"Jerry, that's fucking offensive." said Marcus as he pressed a towel to his forehead. He pulled his tank top over him, and balled it into his locker. He slammed the door, and turned. He pressed his back against the metal, crossing his arms as he stared at his friend.
Jerry scoffed, and let out a laugh. "What's wrong, cupcake? Afraid I might be right? You're a dandy. You're too soft. You'd never beat me," he said, opening his locker. His pin-up girl-legs spread and fingers diving deep-greeted him. He smirked, and kissed the poster before undressing. He pulled his shirt off, and dropped his basketball shorts. He pulled his jock strap off, and snapped the band, sending it flying at Marcus. Marcus stepped to the left, and wriggled his nose.
"That's disgusting, dude. Seriously."
Jerry smirked as he slipped his boxers over his waist, and chuckled again. "Oh really? Thought you'd be familiar with eating jock straps, all things considered."
Marcus' nostrils flared, and he crossed the locker room. Jerry, aware the room was quiet aside from the coming foot falls, turned towards Marcus. His muscles, tired from lifting, twitched and tensed. He coiled, and held firm as Marcus came close.
Marcus jabbed a finger against Jerry's chest, and said "You. Me. Right now, right here. Greco-Roman. Got it?"
Jerry rolled his eyes, but didn't slacken his frame. He turned towards his locker, and dug for a clean shirt.
"You're out of your fucking gourd, cup cake. Besides, we need mats. What're we gonna do if one of us slips on the tiles? Bleed the fuck out? Eh?"
His locker door slammed in his face, and Marcus gripped his shoulder, slinging him around. Jerry looked at Marcus-a friend, despite his puffing red face-and grit his jaw.
"Don't. Call me. Cupcake." said Marcus, exhaling each word. Jerry's muscles twitched, and he gave a nod. Marcus pulled away, and returned to his locker. He opened a it up, and looked over his shoulder.
"The weight room is completely unoccupied, and has mats. That is, if you're unafraid of wrestling with a dandy, you biggoted fuck."
"Marcus, listen man-"
Marcus lifted and slung his duffle bage over his shoulder, and turned towards Jerry. He jabbed a finger in the air, and said "No, you fucking listen. I came out to you first man. You, my best fucking friend. Do you realize what that means? Do you?"
"Marcu-" started Jerry.
"No, don't fucking 'Marcus' me. Ever since I fucking told you, it's 'cup cake this', and 'dandy boy' that. I'm gay, Jerry. I get it. I eat jock straps and I have a limp wrist, la dee da. But if you're so confidant that being straight makes you a part of some master race, then be in the weight room in ten. Otherwise? Don't fucking talk to me. Ever. Got it?"
Jerry stared across the room. He eyed his friend, and saw the sweat on his brow. His tensed muscles. The veins in Marcus's temples throbbing.
Then he grinned, and slammed his locker close.
"Alright then Marcus. Ya' can't take a joke, then I'll take you up on it. And when I beat you, we'll agree this was all a big fucking farce, and go back to the way things were. You got your dander up, and I'm going to lay it down. 'Bout time you had a good ass whooping, if you ask me. Weight room in ten?" he said with a smile.
Marcus didn't answer him. He turned, and walked towards the locker room exit, the door slamming behind him. Jerry just laughed, and laughed. Later, when he composed himself, he checked his watch and walked towards the door whistling.
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