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DAY 2 - RIVAL PLAY
"Ok guys. I'm not gonna sugarcoat this: if you're here, it's to suffer hard. You don't get better without pushing yourself. And you sure as hell don't grow by staying in your comfort zone."
The twenty of us are standing on the edge of the track, arms crossed, eyes locked on our coach. It's 9 a.m., the sun is already blazing, the heat rising, suffocating. The cheerful chaos of breakfast an hour ago has given way to something sharper, heavier – nobody dares say a word. And honestly, you'd need some serious balls to speak up while this guy is talking – because standing in front of us isn't just anyone.
If someone had told me that DeShawn Price – THE DeShawn Price – would be coaching us for the next four weeks, I wouldn't have believed it. The man is a legend: multiple-time world champion, multiple-time Olympic champion, with two world records in the 400 and 800 meters some twenty years ago – all in barely three years. Nobody ever really understood why he ended his career so suddenly, right when he could have gone even further. He just vanished from the scene, and never truly came back. Until today. Here he is, standing in front of us, ready to tear us apart to make us better, faster, stronger.
Shaved head, square jaw, thick brows – he radiates raw masculine energy, virile and intimidating. His body is lean, compact, built like a relentless machine made to crush anything in its path: long legs, sharp muscles, solid chest. He has the vibe of a bad boy you only see on TV – or in my dreams sometimes... Add to that the massive bulge straining against his too-tight shorts, and he could be straight out of a hardcore porn flick.
From this morning on, I can already tell it's going to get hot – and not just in the athletic sense. Price doesn't waste time confirming exactly what I both expected and feared.
"What we're doing this morning is simple. Quick, too. I want to see what you're capable of when you're pushed to your absolute max. 'Last man standing,' does that ring a bell? Twenty runners at the start, only one at the finish. One winner. Nineteen dropouts."
He pauses, just long enough to size us up, his piercing eyes daring us to flinch.
"I see I've already shaken a few of you. You're gonna hate me. That's fine – it's only the beginning. This is an elite training camp, not some five-kilometer fun run in your hometown. We're building elites here. Not just athletes. So here's the deal: every lap, we increase the pace. Start at 4 minutes per kilometer. Then 3:50. Then 3:40. And so on. No limit. Until only one is left."
Another pause. This time he steps closer, walking through the group, eyes scanning each of us up and down. As he passes right by me, I can't help but glance at his crotch. What I see sends a shiver of heat straight down my spine – and my cock stirs inside my shorts. Just behind me, I feel him slow down, his eyes turning toward me. God, I hope he didn't notice me staring. That would be one hell of a stupid way to get noticed on day one. He says nothing, keeps moving, until he's passed us all.
A heavy silence hangs in the air. Then he drops us straight into hell.
"Any questions? No? What are you waiting for then? You'll never be ready anyway. Might as well cut the bullshit short. On the line. Thirty seconds."
We move quickly toward the track. Some chatter nervously, others stay silent, focused, already determined to prove themselves. A few meters away I spot Anthony – our eyes meet, and he smiles at me. Then Jace, a guy I met this morning, steps up behind him and claps him on the shoulder, fist-bumping him with the other hand. A sharp sting of jealousy shoots through me. Even worse when Jace's hand slides down Anthony's back, brushing dangerously close to his ass. Anthony smiles. I keep my cool. But Jace – I'm watching you.
We line up, and I can barely hold in the thrill coursing through me. It's not just the hunger to prove myself – it's the nearness of so many bodies, the heat, every brush of skin against mine feels like sparks running over my skin.
Price stands at the edge of the track, raising his arm.
"Ready?!"
He drops his arm, blows a sharp whistle – and we're off, twenty runners bursting forward in less than a heartbeat. The pace is fast, too fast, legs pounding, meters flying by. Bodies collide, elbows dig, shoulders grind, thighs almost touching. Everyone fighting for space, fighting for control.
As we reach the final straight of the first lap, the rhythm finally settles. Price's silhouette appears ahead, backlit by the sun, looming like a dark aura. The heat pounds against our skulls like hammers, just as our feet hammer the track. Then – the end of the first lap.
"3:50!"
Price's voice cuts through the air, jolting us forward. I glance to my left: Anthony is gliding forward with effortless rhythm, every stride light, balanced. I can't even pretend to be surprised. The moment I saw his naked body last night – sculpted, built for running – I knew he'd be serious competition.
Lap after lap, the heat gets sharper, my throat goes dry, my breath ragged. Some of us rip our singlets off, tossing them to the side, desperate for relief. Sweat glistens on bare skin, muscles rippling and straining with effort. My elbow grazes the solid chest of the guy next to me, a jolt of heat flashing through me, fueling my drive to push harder.
No one gives in. Every meter is fought for. Until the first cracks appear.
"3:00! You two in the back – stop. If you can't keep up, you're done. No point pushing further."
Price's voice is merciless. Two runners drop out instantly.
A quick glance tells me one of them is Matthew, the guy who kicked off introductions yesterday. He warned us he wasn't much of a runner – turns out he wasn't lying. But hey, that's his problem, not mine.
The race goes on, and every second I have to fight not to quit.
Anthony is just ahead, slightly to the left. I slip behind him, trying to catch his draft – but what really drives me forward isn't the airflow. It's the sight of his perfect ass bouncing in his short shorts. I can't take my eyes off it. Thinking about nothing but that keeps me moving.
At 2:40, I finally crack. I stumble off the track, collapsing against the edge, heat washing me out completely. Seven runners keep going, Anthony among them. I stand up, shaking, and drift toward the group of eliminated runners to watch the rest.
It doesn't take long. Another three stop on the next lap. Then two more on the one after that – including Anthony. He comes over, and I clap him on the shoulder, pulling him into a quick hug.
Two remain. They grind out one last lap. By the end, one drops, leaving a single winner.
Price walks toward him. The guy is staggering, hands on his knees, face twisted with pain, breath coming in ragged bursts.
"Well done. Looks like you handled it a little better than the others. What's your name?"
"...Noam."
"Alright, Noam. I've only got one thing to ask from you tomorrow. Teach the others how to push themselves the way you just did. For real. And make sure they don't catch up to you. Track is like life. In the end, there's only room for one winner."
•••
The day is already well advanced, the sun high in the sky and the heat crushing. Over lunch I tried to get to know some of my teammates better — people often tell me I look unapproachable, even though I'm actually sociable once you get past appearances. I don't speak just to fill the silence — in fact, I speak rather little — but in a group where everyone shares the same passion, conversation flows naturally.
Anthony was there too, sitting across from me, and I could tell he was catching a few glances — Jace, Noam, Tiago. He clearly doesn't leave anyone indifferent, and even though I'm lucky enough to share a room with him — and, I think, the beginnings of something special — I'll have to be more forward if I don't want to get outpaced.
He's facing me again now, for the start of our weight session, but this time on the far side of the group — way too far for my liking. The coach strides into the room, radiating confidence, and the sight of him is enough to distract me.
Shoulder-length hair, clean features and full lips, a touch of androgyny — he's far from the cliché of a weight trainer, though his body leaves no doubt about his favorite activity. His tank top shows off thick arms and muscular pecs — I even catch a glimpse of his nipples peeking out at the edges — and his shorts are so tight and so short they might as well be underwear. Nothing like this morning with Price; this is already turning me on way more than I expected. Do all the guys here have to be this hot?
And then comes his voice, low and sensual, completing the picture.
"Hello everyone, I'm Rowan Vance. I'll be guiding you through these strength sessions. I've been doing this for years, so don't worry — you're in good hands. Pair up for today's workout. Don't worry, partners won't be fixed, you'll be rotating regularly..."
The idea of working in pairs sends a thrill through me — I need to find Anthony before someone else does. Luckily, he's already by my side.
"Want to pair up?" he asks, calm as ever.
"Yes, of course! I was just looking for you."
I may have sounded too eager — or maybe it's just in my head — but Anthony doesn't react, so I relax. We move to a free corner of the gym, waiting for instructions.
"Alright! Today will be simple — just an introduction to the exercises we'll be using during these four weeks. I'll demonstrate first, then you'll go through them in sequence, keeping the cardio up at the same time. Ready? Let's go."
The exercises come one after another for an hour, with barely a chance to recover. As soon as we finish one, the next begins. Vance encourages us, advises us in his smooth, sensual voice, correcting our form with his hands — hands that linger more than necessary. He comes over often to Anthony and me, and always finds a reason to touch me — my legs, my torso, the hollow of my back, even my ass. If I were naïve, I'd think it was all professional. But I've had enough experience to recognize when someone is playing. His touch lingers, presses, teases. As unlikely as it may seem, I'm pretty sure my coach has a crush on me.
And it works — every time he approaches, I secretly hope he'll push further. I'd like to test his limits — I am a player, after all — but he shuts me down with a clap.
"Okay! That's enough for today. Great work! You can head to the lockers and hit the showers. Except you three pairs in the back — stay with me. I want to try something and see what you can handle..."
Of course, Anthony and I are in the chosen three. My mind races with possibilities.
"I have to admit I'm a little concerned..." Vance begins, stepping closer and lowering his voice. "You two look like the closest pair, but your technique lags behind the others. I don't want you falling behind."
He takes another step closer, now barely a meter away.
"So here's what we'll do: repeat the exercises, but with one difference. Take off your shirts. I want to see exactly how your muscles are working."
Anthony and I exchange surprised looks. Some hesitate, unsure what to think. But Jace doesn't wait a second — his tank top is off, leaving only shorts so short they barely hide his ass. Seeing that Vance is serious, the rest of us follow. Soon we're all shirtless in the middle of the gym.
The same drills begin again, but faster, hotter this time. The closeness of nearly naked bodies raises the heat. Vance tells us to correct each other, to touch, to guide. Hands slide over abs, pecs, thighs, even asses.
I seize the chance to brush Anthony's body — for the first time, finally. Even that light touch sends a shiver down my spine. From the look of the half-hard bulge in his white shorts, he feels it too. If I needed any extra motivation, I just got it.
The second part of the workout flies by, and it's over too soon.
"Good job, guys, that's enough for today. I'm proud of you. See you tomorrow."
I thought I'd seen it all, until on my way out Vance slaps my ass discreetly and winks. I slow down, glance back with a provocative smile so I don't look shaken. He laughs, walking off, leaving me confused as I head for the lockers. Was he flirting, or just teasing? Hard to tell — but there will be time to find out.
By the time I get to the showers, the six of us who stayed behind are the only ones left. I undress, grab my shower gel, and join them.
The showers are tucked into a corner, five on the right, two on the left. The right side is already full — Anthony between Jace and Malik. Disappointed, I take one of the left stalls.
At first I sneak glances, but quickly notice that the others stare openly at each other's naked bodies, no shame at all. So I stop hiding too. My eyes trail over Malik's strong back, Noam's round ass, Jace's thick cock, and Anthony's entire body.
Jealousy stirs in me at the wandering hands, the playful looks, the bolder smiles. I'm on the outside, but I still enjoy the view. Under the running water, with their muscles pumped and glistening, the guys look insanely hot. Real competition.
Especially Jace. Like this morning, he doesn't back down. Casually, he grabs his cock and starts stroking it, slow and deliberate. He steps closer to Anthony, still jerking himself, then smiles at him — before shifting his gaze to me, his expression full of challenge. We both understand perfectly: Anthony won't belong to both of us. Only one will be number one.
•••
Later, just before curfew, I find Anthony in our room, already in underwear, ready for bed.
"Tired too?" I ask.
"Yeah, exhausting day. But amazing."
"Yeah, I like it so far..."
"It'll only get better. Training will get tougher, and we'll all get to know each other more. It'll be fun."
"Maybe you're right..." I hide the jealousy in my voice, then change subject. "By the way, congrats for this morning. You killed it."
"Thanks! You were pretty good too..."
That smile again, the one that makes me melt. With Anthony, words aren't needed. Beyond his looks, it's what I like most: his simplicity. Everything feels natural, like it was written. I haven't felt this in a long time.
"Thanks. Still lots of room to improve... we'll see tomorrow."
He nods, smiling again. When I lean in for a simple pat on the back, he surprises me by hugging me tight. His hand lingers on my back, sending shivers through me. I let mine slide to his ass, stroking lightly. He smiles but pulls away moments later, heading for bed. Frustratingly short. He'll drive me crazy.
He lies on his back, legs apart, barely hiding the semi-hard bulge in his grey boxer. The fabric shows every contour of his cock and balls.
He watches me for a few seconds — long enough for the image of his hardening dick to burn into my mind — as if waiting for me to say or do something. I just smile, slipping into my own bed. Tomorrow will be another long day. At least that's what I tell myself, because the truth is, I'm scared: of moving too fast, of a toxic start, of losing him. Especially when I've already seen there are others who'd gladly take my place...
