"Still think you can pin me?" Darren grunted, sweat dripping into his eyes. He shifted his weight against the ropes, the ring mat creaking under his boots.
Across from him, Mark just grinned, flexing thick shoulders that strained against his singlet. "Always do, pretty boy."
The arena buzzed — not with crowds tonight, just fluorescent lights humming overhead. Their weekly wrestling session felt more like ritual than training. Darren liked the raw simplicity: two bodies testing limits, no audience, no pressure. Just sweat and effort. He lunged, driving Mark backward with a shoulder tackle. Muscle met muscle, a solid thud echoing in the empty space.
Mark countered, twisting Darren’s arm behind him in a fluid motion. "Too slow." His grip was firm, unyielding. Darren felt the heat radiating off Mark’s chest pressed against his back — a familiar, almost comforting pressure. They’d been doing this for months, ever since Mark transferred to the gym. At first, it was rivalry: two top heavyweights sizing each other up. Now? Something else.
Darren broke free, panting. "You’re getting predictable." He wiped his forehead, studying Mark. The guy moved like a tank but had surprising grace. They circled each other, breaths syncing. No trash talk this time, just silent focus. Darren feigned a leg sweep, then hooked Mark’s neck, pulling him close. Chest to chest, heartbeat against heartbeat. For a second, neither moved. The air thickened. Darren’s pulse skipped — not from exertion.
Mark’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t pull away. "What’s the hold-up?" His voice was low, rough. Darren released him, stepping back. The moment hung, heavy and unspoken. Outside, rain started tapping against the gym’s roof. Neither looked away.
"Been thinking," Darren said, rubbing a bruised forearm. "About that exhibition match in Cincinnati." Mark nodded slowly. Darren had pinned him cleanly — a rare feat — but Mark had grinned afterward, clapping him on the shoulder hard enough to stagger him. "You bought me that beer." Darren paused. "Why?"
Mark shrugged, wiping sweat from his jaw. "Respect. You earned it." He paused, then added, quieter, "And maybe I wanted an excuse to talk." Darren’s throat tightened. He’d replayed that night for weeks — the sticky bar table, Mark’s laugh booming over the jukebox, the accidental brush of fingers reaching for the same pretzel.
They circled again, but the rhythm was broken. Darren stopped, planting his feet. "Training’s done."
Mark raised an eyebrow. "So?" Darren closed the distance, stopping inches from Mark’s chest.
"So," Darren said, voice steady, "I’m done pretending this is just sparring." He reached out slowly, palm flat against Mark’s sternum. The heat was immediate, visceral. Mark’s breath caught. "Your move."
Mark’s hand covered Darren’s, pressing it harder against his own pounding heart. "Took you long enough." He leaned in, forehead resting against Darren’s. Sweat mingled. "Your place or mine?" Darren laughed — a surprised, relieved sound — and tugged Mark’s singlet strap. "Mine’s closer."
They didn’t bother changing. Darren grabbed his duffel, keys jangling. Mark followed, silent. Outside, rain slicked the pavement. Under the flickering streetlamp, Darren fumbled with his car door.
Mark’s hand settled on his waist, pulling him back. "Wait." Darren turned. Mark kissed him — deep, urgent, tasting of salt and exhaustion. Darren gripped Mark’s shoulders, pulling him closer. The rain soaked through their gear, cold and sharp, but neither noticed.
Inside the car, Darren cranked the heat. Water pooled on the cracked vinyl seats. Mark stared out the windshield, jaw tight. "Been wanting to do that since Cincinnati."
Darren glanced over. Mark’s knuckles were split, a fresh bruise blooming on his collarbone — souvenirs from their sparring. Darren traced it lightly. "Why did you wait?"
Mark caught his wrist. "Scared you’d bolt."
Darren snorted. "I pinned you, remember?"
Mark’s thumb rubbed circles on Darren’s pulse point. "Yeah. Best damn loss I ever had."
Darren’s apartment smelled faintly of coffee and old leather. He tossed his duffel near a dented fridge. Mark hesitated in the doorway, dripping onto the worn rug.
"Place is small," Darren shrugged, "but it's big enough." He grabbed towels, tossing one to Mark, watching the water trail down Mark’s chest over thick muscle.
Mark met his gaze. "Still staring, pretty boy?"
Darren stepped forward, towel forgotten. "Yeah. Problem?"
Mark closed the distance, pressing Darren against the fridge. "Nope." His kiss was slower this time, deliberate.
Darren met it hungrily, the taste of rain and sweat dissolving into something deeper. Hands fumbled with soaked fabric — straps ripped, Velcro tore. Darren yanked Mark’s singlet down his hips, peeling wet nylon from thick thighs. Mark did the same, freeing Darren’s shoulders with a rough tug. Their clothes hit the floor in a heavy, sodden pile.
Darren steered them backward, never breaking the kiss. He kicked open the bedroom door, stumbling over a stray dumbbell. Mark laughed against his mouth — a low, rumbling sound — as Darren shoved him onto the unmade bed. Mark landed with a bounce, bare back hitting cool sheets. Darren followed him down, knees straddling Mark’s waist. Below him, Mark’s chest rose and fell, a landscape of muscle and scars.
"Legs up," Darren ordered, voice rough. Mark obeyed, lifting thick thighs. Darren hooked his hands under Mark’s knees, spreading them wide. The intimacy was stark, electric. Exposed between them: the tight furl of Mark’s asshole, flushed pink and glistening faintly with sweat. Darren traced a thumb just below it, feeling Mark shudder. "You ever done this?" he asked.
Mark’s gaze locked onto his. "Not like this." His knuckles whitened on the sheets. "Been thinking about it."
Darren leaned down, breath hot against Mark’s inner thigh. "How long?"
"Since Cincinnati." Mark’s hips lifted slightly. "When you pinned me."
Darren grinned. "Best damn win I ever had." Then he bent lower, tongue flat against Mark’s perineum before dragging upward. Mark gasped, back arching off the bed. Darren circled the tight pucker slowly, teasingly — once, twice — before pressing inside. Mark cried out, fingers tangling in Darren’s hair. The taste was salt and skin and something uniquely Mark. Darren dug his fingers into Mark’s hips, holding him open, and dove deeper.
Mark writhed, not away but into it, thighs trembling against Darren’s ears. "Fuck — Darren!" His hips jerked wildly. Darren explored with relentless precision, finding the swollen ridge just inside. He flicked it hard with the tip of his tongue. Mark screamed, his spine bowing violently. Darren jabbed again. And again. Each sharp stroke sent tremors through Mark’s entire frame. His cock stood rigid against his stomach, flushed deep red, weeping thick ropes of pre-cum that pooled on his abs. The scent of musk and sweat thickened the air.
"Stop — stop teasing," Mark choked out, voice ragged. He fisted the sheets, knuckles bone-white. "Need you inside me. Now." His legs hooked around Darren’s back, pulling him impossibly closer. "Please. Fuck me. I’m ready — been ready."
Darren lifted his head, lips slick and glistening. Mark’s desperation was raw, beautiful. "You want it?" Darren rasped, palming his own aching erection. Mark nodded frantically, eyes blown black with need. "Then beg."
Mark didn’t hesitate. "Please, Darren. Fuck me. Fill me up. Make me feel it tomorrow." He spread his legs wider, offering himself completely. "Want you so deep I taste it."
Darren slicked himself hastily with spit and pre-cum, lining up. He pushed in slowly, the tight heat overwhelming. Mark groaned, low and guttural, head thrashing against the pillow. Darren bottomed out, hips flush against Mark’s ass. They both froze, breathing ragged.
Mark’s eyes locked onto his. "Move," he commanded, voice wrecked. "Make me feel that pin." Darren obeyed, pulling back almost all the way before slamming home. Mark’s shout dissolved into a broken sob of pleasure.
Mark’s hand flew toward his own cock, desperate to relieve the unbearable pressure. Darren seized his wrist, pinning it above his head. "No," Darren growled, hips pistoning faster. "I’m going to make you cum hands-free." Mark whimpered, his hips lifting frantically to meet each brutal thrust. The bed frame slammed against the wall in a frantic rhythm, echoing Darren’s mounting pace.
Darren shifted subtly, angling his cock upward. Every deep plunge now struck Mark’s prostate dead-on. The effect was instantaneous. Mark’s spine arched violently off the mattress, a choked scream tearing from his throat. "Oh god — yes! Right there!" His words dissolved into a cascade of incoherent babble — half-formed pleas, curses, and Darren’s name repeated like a prayer. Spit slicked his chin as his head thrashed against the pillow.
Darren doubled down, driving into Mark with relentless force. Sweat dripped from his brow onto Mark’s heaving chest. Mark’s thighs trembled against Darren’s ribs, his entire body tightening like a coiled spring. "Close — so close!" he gasped, eyes wide and unfocused.
Darren felt the telltale flutter deep inside Mark’s body, the rhythmic clenching around his cock. "Let go," he ordered against Mark’s skin. "Cum for me."
Mark’s cry shattered into a raw, guttural groan as his cock erupted untouched. Thick ropes of sperm painted his stomach and chest in pulsing waves, his hips jerking wildly against Darren’s relentless fucking.
Through the haze, Darren felt Mark’s internal muscles milking him urgently, desperately pulling him toward his own climax. He buried himself to the hilt, grinding deep as his release, hot and thick, tore through him, spilling his seed into Mark with shuddering gasps. Mark’s legs locked around him, holding him close as they rode out the aftershocks together, breaths ragged in the sudden quiet.
Slowly, Mark unlocked his legs from around Darren’s waist, letting them fall heavily onto the rumpled sheets. Darren collapsed forward onto Mark’s massive torso, the damp heat of their skin instantly sealing them together. Mark’s spent load, cooling and sticky, smeared between their chests and bellies, a visceral reminder.
Mark wrapped his powerful arms around Darren’s back, pulling him impossibly tighter into a crushing hug. Darren felt the solid wall of muscle beneath him, the frantic thud of Mark’s heart slowing against his own ribs. He buried his face in the crook of Mark’s neck, inhaling the raw scent of sweat, sex, and rain still clinging to his skin.
"Jesus," Mark rasped, his voice thick and wrecked. His fingers traced lazy patterns through the sweat-damp hair at the nape of Darren’s neck. "That ... wasn't sparring."
Darren huffed a laugh against Mark’s collarbone, the vibration making Mark tighten his hold. "Understatement." He lifted his head slightly, meeting Mark’s eyes. They were still dark, pupils blown wide, but softened now, holding a warmth Darren hadn't seen before in the ring or the gym. "Regrets?"
Mark snorted, a genuine sound of amusement. "About waiting this long? Yeah." He shifted slightly, wincing as Darren’s softening cock slipped free. "Shoulda pinned you harder back in Cincinnati."
Darren grinned, tracing the fresh bruise high on Mark’s pectoral. "You tried." He paused, the reality settling deeper. "So ... are we a thing now?"
Mark’s arms tightened again, pulling Darren down for a slow, lingering kiss that tasted of salt and exhaustion and something profoundly new. "Damn right we are," he murmured against Darren’s lips. "Unless you're planning a tactical retreat?"
Darren chuckled, the sound vibrating through Mark’s chest. "No retreat. This?" He gestured vaguely at the wrecked bed, their tangled limbs, the cooling mess between them. "This is just the opening move. I’m in this for the long haul." He lifted his head, meeting Mark’s gaze squarely. "After we recover ... I want to feel you inside me. Properly."
Mark’s thumb brushed over Darren’s bottom lip, a slow, deliberate stroke. A slow grin spread across his face, genuine and predatory. "Been picturing that since you slammed me into the ropes tonight." He leaned up, capturing Darren’s mouth in another deep, claiming kiss. "Consider it obliged." His voice was a low rumble against Darren’s skin. "Thoroughly."
The promise hung thick and warm between them. Darren kissed him back, pouring the adrenaline crash and the sudden, startling certainty into it. It wasn’t frantic now; it was slow, deep, and anchoring. Mark’s hand slid up Darren’s spine, fingers pressing possessively into the muscle. Darren sighed into the kiss, the last tension bleeding out of his shoulders.
They stayed locked together like that for a long moment, breathing each other in, the rain’s soft drumming on the window the only sound besides their slowing heartbeats. Mark finally eased back, settling Darren’s head against his shoulder. Darren shifted, finding a comfortable hollow against Mark’s solid frame. Mark pulled the tangled sheet up over them both, trapping the shared warmth.
Exhaustion hit Darren like a piledriver. His limbs felt leaden, pleasantly numb. Beside him, Mark’s breathing deepened almost instantly, a steady rhythm against Darren’s temple. The scent of sex and sweat and rain was still sharp, but underneath it, Darren caught something else: the faint, clean smell of Mark’s skin, uniquely his own. He buried his nose against Mark’s neck, inhaling deeply. Mark’s arm tightened reflexively around him in his sleep.
Darren closed his eyes. The image flashed behind his lids – Mark above him, those powerful shoulders braced, driving deep. A shiver of pure anticipation ran through him, chased by bone-deep fatigue. The gym, the sparring, the years of circling each other … it all clicked into place with startling clarity. This wasn’t just sex. It was the next round. The main event. And Darren couldn’t wait to step back into the ring. He drifted off, with Mark’s heartbeat a steady drum against his cheek, already dreaming of the weight of him.
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