Spandex and Spark: A Decathlon Encounter

Jax's tongue dueled mine with the kind of ferocity that made my white veins pulse under my skin, like live wires sparking against his whiskey-sharp heat. His hands weren't tentative; they kneaded my ass cheeks like he was claiming territory, fingers slipping into the cleft to tease the sensitive ring of muscle there, circling with just enough pressure to make my cock twitch against his jeans. The club's dying hum faded to nothing as we broke the kiss, his breath ragged against my lips. "Recruiting, huh? Sounds like you need a partner who can keep up." His voice was gravel and promise, eyes locking on mine—dark, assessing, no trace of the needy haze I'd forced on Qal and JJ. This was real hunger, the kind that didn't beg but demanded.

I grinned, white tendrils flickering along my biceps like teasing tattoos, pulling him toward the back exit where the night air waited, cool and electric against our heated skin. "Follow me, Jax. Let's see if you're worth the upgrade." We spilled out into an alley strung with forgotten holiday lights, the kind that blinked erratically like a heartbeat on the fritz. No crowds here, just the scent of rain-slick concrete and distant traffic, a random canvas for whatever filthy masterpiece we were about to paint. He didn't hesitate, shoving me against a graffiti-tagged wall, his tank riding up as he ground his bulge against my thigh—hard, insistent, the denim barrier doing nothing to hide how thick he was packing.

"Fuck, you're built like a weapon," he muttered, lips trailing down my neck, nipping at the pulse point where my white essence thrummed. His hands roamed free now, shoving down his jeans just enough to free his cock—uncut, veined like marble, the head already slick with pre-cum that smeared against my abs as he humped forward. I let him take the lead for a beat, savoring the rawness, my own dick slapping up against his belly, heavy and leaking in response. Memories of Grindr teases flickered—not the spandex games with Qal, but that raw, unfiltered pull of first contact, the kind that promised more than play. Jax's fingers wrapped around my shaft, stroking slow and firm, thumb swiping the slit to gather the bead of essence there. "Taste like sin. You gonna let me in, Troy?"

The symbiote purred, no purge urge yet—this one felt different, a potential vessel instead of prey. I flipped us, pinning him to the wall with superhuman ease, my mouth crashing back to his while I yanked his jeans lower, exposing that wrestler's ass—firm globes dusted with dark hair, clenching under my palm as I squeezed. "All the way," I growled, dropping to one knee, the alley gravel biting my skin but ignored in the haze of want. His cock bobbed free inches from my face, musky and inviting; I leaned in, tongue flicking the underside from balls to tip, lapping at the salty trail. He groaned, fingers tangling in my hair, not pulling but guiding—confident, like he knew I'd deliver.

I engulfed him then, lips stretching around the girth, throat opening to take him deep in one smooth slide. The taste exploded—pure male, no symbiote taint, just hot flesh pulsing against my tongue as I bobbed, suction building with each pass. Jax bucked, fucking my mouth with shallow thrusts, his free hand bracing the wall. "Shit, yeah—suck it like you mean it." I did, humming around him, the vibration drawing a curse from his lips as pre-cum flooded my mouth, thick and addictive. My white tendrils stayed dormant, coiled tight; this wasn't drain time, not yet. Instead, I reached around, fingers probing his ass—tight, resistant at first, then yielding as I slicked a digit with spit and pushed in, curling to hit that spot that made his knees buckle.

"Fuck, Troy—right there," he panted, hips jerking harder into my throat while my finger worked him open, scissoring gently to prep for more. Romance edged in amid the filth; his eyes met mine when I glanced up, not just lust but a spark of connection, like we'd been circling this moment in some unspoken dance. I added a second finger, stretching him wider, the wet sounds echoing off the alley walls as he moaned, cock swelling on my tongue. But I pulled off with a pop, standing to claim his mouth again, letting him taste himself on my lips. "Your turn to bend," I said, voice low, spinning him to face the wall, his ass presented like a gift—cheeks parting to reveal that puckered hole, winking in anticipation.

He arched back, glancing over his shoulder with that wry smirk. "Make it count." No fear, just challenge. I spat into my palm, slicking my dick—now thicker from the absorbed power of Qal and JJ, veins white and throbbing—before pressing the head against him. He pushed back, taking the first inch with a hiss, muscles clenching around me like a vice. "Goddamn, you're huge," he grunted, but there was no backing off; he rocked further, inch by inch, until I was buried balls-deep, the heat of him enveloping me completely. I paused, letting us both adjust, hands roaming his chest under the tank—tweaking nipples, feeling his heart hammer against my palm. Intimate, yeah, but laced with the erotic promise of breaking him open.

Then I thrust—hard, pulling out to the tip before slamming home, the slap of skin on skin punctuating the night. Jax braced, moaning low, his cock trapped against the wall, leaking steadily as I set a rhythm—deep, punishing strokes that had him cursing and begging for more. "Harder, fuck—own this ass." I obliged, one hand gripping his hip, the other reaching around to stroke him in time, thumbing the slit to milk more pre-cum. The symbiote whispered temptations, but I held back, focusing on the raw pleasure: his walls fluttering around my shaft, the way his body yielded yet pushed back, matching my dominance with his own fire. We were a tangle of sweat and grunts, my balls slapping his as I railed him, building that coil of tension low in my gut.

But the alley wasn't enough; the symbiote craved escalation. "My place," I murmured against his ear, nipping the lobe as I slowed to shallow grinds, keeping him on edge. He nodded, breathless, and we disentangled—him tucking himself away haphazardly, me striding nude through the shadows, cock still hard and glistening. His apartment was a short, stumbling walk—randomly perched above a 24-hour laundromat, the hum of dryers vibrating through the floor like a bassline to our lust. We barely made it inside, door slamming as he shoved me onto a worn leather couch, stripping off his tank to reveal that broad chest, pecs flexing under a light sheen of hair.

"Round two," he said, straddling me, his freed cock slapping against mine as he ground down. No preamble; he reached for a bottle of lube on the coffee table—practical guy—and slicked us both, then sank onto me reverse, ass swallowing my length in one determined drop. The view was obscene: his back muscles rippling, cheeks spreading wide around my base as he rode, up and down, setting a brutal pace. I gripped his hips, thrusting up to meet him, the couch creaking under our weight. "Fuck, Jax—you take it like a champ." He laughed, low and dirty, reaching back to fondle my balls, rolling them in his palm while his hole clenched rhythmically, milking me toward the brink.

Romance wove in again—subtle, in the way he twisted to capture my lips mid-ride, or how his hand intertwined with mine on his thigh, a fleeting tenderness amid the pounding. But the eroticism dominated: sweat dripping down his spine, pooling where our bodies joined, his cock bouncing heavy and untouched, pre-cum flinging with each bounce. I sat up, wrapping arms around his torso, mouth latching onto a nipple—sucking hard, teeth grazing until he arched with a yelp. "Troy—gonna make me blow." Good. I flipped us without pulling out, laying him back on the couch, legs over my shoulders as I drove in deeper, angling to hit his prostate with every snap of my hips.

His eyes rolled back, hand flying to his dick, stroking furiously as I fucked him senseless—wet, filthy sounds filling the room, the laundromat buzz below syncing with our rhythm like some perverted soundtrack. "Come for me," I commanded, white tendrils flickering subtly along my arms, not draining but enhancing, making my thrusts vibrate with symbiote power. He did, roaring my name as ropes of cum painted his chest, ass spasming around me in waves that pulled my own release. I buried deep, flooding him—white-hot essence pumping in thick spurts, creampie overflowing as I kept grinding, prolonging the high until we were both shuddering wrecks.

We collapsed, tangled and sticky, his head on my chest as breaths evened out. "That was... intense," he murmured, fingers tracing the white veins on my abs, curiosity sparking again. No haze, no drain—just potential. The symbiote hummed content, for now. But as dawn crept through the blinds, Jax stirred, smirking up at me. "Think you can handle a rematch in the ring? I wrestle for real—might pin you down next time."

I chuckled, pulling him close for one more lazy kiss, the taste of us lingering. "Bring it, Jax. Just don't cry when I make you submit." And with that, the apex in me stirred, wondering how long this fire would burn before it needed fuel.