by Cassie Cole
Like a good spotter, he didn’t move. He stayed close and ready. In the mirror I could see him staring at the bar and my arms, watching for signs that I needed help.
I felt a tingle of nervous excitement during each rep as my ass brushed against his gym shorts. Did he think anything of it, or was it simply platonic contact from our shared hobby?
I was groaning by the time I finished the last rep. I racked the weight loudly and then slumped forward on the bar.
“Nice job,” he said.
“Thanks.”
He went back to his bar to do another set of deadlifts. This time I didn’t try to conceal my admiration of his body as he pulled the weight off the floor and humped the bar.
“You’ve got good biceps,” I said when he was done.
“Thanks.”
“What’s your one rep max?”
“445.”
I whistled between my teeth.
It was all idle chit-chat. The kind of thing two dudes might say to each other at the gym. Just because it was a girl and a guy saying it didn’t make it inherently sexual.
Oh, but it feels that way.
I took a few deep breaths as I prepared for my last set. “I’m probably gunna ride the struggle bus on the last rep.”
“I’ll be watching.”
I readied the weight and stepped back. He leaned in, right against me. I could feel the heat coming off his body in waves from the massive muscles that were hot from his deadlifts. A machine for saving lives, all oiled up and ready to go.
Focus, Amy.
One rep. My ass wasn’t just brushing against him now: it was full on rubbing into his thigh. He didn’t flinch.
Two reps. His eyes in the mirror were still focused on the bar. All of this was innocent. Someone helping out their workout partner. It could be Christian or Sparks for all the sexual lust in his eyes.
Three reps. It was getting tougher now, and my elbows wobbled as I pushed the weight toward the ceiling. There was no way I could do five. Should I even try, or just call it quits after four?
Shoot. What was the point of having a spotter if you didn’t even try?
Four reps. With the weight halfway in the air, Angel reached forward and put his hands around my waist. Helping stabilize my torso so I could isolate my upper body on the lift. Jesus, his fingers felt warm on my skin. I lowered the weight and imagined his hands gripping my waist for a completely different reason…
Stop it. Daydream later. The gym was for workouts.
I took a deep breath and then launched into my final rep. I immediately knew I wasn’t going to be able to complete it. My triceps screamed as I stalled with the bar just above my eyes, searching for some hidden cache of strength. I let out a long groan. The bar lowered an inch as my arms failed.
“I got you,” Angel said, pushing forward to take the weight, hands gripping the bar next to mine. His entire body was pressed against me as he helped lower the bar safely to the rack, the metal banging loudly.
I kept my hands on the bar, and his hands slid over mine. They were so large they completely covered my hands. His lips were inches from my ear.
Neither of us moved.
“You got me,” I whispered.
16
Angel
I had to have her.
I’d been thinking about it since I came into the gym. Amy had an incredible body, tall and muscular. Give her a horn-helm and a different kind of ax and she’d look like a Viking warrior ready to storm a distant shore. She was a badass.
Spotting her was like five minutes of foreplay. The way she brushed against me was excruciating, especially since it was all so innocent. There was no way she was coming on to me. She was just lifting weights before our shift began.
By the time she got to her last set, I was struggling to hide my hard-on while still doing my job as a spotter.
I was zoning out. Her elbows wobbled as she stalled with the weight halfway into the air. I rushed forward to get under the bar, my body pressing against hers as I helped her lower it, slamming it into the rack. Amy exhaled and slumped her shoulders.
In the rush to help her, I’d forgotten about my manhood pressing against the leg of my shorts. Now it was wedged firmly in between her ass cheeks through her own shorts, along with her thighs against mine. She breathed heavily, bringing her shoulders up against my chest.
“I got you,” I said.
She looked at me in the mirror. “You got me,” she whispered, the words conveying much more than relief.
She whirled around and kissed me, pressing her breasts against my chest. It took me by surprise but it was what I wanted deep down, had desired more than I was afraid to admit. I grabbed her face with both hands and kissed her harder, leaning in to feel her blonde hair brushing against my face as she moaned and writhed under my touch. She wrapped her arms around me and ran her fingers along my back, feeling my muscle like a blind woman exploring a piece of furniture, truly seeing it for the first time.
I wanted to touch every inch of her too.
She pulled away with lust in her eyes, then yanked her shorts off. Her panties were pink cotton, hugging her hips wonderfully. She kissed me again, only for a few seconds this time, then turned around.
I was an ass man, and Amy had a primo one. Fat in all the right ways, wide and round and muscular. It was a gorgeous sight as she bent over the squat rack for me. I wanted to stick my face in it, worship it.
“Hurry,” she said, pulling her panties aside and giving her hips a little wiggle of invitation.
I practically ripped my shorts off. She spread her legs and reached a hand up between her legs and rubbed herself. I stepped up behind her and guided my tip in between her lips, feeling her wet and waiting. I pushed with the slightest amount of pressure, feeling her out, but she felt so good and I slid inside so perfectly that I couldn’t stop myself from thrusting forward, taking her in one smooth stroke.
“Oh God!” she breathed, looking up at me in the workout mirror. “Your cock feels so good.”
“You’re so tight,” I managed to say. I grabbed her ass with both hands, getting big handfuls of the muscle to grip. Her tight little rosebud looked so perfect from this angle, with the base of my cock just beneath it, the rest of my manhood buried inside.
I gave in to my last shreds of inhibition and moaned loudly as I moved.
17
Amy
Sometimes a girl just wanted to fuck.
Making love was great. Slow, passionate kissing and fondling, teasing things out, exploring each other with your lips while the suspense and desire grew. Savoring the feeling of penetration before continuing, two bodies rocking together like a boat on the ocean.
But sometimes I wanted to fuck. To get right down to business, hard and fast. The anticipation while weight lifting was all the foreplay I needed today; by the time I kissed him my engine was hot and ready to go. And I wasn’t in the mood to drag it out.
He thrust inside me with a fervency that mirrored my own desperate desire, slamming his hips against my ass like he was doing a deadlift. I moaned loudly, uninhibited since we were the only two people at the station. He grabbed my ass cheeks and squeezed, pulling them apart like they were dough. I knew he liked what he saw, and that turned me on even more.
Like I was doing a squat, I bent my knees and pushed my ass back against him, taking every inch that I could.
“One rep,” he said as he pulled out slowly, then slid back in. “Two reps…”
“Mmm, you have good form,” I said, catching his gaze in the mirror. His Latino face was hard and handsome, and he bit his lip while smiling. His upper body was magnificent in his tank top; I wish he’d take it off so I could get a better look at the rest of him.
“I try to focus on form,” he said. “The faster I go, the more my form deteriorates.”
“There’s something to be said for cardio,” I said, pushing back against him. “Working up a sweat.”
“Can’t argue with that.” A
ngel gripped my ass tighter and thrust hard, again and again, throwing aside all hesitation. I arched my back and moaned as each stroke crashed into me like a battering ram of ecstasy, hitting me at that perfectly intense angle. I moaned louder as the pleasure took over, unable to hold back. That seemed to drive Angel on faster and faster until his face was tight with concentration.
“Harder,” I demanded. “Fuck me harder!”
His biceps and triceps flexed as he worked me from behind, a pillar of a man taking me right there in the gym. Soon I was rubbing my clit, urging myself toward an orgasm I so desperately wanted, praying he could last long enough for me to get there, because the ecstasy on his face was so intense I knew he would come at any moment.
“Ohh fuck,” I moaned. I was so close! “Oh fuck me, fuck me, fuck me.”
He was pumping like a jackhammer then, sweat glistening off his body. The final sight of him drove me over the edge and I screamed a silent scream, arching my back and drinking in the sight of him as the intense pleasure crashed over me like a tempest, knocking me down and threatening to buckle my knees.
“I’m coming!” he cried, pulling back until he slid out of me. I felt empty without him but then I watched in the mirror as he stroked himself and then I felt the hot spray of his come on my lower back, and on my ass, and all over both of my cheeks as he roared deeply.
I started laughing first, then he did. The giddy laughter of two people who had just given in to something they’d wanted for longer than either knew.
“Such a gentleman,” I said as he retrieved a towel and cleaned off my back. He pulled me into a standing position and took me in his arms, kissing me and staring deeply into my eyes with the heavy post-coital look of bliss.
“That was…” he began. “That…”
I kissed him to shut him up. “You don’t need to put it into words.”
“Good. Because I’m not sure I can.”
“Me neither. But I know I enjoyed that more than my actual workout.”
“I don’t mind missing my deadlifts at all.”
We grinned and kissed each other again. His lips still tasted like the syrup from breakfast, something I hadn’t noticed before.
There was a distant hum which I didn’t recognize at first. “The garage door!” he said, rushing to pull his shorts on. I grabbed my own and slid them on only marginally slower.
“Angel?” Sparks yelled. “Got a bag of workout clothes you forgot.”
He stepped back until there was an unsuspicious amount of space between us. Sparks appeared in the doorway a moment later, a plastic bag in one hand. He paused to look at us and the room.
Does he know?
But then he snorted and said, “Only 105?”
It took me a moment to realize he meant the weight on the bar. “That’s my overhead press,” I said.
“Your warmup set?” he said, then laughed at his own joke. He tossed the bag of clothes into the room. “Here ya go, Angel. Found those under your bunk, so you might wanna give them a wash.”
He disappeared, and then Angel and I shared a look.
*
Despite the dwindling time until our shift, I continued my workout. Squats and overhead press were done so I did hack squats, then bent-over rows. Angel was gone, but I couldn’t help but think of him while doing the rows. The way he felt behind me, his warm thighs against mine and his fingers digging into the meat of my ass…
By the time I returned to the kitchen to make my own batch of pancakes I had quite the appetite.
Never sleep with your unit mates.
I’d broken the rule twice now. First with Christian, and then with Angel. It was easy to hand-wave the first one off as the result of stress and alcohol mixing, but today with Angel was different. We were stone cold sober. We were just two young professionals who knew what we wanted in that moment.
Never sleep with your unit mates.
I expected to feel regret. I tried to feel guilty about it, repeating the words in my head like a missed question on a test. But all I felt was warmth and happiness. I didn’t regret what had happened with Angel this morning, or Christian the other night. I’d wanted to sleep with them.
Worse, I wanted to do it some more.
I felt a tingle at the thought of doing it again. Then a dreadful thought hit me: what if they’re jealous? They were close prior to coming to Station 47—what if they were jealous over me and I drove a wedge between them? Even though both incidents were casual, guys were weird about that sort of thing.
Women were too, for that matter.
Shit. Now that was something I didn’t want: tension between them thanks to little old me. If anything could poison a firefighter unit, it was something like that.
So, now what? Should I ignore it and hope it doesn’t become a problem? Should I tackle it head-on and talk to them both about it, together or individually? Or should I trust that they were close friends and would discuss it on their own terms?
Despite those worries, I remained certain of one thing: I wanted more.
I wolfed down six pancakes sopping with syrup while thinking about all this. Christian gave me a long smile as he came out of his room wearing his casual blues. Angel set up on the recliner with a magazine, but kept looking over the top at me from across the room. When nobody else was looking I gave him a wink.
Our first call of the day came a little bit later: a potential residential fire in Westgate, three miles south-east of us. We were all used to the station and our roles now, and were ready and driving out of the garage in record time.
Rather than think about the impending fire, I thought more about why I was so attracted to these guys. The bond between a firefighter unit took months to develop, sometimes even years. Trust, especially the trust that involved life and death, was something that had to be earned. Brick by brick building the foundation of a partnership.
Sleeping with Christian and Angel was like taking a shortcut. Suddenly we were connected in ways that would normally take longer. I was closer to them than I was two days ago. Right then, at that moment in the back of the fire engine, I trusted them as if we’d been working together for six months. But like any shortcut, it was a fragile thing compared to true camaraderie. I needed to be careful that I didn’t rely too heavily on it while our relationships built stronger around what we already had.
The fire was at a small two-story house with a metal chain fence around the outside, but it was out back rather than on the property itself. An older couple stood outside waving us down. Somewhere, a dog barked loudly. “Shed out back,” Christian announced as we pulled to a stop. “Wet the hose just to be safe while the rest of us approach with hand extinguishers.”
“Roger.”
The nearest hydrant was five houses down; I hopped off the back of the truck, grabbed the pack of hose and wrench, and took off like Usain Bolt. I wrapped the hose around the hydrant once, loosened the cap, then reached inside to check for trash. This one was filled with leaves and stagnant, smelly water, so I opened the valve just long enough to allow it all to float to the top and wash out.
“Hose ready for wetting!” I said when I’d clamped on the hose.
“Do it,” Christian commanded. “Then grab a hand extinguisher and meet us around the back.”
I obeyed until the hose thickened with pressure, then retrieved the last hand extinguisher from the truck and followed the sound of spraying. The little old lady was yelling something about a dog.
The back yard was a smattering of brown grass and mud, with a single tool shed about the size of a Volkswagen Beetle. Christian and Sparks were around the back side of it spraying foam, while Angel hit it from the front. By the time I added my stream of chemical spray to the mix there were no more flames, only smolder and smoke.
“Ma’am, was your dog inside the shed?” I asked, dreading the answer.
Thankfully, she shook her head. “No! He escaped! He likes to run around, he’s probably miles away by now…”
Chri
stian nodded to me while I went around to the front to help look for the dog. It ended up being across the street eating cat poop out of the neighbor’s flower bed. The yellow lab panted and rubbed his head against my uniform, and by then the owner had arrived with a leash.
Back at the fire, the others had contained it enough to keep it from spreading. It was a good thing the fence was metal, or else it would have definitely caught fire. Even still, we walked the perimeter and looked for any stray embers that might have spread.
“Someone did this,” the owner insisted. His wife had taken the dog back inside, where it continued to bark at the window. “It was no accident.”
“Maybe so,” Christian said while taking notes on a notepad. “But walk me through everything from the beginning. You first noticed the fire…?”
“Silvia was making tea. Black tea, no cream or sugar, the way one is supposed to drink it…”
While they chatted, Angel and I circled the shed. “It’s an old shed,” he said. “Or at least, it was.”
I nodded. I could see the remains of the yellow electrical lines; it probably had old or outdated wiring. A cold day like today, he probably dragged a space heater in there, which draws more power than most tools…
When we were behind the shed and out of view, I casually let my hand drag across the front of his crotch. Through the thick layers of turnout gear he probably didn’t feel anything, but the gesture was more out of playfulness than genuine sexual sensation. As such, he grinned sideways at me.
“Thanks for spotting me earlier,” I said. “I didn’t get a chance to thank you once the others got home.”
The way his olive skin blushed was adorable. And gorgeous. “Yeah, no problem.”
“Hope we can do it again some time.”