NATE RIVAS

 The intense lights of the New York are reflected in my helmet’s visor as I roam the streets in search of my target, like flashes of light mimicking the flashes of memories in my head. I haven’t been able to get what happened that night out of my mind. No matter how hard I try to put it behind me, to move on… it’s impossible. I vividly remember the sex, the attraction between our bodies… but I also remember the treacherous kick, your boot striking my face and knocking me to the side onto the canvas just as I had Adrian defeated beneath my fists. And then the sex again, your scent, your strength… everything blends in a way that blocks off my thoughts, letting nothing else in. You’ve built your own fortress inside my head, Marcus. Not even a week has passed, but I’ve already realized that the only way to put an end to this is to face you, man to man.

 I finally arrive at the immense skyscraper, which—after a couple of unfriendly run-ins—I’ve finally confirmed is Duval’s lair, where he’s hiding to recover from his wounds. And I’m sure you, Marcus, are with him as his devoted, indulgent, and protective lover. I park the motorcycle haphazardly, not caring much if it’ll still be here when I return, and I take off my helmet just as hastily. As I look up, I can’t help but let out a gasp of awe at the immense luxury building standing before me. It almost infuriates me even more, though, to think of the gilded cage it really is—the cage that has tamed the wild spirit of a fierce fighter. A gladiator—because that’s what Marcus is and always will be in my mind, for some reason. And it is precisely that Marcus I’ve come to awaken tonight. I enter the building, heading toward the private elevator that leads to the penthouse, drawing more than a few stares from the city’s elite—their reactions ranging from suspicion toward the biker invading their territory, to lustful glances at the attractive stranger, to fear of the fire burning in my gaze. When I finally find him, there’s no doubt that I’ve come to the right place: luxurious doors with gold trim, surrounded by Greek sculptures and columns, and flanked by the modern-day versions of two ancient titans—two walk-in closets in the form of men wearing black suits and sunglasses. The typical thug with no style or personality. I approach them, ready to do whatever it takes to make it up to the attic and face my fate.

 “Where do you think you're going, you fucking thug? I don't see you carrying any pizza or anything.” The man on the left puts his hand on my chest, clearly blocking my path. This time I don't smile, as my sarcastic spirit would normally have me do. I just give him a stern look out of the corner of my eye. "Take that hand away, or you might lose it. I’m here to see Mr. Duval, and you’re not going to stop me.” As expected, these men have no patience whatsoever. As soon as I say this, I feel the hand blocking me clench into a fist against my T-shirt. Before he can do anything else, I’m already twisting it, pulling on both his wrist and elbow at the same time and drawing a groan of pain. “What the hell  ?” 

His partner lunges at me, but before he reaches me, my right foot flies sideways into his stomach, my boot sinking in with a dull thud that knocks the wind out of him. The bodyguard I’m holding manages to punch me in the face with his free hand, but even though it knocks my head to the side, I can’t help but let out a smug little smile. “Pathetic—if this is the best Mr. Duval can buy to protect himself.”

MARCUS MERETRUS

The apartment is Silent. The splendid view, the ambient luxury, the rare and precious works of art fail to ease the tension that reigns here. Adrian recovers quite quickly from the injuries of his fight. I take care of him, showing myself to be as attentive as possible. But he resents me and doesn't hide his bad mood, barely answering my questions, refusing to let me approach him, he who is so mad about my body. I've put myself in a complicated situation by refusing to choose between Adrian and Nate. The furious look the latter gave me when I hit him to save my companion didn't bode well. I know he'll come for revenge.

To calm my nerves, I run in Central Park, hoping to meet Nate and settle the problem with bare hands in the shade of the trees, as we used to do in Greece under the olive trees. I spend hours in the apartment's private gym. My muscles are even more powerful. I've decided to get bigger and I'm taking all the doping products that the building's doormen can supply me. When I look at myself in the mirror, I see my pecs more massive, thick as a truck tire. As for my biceps, they've gained a few centimetres and the peak has the perfect shape of a rugby ball.

 Adrian made a terrible scene when he discovered the syringes. But I don't give a damn. I have nothing to lose. All I have left is this body of Hercules. Sometimes at night, I go to the city's underworld to fight in a bar or an underground room. The blows do me good and are a form of redemption. I let my opponent hit me to the limits. Then I break him with two or three movements, leaving him bloodied and unconscious on the floor.

The internal phone rings. It's Hubertus, the old doorman. He warns me that a weird guy wants to come up to our place. He just beat up the two other doormen who are both more like bodyguards, highly trained to protect the wealthy owners of the building. I know... I know it's him. He's downstairs. Nothing and no one will stop him from coming up to us. I feel shivers running through me. I look at myself one last time in one of the gym's large mirrors. My cock hardens under my shorts. The decisive moment has arrived, but will I be able to choose between Adrian and Nate?

ADRIAN DUVAL

The house phone rings. I pick up and hear Marcus’s voice, followed by Hubertus’s, our old and faithful doorman. He warns us that a man is fighting with the two security guards. They are well trained, yet from what I understand, they are being torn apart. Marcus’s silence speaks volumes. I have understood too. It is Nathan. Hubertus asks whether he should call the police. Marcus tells him not to. It is better this way. Several days have passed since my fight. I still bear its wounds and scars. The pain reminds me every moment that I lost, but, above all, that I lost the man I love.

 Marcus is making desperate attempts to win back my affection. Yet I resent him, probably out of pride, for having saved me, for not allowing Nathan to destroy me. I should have left the cage on a stretcher, not cradled in Marcus’s powerful arms. I rise and stare out at  New York, listening to the sirens in the distance. I know Nathan has come to claim the prize of his victory. I also know Marcus will not surrender so easily. It is to his credit that he wants to remain faithful to me. But I do not want his gratitude. I want his love. And that, I know, I have lost. This cannot continue.

He is destroying himself. I have started drinking again, but Marcus mutilates his own body, swallowing dangerous drugs and deliberately putting himself at risk in the worst parts of the city. He has no idea how much I love him. That is why I am prepared to give him up to Nathan. Nathan is the only man who can save him, the only one who can protect him from the path of self-destruction he has chosen. I put on a pair of Bermuda shorts and an Etro T-shirt. I want to look presentable when I welcome my former opponent.

NATE RIVAS

The first thug’s skull smashes into one of the marble columns in the foyer with a violent impact. Blood stains the whitish surface with a crimson river as his face slides down the column to the floor. Out of the corner of my eye, I see what Adrian’s receptionist or personal servant must be (who knows how many fucking servants this guy has) frantically calling on the phone at the private desk. Perfect—they already know I’m coming. That’s just fine with me. On the other side, I see the second guard charging at me, mustering what little strength he has left. I can’t afford to waste any more time or energy on these two assholes—they’re just the appetizer before the main course. I’ll need all my reserves to face what awaits me upstairs. So, I dart to the side and crouch for a moment, driving my left fist into his solar plexus, using his own momentum against him. The man splatters the spotless, shiny floor with his spit and blood. He can’t even look me in the face as I step back, pushing him at the same time to create just enough distance to deliver a tremendous spinning heel kick to his chin that sends him spinning like a top to the floor. The man behind the counter can’t believe his eyes. But I don’t need to threaten him, which makes things easier for me. It’s not my style to mug an older man, and the poor devil already has enough on his plate.

“M-Mr. Duval is waiting for you upstairs, p-please. There’s no need for any more v-violence.” The poor guy hides his fear as best he can, and to be honest, he does a more than decent job of it. “Get in the elevator, and it’ll take you straight to his penthouse.” I look at him, relaxing my expression for a moment and allowing myself a smile. “Thanks, that’s very kind of you.” The man sighs behind me as I step into the luxurious elevator, probably more expensive than my entire apartment plus my motorcycle. The doors close automatically behind me, and I let out a heavy exhale as I stretch my neck from side to side. The time has come. I don’t know exactly what awaits me upstairs, but I do know that’s where I need to be. I have to face Marcus. My cock stirs beneath my jeans. I’ve never been in better shape than I am now—my muscles perfectly defined; with a girth that’s just right for my build and height. I know I’m ready. I’ve never been more certain of anything. Until the double doors swing open, and I see you standing there, wearing nothing but pink shorts, and I take in your massive build, your enormous biceps that seem wider than the columns below. Thighs like tree trunks, and those pecs as big as a double bed. Your body completely overshadows the luxury of the room around us, so astonishingly opulent that I don’t even know how to describe it. I only see Adrian behind you, and that mere sight makes the blood in my veins burn, driving me wild. Preparing me for what’s to come. “Marcus... it's time we settle this, you traitor. And this time we're face to face.” Even as I say this, the truth is I can't take my eyes off your sweaty pecs.

MARCUS MERETRUS

The elevator doors open. He is there, smelling of leather, sweat, and blood. I can see the shape of his cock under his jeans. My heart is pounding. I feel both anger and desire. I am angry with him for insisting. He burst into my life. But he is not Nate. He is Nathan. I want to rush at him, smash his handsome face, and send the elevator back down. My muscles tense like those of a bull ready to face its enemy. I hear your challenge, your demand that we settle this. Like the barbarian I still am, I step forward with my fists clenched, ready to destroy you. But Adrian’s powerful grip stops me.

 He crushes my shoulder, his fingers digging into my flesh. The steroids I have just taken, and the intense training I started before you interrupted me, have destroyed what little patience I had left. I turn around and stare fiercely at my lover. He smiles at me. I hear him say that you are right. He argues for a duel and lets you choose how we will fight. My cock grows even harder at the idea, but mostly because I am completely bewitched by your appearance and your smell.

ADRIAN DUVAL

They stand face-to-face, like two lions ready to fight. Marcus is angry, unreasonable, drugged, and full of rage. He could destroy the man he blames for putting him in an impossible situation. Nathan looks magnificent and noble, like a knight who has come to demand satisfaction for an insult to his honour. Their scent fills the hall, the same heavy scent that must once have filled the underground chambers of a Roman arena. I stop Marcus suddenly, digging my fingers deep into his shoulder, still shining with sweat. He gives me a hateful look. The drugs he takes to make himself stronger are turning him into a machine that can be driven mad by the smallest frustration. “I agree with Nathan. It is time to settle this matter, Marcus. It is time for the two of you to face each other.

For a moment, I feel like a wealthy Roman patrician arranging a fight between two gladiators from his own stable. I feel my cock growing hard. I realize that both men attract me in their own way. But this is no longer about them and me. Marcus must make his choice. Perhaps fighting hand-to-hand against a man who looks so much like Nate will reveal the truth to him. Perhaps merciless blows will bring him back to his senses. I do not know why, but I already feel that Nathan has the advantage because of his calm determination. I give them no choice and lead them toward my private gym, which is filled with Marcus’s powerful scent. I notice a syringe lying on the floor and give him an angry look. Then I open two wide sliding doors. A wrestling room appears before us, half open onto a large outdoor terrace

I turn toward Marcus and Nathan, letting my eyes move slowly from one to the other. “This will not be an ordinary wrestling match. You will fight as men fought in ancient Greece” I cross the room and open a carved wooden cabinet. From it, I take a small, rounded flask filled with olive oil. “The Greeks called this an aryballos. I will cover your completely nude bodies with its oil before entering the ring. It will make every hold more difficult and force you to rely on strength, balance, and instinct.” I place myself between them. “There will be no weapons, no biting, and no fingers in the eyes. This is not a sporting contest, and I will not ask either of you to fight gently. The struggle will end only when one man submits, loses consciousness, or is no longer capable of standing. You came here to settle your conflict. Now you will settle it as honestly as possible.”

I watch Marcus remove his shorts and trainers. His half-hard cock swings with each of his movements. Nathan slowly begins to undress. I pour a generous amount of oil into the palm of one hand, ready to spread it over their two magnificent bodies. The oil comes from Olympia, from a local producer who still uses traditional methods of cultivation and production. Its distinctive scent mingles with Marcus’s sweat and with the smell of leather and blood clinging to Nathan. My cock is as hard as an olive branch. Only the sand is missing to complete the illusion that I am standing in a palaestra at the beginning of an ancient contest.

NATE RIVAS

Before the tension can immediately escalate into a savage bare-knuckle fight between Marcus and me, Adrian—always the calmer one—steps in. For a moment, I curse at him and am on the verge of pushing him away with a blow. I just want to go head-to-head with the statuesque Marcus. With a gladiator of your brutal stature and undeniable appeal. But then, when I see you turn around at your lover’s request, still without taking your eyes off me, I find myself following you through the luxurious rooms like a dog following the scent of meat. The smell of your sweat draws me in like an inescapable trap. We cross the gym—spectacular like the rest of the place—and even more so because the scent of you intensifies, permeating every corner of it. Marcus… my cock stirs beneath my jeans. My eyes are fixed on the movement of your buttocks beneath your shorts. Before I realize it, we’ve reached a room opening onto the balcony, with wrestling mats and even sculptures of muscular, naked Greek men. The perfect setting—for some reason, it makes me feel right at home, especially in your company. The fresh air snaps me out of my thoughts and brings my focus back to Adrian’s words.

The rules he describes—a struggle between two completely naked, oiled bodies—once again make my cock grow hard and twitch nervously inside my boxers. I fall silent for a few moments, gazing into your eyes—serious like mine, menacing. “All right, one way or another I’ll win, so let’s make it more exciting.” As I say this, I take off my leather jacket, sneakers, socks, and T-shirt, leaving them neatly folded outside the wrestling mat. Then, looking at both of you, I unbutton my jeans when I see that you’re already naked, with hardly any clothes left to take off as it were. Your impressive semi-erect cock makes me let out a brief sigh, remembering that night. And many others… perhaps in my dreams. I take off my jeans and am finally completely naked, my cock just as hard as yours. Slowly, I step into the wrestling circle, and we find ourselves face to face, about two meters apart. Two muscular titans—one with lighter skin and the other slightly darker, blond hair versus dark hair—both bodies shaved, me slightly less bulky but with muscles that are even a little more defined. The perfect rivals—a work of art made flesh the moment we lock up in the match. I can smell the oil now, ready to coat our bodies. It looks like Adrian is going to enjoy this, though I can’t take my eyes off you, Marcus. My enemy. My other half.

MARCUS MERETRUS

You are standing only a few steps away from me. Far enough that I cannot drive my knee into your abs or smash my fist into your Greek-god face. Close enough for me to smell you and study your perfect body, its muscles lean but sharply defined. I cannot tear my eyes away from your hard cock, challenging me like a sword raised at the beginning of a fight. I know I am going to win. I have never felt so powerful. I have never felt so brutal. My anger has stripped me of all reason. My only regret is that Adrian chose bare-handed wrestling instead of a pankration fight, where my blows could have destroyed you without mercy and left you bleeding on the floor.

And yet, beneath that rage, I feel the struggle inside me dragging me back to our first meeting. To our savage fuck. To the way your body impaled itself on mine. I look at Adrian and see his cock hard beneath his shorts. Is it because of me? Because of you? Or because he is about to oil both of us? I want to tear the bottle from his hands, but he is already standing in front of me. I feel the thick oil running down over my massive pecs. His palm presses firmly against my skin as he spreads it across me.

 I keep staring at you, and my cock grows even harder. Not because of Adrian’s touch as his hands linger over every ridge and hollow of my Herculean body, but because I know that soon I will be inside you, showing you that I am the dominant one. You are not Nate. You are only Nathan. And I am going to devour you.

ADRIAN DUVAL

The evening is cool, but the atmosphere inside my gym is heavy and hot. Marcus’s scent hangs over his kingdom. Naked in the middle of the mats, he looks like Hercules waiting to face one of his labours. I can see how deeply shaken he is by the situation. The struggle inside him is written across his face, where anger battles desire. He still has not understood that he has already lost. That you, Nathan, through your determination to possess him, through your courage and the challenge you threw at him, have become his equal. I approach him. His cock is as hard as mine. I pour oil over that thick chest where I once loved to fall asleep. My hand moves slowly across his skin, spreading it over the entire surface. Then I move down to his abs, as hard as marble. I think I should have your two bodies sculpted while locked together in a wrestling hold, like the statues surrounding us. Because of you, they are about to come alive.

I pour another generous measure of oil into my palm and turn my attention to his thighs, as thick as olive-tree trunks, traced with small veins beneath his fine skin. I notice how much muscle he has gained. Yet he remains perfect, beautiful and athletic. I will not allow him to destroy this work of art. I know Nate will support me. I move behind him, and the perfection is there as well: a broad back carved into a V, firm, striated buttocks, calves shaped like bowling pins. His eyes remain fixed on Nate, who follows my every movement, his cock raised, rigid and hard like a gladiator’s sword. I inspect every part of Marcus’s body one last time. Even his cock is oiled. He shines like the sun, every contour of his body brought into relief. The fight will not be easy. In a palaestra, the sand would gradually make the bodies less slippery, while the sun and sweat would dull their shine. But here, nothing will lessen your condition. I turn toward Nathan. “Your turn. With your permission.”

NATE RIVAS

 I watch closely and with absolutely undisguised interest as Adrian massages each of your muscles. Every millimetres of your skin, transforming it into a shimmering surface under the artificial lights of the terrace that opens out onto the Manhattan night. That lighting—the contrast of the darkness and the oil reflecting the light on your body—makes you stand out even more, your silhouette perfectly outlined against the night sky or the black surface of the mat. My cock stirs nervously between my legs, pointing even higher. Thinking of intertwining with your body as it glides in the fight and pressing myself against it. Then Adrian finishes his work, and I can’t help but admire him until he turns to me. I struggle to refocus on his words. But it’s the next necessary step for the fight, so I focus on it—or at least I try to. “Go ahead.”

 I pull my arms slightly away from my body, and Adrian nods silently and goes about his work while I keep my gaze fixed on you, Marcus. The object of my fury and my desire. Yet I feel Adrian’s expert hands firmly running over my shoulders. Shoulders that will bear your weight in the fight. Caressing and gauging my arms. Biceps that will strangle your neck during the struggle to suffocate you and subdue you. He then moves on to my pectorals and abs, tracing every groove between them and kneading my nipples between his fingers. Bringing to life the torso that will crush your body beneath its musculature. He continues sliding his fingers down to oil my legs, muscular and strong like two columns. Legs that will trap your neck, your torso, or your very own legs during a brutal fight, seeking to choke the air out of you or immobilize you. I then feel his fingers between my buttocks, shaping both, feeling them firm between his fingertips. An ass that will be yet another weapon in the fight and the object of your desires once again. And finally, after just a few seconds of hesitation, he begins to oil my erect cock, which elicits a soft moan of pleasure and, above all, a furious reaction inside you—one that signals the fight is about to begin sooner than expected. The cock that will penetrate you and take your ass brutally once this is over—to completely subdue you—is ready and oiled, just like the rest of my body.

When it finally ends, we are both pure avatars of the Greek gods whose statues surround us. And we are ready to fight, entwining our bodies tightly to inflict maximum pain on our enemy, until he surrenders amid cries of agony, thereby undeniably asserting our manhood.

MARCUS MERETRUS

 I follow every movement of Adrian, every hesitation, every movement that seems endless on certain parts of your body. Each time, I imagine how I will dismantle this fighting machine. You, tight in my arms, your bones cracking under my violent grip. Your arms pinned to the ground, paralyzed and unable to strike me. Your cock and balls crushed under my knee. Your muscular ass that I will soon be the master of. Your face twisted in pain with your grimacing mouth that will soon beg for mercy. My cock is hard, pointing at you like a threat. It too wants to fight. When I see Adrian linger on your cock, when I hear your moan, I am consumed by jealousy. I resist the urge to throw myself at you and start the lesson you deserve. You don't take your eyes off me. I know you're imagining all the pain you'll be able to inflict on me. But you're not Nate, just Nathan, an insignificant underground fighter. And you have no chance.

ADRIAN DUVAL

I've only had violent contact with Nathan. I was able to appreciate his athletic physique, his hard and well-defined muscles during our brutal fight. His physique is less impressive than Marcus's, but a particular energy emanates from him. His scent is also different. Marcus carries the brute and aggressive smell of crappy locker rooms in gyms or fights, an ammonia and metallic scent. Nathan's is wilder, that of an adventurer, a mix of leather, motor oil, and cold tobacco. My hands glide over this magnificent body that seems to have come from the past and has nothing to envy from all the statues that surround us. I linger on his pecs, even daring to play with his nipples. He is docile, focused on Marcus, whom he doesn't take his eyes off.

 His body radiates heat. His arms are hard as bronze and his abs a concrete barrier. I hesitate when I reach the level of his crotch. But the rule requires that the entire body be covered. I glide gently over his already hard sex, discovering the red and shiny glans. He moans and my heart beats wildly. Fate is cruel for making me meet him under these circumstances. I position myself behind him and take care of his powerful back, kneading his buttocks which are round and muscular. I see Marcus's furious gaze. He has lost all restraint. I've never seen him like this. The drogues have transformed him, and it seems to me that he has lost his sense of proportion. Nathan is magnificent. I'm going to put away the precious bottle of oil and take the opportunity to turn on the hidden cameras in the walls that will film their fight. I gesture for them to advance. And I give the signal for the fight, "Ὁ ἀγὼν ἀρχέσθω. Ho agôn archésthô. Let the combat begin.

ROUND 1

NATE RIVAS

 When Adrian finishes rubbing that oil all over our bodies—oil that somehow makes my skin feel so familiar and comfortable—he steps aside from the fighting area and utters a few words I should never have heard in my entire life. I shouldn’t have, because I’ve never spoken Greek. So why do I understand their meaning perfectly? I don’t need the translation you provide, Marcus, to know that the fight has begun. I immediately go on guard, without taking my eyes off that Herculean naked body for even an instant. With my fists open—unlike what I’m used to in my mixed martial arts fights—since in this wrestling match, victory won’t be achieved through strikes, but through the holds that the oil allows. Through holds that make our opponent scream in pain, immobilize him, and finally force him to surrender in our arms and legs. And I’m more than willing to make you scream.

Crouching slightly, we circle each other, building the tension in a crescendo that can only end one way. I try a few moves to grab your leg or your wrist, but you move expertly and manage—even though I managed to grab you during some of the moves—to free your limbs through sheer brute force. For my part, I rely mainly on my agility to evade your initial attacks. We both know these are just test runs, feeling out our opponent before the real assault. We stare at each other in silence, directly into each other’s eyes, without saying another word. Our aggressive movements—and our cocks, hard as stone spears—speak for us. Hate and desire. Lust and violence. Fury and love. Our feelings intertwine tonight to finish what began… just a couple of weeks ago? Really, only that time?

MARCUS MERETRUS

 Let the games begin. I suddenly feel all the sensations of combat in an arena. The excitement, the taste of danger, the uncontrolled brutal aggression, the desire to break the opponent surge within me. Only the crowd's cheers are missing. All these ancient statues surrounding us take me back to the gardens of patrician villas where I was hired to fight. But with Nathan, there's something more. A form of uncontrollable desire that makes my dick hard and heavy. Oil flows over me, partially covering my barbaric Alpha scent. We observe each other, we assess. I know this body. I've lifted it, penetrated it, conquered it, but I've never fought it. I'm heavier, more muscular, probably stronger. But you have the speed, the agility of a feline. You try to grab me, to make me fall, but your attempts fail.

 I wait for the opportunity. Suddenly I rush at you like a bull. My arms wrap around your waist. I lift you trying to maintain the hold. I feel your hands on my massive pecs trying to push me away. The oil makes you slippery, but I compensate with brute force, my fingers digging into your flesh. I tighten my grip, my muscles straining as I hoist you upward, using my superior weight to my advantage. Your torso slams against my shoulder with a solid thud. Your head rests partly on my back and shoulder. I hear your grunt of pain. Your warm breath slides on my back. Your scent envelops me. My dick presses against your rock-hard abs. Intense sweat drips on my oiled skin, mixing with the oil. I shift my weight, preparing to drive my knee toward your inner thigh to unbalance you further.

 With a powerful twist of my hips, I throw us both backward, using your momentum against you. We crash onto the wrestling mat with a heavy thud, my body absorbing most of the impact. 

I immediately tighten my bear hug, my massive biceps crushing your ribs as I roll to pin you beneath me. You're now on your back, trapped under my weight, your chest heaving as you struggle for breath. Your slick skin makes it difficult to maintain my grip, but my years of gladiatorial training serve me well. I spread my knees wide, anchoring myself to the mat as I press my full weight down on you. I shift slightly, adjusting my position to maximize my weight distribution, making it even harder for you to escape. My hard dick throbs against your abs, a testament to my desire and dominance. I want to crush you, to possess you completely, to make you mine in every way possible. But even as I apply pressure, I'm savouring this moment, this intimate battle between us, wanting it to last forever.

NATE RIVAS

 When your chest crashes into my body, I feel my whole being vibrate, as if someone had struck a gong with a mallet, but I manage to stay on my feet. I press my face against your back, inhaling the scent of oil mixed with that of your wild, masculine sweat. A scent that awakens my warrior instinct more and more. You try to lift me up, to throw me off balance, while my erect cock bangs against your chin again and again feeling the hairs of your beard brush against me. I try to hold on by wrapping my arms around you from above, sliding my hands over your oiled torso, rubbing your muscles, but finally you shift the centre of gravity and knock us overusing my own momentum. The impact makes me let out another moan of pain.

 But the worst comes next, when I feel your full weight on my body, crushing me, pinning me to the wrestling mat, while your arms wrap around my waist like a vise, suffocating me, squeezing so hard it feels like you’re trying to break my back. I fill my lungs—my entire torso—with air and tense my muscles to the max to resist your grip, but grunts of effort mixed with pain escape between my clenched teeth. Even so, despite the pain, feeling you this close—our genitals pressed against each other, against your body, sliding with zero friction thanks to the oil—is distractingly stimulating.

But I’m coming to my senses—I’m not going to lose to you. I’m not going to let you dominate me, let you think you can fuck me and toy with me, much less defeat me in a fight. So, I use my free arms and legs, wrapping my thighs around your waist. My quadriceps tense to the max as I lock my ankles around you and squeeze the marble column that is your torso between my legs, just as you do to me in your arms. I writhe beneath you, and using my free arms, I plant my hand on your chin, pulling your neck back with all my strength—pushing to make you suffer while also gaining some breathing room for my lungs—just as my right hand seeks to push against your massive pectorals. The oil, however, makes this more difficult and slides down your body. We growl with effort and rage like two wild beasts, rolling around on the floor.

MARCUS MERETRUS

Our bodies are entangled, forming a single mass of muscular flesh. I grunt in pain when your thighs crush my waist and you push my head back. I clench my teeth to not give in to the sharp bolts of pain that shoot through my body. In all areas, pain has been part of my life, both in combat and in sex. I feel my dick dripping with precum that dries on our oiled skin, releasing an ammoniacal odour. Our struggle resembles more a brutal fuck. I release my hold and try to break your hold. My biceps swell and I realize how much muscle I've gained. The veins form an intense network under my parchment-like skin, but my hands slide on your thighs. With a primal roar, I channel all my pain into rage. Instead of pushing against your crushing legs, I drive my thumbs deep into the soft tissue of your inner thighs, targeting the nerve clusters.

 Your gasp of pain is all I need. As your grip momentarily falters, I rip my torso free, my muscles screaming in protest. Before you can recover, I lunge forward, my forehead connecting brutally with your nose. I feel the cartilage give way under the impact. A warm spray of blood mists across my face, mixing with the sweat and oil on my skin. The coppery taste fills my senses as I see you clutching your face, crimson flowing between your fingers. I don't give you a moment to recover, grabbing your hair and forcing your head back, my other hand wrapping around your throat. "Now we're even," I growl, my voice thick with lust and violence, my blood-smeared cock throbbing against your stomach

ADRIAN DUVAL

I watch these two magnificent bodies rolling on the ground, covered in oil and sweat, glistening under the room's spotlights. They remind me of the Laocoön, where the sculptor captured the brute strength of a father who must save his children from a terrible serpent. Here, the serpent is desire. The mat is covered with traces of olive oil and sweat. They roll over each other without truly gaining the upper hand. Then suddenly Marcus strikes, awakening the barbaric viper that sleeps within him. Nathan seems to emerge from a dream. As if desire had made him forget the struggle. Rage is written on his bloodied face. Marcus speaks to him, and Nate's eyes flash with lightning. Marcus's muscular arm is extended, revealing insane forearms covered in thick veins. His hand grips Nathan's throat, showing the fabulous peak of his bicep. The struggle has just taken on another dimension.

NATE RIVAS

Your fingers pierce the skin of my thighs like a red-hot knife piercing steel. The pain forces me to loosen my grip, and the worst part that comes next isn’t that you escape my scissors, but the brutal impact of your head against my nose. I feel my skull slam brutally against the canvas from the impact, and blood gushes from my nose as the cartilage gives way under the battering ram of your forehead. “NNNGGHAAA!!” I groan in pain as I bring my hands to my face—a moment you take advantage of to throw your hands at my head, grabbing me by the hair and beginning to choke me with your other hand. Your strong, calloused fingers clamp down on my throat like a vice. My immediate reflex is to grab your wrist and try to free myself as the air stops flowing into my lungs. Your groin presses against the rest of my body in the chokehold, driving me into the mats. I growl in pain in short, choked bursts, unable even to scream in this position. I’ve fought many times, but never in such a personal way, with such intimate contact between our bodies. Somehow, despite the pain, as I desperately pound my fist against your pecs trying to push you away, I think about what I’ve been missing all these years.

But victory must be mine. So, I fight for it. Realizing that my current strategy isn’t working, I change my approach. Instead of grabbing your wrist, I pull my hand back and, opening my palm, deliver a hard blow from the outside to your elbow—which this time, thanks to the pain and the force, makes you release my neck and causes your arm to slide and bend across your chest. You fall on top of me, your face stained even more with my blood, but my attack isn’t over. My other hand is ready; it catches your fallen arm, grabbing it by the wrist and pulling it so that—thanks to the oil coating us both—your entire arm and shoulder slide over my torso, finally positioning you on your side on top of me. I barely have to exert myself to then position myself behind you—both of us on our sides on the floor—and wrap my right bicep around your neck, while my left arm slides under your armpit and bends upward, trapping my right wrist and tightening the lock around your neck. You thrash about like a runaway bull, and we roll across the mat as my legs try to trap yours and spread them apart. My cock presses between your buttocks, settling lengthwise between them and releasing some of my own pre-cum. Fortunately, my moan is masked by our mutual grunts of exertion and your groans of pain. Finally, I can whisper in your ear: “We’re not even, Marcus—I’ll always be on top!”.

MARCUS MERETRUS

 I suddenly find myself stuck. The excitement I feel as I sense you on me, as I feel your cock penetrate my ass cheeks, realizing you're hard, that you're releasing your first precum, isn't what I was looking for. I wanted to forget this wrestler's body, with its perfect forms, its muscular arms that are now trying to deprive me of air. My own cock begins to trickle. I try to free myself with disordered movements. But my mind wanders toward past pleasures. The fights with Nate that always ended with intense fucking where each dominated the other in turn. But you're not Nate. You will never replace him. The smell of your armpits brings me back to reality. Your words are a challenge. I gasp, panting, "There's only one top here and it's me!"

 With a surge of adrenaline fuelled by defiance, I use my free hand to claw at your face, raking my nails across your eyes. As you instinctively flinch and pull back to protect your vision, I simultaneously drive my elbow backward with force into your ribs. The combination of pain to your face and the sharp blow to your ribs causes your grip to loosen just enough for me to slip my head free. Before you can recover, I twist my body violently, using our mutual oiliness to my advantage, and reverse our positions. Now straddling your chest, I pin your arms with my knees, establishing my dominance as I look down at your surprised angry face. As I settle my weight onto you, my hard cock slides against your abs, leaving a trail of precum, while your own erection presses insistently against my ass, a constant reminder of the battle between us is far beyond mere wrestling.

ADRIAN DUVAL

I watch this fight with intense excitement, but at the same time jealousy fills my mind. It feels as I am witnessing a mating ritual, violent, of course, in which each of them is determined to dominate the other. And I know that the victor will possess the other and mark him forever. I also know that their hearts have already been marked by one another, while I have become nothing more than a powerless spectator. My desire for Marcus remains strong, but I feel an increasingly powerful attraction to Nathan. I admire his courage and his determination. He is willing to do anything to prove to Marcus that he is worthy of him, that he alone can give him the love and the life he deserves. I do not know whether Nathan is a reincarnation of Nate. But I know with certainty that the gods could send them back into the ancient world, and they would find their rightful place there.

NATE RIVAS

Your fingers dig into my face, trying to tear the flesh. I immediately grimace with a growl of pain, which distracts me just long enough for your elbow to drive into my ribs, forcing a pained exhale that sucks the air from my lungs, deflates my chest, and opens my grip just enough to let you escape. Our skin, completely coated in oil, makes any firm grip extremely difficult, and it makes me wonder how the hell the ancient Greeks managed, on the one hand, to hold their opponent in their arms, and on the other, to stay focused on the fight despite genitals and muscles sliding like this against those of their opponent. Then the tables turn, and now I’m the one beneath your body again, with your knees determined to pin my arms down, crushing them against the mat. I shoot you a furious glance—even more so when you spot your bravado—and I writhe helplessly beneath you, slamming my cock against your ass over and over in the struggle, amid moans of frustration and exertion.

Your masculine scent is like a drug to my mind, but my craving—my need to defeat you—is even stronger. I manage to arch my back just enough to throw you slightly off balance to one side, which gives my legs enough room to bend upward and wrap around your neck and chest. Bent like that, it looks like you’re going to push me even deeper into the mats, but tensing every muscle in my calves and thighs and letting out a guttural howl, I spring my whole body up like a coiled spring and fling you straight onto your back against the floor, your neck slamming hard against the mat as my thighs close around your body again, locking your ankles in a vice-like grip. Lying in opposite directions, both on our backs, I take your right ankle in my hands and, stretching your leg, begin to twist it savagely at a completely unnatural angle. “I’m going to finish you off, Marcus—I’m going to make you regret the day we met!” My words are drowned out by your screams of pain and my grunts of exertion.

MARCUS MERETRUS

Your dick violently slams against my ass. I'm on top of you, mad with desire. Once again, my mind wanders. It takes me to the past, to Olympia, to the fight where Nate beat me and became a pankration champion. But today, there's no question of Nathan beating me. I breathe in my scent, I control my muscles, my thighs as thick as tree trunks, my pecs as thick as truck tires, and especially my biceps the size of large melons. No chance for him to break me. And suddenly I'm on my back, my inattention, my confidence in being the best made me lower my guard. In a powerful movement, you unbalanced me.

You lock my ankles in a python hold. I feel the pain shooting down to my lower abdomen. You're massacring my leg without mercy. When I see your muscles tense, sweat trickling down your skin, your face grimacing with effort, I'm completely crazy for you. I forget that I'm fighting. I scream in pain, but at the same time my dick screams in pleasure. I move in all directions trying to find a position that would lessen your torture. But you've become wild. I can barely hear your words covered by my screams, but I know instantly that you want to destroy me. I try to lift myself using the power of my abdominal belt. But when I see you in front of me, you're no longer Nathan, but Nate.

Like him, you're ready to do anything to win, ready to forget the bonds of affection that united us. I'm in a trance. Beyond the fight, beyond the pain. I feel the orgasm building within me and suddenly, in a scream, mix of pleasure and pain, I release a massive load that crashes onto you, enveloping you in my scent. NATE, I LOVE YOU. Then feeling your embrace diminish, I come back to myself, not understanding what happened to me. I remain lying on the ground with a smile on my lips, thinking that I've lost when I hear Adrian speak.

ADRIAN DUVAL

 For a moment, the fight seems balanced, then Marcus takes the upper hand. I see him pleased with himself, examining his musculature, proud of his strength, more arrogant than usual. His gaze is distant, almost dreamy. He's no longer really in the fight, either because he underestimates Nathan, or because he isn't focused. And unsurprisingly, he ends up on his back. Nathan is wild in a painful hold. His ferocity makes him a dangerous opponent. Marcus has just paid the price. But at the same time, he seems, despite his screams, almost happy to be dominated, his cock pointing towards the sky, the glans glowing red, dripping with precum. He writhes like an eel to escape the pain. He even lifts himself to face Nathan, his abs exploding with effort. An intense sweat with a strong odour flows over his powerful muscles. The scene is terribly erotic. Defeated muscle has always excited me, and my cock reacts, hard as a sword.

Suddenly, Marcus ejaculates, screaming. "I love you, Nate." He falls backward, smiling. I understand that he has just given up. Nathan seems surprised, almost disappointed. He didn't think he would beat him so easily. Marcus has deprived him of his revenge. He wasn't able to fully satisfy his fury. I am disappointed too, and above all, I want the hot confrontation to continue. I speak up. "Victory is only secured after three submissions." I see their looks, and I don't know if disappointment or joy prevails."

NATE RIVAS

Feeling your spasms, the way you squirm in my arms and legs, trying to escape. Your cries of pain, tinged with a hint of desperation, when you realize you’re trapped. The rubbing of my cock against your ass. It’s almost too much. Our eyes meet as you sit up, flexing your abs, and for a moment time stands still, as if I’m experiencing a sense of déjà vu. Then you utter the words—or rather, you scream them. And your body convulses as your cock begins to spurt semen. And my mind is transported to another era, another life. A dream? I can’t say for sure anymore, because the images, the physical sensations, the emotions, and even the feelings that well up inside me are very real. Us repeating this encounter in a thousand and one ways, fucking like wild animals, and sharing hundreds of intimate moments, laughter, and arguments. And an intense feeling in my chest that burns away everything else.

I snap back to reality and let you go, very reluctantly. We’re both lying on our backs, panting with exhaustion, your chest and my legs soaked in your cum. For a moment, there are no words. I don’t want anything to break this moment. Then Adrian speaks, breaking the silence of ragged breaths, announcing that the fight isn’t over. It might seem like a rule pulled out of thin air to Favor his lover and give him one more chance to beat me, but the truth is, it couldn’t be better in my book. I’d keep fighting like this all night, the next day, and a lifetime more. You push your leg off me, and I get up, my cock harder than ever. “Fine.” That’s all I say, unable to respond, unable to repeat your words. I still don’t know what’s happening to me, but I do know that through this fight, I’m finding out. “Get up and fight, Marcus. We’re not done yet.”

MARCUS MERETRUS

 My feelings are mixed. I gave in to desire. I showed my weakness, and I was defeated. I am still under the spell of that overwhelmingly intense orgasm. And yet, there was only you. Even though Nate’s name burst from my lips, it was you I was looking at; your brutal virility, your domination, that drove me wild. The pleasure I felt was so intense that it frightens me. Who are you? I still cannot understand it. But one thing is certain: Adrian’s words fill me with joy. We are going to face each other again. You stand before me, your hard cock pointed toward me. You seem troubled, suddenly uncertain.

 Your scent reaches my nostrils. You are not the barbarian I am. You are a noble warrior, a descendant of Achilles and Hector. Honour means everything to you. I am nothing but the refuse of an underground world where survival was all that mattered. Today, I have become that man again, pumped full of substances, hungry for blood, violent… And yet, whenever I am lying beneath you, something else awakens inside me. A desire not to lose you. A desire to remain in your arms, even while being crushed by pain. At last, I rise. Cum clings to my pubic hair and dries against my thighs. I smell of lust and combat. I take my stance, ready to run on you, looking at Adrian who gives us the sign to fight. “Soon, I’ll be the one who finishes you.”

ROUND 2

NATE RIVAS

 I watch you get up, your cock just as hard as it was a few seconds ago, having lost none of its size after such a powerful orgasm. You certainly have a lot more to give in there. And that’s exactly what will happen when I subdue you again. I look into your eyes and immediately realize that you’re just as eager as I am to continue this battle. For our bodies to entwine once more in the struggle and our skin to slide against each other in intimate contact. To wrench cries of pain from each other’s lips that will catapult our own pleasure. Adrian, who is clearly just as turned on as we are—evident not only in his eyes but also in the immense bulge beneath his shorts, barely contained—gives the signal to start the second round. We both crouch in a guard stance with our arms half-extended, once again looking for a way to attack. This time, I’m the one who takes the initiative.

With a couple of quick steps, my bare feet glide across the canvas, and I lunge forward, lowering my shoulder onto your stomach. My body slams into yours like a battering ram trying to bring down a wall. It doesn’t knock it down, but it does bend it. I feel the air escape from your chest as my shoulder slams hard into your massive abs. My face presses against your crotch, inhaling the scent of semen coating it, while my hands grip your thighs and buttocks, sliding between them on the oil. We struggle like this, both of us growling like animals, trying to pin you down while you throw yourself on top of me, clutching my waist. The position, your stench of sweat, musk, and semen, the guttural sounds... Another spurt of pre-cum shoots out of my cock. Even so, somehow, I manage to muster my strength, and sliding a hand between your legs, I lift you onto my shoulders. 

For a few seconds, I carry you there, as if I were Atlas himself bearing the weight of the world upon my shoulders. Then, with a howl of exertion, I hurl you headfirst onto the mats.

MARCUS MERETRUS

 You're pressed against me, your body glistening with oil and sweat. You're giving it your all to push me back, to make me fall. I resist, tensing my blood-engorged muscles, covered with thick or thin veins that form a network under my skin. I glance at Adrian who seems to be somewhere else, probably at Olympia, watching the games. His hard cock shows through his shorts as if to testify to his pleasure. I let you press against me, grab my waist, my thighs. Your breath gently caresses my groin, and I can see that my bestial scent is like a drug to you. I make little effort to push you away. I want you to stay like this against me for eternity. I want this fight to never end. But suddenly you lift me in an intense effort. On your grimacing face reads all the strength this movement demands from you, especially as I let go all my dead weight. I find myself violently on the ground headfirst. This demonstration of strength makes me even harder.

 I'm on the ground, but the rage that consumes me is instantaneous. Before you can even savour your victory, I push myself up onto one arm. My leg whips up and my foot, hard as stone, smashes between your legs. Time seems to freeze in a deathly silence, before a hoked scream dies in your throat. Your eyes bulge with pain and shock, your body spasming, paralyzed by the shockwave. With a single bound, I'm on my feet. Every fibber of my being ready to explode. My pecs, broad and hard, swell with each breath. My cock, rock-hard, is a testament to my dominance, pulsing with the beat of my heart. I lunge at you like a predator on its weakened prey. No finesse, no technique. Just brute force.

I whip my right arm around your neck, my fingers closing in an iron grip. My other hand grabs the inside of your thigh, my fingers digging into the flesh. I pivot, using the power of my legs and back to lift you from the ground. 

Then, with a grunt of triumph, feeling like Hercules ending Cacus, I drop you across my raised knee. Your back bends with a sickening crunch. A scream of agony tears through the air. I let you slide to the ground, at my feet. I'm on my knees over you, my body thrumming with power, my gaze burning with lust. “The mat is mine. And so are you “ I say while I pump my arms in double biceps pose.

ADRIAN DUVAL

This is the second confrontation; I never thought I would witness such a fight. It's a dream come true. Marcus, a Roman gladiator who stumbled through time, is facing what could be a reincarnation of an Olympic champion. My excitement is at its peak, especially as I watch the two body slams. Nate's is impressive. I imagine the strength he had to develop to lift Marcus's 110 kg. Marcus's is in his image: barbaric, violent, on the edge of the rules. I should intervene, but I have no desire to break this moment I've been fantasizing about since I became interested in antiquity. My cock is dripping with precum and despite the open windows and the fresh night air, the three of our scents fill the gym with the smell of rutting beasts. Nate is on the ground in turn and I fear for him. Marcus seems to want to erase the humiliation of the first encounter.

NATE RIVAS

The pain in my groin is sudden and intense. With a heart-wrenching groan, I throw both hands to my testicles, clutching them as I close my eyes and my expression contorts into the very embodiment of surprise mixed with agony. I didn’t expect you to go this far to defeat me, but I realize there’s no limit between you and me. “You… Bastard…!” Unable to react as you stand up, I barely feel my body being pushed like a tree about to be felled. The next intense sensation I do feel is pain once again as my back is brutally bent by a tremendous impact with your knee waiting for it, as if it were the block where the executioner places his victim’s head. I scream in pain without restraint, unable to hide it, and my agony fills the entire attic. “AAAAAGGGGGHHH!” You then throw me to the floor, and I can do nothing but look up at you from below as I writhe in pain, trying to press my back with the back of my hand. I watch as you strut and show off above me, and even though that makes my insides burn, I still can’t recover from the savage blow.

I writhe on the floor, my skin sliding across the canvas coated in the thick oil that covers everything, gasping in pain as I try to grab your leg to pull myself up—or to knock you down; I’m not even sure which. Grunting in pain, I try to climb up your body, and then my hand grabs the branch closest to me—your huge, erect cock. I cling to it as if it were a handhold and use it to pull myself up against your body, getting to my knees despite the pain, my other hand gripping your ass. My face presses against your shaved balls, soaking in their scent of masculinity, semen, sweat… I try to struggle then and push you with my shoulder, jabbing it up from below between your legs, though without hitting your scrotum. I fight like this to take the initiative, even though I haven’t fully recovered yet. “Nothing here is yours, Marcus… Not even Adrian…!”

MARCUS MERETRUS

I realize the treacherous blow I just dealt you. Marcus would never have done that to Nate. But I am no longer Marcus, and you are not Nate. The steroids are abusing me, misleading me. I feel invincible, and yet I have been defeated. I feel strong, and yet the desire for you makes me weak. I shoot a venomous, threatening glance at Adrian. If he disqualifies me, I am ready to knock him out to continue our struggle. But he doesn't react.

 I flex my muscles. And I am filled with incredible energy. You are bent in pain, and my double biceps is a challenge, an order of submission. But you cling to me, you grab my cock, which makes me drip even more. You try to pull yourself up, putting all your last energy into it. I let you get to your knees; you bend my cock back between my legs. I am hard as a bull, and I feel the orgasm overwhelming me. I am a barbarian without restraint. I cum again, sending my semen onto my own ass cheeks. Then I raise both arms and cross them to form a giant fist.

 I let it fall with all my strength onto the back of your neck. Once, then twice, then a third time lower on your back. You have trouble holding on, your grips are fragile due to the sweat and oil. When you are half-bent, I advance, my two legs wrapping around your neck, your head sticking out from under my ass, and I squeeze with all my might, my terrible smell penetrating your nostrils. "Give up. I am your master and you can do nothing."

ADRIAN DUVAL

My excitement knows no limits. I am transported far from New York, far from this luxurious apartment. The mix of scents brings me under the sky of Olympia. I am at once the aliptes who oils the wrestlers, the gymnastes who trains them, the paidotribes who teaches them wrestling techniques, and the hellanodikes who judges the match. On sudden instinct, I undress. My dripping cock exposes my enthusiasm and my excitement, which is not merely intellectual. Marcus's domination is now evident. It is the consequence of a dirty blow. But it matters little to me. The erotic tension is such that I do not want to intervene for the moment. Their fight is that of two Greek heroes. Who is Achilles, who is Hector, who is Odysseus, who is Ajax. Nothing is decided yet.

NATE RIVAS

Your hands come down like a mace on the back of my neck—up to three times. The impact makes my whole body shake, and the pain feels as if I’d been struck several times in the head with a hammer, but even so, I don’t fall. I buckle my knee and clench my teeth, growling in pain, but I don’t fall. Unfortunately for me, I do lower my head enough for you to slip it between your massive thighs—those two tree trunks surrounding me—they now crush my head and neck. “Gggrrraaaagghh!” Your enormous balls, like two sacks of grain, rest on the back of my neck, and I can still feel their weight, laden with that nectar that keeps spilling over both your body and mine. I growl and whimper as I desperately pound your legs and your ass with my hands, trying to break free—to no avail. Your grip is too firm. And those incredibly strong quadriceps—I realize they’ll never let me go, as if you yourself have come to realize that you never should have let me go in the first place. That you never should have given me up. I tense every muscle in my neck, trying to withstand the grip; my veins swell until it almost seems as if they’re about to burst beneath my skin. Yet, when I hear you asserting your dominance over me so blatantly and completely, clinging to your position, I explode all over again. The sun burns in my chest.

With a scream born more of rage than anything else, I brace my legs again like a weightlifter and demonstrate the power of my thighs and calves. Grabbing your own calves, I lift myself up—with the back of my neck still under your scrotum—and throw myself backward with you in a sort of unorthodox but effective suplex, slamming your head into the mat with a powerful thud, while my ass lands on it, crushing your face, my back against your torso. For a few moments, I let the air return to my lungs and breathe a sigh of relief, then I roll over, twisting my ass over your face so I’m now looking down at your body and that erect cock that won’t stop dripping. Your nose between my butt cheeks inhales my sweat, and—whether unconsciously or consciously—I clench my glutes to trap your face between them while my fist rains down on your stomach again and again. “I told you, Marcus, I don’t belong to anyone!!”

MARCUS MERETRUS

 The weight of you on me, the fury of your fists driving into my stomach is intoxicating. But there's a more potent drug. With my face trapped between your ass cheeks, your sweat fills my senses. It's a raw, masculine scent, and it sends a primal surge through me. I want to push deeper, to taste your skin, to feel your powerful glutes clench around my fingers. I want to run my tongue along that salty curve. But not yet. First, I have to break you.

Your assault pauses as you draw breath. That is my opening. I grab your wrist, hook my other arm around your thigh, and roll sharply to the side. I roll you onto your side, facing away from me. Keeping hold of you, I turn onto my side behind you, press my chest against your back, and wrap my arm around your neck. My arm closes around your neck, and I lock the choke. I squeeze with all my strength, and instantly, the blood flow to your brain stops. “You fight hard, Nate,” I grunt into your ear. “But every fight has an end.”You claw at my arm and kick wildly, but I hold you tightly against me.“It’s useless,” I growl. “There is no escape.”

I wrap my legs tightly around your waist and pull you back with all my weight, locking your body against mine. My hard cock slides in the middle of your ass cheeks. Your oil and sweat run from your skin onto mine, their scent filling my senses. As I hold you helplessly in my arms, an overwhelming desire seizes me, the desire to keep you there forever and never let you go.

NATE RIVAS

Demonstrating natural flexibility in addition to your obvious strength, you manage to wrap your arms around my neck and knock me onto my side. Despite the pain, the feeling of your wet mouth pulling away from my ass is almost just as agonizing. I kick frantically, struggling to break free from your grip before it’s too late, for I know full well that once trapped by those tremendous muscles, I’d never be able to escape if you secure your hold on me tightly. However, your legs join the fray and clamp down on my waist, turning you into an anaconda of pure muscle tissue that seeks to suffocate me and then devour me, with all the savagery that only an animal would be capable of. Your biceps swell to a size I never would have thought possible—I can’t help but wonder what kind of training you’ve been doing.

But the blood flow to my brain is steadily decreasing—it’s practically cut off—and I’m already having trouble thinking. Not even the oil can help me break free from a grip that you’re tightening more and more as my strength fades away. I can’t even respond to your taunt as I feel my vision clouding over, and the only thing I feel more intensely is your enormous cock between my buttocks, sliding lengthwise, crushed between my muscular cheeks. Adrian’s silhouette stands out at the edge of my vision, completely naked, joining our ancient wildness, and fully attentive to the struggle, like the hellanodikis of ancient Greece. A word I shouldn't even know, and one that shows just how close I am to losing consciousness. With no other option, and thinking only of not fainting, amid whimpers of pain, I struck your arm tirelessly with the palm of my hand as a sign of surrender.

ADRIAN DUVAL

The scene unfolding before me sends shivers through my entire body. Marcus, in a chokehold, completely dominates Nate. His muscles, straining with effort, are engorged with blood and are impressively defined under his skin. The oil and sweat create a gleaming sheen that highlights their shapes and lines. I can't tear my eyes away from these two bodies, which now form only one. Strength has always excited me, and I struggle to keep my cock from hardening further and releasing a fragrant pre-cum.

Nathan is slowly surrendering to this anaconda's embrace. He even seems to be enjoying it. His gaze becomes increasingly vacant. Air is leaving his lungs. I am ready to intervene, but at that very moment, he gives up. Marcus takes a moment longer to release him, all while gradually easing his pressure. They form a magnificent couple. I am starting to come to my senses. Wouldn't it be better to stop everything and force them to reconcile, even if it means losing the love of my life.

MARCUS MERETRUS

 I feel Nathan surrendering on me, making almost no effort to free himself. My cock, trapped between his gluteal muscles, is a stake that impales him on me, sending intense shocks of pleasure throughout my body. I see Adrian, who never takes his eyes off us. He looks thoughtful and absent. Suddenly, Nathan taps my arm in a sign of surrender. I slowly release my pressure but keep him against me. Enveloped by the warmth emanating from his body, by the male scent that envelops me, I try to hold onto these sensations for as long as possible.

I am no longer in New York. I am on the bank of that river where we used to refresh ourselves, I am under that olive tree that protected us from the ardent rays of the sun during our lovemaking. And suddenly I understand that you are no longer Nathan but that you are Nate. A different Nate, born far from my ancient world, but who resembles him, who has his scent, his strength, his tenacity, and his beauty. I get up and extend my hand to help you. Already Adrian is announcing our tie. The next confrontation will decide the winner. But it matters little to me. You have won by capturing my heart. I don't even have the heart to throw a killer phrase at you. Just this desire to hold you in my arms again.

NATE RIVAS

 Finally, slowly, you ease up on the pressure, but you don’t let go of me completely. You hold my body close to yours for a few seconds, now embracing me almost like a lover. And despite the pain as I feel air returning to my lungs and blood flow resuming in my neck, I couldn’t feel better. I don’t remember ever having this kind of intimate contact… or at least not in this life, because I have the feeling that it’s the most familiar contact I’ve ever felt. Time stands still, and for those few seconds it’s just you and me in the attic, with a strange smell wafting into my nostrils, slightly overpowering the scent of our sweat and semen. Olives? Then you let go of me completely, and I fall to one side, face-down on the mat, coughing as I catch my breath. I roll onto my back on the canvas as Adrian announces that the third round will be the decisive one, and that’s when I see you—splendid, with your naked, gleaming body, your cock once again that perch I want to grab onto to climb up.

 But you reach out your hand to me. A gesture that takes me completely by surprise, but one I accept after a few moments of shock and confusion. We clasp our fingers firmly, tightly around each other’s, proving that we still have plenty of steam left in us. You pull me up with a strong tug, and we’re face to face, the heads of our cocks touching like mushrooms and our eyes locked, never looking away. “All right, Marcus…” I say between gasps, “the second round is yours… but come on… let’s go for the third.” The connection I feel with you is growing deeper and closer, forged through combat in a way I never thought possible. What kind of men are we that we can only achieve this kind of bond through violence? It’s a question I’m eager to answer in your arms. And of course, it’s even better if it’s through victory in the fight. I shove you with my chest, our pecs colliding and our balls bouncing off each other’s, and I take up a fighting stance, ready to break the tie, smiling visibly.

ROUND 3

MARCUS MERETRUS

The fight resumes, but something is different. I pull you toward me and our chests, our cocks, our balls seek each other out. You take on an attacker's stance, but at the same time, you smile at me. I hesitate. A trick? Then I return it. I have a feeling this round is pointless. I want to give up and tell you what I'm feeling. But at the same time, something deep inside me pushes me to fight, to submit you definitively. You must understand who the master is once and for all.

 I lunge at you like a battering ram; my shoulder pressed into your groin. I lift you and throw you over my shoulder. I carry you like this, circling the huge wrestling room. Then I brutally slam you to the ground in front of a statue depicting a Gaules gladiator defeated by a Roman gladiator. I grab you by the hair and lift your head so you can appreciate the scene; "Guess what role you're going to play, Nathan." Suddenly, I am nothing but strength and brutality. I have only one desire: to defeat you and wipe away that smile that the drugs now make me see as mocking.

Then, seized by uncontrollable rage, I raise my arm and brutally bring my fist down on the back of your neck, on your shoulder blades, and on your lower back. I smile as I hear the dull thud that resonates as if I were beating the skin of a drum. "I'm going to destroy you, Nathan."

NATE RIVAS

You toss me around the room as if I were a sack, brutally throwing me to the floor despite my resistance. Suddenly, that smile has turned into brutal aggression, and it ignites the same thing inside me. Our feelings fluctuate and shift like flashes of light, rapidly, and now they want only one thing: blood and victory. So, we both give it our all to achieve it. I growl in pain as I hit the mat, and you lift my neck so you can admire the statue. But in the scene, the Gallic gladiator is completely subdued, and I couldn’t be further from that. Your fists then rain down like a hailstorm on my back and the nape of my neck, drawing new pained moans. And yet I hold my ground. Seeing the brutality that this wrestling match has become, I respond in kind.

I grab your wrist while you hold me by the hair and pull you toward me, and even though you resist with those massive biceps, it throws you off balance just enough—bringing your legs closer to me—so that you can’t avoid what comes next. I let go of your wrist and grab your ankles with both hands to yank them suddenly, causing you to fall on your ass.

 You get down on all fours to try to get up, but before you can, I’m already behind you. I grab your right arm and stretch it out insanely, twisting your shoulder behind your back, making it rotate unnaturally, while I hold you face-down on your knees on the mat and my right fist comes down again and again on your skull, looking for the best spot. We’re recreating another famous statue from antiquity—one that, while not actually in the room, is clearly visible in Adrian’s mind. “You can’t destroy me, Marcus—I’m better than you!”

MARCUS MERETRUS

The situation changes rapidly and it's me who's growling in pain and taking your blows. Pain shoots through my arm and shoulder like lightning. I tense the muscles in my neck to face the onslaught of your fist. Your words echo in my head: "Better than me, better than me." Not you, Nathan. Not you. I was a champion in Greece, an adored gladiator in Rome. And only Nate has defeated me. But you're just a pathetic fighter from the gutters. And I'm going to crush you like a cockroach.

With a surge of adrenaline, I drive my free elbow several times backward into your ribs with all my might. The unexpected impact makes you loosen your grip. I use that moment to shove you hard, sending you stumbling backward until you lose your balance and crash against the marble base of the Gallic statue. Your back hits the cold stone. Before you can recover, I'm on you, pressing my hand against your throat, pinning you against the unyielding marble. My other fist hammers into your stomach, each blow forcing a choked gasp from your lips. 

Then, grabbing a fistful of your hair, I yank your head up and slam my knee viciously into your face, letting your body slump to the ground in front of the defeated statue. "Now who's the pathetic one?" I snarl, looking down at you at my feet.

ADRIAN DUVAL

The fight has reached its climax. At the end of the second round, I thought they were on the verge of reconciling. But reason, little by little, gives way to violence. Marcus, pumped full of steroids, seems to be the more brutal one, even though Nathan doesn't hold back from inflicting painful holds on him. Marcus is looking for blood and destruction. It's all very exciting. Of course, I've witnessed many violent, sometimes fatal, confrontations in my underground club. But I've never been this close to what must have taken place in Olympia, or in a Roman patrician's villa. I try to reason with myself. I must not let things go too far and intervene if either of them is in danger.

NATE RIVAS

Your elbow digs into my sides as if a spring had triggered it, and a sharp pain makes me lose my grip. A moment that a fighter like you knows how to exploit perfectly, sending my back crashing into the statue’s marble pedestal. “AAARRGH!” I scream in pain, louder than I’d like, as your fist begins hammering my stomach without pause while your massive fingers clamp down on my throat. Yet my eyes return your gaze with fire and defiance, not submission, and I know that infuriates you… as evidenced by your knee flying toward my face. I quickly lunge at you to deflect the impact of your kneecap from my chest so that your thigh strikes my face instead, but even so, the blow is devastating, and you hurl me aside amid pained growls.

 I hear your latest provocation as I clutch my face and cough from your stranglehold. But once again, you make the mistake of thinking you’ve won, when you couldn’t be further from the truth. Rolling nimbly over onto my back on the floor, I swing my heel upward in a roundhouse kick that lands squarely on your oblique, dangerously close to your balls. With the same motion, I pull my leg back and extend it again, violently shoving you against the marble statue once more, which seems on the verge of collapsing under the tremendous weight of your massive frame. I get to my feet then and launch my own assault—a barrage of punches to your face and that sculpted torso of yours that stain my knuckles with blood. Not just against the statue—after ramming my knee into your stomach, I grab you by the neck and hurl you to the side to continue the beating in the centre of the ring, boxing like the ancient Greeks, oiled and completely naked.

MARCUS MERETRUS

 The blood now mixes with the oil and sweat. Its metallic scent slowly spreads. I made the mistake of letting my guard down. I thought my blows had subdued you, but I forgot how relentless you are. Now it's me who's growling in pain under your attack. I clench my fists and teeth to keep from screaming. You've become savage. I flex my pecs to their absolute limit, but despite their hardness, the power of your blows is agonizing. Then you move to my face. Blood flows from my eyebrow ridge, from my nose. My skull echoes with the dull thud of your brutal blows. I let the storm pass. I've endured so many such attacks... I try to protect myself as best I can, my arms forming a barrier.

 Your latest barrage has left you breathless. You lean down to grab me and finish me off, That's your mistake. As your head gets closer, I gather all the strength I have left in my abdominals and unleash a violent, rising knee. It smashes with devastating force directly under your jaw, making you bite your tongue in a choked cry. Your head snaps back from the impact, and you collapse onto me, the wind knocked out of you. While you're stunned, I grab the sides of your head, pull it down towards me, and lunge upward with a powerful headbutt that smashes squarely into your nose. There's a sickening crunch, and I shove your limp body off me. "I'm not finished yet," I spit, blood running from my face. "And neither are you."

ADRIAN DUVAL

The smell of blood... The fight is turning into a slaughter. Marcus started it. But Nathan is following. Love turns to hate. And if the first one is powerful, the second is no less so. How can these two men be so blind? The truth squeezes my heart. They are for each other. Jealousy pushes me to let them destroy each other. I step forward when Nathan is raining blows on Marcus. But suddenly Marcus regains the upper hand. On their faces, their muscles, the blood streams down. They have the frightening aspect of German warriors who used to paint their bodies before attacking their enemy. I don't move. Perhaps out of cowardice, perhaps because I wish for Marcus's victory. That way, he would stay with me.

NATE RIVAS

After my long barrage of punches and kicks, you’re still standing—and clearly injured. My exhaustion causes me to let my guard down, and with you, that always comes at a high cost. “Gaaaagh!!” I taste the metallic flavour of blood in my mouth when your blow makes me bite my tongue. The taste of fury, the taste of sex, and of my relationship with you, the barbarian warrior. My legs falter for a moment and I fall on top of you, trying to cling to your slippery body, only for you to meet me with a tremendous headbutt. A far cry from the smile we shared just a few minutes ago, we’re back to offering each other nothing but violence, as if we had nothing else to give. Like two wild creatures who don’t know how to love, when in reality this is the purest way, they know how to do so. You throw me to the canvas again as I writhe in pain; though I can clearly see that you’re struggling to stay on your feet, your face covered in blood. Gasping for breath as I lie on my side, I look up at you—that ever-impressive figure—as I listen to your threat.

“No... I'll never be done with you. Not until I say so!” And once again I go on the attack with a quick roll over my shoulders that closes the distance between us in an instant, followed by a powerful thrust from my kneeling position into your obliques, driving my fist into your flesh until you double over in pain. But I keep using the momentum of my movement so that, after turning my fist into an open palm on your oiled skin, I slide around you, only half-upright, without ever taking my hands off your slippery muscles. When I manage to position myself behind you—so quickly that you don’t have time to react—I press my face against your lower back while wrapping my arms around your waist, and after struggling like this for a few seconds, I launch myself backward with you in a suplex accompanied by a scream. The scream of a furious, wounded wrestler whose spirit remains intact. Your body flies backward until your head crashes with a thunderous thud against something hard—much harder than the canvas. The marble of another one of Adrian’s statues, which I didn’t even get a chance to see, as it falls with the impact and sustains who knows what damage. The only thing that matters to me is what you’re going through, and the groan of pain that escapes your sprawled body is clear proof of that. I leap swiftly onto your back, overcoming my own agony, and as I sit on your ass—my balls and my cock crushing against your body—I grab your head with both hands and slam your face into the canvas over and over again. “Did you hear me, Marcus??! This won't end until I say so!!”.

MARCUS MERETRUS

 I'm at the end of my strength. It's been a long time since I've known such a violent and long fight. Each in turn, we behave like merciless brutes. Lying on the ground, a gash on my forehead, you sitting on my ass radiating your scent, I wonder what's the point of all this. Everything opposes us and at the same time everything attracts us. The magnificent sensation of your balls and your sex on my skin, your scent enveloping me are both a delight and a torture. You slam my face, red with blood, into the ground. You won't give in. I already know that. But neither will I. And you’re stupid, stubborn attitude suddenly fills me with rage.

With a guttural roar, I drive my hip into the canvas with a violent, sharp twist. The sudden, awkward movement is just enough to unbalance you for a fraction of a second. It's the only opening I need. I channel every ounce of my remaining fury into my body and push. My triceps, thick and hardened like ancient oak, scream in protest as they lock straight, fighting against your weight. My lats and deltoids bunch into granite-like ridges, straining to heave my torso off the ground. It's a primal, explosive surge of pure muscle that sends you tumbling forward. I use my last ounce of energy and send you rolling to the foot of the statue that bears the traces of my blood. I'm on you in an instant and I grab you by the hair. I lift you up like this, inflicting the pain of a pulled scalp, then I smash your beautiful face against the marble. Once, "ME"twice "NO "three times "MORE." Then I lift you and lock you in a powerful bearhug, my chest crushing against yours, my cock assaulting yours. I lean back to intensify the pressure. I'm a boa constrictor suffocating its prey. Your bones crack. I have trouble holding you because of your slippery skin. But I'm crazy with rage and desire... "You know it, Nate, it's always me who decides the end."

ADRIAN DUVAL

 My statues! I freeze, my heart pounding, but the crash wasn't the sound of shattering marble. The impact only covered it in blood. For a moment, I forget the brutality, completely fascinated by the spectacle. Then, a cold clarity hits me: I must stop this. But... I hesitate.

NATE RIVAS

Luckily for me, I manage to get my arms between the marble and my head to cushion most of the blow and keep my skull from smashing against the stone, but even so, the impact is brutal. The fight keeps escalating in intensity, with no telling exactly how far it might go. Whether we’re seeking sex, revenge, pleasure, or death. Dazed by the blow as I am, I’m unable to stop you from lifting me up in your bear hug, crushing my spine between your enormous arms, and setting me down on tiptoes on the mat. “GYAAAAAAH!” An uncontrolled scream bursts from my lips as I throw my head back and close my eyes, my face contorted with pain. I feel my vertebrae crack; I can almost hear them amid the noise of my agonized screams. Your cock and mine rub together, slick with oil, creating a very different sensation in turn.

But I won’t give up, because every word you say to try to assert your superiority only serves to fan my fire even more. So, from my position bent backward, I thrust my head forward to slam my forehead into your face—right on your nose. Now it’s your scream that fills the attic, and your blood that stains our bodies. But you don’t let go. And I’m not done either. Raising my right arm, I begin to bring my elbow down with all my strength, again and again—first onto your skull, then onto your collarbone and neck—seeking to cut off the blood flow to your brain. And to some extent I succeed, for your grip loosens just enough for me to breathe again. That’s when I grab your head with both hands and start twisting it as if I were trying to pop the cork off a bottle, holding your forehead with one hand and your chin with the other. It looks as if I’m trying to rip your head off, and the pressure on your neck is monstrous—as is the pressure I’m now applying to my spine—in a desperate race to see who can destroy the person they love first.

MARCUS MERETRUS

 Your counterattack is brutal and painful. Blood flows down my face, mixing with the oil and sweat. You're like an eel trying to escape. But I'm in a trance-like state. I don't feel the pain anymore. I only feel the rage tightening my stomach, burning my heart, making my mouth bitter. I won't let you go. Your blows shake my entire frame, but I don't feel them anymore. I only feel your cock against mine. I only feel your scent, which is Nate's scent. And yet, you are my enemy, Nathan. But with Nate too, everything started with a fight and then... there was grace... Yes, that's what I want to find again. I let us fall heavily to the ground. Your head hits the side of the pedestal, scraping your skull and the nape of your neck. My heart leaps, quickens. I'm afraid I've knocked you out. But you continue your attacks. Now lying on top of you, I tighten my grip on your waist even more while trying to penetrate you with my hard, massive, and hungry, streaming cock. I whisper in your ear " I want you Nathan"

ADRIAN DUVAL

I step forward, ready to place my hand on Marcus's shoulder. It’s time to stop this savagery. My hand slides over the skin just as Marcus lets himself fall forward onto the ground, crushing Nathan under his massive weight, continuing to break his back. But at the same time, I see how he's trying to penetrate him. Suddenly, everything is obvious. The brutality, the hatred are so close to tenderness and love. The two of them needed this to find each other. My jealousy diminishes, replaced by a wild desire for these two naked men, wrestling in my penthouse. I caress my sex, eagerly awaiting Nathan's reaction.

NATE RIVAS

“MMMMMPHHH!!!” You knock me down onto the mat, and I barely manage to keep my head from smashing into the marble pedestal. I’m dazed on the floor, but it’s more because of your enormous weight on top of me, suffocating me, and the lack of air from your grip than from the impact itself. Then, gasping for breath, with a film of sweat mixed with oil coating our bodies, I continue the assault on your head, now pulling your face back by your hair with one hand to find a better angle for the brutal punches that follow with the other. Again and again my fist sinks into your face while I groan in pain from my back, which feels like it’s about to snap between your arms. You’re fucking Hercules, or his brother, or a reincarnation—just like all that bullshit you’re spewing—and every time I feel that something like that is possible, the idea turns me on more and more, while the head of your cock slams between my butt cheeks, seeking to grant us that pleasure, that escape from this violence. But finally, I manage to lift my elbow high enough to strike right at the carotid artery now in your neck—a blow so hard and precise that it loosens your grip and allows me to arch my back quickly to knock you aside as I slide my body out of your arms, taking advantage of its slipperiness.

I force you to keep rolling across the mat with the momentum until I stop accompanying you on one of the turns and position myself behind you this time, now pinning you face-down against the mat with my own body. I grab your head with both hands again, pulling each side in a different direction—by your forehead and chin—just like a few seconds ago, but now at a much better angle to do some damage, as if I were going to snap your neck. Meanwhile, my hard cock settles into your ass. Or rather, it besieges it, trying to force its way in, aided by the up-and-down movements of my hips, which I lift and slam down hard over and over again in the struggle. The sounds we make are as wild as the fight itself. “Here I am… Marcus…!”

MARCUS MERETRUS

 I recognize you more. Never giving up. Giving everything you have, even if it means destroying the one you love. And then you hit me, you break me, and I remain inert on the ground, wanting only one thing, which you always seem to refuse. My confessions have no hold on you. On the contrary, they make you more violent. This back and forth of mutual domination could last for days, you would never give in. But I know only one thing will stop you: my submission. When your beautiful cock slides into me, trying to force the passage of my canal, I am sent back to Greece. Everything is there again. Your hip thrusts, the power of your sword, this mix of intense desire and dominating force, that special scent you wore when you possessed me, a spicy and enchanting smell.

 I let myself go to your assaults, my body as limp as a sack of wheat. Pain accompanies the intense pleasure I feel. I crush your cock between my glutes, knowing how much it excited you, to dominate me even in the act of love. Then your mysterious words. "Here I am... Marcus." What do they mean? Are you telling me that you are Nate, or that you are invincible and I can only submit? It doesn't matter to me. I know who you are. So, unable to take it anymore, I press my ass against the head of your cock and push with all my strength to try and impale myself on you.

ADRIAN DUVAL

My breath catches in my throat. This is the turning point. The violence is dissolving, giving way to an act it was hiding all along. The blows are becoming thrusts, the struggle for dominance a search for union. It's the most primal and honest moment I have ever witnessed. My academic mind screams that this is the telos of the ritual, the violent foreplay finally reaching its inevitable carnal conclusion. I’m simply mesmerized, no longer just a spectator to a fight, but a voyeur to a sacred, brutal mating, and I wouldn't dare look away for anything in the world.

NATE RIVAS

As if the doors of the temple—which is your body—were opening for me, your buttocks begin to trap my cock between them, and that drives me absolutely mad. The sensations, the smells, the tastes, the sound of your voice… It all begins to swirl together like a whirlwind in my head, flashes of a life I never lived. But a life with you. As the skin on my cock slides up and down, rubbing against the oil, as your moans are now of pure pleasure and not just pain, I let myself be swept away, and the pressure on your neck begins to turn into something else. Suddenly, I’m no longer trying to snap your neck; instead, my arms wrap around it in an embrace—brutal, yes, but filled with a visceral hunger to possess you rather than destroy you. My lips let out a loud, prolonged moan of the most absolute pleasure right into your ear, reverberating throughout the penthouse.

But you haven't end there—instead, your ass begins to give me the ultimate welcome, sucking in the mushroom-shaped head of my cock as if it were a vacuum. I don’t resist—I neither want to nor would be able to. Sliding in like a puzzle piece that had finally found the slot it had always belonged in; I thrust my cock deep inside you. The bloody fight turns into something else just as quickly as it began. Amid growls shared by both, I start moving my hips up and down with increasing urgency while I fuck you without letting go of your neck. It’s becoming clearer and clearer in my mind. I was born for this—to love you and possess you—and I won’t let anyone, not even you yourself, deny me that.

MARCUS MERETRUS

 FINALLY! FINALLY! You possess me at last. I feel the change that takes you over. Your arm around my neck holds me powerfully, but I no longer fear it. It adds an extra thrill to that of your cock sinking deep into my guts. I sink my fingers into the foam mats, drunk with pleasure. I clench my glutes as hard as I can. I milk your cock with powerful movements. You're in me, but I want more of you. I'm finding you again. I'm finding Nate. My cockhead rubs against the floor, increasing my pleasure. My precum spreads its scent. We are now one. Like in the fight, but here the fight is of our senses.

Your breath burns my skin, your moans enchant my ear. I feel I'm going to cum. I've waited so long for this moment. I try to hold back. It's no longer the savage act of our meeting in that sordid alley. It's a communion of two souls who love each other beyond time and death. I let out a scream that makes the large windows of the penthouse vibrate. I'm taken by violent spasms as I cum for the first time. Your movements continue, my cock stays hard. I whisper, "Nate, I will never lose you again," and I ejaculate a second time; exhausted, a smile on my lips.

ADRIAN DUVAL

 Everything is different. I even feel like an intruder. I move away from them, never taking my eyes off them. My arousal is at its peak. I know I have lost for a second time. Marcus's love for Nate leaves me powerless. At the same time, I think of Achilles's love for Patroclus. I am lost in a vanished world, a world I know by heart through my readings, my research, and through objects as well. But here I am living it. A gladiator and an Olympic champion have entered my life. I don't believe in the supernatural, and yet only a god from the past could have reunited them.

Marcus was sent here to NY, not for me, but to find the love of his life. I never had a high opinion of the ancient gods. I found them petty, jealous, small, selfish. But here, the god who decided Marcus's fate was generous and benevolent. I feel my arousal reach its paroxysm. Marcus cums and I cum with him. I cum one last time for him. My sperm trickles onto a sculpture that represents the god Mars. The war is over. I will never stand in the way of such a love again. Outside, as if nature was disapproving the new situation, the sky is suddenly becoming dark, wind is blowing its madness on the terrace.

NATE RIVAS

Feeling your body convulse with pleasure around me, I keep fucking you, claiming you here and forever, with ever-increasing speed and energy. My grunts of effort and pleasure intertwine with yours and even with Adrian’s moans beside us, as he masturbates to the spectacle of our primal sex. The sight of two lovers reunited through the language of combat—the only language they know how to speak at that level besides that of lust. My biceps swell, every vein around your neck standing out, as I use every muscle for the ultimate form of domination. My hips rise and fall almost out of necessity, out of longing. The sound of my skin slapping against yours again and again—against your Herculean glutes—accompanies our moans like the drums to the rest of the instruments. My nipples dig into your back, never letting go, and my free hand intertwines with yours as we dig into the mats together.

Then comes the orgasm, right as you say those words. My cock explodes in one burst after another of cum, heated by the fire of battle, ready for just this moment. Once again, I scream without restraint, continuing with deeper thrusts that milk out every drop and fill your ass with me. “AAAHHHHHH AAAAAHHH! Marcus...! F-fuck...!!!” I can hardly believe how hard I’m coming—I’ve never come like this in my life. It’s as if it’s never going to stop. When I finally collapse, exhausted, onto your body—gasping for breath and drenched in sweat, oil, and blood—I whisper in response to the words that triggered my orgasm. “We’ll never lose each other, Marcus. For all eternity.” I pull my cock out reluctantly, but I can still feel it throbbing… craving more.

MARCUS MERETRUS

We are pressed tightly against each other. The heat of your body flows into mine. We shine and stink of sweat, oil, blood, and cum. Our hands are joined, our breathing is fast, and our hearts beat wildly as one. I know now that the gods sent me here to find you again. I do not know which god is responsible, but I suspect my father Zeus planned it all. My desire for you has not faded. My mouth finds yours, hungry for more kisses. Adrian watches us, and I understand that he has accepted the truth: our love is too powerful for anyone to stand against it. I feel sorry for him. He saved me when I arrived in this world. Without his underground fighting club, I would never have found you. Whatever happens, I will always remain his loyal friend.

In the distance, a storm is coming. The sky grows dark. I jump to my feet and hold out my hand. You take it, and I pull you up with all my strength until you fall against my chest and into my arms. Our hard cocks press together, testing each other’s strength. They are as hard as gladiators’ swords. I cannot take my eyes off you. I do not know what our future will be in this world, but I know that with you beside me, I have nothing to fear. Adrian wipes himself with a towel and goes to close the windows. A violent wind sweeps across the terrace, knocking over flowerpots and small busts. The storm is quickly becoming something far more dangerous. Adrian asks us to stay with him. He owns another apartment directly below his, reserved for his friends. I know how proud you are, but I accept his offer. I tighten my grip on your hand when I see your face darken, ready to answer him like the proud Greek warrior you are.

 I have only one thought in my mind: taking you into the shower, continuing what we started, and possessing you in return. But Adrian looks worried. He cannot take his eyes off the terrace, now in complete disorder. Suddenly, one of the windows bursts open. A whirlwind rushes into the fighting room. Papers, towels, and broken pieces of pottery spin through the air. The whirlwind crosses the room as if it were alive and comes straight toward us. I lock you inside my powerful arms. The wind lifts us from the floor and drags us into a tunnel of blinding light. I feel you being pulled away from me despite my grip. I catch your arm and seize your wrist. Panic fills your eyes. My hand slips across your oiled skin. Soon, I am holding only your hand, my fingers locked around yours. What cruel force is trying to separate us again?

Adrian is now only a shadow at the far end of the moving tunnel. Pain tears through my shoulder. It feels as if my arm is being ripped from my body, but I refuse to release you. Then something strikes the back of my neck. My vision darkens. My fingers open against my will. When I recover my senses, you are gone. “NATE! NATE!” “I curse you, cruel gods!" A second blow strikes my neck, harder than the first. I lose consciousness.

When  I open my eyes again and I feel a hot, foul-smelling liquid running down my chest. I awaken in a stench I know only too well. Two huge men are standing above me, pissing on my body. I am lying on wet straw inside one of the animal pens beneath the Colosseum. One of the men speaks putting his smelly, dirty cock under his loincloth “So, Marcus, have you finally slept off the wine? You should never have joined that orgy. You fight before the emperor today, and this time, you are meant to die.” 

They walk away laughing. A long, broken moan rises from my throat. I know this place. I know the passages beneath the Colosseum. I recognize the roar of the distant crowd and the heavy, sickening smells of blood, animals, sweat, urine, and fear. Was everything only a dream? Or are you playing with me, again cruel gods? I rise unsteadily. Grief and madness seize my mind. I wander through the dark passages, shouting at the top of my voice: “NATE! NATE! NATE! I need you!”

NATE RIVAS

I feel whole, as if I’ve finally found all the pieces of a puzzle that I’d spent my whole life feeling was incomplete. Who would have imagined that that last piece was a tall, blond guy with bodybuilder’s muscles and a gaze as deep as the abyss—undoubtedly the most attractive person I’ve ever seen. And now I’m here, right next to him… I feel bad for poor Adrian, but nothing can tear us apart. It’s as if we’ve been reunited after an eternity, and Adrian somehow knows it, too. Somehow, the ideas of reincarnation and destiny are starting to resonate strongly in my mind—concepts I’d never thought about before. And if that’s the case, the tycoon in whose penthouse we’ve been fighting has no place in these lives. Although when he kindly invites us to stay on the floor below—even though all of this must be tearing him apart inside—I somehow feel a connection to him, like that of a mentor… somehow the three of us, there naked and drenched in our own sweat and semen, share some kind of bond.

 I still don’t know how to respond to his proposal when the storm outside grows worse and worse. Adrian hurries to close the windows, and I find myself, without realizing it, clutching Marcus’s enormous arm. My Marcus. A primal fear grips my chest, and the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. I almost hear a voice coming from the other side of the window, and I look into your eyes, worry etched on my face. You return my gaze just as everything explodes, and a blinding light pierces the glass and pulls us inside. You grab me, like the protector you promised to be for me when we’re not fighting each other. Your fingers cling to my skin, but the oil that just a moment ago made our struggle even more exciting now works against us. I feel myself slipping away, inevitably, as my feet leave the ground and the hole that has formed in the very fabric of reality begins to pull me in with greater force. “What the hell is this? Marcus, no! I can’t lose you again now!! Marcus, I… Naaaaate…” The flash of light blinds me, and the purest white gives way to total darkness and the deepest sadness ever experienced.

I wake up in a very different setting, on a dirt floor, in dim light, surrounded by the smell of sweat and blood. That is the only thread of continuity connecting me to where I was just a few seconds ago. I’m wearing a sort of leather loincloth, with a diagonal strap running from the waistband to a small shoulder pad on my left shoulder. Wearing sandals, I try to stand up as my eyes adjust to the darkness. “Come on, get the hell up already!” A crack echoes through the air, and I scream in pain as a deep gash tears through my back. “Time to train, or tomorrow you’ll be dead meat in the arena, slave!” I don’t understand what the man punishing me like this is talking about, but deep inside me, another part that had been dormant for what feels like centuries is very aware of where I am. And why we’re here, in Rome, turned into a gladiator. To find Marcus. No matter what the price is, or who stands in my way.

TO BE CONTINUED 

NATE RIVAS & MARCUS MERETRUS (Book)

https://mars.chatfighters.com/book/1328

Published: 2026-08-19, viewed 72 times.