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In the five years since Will started bulking up, he could count on two hands the number of days he’d skipped working out. Those were mostly for press tours for or extensive stunt work on Guardians of the Galaxy 3, his newest film, but no matter how jet lagged or tired he was, he could always find the strength for a set of squats in his hotel room or dumbbell curls between interviews.
His commitment paid off. Walking into a West Hollywood gym, dressed in a pair of silver Nike tights and a shiny gold tank top, Will received many lustful glances. For a long time he’d been a skinny kid getting skinny kid roles, so he enjoyed the attention. Every morning he looked in the bathroom mirror, ingesting a protein shake filled with way too many raw eggs, and told himself to be proud. He was no longer a hundred and forty pounds with weird eyebrows. He was now over two hundred pounds of muscle with proportions like a Greek statue.
Poulter worked out for twenty minutes before he noticed one particular man staring at him from across the room. He wasn’t even pretending to work out, just standing on his treadmill and watching with a hungry, slightly cheeky grin. Will’s mild offense turned to arousal when he recognized the man as Chris Pratt, his co-star from Guardians 3. He paused his workout and approached Chris, who was dressed in a maroon tank top and similar grey Nike tights to Poulter.
“Didn’t your mother ever teach you it’s rude to stare?”
“My apologies,” Pratt chuckled, bumping Poulter’s fist in greeting. “I was trying to decide if you plucked your eyebrows or if you were just born funny.”
“You use this gym? I’ve never seen you around before.”
“I’m bulking up for a new movie,” Chris explained. “Live action Mario needs to be able to get it.”
“Oh, you can totally get it.” Will noticed that, apart from their brief fist bump, Chris’ hand stayed resting scandalously close to his crotch. Speaking of which, Will tried not to stare at the bulge in his Nike tights, or think of his own growing erection… “It’s a crime against humanity those animators gave Mario such a flat ass, considering his voice actor has one of the best dump trucks in the biz.”
“Is that right?” A cheeky smile creased Pratt’s lips.
“I got twenty minutes of a workout in. Why don’t we drive to my Airbnb and finish the rest?”
“Why wait?” Pratt asked, openly gripping the front of his Nike tights, in full view of all other men, who had paused their workouts. Pratt nodded toward them. The gym was spacious and full of mirrors. “Let’s give them a show.”
Poulter sank to his knees and rolled Pratt’s Nike tights below the hips. The eyebrow kid took Pratt’s large cock into his mouth, slobbering over the engorged man-meat for the pleasure of his private audience. Pratt gripped the back of his head, stroking his hair as he thrust into his warm soft mouth.
The twenty-nine-year-old Englishman was a pro at sucking cock, teasing Pratt’s uncut mushroom head with his nimble thespian tongue until warm globs of precum coated his palate, and he pulled away. “I want to eat your ass.”
The Mario actor stripped off his Nike tights and bent over the bench press, his ass plump on the bench like two honeyed hams. Poulter smacked his ass, taking in the sight of each cheek wobbling, before diving in with his skilled tongue. Pratt moaned as the younger man repeatedly swiped at his prostate, his arms limp at his side as he experienced waves of rapturous pleasure. He usually topped, but his hole had been stretched enough by other men that Poulter’s entry wouldn’t be too rough.
“Fuck, you’re hungry.” As Pratt laughed, his ass flexed, and his companion couldn’t help but smack those large, peach fuzz-hairy cheeks again.
Poulter licked his lips, still savoring the taste of the forty-three-year-old’s hole and taint. “Are you ready for my cock?”
“Fuck yeah, man!”
Poulter’s tank top and tights had no pockets in which he could store protection, but Pratt always kept pre-lubed condoms at the ready, so he gave one to Poulter who rolled it onto his dick. Before he was fully hard he shoved his cock into the older man’s ass, eliciting a harsh grunt and a chorus of excited chortles from the other gymgoers in the room. “Uhm, you’re big,” Pratt quipped, like he was playing his character Peter Quill. “I expected that, but still… I did not expect thattt. You’re practically splitting me in half.”
While thrusting into him, Poulter smacked Pratt’s ass several times, determined to leave handprints on those pale, mostly shaved cheeks, and whispered in Pratt’s ear, “You like this, baby?”
Pratt nodded slightly. “Uh-huh. You’re in control, baby. My tight Mario bussy is yours.”
Poulter laughed and pulled completely out of Pratt, then thrust back in, filling the older actor’s rectum and eliciting a groan of primal pleasure. “Gduh-gda…” Poulter repeated the process, continuing his assault on the older man’s ass as he fucked him doggy-style on the bench press in the large West Hollywood gym. Some spectators gave whoops of joy when Poulter picked up the pace of his thrusts, jeering for him to “destroy that ass!” or “fuck him hard!”, but most were content to silently stroke their cocks.
Pratt got such a thrill out of being dominated by the much younger man. He typically topped his contemporaries, like Evans or Hemsworth, but made exceptions for hot young studs like Tom Holland and Harrison Osterfield, whose holes were usually stuffed more than your average Thanksgiving turkey. He liked getting plowed by young guys who didn’t top a lot, especially when they had as muscular a glow-up as Will Poulter.
After fifteen minutes of passionate thrusting, Poulter exited Pratt’s ass and pulled off the condom. He crossed to the older man’s face under the weight rack and stuck his cock into his mouth, where he came instantly down his throat. Pratt swallowed every drop, jerking his own dick in his hands until he too came all over the bench.
Poulter pulled up his Nike running tights as Pratt put his own pair back on, admiring the Adam Warlock actor’s ass in the shiny silver spandex while he crossed to a nearby trash can and threw out the used condom. When he returned, he spanked Poulter, hard but not without affection, and squeezed one bare broad shoulder. “That was quite a workout. You’re sweating like a madman.”
“It was,” Poulter agreed. “If you ever want to do it again, shoot me a text.” He left the gym with his knees aching and a pleasant fog rolling through his head, receiving lustful and envious stares from the other gymgoers the whole way.