Never Give Up

Part One: Hustle

The lights in the stadium flashed white, a loud and decisive

click

sounding out, filling and illuminating the space below in a dazzling wash of clarity. Rows and rows of seats formed the stands around, pristine in their newly-cleaned, metallic splendor. Steel bars criss-crossed in the framework bordering the stadium, exuding the strength and power that would soon fill the ring itself, each bar the bones and framework of this legendary stage.

At the center was the prize of the wrestling world. The squared circle. The Ring. Elevated steel beams and wooden planks formed the frame for its stage, foam padding and canvas covering it in a perfect field of white. At each corner, three ring ropes wrapped the stage into its signature square shape, every thread painstakingly woven and taped into a fiber strong enough to hold the gods to be found within.

This battlefield knew no peers, a place of worship and might for all who attended. Titans battled here. Blood, sweat, and tears watered its white stage, where new champions would rise to meet the challenge of those who came before. But no champion had ever grown as tall, built a stalk as strong, or adorned thorns so sharp as could pierce even the greatest of armor than the champion of tonight.

The WWE United States Championship would reveal it's newest victor by the night's end. The reigning champion was already deep in the bowels of the arena, seething and rearing for the chance to protect his title, a bull with steam rolling off his back in anticipation. Tonight would be special, more unique than any match to have graced this glorious stage. The beast waiting in the depths could hardly wait, chomping at the bit to get started.

And so the staff filed in and the stage was set. The commentators slipped behind their long table, one a short man with balding hair who had been following the wrestling world since an injury pried him from the stage itself. The other was a taller man with dark skin, an eye for detail, and a wit that could hardly be matched. The two together formed a formidable team of accuracy and vocal talent sure to keep the crowd on their toes and at the edge of their seats.

Following them came a mountain of a man, his thick sunglasses protecting his dark green gaze from the overbearing white flood lights illuminating the entire arena. Where his glasses concealed his eyes, however, the tank top over his chest and shoulders exposed nearly every vein and bulge of his torso to the world, the white fabric close to bursting. A dark mat of hair dusted his leathery skin, arms inked almost completely. A thick beard lined his jaw, and faded blue jeans clung to his legs like wrapping. The presenter, tasked with proudly announcing the details of the match for the crowd, arrived.

Then, came the stripes. Strips of white and black hung over a stout man with a head shaved bald, forming the all-too-familiar shirt of the referee. Black slacks held fast to his legs as he climbed the metal stairway leading to the ring, eyes focused. The integrity of the match relied on him, though he knew with the Champion below ready to protect his title at any cost, he had his work cut out for him.

The stadium employees ran their final checks, dusted their last seats, and wiped down the last drinking glass before, finally, the doors opened.

A veritable flood of muscle mass and testosterone coursed through the entrance, surging past the concession stands and hallways leading to the stadium seats. Doors on every corner of the stands opened and men of every caliber began pressing for their seats. Muscles pushed together, grunts expelled from powerful lungs, and the stands were full in no time at all with the strength and prowess of a fully stocked gay audience.

That was the first thing Ben noticed when he finally managed to squeeze his way through walls of excited bodies to find his seat. While he always considered himself short, in the hulking masses he now found himself in, he'd never felt smaller. Of course, he couldn't know just how small he'd feel by the night's end.

Ben was an all around handsome guy, though slight in nature. His muscles were thin and long, his face sharp and angled with a short crop of blond hair that framed his forehead nicely. His white t-shirt matched the blinding ivory of the Ring, and he felt closer to it, a part of it almost. His legs fidgeted in their dark blue jeans, his fingers gently scratching little faded lines along his thighs in excitement. He'd been waiting for this day for so long, to see his idol in the flesh.

Ever since the first time he felt the stirring in his young loins, he'd dreamt of the day he'd be able to lay his eyes on John Cena without a screen between them. Every day the man crossed Ben's mind. He spent his free time watching matches, rewatching matches, admiring John's moves and mannerisms; The attraction ran deep. In all 22 years of his life, he'd never felt more connected to anyone the way he felt with John.

Now, the day had finally arrived. May 24, 2015. The United States Championship, where John Cena would defend his several-months-long reign. Since his championship victory in Wrestlemania, John had faced challengers every week in a bid for the throne. This night it was time for another historic challenge, all right in front of Ben.

It had taken a lot of effort to get here, just a young man from Lithuania climbing into a plane bound for a land so far away, the home of John Cena. He'd decided that the time had finally come, that he would go to see one of John's matches. To be in the same space, to breathe the same air. So what if he was a little obsessed...? He was happy.

A bout of rambunctious laughter from nearby broke Ben's reverie, his steely grey gaze lifting from the white of the bottom of the ring to a group of men to his right. There were four of them, each turned to face inward on their musclebound group. Ben could see them flexing, gritting their white teeth together in feigned wrestling poses. His eyes shifted then, covering the rest of the crowd as they continued to flood into the stands. Not a single woman could be found, each and every seat filled with the hulking mass of manliness.

If he hadn't come here with a goal, an idol to be adored and worshiped, he'd have been floored by the sheer beauty on display in the crowd. Veins bulged along biceps covered in hair or smooth as a baby's bottom. Thick chest muscles pumped up and down with laughter and grunting displays of machismo, nearly every man looking like he could belong in the middle of the ring as much as the next. Ben felt like a frail little sapling in a forest of redwoods. He thought at first, even though there was no way, logically, perhaps the entire crowd could be filled with gay men such as himself.

That's when the Presenter took the stage, his hand gripping powerfully over a microphone. His tattoo-covered right forearm flexed tight as he lifted the mic to his lips. The crowd seemed to swell with anticipation as the man's lips opened to begin.

"... Are we ready to kick off the UNITED. STATES. CHAMPIONSHIP, BOYS?!" The Presenter built up volume as he spoke, raising the mic higher and higher with every accented word until he was screaming out a deep baritone over every speaker in the stadium. Without halting, he shouted again and held the mic up to the air so the crowd could reverberate in its own cheers. "I CAN'T HEAR YOU...!"

The crowd roared, a particularly rumbling and powerful sound, the stands being filled exclusively by men. The masculine energy in the area filled Ben up, and he cheered right alongside the rest. Muscular fists pumped into the air, men hollered and shouted in excitement, others holding up their handmade signs and waving them around. It was an electrifying moment for Ben, and already he could feel a pulse in his groin being surrounded by such handsome, muscle-bound men.

"I am Coal Graves, your announcer and presenter for this

glooooooorious

evening! We've got a packed ring tonight, folks, and in case you haven't noticed..." He jut out one of his tattooed arms to sweep over his vision of the crowd. "It is an all-male, packed to brim, dick loving crowd we've put this special show on for tonight!"

The crowd burst yet again into a harsh cheer, every man proud of his homosexuality and excited to be recognized. It confirmed Ben's suspicions as well; All these hunky men, every muscle and vein in the crowd, were all gay men ready to watch the matches of a lifetime. Coal Graves continued.

"Now, all you straight and bisexual men out there, do not fret, for we are live on tv broadcasting out to each and every one of you. These seats are for the gays, but you won't be left out of the fun! Just make sure the kids and wife are asleep, my friends, because tonight is going to be a championship like you've never seen before!"

Ben felt the excitement growing. The normally shy and uncertain demeanor of the young man was melting away. He was here, in a crowd just like him, all waiting to see those hulking giants take to the ring, one by one falling until the inevitable came. Ben harbored no doubt whatsoever in who would reign supreme by the night's end, every ounce of faith he had resting right under John Cena's chest. He could barely contain his anticipation, and he cheered hard right alongside the massive men all around him.

"Now! For the moment you've all been waiting for! Beginning tonight's warpath is a man you all know and love. His ferocity knows no bounds!"

The presenter continued to build up the mystery contender's hype, the audience clinging to every word. Some grew excited as Coal Graves listed off the man's stats, obviously recognizing him as a wrestler they knew and supported. The lights went up bright at the far western edge of the arena, illuminating a bright white sheet-like veil stretched tight over the entryway into the bowels of the stadium. There, a silhouette appeared on the screen, muscles filling the frame. Instantly Ben recognized it was not John Cena, but that was to be expected; they'd be saving the best, the reigning champion, for last.

The screen started to rise, Coal's voice echoing in the stadium with more dire tones the further up it went, until finally the man to kick-off the night was revealed. The crowd erupted into fanfare right as the man's music began to play to accompany his walk to the ring. He was massive, with more bulk than simply ripped muscle. A black and orange spandex singlet covered up his chest and thighs, two measly straps all that clung to his wide shoulders. A short beard strapped tight to his chin, the only hair on his shiny, bald shaven head.

"It's BIG SHOW!"

Big Show smirked and raised his hands to the crowd's acclaim, then began to swagger his way down the way to the Ring. And as he did, Coal wasted no time in beginning the next announcement. Ben's eyes widened at the revelation that the opening of the night's events would be a battle royale. His heart thumped in his chest, wondering if Cena would play any part, if he'd show up. His fingers clenched as he cheered, Coal Graves one by one announcing the ten other contenders that would all be vying for the championship ship belt firmly wrapped around John Cena's waist.

Daniel Bryan, Dean Ambrose, Rusev, Kevin Owens, Dolph Ziggler, Seth Rollins, Roman Reigns, Cesaro, and to the excitement of Ben, Randy Orton all filed into the arena. Each was announced by Coal's magnified and echoing voice, each following a massive cheer from the crowd of muscular, gay men all from different walks of life, here to support their favorite, sexy wrestlers. If Ben

had

to have chosen any other man in the ring in the place of John Cena to support and throb his cock towards, it was Randy.

Built like a Roman gladiator, Orton was a lean and powerful man with bronzed skin and a close shaved head. Each arm was emblazoned with a wash of strong ink, giving his powerful arm muscles a dark and dangerous appeal. While he wasn't the enormous hulk of a man that Cena was, his characteristic smirk and tight physique served him well in his conquest of many wrestlers that crossed his path. His steely gaze offered no question that once he entered the ring, every man should exercise proper fear.

Ben felt his dick pulse once more and press against his dark blue jeans. If all the other wrestlers had been announced, the only one left to show himself was the only one that truly mattered. The only one who controlled Ben's dreams, his beating heart, and who could beckon him into any mire with nothing more than a gesture. Ben was ready to dive into the ring itself just for the chance to be close to the man, however...

He was not announced. Ben watched as Big Show took to the ring, the other wrestlers arranging themselves around it, ready to jump in and show the world what they were capable of. Ben was disappointed that he'd yet have to wait for the star of the show, but as soon as the referee took to the ring and the match began, Ben's attention refocused.

In a brawl of muscle, sweat, and grunts, the royale was a sight to behold. One by one, each of the prestigious challengers took to the ring and duked it out. Some went in pairs out even trios, banding together to take down a larger or more fearsome bull. Big Show managed to clear out a couple, but was taken down by a pack of ravenous wolves led by none other than Randy Orton. After the hulking titan was done and tapped, Orton turned on his pack and chewed them up one by one. It was a spectacle that Ben had never before witnessed, let alone in person.

After a long and arduous endeavor, it became clear that Randy Orton would become the triumph of this royale. His muscles flexed and he growled in victory as he lifted Seth Rollins onto his shoulders only to toss him from the ring, Seth crashing into the commentators' table at the side of the ring. Randy raised his tattooed arms in victory as the commentators jumped up and back to avoid the crashing meteor of a man, Seth rolling around in a daze as the referee called Orton's victory.

After Randy's fanfare played and he addressed the crowd in a victorious speech, the mic was yet again handed to Coal Graves. Ben was shocked with the rest of the crowd as suddenly the lights over the stands shut with a clicking boom. Only the ring was illuminated now, and the large aisle of steps leading to the silhouette screen began to flash white, each step flicking on one after another until the bright lights lit up like a stairway to heaven. The white screen was empty, and the crowd softened up their noise at the dreams and anticipation. Coal's voice dropped into a low register, almost a husky growl, as he announced the next man to take the stage.

Ben could hardly hear the words, however, as right when Coal began his dramatic intro, a figure stepped in front of the screen, the silhouette of Adonis himself. Ben felt the air escape his lungs, his veins bulged as his heart beat in overdrive, and he let out a soft groan, almost a whimper, as his dick throbbed nearly to climax in his jeans.

Every shadow, every curve and angle on the silhouette was one Ben knew. He could have drawn it in his sleep if asked, and he recognized that cocky stance all too well. The way that those gorgeous legs stuck out from a sexy pair of cargo shorts. The broadness of those incredible shoulders, the likes of which could challenge Atlas. Even the way the chest rose and fell, the way the man breathed, was familiar to Ben. The young man could do nothing but reach down and take hold of his swollen length, jumping in response to the touch. He'd already leaked a small damp stain through his jeans, though the dark fabric did a good job of hiding it.

And were it not for everything else clearly identifying the man, Ben throbbed once more as the signature theme began blaring through the speakers. The theme was iconic, and Ben had heard it nearly every day since he was a teenager sneaking peeks online at his godlike idol. The trumpets rolled, echoing in the darkened stands, repeating those four note phrases to signal the coming of the king. Ben knew instantly, without any help from the speakers or the presenter's words, exactly who stood on the other side of that screen.

But right as Coal Graves was really about to start the announcement of the reigning champ, the silhouette moved. One arm shifted from its resting position holding the microphone of his own in its hand. It lifted up and crossed to the man's mouth. Ben's eyes widened with shock and awe, as Coal's voice was suddenly overtaken by the deep baritone of a man who could clearly announce himself on his own.

"You. Can't. See me!"

The man's hand suddenly waved in front of his shadowed face, and the crowd erupted. Ben almost lost sight of the screen as the larger men nearby all jumped to their feet and filled the stadium with their cheers. Thankfully, Ben wasn't the shortest guy around, and with a little adjustment to stand on his own seat, rose above the crowd to watch right as a sudden flurry of motion ripped right through the screen, the lights on the stands shot back up, and John Cena came into view in a blaze of white light and glory.

Ben nearly came, his dick throbbing with intensity as he finally laid eyes on the perfection of John Cena in the flesh. He had to reach down and press his boner back, feeling the ample wetness soaking through and he hid his moans in the cheer of the crowd.

There he stood, muscles bulging like boulders in a quarry. The lights overhead filtered through his short, buzzed hair, glimmering down over his wide, handsome ears and onto his mountainous shoulders. Shadows played gorgeously down his nose and cheeks, while his furrowed brows strongly blocked the light from his piercing, predatory blue eyes, casting a darkness over his gaze that only the blue pierced through. His lips curled into a cocky, self satisfied smile as he looked out upon the crowd. A sea of hungry gay men all ready to take a bite. He knew his appeal, he could read every expression in the stadium, and he knew the power he held, the sway he had with those in the stands. He owned it, and his eager grin proved it.

He lifted the mic once more to his lips as his powerful, trunk-like legs carried him step by step down the path towards the arena. His elbow bent to bring the mic up and his left bicep bulged while the sleeve of his sky blue t-shirt tried to contain the mass of him, a long vein pulling into view as his muscles tightened and his large, veiny hand grasped the microphone tight. The vein disappeared under a single, matching blue armband that strapped tight over his bulging bicep. A smaller pair clung to each of his firm-as-stone forearms. He flashed his white teeth like he was baring his fangs, and he was, while he spoke.

"Well, well, well!" John spoke the words low and slow, tilting his head forward so his brows shadowed his eyes even more. His right arm lifted as well, extending out before sweeping from one side of the stands to the other, the crowd in each section his pointer finger passed over getting louder, the men flexing and showcasing their masculinity as John passed over them. Several had already taken off their shirts, thick pecs and biceps all flaring to impress the man of the hour. He continued talking as he pointed down the stands, the muscles in his forearms tightly corded and layering over one another beautifully. "It looks like

my boys

have all come out in

force

to see me tonight! That is... If you can."

John dropped the mic and smirked hard, the crowd once more shouting out in reference to his iconic tagline. His eyes creased at the sides as his jaw tightened, that devilish smile bringing the sides of his mouth to crease as well, lips tight with a taunting delight. Even from his spot in the stands, Ben could see nearly every detail displayed so beautifully across the lengths of John's arms, all so much more impressive in person than on his little computer screen back home. He was glad to have gotten such a good seat, with perfect view of everything, not too close and not too far to miss any action. It was becoming his dream come true, and he had no clue just what he would be in for by the night's end.