#gymfic | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

florenceandthemachine · 4 years

Text

@hearteyesforbuck asked:

I have been dying for a meet-cute au where Eddie takes Chris to the gym once a week and they box a little together before Eddie spars; usually Chris sits by the ring and reads but one day Eddie finds him laying on a bench, lifting an empty bar while this really cute blond guy spots him and gives him encouragement ....

guess who’s asks are still broken?

Tumblr keeps adding the “Read More” into the ask box, which breaks the entire post when I try to post it. Why is it happening? No idea, but if anyone knows how to fix it, please let me know, this is getting really old.

anyway, fun fact that I just learned about myself—if you want me to dedicate 100% of my brainpower to writing 4.5k of something in one sitting, you just throw in Christopher Diaz.

Eddie liked to think of himself as some kind of a “do it yourself” kind of dad.

Most of the time, that was a good thing.

Kitchen faucet broke? No worries, Eddie has some plumbers tape and three different YouTube videos telling him how to fix it.

Car wouldn’t start? Not a problem, Eddie bought the full repair manual offline and knows his way around a wrench.

Christopher needed forty gluten free, egg free, dairy free cupcakes for class tomorrow? Eddie was perfectly capable of... admitting when he was outmatched by a stand mixer and calling thirteen local bakeries to see if they delivered, because his car still wasn’t starting.

Point is, if there was a way he could work on something, Eddie would at least try it—and needless to say, that got a little complicated where Christopher was involved.

Eddie still wanted to do a lot of it on his own. Chris was his kid, and no one else's, and he didn’t even like being away from him while Chris was at school—he wasn’t sure if that was guilt stemming from leaving Chris as a kid, or guilt about introducing Shannon back into his life only to have her wind up dead, or guilt about... well, pick-a-thing, but he was pretty damn sensitive about what he perceived he could do to help his kid.

Which is why, when Chris’ physical therapist gave Eddie some suggestions about how Chris could work on strength training at home, Eddie dove completely into the deep end, head first, no floaties.

Working on Chris’ fine motor skills had been cake. Writing, drawing, arts and crafts, even playing video games, all helped improve Chris’ hand eye coordination (and if Eddie ran out of room on the fridge for Chris’ masterpieces and started framing them instead, well, that was his own business, no matter how nosy the busybodies at Michael’s got).

Working on his gross motor skills, though, that was another story. They could go on walks, sure, and they did every day. Eddie could hook up the trail-a-bike to his own once or twice a week so Chris could ride along with him, without worrying about his balance, but those were both leg heavy activities—and while it was great that Chris was building his core strength and leg strength, Eddie wasn’t about to just strap a wrist weight to Chris’ arms and call it a ‘well rounded workout’.

Short of more physical therapy, Eddie was at a loss as to what to do—so when Google Maps pushed him off the 101 to avoid a wreck on his way home from work and he got caught by a stop light right next to "Ricky’s Boxing Gym”, Eddie felt like his prayers had been answered.

Over the next few months, they had set up a pretty good routine. Eddie would bring Chris to the gym, they would hop into one of the many rings, and he and his son would get a half hour of quality time, three times a week. Eddie had his own set of boxing mitts, and Chris thought that spending a half hour trying to punch his dad’s hand was the most fun a kid could have after school. Chris would tire himself out and sit on the bench, drawing or reading for a while more, while Eddie would actually spar with one of the staff members, get his own workout in, and then they’d go home.

Nine times out of ten, they’d stop for ice cream or pizza, and completely undo any of the workout they had actually done, but Eddie thought that was a small price to pay for the whoop of joy Chris let out when he actually managed to hit Eddie’s glove dead center.

Eddie’s sparring partner of choice (well, after Chris) was Tommy Kinard. He was nice enough, and kept Eddie on his toes, giving him plenty of time to look over to Chris to make sure he was safe, and happy, and occupied, and (“Dad, I’m fine! Go punch someone!”) okay, maybe he was helicoptering a little bit. He hadn’t really thought it was a problem until Kinard went on paternity leave, leaving him in the capable, and brutal, hands of Boscoe.

Boscoe was a beast. He didn’t know her first name—didn’t know if she had a first name—but what she lacked in pleasantries she more than made up with strength. If Eddie was being honest, though, he kind of loved it; even after the first day they sparred together, when he wound up limping into the 118, proudly admitting to Hen that he had been beat up by a girl.

The thing was, Boscoe was intense, and while that was a good thing, it gave him less of a chance to helicopter over Chris.

Which, okay, maybe that was a good thing too. Whatever.

He knew the gym pretty well by that point, and knew the people who worked there, knew he could trust Chris with any of them—which is why when he looked up after dodging a jab from Boscoe, and saw Chris absent from his bench, he only panicked a little bit.

When he managed to take a wider look around the gym and saw a familiar pair of shoes laying down on a workout bench, the rest of him obscured by a bigger, bulkier body, that panic went from 0-60 real quick.

“Hey!”

He only barely managed to dodge a glancing blow from Boscoe as he ducked beneath the ropes, grabbing a towel to blot at his face as he hopped down. His voice was little more than a quick bark through the gym as he stepped around another group of machines, his frantic pace slowing a little as he got into earshot.

“... yeah, come on buddy, you can do it! Come on, give me one more rep! You got this little man!”

Fuck, had this stranger actually given Chris a set of weights?

His temper was white hot by the time he finally got around the front of the machine, opening his mouth to shout, to get a manager, to do something, but the words died in his throat as he took in the scene before him.

Because Chris was definitely on the bench, and he definitely had his hands on the bar—the bar that was completely devoid of weights, Eddie noticed, the same bar that had two much larger, stronger hands attached to them. Hands that were probably doing all the actual work of lifting the bar, because Chris was laying back, unable to speak, because he was giggling so hard.

The bar landed back on the rack with a dull thunk as Chris pulled his hands back, sticking them straight up in the air triumphantly as he sat up. The man behind the bar gave a big show of leaning against the frame of the bench dramatically, fanning himself, giving Eddie a full view of an employee shirt, name badge, and the gym logo stitched across the polo he was wearing.

Whelp, that was almost very embarrassing for him.

“Holy cow, that was such a good job! Man, you have got to be the strongest kid I’ve ever met in my life!”

“Dad, did you see me? Buck says I’m super strong!”

Eddie had to admit, he was a little thrown by whatever was happening here, but Chris was obviously having a good time, and he felt the white hot anger dissipate into something a little less angry and a little more embarrassed.

“That was some pretty impressive work, buddy! Have you been holding out on me?” Eddie dipped down and tossed a few playful jabs at Chris, selfish only because he wanted to prolong the joy his son was obviously feeling, but it was all worth it as he was handsomely rewarded when Chris started giggling again.

The man—Buck, Eddie gathered—laughed, drawing Eddie’s attention upward, and for a moment, his brain short circuited, because there was no way on earth a gym rat could be this... pretty.

Because damn. Buck was pretty.

Pretty enough that Eddie was easily distracted, waxing poetic (internally, thankfully) about beefy arms and a plush lip that he didn’t notice what was happening until Buck stuck a hand out, smiling, and Eddie could only guess what was going on. He reached out and took the hand, his own smile hitching as Buck’s face slipped into confusion.

“Uhh—”

“...I was asking if you wanted me to take your towel for you and get you a fresh one.”

Oh. Right. Towel.

Eddie’s face burned as he pulled the towel off his shoulder, handing it over, giving a too-tight laugh as he nodded his head. “Yes! If you could get me a new towel so I could strangle myself in embarrassment, that would be great.”

Well, at the very least, that got Buck to laugh again—death would be worth it if that was the last sound he heard. “Sorry I kind of stole your kid. He was wandering in between the machines, and it’s my first week off of the evening shift, so I just wanted to make sure he didn’t get hurt—but then he started asking about all the weights and pulleys and stuff, you have a really smart kid!”

Total Gym Hottie (Buck, his mind corrected. If he was going to drool over someone the least he could do was use their name) was complimenting his kid now, and Eddie was so star struck he was actually proud to say he didn’t stumble when Buck nudged his shoulder, head jerking back to the ring he had abandoned.

"...anyway, I think strangulation is the least of your worries, if I know that look, Boscoe has an entirely different death planned for you if you don’t get back in the ring. Go on, I’ll help little man here wheel you out on a gurney when she’s done with you.”

Buck sounded way too positive about that, and it was all Eddie could do to groan and walk back to the ring, tail between his legs.

Sure enough, even after he had the next day off, he was still sore when he walked into the 118 for his next shift.

Buck became easily, seamlessly, a part of their routine, in a way that probably deserved a little more insight on Eddie’s part, but insight was for suckers. At least two days out of the week, their schedules aligned—Eddie and Chris still worked on their exercises, but now it included Buck giving a dramatic play by play on the sidelines, talking up Chris like an announcer, or just otherwise causing shenanigans.

It was worth it, easily, because while Chris was certainly never a negative kid, Eddie had never seen him in brighter spirits. And Buck... well, anyone that could find a way to help out his son in a way that Chris clearly enjoyed earned an instant gold star in Eddie’s book. The fact that he was easy on the eyes wasn’t a bad thing, either.

“Diaz, I swear to God—”

Eddie only barely ducked under Boscoe’s extended hand, forcibly rooting himself back in the moment, looking guiltily back to her instead of watching Buck and Chris.

“—can you pay attention for like three minutes so I can hit you without feeling bad about it?”

Eddie tried, he really did, but it was hard. A few weeks had gone by since their initial meeting, and Eddie had gone from “wow he’s pretty” to “full high school crush” in no time flat. It wasn’t his fault, though—because what sealed the deal wasn’t the moment Buck had switched to tank tops over polos, or how happy Eddie was to spend time staring at Buck’s magnificent ass (and it was really, really magnificent, let the record show), it was how he interacted with Chris that sent him over the edge.

Buck was good with Chris, but somehow that was the understatement of the year. He was kind, and he was bubbly, and he was just in sync in a way that Eddie wasn’t even sure he had reached, and Chris was his son. Buck was patient in a way that seemed effortless, easily slowing himself down or changing what he was doing when he noticed Chris struggling, wether it was in going over a math problem while Eddie got the crap beat out of him or just showing him how some of the different machines worked.

Hell, right now, Eddie had his hands securely around Chris’ hips as he lifted the other male to a chin-up bar, helping Chris count out the pull-up’s he was doing—and while all Eddie could hear was Chris’ laughter, all he could see were the thick cords of muscle attached to Buck’s arms, lifting Chris like he weighed nothing.

Eddie wondered, not for the first time, if Buck could lift him like that.

Like she was a horrible mind reading pervert, Boscoe smacked him with an open hand—not hard enough to hurt, but not soft enough that he was going to ignore it.

“Diaz, this will be our last session together. Kinard is back next week—” Another punch, a quick jab that Eddie blocked with his forearms. “—so the least you could do is focus on me and not the apple of your eye over there.”

“Buck isn’t the apple of my—fuck—my eye, grow up.” Eddie huffed as he threw out a punch of his own, his hand knocked away violently, only barely dodging the sharp hook that Boscoe sent to him.

“God, I was talking about your kid, Diaz. You’re embarrassing yourself.”

Oh.

Ignoring how red his face was, Eddie grumbled and threw another quick jab, though he missed completely as Boscoe stepped back, a grin on her face, and Eddie knew better than to trust that look. The last time he trusted that look, he had been talked into fighting bare-handed, and he still wasn’t sure his knuckles would ever really work again.

“You know, Kinard is supposed to take you back as a client, but I bet if you asked nice enough...”

Oh no.

“Hey, Buck!”

Oh no. Eddie looked up in horror as Buck easily lifted Christopher onto his shoulders—god, so much muscle—and jogged over, with the nerve to not even be out of breath when he smiled up to the pair in the ring. Eddie bit his tongue and leaned over to high five his kid, fully prepared to deal with whatever terrible thing was about to come his way.

“Kinard was supposed to take Diaz here back after he’s off leave next week, but I know he wanted to ease back into things after being away from the gym for a few months. You think you could spar with him in the interim?”

Oh, no, didn’t seem to cover it anymore. Eddie was having a hard enough time focusing on the task at hand when Buck was in the same building, he would be signing his own death certificate if he had to stare Buck in the face, and then try to hit said face. He hadn’t even seen Buck break a sweat before—he didn’t know if his little bisexual heart could take it.

He was somehow both relieved and regretful when Buck shook his head, looking plenty apologetic as he pulled Chris up and off of his shoulders, making sure that he was steady on his feet before he leaned up against the ropes. “Sorry, Eddie. I don’t really box, and besides, I think Chris and I are making real progress while you get your butt kicked. Show him the guns, Chris!” Buck said, and Chris immediately started some classic strong-man poses, Buck posing dramatically behind him, and Eddie felt his heart melt for two entirely different reasons.

Buck turned around mid pose as the door chime went off, giving Eddie ample time to count out the individual strands of muscle fiber in the moment before Buck relaxed, turning with a smile back to the gang in the ring. “Lena, that's my next client. Chris, Eddie, I’ll see you both next week, yeah?” He said with a grin before he fist bumped Chris and waved to Eddie, slipping back into Professional Buck mode. Eddie waved back, brows almost in his hairline as he looked back to Boscoe, who was scowling at him.

“So—”

“No, Diaz.”

“Wait, why not? Buck gets to call you Lena!”

“Beat me in the ring as often as Buck does and I’ll consider it.”

Eddie had his mouth open to retort when Chris cut him off, pushing his glasses up on his nose as he tilted his head. “Can I call you Lena?”

She didn’t even hesitate a moment, nodding her head seriously. “You can absolutely call me Lena, squirt.”

Chris promptly stuck his tongue out at his dad, and Eddie reacted in sort, falling to the floor of the ring as he grabbed at his chest. “The nerve! Betrayed by my own child, my own flesh and blood!”

Chris looked thoroughly unimpressed, sitting back on the bench as he started to pack up his schoolwork. “Lena, can you tell my dad to stop being such a drama queen?”

It wasn’t until they were both in the car, that Eddie, thoroughly beaten down by his son, his trainer, and his own brain for providing a play by play of Buck that day while he was in the locker room shower stall, really thought about what Buck said.

He didn’t box. Which was strange enough in a boxing gym, but whatever, there were plenty of machines that Buck could be working on instead.

But them Boscoe (god, he couldn’t even call her Lena in his head, it felt like she would figure it out and beat him to death) basically admitted that Buck regularly whooped her behind the ropes

If Buck wasn’t boxing in a boxing gym, what the hell was he doing?

As it turned out, Eddie didn’t have to wait long to figure it out. Barely a week had passed before Eddie had received a call from Chim, all but begging Eddie to switch shifts so he could take the girl he had been seeing out on a proper date. The switch was a no brainer—Maddie seemed like a great girl, and as much shit as he gave Chim for... well, being Chim, he obviously wanted to see his teammate happy, especially when the only thing he would have to change was a gym day from a Monday to a Sunday.

If he had known that this would be the day that sealed his fate, he probably would have reconsidered the switch all together.

The gym was packed—which probably wasn’t surprising for a weekend day, but damn, Eddie had been glad he booked a ring with Kinard ahead of time. It was nice to see a familiar face in the gym anyway, one that wasn’t trying to beat the crap out of him in the ring, and once Kinard joined up with them, it was easy to shoot the shit. Eddie congratulated him on his step into fatherhood, ruffling Chris’ hair as he did—not that Chris noticed, busy scanning through the machines for a familiar blond head.

Not that Eddie could judge, when he was doing the same thing.

“Hey, I’m gonna toss my stuff in a locker. See you out here in a sec?”

“Yeah, sounds good! Buck and Boscoe are almost done in their ring, we have it next.”

Eddie was halfway to the locker room before what Kinard had said clicked in his brain, and he immediately did a 180, making a beeline to the rings set up on the far side of the gym, easily spotting the pair when he knew what to look for.

It was no wonder that neither he nor Chris had recognized Buck when they walked in—he was literally drenched in sweat, his usually fluffy blonde hair dark and slicked to his forehead, scowling around his mouth guard as he danced around Boscoe.

Boscoe, who Eddie had never seen so worked up. Damn, she really hadn’t even had to try during his matches. Wasn’t that a blow to the ego.

No, Buck definitely wasn’t a boxer, because this was a dance. Every move he made, he made with his entire body, his energy flowing through each form, moving easily and gracefully in a way that shouldn’t have been possible with such an incredible amount of force and flat out violence. He almost felt dazed as he followed Buck’s movements, but in the best possible way, his eyes snapping back and forth as he tried to trace where one hit ended and the next began.

“Wow.”

Eddie was glad that Chris said it, because he still couldn’t find the muscles needed to pick his jaw up off the floor. He didn’t know if Chris had followed him over to the ring or if his Buck-radar was just that good, but for the time being, Eddie was more than thankful for the minute distraction as he ruffled his kids hair again.

Boscue was moving more desperately as the match continued, launching into a series of quick jabs, but even Eddie could see where that was her downfall. Buck knocked her arm back with her last punch and sent a kick straight for her shoulder, but then he twisted his entire body off of the mat and his other leg was in the air too, and Eddie instinctively sucked in a breath as Buck locked her neck between his thighs. They both came crashing down to the mat, struggling impressively until Boscoe slapped Buck’s thigh twice, and then—

—and then Buck was all smiles again, beaming as he released her and took a knee on the ring, helping her back into a sitting position, spitting out his mouth guard with an excited moment of praise for her technique.

Eddie could not compute. This was his downfall. Eddie is dead, long live Eddie.

“Holy cow, Buck! That was amazing! You’re like... you’re like a ninja crime fighting super hero!”

Well, that was one way to put it.

Buck’s head whipped around at Chris’ excited outburst, lighting up when he spotted Eddie and Chris near the bench, eagerly scooting forward into a sitting position closer to the ropes.

“Thanks, little man! That was some mixed martial arts, it’s super fun. I’ve been teaching Lena for a few years, she’s getting pretty good!”

Buck’s grin slid into something a little more proud and pleased as he looked to Eddie, and Eddie felt every muscle in his body tighten as Buck’s gaze burned through him.

“What did you think of that leg lock, Eddie? Total knock out, right?”

Oh fuck, was Buck flirting with him now? That had to have been flirty, right? Come on, Brain, do something.

“... legs.”

“...my legs?”

“Buck, your... your legs.”

Buck’s smile looked a little more pinched as Eddie groaned, shaking his head. “Okay, I, I’m sorry, but I have to ask you this or I will completely die. Can I take you out to dinner sometime? I know a great place off the strip, you’ll love it, my treat.”

The look on Buck’s face was skeptical, at best, but at least he wasn’t shutting him down, giving Eddie the benefit of the doubt (and giving him a moment to get his brain back online). “Because of my legs?”

“No. Well, okay, you have amazing legs. And arms, though, and like... a stupidly handsome face, and I would be blind not to notice those things—” shit, Eddie probably sounded like such a shallow asshole right now. “—but I’m asking because you’re really smart. And you’re kind, so kind to Chris too, and you’re patient, and... Buck, you’re really really sweet. And I would love to take you out for a dinner date the moment you can look past my apparent inability to form a single coherent thought.”

After a moment that felt much longer than the three seconds it was, Buck sighed and leaned past Eddie, looking critically to Chris. He slid down to his stomach, squinting as he dropped down to eye level with the boy. “What do you think, Chris? Should I give your dad a shot?”

Well, at the very least, Buck was asking the one person that Eddie knew he always had in his corner; and sure enough, Chris delivered. “I think so. Dad really likes you.”

That’s his boy.

“Last week he spent my whole entire physical therapy appointment telling Dr. Wilson how much help you gave me and how nice you were and how much he appreciated it. It got kinda annoying.”

...well damn, Eddie wasn’t expecting to be called out by his own kid like that, but if the suddenly soft look Buck was giving him was any indication, it might have been the necessary push to get him to understand how serious Eddie was.

Eddie tried to keep his excitement tamped down when Buck nodded, sitting back up. “I’ll tell you what, I’ll make you a deal. Only because you managed to ask me out before I could ask you.”

Wait, Buck wanted to ask him out anyway?

“If you can land three hits on me in three minutes—should be easy after spending a weeks with Boscoe—then you can pick the time, the place, and I’ll even talk Lena in to letting you call her Lena. But if you don’t...” Buck reached through the ropes to help Eddie up, tossing him a wrap for his hands as he did. “... then I get to pick the time, the place, and you start training with me in MMA instead of going back to boring old boxing.”

Eddie blinked at him in abject horror as Buck dipped his voice low, seeing with terrible clarity exactly where Boscoe had learned her terrifying grin.

“That way you can see my leg choke up close and personal. Deal?”

The stakes were too high, and Eddie couldn’t say no.

He was screwed.

He was elated.

But fuck, he was screwed.

(Three minutes later, Buck asked if Eddie was free on Friday at seven, promised to pick somewhere nice, and gave him a searing kiss before he disappeared into the staff locker room. Eddie, on the other hand, needed a spatula to peel himself off of the floor of the ring.

He had never been so happy that he could barely move in his life.)

139 notes · View notes

miss-ingno · 5 years

Text

Gains of the Heart

Fandom: ragehappy/fahc Ship: Doolray (Jeremy/Ray) Words: 5k Tags: pre-Jeremy joining the crew, love at first sight, pining, romance, 3+1

Summary: 3 times Ray went to the gym. No, not a pokémon gym.

Read here on Ao3.

A/N: Inspired by the gym scene in this doolray story by @keelerpeeler. Totally expected it to go differently, which lead to the concept of this story :D

“Remind me again why I’m here?”

Ray crossed his arms and shifted on his feet, eyeing the room warily. Shiny chrome and black contraptions were lined up along the walls, with handlebars dangling over the seats. Ray didn’t have a single clue how to use any of them. Right now they were the only persons in this particular room, but Ray could see other people through the glass walls, pounding away at boxing sacks and running the treadmills.

“Because I’ve been eating like a pig,” Michael returned, face red and sweaty. Ray wrinkled his nose. That was the other thing, this whole building stank like the locker rooms back in high school. Which was maybe not that surprising, considering they were at the gym.

“That’s why you’re here,” Ray shot back, pushing his glasses back up his nose. “It doesn’t explain why you dragged me with you.”

Michael shot him a look.

“I needed a gym buddy,” he grit out between laboured breathing. “You’re my best friend.”

“No, that’s Gavin.”

“No, he’s my boi. That’s different.” Michael pulled on the handle once more, before letting go with a grunt. Ray tossed him his towel. As Michael wiped off his face, he added, “Besides, can you imagine Gavin in here?”

Ray glanced around again and grimaced. It was all too easy to imagine the chaos: loud complaints turning into curiosity as Gavin poked around the machines, probably breaking a few along the way. Inane questions and dares, followed by stirring up the meatheads in pure boredom, ending in a building-wide brawl and a lifetime ban from the gym.

Compared to Ray’s token protest? He’d pick himself, too. Still.

“You could’ve asked Ryan instead,” Ray grumbled, handing Michael the water bottle next. “He’d probably enjoy this.”

“Civilian identity,” Michael pointed out, sounding all too reasonable. He rolled his eyes. “You know how he gets.”

Ray had to give that point to him, too. Damn.

“For the record, I said no,” Ray stated to the room as he sat down on the edge of one of the machines, absolutely not sulking.

“Noted.” Michael sounded amused. “Just play on your DS or something. I still got one more set before I can switch over to the pec deck.”

Ray had no idea what that meant, so he flipped Michael off and followed his advice. His DS was a decent distraction while Michael went through whatever training plan he’d pulled out of his ass. He only resurfaced when the door opened, head jerking up in reflex at the sudden noise.

A bald man entered the room, giving him and Michael a nod before wandering over to one of the machines. He was short, Ray’s height at most. What he lacked in height he made up with muscles, though, his biceps bulging as he pulled at one of the training machines. Ray caught himself staring at the play of muscle and tore his eyes away, trying to focus on his game instead.

He kept sneaking glances, though, watching the man work out. He was fucking ripped- dressed in loose baggy pants and a tight tank top that flattered his arms. Ray was incredibly glad his own hoodie was a size to large, hiding his stick and bones physique as well as the bit of belly he’d gained from one too many mountain dews. Huddled over his DS, Ray must seem like the epitome of a nerd.

Keeping his head studiously bent over his DS, he glanced over, eyes trailing the sweat dripping down the man’s thick neck. He wanted to lick it off.

“Alright, I’m done.” Michael’s voice ripped Ray out of his thoughts.

“Huh?” Ray looked up, startled. Michael shot him a bemused look. His towel was slung over his shoulder, and he was in the process of screwing the cap onto his bottle.

“We can go now.”

“Oh.” Ray blinked. He wasn’t sure how much time had passed and the room had no clock on the wall. He shot a furtive look the other occupant’s way, who had moved on to the pull-up bars. “Uh… Don’t you need to shower or something?”

“Yeah, which means going back to the locker room.” Michael’s eyebrow was climbing, and he followed Ray’s gaze. “Ah. Unless you wanted to wait here.”

Ray felt his cheeks flush hotly. He quickly tore his eyes away.

“You know me,” he mumbled, ducking his head. “I don’t do well with crowds.”

“Less people here,” Michael drawled, looking like he wanted to call Ray out on his bullshit. He glanced back at the other man in the room with them, before shooting Ray a smirk. “Sure. I get it.”

There was no way Michael would let him live this down, Ray realized. He narrowed his eyes at his friend, but Michael’s grin just grew. He waggled his eyebrows suggestively and winked, then left the room.

Ray really, really hoped ripped guy hadn’t noticed the byplay.

It was worth it to stealthily watch him go through his workout routine, daydreaming about feeling up all those muscles. He didn’t go as far as ogling his ass when the dude turned his back to him to do squats, that’d be creepy- but he snuck a look. Or two. Or three. Really, there was little difference from his usual people-watching, it was just… closer.

...so maybe he was being a little creepy.

The guy caught him watching as he was struggling with that internal dilemma, lifting a brow in question, and Ray shot him an awkward smile. Raised his hand for a wave, but abandoned it halfway, and this was why he didn’t go out. Ray didn’t do people, that was Gavin’s job. And Geoff’s. And Jack’s. Not Ray’s.

“Your buddy abandon you?”

“Uh.” Ray scrambled to find a response, not expecting the man to talk to him. “He, uh, went…”

Ray waved vaguely in the direction of the lockers, and the man nodded as if that was a real answer, and not a failed attempt at stringing words together.

“First time here?” He grinned, and it made his face look unfairly attractive. “I know some of this equipment can seem a bit overwhelming.”

“I, uh… don’t exercise. Much.” And now he sounded dismissive like some asshole. “I… was thinking, maybe…?”

“Sure, sure.” The man nodded, an easy grin on his lips. “Your friend show you around?”

It was Ray’s turn to nod. It was close enough to the truth, he figured.

“Cool.” An awkward silence descended between them, until the guy wiped his hands off his towel and held one out for Ray to shake. “I’m Jeremy. Feel free to ask me if you need anything.”

“Ray.” He shook Jeremy’s hand. “And I will. Thanks.”

Jeremy cocked his head and grinned. “I can show you how some of these work while you wait for your buddy…?”

Ray’s ears burned with embarrassment, but there was no way to turn him down gracefully. Ray licked his lips and tried for a smile.

“Sure, why not?”

Michael would never, ever let him live this down, ever.

***

Michael did, in fact, tease him for weeks.

He didn’t tell the others, though, so Ray took it with a grain of salt. He tagged along a couple times more, but he only saw Jeremy once. They exchanged nods but not words, and Ray was back to pining under Michael’s relentless ribbing.

Not surprising, really, since Michael only went to the gym between jobs, and with their irregular schedule it didn’t happen as often as Ray would’ve liked. Then things got busy at work, and Michael ended up with a dislocated shoulder.

No more gym visits.

No more Jeremy.

Ray moped for the better part of a week before he came up with a plan. It was time to make good on his lies. (Half-lies. Almost truth. Either way.)

Ray was going to the gym.

Without Michael.

It took him three days after coming to a decision for Ray to realize why Michael wanted a gym buddy. His desire to see Jeremy again struggled with his inclination to relax in his freetime. Michael was obviously out, he’d tease Ray mercilessly the entire time and actually make him work through a full routine. And like hell would he ask Geoff.

That left Ryan.

“I need your help with something,” Ray said, and Ryan nodded, immediately reaching for his mask. “Uh… I was thinking a little more subtle, big guy.”

That earned him a piercing look, but Ryan shrugged and grabbed the duffle with the rocket launcher instead. Ray arched a brow because that was stretching the definition of ‘subtle’ a bit, but didn’t say anything. Where they were going, a duffle would fit right in.

Not that he was telling Ryan that. Knowing him, it would result in a face turn heel and leave Ray one gym buddy short.

“Thanks. You’re a pal,” he said instead, tone dry. Ryan’s expression told him exactly what he thought of that. Still, he followed Ray gamely down to the garage and into a car.

The drive passed in silence, which wasn’t too unusual between them. Ryan liked to think, and Ray enjoyed his quiet company. A glance from the corner of his eyes proved that Ryan was getting into his heist mindset, watchful and alert for any dangers.

...Ray supposed he should probably give him some details.

“It’s a stake-out.” Ray drummed his fingers against the wheel nervously. Ryan slid him a look. “Undercover stake-out,” Ray amended. “There shouldn’t be any trouble, but I would stick out like a sore thumb on my lonesome, so…”

Ryan, bless his heart, or whatever, didn’t ask any questions. R&R connection, baby.

He did, however, stop short in the door of the gym to give Ray another long look. Ray stared back, willing him to play along. Ryan narrowed his eyes, as if to say you’re on thin ice, before following Ray inside. Ray doubted he could convince Ryan to come here again, but that was alright. If everything went according to plan, Ray wouldn’t need a gym buddy after today.

Of course, nothing went according to plan.

“He’s not here,” Ray muttered as he led Ryan towards the locker rooms. “Yet,” he added hastily at Ryan’s look. “Which is good. It’ll seem more natural.”

Except Jeremy did not turn up. At all. After lurking awkwardly in the locker room for half an hour, Ray reluctantly took Ryan to the weight lift machines. Ryan’s eyes went from Ray to the weights and back to Ray. Then he crossed his arms.

“Oh hell, no. No way,” Ray objected, alarm distracting him from his search.

“Good,” Ryan said, voice low and unamused. Ray relaxed. “You should start with the treadmill.”

And the tension was back.

“Uh… I don’t really think that’s… necessary…”

Ryan stared at him, unmoved. So off to the treadmills it was. Running wasn’t too bad, at least. Ray was used to making a quick exit. Usually he wasn’t forced to keep pace for twenty minutes straight, though.

Ryan watched him with his arms crossed, leaning against the balustrade. Occasionally he’d glance down when the door to the gym opened.

“Who are we waiting for?” he asked idly.

“Bald guy. Short, but stacked,” Ray panted. He wiped the sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand. “Answers to the name ‘Jeremy’.”

Ryan hummed and kept a sharp eye out.

After thirty minutes of torture, they returned to the weight lift machines. Ryan went to inspect one of the contraptions, while Ray dropped onto the seat of a different one. He took a huge gulp from the water bottle Ryan thrust into his hands and regretted all the life choices that led him here.

“Let’s take a breather,” Ray suggested, trying to sound glib instead of out of breath. “Stretch out surveillance time.”

Ryan’s face clearly called bullshit on his excuse, but Ray figured the reasoning was sound enough to let it go. Ryan agreed - for about ten minutes.

“You’ll have to warm up again if you wait much longer,” he stated brusquely, crossing his arms. “Your choice.”

Ray groaned and heaved himself up. No way was he going back to the treadmills.

“This is punishment for not telling you where we’re going, isn’t it,” Ray muttered under his breath. Ryan just arched a brow and said nothing, the smug bastard.

At least Ryan knew how to operate the machines, adjusting weights and correcting Ray’s grip on the handlebar. Ray hadn’t even realized there was a wrong way to pull on them. Under Ryan’s sharp eye, Ray went through three sets on each contraption, muscles sore and aching by the time Ryan allowed him a break.

And still no sign of Jeremy.

Ray decided to lurk by the vending machine, finishing off the bottle Ryan brought him. That was more water than he usually drank in a day, Ray mused. Ryan eyed him critically, before letting his gaze roam over the open floor. Half the contraptions downstairs were occupied, and Ray could hear at least two treadmills running up top.

Ryan nodded in the direction of a group of meatheads and gave Ray a questioning look. It took Ray a bit to realize he wanted to talk to them, fish for information, but was reluctant to leave Ray on his own.

“Sure, buddy. Go nuts,” Ray said, too relieved at the prolonged break to give it much thought. Besides, Ryan could be subtle when so inclined.

All in all, the day was a bust. Ray hid in the locker room once Ryan started looking around, unwilling to go through another bout of fitness ‘training’. He was sweaty and sore and hadn’t even accomplished his goal of running into Jeremy. On top of that, he was pretty sure Ryan wasn’t done with his revenge for dragging him into a gym on false pretenses. Ray considered taking a shower when the door opened and a group of meatheads stepped in with Ryan in tow. He hadn’t brought a change of clothes, though, not expecting to do any actual work.

Ryan caught his eyes and separated from the group with a nod and a couple friendly back pats. His expression changed from Friendly Neighbourhood Ryan to serious as he approached Ray. Ray gulped and braced himself.

“There’s only a small chance this ‘Jeremy’ shows up today. They say he’s mostly around Tuesdays and Thursdays.”

Ryan shrugged at Ray’s incredulous look. Fuck. He hadn’t even considered that possibility.

“Okay. Let’s get out of here.”

The drive back to the penthouse was as quiet as on the way there,but much more uncomfortable. Ray parked in the garage, ready to bolt for the elevator and avoid being stuck inside with Ryan. But Ryan had other ideas, grabbing his arm before Ray could open the door.

“Ray.” Ryan eyed him intently. “You know you can talk to me if you’re in trouble.”

Ray slowly relaxed, guilt twisting in his gut.

“I know, bud.” He mustered a smile. “Thanks. I’m okay, promise.”

Ryan sighed and dropped his hand, rolling his shoulders.

“And if that changes-”

“I’m coming straight to you, got it.” Ray reached out and slapped Ryan’s knee with a grin. “Super straight. No homo.”

Ryan rolled his eyes and opened the door.

***

After that utter failure Ray supposed he’d have to come back alone. But first he needed to make sure Jeremy would be there. No way was he going to fake training again - his muscles were still sore. So he “borrowed” Gavin’s bifta on Tuesday, got some fries and a diet coke from the nearest burger joint, and settled in across the street from the gym.

The second day of stakeout (a Thursday) without any sign of Jeremy, Ray started to wonder if maybe something happened to him. He had no real way of finding out. He considered going in and ask the front desk for a number or an address, but he doubted they’d just give out private information. Maybe ask around the regulars if any had seen him…

Halfway through the day, the passenger door opened and Gavin dropped in. He pressed a plastic cup of hot liquid into Ray’s hand and dropped a white box between their seats. Then he pried the box open and pulled out a kolache. The sweet smell of pastries filled the small car.

“Uh, hello to you, too,” Ray said dryly, frantically trying to come up with an excuse to leave.

“You stole my car,” Gavin said, primly dabbing his mouth with a napkin.

“It’s for a good cause, I swear?” Ray tried. Gavin just eyed him skeptically. Then he leaned forward and squinted across the street.

“What’s in that building, then?” he asked, glancing curiously between Ray and the shops. The gym building stuck out like a sore thumb with its grey concrete between colourful shop fronts.

“Who says I’m staking out that particular building?” Ray asked desperately, taking a sip from the cup. A peppermint mocha. He held the beverage up and raised his brows at Gavin. “Really?”

Gavin just shrugged, selecting another kolache to munch on. Then he swallowed before saying, “Is that him?”

He pointed outside, and there on the sidewalk was Jeremy, a duffle slung over one shoulder as he stopped in front of the building. He struggled with the door, which had a spring drawing the door close automatically, but which was calibrated just a tad too strong. Jeremy propped the door open with a shoulder before wiggling himself and his duffle inside.

Ray stared blankly after him.

“How’d you know?” he asked, shooting Gavin a suspicious look. Gavin shrugged languidly, sipping on his own coffee.

“Rye-bread said something about you looking for bald guy,” he commented nonchalantly, slurping loudly. Ray sighed, letting his head drop against the steering wheel. Of course Ryan did. Ray wasn’t sure if it was part of his revenge or Gavin just being Gavin.

“So, what’s going on? Drug deal?” Gavin guessed, craning his head to watch past Ray.

“No,” Ray returned shortly, handing his half-full mocha back before slipping out of the car. He heard Gavin swearing behind him and smirked. Gavin, however, caught up with him quick, sidestepping around Ray into the building while Ray struggled with the stupidly heavy door. Resigned, Ray led him up the stairs, taking some satisfaction in how Gavin froze in the door.

Ray brushed past him and swaggered on to the front desk, smiling at the receptionist. About his age and objectively good-looking, the receptionist smiled back in recognition.

“Back again?” he greeted cheerfully, taking Ray’s membership card and swiping it through the reader. “Where’s Michael? We’re starting to miss him.”

Gavin visibly perked up at that.

“I’m sure once the cast is off, he’ll be back immediately,” Ray remarked dryly. The receptionist grimaced in sympathy.

“Tell him I wish him a swift recovery,” he said, and Ray nodded. Then he turned to look at Gavin, who had pulled down his shades. “And your buddy here?”

“Oh, I’m just here to tease him,” Gavin said, lips stretching into his fake negotiator smile. It made him look like an asshole. “You know, moral support.”

“Or something,” Ray muttered under his breath. The receptionist looked taken aback.

“Right…” He trailed off, glancing between Ray and Gavin. Then he straightened, putting on a customer service smile. “If you’d like a visitor’s pass with guest locker attached, I have to ask you to leave your ID at the front desk.”

“Oh, no worries, I don’t need a locker,” Gavin brushed him off. Raising one of his two coffee cups in salute, Gavin breezed past Ray. Ray rolled his eyes, grabbed his locker key, and followed after him.

“This way, asshole,” he muttered, bumping their shoulders together as he passed Gavin.

Jeremy was in the locker room when they entered, his back turned to them, in the process of tugging his shirt off. Ray stopped dead in the doorway, and Gavin bumped into him, glancing over his shoulder curiously. Ray cleared his throat and stepped inside, his face flaming hot. At the noise, Jeremy looked up. His face brightened as he laid eyes on Ray.

“Oh hey,” he said, pulling on a black tank top. He turned around to face them. “Ray, was it, right?”

“Uh, yeah.” Ray cleared his throat. “Hi. Um…”

Jeremy glanced between him and Gavin.

“Your buddy not with you today?” he asked, eyeing Gavin curiously.

“Ah… no.” Ray scratched at his stubble awkwardly. “He, uh, couldn’t make it today.”

“Oh.” Jeremy shuffled his feet, glancing awkwardly between him and Gavin. He cleared his throat. “I, uh, can help?” Another furtive glance Gavin’s way. “If you, uh, don’t have other plans, that is.”

Behind him, Ray could practically hear when it clicked for Gavin. He bit down a groan.

“Splendid!” Gavin exclaimed, chugging the rest of one cup and dropping it into the trash. “Ray, since you found someone else to help, Ray, I’ll just leave you two to it.”

With that, he whirled around, shooting Ray a conspiratorial wink, before swanning out of the lockers. Ray stared after him, then sighed. Squaring his shoulders, he turned to face Jeremy with an embarrassed grin.

“Sorry ‘bout him.” Ray stepped closer, dropping his backpack on the bench. “I’d love some pointers, though, if you got time?”

“Sure.” Jeremy broke out into a grin, which quickly turned into a grimace. “Sorry if I interrupted your plans with your boyfriend.”

Ray, who was rummaging through his back, looked up and shot Jeremy a quizzical look.

“Who?” He followed Jeremy’s pointed look at the door and blinked. “Oh, Gavin? Nah it’s fine, dude. He was just following me to be an asshole.”

Ray made sure to change quickly, back turned to Jeremy. He felt awkward and gangly next to Jeremy’s easy confidence and muscles. They left the locker room together, arms brushing. It sent a welcome shiver down Ray’s spine.

“Bike, stepper or treadmill?” Jeremy asked casually as they walked up the stairs to the cardio area. Ray considered his options. He wasn’t quite sure how the steppers worked and didn’t want to embarrass himself in front of his crush. Last time he’d run the treadmill, but what if he stumbled over his own feet?

“Bike,” Ray said, feeling like it was the safest choice. He snuck a look at Jeremy from the corner of his eyes. “If that’s cool with you?”

Jeremy shrugged. “Sure.”

It didn’t go too badly, Ray thought. Jeremy made a comment here and there as Ray huffed through the exercise, mostly to give him helpful pointers on breathing technique or reminding him to take it slow. A difficulty to catch his breath at least excused Ray from making awkward small talk.

The weight lift machines, on the other hand, were different.

“So what weight are you up to?” Jeremy asked, bending over the black weight blocks and fiddling with some sort of pin. Ray was maybe just a little bit distracted by staring at Jeremy’s ass, which was moving enticingly.

“Uh…”

Jeremy looked back at him over his shoulder and raised a brow. Ray shrugged, flushing. He couldn’t remember what Ryan had him lift last time he was here, and especially not when Jeremy looked at him like that, his questioning look morphing into a reassuring smile.

“Let’s start you off easy, then,” he offered, pinning the weights in place. “Go on, try it out. If you breeze through your first set, we’ll know to up the difficulty.”

Ray sat down on the seat, eyeing the handlebar warily. He tried to recall Ryan’s instructions - back straight, knees bending at a right angle - and pulled. The weights were relatively light, much to Ray’s relief, though he was uncertain if he should tell Jeremy.

Suddenly, there were hands on his arms.

“You want to keep your elbows tucked in, like this,” Jeremy murmured, his voice sending shivers down Ray’s neck. Hot air brushed over his cheek as he turned his head towards Jeremy. His hands were warm on Ray’s skin, gliding up to his upper arms. “Like this. And then when you let go you hold- here. See how there’s like maybe a quarter inch between the sitting weights and the weights you’re lifting? That’s what you should aim for. Again.”

Ray pulled, too aware of Jeremy standing behind him, his heat radiating through his clothes and crawling under Ray’s skin. His hands were gentle as he shifted, correcting Ray’s pose and giving instructions in his low voice.

“Good. You don’t want to overstretch your arms when you let go - don’t lock your elbows. There you go. Ten more, then you’ve completed your first set.”

Ray felt a pang of regret as Jeremy stepped back to watch him from a greater distance. He tried to focus on the machine instead, keeping Jeremy’s instructions in mind. Jeremy adjusted the weights for the second set, which turned out to be infinitely harder, both due to more weight and his muscles aching from the first set. It was only on the third set that Jeremy broke the silence.

“Gotten a bit more familiar with gyms since last time, huh?” Jeremy commented, watching Ray intently. Ray scoffed, focussing on his breathing as he pulled the handle down.

“Easier if there was just a gym leader to defeat,” he muttered, counting the pulls. Fourteen, fifteen - release. “Wouldn’t have to come back once I won the badge.”

That startled a laugh out of Jeremy. Ray let go of the weights and wiped the sweat from his brow.

“If I were a gym leader, I’d just have six voltorbs,” Jeremy mused, handing Ray his water bottle.

“Yeah?” Ray quirked a grin as he unscrewed the cap. “Like that one biker dude where you only need enough HP to survive?”

Jeremy certainly had the right shape with his wide shoulders…

“And kill my poor voltorbs in the process?” Jeremy gasped, clutching his chest in mock offense. “Nah. I would never do that to cute, little, innocent voltorb.”

Ray snorted and shook his head. He drank from the bottle and handed it back.

“Which one’s next?”

The workout passed surprisingly quick after that. Jeremy kept an eye on Ray during his first set, correcting him every so often, before starting on his own routine. All the while they kept chatting about pokémon, of all things. For a meathead, Jeremy turned out to be a massive nerd. It shouldn’t set the butterflies in Ray’s stomach all aflutter, yet here they were.

After five different machines, Ray took a break, sitting down on an empty seat and nursing his bottle of water, while watching Jeremy, who went to town on a complicated looking contraption.

“You must come here often,” Ray said idly, eyes drawing along the lines of muscles bulging under strain. Jeremy grunted in question. “I mean, to get as fit as you are. I’d have pegged you for a rock/fighting trainer, not electric.”

That got a laugh from Jeremy, before he set the weights down with a groan. He was moving nearly double the stack Ray managed, Ray noted, impressed.

“I just love voltorb, dude. How could I not?” He shrugged. “But I guess I do train here regularly enough. Comes with the area.”

Ray hummed in agreement. Los Santos was not an easy place to live unless you knew how to handle yourself.

“I’d come here every day just to watch you lift,” he joked, too much truth slipping into the statement. Ray scrambled to save face. “I mean, it’s impressive, how much you lift.”

Jeremy snorted. “Clearly you haven’t seen the other guys here.”

“Haven’t really paid them much attention,” Ray admitted, fiddling with the edges of his towel and missing the sharp look Jeremy shot him. Then Jeremy stood, walking over slowly. Ray instantly held out the bottle for him and Jeremy took it with a grin.

“Just me, huh?” He drunk several huge swigs before handing the bottle back and staring at Ray’s face. “Your boyfriend doesn’t mind?”

Ray rolled his eyes. “Don’t have one.”

“Really?” Jeremy sounded startled, before something else slid over his face. “Cute guy like you? Not buying it.” He stepped closer, their knees brushing. “What about the guy who came in with you? What was his name again?”

“Gavin?” Ray snorted, leaning back. Carefully, a bit surprised at his own daring, he spread his legs just enough for Jeremy to stand between them. “Not my type. Besides, asshole’s heads over for Michael.”

“Is that so?” Jeremy hummed, shuffling closer. Ray tilted his head and glanced up at him from under his fringe.

“Somehow, I don’t think you really wanna talk about Gavin,” he commented dryly, reaching out and catching Jeremy’s leg with one hand. Jeremy chuckled, dropping a hand on Ray’s shoulder. His fingers danced up the line of his neck, vanishing in his hair.

“True,” he admitted, his thumb pressing behind Ray’s ear. Jeremy paused, and Ray just stared up at him, heart beating fast. “There’s a pokéstop across the street in this little café. Wanna go there after, drop a lure?” His fingers teased along Ray’s hair line, stealing his breath. Then Jeremy grinned, adding, “Though I doubt there can be anything more alluring than you.”

It was as if a record screeched to a sudden stop.

Ray blinked.

“Was that a pun?” he asked, caught between amused and incredulous. Jeremy’s grin turned bashful.

“Maybe?”

“You wanna try again, buddy?” Ray drawled, his hand wandering up to cup Jeremy’s ass. Jeremy grinned.

“I might not be The Rock but I can rock your world any day.”

Ray snorted a laugh. “That’s almost worse.”

“Thanks,” Jeremy returned dryly. “I try.”

Silence fell. Jeremy stared intently at Ray, making him squirm in his seat, face flushed and heart hammering in his chest. He cleared his throat.

“So… coffee?”

“Sounds good,” Jeremy agreed.

***

The next morning Ray woke up sore and aching, swearing loudly to never step foot into another gym again. Jeremy’s laughter, muffled against Ray’s shoulder, made it all worth it, though.

Early access, Behind the Scenes, and more can be found on my patreon!

55 notes · View notes