Date: Wed, 19 Sep 2007 00:52:13 -0400 From: Nicholas A Ryan Subject: Golden Balls Part Eight DISCLAIMER: The writer in no way questions the actual sexuality of the athletes/celebrities involved. Any situations and incidents are purely fictional and in no way reflect actual events. The writer also holds no license agreement to the following actors, teams, organizations and/or movies that may be mentioned. All persons and films are a copy write and/or are the property of the people, organizations and films themselves. The author in no way holds or maintains any rights to films, athletes and actors. Chapter Eight A Plane bound to London over the Atlantic; Troy Aikman and Daniel Craig conversed like old mates as they sat languidly across the aisle from one another. "I gotta' ask you," Troy looked at Craig with a curious grin. "There was that scene in the film on the beach where you were wearing that skimpy speedo." Craig chuckled at the recollection of the scene. "How much time in the gym did you spend building up for that scene?" Troy's cock was starting to bone up just at the memory of the scene. He spread his legs wider and his right foot rested in the center of the aisle way. Craig shrugged. "Not much. I've always taken pretty good care of my body. I work out 7 days a week." He confided. Troy nodded his head with an approving grin. "I would imagine that you were used to that when you were still playing professionally." "Still am," Troy offered smugly. "I'm probably in better shape now than when I played." "Yeah?" Craig was definitely curious to see the hot Yank football stud's body...unclothed. "I'm not sure if I'd be willing to appear practically naked in a film though," Troy chuckled again. "Yeah," Craig concurred. "I can't tell you the problems we had with that shot." "Such as?" Aikman prompted curiously. "Well," Craig gave Aikman a cheeky grin. "I don't like to boast, but it took several shots before we got film where my cock wasn't sticking out of my Speedos." "Yeah," Aikman smiled as his gaze moved to Craig's slightly visible groin. "Yeah," Craig concurred lowly as he slipped his large left foot from his designer shoes and inched it across the small aisle way to rub up along Aikman's foot and ankle. Aikman cast him an intense look before abruptly unlatching his seat belt and rising from his seat. "Do you happen to know where the men's room is located?" His gaze upon Craig was intense. Craig slowly smiled as his eyes raked Aikman's large muscular form and noted the way his slacks were tented by an obvious boner. "I believe it's toward the back of the cabin," Craig smoothly responded. "Right," Aikman nodded, lingering a moment longer as he appeared to absently brush his tented groin with one of his large hands. "If you'll excuse me," he smiled slightly before moving in the direction of the rear of the plane. Craig glanced over to his sleeping seat mate to look through the window to the clear blue sky. He was very casual and collected despite his raging boner, before he smoothly rose from his seat. After a discretionary moment of time between them, Craig sauntered toward the rear of the plane as well. Los Angeles; Nick Lachey and Ryan Reynolds were just winding down their workout in Reynolds private gym. Both men were clothed simply in running shorts and their bare muscular torsos had a sheen of sweat. Reynolds walked to a `fridge and extracted two bottles of water. He tossed it to Lachey who caught it in one hand. "Hey," Reynolds untwisted the cap, "see you haven't lost your touch." "Nah," Lachey grinned as he untwisted his bottle cap as well. "I try to toss a few with my buddy Matt." "Leinart?" Reynolds took a quick gulp of water. "Yeah," Lachey wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, "when we aren't fuckin' around." Reynolds nodded. "What does he know about that draft pick Brady Quinn?" "Fine ass stud," Lachey marveled with a broad grin. "He fuck around?" Reynolds queried. "Can't say exactly," Lachey moved toward Reynolds and lowered a large hand to Reynolds' shorts, rubbing his ass. "But I do know you fuck around." Reynolds swatted Lachey's hand away. "Not so fast," he chuckled. "We make a deal first." "Dude," Lachey moved closer and pressed his groin and hardening cock against Reynolds' bubble butt. "You know you want this," he purred into Reynolds' ear. `Dude!" Reynolds moved away with a grin. "The deal for my ass, ok?" he wagered. "What kind of deal?" Lachey rubbed one hand low against the long bulged tube of his hard cock nearly poking from one leg of his shorts. `Your buddy Matt gets Quinn to fuck around with me." Reynolds offered seriously. "Think your buddy can do that?" Lachey chuckled again. "Not quite sure but if anyone can persuade a hot stud like that, it's Matt." "Well then," Reynolds wagered, "deal?" Lachey shrugged, "sure. As long as it gets my cock into your hot ass." "Great," Reynolds nodded in satisfaction. "Now," he moved to a work bench and climbed atop with his ass in the air. "Fuckin' drill my ass bro'." Lachey grinned broadly and pulled his hot hard cock from the waist band of his shorts. Reynolds looked back over his shoulder at Lachey stroking his cock. He licked his lower lips. "Bring that beaut' over here dude." Lachey sauntered around the work bench until his cock was raised hard and high before Reynolds face. "You want this?" he teased. "You know it," Reynolds nodded with a gleam in his eyes. Lachey stepped forward until his cock head grazed Reynolds' lips. "Work out on this dude!" Lachey hissed as Reynolds wrapped his lips around his hard veiny shaft and slowly worked his lips down the length. Reynolds sucked hard, his cheeks billowing in as he licked every blue vein with the length of his tongue. "Nice," Lachey grabbed hold of Reynolds' head as the actor took Lachey's hot rod to the hilt. "Fuck yeahhhh," Lachey hissed as Reynolds twisted his head a bit rubbing his nose against Lachey's hard pelvis. "Nobody sucks cock like you bro'." Reynolds gulped and slurped loudly, his Adam's apple moving rapidly as he inhaled sharply to continue deep throating his buddy. Reynolds reached around Lachey and massaged the singer's muscular glutes as he continued to hum and twist his mouth around the stalk of Lachey's boner. His tongue swirled and slithered around the pulsing staff and he snorted again for breath. "Yeah, dude," Lachey bucked his hips a bit causing Reynolds to gurgle as his cock head pulsed against the back of Reynolds' throat. "Choke on this mother'." Reynolds snorted loudly again but held tight, opening the back of his throat completely to the hot shaft. "Mnmph," Reynolds made a loud noise around Lachey's stalk and drizzles of spittle seeped out down his chin. Lachey bucked his hips harder and Reynolds nearly coughed. "Yeah baby," Lachey tugged at the hair atop Reynolds' head, "eat my rod." Lachey bucked forward again, and again, setting a nice pace while Reynolds snorted loudly through his nose but never released the lock of his lips suctioned around Lachey's base. Lachey's balls swung like pendulums setting a smacking pattern against Reynolds chin. While Reynolds nursed on his cock, Lachey reached down across Reynolds torso to gently rub his palms against Reynolds' tight ass. He squeezed and kneaded the globes, smacking them gently a few times. "Nmph," Reynolds made a sound from the back of his throat as he sucked at the pre-cum leaking from Lachey's piss slit as well as wiggle his ass to Lachey's tactile ministrations. Abruptly Lachey stepped back pulling his cock from Reynolds' lips. `Hey," Reynolds whined as spittle fell in strings from his lips and chin. Lachey's cock glistened with spittle and Reynolds reached for the boner. "Enough foreplay," Lachey ordered, "its pile driving time. Get that hot little ass up in the air." Reynolds complied, lifting his hips a bit to upturn his ass. Lachey walked back around the bench and sneered at the upturned ass. "Perfect," he murmured as he tugged at the waist band of Reynolds' shorts and exposed the stud's creamy smooth globes. "Nice," he ventured as his hands softly caressed the smooth hard glutes, "real nice." After a moment, Lachey took a step back and stroked his slickened cock. "Ready for it bro'?" Chicago, Illinois; John Cena irritably pulled at the auditorium doors. He couldn't believe he'd forgotten his fucking wallet! He grinned. Cena reasoned that his mind had been preoccupied by Matthews tight bubble butt. Good thing he hadn't driven far so he could high tail it back to the building to collect the wallet. Shrugging, Cena made his way through the auditorium to the hall that led to the locker rooms and such. Cena pushed through the locker room door and sauntered over to the locker he'd used earlier. Banging it open, he snatched up the wallet and made a movement to leave when something caught the corner of his gaze. He stepped toward a bench partially hidden by the row of lockers. Randy Orton was slumped down on the bench, head bowed forward with his hands covering his eyes and forehead. Cena frowned. "Hey bro'," Cena greeted cautiously, "everything ok?" Cena had believed he and Josh Matthews were the last to leave. He certainly hadn't expected to find Orton hanging around, looking pretty intense. Randy Orton lifted his head slightly and met Cena's gaze. Cena's eyes narrowed in scrutiny. Orton's eyes were blood shot and his face quite flushed. Either the dude was high, drunk or^Å..crying. "Randy," Cena sat next to Orton on the bench, "dude, are you really alright?" Orton shrugged but resumed bowing his head. "Man," Cena tried the levity approach to cheering up his buddy, "who died?" Cena grinned but Orton swung his head around sharply and scowled. A look of confusion then crossed his boyishly handsome features. "Dude," he was incredulous. `You haven't heard?" Cena shrugged. "Heard what?" "Dude," Orton offered carefully. "Something's happened to Chris." "Chris," Cena frowned. "Benoit, Chris Benoit," Orton specified. Cena frowned, "Benoit; some sort of accident or something?" Orton convulsively swallowed before continuing. "Dude, he's gone." "Gone?" Cena frowned. "Where?" "Dead," was Orton's monosyllabic response. Cena looked at Orton a moment dazed, but then laughed. Orton was bull shitting him. "Get the fuck out of here," he chided. "Seriously bro'," Orton emphasized. "It happened over the weekend." "Damn," Cena slouched a bit as if the wind had been knocked out of him. "What the fuck happened?" Orton shrugged. "The details still haven't been completely disclosed." Cena nodded numbly. The two men sat quietly for several moments. Abruptly Orton sneered up his face. "Fuck," he almost sobbed. `Chris was a descent guy!" "Yeah," Cena agreed solemnly. Cena knew that Benoit had helped Randy out a few times, giving him some sound advice on dealing with the fame lifestyle. Orton was silent again for several moments. "Kind of makes you really look at the things that are important in life," he mumbled in a cooler yet awkward tone. "Yeah," Cena sighed. He still couldn't believe that Chris Benoit was dead. Randy was taking it particularly hard. Cena simply felt empty inside. "Kind of makes you willing to take chances you'd otherwise not follow." Orton and Cena looked at one another. "Dude," Orton mumbled clumsily, "I haven't been able to stop thinking about what happened between us." Cena simply nodded slowly holding Orton's gaze. He wasn't about to pretend that Orton was talking about some match. He knew exactly what Orton was talking about, as did his cock which was straining within his jeans. "I want," Orton colored in embarrassment. He cleared his throat. "I want^Å." "What do you want Randy?" Orton`s heart was racing. Cena watched him tilt his head closer. "You," Orton hissed as his lips touched Cena's and moved across them tentatively. Cena's lips became more urgent and Orton sighed as he allowed his lips to be parted and Cena's tongue swept in against his own. Orton moaned as their mouths parted in unison and their tongues danced an erotic duel. Soon Randy had his arms and hands all over Cena pulling him closer. Cena returned the wild embrace and soon their chests were rubbing as their mouths feed off of one another. "Mmmmmm," Orton sighed molding his hands along the muscular contours of Cena's broad shoulders and back. Cena's breathing was short and ragged as his hands slid down along Orton's back to finally hook his fingers beneath the waist band of Orton's wrestling shorts. Orton broke the kiss and stumbled over his words. "John^Å." He blushed awkwardly, "I want^Å.I need," he swallowed down the lump in his throat. "Will you fuck me?" Cena slowly smiled. It turned him on to see Orton so vulnerable looking at him with imploring yet naive eyes. Orton cleared his throat. "Please," he murmured softly. "No," Cena shook his head. Before Cena could continue Orton dropped his arms away and turned away feeling humiliated. "Randy," Cena coaxed, "look at me." Orton reluctantly looked back at Cena. Cena's heart raced at the wounded look in his buddy's eyes. "Randy," he soothed gently. "I don't just want to fuck." Orton blinked in confusion. Cena shook his head in sympathetic humor. "Randy," he took Orton's large hands within his own. "Randy, I want to make love^Å.with you." Cena released Orton's hand and stood. He looked down upon Orton with solemn eyes. "Come back to my apartment with me," he offered gently. He extended and arm with open hand out to Orton. Orton gazed at Cena's hand in confusion. He frowned and looked away almost shyly. "Randy," Cena prodded gently. Orton slowly turned back to Cena and nodded, extending his own arm out to Cena. Cena clasped and twined Orton's fingers with his own. Orton stood and moved closer to Cena. Cena gently kissed Orton on the neck before leading the man out of the locker room. They walked through the auditorium still holding hands with Orton's head gently rested against Cena's broad shoulder. A Plane en flight across the Atlantic ocean; "Mnmph," Troy Aikman groaned as his lips parted against actor Daniel Craig's. The two hunky men were stripped nude, tangled together within the confines of the jet's restroom. Their powerful chests rubbed together with their nipples erect and gazing. Their muscular guns bulged as their arms twined and contorted, hands moving along the others' broad backs, often dipping to knead the other's hard buttocks. Massive thighs ground together, cocks pressed together between their equally ripped abs. "Nmph," Craig murmured as his tongue stroked against Aikman's. Their cocks rubbed, pulsing hard and rigid; hips gyrated as fingers splayed against lower back and hard glutes. Craig slipped his fingers low between Aikman's cheeks and caressed along Aikman's sensitive crack. "Mmmmmmmmmmm," Aikman shivered at the fingers circling his pulsing ass lips. "Ynmph," Craig nipped at Aikman's lower lip with his teeth as he nudged the tip of his index finger against the hot quim. Precum smeared across their cock head and rippled stomachs, the contours and definition of the muscles glistened under the near clear liquid. "Umnmph," Aikman bucked his butt back at Craig's exploration and ran his hand's up along Craig's muscular back and the strong column of the actor's throat to tangle fingers within his blonde hair. Craig worked his finger within the ring and it clung around his digit hotly. Aikman worked his butt back against Craig's hand. The digit snaked deeper within the hot smooth chute and Aikman worked his rectum muscles to cling tighter to the stroking caressing finger. Both men were breathing deeply as their tongues caressed and tasted the contours of the others' inner mouth. Their chests expanded with each breath and rubbed slickly due to the perspiration glistening upon both men's powerful bodies. Craig lifted his leg a bit, caressing Aikman's thick muscular quarterback thighs with his own lower limb. The precum leaked more profusely from their enflamed pulsing shafts and cock heads. The slickness worked as a lube between their compressed jerking shafts. "Ummmmmmmmm," Aikman tugged at tufts of Craig's hair as his finger stroked against Aikman's throbbing prostrate while Aikman's rectum muscles clung tightly to the digit. "Hmmmm mmmmmm," Craig ground his lips harder against Aikman's complying mouth. Stretching Aikman's chute with his finger, he pressed more firmly against the pulsing prostate. "Ughmmmmmmmmmm," Aikman's balls were stirring at the hot strokes of Craig's digit. "Aghmmmmmmmm," Aikman clenched tighter around the stoking finger as his balls boiled. "Hmmmm mmmmmm," Craig's own balls were stoking to eruption. They were drawing up tight. "Arghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh," Aikman choked against Craig's deep kisses as his cock twitched and jerked against Craig's rod and between both men's muscular washboard stomachs. "Ymmmmmmmmm," Craig's lips drowned out Aikman's grunts and groans as his cock pumped thick ropes of cum against both men's abs that coated and glistened both enflamed pulsing cocks. "Mmmmmmphhhhhhh," Aikman whimpered as his nads pinched and spit up more ropes and strings of cum. "Urghhhhhhhhhmmmmm," Craig's own cock erupted with a jolt and his own cum spewed up between them mixing and smearing with Aikman's. "Ynphmmmmmmmmmmm," Aikman gasped as the last shots of spoog were twisted from his balls and piss slit. "Fnmphhhhhhhhhhhhhhh," Craig's muffled curse racked him just as his cock whacked with the rush of hot man juice. His cock pumped and jerked, his piss slit wide from the onslaught of seed. When at last the two men's orgasms subsided, they parted their lips, both breathing in heavily. "Whewwwww," Aikman released with a heavy breath. "You sure know how to do it stud," he complimented. Craig grinned. "I didn't do it alone mate." The abrupt rap against the closed door startled the two men, still clinging to one another. A muffled impatient voice carried through the barrier to the rest of the plane. "Are you about done in there?" Both men looked at one another and stifled deep chuckles between gentle short kisses. To be continued...