Brett Swanson’s star-tattooed back flexes as he leans over Nick Sterling, who grips his own chest with calloused hands while the gym’s lockers and exercise balls blur behind them. Nick’s muscular arms stretch taut, his clean-shaven jaw tight as Brett’s weight presses down, the air thick with the scent of sweat and exertion. Their bodies move in sync, one pushing, the other holding, the bench creaking under the strain of, unfiltered strength.
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