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Alster Dust – Brothers of the Slope

Young motocross riders in a close embrace after the race, mud-splattered jerseys, champagne in hand, pure brotherhood.


The sun sets, the gravel crunches under their boots. Five guys stand around their bikes: Tim (18, lanky, red Fox helmet), Ben (19, broad shoulders), Luke (20, still covered in mud), Max (21, the one with the deep voice), and Jay (22, the oldest, always grinning). The air smells of gasoline, hot oil, and fresh mud. They drink ice-cold champagne straight from the bottle, laugh loudly about the day's stunts, and slap each other on the back. The bikes are arranged in a circle, almost ritually. "Cheers, brothers!" Jay shouts, and they clink glasses. Pure brotherhood, adrenaline, freedom—nothing more.




The bottles are empty, the atmosphere more relaxed. Luke pulls off his sweaty jersey and tosses it carelessly into the dust. Ben whistles appreciatively when he sees the defined abs. "So, who showed the biggest balls today?" Tim laughs nervously, blushing. Jay puts an arm around him, pulls him closer—just for a moment, but noticeably. The glances linger, the touches a second too long. The smell of sweaty bodies, two-stroke oil, and champagne hangs heavy in the air. Someone turns up the stereo—the burble of motocross engines from an old racing video blares across the pit. The guys are standing closer together now, their hips "accidentally" touching.




Jerseys and pants fly off. Only tight compression shorts and high motocross boots remain. They make out passionately, tongues deep, champagne running down chins and chests. Ben pushes Tim against his KTM, kisses his neck, smells his sweaty armpits. "Fuck, you smell amazing, like you've just raced." Luke has Jay's chain in his hand—the thick gold motocross chain—and playfully slaps it across his bare ass. Not hard, but definitely. Jay moans into the kiss. Max kneels down, pulls Luke's filthy socks out of his boots, and presses them to his face—deep breath, eyes rolling back. "Lick my boots clean, you pig," Luke grins, and Max obeys, tongue over the dirty Fox logo.



Group of young guys in compression shorts and boots, giving each other oil massages after training, Alster gravel pit

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