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.
