h

For the next two days, I managed to steer clear of Curtis Mondello, with the exception of some course work in the company of the others. We were down to seven guys now, and Stepháne had started rolling his eyes whenever anybody approached with a serious expression of their face, expecting news of yet another termination from our CI5 induction program. It was getting to me as well. Thursday's BJJ class seemed like a good way of working off some excess energy and, despite the possible risk of Curtis showing up, I'd almost been looking forward to it.

It had to happen. Shortly before the end of training, Instructor Baxter beckoned me opposite the object of my unbidden fantasies, and I discovered that my mouth was dry. By then, I'd acquired a reputation for being the one to beat, and I wasn't sure how to play this. So far, Curtis had got the upper hand over his rivals, but they weren't the best of us.

My opponent was gazing at me with the faintest hint of a sardonic smile on his outrageously handsome face and, as we reached for each other, I knew the only thing to do was to fight honestly. So I did, until I tumbled him pretty heavily. I regretted it instantly, feeling like a bully, like a fool. Baxter nodded approvingly, and told us to continue, but guilt and the uneasy memory of Damian Marlow - proud, arrogant, hospitalized Marlow - severely quashed my will to win. Curtis was frowning now - whether from pain or irritation I wasn't entirely sure. Probably best if I didn't find out.

I went in again, more gingerly this time, seeing the sheen of sweat on his tanned torso through his open jacket, captivated abruptly by the thought of what it would be like to touch the scar there, to feel his heart beat under my hand, to caress the angry scarlet of that mysterious fault line until it was gone, vanished, erased by my tactile attentions. I became powerfully aware of the smell of him, shockingly aromatic, spicy and sweet, and saw that unusual light in his brown-black eyes, the one which invariably signaled pleasure, or success, or both -

A second later I was on my back and he was straddling me. ‘Looking kinda dazed there, Keel,’ he whispered, his mouth and tongue mere millimeters from my ear.

Considering the way his genitals were dragging seductively over my own, that was hardly surprising. I had the horrible impression I was blushing, but Curtis ignored it, holding me with a ferocity worthy of professional competition, strong arms encircling my neck and right arm, muscular legs wrapping so strongly around mine that it became difficult to tell where I left off and he began. I tried to think of Amanda, my childhood sweetheart and ex-wife - and stopped when Curtis thrust his hips against me, screwing his pelvis deep into my crotch. I was suddenly unable to recall Amanda's face, made blind to her memory by the sight of my captor’s preternaturally attractive visage as it dominated my field of vision.

He pressed his forehead onto mine, as if to seal the join made elsewhere in our bodies, his soft lips but an inch away, his hot breath upon me like sexual incense, filling my nose, flooding my mouth, his grip on my gi growing tighter, more possessive with every passing second, smiling as he claimed his victory, grinning as I lay helpless and horny beneath him, surrendering, resisting, surrendering, resisting… I’d like to say that I fought as hard as I could, that I did everything in my power to roll him off off me. In truth, I struggled just enough to maintain the status quo, wishing this moment, this guilty pleasure, would go on for longer. Much, much longer.

k

But wishing doesn’t make it so. Curtis shifted position, trapped my extended right arm, jumped up, and swiveled around me, falling back onto the mat - and straight into a perfect armbar. I tapped immediately, accepting both losses, and sat up to see him looking flushed and triumphant, like a kid after a particularly exhilarating roller coaster ride.

‘Thanks for going easy,' he said, grinning. 'I really needed the ego boost.’

I didn’t answer. What could I tell him?

'How disappointing,' intoned a voice from above us. It was Baxter, looking pained. 'How utterly demoralizing. Keel, yours was a performance entirely devoid of passion -'

'Not entirely,' said Curtis. He winked at me. 'I mean, it's like you say yourself, sir - once you get the mount, you get the match. He did what he could.'

'He needs to do better. Change partners!'

I spent the remainder of the session being alternately felled, pinned and submitted by everybody else in the group and, following further verbal flagellation by Baxter, assured him that my form would return to usual by the following morning. I made a weak excuse about an upset stomach, which wasn't entirely untrue, although the real source of the problem lay a little further south of that. The rest of the day passed in a blur. What made it worse was Curtis' final, casual comment in the changing room, declared so softly I wasn't sure if I'd imagined it.

‘We should practice those moves again. After dinner. Meet me here.’

I didn't eat that evening, preferring to push the gluey brown mass around a bit and provoke some sympathy from Stéphane, who'd overheard my earlier comments about not feeling good. Then I headed for the gym, thankful that the others were too interested in their last-minute studies to worry about either my intestines or whereabouts.

Curtis was waiting for me, sitting spread eagled on the mat, stretching out his legs, obviously deep in thought. He nodded at me as I entered, a solemn acknowledgement, and I went into the locker room still unsure whether this was one giant put-up. I wondered if this was a test. Was I going to be the next one packing his bags for a speedy exit?

d

On the mat, we shook hands, and I found myself nervous. Too nervous to prevent Curtis taking a firm hold on my kimono and attempting to take me down. From somewhere, though, came a surge of defiance, and I unbalanced him, ready to send him flying. Then I stopped, remembering the injury, the mysterious scar. ‘Keel, I’m not made of glass. Stop treating me like I'll shatter.’ I did, and found myself bringing every trick I knew into play. It was hard to pin him down - he was good. Just not quite as good as myself.

Finally, I found a weak spot, hooked my leg around him and took him to the ground, landing on top of him, between his legs. I started to get up, realizing this could be awkward, and knowing full well that any more contact would lead to an inevitable outcome, one I couldn't override, one I wouldn't even want to. One that could have me ousted from CI5.

Permanently.

Curtis held me down, caught in the guard and his viselike embrace, lying there pressed against him, face to face, chest to chest, groin to groin. And looked straight into my eyes.

‘Maybe I'm out of practice,’ he said softly, but I could feel his hard-on through the soft white cotton of his gi pants.

Oh, God.

I kissed him then, savagely and urgently. Felt his hands come up to my face, pulling me closer, until our sweat-soaked bodies were rubbing directly against each other. One of his large, erect nipples brushed against my own, stiffening it instantly, making me groan.

'Ahhhhhhhh.'

Curtis blinked, startled by the sound. He came up for breath, gasping for air, his eyes filled with - what? Pleasure? Joy? Fear? 'Keel, I didn't -'

The words were like gunshots, deadly verbal artillery, and I pulled back, terrified I'd got this all wrong. 'I'm so sorry -'

Curtis laughed. ‘Don't be a dope. I didn't want us getting disturbed, so I locked the door while you were changing. So, you're a nipple man, huh? Me too.' His hands, warm and tentative, caressed them skillfully, stroking them from base to tip, flicking them until I moaned once more, louder, longer, more intensely. He smiled, satisfied with his handiwork, and allowed his hands to wander downwards, onto my abs, towards my belt. ‘This is what you want, right?’

‘Yes,’ I hissed, feeling the palm of his hand slide deep into my groin, right against the head of my erection, his expert fingers massaging my balls with breathtaking urgency. 'I've wanted it - wanted you - for so long. Ever since you arrived.'

‘Then take me. Please...’ The almost plaintive tone to his voice aroused me past the point of no return and, in the second that followed, I had to hold back from devouring him completely. Instead, I found myself nodding, reaching for his jacket as he quickly pushed mine from my shoulders. ‘Montada,’ he breathed, and I obeyed, bundling him roughly into position, laying myself against him, body to body, cheek to cheek, mounted, grapevined, helpless, mine. His body shook as he I moved against him, the cloth of my gi pants dragging languidly over his throbbing cock and heavy sack, again and again. ‘Been a while since I...had a guy, Keel...but oh, God...’

k

Finally, I understood that he'd been every bit as desperate for this encounter as me. The realization was mind blowing; I felt like a starving man faced with a feast of Herculean proportions.

The time to gorge was close at hand.

Curtis's deep dark eyes turned wild with lust. His hands ran restlessly over me, through my hair, across my neck, along my flanks, everywhere, urging me on with warm, wordless encouragement. They slid into the back of my gi pants and stayed there, kneading and petting and stroking and squeezing, perfectly at home, fully at ease.

'Take me,' he grunted as I ground my hips against him. 'Make me come, Keel...I just can't wait anymore...'

'Shhh, it's all right, it's okay,' I responded, quickening the pace, feeling his skin on me, his lips on me. 'Be patient. Let the feeling get stronger. Let the pleasure build higher. You're so damn hard, Mondello; I want to make you harder still...'

I'd barely slid over him the three times when he started rolling his head. ‘I'm going to come!'

'No, you're not. Not yet.’ Grabbing his wrists, I drew them upwards, above his head, pinning them tightly against the mat. 'Fight the climax. Hold it back -'

'I can't, I can't, oh God, Keel, I'm gonna explode...my balls are aching...please, get me off, make me come, please...'

He bucked up against me, then, mindless with desire, his large thighs tensing mightily, struggling in vain to escape my whole-body grapevine, his flawless face a mask of ecstatic agony. The action sent precum spurting through my cockhead, and at last I succumbed to the animal instincts coursing through my loins, ramming into him now like a man possessed, gasping with pleasure as my shaft massaged his throbbing member, feeling him jerk up against it, welcoming every stroke, the friction sensational, unstoppable, my movements reaching terminal velocity, my body shuddering as I teetered on the brink of orgasm, my tongue thrust deep into his mouth, swallowing his groans and moans, watching his brown eyes flutter and roll, humping him relentlessly until he shouted my name and arched like a cat, the climax literally bursting out of his body, knowing I was just seconds away from joining him.

And join him I did, jerking hotly against his body until I felt the strength drain out me, into my gi pants, and sensed his legs slowly relax as I finally pulled away, breathing like I'd tripled anything Instructor Baxter had dreamed up.

d

Neither of us spoke for a while, and then he smiled. ‘I'm glad I wasn't mistaken, Sam.’ He pulled me over on my side, touching my face with a suddenly hesitant hand. 'I can call you Sam now, right?' I grinned, kissed him once, twice, three times. ‘After that, you can call me just about anything.' ‘So now we're Curtis and Sam. Nice.' 'Very.' Pause. ' Tell me something, Curtis - was I obvious?’

‘What? About being totally into me? About wanting to screw me so hard that I forgot my own name?'

'Yes.'

'No. Not until you sprung that gigantic boner during class this morning. Was I?’

‘Not until you asked me so nicely to take you,’ I said. ‘But I'm glad you did.’

I was not only glad he did, but downright delighted when, moments after we emerged from the shower, he slid an arm around my shoulder and a hand around my cock, pumping it slowly through the satin dazzle of my Nike track pants.

‘Tomorrow night,' he said, holding me close, making me tremble. 'My room. I believe I have a favor to return. If you'd like me to...’

I wasn't about to say no.

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