Sweat. Fuck. Repeat.

Sean Xavier never has to look far when he wants a spotter. Zod Blakk’s always ready to trade sets for strokes. Weights clank. Sean keeps curling as Zod sinks to his knees, swallowing every inch without missing a beat. Sean glances down, watches his cock disappear, then returns to the bar like nothing changed. They move to the floor. Sixty-nine on the rubber mat, tongues working hard, spit mixing with sweat. Zod rolls over first, shoulders to the bench, legs spread. Sean eats him deep, then lines up and pushes in raw. The stretch makes Zod grunt, but he pushes back for more. Sweat shines under the lights. Sean’s thrusts get louder, wetter. Then roles flip. Zod climbs on top, takes Sean from behind, driving into that tight hole until Sean’s breath hitches with every stroke. Bodies slap. Muscles flex. The air turns thick. Zod pulls out, strokes fast, shoots across Sean’s abs. Sean follows right after, painting his own stomach with thick ropes. The weights sit forgotten. Both men breathe hard, spent and dripping.