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It was another day for Prast at the gym. Not the Pokémon Gym…well, sort of a Pokémon Gym, but not THAT kind of Pokémon Gym. You weren’t getting any badges at this one...in fact, in this particular one, humans weren’t even allowed inside. But not because they were discriminating against them, just because of logistics. It was fine for Prast, because he was a Grovyle, and the gym was made for him. Not him specifically, but his kind…or, rather, his stature.

Median Gains was a special sort of gym. It had a height limit - over a meter and a half tall, and you were told to go literally anywhere else, where things were made more for people your size. Very few adult humans qualified, but they weren’t the intended clientele - it was mostly mid-sized Pokémon who were the patrons, smaller Pokémon often in middle evolutions who didn’t really fit in a typical gym. Smaller Pokémon still, the first-formers, had their own place to go, run by the same group of folks but catering more to them…there weren’t a lot of places like them, which was why they were so popular with their target audience - Pokémon used to having to make do with improvised exercises and struggling to strengthen themselves in that way finally had a place they could use to reach their aspirations.

Prast certainly loved having the option. He wasn’t the typical Pokémon you’d see there - Grovyles were known more for speed than power, and Prast certainly had commensurate swiftness for his phenotype. However, he was rather embarrassed about his weakness - he was particularly poor when it came to muscle strength, and a few rather embarrassing experiences had started weighing on him. Not being able to roll a sleeping Slowpoke out of the way of his doorway. Struggling to get his pinned tail leaves out from between a mattress and bed frame. Being unable to open his jars of preserved fruits…THAT was the one that had left him desperate above everything. He didn’t have to be a superpower Pokémon - Machops already had that title anyway - but he wanted to at least be physically capable enough for self-sufficiency.

He’d been making progress since he started two months ago. When he’d started, 10kg had been a strain to lift from a bench position, and now he was doing 15. From a standing position, he was closing in on being able to get to 18kg. His leg strength had gotten even better, he went from squatting 25kg to 35kg without too much trouble, and his leg lifts were getting close to 30kg. Of course his legs would be doing a bit better than his arms, Grovyles were built with springy power in their legs and that helped them a bit there, but he wanted to get better in every respect, so he wasn’t just focusing on where he seemed good. He got a good bit of advice from others around the gym for improving his workouts, and he certainly felt that helped - he hadn’t really known what to do when he first got there, Grovyles weren’t exactly normal gymgoers so it was hard to get information from his like-species peers (his first recourse for Grovyle-specific advice - it was always easier to know a species when you were one), but now he felt comfortable there.

All was going well…except arguably for one little detail. Snakh.

Prast was at it again today, working those squats. He was trying to get to 40kg regularly, and even maybe up to 50kg in a single squat. At the moment he was doing 35kg reps, trying to get as low as he could and then straighten up - it was a bit awkward with his body shape, but he was managing, there were always ways to adapt. His hands were gripped tight to the bar as he pushed up, then went down again, then up, focused on the task, focused on the goal, which was thirty reps. His legs were aching after 15, but it was a good ache…but distraction hit when he saw the glowing flame of a Charmeleon’s tail. Snakh was here…and Prast was just hoping that he wouldn’t come over and disrupt things.

Mostly hoping, anyway.

Eighteen. Nineteen…the Charmeleon looked over in his direction, and Prast nearly broke concentration. Oh, he KNEW…maybe he wouldn’t come over, though, maybe he’d be focused on his own workout. Twenty…no, the Charmeleon was on his way over, and that was going to wreak havoc on his focus. Twenty-one…and he had a smirk, too, that wasn’t a good sign.

“Well, well…how’s the grassy boy doing today? 35? Not bad. How many reps?”

“Hng…th-thirty.” Twenty-two now past…chatter was a bit distracting, but that wasn’t the real issue.

“Thirty? And you’re how far through?”

“Nrrrrrggg…twenty-three…”

Snakh’s grin widened. “Almost done, even. Nice. Well, I think someone’s going to need a little cool-down after that…” Prast let out a squeak as he went down and felt a heat near his slit - Snakh’s tail flame, making its cheeky appearance in his personal space, and getting VERY personal. He fought to rise up away from it for the twenty-fourth rep, but it rose up with him, keeping that intense heated stimulation on his slit. The Grovyle’s face was flushing hard as he tried to will himself to stay focused, not let the Charmeleon mess with him…

It got harder when he got a cheeky lick to the side of his face, a streak of hotness that made him whimper as the strain started to get to him. “Or maybe you’ll need heating up, instead…I’ll be more than happy to do that, too.”

Twenty-five…the tail tip was brushing up against his slit now, this was totally unfair. He couldn’t stop now, or he wouldn’t be able to get started again…down, up, twenty-six, and then a yelp as he felt a claw poke inside his slit, making his toes curl against the ground as infernal pleasure crested inside him. Prast was trying so hard to make it to his goal, and Snakh was trying so hard to undermine that…just as he did every time. What had gotten Snakh focused on him, Prast didn’t know, but what he did know was that whenever the Charmeleon came in, he made it his mission to interrupt the Grovyle’s workout - and always by getting overtly lewd with him. The first time, it had been while Prast was on the bench, and the Charmeleon had decided to come up between his legs and spear his tongue into the Grovyle’s slit, throwing him completely off-kilter. He’d thought it was a prank that time, but when the next session came around and Snakh started heating up his tailhole, he knew this was more than a prank, this was calculated.

Twenty-seven…Prast was trying to get the better of him, to be able to continue working out and endure the distraction and the stimulation. He was trying so hard not to let his cocks evert…if he did, that was it, he wouldn’t be able to keep going until they were taken care of. And Snakh was ALWAYS the one who took care of it…and once he’d been fucked and filled with that lava, Prast simply didn’t have the wherewithal to continue the exercise. If he could just keep control of himself…but that fingering and heating was persistent, and twenty-eight took twice as long as the last one. He was panting hard, needing to strain and slow down to keep from breaking, but he was giving himself more time to be broken…Snakh was sneaky and very deliberate, making sure to act when Prast was focused and his hands were occupied, leaving no way for him to deflect the attentions. All he could do was fight, try to keep himself in check, and hope that he somehow had the strength to successfully do so this time…

Twenty-nine…the answer turned out to be no. As he pushed himself up, he felt his body give, and the twin staves he possessed pushed out into the open, smooth and pinkish, leaking their sweet scent all over the place. The urges in his brain redoubled, telling him to cast off the weight and spread his legs, his tailhole twitching as the craving to be stuffed with a fiery poker surged up. He took a deep breath, lowered once again, trying to push through the fire in his legs and the very different fire in his crotch to at least finish the 30-rep goal…his legs were quivering badly like this, though, making every inch a struggle, unlike the inches that would soon be plowing him…oh, they would be a STRETCH, but certainly not a struggle, that he knew from experience…

Somehow he managed to push to the top, successfully getting the thirtieth rep in despite Snakh’s interference. In a gesture of supremely self-serving helpfulness, Snakh hit the button to secure the rig while still working over Prast’s lower half, heat washing over the Grovyle’s pucker and taint as well as his slit and cocks now. The bar was locked in place, and finally Prast could let go and collapse onto his back, cocks drooling a bit of sticky pre down their lengths. He was wiped out and his head was fried now, and there was only one way things would go at this point. Indeed, Snakh was already stepping over him, his smooth, pointed, thick red cock protruding out into the open, ready to be stuck inside something other than its owners slit. There was no fight in the grassy lizard as Snakh grabbed his feet and tilted him upwards to line his cock up with that tailhole - he was both too weary and too horny to resist. What few other Pokémon were in the gym at the moment were looking on with interest - certainly no intent to stop anything, fucking out on the floor was not only allowed, it was regular and normal - and even if they had been inclined to stop it, Prast would have Bullet Seeded them as hard as possible to prevent it.

Just because he didn’t want it didn’t mean he didn’t WANT it.

The cry that escaped his maw as Snakh shoved in might have sounded weary, but that was only due to not yet having recovered from the weights - it was flooded with enough pleasure to ensure that no one questioned his response. Least of all Prast himself, that thick, fiery spear was searing hot inside him in the most delectable way…a slow, slight pull, then another thrust, piercing in deeper, getting a higher and breathier cry out of him, his ass squeezing hard on that shaft as he spurted precum hard onto himself. Snakh gave a sensual growl as he pulled back more, and then shoved in ALL the way - and that turned the cry into a squeal as the Charmeleon’s cock hit THAT spot - that special point deep inside him that was most attuned to heat, and which was at just the perfect depth and position to be poked by a pointed Charmeleon cocktip. And when it was struck, the response was explosive - the keyed-up and worked-up Grovyle came, and came hard, gushing his sticky, syrupy sweetness all over himself, onto his face, into his mouth, onto his chest and shoulders, and onto the floor around him. Just like every time…Snakh had never once failed to get him shooting with that first smacking of his hot spot, and it never lost its luster.

Snakh paused his thrusting as Prast pumped out his load, letting the Grovyle ride out that dizzying climax and release that pent-up fluid with as much vigor as ever. How he had the patience to hold himself back with Prast writhing and twisting on his poker like that was beyond anyone’s guess, but he was mostly still until Prast slumped back, panting hard and finally loosening up and calming down…but the moment it seemed open again, Snakh struck with a fiery surge, jerking out and slamming back in, prodding that hop spot again and getting another squeal out of the Grovyle as he was denied relaxation. Grassy fingers scratched against the floor, desperately seeking some kind of purchase as the rutting TRULY started.

One thing was for sure: Snakh had all the power that Prast had been seeking with his workouts, and then some. Every thrust coming from those thick, muscular legs powered into him unstoppably, no part of him even having a hope of resistance even if he’d had the wherewithal. His tailhole parted like it was made to sleeve that searing tool, slickening with scalding wetness that made the heat feel more oppressive within and without. His leg muscles twitched, but breaking the hold Snakh had on his feet was beyond unthinkable, the Charmeleon held him in place and made sure he took every bit of that flaring frenzy. Snakh’s deep, rumbling growls were the perfect counterbalance to Prast’s breathless cries and moans, clearly showing who was in control of themselves. It was a very steamy scene - quite literally, steam was visibly clouding around them, carrying the hazy mixture of sweet and spicy scent through the air to get anyone within reach good and primed.

Prast was only barely aware of this in the heat of the moment, though - he’d already sucked in enough of that potent pheromone to be lost to it. His cocks were leaking again, over the protests of his already taxed balls, adding to the mess down his front. His eyes were almost glazed over, so deep was he mired in the relentless buzz of pleasure burning into his brain. All his pleasure points were being ruthlessly hammered into compliance, the hot fluid splashing into him was making him burn ever brighter, and all his energy was being sapped from him, driven to satisfying the growing need to cum once again. Those wet smacks were getting louder, harder, he could feel Snakh building up to the finish…it hadn’t been that long, but it never was, this was a burst rather than a simmer, and even this was testing the very limits of Prast’s endurance, if it went longer it might just melt him completely.

Finally Snakh let out a roar, slamming in to the hilt and letting loose his lava to gush into Prast, the heat flaring within the Grovyle as his insides once again were baked by Charmeleon cum. Every fresh spurt was punched right into that most heat-sensitive spot…the first of them send Prast over the edge again, another load of sweet seed forced from his twins to splatter all over him and around him, and each subsequent incendiary assault only forced his balls to squeeze down and jet more from him, while spiking his brain with bliss that he could barely weather. Time after time this had happened, and time after time Prast felt like it was on the verge of breaking him in some way...not once could he say he didn’t love every second of it, though, and this was no exception, his voice and expression saturated with euphoria even the most oblivious couldn’t have missed, and remaining so for every second of their mutual climax.

Only with Snakh’s load finally tapered off was Prast’s head allowed relief from the overwhelming pleasure. The Grovyle was a panting, shuddering, cummy mess of a lizard, balls aching from overexertion, twin staves laying limply against him, spent beyond measure as always. Snakh was grinning down at him as he pulled out slowly, some of his fiery load leaking out of that loosened tailhole; most of it stayed well within Prast, though, leaving the Grovyle feeling overly heated all throughout his body. What was most potent, though, was the sheer exhaustion…just like every time, Snakh’s fucking left him completely spent, his body unable to muster any more energy for anything…including the rest of his workout. He almost never got through even half of what he intended by the time the Charmeleon had a go at him, and it would be the same today - he would have to cut it off there. Something that Snakh was clearly unapologetic for, as he let go of Prast’s feet and let the Grovyle’s lower half slump limply onto the floor. “Fantastic as always…you really are the most fun fuck here. That felt like a good warm-up for both of us.”

“Yyyhhhh…” Prast’s first attempt to talk sounded like he couldn’t quite get started up. “One of…these days…I’m…gonna…actually…get a workout…actually completed…without you…interrupting me…”

Snakh just let out a snorted laugh. “Sure…that’ll be when you start scheduling them when you know I’m NOT here.” He strode away with a snicker, while the flushed Grovyle laid there, trying to muster up enough energy through that withering heat to pull himself upright and get to the showers. At least he’d been left with a good tip for completing his workouts, one that Prast had no doubt he would completely ignore…