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"Come on, two more!"
Gabe is cheering him on from where he's standing above Chaffin's head, spotting for him while he's bench pressing with their improvised tank-drive-shaft barbell. Chaffin strains against the weight and the shivering it causes in his arms, because fuck if he won't manage those last two reps. And once he does, he's going to challenge Gabe to do the same number. Just a little friendly competition.
"One more!"
Chaffin grits his teeth and fights every instinct that tells him that he can't do it, that it's too heavy, that the last one is too much. He doesn't give in because he'll feel like a fucking failure if Gabe has to step in and lift the barbell to help him get it all the way back up to return it to the rack. No, he won't allow that. He'll get that last fucking rep done, and if it's the last thing he does.
"Yeah man!" Gabe grins at him when his arms lock, huge and pleased that Chaffin managed to pull off what seemed almost impossible just a few seconds ago. Together they manoeuvre the barbell back on the rack and then Chaffin remains lying on the makeshift bench for a second or two to catch his breath, not that he would ever admit to doing so. But he knows that Gabe is aware of what he's doing, and that he'll never mention it in any way, which is why Chaffin allows himself those two seconds of rest. Gabe's the best brother he's ever had, much better than Chaffin's fucking older stepbrothers who'd kick him when he was down. No matter how much they insult each other or how competitive they are, Gabe would never do that - not if Chaffin was genuinely down.
Just when Chaffin sits up to switch positions with Gabe, he spots the LT coming towards them with another fucking clip board in hand. In Chaffin's opinion there have been way too many clip boards recently, but at least it looks like this one isn't meant for them, because the LT only breaks his stride to give the improvised training equipment a questioning look.
"Rat-fucked a blown Hajji tank." Chaffin explains when he gets up off the bench, feeling fucking great because he didn't give in, he completed all the damn reps. Not to mention that even if the accommodation here at TAA Paige sucks, the activities aren't half bad and the company rocks. "I can't believe I'm getting paid to dip, work out, and hang out with the best guys in the world."
The LT just barely suppresses a smirk and then moves on to whoever is unlucky enough to be the recipient of that goddamn clip board and the forms it contains, undoubtedly in triplicate. At the same time Gabe walks around Chaffin to take his place on the bench, and when he passes him, Chaffin slaps him on the ass just like they always do to each other. Well, it's more somewhere between the small of the back and the ass, they're not fucking faggots, after all.
Gabe cracks his neck, flexes his arms and lies back before he settles his hands on the barbell in a firm grip. "Okay, let's go."
"Go for it, man." Chaffin says in encouragement from where he's standing at Gabe's head, his hands a safe distance underneath the barbell without actually touching it while he's now acting as Gabe's spotter. While Chaffin is counting the reps in his head, he notices the way Gabe's arms, shoulders and chest bulge with their great muscle mass, and he's a little transfixed how the muscles shift under his warm brown skin, almost like they're alive.
Gabe's fucking built without being a giant. Like, he's not the tall and buff type like Manimal or Teren, nor the lean type like Pappy or Doc Bryan, nor skinny-strong like Person. No, Gabe's sturdy, he's broad and compact, like a brick shithouse. Solid. Strong. He's about Chaffin's height, but he's broader in build and a bit heavier, and he can fucking pick Chaffin up and throw him down, like he's done more than once in training. And frankly, Chaffin appreciates that Gabe doesn't hold back around him and doesn't treat him with kid gloves. Because Chaffin sure as hell doesn't require no fucking kid gloves, and he can damn well pick up Gabe and throw him down, too. He's proven that just as many times.
Gabe's biceps and pecs bulge visibly on the next rep, and suddenly Chaffin finds himself imagining Gabe standing in front of him, his arms and chest showing his strength when he grabs Chaffin by the thighs and lifts him up like it's an exercise, right until he's sitting on the barbell where it's resting on the rack. Chaffin can feel the thin metal dig into the back of his thighs, how it bends slightly under his weight, and Gabe's hands on his bare sides are the only thing keeping him in balance. He feels the callouses on Gabe's fingers and his palm on his skin, senses the warmth of his hands, the strength of his sure grip. Solid. Strong.
The barbell on its rack is high enough that Chaffin is now taller than Gabe who is standing between Chaffin's spread legs, looking up at him, his glasses framing his brown eyes that are focussed entirely on Chaffin. There's a drop of sweat running down the side of Gabe's neck and without thinking Chaffin reaches out and wipes it away with his thumb just when it slips into the hollow of his collarbone. Gabe's skin is hot under his fingertips and he can feel the hammering of his pulse where Chaffin's hand is resting over his pulse point now, and suddenly Chaffin swallows hard because there's a fucking lump in his throat. He moves his fingers over Gabe's skin, just a little, and he can't help wondering what would happen if he leaned down now to where Gabe's face is turned up to him...
Suddenly his mental count hits thirty, and even if Chaffin wasn't counting consciously, it serves as an internal alarm because it means that Gabe is done with his set of reps. For a moment there Chaffin is almost disoriented, as if he was ripped out of deep sleep, that fraction of a second when you don't know where you are and what's going on before reality trickles in. He helps set the barbell into its rack just to have a moment to regain his composure because what the fuck just happened? When Chaffin is just about to freaking out - silently, of course - he notices that Gabe is taking the same two seconds to catch his breath that Chaffin allowed himself, and for some strange reason that calms him, that wordless sign of trust among brothers.
Yeah, brothers. That's what they are. And what just happened was nothing more than a mircohallucination. You know, like microsleep, just that in this specific case it involved a brief hallucination instead of sleep. After all, he's not some fucking faggot, and neither is Gabe.
The heat must have cooked his brain for good now. Or maybe it was the shits that did him in. Who knows? Over the past few weeks there were many things that could have messed with his brain. Maybe there was some kind of chemical weapon deployed after all, and this episode is one of the first symptoms? Could be. He wouldn't put it past those fucking Hajjis to use something like that. But he also wouldn't put it past incompetent command to neglect to inform their men about it, for that matter.
When Gabe gets up off the bench and walks around it so that they can trade places again for the next round of reps, Chaffin slaps his ass again before he can even think about it. Well, there's no reason to think about it, so why should he? They're brothers.
Even if for a guy Gabe sure is a sexy piece of ass. Not that Chaffin will be caught dead saying so out loud.
