Varka

It's been a few months since the young recruit joined the Knights of Favonius.

Ever since he was a little boy he was always drawn to them. Their valiant code and brotherly bond, their bravery in protecting the city, their… masculine forms, so he joined up. And after a few "incidents" in the showers or locker rooms he realized it was more than just admiration he felt for the Knights.

They often joked about how much they would bend each other over, but they talked about getting with women even more, so the young knight didn't feel anywhere near brave enough to actually make a move on any of them. He just had to relieve his urges by taking solo night patrols, something most knights avoided like the plague, and furiously masturbating in any secluded spot he came across, sometimes aided by a piece of some unaware knight's underwear he managed to swipe from the laundry basket.

Things changed though, when the Grandmaster came back from his expedition. Varka was every bit as masculine, powerful and awe-inspiring as the young man's seniors described him, and more.

That alone was enough for him to almost constantly occupy the knight's thoughts, but as luck would have it the Grandmaster took it upon himself to personally overlook their daily drills so every day the rookie had to endure the sight of that man's muscles throwing around swords almost as big as himself. And there was nothing he wanted more than to switch places with them.

He tried to play it cool, at first just pushing his urges down until they burst. Eventually it was clear that wouldn't work so he settled for more night patrols (and with them more jerking off fantasizing about his Grandmaster). He wasn't proud of it, but he even started digging around the laundry when he got the chance, searching for a pair of underwear that could belong to Varka. Alas, he never got lucky. Perhaps the Grandmaster does his own laundry?

"Okay! Now watch closely!"

Varka's commanding voice snapped him out of his thoughts, which had wandered off again in the middle of training. Fuck… no matter what he tried, it just kept happening. The Grandmaster was currently showcasing the proper technique of striking with a straight sword, but focusing on his words was nigh impossible.

It was the start of summer and the first wave of heat had just hit that morning, so the young knight was feeling drained even without the training. What was even worse, Varka clearly needed some relief from the hot, humid air too as he had forgone his usual cape and armour. A white shirt, now sweat slicked and clinging to his skin. The Grandmaster's arms filled the sleeves completely, his chest pushing the unbuttoned top of his shirt open, showing just enough of his large, hairy pecs for the young knight's eyes to hopelessly be drawn to them.

When he first saw the outfit Varka had on, he was terrified he was just gonna stare at his chest the whole time. Salvation from that issue came in the way of something even worse. With every move, every strike, the Grandmaster's thighs and ass tightened, shifting visibly in his pants. The young knight could swear he could see his bulge jiggle as well, but he would rather explain it away as his overheating brain playing tricks, lest his mind goes into extremely dangerous thoughts.

The cherry on top was ending up at the beginning of the starting jog around the city, with perfect view of the two bouncing globes. It was a miracle he didn't trip and fall right between them. Miracle or curse?…

"Alright! Now grab a dummy, and practice yourselves! 200 strikes each, for starters!"

The knight allowed himself a subtle sigh of relief. If he was to practice alone at least his eyes wouldn't stray and his mind could focus on something else, or so he hoped.

Hopes are where it ended though, as even with him focusing as hard as he could on his form and technique, images of the Grandmaster's muscular body flashed in his mind, throwing off his focus the moment it started to form.

199… 200. Somehow, he still managed to count despite his mind sabotaging him at every turn. At last, training was over.

"All right! Good work everyone! You're free to go."

Now it was time to take a cold shower as quickly as possible and take whatever task puts him the furthest from Varka for the day. Maybe he could even slip into some far-away secluded nook where he could…

"Except you. I need to have a word with you, soldier."

The Grandmaster said in a commanding tone which wouldn't tolerate any excuses.

Fuck. He didn't even have to turn around to know who that was addressed to. Slowly spinning around, the other knights teasing him when walking by, the young man saw what he both feared and expected. Varka looking straight at him with a serious, unreadable expression on his face. Fuck.

The Grandmaster at least had the decency to wait until the others left, leaning nonchalantly against his sword, before speaking to him.

"Your performance today was… underwhelming today, kid. Heat gettin to ya?"

He joked, trying to relieve the obvious tension the youngster was full of.

"I… Well… I suppose you could say that, Sir."

The man skittishly uttered back.

Varka shook his head.

"I get it, but that's no excuse to slack off. Evil doesn't stop for heat waves, so neither can we. Since you have trouble focusing on group training, I'll just have to coach you myself. Take a sword, kid!"

Fuck. A one on one sparring session with the Grandmaster was the last thing he needed. He couldn't exactly decline though. An offer like this wasn't something you refused. What would he even say, he couldn't tell Varka he was the reason for the scattered focus. Reluctantly, he picked up a sword and assumed a combat stance, trying his absolute best to keep his eyes on the man's face. Handsome, slightly hairy, well built face…

"Your stance could use some work, but oh well. Give me your best!"

The knight didn't move, petrified by the whole situation.

"C'mon kid, hit me!"

He took a deep breath… and lunged. Channelling all his frustration, all his hungry urges, all his powerless rage into this one strike, he flew at the Grandmaster. Maybe if he lands this Varka will just let him go…

Kling

Effortlessly, Varka deflected.

"Decent power, but your form… tsk. Again! Two more times!"

He did as instructed, lunging at the Grandmaster twice. Both times, his sword was quickly bounced out of the way with a quick wrist movement. Varka just shook his head.

"Your stance is a complete mess… here, I'll show you."

This is exactly what the rookie knight dreaded. Varka came up to him and started to move his limbs into the proper position, explaining the correct stance as he went. The young man did his best to remember and internalise the Grandmaster's guidance. It was only getting harder and harder with him standing so close and literally posing him like a mannequin.

"Okay now hold that stance. I'll hit you, you try blocking. Remember to plant your feet firmly on the ground!"

A moment later, he swung. It was an obvious, deliberately slow and easy to read strike. The young knight pulled all the focus he had remaining and… managed to block.

"Good job, kid! We'll make a true knight out of you yet."

The knight's cock twitched in his pants at the words of praise from Varka.

"Two more!"

The next two strikes came faster, in one smooth movement, but nonetheless, the knight somehow managed to block them both.

"Well done, pup! Alright, now try defending a whole series. No worries, I'll go easy on you."

Pup. The way he said that word while flashing a cocky smile made the young man's legs feel weak, but before he could even ponder it, Varka started his assault. More out of reflex (and likely the Grandmaster letting him) he managed to guard from the consecutive attacks, but his steadiness was completely eradicated by that one innocuous word.

He staggered back under Varka's charge, pushed back with every hit of training swords against each other. Klang, klang, klang. Suddenly, the knight's back hit the wall. He almost jumped, already on edge with all that had happened. In response, Varka just donned a cocky, triumphant smirk. With one last strike, he batted the young knight's sword away and pressed forward, pinning him to the wall with the weight of his body.

An involuntary yelp escaped the young man, much to Varka's amusement. The Grandmaster let out a hearty laugh, causing the pecs pressed into the young man's chin to bounce right in his face.

"You're not bad kid, but you have to remember to plant your feet!"

Varka lectured like he wasn't currently pressing their bodies together.

"Otherwise… you'll just end up like this."

For emphasis, he pressed harder. The pecs over the young man's neck were dangerously close to actually choking him, but what he was more focused on was the bulge that briefly pressed into his abs before retracting without a trace. But the truly most distracting part was the smell. A musky, salty, heavy aroma that rose from Varka's body and burrowed its way deep into the knight's nostrils.

A quiet moan escaped him, cut short the moment he realized it did. It was already too late though – the Grandmaster had noticed, a spark lighting up in his eye. The knight's blood ran ice cold, he knew he was finished. He waited to be scorned, shamed, maybe even thrown out, for being so inappropriate towards his superior officer.

But, nothing came. Varka just seemed to weigh the options in his head before pulling back, finally freeing the knight from his hot, smelly prison.

"Alright, kid, that should be enough for today. Let's go get changed and I'll leave you to your duties."

Without another word he turned around and headed for the door. The knight was mostly relieved that the Grandmaster either didn't notice or didn't care about his pervy antics, but part of his mind (and all of his dick) were screaming at him to protest, to ask for more "training". Perhaps if he wasn't so naturally timid he would, but for now he just followed him inside.

The locker room was stuffy, both from the heat and the lingering stench of sweating men. The young knight was usually used to it, but mixed with the fact he was there alone with the Grandmaster it only made his thoughts run wilder and hornier. Varka tried to strike up a conversation, but the knight just politely cut it off every time. He was focusing on changing, facing away from the other man both to conceal his semi-hard dick and out of fear that if he were to see Varka naked he wouldn't ever be able to stop thinking about it.

He was tense, very tense. The knowledge they were alone and naked, in this smelly locker room after a training session was unbearable. It was like a dream come true, but the knight knew he had to focus – no matter how much he enjoyed his fantasies he enjoyed being a knight a lot more. So he just stood there, fidgeting around his locker trying to find anything to put his thoughts on while his dick twitched, waiting for him to give in.

He almost jumped when Varka spoke, louder this time.

"You're taking your time, huh kid?"

He asked, a bit concerned.

"Oh well, I guess we all have slower days. I'm off, don't take too long soldier!"

"Uh… Yes, sir!"

The knight choked out.

When he finally heard Varka leave he let out a massive sigh of relief. Finally, he could relax. Go do something else, something that might help him forget this whole situation. Maybe sneak away to blow off some steam – the usual. He turned around at last, looking at the now empty locker room. He scanned it instinctively for anything out of the ordinary… and he froze.

On the bench laid the Grandmaster's pants, discarded by him in a rush. The still fresh memory of his musk when the knight was pinned to the wall came to the forefront of his mind. Just how much stronger would it be at the source…. No, no he couldn't do that. The Grandmaster will be back to pick them up, surely. He's a busy man, but not THAT busy. Then again… this might be a once in a lifetime chance. He has tried to find Varka's underwear before to… well to sniff while jerking off, but he had no luck. Just one whiff, just to see how he smells… then he'll change and leave.

Slowly, like he was afraid to startle a fly on the wall, he walked to the bench. Even just standing over the pants he could feel it. The smell of a man's balls and crack. And this one was the strongest and most delicious he ever felt. Laundry day should be in two days, so those pants were presumably infused with multiple days of Varka's musky workout sweat… Just that realization with the little taste of the pants' smell already had his dick rock hard.

With a trembling hand, he picked up the soft, white fabric. It was warm and damp to the touch, freshly pulled off those wonderful, delicious buttcheeks. The knight's blood was pumping so hard he could feel it in his head. He raised the pants to his nose and took a small whiff.

The smell was better than he could have dreamed. Strong, salty, musky, dominant – it completely overpowered his senses. Without another thought, he planted the pants on his face and started to smell them desperately. His hand found his way to his penis and started to jerk it off wildly. It felt amazing, better than any of the clothes he had sniffed before. He could just imagine what it would feel like to smell it at the source, to get musk-drunk straight off the Grandmaster's massive, sweaty…

"Holy balls, kid, you're pervier than I thought! Huffing your Grandmaster's dirty pants like that-"

Instantly he sat up straight. His thoughts raced, trying to make sense of the situation. Of course he would be back, he was so stupid for doing this. Desperately he tried to sit in a less incriminating way, but there was no recovering from this.

He was naked and hard, with the Grandmaster's sweaty pants while the same Grandmaster was looking at him, amused.

"I, uh… this is not what it looks like, Sir-"

He tried to excuse himself, very poorly.

Varka just chuckled in response.

"So you mean to tell me you're not jerking off to your Grandmaster's ball stench with his dirty training pants?"

The knight had no comeback. He was caught red handed (or rather, almost white handed) and was at Varka's whim as to his punishment. What the Grandmaster said next though made him think he's actually dreaming.

"It's fine soldier, relax. I was young like you too once. Horny, turned on by the older knights."

Varka moved closer as he slowly spoke, eventually towering over the sitting knight, with a wolfish grin and a glint in his eye. He was eyeing the knight up like a juicy piece of meat.

"Tell you what. You can keep those pants, and we never speak of this again, or…"

Varka cut the sentence off in the middle, looking expectantly at the man beneath him.

The knight, encouraged by the Grandmaster's lack of anger, gathered his will and spoke.

"Or?…"

"Or you can deliver them to my office first thing after getting dressed. There's a LOT more where that came from, pup."

Fuck. It was like the Grandmaster knew exactly what to say to make the knight forfeit any dignity and common sense he might have had. Before the knight could even respond, he turned around and walked towards the door to the hallway.

"Think about it, soldier. I'll be waiting in my office."

Fuck.

The knight clutched the sweaty pants in his hands, standing before the Grandmaster's door. This was insane, he knew it was. The logical thing to do was to leave, never speak of this and be thankful for the Grandmaster's understanding. Maybe even throw the pants into the laundry, treat this as a lapse of will and never let it happen again. But the invitation the Grandmaster extended… it was too good to pass up.

He took a deep breath, wishing he could take a big swig of something strong and cheap instead. "I need a drink" he thought to himself before finally pulling himself together and raising his hand to the wooden door.

Knock, knock.

"Come in!"

Varka's voice responded from behind it.

The first thing the knight noticed was the smell. The whole room reeked of man sweat, just like the locker room, except not quite as strongly.

The second thing he noticed was the Grandmaster sitting at his desk, pearls of sweat dotting his face and neck. His shirt was unbuttoned about a third of the way, exposing a patch of hair on his round pecs, also slick with sweat.

The room was sweltering, the midday sun shining on the outer wall and heating it up. Despite that, the windows remained closed.

Varka looked up from the mess of papers and bared his teeth in a satisfied grin.

"Ha! I knew you couldn't resist, pup. Now, get over here. Close the door behind you."

The knight followed the Grandmaster's command almost instinctively. His head was starting to spin from the humid heat and smell of a sweaty man. Varka laid back on his chair, pushing out his chest and bucking his hips upwards.

"Uh… excuse me, Sir. Your office is pretty… stuffy. Would you like me to open a window?"

He asked, trying to ignore Varka's cleavage peeking out of his shirt and the bulge in his pants.

"Open a window? Why, soldier? I thought you liked the way your Grandmaster stinks after a good workout."

He put his hands behind his back, letting the musky smell of his armpits fill the room.

He got him there – the knight did love it. He would love nothing more than to huff it all day. He was already getting hard again from the smell, which didn't escape Varka's attention. The Grandmaster took the dirty pants from his hands and chucked them into a corner under his desk.

"Archons, the stink down there must be heavenly" the knight couldn't help but think.

"Well, soldier, since you're here I assume you wanna take me up on my offer?"

The knight gave a hesitant nod, getting a satisfied smirk in return.

"Good…"

Varka said. He unbuttoned his shirt the rest of the way before spreading it open and tapping his lap.

"Then get over here and show your Grandmaster just how much you love his fat tits."