Private Workout

Sweat gleamed on Rappolo's skin as he powered through his workout, the clank of weights echoing in the empty gym. A sharp twist yanked at his neck, sending fire down his shoulder. He winced, rubbing the knot with gritted teeth, breath coming in ragged bursts. Michael White pushed through the door, his gaze locking on Rappolo's strained form. 'Looks rough,' he said, voice low and steady. 'I know a thing or two about knots. Let me work it out—no pro, but my hands get the job done.' Rappolo hesitated, then nodded. 'Fine. Just make it quick.' Michael's fingers dug in, firm and sure, kneading the tension from Rappolo's neck. The touch lingered, Michael's thumbs circling lower, brushing the edge of his collarbone. 'Easy there,' Rappolo muttered, shrugging him off. Undeterred, Michael pressed on, his palms gliding over Rappolo's traps, dipping toward his pecs. Another rebuff: 'Stick to the neck.' But Michael's breath warmed his ear now, hands venturing south. 'Not now,' Rappolo growled, though his voice cracked. The third push, Michael's fingers grazing his waistband—Rappolo's resolve snapped like a taut cable. 'Lock the damn door,' he ordered, eyes dark with sudden hunger. The click of the bolt sealed them in. Rappolo stripped down to his jockstrap, sprawling on the bench press, the cool leather kissing his bare back. Michael straddled the bench, his touch bolder, tracing the curve of Rappolo's ass through the thin fabric. A fingertip teased the cleft, circling the puckered ring with wicked intent. The jockstrap vanished in a swift tug, leaving Rappolo exposed, cock twitching against the air. Rappolo's neck had eased into bliss, the ache forgotten as he arched up. 'Take me,' he breathed. Michael obliged, sliding his thick dick first into Rappolo's mouth, the salty length filling him deep, throat working greedily. Then, with a slick push, Michael claimed his ass, thrusting in rhythmic claim—both holes stretched and owned, bodies locked in raw, pulsing rhythm.