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Carlos was buzzing.
He lost the match, but what a match it was! He had gone the distance against his tennis idol in the semifinals of a huge tournament, playing at possibly the highest level of his life, all while still being only eighteen. He lost, but there was nothing to be ashamed of. And he'd met Nadal before too, but getting to shake his hand at the net and pat his chest and hear his compliments made the whole experience even better.
The youngster's spirits soared even further when Nadal found him in the locker room later.
"Hey, just wanted to come by and congratulate you again."
"Oh!" He'd been changing his shirt and was caught by surprise, but getting the chance to interact with Rafa was always welcome. "Thanks!"
"You're going to be very good very soon. I mean that, too. I'm not just saying things. I'm really looking forward to seeing how you progress."
Carlos could have melted into the floor. Getting lathered with praise like this by his favorite tennis player and hero was overwhelming. He was probably grinning a bit too widely, but he couldn't help it.
"Really?" he almost couldn't believe the praise he was getting.
"Really!" Rafa reaffirmed, nodding. "You've got all the tools, and fitness clearly isn't going to be an issue." Rafa glanced downward and Carlos was suddenly very aware of his partial nudity. He wasn't ashamed of his body - quite the opposite - but having Nadal eyeing up his physique so closely made him blush.
And then Rafa's hand was on his chest and electricity ripped through his body. "It's a really good body," Rafa muttered lowly, giving the younger's right pec a squeeze. Carlos quickly recovered from the shock of the moment and perked up as another compliment rolled in. He stuck his chest out further and flexed, wanting to show off, wanting to feel worthy of the positive appraisal. Nadal moved his hand to his other pec and his thumb glided across the nipple there. Alcaraz gasped at the feeling but didn't think much of it, it was probably just an accident.
"You're still young too, you might end up with a chest bigger than mine one day." Nadal pulled his hand back and postured so that his chest pushed out. He was still in his kit from the match, and the orange shirt hugged his torso perfectly, the mounds of his chest clear to see. Nadal shot a look down to his chest and then back to Carlos, inviting. Not thinking twice about it, Carlos accepted the invitation and reached forward to have his own feel. Perhaps too zealous, he used both of his hands to reach out, laying his palms flat against the top of Rafa's pecs. He'd patted Rafa's chest back on the court, but it was different like this. Now, he could feel just how solid the older man was, how strong the muscles there were. His lowered his hands slightly so that he could cup and squeeze the muscles in his hands, lost in the moment.
It crossed Carlos's mind suddenly how weird this might look if someone else were to walk in and see him like this, basically fondling Rafael Nadal's chest. But they were just two athletes comparing muscles. That's not actually weird, right?
"You've got a good set of abs, too." Rafa commented, "You must work hard."
While Carlos looked down to appraise his own abs, Rafa utilized the distraction to take the younger's left hand and move it down to his own abs. So while the two were looking down at the younger's toned stomach, Carlos got to feel how the older compared.
"Yeah, I do." Carlos breathed out, a whisper. His body was practically vibrating. The post-match adrenaline, the praise, the way Nadal's body felt under his hands... his teenage brain was struggling to process the situation. It reminded him of his first time drinking when he was younger, with the unfamiliarity of his body's reactions and the rush of doing something new and exciting and somewhat taboo. Was this taboo? Guys maybe don't feel each other up quite this much, usually. But Nadal's abs really were impressive, who wouldn't want to give them a proper feel?
"And your legs," Rafa continued, "You clearly put a lot of work into those as well." Rafa's right hand reached out to rest right below Carlos's hip on the side of his leg, lightly stroking the top of his thigh. In the back of his mind, Carlos registered a certain intimacy to his touch.
"And your glutes..." The hand on Carlos's leg moved up and back, and Carlos froze as he felt Rafa's large palm grab a handful of his ass.
Carlos's brain did a quick reset and took stock of the situation. He had one hand feeling Rafa's chest and another on his abs, and Rafa was squeezing his ass with a look of admiration in his eyes. Wait, admiration? No, that was...
Oh.
This had turned into something else without him realizing, and if it was going to stop it would have to stop now. Carlos didn't think he was gay in the slightest, but he couldn't ignore the way his body was been reacting to the situation. And then he remembered that it was the one and only Rafael Nadal standing in front of him. Maybe for Rafa... he's a little gay.
Carlos met Rafa's eyes with resolve, and the message was clear. He was in. Carlos allowed himself to be pulled forward by the hand on his ass until their bodies met, chest to chest, hip to hip, and face to face. Carlos brought both of his hands up to squeeze Rafa's pecs while Rafa dropped his other hand so that he was now double-palming Carlos's backside. Carlos had never had his ass played with like this before and he was taken aback by how much he liked it. A rough squeeze made Carlos gasp and arch his back, bringing his hips forward so that his crotch moved against the older man's thigh. He was getting hard.
Rafa leaned forward and buried his face into Carlos's neck, the hot breath of his idol hitting him just above the shoulder, sending shivers through his body. With another squeeze of his ass, Nadal turned his head up so that his mouth was against the shell of Carlos's ear.
"You'll be a Grand Slam champion one day," he said softly, and just like that Carlos was hard as a rock. His arms moved up to wrap around Nadal's broad shoulders, clinging there as he ground forward again into the front of his idol's thigh. He could feel Rafa's confined erection against his own thigh, and wow it felt big. As Carlos got off on the friction, one of Nadal's hands slid up to map out the muscled plane of his back, sparks flying wherever his hand travelled.
"So young and already so talented," Nadal continued to breathe into his ear, every word like a hit of ecstasy to Carlos's brain. He’d never been so hard in his life.
“And already so fucking sexy."
Another firm squeeze to his ass, another grind forward into Rafa's thigh, and Carlos was suddenly convulsing as his orgasm ripped through him, taking him completely by surprise. He shuddered and tightened the grip of his arms over Nadal's shoulders as his vision briefly whited out, mind and body completely rocked by the sudden climax.
Nadal's hand on his back went from electric to soothing, as the veteran held him through it. Then, suddenly, the elevation was changing. Carlos was being lowered, not stopping until Nadal had set him gently down on his knees. Carlos looked up in a haze as Nadal stood back up to full height and lowered his shorts just enough to get his cock out. With Carlos sat back on his heels, it was just above his eye-level.
"Pretty," his mind distantly supplied, and oh man was he going to have to do some inner wreckoning regarding his sexuality later if he was calling another man's cock pretty. Nadal chuckled (shit, had he said that out loud?) and then starting stroking his big erection right above the teenager. His compression shorts must have done a great job at hiding it, because Nadal was even bigger and thicker than Carlos had thought. Rafa set a fervent pace and it was clear that he was close to getting off, and he was looking straight down at Carlos as he was doing it.
"Even your face is stunning, fuck," and before Carlos's post-orgasm-fogged brain could figure out was happening, his face was suddenly warm and wet, his eyes startling closed as his hero painted his face with cum. After a few moments of taken to catch his breath, Nadal used a thumb to wipe his cum off of Carlos's eyes, allowing the younger to safely open them. The sight of a panting, freshly fucked out Nadal looking down at him is something he was sure he'd remember for the rest of his life. If he hadn't climaxed so hard just moments earlier, he probably would have boned up immediately. He was so enraptured that he didn't even think to protest when Nadal took his cum-covered thumb and pushed it past his lips, he just suckled on it dutifully and drank down his idol's spunk.
"Good boy," Nadal smiled down at him, and this time Carlos's dick did twitch. Fuck, he actually was going to get hard again.
"I really meant everything I said," Nadal's voice returned to a more normal pitch as he withdrew his thumb and pulled his shorts back up. "You're a really good player. See you in Miami."
As Nadal disappeared from the locker room, Carlos stayed there on the floor, face painted in cum, trying to process what had just happened. He'd just received a facial from another guy. There was a brief moment of internal terror until he realized: he'd just received a facial from Rafael Nadal. Suddenly his brain wasn't complaining as much, and his dick stirred as the memories of what just occurred lit up his brain. Nadal's compliments, the feel of his body, the feel of Nadal's hands on his own body, his huge cock, the taste of his cum...
At the thought of Nadal's cum, Carlos registered the awkward feeling of it drying on his face and his own cum drying in his shorts. He could have this mental battle after a shower. Carlos shakily rose to his feet and reflexively licked his dry lips, getting an unexpected second taste of Nadal's cum. Fuck. And then he was hard again.
If Carlos Alcaraz jerked off in the shower later thinking about his hero Rafael Nadal, nobody needed to know.