The air in IronPulse Gym was thick with the metallic tang of sweat and the rhythmic clank of iron against iron. The treadmills hummed a steady drone, a backdrop to the grunts and heavy breaths of the late-afternoon crowd. El Primo, a lean, wiry man with a sharp jawline and a glint of mischief in his dark eyes, slammed a set of dumbbells back onto the rack with a satisfying thud. His chest heaved, muscles taut under a damp tank top, but it wasn’t just the burn of his last set that had his pulse hammering. Across the weight room, Grom—broad-shouldered, towering, and glistening with effort—hoisted a barbell with a grunt that sent a shiver down Primo’s spine.
“Damn, man, you lift like you’re trying to impress a whole damn army,” Primo called out, wiping his brow with the back of his hand as he sauntered over. His voice carried a playful edge, sharp enough to cut through the gym’s cacophony.
Grom lowered the bar with controlled precision, his piercing blue eyes flicking up to meet Primo’s. A slow, knowing smirk curled his lips as he straightened, rolling his shoulders back. “And you stare like you’ve never seen a real man work before. What’s your deal, Primo? Spot me or drool—pick one.”
Primo laughed, low and rough, stepping closer. The heat radiating off Grom’s body was damn near tangible, mingling with the faint musk of exertion that made Primo’s head swim. “Oh, I’m spotting, alright. Just not sure if it’s your form or that fine-ass frame I’m more interested in critiquing.”
Grom’s smirk widened into a full grin, and he crossed his arms, the bulge of his biceps practically daring Primo to keep talking. “Careful, little man. Keep running that mouth, and I might have to show you what these arms can really do.”
“Promises, promises,” Primo shot back, his tone dripping with challenge. He leaned in just enough to lower his voice, his breath hot against the shell of Grom’s ear. “How ‘bout we take a quick break? I’m thinking a different kind of cardio. Supply room’s empty this time of day.”
Grom’s eyes darkened, a flicker of raw interest sparking in them. He didn’t pull back, didn’t flinch, just held Primo’s gaze with an intensity that made the gym around them fade into a blurry haze. “You’ve got some balls, Primo. Sneaking off during peak hours? What if someone catches us slacking?”
“Then they’ll get a hell of a show,” Primo replied, his grin feral. He jerked his chin toward the hallway leading to the back of the gym. “Unless you’re scared to keep up with me off the floor.”
Grom snorted, shaking his head as he grabbed a towel and slung it over his shoulder. “Scared? Nah. I just don’t wanna hear you whining when I outpace you in there too.” He stepped past Primo, brushing against him just enough to send a jolt through Primo’s already wired nerves. “Lead the way, hotshot.”
The walk to the supply room felt like a slow burn, every step charged with unspoken tension. Primo pushed through the crowd of gym-goers, his heart thumping louder than the bass of the overhead speakers. He tossed a glance over his shoulder, catching Grom’s steady, predatory stare. “You sure you’re ready for this, big guy? I play rough.”
Grom chuckled, deep and gravelly, closing the distance between them as they reached the dimly lit hallway. “Rough’s my middle name, Primo. Question is, can you handle me when I stop playing nice?”
“Oh, I’m counting on it,” Primo fired back, his voice a low growl as he pushed open the supply room door. The small, cluttered space smelled of bleach and rubber mats, the faint hum of the gym muffled behind the closed door. Shelves of cleaning supplies and spare equipment loomed around them, casting jagged shadows in the weak fluorescent light.
Primo turned, leaning casually against a stack of folded towels, his eyes raking over Grom with unabashed hunger. “So, what’s it gonna be, Grom? You gonna keep flexing, or you gonna show me what you’ve got when the weights are down?”
Grom stepped forward, closing the gap in two long strides, his presence filling the cramped room. He loomed over Primo, one hand bracing against the shelf above Primo’s head, the other resting on his hip. “Keep talking, Primo. I’ve got plenty to show, but I wanna hear you beg for it first.”
Primo’s lips twitched into a wicked smile, his hands itching to reach out but holding back, savoring the game. “Beg? Nah, I don’t beg. I take. But if you’re lucky, I might let you think you’re in charge for a minute.”
Grom’s laugh was a low rumble, his breath hot against Primo’s cheek as he leaned in closer. “We’ll see about that. Minute’s all I need to have you sweating for a whole different reason.”
The air between them crackled, thick with promise and unspoken dares. Primo’s fingers twitched, brushing against Grom’s thigh, a silent challenge. The supply room door was locked, the gym’s noise a distant echo, and whatever happened next was theirs alone to claim.
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