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“Come on, Lance, only one more mile!” Shiro shouted over the music blasting through the speakers beside him. His eyes watched long caramel legs churn the pedals of the stationary bike, calves visibly straining.
“Oh, is that all?” Lance wheezed, chest heaving as he worked to keep his breaths even. Sweat poured down his temples in rivulets, soaking through the thin fabric of his teal tank top. Despite the obvious struggle, his lips quirked into a smirk as his eyes flicked up to his trainer’s face. Determination burned in those pools of cerulean. “No… problem!”
“Stop talking,” he ordered sternly, though Lance’s grit brought a smile to his face. “It exhausts too much extra energy.”
Lance nodded and focused back on the machine’s monitor, watching the distance ticker increase with every pump of his legs.
Shiro glanced down at the brunet’s heart rate, measured by the sensor beneath his sweaty palms. 180 bpm. Average for a twenty-five year old.
When he’d agreed to train the Latin pop star, he’d admittedly been skeptical of his commitment. It wasn’t just that he was a celebrity, though many of his high-profile clients came to his gym expecting him to have some muscle-building shortcut. Shiro may have been one of the best in the business, but he was no miracle worker. He needed someone willing to put in the work – a quality that the brunet’s past trainers had warned him the singer lacked.
After two weeks with Lance, however, he had yet to see that. Sure, he was incorrigibly flirtatious and goofed off a lot on their first day together, but since then he’d thrown himself wholly into Shiro’s regimen. His goal wasn’t something to sneeze at, and he seemed well aware of that.
The Gauntlet took no prisoners, and while it was noble that he’d signed up to run it for charity, it wouldn’t show him mercy. Loaded with obstacles and tasks challenging for even a CrossFit athlete, it was notorious for taking people out prematurely. Lance was physically fit, as much of his persona centered around dancing as much as singing, but he definitely wasn’t conditioned for the challenge he’d set himself up to conquer.
“Almost there!” Shiro encouraged the moment Lance’s pace faltered. “Only a quarter-mile to go, Lance, you can do this!”
“Don’t… go soft on… me now… coach,” the singer huffed out, pedaling back up to speed.
Shiro rolled his eyes, swatting Lance’s shoulder. “Would you prefer that I bully you?” he scoffed.
“De…pends…” the brunet panted, turning to wink at Shiro, “you gonna… take me to… dinner first?”
Shiro wrinkled his nose playfully. “Depends… are you gonna hit the showers first?”
Lance tried to laugh, but it came out as a wheeze, his pace faltering again. Shiro glanced back at the distance counter, deciding that the remaining 0.04 mi wasn’t worth admonishing him for.
“Alright, Sweaty, time to cool down,” he chuckled, setting the cooldown timer.
Lance sighed gratefully and released his white-knuckled grip, drying his hands on the back of his compression shorts as he allowed his legs to slow. He sat back in the seat, wiping a hand across his soaked forehead as he shot Shiro a goofy grin.
“How’d I do?”
Shiro turned to grab Lance’s water bottle, tossing it to him before pulling out his phone. He paused the music, then brought Lance’s progress chart up, going over the data recorded by the machines for the day’s workout.
“Let’s see, you’ve completed a full 30 miles today, 10 on the elliptical, 10 on the treadmill, and 10 on the stationary bike… you maintained an average heartrate of 178… and your average time was 45 minutes. That’s a five-minute improvement on your last 30-mile workout. By next week you should have the stamina to take on that marathon-length course!”
“Yes!” Lance pumped a fist up tiredly.
“But!” Shiro quickly cut the celebration short as he scrolled further down the progression chart. “We still have a lot of work to do as far as your upper body strength goes. Your leg and core muscles are solid, but you’ll have to do a lot of lifting and pullups to make it through The Gauntlet.”
Lance groaned, deflating slightly. His legs continued to slowly pedal, three minutes left on the cooldown timer. “Come on, Shiro, no seas aguafiestas.”
Shiro rolled his eyes at the pout aimed in his direction. “We only have a week left! Someone’s gotta keep that ego in check.”
Lance’s smirk returned as he leaned closer to Shiro. “You can check my ego whenever you want, cariño.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Shiro snorted, turning his back on the brunet to retrieve a towel from the other side of the room. He’d gotten used to the singer’s flirtatious passes and cheesy sense of humor, and while some jokes didn’t translate as smoothly from Spanish to English, Lance’s laugh after telling them made him smile all the same.
Lance finally came to a stop when he returned, catching the towel that he tossed to him with a flourish. He dabbed at his face quickly before running his hair through it, chestnut curls frizzling slightly at the friction.
“You really need to invest in some microfiber towels,” Lance critiqued, trying vainly to reorient his mussed hair.
“You could also just bring your own towel,” Shiro shot back bemusedly. “Besides, you’re about to get it soaked again, anyway.”
“It’s the principle of the thing,” Lance scoffed, crossing his arms over his still heaving chest. It was still a wonder to Shiro how he managed to recover quickly enough to run his mouth, no matter how strenuous the workout was. Lungs of a singer, he supposed.
“Well if you open your own gym after this, you can buy microfiber towels for your patrons.”
“Not a bad idea…” Lance nodded, stroking his chin thoughtfully. “Then I’ll steal all of your customers because my gym would have the best towels in the business.”
Shiro rolled his eyes and snatched Lance’s towel from his neck. “If you’re going to complain about my towels so much, then I’ll just take them back.”
Lance gasped and brought a hand to his chest. “But then what would I use after I shower, Coach?”
Shiro shrugged, pushing the mental image of a flushed and naked Lance – fresh from the showers… shrouded in steam… bashfully trying to cover himself – swiftly from his mind. Nope, none of that.
Lance smirked at him before swinging his legs to one side of the bike and carefully standing. His cocky expression didn’t last long, however, panic striking his features as his legs buckled. Shiro dove to catch him, allowing the brunet to lean against him as he got his feet back under him.
“Wow, that’s embarrassing,” he snorted, cheeks tinted pink as he looked away from his trainer. “Guess I was sitting for too long?”
“Or I just make you weak in the knees,” Shiro shot back, giving the brunet a taste of his own medicine.
Lance’s face immediately brightened as he looked up at Shiro giddily. “Did you just make a pass at me?”
“If that’s how you want to interpret it,” Shiro chuckled, helping Lance straighten up before pushing him in the direction of the showers. “Now go get cleaned up! Session’s finished for today.”
Lance pouted, lower lip jutting out dramatically. “Aww, I was hoping you’d carry me there…”
Shiro rolled his eyes. “If you crush that Gauntlet, I’ll consider it.”
“I’m gonna hold you to that!” Lance laughed, jabbing a thumb into Shiro’s chest before snatching the towel from him again and leaving the room, a slight limp to his step. Shiro had to stop himself from imagining that limp being caused by another form of strenuous activity.
He’d had his share of attractive patrons – being a personal trainer to athletes and celebrities alike, it was a regular occurrence. Early on he’d established a rule of professionalism, one that Lance was slowly wearing down. There was just something about the Latin singer. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but he’d definitely miss it when they had to part ways.
Shiro locked the weights onto the left side of the bar, double-checking that they were even. 80 pounds on either side, plus the bar’s 40 pounds…
“200 pounds,” Shiro announced, clapping his hands with an air of finality. He peered down from his spotter’s position at Lance, who laid prone across the bench below him. “Think you can handle it?”
Lance smirked, reaching up and setting his hands onto the bar. “Baby, I was born ready.”
“If you can bench this with ease, you should have no problem supporting your own weight.” Lance was roughly fifty pounds lighter than the weight he’d set, and while he could already bench 180, it wouldn’t hurt to push the limits just a bit more.
“Lay it on me, big guy!”
Shiro tested Lance’s grip on the bar first, hands brushing over the other man’s to ensure that he had the proper hold. Lance’s palms were already slightly sweaty, but his fingers wrapped around the metal and held on easily. He shifted one hand over so that it was positioned far enough from the other that the weight wouldn’t be suffocating, then moved to grasp the bar himself. With a final nod from Lance, he raised it out of place and supported it until Lance gave him the go ahead to release.
The brunet’s arms buckled for a split second before straightening and locking at the elbows. Shiro counted silently to twenty, watching the slight tremble to Lance’s biceps fade. Cerulean eyes finally met his again, a proud smile coming to the singer’s lips.
“Down!” Shiro commanded, hands outstretched for support. He squatted as Lance brought the bar down slowly, suspending it just an inch from his chest. His eyes flicked to Shiro’s again, expression mildly straining.
Shiro mentally counted to twenty again before giving the next order. “Up!”
He rose with the bar, fingers barely grazing the cool metal as Lance pushed it back up to the highest he could reach. Again, Shiro counted before they repeated the process.
They continued in that manner for 24 more reps, Shiro finally setting the bar back into place to give Lance a break. The brunet sat up the moment the weights were secured, gratefully accepting the bottle of Gatorade offered.
“Can you give me another 25 in a minute?” Shiro asked, sitting on the bench beside him.
Lance smirked as he set the bottle aside, wiping his mouth against the back of his hand. “Are you kidding? I could do 50 at this rate!”
Shiro grinned at his enthusiasm, patting his arm. “Good! Because after this 25, you will be doing 50.”
Lance quirked a brow at that before laying back down, bumping a leg against Shiro’s back insistently. “Then let’s get to it!”
Shiro stood and resumed his position with a laugh. “Alright, but don’t complain when your arms start to burn.”
Lance nodded with a determined expression, hands grasping the bar again. Shiro smirked at his resolve before repeating the process again.
“100… reps… and… 200… push-ups…” Lance sighed, rolling onto his back. He was splayed across the gym floor, a damp towel resting across his forehead. “Wha’cha got for me tomorrow?”
“Rest,” Shiro chuckled with a proud smile. He sat beside Lance, forcing a bottle of water into his hands. “You have the Gauntlet on Saturday. Can’t have you running it sore.”
“So we’re not doing anything for the next two days?” Lance pouted, resting a hand on Shiro’s knee.
Shiro bit his lip, feeling his resolve slip further. As the days passed, he found himself wishing them to last longer. There was no guarantee that Lance would return to the gym after their allotted time together was up. After the Gauntlet, he wouldn’t have much motivation to train as rigorously, which meant the likelihood of him coming back was slim…
“Well you would have to load up on carbs Friday night… i-if you’d like some help with that,” he proposed, rubbing the back of his neck uncertainly.
“Como una cita?” the brunet asked, turning hopeful eyes on the trainer. When Shiro raised a brow at him, Lance waved a hand in frustration, trying to find the right word. “Ugh, cómo se dice, like a… going out!”
Shiro’s cheeks flushed as Lance laid his proposition out plainly. “I mean, we can talk more about a real date after you beat the Gauntlet, but… yeah, if that’s what you’d like.”
Lance nodded eagerly, leaning closer to nudge Shiro’s shoulder with his own. “I would, sí!”
Lance’s bump actually threw Shiro off of his balance, the larger man setting a hand down to catch himself. “You’ve definitely gotten stronger,” he chuckled. “You should save some of that for Saturday.”
“What can I say?” Lance shrugged. “I had a good teacher.”