Munich in mid-January was a special kind of grey. The sky looked like wet concrete, the Isar carried chunks of dirty ice downstream, and the streets smelled of wet wool coats and diesel exhaust. Inside BavaFit, however, the world was always the same: warm, metallic, loud with the rhythmic clank of iron and the low bass pulse of someone’s Bluetooth speaker.
It was Sunday, January 11, 2026, 7:42 p.m. The post-New-Year rush had already started to bleed out. The cardio area, which had been a war zone of wheezing treadmill virgins for the first week of the month, now looked almost normal again. Only the truly stubborn or the truly delusional were still showing up every day.
Johannes “Jo” Krieger was neither. He was simply a fixture.
Forty-seven years old. Six-foot-three in socks. Two-hundred-and-forty-eight pounds at last week’s weigh-in, most of it dense, mature, battle-tested muscle. Dark blond hair cropped short, going silver at the temples and in the close-trimmed beard. A nose that had been broken once in his early twenties during a bar fight he still refused to talk about. Forearms like knotted ropes, veins thick enough to trace with a fingertip. A permanent scowl that only softened when he was mid-set and the world narrowed to bar, breath, and burn.
Jo had been coming to BavaFit since it was still called “Kraftwerk 2000” back in 2004. He’d watched three owners come and go, seen the place get renovated twice, watched the prices creep up while the equipment slowly degraded. He still paid the same €29 a month he’d negotiated in 2012 because the current owner, a former powerlifter named Rudi, knew better than to piss him off.
Tonight Jo was halfway through his Monday shoulder day, because Jo’s week started on Sunday evening and ended on Saturday afternoon, fuck your calendar. Overhead press with 100-kilo log, then heavy lateral raises, then seated dumbbell presses that made the bench groan.
He was wiping sweat from his brow with the hem of his ancient black tank top when he noticed the new variable in his ecosystem.
The boy.
Maybe six feet even, but built like a long-distance runner who’d never discovered food. Narrow shoulders, long arms, narrow waist, long legs. Pale winter skin that practically glowed under the fluorescents. Messy dark-blond hair that kept falling into his eyes. Brand-new black hoodie (still had fold creases), brand-new black joggers, blindingly white training shoes that had never touched a squat rack before.
Felix Meier, though Jo wouldn’t learn that name for another forty minutes, was nineteen years, three months, and seventeen days old. He’d signed the membership contract at 3:17 p.m. that afternoon after standing outside in the cold for twenty minutes trying to talk himself out of it. New Year’s resolution number one: gain fifteen kilos of muscle before summer. Resolution number two: stop being terrified of his own body.
Felix had never set foot in a proper gym before. His high-school sports lessons had consisted mostly of dodgeball and the occasional humiliating rope climb. University had started three weeks ago (Business Informatics at LMU) and the first thing he’d noticed was how many of his fellow students looked like they actually lived in gyms. He wanted that. Wanted shoulders that filled out shirts. Wanted arms that didn’t disappear when he raised them. Wanted to look in the mirror and not immediately think “twig.”
So here he was. Lost.
He started with what looked safest: the leg press machine. He sat down without putting a towel underneath (first mistake), moved the seat way too high (second), loaded one 20-kilo plate on each side (third), then tried to push with his toes instead of driving through his heels. The sled barely moved. On the third rep his right knee caved inward, the carriage jerked, and he yelped: quiet, but audible.
Three heads turned. One belonged to Jo.
Jo finished his set of seated dumbbell presses (eight reps with the 45s), racked them with deliberate force, and watched.
The kid recovered, cheeks flaming, and moved to the lat pulldown. He pulled the bar down to his collarbones instead of his upper chest, rounded his back like a scared cat, used only his arms. Phone in one hand between sets. Scrolling. Smiling at the screen.
Jo’s left eye began to twitch.
He gave it eight more minutes.
The boy migrated to the seated cable row. Again no towel on the seat. Again yanking with arms instead of lats. Again checking his phone after every set. At one point he took a mirror selfie: arm flexed at a terrible angle, hoodie still on, looking proud of nothing in particular.
That was the moment Jo decided the universe had personally insulted him.
He dropped the towel from his shoulder, stalked across the rubber floor like a bear who’d just discovered someone had pissed in his honey, and stopped two meters away.
“Hey,” he rumbled. Voice like gravel dragged over concrete. “You planning on wiping that bench or do you just enjoy giving the next guy your sweat?”
Felix jerked upright so fast he almost dropped his phone. His hazel eyes... wide, startled, a little frightened, snapped up to meet Jo’s. He opened his mouth. Closed it. Swallowed audibly.
“I—sorry. I didn’t… I mean, I forgot. The towel. I don’t have one with me.”
Jo crossed his arms. The movement made his biceps swell against the stretched sleeves of his tank. “You also forgot how to use a lat pulldown. And how to sit on a cable row. And how to breathe while moving weight. You’re gonna destroy your shoulders in about three weeks if you keep going like that.”
Felix shrank half a centimeter. “I… I’ve never… this is my first time. Like, actual first time. In any gym.”
Jo stared at him.
The kid looked genuinely mortified. Cheeks bright red. Ears redder. Hands fidgeting with the hem of his hoodie. Something about the raw honesty, the complete lack of bravado, made Jo’s irritation pause. Just for a second.
He exhaled through his nose. “Stand up.”
Felix obeyed instantly. Like a soldier hearing an order.
Jo stepped onto the platform of the lat pulldown, adjusted the knee pad with one thick hand, sat down, took a wide grip on the bar.
“Watch.”
He pulled. Slow. Controlled. Scapulae retracting first, then elbows coming down, bar kissing upper chest, slight pause, then reverse with the same deliberate tempo. Eight perfect reps. He released the bar gently, stood.
“Now you.”
Felix sat. Hands shaking slightly as he gripped the bar.
Jo stayed close, too close. Close enough that Felix could smell him: clean sweat, cedarwood shower gel, a faint trace of metal from the plates he’d been handling all evening.
“Chest up,” Jo said. “Shoulders down and back. Pull with your back, not your arms. Feel it between your shoulder blades.”
Felix tried. It was ugly, jerky, uneven, but better than before.
Jo put one big hand on the back of Felix’s neck. Not hard. Just present.
“Slower on the eccentric. Control it down. That’s where the growth happens.”
Felix’s breath hitched at the contact. Jo’s palm was warm. Rough. Heavy. It stayed there through the entire set.
When Felix finished, he looked up... way up, at the older man with something close to awe.
Jo removed his hand. Slowly.
“Better,” he grunted. “Now do it again. And this time breathe out on the pull.”
Felix nodded quickly. “Yes. Okay. Thank you.”
Jo didn’t answer. He just watched.
And something inside him, something that had been dormant for a very long time, stirred awake.
Felix finished his second set on the lat pulldown exactly the way Jo had shown him. Not perfect: his left arm still drifted outward on the eccentric, and he forgot to fully exhale on the pull twice, but the difference was night and day. His back actually felt like it had done something. A faint, unfamiliar burn settled between his shoulder blades, the kind that promised growth instead of injury.
He released the bar carefully, the way Jo had demonstrated, and looked up.
Jo was still standing there. Arms crossed again. Watching. Not smiling, exactly, but the scowl had softened into something more neutral. Almost… approving.
“Good,” Jo said. One word. Gruff. But it landed in Felix’s chest like praise from a professor.
Felix wiped his palms on his joggers. “Thanks. Really. I would’ve just kept doing it wrong and probably hurt myself.”
“You would’ve,” Jo agreed bluntly. “Most people do. Then they quit after two weeks and blame the gym.”
Felix laughed nervous, a little too loud. “That’s… yeah. That was almost me tonight.”
Jo studied him for a long second. The kid was flushed from effort and embarrassment, sweat already darkening the collar of his hoodie. His hair stuck to his forehead in damp strands. Something about the combination... the raw newness, the eagerness, the complete lack of posturing made Jo’s usual walls feel thinner than usual.
He jerked his chin toward the dumbbell rack. “Come on. We’ll do shoulders next. Light. Form first.”
Felix scrambled to follow.
They moved through the gym like that for the next forty minutes. Jo leading. Felix following. Every station came with a short, barked lesson:
Dumbbell shoulder press: “Elbows forward, not flared. Imagine pouring water from two pitchers.” Jo stood behind him, big hands hovering near Felix’s elbows, ready to correct. When Felix wobbled on the fifth rep, Jo stepped in, fingers curling lightly around the backs of his upper arms to guide the path.
“Feel that?” Jo’s voice was low, close to Felix’s ear. “That’s the front delts working. Not traps.”
Felix nodded, throat tight. Jo’s chest was barely an inch from his back. Heat radiated off the older man like a furnace. Felix could smell him again: sweat, cedar, metal, something faintly masculine that made his stomach flip.
Next: lateral raises. Jo handed him the 6-kilo dumbbells. “Smaller steps. Don’t swing. Lead with the elbows, not the hands.”
Felix tried. Failed. The weights jerked upward.
Jo sighed, more theatrical than annoyed, and stepped behind him again. This time both hands settled on Felix’s shoulders, thumbs pressing lightly into the traps.
“Relax here,” Jo muttered. “You’re shrugging like you’re trying to reach your ears.”
Felix forced his shoulders down. Jo’s thumbs stayed, warm and steady, guiding the motion. Up… slow… hold… down. Each rep felt longer because of the contact. Felix’s pulse hammered in his throat. He was suddenly very aware of every point where their bodies almost touched. Jo’s knuckles brushing the sides of his neck, the faint scratch of beard hair when Jo leaned closer to check form.
By the time they finished laterals, Felix’s arms were shaking. Not just from fatigue.
They moved to the cable station for face pulls. Jo adjusted the rope attachment, showed the movement once—perfect rear-delt contraction, external rotation at the top.
“Your turn.”
Felix took the rope. Pulled. Too fast. Too high.
Jo stepped in close again... this time in front. Chest to chest. He reached up, wrapped his thick fingers around Felix’s wrists, and slowed the pull.
“Like this.” He guided Felix’s arms back, thumbs pressing into the soft inside of his wrists. Their faces were less than thirty centimeters apart. Felix could see the silver flecks in Jo’s beard, the tiny scar above his left eyebrow, the way his pupils had dilated just slightly in the dim gym lighting.
Felix’s breath caught.
Jo noticed.
For one long heartbeat neither moved. Jo’s grip on Felix’s wrists tightened, just a fraction, then released.
“Better,” Jo said, voice rougher than before. He stepped back. “Do the set.”
Felix did. Perfectly. Because he was concentrating so hard on not embarrassing himself that he forgot to be nervous.
When the set finished, Jo gave a single nod. “Not bad, kid.”
Felix grinned wide, unguarded, a little dazed. “I feel like I actually did something useful for once.”
“You did.” Jo wiped his own face with the small towel slung over his shoulder. “Most new guys just flail around for six weeks and wonder why nothing changes.”
Felix hesitated. Then, quieter: “Can I… ask you something?”
Jo raised one brow.
“Would you… maybe… show me more? Like, not just tonight. Regularly?” Felix rushed the words. “I mean, I know you probably don’t have time, and you don’t even know me, and I’m probably annoying as hell, but I swear I’ll listen and I’ll wipe the benches and...”
Jo cut him off with a short, low chuckle. The sound surprised even him.
“You always talk this much when you’re nervous?”
Felix’s ears went pink. “Apparently.”
Jo looked at him, really looked. The kid was earnest. Open. A little scared. Completely out of his depth. And yet here he was, asking a grumpy forty-seven-year-old stranger to be his guide.
Something warm and dangerous uncoiled low in Jo’s gut.
“Yeah,” Jo said finally. “I can do that.”
Felix’s whole face lit up. “Really?”
“Don’t make me regret it.”
“I won’t. Promise.”
Jo jerked his head toward the free-weight area. “Then let’s finish with some curls. Then we’ll talk schedule.”
They moved to the dumbbell rack again. Jo picked 10-kilos for Felix... “strict form, no swinging”, and stood close while he curled. Every few reps Jo would reach over, adjust an elbow, tap a wrist, press a palm briefly against Felix’s stomach to remind him to brace.
Each touch lingered longer.
By the last set Felix was breathing harder than the exercise required. His compression shorts were doing heroic work containing the evidence of how much he liked being manhandled by this giant, bearded, growly man.
Jo noticed that too.
When Felix racked the dumbbells for the final time, Jo stepped even closer—close enough that their training shoes touched.
“Shower?” Jo asked. Voice low. Rough. Not quite a question.
Felix swallowed. Looked up. Met Jo’s eyes: dark now, intent.
“Yeah,” Felix whispered. “Shower.”
Jo’s mouth curved, just the smallest smirk.
“Good boy.”
He turned and walked toward the locker room entrance.
Felix followed on legs that felt suspiciously like jelly.
Behind them, the three women in the calisthenics cage were packing up, laughing about something. They didn’t notice the two men disappearing through the double doors.
The gym lights were starting to dim in sections.
Closing time was approaching.
The double doors to the locker room swung shut behind them with a soft pneumatic hiss.
The space immediately felt smaller. Warmer. The fluorescent lights here were older, yellower, flickering just enough to give everything a slightly dreamlike quality. Lockers lined both walls in chipped blue metal. Benches ran down the middle. A faint smell of chlorine drifted in from the shower area, mixed with rubber floor mats and the lingering ghost of a dozen different body sprays.
Only two other guys were still in here... both already dressed, zipping gym bags, talking quietly about tomorrow’s deadlift session. They glanced up when Jo and Felix entered, gave the usual quick nod of acknowledgment, then went back to their conversation. Neither paid them any real attention.
Jo walked straight to the far end, claiming the last bench in the row. The one partially hidden by the corner lockers. He dropped his small black towel on the wood, sat down heavily, and began unlacing his training shoes.
Felix hovered a meter away, suddenly unsure what to do with his hands.
Jo looked up, one thick brow raised.
“You waiting for an engraved invitation?”
Felix shook his head quickly. “No. Just… processing.”
Jo snorted softly. “Process faster. We’ve got maybe twenty-five minutes before they start turning lights off.”
Felix swallowed. Nodded. Pulled his hoodie over his head in one clumsy motion. Underneath he wore a plain grey compression shirt that clung to his narrow torso, already dark with sweat in patches across his chest and under his arms. He peeled it off next, more carefully, revealing pale skin, faint definition around his collarbones, ribs visible when he breathed deep.
Jo watched every movement. Unblinking.
Felix kicked off his new white shoes, peeled down his joggers and black compression shorts in the same hurried go. His erection sprang free: longer than average, flushed deep pink at the head, already glistening at the tip. He instinctively moved to cover himself with his hands.
“Don’t,” Jo said. Quiet. Firm.
Felix froze. Slowly lowered his arms.
Jo stood. Towered.
He stripped efficiently, no ceremony. Black tank top peeled away to reveal a chest that looked carved from oak: thick slabs of pectoral muscle covered in dark hair that trailed down over a hard, slightly rounded stomach, silver strands mixed in like frost. Nipples dark and flat. Shoulders rounded with years of heavy pressing. Arms vascular even at rest.
Sweatpants and black boxer-briefs came off together. Jo’s cock hung heavy between his thighs... thick even soft, uncut, the foreskin covering most of the broad head. Dark blond hair at the base, neatly trimmed. Heavy balls drawn up slightly from the warmth of the room.
Felix stared. Openly. Mouth dry.
Jo’s lips curved, just the smallest smirk.
“Like what you see, kid?”
Felix could only nod.
Jo stepped closer. Close enough that Felix had to tilt his head back to maintain eye contact. The heat coming off Jo’s body was intense. Felix felt it against his own bare skin like sunlight.
Jo reached out. One big hand settled on Felix’s hip, thumb brushing the sharp jut of bone. The other hand came up, cupped the back of Felix’s neck, fingers threading into damp hair.
“You’ve been hard since the shoulder press,” Jo murmured. “Haven’t you?”
Felix’s face burned. “Yeah.”
“Since I put my hands on you.”
Another nod. Smaller this time.
Jo’s thumb stroked once along Felix’s hipbone. Slow. Deliberate.
“Good,” he said. Voice gravel and smoke. “Means you’re paying attention.”
He leaned in. Beard brushed Felix’s jaw first... rough, ticklish. Then lips. Soft at the beginning. Testing.
Felix made a tiny, broken sound and melted forward.
The kiss deepened immediately. Jo took control, tongue sliding in, claiming, tasting of salt and faint mint from earlier gum. One hand stayed on Felix’s neck, holding him exactly where he wanted him. The other slid around to the small of his back, pulling their bodies flush.
Felix gasped into Jo’s mouth when their cocks brushed... hot skin against hot skin. Jo’s was thickening fast, lengthening, pressing insistently against Felix’s stomach.
Jo broke the kiss just long enough to mutter against Felix’s lips:
“Shower. Now.”
They didn’t bother with towels.
The shower area was large: six open showerheads in two rows of three, tiled floor sloping toward central drains. White tiles. Stainless fixtures. Steam already lingering from someone who’d left minutes earlier.
Jo turned two showerheads on full hot. Water hissed. Steam rose quickly.
He pulled Felix under the nearest spray.
Hot water cascaded over both of them. Felix tipped his head back, letting it sluice through his hair. Jo watched the way rivulets ran down the boy’s throat, over collarbones, down the shallow valley between his pecs.
Jo grabbed the wall-mounted dispenser. Pumped a generous amount of clear shower gel into his palm. Rubbed his hands together.
Then he touched Felix.
Big, soapy hands started at the shoulders, kneading, spreading suds. Down the arms. Over the narrow chest. Thumbs brushed Felix’s nipples on the way past; they tightened instantly.
Felix moaned... soft, involuntary.
Jo’s hands kept moving. Lower. Over the stomach. Around the hips. Then back up, sliding along Felix’s spine, down to the small of his back, then lower still... cupping both cheeks, squeezing firmly.
Felix’s hips jerked forward.
Jo chuckled low in his throat. The sound vibrated against Felix’s neck where he’d begun kissing... open-mouthed, sucking lightly.
“You’re shaking,” Jo observed.
“Can’t help it,” Felix breathed. “You’re… everywhere.”
Jo turned him slowly so Felix faced the tile wall. Pressed up behind him. Chest to back. Cock sliding hot and thick between Felix’s cheeks... not entering, just gliding.
One soapy hand wrapped around Felix’s erection from behind. Slow, firm strokes. The other hand slid between them, fingers tracing down the cleft, circling the tight ring of muscle.
Felix’s forehead thunked against the tile.
“Relax,” Jo murmured against his ear. Beard scratching sensitive skin. “Breathe.”
Felix tried. Jo’s finger pressed: gentle, insistent, slippery with soap. The tip breached.
Felix whimpered.
“Good boy,” Jo growled. “Just like that.”
He worked the finger in deeper. Slow. Patient. When Felix started rocking back instinctively, Jo added a second.
The stretch burned sweetly. Felix’s legs trembled.
Jo kept the rhythm on Felix’s cock steady... firm, not fast. Teasing. Building.
“You ever had anything here before?” Jo asked, voice wrecked.
“N-no.” Felix’s voice cracked on the word.
Jo groaned, deep, primal. “Fuck. Perfect.”
He crooked his fingers. Found the spot.
Felix’s whole body jerked. A broken moan tore from his throat.
“There it is,” Jo said against his ear. “Gonna make you come just like this first. Then I’m gonna fuck you.”
Felix could only pant. Nod. Push back onto those thick fingers.
The gym beyond the shower doors was quiet now.
Very quiet.
Felix’s palms slapped flat against the wet tiles, fingers splaying for purchase. The shower spray pounded against his back while Jo’s two thick fingers worked him open with slow, relentless patience. Every curl of those calloused digits dragged across his prostate and sent white-hot sparks racing up his spine.
Felix had never felt anything like it.
He’d experimented alone: tentative fingers, the occasional slim toy ordered in discreet brown packaging, but this was different. Jo’s hands were huge. Rough from years of chalk, bars, and iron. The stretch burned in the best way possible, a deep ache that kept blooming wider with every careful thrust.
Jo’s chest pressed harder against Felix’s back, caging him completely. Water streamed down both their bodies, carrying soap suds in lazy rivers toward the drain. Jo’s erection, now fully hard, thick, and heavy, rested hot against the cleft of Felix’s ass, sliding up and down in time with the rhythm of his fingers.
“You’re opening up so pretty,” Jo rasped against the shell of Felix’s ear. Beard scraped tender skin. “Feel that? How you’re sucking me in?”
Felix could only whimper. Words were gone. Coherent thought was gone. There was only heat, pressure, the obscene wet sound of soapy fingers moving inside him, and Jo’s low, filthy voice filling the steam.
Jo twisted his wrist. Scissored gently. Felix’s knees nearly buckled.
“Easy,” Jo murmured, free arm banding around Felix’s waist to hold him upright. “I’ve got you.”
The hand on Felix’s cock never stopped... long, firm strokes that matched the pace inside him. Not enough to finish him, just enough to keep him teetering on the razor’s edge.
Felix’s hips rocked instinctively forward into Jo’s fist, backward onto those invading fingers. Chasing both sensations at once.
“Please,” he gasped. The word cracked. “Jo... please...”
Jo’s chuckle was dark, vibrating through Felix’s ribcage. “Please what, boy?”
“More. I need, fuck, I need you inside me.”
Jo stilled. Both hands. For one long, agonizing second.
Then he withdrew his fingers slowly, deliberately, letting Felix feel every centimeter of the retreat. Felix whined at the sudden emptiness.
Jo turned him around, gentle but firm, until Felix’s back was pressed to the tile and they were face to face again.
Water plastered Felix’s hair to his forehead, ran in rivulets over his flushed cheeks. His pupils were blown wide, lips swollen from earlier kisses.
Jo looked wrecked too. Beard dripping. Eyes almost black. Cock standing rigid between them, flushed dark, the head already slick with precome.
He lifted Felix effortlessly... hands under his thighs, spreading him open. Felix wrapped his long legs around Jo’s waist on instinct, ankles locking at the small of Jo’s back.
Their foreheads touched.
“You sure?” Jo asked, voice gravel-rough. “No condom. No lube but soap and spit. This is gonna burn, kid.”
Felix nodded frantically. “I don’t care. Want to feel you. All of you.”
Jo exhaled through his nose. A low curse slipped out.
Then he lined up.
The broad head pressed against Felix’s entrance: hot, blunt, insistent. Jo pushed forward in tiny increments. No sudden thrust. Just steady, unrelenting pressure.
Felix’s breath punched out when the head finally popped inside.
“Fuck...” His nails dug into Jo’s shoulders. “Big...”
“Shhh.” Jo kissed him: hard, messy, swallowing the whimpers. “Breathe through it. You’re doing so good.”
He sank deeper. Inch by thick inch. The stretch was overwhelming. Felix felt split open, claimed, filled in a way that short-circuited every nerve ending.
When Jo bottomed out, hips flush against Felix’s ass, both men groaned in unison.
Jo held still. Let Felix adjust. Forehead pressed to Felix’s, breathing hard.
“Goddamn,” Jo muttered. “So fucking tight.”
Felix trembled. Full. Overfull. The burn was already easing into something deeper, hotter, better.
“Move,” he whispered. “Please move.”
Jo did.
Slow at first, long, rolling drags out, then deep rolls back in. Each thrust dragged over Felix’s prostate and made his toes curl.
The pace built gradually. Deeper. Harder. The wet slap of skin on skin echoed off the tiles, barely masked by the pounding water.
Felix clung to Jo’s neck, moaning into his beard. Jo fucked him like he’d been waiting years for this exact moment... controlled power, every stroke deliberate, every grind calculated to wreck.
“You feel that?” Jo growled. “How deep I am? Gonna mark you up inside. Make sure you remember who opened you up first.”
Felix’s cock was trapped between their stomachs, leaking steadily, sliding against Jo’s abs with every thrust.
“I’m... fuck... I’m close!”
Jo shifted angle. Aimed right at that spot. Relentless.
“Come on my cock,” he ordered. “Show me how much you like getting fucked by a man twice your age.”
That did it.
Felix shattered.
His orgasm hit like a freight train, back arching, thighs clamping tight around Jo’s waist, cock pulsing untouched between them. Thick ropes of come painted Jo’s stomach, washed away instantly by the shower.
Jo fucked him through it, harder now, chasing his own release. The overstimulation made Felix sob softly, clinging tighter.
“Gonna fill you,” Jo warned, voice breaking. “Gonna pump you so full...”
He slammed in one last time. Deep. Stayed buried. Came with a long, guttural groan that echoed in Felix’s chest.
Felix felt it: hot, thick pulses flooding inside him. Claiming. Owning.
They stayed locked together for long moments. Breathing ragged. Water cooling around them.
Jo was the first to move. He eased out carefully, supporting Felix’s weight until his feet touched the tiles again. Legs shaky. Felix’s knees almost gave out.
Jo held him upright. Kissed him softer this time, slow, almost tender.
“You okay?” he murmured against Felix’s lips.
Felix managed a dazed, blissed-out smile. “Never better.”
Jo huffed a quiet laugh.
They rinsed quickly, soap suds swirling down the drain along with the evidence of what they’d just done.
Jo turned off the water.
Silence rushed in.
Then, distant, but unmistakable, the sound of a door opening in the locker room.
A woman’s voice. The cleaning staff.
“Zehn Minuten, Leute! Wir schließen in zehn Minuten!”
Jo cursed under his breath.
“Move,” he said, already toweling off at record speed.
Felix scrambled to follow.
They dressed like teenagers caught behind the bleachers.
Felix yanked his compression shorts up with trembling hands, the fabric sticking uncomfortably to still-damp skin. His legs felt like they belonged to someone else, rubbery, uncoordinated. Every movement reminded him of the delicious ache deep inside, the faint wet heat still leaking out. He didn’t have time to be mortified. Not yet.
Jo was already mostly dressed: sweatpants slung low on his hips, tank top pulled on but inside-out in his haste. The black fabric clung to his still-wet chest. He raked a hand through his damp hair, then tossed Felix his hoodie.
“Move your ass, kid. She’s not gonna wait.”
The cleaning lady’s voice echoed again from the locker room proper... louder this time, more impatient.
“Zwei Minuten noch, dann schließe ich ab!”
Felix stuffed his feet into his sneakers without tying the laces and grabbed his phone from the bench. Jo was already at the exit, holding the door half-open, scanning the hallway like a soldier expecting an ambush.
They slipped out just as the main lights in the weight area began flicking off section by section. The three women from the calisthenics cage were long gone. The gym felt cavernous now: empty racks, silent cables, only the low hum of the ventilation system.
The cleaning lady, mid-fifties, short grey hair, wearing the standard BavaFit polo and a look of practiced exhaustion, stood near the front desk with her key ring already in hand. She gave them a long, knowing once-over as they hurried past.
“Zehn Minuten überzogen,” she said flatly. “Next time I lock you in.”
Jo flashed her his most disarming half-smile... the one that showed just a hint of teeth and usually got him out of trouble.
“Sorry, Gabi. Got carried away with… form checks.”
Gabi snorted. “Yeah. Sure. Form checks.” Her eyes flicked to Felix, then back to Jo. A tiny smirk tugged at her mouth. “New personal trainer, huh?”
“Something like that,” Jo replied without missing a beat.
Felix wanted to sink through the rubber floor.
Gabi waved them out with a jangle of keys. “Go on. And wipe your damn benches next time, both of you.”
The cold January air hit them like a slap as they stepped outside. Munich at 8:17 p.m. was sharp, clean, smelling faintly of snow that hadn’t quite decided to fall yet. Streetlights glowed sodium-orange along Landsberger Straße. A tram rattled past in the distance.
Felix exhaled a shaky cloud of breath. His whole body still buzzed.
Jo turned to him. For the first time all evening, the perpetual scowl was gone. Replaced by something softer. Almost fond.
“You good?” he asked quietly.
Felix laughed, a small, incredulous sound. “I’m… yeah. Really good. Like, stupidly good.”
Jo’s mouth curved. “No regrets?”
“None.” Felix met his eyes. Steady. “You?”
Jo studied him for a long moment. Then reached out, cupped the side of Felix’s neck with one big, warm hand. Thumb brushed over his pulse point... still racing.
“Only that we didn’t have another twenty minutes,” Jo said, voice low.
Felix’s stomach flipped.
Jo dropped his hand, pulled his phone out of his sweatpants pocket. “Number.”
Felix recited it. Jo typed it in, saved the contact as “Twig” with a little flexing-arm emoji next to it. Felix groaned when he saw it.
“Really?”
“You’ll earn a better name when you put on some size,” Jo said, deadpan. Then softer: “Tomorrow. Same time. 7 p.m. sharp. We start your actual program. No excuses.”
Felix nodded quickly. “I’ll be here.”
Jo stepped closer, close enough that their breath mingled in the cold air. He leaned down, kissed Felix once. Not hungry this time. Slow. Possessive. A promise.
When he pulled back he murmured against Felix’s lips:
“Eat a big dinner tonight. Protein. Carbs. You’re gonna be sore tomorrow, and I’m not going easy on you.”
Felix shivered... and not from the cold. “Yes, Coach.”
Jo smirked. Gave Felix’s ass a brief, firm squeeze through the joggers, right there on the sidewalk where anyone could see.
“Get home safe, boy.”
Then he turned and walked toward the parking lot without looking back.
Felix stood frozen for several seconds, heart hammering, lips tingling, body still humming with aftershocks.
His phone buzzed.
Jo: Don’t jerk off tonight. Save it. I want you hungry tomorrow.
Jo: And drink water. You’re gonna need it.
Felix stared at the screen. Laughed... quiet, dazed, deliriously happy.
He typed back with shaking fingers:
Felix: Yes, Coach.
Felix: Thank you. For everything.
Three dots appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again.
Jo: You’re welcome, kid.
Jo: Now go eat. And dream about me.
Felix shoved his phone in his pocket, pulled his hoodie tighter around himself, and started walking toward the U-Bahn station.
The January night felt different now. Brighter. Warmer. Full of possibility.
New Year’s resolution: officially in progress.
And suddenly, fifteen kilos of muscle didn’t seem like the most important goal anymore.
Not by a long shot.
The End
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