Flex

Erik Rhodes and Alex Rossi lock eyes, their debate over who lifts heavier turning into a heated flex-off. They stand before the mirrors, bodies oiled and gleaming, each muscle group straining under taut skin. Erik's biceps peak like coiled pythons as he hits a double bicep pose, veins threading across his forearms. Alex counters with a most-muscular crab, traps rising in sharp ridges, his pecs bouncing with controlled power. The air thickens with sweat and rivalry. They circle closer, hands grazing sweat-slick abs, tracing the deep cuts of obliques. Fingers linger, testing hardness, igniting sparks. Erik's palm slides up Alex's thigh, brushing the bulge straining his shorts. Alex growls low, pulling Erik in for a grind of torsos, cocks hardening against fabric. Solo leans against the wall, a muscle god in repose, his fist pumping his thick shaft in slow, deliberate strokes. He watches them devour each other—lips crashing, tongues battling—his breath ragged, pre-cum beading as their workout dissolves into raw, pumping lust.