(This is a fictional story and none of this actually happened. I don't know either of the celebrities mentioned. Feedback welcome at dukeblue001@hotmail.com)
As the clock ticked down to 0:00--for the second time in the game--Brady Quinn finally let the last shred of hope escape from his mind. He'd held out for those unbearable few seconds as the refs added time, the USC offense set, and the top team in the country had completed their amazing comeback win. But really, he'd known as soon as the Trojans' quarterback got the ball on that goal-line stand that his Irish were doomed.
He'd done his best, but today, Matt Leinart was just better. To go from the opposite side of the field and score in the last moments of the game, to steal a 34-31 victory from the stunned Notre Dame faithful...it was the stuff of champions. And Matt Leinart was a champion.
Not a bad ass on him, either, Brady let himself think. For years the very good-looking 20-year-old quarterback had played it straight in public--hot girlfriends, jock demeanor, manly swagger--while indulging his real preferences in dark dorm rooms with drunken frat boys and even the occasional sober teammate. So he wasn't totally in the closet, but as far as most of America knew, Brady Quinn was every bit the straight, muscular jock he appeared to be.
His dick betrayed otherwise as he glanced over the opposing quarterback, his shaft's larger than average mass swelling as he took in Leinart's boyish grin, shaggy brown hair, and nicely muscled body. Brady adjusted his bulge under the white football pants as he swallowed hard, running his hand through his own sweaty brown hair. This wasn't going to be easy, but hey, he was Brady Quinn, stud quarterback, pride of Dublin, Ohio. He wasn't going to let a few butterflies get in the way of what he really wanted.
Fighting his worries, Brady walked over to where the USC players were celebrating. As soon as Leinart pulled away from the hugs for a second, Quinn moved in.
"Good game, bro," said the junior, slapping Leinart on the back. Matt turned and smiled, and Brady's cock suddenly demanded attention, squeezing at the laces of his pants. "Maybe one of the best ever," he continued.
"Hey, you were fuckin' fantastic, dude," said Leinart, turning to face Quinn and looking him in the eyes as he returned the hand to the shoulder. It was true--in addition to being a great quarterback and incredibly hot, Matt Leinart was a genuinely nice guy.
"You were better," Brady replied, ducking his head and resisting the urge to let the hand that sat on Matt's shoulder slide down to more dangerous regions.
"Whatever, dude, it was a great game and we just came out on top." Then, for no reason at all except maybe to answer one of Brady Quinn's prayers, Matt hugged the Notre Dame quarterback hard. Brady's eyes widened in disbelief--what did he feel pressing up against his own rock-hard prick but Matt's apparently large and powerful cock, also embarrassingly hard. But Matt wasn't embarrassed at all. "I'd love to come out on top of this," he said in a whisper just barely audible to Brady's incredulous ears as he felt two solid California jock hands squeeze his ass hard through the tight uniform.
"You know where to find me," Matt said, louder, as he pulled away and walked off, leaving Brady Quinn speechless at the center of the field. A few more hugs and slaps on the back and ass from his teammates, and Leinart was headed for the locker room.
He changed slowly, not wanting to rush it. But he moved forward too, trying to balance between his fear that Quinn would take forever to think about it and his hope that the hot Irish quarterback wouldn't be able to get his pants off fast enough. Matt took a shower and finally put on a tight white t-shirt and some sagged jeans, loose over most of him but strategically tight in other places.
He rolled his eyes as he saw his nearly irrepressible boner pushing hard into the denim. Settle down, boy, he thought. He tried to think of something un-sexy, but his mind kept drifting back to Brady--his thick thighs, calves and ass, his beautifully defined upper body, his cute dumb jock face that he made sometimes despite being a pretty intelligent guy. But by the time Matt had slipped his brown sandals on and grabbed his bag, he had the obscene bulge down to a mild one, only noticeable if somebody was staring right at his crotch.
Which is exactly what Brady Quinn did as he saw Leinart come out of the locker room. He quickly gathered his wits, though, and pulled his gaze back up to Matt's face. The handsome 6'5" Trojan was already ogling him, too, admiring how Brady's muscled torso bulged neatly into his gray ND football t-shirt and his powerful thighs and hips pressed so tantalizingly into his jeans.
Both guys' carefully controlled cocks ignored what their brains were saying and blossomed in desire as soon as they caught sight of each other, blowing to hell their attempt to avoid being obvious. Brady at least tried to maintain eye contact while stealing glances down to Matt's bulge, but the reigning Heisman winner didn't even bother with pretense, staring openly at Quinn's sizable hard-on for a few seconds.
"Glad you came," said Leinart, letting that wide grin spread over his face again as he put his hand to Brady's shoulder, feeling the muscle of Quinn's delts and pecs tense and flex at the contact. "Got somewhere we can go?"
Brady didn't respond, just slipped his hand imperceptibly to Matt's right side, feeling the QB's tight obliques with his hand as he guided him forward. Matt thought he was at his hardest, but his cock pushed harder than ever into his jeans as he felt Brady's hand at his side, his bulging bicep tight against Matt's back. As Quinn pulled off, Leinart felt his hand brush over his ass under the sagged jeans and nearly blew a load right there in the hallway. Instead, he and Brady walked on, headed for the apartment that the big Notre Dame quarterback knew was gloriously empty.
They didn't talk on the ride over in Brady's truck--what was there to say? Both guys sat in a thoughtful silence. Brady hadn't intended to take Matt home with him, it had just happened. Likewise, Leinart had been caught by surprise seeing the Notre Dame QB in person--he knew he was hot but he'd been unprepared for just how hard he'd fall for Brady Quinn.
A few minutes later and they were going up the stairs to Brady's apartment, doing their best to keep their hands off each other, knowing that anybody could be watching. But then the door to the sanctuary opened and closed behind them, and they were free.
"Mmnfff!" Brady let out a muffled grunt of surprise as he felt Matt Leinart pin him against the door, kissing him like he'd just handed him another Heisman. Matt's eager hands wasted no time now that Quinn was his--he slipped them up from Brady's waist to massage his cut six-pack and tightly curved obliques, then, pushing the gray shirt along with them, ran up to grip the junior QB's massive, rock-hard, beautifully bulging pecs. Brady's nipples were hard--he moaned softly, arching his neck, as Matt licked them.
The stud Trojan didn't let him make so much noise for long. Leinart leaned in and slipped his lips up along Brady's chin to meet his defeated opponent's slowly opening mouth. Matt's hands were still pushing up Brady's shirt and caressing his pecs, and his aching cock ground against Quinn's, the two layers of jeans separating their stud fuckmuscles not doing much to dull the pleasure.
"Fuck, Leinart," was all Brady could get out as he pulled his shirt off the rest of the way. His tanned torso was now bare, and Matt just admired it for a second before removing his own shirt.
"Damn, we are two hot fuckin' studs, huh?" said Matt, who was taking the turn of events pretty well compared to the speechless Brady Quinn. Though Quinn was the one who attempted the seduction, Matt had quickly taken control and now planned to make love to Brady on his terms.
The jacked Irish QB was happy to submit to that, since apparently the first order of business was Matt removing Brady's jeans and tight boxer briefs and slowly sinking to tongue Quinn's swollen, leaking cockhead. The boyish grin was gone from Leinart's lips--this was a man sucking his cock, a 22-year-old, 225-pound, national champion full-out football jock stud. Matt might have been hesitant--this wasn't what a hot QB hunk like him was supposed to want. But he only had to look at Brady's thick 7-inch meat once before realizing it was what he wanted, supposed-tos be damned. With that Matt Leinart closed his eyes, clenched Brady's muscle ass with both hands, and eased the entire length of Brady's cock into his mouth.
Quinn gasped as he felt his hard dick enveloped in the warm, wet paradise of Matt's mouth. He clenched his eyes, totally caught up in the pleasure of the moment, letting his hands run through Leinart's soft brown hair. Brady Quinn was in heaven--this gorgeous jock he'd admired on TV and all during the game was now sucking his big Notre Dame cock, and apparently really enjoying it as he wrapped his tanned arms around to Brady's ass. "Feels so fuckin' good, stud," whispered the Irish QB, nearing the edge as Matt's hands gripped the tight muscles of his ass and even ran up and down the tender crevice.
"Unnnhhh!" Brady moaned suddenly at the feeling of two of the hot USC quarterback's fingers slipping quickly into his asshole. It felt weird but incredibly good, especially with him sucking Brady's cock so hard. Nobody had ever touched Brady there, not even the drunk hook-ups, but now that Matt was inside him he couldn't imagine why he'd waited so long.
Matt continued finger-fucking the hot junior's ass and licking and squeezing his cock with his tongue and lips until Brady had to pull away. Leinart looked up, his hair tousled, his cheeks flush, his bare chest heaving. Quinn looked into Matt's handsome face and saw the other QB's pleading eyes. Suddenly he got devious.
"You want my load, stud, you're gonna have to fuck it out of me." He thought he was being risque but Matt didn't miss a beat, pulling off his belt and sliding his jeans down. Brady stared in awe at the monster bulge that looked like it was about to bust free of Matt Leinart's white boxer briefs. It was huge--had to push at least 9 inches--with a nice, broad head that was staining the boxer briefs with precum. He'd had no idea Matt was packing that kind of meat but instead of being intimidated, seeing the size of it just made him want it in his ass that much more.
And as Leinart pulled down the boxer briefs, the sight of the huge Trojan cock that his buddy sported was almost too much. Brady fell back on his bed and watched as the California god approached him, his rock-hard cock bobbing, his hand rubbing his left pec, his biceps and delts bulging hard.
"Oh shit, dude," breathed Brady, not cocky anymore but totally consumed with lust at the sight of Matt's huge piece. "I gotta have that dick in me now, man."
"Take it easy, stud," said Matt, taking his turn at being the arrogant prick. "Plenty of time for me to ream that hot jock ass." He bent over the bed and tongued Brady's cockhead again while sliding the Irish hunk's jeans and gray boxer briefs the rest of the way off. Brady couldn't believe he wasn't blowing a load down Matt's throat right then--the sheer will and desire to get Matt inside him was all that held it in.
"We gotta do this again with our uniforms, man," said Matt, grinning as he sized up Brady's naked body, taking in every detail from the quarterback's handsome features over his jacked torso down to his thick cock and tight ass. "I love how that ass looks in those tight pants, dude. Really makes me want to do this--"
And with that his dick was coming in Brady's tight jock hole, pressing past the pucker to ease about 3 inches in. Quinn groaned, but it was as much in deep pleasure as pain. Leinart stroked Brady's cock calmly, loosening him up, as he slid further in. His massive dickhead grazed Brady's prostate and the Notre Dame jock breathed out hard. He was real close now.
Matt pulled out almost all the way, then slid 8 of his 9 inches into Brady Quinn's eager ass. Brady inhaled sharply. He looked up at Matt Leinart's handsome face, then felt his champion cock slide out, then all the way back in, nailing his previously untouched prostate. He looked straight into Matt's eyes as his 7-inch prick exploded, shots of cum flying onto Brady's pecs and abs, onto Matt's jacked stomach, and all over the bed.
His ass had tightened around Matt's still-aching dick, but Matt resisted the urge to fuck him any harder. This was no easy task, especially when the USC QB looked back down to see what he'd just done to Brady Quinn. The poor kid, not even 21 years old, gave off an image of manly confidence and power on the field. Now, his entire body, from his chiseled features to his tanned and cut pecs and six-pack to his still-pumping cock, was lying immobilized by the incredibly hot experience of being fucked by Matt Leinart.
"You look hot as hell right now, dude," said Matt, licking some of Brady's projectile cum right off Quinn's pecs. "But when you get a second, you think you could do me too?"
Brady tried to process what Matt wanted him to do. "You want me...to fuck you?"
Leinart, still in control, knew what to do. He got off the bed and turned around, pretending to check something out on Brady's desk. "You don't want to?" he said. Brady had fallen right into the trap and was now staring at Matt Leinart's bare, tan, muscular ass, his mouth dropping a little as Matt flexed it, the bubble of each bulge of muscle rising and falling.
Brady didn't even answer, just slipped off the bed and walked up to Matt, whose back was still turned. The two stacked football jock studs, completely naked and completely obsessed with each other, had clearly lost whatever inhibitions they might have had. Now it was just a question of who got to do what.
Brady sidled up to Matt's rigid body, pressing himself against Leinart's solid back. They were as intimately connected now as they had been a few minutes earlier--Brady's lips softly tracing from Matt's hair down over his neck to his shoulders, Brady's pecs and abs pressed tightly against Matt's muscular back, and Brady's once again aching cock sliding up and down Matt's slowly opening asshole. Brady made the final connection as he reached around with both arms, his bulging biceps squeezing against Matt's taut sides, and let one hand slip around Leinart's hard, leaking 9-inch prick while the other grasped one of his pecs. Matt held his breath. He was ready.
The Heisman winner and national champion quarterback didn't groan like Brady had as the Notre Dame stud pushed inside, just breathed in and out softly. He felt Brady's hand stroking his huge cock and the other tweaking his nipple but wouldn't let himself cum until Quinn had fucked him good and hard. Just like on the football field, this beautiful, hung jock was gonna have to earn it.
Brady's slow strokes in and out of his tight hole eventually reached deep enough to rub against Matt's prostate, and the USC quarterback really had to pack it in. He bent over Brady's desk as the other jock continued fucking him, actually giving Quinn a better angle as he turned his ass upward. His fingers clenched against the desk's edge as he felt his buddy increase the pace.
Matt really did regret fucking Brady into submission a minute earlier--although he did look hot lying there after getting his load fucked out of him, Leinart preferred this side of Brady Quinn, the powerful, masculine guy he saw on the field. He decided to stroke Brady's ego a little more with an act of submission of his own.
Slowly, as Brady was still pumping his hard cock into Matt's ass and furiously jacking the senior's own big dick, Matt turned his head back. "Come here, stud," he said in a low, husky voice that got Brady even hotter. The ND junior leaned his head over Matt's shoulders and kissed him deeply.
Matt was pleasantly surprised. The first kiss had been naked lust, a simple need to get their two bodies together as fast as possible. This was different--Brady's tongue meshed with Matt's, hard and demanding but then soft and gentle. All the while with Brady's huge, hard cock planted firmly in Matt's handsome jock ass.
Finally Brady broke away and their chiseled cheeks and jaws just ran against each other softly, Matt's unshaven face brushing sensually against Brady's smooth cheek. "Please, Brady," Leinart whispered, "fuck me, dude. Fuck me hard."
Brady didn't stop to think about how ridiculous it was that he, Brady Quinn, was sitting in his room with his cock up the ass of Matt Leinart, the best QB in the country. He just spun Matt around, pinning him face down on the bed and eased up on top of him, his dick sinking in even deeper, all 7 thick inches now buried in Leinart's hole. Matt moaned softly as Brady totally reamed him, finally giving his cockstud what he really wanted.
Within a few seconds, Matt Leinart's ass tightened hard around Brady's dick and his huge 9-incher exploded in a wave of pleasure, sending shot after shot of his thick Trojan cum pouring onto Brady's bed. Brady kept pumping till the last of Leinart's load was squeezed out, then eased his own still-hard tool out of the hot senior's ass. Leinart groaned as he felt Quinn's dickhead clear his assring, then collapsed in ecstasy on the bed.
Brady grinned, his thick pecs and cut six-pack heaving as he regained his breath. He leaned over the bed and scooped up some of the warm jock batter Matt had sprayed, licking it off his finger. "You taste fuckin' great, dude," said the stacked junior.
Matt looked up, smirking. "How do you know what I taste like?" Brady paused, then dropped to the bed without saying anything. He eased over to Matt till finally the two stud quarterbacks were close enough that they could lean in and kiss. If the first kiss was hurried, and the second was hard and passionate, this one was slow and relaxed, a seal-the-deal kiss.
The two built and jacked QBs were quickly wrapped together on the bed as Matt tasted his own cum and the hot wetness of Brady's mouth and tongue. Brady's hands were in Matt's hair, Leinart's were on Brady's hard torso, one rubbing over his right pec, the other tracing the sharp definition of his six-pack. Their powerful legs were stacked and twisted together, which meant their long, thick and rock-hard cocks were also rubbing together again.
It seemed like every part of the two gorgeous college football studs was touching at once. Leinart's cockhead grazed over the tight ridges of Quinn's abs, Brady's lips ran from Matt's grizzled jaw over his trunk of a neck to his solid pecs. Then they shifted, and Matt's fingers were sinking from Brady's muscled lower back over the bulge of his bubble butt to slip inside his ass again, and Brady's hard cock rammed directly into Matt's taut stomach, the pressure making him breathe out sharply in pleasure.
They continued like this until it really did feel like their bodies covered each other, with every part of Brady Quinn touching every part of Matt Leinart. Finally both guys opened their eyes and stared into the other's.
"This is like, the best fucking night of my life, dude," said Brady, still drinking in the hot USC quarterback's image and trying to wrap his head around the fact that he'd just had sex with Matt Leinart.
"You make it sound like it's over, stud," Matt answered. "For one thing, you still don't know what I taste like."
Brady sighed, kissing Matt again and tasting that hot, sweet taste of another jock's mouth. But he knew what Matt meant. "You are so fucking hot, dude," Brady said. Then he got on his knees and flipped around, landing his face directly in front of Matt's pulsing 9-inch cock. Without another second of hesitation, Brady put his mouth to the wet dickhead and started tonguing it gently.
Matt moaned and closed his eyes. But he quickly opened them again and saw Brady's own fat jock prick wagging right in front of him. Always hot for a handsome quarterback stud dick and more specifically turned on beyond belief by Brady Quinn, Matt slipped the Notre Dame hunk's broad cockhead into his mouth and settled into a nice 69.
Brady never knew his dick could feel so good as Matt went at it once again, though he was enjoying the feeling of Leinart's thick 9-incher stretching out his mouth almost as much. But Matt was a better cocksucker than he was, and he'd shot more recently too, so it was Brady who went over the edge again first.
The Notre Dame QB's body tensed with the electricity of an orgasm that outdid even the first one, his dick pouring another load deep into Matt Leinart's waiting throat. Leinart milked Brady's cock, running his mouth and lips up and down the long, veiny shaft trying to squeeze every last drop of hot Irish cum out of Quinn's heavy balls.
With his part finished, Brady slipped off the bed and pulled Matt to the edge. He quickly downed the stud USC jock's enormous dick once again and sucked and licked more urgently than before. One hand was wrapped around Matt's thick calf, the other up on his ass. Matt looked down and saw what was, despite everything he'd already seen, the hottest thing he'd seen all night: Brady Quinn, cut and muscular jock quarterback, stud athlete for a big-time football program, on his knees with a mouthful of champion Trojan cock, eating Matt Leinart's dick like his life depended on it.
"Too fuckin' hot, bro," Matt muttered, then busted his nut, spilling hot jock juice into Brady's mouth. The Notre Dame hunk drank it greedily, milking Leinart's cock like he'd milked Brady's. Finally Quinn pulled off and rose up, straddling his seated buddy and kissing him hard on the lips.
The weight of Brady's muscular body pushed Matt to the bed and they lay there, kissing and running their hands slowly over each other, for a long time. Eventually Matt pulled away for a second, looking into Brady's eyes. "You know I can't stay here, dude," he said. "Our plane leaves early tomorrow."
"I know," Brady said. "Go ahead, move out. We'll talk again." He shoved Matt playfully out of the bed and watched as Leinart dressed. Brady was wistful watching as the beautiful parts he'd uncovered, explored, grown to know every inch of, were covered up again. He slipped off the bed himself as Matt pulled on his white boxer briefs and jeans, then the white t-shirt. Brady was putting on a tight gray undershirt and a pair of blue mesh gym shorts.
Leinart turned to see his jock cockstud standing there, never more manly than at that moment even though he'd spent the last few hours having sex with another man. Brady grinned, that dumb jock grin that had turned Matt on so much. And as Quinn walked up to him and slid his thick arms around Matt's waist, hands resting peacefully on his ass over the sagged denim, it happened again.
"Miss you, dude," said Brady, kissing Matt on the cheek and neck.
"Fuck that, you little fag," Leinart replied jokingly. "Missing's for girls. When I'm not here, I want you to keep fuckin' frat boys and gettin' all the cock that big stud body can get." He slapped Brady's solid pecs for emphasis.
"Oh, I will," said Brady. "But when you've been in these jeans..." He unbuttoned Matt's pants again and his hand snaked down to grasp Leinart's hard dick through the straining white boxer briefs. "...nothing else comes close."
"Fuck, Brady..." Matt whispered. Unbelievable, he thought, as he felt his big cockhead start to leak again, shoot twice for this stud and he still wants more. But it wasn't hard to see as his own hands found their way down into Brady's mesh shorts and his lips to Brady's tanned and chiseled neck and jaw, that he still wanted more too.
Matt pulled back and stared at Brady, the Irish QB's hand still very much around Matt's cock and Matt's hands still very much palming Brady's muscular ass. "Fuck it," he said, shucking his jeans, "one more can't hurt." He shoved Brady back on the bed and lay over him. Their two hard dicks, so well-known to each other already, got reacquainted as they pressed together through Matt's tight boxer briefs and Brady's thin shorts.
Matt's hands were quickly re-undressing the Notre Dame stud QB, pushing up the shirt and letting his lips follow up from Brady's obliques to his abs to his handsome pecs, revisiting every precious inch he thought he'd said goodbye to. Finally, when Brady was shirtless again and the two hot quarterbacks lay inches apart, Matt kissed Brady in yet another way, a way that let both of them know that everything would be different from now on.
"Fuck, Brady Quinn, I'm so obsessed with you," Matt whispered.
"Fuck, Matt Leinart, not even close to how I feel about you," Brady answered.
"This isn't just gonna be some one-night stand, is it?" said Matt, wincing as he thought of the future even as he tensed feeling Brady's hands shove under the boxer briefs to grip his ass.
"Not if I can help it," Brady said, and pulled the sheets over them.