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“And— there you go, good job!”
Yeonjun huffs, tongue darting out to lick his dry lips. He feels parched, and his muscles scream at him to rest, but he doesn’t want to be yelled at right now.
Not when he is this close to popping a boner in broad daylight.
“Hey, man,” A whisper draws his attention, almost inaudible under the loud blaring of the pop song Yeonjun has yet to learn the name, despite it being on repeat for the past hour. With a wince and a painful grunt as his neck protests at the action, Yeonjun turns his attention to his friend. “You good?”
His hands slide as he tries to shift on the mat, wet from his sweat. Yeonjun raises an eyebrow, chuckling; Soobin seems in a significantly worse condition than him, face reddened from exertion. “Are you good, Bin-ah?”
“I think I’m dying,” Soobin retorts drily, eyes shifting to make sure their instructor hasn’t caught them distracting each other again. “This is hell. I’m going to die, and then Coach Kim will kill you too, and then we are going to be disqualified from the next season and then—”
“Breathe, Soobin, breathe.” Yeonjun reminds him, muscles protesting as the position switches. He wishes their instructor would look his way just once, but he seems too preoccupied with everyone else. “I think Beomgyu will kill us before Coach Kim can get to us.”
His friend whines quietly, tears mixing in with the sweat wetting his face. Yeonjun isn’t close to tears just yet, because there is still that damned last half an hour left of the session that always leaves him half-dead. He is close to crying for different reasons; however, reasons Soobin wouldn’t particularly want to hear, lest he wants to know about the dark corners of Yeonjun’s mind each time their instructor turns around.
Beomgyu is wearing those leggings again, the pink ones that normally shouldn’t look good on a grown man, but they do, and all Yeonjun can feel is nausea and that feeling of doom and despair because he has been half hard for the better part of the last two hours.
His back hurts dully, the tight brace around his waist just an expensive, useless decoration. It has been two months since Yeonjun injured himself during an important game, since a bastard from the Daemyung Killer Whales decided it was perfectly logical to step over his back when he tackled Yeonjun on the ice.
Yeonjun has been playing hockey since he was eight years old, and his stressed single mother, worried that he wouldn’t make any friends at school, had decided sport was the way for him to grow as a person. Well, he is now a grown man, for good or for bad, and playing in the HL Anyang, but his poor mother definitely hadn’t expected him to suffer from such injuries years later.
It isn’t the most ideal situation, not when the Asian Championships are coming up soon, and his back still isn’t in ideal condition, but it’s not that bad. Yeonjun still has things to look forward to. Like the pilates classes Coach Kim signed him up for, as a way to help with his rehabilitation.
Or his private sessions with instructor Choi Beomgyu.
Yeonjun has much to look forward to. And much to look at, he begins to daydream, as Beomgyu leans down to help a person with a trickier pose, his ass in full display to Yeonjun’s hungry eyes.
Much can be said about Yeonjun’s current predicament. All words his friends have said, his teammates have said, words that he has thought of himself before. He didn’t need to book additional private sessions after his pilates classes. He needs to get laid, expeditiously, to make use of the many, many contacts in his phone, of the people he hasn’t called up in the middle of the night in a while. He needs to man up and stop acting like a dog in heat, drooling all over his sweaty mat twice a week in classes full of middle-aged moms and corporate femme fatales that look down on how flexible he is.
Yeonjun agrees with all of that. Yeonjun, however, is too stubborn. Dick-brained, Soobin likes to say, even though he still willingly accompanies Yeonjun to his pilates classes so he won’t feel alone. Goal-oriented, Yeonjun would like to put it.
The end goal is different, though, depending on who you ask, Yeonjun muses when they are finally allowed a small break, long enough for him to catch his breath and have a sip of water.
“How is your back holding up?” A bright voice asks him, deceptively closer than it had been a moment ago. Yeonjun startles, throat contracting as he chokes on his water. Beomgyu smiles down at him, hands held behind his back as he bounces on the balls of his feet. “You have been getting better lately.”
“Ah, really?” Yeonjun laughs sheepishly, subtly wiping away the wetness around his lips. For a professional hockey player like him, pilates turned out to be nothing like the walk in the park he had expected it to be. Beomgyu seemed to know that as well, a smug upturn to his lips each time Yeonjun tried to pretend he wasn’t struggling in class. “My back is doing better, thankfully.”
Beomgyu purses his lips, pink and so soft-looking, as he tilts his head. “That’s very good! At this rate, you’ll be all recovered soon.”
“Haha, yeah.” He barely suppresses a wince; it sounds awkward even to himself. He bites the inside of his cheek, willing for his teeth to break the skin, to taste blood — anything to take his mind off the fact that he can see the outline of Beomgyu’s waist under his thin shirt. It doesn’t help, not at all, and Yeonjun knows he is doomed when his eyes keep flicking up, to the barely there dusty brown. “I think I quite like pilates, actually.”
That’s a lie. But it’s certainly better than openly staring at your instructor’s nipples through his flimsy shirt.
“Really?” Beomgyu seems surprised, blinking slowly, with a shine to his brown eyes that does something to Yeonjun. “I wouldn’t have guessed.”
The words leave his mouth before he can stop them. “There is a lot for you to learn about me still.”
Fuck.
Yeonjun is about to apologize, jumbled words amidst muddled panic and embarrassment, when Beomgyu cuts him off. “Like what?”
He doesn’t sound miffed. He doesn’t sound like he is put off, and Yeonjun had come off as weird or creepy, like the desperation hadn’t seeped through the consonants in Yeonjun’s words. Beomgyu sounds interested, a sharp edge to his tone that he can’t decipher.
Yeonjun pauses, feeling faint. “Guess.”
“Well,” Beomgyu laughs as his hands cross over his chest and he begins to walk away. “There’s only half an hour left of class. We can guess together later during our session.”
Yeah. Okay. Alright. Of course.
Yeonjun makes a sound, something not unlike a dying animal, something too embarrassing for a man of his age and experience. They can guess later, Yeonjun nods, if he can survive until then.
“Dude…” Soobin’s voice snaps him out of his thoughts, mouth agape, eyes scandalized. “What the fuck?”
Yeonjun shrugs weakly.
Soobin shakes his head, sheer disgust shining on his face. “Thank fucking God, I won’t be there to witness you two duke it out during your private session later.”
His stomach churns from nausea. He is going to throw up. Yeonjun hasn’t felt like this since he was in high school and— God, did he bring condoms? Fuck, are they going to need lube?
His hands shake as he mindlessly tries to follow along in class, eyes and mind empty as he attempts to follow the way Beomgyu's flexible body twists and turns. Yeonjun is getting ahead of himself. There is no way. Yeonjun is getting ahead of himself.
They are going to have a normal session today, his back will feel only slightly better, and he will jack one out in the gym shower if nobody else is there, just like every other time.
Class ends all too quickly. “Alright!” Beomgyu claps, pretty face beaming, ears flushed from exertion, sweat rolling down his temple in droplets Yeonjun wishes he could lick off. “That was all for today. I’ll see you guys next Tuesday.”
The once full hall slowly empties out in waves, with excited murmurs and exclamations of tiredness. It all goes through one ear and leaves the other, his brain all muddled. Soobin just sends him one short glance and then leaves, with another annoyed shake of his head and a barely there ‘good luck’.
Yeonjun simply sits there dumbly, waiting. He is going to need a lot of luck.
He feels sticky, sweaty, and the heavy air trudging down his trachea aids his nausea. The mirrors are fogged, they are entirely alone, and Yeonjun thinks this isn’t an ordinary session anymore.
“What’s on the agenda today?” He asks even though he already knows. Stretching and then a massage. Hands too close for comfort, cool fingers wrapped his biceps, and encouraging soft words in his ears. Yeonjun is doomed.
Beomgyu simply hums as his fingers card through the wet, matted strands of his hair. “I thought a back massage might be a good start since you seemed to have a bit of a harder time today.”
Yeonjun nods. He had noticed — he doesn’t know why he is surprised. Beomgyu locks the door, casual, peaceful like it’s normal.
“What are you waiting for?” Beomgyu moves to stand before him, and Yeonjun is tired of pretending he isn’t staring at the planes of smooth, silky skin underneath his almost transparent shirt. “Take your shirt off.”
He can’t be faulted or held accountable for anything that happens after that. Beomgyu’s hands are warm and soft, but his mouth is even more so, scorching hot and wet.