Sharing a Sleeping Bag With a Guy On My Wrestling Team 02

Everyone is 18+ and fully consenting.

Chapter 2: Climbing Rocks

The next morning felt bizarre from the start. My first thought was that something warm had been touching my body for way too long. I was butt to butt with Max. My second thought was "Oh shit," as Trent jumped into our tent and climbed on top of us, screaming and mounting our bodies.

He didn’t even wait for us to sit up. He started humping both of us over the sleeping bag like a horny dog. It was his signature move.

“Wake up, faggots!” he yelled, before pausing. “Damn, it smells like jizz in here.”

My eyes shot open. My stomach dropped. Max groaned behind me and dragged a hand over his face.

“Dude, get off,” I muttered, pushing Trent’s hip so he’d roll away.

He grabbed my arm and yanked me up. “C’mon. Toast and stuff is out. Get up.”

He climbed out, leaving the tent flap open long enough for cold air to rip through. I shivered and glanced back. Max was lying on his stomach, uncovered now, his underwear twisted on his hips showing most of his ass, which had gotten a wave of goosebumps from the cold air. His morning wood jutted out obscenely between his legs. I turned away fast, pretending I hadn’t thought anything about it, even if the things he did the night before were running through my mind on repeat already.

I thought for a second if I should say something about it. Did he remember what he did? Would he notice the smell of jizz? Just as he started to actually stir, I decided to pursue the avoidant route and just hopped out of the tent in my underwear. I quickly dressed in my sweats and joined the guys eating around a morning campfire.

Max rolled out a minute later, sleepily squinting his eyes and rubbing his face.

After breakfast, the coach had us run warmups and stretches in a clearing. Max stood right behind me. When I bent forward, he placed his hands on my hips to “fix” my form, and I didn't stop him.

His thumbs pressed low on my body, and he pushed my back down until I bent over all the way. My chest almost touched my knees. I felt his fingers spread slightly as he reached between my legs. His thumbs slid between my open cheeks and brushed directly over my hole. The touch made me jolt forward.

“Relax,” he said quietly.

Relax. As if that were possible. My stomach tightened and heat shot up my spine. I tried to keep breathing steady, but my body betrayed me, shivering a bit at his touch. He didn’t stop. His thumbs dragged lower again until they brushed over my balls. He jiggled them gently between his thumbs like this was some kind of normal stretch cue.

I snapped, whisper-yelling between my legs at him. My voice came out strained. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“Helping you stretch,” he said. His tone was flat, casual, like he really believed it.

But nothing about the way he touched me felt casual. His hands stayed there for a second too long before he finally withdrew, sliding them up the backs of my thighs as he stood upright. My legs felt shaky. The whole attempt at stretching had become pointless because my body wouldn’t listen to me at all.

I straightened up slowly. My face was hot. My heartbeat felt loud in my ears. Max just stepped back two paces, rolled his shoulders like nothing had happened, and gave me a tiny wink. I tried to convince myself I imagined it, but my chest tightened again.

Throughout the day, whenever we stopped, like when the group paused to drink water, Max found a way to look at me. Not stare or glare. Just a one‑second look that made my stomach dip. It was never long enough for anyone else to notice, but every time his eyes slid to mine, something moved in my abdomen.

It didn’t help that part of me felt like he had gotten one over on me the night before. Maybe in a sort of humiliating way. Like he had crossed some demented line in a game of "gay chicken" and then dared me to act like everything was normal. And the worst part was that instead of being mad, a tiny part of me kept replaying the warmth of him behind me, the way his body had held mine. I hated how good that memory felt. I hated that his weight against me had branded itself somewhere inside my brain. How did he know it would have that affect on me? Or did he just go along with it when I didn't resist? Was he even awake during it, or was it some aggressive wet dream of his? I decided to believe it was the latter for my own sanity.

But still, the sensation of him pressed up behind me kept flashing in my head at random moments. I’d try to focus on the trail, the trees, the conversation ahead of me, and then suddenly there he was in my mind again, hips tight to my ass, breathing hard. My legs would tense without warning. I’d drink water even though my mouth wasn’t dry. I kept telling myself to stop thinking about it, but my brain didn’t listen.

Every time our eyes met, something sharp twisted low in my stomach. I pretended it wasn’t affecting me, tried to keep my expression neutral, but my body kept giving me away. I’d look away fast, only to catch myself turning right back toward him like I couldn’t help it. My chest felt too warm. My hands felt restless. I kept shifting my weight on the trail, like grounding myself physically would shut down whatever was happening under the surface.

But Max didn’t push anything. He just kept watching me in these tiny flashes, as if he were checking whether last night had actually done something to me. And the fact that it had, and he seemed to know it, made my pulse hit harder every time.

At one point during the hike, Trent turned around and yelled, “You two looked cozy this morning,” with a smirk.

The guys laughed. I rolled my eyes like it was the dumbest joke in the world. Max didn’t laugh. Not even a smile. He just looked at me again, steady and unreadable.

My throat tightened. My pulse kicked up. A stupid part of me wanted to shove him off the trail just to break whatever was happening.

When we reached the rock climbing spot, the coach paired everyone up. I ended up belaying Max again. At this point it was ridiculous. It felt like we were being shoved into each other’s presence by the universe.

Max didn’t complain. He only smirked and stepped into the harness. I had to lock him up from behind, gripping the straps that went around his crotch. While the other guys made jokes along the lines of "Wow I can feel that on my manhood," and "watch our for my dick," I just held my breath and made sure his muscular ass was cinched and safe in the gear. At one point, his hands reached down to guide mine around his hip, and I froze for a second. It was like he was going to put my hand somewhere, but then he didn't.

When we started climbing, he suddenly burst up the rock face quickly, pushing himself like he wanted to burn off something. Halfway up, his foot slipped. He dropped several feet and swung directly toward me. He made the rope slip out of my hands, and he had failed to communicate what he was doing, so instead of properly belaying him, his chest slammed into mine. Hard.

His legs wrapped around my waist from the momentum. My arms shot out to catch him, locking around his back automatically. His whole body trembled once in my hold.

For a moment we didn’t move.

“You good?” I asked, voice lower than I meant.

His forehead pressed against my jaw. He was breathing fast. I could feel his heart thudding through his chest.

“Yeah. Fuck… you caught me,” he said, trying to laugh it off, but the tremor in his voice gave him away.

I lowered him slow, hands guiding his body down mine inch by inch. When his feet hit the ground, his hands stayed on my shoulders longer than necessary. Like he needed to steady himself. Or like he didn’t want to let go yet.

I smirked without meaning to. “Gentle.”

His face flushed instantly. He shoved past me lightly like it meant nothing.

When everyone reached the top ridge, the coach set up a grappling drill. The second he announced partners, Max didn’t hesitate. He sprinted toward me like he had been waiting all day for an excuse.

“Let’s go,” he said, grabbing my wrist. His grip was firm, warm, way too familiar.

He pulled me into the center before anyone else could try. We started circling each other, our shoes grinding into the dirt. The air felt different up here. Thinner. Charged. Like the altitude wasn’t the only thing messing with my breathing.

Max kept his eyes on me in a way that wasn’t normal for a drill. Not strategic. Not focused. Just… locked. Watching me. Waiting.

Then he lunged.

His shoulder slammed into my chest and knocked the air out of me. I hit the ground hard with a grunt. Before I could react, his thighs cinched around my hips. He squeezed tight, locking me down in a way that was more body than technique.

His chest pressed completely flat against mine. I felt every inhale he took, the rise and fall of him syncing against me. His crotch pushed into mine with each tiny shift of his weight. At first I told myself it was just positioning. Then it kept happening. Firmer. Closer.

“One, two, three,” he counted softly, his face hovering inches above mine.

He didn’t move. He didn’t even pretend he was about to.

Instead, he dropped his mouth near my ear. His breath hit my skin first, warm and slow. Then his lips brushed close enough that I felt the shape of his words.

“I can feel your cock.”

My whole body seized up. Normal boy-tormenting and gay chicken was too much for me at the moment. A bolt of heat shot through me so fast I forgot to breathe. My hands pushed against his ribs on instinct, but he stayed on me a second longer, like he wanted to feel the effect he had.

I finally shoved him off, harder than I meant to. Dirt scraped under my palms as I sat up.

The guys around us laughed, thinking we were just being aggressive, competitive, typical wrestling‑team idiots.

On the hike down, Max shoulder‑checked me out of nowhere. My response came before my brain could catch up. I shoved him back. We went at it for a few seconds, shoves turning into a squabble, more like grappling again, our bodies colliding with a familiar force.

The others yelled at us to chill. Again, they acted like it was typical wrestling‑team guy stuff, not knowing what was going on with us, not that I was even sure myself.

But the way Max smirked at me after, and the way I held his stare, said otherwise.

It felt like foreplay disguised as a fight. My brain hated admitting it.

Later, I slipped on a patch of loose dirt. Dust exploded up my hoodie. Before I could brush it off, Max reached out without thinking. His fingers swept across my collarbone, then dragged up the side of my neck in a slow, warm line.

“You’re a mess,” he said, almost gently.

I froze. My heartbeat slammed into my ribs.

“Thanks…” I muttered. My voice sounded like someone else’s.

He walked ahead before I could process any of it.

At the base of the trail, the coach called for a group photo. The guys gathered fast. Max positioned himself behind me, hands sliding around my waist to pull me closer into the frame.

His thumb brushed my hip. Soft. Deliberate.

He kept it there as the group adjusted. As people joked. As the coach fiddled with the camera.

It felt like an hour.

Then the picture was taken. Max stepped away like nothing happened. Like he hadn’t just dragged his thumb across my hip and sent my brain into a meltdown.

I felt that one thumb stroke for the next ten minutes.

At dinner, Max stole a piece of fried bread stuff (random food coach cooked) off my plate.

“Give it back,” I said, reaching, laughing.

He held it out of reach. I grabbed his wrist. He grabbed mine. We sort of froze again. Our hands didn’t separate.

“You want it?” he asked, staring at my mouth.

I didn’t answer.

Neither did he.

I noticed the other guys looking at us like we were freaks, and I let it go as he took a big bite out of it.

—[]—

After dinner, Coach marched us down to the shower station at the campground and told us all to rinse off before bed. The place was a big concrete room with shaky water pressure and a faint chlorine smell, like an old locker room that someone hosed down once a month. The air was cold enough to raise goosebumps before the water even hit us.

Max stripped down first. Of course he did. He peeled his shirt off slowly, letting it drag over his abs so every line of muscle showed. Then he pushed his shorts down and stepped out of them like he was walking into a photoshoot. His body was ridiculous. Broad shoulders, tapered waist, legs that looked carved. I tried not to look. I failed instantly. I was supposed to be the one with bigger muscles. If he looked this good when he was dehydrated, he kind of beat me at everything.

He noticed. His eyes caught mine for half a second. He smirked like he had been waiting for me to slip up and peak at him.

I stood there in my underwear, trying to act normal while my throat went dry. Max stepped in front of the spout I was about to take. He turned his back to me and twisted the knob. Water sputtered out, then steadied into a weak stream.

Then he shifted his stance so the water hit his back and ran down over his ass. He bent slightly at the waist like he was adjusting the pressure, but it looked way too intentional. His cheeks parted and showed his pink hole. Water traced every curve of his body. My brain stalled as I watched, admiring him like he was a role model of mine or something. 

The rest of the guys got naked and started messing around. Shoving, yelling, laughing. Typical chaos when a group of dudes had to shower in the same room.

I took the spout next to Max. I pushed my underwear down and stepped out of them, trying to keep my face blank even though my heartbeat was stupidly loud. I warmed up my water and stepped into the stream.

Through all the noise, Max stayed calm. He lathered soap over his chest in long strokes, running his hands down his torso like he knew he was on display. I knew he wasn’t showing off for the group. He was showing off for me.

He glanced over again. Quick. Sharp. His eyes flicked down my body, then back up to my face. He didn’t hide the look. Not even a little. My stomach tightened. I washed slower, trying to focus on the water instead of the guy two feet away who was messing with my head. But Max kept glancing over, barely hiding the fact that he liked the attention. Every time his eyes hit me, my body reacted like I had stepped into hotter water.

We dried off as a team, with surprisingly few towel-whips, and I was finally able to relax and join the group conversation.

Later, around the campfire, Max hovered near me. He didn’t push me or tease much anymore. But I noticed that he stayed close. I felt it the whole walk back to the tents. Something was building again.

We both got into the sleeping bag again without a word, until Max punched my shoulder lightly. “You gonna sleep good again?”

I rolled my eyes. “You’re the one who had a wet dream.”

He laughed. “What? No I didn’t.”

I froze.

“You did,” I said.

He paused. “You sure?”

Another pause.

I didn’t know if he was pretending or actually clueless, but either way, my stomach twisted.

"You don't remember anything from last night?" I asked quietly.

"You got cold and came into my sleeping bag," he said plainly.

"Ok," I said with an exhale. If that was all he was willing to admit, or if he had actually been sleeping when he humped me to completion, then so be it.

"Well," I said, "You should jerk off before bed if you don't want to have another accident."

His hand slid down like he was adjusting himself. Except he wasn’t adjusting.

"Should I?" he said, it was almost serious. It was a mix of him taunting me, trying to make me uncomfortable, and actually asking.

"Better than you splooging on me in your sleep," I said, trying my best to sound mocking.

We were still for a second. Then I felt him shuffling around again, down below the cover of the sleeping bag.

Then he reached for my ass. 

I flinched and pulled back. I caught his wrist.

He didn't say anything, I could just barely tell he was smirking at me in the dark. I held his wrist for another moment. He didn't push, just let me hold it.

I guided his hand to my cock instead. He chuckled once, low, and started stroking. I pushed into his hand, and pulled off my underwear. His dick pressed against me as he got a better position, giving me a proper handjob.

I reached for his underwear, and tugged them lower. He lifted his ass to let me take them off, before settling lower and facing me with his body. He humped me slow, then faster.

I groaned, "Suck me."

He hesitated.

"Please," I whispered.

That was enough.

He slid down my body, flipping over so his feet were by my face. The heat of his body settled between my legs, and I felt his breath first on my dick and balls as I throbbed in front of his face. My hips lifted on instinct and his mouth wrapped around me. The sensation hit so hard I grabbed the back of his head without meaning to.

He moved with this focused hunger, drawing these deep pulses out of my body as I convulsed a little. His dick was throbbing next to my face too, heavy and hot and emanating his scent. It brushed my cheek as he shifted. I turned toward him without thinking, my mouth finding the head of it in the dark. He pushed forward in a slow, heavy glide, and I let him, pulling him closer as I wrapped my hand around his hip to grope his ass.

We moved in a messy rhythm as we basically started face fucking each other, both of us lost in it. Every time he let me push deeper into his mouth, I pulled him deeper into mine, our throats glugging in the same pattern. It wasn’t graceful as we made each other gag, like we were both desperate to get a nut. It was two males having an erotic moment, as weird as that sounded in my head.

Each time he pushed into my mouth, I felt the shudder run through him, a full-body tremor that told me I was doing something right. His shaft was pulsing repeatedly every time I pushed him into my throat. I learned to relax after a minute and I was able to hold him longer each time.

Before I even realized it, I was cumming hard, pushing into his throat and holding his head down. His dick was still in my mouth and I slowed my head bobbing as I pumped my seed into his mouth.

It was like suddenly coming out of a dream when my orgasm ended. I realized there was a dude's dick in my mouth, his balls in my face and his toned quads tensing in my line of sight. I could smell balls and taint and man scent.

I pulled off slowly. I wasn't going to abandon him after he just took my load down his throat. 

"Are you gonna cum soon?" I whispered. 

"I did..." he said, breathing hard, "twice."

I chuckled and coughed. He had cum in my throat while I did my thing on his mouth.

"Ok," I said quietly. 

We realigned slowly and laid on our backs, staring at the ceiling of the tent for a minute, not saying anything. 

“I think,” he said finally, pausing, “that things comes off.”

“What thing?” I said.

He got up, still naked, and his ass and junk passed over my face as he crawled over me to the door of the tent. He unzipped it and stepped outside in the nude. No one else was up. He stood outside the tent, his nude body facing inside, as he fumbled with the roof of the tent. I heard him untying something, and soon the top piece of the tent flew off, and I could see the stars and a bright, almost full moon. He came back inside, zipping the door closed and curling up in the bag next to me again.

“That’s nice,” I said, the cold air on my face contrasting with the warmth between our bodies in the sleeping bag.

We stayed like that, watching the stars until we fell asleep, naked in our sleeping bag.