Setting the scene:
Wulf has been brought to Luc's home for safekeeping due to the threat on his life. The two parted the evening before with a lingering sexual tension between them, and it's now the next morning. Luc is in his private gym working out.
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Luc Saint-Cyr pushed himself to complete one more set of crunches. He'd done four sets of forty already, and only needed one more set in a different position. When finished, he stretched out on the mat and let himself rest for a minute.
The slow fans overhead cooled his damp skin -- he'd forced himself to sweat. The erotic dream he'd had about Wulf still lingered in his mind despite the torture he'd put his body through this morning.
Curled up in bed, Wulf's head on his shoulder, they watched a game on Imperinet. Neither cared who won; it was the male cameraderie that mattered. Lovers who were friends first. While the crowd cheered, their kisses grew deeper, longer, until Wulf pulled him down on top of him and submitted to--
The pounding drums in the background music changed, and he rolled over and got up, heading for the weights.
"I must stop thinking about Wulf." He loaded up sixty pounds of free weights and gripped a set in each hand. Today was his day for focusing on his shoulders, back, and forearms. He faced the mirrored wall, adjusted his grip and lifted.
Wulf chose that moment to enter the workout area. He wore only hot pink shorts and white gym shoes.
The weights sailed over Saint-Cyr's shoulders and clunked the floor with a thud.
Dancing out of the way as they rolled toward him, Wulf flashed him a smile made for a dentist's office ad. Perfect white shiny teeth and warm rosy lips. His eyes sparkled with merriment. "Guess I startled you."
"Startled me?" Saint-Cyr chased down the weights. "I almost threw these things through the wall."
"Sorry." Wulf put a foot on top of one to stop it.
"No sweat. It's ok."
Saint-Cyr had the treat of picking up the weight beneath Wulf's foot and rising to see the entire length of his muscled leg. For a man with dark hair, Wulf's leg hair was more like golden fuzz. What would all that soft hair feel like beneath his hands? His mouth? In contrast, his ripped abs and tanned chest were completely smooth. Did he shave? Did he shave anything else? He finally reached the top of Wulf's muscled body and his gorgeous, clean-shaven face. The man was grinning, obviously aware Saint-Cyr had taken his time feasting on his half-bared body.
Oh, mercy. I'm going to need another cold shower.
"Morning." Tied around Wulf's brow was a band of hot pink cloth. He wore a necklace of multicolored beads and had a braided strip around his right wrist. He cocked his head to one side. "Ok if I work out in here? I'd hate to screw up my regimen."
"Uh... uh huh." Saint-Cyr slapped himself mentally. Try to speak in full sentences, you dolt! "Uh ... I'm almost finished."
"No need to rush off." Wulf glanced around and whistled in appreciation. "You've got everything in here. There's plenty of room for two." He pointed toward the treadmill. "Ok if I start there?"
"Sure." Saint-Cyr plunked the weights back on their bench and turned his back to towel his face. He managed a peek at Wulf in the mirror. His heart kicked in like he'd started cardio -- Wulf was checking out his ass. From the expression on his face, he liked what he saw. Like Wulf, he wore only shorts and shoes. Well, what do you know... Saint-Cyr hid his face in the towel a moment longer, trying to control his smile. So, the beauty wants a piece of the beast, eh? You've still got it, old boy.
"What's this control pad do?" Walking at a slow, beginning pace, Wulf turned his head toward him. "It has a red horn on it like these new shoes I've been modeling."
"Don't push that unless you're holding on." Saint-Cyr tossed the towel over his shoulder and came up next to him. "It's a prototype that one of my holding companies is testing. The Tyrans want to market their low gravity devices in sports equipment."
"No shit! It must be the same maker, then. That's in the shoes, too. You can walk forever in those things." Wulf grabbed hold of the handlebars of the treadmill. "Spot me and crank her up. I wanna see what this baby can do."
"Are you sure?"
"Hell, yeah."
Saint-Cyr had to laugh. "You asked for it." He tapped the pad once. "This is the lowest setting."
Wulf picked up the pace. "It just seems faster. I thought I'd float or something."
"Give it time." He leaned against the wall beside him, enjoying the view.
The perfect symmetry of Wulf's ribbed abs flexed as he walked at a brisk pace. When Saint-Cyr was sure he was keeping up without difficulty, he reached over to the pad. "Ready for the next level?"
"Go for it."
He tapped the pad, increasing the speed, but reducing the effort.
Wulf started to sweat. "Whew!" Almost running, he hung on the handlebars, his knuckles white. His body worked like a perfect machine, legs pumping, chest rising and falling.
"You ok?"
He nodded. After a moment he asked, "You got more?"
"You sure you want it?"
"Oh, hell, yeah!" Wulf fixed a man-eating grin on his face. "Give me all you got."
If you only knew how much that could be. Saint-Cyr reached for the contols.
