Frenemies

Leon and Piers don’t really get along. It’s not quite on the level of rivalry that either of them shares with Raihan, but...they’re not the best of friends. Piers thinks Leon is a sellout bastard, and Leon tolerates Piers’ constant antagonizing of him out of the sheer goodness of his heart.

 Which is why anyone would be confused to see Piers slipping back into the locker-room area of the gym after one of Leon’s matches, despite the fact that he hadn’t even faced off against the champion.  But Piers has his plans. He and Leon might not like each other, but they sure like fucking each other, and the fact that the two are very separate emotions actually helps. A lot.

Piers can tell Leon to be mean to him, to fuck him like he hates him, and Leon gets the chance to do just that without worrying about his reputation being ruined. Because even a guy as nice and smiley and happy-go lucky as Leon has a rough side, a side that yearns to claw and bite and dominate another body, especially after he’s dominated in the ring.   

Now, as the distant roaring of the crowd echoes off the concrete walls, Piers yanks Leon’s trousers down and tugs out the already-hard cock. “You really get off on that, don’t ya? Them cheering for the Champ.” 

Leon doesn’t say anything, just grabs Piers by the waist—he’s so fucking small, so easy to throw around—and bends him over the benches in the middle of the locker room. Everybody knows better than to bother Leon after a match, but it’s still exciting to do this here, where someone could walk in at any moment and see the big champion plowing the leader of Spikemuth’s gym like a common whore.   

Piers even preps himself ahead of time, and when Leon lines the head of his cock up, Piers’ hole is twitching with anticipation. Been waiting all day, needs this right now, because no one else gives it to him like Leon does. No one else can make him crave it this bad.

“Fuck—c’mon, Lee, give it to me,” he groans out against the bench, and Leon gives a faint snarl at that. He hates the way Piers uses that name with him; far too personal, far too intimate for the two of them.   

Leon wants to be the wonderful, smiling persona that everyone knows, but nothing feels as good as mounting Piers’ ass and sliding into him with a single, brutal thrust. Piers keens, painted nails scrabbling against the wooden bench fruitlessly, and Leon wastes no time setting up a brutal pace. His jersey keeps getting in the way and he jams the front up between his teeth, watching in a daze as Piers’ ass stretches out lewdly around his thick, heavy cock. Nothing in the entire world feels like this, feels like taking everything he wants and winning. He’s the Champion, after all. Why shouldn’t he have it?

Every other thought flies out of his brain except for how to conquer the man underneath him. How to spread his legs wider on the bench, and when that’s not good enough anymore, he lifts Piers up and rams him onto his cock over and over, groaning against the nape of his pale throat as his strangely two-toned hair cascades down between them and tickles at his chest. 

He’ll do more, later. He’ll bite Piers’ silver-studded nipples, jerk his cock until he shoots all over his own belly and chest, and fuck a bulge into this throat that makes him cry mascara-stained tears all over his high cheekbones. But for now—now it’s more than enough to let off steam like this, with faint chants of his name filtering in from the stadium and Piers’ choked moans almost overwhelming them as he scrabbles at Leon’s shoulders for purchase, feet dangling off the ground. 

Nobody fucks Piers like Leon does. Not for lack of trying; Piers has played it fast and loose in all sorts of seedy concert venues and nightclubs, but nothing compares to the way Leon’s feral growls ring in his ear as he cums for the first time, completely untouched.

It doesn’t even seem to faze Leon, just makes him pump his cock in deeper until Piers is sure it’s stretching his stomach, until lightning bolts of pleasure are arcing up his spine each time Leon slams against his prostate. One hand toys with his nipples; Leon’s strong enough to easily keep him aloft, using him like a living sex doll for his own pleasure. Tendrils of hair stick to Piers’ face, his throat, even ending up in his mouth, but he hardly cares because Leon just works him up and down his cock until he cums all over again, seed spattering the concrete floor. Pleasure whites out all his thoughts for an instant and he convulses in those strong arms, barely holding in a shout of delight that could send this all crashing down for both of them. 

From outside, the chanting continues, and Leon’s pace seems to get faster and faster with each iteration until Piers reaches back, seizing some of his hair in one fist. “Hurry the fuck up and breed me, Champion.” And that name does it, just like every other time. Leon buries his cock in as deep as it will go and grinds his hips to fuck out the last of his load just because of that title, and Piers grins when Leon finally drops him back down to the bench. He’ll have a sore ass for days and bruises for a week or more, but it’s all so very worth it. To know that he’s the Champion’s personal little vice, the one and only crack in that flawless facade.  

They really don’t get along very well.