Wrestling Pt. 02

Lowland watched from the sidelines as his son engaged in his third match for the tournament. Hawthorn had won the first match but lost the second. Of course, the loss came as no surprise to Lowland. The other contender came from a family of champions, just as they had. In fact, Lowland had gone up against the young man's father when they were young enough to compete. He was sure he had won that match. Perhaps this was the stars aligning to make things even.

Hawthorn had taken the loss in stride. Both young men had given their best, and that was all that could be asked of them. Now he was facing off against a boy who was clearly a fresh-blood in the arena. His physique was similar to Hawthorn, which had surprised Lowland at first. It was rare to see someone like his son, as most were too nervous to enter the ring, afraid of having a disadvantage. He wondered if Hawthorn's victories convinced this young man to try.

Unlike Hawthorn, this young man didn't seem worried about showing off his chest. While his pectoral breasts were not nearly as defined as Hawthorn's- still soft and round like a woman's- his muscle definition was there. He was slighter, in need of more weight to be a match for larger opponents. But there was ferocity in his eyes. Lowland could see that this was a match the young man had been waiting for.

"I would fight you in full form," the young man said respectfully. "I understand your hesitation, but will you accept? Take off the binding from your chest and engage me as the others do so freely."

Lowland quirked an eyebrow, then turned to his son. For all his confidence, Hawthorn still got caught on the form of his chest. It was never quite right. To Lowland's surprise, Hawthorn called over the referee and asked him to undo the binding on his chest. Lowland could hear the men in the crowd murmuring their approval as Hawthorn's body was entirely on display. He couldn't help but smile at the sight of his son, proud of him for doing something he had been so afraid of.

The young men clapped hands, then moved to position. The referee raised his arms, and the match began. Their bodies surged together in a blur of muscle and skin.

As they grappled, someone slid in beside Lowland and leaned against the wall. "I hear you and your son married." Turning, Lowland saw it was his old friend, Ashbourne. The other man smiled and mimicked Lowland's nod. "Smart man. Hawthorn deserves someone who loves him as you do. This here's Cypress." Ashbourne gestured to the man still facing off against Hawthorn. "My latest apprentice. Big fan of your boy-- and he's just lost the match."

Both men directed their attention to the match just as Hawthorn threw Cypress over his shoulder. The crowd cheered as Hawthorn quickly secured the pin, bracing himself against the smaller man's shoulders. As the referee counted to three, Hawthorn's expression changed from concentrated to thoughtful. Now was the time to claim his victory over his opponent, but this was the first time he had done it with someone with similar anatomy.

In a few quick motions, Hawthorn soon had Cypress on his belly in a position Lowland knew far too well. At this time in the match, it was perfectly legal when Hawthorn took a firm hold of the younger man's blond hair and pushed his face into the hard-packed earth. Hovering over Cypress's back, Hawthorn's other hand quickly dove between Cypress's legs to his wet cunt.

Lowland watched with pride as Hawthorn claimed his second victory. The crowd roared over the sounds of Cypress's failed attempt to hide his pleasure. Lowland and Ashbourne couldn't help but chuckle. They both understood that it couldn't be helped, but the lad would need to learn to control himself in the future.

"He's of good quality," Lowland stated. "Whose son is he?"

Ashbourne explained how he acquired Cypress as his apprentice, purchasing him from a family near Midstall. "Fine lad, excellent breeding from honest working folk. In due time, he may become a champion. I'm not sure how long I'll teach him, though."

"Oh?"

"He's not as fine as your boy," Ashbourne continued, "but I've had a few people ask about his value, either as a marriage prospect or as something pretty to look at in bed. I'm sure he may still grow into his looks. He's got a fine figure as is. But for the time being, I plan to keep him on until he's got a few wins under his belt. Looks like your husband has finished having his fun." Ashbourne clapped Lowland on the shoulder just as Hawthorn reclaimed his chest binder from the referee and exited the arena.

As was typical after a match, many spectators gathered around Hawthorn to admire his physique and congratulate him on his victory. Hawthorn was polite, as he should have been when greeting each of his admirers. He spoke to them and stood among them like a radiant god as they caressed his body.

Lowland stood on the side and waited with knotted anticipation. Those hands did not know how to touch his son. They pawed at him like dogs at a new bone. He heard expressions of congratulations and disappointment that Hawthorn had been permanently removed from the rank of young men up for marriage or to keep as a prize and pleasure.

He was glad when Hawthorn finally broke free from the throng and strolled in his direction. The late afternoon sun set his oiled, bronzed, sweat-soaked skin to a copper glow. He was ethereal, as beautiful as the sun itself. And his dark eyes were fixed upon Lowland with a gaze of intense hunger.

Placing a hand on his son and husband's shoulder, Lowland led them back to their tent. There, they sat down, and Lowland poured each a goblet of wine. Hawthorn took a long drink, the muscles in his throat flexing as he swallowed. Sweat had cut through the bronze dust on his skin, leaving trails that exposed the tanned flesh underneath.

After Hawthorn consumed his second goblet of wine, he leaned back in his chair, long, muscular legs stretching before him like a king on his throne. He was a beautiful, powerful man who looked at his father with a stare that made Lowland's heart race.

"You still look thirsty, my love," Hawthorn said in a voice like velvet. "Come, drink from me, and show me how much you enjoyed my victories today."

Lowland came forward at the crook of his son's beckoning finger. Hawthorn took him by the waist, untied his loincloth, and threw it aside. Lowland's interest was already making itself known as his cock began to stiffen. He leaned down and kissed his son passionately, with tongue and teeth. His son responded in kind, moving his hand down his father's body and trailing his fingertips through the patch of hair at the base of Lowland's cock.

It wasn't long before Lowland was urged to his knees between his son's thighs. He kissed and licked Hawthorn's neck and shoulder as he descended, following a salty trail to his chest. He was the only one who was allowed to touch his son like this. To wrap his lips around the taut nipples of his son's chest and drink the sweat that flowed between his pectoral breasts.

Hawthorn lifted his arms above his head, offering the sweat-soaked armpit to his father. Lowland shamelessly buried his face in the wet hair. He breathed deep the rich, musky scent of the man he loved. All while his hands caressed the muscled, toned flesh of this godling of his own creation.

"My only pity is that I didn't win all of my matches for you today," Hawthorn said in a thick, husky voice.

Lowland shook his head as he continued his ministrations. His lips traveled down the curve of Hawthorn's belly, his tongue dipping into the small valley of his abdominals. "Think nothing of it," he whispered, breathless. "I am proud of the victories you have achieved and will only continue to be proud. Win or lose, I love you."

Hawthorn's hand rested on top of Lowland's head. His fingers intertwined with the dark hair in a gentle caress punctuated by soft, teasing tugs that made his father tremble. "God, I love it when you moan," Hawthorn said in a low voice. "You are the most beautiful thing in this world to me. I love you, Father. Now, tend to me."

His firm hand pushed Lowland's head down to the wet warmth of his pussy. Lowland could get drunk off of the scent that clung to the hair there. Sweat mixed with Hawthorn's arousal and the spunk of men he claimed in victory and had been claimed by. While Hawthorn had been bathed between matches, Lowland knew as well as any wrestler that a man's seed was not the easiest thing to get rid of once inside. He remembered leaking for what felt like days during his tournament days. The reminder was always there, no matter how much he scrubbed or tried to force it out.

His son was no different, aside from the fact that his body had been intended to keep a man's seed inside it. Even as Lowland began to devour his son's wet pussy, his tongue could taste evidence of the men who had been inside him. It made him groan as his cock throbbed painfully.

Hawthorn moaned, his hips flexing against his father's face. "Tomorrow," he started with a groan. "Tomorrow, I will ensure the seed you drink from me all comes from victories. I will not have my husband taste my failure." He nudged Lowland's thigh with his sandaled foot. "Hands on my hips! You will not pleasure yourself just yet. Not when I want the next load that enters my body to come from you."

Hawthorn's hand gripped his father's hair tightly as he began to ride the older man's face. The other hand firmly grasped one of Lowland's wrists, holding it to his waist. Lowland couldn't help but moan, helplessly drawing Hawthorn even closer. He whimpered at the pain in his cock and the pleasure of his son wrapping his leg around his head to keep him in place.

Above him, he could hear his son groan as the muscles in his belly and thighs tightened. Hawthorn's pussy was dripping as Lowland sucked on the young man's clit. When his tongue pressed against the sensitive bud, his son's back arched so hard Lowland was sure it would snap. The leg around his head was trembling, tightening as his husband came against his mouth.

When Hawthorn managed to release his father, Lowland's cock was painfully stiff. The tip was dripping with precum and red as it pulsed. He was delirious with want; he needed to cum. However, the only thing holding him back was his son. So he waited patiently for Hawthorn to regain his senses.

It didn't take long. Lowland could hear him groan in satisfaction and felt him shift slightly. His son lifted his head to meet his eyes. A crooked smile spread across his face as he stroked the other man's cheek.

"Are you ready for your turn, my love?" he whispered. There was a gentleness in his voice where, not seconds ago, it had been firm and commanding.

Lowland's own voice did nothing to hide the intensity of his need. "Yes. Please, I- I need you."

He was glad their cot wasn't far from where they sat. Lowland followed his son to the bed and was pleasantly surprised when his son settled beneath him. The expression in Hawthorn's eyes was far more gentle than earlier. The desire they held was palpable, but this was a desire for intimacy. While Lowland's cock ached for an animal rutting, his intense heartbeat slowed as he fell into his husband's arms.

Their lips met in a soft, lingering kiss as their bodies entwined. Lowland's cock eased inside Hawthorn, and he sighed in pleasure. Their hips moved in a gentle rhythm that was familiar to them both. Their lovemaking was as sweet and tender at home as any couple could be. Though even now, Lowland knew who was truly in control. He was his son, and husband's, devoted lover.

They whispered sweet nothings as their hands explored each other. Their breaths co-mingling as their lips and tongues danced. The embrace remained tender even as the pace picked up, and Lowland buried his face in his husband's strong shoulder.

"I want every last drop," Hawthorn whispered in his ear. "Make me so full of you that I mark those who I face tomorrow with evidence of your love."

"My God, Hawthorn," Lowland gasped as his hips suddenly bucked and pressed into his lover's. He pushed himself deep inside Hawthorn, his fingers gripping the blankets beneath them as his balls drew tight. The cry that left him was primal as he erupted into his beloved. He vaguely caught his son shuddering as he came once more. His legs wrapped under Lowland's rear, locking him in place as his orgasm seemed to go on and on.

By the time he was done, Lowland was left feeling weak and exhausted. He collapsed on top of Hawthorn, his breath ragged as he panted against his lover's sweaty skin. The scent of his son was almost enough to bring him to tears. He smelled so strongly of man and sex, with the lingering aroma of oil and dirt from the arena. Lowland couldn't help himself as he kissed his son's neck.

Hawthorn traced his fingers over the muscles between Lowland's shoulder blades as they lay together. Both men were close to drifting off before their stomachs growled. Hawthorn sighed but didn't make any attempt to move. Instead, he rested his cheek against Lowland's and said thoughtfully,

"Cypress will make a fine wrestler."

Lowland kissed his son's cheek, then propped himself on his elbows to look down at him. "He seemed like a talented young man. Reminded me a lot of you."

"Physically," Hawthorn stated dryly.

"Not just that," Lowland offered. "There was a fire in his eyes that I've always seen in yours. He might even become a problem for you with time and training." He chuckled lightly and kissed his son again when Hawthorn scowled. "All champions eventually succumb to someone else. It happened to my father and me, and it will happen to you."

He sat up between his son's legs. His cock was still buried inside Hawthorn's pussy, though it had softened enough to begin to slip out. When he pulled away, large quantities of cum leaked from the slick hole. The beauty of that sight made his cock twitch.

Hawthorn's expression hadn't changed. He seemed to want to refute the words his father said. Lowland could see it; he knew his boy had an intense amount of pride when it came to his skills. Never so much as to get in the way of them developing and growing, but the idea that he might lose them was clearly unsettling.

"Do you submit to me because you feel you have to or because you want to?" Hawthorn asked suddenly.

Lowland took a moment to consider his response, wanting to express his feelings sincerely and tenderly. "My beloved, the reason I submit to you is rooted in the depths of my love for you. Power and control have been familiar companions throughout my life, passed down through generations. Just as your grandfather had high standards, so do I, my pride and joy, especially for you. Yet, your journey to attain power has been different. You worked tirelessly, displaying an unparalleled drive that captured my heart and soul.

You have shown me a strength I never knew existed, and with each passing day, my love for you deepens. As a father, my ultimate wish was for you to surpass me, to become a man of greater strength, honor, and integrity. And you, my dear, have done that and more. Your dedication has made me proud beyond measure.

I held on to my power when I was with your mother, but being with you has changed me. You have become the better man, and I find solace and peace in your presence. Your love has shown me the beauty of vulnerability, and I willingly submit my heart to you.

In this tender moment, allow me to express my affection." Lowland gently pressed the pad of his thumb to Hawthorn's bottom lip, caressing it with delicate adoration. "You have my heart; I am forever yours, my love."

Hawthorn's head tilted back; his eyes blinked rapidly to stop the tears forming in his eyes from falling. His voice was thick with emotion when he spoke. "Would you submit to me if I had been born a proper man?"

Lowland leaned forward, pressing his forehead to Hawthorn's. "Of course I would." He could feel his son's chest shuddering as the tears began falling. Lowland lowered his mouth to Hawthorn's, pressing his lips against his son's in a series of reassuring kisses.

When they parted for air, Hawthorn asked, "Would you have preferred a son in body and spirit? One who could carry your legacy more easily?"

"If God came down and blessed me with ten thousand 'proper' sons, I would sacrifice them all to have you back," Lowland stated. His gaze held Hawthorn's, and in a moment of intense emotion, he grabbed his son's leg and wrapped it around his waist. His cock was hard once more, and, in one fluid motion, he was inside his son again. "I love you more than you could ever know. I don't know what wicked thing haunts you to ever doubt my love for you, but I will not allow you to feel such pain again."

It was his turn to be in control. This was no time to let his son stew in his own self-doubt. His mouth was on Hawthorn's again, pressing his scratchy stubble against the younger man's smooth chin. Their lips parted, and their tongues met in a heated tangle as Lowland thrust his hips forward.

Hawthorn let out a small moan, one that was laced with desperation and vulnerability. His arms tightened around Lowland, pulling him closer as he let himself fall into the moment. It was not often Lowland saw this side of his son, but when he did, he was grateful to know that Hawthorn knew he could trust him in these moments.

They went at it for what felt like hours, not caring if people outside the tents could hear them. The air within their shelter grew hot and thick with the scent of sex as they shifted from position to position, fucking on every available space in the tent. Neither noticed as the sunlight slowly faded, and torches were lit around the camp. Lowland didn't care if they went on all night; he would only stop once his son and lover were satisfied.

He had Hawthorn face down on the blanket-strew floor when the young man finally tapped the ground. "M- Mercy," he panted, "please, I can't take any more."

Lowland lay over his lover, face mere inches from Hawthorn's ear, as he let out a deep, guttural groan. Waves of pleasure washed over him as he released his final load into his son. They were both sticky from sweat and previous expulsions; streams of Lowland's seed ran from his son's legs, dripped from his mouth, and dried in stiff sections of his hair. Bite marks darkened to deep purple bruises on their shoulders, backs, around their nipples, and on the insides of their thighs. Red scratches burned along their backs, some leaking thin trails of blood that stung as sweat trickled into the cuts.

When the older man's cock slipped away, thick globs of seed oozed onto the blankets. He continued to lie on top of his son, too drained to move. His fingers gently threaded through the sticky mess of Hawthorn's hair as he kissed around his ear to his cheek.

"I've made a mess of you," he whispered.

"They will know how deeply I'm loved," came the reply. There was a smile in Hawthorn's voice as he said it. "And I will remember as I fulfill my promise to you."

"Hm?"

"Earlier, I told you I would win and have you taste the opponents I claimed in victory." Hawthorn turned his head to smile slyly at the older man. "I intend to make good on that promise."

Lowland's cock throbbed weakly. He groaned and moved his hips away from his lover's rear. Kissing along the muscles of his shoulder, Lowland sighed, "Win or lose, I will drink from you in any case."

"Don't argue with me, Father," Hawthorn teased. "I've made up my mind."

Lowland sighed and chuckled softly. There would be no arguing with him now that his mind was refreshed. Seeing his lover return to his happy, confident self was good. With a final kiss, the older man rolled off his son and finally realized how late it was.

"God's balls, we need to get you cleaned up and fed so you can rest."