Fire on the Free-weights
© Broken Boundaries Gay Erotica
The message went out just after 9 a.m.
Randy:
gym this afternoon? 5ish?
Ezra replied nine minutes later.
Ezra:
sounds good. want to spot me again?
Randy didn’t bother with emojis.
Randy:
i’ll be there.
It wasn’t a date. Just a check-in. Another round. See what held, what shifted.
The gym was quiet at that hour, tucked between lunch and dinner. Ezra was already there, stretching beside the squat rack. His hair was damp. His sleeves were pushed up, forearms thick and flushed. When he spotted Randy, he nodded and tilted his head toward the bar.
“Warmup set?”
Randy loaded the plates in silence.
They worked cleanly, alternating without much talk. Three sets apiece, hands firm on the knurl of the metal bar, breath steady. Ezra didn’t waste time between lifts. When Randy needed a spot, he was already there without being asked. He didn’t hover. He just lifted.
Their shirts clung wetly by the end. Skin streaked with sweat. Breath thick. Randy wiped his face on a towel and glanced over. Ezra was sitting forward on the bench, forearms resting on his knees, hair hanging loose around his face.
Randy was about to say it. No shower. Straight to his place. Let the sweat keep them hot.
Before he could speak, Ezra nudged him lightly with his shoulder.
“You feel like heading back to yours?” he asked. “Got another round in me.”
Randy met his eyes. Steady. Casual. No needling. Just forward.
He gave a short nod. “Let’s go.”
They didn’t stop to wipe down. Didn’t bother with the fountain or locker room. They grabbed their bags and stepped out into the brittle cold, shirts already starting to chill against their damp skin. Ezra didn’t talk. Just walked beside him, heat still radiating off both of them like it hadn’t finished leaving their bodies.
Inside the apartment, Randy didn’t offer water. He closed the door behind them and turned.
“Strip.”
Ezra obeyed immediately. Jacket first. Shirt off in one clean pull. Pants, socks, everything else followed without comment. He stood naked on the mat, skin still flushed, cock already heavy and beginning to rise.
Randy stepped close, sweat dried stiff under his shirt. He shoved Ezra to his knees.
“You’re going to clean me. Start with my pits.”
Ezra grinned, not playfully but with real pleasure. “Yes, Sir.”
He leaned in, tongue already out.
Ezra hit the floor hard, palms braced, then knelt upright, thighs spread, spine straight. His eyes lifted automatically, waiting.
Randy didn’t say anything. He peeled off his shirt in one slow motion and tossed it aside. Sweat clung to his chest and underarms, streaking down the centerline of his torso. The smell of effort still hung off him, raw and unfiltered. He didn’t wipe any of it away.
Ezra’s gaze tracked the droplets without shame.
Randy reached down, caught a handful of Ezra’s hair, and angled his face upward. Then he lifted one arm and shoved Ezra’s mouth into his left pit.
“Lick.”
Ezra groaned low in his throat and opened his mouth. His tongue pressed into the damp hollow, dragging slow from the center out. Randy’s scent was thick there, sharper than cologne, soaked into the skin. Ezra didn’t flinch. He buried his nose against it, licking deep, breathing hard.
“That’s it,” Randy said. “You like that?”
Ezra’s voice came muffled. “Yeah. Fuck. You smell amazing.”
Randy switched sides, tugged him under the other arm. Ezra licked harder, tongue flattening, tracing the salt-slick skin like he couldn’t get enough. He kissed into the heat, lips sealing against damp hair and sweat.
“Don’t stop,” Randy said.
Ezra didn’t. His hands stayed behind his back. His mouth did all the work, trailing down Randy’s ribs, following the taste along the line of his abdomen, tongue dipping into the grooves between muscle, lapping at the sharp scent of gym and skin and male.
By the time he reached the waistband of Randy’s shorts, he was panting.
Randy slid them down slowly. His cock swung free, half-hard, heavy, still slick at the base from sweat and friction. Ezra leaned forward instinctively, but Randy pushed him back with one foot.
“Stay there. Hands behind you. Just look.”
Ezra knelt, cock flushed, breathing shallow. His tongue flicked once across his lips but he didn’t move.
Randy stroked himself slowly, letting sweat and spit mix over the skin. The head glistened. His balls hung full and tight beneath. He stepped forward, placed one foot between Ezra’s knees, and let the tip of his cock rest against Ezra’s cheek.
“You like that smell too?”
Ezra turned his head slightly and inhaled. “Fuck yes. You smell like exactly what I want.”
Randy pulled him in by the hair and fed him the shaft, slow and full, until Ezra’s lips stretched wide around him. No gag. No hesitation. Just eager pressure and the warm seal of submission.
“Good boy,” Randy said, and began to thrust.
Randy kept the rhythm slow at first. Not gentle—just measured. He let Ezra feel every inch, the drag of thick shaft across tongue, the weight of it resting at the back of his throat. Ezra took it all without pulling back. His breath came hard through his nose, jaw open wide, lips sealed tight around the base.
Randy held him there, cock buried deep, fingers curled in Ezra’s damp hair.
“You hungry for it or just obedient?” he asked, voice low.
Ezra hummed around his length. The vibration rippled through Randy’s gut.
“Show me,” Randy said, and pulled out.
Ezra didn’t wait. He leaned in on his own, mouth open, tongue extended to chase the head of Randy’s cock. He licked up the underside with slow precision, then sealed his lips around it again and sucked hard. His throat worked with practiced control, jaw moving in steady rhythm.
Randy watched him. No wasted motion. No showboating. Just clean, focused effort.
He grabbed the back of Ezra’s head with both hands and started to fuck his mouth. The slap of skin echoed in the room, wet and rhythmic. Spit gathered fast, dripping down Ezra’s chin and onto his chest. His eyes watered, but he didn’t close them. He looked up, locked in, like this was exactly where he belonged.
Randy pushed deeper, faster. Ezra’s shoulders rocked with each thrust. His own cock stood thick and flushed between his legs, untouched, twitching with every snap of Randy’s hips.
“Look at that,” Randy muttered. “So hard and no one’s even touched you.”
Ezra moaned around the shaft in his mouth. Randy felt it vibrate again—needy, desperate, pleased.
He pulled out, cock slick with saliva. Ezra gasped once, then steadied himself, tongue still out, waiting.
“Up,” Randy said.
Ezra stood. His cock bobbed, flushed dark and leaking pre-cum down his thigh.
Randy circled behind him and ran a hand over the curve of his ass. Sweat still clung there too, the skin hot under Randy’s palm.
Then he raised his hand and delivered a sharp smack.
Ezra’s breath caught, but he didn’t move away.
Another slap. Louder this time. The skin warmed under Randy’s palm.
On the third, Ezra tilted his head back and looked over his shoulder.
His eyes were wild with need.
Randy didn’t bother saying anything. He shoved Ezra forward over the edge of the bed, bent him hard at the waist, and stepped in behind him.
His cock pressed against Ezra’s entrance, slick and hot from the mouth it had just fucked. Randy didn’t pause. He lined up and drove forward in one brutal thrust.
Ezra cried out—sharp, not scared. Turned-on. He pushed back into it.
Randy’s breath punched out of him.
This was going to be fast.
Ezra grunted as Randy buried himself to the hilt, cock sinking deep in one hard, brutal stroke. His body tensed, hands gripping the edge of the bed, knuckles white. He didn’t cry out in protest. He groaned—long, guttural, hungry.
“Fuck, Sir,” Ezra panted. “You feel so fucking good inside me.”
Randy drew back halfway and drove in again, the sound of skin meeting skin sharp and rhythmic. Ezra rocked forward with each thrust but didn’t pull away. He met every stroke, ass pressing back into Randy’s hips, steadying himself just enough to take more.
“Use me,” Ezra gasped. “Don’t hold back.”
Randy grabbed his waist harder, thumbs digging into the muscles above his ass. Sweat pooled between his shoulder blades, rolling down his back, the scent of gym and sex thick in the air. His breath came heavier, sharper, but he didn’t slow.
“You were made for this,” he said. “Tight little hole just begging to get filled.”
Ezra moaned, head tipped forward, eyes half-closed. “Yes, Sir. I’m yours. Just your fucktoy.”
The words lit something in Randy’s gut. He pulled out nearly all the way, then slammed back in with a grunt. Ezra gasped, loud and open, then spoke again without prompting.
“Harder. Don’t stop. I want to feel you all day tomorrow.”
Randy gave him a hard smack across the ass, then another. The skin beneath his hand went pink and warm. Ezra jerked forward slightly, but when he looked back, his eyes were glassy with need.
“I can take it,” Ezra breathed. “Make it hurt.”
Randy grabbed a fistful of his hair and yanked his head back. Ezra’s mouth opened wider, breath hot, neck exposed. His cock dangled below him, fully hard, leaking against his thigh. He hadn’t touched it once.
“You love this,” Randy said.
“I fucking love it, Sir. I want your cock deeper.”
Randy shoved in again, all the way to the base. Ezra groaned, loud and desperate, toes curling against the hardwood floor.
“You want to be used?” Randy said, thrusting harder.
“I’m your hole,” Ezra said. “Your cock-slut. Do whatever you want to me.”
Randy’s balls tightened, not quite tipping yet, but close. He bit down on the urge to finish, kept pumping with hard, even strokes, driving every word deeper into Ezra’s body. Ezra shook under the force of it, body stretched, sweat dripping down his spine, mouth open, still talking.
“Don’t stop. Please don’t stop. I need it.”
Randy kept going, not answering, focused now on the heat, the grip, the ache in his own thighs. Ezra’s hole clenched tight around him with every thrust, milking him, drawing him in.
Randy’s thighs flexed with the effort. He slammed forward again, harder now, sweat dripping from his chest onto Ezra’s back. The smell of it—heat, salt, dominance—filled the room. Ezra moaned low and deep, his body jolting with each punishing thrust.
“Fuck,” Randy hissed. His grip tightened. The tension had been building from the first moment he shoved Ezra to his knees. Now it was cresting.
Ezra didn’t speak, just took it. His back arched beautifully, ass flushed where Randy had struck it, muscles locked tight. His own cock bounced below him, untouched and still leaking. The sight of it pushed Randy over.
He drove in one final time, groaning as his cock pulsed deep inside. His whole body locked up. He came hard, thick jets shooting into Ezra’s hole, each contraction more intense than the last. Ezra’s breath caught, but he didn’t move. He held himself there, stretched wide, letting Randy empty everything into him.
Randy stayed planted for a few seconds, just breathing. The sweat on his lower back was cooling fast now, but his skin still buzzed with heat. When he finally pulled out, cum spilled immediately down Ezra’s thigh in a slow trail.
Ezra didn’t flinch.
“On your back,” Randy said.
Ezra turned, still panting, and lay down without hesitation. His chest was flushed, hairline damp, lips parted as he looked up. Randy stood over him, cock softening but still slick with cum and Ezra’s spit.
“Clean it.”
Ezra propped himself up on one elbow and obeyed. He leaned forward, tongue sliding along the shaft, licking it clean from base to tip. Randy watched, silent, while Ezra worked. There was no hesitation. No wince. Ezra even took the head into his mouth again, sucking lightly, collecting the last of the mess before pulling off.
“Good boy,” Randy said quietly.
Ezra gave a soft hum of acknowledgment, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and lay back on the bed, legs still spread, chest rising and falling.
Randy looked down at him, cock drained, body buzzing, the scent of sex thick in the air. Ezra hadn’t touched himself once. His cock still stood hard between his legs.
Randy sat beside him and brushed a hand down his thigh, slow, measured. He considered reaching up to touch Ezra’s face. Maybe kiss him. Maybe ask if he was okay.
Before he could say anything, Ezra sat up and swung his legs over the edge of the bed.
“Gonna hit the shower,” he said. “That okay?”
Randy blinked once, then nodded. “Yeah. Go ahead.”
Ezra stood, still semi-hard, and padded down the hall toward the bathroom. The door clicked shut. A moment later, water started to run.
Randy sat there, cock cleaned, still sweaty, alone on the bed. He exhaled through his nose and leaned back on his hands, letting his heart settle.
He’d expected obedience. He hadn’t expected someone to make it look so easy.
Ezra emerged from the bathroom with a towel slung loose around his neck, hair damp, chest bare. The steam followed him briefly into the hall before dissipating. He moved with casual ease, stretching once before reaching for his shirt on the floor.
Randy watched from the bed, arms resting on his knees, still in his sweats. His body had cooled but the scent of sweat and sex still clung to the air between them. Ezra didn’t say anything as he dressed—pants first, then the shirt, socks, shoes—methodical, quiet.
When he was done, he glanced over. “That was great,” he said simply.
“Yeah,” Randy said, standing. “It was.”
He stepped in, close enough that he could smell Ezra’s clean skin, the faint trace of his soap mixing with something still masculine underneath. He brought one hand to Ezra’s jaw, tilted his face slightly, and kissed him.
It wasn’t a deep kiss. It was just pressure, lips against lips, steady and sure. Ezra kissed back without hesitation, let it happen, then stepped back with a small exhale through his nose.
“I should get going,” he said. “Got a few things to take care of.”
Randy nodded. “Yeah, of course.”
Ezra reached for his phone, slid it into his pocket, then gave Randy a brief glance. “Thanks for the workout. And, you know. Everything else.”
Randy smirked. “You’re welcome.”
Ezra opened the door, pulled his hood up against the cold, and stepped out with a casual wave. The door clicked shut behind him.
Randy stood there a moment, then wandered back toward the bed. The sheets were still rumpled, the room still warm with the aftermath. No trace of awkwardness. No tension.
He liked that.
He peeled off his sweat-damp shirt and tossed it into the hamper, then turned toward the bathroom. The scent of Ezra’s body wash still hung in the air. Randy caught himself breathing it in before stepping under the spray of his own shower.
It had been a good night. Worth repeating. Maybe even the start of something.
But that thought didn’t press too hard. For now, he was content just to let it settle.
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