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Hank has always been a little too lax when caring for Sumo.
No matter how much his father good-naturedly teases him for being ‘practically a robot’, Connor stands by his point: it’s not bad to be efficient about things, especially things that involve improving the health of those around him.
While true that Saint Bernards have a tendency of being rounder at the edges compared to other dogs, it is also true that they still require some exercise in order to avoid falling ill –Hank eventually agrees, begrudgingly, like he eventually does from time to time when Connor advises him to drink less, at the age he’s approaching, and watch his cholesterol levels.
It brings Connor to today: he has the entire morning off, and he’s decided to take Sumo to the park instead of just his usual walk around the block. As would be expected from a nice hot summer day, the park is busy with life, mostly joggers and likewise exercising people –of all ages, Connor notes. Perhaps he could goad Hank into taking better care of himself by mentioning he’s seen a little old lady doing more reps than him.
The thought makes him smile even as he takes off Sumo’s leash and starts throwing the tennis ball for his big fuzzy friend to catch.
He spends an indefinite amount of time doing this, realizing too late he’s gotten distracted and isn’t quite looking where he’s throwing the ball –his next throw nearly hits a jogger that was gradually slowing down to a stop square in the face.
Nearly, because as startled as he was, the jogging man has decent reflexes and manages to catch the offending projectile –although he does instinctively drop it when he realizes it’s covered in drool.
And Connor is absolutely floored.
The sweltering heat of summer is surely enough to explain the lack of a shirt on the jogging man, but Connor becomes instantly sure that some higher power looked at that creature and decided that to cover such a glorious apparition with clothing would be a crime. There’s no other feasible explanation –and he’d know about crimes, he’s in the police force.
Amber skin just barely glistening with sweat, sharp features just barely softened by a smattering of freckles along the nose and cheeks and the absolutely most striking eyes he’d ever seen –the right one a clear blue, the left a vibrant green.
Heterochromia.
Connor isn’t even halfway done marvelling at the sight before him when Sumo sees it fit to chase after the ball; which means now his gigantic Saint Bernard is well on his way to tackling the most handsome stranger he ever laid eyes upon.
As well-sculpted as the stranger looks, a dog the size of a pony can and does knock him down on his ass, but, while startled, the man seems to take it in stride, with a surprised little chuckle that immediately does filthy things to Connor’s mind when it reaches his ears.
“Hey, you…” the stranger coos at Sumo and, oh God, his voice is perfect. “…Sumo?” he muses, probably having found the tag on his collar, “Where’s your owner, Sumo?”
Oh. Right. He is Sumo’s owner.
If Hank is right and Connor could actually be a robot, he guesses this is what short-circuiting would feel like. God, Hank would make so much fun of him –it’s not his fault if he’s socially awkward! Taking a deep breath, he hurries up to the stranger that is still sitting on the ground while Sumo eagerly sniffs and licks him and –wow, he didn’t know he could feel jealous of his dog, damn that’s a new low – and finally he clears his voice.
“I’m so sorry, I— I didn’t watch where I was throwing.” He says, making Sumo turn sharply and go back to him, tail wagging happily, “Are you hurt?”
Without thinking, Connor extends his arm to help the other up.
The stranger’s eyes look up at him and everything stops for a second. Connor almost fears he said or did something wrong, because the stranger briefly just… looks at him, blinking in what perhaps is confusion, but eventually accepts the offered arm and pulls himself up.
His hands are rough and calloused in some places and his arms are as strong as they look –Connor thinks he might die on the spot. “It’s okay, no harm done.” The stranger tells him, in that honey-smooth voice of his, “Is he your dog?”
Connor nods, looking back down at Sumo to pet him, if only to avoid blatantly ogling the figure in front of him putting Greek gods to shame. “Again— I’m so sorry for the bother, sir—”
Sir? Sir?! Damn it all, why does he revert to his professional speech pattern when he feels awkward?!
“Whoa, way to make me feel older than I am.” Before Connor could wish the Earth would swallowing for accidentally offending this vision, though, the stranger laughs warmly, “The name’s Markus, it’ll do.”
Markus. A beautiful name, fitting for the creature in front of him.
Luckily, Connor is not completely socially inept and he registers the greeting and how now would be a good moment to reciprocate it. “Connor. Sorry for interrupting your run.”
“It’s really no bother at all; I was about done running anyway.” Markus assures, warm, and friendly and just radiating kindness as he picks up the tennis ball from the ground and hands it to him with a wink. “Here. I’m sorry for momentarily kidnapping your dog so hey, maybe we’re even.”
Just when he thinks he’d get to watch the wonder that is this beautiful stranger walk away, Connor realizes internally that it’s about to get simultaneously so much better and so much worse.
Instead of walking away, Markus walks deeper onto the patch of grass where he was playing around with Sumo; and he starts a yoga routine.
What is his life, really.
The stranger –Markus, kneels on the grass, checks something on his mobile phone for a couple of minutes and then just… folds in half, in what would be a child’s pose, but with both his hands clasped behind his back and stretching his arms outwards behind him.
So he’s not just built, he’s flexible as well. Connor’s mind plummets into the gutter –Hank is right, he is a gay mess and he knows his father means it in the best of ways.
In the fifteen or so following minutes, Connor keeps playing with Sumo while lowkey ogling Markus as he goes through several positions –there’s a personal favorite when Markus starts from a plank, begins lowering as if to do a push-up but hovers mid-way for about a minute and a half, arms flexing with the effort and the image searing itself behind Connor’s eyelids forever.
The detective-in-training is pretty sure, at this point, that Markus must be some kind of athlete, because even as he goes through some of the more widely known yoga poses, like the warrior, he seems to be doing an advanced variant of each, deviating from the norm.
At one point, Markus goes from a simple downward dog to lifting one leg in the air, in an almost perfect vertical split while he balances his body on the other leg, face down and hands firmly grasping his ankle –Connor tries not to openly gape, as the process gets repeated for the other leg.
Those… those blue and grey jogging pants really don’t leave much to the imagination.
It gets worse –after that, Markus stands back up, lifts one leg and, in a movement Connor doesn’t really understand, closes his arms behind his back while trapping his leg in the circle, and then extends said leg upwards the rest of the way, in another split… but that’s not the worst part, no.
The worst part is that Markus catches him staring. Instead of finding him awkward or weird, though, this bendy angel offers him a megawatt smile and breaks position. “Are you curious?”
The question goes on a very far-off tangent in Connor’s mind. “Beg pardon?”
“About yoga.” Markus clarifies, “Do you want to learn?”
Oh. Oh. Connor lets out a breath he hadn’t noticed he was holding.
Little does he know, the apparently perfectly calm and poised Markus has been freaking out about this as much as he’s been.
The only reason he stopped to check his phone before the start of his routine was to send a message into a very specific group chat.
» Guys there’s an incredibly hot guy with a cute dog in my usual spot, send help.
» Oh? Mr. ‘exercising with iPods is only for people who can’t be alone with their own thoughts’ is actually getting distracted? Damn, we have to see this wonder!
» Shut up Josh, this is serious he has curly hair and big eyes and he’s just
»
just what? don’t leave a sister hanging, Mark, tell us
or, *gasp* are u so smitten that you don’t know how to finish that thought???
»Hot guys with cute dogs, your only weakness. As your instructor, I commend your efforts for trying to stick to your exercise plan. As your friend, I tell you: bust out the advanced poses and go get your man!
» hear, hear! Simon has said!
» You guys are no help at all. He’s out playing with his dog I’m not just gonna hit on him like that!
» Me thinks the boy doth protest too much.
» Is that even the right way to use that?
» who cares?! You still here? Go show off that booty!
And yes, Markus may or may not have been try-harding a little to get Connor’s attention –he felt eyes on him once or twice, but only halfway through the ‘bird of paradise’ pose he was able to lock eyes with the other. Which leads them to where they are now.
Connor doesn’t know what possesses him to say ‘yes’ to Markus’s question –as a soon to be detective, he’s been trained in the basics of fighting and does quite well for himself, if he could say so, but however fit he actually is, he doesn’t feel it in front of this marvel of flexibility and grace. Not to mention that he is fit, but he’s not ‘perfect vertical split while hugging your leg’-level fit.
Maybe he really is curious about it, because no amount of attraction can justify the potential embarrassment of falling on his ass in front of his new and still very attractive acquaintance, and maybe there’s just something about Markus that makes Connor actually want to know, and try, because why not?
“Hey, it’s okay.” Markus assures, “I’m not going to make you do backflips on your first session.”
Privately, Connor thinks that with that gentle, soothing tone, Markus could probably convince him to try.
But no, they both have common sense, and they start with a simple mountain pose.
Connor feels only a little bit silly doing his in his button-up and slacks, but hyperflexibility is not needed for the very first few things, so they have a little leeway to work with. It goes well enough at first, getting used to the basic concept of focusing on your breathing and your body, actually feeling your feet pushing down against the earth underneath you.
Close as they are now, Connor notices there is what seems to be dried paint under Markus’s fingernails and some of his knuckles. It figures that he’d be an artist of some sort.
Things take a turn when they shift from mountain to tree. They are standing side by side, and Connor is ever so slightly wobbly as he tries to mimic Markus’s perfect stance.
“Is it okay to touch you to adjust your position?”
The question sounds strange to Connor’s ears for a second, before it properly hits him: he and Markus are literally strangers –they know nothing about each other, or any possible boundaries. While he doesn’t necessarily like being touchy-feely with people, especially ones he doesn’t know, Connor doesn’t know whether he would have thought about asking the question in Markus’s place, or whether the concept would have gone over his head, in maybe an automatic assumption that it would be ok.
It all boils down to a new piece of information: Markus is not only attractive and fit; he is also kind and considerate.
More and more boxes are getting ticked. “Yes— I mean, I’m okay with that.”
Geez, way to not sound too eager, Connor.
He doesn’t do it on purpose, really –Markus places a gentle hand on his elbow to steady him, as he bends forward slightly to try and lift his foot to rest against his knee in a more correct position; but Connor isn’t flexible enough for that yet and in the attempt to actually lift his foot that high he just… flops forward.
Into Markus’s arms.
And not just a friendly ‘oops, just toppled forward slightly, so sorry about that’, no, a full-on crumpled down, face-to-chest and arms clinging to his shoulders to try and avoid faceplanting on the ground.
Sumo, who had been all too happy to lazily lie on the grass while chewing his tennis ball, chooses that exact moment to ‘boof’ at him, as if to call him a dork.
“I’m sorry—”
Markus chuckles, for a moment, then something about Connor’s nervous reaction makes him frown. “Connor, it’s okay…” he offers, helping him up and watching as the other meticulously straightens himself, “You know… you don’t have to apologize every time your hair is an inch out of place. It’s okay to make a mess every now and then.”
You don’t have to apologize every time your hair is an inch out of place.
Whatever Connor thought Markus would say, he didn’t think it would be something that has such an impact on him.
He’d always known he’s a bit of a perfectionist, but the truth of it hits him with that statement –even Hank has often protested that he is a little too hard on everything, including himself. Especially after completing his courses at the academy and starting his detective training; mistakes was a word that didn’t exist in his vocabulary, anything less than perfection was unacceptable to him and it was…
…it is… actually, a rather suffocating lifestyle.
Maybe that’s the real reason he got so attracted to Markus –someone so different, who doesn’t mind running around shirtless and being tackled by a stranger’s dog, someone who forgets dried paint on his hands and doesn’t give a damn about it, who gets down on the grass without a mat because what’s wrong with a handful of dirt?
You don’t have to apologize every time your hair is an inch out of place.
He blinks his epiphany away, as he can see Markus getting worried at his silence. “Connor? Are you okay?”
God, his eyes are even more breath-taking this up close. “I… yes, sor—” he stops himself short of apologizing again, and Markus laughs softly. This time, Connor joins him. “I guess I needed the reminder.”
Markus looks at Connor, and wonders how someone so nice could be so uptight all the time. He bites his lower lip, breaking eye-contact briefly. He takes a stab in the dark. “You know, it sounds like a yoga class is exactly what you need.” He says, “My best friend is an instructor, I can give you the gym’s details…”
“That’s… very nice of you, but I’m nowhere near fit enough for that…”
“Do you think I already knew how to do everything when I started?” Markus counters Connor’s protest with a wink and, well.
Connor can’t quite believe his luck –it’s a perfect moment to exchange numbers, a natural progression in their conversation on a silver platter.
Hank would be so proud of him. Interacting with another human being without being a complete disaster!
“You don’t have to say yes if you don’t want to, I just thought that—” oh? This is new. Markus has been confident and smooth this whole time, and now he starts rambling? “Sorry, my friends always tell me I don’t know how to mind my own damn business… which is rich coming from them— uh, I was saying? Oh, yeah, I mean… you seemed curious enough to learn, so… if you want to take a stab at it, I’m there a lot of the time. Sometimes I even help Simon with the beginners, if the class is too full.”
Somehow, the slight drop in composure is more endearing to Connor than the perfect, untouchable image of a few minutes ago –it’s more… genuine. He smiles; an actual, relaxed smile. “Oh, good, so you can catch me again if I flop to the floor there, too.”
“Of course! I’ll be your knight in shining yoga pants.”
Is this flirting? “Please tell me you won’t actually be wearing shining yoga pants?”
“Well, I’ll have to be wearing something or it would be inappropriate.” Yeah, it’s definitely flirting. Markus winks at him again and takes his phone from his pocket again, opening up the screen for a new test. He writes down the gym’s details and the schedule –which he knows by heart. “Here, send this text to yourself, so you have both the gym details and my number, in case you get lost.”
Well, damn. That was a flawless delivery; Connor has to admit Markus knows how to take chances. He accepts the phone from the other’s hands, their fingers brushing ever-so-slightly –Connor knows it’s ridiculous, but he can almost feel a spark when that happens, almost like a connection. Whatever it is, it leaves his skin tingling and he wants more.
He’d love to take a chance too.
There’s surely a dopey smile on his face as he hands the phone back to Markus, but Connor can’t bring himself to care.
Only his own phone ringing loudly startles them both out of their ‘moment’.
Connor sees Markus raise an eyebrow at the harsh heavy metal ringtone –it would seem uncharacteristic for someone who doesn’t know him, but he just looks apologetically at the other and answers. “Yes?”
“Where the fuck are you, kid?”
Oh. Right. He’s not late per se, but he did just tell Hank that he was “Taking Sumo out for a quick walk.” He glances at the clock on his screen –he’s been out for nearly an hour, and half of that has been spent with Markus. “Sorry, Hank, lost track of time.” He regrets nothing.
“Lost track of time? You? Well I’ll be damned.”
Connor knows Hank can see right through him and will ask him ‘ok, who’s the guy?’ as soon as he so much hits the front door, but right now? Looking at Markus and nodding his goodbye at him as the other mock-salutes with a wink and mouths the words ‘I’ll call you’ to him?
He can’t bring himself to care. It's just as well, even, Sumo has been out long enough and is probably wondering when his human will take him home to feed him.
If anything, he will be all too willing to tell his adoptive father and best friend everything.
Connor runs home with the memory of bright, mismatched eyes flooding his thoughts; and looking forward to the next time he’ll have the chance to make a mess.