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There was something about watching his Captain workout that was indescribably sensational.
Whether it was simply watching the body sculpted by years of hard graft flex and bulge beneath the thin BSAA standard gym uniform move with a fluidity not native to Chris Redfield’s bulk, or whether it was the bouncing of his well developed pecs, or how he almost seemed to radiate a spirit of unnatural power and self-determination under the late afternoon sunlight.
But Piers Nivans knew better than to lie to himself.
After all, there was nothing nearly so erotic as the dark dampening of sweat through the Captain’s clothes, the beading on his face (and how he wiped it on his shirt, revealing his midriff for a moment of teasing), and the perfume of musk that exuded from a body well abused on the track and mats.
He caught himself staring again from the shade of the large gym building as the Captain jogged past along the red running track. His breathing deep and steady, his dark hair wet in the sunlight and pearled with golden flecks amidst the stray silvers. Even the sheer sound of his muscular heft with each confident stride of his jog was aphrodisiacal. The shirt on the Captain’s back was dark grey with saturated sweat.
Piers watched, and pretended he had only come to wait for his Captain to relay mission orders. And not, instead, to perform some other nefarious deed.
Chris made another circuit. Of a number no doubt far in excess of the standards. And by the time he’d made it back to the position where Piers stood, he’d noticed his lieutenant and jogged over to greet him.
“Piers,” he called, a little heavy of breathing, but appearing (besides the utterly soaked uniform) to have merely completed a light, brisk walk. He came to a stop before the younger man, and stood with his chest rising and falling, hands on his hips, as a few beads of sweat dripped from his hair down his face, down into his soaked shirt, down to the ground between his trainered feet.
The thought of his socks equally drenched was enough to make Piers feel weak in the knees.
“Nice form, Captain,” he grinned, trying not to show how lightheaded he felt being in Chris’ presence when the older man was so unconsciously sexy. “You put the rest of us to shame.”
“You’re being too harsh on yourself, I’ve seen you lap all the other lieutenants,” the Captain chuckled, reaching up to sweep back his wet hair and then wiping the dew straight into his shorts. “Took me a long time to reach this point. Took a lot of pain. You don’t want that to be your motivator.”
“But you look great for it, Captain.”
Chris, who so rarely had the humour these days, winked at Piers. “Glad you think so, lieutenant. Anyway, what brings you outta the garage this early? Orders from above?”
“Got sweaty under the jeep, figured i’d come over and shower before heading back to the barracks.”
“But you wanted to see your old Captain hit the track first, huh?”
Piers grinned sheepishly. “You’re an inspiration, sir.” Then, he swallowed nervously, and added with a carefully constructed sentence deflective of any interest: “You look like you could do with a shower, too.”
Chris grunted, and made a show of sniffing his pits (much to Piers’ jealousy). “I think you’re right.”
The locker rooms were unusually quiet. Perhaps the uptick in antisocial bioterrorism-related crimes really was running them thin on the ground at HQ. But Piers wasn’t going to complain today – not when he and Chris had the entire block to themselves.
They undressed on opposite sides of the room, and it wasn’t until Chris announced; ‘i’m heading in’, when Piers finally glanced over his shoulder to watch the Captain’s tight, muscular ass disappear around the corner on his way to find an empty shower cubicle.
And once the sound of the curtain being drawn was followed with a squeak and hiss as the water hit the tiles, Piers made a bee-line to the pile of sodden, sweaty clothes left crumpled on Chris’ bench.
He wouldn’t have long. Chris was a frustratingly practical showerer. And it was with hands trembling both from excitement and anxiety that Piers grabbed the shirt on top of the pile and brought it up to his face.
It was still damp against his fingers. Still warm with Chris’ perspiration. He pressed his nose in deep and drank down the delicious scent of musk and sweat, spicy and mouthwatering. It filled his head like heady incense. Smouldering like the tobacco of his cigarettes, burning resin, and the ripe stink of a man grown exuding his masculinity through his pores.
Piers inhaled and inhaled until his head grew light. Each quivering deep draw-in only made the blood rush south faster, and his head spin sluggishly. No more rational thought. Only the delicious scent of his Captain, his idol, and how it made his cock pulse to life in his off-duty sweatpants.
With Chris’ shirt still clamped to his nose, his left hand dropped to gently stroke across his crotch. He felt out the shape of his manhood swelling with desire beneath the cotton, and rubbed it idly through the fabric.
Fuck… Chris, you smell so good.
He let the shirt peel away from his face, and eagerly looked down to see what next he could drug himself with. A nitrous oxide for the aching pains of his growing hard-on. And as if on cue his eyes settled on the Captain’s boxer-briefs still bundled into his shorts. Plain white, unbranded (Chris never had been much for fashion), and visibly sweat-stained.
Piers strained his ears to reassure himself the shower was still hissing away before setting aside the shirt and grabbing the boxers with unparalleled greed.
These too were damp. Soaked in fact. And before he even had them at his face he could smell the pungent perfume of his Captain’s sweaty balls and ass. This item of clothing was the very thing riding up his tight ass and clinging to his scrotum as he bounced his way around the pitch beneath the broiling sun. Stewing up a stink so good that Piers would be jerking himself over it for weeks.
He moaned low in his throat as he buried his face in the underwear. Clutching at his cock through his sweatpants and rubbing it, squeezing it eagerly with his fist as he filled his lungs with Chris’ man-stink. He was almost bursting through the cotton now, and with his left hand alone he clumsily tugged the waist down below his ass, just to grab at his throbbing penis and stroke it as he savoured the sweaty boxers.
Huffing, groaning quietly, Piers fisted his cock almost angrily. He was shaking, eyes closed and heart pumping, his mouth finding the wettest part of the underwear to suck on. Desperate for even a little taste of Chris’ sweat, pretending he was slurping the beads of perspiration from the Captain’s heavy balls. It was easily the muskiest, strongest item to drug himself on. The Captain’s balls smelled so strong and so good, and Piers’ tongue curled desperately into the boxers as if trying to caress the very stinking balls themselves.
He was nearly there. So close to climax just from the spicy odour of Chris’ genitals. His cock was thick and hot in his right hand. He wished he could fuck it against Chris’ armpits. Between his sweaty buttocks. Hell, between his sweaty pecs. He wanted to wipe his cock all over Chris’ body – to smell like him, and to have Chris smell like his cock in return.
Just as he was huffing, mouth stuffed with sweaty boxers, fist working needily at his oozing tip… Piers’ eyes slid open, and made contact with the amused man standing silent in the doorway to the showers.
“Shit—” At once he yanked the boxers away from his face and spun around, fumbling with his sweatpants. “Shit–fuck— C–Captain it’s not—”
“Not what it looks like?” Chris finished for him. There was almost laughter in his voice, while the shower continued to hiss in the background. “Then what did I just see, lieutenant?”
“I—uh—- just—- ch-checking…” Piers trailed off, still clutching Chris’ boxers while his cock wilted in embarrassment in his sweatpants. He wanted the tiles to split open and swallow him down, rather than face Chris again after having been caught. Worse yet, Chris seemed to have entrapped him. As if he’d known this would happen. “I’m so sorry, Captain,” he said shakily, “fuck—”
“It’s alright, Piers,” Chris sounded calmer now, almost gentle. Then; “you like to sniff dirty underwear, huh? Guess that’s not so rare.”
Piers swallowed thickly. “Just yours.” He felt the need to defend at least that small distinction.
“Do I smell that good?”
Piers squeezed the sweaty boxers in his hand, and shrugged. “The best, sir.”
“Huh.” Chris seemed to contemplate this for a moment. “Get over here, lieutenant.”
With no other choice, Piers turned and shamefully approached the naked Captain. It was clear Chris had not yet showered, as the perfume of his musk filled Piers’ lungs for the second time, and once again forced his cock to throb to life.
“Look at me, kid.”
He looked, and Chris smiled with an uncommon teasing smoulder. “I said get over here.”
“What do you mean—”
Chris lifted his left arm with his hand behind his head, and sniffed his armpit. “You think this smells good?”
Piers tried desperately to keep his breathing regular.
“Here, Piers,” Chris tilted his head toward his exposed pit. “Tell me if I smell good.”
Unsure if it was a trick or not, Piers hesitated. Before him Chris’ armpit waited. Coarse dark hair. Even from here he could smell his post-work-out stink. Even more pungent straight from the source. His mouth was wet, his heart throbbing almost as severely as his cock. And Chris was watching him with his intense, moody eyes. Daring him. Clearly not about to back down either.
“Sorry, sir–” Piers could only mumble, “I didn’t wanna offend you or anything.”
“Get over here and sniff my pit, lieutenant,” Chris said, his voice now severe, “that’s an order.”
It was the magic words for a man like Piers.
Almost without thinking he obeyed. Ever loyal to his Captain’s requirements. He moved into Chris’ naked body, and lowered his head to sniff at the air between himself and Chris’ pit.
“Get in there, Piers, don’t make me make you.”
Piers almost whined in his throat as he relented the last of his pride and willpower. He shunted his nose into the hairy pit of his Captain and inhaled deeply. Until the musk had overwhelmed his every last functioning braincell. He was gulping down lungful after lungful of Chris’ perspiration until he was gasping for air.
His tongue was sliding against the pit before he even had a chance to stop himself. He was licking away the dried sweat, the stink. Working his tongue into the hair and sucking against the warm skin until he was groaning, drooling, feeling ashamed and invigorated by his absolute desires realised at last.
“That tickles,” Chris grunted, one of his large hands cupping the back of Piers’ head and holding him into his armpit. “You got a little problem down there, lieutenant. I think you’d better deal with it before it gets painful.”
Piers’ hand was down his sweatpants before needing a second ‘order’. He seized his swollen member and began to stroke himself fast and needy, all the while slobbering into Chris’ pit. He couldn’t pull away now even if he wanted to. Chris was holding him in place, forcing him to steep in the musk, the spice. Letting him suck on the dewy skin until his knees were buckling and his cock was starting to ooze through his sweatpants as he jerked himself off.
Chris pulled Piers’ head away (earning a pitiful groan from the younger man). The Captain looked flush, aroused at his younger counterpart’s obscene display and fetish. Calculating the risks, the rewards. And deciding in seconds that this was something he too needed.
“Get down, Piers,” he growled.
Piers dropped to his knees in an instant, and didn’t need further command to shuffle between the Captain’s strong, hairy legs, to shove his face past the Captain’s thickening cock to the heady, hot dampness between his thighs. The Captain’s balls were so intensely musky he moaned as his nose pressed into the warm skin. His tongue caressed the large, low hanging balls, lavishing the hairy, sweaty scrotum with spit and kisses and sucks, noisily worshipping and cleaning whatever he could with his mouth.
All the while his hand below now brought Chris’ sweat-filthy underwear around his cock.
The combination of taking the Captain’s balls into his mouth one-at-a-time to gargle and suck and worship, alongside the sensation of sweaty cloth wrapped around his dripping cock was so intense Piers could no longer feel any shame. He was slurping on Chris’ balls, moaning as he inhaled the intoxicating fumes, squeezing his cock into Chris’ boxers like a polishing cloth. Rubbing, milking, spreading his pre into the sweat-saturated fabric as if he were marking his authority.
Above him, Chris stood flush and speckled again with sweat from the perspiration of intense arousal. One hand still on Piers’ head, as if to guide and comfort him as he sucked him below. The other gripped his own cock. Stroking himself over Piers’ head. Breathing heavy, his stomach rising and falling, tightening and swelling with each grunting exhale of pleasure.
“You’re doing so good, Piers,” he murmured, “fuck, you’re fantastic.”
The praise had Piers’ stomach clench, and his balls strain. He was so close again to orgasm, lost in the midst of Chris’ sweaty thighs. Balls on his face, the Captain jerking off almost into his hair. His tongue swiped back, and he got a taste of the Captain’s sweaty, spicy rim. He glazed his spit against it, lapped at Chris’ hole as he slipped further and further into the insanity of arousal. Panting, moaning, shaking as he beat himself off faster and faster.
And then he gave a shuddering whine of relief as he shot his load. Stroked it out, every last squirt of his orgasm, into Chris’ sweaty boxers. His cum seeped into the fabric , mixing with Chris’ perspiration, mixing with the smell of it. Semen and sweat, it was enough to make Piers keen and buck, still tonguing Chris’ hole with the Captain’s balls plastered over his nostrils. He’d eat it properly if only the Captain would let him. Unshowered and all.
Chris groaned as he came. Piers felt it spatter against his back. Hot, sticky, rich with the Captain’s hormonal smell. Fuck showering now, he’d rather bathe in the filth for the rest of his life!
“God-damn,” Chris was breathing heavily above him, shaking the last hot drops of semen down his lieutenant’s spine. It dripped down and clung to his skin, thick.
At last, Chris let go of his head, and Piers fell back onto his heels panting and shaking in post-orgasmic bliss. The Captain’s boxers still wrapped around his spent cock, flooded with his cum. He felt dizzy; exhausted as if he’d run forty laps of the track.
“Good work, lieutenant,” Chris held out a hand to the man on the floor, a wry smile on his handsome, older face, “you taught me something new today.”
Piers accepted the hand and let himself be dragged to his unsteady feet. All he could manage was a breathless; “sorry, sir–”
“Don’t be. That was the sexiest thing i’ve seen in a long time.” Chris chuckled, and gave Piers’ nape an affectionate rough. “I knew you liked me Piers, but I wouldn’t have guessed what you liked so much.”
Piers finally had the shame to blush. “I like everything about you, Captain.”
“Even the way I stink?” Chris winked. “I used to get told I smell like wet-dog by every other person i’ve ever had to train with.”
“You don’t,” Piers said defensively, “you smell really—-” he blushed deeper, “I mean, you stink, I mean—”
“C’mon, kid, let’s hit the showers before we get company.”
Chris stopped Piers before he went into his own cubicle, and pressed the younger man in against the wall. Chest-to-chest, bathing Piers in his scent one last time before he washed it all away.
“Let’s do this again some time, huh?” Chris chuckled, before leaning down a little to plant a kiss to Piers’ nervous lips. “See you at the briefing tomorrow, Piers.”
Piers slunk into his cubicle and pulled across the curtain. Heart racing, lips buzzing. Unsure how to handle the revelation that Chris clearly had no problem with his crush, or his fetish.
Not knowing what else to do, Piers cranked on the hot water, and began to rub his cock again. Just to work out one more orgasm before he washed Chris’ cum from his skin. Imagining he could next time press his nose into the Captain’s sweaty ass, and eat it through the sweat-soaked cotton of his briefs.
By the time he returned to the bench a few other BSAA gym-goers had filled the changing room. Laughing and chattering, paying no attention to the lieutenant sheepishly towelling himself down and starting to redress.
To Piers’ disappointment, Chris was long gone. But as he pulled on his clean spare sweatpants and reached for his clean t-shirt, he realised a single sock had been left hidden in the shirt.
It was the Captain’s sock. And as he picked it up gingerly, he felt his balls pulse with erotic realisation to feel it was indeed the sweat-soaked item the Captain had worn around the track.
Chris had left it for him.
Greedily, he stashed it away into his gym bag before anybody else in the locker room had a chance to steal it for themselves.
Already Piers knew exactly what he was going to be doing to that sock later tonight.