"Didn't peg you for a guy who orders his steak medium," Vince muttered, pointing his fork at Jeff’s plate. The diner’s fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting a dull sheen over the vinyl booth and the remnants of their late-night meal.
Jeff smirked, rolling a thick shoulder. "What, you think I should tear into it like an animal?" His voice was gruff, but there was amusement underneath — the kind that crept in when he knew he was being prodded.
Vince leaned back, the booth creaking under his weight. His fingers drummed against the table, thick and calloused. "Just saying. A big guy like you? I figured you’d want it bloody." He wasn’t even looking at the steak anymore. His gaze had drifted lower, lingering on the way Jeff’s forearm flexed as he cut into the meat.
Jeff caught the look but didn’t call it out. Instead, he leaned forward slightly, elbows on the table, and let his shirt stretch tight across his chest. "Maybe I like things … slow."
The air between them thickened, charged with something unsaid. Outside the diner window, the parking lot stood empty except for Vince’s battered truck and Jeff’s motorcycle — both relics of another era, just like them.
Vince exhaled through his nose, slow and deliberate. "Last time I went slow, I fell asleep," he grunted, but his knuckles brushed Jeff’s wrist as he reached for his coffee.
Jeff didn’t pull away.
The contact was fleeting — just the rough warmth of Vince’s knuckles against his skin — but it sent a current up his arm. He watched Vince sip his coffee, the man’s throat working as he swallowed, the shadow of stubble catching the light. Jeff’s fingers tightened around his fork. "Sounds like you need better motivation," he said, voice dropping.
Vince’s cup hit the table with a soft clunk. His eyes, dark under heavy brows, held Jeff’s. "Motivation, huh?" The corner of his mouth twitched. "What’s your going rate?"
Jeff let out a low chuckle and pushed his plate aside. The booth was too small for men their size; his knee bumped Vince’s under the table, and neither of them adjusted. "Depends. You looking for a trainer or a distraction?"
Vince leaned in, close enough that Jeff could smell the leather of his jacket and the faint sweat beneath it. His hand, palm up, slid across the table — an invitation. Jeff hesitated only a second before covering it with his own. Vince’s grip was crushing, deliberate, their fingers locking like they were settling an unspoken bet.
The waitress chose that moment to appear with the check, her gaze flicking between their joined hands. Vince didn’t let go. He tossed a crumpled bill onto the table without looking. "Keep the change."
Outside, the night air was cool, but Jeff’s skin burned where Vince still hadn’t released him. The truck was parked closer. Vince yanked the door open with his free hand and turned, crowding Jeff against the side of the cab. Up close, his body was a wall of heat and muscle, his chest hair visible through the open collar of his shirt. Jeff’s pulse pounded in his throat.
"Slow," Vince murmured, voice rough, "doesn’t mean gentle." His other hand found Jeff’s hip, fingers digging in through the denim.
Jeff met his stare, unflinching. "Who said I wanted gentle?"
Vince’s grin was all teeth. He ducked his head, breath hot against Jeff’s ear. "Better buckle up, big guy."
The truck’s bench seat groaned under their combined weight as Vince shoved him inside. Jeff barely had time to register the cracked leather under his thighs before Vince’s mouth was on his — no preamble, just hunger. The kiss was brutal, all collision of tongues and the scrape of stubble. Vince’s hands were everywhere: wrenching Jeff’s shirt open, buttons pinging off the dashboard, palms rough as they mapped the dense muscle of his chest.
Jeff grabbed Vince’s belt, tugging him closer until their hips slammed together. The friction was electric, Vince’s cock already straining against his jeans, thick enough that Jeff could feel its outline through the denim. "Christ," Jeff rasped, breaking the kiss to bite at Vince’s neck. "You been hiding this all night?"
Vince laughed — a dark, punched-out sound — and ground down harder. "You weren’t lookin’ hard enough." His fingers twisted in Jeff’s hair, tilting his head back to expose his throat. The kiss that followed was filthy, wet, Vince sucking marks into his skin like he was claiming territory.
The truck cab smelled of sweat and leather, the air thick with their panting. Jeff’s hands found Vince’s waistband, popping the button with one sharp twist. He shoved the jeans down just enough to free Vince’s cock — heavy and flushed, already leaking. Jeff wrapped his fist around it, thumb smearing precum over the head. Vince hissed, hips jerking. "Fuck —"
"Thought you wanted slow," Jeff taunted, tightening his grip. He stroked once, deliberately teasing, reveling in the way Vince’s thighs trembled.
Vince’s hand clamped over his wrist, halting the movement. His eyes burned. "Switch." It wasn’t a request.
Jeff didn’t resist as Vince manhandled him onto his knees on the seat. The leather stuck to his skin, tacky with sweat. Behind him, Vince’s zipper rasped open. Then hands — broad and unrelenting — spread his butt cheeks wide. Jeff braced against the dashboard as Vince’s tongue laved over him, hot and insistent. The groan that ripped from Jeff’s throat was half-curse, half-prayer.
Vince pulled back just long enough to growl, "Told you." A slick finger pressed inside, stretching. "Slow," he added, twisting deep, "doesn’t mean soft."
Jeff’s fingers dented the dash. "Prove it."
Vince did. His finger crooked, rubbing that spot inside Jeff until his knees nearly buckled. A second finger joined, stretching him wider, the burn edged with pleasure so sharp it stole Jeff’s breath. Vince’s other hand gripped Jeff’s hip like a vise, holding him upright as his legs shook. The rasp of Vince’s beard against Jeff’s lower back was a rough counterpoint to the slick twist of his fingers — heat and friction and too much, not enough.
"Gonna feel me for days," Vince growled. His palm smacked Jeff’s ass, the sharp crack echoing in the cab. Jeff’s teeth sank into his own bicep to stifle a groan, the sting lingering under his skin.
Vince didn’t wait for him to recover. He lined up, the blunt head of his cock pressing against Jeff’s ass hole, and pushed in with one relentless thrust. Jeff’s shout was muffled against the leather seat as Vince bottomed out, hips flush against his ass. The stretch was brutal, exquisite — Jeff could feel every throbbing inch of him, the way Vince’s pulse hammered under his skin.
Vince stilled, letting them both adjust. His chest heaved against Jeff’s back, sweat-slick and hair-roughened. "Still want slow?" he panted, voice wrecked.
Jeff twisted, catching Vince’s mouth in a biting kiss. "Move."
Vince obeyed. His thrusts started deep and measured, each withdrawal a tease before he slammed back in, filling Jeff to the hilt. The rhythm was relentless, the slap of skin on skin drowning out the creak of the truck’s suspension. Jeff’s cock ached between his legs, untouched and dripping onto the seat.
Vince’s hand slid around Jeff’s waist, fingers closing around his shaft with a possessive squeeze. He stroked Jeff in time with his thrusts, thumb swiping over the head on every upstroke. Jeff’s vision whited out — pleasure coiled tight in his gut, threatening to snap.
"Gonna cum," Vince hissed through clenched teeth, his pace faltering. His fingers dug bruises into Jeff’s hips as he pistoned into him, wild and uncoordinated.
Jeff reached back, grasping Vince’s thigh. "Do it."
Vince came with a hoarse shout, hips stuttering as he emptied himself inside Jeff. The sensation — hot and claiming — tipped Jeff over the edge. His sperm streaked the dashboard, his groan lost in the aftershocks racking Vince’s body.
They slumped together, their breathing ragged. Vince’s forehead rested between Jeff’s shoulder blades.
Jeff exhaled a laugh. "Still got it," he murmured, feeling Vince's spent cock twitch inside him as if in response. The cab reeked of sex now — musk and salt and the sharp tang of leather cleaner — but neither made a move to open the windows. Vince's fingers trailed lazily down Jeff's spine, tracing the ridges of old wrestling injuries like braille.
"You always this chatty after?" Vince's voice was gravel, his breath warm against Jeff's skin. He shifted slightly, his softening cock slipping free, but Jeff caught his wrist before he could pull away completely. Vince stilled. The silence stretched, thick with something neither of them had named yet.
Jeff turned, wincing at the ache in his thighs as he faced Vince. The older man's chest glistened with sweat, his nipples still peaked from exertion. Jeff dragged a thumb over one, relishing the hitch in Vince's breath. "Just thinking," he admitted. "About the motel down the road."
Vince's eyebrow arched. "Round two already?" His smirk was cocky, but the way his hand settled on Jeff's hip betrayed his interest. "I got a better idea. Come home and spend the night with me. I got a shower and a bed that don't smell like a motel room."
Jeff hesitated. He wasn't used to being invited — not for more. Wrestling locker rooms taught you a lot about quick fucks and vanishing acts by dawn. But Vince's fingers were tracing idle patterns on his skin, his gaze steady. The cab of the truck suddenly felt too small. "That a promise or a proposal?" Jeff asked, voice rough.
Vince laughed, low and genuine. "Promise first." He leaned in, pressing a kiss to Jeff's collarbone. "The proposal comes later."
The drive to Vince's place was silent except for the rumble of the engine and the occasional shift of denim as Jeff adjusted against the seat. Every movement reminded him of Vince's claim — the soreness, the way his body still hummed from the aftershocks. Vince's hand stayed on his thigh the whole way, thumb rubbing circles into the muscle like he was memorizing the shape of it.
Vince's house was unassuming — a squat brick ranch with a detached garage cluttered with old weights and truck parts. Inside, the space smelled like cedar and coffee. The living room was dominated by a battered recliner and a flatscreen, wrestling trophies lining the mantel. Jeff ran a finger along one, raising an eyebrow. "1987?"
Vince tossed his keys onto the counter. "Back when men were men," he snorted. "You want that shower?"
Jeff followed him down the narrow hallway. The bathroom was small, tiles cracked but clean. Vince turned the faucet, steam rising as water pounded against the porcelain. He stripped without ceremony, his body a map of scars and muscle under the yellowing light. Jeff watched the flex of his ass as he stepped into the spray, then followed, crowding him against the wall.
Vince groaned as Jeff's hands slid over his soap-slick chest. "Slow," he reminded him, though his cock was already thickening against Jeff's thigh.
Jeff nipped his shoulder. "You talked too much in the truck." He dropped to his knees, ignoring the protest of his muscles, and took Vince's thick, hardening cock in his mouth with one slow, deliberate swallow. Vince's curse echoed off the tiles as Jeff hollowed his cheeks, tongue working the underside of his shaft. The water sluiced between them, heat and pressure building as Vince fisted his hands in Jeff's hair.
"Fuck," Vince gasped, hips jerking. His thighs trembled, the only warning before he came down Jeff's throat with a groan that sounded almost wounded.
Jeff stood, wiping his mouth. "Does that proposal still stand?" he asked, voice wrecked.
Vince dragged him under the water, kissing him like he was starving. "Yeah," he muttered against Jeff's lips. "Yeah, it does."
The tiles were cool against Jeff's back when Vince pinned him there, hands roaming over his wet skin like he was trying to memorize every dip and scar. The shower spray hit Jeff's shoulders, but Vince's body was hotter, blocking most of it — a solid wall of muscle and heat. His cock was already hard again, pressing insistently against Jeff's thigh.
"You're insatiable," Jeff murmured, arching into the touch as Vince's fingers traced the curve of his ass.
Vince chuckled, low and dark. "You got a problem with that?" His teeth scraped Jeff's collarbone, sending a shiver down his spine despite the steam.
Jeff didn't answer — just hooked a leg around Vince's waist, pulling him closer. The movement sent water sloshing over the edge of the tub, but neither cared. Vince groaned as their cocks slid together, precum mixing with the shower spray. His hands tightened on Jeff's hips, guiding him into a slow, grinding rhythm.
Jeff's breath hitched. "Bed," he managed, voice rough.
Vince didn't argue. He turned off the water with one hand, the other still gripping Jeff's waist like he was afraid he'd vanish. They stumbled out, dripping, towels forgotten as Vince herded him down the hall. The bedroom was dim, lit only by a flickering lamp beside a king-sized bed that looked well-used but sturdy.
Vince pushed him onto the mattress, following him down in one fluid motion. Jeff's back hit the sheets, still damp from their shower, the coolness a sharp contrast to Vince's feverish skin. Vince straddled him, thighs bracketing his hips, and reached for the nightstand drawer. The sound of a cap clicking open made Jeff's pulse jump.
Vince slicked his fingers, never breaking eye contact, and pressed two inside Jeff's ass without warning. Jeff's hips jerked off the bed, a curse tearing from his throat. Vince didn't ease up — just crooked his fingers, relentless, until Jeff was writhing, his cock leaking against his stomach.
"Look at you," Vince growled, pulling his fingers free. He coated his own cock and lined up, pressing in with a slow, torturous push that had Jeff seeing stars. "Fuck, you take me so good."
Jeff hooked his legs over Vince's shoulders, pulling him deeper. "Move," he demanded, nails raking down Vince's back.
Vince obeyed, setting a brutal pace that had the bed frame slamming against the wall. Jeff reached between them, fisting his own cock in time with Vince's thrusts. Their moans mingled, raw and unfiltered, as the friction built, tightening coils of pleasure in Jeff's gut.
Vince's rhythm faltered, his hips stuttering. "Jeff —"
"Cum in me," Jeff gasped, arching to meet him. "Do it."
Vince's shout was muffled against Jeff's neck as he came, pulsing his load deep inside him. The sensation tipped Jeff over the edge, his sperm streaking his chest as Vince rode him through it.
Collapsed together, sweat-slick and sated, Vince pressed a kiss to Jeff's sternum. "Proposal still stands," he murmured. "You staying?"
Jeff traced the curve of Vince's ear with a lazy finger. "Yeah," he said, softer than he'd intended. "I'm staying."
Vince exhaled against his chest, tension bleeding out of his shoulders. The weight of him — solid, warm — anchored Jeff to the mattress in a way that felt unfamiliar but not unwelcome. Outside, an owl hooted in the darkness, the sound muffled by the rumble of Vince's ancient AC unit kicking on.
They lay tangled like that until Vince's breathing evened out, his stubble rasping against Jeff's pectoral with each exhale. Jeff studied the ceiling, counting the hairline cracks in the plaster. His ass ached pleasantly, Vince's spend trickling out of him when he shifted. The scent of sex still hung thick in the air, mixed with the sharp bite of Vince's cheap body wash.
A truck rumbled past on the county road, headlights sweeping across the bedroom wall. Vince stirred, blinking up at Jeff with sleep-heavy eyes. "Still here," he mumbled, half-question.
Jeff carded fingers through Vince's thinning hair, scratching gently at his scalp the way he'd seen Vince do to his old pit bull years ago at a wrestling afterparty. "Told you I would be."
Vince hummed, nuzzling into the touch. His hand slid up Jeff's thigh, fingers brushing the sticky mess between his legs. "Gonna clean you up," he muttered, already pushing himself upright.
Jeff caught his wrist. "Later." He tugged Vince back down, slotting their bodies together with the ease of men who'd spent decades reading opponents' movements in the ring. Vince's knee settled between his thighs, the coarse hair tickling Jeff's oversensitive skin.
Vince chuckled into the hollow of Jeff's throat. "You'll regret that in the morning."
"You're worth it." Jeff palmed Vince's ass, squeezing the dense muscle. A contented silence settled between them, broken only by the occasional creak of the bedsprings as they adjusted.
The digital clock on the nightstand blinked 3:17 AM when Vince spoke again, voice rough with sleep. "Breakfast," he said suddenly. "I make mean pancakes."
Jeff smiled into the darkness. "Better be chocolate chip."
Vince's laughter vibrated through Jeff's chest. "Demanding bastard." His arm tightened around Jeff's waist, pulling him closer still. Outside, the first birds began their predawn chorus.
Jeff traced the raised scar on Vince's shoulder — a souvenir from their first match together twenty years prior. The memory of Vince's bloodied grin flashed behind his eyelids. "You kept the belt that night," he murmured.
Vince caught his wandering hand, pressing a kiss to his calloused knuckles. "Kept more than that." His thumb brushed the silver band Jeff still wore from his brief, disastrous marriage.
The silence stretched comfortably. Jeff studied Vince's face in the graying light — the deep creases around his eyes, the way his nose crooked slightly to the left from that time in Tulsa. Beautiful, in a way no one would call pretty.
Vince's stomach growled loud enough to shake the bed. Jeff snorted. "Your gut's got better timing than your finisher."
"Fuck you," Vince grumbled without heat, rolling atop Jeff to pin him with all 285 pounds of muscle. The morning erection pressing against Jeff's thigh was impossible to ignore. "Pancakes can wait."
Jeff arched into him, relishing the ache as Vince's thick fingers spread his thighs wide again. The sheets smelled like them now — sweat and sex and Vince's godawful bargain-brand aftershave. Vince's mouth was hot on his neck, his tongue scraping the tendon as his hand slid between them.
"You're gonna kill me," Jeff gasped when Vince's fingers breached him, still loose from last night.
Vince's chuckle was dark. "Way to go, huh?" He pressed deeper, twisting just so, and Jeff saw stars. The stretch burned deliciously as Vince added a third finger, his other hand pinning Jeff's hips to the mattress.
Jeff fisted the sheets when Vince's thumb brushed his perineum. "Quit — fucking — teasing."
Vince withdrew his fingers with a wet sound, lining up his erection against Jeff's hole. "Beg for it."
Jeff flipped them effortlessly, straddling Vince's hips. The older man's breath hitched as Jeff sank down onto him in one smooth motion, sheathing Vince to the hilt.
"Like that?" Jeff growled, rolling his hips in slow circles that made Vince's hands convulse on his thighs. He could feel every vein, every throb of Vince's cock inside him — still thick, even half-hard from sleep.
Vince's teeth flashed in the dim light. "Cheater." He bucked upward sharply, wrenching a gasp from Jeff's throat. "I thought I was in charge."
Jeff braced his hands on Vince's chest, fingers tangling in the gray-flecked hair. "Take it back, then." He lifted himself almost completely off before dropping down hard, their bodies meeting with a wet slap.
Vince swore, arching off the mattress. His hands flew to Jeff's waist, blunt fingers digging into his hips as he pistoned upward in a relentless rhythm. The headboard slammed against the wall in time with their movements, the sound echoing through the small bedroom.
Jeff's thighs burned, but he didn't slow — just leaned forward to capture Vince's mouth in a lustful kiss. Vince tasted like sleep and stale coffee, his stubble scraping Jeff's chin raw. Their sweat-slick chests slid together, the coarse hair catching and pulling in the most delicious way.
Vince broke the kiss to mouth at Jeff's neck, his breath hot. "Gonna ride me 'til I break?" he panted against damp skin.
Jeff clenched around him, drawing a ragged groan from Vince's chest. "Gonna ride you 'til those pancakes burn."
Vince's laugh turned into a strangled moan as Jeff shifted angles, grinding down to take him deeper. The slide was perfection — hot and tight and just this side of too much. Jeff could feel his own cock dripping between them, neglected but throbbing with every movement.
Vince's hands slid up to cradle Jeff's face, his thumbs rough against his cheekbones. The look in his eyes — dark and desperate and something dangerously close to devotion — made Jeff's breath catch.
"Cum for me," Vince ordered, voice wrecked.
Jeff didn't hesitate. He wrapped a hand around himself, stroking in time with Vince's thrusts. Two pulls was all it took. His orgasm ripped through him, his sphincter clamping down on Vince's cock as stripes of hot sperm painted Vince's stomach.
Vince followed with a choked curse, his hips stuttering as he emptied his load inside Jeff, the wet heat making Jeff shudder. They stayed locked together, breathing ragged, Vince’s fingers tracing idle patterns down Jeff’s sweat-slicked spine.
The scent of sex and burnt coffee from the kitchen downstairs hung thick in the air. Jeff shifted slightly, wincing at the ache between his thighs as Vince’s softening cock slipped free. A wet trickle trailed down his inner thigh, and Vince smirked, swiping a thumb through the mess before bringing it to his lips. “Still taste like me,” he murmured, voice gravelly with satisfaction.
Jeff shoved him lightly, but Vince caught his wrist, pulling him down onto the rumpled sheets. Their legs tangled. Vince’s hairy calf hooked over Jeff’s smoother one, pinning him in place. “Pancakes,” Vince reminded him, though he made no move to get up.
Jeff snorted, rolling his eyes. “Liar.” He stretched, feeling the pull of overworked muscles, and Vince’s gaze darkened as he took in the sight, Jeff’s spent cock twitching against his thigh, the love bites reddening on his neck.
Vince leaned in, nipping at Jeff’s earlobe. “Round three’s breakfast.” His hand slid between Jeff’s legs, fingers pressing gently where he was still loose and slick. Jeff arched into the touch with a hiss, his body responding despite the soreness.
Downstairs, the smoke detector screeched to life. Vince groaned, dropping his forehead against Jeff’s shoulder. “Goddamn it.”
Jeff laughed, shoving him off the bed. “Told you.” He watched Vince stumble toward the door, gloriously naked and scowling, the older man’s ass flexing with each step. The sight made Jeff’s mouth water.
Vince paused in the doorway, glancing back. “You comin’?”
Jeff stretched again, deliberately slow, relishing the way Vince’s eyes tracked the movement. “Maybe after another shower.”
Vince’s grin was all teeth. “Better save hot water for me.”
The siren died abruptly as Vince thundered downstairs. Jeff lay there, listening to the clang of pans and Vince’s muttered curses. His body ached in the best way, the sheets still warm where Vince had been.
He touched the marks on his neck, smiling.
Round three could wait.
For now.
The thought lingered, unspoken, as Jeff swung his legs over the edge of the bed. Sunlight sliced through the blinds, painting stripes across Vince’s discarded jeans. The floorboards creaked under his weight as he stood, his muscles protesting with every step toward the hallway.
Downstairs, Vince stood naked at the stove, spatula in hand, his back muscles rippling as he flipped a pancake. The air smelled of scorched batter and fresh coffee. Jeff leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. “Told you they’d burn.”
Vince didn’t turn. “Burned ones are crunchy. Adds texture.” He slid the charred disk onto a plate already stacked with uneven cakes, their edges jagged.
Jeff snorted, stepping closer. His fingertips brushed the small of Vince’s back — warm, damp from the stove’s heat — and felt the older man shiver. “You’re a terrible cook.”
Vince finally turned, his gaze dropping to Jeff’s bare chest, the bites he’d left there purpling. “Yeah?” He caught Jeff’s wrist, tugging him flush against his body. The spatula clattered to the counter. “Don’t remember you complaining last night.”
Jeff’s laugh was muffled against Vince’s shoulder. The pancake forgotten, Vince’s hands slid down to squeeze Jeff’s ass, blunt fingers digging into the soreness he’d put there. The coffee pot hissed, boiling over onto the burner. Neither moved.
Vince’s lips grazed Jeff’s temple. “Stay?” he murmured, quieter now. Not a command. A question.
Jeff closed his eyes. The kitchen clock ticked. Somewhere outside, a pickup backfired.
He exhaled. “Yeah.”
Vince’s grip tightened — just for a second — before he let go to salvage breakfast. Jeff watched him scrape the ruined pancake into the trash, the morning light gilding the scars on his knuckles. The silence between them was easy, thick with something unknowable.
Jeff reached for the coffee cups. Vince nudged the sugar toward him without looking.
Like they’d done this a thousand times.
Like they’d do it a thousand times more.
Jeff sipped his coffee — black, the way Vince made it — and watched the older man squint at the pancake batter like it had personally wronged him. A glob of dough clung to his chest hair. Jeff flicked it off with his thumb, sucking the sweetness from his finger with deliberate slowness. Vince’s eyes darkened.
“Eat,” Vince grunted, shoving a plate at him. The pancakes were still raw in the middle.
Jeff cut into one with the edge of his fork. “Poisoning me now?” He took a bite anyway, the dough sticking to his teeth. “Tastes like cement.”
Vince snatched his wrist, dragging Jeff’s syrup-coated fingers into his mouth. His tongue was hot, rough against Jeff’s skin as he sucked the sweetness clean. “Better?” he murmured, lips glistening.
Jeff’s pulse jumped. He leaned in, catching Vince’s mouth in a sticky kiss, tasting maple and burnt flour. Vince’s hand slid up his thigh beneath the table, calluses scraping sensitive skin.
The fork clattered to the floor. Vince kicked it away, shoving the table aside with his knee as he hauled Jeff onto his lap. Their chests collided, syrup smearing between them as Vince’s teeth found Jeff’s lower lip. Jeff ground down, feeling Vince’s erection thicken against his ass.
"Fuck breakfast," Vince growled, hands kneading Jeff’s waist.
Jeff arched, pressing their foreheads together. "Bed. Now."
Vince stood effortlessly, Jeff’s legs locking around his hips. They barely made it down the hall before Vince pinned him against the wallpaper, rutting against him with rough, uneven thrusts. The framed wrestling photos rattled as Jeff clawed at Vince’s shoulders, his back scraping the textured surface.
When Vince’s teeth grazed his nipple, Jeff gasped. "Christ —"
Vince smirked, laving the sting with his tongue. "Told you I’d ruin you."
Jeff retaliated by sinking his fingers into Vince’s ass, pulling him impossibly closer. The friction was maddening — not enough, too much — their cocks trapped between sweat-slick stomachs. Vince’s breath hitched when Jeff thumbed his slit, smearing precum between them.
The bedroom door creaked as they tumbled onto the mattress. Vince rolled them, blanketing Jeff with his bulk, his hairy thighs spreading Jeff’s legs wide. Their kisses turned sloppy, desperate. Vince’s stubble burned Jeff’s chin raw, but he only dug his heels into Vince’s back, urging him on.
Vince’s hand closed around their cocks, pumping them together in a tight, sticky grip. Jeff’s hips jerked off the mattress, his vision whiting out as Vince twisted his wrist on the upstroke. The orgasm ripped through him with a choked shout, hot semen streaking Vince’s fist.
Vince followed with a groan, his sperm mixing with Jeff’s as his thrusts turned erratic. Collapsed together, panting, Jeff traced the scar on Vince’s ribs, a souvenir from their Tokyo match. Vince caught his wrist, pressing a kiss to his palm.
Outside, the mail truck rumbled past. Vince’s stomach growled. Jeff snorted. "Round four’s lunch."
Vince’s laughter vibrated through Jeff’s chest. "Cheeky bastard." His thumb swiped through the mess on Jeff’s stomach. "But yeah."
Jeff watched Vince’s fingers — knuckles scarred from decades of matches — spread the stickiness between them. Slow. Thoughtful. The way Vince did everything when he wasn’t trying to prove a point. The silence stretched, thick with something Jeff hadn’t let himself name until now.
"It’s not just sex," Jeff heard himself say. The words hung between them, raw as a fresh pinfall. Vince stilled, his breath warm against Jeff’s shoulder. Jeff pressed on, voice rougher than he intended. "I mean — fuck, Vince. You know that, right?"
Vince lifted his head, eyes dark in the afternoon light filtering through the blinds. For once, the older man looked caught — no smirk, no quip. Just his throat working as he swallowed hard. "Jeff —"
"Don’t." Jeff caught Vince’s wrist, pressing the calloused palm to his own chest. "Just … tell me I’m not alone in my feelings here."
Vince’s exhale shook. He leaned in, forehead resting against Jeff’s, their noses brushing. When he spoke, his voice was wrecked. "You stupid, gorgeous bastard." His fingers tangled in Jeff’s hair, pulling just enough to sting. "I loved you before I even knew how."
Jeff’s breath hitched. Vince never talked like this — never let himself be this bare. Not outside the ring, not after the lights dimmed.
Vince’s thumb traced Jeff’s lower lip. "There’s never been anyone else," he admitted, gruff as gravel. "Not like this. Not like you."
The confession hung between them, heavier than any championship belt. Jeff turned his face into Vince’s palm, pressing a kiss to the scarred skin. "Same," he murmured against the calluses.
Vince’s chuckle was wet. "Took you long enough."
Jeff nipped his thumb. "I had to be sure you could keep up."
Vince growled, rolling them over with a creak of bedsprings. His kiss was all tongue and desperation, like he was trying to carve the truth into Jeff’s skin. Jeff let him — arched into it — until Vince broke away, panting.
"Stay. Not just for now," Vince begged, forehead pressed to Jeff’s. Not a question this time.
Jeff grinned, licking the taste of himself from Vince’s lips. "Try and get rid of me."
Outside, a lawnmower sputtered to life. Vince’s stomach growled again. Jeff snorted. "Round five is dinner."
Vince’s hand slid down his back, possessive. "Round five is forever."
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