When Zack moved in, I thought I’d lucked out with a confident gym trainer who wasn’t a mess. Helping him fix his awful dating profile turned into teasing, then tension, once the camera came out and he clearly loved the attention. By the end, he was shirtless, smirking, and suggesting a trade. He was going to train me at the gym.
The gym was already buzzing when we walked in. Loud music, clanking weights, the low hum of treadmills. Zack fit right into it, like this place had been built around him. He threw nods at a couple of guys near the front desk, tossed a “what’s up, bro” to the trainer behind the counter, and grinned when someone called out his name.
I followed a step behind, carrying a towel and trying not to look like the nervous beginner I absolutely was.
“Man, relax,” Zack said, glancing back at me with that easy smile. “You look like you’re about to get drafted.”
“I just haven’t been in a gym like this before,” I said. “Everyone here looks like they eat dumbbells for breakfast.”
He laughed, deep and full, and clapped a hand on my shoulder. “You’ll fit in fine. We’ll start light. I’ll teach you form. You just gotta listen to me.”
That last part came out more confident than necessary, and for some reason it hit me right in the chest.
We started with squats. Zack walked me over to a rack, set the bar, and said, “No weights yet. Gotta get your form right.”
I nodded, trying to focus, but his voice alone had a way of messing with me.
“Feet shoulder-width apart. Chest out.”
He came up behind me. His hand slid along my back, light but sure, pressing between my shoulder blades. “Right here. Keep it flat.”
My breath hitched.
He moved closer. I could feel the warmth of his body behind me, his chest brushing my shoulder as he adjusted my stance. “Now push your hips back like you’re about to sit on a chair.”
I did, and he laughed quietly. “Not bad, man. You’ve got decent balance. Could use a little more depth though.”
“Depth?”
“Yeah.” His hand found my hips, guiding me lower. “There. Perfect.”
My pulse jumped so hard it felt visible.
He stayed there for a moment, close enough that I could smell the manly scent of him. His hand rested lightly at my waist, and I swear his thumb moved…just a small, slow drag across my skin.
“Breathe Eli,” he said.
I exhaled too fast, earning another laugh from him.
“You sure you’re breathing right? You look like you’re about to pass out.”
“Hard to breathe with a guy your size behind me,” I said before I could stop myself.
Zack grinned, then gave me a playful shove on the shoulder. “You’ll thank me when your ass looks as good as mine.”
That should not have made me laugh, but it did. My face was burning, my arms were trembling, and he looked like he had no idea what he was doing to me.
We moved on to bench press. Zack loaded a few small plates, explaining every detail in that low, confident tone that made me forget what he was even saying. I lay back on the bench, gripping the bar, and he leaned over me to spot.
“Ready?” he asked.
“Yeah.”
He hovered close, his hands just above the bar. From where I was, I could see every inch of him…the way his compression t-shirt clung tightly to his chest, the veins on his arms, the faint trail of hair disappearing under the fabric.
“Push,” he said.
I did.
His voice stayed steady. “Good. Keep going. Don’t lock your elbows.”
My arms started shaking halfway through the set. Sweat ran down my forehead, and a drop from him fell right onto my neck.
He smiled down at me. “Don't give up”
“I’m fine,” I said, but my voice came out rough.
He bent lower, just enough for his breath to hit my face. “Push through it.”
Something in his tone changed…softened, maybe. There was this flicker in his eyes, something heavy that he didn’t want to name. Then he blinked and looked away like it hadn’t happened.
His fingers brushed my ribs as I racked the bar. Just a casual touch, except it wasn’t.
My whole body lit up.
“Not bad,” he said, stepping back. “You’ve got potential.”
“Potential for what?” I asked.
He smirked. “We’ll see.”
We did a few more sets of squats, some crunches, sit ups and I was sweating like a pig. By the end of the workout, I was a mess…shirt sticking to my back, arms jelly, brain completely scrambled. Zack tossed me a towel and grinned. “You survived. Barely.”
“Thanks to your inspiring coaching.”
“Damn right,” he said, wiping his neck. “Come on, shower’s down the hall. I’ll show you.”
He walked ahead, towel slung over his shoulder, muscles flexing with every step. I followed, heart still racing, trying to convince myself that this was normal. Just a workout. Just two guys.
But the scent of him lingered, warm and close, and I knew this was about to turn into something else entirely.
The locker room was humid and echoing. The air carried the sharp mix of soap, sweat, and steam. Zack walked in ahead of me, tossing his towel onto a bench. He reached for the hem of his compression shirt and peeled it up in one smooth motion. The fabric clung to his sweaty chest for a second before sliding free.
Every muscle in his torso caught the light. His shoulders rolled as he stretched, chest dripping with sweat. I looked away too late.
“Man, that feels better,” he said, shaking out his hair. “That shirt’s basically a wetsuit.”
I mumbled something that was supposed to sound like agreement and started untying my shoes. My hands felt clumsy.
Zack kicked off his sneakers, stripped down to his underwear, and turned toward the shower stalls like it was nothing. “You coming or what?”
“Yeah,” I said, forcing myself to move.
Steam was already curling out of the first stall as he turned the water on. He stepped under it, hissing at the heat, then laughed. “Damn, that feels good.”
The curtain stayed half-open, like he didn’t care who saw. I caught flashes of skin between the moving folds. His back. His bulge. Wet fabric clinging to his hips. The way the water slid down his sides.
He talked over the sound of running water, completely casual. “You think I overdid it on legs today?”
I swallowed. “Maybe a little.”
“Good,” he said, and I could hear the smile in his voice. “Means it’s working.”
I turned on the shower next to his, trying to keep my focus anywhere else. My reflection in the steel fixtures looked flushed. I told myself it was just the heat.
We stayed like that for a while, both quiet except for the water. My body felt heavy, loose, alive.
Then his voice came through the steam. “Bro, my abs look hella fine today. Fuck. Love the pump.”
I froze, staring at the wall.
He laughed at himself, low and satisfied. “For real, though. I look kinda insane right now.”
I didn’t answer. I just kept rinsing my hair, pretending I wasn’t picturing him there, half-naked, dripping, muscles tight from the workout.
The image came anyway. His skin under the water. His hand running over his stomach. The sound of his voice, easy and confident.
My chest felt tight. My dick started to swell before I even realized it.
Get it together, I told myself.
When I stepped out, Zack was still showering. I dried off fast, trying not to glance toward the open curtain. My shirt stuck to my damp skin as I pulled it on. I was just tying my shoes when Zack’s voice called out again.
“Hey, camera guy.”
I turned. “What?”
He grinned through the steam. “Grab your phone. I look shredded today. Get a few shots for me?”
I blinked. “You’re serious?”
“Yeah, man. Come on,” he said, running a hand through his wet hair. “For the dating profile. Gotta show off the results.”
I hesitated, glancing toward the open curtain. Zack was still standing there, water streaming over his shoulders. His white underwear clung to his thighs, soaked through.
“This feels… weird,” I said, but my voice was weak.
“Don’t be weird about it,” he said with a grin. “Just a few quick ones. The pump’s perfect right now.”
He flexed his arm half-jokingly, then leaned against the shower tiles. “Come on, man, you take good pictures. You made my last few pictures look hot as hell.”
I laughed quietly, mostly because I didn’t know what else to do. My hands shook as I picked up my phone.
“Alright,” I said. “Stay still.”
He did the opposite. He turned slightly, water dripping down his abs, tracing every ridge. The muscles along his stomach flexed as he shifted his weight.
“Like this?” he asked.
“Yeah,” I said softly.
I snapped a photo. Then another.
He ran his hand down his torso again, eyes half-lidded, grin still there but a little slower now. “Damn. These are gonna look fire.”
The next few seconds felt suspended. Steam thickened in the air, the smell of soap and skin closing in. My pulse thudded in my ears. He adjusted the waistband of his boxers, and the fabric clung tighter. It left nothing to imagination.
My throat went dry.
He looked at me over his shoulder, water beading down his neck. “Get one from here,” he said.
I stepped closer. The steam curled around both of us, the sound of running water filling everything else. My camera caught the faint reflection of his body on the tile.
Click.
He laughed softly. “Shit, I actually look good.”
“Yeah,” I said, my voice barely audible.
He looked down at himself, then back at me. “You think these will work?”
“For what exactly?” I asked, even though I already knew.
“For my profile, man,” he said, smirking. “Gotta look fuckable, right?”
The word hit harder than it should have.
He ran a hand over his stomach again, glanced at the screen, and nodded with satisfaction. “Yeah,” he said. “This’ll definitely make me look fuckable.”
The water kept running. My hand stayed frozen around the phone.
And all I could think was that he already did.
__
Zack grinned at the last photo, tilting his head, water still dripping down his jaw. His white underwear clung to him, transparent and heavy, the faint outline of his cock visible through the soaked white fabric.
I was still holding the phone when he laughed. “Damn, that one’s fire. Don’t even need a filter.”
“Dude,” I said, my voice a little rougher than I meant it to be. “Your dick’s basically out in that wet underwear.”
He smirked, unfazed. “Then zoom in and click it, my guy. Might as well get the details right.”
I huffed a laugh, mostly to cover how flustered I was. “Yeah, that’s not happening.”
“Your loss, camera guy,” he said, grinning through the steam.
I rolled my eyes and turned away, grabbing my bag. My heart was still hammering like I’d run a mile. I stuffed my towel inside, pretending to look busy. “Pretty sure no app’s gonna let you post that one.”
He chuckled, water splashing as he shifted under the shower. “Who said anything about posting the last picture?”
The words landed with a quiet thud in the steamy air. He didn’t explain. Just reached for the faucet and turned off the water. The sound died, leaving only the hum of the vents and my pulse in my ears.
When he stepped out, he grabbed a towel and wrapped it around his hips. Water ran down his stomach, dripping from the curve of his abs, the small trail of hair disappearing below the towel. My brain short-circuited somewhere between look away and don’t move.
He caught me glancing and smirked again, casual, teasing. “You good?”
“Yeah,” I said, too fast. “Just checking my phone.”
I scrolled through nothing. Literally opened my messages and stared at blank space like it was a matter of life and death.
He towel-dried his hair, then his chest, moving slow, oblivious or pretending to be. His muscles shifted with each motion. My throat went dry.
By the time he got dressed…gray joggers, loose tee, sneakers..my head was spinning. He slung his gym bag over one shoulder and tossed me a grin. “Come on, man. You’re spacing out. Let’s bounce.”
“Right,” I said, shoving my charger into the bag. “Let’s go.”
The drive back was quiet, the windows cracked just enough to let the air cool us down. Zack hummed along to some pop song on the radio, tapping the steering wheel. I stared out the window, the image of his wet skin replaying in a loop I couldn’t stop.
When we got back, the apartment felt small again, too still. He tossed his keys onto the counter and flopped down on the couch, phone in hand.
“Good workout man,” he said, stretching his arms over his head. His shirt rode up an inch, flashing his stomach again.
I sank into my chair by the desk, pretending to scroll through the photos on my camera. “Yeah. Brutal.”
He grinned without looking up. “You survived.”
“Barely.”
The air settled into an easy silence, the kind that comes after too much energy. He started scrolling on his phone, still half-smiling. I pretended to edit something just to have a reason to look occupied.
A few minutes passed before I spoke. “You know,” I said, trying to sound casual, “pretty sure those shower shots weren’t for your dating profile.”
He looked up, grin widening. “You’re right. Matched with this girl yesterday. Thought I’d up my game a little.”
“By doing a wet underwear shoot?”
“It’s called marketing,” he said, laughing. “Girls like aesthetic stuff, right? You gotta give them something to imagine.”
I leaned back in my chair, shaking my head. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Maybe,” he said, scrolling again. “But it works.”
He tossed his phone aside and stretched again, letting out a satisfied sigh. Then he turned toward me, leaning one elbow on the back of the couch. “You ever shoot nudes?”
The question landed like a stone.
I blinked. “Excuse me?”
He grinned, lazy, knowing exactly what he was doing. “Serious question. You take portraits, right? Lighting, composition, all that artistic stuff.”
“Yeah,” I said slowly. “But nudes?”
He shrugged. “Just curious. You’d probably make me look good. Real good.”
I tried to laugh it off. “You already think you’re god’s gift, Zack.”
“Not think,” he said, smirking. “Know.”
I rolled my eyes, but my chest felt tight. He was watching me now, not joking as much, like he was waiting to see how I’d react.
“Why?” I asked. “You planning to start an Only-Fans?”
He chuckled. “Nah. Just saying. You’ve got an eye, man. You make stuff look better. Even me.”
“That’s the lighting,” I said, echoing what I’d told him before..
He reached over the back of the couch, eyes still locked on mine. “Think about it,” he said quietly. “You’re the camera guy. I’m the model. Maybe we make something… next level.”
He didn’t laugh after saying it. Didn’t wink. Just let it hang there, voice lower, rougher.
The TV flickered muted colors across his face. He leaned back again, grabbed his phone, and started scrolling like the moment hadn’t just cracked open something between us.
I sat there pretending to edit, my heart pounding against my ribs. Every part of me knew he was teasing. But there was something under it this time. Something that made it hard to breathe right.
He looked up once more, eyes glinting. “What do you think, camera guy?”
I met his gaze. “About what?”
He smiled without answering. Just tilted his head and said, “You’ll figure it out.”
He turned his attention back to his phone.
The apartment went quiet again, except for the hum of the fridge and the faint sound of the city outside.
The steam from the shower felt like it had followed us home, thick and warm in the air.
And even though he wasn’t looking at me, I couldn’t shake the feeling that he knew exactly what kind of storm he’d just started.
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