PINTO OIL WRESTLING FIC
Unbeta'd, pre-slash Pinto
"Hello. Oh my. Please tell me you're participating."
"Yes. What exactly am I doing?"
The greeter's smile turns positively wicked.
"You'll be oil wrestling. There's a changing area over there and we have some new underwear if you'd like to wear something different. We have two men to grease you up and..."
"What? Wait a minute. Oil wrestling with women?" Chris chews his lower lip and squints at the large sign through his sunglasses.
"Uh no love. You'll be wrestling men. Steve!"
Steve, a very young man in a shiny lurex speedo runs over at once.
"What is it... oh my."
This time Chris squirms under the scrutiny and fuck if 'Steve' isn't circling him.
"Take Mister what is your name?"
"Pine. Chris Pine."
"Mister Pine to the changing area before he passes out."
"This way, Mr. Pine," and with a flourish Steve points the way.
"We'll match you up with another man about your height and weight and remember this is just for fun."
"Fun. Right." Chris's idea of fun at this point is hunting down his so-called agent.
"You don't have to do this," Steve skips a step and blocks Chris's path, "if you don't want to. It's only a few minutes and it's for a good cause though."
"Let's just get it over with."
Slender shoulders shrug once and he is led behind a large hanging dark blue fabric to some tables where piles of clothes with pieces of paper on top with names on them are stacked neatly.
"Here's a pen and a sheet of paper. Write your name on the paper, strip, pile up your clothes over there and put the paper on top. There are plenty of towels and soap in the shower area."
Chris accepts the pen and paper with a nod.
"There's a selection of underwear over there to choose from if you don't want to wear your own. You can strip down behind the folding wall over there. Any questions?"
Chris shakes his head and uncaps the pen.
____________________________________________________________
Chris flashes a nervous smile at the small group of men gathered around the wrestling area. He had been reassured by everyone, including his agent, that the only photographs of him would be taken after he was showered and clothed again.
A wolf whistle from somewhere causes him to blush just as his sparring partner walks out and is introduced. A Zachary Quinto, an actor who he's never heard of, but evidently several of the men watching have seen him before.
Chris turns at the approach of two men with open bottles of olive oil and shivers as the liquid is poured over his exposed skin then spread around. He rubs his hands together.
Zachary meets him in the middle of the plastic covered mattress, lean limbs, dark hair, a shy smile, and the most striking brown eyes. Chris cracks his jaw and holds out his hand to shake. He realizes in that instant that this man is gorgeous
and his cock twitches just as the signal is given for them to start. His opponent takes advantage of the fact that they haven't released their handshake and pulls him down roughly.
Neither one of them knows what they're doing and Chris is ridiculously relieved that he isn't going to be pinned in the first five seconds, if at all. They grapple, his hands slipping over black, matted arm hair and glistening pale skin as he tries to get some hold on Zachary. Both of them on their knees facing each other, Chris slides one leg back and lunges forward, twisting and pushing the other man down onto his back. Their groins brush against each other and neither notices that no one is coming forward to count down his hold.
"Plaid?" Zachary says.
"What?"
In that brief moment of confusion, Zachary grabs Chris behind the knee and flips him onto his back. He gulps as he lays there Zachary running a hand through his hair with the most predatory expression Chris has ever seen, complete with a flash of sharp, white teeth.
"Damn it," he curses to hide his furthering arousal, Zachary's hands tightening on his oiled muscles.
"Not that they don't look good."
Chris throws both of his arms up to prevent the other man from getting any leverage as he bends forward to keep Chris from moving at all. Both hands pressing against a toned chest that is covered in a thick mass of hair, he instinctively curls his fingers and tugs.
"Ow!" Zachary cries out and lurches back trying to escape. Chris gasps as thighs tighten around his hips and grunts when Zachary over corrects,
causing him to fall on top. Their bodies press together from chest to toes, hot skin slipping. Warm breaths pant across his shoulder and neck, both men stilling as their cocks covered in only thin cotton twitch against each other. Chris panics and pushes Zachary up before he loses complete control and begins rutting.
"Better than those eye raping briefs you're wearing."
An affronted "oh" and Chris is sliding his body around, catching Zachary in the chest with his head and upper body. Zachary responds by wrapping his arms around Chris's waist. Both men on their knees, faces at each other's asses, and the audience is shouting for more.
"What's wrong with my stripes?"
"From my point of view, everything."
Chris yelps as a shoulder connects with his side and he's slipping to the edge of the mattress to avoid being down again.
Threading one arm between Zachary's thighs, Chris puts his full weight forward and down. He shouts, letting the men who greased him up help him stand, raising his hands in the air in victory.
Zachary is also helped up and Chris shakes his hand again, the two of them standing close on the slippery plastic.
"Shower time boys!" the announcer calls out with relish.
Chris practically runs back out of the view of the crowd as their cheers follow him. He walks into the first makeshift shower and strips out of the greasy underwear. The walls are low and he debates how cold he should set the water to as Zachary steps into the stall next to him.
"Hey. You can call me Zach."
He glances over to see that shy smile again.
"Hey Zach. Would you like to get dinner?"
The invitation comes out in a quiet, rushed breath.
"Italian?" Zach asks with a smirk and a gesture to his oiled body.
Chris laughs as he turns on the shower and wonders if his agent likes flowers.
"Hello. Oh my. Please tell me you're participating."
"Yes. What exactly am I doing?"
The greeter's smile turns positively wicked.
"You'll be oil wrestling. There's a changing area over there and we have some new underwear if you'd like to wear something different. We have two men to grease you up and..."
"What? Wait a minute. Oil wrestling with women?" Chris chews his lower lip and squints at the large sign through his sunglasses.
"Uh no love. You'll be wrestling men. Steve!"
Steve, a very young man in a shiny lurex speedo runs over at once.
"What is it... oh my."
This time Chris squirms under the scrutiny and fuck if 'Steve' isn't circling him.
"Take Mister what is your name?"
"Pine. Chris Pine."
"Mister Pine to the changing area before he passes out."
"This way, Mr. Pine," and with a flourish Steve points the way.
"We'll match you up with another man about your height and weight and remember this is just for fun."
"Fun. Right." Chris's idea of fun at this point is hunting down his so-called agent.
"You don't have to do this," Steve skips a step and blocks Chris's path, "if you don't want to. It's only a few minutes and it's for a good cause though."
"Let's just get it over with."
Slender shoulders shrug once and he is led behind a large hanging dark blue fabric to some tables where piles of clothes with pieces of paper on top with names on them are stacked neatly.
"Here's a pen and a sheet of paper. Write your name on the paper, strip, pile up your clothes over there and put the paper on top. There are plenty of towels and soap in the shower area."
Chris accepts the pen and paper with a nod.
"There's a selection of underwear over there to choose from if you don't want to wear your own. You can strip down behind the folding wall over there. Any questions?"
Chris shakes his head and uncaps the pen.
____________________________________________________________
Chris flashes a nervous smile at the small group of men gathered around the wrestling area. He had been reassured by everyone, including his agent, that the only photographs of him would be taken after he was showered and clothed again.
A wolf whistle from somewhere causes him to blush just as his sparring partner walks out and is introduced. A Zachary Quinto, an actor who he's never heard of, but evidently several of the men watching have seen him before.
Chris turns at the approach of two men with open bottles of olive oil and shivers as the liquid is poured over his exposed skin then spread around. He rubs his hands together.
Zachary meets him in the middle of the plastic covered mattress, lean limbs, dark hair, a shy smile, and the most striking brown eyes. Chris cracks his jaw and holds out his hand to shake. He realizes in that instant that this man is gorgeous
and his cock twitches just as the signal is given for them to start. His opponent takes advantage of the fact that they haven't released their handshake and pulls him down roughly.
Neither one of them knows what they're doing and Chris is ridiculously relieved that he isn't going to be pinned in the first five seconds, if at all. They grapple, his hands slipping over black, matted arm hair and glistening pale skin as he tries to get some hold on Zachary. Both of them on their knees facing each other, Chris slides one leg back and lunges forward, twisting and pushing the other man down onto his back. Their groins brush against each other and neither notices that no one is coming forward to count down his hold.
"Plaid?" Zachary says.
"What?"
In that brief moment of confusion, Zachary grabs Chris behind the knee and flips him onto his back. He gulps as he lays there Zachary running a hand through his hair with the most predatory expression Chris has ever seen, complete with a flash of sharp, white teeth.
"Damn it," he curses to hide his furthering arousal, Zachary's hands tightening on his oiled muscles.
"Not that they don't look good."
Chris throws both of his arms up to prevent the other man from getting any leverage as he bends forward to keep Chris from moving at all. Both hands pressing against a toned chest that is covered in a thick mass of hair, he instinctively curls his fingers and tugs.
"Ow!" Zachary cries out and lurches back trying to escape. Chris gasps as thighs tighten around his hips and grunts when Zachary over corrects,
causing him to fall on top. Their bodies press together from chest to toes, hot skin slipping. Warm breaths pant across his shoulder and neck, both men stilling as their cocks covered in only thin cotton twitch against each other. Chris panics and pushes Zachary up before he loses complete control and begins rutting.
"Better than those eye raping briefs you're wearing."
An affronted "oh" and Chris is sliding his body around, catching Zachary in the chest with his head and upper body. Zachary responds by wrapping his arms around Chris's waist. Both men on their knees, faces at each other's asses, and the audience is shouting for more.
"What's wrong with my stripes?"
"From my point of view, everything."
Chris yelps as a shoulder connects with his side and he's slipping to the edge of the mattress to avoid being down again.
Threading one arm between Zachary's thighs, Chris puts his full weight forward and down. He shouts, letting the men who greased him up help him stand, raising his hands in the air in victory.
Zachary is also helped up and Chris shakes his hand again, the two of them standing close on the slippery plastic.
"Shower time boys!" the announcer calls out with relish.
Chris practically runs back out of the view of the crowd as their cheers follow him. He walks into the first makeshift shower and strips out of the greasy underwear. The walls are low and he debates how cold he should set the water to as Zachary steps into the stall next to him.
"Hey. You can call me Zach."
He glances over to see that shy smile again.
"Hey Zach. Would you like to get dinner?"
The invitation comes out in a quiet, rushed breath.
"Italian?" Zach asks with a smirk and a gesture to his oiled body.
Chris laughs as he turns on the shower and wonders if his agent likes flowers.