Gabe-o

"I see how you look at me," he said, and I felt the head of his dick hitch, caught against my asshole as he ground his pelvis up. I felt it cock, like a bolt in a crossbow, drawn against the resistance of my ass, before it twanged up, riding up again along the lycra wedged between my asscheeks.

"Gabe," I said, as calmly as I could.

Abruptly, he flipped me over, straddling my thighs, his ankles hooked around my shins. He pushed my forearms above my head with his hands, and leaned on them with his full weight. His massive torso was over my faced and I saw his eyes were still glazed over.

"Gabe," I said, again.

He looked down and saw my cock, bulging obscenely in my singlet, pressed up against my stomach, inches away from his own. He gulped air, his stomach expanding with the force of his breath.

He looked me directly in the eyes. "Goddamn, coach," he breathed.

He laid down on me then, and with one hand, pushed my head to the side. I felt the scratch of his stubble beneath my ear and his hot breath on my neck. He began to hump me, rubbing the length of his cock along the hard ridge of mine. I knew I needed to stop this, but I was paralyzed by how good he felt on me. I had wanted this to happen since I first began to coach him, I knew, even if I didn't let myself think it, consciously. He grunted as his movements increased in energy. I knew if anyone walked in, that would be it, I would lose my job, my career would be over... but I didn't want him to stop.

He grabbed at my face with his fingers, trying to get a fistful of my beard. It wasn't quite long enough for him to get a good grip, so he reached up and tore off my ear guard, grasped the thick hair of my head in his fist. "Goddamn," he said, again. I heard his voice shake.

The falter in his voice brought me back to my senses, somehow. I was his coach. Despite my desire for this to be something else. "Gabe," I said, more firmly now. "Gabe, stop."

He stopped grinding me and for several seconds we lay like that, him on top of me. And then he collapsed off of me. I rolled over and pushed myself up to my knees, trying to catch my breath. I pulled the sweat-soaked lycra of my singlet away from my body, felt in it the leakage from my still-hard cock. Once I was breathing evenly again, I stood up and shook out my legs. I turned and saw that Gabe had rolled to a sitting position, with his head in his hands. His ear guard was dangling from one hand. His massive thigh blocked my view of his crotch.

I wiped the sweat from my face. Adrenaline hit my stomach. Anxiety. What had I let happen? Had I caused this to happen? I tried to play it back in my head. Had I been out of line? I was so careful to control myself around my guys, and yet. Here we were. I berated myself. My memory was shot. All I could remember was the feel of him, grinding into me. Fuck.

I didn't know what to do, or say, so I left him there, sitting on the mat. I stripped out of my singlet as I walked to the showers, and tossed it into the dirty laundry basket. I let water run over me as my stomach churned. I tried to think about what to do, what to say to him. After a few minutes, though, I heard the bang of a locker, and footsteps leaving. Then heard the main door of the unit slam shut.

He was undefeated after that. We never talked about what happened. The day after, at practice, Gabe had avoided my gaze, but by the end of the week everything seemed to be back to normal between us, at least on the surface. Something of the ease we had always had in each other's physical presence was gone. But his mojo was back. It was like a switch had been thrown. He was focused, disciplined, and tore a hole through the rest of the season. I'd never seen more confidence or dominance in a wrestler. I'd been happy for him, and proud.

~

I couldn't tell what he was thinking. He looked down at the floor, and I saw him set his jaw, then relax it again.

"Hey coach," he said. "About... about last year..." He stalled.

"Yeah." I said, acknowledging I knew what he was talking about. I crossed my arms and felt that my pits had sweat through the fabric of my shirt.   

"Um, I..."

I cut him off. "As far as I'm concerned, Gabe, it's water under the bridge." I tried to sound authoritative. "I think... we should just leave it at that."

I'm not sure what I expected his reaction to be. I had thought a lot about what I'd say to him if he ever brought it up, and I stuck to the script. Water under the bridge. Leave it at that. Wipe it away, I thought.

I suppose I had expected him to be relieved. We could go on pretending it hadn't happened, get on with the business of training, preparing for the season. As I spoke, he looked down at the ground. His hand went to the nape of his neck, rubbing at his hairline. I knew him so well. This tic, his tell, something he did when he was uncomfortable. After a moment, he let out a sharp breath, almost a laugh, then looked up at me.

"OK, coach," he said, and he smiled. But his eyes weren't smiling.

"Maybe skip the weights and hit the treadmill today," I said, breaking our gaze. I turned and started walking to the door.

He walked back to the bench and picked up his shorts, put them back on. "Yeah, sounds good," he said.

When I was at the door, I had a thought.

"Hey Gabe."

"Yeah." He looked up at me. Our eye contact caused my throat to constrict.

"Do you want to meet with Denise?" I asked. "She can make a food plan for you, if you want."

He held my gaze for a beat, then said, "Nah, I know what I need to do." He looked down at his phone. "See ya later, coach."

"OK, see ya," I said, and I walked out. I went back to my office and sat in my chair. My hardon was painfully wedged up in my underwear. I rubbed my eyes. I saw the image of Gabe's huge, elegant body, leaning against the wall by the scale. Shit, I thought. Shit, shit, shit.