Luke brandished the miniature oar with a drunken flourish, the black plastic glinting under the fluorescents. "Gonna stick this up your ass," he slurred, lube bottle dangling from his other hand like a threat.
Mark's expression twisted into something between horror and disbelief, his hands flying up as if to ward off the miniature oar like a cursed object. "Dude, no way," he slurred, tequila making his words thick. He staggered back a step, nearly tripping over his own discarded sweatpants. "That’s way too fucking gay, even for us." His face was flushed, whether from liquor or protest, Luke couldn’t tell.
Luke swayed on his feet, the lube bottle slipping in his sweaty grip, but his grin was sharp enough to cut glass. "A bet’s a bet," he drawled, wagging the black oar like a baton. "Unless you’re a pussy." The word hung between them, sticky with challenge. The boathouse hummed with silence, the erg fans still spinning lazily, the scent of tequila and sweat clotting the air.
Mark scrubbed a hand down his face, his shoulders rising and falling with a deep, liquor-heavy breath. His eyes flicked from the oar to Luke’s smirk, then down to his own boxers, where his cock was back to fully soft. "Fuck," he muttered. Then, quieter. "Fine."
Luke whooped, nearly toppling sideways in his excitement. "Atta boy," he crowed, slapping the lube into Mark’s open palm with a wet smack. Mark grimaced at the cold plastic, his fingers flexing around it as Luke kicked an erg with his heel. "Down you go, big guy."
Mark hesitated, his pulse rabbiting in his throat. He could still back out, could shove Luke into the river and call it even, but the tequila and the way Luke’s boxers clung to his thighs made his mouth go dry. With a grunt, he lowered himself back onto the erg, the navy fabric of his briefs straining over his thick thighs. "This is so fucking stupid," he muttered, more to himself than to Luke.
Luke dropped to his knees in front of him, teetering and almost toppling over until he steadied himself on the floor, the black oar tapping against Mark’s shin. "Stupid of you to bet against me," he corrected, his voice rough. His fingers hooked into Mark’s waistband, tugging just hard enough to make Mark’s breath catch. "You’re gonna take it like a champ, right?"
"This ain't workin'," Luke muttered, his fingers slipping off Mark's waistband as the erg seat slid another inch backward. The metal rails groaned under Mark's weight, the whole machine creaking like it might collapse. Luke swayed on his knees, the tequila making the boathouse tilt dangerously. "Turn around. Ass on the seat, back to the handle. C'mon."
Mark's brows knitted together, his drunken gaze struggling to focus. "The fuck-"
"Do it," Luke insisted, smacking the plastic oar against his own palm for emphasis.
With a grunt, Mark hauled himself up, his thighs trembling as he pivoted awkwardly on the erg. The seat skidded beneath him, nearly sending him crashing to the floor before he caught himself on the monitor. He settled back with a huff, his spine pressed against the flywheel housing, his legs splayed wide over the rails. The position forced his hips forward, the navy fabric of his boxers stretched obscenely over his thick thighs, the outline of his soft cock a heavy curve against the damp cotton.
Luke didn’t hesitate. His fingers hooked into the waistband, yanking the briefs down in one unceremonious motion. Mark’s cock flopped free, still soft despite the tequila heat between them, the foreskin loose over the ruddy tip. A sparse trail of dark hair led down to his balls, which hung full and heavy between his thighs, the skin there flushed and slightly damp. Luke whistled, running the blunt end of the oar along the crease of Mark’s hip. "Look at you," he muttered, more to himself than to Mark.
Mark’s breath hitched when Luke tapped his inner thigh with the oar. "Legs up," Luke ordered, his voice rough. "Gotta see what I’m working with."
"Fuck’s sake," Mark groaned, but he hooked his hands under his knees, his biceps straining as he tried to lift. The erg seat shifted precariously beneath him, his balance wavering as his legs trembled. His thighs, thick as tree trunks and the quads dense with muscle, quivered with the effort, his calves flexing where they pressed against his hamstrings. A bead of sweat rolled down the back of his knee, disappearing into the dark thatch of hair at his groin.
Luke grabbed his ankle, steadying him. "Higher," he demanded, his grip firm.
Mark cursed but obeyed, his abdomen flexing as he tilted his hips upward, the globes of his ass pressing into the hard plastic seat. The shift exposed the tight furl of his hole, just barely visible between his spread cheeks. It was pink and untouched, the surrounding skin flushed from the heat of the boathouse and the strain of his position. The sudden brush of cooler air made him gasp, his cock twitching against his stomach despite himself.
Luke exhaled sharply, his own breath coming faster now. Mark’s body was a study in contrasts. The sheer power of his thighs, the vulnerable dip of his taint, the way his ass clenched involuntarily as Luke traced the rim with the blunt tip of the oar handle. "Jesus," Luke muttered, his knuckles whitening around the plastic. "You’re fucking tight I can tell."
Mark’s jaw tensed, his pulse rabbiting in his throat. "Just- hic- get it over with," he ground out, but his voice cracked when Luke pressed the handle of the oar lower, the chill of the plastic making him flinch.
Luke uncapped the bottle of lube with his teeth, spitting the lid out somewhere into the shadows of the boathouse. The lube was cold and slick as he poured a generous amount onto the oar, then dribbled some directly onto Mark’s hole. It gleamed under the fluorescents, the excess dripping down onto the seat.
Mark hissed, his thighs trembling. "Fucking cold-"
"Relax," Luke slurred, his free hand pressing firmly against Mark’s hipbone to steady him. "Or it’ll hurt worse." He wasn’t entirely sure if that was true, but it sounded right. His own cock throbbed in his boxers, the fabric damp where it clung to his leaking tip. He swiped the lubed oar handle over Mark’s entrance, and the muscle twitched under the touch.
Mark’s breath hitched, his abdomen flexing as he tried to twist away, but Luke held him in place. "Easy," Luke murmured, circling the rim with more pressure now. The tight ring of muscle yielded slightly under the oar, and he pushed in just enough to make Mark gasp, his legs jerking.
Luke’s pulse pounded in his ears. He’d never seen Mark like this, spread open, his body betraying every flinch and shudder.
Luke shoved the oar in with a drunken lurch, the black plastic disappearing three inches deep in one rough stroke. Mark’s whole body jerked, his thighs slamming together instinctively before Luke pried them back open with a firm grip. “Fuck, it hurts!” Mark’s moan cracked halfway through, his head thudding back against the flywheel housing as his hole clenched around the intrusion. The erg seat squeaked under his shifting weight, his hips tilting up involuntarily. Luke grinned, his fingers sticky with lube as he twisted the oar slightly, watching Mark’s abs ripple under the strain. “How’s that feel, heavyweight?” he slurred, thumb brushing the stretched rim where plastic met skin.
Mark’s response was a garbled groan, his throat working as he fought to adjust. Sweat sheened his chest, catching in the coarse dark hair between his pecs, his nipples peaked tight under the fluorescent glare. His cock, which had been soft and heavy against his thigh, twitched violently, the foreskin sliding back to expose a flushed, leaking tip. Luke laughed, low and rough, and pushed another inch in, the oar handle sinking deeper until Mark’s thighs trembled like bowstrings. The muscles there were obscenely defined, quads like slabs of marble under golden skin, the adductors tensed to the point of shaking, veins mapping the dense power of a rower’s legs. His calves flexed where they hooked over the erg rails, the tendons standing out in sharp relief as he tried to ground himself.
Six inches in, Luke dragged the oar back slowly, watching Mark’s hole cling to it, the rim pink and fluttering. Then he slammed it home again, and Mark’s back arched off the seat, a broken noise tearing from his throat. His cock jumped, fully hard now, jutting thick and veined from his groin, the shaft curving upward against his stomach. Precum beaded at the slit, smearing a wet trail across his abs- not sculpted like Luke’s, but solid, a wall of muscle that heaved with every ragged breath. His balls drew up tight, the sac twitching against the cold plastic seat.
“Look at you,” Luke crowed, his own boxers tented obscenely, the fabric clinging to the curve of his erection. He was a mess of lean angles and sun-browned skin, kneeling between Mark’s thighs like some drunken worshipper. His abs flexed as he leaned forward, the hipbones jutting sharp above his waistband, the trail of blond hair leading down to where his cock strained against cotton. Sweat dripped from his collarbones, tracing the hollows of his ribs, his biceps tensing as he worked the oar in and out with rough, uneven thrusts. His shoulders were broad from feathering oars, the deltoids sharply defined, the tendons in his neck standing out as he grinned down at Mark’s wrecked expression.
Mark’s thighs spasmed, his heels digging into the erg rails for leverage, the muscles there like live wires under sweat-slick skin. His cock dripped steadily now, the head dark and swollen, the foreskin stretched taut. A vein ran along the underside, pulsing with every thrust of the oar, his balls drawn up tight. His chest heaved, the heavy pecs shifting with each gasp, the old scar on his ribs pulling tight as he arched. “F-fuck,” he managed, his voice wrecked, his hole clenching rhythmically around the plastic. “Luke- ah-!”
Luke’s grin was feral. He twisted the oar slightly, and Mark’s legs jerked, his cock jerking another thick pulse of precum. “Knew you’d like it, slut,” Luke slurred.
The oar slid out with a wet pop, Mark’s hole clenching around nothing as a whine punched from his throat. His thighs trembled, the erg seat creaking under his shifting weight, his cock twitching against his stomach. Luke wiped the slick plastic on Mark’s inner thigh, leaving a glistening trail. “Up,” he ordered, voice rough. “Hands and knees. Ass in the air. Now.”
Mark blinked at him, his dark eyes blown wide with liquor and adrenaline, his lips parted around ragged breaths. For a heartbeat, it looked like he might argue, then his body moved before his brain could protest. He rolled off the erg with a grunt, his knees hitting the boathouse floor with a thud that echoed off the rafters. The concrete was cold under his palms, the grit biting into his skin as he arched his back, presenting himself like some drunken offering. His ass was round and heavy, the cheeks flexing as he adjusted his stance, his hole still glistening with lube.
Luke’s fingers dug into the meat of Mark’s hips as he lined up the black oar, the plastic glistening with lube under the fluorescents. With one rough shove, he buried it back inside, the blunt head popping past Mark’s tight rim. A punched-out groan tore from Mark’s throat, his spine bowing as his ass clenched around the intrusion. Luke didn’t give him time to adjust, and just set a brutal pace, the oar’s handle disappearing with every thrust, the sound obscenely wet in the quiet boathouse. Mark’s moans were nonstop now, ragged and unfiltered, his forehead pressed to the concrete as his thighs quivered. His cock swung heavy between his legs, dripping onto the floor, the veins standing out in stark relief against flushed skin as it pulsed its full seven and a half inches. “Fuck yeah, fuck that hole bro,” Mark moaned, his voice loud against the silence of the boathouse.
Luke’s fingers fumbled with the waistband of his boxers, his knuckles brushing against his own straining cock as he yanked the fly open. His erection sprang free with a wet slap against his stomach, the flushed head already leaking a thick bead of precum that smeared across his abs. His cock wasn’t as long as Mark’s tool, standing just shy of six inches, but it was thick where it curved slightly left, the foreskin pulled tight over the swollen tip. The shaft was veined and ruddy, the skin sun-darkened except for the pinker stretch just below the crown where his foreskin usually sat. A sparse trail of blondish-brown hair led down to his balls, which hung heavy and full, the sac drawn up tight with arousal, the skin there damp with sweat and stretched taut over the weight of them.
He grinned, tilting the lube bottle over his free hand while the other still worked the oar in and out of Mark’s ass with rough, uneven strokes and let the cold gel drizzle over his cock. It dripped down his shaft in glistening rivulets, pooling in the crease where his thighs met his hips, the excess slicking his balls until they shone under the boathouse lights. His fingers wrapped around himself with a filthy, wet sound, his thumb swiping over the slit to spread the mess further. “Fuck,” he muttered, his hips jerking into his own grip as Mark’s hole clenched around the oar beneath him.
Mark’s breath hitched, his shoulders trembling where they strained to hold himself up. The muscles of his back flexed under sweat-slick skin, the dim light catching on the ridge of his spine, the heavy curve of his ass jutting upward with every thrust of the oar. His thighs, thick as tree trunks with the quadriceps dense and trembling, spread wider, his knees scraping against the concrete as he tried to steady himself. The plastic disappeared again with a wet shlick, and Mark groaned, his forehead pressing into the floor, his cock swaying between his legs, dark and dripping.
Luke yanked the oar free with a wet pop, grinning as Mark's hips jerked backward instinctively, moaning as his hole fluttered around nothing. "Whiny fuck," Luke teased, smacking the plastic against Mark's thigh. "Fine, bro. Back in it goes."
Behind Mark's sweat-slicked back, Luke tossed the oar aside with a clatter, his fingers instead wrapping around the base of his own cock, the head glistening with lube and precum. He lined up with a drunken smirk, his other hand gripping Mark's hip hard enough to bruise. No warning, just one brutal thrust, and Luke’s cock sheathed fully inside of Mark with a single snap of his hips.
Mark's moan cracked halfway through, his spine bowing as Luke's pelvis met his ass with a wet slap. His cock swung heavy between his thighs, dripping onto the concrete, the veins standing out like ropes under flushed skin. He rocked back instinctively, his body chasing the stretch and the burn. Luke’s matching moan tangled with Mark’s in the air as the tight heat of Mark’s insides gripped his cock with raw intensity.
Luke set a punishing pace immediately, his hips pistoning, his balls slapping against Mark's with every drive forward. The boathouse echoed with the slick slap of skin, Mark's ragged panting, the occasional creak of the erg they'd knocked aside. Luke's abs flexed with every thrust, his ribs heaving, sweat rolling down the sharp angles of his collarbones.
Then without warning Luke slowed. His hands slid up Mark's waist, thumbs digging into the dimples above his ass, holding him in place as he rolled his hips in a deep, grinding circle. Mark whimpered, his thighs shaking, the head of his cock leaking in steady pulses. "F-fuck," he slurred, his voice wrecked. "You still- ah- using that goddamn oar? It feels different."
Luke huffed a laugh against his shoulder blade, his breath hot. "Nah, bro." Another slow, deliberate thrust, his cockhead dragging over Mark's prostate with cruel precision. "Upgraded."
Mark twisted to look over his shoulder, his dark eyes blown wide, then wider when he registered the absence of plastic, the unmistakable press of Luke's hips against his ass. "What the fuck-" His protest dissolved into a punched-out groan as Luke thrusted forward again, his cock spearing deep. "Jesus Christ, Luke-"
"Told you I'd make you take it like a champ," Luke growled, his fingers biting into Mark's waist. He fucked into him with sharp, uneven strokes, his own cock twitching where it slapped against his stomach with every thrust. The force was brutal, and Mark's hole stretched tight around him, the heat unbearable, the way Mark's body clenched around him like a vise when he hit just right.
Mark's forehead dropped back to the concrete, his spine curving as he tried to rock backward, to meet Luke's thrusts. His cock dripped steadily now, swaying between his thighs with every snap of Luke's hips, the flushed head leaving a shiny trail along his abs. "F-fuck," he gasped, his voice raw. "Shoulda- hnn- known you'd cheat-"
Luke's grin was feral. He leaned forward, his sweat-slick chest pressing against Mark's back, his lips brushing the shell of Mark's ear. "I don’t need to cheat to beat you, fucker." He punctuated the taunt with a deep grind, his balls dragging against the back of Mark's thighs. "Your hole doesn’t seem to mind." His teeth scraped Mark's shoulder, blunt and possessive. "Now take this dick."
Mark's answering groan was swallowed by the wet slap of skin as Luke picked up the pace again, his thrusts turning jagged and desperate. The erg behind them rattled with every drive forward, the flywheel spinning lazily in the aftermath of their race. Luke's hands slid up Mark's torso, rough palms skating over sweat-slick muscle, his thumbs brushing the stiff peaks of Mark's nipples. "Look at you," he muttered, his voice rough. "Fucking ruined."
Mark shuddered, his hips stuttering as Luke's cock dragged over his prostate again. His own cock throbbed, leaking in earnest now, the tip flushed an angry red where it bobbed against his stomach. His thighs trembled, the thick muscle there quivering with the effort of holding himself up, his calves flexed where his toes dug into the concrete for leverage. "L-Luke-" His voice cracked, his fingers scrabbling for purchase on the floor. "Gonna- fuck-"
Luke's hand fisted in Mark's sweaty curls, yanking his head back to expose the taut line of his throat. "Yeah?" he breathed, his hips snapping harder, faster. "C'mon, then." His other hand slid down Mark's stomach, fingers wrapping around the dripping length of Mark's cock. He squeezed, just shy of painful. "Show me."
Mark came with a broken shout, his back arching violently as his cock pulsed in Luke's grip. Thick ropes of cum striped the concrete beneath them, his release splattering hot over Luke's knuckles, his abs, the inside of his own trembling thighs. His hole clamped down around Luke's cock like a vise, the rhythmic clench pulling a ragged groan from Luke's throat.
Luke didn't stop. He fucked Mark through it, his strokes turning uneven as Mark's oversensitive body writhed beneath him. The slide was rough now, the lube gone tacky, the mix of sweat and cum making every thrust a wet, loud sound. Luke's fingers dug into Mark's hips hard enough to leave bruises, his breath coming in sharp gasps. "Fuck. fuck-" His rhythm stuttered, his cock twitching deep inside Mark as his orgasm crested. He buried himself to the hilt with a groan, his balls drawing up tight as he spilled, the heat of his release flooding Mark's ass in thick pulses.
They collapsed in a heap of limbs and labored breaths, Luke's forehead pressed between Mark's shoulder blades as they both came down. The boathouse smelled like sex and tequila and sweat, the fluorescent lights humming overhead. Mark's arms gave out first, his chest hitting the concrete with a grunt, Luke's softening cock slipping free with a wet sound.
For a long moment, the only sounds were their breathing and the distant lap of water against the dock outside. Then Luke huffed a laugh, rolling off to sprawl beside Mark on the floor. "Jesus," he slurred, swiping a hand over his face. "That was probably the best sex I've ever had."
Mark groaned, his voice thick with tequila and exhaustion. "Holy fucking shit," he slurred, his breath hot against Luke's neck. "Gonna n-need more shots." His fingers twitched against Luke's ribs, clumsy and uncoordinated.
Luke laughed, the sound rough from exertion, and groped blindly for the half-empty bottle near their tangled legs. His fingers closed around the neck, warm glass sticky with spilled lube. "Here, bro," he taunted, shoving it against Mark's chest. The liquor sloshed violently as Mark fumbled to grip it, his biceps flexing with the effort.
Mark tilted his head back, throat working as he took three massive gulps without breathing. Tequila dripped down his stubble, catching in the hollow of his collarbone. He exhaled sharply, shuddering, then shoved the bottle at Luke's face. "Finish it," he demanded, his words blending together. "Right fucking now."
Luke grabbed it, his knuckles brushing Mark's still-heaving chest. He drank the remaining two inches in one go, the burn barely registering through the alcohol already swimming in his veins. The empty bottle hit the concrete with a hollow clink, rolling toward the bank of ergs against the wall.
Mark blinked at him, his dark eyes unfocused. "M'sleepy," he muttered, his head lolling forward. Then, without warning, his entire bodyweight collapsed onto Luke, all two hundred pounds of dense muscle pressing Luke into the boathouse floor with a grunt.
"Jesus Christ, Mark." Luke wheezed, shoving at Mark's shoulder. His palms slid uselessly against sweat-slick skin. Mark's deadweight didn't budge; his breathing had already evened out, his face smushed against Luke's ribs, his exhales hot and damp. Luke groaned, twisting his hips to no avail. Mark's thigh was a lead weight across his legs, the coarse hair there tickling Luke's knee. "You're a fucking brick, dude-"
Mark snored in response, his lips parted against Luke's side. One of his hands had flopped onto Luke's stomach, fingers twitching occasionally like he was still rowing in his dreams. His cock, soft now, lay heavy against Luke's thigh, the skin there tacky with drying cum.
Luke gave up with a sigh, his own limbs suddenly too heavy to fight. The concrete was cold under his shoulder blades, the boathouse air stale with tequila and sex. He stared at the rafters overhead, where cobwebs swayed in some unfelt breeze, his vision blurring at the edges. Mark's warmth was oppressive but weirdly grounding too, the steady rise and fall of his chest a counterpoint to Luke's slowing heartbeat.
Somewhere outside, an owl hooted and crickets sang, the dock creaked, and Luke's eyelids drooped.
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