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The gym is smelly, like every other gym that Matt has had the misfortune of stepping into. Not necessarily like 'I can't stand one more moment in this miasma of ass' smelly, it's just... full of smells.
Mostly armpit and feet, with the occasional whiff of body spray and industrial cleaner – truly a gentleman's bouquet.
Which is why it's particularly suspicious that Keith still goes to this gym... Keith, who once tried to beat Lance to death with his own can of Axe. Keith, who dislikes other people to the point that Matt's pretty sure he once caught him outside trying to bench press a really big rock instead of going to their apartment's gym. Maybe he finally dropped the rock on his head and gave in.
Either way, it's suspicious enough that Matt has opted to join him in this smelly cave of ball musk and steroids with all its mirrored walls and unsanitary surfaces. There's got to be some reason that Keith has suddenly decided that being trapped in a room with a whole bunch of gross bros is now suddenly appealing, and Matt is willing to bet that the reason is pretty.
Which is a special kind of betrayal, cause Matt always points out the eye candy when he comes across it, and now Keith is holding out on him in this den of masochism and foot fungus.
Or maybe he's actually on steroids or something... he has seemed a little pent up lately. Not to mention he was a bit twitchy when Matt showed up outside his room in his best leotard and sweatbands, ready to accompany Keith into the depths of the murky lagoon like a true friend, and not at all because he's a nosy fuck. He'd even tried to get Matt to change, which was a red flag in and of itself, since Keith gives exactly zero fucks who he's seen with and has less than a teaspoon of shame in his entire body.
Clearly there is someone or something down there that he is trying to make a good impression on... though knowing Keith it's equally likely to be a hot guy or a dog. Naturally this leaves him exactly one option – which is why he currently finds himself pedaling just fast enough to keep this weird sit-down bike thing on while he scopes out the smelly gym-goers as they flex and grunt and do all manner of stranger bro rituals.
Keith, of course, is no exception.
Had Matt been asked last week if Keith was the type of guy who would be caught dead peacocking at the gym he'd have sworn up and down that the man would sooner poke a gawker's eyes out than try to show off – but here he is, doing these (frankly bizarre) series of stretches that makes Matt wonder if he's secretly been made of taffy this entire time. The worst part though? He doesn't even seem to notice that he's drawn a small following of people – men and women alike – who look about five seconds away from coming up with some excuse to talk to the pretty boy who just stuck his foot behind his head. There's a man doing shrugs unnecessarily close to the rack Keith is currently doing gym things in – close enough that he's practically standing inside the metal cage thing. Just.... shrugging. Aggressively.
Matt didn't even know someone could shrug so aggressively, like he's training for the role of world's most uninformed human. In fact, this whole aggressive shrugging thing is probably why the guy's neck is so thick in the first place – like someone took a tub of cashews and glued a small pumpkin to the top. He can only surmise that this is some sort of gym mating ritual, and Keith is the pretty bird ignoring all the other birds grunting and flashing around him.
So far this all seems as unnecessary as it is unpleasant, and it isn't particularly fun to sit in a smelly room pedaling his way to nowhere while Keith lays down to lift an inadvisable amount of weight over his face until his arms start to wiggle. It might be more fun to see what happens if he keeps going – but then he'll probably have to help him eat through a wire mesh jaw or something. Fortunately for both of them, Keith moves on to some sort of leg thing that makes Matt wonder if he really has to stick his ass out that far, or if he's trying to show off for the sweaty masses. It is out there.
Not to mention the grunting. Matt once saw a documentary on Tasmanian devils, and he's starting to get flashbacks watching Keith growl his way back up to standing without blowing his kneecaps to smithereens under the strain of however many stupid discs he stuck on his bar. He wonders if Keith knows that he's starting to get a line of ass sweat down his shorts... or if he cares at this point. Everyone else here has disgusting sweaty asses – why not join the party?
Fungus. Fungus is why not.
It's also why this particular sit-down-and-go-nowhere bike has been bleached to hell and back before Matt would set his dainty ass on it. Not even gossip is worth getting whatever weird steroid lichen the bro with the dumbbells is sporting – not that there's even gossip to be had. It looks like Keith might actually just be... well... Keithing. Maybe he finally gave in and finally succumbed to his Napoleon complex, ready to live out his dreams as the world's twinkiest bodybuilder. Or maybe twunkiest at this point... he does look awfully good when his muscles do that whole moving thing, even if he's still objectively disgusting.
Legs aching from the overuse of gentle pedaling, Matt is just about to give up and trudge back upstairs to clean off the filth he's no doubt acquired by osmosis... but then he sees it.
Keith is blushing.
Not in the 'lifted a thing that's too heavy and might blow a hernia and/or poop himself' kind of way... he's honest to god, pink cheeks, shy glances, lip-biting blushing. But from this angle Matt cannot for the life of him figure out why. It's definitely not any of the ladies who have stopped by to comment on his 'form', or the bros who keep doing this bro head nod thing despite the fact that Keith picks up social cues about as well as feral raccoon and probably thinks they have some sort of tic.
No... it appears that Keith has been stricken with babies first crush in a sweaty, smelly, slimy gym of all places.
Figures.
Still, Matt can't get any further intel while he's stuck on this bike thing – something that he's now thinking was an impressively strategic move on Keith's part when he suggested them to Matt. Unfortunately, that likely means that he's going to have to get up and go do an activity that requires both standing and maybe picking things up – neither of which are his forte.
The things he does in pursuit of knowledge...
On the bright side, it looks like there's a couple treadmills on the other side of the set of metal rack things that Keith is currently occupying, and he seems to be turned in that general direction... which means that Matt might be able to stroll his way into today's gossip without hardly breaking any more of a sweat than he already has – not to mention that the machine requires minimal touching.
Keith doesn't even notice him get up, too busy throwing longing glances into the corner just out of Matt's field of view to realize that he's about to get the dragging of a lifetime.
And then Matt rounds the corner of the cages and sees it – the world's perkiest butt in a pair of itty bitty tie-dye shorts, bouncing as its owner trots along to the pop song on the radio. The guy is working the treadmill like a runway and he doesn't even seem to notice, just smiling and bobbing his head, occasionally taking a sip of water that spills down the front of his crop top and trickles down his abs.
It's obscene.
Even worse? The crop top has a print of a kitten on it – one of those old school 'hang in there!' posters. He can't even blame Keith anymore, this guy is unreal.
“Hot damn,” Matt whistles as he strolls up to Keith's bench, grinning as his friend startles out of his reverie, “I can see why you keep coming here now... what a view.”
Keith goes red to the tips of his ears faster than he can stutter out the world's weakest denial.
“W-what? No... I just... lifting?”
“Yeah, okay.” Matt snorts and jerks a thumb in the guy's direction, resisting the urge to get distracted by the sashay in his walk as Beyonce starts up on the tinny overhead speakers. “Then you won't mind if I go over there and shoot my shot then?”
Keith drops the massive weight bar thing so fast it bounces when it hits the floor.
“You don't even go here,” he hisses, crossing his arms in front of his chest and giving Matt a revelation as to why he suddenly changed his mind about the validity of wearing one of those sleeveless douche tanks and a pair of leggings. The man-cleavage is actually pretty nuts for how tiny Keith's waist is... couple it with the nip slip potential and he could probably go over there and get Mr. Bubble's number without having to cobble together a full sentence.
“So then you're going to?” Matt presses, all toothy and annoying as he jerks his chin toward the treadmills. “Cause one of us is gonna hop on that treadmill, and if it ain't you...”
“I don't even know if Shiro is gay, okay?” Keith huffs and looks down at his feet, like half the dudes in here aren't a little bit gay for him right now after all his grunting and sweating. “And nobody likes being harassed at the gym.”
Matt responds with his best withering look.
“First of all, that is a man in a crop top and booty shorts, sashaying to Beyonce, and you think he's straight? You don't deserve him anymore.”
“Hey-”
“Secondly!” Matt steamrolls Keith's protest with a squint and a poke to the chest, narrowly avoiding touching his gross sweaty man-nips. “It's not harassing... you already know his name, so you've obviously spoken before... why not just ask if you two can be gym buddies who get like... smoothies or whatever the fuck you do now?”
“We kinda are gym buddies already,” Keith mutters with the world's guiltiest look, “I texted him when you were coming, so he's trying to give us space.”
Matt's squint only deepens. “Space for what?”
Keith shrugs.
“Keith.”
He shrugs again, but shiftier and more aggressive, like he's been taking lessons from the weird guy earlier.
“Keith, please tell me that Bubblicious over there doesn't think this is some sort of romantic outing for us... no sane human could consider this a good place to take someone to woo them. It smells like the inside of your old rugby bag.”
“The gym is great for meeting people,” Keith snips back, missing the point entirely, “I met Shiro here, didn't I?”
“Yeah, and you've gotten so far with that.” Matt snorts and flaps a hand at Keith's whole disgusting vibe. “He's over there prancing on his Sisyphean sidewalk and you're trying to trick your blood into going somewhere that isn't your dick... how are two people this useless?”
“He's not useless.” Dark eyes narrow dangerously as Keith draws himself up to his full height – which is always satisfying since Matt still has him by an inch or two no matter how buff he gets. “Shiro holds the record for the bench, squat, and deadlift right now – not just in raw numbers, but also in strength to weight ratio... plus he's got unbelievable stamina-”
“I bet that'll come in handy-”
“-and he's literally a rocket scientist... he's like the smartest dude ever, maybe even smarter than you.”
“Hey now-”
“Plus, he has back dimples...back dimples, Matt... and that's not even counting how fucking ripped his obliques are.” Keith shakes his head, thoroughly lost to reason now. “And his abs – I'm pretty sure he could flip a coin off those things if he wanted to... plus, have you seen his pecs? Unreal. Otherworldly... I want to fall asleep on them every night for the rest of my life.”
“That's.... oddly sweet.”
“He's just so perfect, Matt,” Keith sighs, all moony-eyed and gross as he plops down onto the bench to stare at Shiro's back. “I mean, just look at him...”
“Oh, I've been looking,” Matt agrees and holds up his fingers to make a frame around that perfect peach. “I'm surprised you didn't mention his best... uh... asset.”
“He does have the best personality,” Keith nods as he scrubs a hand through his nasty sweaty hair. “He's basically a saint, I saw him help an old lady across the street the other day and all I wanted to do was get on my knees-”
“Woahkay-”
“-and propose to him on the spot.”
“Oh... really?” Matt blinks down at him, then back to the still-prancing behemoth. “Before the first date?”
“Have you seen his ass?”
Matt smirks over at the treadmill again, mind made up as his friend wallows in sweat and self loathing. “Don't worry, buddy. They don't call me the Love Doctor for nothing.”
“Nobody calls you the love doctor.”
“They will after this.” Matt winks at him and jogs the rest of the way to the treadmills before Keith can stop him, hopping up onto the machine next to Shiro with a smile. “Hi there.”
Shiro turns to him, and Matt suddenly understands how Keith's brain has been so utterly obliterated that he willing spends his free time down in this wretched pit of stank and germs. “Hi?”
“I'm Keith's friend, Matt.” He sticks out his hand to shake, not even pretending to use his own treadmill for the intended purpose. “And I am totally uninterested in him romantically.”
“O-oh?” Shiro flushes up to the tips of his ears, adorable and dorky all wrapped up in muscle. “That's um... nice.”
“For you, yeah.” Matt continues, all nonchalant as he tips his head back to the weight rack where Keith is watching with growing horror. “He's single, you know... very gay, very pretty... all sweaty and enjoys gym things...” he gives Shiro a once over before cupping his chin in faux thought, “Wow, seems like you two have a lot in common!”
“I mean, we do-”
His ears are like beacons now, steaming in the moist, stinky air. Matt almost feels bad for him.
“You should ask him out then, so then you two can do things together somewhere it doesn't smell like feet.”
But mostly so Keith doesn't keep coming back to their apartment smelling like he's been rolling in a pile of dirty socks right before taking a suspiciously long shower. Their water bill has gone up like twenty bucks in the last two months because the guy apparently doesn't have any clean socks left to jerk off into like a civilized human being.
“You think he'd say yes?” Shiro looks like a hopeful puppy as he slows his treadmill to lean closer to Matt. “I didn't want to come on too strong... and I know bothering people at the gym is like, cardinal sin number one.”
“Shiro, please... I know you don't know me, but believe me when I say you could not come on strong enough for him. Keith is a black hole where subtlety goes to die.” Matt throws a hand out toward his friend, who promptly jerks his head away to the opposite wall, like he's been deeply engrossed in the food network this whole time, and not in the four course meal in front of him. “I'm pretty sure Keith would have your babies in a heartbeat.”
“Oh, wow.” The smile that breaks across the big guy's face is something else, and for a moment Matt thinks he might feel the faintest twinge of envy, but then he sees Keith glance up and catch the look as it's directed his way, and he looks so goddamn stupidly lovesick Matt kinda wants to barf.
More than he did from the baseline of being in this den of filth.
Shiro doesn't even thank him as he powers down the treadmill and shuffles over to Keith – the two of them appearing to stutter through some kind of terrible half conversation while both slowly turning into tomatoes. The secondhand embarrassment is crippling for everyone in a ten yard radius, and he's pretty sure he just single handedly crushed the dreams of about a dozen people when the two sweaty fools link hands and head to the stairs.
Another job well done... which means he can get the fuck out of here.
A quick stop at the sanitizing station gets him enough wipes to have an impromptu cleansing before heading back up to their apartment – after all, who knows what nasty jock itch might be living in the crooks of his elbows and bottoms of his shoes now. Keith might be perfectly content to bring his general ass-miasma up into their apartment, but he's a dirty gremlin. A herculean trip up the stairs on his wobbly legs has Matt mere moments from a well earned shower – complete with all the hot water he could want now that Keith has fucked off with Prince Charming to go do more sweaty things.
Except-
There's a sock on the door knob to their apartment... and it's probably not even clean.