protect them from a stray round. Frank kept half an eye on the field, another on what was going on there.
Stefan took off Chris’s mask, but kept his own on. Frank liked that. Something about the captor’s hidden face and eyes, not to mention the vulnerability of the unmasked captive, reinforced the fantasy for him, drove home that bit about power. And the gloved hand pushing down on Chris’s shoulder—yeah, that too.
Frank swallowed dryly when Chris fell to his knees. He lifted his hands, but Stefan batted his fingers away and opened his own trousers. He was only half-hard, but Frank bit back a groan of appreciation. Shit, that was a nice dick, and Chris certainly seemed to think the same, biting his lip as Stefan stroked himself inches from his face. Chris widened his stance on his knees, preparing for whatever came.
Frank swallowed when Stefan pushed a gloved thumb between Chris’s lips. Chris eagerly sucked on it, but that wasn’t what Stefan had in mind, either. He hooked his thumb in and opened Chris mouth, then took his own hardening dick and pushed it inside. Chris took it, sucking and swallowing for all he was worth.
And again, Stefan’s masked gaze sought Frank’s, rippling electricity exchanging in the cool air between them. Whether Chris was aware they had a witness, Frank had no idea, though he knew the man wasn’t shy. It was that masked stare that very nearly did him in, such little attention on Chris—everybody’s favourite target—and all of that attention on him.
Frank struggled for breath, and it only got worse when Stefan started to thrust, easy, relaxed movements from his hips, stance solid, one gloved hand on Chris’s head while his eyes stayed fixed on Frank.
That’s what I want to do to you, his stare seemed to promise.
Stefan showed off every inch of that gorgeous thick cock sliding in and out of Chris’s mouth, and then he grasped Chris’s head and forced him to take all of it. Chris swallowed and took it, pinking skin and tightly shut eyes showing the strain of fighting the gag. Face-fuck. Holy shit.
Frank balled his hands into fists, watching the increasingly rough fuck. Chris didn’t even get a chance to jerk off, was barely allowed to breathe before Stefan plunged deep into his throat again, easily and just the good side of harsh.
Frank couldn’t decide which of them he was more envious of. It seemed like forever since he’d taken another man like that, and even longer since somebody had simply claimed him.
He kept his hands at his sides, allowed the arousal to build along with theirs, watched Chris’s face and Stefan’s cock, the small movements, caught their sounds, wet and desperate and horny as hell.
He’d take that image and those sounds with him, was already filing them away for later. Before long, Stefan was pressing Chris’s face to his groin, kept him there and went rigid, head tilted back, jerky movements from his hips betraying that he was coming.
Frank studied the tension in Stefan’s arms, his legs, his throat, and would have ripped the man’s clothes off if he were standing anywhere near close. Watching Stefan lose it—though the mask hid all of the facial expressions and most of the flushed skin he loved seeing when a man came—had to count amongst the most erotic things of the year. He shook his head and pulled away, forced himself to concentrate and calm down.
Calm down? Not likely. Not after what he’d witnessed. If it was that hot to watch Stefan come—barely betraying he had—Frank couldn’t begin to imagine what it would be like to see him without the mask, without the gloves, without anything to camouflage all the tells and signals. Fuck. He was going to lose his goddamned mind before the evening.
A whistle blew, indicating the round was over. Frank rose, brushing leaves and dirt off his knees.