Thursday Lions – When the square empties and hearts beat loudly

The weekly meeting

Every Thursday evening, the "Blue and White Lions," a small amateur football team from the suburbs, met on the old sports field behind the school. It was always the same twelve guys, between 22 and 35, most of them friends since their school days. Tim, the broad-shouldered goalkeeper, was the first to arrive and set up the cones. Shortly after, the others trickled in: Jonas, the speedy winger, always with a cheeky grin; Lukas, the calm libero with the dark curls; Ben, the burly midfielder who loved every tackle; and of course, the captain, Max, tall, blond, always a bit like everyone's big brother.

They played hard but fair for two hours. After training, they sat together on the bench, drank shandies from the cooler, and talked about everything: jobs, girlfriends (or the lack thereof), the recent defeat against the "Red Devils" from the neighboring town. It was simply their time, their ritual. No one wanted to miss it. As dusk fell, they patted each other on the back, said goodbye with "See you next week!", and drove home. Just a normal guys' night out.

The small touches

One evening in early summer, it was particularly hot. The sun was still low when they sat exhausted on the bench after the game, their jerseys soaked with sweat, their thighs red from exertion. Jonas was the first to take off his shoes and wiggled his toes in the grass. "My feet are killing me," he groaned and laughed. Ben just grinned, stretched, and, quite naturally, laid his long legs across Jonas's lap. "Give me a massage, you lazybones."

Jonas rolled his eyes, but actually started kneading Ben's feet. The others glanced over, laughed, then Lukas followed suit and let Tim loosen his calves. It was nothing special, just that relaxed closeness that only develops between guys who've known each other for years. But at some point, Max noticed Jonas's fingers lingering a tiny bit longer than necessary over Ben's instep, Ben half-closed his eyes, and sighed softly. The air suddenly felt thicker. No one said anything, but their gazes lingered a few seconds longer than usual on bare calves, sweaty necks, and the damp patches where jerseys clung to skin. They continued talking, but more quietly. And when they got up to leave, the hug between Max and Lukas was perhaps a touch tighter than usual.

The shower room

A few weeks later, the team won by a surprisingly large margin. The atmosphere was exuberant, the showers in the old clubhouse were running hot. It was cramped, as always, with only four showerheads for twelve guys. Laughing, they squeezed in, naked, without shame. The water cascaded, steam rose. Jonas stood directly behind Ben, their bodies repeatedly "accidentally" touching. Ben felt Jonas's hardness against his lower back but said nothing, just pushed himself back a little. Lukas stood in front of Max, and as Max ran soap over Lukas's shoulders, their eyes met. Not a word. Just the water and the soft gasps that were lost in the rushing sound.

Tim leaned against the tiled wall, his eyes closed, while Jonas's hand slid slowly over his stomach, lower, until his fingertips almost, almost touched his hardness. Ben had turned around by now, pressing his whole body against Jonas, their erections rubbing together under the stream of water. Lukas's hand was on Max's ass, pulling him closer, their mouths meeting in a kiss that tasted of sweat and victory. The others watched, some caressing themselves, others each other. There was no plan, no words. Just this sudden, overwhelming lust that had been building up for months. They came almost simultaneously, moaning softly, the semen instantly washed away by the water. Afterward, they simply stood there, breathless, grinning at each other. "Again next week?" someone asked. Everyone nodded.

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