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WARNING:This is mohnjayer's work, NOT MINE. I was allowed to post this, with their permission. All credit goes to them (All I did was change names)!!!
“Why do I have to take off my watch as well?” Scott grumbles as he shoves his gym bag into a locker. Gym bag is probably not the right descriptor seeing as Scott has never actually used it as a gym bag before, and if he has his way, never will again. Hope just smirks at him as she closes her own locker.
“Because if you wear it in, you’ll be tempted to peek every ten minutes and complain about when the torture is going to end.”
Scott rolls his eyes, pulling at his watch strap and flicking it off, the watch landing on top of the rest of his stuff in his locker before shutting and locking it.
“You know, if you keep referring to it as torture, I’m going to start to think about your life choices and why you keep coming back. Or make me think some things I really don’t want to about your kinks. And speaking of kinks, why couldn’t you have just brought Luis with you? He actually practices yoga,” Scott questions, eyebrows raised.
“He doesn’t like being shown up at something that’s supposed to be his thing. He won’t go with me anymore because he thinks I show off,” Hope scoffs, rolling her eyes, at least having the decency to not look too offended.
“He must be high. Never met someone quite as humble as you,” Scott quips drily, rolling his eyes back at her.
Hope just grins smugly and pushes off from her locker, grabbing her mat and thrusting another into Scott’s hands.
“Hope, gross. Other people have, like, sweat into this thing. I’m not using it,” Scott wrinkles his nose, holding the blue yoga mat as far away from him as possible.
“You’re such a diva, Lang. Suck it up, you’ll thank me later,” Hope winks, turning and walking towards the room where Scott can see a bunch of people dressed in crop tops and tight pants milling around. A second glance and he notices there are a lot of females in this class. Actually, they’re all females.
“And why will I be thanking you exactly?” Scott grouses, still holding the offending mat cautiously away from his body with two fingers.
“Because it means that next time we go on a pub crawl with our dear crazy carnie, you won’t have to feel guilty about knocking back a beer or ten. And also, yoga makes you flexible, and fuck knows it’s been a while since you got some, so this could be your saving grace, get back into the game with a bang; literally,” Hope wiggles her eyebrows, smirking as she pushes through the crowd of women and into the room.
Scott rolls his eyes and follows his best friend, though right now he doesn’t know if Hope really deserves that title.
“You know you’re not actually making me regret my decision to come any less,” Scott sighs, following Hope’s lead and rolling the disgusting blue mat next to hers on the floor. Scott didn’t really exercise, ever. His metabolism kept him lean and toned. He was more of a ‘reading and smoking and beer drinking’ kind of guy. Even at university, he never joined any of the sport teams, or did anything more strenuous than a good fuck every now and again.
“Maybe he’ll make you regret it less,” Hope smirks, nodding towards the doorway.
Scott twists and glances in the direction Hope gestured, and spots the man in question talking to two pretty women who are nearly hanging off his arms. His incredibly toned, muscled arms, Scott thinks to himself before snapping out of it. The man’s hair was the brown of aged mahogany, rich and deep, yet with subtle blonde highlights only time brings; his skin a golden glow, broken up by a smattering of freckles on his shoulders. He looks up suddenly and catches Scott’s eye, his grin lighting up the room, and the crinkles by his eyes looking boyishly out of place on such a handsome face. Scott notes his eyes are deep pools of blue as his mouth goes dry, and the muscles below his stomach quiver.
“Um, who’s that?” Scott asks, clearing his throat – trying to sound as indifferent as possible. Somehow, he doesn’t think he manages when he sees Hope’s smug face.
“That’s the reason that basically this entire class is female. Clint. He’s the teacher,” Hope grins wickedly, looking particularly like a naughty imp caught in the act. Scott narrows his eyes at her. He seriously is now going to have to spend an hour watching this incredibly fit man, who may or may not be exactly his fucking type, who is probably incredibly straight, bend himself into a plethora of interesting positions, while Scott struggles to keep up, and hide his impending boner in his sweats. Cool.
“You gonna stop staring, Lang, or are you planning on doing laps in that pool of saliva under you?”
“I hate your fucking guts, Pym. When we leave here, I’ll let Luis know he is now my best friend,” Scott huffs, quickly tugging at the stretched white singlet he’d thrown on. It wasn’t one of his nicer ones, and of course he was wearing his ratty old sweats just to top it all off. The least Hope could have done was warn him that the instructor was possibly the most attractive man to walk the planet. Must’ve slipped her mind. Scott makes a face at the large wall of mirrors he’s facing, desperately trying to tug his hair into a somewhat attractive style, since Hope had told him there was no point in styling it because you’re just going to sweat it out, Scott, hurry up.
It doesn’t matter, he’s probably straight anyway, Scott thinks to himself with a touch of disappointment, watching in the mirror as Clint laughs brightly at something one of the girls he is talking to has said. He watches her in her matching crop and pants, her hair pulled into a high ponytail and he can see she is gorgeous even without makeup, her small hand resting softly on his huge bicep. Clint nods his head in what looks like a goodbye before walking up to the front of the room to stand on a low stage that had been set up.
Scott can see the muscles of Clint’s back rippling under his shit that is at least two sizes too small in the mirror as he clips a headset on, attaching its pack to his shorts. Shorts he wouldn’t call loose by any means, Scott notices. He closes his eyes and breathes deeply. An hour is all he has to suffer through before he can get home and have a nice, satisfying wank in the shower.
“Welcome everyone to the class, it’s nice to see so many of my favorite faces out there,” Clint’s eyes flick somewhere across the room, “and some brand new ones,” his eyes flick to Scott with a giant grin, not unlike that of a child, on his face. It’s only now Scott notices that Hope has situated them in what seems to be the very front row. Scott darts his eyes away from Clint as quickly as he can, and goes to scowl at Hope in the mirror who is watching the interaction with poorly disguised glee on her face.
“Our class will start in just a few minutes, so if everyone can get settled, and just lie down on your mats and relax. If any beginners out there would like any help, just raise your hand and I’ll come over,” he smiles kindly, and flicks off his microphone, his azure eyes sparkling even under the dim lights.
“He’s new,” Hope calls, raising her hand above Scott’s head and pointing down at him. Scott’s eyes widen in horror, grabbing Hope’s wrist and pushing it away as she cackles with laughter. Clint steps down off his stage and walks over to where Scott and Hope are sitting on the floor. Scott is mad that his skin tone leaves much room for blush, he assumes he’d be about glowing red hot right now.
“Hope, hey, good to see you again.” Then he turns to Scott and extends his hand. Scott swallows and extends his too, accepting the handshake. Clint’s hands are warm and slightly calloused, making Scott wonder exactly what else he does with them.
He, casually, he thinks, oh so casually, notices Clint’s bicep flex as they shake, and tries not to actively stare at it as to scare Clint off. “I’m Clint, it’s nice to meet you…” he trails off, his eyes searching Scott’s.
“Scott. Scott Lang,” Scott replies, trying not to stutter over his words as Clint’s frankly alarmingly large hand finally lets go.
Clint laughs. “So, first time, huh?” He grins, and crosses his arms across his chest. Scott can make out thick pecs getting squeezed together under the poorly sized grey Underarmor shirt Clint decided on this morning. He notices the slope of his broad shoulders, wondering what other incredible muscle tone he’s hiding. He tries not to lick his lips. “You’ll be fine. If you find yourself struggling, just lie back on the mat and wait until the next position. All you have to do is follow my instruction, you can do that, can’t you?” Clint’s eyes glint sharply while his tongue pokes teasingly through his teeth.
“Yeah, yeah. I like instructions,” Scott mumbles, and he can hear Hope choke back a laugh, trying, and failing, to disguise it as a cough. Clint merely looks amused and it could just be wishful thinking, but Scott thinks he can see the tints of a blush lighting up Clint’s cheeks. He chalks it up to it just being warm in the studio though. No use getting his hopes up.
“Good, it’ll be much easier then. Just do what I say and I promise it’ll be enjoyable for you,” Clint winks. Actually fucking winks at Scott and Scott thinks his heart is about to claw its way out of his chest. Scott wonders if it’s really been that long since he got laid that his brain takes innocent suggestions and turns them into things he wants Clint to whisper to him in bed. He can feel his cock stir in interest at Clint’s words, and reminds himself that now is not the fucking time.
Hope snickers. “Hey, Muscles, I’m glad you’re hitting it off with my friend here, but some of us came to workout and not to flirt.”
Scott’s eyes widen as he drops them to the mat below him, but as Clint walks away back to his podium, Scott notices a dark red staining his cheeks. He switches the microphone back on and clears his throat before starting the class.
“I think I remember mentioning this already, but I fucking hate you,” Scott whispers to Hope, as they both sit on their mats crossed legs, eyes closed and breathing deep.
“You might have, I don’t know, maybe once, or a thousand times, who’s counting?”
“And we are breathing and relaxing, everyone, so I’m not sure how some people can be talking,” Clint says softly. Scott cracks an eye open a smidge and sees Clint smiling placidly to himself.
“Trust me, Hope could talk even if she was underwater,” Scott mutters to himself, earning a snicker from Clint. Scott bites back a grin and focuses on the task at hand, trying to breathe and relax and forget about the incredibly attractive demigod right in front of him.
~
Scott thinks he’s doing quite well so far; following Clint’s lead closely, and he glances around the room to see that he is by no means the most pathetic. He’s been able to replicate all of the positions shown so far, and he’s maybe noticed Clint’s eyes lingering over him more than once. A fact that makes Scott’s skin tingle deliciously, and his cock stir in his pants.
“And release, and down,” Clint guides, his low, gravelly voice breaking through Scott’s thoughts, which honestly, weren’t going anywhere good. “Next position we’ll be doing is downward dog, it’s a fairly beginner’s move, but I’m sure you’ll all get the hang of it. Starting in table top to move into downward dog, you’ll want to start with your hands shoulder width apart, and your knees right underneath your hips,” Clint shuffles so he is effectively on his hand and knees, and Scott can clearly see his toned ass in the mirror through his shorts. He tears his eyes away and focuses on himself in the mirror in front of him. “Tucking your toes under, press your hands into the floor and straighten your legs to come into downward dog.”
Clint gets up and steps off his platform, “I’ll walk around and correct any posture, but at the moment you all look great.” Scott can hear his footsteps coming towards him, and of course now is the time Clint decides to come over to check up on him.
“You’re looking good, Scott, a natural at this one I must say.”
Scott twists his head around to see Clint’s face and finds him smirking at him. Clint places his hand on Scott’s lower back and rubs a small circle with him thumb on the exposed skin before pulling off and walking away. It’s not until he hears Clint give his warm down instructions for the position that Scott can even process what just happened.
A few more positions and Scott is more worried about how to hide the semi in his pants than actually do the poses correctly, and finally, Clint starts walking them through their warm down exercises, which includes a ten minute rest on their backs. Scott’s completely aware he looks like complete shit at this point, his hair flat, and sweating from places he didn’t even know he could sweat from.
“Thank you for taking my class today, everyone,” Clint calls from the front of the room, breaking Scott out of this thoughts. “If you’ve borrowed a mat, please leave it hanging over one of the rails in the back of the room. I do this every Monday evening, and every Wednesday and Thursday morning at six if you care to wake up with me, too.”
“I know you’d rather wake up next to him.”
Scott glances over at Hope, who’s waggling her eyebrows suggestively, who somehow still manages to look perfectly put together even with the slight sheen of sweat and frizzy temples. Hope snorts and stands up quickly, holding a hand out to Scott to help him up. Scott takes it and wrinkles his nose to find Hope’ hand is disgustingly sweaty. He takes slight pleasure in proving she’s human like the rest of the, as much as she tries to hide it. He wipes it on his shorts before remembering that they’re pretty filthy as well. God, he can’t wait to get in the shower.
“I saw you ogling him basically the entire time, Lang. His body is like a fucking temple, huh?”
“Hope, shut up,” Scott hisses as he goes to put his mat away. He senses Clint’s eyes on his back but he doesn’t turn around.
“I’d get down on my knees for him, I bet you would too,” Hope continues, way too loud for the current noise level in the room.
“Shut up!” Scott huffs, trying to lose her in the small crowd of people hanging around, talking to each other. He really doesn’t need Hope to know just how badly Clint has gotten under his skin in such a short time. Hope is bad enough without the concrete knowledge of just how much the handsome teacher played out in Scott’s mind the entire class.
He looks up to see Clint smiling at him, and fuck Hope, Scott takes a deep breath and goes over to talk to him. He did after all basically allude to the fact that he liked Scott on his hands and knees, so that had to count for something. As Scott goes to take another step, Clint is suddenly approached by two giggling blondes, and to his disappointment, his eyes leave Scott’s as he engages the two girls in conversation. Scott spins and walks out of the studio without another glance.
“Who set your ass on fire?” Hope calls, and Scott feels his friend’s surprisingly strong grip on his elbow. He shakes her off and shrugs, walking across the hall to get to his locker. “Aren’t you going to go talk to Muscles?”
“He was busy,” Scott replies bluntly. “And I’m hungry.”
“You’re as bad as Luis,” Hope rolls her eyes. She glances back to the yoga studio, “Are you really not going to go talk to him?”
“Yes, really, now can we go?” Scott scowls, opening his locker and grabbing everything out of it before closing the door with more force than maybe was called for.
“This is why you’re single – you never put yourself out there and just give up before you give it a chance,” Hope sighs, eyeing Scott warily.
Scott’s eyes narrow. “Hope, drop it. Guys like him don’t go for guys like me, okay? And besides, he’s probably not even gay so moot point.” Scott stalks off down the hallway and out the door, leaving Hope to run after him.
~
It’s a week later and Scott is lounging on the couch going for the world record for how many ‘Game of Thrones’ episodes he could watch in one sitting. He’s already up to six, and has no problems with watching another ten, when his phone starts vibrating against his ass.
It’s Hope’ personal ringtone, (Check Up On It by Beyonce. “Because Scott, what other song so perfectly describes me and my fabulous ass?”), so Scott let it ring out, not in the mood for Hope to try and convince him to do something he really didn’t want to do which is how most of his conversations with her ended up going.
Not even a minute later, his phone buzzes again; an annoyingly obnoxious, drunken selfie of the perpetrator flashing on the screen that Scott most definitely did not set. Figuring ignoring Hope is not going to stop the impending 10 minute voicemail of her whining “pickkkkk uppppppp” over and over again, he swipes the screen and holds the phone to his ear.
“Lang, hello. I hope you weren’t ignoring me,” Hope greets in a sugary voice.
“Never, Pym. How could one ever ignore you?” Scott replies, drily.
“It’s physically impossible,” Hope chirps, happily. “So, gym again today?”
“No.”
“Clint will be there” Hope hedges.
“So?” Scott sighs, trying to sound nonchalant.
“So you want to ride his dick like a stallion into the sunset? Speaking of, ten dollars on Clint being hung like one. I mean, look at him.”
Scott ignores her. “I’m not going.”
“Why? Because Hercules talked to some girls after the class the other day? Get over it, Lang. If the man has ever even entertained the idea of fucking a guy, there’s no way your ‘I-just-descended-from-Mount-Olympus’ face isn’t gonna convince him,” Hope states. “And besides, you’re the type of girl that gives it up for any man with a decent rack and thick thighs.”
“Are you calling me a cockslut, Pym?”
“Lang, I wouldn’t be your best friend and former sex toy slash drunken hook up if I didn’t know you liked to choke on dick every other day.”
“Glass houses, Hope,” Scott bites into the receiver.
“So, get ready and I’ll pick you up in 20?” Hope questions sweetly, as if the previous conversation never happened at all.
“No, Hope, I’m serious, I’m not going,” Scott huffs.
“Fine. You can wank yourself raw on your filthy couch, and I’ll go by myself and talk to him. I’m sure there’s plenty of things he’s interested in finding out about you. Bye!” Hope hangs up before Scott can stop her.
Scott drops his phone into his lap and groans deeply, rubbing his face with his hands. Of fucking course Hope would do something like this, and he doesn’t doubt for a moment that Hope will tell Clint every dirty secret Scott has ever had. Hope is an asshole that way.
Twenty minutes later, Scott find himself in his car on the way to the gym to make sure Hope behaves herself. Absolutely not to watch Clint.
At least he tries to convince himself that.
~
Scott arrives at the gym with ten minutes to spare before Clint’s class, and there is no sign of Hope anywhere. He pokes his head into the café, scans the weights room (ha, yeah right), and the main room with the treadmills, yet there’s no sign of his conniving best friend anywhere.
Realisation dawns on him that he’s been duped into going to the gym, and Hope absolutely is not here. Scott knew he should have been more suspicious of Hope electing to do more exercise than necessary. Sighing to himself, Scott walks back to the café he spotted on his way in and sits down in one of the hard plastic chairs, pulling out his phone.
To: Hope
I’m at the gym, and you’re clearly not. Are you fucking happy now?
It’s not even thirty seconds before his phone goes off, signifying a reply.
From: Hope
hahahah yes! go talk to ur future husband & remember who your best woman is whn you get married xxxxxxx
Scott, not having dressed to actually do any kind of work out at the gym, decides that the best course of action is to order a strong black coffee from the barista working at the café, and then head home. There’s not much point him hanging around considering he doesn’t have a gym membership, so technically he can’t actually do anything here.
Just as he’s about to order, a large body squeezes between him and the bakery cabinet to the right, while the person reaches over the counter to grab a bottle of water. Scott is just about to tear him a new asshole for invading his personal space and pushing in the queue, when the man turns to face him and Scott watches the man’s mouth drops into a perfect, pink, pouty, ‘o’.
“Scott! Hi!” Clint exclaims, his smile lighting up his face like the sun finding its way through dark rainclouds.
“Oh, Clint,” Scott smiles shyly, his eyes shifting from Clint’s face to literally anywhere else in the room because his heart is about to fucking burst at how beautiful Clint is when he smiles.
“Are you coming to my class today?” Clint asks excitedly, lifting his newly acquired water bottle to his lips and taking a long gulp. Scott has to physically relax his muscles as he watches the strong line of Clint’s neck, his adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows. There is the most perfect column of smooth unblemished skin eye line and Scott has to hold himself back from latching his mouth on it until its covered in bruises.
Scott turns to the cashier and mouths an apology at her as he steps out of the line, to make room for other people to order.
“Um, no actually,” Scott has the strength to tear his eyes away and look at the wall behind Clint. He scratches the back of his neck idly. “I’m actually not a member here, and Hope just dragged me along on her plus one pass so…”
“Okay,” Clint trails off, looking at Scott confusedly. “If you don’t mind me asking, why are you here then?”
“I actually don’t know,” Scott sighed. “Well, I do – my best friend is an asshole, but it’s a stupid story and I’m pretty sure you’ve got a class to teach soon.”
“Shit,” Clint swears quietly, as Scott commits it to memory. Clint doesn’t seem the type to swear very often. Clint checks his (admittedly expensive looking) watch hurriedly and looks up at Scott with apologies swimming in his eyes. “I really do have to go. But if you want a proper reason to hang out here, if you tell the front desk I sent you, you can get a discount on a membership. You know, just if you were interested or whatever.” Scott notices Clint turns the most interesting shade of mauve behind the golden glow covering his body. “I hope you do, anyway,” Clint smiles. “It was nice to meet you again, Scott.” And with that, he throws one last grin to Scott and jogs off towards the yoga room.
Scott may or may not leave the gym that day with a brand new photo ID membership.
~
It’s not until a few days later that Scott actually uses his newly minted gym membership. He hadn’t planned on telling Hope about it, but seeing her sitting at his dining table, spoonful of sugary cereal in one hand, his ID in the other, made his line of thinking redundant. Maybe she was a spy or part of a heist ring in a past life because fuck him if he knew how she did that considering it was hidden in his wallet between his Jamba Juice and CVS cards for exactly this reason.
“So…” Hope trails off, twirling the card in her fingers. Scott stalks over and snatches it out of her hand, ignoring her smirk.
“I need that. So nothing. Why are you in my house?”
“You need it? At 5:30 in the morning on a Thursday? Suspicious timing if I’ve ever heard it,” Hope muses, not taking her eyes off him yet still shovelling spoon after spoon of sugar into her mouth.
“That cereal will rot your teeth.”
“I’ve got dental.”
Scott ignores her and swipes a banana out of the bowl on the kitchen counter and stalks off towards the door.
“Bye, Lang. Don’t come home without his phone number!”
Scott flips her off before shutting the door behind him.
The walk to the gym isn’t far, and Scott absolutely does not check himself out in every window he passes to make sure his man bun is still artfully disheveled. He absolutely doesn’t make sure that his loose tank is hanging off his lean frame just right that he could be technically playing peek a boo with his right nipple. He also definitely doesn’t breathe into his hand and make sure his breath is still minty fresh. He gets to the gym and takes one last look in the mirror (okay, maybe he DID do all those things on the way).
He grabs his yoga mat - which he definitely did not specifically buy for this - and slinks off to the studio. He gets to the door and his stomach definitely falls out somewhere through his ass, because standing on the podium is a woman who is decidedly not Clint. Surely there’s some kind of mix up here, so he cautiously walks in and up to the woman with a high blonde pony and more abs than Scott could hope to have.
“Hey, how can I help?” She grins brightly at him, noticing he probably looks like a deer in the headlights right now.
“Um, I must have the wrong class? Isn’t this Clint’s time slot?” He mumbles, trying to school his face into something that doesn’t resemble a 6 year old on his first day of school. She smiles knowingly at him, with a warm laugh in her eyes.
“Clint couldn’t come in this morning, he had a pet emergency and so they called me to cover his class. You’re obviously more than welcome to stay and join though,” she smiles.
“Oh, um, thanks—” he pauses, realising he doesn’t know her name.
“Carol,” she supplies. “And no worries, it’s kind of my job I guess!” She gives him a pat on his bicep before catching someones eye across the room and heading over to them.
Scott doesn’t want to say he hightailed it out of there, but he definitely gets his cardio in for the day.
~
He fully intends to skip the gym until Clint would be back in next, but something was telling him Hope would quickly catch onto his pattern and he would never hear the end of it. So, purely out of spite, Scott makes a huge show of getting his gym bag ready after he gets home from work on Friday night, making sure she and Luis can see him from the lounge.
Hope says nothing, but watches him with interested eyes as he pretends not to notice her.
“I didn’t realise this was a Clint night,” she calls out from the couch. Scott just offers her a withering look and shoulders his bag.
“It’s not. Maybe some of us just want to work out in peace and get fit,” Scott sniffs, heading towards the front door.
“You’re right. You’re gonna need thighs of steel to work Clint’s di—” Hope’s words and Luis’s yelp of laughter cut off as Scott shuts the door behind him as he leans against it and sighs.
~
Scott’s not quite sure what to do when he gets to the gym. He hadn’t been lying to Hope the other day when he said he really never worked out. All the machines looked a bit daunting and some even looked like they came straight out of 50 Shades of Grey. He figures he’ll keep well away from those ones.
Not really wanting to show the gym patrons he’s not a fully functional adult human being who’s never been to the gym before, he beelines straight for the rows of treadmills. Surely running in place is hard to fuck up on a public scale. Scott guesses he’s gonna find out real soon.
Looping his towel around the handlebars, he watches a girl to his left for guidance for a second and realises she has a bright yellow clip attached to her shirt coming from the machine. Scott does the same (although he has no idea what its for) and punches the buttons for the track to start moving.
He can do this. He’s a big boy. Dammit he’s going to run in place and watch MTV countdown the best boyband hits of the 90’s and 00’s while he does it. He’s gonna walk out of this gym with thighs of steel and a sense of accomplishment.
It’s not long before he gets a little bored and starts people watching. The girl from before is gone it seems, and he can see all the way to the other wall of the gym where a dark haired man is easily bench pressing what looks to be about 4 times his weight. He gets distracted watching the muscles in his arms roll that he doesn’t notice a head of flaxen hair pop up into his vision until it’s too late.
Fuck. Fucking fuck. He sees Clint’s lazy, sexy grin directed right at him and Scott can barely return it as his mind helpfully reminds him his hair desperately needs a wash, and he’s wearing the shirt with the pasta sauce stain on the bottom. How did he not consider that Clint might work outat the same gym he works at?
“Scott! Hey!” Clint greets him, throwing his own towel over the handle of the treadmill next to him and climbing on.
“Hi, um, Clint?” He finally says. Scott tries to play it off like he was searching for his name, and not like he’s thought about him in increasingly athletic and flexible positions for the past couple of nights.
Clint’s mega-watt grin in response makes Scott wish he’d brought his sunglasses.
“So, I guess you got a membership here, then?” Clint smiles, cranking his treadmill up to be a little faster than Scott’s. Well, he’s not taking the silent challenge lying down. Scott presses the little up arrow on the display and picks up the pace, lungs be damned.
“Oh, uh, yeah,” Scott replies, not at all short of breath. “I got an inside hookup from this guy who works here. Kinda sounded like he wanted me to join.”
“I might have,” Clint says evasively, but his tone is playful, his eyes twinkling. He punches the keypad on his own machine again, effectively upping his pace, and keeping his eyes trained on Scott. Scott thinks about rising to the challenge but he can imagine how much his thighs are already going to hate him tomorrow, so he resists.
Scott really can’t think of a way to start a conversation with Clint, so eventually he just looks back up to the tv’s and watches with more intensity than strictly needed as he avoids staring at Clint’s pecs bounce merrily along on his left. Someone get this guy a sports bra Scott thinks to himself.
He’s a little disappointed that Clint doesn’t start up a conversation either, since he was the one who came over to Scott in the first place. But maybe Scott was right originally - guys like Clint are definitely not into guys like him. Or maybe even guys at all. Maybe Clint was just being nice and rolling the welcome mat out for him since he was obviously new here. His thoughts continue to spiral as he tries to focus on Justin Timberlake crooning out of the television.
Scott has no idea how much time passes before he hears a beep on the machine beside him and watches Clint’s machine slowly come to a halt. He also watches Clint take a long pull from his water bottle, his adam’s apple bobbing as Scott resists the urge yet again to mark up that beautiful column of skin.
“Well, see you around then, Scott,” his deep, gravelly voice interrupts his fantasy. Scott snaps back to reality to see Clint finishing wiping down his machine and slinging the towel over his shoulder.
“Wait!” Scott panics, and forgetting how fast his treadmill is moving, he goes to step off it. Clint’s eyes widen and his hands shoot out to catch him as Scott not so gracefully tumbles ass first off the treadmill, the yellow clip yanking off the machine and bringing it to a halt before he gets some serious friction burn on his back. Nothing sexier than a back full of scabs.
“Whoa, pal, are you okay?” Clint asks, concern in his eyes as Scott silently asks whatever God is listening to just smite him to ash here and now, god rest his soul.
“Fine, yeah, thanks,” Scott huffs an embarrassed laugh out, wincing as he stands up straight again. Clint’s giant hands hover uncertainly around him. “Honestly, I’m good. Uh, thanks for catching me I guess,” he chuckles, trying not to sound like he’s actually swooning at the fact that Clint literally caught him in his huge arms like he was a damsel in distress.
The only distress he was in was that he was literally referring to himself as a damsel in distress.
Clint follows him to where the locker room and showers are, peeling off to his own locker once inside.
“Okay, well I’m going to shower, I guess,” Clint says uncertainly, clearly wondering if Scott is also planning on showering. Scott nods at him, awkwardly gesturing to his own locker.
“I’m just going to go home I think. Lick my wounds in peace,” he chuckles weakly. Clint smiles and nods, grabbing a white towel from his locker and shutting it behind him.
“Well, see you around for real this time.”
“You too, Clint, bye.”
Scott sees Clint glance at him once more before moving towards the showers. Scott’s lizard brain not-so-helpfully screaming at him that it was a lingering glance and Clint wanted Scott to follow him. The rest of his brain reminded him subtly that he had just embarrassed the fuck out of himself in front of the same man, and to shut that shit down chop chop.
There was no way someone as graceful as Clint would be interested in someone as uncoordinated as Scott. He knocked his forehead into the locker door a few times to literally knock some sense back into him.
It’s not until Scott is almost home that he realizes his keys aren’t anywhere to be found. He thinks back to where they could possibly be and sighs as he realizes that he’s going to have to retrace his steps back to the gym to find them.
He really hopes that Clint has gone home already, not wanting to face him after that mortifying social faux pas that Scott seemed really set on executing to perfection lately.
Scanning his pass, and heading back into the locker room, he opens his locker to thankfully find his keys sitting innocently in the corner.
Grabbing them, he hears a gasp and turns to come face to face with a bug eyed, steam dewed, buck ass naked Clint, gripping the world’s smallest towel around his criminally tiny waist. Was it a full sized towel or a damn washcloth, Clint?
It takes a second, but the surprise drops from Clint’s face and is immediately replaced with searing lust.
“Hey, Scott, I thought you’d gone home,” Clint asks casually, scratching the back of his neck and watching Scott’s eyes track over his impressive biceps. Scott swallows. He can do this, dammit.
“Forgot these,” Scott replies, jingling his keys absentmindedly - his eyes not leaving the slopes and planes of Clint’s body who was still very much naked.
“Don’t ruin my fantasy, Scott,” he chides, stalking forward not unlike a leopard with easy prey in its sights.
“Fantasy?” Scott repeats, distracted.
“That you left these here on purpose, hoping I’d find them. Or maybe that you’d left them on purpose, just so you could come back and be alone with me.” Clint continued closer, with Scott stepping back until he hit the wall of lockers; one large palm placed over his head as Clint closed in on his personal space. His steam damp body pressing deliciously into Scott’s own, his mouth coming down to breathe hot air over his neck.
“Tell me I’m not reading this wrong. Tell me you want this,” Clint whispers. Scott can feel every word punch into his throat.
Scott falls to his knees.
"What are you gonna do down there?" Clint asks, looking down at Scott with hooded eyes and a lazy smirk.
Scott tilts his head back to look up at Clint through his lashes and smile angelically, his hands deftly tugging at the knot tenuously holding Clint’s towel together. Clint leaned forward, resting his palms high above Scott on the wall behind him.
Scott finally breaks eye contact with Clint to get an eyeful of his fat, uncut cock.
"I… wow…"
"Thank you. I've been blessed," Clint says, smugly.
"Apparently, so have I,” Scott quips. Clint’s laugh is cut short as Scott wastes no time and swallows his admittedly impressive length in one smooth move.
Scott takes his time to really take Clint apart. He might not be good at treadmills, but if sucking dick was an Olympic sport, Scott would be on a Wheaties box with a gold medal and a cheesy smile by now.
Pulling back and suckling on the head, Scott brings one hand up to grip the thick base firmly, his other reaching up to lightly tug on Clint’s balls. He can feel Clint drop his head down as a long, guttural whine leaves his mouth. Scott rolls his eyes up to see Clint staring at him, as Scott smirks around his dick.
Scott starts taking him down inch by inch again, slower this time, until his nose is buried in the wiry thatch of blonde curls that surrounded the base of Clint’s cock. Clint’s hand drifts down to reverently stroke at Scott’s cheeks and jaw, his eyes heavy-lidded and a sexed-out look on his face. Scott continues to suck him, stroking him hard with the flat of his tongue and dipping the tip into the slit when he pulls off far enough. He can feel Clint’s chest heaving and is only dimly aware of the growling noise coming from above.
Scott pulls off, spit strings trailing from his bottom lip, dripping to the floor. He can only imagine how he looks; face flushed, lips swollen and red, a few stray hairs plastered to his face with sweat. He knows he’s blushing but Scott can’t find it within himself to care.
“You like that, big guy?”
One of Clint’s hands leaves the wall and grips Scott’s hair tightly, not enough to force him anywhere, but hard enough to make Scott realize who’s really in control here. Scott opens his slightly swollen lips again and lolls his tongue out, Clint’s hips jutting forward to push his dick back in.
The heavy length in his mouth is obstructing his airway, and even though Clint is a fair bit bigger than what Scott’s used to, he sucks around it like a champ. The hand in his hair tightens as Clint’s hips start pumping infinitesimally.
Scott rolls his eyes up again, and nods, his hands leaving Clint’s to rest on his own thighs.
“Yeah, Scott? You can take me? You want me to fuck your mouth, baby?” Clint pants down at him. Scott suppresses a shudder at the casual pet name and nods up at him.
“Have at it, baby,” Clint groans, his hips pushing forward forcefully.
It’s not long before Scott has spit running down his chin, Clint’s cock making a filthy gluck noise in the back of his throat every time he hits the back of it. Scott’s eyes are closed, but he sneaks a peak to see Clint’s gorgeous Adonis-like body thrusting into his face, abs and v-lines glistening with sweat. Scott suppresses a shudder at the visual and concentrates again on not gagging.
“Scott, I wanna fuck you. Let me fuck you,” Clint grunts, his rhythm slowing down until its just a slow drag of his cock over Scott’s tongue, letting him savor the weight and taste of Clint.
Scott looks up at him through his lashes and nods, pulling off roughly. “Please, yes, I want you to,” he rasps, his voice well and truly on it’s way out. He makes a mental note not to talk to Hope for the next few days.
Clint hauls him to his feet and pulls him into a searing kiss, the angle making their bodies press against each other, and Scott knows Clint can feel exactly how much he enjoyed getting his face fucked. Clint grabs the hem of Scott’s tank, pulling it up and over his head, only breaking the kiss for a second before slamming his mouth back against Scott’s.
“Pants off, turn around, hurry up,” Clint breathes over Scott’s lips, as he detaches himself from Scott who definitely doesn’t making a loud whining sound.
“Clint?” Scott questions desperately, not understanding why the fuck Clint is now on the other side of the room and not sinking his fingers into Scott’s ass.
“Shh, baby, just getting a condom,” Clint placates, still rummaging through his bag without turning around. “I don’t hear the sound of pants coming off, either,” he adds, pointedly.
Scott swears and fumbles with the tie of his gym pants, hastily hooking his thumbs into the waistband and pulling them down his legs just as Clint crows triumphantly and turns around.
“Uh, you keep a condom in your gym bag because…” Scott trails off suspiciously, looking at the tiny foil packet in Clint’s fingers.
“I don’t normally. I put it in there the other day after we had that chat in the cafe. I told you I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you; call it wishful thinking,” Clint shrugs, a genuine little smile on his face. “Now I thought I told you to turn around,” he smirks.
Scott grins and rolls his eyes, turning to brace his hands against the wall of lockers. And if he tilts his back and pushes his ass out a little further to tempt Clint? No one can prove it.
“Like a fucking peach,” Clint sighs, as Scott feels a soft slap on his right cheek. He tilts his face to the side and moans into his arm to keep himself quiet. He’s actually not sure if anyone else is still at the gym, but he doesn’t want to be too loud just in case. The last thing he wants is someone coming in to check out where the sound is coming from and finding Clint balls deep in his ass. He’s only just joined this gym and he doesn’t think he wants his face plastered on the wall behind the front desk with “PERVERT” in big bold letters accompanying it. Hope would never let him live that one down. She’d probably make copies and put them up on the fridge.
Suddenly Scott gets jolted out of his thoughts by Clint’s wet finger nudging insistently against his hole, circling and teasing it. Scott tilts his hips to give Clint an inch, but Clint takes a mile as his finger finally breaches the tight rim of muscle and sinks it in to the second knuckle; nailing his prostate instantly as Scott chokes back a gasp.
“Stay quiet, baby. As much as I love making you scream, I don’t really need any of my coworkers coming in to see what all the fuss is about,” Clint growls.
It’s all Scott can do to stand there braced against the lockers, willing his knees that feel dangerously close to buckling to stay strong, as Clint drapes himself over his back continuing the assault on his prostate and whispering filthy trash into his ear. Scott has absolutely no friction on his cock, and he can’t just reach down and grab it because he’s sure that if he moves even slightly, he’s just going to collapse into a ball of pleasure on the ground.
“Clint, please, I need… my cock, please Clint,” Scott begs, not even embarrassed at his lack of vocabulary which seems to have condensed into four words. He challenges anyone to be fully literate with Clint’s thick, talented fingers dancing across their prostate.
“No. Not yet,” Clint chuckles, nipping at Scott’s earlobe. Scott whines high pitched into his own shoulder. “I’ve got something better,” he says as his fingers drags out, catching on the rim.
Scott feels his ass being parted and Clint’s cock pressing up against his hole. He gasps and presses back, vaguely wondering how Clint put the condom on one handed and without Scott noticing, before realizing he doesn’t really care.
“This okay, baby?” Clint asks. “M’gonna take this slow ‘cause you’re still so damn tight.” He pushes into Scott, making good on his promise, while all Scott can feel is burning pressure and fullness while he bites his arm trying not to moan. Clint’s barely breached him and Scott can already feel his own cock twitching as precome steadily beads from the tip and drips down his cock to the floor.
“Fuck, Scott,” Clint shudders a breath next to his ear. “You’re a goddamn dream.” He pushes in up to the root and pauses, both of them gasping for breath. Scott can feel his hole clenching around the thickness of Clint. His cock so big he doesn’t even have to aim for Scott’s prostate, it just sits against it like it was made to be there.
“Clint, fuck me,” Scott orders, dragging his hips forward and slamming them back against him. Clint growls and pulls back, nearly slipping out of Scott and before he can complain, Clint slams back into him, nearly buckling Scott’s arms in the process. He can’t help the kitten moans pouring out of his mouth as Clint drills his ass like he’s using every inch of his cock to find what makes Scott cry out in pleasure.
He can feel tension crawling up his spine as a bubbling pool of warmth spreads from his belly down to his groin. Scott’s never come without his dick being touched before but it looks like Clint is going to rip one this out of him whether he thinks he can or not.
Clint pushes home once more and grinds against Scott’s ass before pulling out and spinning him around. Scott’s about to demand what the fuck before Clint just grins at him cheekily.
“I want to try something,” he says, grabbing Scott by the ass. “Put your arms around my neck and jump up.”
“Clint,” Scott eyes him doubtfully, but puts his arms around his neck anyway.
“Trust me,” he winks, helping Scott up by lifting his bum as he jumps to wrap his legs around Clint’s waist. “Uh, I’m probably gonna need a little help here though, Scott,” Clint grins bashfully.
Laughing, Scott reaches one hand behind himself to line Clint’s dick up with his hole again and sinks down with a long moan as he feels Clint’s length fill him up again. He doesn’t want to admit how perfect they feel together but, well, they really fucking do.
“All right, baby, hold on tight,” Clint grins as he begins to thrust again. This time, however, Scott’s dick drags over Clint’s rock hard stomach and provides the friction he so desperately wanted. There’s only a small part of Scott slightly disappointed that he won’t get to see if Clint can make him come untouched, but it’s quickly replaced with mind blowing pleasure as he realizes Clint is strong enough to fuck him standing up without bracing on anything.
That more than anything else gets Scott closer to the edge as he watches Clint’s biceps flex and strain with his weight, and the tendons in his neck pop and shift. Scott buries his face in Clint’s neck and sucks hard, hoping to leave a lasting mark of their time together. Clint grunts in response.
“Fuck, I’m so close,” Clint swears, his thrusts losing rhythm but not power as Scott can feel his own hips stuttering. Clint’s abs are covered in Scott’s precome and sweat, helping his’s cock slide over them. It’s one particularly hard thrust that has Scott seeing stars, his cock spurting out all over Clint’s stomach and chest, as he can feel his hole trying to clench closed over Clint’s shaft.
That must do it for Clint as he buries his face in Scott’s shoulder and grunts animalistic as he thrusts hard once, twice, and again, before stilling. Scott’s cock jumps with an aftershock and accidentally clenches around Clint, making him huff out a breath. It’s not long before it must get too much for Clint as he gingerly lifts Scott up and off his softening cock before lowering him gently down to the bench in the middle of the space.
Scott’s skin feels like it’s on fire and his ass aches pleasantly - he’s definitely going to be feeling that tomorrow. Clint drops down to the bench as well and pulls Scott onto his lap.
Scott tilts his head forward against Clint’s chest and pants softly. “No offence, Clint, but that workout was way more fun than your class.” He can feel Clint’s chest rumble with a chuckle.
“No offence taken, because I agree with you.”
They sit there for a few more moments just basking in each other’s post sex aura, before Scott goes to stand up, cracking his back as he does so. He picks his discarded gym shorts up off the floor and slips them back on, his back to Clint.
He feels Clint crowd up behind him, feeling every inch of his skin against his back.
“You smell like you were fucked good and proper,” Clint rasps into Scott’s ear. Scott squirms deliciously in front of Clint, unable to help himself grinding his ass back into him. Clint runs his large hands down his sides and cups his sore ass, hooking his thumbs under the hem of his shorts and snapping the fabric up.
“Watch it, Barton. Not the best way into my pants, you know,” Scott spins around so his face is level with Clint’s, and places small wet kisses over the huge purple bruise Scott had sucked into his neck. Oops.
“Who says I want in your pants again, Lang? You tire a man out.”
Scott rolls his hips against Clint’s still naked cock, the friction from the fabric making Clint buck his hips forward in a jerky motion. Even he’d only come just a few minutes ago, Scott could feel the blood rush back to his cock, fattening it up under Clint’s grinding.
“Your massive erection says otherwise,” Scott pulls off Clint’s neck and grins into his mouth.
“Hmm... Massive. Flattery gets you everywhere, you know,” Clint whispers into Scott’s mouth. Scott’s arms snake up Clint’s sides and across his shoulders to pull him in for another searing kiss.
“By the way, what an excellent personal training session,” Scott grinned, as Clint huffed out a laugh. “I really should fill out one of those feedback forms on the front desk. Color in the big green smiley face. Maybe draw on the splashes emoji too,” he muses.
“Shut up.”
“I wonder if the trainer is available for more sessions though, I’ll have to ask.”
“I heard he can do home sessions too,” Clint grins slyly.
“Done and done.”
~
The next Wednesday Scott’s alarm shudders him awake at 5:30, it’s shrill tone piercing right into his brain and he grabs his phone to shut it off and snuggles himself back into the sheets.
A warm strong arm curls around him and pulls Scott backwards into his body.
“Clint, no, it’s too early. Five more minutes,” Scott grumbles, wiggling his ass into Clint’s crotch not so subtly.
“What, you think just because you’re sleeping with the instructor now you get special treatment?” Clint chuckles against his ear, but Scott can feel his hips slowly grinding into him, his morning wood very much awake.
“I mean what’s the point if I can’t even get a work out in before the session?” Scott sighs, palming his own dick through his briefs. Clint grabs his hand and brings it to his mouth to kiss his knuckles.
“I was going to have a shower, so if you’re desperate for a work out, it’s gonna be in there or not at all. I’m not going to be late to my own class.”
“Not even for a good reason?” Scott hedges.
“While fucking you into the mattress would be an acceptable reason in my books, I don’t know if management are gonna go for that.”
Scott chuckles.
“But what if I told you that there’s an employee’s only sauna that is always empty on Wednesday mornings?” Clint shouts over his shoulder as he heads for Scott’s adjoining bathroom.
Scott throws off the sheets, and hurriedly pads after Clint. “Reason enough for me.”