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The new batch of recruits were a mixed bunch. Some were equally as competent as the specialists of Rainbow, others had some training to do. With a sharp eye, Maxim caught all the minor mistakes and weaknesses. He spotted a trend amongst the recruits and sought to hone their skills to avoid this particular vulnerability, taking a small group of them to demonstrate various close quarters combat techniques.
Sixteen bodies gathered in the gym, loitering around and chatting. At a glance, Maxim figured it would be easy to pair them off by similar stature for these demonstrations. A silence fell upon them when they saw him approaching, but eyes turned to the body behind him. Saif Al Hadid, a towering man with an impressive muscular build, the kind that had people scoffing when he told them it was all natural. In comparison to him, Maxim became conscious of his own size, though Timur was here to observe so he didn’t feel completely alone.
The recruits straightened up and stepped into slight formation, ready to get to work. Oftentimes the new batch required some discipline, they all arrived thinking they were great because they had been invited to train under Rainbow. Maxim made it clear there was a reason why he wasn’t their friend, but their instructor. He wasn’t here to buy them a pint and laugh about cultural differences, he was here to make sure they had the skills to disable an armed gunman in the heat of a situation.
The general consensus amongst the recruits after the first week was that Maxim was strict, perhaps too much. Mike came close, but the reputation Maxim held was far more intimidating and cryptic, his appearance certainly helped as well. While Timur liked to joke that he was brutal to them, it wasn’t always the case. As time went on, Maxim found himself softening to the recruits a little. He’d crack a joke and receive confused smiles, but the vague act of fraternity told them of his approval.
He recapped the drills they went over several days ago, various methods of hand-to-hand combat and ways to apprehend a target. He allowed two recruits to spar and demonstrate what he wanted to place attention to- the one overpowered by his partner. There was only so much words could explain and Maxim preferred kinesthetic learning when it came to this kind of stuff, reading a book would never prepare a soldier.
He glanced around for a partner. At first, he met eyes with Saif and they had the same thought in mind. That being, there was no way this demonstration would seem fair given Saif’s physical capabilities. That left Maxim turning to Timur. There were various reasons as to why he never chose Timur as a demonstration partner. Their relationship was one, it was way too intimate and any kind of body-to-body contact had twenty meanings attached to it. Secondly, Maxim couldn’t trust himself. He didn’t know what could happen, if he would spring an erection in the middle of Timur straddling his torso. This left him conflicted, but he beckoned for Timur to step forwards before he had time to debate with himself.
They had to recreate a precarious position, one that required Timur to be the initial dominant partner while Maxim was the one overpowered. The quick exchange of blows helped set the pace and Maxim went easy to allow Timur to sweep his legs from under him and pin him onto the mat. For teaching purposes, they had to pause so Maxim could explain what he was doing and point out all the vulnerabilities one could exploit if they were ever in his situation. This left Timur awkwardly straddling his hips, awaiting an indication to throw a mock punch.
Was he too comfortable like this?
While Maxim was busy explaining, Timur was in a slightly different headspace. There he was, looking down at his lover and admiring the slight glint of sweat on his forehead. A quick manoeuvre had Timur pushed forwards off balance. The natural reflex was to throw his hands out to break his fall, but instead of tumbling to the side, he planted a firm palm over Maxim’s chest, getting a handful of his strong pectoral while his other hand steadied against the mat. The blunder had his entire body flaring hot with humiliation. He readjusted the placement of his hands to provide a better example of what Maxim was pointing out about catching the opponent off-guard.
Timur didn’t dare to look up, he could feel the strange looks the recruits were giving one another, the smiles that poked fun at the awkwardness of this entire thing. He tried his best to avoid embarrassing the both of them, though his mind was being uncooperative in a time where he needed every ounce of willpower to stop himself from spacing out. The follow-through for the drill was coming up when they reset their positions and he braced himself to be thrown.
The quick flip happened faster than he could comprehend and the impact of his back against the soft mat knocked the air from his lungs. The cool metal of the training knife pressed right over his neck, the blade against his pulse. Throughout this, Maxim hadn’t paid any attention to Timur whatsoever, diverting all his attention to discussing all the possible scenarios one could be in. He abandoned the knife as he spoke about what to do when weapons weren’t available and the answer was simple. Hands. He had a hand over Timur’s throat and the pads of his fingers pressed into his jugular with light pressure- too much pressure. Timur was choking. He tapped the side of Maxim’s thigh in a frantic manner until he noticed and released him.
They oversaw the training until it ended in the afternoon. Saif gave the order to dismiss the recruits for their break. He was a dependable coworker but aloof when it came to socialising. Like everyone else, he was also amused by the odd interactions between Maxim and Timur. He chalked it up to being close friends and left it at that, not wishing to dig any deeper than needed.
“Hey, we’ll take it from here,” Maxim offered and took the container of training knives from him. “Thanks for helping out.”
“If you insist.” Saif gave a broad smile. “I’ll see you two around.”
Once he was sure they were alone, Maxim finally gave Timur the attention he was overdue for. He brought a hand to Timur’s cheek and cupped it to still him, trying to inspect the bruise beginning to form.
“Did I hurt you?” Maxim spoke in a gentle manner, unlike the harsh tone he put on for the recruits. He was a different person when he spoke English and Timur liked to believe there was a distinction between speaking from one’s head versus speaking from the heart. In Maxim’s case, his words were much softer in Russian.
Timur smiled at the tender gesture. “I’ll be fine. You can kiss it better though,” he suggested and received the kiss, a light brush of lips against his cheekbone. They returned to putting away the equipment. “It’s been so long since I trained hand-to-hand combat. I’m getting rusty.”
Maxim raised a brow, haughty as ever. “Yeah, I can tell,” he said, no longer coddling him. “Good thing you’re a sniper, hm? You couldn’t disarm a ten year old if your life depended on it.”
Had Timur not been occupied by the hefty mat in his hands, he would have given him a nudge against the ribs. “I was being serious, asshole.”
“Then ask Lera for help. You know what happens when we spar.” They exchanged looks, old memories dredging up of training sessions taking a different turn than expected. It was inevitable with so many factors at hand, like their competitiveness and active sex drives that showed no inclination of slowing down anytime soon. Anything could put them in a frisky mood and heated hand-to-hand combat was one of them.
Timur remembered those instances, every interaction so vivid in his mind. “I still think we should,” he pressed on, managing to maintain a calm expression. Truth was, the mere idea of being wrestled into submission excited him. It excited him greatly. “I won’t mess around, I swear. Honest to God.”
For a glimpse of a second, Maxim considered it. He put down the tray then regarded Timur with a scrutinising look, thin lips curving into a smile that questioned his honesty. “You’re atheist,” he pointed out before he left the equipment room, restless to have his first cigarette in hours.
Timur heaved the mat back into its carrier then placed his hands on his hips. He looked towards Maxim’s shrinking silhouette in the distance and no feeling of defeat came to him, mostly because he knew Maxim wouldn’t refuse such a request. They would meet here again in the evening.
Once Timur had something to look forward to, the hours seemed to pass at a crawl. The rest of the workday became clouded by filthy thoughts of what could happen. He tried to focus on the menial amount of reports he had to type up. A couple paragraphs detailing the performance of the recruits, nothing too complex, yet he couldn’t think for the life of him. It was good that they didn’t see each other much until then or he would have had to suggest they sneak into the janitor’s closet for a quick session.
Most of the lights in the building were turned off, given that many of his colleagues were packing up for home and it would be impractical to keep the building lit for a small group of workaholics. He wandered down a dark hallway until he found the gym, the door left ajar and a beam of warm light slicing into the black corridor. The mat was already set up and Maxim was waiting, preoccupied by his phone that he didn’t look up until Timur was closing the double door.
A sudden movement, a flicker of something hurling towards him. Timur ducked before the training knife slammed into the door, thrown hard enough to make a dent before clattering onto the floor. He picked it up and shot a look towards Maxim, questioning the shameless smirk on his face.
“What if that hit me?” Timur asked, flipping it a couple times in his hand. The training knives once had an edge, they used to be able to nick the skin, but the recruits liked to play darts with them on their small breaks.
Maxim shrugged it off. “I was aiming above your head.” He motioned towards the mark in the wood which hovered a mere three inches over Timur’s head. He leaned his back against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest and that smug look on his face, the synthetic fabric of his t-shirt pulled taut over his muscles. The sight forced Timur to swallow thickly. “I’m not gonna go easy on you.”
“Same.” Timur mustered the courage to be cheeky, but there was no way he could hide the strange mixture of excitement and fear coursing through every part of his body. He took a few tentative steps before slipping his shoes off and he stepped onto the mat. “Well?”
They didn’t need to ready up. Pushing himself off the wall, Maxim began his approach and he pursued in an aggressive manner that caught Timur off guard. They exchanged several blows, striking where it hurt, but Timur tightened his core and the ache of every impact was only temporary. Maxim managed to knock the knife from his grasp, then he paused and regained his breath instead of continuing.
“Forget it’s me,” Maxim told him. “I know you can hit harder than that.”
He was right. A few bruises weren’t going to kill. They restarted, this time with a more impersonal touch. By now, Timur focused less on his masochistic desires and he concentrated on the task at hand. It certainly brought him back to the earlier days of his training when stakes were higher and he had superiors watching every move. It wasn’t to say his skills had declined. He was just too comfortable nowadays.
The knife clattered on the ground. He threw his arms up to block a punch, but the relentless onslaught opened a vulnerability for Maxim to capitalise on. A swift strike to his leg and next thing Timur knew, he was winded with the mat padding his back. He blinked up at the silhouette of Maxim standing over him.
“I know,” Timur spat out between pants for air. He accepted the offer to help him to his feet. “Back leg.”
Positioned to go again, Maxim waited for him to make a move. “We stop when you say,” he stated.
All Timur needed to do was say the word. They continued their sparring session, taking the occasional pause to discuss what went wrong after the inevitable case that he would get thrown down. This time around, he was gaining the upper hand after managing to catch Maxim off balance. Between them, Timur had much more stamina. They wrestled for control, hands grasping and pulling at whatever they could find.
A silence eclipsed the room, but their muscles remained tensed and straining. Timur heaved breaths through his bared teeth and he felt his strength beginning to weaken, slowly failing him as he maintained control over the struggling body beneath him. He looked down at Maxim and took in his expression. Furrowed brows, mouth parted enough for his chipped canine to glint under the fluorescent lighting, the sweat glistening on his forehead and saturating the neck of his shirt.
What a distraction.
With a growl, Maxim managed to summon the last of his energy and he regained power over Timur in a quick bridge and roll. Just like in the drill earlier, he threw him off, but instead of allowing him to get away and catch a breath, Maxim dragged him back by the ankle. He pulled Timur into a chokehold. In response, Timur tried to twist into a position that would give him more leverage, barely able to wrench loose the arm around his neck, but this only compromised him and allowed Maxim to lock him in place, preventing any more movement.
As Timur’s body exhausted, he knew he was losing this fight. His nails dug into Maxim’s forearm and he tried to turn his head, hoping to find a gasp of air. His legs were trapped in place and no matter how he rolled, this particular hold made it impossible to break free. Upon the realisation that Timur would not submit so easily, Maxim tightened his chokehold and squeezed.
A rapid pulse thrummed against his skin. Panic, irrational movement, loss of coordination. Maxim was counting the seconds. “Tap out,” he murmured against Timur’s ears. “C’mon. Do it.”
It was either that or pass out and Timur wasn’t keen on the second option. In frantic desperation for oxygen, he yielded and tapped out. Released from the hold, he crawled several paces away and sucked in lungfuls of air. The ache over every muscle was incredible. He pushed himself up into a sitting position and brought their bodies closer.
“The noises you make when you’re struggling,” Maxim commented, a slight smile playing at his expression. He was equally as tired, the veins of his arms bulging and visible from exertion. It took every morsel of strength to not pounce on him and Timur was failing to fight off his own urges. He reached to touch Maxim, but a quick reflex had him pinned down against the mat once more and the older man tutted his tongue. “No messing around, Glazkov.”
A defiant grin spread on Timur’s face as the hand against his neck traced its thumb over his Adam’s apple. He tried to move, but Maxim had him caught in such a way that he could only free himself through brute force. “‘M not,” Timur said between breaths, straining and pulling in hopes to throw Maxim off him. The gentle chastise had awakened dormant thoughts at the back of his head, the ones which he hoped would not interfere with their sparring too early. There was little he could do aside from continue and pray his blood wouldn’t flow southwards so eagerly.
It seemed Maxim gave him a small window of opportunity to escape and he took it. Returning to his feet, Timur rolled his sore shoulders and noted the beginnings of some bruises on his arms. He picked up the sound of approaching footsteps. Maxim had the training knife in his hand and he was poised to go. Realising that this wasn’t the end, Timur braced himself and his years of training returned to him in one sudden surge of adrenaline.
When it came to the Maxim Basuda and knives, one wouldn’t want to be on the wrong end. The intention of these drills and spars were not to injure, so Timur had nothing to be afraid of, but his heart lurched to his throat with every rapid movement. He won the quick test of reflexes and disarmed Maxim with a strike to the sternum that had him staggering back to recover. The knife clattered on the ground, kicked away by a quick sweep of Timur’s foot. He didn’t stop there because he knew Maxim would push him to the breaking point.
They weren’t going to go easy on one another, so Maxim didn’t hesitate to fight in an unexpected manner. It was crucial to adapt to the opponent on the fly, he played passive and allowed Timur’s aggression to get the better of him. The frustration on his expression only spurred Maxim to taunt him some more. An overstep left Timur unstable after Maxim parried his fist.
One swift motion and Timur let out a frustrated groan, his back meeting the ground again. Before he could confess he wished to give up, Maxim straddled his torso and grasped his wrists, pinning them above his head. His face was close, breath ghosting over Timur’s skin and the sensation was too provoking.
“You’re no match, hm?” Their scuffle had sated Maxim’s ego. He nudged his face against Timur’s neck, just able to catch his scent masked by deodorant. Maxim freed one of the wrists so he could reach down between Timur’s legs and palm his crotch to feel his growing arousal. “You get off on this, don’t you? Getting thrown around.”
“It was mostly the choking,” Timur admitted with an unabashed smile. They held each other’s gazes for a solid moment and Maxim’s brow twitched upwards. He shouldn’t be surprised at this point, but oftentimes he forgot the friskier side of his lover. Like a switch had turned on in his head, Maxim returned to the present and captured Timur in a sudden kiss, the kind that had them even more breathless than they already were.
The gym door was closed but not locked. If someone were to walk in on them, they would be greeted with this steamy view of Maxim’s hand stuffed down Timur’s sweatpants, their bodies pressed against one another and mouths moving in fervent wanton for more and more. The pleasing sound of Timur moaning into their kiss had Maxim tempted to take him right there and then, but he knew it would be disappointing to end this early after so much buildup beforehand.
“I should’ve known what you were planning,” Maxim murmured as he pushed up Timur’s t-shirt, greedy hands running over tensed abdominal muscles and feeling the sweat resting on his skin. There was nothing more sublime than this, the satisfying feel of the male body that made Maxim’s headspace an empty void, dedicated to worshipping such beauty. He didn’t care for the passing sounds around them, he just wanted Timur and Timur alone. “I would’ve been more gentler.”
“No. I like it when you’re aggressive,” Timur told him in pure honesty, enjoying the scratch of Maxim’s stubble against his abs, the wet tongue licking a stripe along his happy trail. A hand grasped for his throat again, applying gentle pressure as Maxim returned to kiss him.
There was never anything wrong with too much tongue, not in their case. If anything, it only helped to get Timur harder. Sometimes it was a little overwhelming, but the good kind that left his heart beating faster and his toes curling at the squeamish sensation of the saliva and their tongues. Maxim’s affections were often chaste and it was easy to tell when he was in a different kind of mood.
“That dirty mind of yours, Glazkov.” Maxim touched himself as he shifted forwards, now straddling Timur’s chest. This position was always incredibly enticing, one which made Timur’s mouth salivate and he yearned to take in Maxim’s cock, to taste him and feel the vigour of his powerful body straining to feel more. “Playing me like a damn fiddle.”
Timur wanted to grasp the waistband of Maxim’s tracksuit bottoms and pull them down, but his arms were trapped and all he could do was wait patiently. “You walked right into it,” he told Maxim with an innocent look because he knew he was right. It was well known between them that it was the law of the universe for their sparring sessions to end up with irresistible sexual tension and it seemed that Maxim chose to ignore all the warning signs.
Realising he was correct, Maxim gave a quiet huff and pushed down his trousers. He didn’t want to waste time, not since choking out Timur with a headlock had filled his mind with so many daring thoughts and animalistic fantasies. He didn’t have to give any commands or utter a single word for Timur to part his lips. It was an automatic response ingrained within him the second Maxim straddled his upper torso.
It was far easier for Maxim to fuck his face when Timur was laying down rather than servicing him on his knees. Timur made sure to tilt his head back and relax his throat. There was a small part of him that was prideful of his ability to deepthroat. It wasn’t a skill that was as apparent in comparison to his artworks or marksmanship, but nothing gave him a greater sense of accomplishment than hearing Maxim tell him that he gave the best blowjobs he’d ever experienced in all his life.
Obscene, wet noises echoed through the empty gym alongside Maxim’s muffled groans. His voice was gravelly and low, breaths wavering as he thrust his hips and the occasional hitch in his breath was beginning to drive Timur wild. All he could do was continue to take him and maintain his composure to avoid choking which was getting harder to do as the minutes crawled by. Maxim’s cock was generously girthy, the kind that felt just right and this meant obstructing Timur’s breathing when he went in deep.
Tears were beginning to gather at the corners of Timur’s eyes from the rough treatment. As Maxim rocked his hips, he tested the limits of Timur’s throat, feeling the constriction of every swallow. There was something incredibly arousing about this act, even if it did feel slightly unpleasant to Timur. The sensation of heavy balls resting against his chin when Maxim stilled, the pull of his erection when he withdrew only to push back in with just as much eagerness. Timur closed his eyes and clenched his fists, using the brief pauses to gulp in the air he was deprived of. Saliva trickled down his chin, following his jawline down to his neck, beginning to settle on the plastic cover of the mat beneath him. His natural instincts were to reach up and wipe it away, but Maxim had complete control over him and he wasn’t going to give leeway until-
“Fucking hell, your mouth is amazing,” Maxim told him as he pulled out, brows furrowed in concentration to stave off an orgasm. He remained settled on Timur’s chest for a moment longer, enjoying the view of his lover almost tipsy from asphyxiation, the gleam of spit down his chin.
Their eyes met and Timur gave a playful squirm underneath him, that charming smile brightening his dazed expression and he managed to reach a hand up to brush against Maxim’s side. “Your dick is amazing,” he countered, his soft laughter was hoarse.
In a calculated manner to hide his embarrassment, Maxim eased off and grasped Timur’s hips, flipping him prone onto his belly before coaxing him onto all fours. “It’ll feel amazing in your ass,” he added with his signature haughtiness, not the type to engage in a cheesy exchange of compliments. He tugged down Timur’s sweatpants in an impatient rush, failing to do so until Timur loosened drawstrings clenching it secure around his hips. “New underwear?”
As far as he recalled, he hadn’t seen that particular jockstrap amongst the laundry before. The red elastic contrasted against Timur’s pale skin and the quality of the garment was evident in its neat stitching. He probably spent an outrageous price on this, but Maxim chose not to ask otherwise he’d lose his mind questioning why anyone would splurge on undergarments.
“You like it?” Timur asked, looking over his shoulder.
Maxim responded with a satisfied hum, hands massaging Timur’s fantastic glutes. The younger man took his leg days quite seriously. “Cute,” he commented in English. They broke into uncontrollable laughter and Maxim grasped the red waistband for leverage as he nuzzled his face against the cleft of Timur’s ass.
“Rip these ones and you’re buying me a new pair.” A warning worth saying, because sometimes Maxim got a little carried away by his own thoughts. Nothing else needed to be said and even if Timur wanted to, the sensation of a hot tongue lapping against his hole had removed every coherent thought from his mind.
Maxim’s fingers pried him apart for better access and he focused on making sure Timur was properly wet, generously laying on his saliva for ample lubrication. His prickly stubble rubbed Timur’s skin raw, but the colour looked amazing on him and the way Timur pressed back to gain more sensation only encouraged Maxim to continue. He reached a hand between Timur’s legs to palm his bulge, feeling the plush cotton stretched over his erection.
A wet patch rested just over the head of his cock where the fabric soaked up the pre-cum and Maxim was determined to make Timur cum hard in his jockstrap, forced to wear it on the car journey home and be reminded of their filthy acts in the gym. Then in the following days, the bruises on his body would ripen and bloom into colourful blotches across Timur’s skin. During their evenings watching the television, all Maxim had to do was press the pad of his finger against the spots and be entertained by the light hiss from Timur, how he squirmed under the grasp. Truth was, he liked the dull pain and it reminded him of what they did.
Pulling away when he sensed Timur was close, Maxim took in a breath and wiped his damp chin with the back of his hand. He met the sight of Timur casting a glance over his shoulder, a silly and satisfied smile on his face.
Words couldn’t describe or explain Maxim’s desire to fuck him senseless.
He reached into the pockets of his tracksuit bottoms and found the lubed condom he picked up earlier for this exact moment. It was good they kept a couple condoms in the glove-box of the car for urgent situations. A good camper always keeps his environment clean and Maxim was a firm supporter of ethical camping. He tore open the packaging and carefully rolled it down the length of his cock, making sure to take his time because he knew how much this sight aroused Timur.
Maxim pressed the tip of his cock against Timur’s hole and imagined the tightness stretched around his girth, such an addicting sensation and he wasted no time pushing in. Timur took him in readily. His fingers sunk into the sparring mat beneath them as he drew a steady breath through his nose and when Maxim stopped, he pressed back against him to feel Maxim to the hilt.
“God, you’re so big,” Timur murmured and he muffled a groan into his forearm, the push and pull of Maxim’s cock making shivers of pleasure run down his spine. “Just fuck me hard. I want you so bad-”
A sudden thrust cut him off and forced him prone against the mat. Maxim leaned the weight of his body against Timur, determined to drive him into the ground. He paused for a brief moment to push his tracksuit bottoms all down to his knees, allowing him more mobility to properly fuck Timur as requested.
To keep him anchored down, Maxim hooked his arms under Timur’s armpits, hands gripping firmly onto muscular shoulders to hold him close and steady. In this close proximity, he could feel the moisture of Timur’s body, the sweat on his skin from exertion and damn, did he smell good too.
Though the trouble with wanting to be fucked delirious, Timur had some difficulty keeping quiet. The thickness of Maxim’s cock rubbed all the right places and every thrust brushed against his prostate in passing, the depth always forcing a gasp. Not wishing to get caught, Maxim reached around to clasp his hand over Timur’s mouth as he continued to rut into him. He loved the way Timur squirmed underneath him and the rapid breaths he took in through his nose. If this wasn’t enough, Maxim slowed down his pace, his thrusts slower and deeper just the way Timur liked it. Without intending, he had slipped his middle and ring finger into Timur’s mouth to which the younger man’s tongue pressed against, the saliva drooling all over Maxim’s hand.
The condom reduced some sensation, though it didn’t change the fact that Timur was wonderfully tight. The heat, the constriction, the vigour of his body. He strained against the weight of Maxim pressing him down, trying to push back to meet every thrust but to no avail, Maxim had him in a submission hold for sure. All Timur could do was reach back, grasping a handful of Maxim’s thigh to encourage him to continue. The hand over Timur’s mouth muffled his moans sufficiently and made it hard to breathe, though the lack of air only heightened the pleasure gathering in his loins, tightening and building up.
He tried his best to hold off his orgasm, but Maxim wasn’t making it easy for him. It was this exact scenario of complete domination that made Timur uncontrollably turned on. He wished Maxim was more inclined to choke him from time to time, though the older man preferred to not take the risk in the heat of a distracting engagement. It wasn’t off the table though, they discussed it and came to an agreement that these things were limited to a controlled environment. That being said, sparring wasn’t a bedroom activity and Maxim had no qualms with putting Timur in a headlock. He would count the seconds and wait for the tap out.
It wasn’t often for Timur to come hands-free, but when he did, it was an experience to remember. Maxim could tell when he was close from the intensity of his breaths, the desperate and muffled groans that originated deep within his chest to beg Maxim not to stop. He wouldn’t, not when Timur was clenching around him in such an addictive manner that was simply divine.
A sudden silence overcame them, only punctuated by the sound of their heavy breathing. Timur tensed all over, thighs trembling as he climaxed and the moan he suppressed came out in a choked whimper. He settled into a calm stillness in Maxim’s arms, great muscles growing more lax and pliant as the relief of his release subdued him. He managed to wiggle the bottom half of his face free from Maxim’s sweaty palm.
Pleased at himself, Maxim adjusted his angle. He leaned back and rolled his cramped arms, slightly annoyed at the tightness of his shirt clinging to his chest, though not enough to take it off. Plus, there was something much more intense about the heat and discomfort of fucking on a sticky plastic mat. Ready to continue, he pressed Timur back down flat with his palms planted over each shoulder blade, not allowing him to get up until they were done here. Especially not after Timur had teased him during their brief sparring session.
A primal urge stirred within Maxim, the need to fuck Timur open and come deep inside of him. The thought that his cock alone was enough for Timur to reach an orgasm had given Maxim a significant ego boost, had the act of dominating him repeatedly during their fights not achieved that already. With every snap of his hips, he had Timur biting onto his own knuckle to suppress his grunts. The expression of brows furrowed upwards, eyes closed and how his shoulders tensed up, there was nothing better than this.
Pulling back momentarily, Maxim gave Timur’s cheek a firm slap and admired the red hand print blooming on his skin. He loved the way Timur looked stretched around him, stuffed so full and clenching as worn muscles stuttered and contracted, fatigued by everything thus far. To make their experience a little smoother, Maxim spat generously to help with the lubrication before he continued to thrust.
It was good that they had grown used to being quiet, all those nights spent in their dorm with thin walls and squeaky bed frames. They kept their own vocalisations suppressed for the most part, though it was harder to soften the sound of their skin making contact at the rate and intensity of Maxim bucking into Timur as if he wanted to permanently deboss the shape of the younger man into the mat.
A tightening, pleasurable sensation had captured Maxim entirely. Abdominal muscles drew taut and tense, his toes curled in anticipation of his approaching climax. Unable to keep himself raised on his arms, he leaned back down and nuzzled his face into the back of Timur’s neck. It was tempting not to, so Maxim licked a wet stripe along the younger man’s neck, his tongue tasting salty sweat. There wasn’t anything he didn’t love about Timur and nothing more he desired than to show his appreciation by coming inside of him.
Timur reached a hand back to feel the heavy body atop of him. When Maxim’s movements slowed and his thrusts were short and deep, breaths ragged as he controlled the sounds coming from himself, they both knew what was happening. Every powerful wave of pleasure overwhelmed his senses and all he could hear was the blood rushing in his ears as his thick cock twitched and pumped a hot load.
He remained inside of Timur for a moment longer, recovering from the sudden onset of fatigue that followed an especially good orgasm. Though along with the tiredness, Maxim’s common sense returned to him and he realised they ought to get moving before someone walked in. He pulled out, happy he had followed his intuition to use a condom because this would have been a big mess without it. It already was. As Timur stood on wobbly legs and pulled his sweatpants up, he noted the wet patch across the fabric of his jockstrap. Then he turned his gaze to the mat and frowned at the shine of wet hand prints and sweat.
They exchanged the same look, one that asked who was gonna clean this up. Without needing to speak, they both reached for the mat and hauled it up, deciding this was going to be a team effort.