The water drummed against Roger's shoulders, steam curling around the shower stall. He scrubbed vigorously at his bicep, the soap suds sliding down dense muscle carved from decades of disciplined lifting. Beside him, Biff lathered his thick chest hair, the spray plastering silver strands flat against his skin. They'd pushed each other hard today — heavy squats, punishing rows — and the hot water was a relief.
Biff glanced sideways, water dripping from his nose. "Christ, Rog," he chuckled, nodding downward. "You packin' a damn fire hydrant down there?" His tone held genuine admiration, the easy banter of men who'd spotted each other through countless sets.
Roger grinned, rinsing shampoo from his close-cropped grey hair. "Comes with the territory when you're built like a brick shithouse, Biff." He gave a playful shrug, droplets flying. "Not like you're slouching in that department either." His eyes flicked down pointedly. "Solid foundation."
Biff snorted, turning off the water with a sharp twist. "Flattery'll get you nowhere, old man." He grabbed two thick towels, tossing one to Roger. The terrycloth rasped against their damp skin as they dried off, the humid air clinging. Roger watched Biff's powerful shoulders flex as he rubbed his neck, the familiar landscape of muscle and hair.
Stepping onto the cool tile floor, Roger paused, towel slung low on his hips. The silence stretched, thick with steam and something else. He met Biff’s steady gaze across the misty room. "Seriously, though," Roger said, his voice dropping, rougher than usual. "Been noticing … how you move. Heavy, deliberate. Like you carry weight." He took a half-step closer. "Got me wondering … what it’d feel like. That weight. Inside."
Biff froze mid-motion, towel pressed against his chest. His eyes narrowed, searching Roger’s face – not for mockery, but intent. The gym’s fluorescent light caught the silver stubble on his jaw as it tightened. He didn’t look away.
"Inside?" The word hung, heavy and deliberate. A challenge. An invitation. Water dripped slowly from the showerhead onto the tile, the only sound in the sudden stillness.
Biff didn't flinch. His gaze stayed locked on Roger’s, a slow understanding dawning in the deep lines around his eyes. He dropped his towel onto the damp floor. It landed with a soft slap. He closed the distance between them in two strides, the thick muscles of his chest and shoulders rolling with the movement. His hand came up, rough knuckles grazing Roger’s damp pectoral muscle, tracing the dense curve downward, past ribs, over the hard plane of his abdomen. His touch wasn't tentative; it was the deliberate exploration of a man assessing familiar territory, finding a new path.
Roger’s breath hitched, sharp and audible. He felt the heat radiating off Biff’s skin, the sheer mass of him blocking the light. Biff’s fingers curled around Roger’s hip bone, pulling him flush against him. The thick, heavy press of Biff’s erection against Roger’s thigh was undeniable, hot and insistent through the thin damp towel Roger still wore.
Biff leaned in, his breath hot against Roger’s ear, his voice a low, gravelly rumble. "Weight like mine," he murmured, the words thick with intent, "demands leverage." His other hand slid lower, fingers hooking into the top of Roger’s towel. "Hold tight."
Roger’s towel pooled at his feet. He felt exposed, vulnerable under Biff’s assessing stare, yet charged with a raw, unfamiliar energy. Biff’s gaze swept over him – the thick veins snaking down his arms, the powerful sweep of his lats, the dense furrow of his abs – before settling lower.
A low grunt escaped Biff’s lips, pure masculine appreciation. He gripped Roger’s shoulder firmly, guiding him backwards with effortless strength, steering him not towards the door, but deeper into the steamy confines of the bathroom. Towards the thick, folded towels stacked on a shelf beside the sink. Towards the inevitable collision course their decades of sweat and shared iron had forged. Roger braced his hands against the cool marble countertop, the muscles in his back tightening, anticipation coiling deep in his gut. The steam curled around them like a shroud.
Biff’s hands were everywhere then – rough palms rasping over Roger’s flanks, thick fingers digging possessively into the dense muscle of his hips, thumbs pressing deep into the dimples above his ass. He leaned forward, his broad, hairy chest pressing against Roger’s back, the heat radiating like a furnace. His lips found the juncture of Roger’s neck and shoulder, teeth scraping lightly, not a bite, but a claiming.
Roger arched instinctively, pressing back against the solid wall of muscle and heat behind him. A ragged groan tore from his throat as Biff’s erection slid heavily against the cleft of his ass, slick with condensation and primal intent.
"Been picturing this," Biff growled into his skin, the vibration humming through bone. "Since the rack last Tuesday. That grunt you made pushing four-fifty." His hand slid down Roger’s abdomen, calloused fingers wrapping around Roger’s thick shaft, already rigid and leaking. He gave a firm, possessive stroke, base to tip. "Knew you could take it."
He shifted his stance, his knees nudging Roger’s legs wider apart. The blunt, insistent pressure against Roger’s entrance was deliberate, undeniable. Roger’s knuckles whitened on the marble counter. He pushed back, yielding.
The initial breach was a shockwave – a deep, stretching burn followed immediately by the overwhelming sensation of sheer mass. Biff filled him completely, stretching him impossibly wide, driving the breath from Roger’s lungs in a harsh gasp. He felt pinned, impaled, utterly claimed by the sheer physicality of the man behind him.
Biff paused, buried to the hilt, his breath hot and ragged against Roger’s spine. "Fuck, Rog," he rasped, his voice thick with awe and strain. "Tight as a goddamn …" The rest dissolved into a low groan as he began to move. Slow, deliberate pistons driving deep, each powerful thrust a testament to decades of accumulated strength.
Roger’s vision blurred, his own cock throbbing against the cool marble. Every nerve was alight, screaming with the brutal, perfect invasion. He could feel the dense slabs of Biff’s quads flexing against his thighs, the thick ropes of muscle in his forearms bracketing Roger’s hips. It was pure, unadulterated power translated into raw, consuming sensation. He surrendered to it, pushing back to meet every punishing drive.
Biff leaned forward, his sweat-slicked chest plastered against Roger’s back. His breath hitched, a ragged sound torn from deep within his chest.
"Harder," Roger gasped, the word muffled against his own forearm braced on the counter. "Don't hold back." He felt Biff’s growl vibrate through him before the pace intensified. The slap of wet skin echoed off the tiles, mingling with their harsh breaths. Biff’s thrusts became shorter, sharper, deeper – jackhammer strikes hitting bedrock. Roger clenched around him, drawing a choked curse from Biff’s lips.
The rhythm became primal. Biff drove into him with piston-like precision, each thrust a deep, grinding impact that resonated through Roger's bones. Sweat slicked their bodies, mingling with the residual steam, turning every connection into a hot slide of muscle against muscle.
Roger braced harder against the counter, knuckles bone-white, the marble biting into his palms. He could feel the thick, veined shaft dragging against his inner walls, stretching him relentlessly with every withdrawal before plunging back to the hilt — a brutal, perfect fullness.
Biff’s fingers dug into Roger’s hips, blunt nails leaving crescent moons in the dense flesh as he anchored himself, pulling Roger back onto him with raw force.
Roger’s cock throbbed against the cool counter, dripping steadily onto the tile below. He reached down, wrapping his own thick fingers around his shaft, stroking in time with Biff’s punishing rhythm. The dual sensation was overwhelming — the deep, internal pressure and the tight friction of his fist.
Biff leaned lower, his chest hair scraping Roger’s back, teeth sinking into the meat of Roger’s trapezius. Not gentle. Possessive. A low, guttural snarl vibrated against Roger’s skin as Biff’s pace turned frantic, hips snapping forward in short, urgent jerks. Roger felt the telltale swell, the pulsing heat deep inside him signaling Biff’s climax.
"Now, Rog," Biff choked out, the words thick and strained. "Gimme that weight." His hand shot forward, rough fingers wrapping Roger’s fist tight around his own cock, forcing a brutal, rapid stroke. Roger gasped as the pressure built — Biff’s thick cock throbbing inside him, his own hand a vise around his shaft.
The peak hit them simultaneously. Biff slammed forward one final time, burying himself impossibly deep as his body locked, a raw shout tearing from his throat. Inside Roger, hot pulses erupted, wave after wave flooding his core. At the same moment, Roger’s cock jerked violently in his fist. Thick ropes of sperm arced out, splattering the marble countertop and dripping onto the damp floor below. The air crackled with the scent of salt, sweat, and release.
They stayed fused for a long moment, shuddering through the aftershocks. Biff’s forehead pressed between Roger’s shoulder blades, his breath ragged gusts against damp skin. Slowly, carefully, he withdrew, leaving Roger feeling achingly hollow yet utterly spent. He turned Roger around, his gaze intense, assessing. Without a word, Biff scooped him up — effortlessly, as if Roger weighed nothing — and carried him from the steam-filled bathroom.
The bedroom air felt cool against their overheated skin. Biff laid him down on the king-sized bed, the sheets crisp and cool. He stretched out beside Roger, his massive frame radiating residual heat. One thick arm draped heavily over Roger’s waist, pulling him close until Roger’s back pressed flush against Biff’s solid chest.
Their bodies curved together perfectly, a seamless fit forged by decades of shared exertion. Roger felt the slow, steady thud of Biff’s heartbeat against his spine. Thick semen still glistened at the tips of their softening cocks, cooling in the quiet air. Silence settled, thick and comfortable, broken only by their slowing breaths.
*****
Roger stirred, the deep ache in his muscles a pleasant echo of the steam-shrouded intensity hours before. He blinked, the dim light of the bedroom resolving into Biff’s face, propped up on one thick forearm beside him. Silver stubble caught the faint glow from the window, but it was Biff’s eyes that held him – soft, unguarded, gazing down at him with an adoration that made Roger’s breath catch. A slow, genuine smile spread across Biff’s weathered face, crinkling the corners of his eyes.
Without a word, Biff leaned down. The kiss wasn't like before – no claiming bite, no desperate heat. It was slow, deliberate, lips moving together with a tenderness that felt startlingly intimate. Roger felt the rough texture of Biff’s cheek against his own, the warmth of his breath, the faint scent of clean skin and lingering musk. It lingered, a quiet communion in the stillness.
Biff pulled back just enough to speak, his voice a low, gravelly rumble softened by emotion.
"Best I ever had, Rog," he murmured, his thumb brushing a stray droplet of sweat from Roger's temple. "Bar none. Felt like ..." He paused, searching for words that didn't come easy, his gaze drifting over Roger's shoulder to the faint dawn light creeping around the blinds. "... like finally unlocking a lift I'd been grinding at for years." His hand settled possessively on Roger's hip, fingers splayed over dense muscle. "Whole damn thing clicked."
Roger turned fully onto his back, meeting Biff's eyes. The raw sincerity there, stripped of any gym-floor bravado, hit him harder than any barbell. He covered Biff's hand with his own, calluses rasping together.
"Back at you, Biff," Roger said, his own voice thick. He gestured vaguely downward with his free hand. "That ... foundation of yours? Built to last. Held me up." A slow, tired grin spread across his face. "Nearly broke me, but hell ... best kind of wreckage."
Biff chuckled, the sound vibrating deep in his chest. He shifted closer, his thick thigh sliding over Roger's, skin still hot. He traced the deep groove of Roger's pec, his touch lingering on the faint pink imprint of teeth left earlier. "Always knew you were strong," he said quietly. "Didn't know you could take it like that." His gaze darkened slightly, remembering. "Or give it back."
Roger felt the familiar ache deep inside flare warmly at the memory. He arched his back slightly, a soft groan escaping him. "Still feelin' it," he admitted, shifting his hips. The movement pulled a fresh bead of semen from his tip, pooling slowly onto his abdomen. "Good ache. Like the day after deadlifts."
Biff watched the slow drip, his expression shifting from tenderness to something hotter, more primal. His own thick cock stirred against Roger’s thigh, twitching visibly. He leaned down again, but this kiss wasn't tender. It was hungry, possessive, his tongue delving deep as his hand slid down Roger’s flank, fingers digging into the meat of his ass. He broke the kiss, breathing hard, his eyes locked onto Roger’s.
"Round two?" Biff asked, the challenge back in his voice, roughened by desire. His thumb pressed insistently against Roger’s entrance, still swollen and sensitive. "Before the damn sun ruins everything."
Roger grinned, the ache inside him flaring into sharp anticipation. "Hell yes," he rasped, pushing himself up onto his elbows. "But my turn on top." He rolled onto his back, the sheets cool against his heated skin. His cock, thick and flushed, already stood rigid against his abdomen, glistening with fresh arousal. "Want you where I can see you."
Biff’s eyes darkened, a predatory gleam flashing as he understood. A low growl rumbled in his chest. He swung a thick leg over Roger’s hips, knees sinking into the mattress on either side of Roger’s waist. The sheer mass of him blocked the faint dawn light, casting Roger into shadow. Biff’s hands settled heavily on Roger’s pectorals, fingers splayed possessively over the dense muscle. He shifted his hips back, the thick curve of his ass hovering just above Roger’s straining erection.
Roger reached down, guiding himself with a firm grip, the blunt head pressing insistently against Biff’s tight entrance. He felt the resistance, the clench of muscle, then the yielding heat as Biff sank down slowly, deliberately, his gaze locked fiercely with Roger’s.
The sensation was staggering – a hot, velvety vise clamping down on him inch by inch. Biff’s body swallowed him whole, impossibly tight, impossibly deep. Roger gasped, arching his spine off the bed as Biff settled fully, seated flush against Roger’s hips. The pressure was exquisite, crushing, a perfect confinement forged from decades of power.
Biff didn’t wait. He braced his thick hands on Roger’s chest, fingers digging into the slabs of muscle. Then he lifted himself, the powerful muscles of his thighs and ass bunching visibly. Roger watched, mesmerized, as Biff’s heavy frame rose, the slick drag of his inner walls pulling almost painfully against Roger’s shaft. At the apex, Biff paused, suspended, a thick column of muscle gleaming in the low light. Then he dropped.
It was a controlled fall, pure power translated into downward force. He slammed back down onto Roger’s cock, burying it to the root with a wet slap of flesh. Roger cried out, the impact driving the breath from his lungs. Biff began to move, riding him with piston-like precision – lifting powerfully, then dropping his entire weight, bouncing on Roger’s rigid shaft with relentless, rhythmic force. Each descent was a hammer blow, driving Roger deeper into the mattress, each upward pull a searing friction that threatened to unravel him instantly. Roger gripped Biff’s thick thighs, holding on as Biff used him, his own groans mingling with the wet slap of skin and the creak of the bedsprings protesting under the immense, driving weight.
Roger watched, transfixed, as Biff’s thick cock bobbed heavily with each bounce, already slick with pre-come, the swollen head flushed deep purple. He could feel the tension coiling tighter in his own belly, a molten pressure building with every brutal slide inside Biff’s tight heat. He reached up, wrapping his fist around Biff’s shaft, matching the punishing rhythm of his thrusts. His knuckles rasped against the coarse hair at Biff’s groin as he worked him, base to tip, feeling the heavy pulse beneath his fingers. Biff’s rhythm faltered for a split second, a choked gasp escaping him as Roger’s thumb swiped roughly over his leaking slit.
The shift was immediate. Biff’s powerful movements became frantic, less controlled. He drove down harder, grinding deep, his thick cock jerking violently in Roger’s tightening fist. Roger felt the telltale swell deep inside him, Biff’s inner muscles clamping down in desperate spasms. "Now, Rog!" Biff roared, his voice raw and ragged. "Breed me!"
The command shattered Roger’s control. He arched violently off the bed, driving upward with every ounce of strength as Biff slammed down one final time. The deep, internal pulse of Biff’s climax hit simultaneously with Roger’s own explosive release. Roger felt the hot flood erupting deep within Biff’s clenching passage as his own cock jerked wildly, thick jets surging upward.
Biff threw his head back, a guttural shout tearing from his throat as his cock bucked fiercely in Roger’s grip. Thick ropes of sperm erupted, splattering hot and heavy across Roger’s heaving chest, painting dense streaks over his pectorals. Another violent pulse shot upward, catching Roger squarely on the jaw, the viscous warmth dripping down his neck. Roger gasped, his own climax ripped from him in deep, shuddering waves, buried impossibly deep inside Biff’s clenching heat. He felt his release flooding Biff’s core, a molten counterpoint to the semen slicking his own skin.
Slowly, the frantic energy bled away. Biff slumped forward, his massive frame trembling, thick forearms braced on either side of Roger’s head. His breath came in ragged, wet gasps, his sweat-drenched chest hair plastered against Roger’s slick torso. Roger’s hands slid weakly from Biff’s thighs, resting limply on the damp sheets. The deep, internal throb echoed the frantic pounding of his heart. Silence descended, thick and humid, broken only by the slowing rasp of their breathing and the faint tick of a clock somewhere in the dim room.
Biff shifted his weight, groaning softly as he carefully lifted himself off Roger’s softening shaft. The separation was a slow, slick slide, leaving Roger feeling suddenly hollow. Biff rolled heavily onto his side beside him, the mattress groaning in protest. He draped a thick, heavy arm possessively across Roger’s waist, pulling him close until Roger’s back pressed flush against Biff’s solid chest. Their bodies curved together like interlocking slabs of granite – Roger’s broad shoulders fitting perfectly against Biff’s pectorals, the swell of Roger’s ass nestled against Biff’s groin. The thick, cooling semen pooled at the tips of their flaccid cocks, dripping slowly onto the sheets beneath them.
Biff nuzzled the damp nape of Roger’s neck, his breath warm and steadying. His fingers traced idle, possessive patterns over the dense muscle of Roger’s abdomen, sticky with drying semen. "Christ, Rog," he murmured, his voice rough but softened with exhaustion and awe. "You've wrecked me." His arm tightened slightly, pulling Roger impossibly closer. "Worth every damn rep."
Roger felt the profound fatigue deep in his bones, a pleasant heaviness mixed with the lingering ache. He reached back, his hand finding Biff’s thick forearm, fingers curling loosely around the dense muscle. He shifted slightly, settling deeper into the cradle of Biff’s body.
Outside the window, the dawn light was strengthening, painting pale streaks across the ceiling. The world beyond their tangled limbs felt distant, unimportant. Here, in the quiet aftermath, anchored by Biff’s solid warmth and the shared scent of exertion and sex, was all that mattered. The silence stretched, comfortable and deep, wrapping around them like a well-worn blanket.
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