Chapter Twenty-Three
Marcello
“Fuck me, you’re making my legs shake,” I tell Giles as I extend my legs once more.
“No, I’m not,” Giles corrects me. “You’re doing that yourself. Now give me three more.”
I groan but I can’t tell if I’m doing it because I’m expected to or because it is really required.
Because while, yes, my legs are very much shaking as I bend them once more, lowering the weights they’re holding on this leg press machine, I don’t feel like I am close to cardiac arrest. I actually feel like I know what I’m doing and that I am capable of giving Giles three more.
Fuck, after Sunday, I’ll happily give Giles whatever he wants.
I know I’ve probably been thinking about it too much.
I sacrificed a whole batch of panini yesterday morning because I was too busy replaying how hot it had been when splatters of Giles’ cum painted his stomach, I’d forgotten to set a timer for the oven.
And I was even later than usual for work on Monday because I had actually managed to get myself off in the shower imagining my water-soaked fist was Giles’ mouth.
Yep. Definitely bisexual.
And the best part is that nothing seems to have changed between us during our workouts this week.
Well, nothing much. We’ve shared more than a few secret smiles in our training sessions on Monday, Wednesday and today, Friday.
Giles commented how well he slept on Sunday night after I asked with a smirk, and I couldn’t help but wink at him when I was on the hip abductor machine on Wednesday because it was so similar to the position he put me in, spreading my legs so he could fit his body between them.
Admittedly, I’ve deliberately avoided taking showers after the gym, because I’ve had genuine concerns that I would pounce on him in the next-door cubicle, but I tell myself that I prefer my own shampoo anyway.
But apart from that we’re normal. Giles tells me what to do, motivates me to push myself and I have found myself enjoying all the above a lot more.
Maybe it’s because I can also enjoy the sight of Giles’ hamstrings flexing when he squats in front of me.
Or maybe it’s because I’m actually getting fitter, stronger. Whatever the reason, I’m glad.
“There,” I say as I use the lever at my side to take the weight off the press. It clanks with a satisfying sound. “What next?”
“Don’t hate me but now we run,” he says with a mischievous look.
“We run?”
“Yes, we’re going to practise running on tired legs, because you better believe that’s what you’ll be doing on race day.”
The mention of race day has my stomach flipping. I keep forgetting why I’m actually doing all this exercise. It’s not actually so I can admire Giles’ taut backside in his short shorts. It’s because I signed up to do a fucking triathlon.
“Vaffanculo!” This time cursing is absolutely warranted but doing so only makes Giles’ grin grow.
“Let’s head to the treadmills.” He nods and throws his towel over his shoulder as he walks away.
Five minutes later and I am running at a pace that has my lungs burning. We’re on a significant enough incline that it quickly does the same to my legs.
“Yep,” I gasp. “I can confirm I have… two very tired legs.”
“Well, keep going.” Giles jogs next to me, turning his head only enough to give me a quick smile.
I’m about to ask how much longer I need to keep going for when a figure pops up out of nowhere next to Giles’ treadmill.
“Look who got lost in the cardio section.” Tony’s voice purrs as he looks up at Giles with an expression I can only describe as hungry.
“Tony, hi.” Giles looks at him briefly before fixing his gaze straight ahead in the mirror that we’re both facing. I can’t say it particularly helps, watching my belly wobble as I run, but it does mean I can watch this interaction without craning my neck uncomfortably.
“Haven’t seen you for a while,” Tony says, leaning a hand on the side of the treadmill. He flashes me a quick look that’s not exactly pleasant. “And I see you’ve got a new boyfriend.”
I nearly stumble over my own feet and come dangerously close to smashing my face on the treadmill dashboard but I catch myself just in time.
“Marcello’s not my boyfriend,” Giles says not meeting my eye. “We’re just training together.”
But he did suck me off on Sunday, I mentally add before cringing at just how ugly and spiteful that is even as a silent thought.
It’s not my place to state ownership over Giles. It’s not my place to think of him in such a crude way. That day, that orgasm meant so much more to me. It’s probably also not my place to get in the way of him and this Tony guy.
Reluctantly, I turn my stare back to my jiggling gut.
“Oh, that’s… interesting,” Tony says leadingly and it’s aggravating that he’s able to make his voice carry over the pounding of both Giles’ and my feet on the treadmills. “Does that mean you’re still… available?”
I think I see Giles’ shoulders fall but I could be mistaken as he’s upped the speed on his treadmill now and is running quite a bit faster than myself.
“I’m still single, yes,” he says through gritted teeth.
“Any chance you’ve changed your mind,” Tony says before stepping back slightly, “about me.”
He is an attractive man, I think as he unabashedly puts his body on display for Giles.
Slimmer than Giles, he’s still very toned and there’s not an inch of body fat on him that I can see.
His hair is styled neatly and I can smell him from here.
Not that it’s a bad smell, not at all. He smells like pears and fresh laundry and I shudder when I think about what sort of stench is coming off me in my 1998 Lazio shirt because I forgot to wash the new gym clothes I bought with Giles.
Tony is so clearly more Giles’ type than I will ever be.
“You know, Tony,” Giles begins, looking at him in the mirror’s reflection. He pauses to catch his breath and I see my opportunity.
“He would love your number.”
I keep my eyes on Tony but in my peripheral vision I’m very aware of Giles’ head snapping towards me.
“Excellent.” Tony straightens up and pulls his phone out of some magic pocket I can’t see on his shorts that are so tiny they make Giles’ look like Victorian bloomers.
“Wait, I…” Giles says but he runs out of breath again.
“Just do it,” I hiss.
“But—”
I glance quickly at Tony who is busy unlocking his phone, eyes down.
“You don’t have to actually call him, but you may want to,” I manage to huff out before I also need to suck in more air. “One day.”
“So, what’s your magic number?” Tony asks expectantly.
“Wait.” Giles pushes the Stop button on his treadmill and grips the sides, lifting his feet off as it slows down.
“Don’t back down on me now,” Tony pouts. “I’ve been waiting for this moment for months. Well, weeks.”
“I’ll get your number,” Giles says and he steps back on the treadmill which has almost come to a complete stop.
My finger hovers over the Stop button on my own machine but Giles bats my hand away with a lightning speed.
“Oh no you don’t,” he says. “You’re going to give me another mile. At least.”
I hear the edge in his voice. The one that is pissed off with me.
But still, Giles takes Tony’s number. He even tells Tony that he’ll be in touch, although he sounds as non-committal as is possible. Yet, Tony doesn’t seem to notice or mind. He skips off after a quick flutter of his eyelashes as he tells Giles, “Make sure you do.”
When my eyes return to Giles in the mirror’s reflection, he is studying me with a blank expression.
“You’re welcome,” I say when I can’t take any more of the empty eye contact, his eyes now a piercing shade of blue in the gym’s fluorescent lights.
His laugh is short and rough, with only a sliver of amusement in it.
Much to my surprise, he starts the treadmill again and in less than a minute is matching my pace and incline.
“I don’t want to date Tony,” he says eventually, keeping his voice low. “I thought I told you that.”
“You did,” I admit and I feel stupid, terrible, for forgetting that in the heat of the moment.
But not as bad as I’d feel if I had to admit to him that the reason I effectively made them swap numbers is to cover up the fact that I am finding myself wanting to stake a claim on Giles after one blow job, a hand job and two kisses I don’t think I’ll ever forget.
“But who said anything about dating. Maybe recent events have helped you see that there can be benefits to two men having fun together with no strings attached.”
Giles’ mouth opens but it takes a few seconds before he speaks. “No strings attached.”
“Indeed,” I confirm.
“I think I can only cope with one no strings attached arrangement at the moment,” Giles says and he’s looking straight ahead, into his own eyes.
I swallow around a tight lump that has appeared in my throat. “Well, you know, if you want to make Tony that…”
But I trail off. I can’t say it. I can’t physically say that I think he should replace our no-strings arrangement for one with Tony.
Because I don’t want that. I really don’t want that.
I don’t say anything else. And neither does Giles. He simply glances at my treadmill display and tells me to finish my second mile and then I’m free to go.
Which is ironic, because I feel anything but free right now. I feel tethered to a shitty situation that was completely my own creating.
*****
There is no avoiding a shower after two miles on the treadmill. To do so would almost certainly have Giles thinking even worse thoughts about me than he currently is as I follow his square shoulders into the changing room.
We’ve barely spoken since he got Tony’s phone number.
Or rather, since I made him take it. The only advantage of me wondering exactly why he’s so annoyed with me, why he’s avoided my conversation and eye contact, is that it kept my brain very busy, meaning I barely noticed the last three quarters of the second mile I ran.
My legs have definitely noticed it as I stagger to my locker while Giles moves to his.
A hot shower is probably a good idea for them too.
I keep my fingers crossed that Giles isn’t going to shower as I rummage in my bag for my bottle of shower gel and towel, but when I turn around after closing the locker, I see him stripped down to his boxers and his towel is hanging over his shoulder.
We share a brief moment of eye contact.
At least, I’m pretty sure it’s brief but I can’t be sure as it feels long.
Really long. It feels like it stretches and bends and fills the whole of the changing room.
And yet I can’t tell what it’s made up of.
I am pretty sure Giles is angry with me, that I’ve done something wrong.
But I don’t know exactly what thing he is angriest about.
Was it when I told him to give Tony his number?
Was it what I said about him having a no strings attached thing with Tony?
Or was it something else that I’ve missed completely?
I’m busy drowning in questions when Giles breaks our gaze and walks past me before I’ve even realised he’s moving.