The following story is a work of FICTION. Any resemblance to real people, places, or events is purely coincidental. If it feels personal… that’s between you and your conscience. Please don’t repost, reproduce, or do anything shady without permission—unless you're into cease and desist letters. Also: Save it. Like it. Comment on it. Send feedback, thoughts, corrections, compliments (especially compliments lmao). Seriously, I’ve been receiving a lot of love and it helps to motivate me! Yes, I read them.
CHAPTER ONE - DRIP
The gym was quiet that day. Late afternoon sun spilled through the high windows. Music pulsed low through the sound system, more felt than heard, blending into the familiar rhythm of clanking metal and low, masculine grunts.
Liam was curled over a barbell near the free weights section, his expression pinched with focus. He wasn’t struggling, exactly—he was strong, clearly—but his head wasn’t in it. Tomorrow was the meeting he’d been waiting for. A real chance to show the partners what he could do. He was sure he had the skills. But confidence had always been the problem.
"You’re gonna blow out your elbow like that, man. C’mon, close off your elbows."
The voice came casually—low and smooth—but with the kind of tone that didn’t ask. It just was.
Liam looked up, breath catching in his throat.
The guy standing nearby looked maybe nineteen, at most. He wore the sleeveless black shirt the trainers at this new gym used—cut just enough to show the sharp taper of his torso. His body was compact, dense, every muscle defined. Golden skin, lean and efficient.
Tousled dirty blond hair clung to his temples in damp waves. His eyes were light brown—almost amber in the sunlight—and despite the softness of his features, his expression was flat. Annoyed, even.
"Guess it’s obvious I’m winging it," Liam muttered, giving a breathy laugh and wiping his forehead with the back of his hand. His cheeks were flushed, though not just from the workout. "This one’s new to me."
"Yeah, awesome." The guy waved dismissively, already turning away.
And just like that, he was gone—vanishing back into the noise of the gym, leaving Liam standing there with the barbell still halfway lifted, feeling inadequate.
Liam kept at it after the guy walked off, though his rhythm was thrown. He finished the set anyway—stubbornly, if nothing else—and moved on. He wasn’t about to be corrected twice in one day by some intern-looking dipshit trainer, especially one who looked like he should be in school.
Forty minutes passed. Liam had found his focus again—or at least, enough of it to forget the awkward exchange. His tank top was clinging to his back by now, chest rising and falling with slow, steady breaths.
Tall, maybe a little over six feet. Broad shoulders, thick biceps, a solid chest that strained just slightly against the collar of his shirt. His jaw was clean, and his dark hair had started to curl from the sweat. He was hot, yeah, but in a quiet way—nothing showy. The kind of guy women noticed twice. The difficult part was not getting looks but maintaining them. He was into pussy as any other mid-twenty hot-blooded guy, but women walked all over him and eventually lost interest.
He’d just started another round of incline dumbbell presses when a voice cut in again—sharper this time.
"Dude. Your wrist’s gonna snap if you keep holding it like that."
Liam jolted slightly and turned. It was him again.
The blond kid.
He wasn’t smiling. In fact, he looked more irritated now, like he’d been watching for a while.
The kid walked over and crouched slightly beside the bench. "Seriously, man. You’re loading your wrist instead of your chest. It’s all wrong."
Liam blinked, momentarily thrown by the shift from silence to sharpness. "I thought I was—"
"Yeah, well, you’re not. And my boss is on my ass about letting members use bad form. Makes the gym look bad, apparently." He rolled his eyes and made a vague gesture with his hand. "So now I gotta go around babysitting every guy who thinks he knows what he’s doing."
The words stung more than they should’ve. Liam sat up slowly, adjusting the weights back to his thighs, face flushed again—not from effort this time.
"I didn’t realize it was that serious." Who the fuck was this kid? Why does he think he could talk like that? "But, listen, you don’t have to—"
"I do. So either fix it or ask for help." He stood back up, eyes skimming over Liam like he was just another task to check off. "I don’t wanna get chewed out because you tweaked a tendon playing macho."
And with that, Noah walked off again, shaking his head just slightly.
Liam sat down hard on the bench, letting the dumbbells drop to the floor beside him with a loud thud. He wiped his face with the towel draped around his neck, slower than he needed to. His arms still burned, but that wasn’t what was bothering him.
He didn’t even know what had bothered him, exactly. The kid hadn’t done anything. Just corrected him. Twice. Like he was doing him a favor. Like Liam was some clueless fucker at the gym for the first time. He’d been lifting for years. Not like a pro, sure, but enough to know when someone was watching him. Judging him.
Liam exhaled through his nose, jaw locked. The worst part wasn’t the kid’s tone. It was how casual it all was. Like Liam wasn’t even worth getting worked up over. Just another screw-up in a sea of guys trying too hard. The whole thing left a weight in his chest. Not heavy. Just tight.
He knew that type. Blond, lean, smug. Fuckboi. Probably one of those kids who got hit on by both sisters and had never been told no in his life. Probably never got ghosted. Never sat in his car after a party wondering if he’d said something weird.
Liam glanced at the mirror, catching sight of himself slumped over when his phone buzzed.
[Camila: btw, if you forgot AGAIN to buy oat milk I’m literally going to lose it. I’m leaving in an HOUR.]
He didn’t answer. Didn’t even react. That kind of text didn’t even register anymore. That was just Camila.
Another buzz.
[Camila: anyway, I was thinking about last night… when you kept your mouth shut and let me ride. You’re so hot when you’re quiet. Gonna miss that.]
And there it was.
His breath caught in his throat. Not from affection. Just the force of it. The way she could switch from irritated to wet in a single swipe. He shifted on the bench, throwing a towel on his shorts. His cock responded on reflex, not affection. He hated that he was so sensitive when it came to sex.
He shifted again, adjusting the towel over his lap, but it barely helped. The words from Camila’s text still buzzed at the back of his skull. You’re so hot when you’re quiet. His body had latched onto it like it meant something.
Liam clenched his fists. Come on. Just fucking go down.
Another set wasn’t happening like this. He couldn’t stand up with a fucking tent in his shorts. Not in the middle of the gym. Not like this.
He couldn’t stand up with a fucking tent in his shorts. Not in the middle of the gym. Not like this.
And then, from across the room—
"Noah!"
The voice echoed off the walls, annoyed, rushed.
He looked and realized it was the damn kid!
"Fix the damn cable machine already!" someone called from reception.
He didn’t even mean to react. It was like muscle memory now—the shit you feel when you’re about to be embarrassed again. His eyes stayed down as footsteps drew closer. Of course the fucking cable machine was right there beside him. Obviously.
"Are you fucking kidding me? Now?" he mumbled.
Noah stopped a few feet away. Liam kept his eyes glued to his phone, pretending to text, jaw clenched tight enough to pop. He could feel the kid there. Moving around. Checking the machine. Adjusting pins. Sighing.
Liam didn’t look. He kept still. Pulsating cock and all.
But the problem wasn’t visual anymore—it was presence. Noah wasn’t saying anything, just working. Calm. Unbothered. Professional, even. And that somehow made it worse.
Liam shifted again, subtly repositioning his cock to the other side and the towel on his legs.
And then—
Without warning, the kid, Noah, stepped closer. Too close. His right arm reached up above Liam, grabbing for a bin of resistance bands on a high shelf. His shirt lifted slightly, revealing the hard V-line of his stomach and the sharp cut of his obliques. Still, Liam didn’t look.
Not until he felt it. The warm air moving. The body above him. The stretch of the arm, the shadow forming under him.
Liam looked up, eyes narrowing—what the hell is this kid doing towering over me—
Drip.
A drop landed just under his eye.
Another followed. Right across the bridge of his nose.
He froze.
Sweat. It was sweat. Noah’s. From his fucking armpit, right above Liam’s face, he could see it was damp as fuck.
Liam blinked, stunned, disgusted—like someone had just slapped him and walked away.
Noah didn’t notice. Or didn’t care.
His arm stayed raised, body extended over Liam’s bench, like it wasn’t anything at all. Just part of the job. Just some trainer grabbing a band.
Liam sat rigid, throat tight, chest burning. He didn’t breathe. Didn’t move. He felt the drops sliding slightly before they dried—his face heating with something he couldn’t name.
Noah finally stepped back, casually tossing a band over his shoulder. Still silent. Still not looking at him.
And Liam—Liam just sat there, towel clutched in his lap, hard cock, humiliated and face dripping with someone else’s sweat, and absolutely no idea what the fuck he was supposed to do next.
He didn’t speak to Noah after that. Didn’t even look at him. Just waited until he was gone, wiped his face and headed straight to the locker room without finishing his workout. Didn’t shower. Didn’t stretch. Just got in his car and drove, dick still inexplicably half-hard, stomach hollow. By the time he got home, the whole thing felt ridiculous—like a dream.
*********************************************
Liam woke up clear-headed for once.
He’d jerked off before bed—it had been a while since he’d needed to unload like that. Probably just work stress and Camila’s fucking trip to her sister’s. Either way, it was legit one of the biggest nuts he’d ever let out. His well-proportioned, cut, 6-inch cock always drooled a fuck ton too, so that was a plus for him.
And when the alarm hit, he got up like a new man.
The meeting went fine. Not perfect, but solid. He fumbled one transition, tripped over a slide, but he hit his points. Made people nod. Got an actual smile out of one of the partners—genuine, not polite. That never happened. He walked out with a little spring in his step, feeling… capable. Like he could finally stop apologizing for taking up space.
He wasn’t even thinking about yesterday.
The gym? The kid? That whole shit moment?
Didn’t matter. Didn’t mean anything. Just a dumb fluke. He’d been tired. Off his game. Let some kid get in his head.
That wouldn’t happen again.
By late afternoon, he was back at the gym, earbuds in, tank top fresh, shoulders loose with confidence. He started with rows—back and biceps—and the pump came in clean. His reflection looked solid. Strong. Chest lifted, arms full. He even let himself glance at a woman walking past the squat racks. She looked back.
Everything felt normal again.
He’d just dropped the weights on his second set when a voice tapped the air behind him.
"Hey, man."
Liam turned. It was the kid. Noah.
What now? Liam thought to himself.
This time, he looked relaxed. No frown. No tight jaw. Nothing sharp.
He scratched the back of his neck, casually flashing Liam his fucking armpit again. "I was kind of a dick yesterday."
Oh? Liam blinked. Every muscle in his shoulders tightened, but he nodded quickly. "It’s fine."
"No, seriously," Noah said, stepping a bit closer. "My boss is a fuckin’ nightmare. Thinks everyone’s gonna sue the place if they lift wrong. He watches the cameras like a hawk, thinks I’m slacking if I don’t correct shit mid-rep. Still shouldn’t’ve talked to you like that."
Liam gave a shallow shrug. "I wasn’t offended."
Noah nodded, like he didn’t believe him for a second.
"You’ve got good size," he added, eyes flicking over Liam’s chest, his arms. "Just gotta keep those wrists locked on presses. That’s all."
Liam nodded, unsure what to say. "Yeah… thanks."
There was a pause, and Liam was just about to turn back to his set when Noah asked, "You doing chest again today?"
"Back."
"Right," Noah said, smiling. "Smart. Lotta dudes skip it. Always shows."
Liam didn’t know what the fuck that meant, but it felt like a compliment. Or close enough to one.
Noah took a step back. "I’m around if you want a spot or anything."
Then he was gone. Just like that. No attitude. No smirk. No fucking sweat drops.
Liam stood still, barbell forgotten in his hands, heart ticking up for reasons he didn’t understand. The guy had just apologized. That was it.
********************************************
The next few days passed without much to tell.
At first, Noah faded into the background like any other trainer. Liam saw him in passing—chatting with coworkers, guiding some skinny teen through a circuit, wiping down equipment with headphones in, half-flirting with some girl doing hip thrusts.
And Liam, for the most part, kept to himself. Just how he liked it.
But things shifted.
They started nodding. Quick “yo”s. A subtle chin tilt from across the dumbbell rack. One time, Liam stepped into the squat rack and Noah passed behind him, casually tapping a weight out of the way without saying a word. Another time, Noah handed him a wipe when the bottle was empty. No big deal. Just little things.
But the gestures stuck.
Liam started noticing him more. Not for any reason in particular. Just… because he was always around. Always close. Like the other trainers, except more… present.
Noah was easier to be around now that he’d dropped the smug act. Or maybe he hadn’t dropped it—just buried it. He wasn’t correcting Liam anymore. He was still correcting other people, though. And when he smiled—tight, polite—Liam didn’t know how to react. It made him feel… off.
Noah didn’t try to talk, either. He just lingered.
Once, Liam was at the water fountain. He turned around to find Noah right behind him, waiting his turn—way too close. Their arms brushed—bare skin on bare skin. Liam muttered a “my bad,” even though Noah was clearly in his space. Noah just gave a distracted, “You’re good,” and squeezed Liam’s upper arm firmly as if getting him out of the way, before letting go. No eye contact. No tension. Just… a moment.
After that, things got more physical. Not in a weird way. Just small things that passed for normal—fist bumps, taps on the back, casual spotting. The kind of physicality that built up quietly over time until it felt like it had always been there.
One day, Liam was waiting at the cable station, and Noah stepped beside him, unwrapping a protein bar like they were mid-conversation.
"You doing shoulders?" he asked.
"Yeah."
"Try that rear-delt machine after these," Noah said, nodding toward a bench. "Hits cleaner than it looks. I use it a lot."
That was it. He walked off mid-bite.
And maybe that was the weirdest part—Noah never waited for thanks. Didn’t hang around. He just dropped pieces of himself and moved on like it didn’t matter if anyone picked them up.
Liam found himself watching that, admiring it, even. Wishing he had that same ease. That same fuck-off confidence. That same ability to take up space without apology. Which only made it worse, considering the kid was what—seven years younger?
He wasn’t sure when it happened, but at some point, he stopped flinching when Noah got close, especially from behind. He stopped questioning the touches. The nearness.
He started expecting them. Not because he liked it. Fuck that. Just out of sheer frequency. Like bros. Guys grabbed each other’s asses on the field all the time, hugged shirtless after games like it meant nothing. Liam just wasn’t used to guy friendships. Or… any friendships, really.
*******************************************
Liam lay on his back, phone in hand, the glow lighting his face and briefs shoved down to his thighs, waistband stretched just under his balls. The fabric had rolled a little, digging into skin. His chest glistened faintly, a mix of gym sweat that hadn’t fully dried and the kind of heat that came from doing nothing for too long. The ceiling fan whirred above him, moving air that didn’t help much. Socks were on. His phone rested on his bare stomach, screen casting a cold light across the sheen of his skin.
The room was quiet, thick kinda. And every buzz of a notification that wasn’t from the person he wanted felt like a slap on the head of his already slicked-up cock.
Camila hadn’t replied in hours. He needed to nut.
He’d sent a selfie at the gym earlier, nothing flashy, just a pumped chest and a smirk she used to like. No reply. Then later, a text:
[Liam: "thinking about the way you rode me the other night"]
[Liam: "wanna make some noise tonight?"]
Still nothing. Was sexting every now and then too much to ask?
She had a way of getting under his skin. It wasn’t anything specific, just the tone, the timing, the way things were always just out of reach with her. She didn’t even have to say much. Sometimes all it took was a look. Something dismissive. Casual. Like he didn’t matter that much, and somehow that did something to him. Not that he liked it—he fucking hated it. He just… reacted. It made him feel tense. Coiled. A little pathetic. And now, with her gone for weeks staying at her sister’s, everything felt sharper. Texts went unanswered, calls brushed off, and all that pressure had nowhere to go. He’d tried not to think about it. But that just made it worse.
His balls were swollen and heavy and it was like he could smell his own pheromones or some shit.
He sighed, dropped the phone on his chest, and stared at the ceiling. He was grabbing his balls lightly while thinking. He wasn’t mad. Not really. She had a habit of going silent like this—usually when she was out with friends or in one of her moods. But it still hit the same: that dull edge of being forgotten.
His phone buzzed. He reached for it quickly.
[Unknown Number: "hey dude what’s up"]
Liam frowned.
Another buzz.
[Unknown Number: "wait let me guess"]
[Unknown Number: "you’re lying there all sweaty beating one off thinking about your chick?"]
[Unknown Number: "lmao"]
He sat up a little. What the fuck?
[Liam: "who is this?"]
It took a second, then came the reply:
[Noah: "lol"]
[Noah: "it’s Noah"]
[Noah: "from the gym"]
Liam blinked, brow furrowed. How the fuck did he get my number?
[Liam: "wait how did you get my number?"]
The reply came almost immediately.
[Noah: "uh"]
[Noah: "you gave it to me last week?"]
Liam stared at the screen. No, he didn’t. At least… he didn’t remember doing that.
There was no context. No moment in his head of typing it in or handing it over. But the way Noah said it—casual, like it was no big deal—it made him hesitate. Made him second-guess himself. Maybe he had. Maybe one of those days Noah spotted him and they’d talked a little and—fuck, maybe he had.
[Noah: "anyway"]
[Noah: "saturday’s my day off"]
[Noah: "gym buddy’s out of town"]
[Noah: "wanna help me out with some sets?"]
Just like that. Like they were actual friends. Like this was just something they did now. Liam stared at the screen, heartbeat a little faster than before, mouth suddenly dry. Saturday was tomorrow…
The dots appeared again.
[Noah: "not a big deal dude"]
[Noah: "figured you were serious about getting better"]
A pause.
[Noah: "unless you’re scared i’m gonna sweat on you again"]
[Noah: "lmaoo"]
Liam’s stomach dropped.
He knew????
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