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From down the hallway, the young man could still hear the cacophony he'd left behind. The roaring of the crowd. The blaring music. The announcer's voice echoing from the loudspeakers throughout the massive arena. It was a Friday night, and everyone there knew exactly what that meant; another few rounds of the Ultimate Battle League monthly tournament playing out before them.

Men enjoying that most ancient of traditions: combating each other to see who was the strongest, the swiftest, and the most powerful.

And of course, for quite a few of the fans—including the young man being escorted from the glaring lights and blaring noise towards a certain competitor's personal locker room by a suited attendant—a chance to see their favorite fighters in action. Sweating. Grunting and groaning. Grinding against their opponent as they grappled in the ring. And all wearing nothing but their skimpy lycra singlets and the wide smiles on their handsome faces.

Brad shook himself out of those thoughts, feeling the heat blooming on his cheeks and in his stomach; heat that only momentarily chased away the swarm of butterflies within him. Instead, he focused his gaze and his mind on the door that was quickly approaching. His destination, where the attendant was leading him. What he'd been looking forward to all that morning and late into the evening while he'd filed to his seat in the arena and watched bout after bout. What had been in the back of his mind ever since he'd called into that radio contest a month prior, and whoever was looking out for him upstairs had allowed him a bit of luck for once.

He was the whatever-number caller. He'd won a ticket to that night's tournament, as well as a backstage pass to the locker room of any one fighter he wanted. The choice had been obvious, he'd said so right then for everyone who was listening to hear. And when the suited attendant ushered him into the small locker room, Brad's heart did backflips in his chest when he finally saw the one man—the one orc—he'd been cheering for above all the other competitors: Grommash Hellscream.

The human was met by the sight of the orc's broad, sculpted back as he stepped through the door, bulging and flexing with every movement as a testament to the orc's strength. Then Brad's eyes followed Grommash's spine downward, and he froze with a soft and choked groan. More than just Grommash's back was on display; the orc's ass, large and firm and hairless, was made unmissable by the white elastic straps which framed it. Then the massive man turned to look over his shoulder, and Brad dropped his gaze to stare at the floor. “Oh, didn't hear you guys come in."

The attendant's voice sounded out from Brad's left. “Sorry for the intrusion, Mr. Hellscream. I thought you'd been notified that it was time for your meet-and-greet with the contest winner."

“Nah, don't worry about it." Footsteps growing closer. “So, you're Brad, right?" A presence looming over him. “Good to meet you!" Welcoming warmth washing over him, along with the rich and spicy—and overwhelmingly-pungent—scent of the orc's sweaty body.

Brad forced his gaze upward, and had to stop himself from ogling the fat bulge straining the stained and grimy pouch of Grommash's jock. Up past the rise of the orc's abs and the pillowy mounds of his pectorals. Up to the grin which stretched the larger man's lips along with his large and curving tusks; which would have been intimidating, along with the heavy ring-piercing in his nose, if it weren't for the warmth in the orc's eyes. “Yeah." The sound that leaked out of Brad's tight throat could almost be called a word; he cleared his throat and tried again with an embarrassed grunt. “Yeah, it's good to meet you too… sir."

“Nah, none of that 'sir' stuff." Grommash laughed, and his heavy hand clapped Brad on the shoulder. “You just call me 'Grommash', kid. Or Grom, if you like."

Brad did like, very much so. It took every ounce of his will not to fall to his knees in front of the nearly-nude orc right then and there. “Sure, uh, Grom." Once more he cleared his throat, and then once more he stammered out. “Can't even say how good it is to be here meeting you."

“Well then, why don't'cha come get settled in! Tell me about yourself." Grommash nodded to the attendant, who gave the orc a nod in return and then slipped out of the room.

“Uh, sure…"

Brad looked away from the massive man leading him over to sit on the bench, trying to put his attention on anything but the handsome, burly orc who plopped down to sit next to him and slung a muscular arm around his shoulders. The locker room was small—which made sense, being Grommash's personal one—with only a single full-length locker beside an open shower cubicle, and the bench they were perched upon against the opposite wall. There was the door out to the hallway, and then another door across from it. The tile floor and brick walls were bare of decoration, giving the space an almost ascetic feeling. And of course, in such a tight space, the funk of exertion and sweat lingered like a heady fog in the still and stuffy air.

The human gulped, glanced up to Grommash, and then ducked his head in a display of shy embarrassment. “So…!"

“So!" Grommash's hand settled onto Brad's back, practically dwarfing both the human's shoulder and shoulder blade. “Uh, out of curiosity, how old are you, kid?"

“Eighteen, so not really a kid. Just finishing up high school, so…" The human looked downward once more, allowing that to hang in the air, and tried with growing desperation to keep his eyes from being too obvious about locking onto Grommash's package. It was right there, nestled between those firm, green-skinned thighs. Heavy and plump. Massive, about the size of both the human's clenched fists put together. Absolutely reeking of the larger, stronger, more muscular male's ripe, raunchy, and unwashed virility.

“I see…" The orc's voice was quiet. Considering. Accompanied by a low hum as that gargantuan hand began stroking the human's nape. “Got any hobbies? Sports or anything like that?" A rumbling chuckle, and a pat on Brad's shoulder. “Feels like you got a nice amount of muscle on you."

Heat bloomed in Brad's belly and crotch at the compliment. “Not nearly as much as you, Grom." The words slipped out almost of their own accord; he offered a shaky smile of his own to Grommash, and once more summoned up every ounce of his willpower not to reach out and touch those firm and supple muscles. Those biceps which rivaled the human's head in size. Those pectorals, coated in a fine dusting of black hair and crowned on the peak of each mountainous mound by a succulent, dark-green nipple. Those abs, which led like an inviting road right back down to the hefty package which strained the pouch of Grommash's jock.

Grommash grinned and moved back a bit to flex for Brad; and Brad bit his lips to suppress a groan of lustful appreciation while watching his idol's burly musculature bouncing and bulging right before him. “Hey, don't sell yourself short, kid. Uh, boy. I've been training like hell for these tournaments, so of course I'd be a little more built." 'Built' nothing, 'a little more' nothing; the orc was jacked. He then reached over to ruffle Brad's hair, and the human struggled not to melt into a babbling puddle of mingled admiration and arousal. “Also, you didn't answer my question."

“Wha?" Brad blinked as his scattered thoughts pulled themselves back together. “Oh! Uh, yeah, I'm on the wrestling team."

“Are you, now?" Another clap on the back and hearty, companionable laugh. “Thinking of making a name for yourself in the League someday?"

Brad had been thinking about it, nearly every day since he was a kid. Getting in the ring. Showing off his prowess and strength. Listening to the cheering of the crowd as worked his way up to the title of Champion. Sure, those fantasies had become tinged with lust as he'd grown older—the smell of sweat and another guy's body as he grappled and was grappled in turn, grunting and panting becoming low groans of exertion and more—but the dream itself had stayed pretty much the same all through his childhood and adolescence. “Maybe, who knows?"

Grommash snorted. “Come on, boy, you can't be acting like that if you want the Champ's title. You gotta stand yourself up and say 'hell yeah!'"

The human gulped and pushed himself to his feet. He set his shoulders and held his head high. He put on his best smirk of confidence—similar to the one he'd seen glinting at him from the tv after every one of Grommash's bouts—and drew in a deep breath. “Hell yeah!"

“See, now that's the ticket!" One final pat on the shoulder—even sitting down, the orc could reach over to it with ease—before Grommash grunted and stood and began to stretch. “How about you show me some of your moves right here and now, huh?"

Blinking. The train of his thoughts stopping short and then derailing with no survivors. Staring at the larger male in befuddled incomprehension. “Do what now?"

The human was only answered with another wink; Brad could almost swear, if the idea alone wasn't ridiculous, that the orc was flirting with him. “Come on, you and me. Right here, right now." He moved away a bit, giving the younger man some room, and then dropped down into a grappler's stance. “Show me what you got."

“Are, uh…" Brad glanced to the door. “Are you sure?"

“Don't worry, no one's gonna come in and try to give you trouble for having a friendly spar with the Champ To-Be." Grommash's grin widened. “Should probably get out of those clothes. Still kinda sweaty, and I'm pretty sure you won't want to be stinking of me when you leave."

That sent a fresh surge of heat through Brad's entire body. His face. His stomach and limbs. And of course, the throbbing hardness in his crotch. “Uh… I guess… But, uh…"

“Go on, go on. You don't have anything I haven't seen before, I promise."

The orc's warm and encouraging voice soothed the tremors running up and down the human's spine. That was right. They were just two guys. And Grommash probably saw a lot more of his fellow fighters in the showers than Brad would be showing him; he wrenched his mind away from that thought, and ignored another pulse in his groin. First his shirt came off, lifted and tugged upward and then tossed aside to bare his upper body. Then, with mechanical motions, the young man popped his fly and slid his jeans down to kick them off as well, pushing his shoes and socks off with either heel as he did so.

He was nearly nude. He was nearly nude with Grommash Hellscream, his idol. And the tent in his boxer-briefs enjoyed every second of the orc's eyes roaming over his revealed form.

“Nice." Grommash nodded, humming in thought as he looked the smaller male up and down. “Good tone to you, and I can see where you're building up bulk." Then his eyes flicked downward, and a slight teasing edge crept into his voice. “And don't worry about that little problem you got there. Happens to the best of us." The orc reached down to cup and pat his own bulging jock pouch, and for a breathless moment Brad could swear that it was a lot bigger than it had been. “Come on, then. First to pin wins. Sound good?"

“Y-yeah." Barely believing what he was saying—what he was doing—Brad moved to drop into a ready stance opposite the burly orc. He didn't have any hope at all of pinning the well-seasoned fighter, but the opportunity was just too good to pass up; the opportunity to feel that muscular, sweaty body up close and personal. To grind and struggle and work against Grommash himself, demonstrating his own—far lesser, but potential-filled—power. To fulfill even just one of his many fantasies about the larger, stronger, older man.

The fact that they were both in only their underwear almost made the human certain that what was happening had to be a dream. But hey, may as well go along with it for however long it lasted, right?

“You ready, boy?"

A gulp to wet his dry throat. A deep breath in and out to steady the pounding in his chest and groin. A nod, and a—shaky, but eager—grin to his opponent. “Ready, Grom."

“Right… then come at me!"

The muscles of Brad's legs and thighs tensed like tight-coiled springs, and then released. He charged his opponent with a roar gusting out of him, which became a grunt of exertion as his body slammed into the wall of masculinity before it. His hands ran all over the sweat-soaked, dark-green skin of the orc for purchase, and he felt Grommash's own far-larger ones doing the same. They both grunted and heaved, the human gasping for breath as he strove to move that implacable bulk even a single inch; and his lungs were filled to the brim with the larger man's overpowering scent.

Pungent. Cloying. So fucking good. The rich smell of souring sweat and overripe musk gathered within him into a tingling ball of electricity which dropped like a stone into his gut; into his groin. Arcing like lightning along his hardened length. Surging deep into him like a punch to his crotch. Brad's groans of effort became low whines of need as he pressed himself against the orc, and his grip on those flexing shoulders and wide back became desperate clinging and eager groping in turn.

In his reeling as the surge of arousal overtook him like a merciless tide, Brad didn't notice the world upending itself around him—no, he was being upended, hefted into the orc's arms and then brought down onto the ground—until he felt the tile floor hitting his spine. He squirmed against the weight which settled atop him, and then fell slack on the floor with another moan when one more wave of overpowering musk washed over him. He forced his eyes open to look up at the victor of their little bout, and whimpered at the sight above him.

Grommash was straddling the human's legs, both pinning Brad and grinding his heavy package on the tent straining the younger man's boxer-briefs. His hands were on the human's shoulders, and his face was inches from Brad's own; their panting breaths mingled as their eyes locked. The orc smirked, and winked, and then bucked his hips to make the younger man hiss and squirm underneath him. “Looks like I win."

“Y-yeah…" A gulp. A nod. A shameful twist in his gut as he felt the throbbing of his erection pulse with obvious, insistent enjoyment against his idol's filthy jock pouch. “You win. So… can you, uh… l-let me up?"

“You really want that?" Grommash's voice dropped into a quiet rumble. He pressed his crotch down a bit harder onto Brad's cotton-clad erection; and the human's breath hitched in his throat when he felt the orc's own manhood hardening within the confines of its cloth prison. “Feels like at least one part of you likes getting pinned down by a big, strong man like me."

Brad froze, ice flashing through his veins. His eyes flew open wide. He stared up at the orc looming above him. And then that ice thawed, melted, and filled his cheeks and belly and crotch with warmth when he saw the smile on Grommash's face and the twinkle in the larger man's golden eyes. “M-maybe…"

“Not 'maybe', boy." That smile widened into a toothy grin. “If you like it, take a deep breath and say 'hell yeah'."

The human did as he was told and took a deep breath; and once again, the ripe and heady scent of Grommash's body filled his lungs, providing ample fuel for the inferno raging in his groin. “H-hell yeah…"

A nod. A laugh. Another slow, deliberate rock of Grommash's hips, rubbing their tented bulges together. “And you like the smell of another man's sweat, huh? Don't mind 'em fresh from the heat of battle?"

“Uh, well… I-I…"

The orc snorted. “Don't deny it, boy. Could hear you sniffing all over me while we were grappling." He looked right into Brad's eyes. “Do you like my stink?"

Brad swallowed to wet his dry throat, and then answered in the way he knew his idol was expecting. “Hell yeah, Grom. I… love your stink."

“That's the spirit." Grommash laughed, but didn't move to let the human up; in fact, he lay himself down on top of Brad, heaving chest to sweaty, heaving chest. The larger man lifted one of his massive arms to bare the raunchy pit underneath, and another wave of sheer concentrated musk washed over the moaning human. “Go on, Brad. Sniff." That tender tone in which Grommash purred the word out made it clear it wasn't an order; it was permission for Brad to do what they both knew he wanted.

And so, Brad sniffed. Slow and deep, clinging to the gargantuan man atop him and pressing his face into the stinking expanse under Grommash's arm. Until his nostrils tingled and burned from the ripeness of the orc's pungent scent. Until it had stained his nasal passages and lungs, imprinting the smell of orcish masculinity into him. Until his eyes fluttered closed, and his mind sank into the miasma of his idol's musk.

“Yeah, that's it. Nice and slow, that's the way…" Grommash's voice remained quiet and patient, like a mentor walking his beloved pupil through a strenuous exercise. He pushed his free arm under the human's shoulders and lifted the smaller man up, helping Brad to press fully into his armpit.

“Fuck, Grom…" His nose and lips ground into the dank flesh, and then—with only a faint twinge of fading shame and embarrassment—he pushed his tongue out to lick at it. Lapping up the salt and stench. Swallowing it down so he could fill himself with it even more. He moaned and gasped and whined in arousal, bucking up against the erection he could feel in the orc's jock. “Wanna huff your stink forever. Wanna lick you clean all over. Suck the sweat off your nipples and your toes and out of your taint."

“Oh, yeah?" A rumbling purr from above as Grommash's hand both stroked through Brad's hair and kept the human in place. “Haven't showered in a couple days, so I probably stink real bad all over." The orc let out another laugh, light and tender. “You wanna sniff all over my stinky feet?"

“Hell yeah!"

“How about my sweaty swampass? Wanna lick my crack and suck on my asshole?"

“Hell yeah!"

Brad couldn't see the wide grin on Grom's face, or the burning arousal in his gaze, but he could feel them; along with the pulsing of the orc's gargantuan erection on his hip and stomach, the monolithic manhood smothering the human's own under its weight and virile presence. “You wanna eat the cheese right off my filthy dick, boy?"

His eyes rolled backward in his head as his thoughts floundered through the fog engulfing them. He groaned, long and low and needy as his arms grew slack around the orc's torso. Brad fell back on the tiled floor underneath Grommash, gazing up at the larger man who was stroking the human's cheeks and brushing his tusks against the younger man's lips. “Hell. Fucking. Yes…"

A smile, warm and tender. A wink, openly flirtatious. A low groan of the orc's own, letting Brad know how aroused he was by the situation as well. Grommash pulled himself up, leaving the human to whine and squirm underneath him, and then carefully shuffled forward to bring his crotch closer to the younger man's face. His knees settled on Brad's shoulders, and his thighs splayed wide open to present the smut-stained pouch of his jockstrap. The orc's hands moved to the crown of Brad's head, petting the human once more, and then gently pulled his fan up into the reeking fabric. “Go on. If you loved huffing my pit, I know you'll love sniffing my jock."

Brad did love it, very much so. He ground his nose and lips into the cloth, breathing in slow and deep; and drowning in the cloying stench of the orc's unwashed groin. Sweat, sharp and sour. Masculine musk, ripened to cloying pungency. The bitter-alkaline undertones of piss staining the fabric; and indeed, the fishy odor of smegma from the tip of that throbbing tent. The human rubbed his face all over that hefty bulge, sniffing with desperate need along the tented length and over the rise of the orc's ballsack and deep into the crooks of the larger man's thighs. When his hands moved of their own accord to grasp the waistband of Grommash's jock, he looked up past the vast expanse of his idol's crotch and belly and chest to meet those burning golden eyes; and when Grom gave him an indulgent smile and nod of approval, Brad pulled that stinking jockstrap down to free his idol's massive, throbbing, grimy erection from its confines.

The shaft was long, a nice virile foot of dark-green orc meat, and fat all along that considerable length. Grommash fished his heavy balls out of the pouch as well to let them hang over the waistband, and the overfull sack—large as both of Brad's fists put together—wafted their overpowering scent right into the human's face. With a broad grin, the orc grasped just behind the bulge of his glans with a forefinger and thumb to roll his ample foreskin back; and when Brad finally saw the source of that cloying cockstink—the lighter-green head of Grommash's cock, soaked in the thick precum which leaked from its wide piss slit and coated in flakes and smears and built-up deposits of greasy smegma—he fell in love at first sight.

“You like my dick, boy?"

“Hell yeah, Grom." A gulp to wet his dry throat. A deep breath to stain his insides with its scent. An insistent itch on his tongue; the need to swipe and swirl and rub it all over that virile pillar of manhood. “I fucking love it."

One of the orc's thick digits brushed over his sopping glans, and then dragged through the smut under its ridges and in the revealed folds of his foreskin. Then that digit moved closer to Brad's slack lips. Closer. Offered the dickfilth coating its tip to the human. “Go on, have a taste."

With a whine of need, Brad craned his neck up so he could latch onto Grommash's finger. He suckled, bobbing upon it like it was the orc's cock pushing through his pursed lips. The flavor filled his mouth—sour-bitter and sharp and so fucking good—as it spread over his tongue with every morsel of smegma he swallowed down. He could taste it. He could smell it. And he gasped and whimpered and bucked his hips as it sent him over the edge.

The young man came, spurting thick and hot cum into his boxer-briefs to form a sticky wet stain on his hip.

After a long moment, in which nothing but blank white pleasure filled his mind, Brad was brought back to himself by a large and strong hand cupping and caressing his cheek. He blinked, and blushed, and looked up with gathering chagrin to meet Grommash's lustful gaze. “Uh, sorry… about that…"

“Don't apologize. Flattering that I could make you spurt just from a whiff of my dickstink." With a quiet grunt, the orc stood; he towered over the prone human with his feet set on either side of Brad's torso, like a heaving, sweaty, fully-erect Colossus. He slid his jock down his sculpted legs, and stepped out of it before setting the grimy garment aside on the bench; with his body completely nude and exposed, Brad could appreciate every green-skinned inch of the larger man in full detail. Then Grommash squatted down between the younger man's own well-toned legs, and reached for the waistband of the human's own underwear.

Their eyes met, Grommash's gaze tender while Brad's was wide and staring like a flushed, aroused deer in the headlights. The orc didn't have to ask, and the human didn't have to answer; they both could see the desire burning in each other's eyes. And so, with a low croon to the human, Grommash tugged those boxer-briefs downward. Brad pushed his hips upward and lifted his legs to let the orc slide the last garment hiding his nudity off of them. And then both of them were naked, taking in the sight of each other's muscular forms.

“Fucking nice." A massive palm cupping one of Brad's firm pectorals. Fingers brushing over the ridges of his abs, and teasing the delicate knot of his navel. That hand wrapping around his throbbing erection, giving it a squeeze before rolling the human's own foreskin off his pre-soaked—and smutty, though not nearly as filthy as the orc's own—glans.

“Y-you think so?" Brad looked down at himself, heat pooling in his cheeks and gut and groin. He'd always been proud of his size—a little over seven inches on a good day, with a good amount of girth to the shaft—but held in Grommash's gargantuan paw of a hand—and while he was staring right at the orc's gargantuan monolith of a member—his cock felt embarrassingly tiny by comparison.

“Hell yeah." A reassuring glance. A flirtatious wink. A low, lustful moan as Grommash brought Brad's boxer-briefs to his nose. The younger man watched his idol sniff his musky underwear, the orc's nose running all over the pouch and down into the groin. Then Grommash began to lick at the still-damp stain on the hip, slurping and suckling Brad's pre and cum out of the fabric with desperate hunger. “Fuck, I wanna do a lot more with you, boy." He looked down to the younger man, slowly stroking Brad's iron-hard length. “I wanna keep on playing with this awesome dick of yours. See how many spurts it can put out, and keep on eating every load you can give me. If you do that for me, I'll let you keep huffing the stink of my pits and do whatever you want with my dirty jock." His grin widened, and his tongue flicked over his lips. “And I'll feed you every single bit of cockcheese right off my fat, sweaty, stinking dick. Sound like a deal?"

Again, Grommash hardly had to ask, and Brad didn't need to answer; they both could see the desire burning in each other's eyes.

---

“Oh fuck, Grom…" Panting. “S-so good…" Sniffing, deep and desperate. “I-I'm gonna…" A needy whine, slightly muffled.

“Shh. Shh, Brad. That's it." The orc's voice was quiet, warm, and tender. “Do it. Cum for me again while you suck my filthy jock clean." His hand pumped the human's straining member in a fast, steady, even rhythm. “Fuck, you're so hot, boy." He dipped down, pressing his lips to and rubbing his tusks upon the crown of the younger man's head.

They'd been at it for a good hour or so, Grommash stroking Brad to orgasm time and time again; or at least it felt like an hour, but lost within the haze of musk and lust surrounding the pair it was hard to tell. The orc had sat himself down on the tiled floor, his back resting against the bench, and the human had crawled into his idol's lap to rest in the larger man's raunchy embrace. Skin against green, leathery skin. Grommash's pillowy pectorals a comfortable place to rest his head and his face in turn as Brad was engulfed in the older man's masculine presence. The human spreading his thighs to let his idol do with him as he pleased, and Grommash in turn letting his fan do the same to him.

The orc had hissed and groaned in pleasure when the human nursed on one of his dark nipples and then the other, Brad's fingers kneading and tweaking the plump bud which wasn't busy being worshiped by his lips and tongue. He'd laughed, indulgent, and lifted his arms up high to let his fan snuffle and lap and lick all over his smelly armpits in turn. He had fed the younger man nugget after nugget of his grime straight off his cock, smearing the greasy smegma onto his forefinger and watching Brad gulp down every bit of stinking dickcheese like it was the sweetest candy; until every smear and flake was gone, at which time he'd pushed his shaft into the human's own hand to squeeze and stroke him in return.

And all the while, Grommash had pumped Brad's cock. Stroking the length of it, squeezing the base, and teasing his fingers under the ridge of the human's glans. Rolling the foreskin back and forth over the leaking tip, the fishy and pungent stench of Brad's own unwashed manhood mingling with his own. The orc had aimed that throbbing member at the younger man's heaving abs, watched every spurt of cum splatter onto that trembling torso while squeezing the roiling sack under twitching erection, and then swiped up every drop with his hands so he could lick his fan's salty seed off his digits in turn.

Finally, he milked out the very last load Brad had in him while the younger man huffed his dirty jockstrap. The human bucked his hips into the orc's grip. His toes curled with every touch Grommash gave the sensitive flesh of his overstimulated cock. His eyes fluttered as he muffled his hoarse whimpering and whining into the smelly fabric of the stained pouch; Brad wetted it with his saliva, refreshing the filth and grime embedded into it, and suckled down every bit of raunch to pacify himself. Then the jock fell from his slack jaws as he cried out in orgasm one last time.

Weak. Thin. Dribbling out of him instead of shooting. The human settled into Grommash's arms, collapsing into a boneless and nearly-insensate heap in his idol's embrace, while the warm haze of afterglow covered him like a plush and comfortable blanket.

“There you go. That's it, boy." Grommash hefted Brad in his arms with tender care, and licked that seedless puddle of watery cum right off his fan's belly. Then he watched, smiling, as Brad yawned and murmured and sank into a sound and sated slumber while cradled against his idol's chest. The orc sighed, grunted, and—still holding tight to the younger man—got to his feet. He carried Brad to the door, being quiet so as not to disturb the resting human, and gave the door a few light kicks.

The attendant, who'd been waiting outside Grommash's personal locker room to escort Brad once the younger man's 'meet-and-greet' with the League star had finished, finally reentered. He nodded to the orc, ignoring the raunchy smell filling the room and the pair's nudity; though Grommash could see the flush on the other man's cheeks and the growing tent in his slacks. “All done, Mr. Hellscream?"

“Yup." He handed the human off to the attendant, careful and gentle. “Go take Brad here somewhere private and comfy to rest and recuperate. His clothes are there on the bench." He nodded toward the pile, and then smiled while reaching to pet the sleeping younger man's head. “When he wakes up, give him a ticket and backstage pass to next month's bout. Oh, and…" The orc looked around on the floor, squatted down, and picked up his discarded jock from where it had fallen to tuck it into Brad's curled hand. Grommash gave the attendant a wink. “…tell him it's a gift. Something to tide him over till next time."

“Will do." The attendant answered with a nod and small smile of his own. And then, holding the sleeping human in a bridal carry, he moved out through the door to leave Grommash alone in his personal locker room.

The orc took a deep breath in, held it, and let it out in a slow sigh. He reached down to scratch himself, digging his fingers into the dank and damp skin at the base of his still-twitching erection, and then rubbed the tips of the musk-stained digits under his nostrils while taking a whiff of his own stench. Finally, his heavy shaft bobbing before him with every step, Grommash made his way through the door opposite the one leading out into the hallway; still naked and raunchy from his fights, he entered the UBL competitors' common room.

Dragaux was chatting with Bowser as the pair stood by the water cooler, only their jocks hiding their massive packages—the tents they were both sporting as they growled and rumbled to each other—from view. Kimahri Ronso, his blue-furred body on full display, was leaning over the back of one large leather couch to join Leomon and Flamedramon in watching the feed from the arena playing on the flatscreen tv mounted to the wall. On the other couch across from them, Wrex and Grunt were resting from their own bouts, still dressed in their sweat-soaked singlets; at least, the younger krogan seemed to be trying to relax, despite Wrex slinging an arm over his shoulders and whispering lewd depravities to him.

The other fighters looked over to Grommash at the orc's entrance, their varying expressions morphing into knowing and anticipatory stares as the green-skinned male smirked. “Eight times, jerking him off while he huffed my pits and jock."

“Bullshit!" Dragaux's fang-filled grin widened. “You really got him off that many times?"

“Yeah." Grommash crossed his arms over his chest. “Beat yours and Bowser's record. You know what that means, guys."

The two shared a glance, knowing very well what that meant. It was a running bet the fighters all had with each other; a little friendly competition, in addition to their fights out in the ring in front of the audience. They'd meet up with one of their fans, seducing the—mostly younger—humans, and see how many times they could make that fan cum using just their sweaty, muscular, virile bodies.

The winner would be declared the hottest amongst them, and would have the one whose record he beat as his personal sweat-and-cumrag for an entire week. The 'next hottest' would have the one whose record he beat as his in turn. And so on, and so on. The black dragon's and dragon-turtle's already-throbbing erections soaked their jock pouches with precum as they nodded to the orc. “A deal's a deal." Dragaux shrugged and tried to keep the anticipation—of lapping up the sweat he could still see dribbling down Grommash's sculpted muscles—off his face.

“You want us to start now, or?" Bowser cocked one flame-red eyebrow, staring right at Grommash's dribbling cock.

“Sorry, my fan already got all the dickcheese I had built up." The orc chuckled as he saw a brief flash of disappointment twist the dragon-turtle's lips downward. “But you can take turns licking my ass while I get my dick nice and ripe for the both of you again."

A soft snort as Kimahri made his way over to join the trio. “Not so fast. The bet's not over yet." The stoic ronso looked from Bowser, to Dragaux, to Grommash. “I milked 10 out of my fan with just my feet, after all."

Leomon let out a snort of his own from the couch, then lifted his legs to rest his heels on the coffee table; wriggling his toes, flexing the soles, and letting his pungent scent waft into the air. “Big deal. I could milk twice that out of anyone with mine, easy."

“Oh?" Kimahri turned towards the other leonine male. His golden eyes ran over every inch of the digimon's large and stinking feet, his own toes wriggling on the common room's rug. One corner of his muzzle perked up just the slightest bit. “You want to demonstrate, right here, right now?"

“Sure! You gonna take me on?" A smirk of his own stretched Leomon's lips as he regarded the ronso. He looked Kimahri up and down, both sizing up his opponent and appreciating the sight of the naked, burly, handsome male.

“I will." A nod and low, deep grunt. “First to cum is the other's bitch for the rest of the day."

“Are we just humping, or sniffing too?"

Kimhari's eyes flashed, and a rumble vibrated in his chest; a lustful purr of arousal. “Both."

“In that case, you're on!" Leomon rose up from the couch, cracking his neck and his knuckles. “Me and my feet'll have you creaming yourself in no time."

On the other couch, Wrex leaned in to rub the plates of his crest against Grunt's own. “Look at them, thinking they can hold a candle to a krogan's stink." He grinned to the younger alien in his half-embrace. “How about it? You wanna show these two how fast huffing the smell of Daddy Wrex's toes can get you cumming, boy?"

Grunt just huffed in response, a hot flush burning on his cheeks. “Raunchy old bastard."

“Careful, boy." The older krogan's grin widened as he groped Grunt's quad through the other male's overfull singlet. “Might just lay you out and show you how raunchy I am right now."

The younger krogan met his Battlemaster's eyes with a sneering grin of his own. “Don't need to. Could smell your swampass all the way from the arena."

“That so?" Wrex laughed, low and rumbling. “That why you couldn't focus during your fight? Too busy getting off to your Battlemaster's swampass?"

“Why you…!" Grunt shoved the older krogan off of the couch, and then surged down to grapple with Wrex; the two ground their bodies together as they tried to pin the other, grunting and huffing and panting.

As he watched Bowser, Flamedramon, and Dragaux cheer on the two pairs, Grommash heaved out a long and heavy sigh. That evening's bout had concluded, but the real competition—he and his fellow fighters competing to see who was the burliest, the sexiest, and the most virile—seemed to have only just begun.