The gym was the only place Liam truly felt like himself. Outside of those glass doors, Los Angeles felt a bit too much - too big, too loud, too fake. But inside, amongst the clatter of weights and the hum of determination, he could be who he was meant to be: focused, resilient, and, above all, useful.
He wiped sweat from his brow and checked his schedule. No clients for the next hour. Maybe he’d sneak in a leg session before Marcus came in for his guided cardio.
Liam Hart was twenty-five, built like a Greek statue with sun-bleached blonde hair that curled at the ends and ocean-blue eyes that made people double take. He was used to the looks – at first it was unnerving, later he found it flattering, but those looks didn’t pay the rent. Not anymore. He was living month to month after a series of bad breaks – first a cancelled fitness brand deal, then a roommate who vanished with the deposit, and eventually an ex who took half the furniture. Still, Liam kept showing up, because the gym didn’t lie to him.
The door chimed. A tall man entered, looking a bit out of place. Designer sunglasses, sharp cheekbones, long dark hair tied back loosely, and a posture so upright he looked like he’d been carved from royal lineage – but something about him drew Liam in. Intrigue? Attraction? Irritation?
The man looked at Liam, his gaze travelling from Liam’s messy, sweat-drenched hair all the way to his trainers that was in desperate need of a wash. And he spoke to Liam in an almost condescending way, yet the rich baritone hooked Liam from that moment. “I need a private trainer” the man said in an accent Liam couldn’t quite place. European, but not the usual ones. Something more... Mediterranean with a hint of theater.
“Sure,” Liam said cautiously. “Have you been here before?”
The man looked confused, but gave a little chuckle. “Do I look like I would frequent a place in this part of town? I saw the gym sign and instructed my driver to stop.”
Liam chuckled at the statement, then stared at the man, deadpan. “You have a name, Mr. ‘I instructed my driver to stop’?”
The man removed his sunglasses slowly. His eyes were a rich, penetrating brown. “Yes, it’s Carlo, Prin.., .., I'm from Bologna” The man sounded like he changed his mind halfway through saying his name, and Liam picked up on the slight hesitation.
Liam smirked. “Well, Carlo, Prin from Bologna, you look like someone who hasn’t lifted a real weight in his life.”
Carlo narrowed his eyes. “And you look like someone who thinks his biceps are a personality.”
There was a pause - tension, not just from annoyance, but from something else. A flicker of interest passed between them, quickly disguised.
“I don’t have time for games,” Carlo said coolly. “I need discretion and results. I’m here for an undisclosed amount of time. And my schedule is private. I expect diplomacy, professionalism and secrecy.”
“And I expect clients to respect the rules,” Liam shot back. “No shoes with metal soles. No filming. And no trying to buy your way out of basic decency.”
They stared at each other, testosterone and pride swirling like storm clouds. But neither backed down.
Carlo arched a brow. “Fine. When can we start?”
Liam didn’t know why he said yes. Maybe it was curiosity. Maybe it was because Carlo’s arrogance reminded him of every entitled client he’d ever trained — only he was hotter, more refined, and infuriatingly magnetic.
“Tomorrow,” Liam said. “7 AM sharp. Don’t be late.”
Carlo gave a slight nod, then turned, walking away with regal confidence. Liam watched him go, jaw tight.
Another man came in after Carlo left – looked at Liam with disdain and produced a leather folder. Taking out a stack of papers, his eyes also scrutinised Liam. “You have a name?” “Liam. Hart.” What’s happening here, Liam thought to himself.
“You’re going to have to sign this NDA”, he man said. “This what?”, Liam asked. “I’m normally the one asking clients to fill out sign-up forms and waivers”. “Not this time, Mr. Hart” the man said – “Prince Carlo values discretion, and the Royal Household of Bologna have learnt to have the hired help sign non-disclosure agreements”
“Is this some type of prank?” Liam asked. “Afraid not, sir. Now if you can just sign here I’ll be on my way and Prince Carlo will be free to visit this establishment tomorrow “.
Liam signed, not really sure what was happening, and the man placed the papers neatly back into the folder before leaving.
“What just happened?” Liam muttered.
The next morning, Liam was there early, stretching, checking his form in the mirror. He didn’t expect Carlo to actually show up. But at 6:59, the door opened, and in walked the prince - wearing fitted athletic wear and a very serious expression. Liam couldn’t help but notice that underneath the formal clothing Carlo had worn the day before, he actually had a very nice body – sculpted, apparently, from steel. And the snake in his trousers looked very delicious.
“Let’s begin,” Carlo said.
For the next hour, Liam pushed him hard. He expected Carlo to complain, maybe bail after the second set. But to his surprise, the prince didn’t flinch. He grunted, yes. Sweated, definitely. But he never asked to stop. Not once.
“You’re tougher than you look,” Liam admitted when they finished.
Carlo gave a tired smirk. “You’re less of a brute than I thought.”
Liam handed him a towel. Their fingers brushed. A jolt passed between them.
They didn’t talk about it. Not then.
Over the next two weeks, their sessions became routine. Every morning at seven. Carlo came on time, pushed himself, asked precise questions. Liam found himself anticipating those sessions more than he wanted to admit. Carlo wasn’t just good-looking. He was smart. Witty. And when the layers of royal coldness started to peel away, Liam found glimpses of someone surprisingly vulnerable.
One morning, after a particularly brutal core set, Carlo leaned against the wall, catching his breath.
“You ever feel like everything is pre-written for you?” he asked quietly.
Liam looked over, surprised by the shift in tone. “Like destiny?”
Carlo nodded. “My whole life is mapped. I was sent here not just to train, but to prepare. For... responsibilities. Back home.”
“You a prince-prince?” Liam asked, only half joking.
Carlo gave a tired smile. “Crown and all.”
Liam laughed, then paused. “Wait. Seriously?”
Carlo just raised an eyebrow.
“No way,” Liam muttered, and suddenly it all clicked. The air of mystery. The diplomat who had him sign the NDA. The way Carlo carried himself like he was made of marble and manners.
“That doesn’t freak you out?” Carlo asked.
Liam shrugged. “I don’t care if you’re a prince or a plumber. If you want results, you show up. You did.”
Carlo studied him, something unreadable in his eyes.
“You’re different,” he said finally.
“So are you.”
There was a long silence between them. Neither moved.
Eventually Carlo spoke up – “Mind if I take a shower here? I have my first business meeting earlier than usual and won’t have time to go back to my apartment”.
“Sure”, Liam answered, “It’s through the doors in the left corner at the back. I’ll fetch you a towel and soap”.
Carlo made his way to the back and Liam couldn’t help but admire his ass, muscles moving in all the right places as he walked away. Trying to shake the thoughts that suddenly entered his head, Liam made his way to the towel rack, before entering the showers. And what he saw made him stop dead in his tracks.
He gasped, sharply, as Carlo straightened up, just after sliding the compression shorts off his perfect ass. The sharp gasp made Carlo spin around, and the rest of his body followed. Liam felt like he was frozen in time, watching the spin intently. First the long brown hair, now loose, spun around, then Carlo’s chest came into view – two mounds of muscled flesh crowned by two small olive brown nipples, a light dusting of hair, a sharp v-line, and eventually the, so to speak, crown jewels themselves. A floppy 5-incher, beautiful tan in colour, carrying both girth and weight, nestled in a trimmed bush of hair, with two full balls to compliment the package. Liam stood in absolute shock, never having seen anything or anyone as beautiful or perfect before.
Carlo spoke up first: “I.. I’m so sorry Liam, please forgive my rudeness – I thought you’d be away a bit longer and that I would be behind the curtain when you walked in.” Liam had to quickly compose himself – and also had to get out of there before his own cock, twitching, gave his thoughts away. “No, it’s OK”, he gave a nervous laugh before clearing his throat, “nudity in the gym showers are par for the course”. He stared – maybe a bit too long – and was it his imagination or did Carlo's cock seem to be a little bigger now that he surely must’ve noticed Liam staring?
Carlo’s hand slowly covered his growing erection, before his eyes met Liam’s gaze, but then he turned around and stepped into the shower, closing the curtain without saying another word.
That night, Liam couldn’t sleep. He kept thinking about Carlo’s eyes, the way he spoke, the way he looked at him. He wasn’t blind to the tension between them — it had been there from the start. But now it felt less like friction and more like... heat.
Lying naked on his bed, he slowly thumbed his perky nipples while stroking his rock-hard cock, replaying the scene in the shower in his head over and over again whilst imagining what it would be like to suck on Carlo’s nipples, trace his V-line with his tongue, to touch that glorious uncircumcised cock. His strokes became faster, more urgent, until he shot a huge creamy load on his washboard abs. Chest heaving, breath ragged from his quick, urgent release, he mindlessly dipped his fingers in his own cum, and licked them clean, imagining the salty taste to be that of Carlo.
Still, it was a line Liam didn’t cross. Not with clients. And definitely not with royalty.
The next morning, Carlo was late.
Five minutes turned into ten. Liam’s heart pounded with irritation and something closer to worry. Then, just as he was about to leave, Carlo rushed in, flustered.
“Sorry,” he said, breathless. “Security detail. They changed protocol.”
“You alright?” Liam asked, frowning.
Carlo nodded. “Just... overwhelmed.”
Without thinking, Liam reached out, placing a hand on Carlo’s arm. “You don’t have to do this alone, you know.”
Carlo’s eyes widened slightly. “And who would help me? You?”
Liam didn’t answer. The silence said enough.
The workout that day was quieter, more reflective. When they finished, Liam offered Carlo a water bottle, and for a long moment, their fingers touched again.
Carlo didn’t let go.
“Liam,” he said softly. “Have you ever wanted something you weren’t supposed to want?”
The air thickened.
“All the time,” Liam said, voice low. Remembering every detail of Carlo's body from the morning before, and how he jacked off to it.
Carlo stepped closer. There were only inches between them. The gym was empty. No eyes. No expectations.
For a moment, it felt like they were suspended outside time.
But Liam pulled back. “I can’t.”
Carlo looked away, a flicker of hurt in his expression. “Right. Of course.”
Liam wanted to say something more. But instead, he turned, walked away, and left Carlo standing there — alone in a gym that suddenly felt too full of questions.
