Locking Horns with the Locals 2 (Patreon)

There was absolutely no room for maneuvers or tricks, neither nuance nor cleverness.
Only a head-to-head, full-force collision. Nothing but meat and muscle, guts and glory.
The combatants locked horns in inescapable embrace, neither could leave until the duel had been decided. Plastered together from chest to thighs, Butch and Gabriel clashed in a way that only well-endowed super-studs could clash.
Pecs ground relentlessly. Abs mashed unceasingly. Glutes clenched ruthlessly. And with an iron grip on each other's ass, Lion and Kraken hauled each other in, thick burning meat squashing fiercely between them. Their pride as studs on the line, Butch and Gabriel dueled with their manhoods, both their deadliest weapons and their most vulnerable targets.
No quarter was offered or taken. Civility melted away before the primal fury of the thrust, the grind, the squeeze, the hump. Push came to shove as onyx and golden flesh forced their way in close, well-matched males struggling to overwhelm one another.
Muscles writhed and heaved, hips pistoned and shuddered, Butch and Gabriel laying into each other in a contest reminiscent of both mating and sumo, rippling physiques intertwined in upright combat as wet, meaty smacks and claps echoed through the alley, panting and groaning like beasts in heat.
After several hundred wrestling humps, their dams broke, and the dueling studs bellowed in obscene harmony as they squeezed a great coursing gush out of each other, issuing into the heady clinch they shared. The two paused for a few moments, sharing in post-climax shivers and moans, blinking away the stars in their eyes. Then they felt each other's pride swell and flex back into heated rigidity, and the two powered back into the fight like rutting yokozuna.
Navels, groins, and thighs grew slick with both studs' viscous warmth. The one-on-one scrum they shared became more furious, more urgent, more passionate. It was as if the rivals had taken each other's measure, found each other worthy, and resolved to battle to the bitter end.
And so it went. Nose-to-nose, toe-to-toe, breast-to-breast, belly-to-belly, head-to-head, and manhead-to-manhead. Powering into each other as though they were competing inside the most erotic dohyo, ramming together as though they were conquering a woman.
The two smashed in so many senses of the word. Their bodies smashed. Their pecs smashed. Their abs smashed. Their glutes smashed. Their loins smashed. Their thicknesses smashed. Their lengths smashed. Their heads smashed. Their prides smashed. Their climaxes smashed. They smashed themselves together. They smashed each other. They opened themselves to smashing in return.
They grappled and pummeled each other to another mutual peak, then grappled and pummeled into another, and then another, and another. They felt the pulsating and throbbing that signaled each other's studly release, and even here they competed, clenching and grunting to expel a greater volume, attempting to outdo each other in virility.
Their struggle became wetter. Gold and black flesh became lathered in hard-fought sweat, streaming down them in rivulets. The moist clapping of their abs and groins gave way to sloppy thumping squelches as their midsections and lower regions were drenched in seed.
Their grappling was still aggressive, ferocious, but the noise from their dueling bodies now sounded positively pornographic. The thick, viscous 'squelch-squelch-squelch-squelch' that loudly echoed in matching rhythm with the ravenous humping of their hips gave the obscene impression that both wrestlers had speared into each other like studs entering women, that they were breeding each other thoroughly and repeatedly.
Gabriel threw his whole bodyweight into his mighty thrusting, to be met by Butch committing the full measure of his own bulk into the squirming, pumping clinch. Their humps became slower, heavier, deeper, slower, heavier, deeper. Seed gushed from between them in shorter and shorter intervals, dripping to the ground beneath them.
Butch's blood thrilled and burned. They had been at this for hours. He had found another true rival, another absolute beast with whom he could clash and struggle with, two alpha studs pushing each other to their limits in primal nude cock-to-cock sumo, challenging each other to match one another's bitch-breaking thrusts.
Neither backed down, the bout balancing on a knife's edge.
Deadlocked in grueling mutual attrition, Lion and Kraken held each other tight and close. With mighty meaty thrusting at mind-devouring pace, the pair of studs deeply, thoroughly fucked each other.
There could be no simpler word for it. No other term that could so simply summarize the furious pummeling, pumping, squashing, moaning, squelching, sweating embrace that they shared.
Mouth-to-mouth, muscle-to-muscle, meat-to-meat, smeared in their shared sweat and seed, they fucked.
They fucked, and they fucked, and they fucked.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
It became the only thing they could say.
"Fuck... Fuck... Fuck..."
Without so much as an inch of penetration, the golden and onyx sexbeasts had seized each other by the ass and fucked each other more deeply and thoroughly than they had ever been fucked before.
But all things eventually come to an end, and as the sun peeked out over the horizon, one grappler finally gave out.
After so much hard, desperate thrusting and squashing, it was just too much for Gabriel. For the first time in the entire bout, he came before Butch... and crumbled.
The Kraken mounted the Lion, midnight-black atop gold, studly bulk crushing down on another spreadeagled stud, hammering his loins, wrenching one last gushing orgasm out of his beaten foe, basking in the exhausted, fading consciousness of his incredible opponent.
Butch stared into Gabriel's eyes, savoring the moment his rival slowly slipped into dreamland. With an exhausted, deep-throated grunt, the dark Kraken himself orgasmed one last warm and messy time.
Then, with agonizing slowness, Butch's eyes rolled behind his slumping lids, he slumped onto Gabriel, and fell limp, the two grapplers joined in slumber.
Their duel had been shockingly close, victor and defeated separated only by a handful of thrusts, a handful of seconds, wrestling and fucking the last scraps of stamina and studly energy out of one another until both had collapsed, mutually exhausted, mutually sated.